CHAP. I. Country, Climate, and Productions.

THIS is one of the moſt celebrated countries in the world, one of the largeſt provinces in Aſia, and lies near the borders of Africa. Its boundaries, according to Cluverius, and other eſteemed geogra⯑phers, are, Babylon and the gulph of Perſia, on the Eaſt; the Indian ocean, on the South; the Red Sea, with part of Egypt, on the Weſt; and Paleſtine, Sy⯑ria, and the river Euphrates, to the North. Its ex⯑treme length is about four hundred and thirty Ger⯑man leagues; but its greateſt breadth is not more than three hundred and forty; and, in ſome parts, not above one hundred and eighty. It is ſituated be⯑tween thirty-five and ſixty degrees of Eaſtern longi⯑tude, and between twelve and thirteen degrees of North latitude.

Arabia is the ancient, as well as the modern name; though the people have been long called Saracens, or inhabitants of the deſarts; Sarra, in their language, [78] ſignifying a deſart. Some derive the name of Arabia from Harrabi, a thief or robber, as they have been ge⯑nerally eſteemed, ever ſince they were a nation, to the preſent time.

The modern diviſion of this country is into ſix large provinces; the HEDSJAS, ſituated along the Arabian gulph, from Sinai to Yemen, and extending to the province of Nedsjed; the ſecond is the YEMEN in general, which may be ſubdivided into the terri⯑tories of the Iman of Sarra: a province which ex⯑tends from the borders of Hedsjas, along the Arabian gulph; and from the Indian Sea, to Hadramaut. The other provinces are, HADRAMAUT, OMAN, LACHSA, and NEDSJED.

It was formerly divided into three parts, according to the nature of their reſpective ſoils, viz. Arabia Fe⯑lix, Arabia Deſerta, and Arabia Petraea. Arabia Felix, which is the South-eaſt part, according to the preſent diviſion, and now called Yemen, contained at leaſt four parts, in five, of the whole. Arabia De⯑ſerta, which lies to the northward, is next in ſize; and Arabia Petraea, ſituated on the Iſthmus of Suez, is the leaſt. But the exact boundaries of this country, either ancient or modern, are very uncertain; or ra⯑ther there are no preciſe boundaries; for the inland country, being under the government of a great num⯑ber [79] of Sheiks, or Arabian Princes, who march from place to place, and encamp where they can find water and paſture for their cattle, their reſpective dominions have ſcarce any fixed boundary; nor is it eaſy to ſay which part of the country belongs to one of theſe di⯑viſions, and which to another.

The ſeas, and promontories of Arabia, are, the Indian ocean, the gulph of Baſſora and Ormus, the Red Sea, and the ſtraits of Babelmandel.

The Red Sea, ſometimes called the Arabian gulph, divides Arabia from Egypt and Ethiopia; but if taken in its largeſt extent, the name of the Red Sea was an⯑ciently given to all thoſe ſeas, which border upon Arabia and Perſia, from Africa to the Eaſt Indies. The reaſon of its being called the Red Sea, ſome at⯑tribute to the red mountains near it; others that the red ſand of the coaſt gave it that name. It is called in ſcripture the ſea of weeds, or ruſhes, the banks being overflowed with them in ſome places; but from whatever cauſe the name is derived, no ſea has been more celebrated than this; firſt, from its having been the paſſage of the Iraelites through it; and ſecondly, from its having been the uſual convey⯑ance for the fine ſpices, and all the rich merchandize of the Eaſt, to Africa and Europe, for three thouſand years, and upwards.

[80]No country is more deſtitute of rivers: Chat, Pran, and Nagiran are the principal ones, neither of which are navigable; and ſome add the weſtern branch of the Euphrates, which runs near the boundaries of this country. The mountains are thoſe of Gebel, Ared, or the great mountains in the middle of the country; and thoſe of Mount Sinai and Horeb, in Arabia Petraea.

A country which, like Arabia, extends from the twelfth, to the fifteenth degree of North latitude, and conſequently ſituated, in part, between the tropics, preſents the idea of a climate where the heat muſt be intenſe. In ſome of the provinces, ſays Nieu⯑burk, the heat is intolerable. But it is in this coun⯑try, as in many others, where the elevation of the ground, the ſituation of place, and the nature of the ſoil, occaſion a great difference in the climate.

