Part 13

[10] Soon after the return of the writer to this country, he was shown a view of the Bay of Naples, painted by Mr. Chapman, which was taken from a spot near the house he had inhabited most of the time he dwelt on its glorious shores. On being asked if it was faithful, he answered, “Perfectly so, _except that the artist has not done justice to the hue of the water, which is not sufficiently blue_.” He was then told, that the ordinary criticism was to complain of the element _as being too blue for nature_. The same objection is often made to the skies of Italian and Grecian landscapes, and to the other tints, as exaggerated. All this is a consequence of judging of Nature by a rule that is applicable only to her laws under particular circumstances. These hues certainly vary, but the writer has often seen the lakes of Switzerland and the bay of Naples almost as dark as ultra-marine itself.

LETTER XIV.

Subterraneous communications between the Houses of Sorrento and the sea.--The Sala.--View from the Terrace.--Communication with Naples.--Marine Baths.--Excursions in the Neighbourhood.--Capo di Monte.--Anecdote of Beggars.

We did not get into our residence at Sorrento until the 20th of August, and here we have now been several weeks. Every body is delighted with the place, and I think we have not in any other abode, in or out of Europe, enjoyed ourselves so much as in this. The house is not particularly elegant, though large; but as it has a name, and may be taken as a specimen of an Italian country abode, I shall describe it.

To begin at the foundation, ours rests on narrow shelves of the cliffs, which cliffs, just at this spot, are about one hundred and fifty feet in perpendicular height, or possibly a little more. It has a treacherous look to see the substratum of a building standing on a projection of this sort; but I presume sufficient heed has been taken to security. Of this substratum I know but little, though there appear to be two or three stories down among the cliffs. All the dwellings along these rocks, many of which are convents, have subterraneous communications with the sea, the outlets being sufficiently visible as we row along beneath the heights. The government, however, has caused them to be closed, without distinction, to prevent smuggling.

The house forms two sides of a square, one running inland, and the other standing on the extreme verge of the cliffs, as you will readily understand when you remember that the foundations rest on the places I have just mentioned. We occupy the principal floor only, although I have taken the entire house. There is a chapel beneath the great _sala_, and I believe there are kitchens and offices somewhere in the lower regions; but I have never visited any portion of the substratum but the chapel. We enter by a gate into a court, which has a well with a handsome marble covering or curb, and a flight of steps fit for a palace. These two objects, coupled with the interest of Tasso’s name, have been thought worthy of an engraving. From the _loggia_ of the great stairs we enter into an ante-room of good dimensions. Inland is a still larger room, in which we dine, and another within that again, which is the only apartment in the house with a fire-place. By the presence of the chimney, it is fair to presume the kitchen is somewhere at hand. This room W---- has for a bed-room. Seaward, two or three vast ante-chambers, or rooms _en suite_, lead to the _sala_, which faces the water, and is a room fifty feet long, with width and height in proportion. The furniture is no great matter, being reduced to the very minimum in quantity; but it is not unsuited to the heat of the climate and a _villeggiatura_. There are old-fashioned gilded couches and chairs, and a modern divan or two to stretch our limbs on. There are also some medallions and busts, antiques: one of the former, on what authority I cannot say, is called an Alexander the Great. The windows of the _sala_ open on the court, on the street, and on the sea. A street, that leads among convents, winds toward the great landing and the bay.

Towards the water there is a little terrace, which forms the great attraction of the house. It is only some fifty feet long, and perhaps half as wide; but it hangs over the blue Mediterranean, and, by its position and height, commands a view of three fourths of the glorious objects of the region. It has a solid stone balustrade to protect it, massive and carved, with banisters as big as my body. This renders it perfectly safe, as you will understand when I tell you that, hearing an outcry from P---- the other day, I found him with his head fast between two of the latter, in a way that frightened me as well as the youngster himself. It was like being imbedded in a rock.

