CHAPTER II

“UNDER THE WALLS OF PARADISE”

By the first of April Gabriella had viewed from the steamer’s deck her first walled town, that once famous city named for the Berber sheikh, Tarif Ibn Malek. The picturesque group of houses clustered in the curve of the strait, so situated as to command the entrance to the Mediterranean, was doubtless a piratical stronghold which made the most of its position in those old days and allowed few vessels to pass in free. This forerunner of the modern bugbear, customs, no doubt was quite as much, if not more, dreaded. It has its own history, has Tarifa. It has seen the fierce struggle between Christianity and Mohammedanism, and was witness in later battles to England’s effort to snatch Spain from the clutches of Napoleon.

“It would be a place well worth visiting,” said Miss Cavendish as Tarifa vanished from view and the dim outline of Africa’s shores seemed to melt into that of the Spanish coast. “I shall go there some day,” she added half to herself.

Then Gibraltar loomed up against so spectacular a sunset sky that, as Gabriella said, it seemed almost too stagey. “Only Nature herself would dare to use such splashes of color, such indescribable reds and pinks and yellows.” At last the glory faded into grey and the fleecy clouds huddled down on the mountain tops, like a flock of sheep going to rest for the night.

“You’ve been wanting a sensation,” said Miss Cavendish, “and I am sure nothing could be more thrilling than our first sight of Gibraltar; that mighty rock with that gorgeous sunset behind it. I, for one, shall not forget it while I live.”

“Nor I,” Gabriella hastened to say, “but I am truly glad that you did not say that frowning rock; it would have spoiled my sensations.”

“To think that we are in the Mediterranean and that yonder is Spain,” remarked Sidney; “it is very exciting.”

“Still,” returned Gabriella, “you can’t say it has been an eventful trip. This is our first excitement and we have been ten days out; not an iceberg, not an accident of any kind, not even a storm.”

“For which Heaven be thanked,” ejaculated Miss Cavendish fervently.

If Gabriella wanted excitement she had it before the next morning, for at an early hour the passengers were roused by a sudden jar, a sound of scraping along the side of the steamer, then there was the terrifying silence, which follows when the familiar throbbing of the engines ceases to be felt. Next there was a sound of running footsteps overhead, of dragging ropes and clanging bells. Gabriella made a tumultuous descent from her berth and hurried to the porthole. “What is it? What is the matter?” cried Miss Cavendish. “I must call Sidney.” She hurried into her dressing-gown and rushed to the adjoining stateroom which Sidney occupied. She found the girl gazing out of the porthole, with apparently no apprehensive fears.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said in response to Miss Cavendish’s touch upon her arm. “Just look out, Gem, and see how perfectly exquisite it is.”

“Dear me, I thought I should find you scared to death,” said Miss Cavendish. “Is there really nothing wrong, Sidney?”

“No, I can’t discover that there is. Just see that sky and that little ship and all.”

Miss Cavendish looked out upon a scene of wonderful beauty. Overhead where the sky was deeply blue, a waning moon swam like a galley with prow high in air. In the east there was a faint flush of dawn rosily pink toward the horizon, while midway toward the zenith a great silver star cast its beams upon the deep blue waters below. At a little distance from the steamer lay a white sailing vessel like a wounded bird. From the fact that a small boat was hastily making its way toward it, the passengers gathered that something had happened to the sailing vessel and a closer examination showed that the bowsprit was gone and a gaping hole was visible. Miss Cavendish returned to Gabriella. “There is nothing very much the matter,” the latter assured her. “I think we must have run down that poor little schooner. She seems quite helpless. Look, Gem, at the rows of heads poking out of the port-holes for all the world like turtles from their shells. I’ve been conversing with our next-door neighbor, and he told me what was the matter. It was great fun to watch them lower the boat. The captain and second officer went off in it to the little vessel. I hope no one was hurt.”

Later developments proved that no one was hurt, but that the vessel was disabled and must be towed back to port. “You wanted excitement and you had it,” said Sidney to Gabriella, “and now we shall be a whole day late in getting into port, though I must say I don’t care much. I wouldn’t have missed that exquisite dawn for anything, besides all day we shall have those beautiful snow-capped mountains to look at.”