To comprehend this, we muſt form a juſt idea of the local ſituation of the country. Arabia may be conſidered as a country full of mountains, and ſur⯑rounded, on all ſides, by a vaſt extent of barren and ſandy plains.

In theſe deſarts, ſcattered with naked rocks, there is nothing to prevent the action of the ſun, which burns all kinds of vegetables, and reduces the lands [81] to parched ſands. The drought is ſo great, that it of⯑ten does not rain for three years together; and the rivers, which deſcend from the mountains, loſe them⯑ſelves in the ſands, without being able to get to the ſea. Were it not for theſe rivers, which overflow in the rainy ſeaſon, and from which canals are dug to water the grounds, the farmers would not be able to obtain the ſmalleſt crop of corn. From obſervations made with good thermometers, ſays Nieuburk, we found that in theſe plains, as for example, at Loheya, Mocha, and Muſcat, the heats were as violent as in the hotter countries.

The interior of this country preſents a very dif⯑ferent temperature. Long chains of mountains, very lofty, attract vapours; which, diſſolving in copious rains, refreſh the air, and animate vegetation. The cold, produced by the elevation of this mountainous part of the country, occaſions ſnow there; which, however, does not laſt long. And while the inha⯑bitants of the plains are overcome with the heat, thoſe of the mountains are obliged to envelop themſelves with their peliſes.

The poſition of theſe mountains, in the midſt of a country ſo much ſurrounded by ſea, is alſo the cauſe of a phenomenon which is obſerved in the peninſula of the Ganges, interſected by mountains. This is [82] the difference in the rainy ſeaſons, which are regular in the countries ſituated between the tropics. In the weſtern part of Arabia, in the Yemen, the rainy ſea⯑ſon is the more ſerviceable, as it begins in tbe middle of the month of June, and laſts till the middle of Sep⯑tember, which are months when the heats are greateſt; and where the earth, and its inhabitants, have moſt need of refreſhment. In the eaſtern part of theſe mountains, near Maſkat, theſe rains fall, from the mid⯑dle of November, till the middle of February; and on the ſouthern ſide of Arabia, the rainy ſeaſon laſts from the middle of February, till the middle of April. Thus the rains appear to make the circuit of the pen⯑inſula, according to the impulſe of the predominant winds, during each ſeaſon.

This regularity in the rains makes the valleys very fertile and pleaſant, which ſeparate the chains of moun⯑tains. The people likewiſe, who inhabit theſe moun⯑tains, by breathing a freſh and pure air, are well-made, healthy and robuſt. Another advantage, which the Arabians derive, from the ſituation of their country, is, that they have the productions of different climates at the ſame time. In the plains are to be ſeen many vegetables, tranſplanted from India; and alſo a great number of the animals of hot countries. The moun⯑tains produce the plants of temperate climates, and the animals of thoſe climates alſo thrive there. In [83] ſhort, Arabia may be conſidered as an aſſemblage of different climates, the real advantages of which are united in the ſpace, contained between the Red Sea, and the Perſian gulph.

The nature of the winds is very different in Ara⯑bia, according to the point from whence they come, and the ſpace they blow over; ſo that the wind from the ſame point is moiſt or dry, in different places, when it traverſes the ocean or the deſarts. Upon the borders of the Perſian gulph, the South-eaſt wind brings with it a humid atmoſphere; which cauſes a very violent and oppreſſive perſpiration: the North-weſt wind, paſſing over the great deſart, is much hotter, but not ſo relaxing. This latter wind, how⯑ever, heats the metals in the ſhade, as if they were expoſed to the ſun; and its heat, when joined ſud⯑denly to that of the atmoſphere, often ſuffocates both man and beaſt. The Arabians carry with them, when they travel, garlick and dried raiſins, as remedies, with which they generally reſtore to life thoſe perſons, whom theſe hot guſts of wind have ſuffocated.