As I sit at the foot of the dinner-table, I look, through a vista of five large rooms, by means of doors, at the panorama presented by Naples, which town lies directly across the bay, at the reputed distance of eighteen miles; though I see St. Elmo so distinctly, that it appears not half as far. Of course, when seated on the terrace, the view is infinitely more extended. The sea limits it to the west. Ischia, dark, broken, and volcanic, but softened by vegetation and the tints of this luxurious atmosphere, comes next; then Procida, low, verdant, and peopled. The misty abrupt bluff of Mysenum is the first land on the continent, with the Elysian fields, the port of the Roman galleys, and the “Hundred Chambers.” The site of delicious Baiæ is pointed out by the huge pile of castle that lies on the hill-side, and by the ruined condition of all the neighbouring objects of curiosity, such as the Sibyl’s cave, the lake of Avernus, and the bridge, or mole, of Agrippa. Behind a little island called Nisida, the bark of St. Paul must have sailed when he landed at Puteoli, on his way to Rome. The palace of Queen Joan, the grotto of Pausilippo, the teeming city, and the bay dotted with sails, follow. Then the eye passes over a broad expanse of rich level country, between Vesuvius and the heights of the town. This is the celebrated Felicia Campania, with Capua in its bosom; and the misty background is a wall of broken rocks, which in form are not unlike our own palisadoes, but which, a grand range of the Apennines, have probably six or seven times their height. These mountains, at times are scarcely visible, just marking the outline of the view in a sort of shadowy frame, and then, again, they come forth distinct, noble, and dark, the piles they really are. On particular days they do not appear to be a dozen miles from us. I have seen them already, more than once, glittering with snow, when they are indeed glorious. The base of Vesuvius, a continued hamlet of white edifices, including palaces and cottages, with its cone for the background, follows; and a pile of dingy earth, or ashes, just marks the position of Pompeii.

There is a little room partitioned off from the terrace, that I use as a cabinet, and where I can sit at its window and see most of these objects. The distance impairs the effect but little; for so great is the purity of the atmosphere, at times, that we have even fancied we could hear the din of Naples across the water. In all this, too, I have said nothing of the movement of the bay, which is getting to be of great interest.

Our communication with Naples is daily, and exceedingly regular. Large boats, carrying a single latine sail, and, at need, pulled by fifteen or twenty oars, leave all the places on this side of the bay with the dawn, at which hour there is almost always a wind from the northward. They make the passage sometimes in two hours, and it is usually made in four. About noon, the zephyr springs up, and we see our little fleet bearing up from under the town, spreading as it advances, one steering in this direction, another in that; for there are a dozen havens, or landings, on our side of the bay. We usually get the papers and letters by two o’clock. I have one boatman in pay, and this man brings me even dollars with rigid honesty.

We are in the midst of antiquities. The foundations of a large edifice are visible in the limpid water, directly beneath the terrace. They are said to have belonged to a temple of Neptune, and there are caverns in the cliffs, at no great distance from these ruins, which are supposed to have belonged to them, for they have evidently been intended for baths. We appropriate them to their ancient use, seldom suffering a day to pass without bathing in them. The place can only be approached with a boat, and we go in a body, there being accommodations for us all. A large circular cavern, arched like an oven, is the room of the ladies. The water passes in and out of it, by means of two channels cut in the rock (tufa), and an orifice serves for a window. There is a seat cut in the stone all round the circle, and a beautiful soft sand has collected on the bottom, so as to render the water of the desired depth. A ship might float against the cliffs on the outside. I land the ladies at the window, where there is sufficient room to receive them and to answer the purposes of the toilette, and then I pull round to the entrance of the gallery by which the sea enters. This gallery is crooked, of sufficient height to walk in, and has a narrow _trottoir_ by the side of the water, along which one can walk. Midway between the sea and the circular bath, is a deep cut about twelve feet long and half as wide, and five feet deep. This is my bath, while W---- has one near the entrance; both of us occasionally striking out into the bay. All these works are artificial, and perfectly retired; and you may fancy what a luxury it is to bathe daily in sea-water, sheltered from all eyes, as well as from the sun. The circular bath is about fifty feet in diameter, and twenty in height above the water. We have a little difficulty in landing sometimes, on account of the sea; but it is not one day in ten that we cannot effect it.

Carriages here are nearly useless. There is but a single wheel-track, of a few miles in extent; and that runs, the whole distance, through villages, or between high dead walls. When we wish to make excursions on the land, we walk in the ravines that form the ditches of the place, a most picturesque and remarkable promenade, or we take to the adjacent hills. Sometimes donkeys are commanded, but we usually prefer our own feet.

