Part 15

To Capri we went in the six-oared pinnace. This island, which, as you know, stands sentinel at one side of the bay, as Ischia does at the other, seen at Naples appears to lie in its mouth. This is owing to the position of Naples itself, which is placed at the northern corner of the gulph; Vesuvius, as you have been already told, occupying the bottom. I repeat these things, for my own notions having been all wrong about them, I have fancied yours might be so too.

Capri is divided into two mountains by a deep gorge, or valley, in which stands the town. The southern mountain is the highest, and is truly a noble object, as one approaches the spot. It rises almost to a peak which is, probably, two thousand feet high; and the ruins that crown it are said to have belonged to a castle of Frederick Barbarossa, and to stand on the site of a villa of Tiberius! There is a tradition that Tiberius had many villas on this remarkable little island; which may be true as there are numberless remains. At all events, the place was in favour among the Romans, Augustus passing much of his time here, towards the end of his career.

The lowest of the mountains is called Ana Capri, and can only be reached by actually ascending a flight of steps cut in the rocks, of half a mile in length, which ascend by a zigzag. P---- was mounted on a donkey; and, making a line of pocket-handkerchiefs, which I fastened to the girth, the ladies were greatly aided in this fatiguing ascent. The picturesque seems exhausted in such beautiful spots. Here we had the bay; the teeming and magnificent coast for leagues; the path itself a curiosity, with a little chapel, at which the devout were kneeling as we passed. A thousand recollections crowded on the mind. Among other beautiful objects, were the different crafts, of which a fleet lay becalmed under Vesuvius.

The English seized Capri, and held it for some time, while Murat was king. Several unsuccessful attempts were made to re-take it, and one finally succeeded, under Lamarque. That officer surprised the place by scaling the rocks of Ana Capri, in the night; and, once in possession of this elevated plain, he was in possession of the entire island.

We found Ana Capri a hamlet of cottages. Every building had the low circular roof of cement; and, as is the case with most of the houses of this region, those in the towns and the villas excepted, they were all of one story, like the buildings of Pompeii. A dread of earthquakes has probably introduced this style; though Naples has unusually high houses. Several streets of the capital, however, at this very moment, have beams between the buildings which are said to be departing from the perpendicular, in consequence of the working of the fires beneath. One of these fine mornings, the whole of this “little bit of heaven fallen upon earth” will probably fall into the cauldron beneath it; and then travellers will come to see it as an object of frightful desolation! Such was probably the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. I wonder if New York will ever experience a similar calamity.

Besides the cruise to Capri, we have made two to Pompeii, the first of which was attempted in a fresh breeze and a heavy sea. When we had got half way, W----, who, though a very bad sailor, swims like a fish, began to make some inquiries about the probability of his arts being required in landing; when we learned from the boatmen that any attempt to approach the shore would most likely put us all in the water. I had been told we might ascend the Sarno, about a mile, to the ruins of the town, and, quite like a mariner as I contend, had presumed on smooth water in port. It appeared, however, on inquiry, that there is a bar at the mouth, and that in a flat calm the rollers sometimes make crossing it hazardous. Nothing remained but to down-helm, and haul up again for the Marina Grande. We were rewarded for the excursion, notwithstanding, by enjoying the bay in a tumult. The heavy seas that set into it, are not unlike those of the ocean in moderate weather; and, since the season has advanced into October, we have witnessed the waves dashing against our cliffs in a manner to send the spray upon the terrace.

The next expedition was better timed, and we reached the mouth of the river in good season. Here we found so little water, that the boat grounded a cable’s length from the shore, and the only way to enter was for the crew to jump into the water when, by watching the roll of the ground-swell, and lifting, they succeeded in forcing us over the bar.

The Sarno is about as wide as the Bronx at West-Farms, and much such a river. Like the Bronx, it meanders through low meadows, all of which have probably been formed since the destruction of Pompeii. We could not get quite up to the town, as it was; but, leaving the boat, we walked, by a footpath, to the highway, entering the ruins on the side of the tombs. In this visit we examined the walls, and entered more into details than at the former. The progress of the workmen had been slow; but an entire house, and that of some importance, had been opened in the interval. I endeavoured to find some traces of the port, unsuccessfully; but, judging from the present appearance of the country, I think there can be little question that the town stood on a low promontory, and that the haven lay considerably below it. Excavations in the right spot would very probably bring to light a mole.