Notwithſtanding its burning quality, this North-weſt wind ſerves to cool the drink of the Arabs, in the middle of ſummer. For this purpoſe they put the water in un-glazed pots, made of porous earth, which they hang up in ſome place, expoſed to the current of [84] this hot wind. The water, by this means, becomes very cool; a phenomenon known in almoſt all hot countries, and which philoſophers of the preſent age very well account for, as proceeding from a ſudden evaporation.

Another wind, of a ſtill more dangerous kind, is the Samiel; rarely to be met with in Arabia, but very common on the frontiers. This wind is predominant only on the borders of the great deſart, where the agitation carries with it inflamed vapours; which the action of the ſun kindles in this burning ſand. The places, moſt expoſed to this dreadful wind, are, the borders of the Euphrates; and, ſometimes, the en⯑virons of Mecca, when the North wind blows on the ſide of the deſart. The effect of the Samiel is to ſuf⯑focate, in an inſtant, like a flaſh of lightning, every living creature, within the ſpace of its activity; and to occaſion the bodies to become, in a ſhort time, pu⯑trid. As it has been remarked that an almoſt imme⯑mediate putrefaction has taken place, in the bodies of animals, which have been killed by lightning, or by an electrical ſhock, it has been ſuggeſted that this wind might be occaſioned, by ſome electrical fluid, which is ſo univerſally diffuſed; the Arabs can tell when this wind is coming, from an extraordinary red⯑neſs in the air; and they pretend to remark, as it paſſes along, a ſmell of ſulphur. Whether this be the [85] caſe, or not, the only means for a perſon to preſerve himſelf from the fatal effects of this ſingular wind, is, to throw himſelf on the ground, with his face down⯑ward, till the ſtorm has blown over; the vapours of which always keep at ſome little diſtance from the ground.

The other meteors, in Arabia, are the ſame with thoſe in all hot countries. A ſerene ſky, ſeldom ob⯑ſcured by clouds, is the reaſon that there are few ſtorms in the deſarts. The air diſcharges itſelf of the electrical matter by balls of fire, and by the pheno⯑menon of falling ſtars; which are frequently ſeen, and of a very conſiderable ſize. In the more deſart parts, near the ſea, the dews are very copious. Not⯑withſtanding this humidity, the air is ſo pure, that it is uſual for the inhabitants to ſleep on the tops of their houſes. There are, however, ſome parts, where a perſon, indulging himſelf in this cuſtom, is liable to be ſeized with a fit of the palſy. But the inhabitants, from long experience, know what precautions they ought, in ſuch caſes, to take.

Arabia has the advantage of, nearly, one continued verdure. The trees, indeed, loſe their leaves every year, and the annual plants wither, before they ſhoot out a-freſh; but the interval, between the fall of the leaves, and the trees budding again, is ſo ſmall, that [86] the change is ſcarce perceived. To have the face of a country cloathed with continual verdure, is an ad⯑vantage peculiar to thoſe latitudes, where there is no froſt, and where the rainy ſeaſon occupies the winter quarter.

From the ſingular poſition of Arabia, it will be eaſy to conceive that the nature of the ſoil muſt vary very much. In fact nothing can be more oppoſite. On one ſide there is nothing to be ſeen but deſarts of ſand; and, on the other, beautiful and fertile valleys. The ſandy plain, which ſurrounds this peninſula, is almoſt entirely barren; and preſents to view nothing but the image of deſolation.

This plain of ſand, called Tehama, begins at Suez, and extends all round the peninſula, to the mouth of the river Euphrates. Its breadth is unequal; in ge⯑neral it takes two days to croſs the Red Sea, to the foot of the mountains. This part of the deſart ap⯑pears to have been covered with the ſea: the bottom is a grey clay, mixed with a great deal of ſand, and containing a great number of bones, and ſhells of ſea-fiſh, at a conſiderable diſtance from the ſhore. There are alſo great heaps of ſalt, in ſufficient quantity to form even little mountains. Its regular deſcent to the ſhore plainly indicates that it became dry by de⯑grees. There is no doubt but the ſea is continually [87] retreating from this coaſt, and the Tehama gradually gaining freſh ground. The ſand-banks are continu⯑ally increaſing, and, as they approach the ſhore, ren⯑der the navigation of the gulph ſtill more dangerous. Hiſtory alſo proves this increaſe of land; it mentions many places as ſea-ports, which are now at ſome diſ⯑tance from the coaſt; and paſſes over in ſilence, thoſe which are now maritime towns; the exiſtence of which muſt conſequently be dated ſince the formation of the lands, where they are ſituated.

