A Love Story
But what struck Acmé, and even Sir Henry, who was more inured to the whirl
of cities, as the characteristical feature of Naples, was its moving life.
In the streets, there was an incessant bustle from morning until midnight.
Each passer by wore an air of importance, almost amounting to a
consciousness of happiness. There was fire in the glance--speech in the
action--on the lip a ready smile.
In no city of Italy, does care seem more misplaced. The noble rolls on in
his vehicle on the Corso, with features gay and self-possessed; while the
merry laugh of the beggar--as he feasts on the lengthened honors of his
Macaroni--greets the ear at every turn. Stray not there! oh thou with brow
furrowed by anguish!
If thy young affections have been blighted--if hope fondly indulged, be
replaced by despair--if feelings that lent their roseate hue, to the
commonest occurrences of life, now darken every scene--if thou knowest
thyself the accessary to this, thy misery, stray not in Naples, all too
joyous for thee!
Rather haunt the shrines of the world's ancient mistress! Perchance the
sunken pillar--and the marble torso--and the moss-grown edifice--and the
sepulchre, with the owl as tenant--and the thought that the great, the
good, and the talented, who reared these fading monuments--are silent and
mouldering below: mayhap these things will speak to thy heart, and repress
the full gush of a sorrow that may not be controlled! And if--the martyr
to o'er-sicklied refinement--to sentiment too etherialised for the world,
where God hath placed thee--ideal woes have stamped a wrinkle on the brow,
and ideal dreams now constitute thy pleasure and thy bane: for such as
thou art! living on feeling's excess--soaring to rapture's heights--or
sinking to despair's abyss--Naples is not fitting!
Visit the city of the sea! there indulge thy shapeless imaginings--with no
sound to break thy day dreams--save the shrill cry of the gondolier, and
the splash of his busy oar.
The young Greek, Delmé, and George, were soon immersed in the round of
sight seeing.
Visits to the ancient palace of Queen Joanna--to the modern villa of the
Margravine--to the Sibyl's Cave, and to Maro's Tomb--to _some_ sites that
owed their interest to classic associations--to _others_ that claimed it
from present beauty--wiled away days swiftly and pleasurably.
What with youth, change of scene, and an Italian sky, George was no
longer an invalid. His eye wore neither the film of apathy, nor the
unnatural flush of delirium; but smiled its happiness on all, and beamed
its love on Acmé.
One night they were at the Fondo, and after listening delightedly to
Lalande, and following with quick glance, the rapid movements of the agile
ballerina, and after George had been honoured by a bow--which greatly
amused Acmé--from the beautiful princess; who, poor girl! _then_ felt a
penchant for Englishmen, which she failed not to avow from her opera
box--the party agreed to walk home to the hotel. On their way, they turned
into a coffee-room to take ice.
The fluent waiter prattled over his catalogue; and Acmé selected his
"sorbetto Maltese," because the name reminded her of the loved island.
Leaving the coffee-room, they were accosted by a driver of one of the
public coaches.
"Now, Signore! just in time for Vesuvius! See the sun rise! superb sight!
elegant carriage!"
"Do let us go!" said Acmé, clapping her hands with youthful enthusiasm.
"No, no! my dear!" said Sir Henry, "we must not think of it! you would be
so tired."
"No, no! you do not know how strong I am; and I intend sleeping on
George's shoulder all the way--and we are all in such high spirits--and
these improvised excursions you yourself granted were always best--and
besides, you know we must always start at this hour, if we expect to see
the sunrise from the mountain. What do _you_ say, Giorgio?"
The discussion ended, by the driver taking the direction of the hotel;
whence, after making arrangements as to provisions and change of dress,
the party started for the mountain.
The warm cheek of Acmé was reposing on that of her husband; and the wanton
night air was disporting with her wavy tresses, as the loud halloo of the
driver, warned them that they were in Portici, and in the act of arousing
Salvador, the guide to the mountain. After some short delay, they procured
mules. Each brother armed himself with a long staff, and leaving the
carriage, they wended their way towards the Hermitage.
It was a clear night. The moon was majestically gliding on her path,
vassalled by myriads of stars.
There was something in the hour--and the scene--and the novelty of the
excursion--that enjoined silence.
Arrived at the Hermitage, the party dismounted. Acmé clung to the strap,
fastened round their guide, and they commenced the ascent. In a short
time, they had manifest proofs of their vicinity to the volcano. The
ashy lava gave way at each footstep, and it was only by taking short and
quick steps, and perseveringly toiling on, that they were enabled to
make any progress.
More than once, was Acmé inclined to stop, and take breath, but the guide
assured them they were already late, and that they would only just be in
time for the sunrise.
As the last of the party reached the summit, the sun became
perceptible--and rose in glory indescribable. The scene afar how gorgeous!
around them how grand!
Panting from their exertions, they sat on a cloak of Salvador's, and gazed
with astonishment at the novelties bursting on the eye.
Each succeeding moment, gusts of flame issued forth from the crater.
They looked down on the bason, above which they were. From a conical
pyramid of lava, were emitted volumes of smoke, which rolled up to heaven
in rounded and fantastic shapes of beauty. Below, a deep azure--above, of
a clear amber hue--the clouds wreathed and ascended majestically, as if
in time to the rumbling thunder--the accompaniments of nature's
subterraneous throes.
