[Illustration: CHARCOAL CARRIERS, AMALFI]
*THE*
*NAPLES RIVIERA*
BY
HERBERT M. VAUGHAN, B.A. (OXON.)
AUTHOR OF “THE LAST OF THE ROYAL STUARTS”
WITH TWENTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY
MAURICE GREIFFENHAGEN
METHUEN & CO
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1907_
TO
G. L. L.
IN MEMORY OF
MANY PLEASANT DAYS IN THE SUNNY SOUTH
THIS BOOK IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
CHAPTER II
THE VESUVIAN SHORE AND MONTE SANT’ ANGELO 8
CHAPTER III
LA CITTÀ MORTA 38
CHAPTER IV
VESUVIUS 66
CHAPTER V
THE CORNICHE ROAD 100
CHAPTER VI
AMALFI AND THE FESTIVAL OF ST ANDREW 126
CHAPTER VII
RAVELLO AND THE RUFOLI 152
CHAPTER VIII
SALERNO 172
CHAPTER IX
PAESTUM AND THE GLORY THAT WAS GREECE 198
CHAPTER X
SORRENTO AND ITS POET 221
CHAPTER XI
CAPRI AND TIBERIUS THE TYRANT 249
CHAPTER XII
ISCHIA AND THE LADY OF THE ROCK 275
CHAPTER XIII
PUTEOLI AND THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME 295
————
INDEX 321
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
CHARCOAL CARRIERS, AMALFI _Frontispiece_
A CAPRIOTE FISHERMAN’S WIFE 16
ROAD NEAR CASTELLAMARE 30
MONTE FAITO, CASTELLAMARE 37
THE FORUM, POMPEII 46
LA CASA DEI VETTII, POMPEII 58
VESUVIUS AND THE BAY OF NAPLES 80
POZZANO 101
EVENING AT AMALFI 124
AMALFI 132
IN THE VALLEY OF THE MILLS, AMALFI 140
AMALFI: PIAZZA AND DUOMO 148
RAVELLO: IL DUOMO 156
A STREET IN RAVELLO 163
MINORI AT SUNSET 170
ON THE ROAD TO RAVELLO 186
THE TEMPLE OF NEPTUNE, PAESTUM 204
AFTERNOON, SORRENTO 230
FARAGLIONI ROCKS, CAPRI 249
CAPRI FROM THE VILLA JOVIS 254
IN THE BLUE GROTTO, CAPRI 262
A GATEWAY, CAPRI 274
ON THE PICCOLA MARINA, CAPRI 288
ISCHIA FROM CASTELLAMARE (SUNSET) 294
ON THE BEACH 306
BIBLIOGRAPHY
A small selection out of the books I have consulted during the preparation
of this work is given below:—
E. GIBBON: _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_.
DEAN MERIVALE: _The Romans under the Empire_.
_Pliny’s Letters_: (Church’s and Brodribb’s Translation, London, 1897).
J. PHILLIPS: _Vesuvius_ (Oxford, 1869).
C. RAMAGE: _Nooks and Byways of Italy_.
C. LENORMANT: _À Travers la Lucanie et l’Apulie_.
W. J. A. STAMER: _Dolce Napoli_ (London, 1878).
E. NEVILLE ROLFE: _Naples in 1888_.
CONSTANCE GIGLIOLI: _Naples in 1799_.
C. L. SISMONDI: _Histoire des __Républiques__ Italiennes_.
L. ALBERTI: _Descrizione di tutta l’ Italia_ (Venetia, 1596).
C. MILLS: _The Travels of Theodore Ducas_ (London, 1822).
_Les Délices d’Italie_ (Paris, 1707).
_Nuova Guida de’ Forastieri in Napoli, etc._ (1751).
COUNT STOLBERG: _Travels through Italy and Sicily in 1756_.
A. H. NORWAY: _Naples, Past and Present_ (London, 1904).
E. BUSK: _Folk-Songs of Italy_.
J. A. SYMONDS: _Sketches and Studies in Italy_.
CATHERINE PHILLIMORE: _Studies in Italian Literature_ (London, 1891).
T. A. TROLLOPE: _A Decade of Italian Women_ (London, 1859).
G. BOCCACCIO: _Il Decamerone_.
A. MAU: _Pompeii: its Life and Art_ (New York, 1899).
J. FERGUSSON: _Handbook of Architecture_ (London, 1859).
FRANZ VON REBER: _History of Ancient and Mediæval Art_ (New York, 1882).