This acquiſition of territory is of little advantage to the inhabitants; it being entirely barren, and pro⯑ducing nothing. Nor is there any hope of its being ever made better; as the ſoil of this province has re⯑mained the ſame for many ages.

In the mountainous part of Arabia, the ſoil varies very much; and is, in general, a clay mixed with ſand. Their form prevents their being very fertile; they are commonly very ſteep and pointed, ſo that they neihter afford ſufficient ſpace to ſpontaneous ve⯑getable productions, nor ſufficient nouriſhment; be⯑cauſe the torrents are continually carrying away the good land. The cultivation of them is likewiſe, owing to this circumſtance, very laborious and ex⯑penſive.

[88]This country may be conſidered as intereſting, in many particulars; but, in general, it is neither rich, nor fertile. Of this, the laborious life the peaſants lead, and their indifferent food, are evident proofs. If it was called Arabia Felix by the ancients, it muſt have merited this name, rather by the value and rarity of its productions, than from their abundance.

Their mountains they never endeavour to culti⯑vate; they being, for the moſt part, ſchiſtuous, and ſcarce capable of any improvement. Their valleys ſeem equally barren, where water is wanting, and pro⯑duce ſcarce any herbage; but in thoſe, where it can be introduced, they produce corn, vegetables, and and flowers; and no country in the world affords a more pictureſque view. The Arabs draw the water in large ſkins, from the wells, with oxen, both morn⯑ing and evening; conveying it along little canals, by the ſides of which their trees and plants are ſet. They alſo cut little channels through their corn-fields, by which they let the water into them, as often as they have a mind.

There is alſo, in this part of Arabia, a great va⯑riety of fine fruits; ſuch as oranges, lemons, grapes, peaches, and apricots; but what this country is moſt famous for, is, their dates and their coffee: with which a great number of ſhips are laden, every year, [89] for Europe and India; beſides large quantities ſent to Turkey.

The coffee ſhrub grows eight or ten feet high, with a grey ſmooth bark; the wood is white, and without much pith. The twigs riſe by pairs, oppoſite to each other, and the leaves on the twigs in the ſame man⯑ner; the fruit hangs to the twig by a foot-ſtalk, ſome⯑times one, two, or more in the ſame place. Theſe ſhrubs are planted in a rich ſoil, and watered by arti⯑ficial canals; after three or four years bearing, the natives plant new ſhrubs, as the old ones then begin to decline. The berries are dried in the ſun, and the outward huſk afterwards taken off with hand-mills; and theſe huſks the Arabians infuſe in boiling water, when the heat is intenſe, inſtead of berries; eſteeming the liquor more cooling.

Arabia alſo abounds in myrrh, manna, caſſia, in⯑cenſe, aloes, balm and frankincenſe; beſides ſome other valuable drugs. Among their trees nothing is more wanted than timber; and indeed there is ſcarce any wood in the country.

All uncivilized nations have remedies, derived from vegetables, with whoſe virtues they are ac⯑quainted by tradition. The Arabs are not without ſuch kind of medicines; of which they have made [90] uſe, from time immemorial, with ſuch ſucceſs as a ſtranger can hardly credit. Aloes and euphorbia are too ſufficiently known to dwell upon them; in Arabia the different ſpecies of this latter plant are ſo numerous, that it may be looked upon as an indi⯑genous plant. In hot countries counter-poiſons are ſet great ſtore by, on account of the venemous beaſts with which they are infeſted. By long experience, the inhabitants of theſe countries are acquainted with thoſe plants, which are ſalutary to men, and the con⯑trary to theſe dangerous animals. The Arabs appear, however, to be ignorant of the virtues of Ophiorrizo, ſo common in their mountains. On the contrary, they ſet great value by the Ariſtolochia ſemper virens; which they look upon, not only as a remedy, but as a preſervative, againſt the bite of ſerpents. Accord⯑ing to their opinion, a perſon who has drank a de⯑coction of theſe herbs, for forty days, cannot be bit by theſe venomous animals. Though this is not ſuf⯑ficiently aſcertained; yet it ſeems probable, that thoſe perſons who travel about with ſerpents, expoſing themſelves to their bites, poſſeſs ſome ſecret to ſecure themſelves from their malignant effect.