“To say nothing of the thrill we received when we thought something serious had happened. I shall never forget my sensation when the engines stopped; it seemed the deadliest silence I ever experienced. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“You would be singing another tune,” said Miss Cavendish, “if you were adrift in a life-boat on this fickle Mediterranean.”

“But so long as I am not, I can rejoice at the adventure,” returned Gabriella, “for now we shall see Malaga, and I am dying to step on Spanish soil. Do you suppose they will allow us to land?”

However, though Malaga was the nearest port, the passengers did not see it that day, for by noon the schooner had been transferred to the care of a passing craft, and the travellers were again headed for Naples. They were made aware of their approach very early one morning when one of the steerage passengers rent the quiet of daybreak by a thrilling cry of “Italia!” All his heart was in his voice. He had been watching all night. Amid sunshine and flowers they landed, and were whirled to their convent _pension_ through Naples’ picturesque streets.

“Naples may have few great buildings to display,” said Miss Cavendish, looking around critically, “and oh, what a dirty place! but such color, such motifs for pictures may well drive an artist wild. One can forgive her filth that she covers up with flowers, and who would ask for splendid architecture where there are streets like this?” She waved her hand toward a thoroughfare which was a series of steps bordered on each side by stalls crowded with masses of flowers. Overhead, on lines stretched across, dangled garments of many hues, scarlet cloths hung from the window-sills; the windows themselves were often screened by yellow or red awnings; balconies displayed pots or growing plants and trailing vines; up and down the street groups of persons or single individuals passed and repassed in constant procession; all was color, glow, sunshine; a picture framed between the soft greyish white walls of the tall houses which cast deep shadows only to make the sunlight seem brighter.

“I was afraid the approach to Naples would be the most satisfying picture she could present to us,” said Miss Cavendish, “but I am not disappointed with this inland scene.”

“I suppose it displays an appalling amount of inexperience and crass ignorance to be so surprised and pleased,” said Sidney, “but when it is one’s first trip abroad one has a right to be enthusiastic, don’t you think? I have no doubt some of our friends would find this anything but stimulating, ‘so hackneyed’ they would say, ‘Why not find something more unfamiliar to rave over?’”

“Oh, but I was under the impression that we came because it was new to us, and I, for one, do not intend to act like a disillusioned globe-trotter who has drunk her travelling-glass to the dregs. This is to be a journey of joy to us who have not outgrown our enthusiasms, and anything that contributes in the least to our pleasure is to be welcomed, be it old or new, well known or discovered on the instant. I believe in seeing the in-the-way places first, and the out-of-the-way ones another time.” Gabriella spoke decidedly.

“That is the true spirit, Gabriella,” Miss Cavendish told her. “We are to be a law unto ourselves, and we shall have the privilege of enjoying whatsoever pleases us and not what custom and habit declare the tourist should enjoy.”

“Then perceive me enjoying,” returned Gabriella. “For once I am devoutly thankful that I am not lapped in luxury, else I might be a peevish complainer because I could not get the best room in the newest hotel or because the service wasn’t perfect or some such fool thing as that. During this trip I intend that my halo shall always fit.”

“The guide-books give mention to a couple of dozen churches,” said Sidney, who had been studying her Baedeker with some diligence. “Which are we to see, Gem? Not all, I suppose.”

“No, we shall not have time. The cathedral, Santa Chiara, San Domenico Maggiore, and San Lorenzo are all that I think we shall want to see; I am told they are the best. We shall go to the National Museum, of course.”

“And to the Aquarium, of course.”

“Then we must not forget the fine views around Naples.”

“That from the Capo di Posilipo I am bound we shall not omit,” said Miss Cavendish, “and I do want to go as far as Pozzuoli; in that direction is a store of antiquities, and one is on classic ground.”

This was all accomplished within the next three days and then Miss Cavendish announced that she thought they were ready to leave Naples. “But I love it. I don’t want to leave it,” complained Gabriella.

“Not even to see the Blue Grotto, Sorrento and Pompeii?” asked Miss Cavendish, smiling.

