Chapter XV

Naples--A pious piper--The chestnut man--The segretario--The money
changer--The small commission--The fish broiler--The porters--
Maccaroni--The Toledo--Lotteries--The Sicilians--Neapolitan reforms--
Resistance--The Museum--Return home--Expenses of my journey.

♦ NAPLES ♦

I regretted being obliged to leave Rome on the feast of the Epiphany (6th of January), as on that day masses were celebrated in the church of the Propaganda, by clergymen from every quarter of the globe--the most extraordinary as well as the most interesting exhibition which one could wish to witness. But there is no regular diligence--strange to say--between Rome and Naples; the only expeditious mode of travelling that route for those who have not their own vehicle, is by Angrisani’s post carriage, which goes as often as he can find passengers enough to fill it. It was engaged by three of my countrymen for this day, and I deemed myself fortunate in being able to secure the fourth place. The following evening I was established at the Albergo delle Crocelle, which I found a very comfortable hotel, though rather remote from the principal point of attraction in Naples--the Museum.

The great street of the Toledo presented to me the next day the most diversified and amusing scene I ever witnessed. Every body had a costume peculiar to itself, as if attending a carnival or a fancy ball. The sun, blazing in a cloudless sky, flung bright lights here and there, while the lofty houses cast their shadows in other quarters, as if to prepare a suitable stage for this national exhibition of character and occupation. A merry fellow, with a dozen tambourines ingeniously arranged and perched on his head, while he played on another he held in his hand, dressed in a cloth cap, a round jacket, a silk handkerchief neatly tied round his open shirt collar, a blue waistcoat, and red striped trowsers, invited the world to buy a charming beguiler of tears for the bambino at home. Next a green-grocery-man caught the eye: his donkey is laden with a mat sack, nicely balanced on both sides, having a large mouth, where cabbages, cauliflowers, salads, and celery, are heaped in verdant abundance. A sugar-loafed hat, flatted however at the top, is on his head over a worsted cap; his swarthy face and bare neck defy the sun; a pipe in his mouth, and a red waistcoat, a small pouch in front for his money, and short calico breeches, complete his apparel. No stockings hath he, nor shoe, nor sandal. He and his donkey seem to be real brothers.

♦ A PIOUS PIPER ♦

A pious piper, who lives on charity, begins the labours of the day before some shrine of the Virgin, where a lamp is perpetually burning. His instrument, composed of three tubes, with trumpet extremities, derive their melody from a bag of wind which he fills from the proper wind of his own lungs. His pointed hat is clapped on the top of his bag while he is playing his propitiating prayer for success. His night-cap is displayed on his innocent cerebellum, his curly long hair flowing beneath it, and shewing off his ruddy distended cheek. His green coat, sleeveless mantle of goat-skin, and ash-coloured breeches, a piece of linen wrapped round his legs for stockings, and kept there by leathern thongs, which also secure his sandals, shew that he has not been blowing to the shrine in vain. In fact, he looks a very respectable tradesman in his way. No man need be ashamed to beg after such a fashion as that.

♦ THE CHESTNUT MAN ♦

Vendors of roast smoking chestnuts are a numerous tribe in the Toledo. They have prescriptive stations, where they fix their stalls, within which a small charcoal fire is always burning, and communicates its heat to a basket filled with the fruit, placed on the top, and covered with a blanket to keep the nuts quite hot. Whether men or women, these people seem to be a thrifty set, and well-dressed. The man has a gay red worsted cap, a silk handkerchief tied tightly round his neck, a fine yellow waistcoat, a green round jacket, blue inexpressibles, clean white stockings, neat shoes, a stool to stand upon, and a stool to sit upon, as business or relaxation may require. He cries out his wares at the very pitch of his voice, holding his left hand to his cheek to render it louder.

But have you seen the melon-man? There is a picture of independence. A ragged suit of loose short trowsers, a tolerably good waistcoat, yellow or sky-blue, as the case may happen to be, and some fragments of a shirt, are all he requires in the way of wardrobe. A long board is balanced on his head, displaying the blushing fruit nicely sliced, and on the palm of his left hand, equally well poised, a shorter board exhibiting another sample of his merchandize, whilst in his right hand he gracefully waves a sprig of myrtle.

