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Not so the lover: loth to rise,

He slowly steals away,

Chides thy first blush that paints the skies,
And wisheth night's delay.
With other voice thy beam I greet,
With other speed thy coming meet;
And as I mark thy opening bloom,
Prefer to heaven the ardent vow
That I may welcome thee as now
For many a year to come.

SKETCH OF THE CITY OF NAPLES.*

LETTER II.

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not, indeed," in the cannon's mouth," but in the coffee-houses, which were filled with noisy Neapolitans bawling politics, and breathing defiance. The "Giornale delle Due Sicilie," the only newspaper they ever had, had now adopted the more spirited title of "Giornale Costituzionale, and was bearded by a host of rivals, as "Lo Spirito del Secolo," "L'Independente," "L'Amico della Costituzione," "La Minerva Napolitana," &c. &c. The streets were taken up, every here and there, by knots of people engaged in loud and arrogant dispute; every third word was Libertà, or Tedeschi, Parlamento, or Armata, &c. We heard continually such questions, and such salutations as, "Nè ci vedremo alla vendita sta sera. "O' Signor Gran Maestro!" We were met in Toledo by an old acquaintance, who, after a few com

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* Vide p. 517. last Vol.

pliments, said, with an air of triumph, "Ci noi avete lasciate Schiavi, e ci noi trovate uomini liberi!" The people had all encouraged their dark mustaches; and those who were dressed in the uniform of the national guards, green faced with red, made a very gallant appearance.

We now leave Toledo, and take our way to the Largo del Palazzo, a large open place, which will be rather fine, if the range of buildings in front of the palace be ever finished; we found it, however, in the same condition that we had left it, encumbered with scaffoldings, and screens, and heaps of stone.† One passes from the Largo del Palazzo by a broad way looking over the arsenal and the sea, which is called "Strada del Gigante;" it is so called from an immense and hideous statue, which once deformed the place, and of which the head and trunk are now deposited in a lumber room of the Studj. Turning round to the right from this street, we reach Santa Lucia, which is another broad way well flagged, and having on one side a row of large irregular houses that look over the bay; and on the other, ranges of stalls, covered with sloping canvas roofs, where fish, "frutta di mare," shells, &c. are sold; these are flanked by a low dirty wall, and by several ugly and ridiculous fountains, some of which are no

+ These buildings are a church to be dedicated to San. Francesco di Paolo, and a colonnade forming a crescent. The church is in the middle of the colonnade; it is to have a cupola in imitation of St. Peter's at Rome, which will be peculiarly ill placed here, and out of harmony with the near objects. The colonnade is too low, it is fronted and flanked by lofty plain palaces, and high buildings that rise immediately behind it on the hills of the Solitario and Santo Spirito, seem quite to smother it. The architect is Bianchi, an Italian Swiss, from Lugano; a Roman sculptor, but a very poor workınan, is employed on the exterior figures; and Schweigle, a German, and an artist of great merit, is to do one or two principal statues.

longer furnished with water: these contemptible things are mentioned by poor Giannone, the best historian of Naples, as great ornaments to the city, and memorials of the taste and magnificence of various viceroys. A particular "ceto," or class of people inhabits this neighbourhood; thousands of them live in narrow vicoli, which run backward from Santa Lucia, and which are seldom entered by any but the "Santa-Luciani;" these people are nearly all pescatori and pescevendori (fishermen and sellers of fish), they are particularly distinguished by their loyalty, and

the costume of their women. At the end of Santa Lucia we turn another angle, still keeping along the shore, and reach Chiatamone; at this corner the hill of Piazzafalcone, which is seen above the houses on Santa Lucia, is cut down precipitately, and almost looks like a wall. Just here we pass the causeway conducting to the Castello dell' Uova; it is a long narrow ledge, and the memorable castle itself stands on a rock in the sea. On Chiatamone there is a plea sant palace with a little garden, at present belonging to the king, and there are several good houses, which are generally let out to foreigners. The continuation of this terrace, called La Vittoria, leads to the Villa Reale. This public garden is, indeed, a pleasant place; a broad walk leads down the middle; on either side are two paths shaded by acacias: there are also parterres of flowers, and fountains ornamented with statues, which, like a great number that are ranged along the length of the Villa, are copies from the antique. In the middle of the great walk stands the celebrated group of the Toro: an imitation of rocks is placed in a circular trough, at the base of the pedestal on which it is raised, and several little jets d'eau, which spirt out from the rocks, are collected in the trough, which is adorned by some aquatic plants, and in which a number of dirty coloured ducks are kept. Of this group enough, perhaps, has been said, but we cannot forbear observing, that, to us, it seems (in its present state) little to be admired; the head of the bull is certainly very fine, but the hinder quarters are faulty; and as for the figures that surround it, which are half modern and half