Their fatigues were amply repaid. Sir Henry's curiosity was aroused, and
he descended with the guide to the crater. George and Acmé, delighted with
the excursion, remained on the summit, partaking of Salvador's provisions.
The descent they found easy and rapid; the lava now assisting, as much as
it had formerly impeded them.
At Portici, Salvador introduced them to his apartment, embellished with
specimens of lava. They purchased some memorials of their visit--partook
of some fruit--and, after rewarding the guide, they returned to Naples.
Another of their excursions, and it is one than which there are few more
interesting, was to that city--which, like the fabulous one of the eastern
tale, rears its temples, but there are none to worship; its theatres, but
there are none to applaud; its marble statues, where are the eyes that
should dwell on them with pride? Its mansions are many--its walls and
tesselated pavements, show colours of vivid hue, and describe tales
familiar from our boyhood. The priest is at his altar--the soldiers in
their guard-room--the citizen in his bath. It is indeed difficult, as our
step re-echoes through the silent streets, to divest ourselves of the
impression, that we are wandering where the enchanter's wand has been all
powerful, that he has waved it, and lo! the city sleeps for a season,
until some event shall have been fulfilled.
Our party were in the Via Appia of Pompeii, when Acmé turned aside, to
remark one tomb more particularly. It was an extensive one, surrounded
with a species of iron net work, through which might be seen ranges of red
earthen vases. Acme turned to the custode, and asked if this was the
burial place of some noble family.
"No! Signora! this is where the ashes of the gladiators are preserved."
From the Appian Way, they entered through the public gate; and passing
many shops, whose signs yet draw notice, if they no longer attract custom,
they came to the private houses, and entered one--that called
Sallust's--for the purpose of a more minute inspection.
"Nothing appears to be more strange," said George, "on looking at these
frescoed paintings, and on such mosaics as we have yet seen; than the
extraordinary familiarity of their subjects.
"There are many depicted on these walls, and I do not think, Henry, _we_
are first rate classics;--and yet it would be difficult to puzzle us, in
naming the story whence these frescoes have their birth. Look at this
Latona--and Leda--and the Ariadne abbandonata--and this must certainly be
the blooming Hebe. Ah! and look at this little niche! This grinning little
deity--the facsimile of an Indian idol--must express their idea of the
Penates. Strange! is it not?"
"But are you not," rejoined Sir Henry, "somewhat disappointed in the
dwelling-houses? This seems one of the most extensive, and yet, how
diminutive the rooms! and how little of attraction in the whole
arrangement, if we except this classic fountain.
"This I think is a proof, that the ancient Romans must have chiefly passed
their day abroad--in the temples--the forum--or the baths--and have left
as home tenants none but women, and those unadorned with the toga virilis.
"These habits may have tended to engender a manlier independence; and
to impart to their designs a loftier spirit of enterprise. What say
you, Acmé?"
"I might perhaps answer," replied Acmé, "that the happiness gained, is
well worth the glory lost. But I must not fail to remind you, that--grand
as this nation must have been--my poor fallen one was its precursor--its
tutor--and its model."
Hence they wandered to the theatre--the forum--the pantheon--and
amphitheatre:--which last, from their converse in the earlier part of the
day--fancy failed not to fill with daring combatants. As the guide
pointed out the dens for the wild beasts--the passages through which they
came--and the arena for the combat--Sir Henry, like most British
travellers, recalled the inimitable story of Thraso, and his lion fight.
[Footnote: In Valerius.]
The following day was devoted to the Studio, and to the inspection of the
relics of Pompeii.
These relics, interesting as they are, yet convey a melancholy lesson to
the contemplative mind. Each modern vanity here has its parallel--each
luxury its archetype. Here may be found the cameoed ring--and the signet
seal--and the bodkin--and paint for the frail one's cheek--a cuirass, that
a life guardsman might envy--weights--whose elegance of shape charm the
eye. Not an article of modern convenience or of domestic comfort, that has
not its representative. They teach us the trite French lesson.
"L'histoire se répète."
With the exception of these two excursions, and one to Poestum; our
travellers passed their mornings sight-seeing in Naples, and chiefly at
the Studio, whose grand attraction is the thrilling group of the
Taureau Farnese.
In the cool of the evening, until twilight's hour was past, they drove
into the country, or promenaded in the gardens of the Villa Reale, to the
sound of the military band.
Each night they turned their footsteps towards the Mole; where they
embarked on the unruffled bay. To a young and loving heart--the heart of a
bride--no pleasure can equal that, of being next the one loved best on
earth--at night's still witching hour. The peculiar scenery of Naples, yet
more enhances such pleasure.
Elsewhere night may boast its azure vault and its silver stars. Cynthia
may ride the heavens in majesty--the water may be serene--and the heart
attuned to the night's beauty:--but from the _land_, if discernible--we
can rarely expect much addition to the charms of the scene, and can never
expect it to form its chief attraction. At Naples it is otherwise.
Our eyes turn to the Volcano, whose flame, crowning the mountain's summit,
crimsons the sky.