Of their animals, thoſe moſt uſeful and excellent in their kind, are, camels and horſes. The camels are well adapted to this deſart country; the largeſt of them will carry immenſe burdens; ſome writer; [91] ſay near a thouſand pounds weight each. It is well known the Arabs ſet great value on their horſes. They divide them, ſays Nieuburk, into two kinds; the Kadiſchi, or thoſe horſes whoſe breed is not known; and the Kochlani, or horſes whoſe pedigree is traced back for above theſe two hundred years. The Ka⯑diſchi are held in no great eſteem, and are employed in huſbandry, or in carrying burdens.

The Kochlani, on the contrary, are kept entirely for the ſaddle. They are very much prized, and conſequently very dear. The Arabs pretend they derive their origin from the harems of Solomon. Be this as it will, they are capable of enduring very great fatigue, and going for days together without food. They are ſuppoſed to poſſeſs aſtoniſhing ardour; it is even ſaid, that a horſe of this breed, when he finds himſelf wounded, and no longer able to carry his rider, will quit the field of battle, in order to carry him to a place of ſafety. If the rider is thrown to the ground, theſe horſes will remain near him, and not give over neighing, till ſome one comes to his aſſiſt⯑ance. Theſe horſes are neither large nor handſome, but very ſwiſt; and the Arabs value them only on ac⯑cout of their pedigree, and their good qualities; but by no means for their figure.

[92]Theſe Arabs, it is true, have no genealogical tables to prove the pedigree of their Kochlani; but they are nevertheleſs certain of the regularity of the deſcent, becauſe a mare of this breed is never covered but in the preſence of witneſſes. Though this peo⯑ple are not always very ſcrupulous about perjuring themſelves, they are more conſcientious in an affair of this kind; nor is there any inſtance of an Arab per⯑juring himſelf, reſpecting the breed of a horſe; be⯑cauſe he is perſuaded, that he himſelf, and his whole family would be ruined, if, in an affair of ſuch im⯑portance, be depoſed what was not true.

The common food, both of camels and horſes, is barley, or barley-meal, made into dough. But Theve⯑not ſays, that in ſome parts of Arabia the horſes are fed with camel's milk; or with butter and wheat, and ſometimes with the fleſh of camels dried in the ſun. A more modern writer ſays, the cattle at Muſcat are fed with fiſh, not with ſuch as are freſh taken; but they dig a ſmall pit, and having thrown a large quantity of fiſh in it, they are ſuffered to remain there till they are rotten, and turned to a kind of earth, which is then taken up, boiled in water, and, when it has ſtood till it is cold, is given to the cattle. This makes them very fat, nor does their fleſh taſte amiſs, from the cattle being fed with this kind of diet. They have oxen, buffaloes, goats and veniſon; but their beef, [93] and the fleſh of their buffaloes, is coarſe. As to hogs, they never breed any, being all Mahometans, who ab⯑hor the ſight of this animal. Fiſh and fowl are in great plenty on the ſea-coaſts; but the inland parts are very indifferently ſtocked; there being neither wood nor water to ſupply them with wood and ſhelter. Lions, bears, tygers, wolves, jackalls, and other wild beaſts are alſo found in ſome parts of Arabia; but not in great numbers, there being but little cover for them.

Among other carniverous animals, the moſt fright⯑ful and dangerous is the hyaena; which attacks both men and beaſts. This ferocious and ſolitary animal inhabits the caverns of the barren mountains of Ara⯑bia Petraea; he is alſo to be met with in the environs of the Perſian gulph. The hyaena prowls about only in the night. In the ſeaſon, when the inhabitants ſleep in the open air, he frequently carries off the children, who are lying near their parents. As the domeſtic animals of the ſouthern part of Perſia are fed chiefly on fiſh, he is obliged to eat the ſame kind of food.