“I am nearly consumed with excitement now,” declared Gabriella, “but when you mention those places I feel myself in such a state of ebullition that I shall evaporate into steam if I don’t look out. I have this morning beheld a goat walk upstairs to be milked, and have seen the descent made in the most matter-of-fact way, as if the dear, funny little creature reasoned it all out. No doubt it knows its customers as well as if it were a human. I have also viewed a woman arranging her hair, and performing such scanty ablutions as she deemed necessary; all this right on the street in the eyes of all who chose to behold. Then I saw scores of artisans at work at their various trades, and nearly the whole family life going on in the face of the public; cooking, washing, sewing, spanking babies, feeding them, dressing them, though the last didn’t need to delay long. Truly the people of Naples live in the streets. One thing makes me indignant, and that is the way the poor little donkeys are treated. They are such patient, meek-looking little creatures and have such heavy burdens to bear; they are beaten unmercifully, too; yet, I am told they are taken every year to be blessed by the priests. I think the greatest blessing that could be bestowed upon them would be a fund given to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and a law that would establish a legal weight for them to carry and that would cause the government to beat their beaters.”

“Perhaps, now that Gabriella has had her say,” remarked Sidney, “she will allow Gem to declare our plans for the next move.”

“I thought we would best go to Capri and Sorrento next,” Miss Cavendish hastened to say. “I learn that if you go to the quay you can get tickets at a reduced rate, for there is sharp competition and one may sometimes get a ticket as low as two francs for the round trip to Sorrento and Capri. One must be sure not to accept tickets for the larger boats, for it is on the smaller one that we find the cheap rates. We shall go to Capri and Sorrento the same day, stay over night at Sorrento, drive to Amalfi, remain there over night, drive to Salerno, and take the train from there to Paestum. Then, if we choose, we can go on from there to Pompeii or we can come back to Naples and take Pompeii as a separate trip.”

“Might as well do it all at once,” advised Gabriella. “Let us pack up and sally forth. I am wild to get out again into these heavenly streets and see all I can of these angelically dirty people; they are so dear and picturesque, and seem so happy living out-of-doors, pursuing their little trades right on the sidewalk in such a sociable way. If I were an artist I should drop down here in Naples and stay. I might wander as far as Capri or Sorrento, but I should never want to go any further.”

“I suppose we ought not to take up our precious time in going to the Aquarium again,” remarked Sidney, “but I should like to see that dreadful octopus again. He is positively fascinating. While Gabriella likes the streets, I like the Aquarium; it is as mysterious as an under-world with that half light and that marvellous collection of ‘things forked and horny and soft’ that ‘lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea.’ It most be a wonderfully attractive place to the naturalist.”

“There, I can’t pass that old blind man again,” Gabriella suddenly said. “Every time we go by this corner I see him out of the tail of my eye, and now he is getting into my system. I’ll just have to go back and buy a box of his matches. We’ll probably need them in the next few days. You needn’t wait for me; I’ll follow on.”

“We might stop and get some oranges,” suggested Sidney to Miss Cavendish. “I saw a beautiful branch in one of these little shops just ahead.” She made her purchase, which she triumphantly displayed to Gabriella when she overtook them. “Seven, all on one branch and only seven soldi, aren’t they fine? Did you get your matches?”

For answer Gabriella held out an open box in her hand. “I gave him ten centesimi,” she told them, “and look.” The box was empty.

“The old fraud! I’d take them right back and demand a full box,” said Sidney indignantly.

“I don’t believe there is a thing in any of them,” declared Gabriella, “and if there were, how could I make the exchange without standing there in the view of the populace and opening every one? What should I say? I have no words for the occasion, I am sure. _Grazie_ doesn’t seem appropriate, neither does _buon giorno_ or _quanto_ appear to cover the need, and those are about all the words I know. Even if I took the dictionary along with me I am sure it would not supply a conversation upon just this particular subject. No, the incident is so funny and so beggarly Italian that I shall keep my little box as a souvenir and am perfectly willing to have paid ten centesimi for the experience. I am wondering now if Gem will have any difficulty with her tickets. Suppose they should be for some other point or should be last year’s issue and of no use whatever.”

“It would be terrible,” said Miss Cavendish, aghast. “Still, I don’t think they would dare to do a thing like that in cold blood, and I surely can read the name of our destination. I know enough for that, Gabriella.”

“I hope so,” said Gabriella, a trifle doubtfully, and looking at her match-box.