We left Pompeii, on this occasion, an hour sooner then we should otherwise have done, on account of an approaching gust. For nearly two months, and this in August and September, we had seen nothing resembling a storm in the bay, and scarcely any rain. Indeed, I can safely say; after having now passed near a twelvemonth on this side the Alps, that I have witnessed neither thunder nor lightning that would attract any attention in America. This may have been a peculiar season; but, after all I had been told, especially by the English, I had expected something of the sort particularly awful. While we were among the ruins, however, there was every symptom of something better than common in this way, or certainly better than anything we had yet seen; and fearing a swell would get up on the bar, I hurried the party off to the boat.

We got out of the Sarno better than we had come into it, and were soon in the bay. The wind was light at the north-west, and as we stretched over, under the promontory of Vico, the heavens in the direction of Pausilippo became lowering and grand. A polacre was beating out of the bight of Castle-a-mare, and was tacking, about half a league to windward of us. Just as she filled, with her head to the northward, I observed that she was starting her tacks and sheets, or whatever else these nondescript craft term their gear. I ordered our own luggs to betaken in, and the oars shipped. It was a grand moment, for I scarcely remember a more beautiful opening of a gust, and the effect was greatly increased by the sublimity of the surrounding land. As for the bay itself, it reminded me of a beauty covered with frowns. The water curled and foamed, but retained its limped blue; and there were openings between the lurid and wheeling clouds through which the void of heaven gleamed brightly, and of its deepest tint, giving one the idea of nature in a mask.

The stroke-oarsman of the boat advised me to pull in under the promontory, as near we could go. I hesitated about complying, for the sea was getting up fast, and if we found it irresistible, there was no alternative but drowning; for the rocks impended over the water almost to the height of a thousand feet. This noble pile is, in truth, one of the finest objects in its way that I know on any coast. The man, however, explained himself. He said, that the squall would not blow “home,” against the rocks, and that, contrary to the general rule, we should find smoother water, and less wind, by running to leeward. As this was plausible, and matters were becoming awkward where we were, I followed his direction, and in a few minutes we were as close under the beetling precipice as we could conveniently go. I confess I had doubts of the experiment; but it succeeded perfectly. We got ahead with tolerable speed, had no other than a fair rolling sea, and came out handsomely into the bay of Sorrento within half an hour. I was not sorry, notwithstanding, when I again saw the polacre showing his light sails to windward.

With similar symptoms we should have been deluged with rain in America, and yet we were barely sprinkled. The wind was fresh inshore, and violent a league or two in the offing; for the polacre bore up before it, until she had run a mile or more; and yet we did not ship a gallon of water, or “catch crabs” with a single oar. These Sorrentines are noble boatmen, as bold and as skilful as any I have ever met with; athletic, active and steady, while they understand their waters perfectly. Much as I have boated with them, and on two or three occasions I have seen them in serious weather, I have never seen any praying to saints, or a disposition to do anything unworthy of mariners. I consider the common population of this country, by nature, one of the finest I know.

The weather, soon after this excursion, changed and interrupted our boating. The siroccos set in, in earnest, and for two or three weeks we had a continuation of strong south winds, occasionally accompanied by rain. The influence of these winds is one of the great drawbacks on an Italian residence. I can tell in my bed if there is a shift of wind to the westward, and no language can describe the cheering effect the changes produce on my feelings. We have had one or two days, in which the house has actually appeared to roll with me, like a ship at sea; and the depression of the spirits, at such times, is really awful--second only to a London November-day.

This is the season in which the vessels arrive from Sicily, and the other southern ports, with wheat. For a fortnight there was scarcely a day in which a dozen, and sometimes twenty sail, did pass directly before us; for they haul close round the Cape of Campanella, and run into Castle-a-mare, where the great warehouses of the kingdom are placed. Some of the public works of this nature are on a scale that is vast for the extent and commerce of the nation. There is a single storehouse on the bay, by the side of the road that leads from Naples to Portici, designed to be used in cases of quarantine, I believe, that is one of the largest constructions I have ever seen. Its length cannot be much less than half a mile. I counted the windows, and, estimating the distance between them, made it out to be considerably more than two thousand feet. But Europe is full of buildings that to us appear marvellous by their magnitude and riches, and Italy, in particular, before all other parts of it.