♦ THE SEGRETARIO ♦

Who is he with that snug capote and hood, and some pretty little baskets piled one on another under his arm, running along bare-legged? A fisherman, who sells the most delicate fresh herrings in the world, just taken out of the neighbouring bay! The bottle-vender, whom he has almost knocked down in his haste, is a still greater curiosity. Long wooden pins are stuck all round in the edge of his basket, on which pins very thin flasks for oil or wine, with long necks, are fixed. He looks to be one of the high priests of Bacchus, with his merry face--always sure of a market, for the flasks are so speedily broken that he can scarcely supply all his customers.

The segretario is a perfect picture. Seated at his table in a quiet entry, in a retired corner of a street, with a wise-looking old hat shading his grey locks, spectacles perched on his nose, paper, and well-mended pens, and ink-bottle, sand and wafers arranged in due order before him, he waits to indite a petition, or a love-letter, or a letter from a sailor to his mother, or from a creditor to a debtor, or to translate from Italian into French, or from French into Italian, or a law paper, or a memorandum of accounts,--he is prompt at all things, methodical, confidential, a clear-headed clean writer--a very valuable sort of person in his way, who always attracted my particular respect on account of the unwearied patience with which he waited for his customers, who were too “few and far between.”

♦ THE MONEY CHANGER ♦

♦ THE SMALL COMMISSION ♦

The pride of the Toledo are assuredly the money changers--at least in their own opinion. They are almost universally females, and it is a part of their trade to display their riches in the ornaments on their persons. The hair, carefully braided, is tied under a dashing silk handkerchief, knotted in front in a somewhat coquettish style. The broad forehead, and sharp well-practised eye, and intelligent face, pretty well shew that if her ladyship make any mistake in the reckoning, it will not be on the wrong side. There she sits on a chair before her strong box, on the top of which little baskets overfilled with silver or copper coins, are arranged. A pair of massive gold--_real_ gold rings and large pendants dangle from her ears. Her open neck displays a coral or pearl necklace, and an embroidered kerchief. A velvet or gros de Naples spencer, a chintz gown, a handsome silk apron, fingers covered all over with rings set with precious stones--sometimes even with diamonds--attract customers on all sides. The itinerant trader who disposes of all his stock early, and is laden with copper pence, realizes his gains in silver at her table, on which she receives her small commission. The housekeeper, who is passing by, and wants to buy some trifling things, gets change in copper for silver, on which the small commission is freely paid. The neighbouring shops that want accommodation in either way, copper for silver, silver for copper, copper and silver for gold, or gold for silver in any quantity, are sure of finding all they want at the money changer’s stall. A most smiling, happy, unspeculative tribe of bankers are they. If you look at one of them, she will expect you to pay her a small commission--which small commission in time accumulates to a very handsome fortune, to go down, always augmenting, from generation to generation. An umbrella fixed on her counter forms a canopy over her head, to protect her highness from the sun.

♦ THE FISH BROILER ♦

Not quite so opulent, but much more captivating, are these female venders of fried fish--magnificent-looking women fresh from the seaside, whence they have come in the early morning. You may know them by their yellow-plaided neck-kerchiefs, their gipsey-looking faces, their snow-white linen sleeves tucked up to the bend of the beautiful arm, their red-striped aprons and blue gowns. Of these syrens let the fish-hater beware. With her earthen pan, in which a charcoal fire is kept alive by a fan of rushes, her soles or herrings smoking and browning on the said fire, the basket of dried flags covered with fresh green flags by her side filled with “live” fish, cooling in beds of fresh rushes--her bonny figure seated on a stool, and her well-dressed dangerous feet peeping out beneath her long petticoat, St. Antony himself could scarcely refuse to take a fry or two from those clean taper fingers. She holds the fish on a skewer, and turns the little martyr round and round, until he is done to a turn, the mouth watering while the fragrant odour breathes around!

♦ THE PORTERS ♦

The egg-woman is a more quiet kind of body, though she too seems to be sitting for her picture, dressed in her tidy green apron, her russet gown and linen sleeves, her ruby kerchief negligently flung over her head, and flowing over her shoulders behind. Next comes shouting his “oil to sell,” a great farmer’s-boy-looking sort of a fellow, in a gay straw hat. A goat-skin sack of oil is tied round his left shoulder, through the tail of which he admits the smooth liquid to descend into brass pint or half-pint, or smaller measure, for the customers whom he has the happiness to serve.