On the water we do better still. I have a good and safe boat, that one man can manage with ease, and in which W---- or myself commonly pull the family for an hour or two, under the cliffs, of an afternoon, or when the bay near us is in shadow. Then there is a handsome pinnace with two lug sails and six oars, that can be had any day for a dollar. In this we cross the bay, or go to Pompeii. For longer excursions, I get the _Divina Providenza_, one of the crafts that ply to Naples. This vessel, in which we have weathered a heavy gale, is pulled by twenty oars in a calm, sails fast, and costs me just five Neapolitan dollars a day!

Our daily excursions under the cliffs are peculiarly Italian. We cannot move until the day is drawing towards a close; but about four, the shadows of the rocks are thrown so far on the water as to form a complete protection against the rays of a fierce sun. At that hour, too, it is commonly a flat calm, and we glide along sometimes with a boatman, but oftener by ourselves, as far as a rocky point, where are the ruins of a palace, or of a temple, (tradition has it both ways,) and were, by rowing through a rocky arch, we can enter a little haven of a very extraordinary character. At this place the boat is almost in a cavern. Here we land and get new views of the unrivalled bay. Every excursion that we make, we return more and more delighted with the region in which we dwell, and deriding the opinions of those who pass eight or ten days on the Chiaja, or in Santa Lucia, running from sight to sight at any season of the year that may offer, and then go away fancying they have seen the country of Naples!

There is a good deal of the “_dolce far niente_” in all this; but it is a feeling admirably suited to this luxurious climate, and to a country of recollections. In other places one is obliged to submit to much toil and some privation, in order to see many objects of curiosity; but they are assembled around the noble amphitheatre of this bay in such numbers, that one is only obliged to turn his head to get a view of them. If more curious, he can approach them in a boat, shaded by an awning, without at all deranging the “_far niente_.”

And yet we as much affect the inland walks, as this lazy navigation. Our excursions are of two sorts, which may be divided into the “donkey” and the “non-donkey,” In the “non-donkey,” we roam over the hills near the town, which are covered with fruit-trees, and are intersected with paths, the kind and gentle peasants smiling as we pass, never offering rudeness of any sort.

There is a spot called _Capo di Monte_, a term that always designates the best look-out of a neighbourhood, from which I think one finds the prettiest bit of scenery, in its way, I have ever met with; nor do I remember any picture that surpasses it. The landings on this coast are necessarily made on some small beach, or at a ravine which admits of an ascent to the plain, or _piano_, above. At Sorrento there are two, the “large” and the “little” landing.[11] The latter is in the heart of the town, and has a sort of wharf, at which one can embark in smooth water. This is the port of the _Divina Providenza_, but all the craft, big and little, are hauled on the beach at night; the other is a crescent of sandy beach, lined the whole distance with the houses of fishermen. It is at the verge of the town and without its walls, extending to the mountain, which here juts out into a low promontory, forming a protection against the sea. The _Capo di Monte_ is so placed as to have this landing for its foreground. The view of the beach strewed with crafts of different sizes, including boats, to the number of a hundred, the domestic groups between them and the houses, the children sporting on the sands, the costumes and flaring colours of the female dresses, with nets spread to dry, and all the other little accessories of such a spot that you can so readily imagine, make a perfect Flemish picture. The men usually have a shirt and loose trowsers that descend but little below the knee; and they wear a Phrygian cap, that is oftener red than any other colour. The pleasure of a residence in such a spot is enhanced by the circumstance that, on the continent of Europe generally, the inhabitants of these country towns, though they are often large, seldom affect the airs of a capital, but are mere assemblages of rustics and not children in wigs and hoops, like those of our own small places. Here, the distinctions between a capital, a country town, a village, and a hamlet, are all freely acknowledged and maintained; but the aspiring qualities of our population will not submit to this.

The great number of beggars that torment one like gnats was at first a drawback on our pleasures. It was no unusual thing to have a dozen of them in chase; and, if unprovided with change, we were often harassed by them until we returned to our own gate: for the poor Neapolitans, unlike the beggars of Paris, are not often provided with change. We have got relieved from them, however, by mere accident; and as the incident is characteristic, it is worth mentioning.