The passage of these vessels gave an entirely new appearance to our side of the bay; and the daily arrival of our own little fleet, which sometimes comes staggering along half under water, adds to the interest. Roberto went to Naples a few days since, on business of his own, and he became so thoroughly frightened by the fury of our lovely bay, that the poor fellow, in preference to running the same risk over again, actually made a _détour_ of forty miles, by the way of Castel-a-mare, and the mountains, in order to get back again to his duty. But the _Bella Genovese_ can testify that he is a miserable sailor.

Our siroccos have not been perpetual, but some glorious autumnal days succeeded the equinox. We have profited by them to explore the interior of the peninsula on which we live, for the heat can now be borne even at noon-day. You would laugh to see us start on one of these excursions. Half a dozen little donkeys are paraded at the gate, with two or three swarthy drivers. As soon as the ladies are seated on their beasts, in a species of pack-saddle, W---- and I mount, with our feet just clear of the ground, and away we go, by dint of kicks, thumps, and applications on the flanks from the drivers. Once in motion, we are by no means certain of the direction; for if urged beyond their humours, the little long-eared gentry will put their noses down, and carry one of the ladies just where he pleases. Cries of distress are constantly made; one being run into a church door, another into the window of a hovel, or a third is scampering down the road at a “will ye nill ye” pace. We have a good deal of this amusement for the first mile or two, after which we commonly get on better. No one thinks of laughing at our appearance; for it is as much expected that one should ride on a donkey here, as that one should ride on a horse with us.

We have been on all the heights in this manner. One of our visits was to a ruined convent, a _Camaldoli_, on the mountain that separates the _piano_ of Sorrento from that of Vico. These _Camaldoli_ are always placed on heights; St. Bruno, the founder of the order, being directed by a dream, or a vision, I believe, to adopt the plan. The effect is poetical and good; for I cannot imagine a finer stimulant for religious meditation, than a broad view of the glories of the earth; and this the more especially, if it be chastened by a knowledge of the things practised on it. One gets, in this way, an idea of what things might be without sin, to contrast with one’s knowledge of what things are. In boyhood, my feeling on such places, was ever to fly, in order to cull the beauties by again approaching them; but, as life glides away, I find the desire to recede increase, as if I would reduce the whole earth to a picture in a camera obscura, in which the outlines and general beauties are embraced, while the disgusting details are diminished to atoms.

The view from the eminence north of the _piano_, like every other view in this region, is magnificent; but one cannot go amiss, in this respect, in a country in which rocks, plains, water, mountains, and life, are blended in the affluence that distinguishes Naples. The convent buildings are chiefly destroyed, for there has been a great suppression of monastic orders in this country; but the chapel still stands. It is used as a barn, and was half full of hay. Still the altar-piece, a very good picture, remains!

There is a seat on the verge of the cliff, that overlooks the plain of Sorrento, as one would overlook a garden from the Belvedere of a house, or a ship’s decks from her mizen top. Here we were particularly struck with the resemblance of the houses to those of Pompeii, all the roofs being low, with the species of dome-like curvature, to turn the water, that has been before mentioned.

An excursion in the opposite direction proved to be still finer. We went up the heights, behind Sorrento, by a Swissish road, half stairs, half path, until we gained a country that had a more pastoral character than usual. A hamlet on the summit, that overlooked the Mediterranean towards the south, and at an elevation of near, if not quite, a thousand feet, is called St. Agata. Some small rocky islets, at no great distance from the coast, and around which the sleeping billows, in their incessant rolling, just raised a circle of white, are called the Islands of the Syrens; it being assumed that these are the Islands where Ulysses encountered those sea ladies; and one of them is said to contain the ruins of a temple. They are mere rocks, not larger than that on which we landed near Piombino. Can these ruins once have been the abode of nymphs, who seduced the wanderer from his path, on anchoring accidentally near them?