But Miss Cavendish had not the slightest difficulty in selecting the man with the cheapest tickets, and in assuring herself that they were not bogus, and therefore they were presently aboard the little steamer bound for Capri. “Now this is quite as comfortable as that big pretentious steamer which laughs us to scorn,” declared Sidney. “Moreover I am discovering that where cheapness is an object you often find there are benefits thrown in. Here, for example, one sees the people and not the tourists. Deliver me from those hordes of tourists that throng the churches and trample on your heels in the galleries. I am afraid the Blue Grotto will be full of them to-day; the water is so perfectly smooth and lovely.”

“I am glad we thought to bring chocolate and biscuits and things,” remarked Gabriella, “for if the horde, as Sidney calls it, should happen to want all the food that Capri can furnish, we shall not want. Where are your oranges, Sidney?”

Sidney turned around in dismay. “Why-- Oh dear, I must have left them in that shop when we stopped to get the chocolate. Isn’t it a pity?”

“Oh, well, you can get some more at Capri,” Gabriella comforted her by saying. “You had the pleasure of buying them, and that was the main thing. Just think of it, our bodies, as well as our souls, to-day are ‘far away, sailing the Vesuvian bay.’ I don’t wonder that Buchanan Read wrote ‘Drifting’ if he loved this place as well as I do, for I could write a poem myself if I stayed here long enough.”

“But I’ve heard that he had never been to Italy when he wrote that,” said Sidney.

“Really? It seems incredible, doesn’t it? Then that is where he and I differ: he could write a poem about what he had not seen, and I could write one only of what I had seen many, many times.

“‘Here Ischia smiles o’er liquid miles, And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits--’”

“There, there, Gabriella,” interrupted Miss Cavendish, “we all know it by heart and have been repeating it at intervals for the last three days. Spare us when the reality is before us.”

“That is the very reason,” returned Gabriella; “when one is actually ‘under the walls of Paradise’ there is no use in trying to express one’s self in anything but poetry.”

“In that case,” replied Miss Cavendish sarcastically, “one of us at least would have to remain silent most of the time.”

“Cruel Gem,” murmured Gabriella.

“There are the little boats coming out to meet us,” cried Sidney. “We must be near the grotto. I wish I could see the opening. Do you suppose that tiny little hole in the cliffs can be it?”

“It would probably appear no larger from this distance,” Miss Cavendish answered.

“I’m getting scared. I don’t believe I want to go.”

“Silly girl, why not?” asked Gabriella.

“Because I’ve heard tales of ladies being robbed by the boatmen, and of getting in there and not being able to get out again for hours. I am sure I should not like to remain in such a blue place all night.”

“You need have no fears to-day,” Miss Cavendish assured her. “In the first place there will be dozens of boats going, to judge by the crowds on the other steamboats, and again this is a perfect day; the water is as smooth as glass and there will not be the least danger in our having to stop in the grotto for more than a few minutes. So, come along.”

When they emerged, half an hour later, even Gabriella was pale. “It was rather fearsome,” she declared. “What with all those boats knocking against each other, with the cries of the boatmen, and the prospect of being splashed by a big wave as you rode out, it wasn’t as funny as I anticipated. I think, however, that we came off very well, for our boatman was more careful than most.”

“It was wonderful, wonderful,” murmured Sidney. “I am glad I went. To feel yourself surrounded by that wonderful pellucid blueness--”

“Blueness doesn’t describe it,” Gabriella interrupted, “it is too tame, too commonplace. I should say _blueth_. It must have a word all to itself, for it is like nothing else in the heavens above or the earth beneath or the waters under the earth. Please adopt my word fresh from the mint.”

“We will,” Miss Cavendish promised. “What an ideal day and how fortunate that we brought our lunch, for there is such a crowd ready to invade every café and restaurant that I doubt if we could be served very speedily or comfortably.”

“It will be much more fun, too, to find some quaint little corner where we can have our meal _al fresco_. There, I have arrived at the proper spot for the proper use of that expression.”

“Hear them calling: Coralli! Coralli!” said Sidney as they took their way up the steep road. “I must buy something. Capri is _the_ place for corals.”

“I’ll get some, too, if I can find a string for fifty cents. I’ll offer that for the best I see.” Gabriella cast her eyes critically over the corals presented by the nearest vendor. “I am learning to Jew down most successfully, and I shall try my hand at a real bargain this time. See those lovely pale pink ones, Sidney. Do get those.” Which Sidney promptly did, while Gabriella chaffered and haggled over a less pretentious string, finally bearing it away in triumph. “What did I tell you?” she exclaimed. “I knew I could get them for two and a half francs if I kept a firm front, and they are not half bad.”