Walking one day on the terrace that over-hangs the bay, I happened to cast my eyes over the balustrade into the street, where there is a public seat that is much frequented by idlers, immediately beneath our _drawing-room_ window. It was occupied at the moment by an old fellow with a lame leg, as fine an old mendicant as one shall see in a thousand. This man was enjoying himself, and keeping an eye on the gate, in expectation of our daily sortie; for we had been a little irregular of late, and had given our tormentors the slip. Seeing me the beggar rose and pulled off his cap. As I had no change, I called a servant to bring me a _grano_. This little ceremony established a sort of intercourse between us. The next day, the thing was repeated. As I usually wrote in the cabinet of a morning, and walked on the terrace at stated hours, my new acquaintance became very punctual; and there is such a pleasure in thinking you are making a fellow-creature comfortable for a day at so cheap a rate, that I began to expect him. This lasted ten days, perhaps when I found _two_, one fine morning, instead of the _one_ I had known. The other _grano_ was given, and the next day I had _three_ pensioners. These three swelled like the men in buckram, and were soon a dozen. From that moment no one asked charity of us in our walks: we frequently met beggars, but they invariably drew modestly, aside, permitting us to pass without question. We might have been a month getting up to the dozen; after which, my ranks increased with singular rapidity. Seeing many strange faces, I inquired of Roberto whence they came; and he told me that many of the new visiters were from villages five or six miles distant, it having been bruited that, at noon each day, all applicants were accommodated with a _grano_ apiece by the _American admiral_. By this fact alone, you learn the extreme poverty of the poor and the value of money in this country.

We went on recruiting, until I now daily review some forty or fifty _gaberlunzies_. As my time here is limited, I have determined to persevere, and the only precaution taken is to drive off those who do not seem worthy to be enrolled on a list so eminently mendicant; for a good many of the wives of the fishermen began to appear in our ranks. A new-comer from St. Agata, a village across the mountains, had the indiscretion lately, as he got his _grano_, to wish me only a hundred years of life. “A hundred years!” repeated the king, of the gang; “you blackguard, do you wish a signor who gives you a _grano_ every day, only a hundred years? Knock him down! away with him!” “_Mille anni, signore_,--a thousand years; may you live a thousand years!” shouted the blunderer, amid some such tumult as one would see around a kettle of maccaroni in the streets of Naples, were its contents declared free, “A thousand years, and _long_ ones too.”[12]

FOOTNOTES:

[11] “_Marina Grande_,” and “_Marina Piccola_,” or the “_Marinella_.”

[12] The writer kept up his mendicant corps until he left Sorrento, there being no less than ninty-six paraded in the court the day he departed. Many of these poor people came ten miles! Some of them, he was told, passed the last week of his residence in Sorrento, in order to receive the pittance more at their ease.

LETTER XV.

Aquatic Excursions.--The weather.--Voyage of St. Paul.--Shore of Baiæ.--The Solfatara.--Relics of Antiquity.--Shores of Avernus.--The Sibyl’s Cave.--Ischia.--Fairy Scene.--Italian Nature.--Our Villa.--Procida.--Elysian Fields.--Roman Remains.--Sail for Pausilippo.

Our aquatic excursions have extended, by this time, to the whole coast of the bay. We have visited all the islands, and nearly every object of interest, from Ischia to Capri. As some of the pictures may amuse you, we will make a short cruise in company over the same ground.

We embarked at the _Marina Grande_, in _La Divina Providenza_, with our twenty-one oars (the odd one falling to the share of the padrone), and your humble servant at the helm. The day had just opened, and the bay was radiant, while all the mountains stood out distinct and clear. This was a sign of northerly weather, and of a pure sky. We had now been more than a month on the bay, and scarcely a drop of rain had fallen. At our first arrival, we had frequently distrusted the day; but our acquaintances laughed at the omens, and told us to go forth in security, on occasions when I should have expected a thunder-shower. The advice is good, and in no instance have we suffered. As the season advances, however, we perceive symptoms of change, and we are told that, ere long, we shall see rain.

Our boatmen made the water foam, and we soon saw the dark pile of Capri looking out from behind the western headland, and the shore of Massa. When one is at Naples, this fine island appears to lie directly in the mouth of the bay; but, in fact, it is posted, like a sentinel, at one of its corners, and Ischia is at the other.