There is another _Camaldoli_ on the summit of the land, between St. Agata and Massa, or about mid-way between the Gulf of Salerno and that of Naples. I passed a morning lately in a memorable manner, in exploring it on foot, and alone. The day was fine, it was the Sabbath, the air from the west, invigorating, just cool enough to be agreeable, and full of life. The ruins command a noble view, as usual; but so does every eminence around us. One looks abroad here, in the full security of beholding objects that are either sublime or beautiful, and commonly both, for the two are so blended as to render it doubtful which most prevails. I cannot describe to you the precise nature of the sensations with which I passed this morning. It was the Sabbath of man, and it appeared to be also the Sabbath of nature; one of those holy calms that sleep on the earth, as if the vegetable world united with the animal to worship the great Source of all. As I flung myself carelessly from height to height, and across downish uplands, every new point that presented itself exhibited the great temple in a new and lovelier aspect; and as I descended from the glorious solitude, (for the only habitations are in the hamlets, or on the plains,) I felt as if I could almost become a monk, in order to remain there for life. The conventual buildings were, as usual, vast, and much of them still remains. Had it been my fortune to suppress monasteries, I should certainly have commenced the work in the cities and on the plains, and have left those on the hill-tops to the last; for I have a difficulty in believing that the tenants of such abodes can do any thing but adore God. At least, this is the passing feeling; though I dare say one gets to be _blasé_ as respects a fine view, as well as a fine sentiment. At all events, we are pretty certain the devil can climb, as well as crawl: though most of our American devils, I believe, are of the _genus_ demon, _species_ reptile.

We never ramble in this manner without exclaiming against those who visit Naples, perhaps in the bad season, pass a rainy week or two in sight-seeing, fagged and even fatigued with wonders, and then go away and pretend to describe its nature, its variety, its purity of atmosphere, its pearly lustre of sky, and all its other glorious peculiarities. The environs of Naples are quite another region to-day, than on that on which we arrived; though they have always been lovely. Even a sirocco cannot spoil their charms; for while, like other beauties, they have their good and bad-looking days, the last are merely the bad looks of a Venus. I have never seen the bay when it did not present an object of admiration and rare perfection.

You will be surprised to learn that we also riot here in the good things of this world, in the shape of creature-comforts. The liquor of the country is good, the lachrima christi of Vesuvius being really a choice wine. Then the beccafichi are delicious, and plenty at this season, Sorrento being the very nucleus of their sports: they cost a grano apiece! The quails, too, just now, are as good as can be, very plenty, and quite cheap. They are caught in nets extended among the trees, flying in large flocks. By some caprice in the bird, Capri is a favourite stopping-place with them, and thousands are sent weekly to the market of Naples. By a caprice of man, these birds compose a material part of the revenues of the bishop,--at least so I hear; though I find it odd that so small an island should have a bishop at all. But Sorrento is an archbishopric; its diocesan is a learned man; and they tell me there are near a dozen bishops in the capital, and in its immediate neighbourhood.

While on this subject, I will mention that we have lately had a religious procession, in which an image of the Virgin has been made to take a more prominent part than I have ever before witnessed. She has gone from altar to altar, followed by half the pious of the town, among whom have figured nearly the whole of my corps of gaberlunzies. There are so many churches and convents in this small town, that an inhabitant whom I questioned lately had no idea of their numbers. “There might be twenty, there might be fifty.”

While walking on the terrace a few days since, I saw a priest coming up the road from the Marina Grande. He was accompanied by an ecclesiastic, who was chanting in concert with the father. A little distance behind these, came one of the swarthy bare-legged fishermen of the place, carrying on his head the usual flat willow basket, on which it is common to display the fish, and on which, it appeared to me, he then had his game. As he kept a short distance in the rear, I supposed he did not like to pass the others, who were engaged in some religious office. Curiosity induced me to watch the party, and, as it drew near, I discovered the chant was that of the dead. When near enough to be distinguished, I saw on the basket the body of a little girl about six years old. It was dressed in white, with gay ribands; and across its mouth lay an oblong nosegay, or what was more probably an imitation of a nosegay. The flowers contrasted strangely with the pallid colour of death. I called to me a Sorrentine servant, and asked an explanation. The girl was the daughter of the fisherman, and this was literally _le convoi du pauvre_. It was even worse than the interment of the Isle of Wight, though the manner of the priest was more reverent. I was told the body would be taken to a church, stripped of its attire, and cast into a hole, in common with all who are interred in the same manner. _Cast_ was the word; but it is to be hoped it was lowered. I did not go to see the process, for I particularly dislike obtruding the curiosity of a stranger on the religious ceremonies of a strange people. The rude and indifferent manner in which Protestants ordinarily violate the sanctity of Catholic worship, does quite as much discredit to those who practise, as to those who tolerate it; though, in the plenitude of self-complacency, we followers of Luther are a little too apt to throw all the blame on the latter. I believe pious Catholics are as much shocked by the practise, as pious Protestants would be, were the case reversed.