ancient, we consider them as deserving no great attention. Two or three edifices adorn, or are intended to adorn this promenade; there is a sort of circular temple on one side, in which there is a very poor and unfaithful bust of Tasso; and on the other side there is a much larger building, where it is intended to place a statue of Virgil, but which, as yet, is without any inhabitant. The pleasant part of the villa is at the end towards Posilippo, where, to the right of the grand path, it is formed into shady bosquets, called "Il Giardino Inglese."

The great beauty of this promenade, the beauty which renders it, perhaps, superior to any public walk in Europe, and which no labour could very well spoil, is the view to which it gives access: towards the end is a terrace, which has been erected within the last three or four years, projecting into the sea; the view thence is enchanting, particularly when the sun goes behind the long green hill of Posilippo, and throws its purple rays over the bay full on that part of the town, now called the "Pizzafalcone" (the ancient Mons Echia, where the luxurious Lucullus had one of his many habitations), which throws itself out in a bold and lofty headland.

Mr. Hobhouse has unwarily and incorrectly censured Mr. Eustace, on account of the latter gentleman's having asserted, that the Villa was adorned with orange-trees. When Mr. Hobhouse was in Naples there were certainly no orange-trees there; but it is equally certain, that when Mr. Eustace was, there were; indeed, there was scarcely any thing else but oranges and vines; but the French, who entirely altered, and considerably extended the gardens, removed them, and planted acacias in their stead. It may, perhaps, be considered unlucky that this circumstance was not known, or did not occur to the defenders of Mr. Eustace's accuracy, among whom, however, we cannot on every occasion enrol ourselves.

The grand Corso runs along close to and parallel with the Villa, and is a wide well paved street, or rather row, since there are no houses on the side of the Villa, and in this range are the best and almost the only plea

sant habitations of which Naples can boast. Of this Neapolitans are well aware, and compel foreigners to pay an extravagant price for lodgings in this quarter; an English family often pays as much for a suite of apart ments on the Riviera di Chiaja, as would be paid for a whole house in a fashionable square in London. There is something curious in letting houses at Naples; the nobles in former times occupied the whole of their immense palaces, but in these days of retrenchment and humility they condescend to let out their piani (floors), only taking care to secure exorbitant prices, thus "hiding their honor in their necessity," or rather propitiating their pride by procuring means to indulge their luxury: but some of these not only let out their floors, but also furnish their lodgers with dinners, suppers, &c. for similar considerations.

The Corso extends beyond the Villa; and leaving on the right the straight road which leads to the grotto of Posilippo, sweeps round the shore towards Strada Nuova, passes under the tomb of Virgil, and winding along Mergellina, ends a little below the church which contains the tomb of Sannazarius. This is the prescribed Corso, and hardly any Neapolitan thinks of extending his ride to the beautiful Strada Nuova, that commands such fine views of the bay, but turning short round, by a contemptible fountain of lions, returns the way he came, and goes backward and forward as long as there is sufficient light to see and be seen. Day after day he repeats his ride, with a constancy which is highly amusing. The time for this periodical exercise is venti tre ore, and winter or summer, at the hour fixed, the Neapolitans repair thither in crowds. In summer this hour is good enough, for it is that glorious hour which sees the sinking of the sun, and in which a sweet twilight and a refreshing breeze begin to succeed to the intense glare, and oppressive heats of the day; but in winter it is almost the worst time that could be selected: the Neapolitans, however, persevere through good and through bad. There is the same wise regulation with respect to the the atres, which open at due ore di notte, in winter about seven o'clock, in