“They will look much better at home, too,” Miss Cavendish assured her. “Everyone finds that out, and wishes he or she had not passed by so many pretty, cheap trifles which seem so valuable to one’s friends at home. Do see those children dancing the tarantella as if it were the business of life. Did you ever see such a picture? I shall have to give them some coppers.”

“And have them haunt you the rest of the day.”

“Never mind; we shall have the fun of seeing them dance,” said Sidney. “Aren’t they the funniest little creatures? See them snap their fingers and dance backward up this steep road.”

“Perhaps they can tell us where we can get some oranges,” said Gabriella. “I confess to feeling a crying need for sustenance. Where is the dictionary? What do you ask for? Aràncio? Melaràncio, or what?” She put a halting question, and the children stopped their dance and stood staring uncomprehendingly. But a man, passing, halted and beckoned to the ladies, who followed him to a gate set in a high white wall by the roadside. The man unlocked the gate and ushered them into a sort of courtyard with stone seats on two sides. He politely motioned them to the seats, went further up the hill and cut from one of his orange trees a quantity of oranges which he brought to them. At the same time he made it known to them in the few English words that he knew that they were very welcome to eat their luncheon under his vine and fig tree, literally. The little white house which opened into the courtyard appeared cleaner than most. A woman with a baby in her arms and with two or three children clinging to her skirts, peeped curiously from a portico above. Two little boys, more venturesome, came from the house to view the strangers, but they were quickly ordered out of sight and the ladies were left in possession.

“Isn’t this perfect, and isn’t he a dear?” said Gabriella.

“And how much better off we are than those personally conducted who are crowding the cafés and restaurants,” said Sidney, peeping over the wall.

“This is simply ideal. Here comes our dear man again. What has he now?”

Their host approached, dusty bottle in hand. “Would the signorinas be pleased to have a bottle of Lacrima Christi? He could recommend it?”

“At least, that is what I gather from his remarks,” said Gabriella. “Of course we want it. _Grazie! Mille grazie, signor._ Please to hear my fluent Italian, Gem. I am getting on.”

Then glasses were brought and the wine was proffered to each. It proved to be delicious and the three congratulated themselves upon the happy chance that brought them to such a spot. They thanked their host as profusely as their vocabulary would permit and received the assurance that the padrone was pleased that he could give them of his best. Would they not remain awhile and rest? they should not be disturbed. He brought them fresh water and clean towels, removed the orange peels and soiled glasses and left nothing undone which in any way would contribute to their comfort. In broken Italian on the one side and broken English on the other a conversation was maintained, but the good will needed no words.

“We have intruded quite long enough,” declared Miss Cavendish at last. “I wonder how much I should offer him.” She drew forth her purse; the _contadino_ protested. She offered him coin; he refused it. Miss Cavendish turned to the girls aghast. “He actually means us to accept his hospitality for nothing. Did you ever? We can’t do that.”

But at this moment a solution to the difficulty appeared in the person of a soft-eyed, dark-haired little girl bearing in her arms a cherubic baby. “Your youngest?” Miss Cavendish asked the man. He smiled joyously, showing his gleaming white teeth. “Then this for the bambino,” said Miss Cavendish, putting a lira into each chubby hand, and they departed amid _adieux_ and _grazies_ from the entire family assembled to see them off.

“It was lovely, simply lovely,” said Miss Cavendish, “to discover such disinterested hospitality in this day and generation. I can scarcely believe that this grasping world possesses such a rarity as our _contadino_.”

“You don’t suppose,” Sidney ventured hesitatingly, “that it was all a pretence, and that the baby was brought in at the last moment for effect? It seems too Arcadian to be real.”

“Why, my dear,” Miss Cavendish exclaimed. “Do you imagine that travellers are in the habit of knocking at his gate for admission? Why should they? I am sure no one would even know a house was there. He just happened to overhear us when we inquired for oranges. He doesn’t keep an inn, and I doubt if Americans ever entered his garden before. I must retain my belief that it was real kindliness and not a matter of loaves and fishes, else why did he refuse the money at first? We might have gone away then and there, you know. Oh, no, it was unmistakable generosity and true hospitality, and I think we shall see more of it before we leave Italy.”