E. JAMESON: _Sacred and Legendary Art_ (London, 1879).
J. ELWORTHY: _History of the Evil Eye_ (London, 1888).
N. VALLETTA: _Cicalata sul Fascino detto Jettatura_ (Napoli, 1819).
A. CANALE: _Storia dell’ Isola di Capri_.
G. AMALFI: _Tradizioni ed Vsi nella Penisola Sorrentina_.
THE NAPLES RIVIERA
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
“In otia natam
Parthenopen.”
That the city of Naples can prove very delightful, very amusing, and very
instructive for a week or ten days no one will attempt to dispute. There
are long mornings to be spent in inspecting the churches scattered
throughout the narrow streets of the old town,—harlequins in coloured
marble and painted stucco though they be, they are yet treasure-houses
containing some of the most precious monuments of Gothic and Renaissance
art that all Italy can display. There are afternoon hours that can be
passed pleasantly amidst the endless halls and galleries of the great
Museo Nazionale, where the antiquities of Pompeii and Herculaneum may be
studied in advance, for the wise traveller will not rush headlong into the
sacred precincts of the buried cities on the Vesuvian shore, before he has
first made himself thoroughly acquainted with the wonderful collections
preserved in the Museum. Then comes the evening drive along the gentle
winding ascent towards Posilipo with its glorious views over bay and
mountains, all tinged with the deep rose and violet of a Neapolitan
sunset; or the stroll along the fashionable sea front, named after the
luckless Caracciolo the modern hero of Naples, where in endless succession
the carriages pass backwards and forwards within the limited space between
the sea and the greenery of the Villa Reale. Or it may be that our more
active feet may entice us to mount the winding flights of stone steps
leading to the heights of Sant’ Elmo, where from the windows of the
monastery of San Martino there is spread out before us an entrancing view
that has but two possible rivals for extent and interest in all Italy:—the
panorama of the Eternal City from the hill of San Pietro in Montorio, and
that of Florence with the valley of the Arno from the lofty terrace of San
Miniato. We can while away many hours leisurely in wandering on the
bustling Chiaja or Toledo with their shops and their amusing scenes of
city life, or in the poorer quarters around the Mercato, where the
inhabitants ply their daily avocations in the open air, and eat, play,
quarrel, flirt, fight or gossip—do everything in short save go to
bed—quite unconcernedly before the critical and non-admiring eyes of
casual strangers. Pleasant it is to hunt for old prints, books and other
treasures amongst the dark unwholesome dens that lie in the shadow of the
gorgeous church of Santa Chiara or in the musty-smelling shops of the
curiosity dealers in the Strada Costantinopoli, picking up here a volume
of some _cinque-cento_ classic and there a piece of old china that may or
may not have had its birth in the famous factory of Capodimonte. All this
studying of historic sculpture in the churches and of antiquities in the
Museum, this observing the daily life of the populace, and bargain-hunting
in the Strada de’ Tribunali, are agreeable enough for a while, but of
necessity there comes a time when the mind grows weary of yelling people
and of jostling crowds, of stuffy churches and of the chilly halls of the
Museum, of steep dirty streets and of glaring boulevards, so that we begin
to sigh for fresh air and a change of scene. Nor is there any means of
escape within the precincts of the city itself from the eternal cracking
of whips, from the insulting compliments (or complimentary insults) of the
incorrigible cabmen, from the continuous babel of unmusical voices, and
from the reiterated strains of “Santa Lucia” or “Margari” howled from
raucous throats or strummed from rickety street-organs. Oh for peace, and
rest, and a whiff of pure country air! For there are no walks in or around
the City of the Siren, where there is nowhere to stroll save the narrow
strip of the much-vaunted Villa (which is either damp or dusty according
to weather) or the fatiguing ascent amidst walled gardens and newly built
houses to the heights of the Vomero, which are covered with a raw suburb.
Moreover our pristine delight in the place is beginning to flag, as we
gradually realise that the city, like the majority of great modern towns,
is being practically rebuilt to the annihilation of its old-world
features, which used to give to Naples its peculiar charm and its marked
individuality amongst large sea-ports. Long ago has disappeared Santa
Brigida, that picturesque high-coloured slum, on whose site stands the
garish domed gallery of which the Neapolitans are so proud; gone in these
latter days is classic Santa Lucia with its water-gate and its fountain,
its vendors of medicated water and _frutti di mare_, those toothsome shell
fish of the unsavoury beach; vanished for ever is many a landmark of old
Naples, and new buildings, streets and squares, blank, dreary, pretentious
and staring, have arisen in their places. This thorough _sventramento di
Napoli_, as the citizens graphically term this drastic reconstruction of
the old capital of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, is no doubt
beneficial, not to say necessary, and we make no protest against these
wholesale changes, which have certainly tended to destroy utterly its
ancient character and appearance. But all seems commonplace, new, smart,
and unpoetic, and we quickly grow weary of Naples now that it has been
turned into a Liverpool of the South without the local colour and the
peculiar attributes of which author and artist have so often raved. The
life of the people, picturesque enough in its old setting, now appears
mean and squalid; the toilers in the streets look jaded, oppressed and
discontented; we search in vain for the spontaneous gaiety of which we
have heard so much. We feel disappointed, cheated even, in our
expectations of Naples, and we begin to understand that its chief
attraction consists in its proximity to the scenes of beauty that mark the
course of its Riviera.