The porters are now the only remaining representatives of the Lazzaroni to be seen at Naples. They form a kingdom within themselves, of which every individual is monarch “of all he surveys.” One of these putting down his oblong square flag basket on its end, dressed in his shirt open half way down his sunburnt hairy breast, where also the scapular--his amulet--makes its appearance, and further decked out in his loose cotton trowsers that scarcely descend below the knee, bound tight at the waist by a red cotton handkerchief, his blue jacket suspended on the very end of his shoulder, his face and huge whiskers crowned by a red cap, his long pipe in his mouth supported by his left hand, his right holding his well-worn cords resting on the other end of his perpendicular basket, while his brawny naked legs and feet betray his occupation, stands looking at the passing scene with an air of ineffable contempt. When he has done smoking, and imagines that he has sufficiently vindicated his dignity by attitudinizing, he will place his basket flat on the ground, and go to sleep in it until a job comes to summon him from his slumbers.

♦ MACCARONI ♦

At every corner of every street there is a stall for maccaroni, where it may be seen served out from morning to night in all sorts of ways--hot or cold, in its own plain soup, or in savoury soup, or mingled with a little stew, or simply boiled, or baked, or in cakes, or in elongated ropes of about a mile in length. When graced by the savoury soup, it seems to be most popular. It is handed out smoking hot to the ragged customer, in an earthen dish; he, without any ceremony, takes up the maccaroni in his hand, and introducing the extremities of three or four ropes at once into his thorax, lifts his hands high in air, and the whole dishful vanishes in a trice. The soup is drank at discretion, either with a wooden spoon, or _ex abrupto_ out of the dish itself; the latter more expeditious mode of proceeding being usually preferred.

♦ THE TOLEDO ♦

The water-vender is met with every where, and at all hours of the day. The ice-man is more stationary, though equally persevering. Here the female restorer of old chairs is busy with her rushes. There the smirking milliner’s maid is tripping it on the fantastic toe with a band box in her hand--she is wholly French--and out of keeping, in her trim cap and ribbons, with such a scene. Every body lives in the street. The baker’s shop is thrown so much open, that all the mysteries of his art are conducted in public. It is the same with the tin-man, whose hammer never ceases to hammer; the blacksmith, whose bellows are perpetually blowing, whose fire, in the hottest day, still burns on as fierce as ever, and whose anvil never gets a moment’s rest all the day long. All the gay shops are in the Toledo. All the pretty women of Naples show off in the Toledo. There the idler constantly lounges--there the merchants meet on business--there the military men are riding or walking up and down in their splendid uniforms.

♦ LOTTERIES ♦

The number of lottery-shops in the Toledo, and, indeed, in every street of Naples, is surprising. There is a new lottery every fortnight, if not every week; and the bureaus are so much frequented the whole of the day, that a stranger would suppose the principal occupation of Neapolitan life is speculation in lottery-tickets, or rather lottery numbers, for the chances are created in this way: The buyer chooses two, or three, or more numbers, according to the extent of his gambling disposition, say 32, 87, 92, or any other series he likes best within the range of 200 or 300, comprised in the adventure. Upon each of the numbers which he selects he bets as much as he pleases, within a limited sum, which he pays down. If any of his numbers be drawn a prize, he receives three or four times the amount of his wager.

If I ever entertained any doubts as to the bad effect of lotteries, especially on the less affluent orders of society, who seemed to be the principal customers of the offices at Naples, the crowds of disappointed mothers and fathers of wretched families, whom I have seen returning from these _royal_ establishments on the days when the prize-numbers were proclaimed, would have dissipated all such doubts in a moment. These lottery schemes, I regret to add, seem to yield a constantly increasing revenue to the crown; it is understood that the king has already, since his accession, realized in this way upwards of a million and a half of money, which, instead of being applied to the public service, though it stands much in need of assistance, he has deposited as his own private property in the funds of France and England, in order to secure a safe retreat for himself in the event of a revolution, of which he is extremely apprehensive.