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The Corso is a fine exhibition of Neapolitan pride and folly, and is often amusing enough for a pedestrian, who takes no part in these fourwheeled or two-wheeled excursions, and who is incited to observation by that feeling, half envy and half contempt, which finds its way into the breast of him who goes on foot. The coaches roll in two lines, one advancing and one returning; and as there is always an immense quantity, the lines extend the whole length. of the Corso, about a mile, and are so compact, that when the files are once formed, no straggler can well enter them: they roll on slowly, very slowly, and stop ever and anon, for they are subject to many little interruptions. Now and then a miserable horse in a miserable corribilo falls down, and until he can be restored to the position which nature assigned to him, the whole procession, Princes and Dukes, Knights and Ladies, Generals and Lawyers, and Bishops, must wait. On Sundays and other giorni di festa, the facchini, mechanics, and other people, from Bosso lo Molo, H Borgo di Sant' Antonio, Il Mercato, &c. adorn the Corso with a new grace; the men are usually accompanied by their fair ones, and are very closely crammed into their respective carriages, or corribili, yet they appear equally, if not more, pleased than the every day visitors. On particular feasts, such as Easter and Whitsuntide, the lines are re inforced by the country people from Fuori Grotta, &c.: the carriages con‐ taining these worthies are generally distinguished by being overloaded; by the company in them, men and women, being generally pretty drunk; by their being covered with boughs, and by the gilt jackets of the women.

All these pass on, admiring and commenting on the beauties of the show. The lines being, as we have said, very close, at every interrup tion the pole of one coach is thrust between the footman's legs on the coach before; and as it is impossible to draw up in a moment, this some times happens to ten or twelve car

riages following, and elicits various explanations, between coachmen and footmen, which are always very pithy and emphatic, and we have observed, consist chiefly of adjectives, nouns, and a few favorite verbs, receiving very little assistance from other inferior parts of speech: now and then a soldier, one of those placed to preserve order, volunteers his opinion upon the matter in debate, and generally testifies the same singular contempt for connectives; his eloquence is sometimes illustrated in a remarkably familiar manner, which, though not admitted in the schools, is much used in vulgar life, and always produces instantaneous conviction. The soldiers, however, it must be confessed, show a very unjust partiality for the humbler members of the Corso, and usually bestow their most impressive remarks upon the meanest classes of the community.

The vehicles collected here are of almost every fashion, colour, and condition; we have carriages, landaus, landaulets, tandems, droskies,canestre, corribili, and dog-carts; some are elegant and gay, some are old and decayed; a family coach wheeled out with care, and drawn by two bare-boned horses, with two ancient codgers mounted behind, furnished with bits of red cloth for their collars and sleeves, to show they are in livery, is perhaps followed by a light dashing English landau, and that by a corribilo with a foundered, one-eyed horse, fastened by a rotten harness of ropes. Such is the corso of Naples; but we have not yet mentioned a trifling circumstance which deserves to be remarked; at the end towards Mergellina it passes a row of mean half-ruined houses, the babitations of fishermen, whose black pitched boats lie just opposite on the sands, and whose children, some half-naked, some stark-naked, meet the eye wherever it turns, and continually clamour" date ci qualche cosa Eccellenza.

But let us leave this scene, and take a silent walk along the Strada Nuova; this is certainly a fine road in every respect, but particularly in its situation, and as a most agreeable walk or ride; it is not at present of much use, as it has the defect incidental to passages in old castles which we have sometimes seen, that is, it does

not lead anywhere. It sweeps round the end of Posilippo, and stops abruptly at a steep. It was intended that it should descend to Pozzuoli and afford an easy and agreeable communication with that interesting part of the neighbourhood of Naples, at the same time avoiding the long dark cold gloomy grotto of Posilippo, which was then, and is now the only road to the country towards Baja, Cuma, &c. This road, which would be so useful, so necessary, and so beautiful, stops at the edge of the hill, at a point which commands one of the most beautiful views in the environs of Naples, especially in autumn and in spring, when in the evening all the scene around is radiant with the glories of the setting sun. Ischia, Procita, Baja, Pozzuoli, the mountain of the Camaldoli, shine out in the warm mellow hues, and the exaggeration of evening; the little island of Nisita, black in shade, is just beneath the eye, being but a very small distance from the Capo di Posilippo; and the broad flat land below, which ends at the slope of the hills that shut in the Lago Agnano and the Solfatara, is adorned by an impressive variety of shade and colour. The road is partly cut out in a sort of ledge in the hill, and partly built up on the side towards the sea; the cutting of the hill, however, cannot have been attended with much difficulty, as it is composed of a soft tufo, which may be separated by a common knife; and this circumstance makes the long perforation of the grotto of Posilippo less extraordinary than it would have been in almost any other mountain. In several parts the road is carried by bridges over deep ravines. A few paces after leaving the corso we leave also the pavé, and soon arrive at the large ruined palace about which M. Dupaty was so sentimental; this palace is called by the common people Il Palazzo di Donna Anna, and by the polite that of the Regina Giovanna. That lady had a palace at Posilippo, and on the sea-shore; but according to some old Neapolitan gentry who are skilled in these matters, it certainly was not near here; it was situated at the end of the hill, beyond the little village of Marechiano, very near the Roman ruins, called, we know not why, La Scuola di Virgilio, and there indeed we find