The Riviera of Naples may be said to extend from the heights of Cumae, at
the end of the Bay of Gaeta to the north, as far as Salerno in a southerly
direction, whilst, lying close to this stretch of shore, are included the
three populous islands of Capri, Procida and Ischia, which in prehistoric
times doubtless formed part and parcel of the Parthenopean coast itself.
Our pleasant task it is to write of these classic shores and islands,
where the beauties of nature contend for pre-eminence with the glorious
traditions of the past that centre round them. What spot on earth can
surpass, or even be compared with, Amalfi in the perfect lustre of its
setting? What loftier or bolder cliffs than those of Capri can the wild
bleak headlands of the North Sea exhibit? The fertile lands of France
cannot vie with the richness of the Sorrentine Plain, nor can any mountain
on the face of the globe rival in human interest the peak of Vesuvius;
Pompeii is unique, the most precious storehouse of ancient knowledge the
world possesses; whilst the Bay of Baia recalls the days of Roman power
and luxury more vividly to our minds than any place save the Eternal City
itself. And again: what illustrious names in history and in
literature—classical, medieval, modern—are for ever associated with these
smiling shores! Robert Guiscard and Hildebrand in quiet Salerno, Tasso at
health-giving Sorrento, Vittoria Colonna in her palace-fortress on the
crags of Ischia, the great Apostle of the west at Puteoli:—these are but a
few of the more eminent and gracious figures that arise before us at the
casual bidding of memory. Then there are the infamous, as well as the
virtuous and the gallant, whose misdeeds are still freshly remembered upon
these coasts or in their fertile valleys. The sinister Tiberius, the
half-crazy and wholly vicious Caligula, many a king and queen of evil
repute that ruled Naples, the vile Pier-Luigi Farnese, the adventurer
Joachim Murat, all have left the marks of their personality upon the
coveted shores of the Neapolitan Riviera. From the days of the Sibyl and
of the Trojan hero to the stirring times of Garibaldi and of King Bomba,
which were but of yesterday, Naples and its environs have played a
prominent part in the annals and development of the civilised western
world; Roman emperors, Pagan statesmen and poets, Norman, French and
Spanish princes, popes, saints and theologians, merchants and scientists
of the Middle Ages, writers of the Renaissance and heroes of the
_Risorgimento_, all have combined to shed a halo of historical romance
upon Naples and its Riviera, where there is scarcely a sea-girt town or a
crumbling fortress that is not redolent of the memory of some personage
whose name is inscribed on the roll of European history. It seems but
right, therefore, that many works should have been written concerning this
favoured corner of Italy, so replete with natural charm and with
historical interest; and in truth multitudes of books, large and small,
witty and dull, erudite and empty, light and heavy, prosaic and
rhapsodical, have poured forth from the prolific pens of generations of
authors. We feel sincerely the need of an apology for making a fresh
addition to the ever-increasing pile of Neapolitan literature, and we can
only urge in extenuation of our crime of authorship that the same scene
appeals in varied ways to different persons, and that every fresh
description is apt to shed additional light upon old familiar subjects. In
the following pages we make no profession to act the part of a guide to
the neighbourhood of Naples, for are there not the carefully prepared
pages of Murray and Baedeker, to say nothing of the works of such writers
as Augustus Hare, to lead the wanderer into every church and castle, to
show him every nook in valley and mountain, and to supply him thoroughly
with accurate dates and facts? No, our treatment of this theme may be
deemed a poor one, but it has at least the merit and the courage of
following its own peculiar lines. For we pursue our own course, and we
touch lightly here and omit there; we run to dissertation in this place,
we glide by silently in another. We take our own views of people and
places, and give them for what they are worth to our readers to approve or
to condemn, as they think fit. We offer a medley of history and of
imagination, of biography and of private comment; and we crave indulgence
for our short-comings by observing that any deficiencies in these pages
can easily be remedied by application to the abundant literature upon
Naples and its surrounding districts which every good library is presumed
to contain.