♦ THE SICILIANS ♦

Nevertheless I learned from well-informed quarters, that the Neapolitan people, generally speaking, are not yet prepared for any violent changes. They would be content, it is imagined, if the council of ministers were so composed as to represent, in some degree, the new ideas and wishes of the age, instead of prejudices now a century old. Having been obliged to pay dearly to Austria, in the shape of indemnities for the expenses of the revolution of 1821, they are not disposed, it is thought, soon to try a similar experiment.

It is, however, very certain, that in Sicily serious discontent prevails, and is very likely to explode in insurrection, unless the grievances of the country be redressed, and that, too, with no niggard hand. The Sicilians are still obliged to pay an amount of taxation fixed in proportion to the price of corn in 1815-16, while the war prices still existed. Nothing can be more unjustifiable than the continuance of such a standard as that, inasmuch as, at the present day, they do not receive for their wheat above one-third of the price which they then obtained. The irritation arising out of this system of impost is not a little aggravated by the traditionary odium, which has always alienated the Sicilians from the Neapolitans.

♦ NEAPOLITAN REFORM ♦

♦ RESISTANCE ♦

The king, who by the way is said to have no hope of a family, has moreover gained the reputation of being extremely avaricious. He is governed by his uncle, Leopold, who is the viceroy of the Austrian ambassador, and neither of these persons seems inclined to listen, for a moment, to any proposition of a reforming tendency. A government consisting of a few men of talent and moderation, acquainted with the spirit of the times, might render great services to the two kingdoms. Without touching fundamental institutions, they have abundance of margin in these institutions, even as they now exist, for the introduction of great and beneficial gradual improvements. The realm of Naples has its Provincial Councils, which exercise some degree of controul over the taxation of the country, at least so far as every species of local expenditure is concerned. The remonstrances of these Councils go direct to the king, without passing through the hands of any minister, and are almost uniformly attended to. The Code Napoleon prevails, and the influence of that body of civil law is every where inclining towards democracy, on account of the perpetual division and sub-division of property which it enjoins. The king, however, checks that tendency as much as he can, by assuming to himself a dispensing power, by which he renders the law inoperative in particular cases. This usurpation meets with no resistance from the judicial authorities; the number of judges and administrators of the law, in various capacities, is enormous; they are all badly paid, and of course submissive to the court, as well as venal to the people. In the Neapolitan kingdom also, landed property is excessively taxed. The palaces are vigilantly secured at all points by Swiss guards; and a whole park of artillery is so arranged that it may be brought to bear in a moment on any large masses of the people that could by possibility be collected. All these things, taken in connection with what has lately happened in Portugal and Spain, sufficiently indicate an approaching crisis at Naples, for which, I suppose, with the usual blindness of a court taken up more with its own heart-burnings and intrigues than with the interests of the country, the authorities will wait, when a sudden uncalculating and sanguinary commotion shall probably rouse the whole kingdom from its lethargy.

♦ THE MUSEUM ♦

The Museum alone, with its matchless and almost countless statues taken from the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii, and collected from other sources; its halls replete with the ornaments and utensils of ancient times gathered from those splendid cities embalmed through long ages by the lava and the ashes of Vesuvius, as if purposely set apart for the information of our age; its splendid galleries of paintings; its marbles, and bronzes, and libraries, and scrolls, recovered from the fires of two thousand years ago; these and an endless variety of other objects well worth examination ought to detain the traveller, and keep him constantly occupied for months in Naples; upon the whole the most agreeable city I have ever visited. There is a festive cheerfulness about the streets; a purity in the air, arising, doubtless, from the proximity of the finest bay in the world open to the Mediterranean, which I have not experienced elsewhere.

♦ RETURN HOME ♦

And, then, what still remains? Vesuvius--Herculaneum--Pompeii, the most interesting objects, within view of each other, to be found on the globe! When these scenes are well explored, there are still Pozzuoli, Baiæ, Cuma, Castel-a-mare, Sorento, Salerno, Pœstum, the islands Capri, Procida, and Ischia, to furnish days, almost years of amusement, scarcely to be exhausted. I confined myself to those which I could visit at my leisure--the volcano--its victims now unshrouded in their tombs--the haunts of the old Romans, and the sacred abode of the sibyls.