Arabia appears to be the native country of the aſs; they are to be ſeen here of ſuch a beautiful, vigorous, and animated ſpecies, that their aſſes may be compared to horſes. The inhabitants alſo mention a wild ani⯑mal, [94] which they have called Djaear, of the ſize and figure of an aſs, the fleſh of which is good to eat. This animal is, perhaps, a wild aſs; who, by living in woods, acquires ſome peculiarities in its ſhape, which make the Arabians, who know little of natural hiſ⯑tory, miſtake it for ſome other animal.

The foreſts, in the ſouthern part of Arabia, ſwarm with monkies who have no tails; and whoſe buttocks are bare of hair, and red. I have ſeen troops, of ſe⯑veral hundreds, ſays Nieuburk; other travellers have met them, by thouſands, in the mountains of Aden. Theſe animals are very docile, and learn all ſorts of tricks with great facility. This occaſions a great quantity of them to be exported into Egpyt, where the mountebanks exhibit them to the people.

In the cultivated parts of Arabia, poultry, of all kinds, is very common. Of game, or wild fowl, very little is to be met with by travellers. The Arabians, in general, do not think it worth their notice; and neither ca [...]e for the pleaſure, nor the labour, of hunt⯑ing. Two reaſons may be aſſigned for their averſion to a paſtime, which conſtitutes the ſupreme felicity of the deſcendants from the ſavages of the North. A people, naturally ſober and frugal, living under a cli⯑mate, where animal food is rather prejudicial, than otherwiſe, to health, cannot be very fond of game. [95] The punctilious precepts of the Mahometan religion muſt, beſides, diſguſt an Arab from the purſuit of wild animals; and, eſpecially, birds. For, if he omits to ſay a ſhort prayer, whilſt he is killing the animal; or if the animal does not loſe the quantity of blood, preſcribed by law; or if he was not killed inſtantly; or if he fell upon a ſpot that was inhabited, or con⯑taminited: in all theſe inſtances, the ſportſman loſes his labour, or his prey is deemed impure.

A dry country, like Arabia, cannot breed any great quantities of aquatic birds. The birds which frequent the ſea-coaſts, and ſeed on fiſhes, are very common on the borders of the Red Sea; that ſea being very ſhallow, and full of fiſh. Oſtriches are alſo to be met with, in the deſarts, which the Arabs call the de⯑ſart-bird. Eagles, falcons, hawks and vultures are the birds of prey which are ſeen in Arabia. The laſt of theſe birds renders ſignal ſervices; he purges the earth from all carcaſes, whoſe corruption is ſo ſudden, and dangerous, in hot countries; and he deſtroys the field-mice, which would otherwiſe render uſeleſs the labours of the huſbandmen. Theſe eſſential ſervices have made this bird to be conſidered as ſacred, by the ancient Egyptians; and there are ſtill many countries where they are not permitted to be killed.

[96]In many countries of the Eaſt, as in Arabia, is another bird no leſs uſeful to the inhabitants. It is ſuppoſed to come from Koraſan, and arrives in Ara⯑bia about July, or Auguſt; following the ſwarms of locuſts, of which it deſtroys an incredible quantity. It is called Samarmar. The ſervices which this bird renders to the countries, expoſed to the ravages of theſe inſects, occaſions, in Syria, many ridiculous and ſuperſtitious cuſtoms. This bird is thought to be en⯑ticed by the Koraſan water, which is brought, with great ceremony, from a conſiderable diſtance, and kep in a reſervoir, made of ſtone, on the top of the tower of the moſques. If this water ſails, the inha⯑bitants are in deſpair.

There are many kinds of ſerpents, in Arabia, whoſe bite is often mortal; there are, however, as many more that are harmleſs. The bite of ſome only occaſions a diſagreeable itching, which the inha⯑bitants eaſily cure. In general, the bite of thoſe ſer⯑pents only is mortal, who have a ſeparate row of teeth longer than others. The Arabs, in Egypt, are acquainted with the formation of the teeth of theſe reptiles; and handle freely thoſe ſerpents, from which they have taken out, with pincers, the long teeth, which ſerve as a channel to the poiſon. In Arabia, the only ſerpent truly dreadful is, that called Batan; very ſmall, and delicately made, with black and white [97] ſpots. Its bite is inſtant death; and ſwells the corps of the perſon bit, in an extraordinary manner.