the shell of a palace which very probably was hers. The building in question was the work of one of the Viceroys, but, like many other large undertakings in this country, the plan exceeded the means appropriated for its execution, and after the death of the Viceroy it was abandoned and suffered to fall into ruins without ever having been finished. It is, however, a very picturesque object, though it must be deprived of the interest which would attach to it as the residence of beauty, misfortune, and vice. It stands on the edge of the road, which indeed it formerly crossed, and with which its middle stories still communicate; its upper stories rise above, and its lower descend to the shore, and some rooms, or rather caverns contained within the massy walls, admit the sea, and probably were intended to serve as baths; in one of the immense halls opening on the shore, there is during the fine season a Neapolitan taverna, where people go and eat fish by moonlight; there are also a few rooms, used by persons who resort there in summer for sea-bathing, and these are all of this immense palace which ever serves as a shelter for man. There is a darkness and desolation in the interior, in its wide halls, its ruined arches, and vaults, and spiral staircases, and its dismal heaps of rubbish, which will furnish materials for meditation, founded on grander and more solemn subjects than the vices of a queen or the crosses of a lady's love.

On leaving this palace, we keep along the road, enjoying the open and beautiful view; the green descent below the road leads the eye down to the edge of the sea: the indented shore is thickly scattered with houses, once the resort of the gentry of Naples, proving that once even Neapolitans were sensible of the beauties of nature, and of the charms of solitude, and showing by their present desolation and ruin that they are sensible of such things no longer. There are also two or three ruined monasteries most delightfully situated; the spots which nature seems to have been most careful and curious to adorn, have been commonly those chosen by the heedful monks, for the erection of their retreats, in order that they might enjoy all that

could make solitude beautiful, or ease luxurious: indeed, we are not the only travellers who have remarked the felicity of selection by which those reverend gentlemen were so distinguished.

In one beautiful point, just by two little rocks, called by the country people Li Scogli di Pietro e Paolo, stands the house of Domenico Cirelli, the victim, perhaps the most to be deplored, of the revolution of ninetynine; it remained unoccupied until lately, and the person who then took it, found the portraits of the physician's family, things which probably he had esteemed as much as all his house possessed besides, left to neglect, and damps, and ruin, as if of so little value that no one thought them worth the trouble of removing. The road continues to rise gently: in some places the descent to the sea is sudden and precipitous, but generally it consists in pleasant slopes, planted with fine vines which hang in thick festoons. At about the highest point of the ascent there is a small flat, which was given by the court, with some land on the declivity, to the Margravine of Anspach, and that lady has erected a pleasure house on the spot. It were to be wished that an edifice in such a beautiful and remarkable situation should be classical and appropriate, but we think the building in question is neither the one nor the other: the land is separated from the road by a wooden railing, and the first object that catches the attention is a porter's lodge, low, dark, and heavy, and fronted by columns made in imitation of the ponderous pillars of the temples of Pastum: the house itself is a dull unmeaning square building, which seems by its heaviness, and discordance with all the aerial objects around, to be sinking into the hill. The lodge is such a silly and solemn edifice that the Neapolitans call it the Sepolcro della Margravia; indeed, a report was spread when it first reared its grim head, that it was intended as a sepulchre for that lady,nobody once suspected it was a pleasure house.

A little beyond this, there is a road which leads to the top of Posilippo, going along which, we pass two villages; the one nearest to Naples is called in the true Neapolitan dialect,

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