I then (19th January, 1835), embarked in the bay on-board the _San Francesco_ steamer, coasted along the shore of Italy to Genoa, proceeded over Mount Cenis to Turin, thence to Geneva, Dijon, Paris, and London, where, on the 5th of February, I felt myself once more in the bosom of my family. I conclude this narrative of my journey on the 22d of July, exactly the day of the month on which, last year, I left London for the Continent.

EXPENSES OF MY JOURNEY.

As some of my Readers might wish to make the same journey which I have performed, and to know, before-hand, the road expenses they would be likely to incur, I subjoin a note of these matters.

francs. cents.
Fare by Steam-boat to Boulogne 35 --
Do. to Paris by Diligence 50 --
Do. in Diligence to Strasbourg 85 25
Do. in Diligence to Baden 9 --
Do. from Baden to Carlsruhe 5 --
Do. from Carlsruhe to Ulm 30 --
Do. from Ulm to Munich 32 --
Do. from Munich to Vienna 70 --
Expenses of posting from Vienna to Pesth 108 --
Fare in Steam-boat from Pesth to Moldava 43 --
Do. in Fishing-boat to Orsova 4 --
Fare in Steam-boat from Gladova to Argulgradt 34 50
Do. in Zantiote-boat from Argulgradt to Rutschuk 10 --
Paid for horses from Rutschuk to Constantinople 604 --
Usual charge for Caique from Pera to Therapia 9 70
Do. from Therapia to Constantinople 9 70
Fare in Sailing-packet from Constantinople to Smyrna 80 --
Passed in Hinde Cutter, from Smyrna to Vourla -- --
Do. in H.M.S. Portland, from Vourla to Napoli -- --
Paid for Horses from Napoli to Epidaurus 9 --
Fare in Boat from Epidaurus to the Piræus 6 --
Paid for Horses from the Piræus to Athens 3 --
Do. from Athens to Corinth 20 --
Do. from Corinth to Patras 35 --
Fare in Austrian Packet from Patras to Corfu 57 --
Do. from Corfu to Trieste 118 --
Fare in Steam-boat from Trieste to Venice 25 --
Do. in Diligence from Venice to Ferrara 56 --
Do. from Ferrara to Bologna 8 --
Do. in Courier’s Carriage from Bologna to Rome 145 --
Do. in Angrisani’s carriage, from Rome to Naples 76 --
Do. in Steam-boat from Naples to Genoa 175 --
Do. in Diligence from Genoa to Turin 40 --
Do. in Courier’s Carriage from Turin to Geneva 131 --
Do. in Diligence from Geneva to Paris 78 --
Do. from Paris to Calais 63 --
Do. in Steam-boat from Calais to Dover 7 --
Do. in Mail from Dover to London 43 --

* * * * *

Twenty-five francs may be generally assumed as equivalent to a sovereign. _Personal_ expenses will, of course, depend much on circumstances. They may be set down at ten or twelve francs per day. The expenses of passports, porterage, and of other small charges, may be estimated, for the whole journey, at about 100 francs. The fare in the Danube _steam-boat_, from Gladova to Galacz is about 50 francs, and in a sailing packet, from Smyrna to the Piræus, about 40 francs.

THE END.

COX AND SONS, 75, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN’S-INN FIELDS.

TRANSCRIBERS’ NOTES

Page headings have been placed as sidenotes and enclosed in ‘♦’ symbols.

In this text version, text originally printed in italics is marked with _underscores_ and small caps have been converted to ALL CAPITALS.

Original spellings have been kept as printed with the following exceptions:

Page 20: “he” changed to “the” - “...term of years over which the payments had been...”

Page 36: “and” added - “...provinces of Wallachia and Moldavia...”

Page 50: “Unrol” changed to “Unroll” - “Unroll the map of Asia...”

Page 94: “capsain’s” changed to “captain’s” - “...much against our captain’s usual disposition...”

Page 95: “Ausstrian” changed to “Austrian” - “...including an Austrian ship of war...”

Page 105: extraneous “)” removed - “...of his Majesty’s service, sat at the foot...”

Page 124: “genenerally” changed to “generally” - “...prevailed generally in Ancient Greece...”

Page 129: “Captian” changed to “Captain” - “...in the Madagascar with Captain Lyons to Candia...”

Page 215: “spead” changed to “spread” - “A sprig of sea-weed is spread between the scales...”

Page 282: “mulitude” changed to “multitude” - “...to the immense multitude, called upon...”