In our paſſage up the Red Sea, we ſaw great quan⯑tities of flying fiſh; which roſe, from time to time, above the ſurface of the water. But we diſcovered no flying ſerpent; though the Arabs give this name to a ſerpent, which ſhould rather be called a ſpring⯑ing one. This ſerpent faſtens himſelf by his tail, to the low branch of a tree; then giving a ſudden jerk, by means of the elaſticity of his tail, he ſprings up, from one branch to another, till he reaches the top.

The Arabians diſtinguiſh ſeveral kinds of locuſts, to which they give particular names; but their names do not regard the nature of the animal, but the pre⯑tended delicacy of its fleſh. They give the name of Muken to that ſort which is looked upon the fatteſt, and moſt ſucculent; they eat alſo another, which is thin and meagre; but they refrain entirely from that called Dubba, becauſe it brings on a diarrhaea.

All the Arabs, not only thoſe that live on the bor⯑ders of Perſia, but thoſe in Syria and Africa, are ac⯑cuſtomed to eat locuſts; the Turks, on the contrary, have an averſion to this kind of food, If Europeans expreſs the ſame diſlike, the Arabs reproach them for eating oyſters, crabs and lobſters.

[98]Swarms of this inſect darken the air, and ap⯑pear a-far like a thick ſmoke. The noiſe they make, as they fly, is dreadful; it ſtuns the ears like the fall of a great river. When ſuch a ſwarm alights on a country, it is laid waſte, and ſtripped of its verdure. The vegetables, and date-trees, ſuffer very much from the locuſts; but the corn that is ripe, or nearly ſo, is left un-touched, from its being too hard for them to eat.

A little inſect, about the ſize of a barley-corn, is another ſcourge to Arabia, as well as to moſt hot countries. Many writers have, from its reſemblance, taken this creature for an ant. Its inſtinct leads it to walk out only in the night, under ſome kind of galleries, which it builds up with earth as it ad⯑vances; when got to the end of its march, it deſtroys and devours every thing; victuals, cloaths and furniture. We found, ſays Nicuburk, an army of theſe inſects in our chambers, at Beit el Fakih, when they had built up their galleries, which we imme⯑diately deſtroyed; but without being diſcouraged, or even frightened, at the ſight of us, they patched up their work, during the night, with ſingular perſe⯑verance; ſo that we had an infinite deal of trouble to get rid of this little animal, which lives and works in ſociety, like the ants.

[99]The Arda is another inſect very dangerous to trees whoſe leaves, or fruit, their ſweetneſs makes them fond of. Theſe inſects faſten their galleries, on ſuch kinds of trees, from the bottom to the top. The in⯑habitants have no other means of ſecuring their gar⯑dens, from a total devaſtation, than by ſurrounding the trees with ſheep's dung; the ſmell of which is inſupportable to this inſect.

There are a great number of ants in Arabia, moſt of which are as harmleſs as our own. We muſt, how⯑ever, except two kinds; one of which is troubleſome, from the voracity with which it attacks the proviſions of the Arabs, if not driven away by the ſmell of cam⯑phire; the bite of the other is almoſt as painful, as that of the ſcorpion.

A kind of Scolopendre is alſo very tormenting to the inhabitants, by cauſing burning pains to thoſe it attacks. This inſect faſtens itſelf into the fleſh, with all its feet, in ſuch a manner, that it is impoſſible to be freed from it, but by ſucceſſively burning, with hot iron, all the parts of the animal.

CHAP. II. Cities.

THE principal cities in Arabia, of which we pro⯑poſe to treat, are, Suez, ſituated in the Nor⯑thern part of Arabia; Jeddah, Mecca and Medina, in the province of Hedsjas; and Loheia, Sana and Mocha, ſituated in the Yemen, or ſouthern part of Arabia.

Suez, which was the Arſinoc of the ancients, is ſitu⯑ated at the top of the Red Sea; it ſtands ſurrounded by the deſart, and is a ſhabby ill-built place: the ſhips anchor a league from the town, to which, the channel that leads is very narrow, and has only nine or ten feet depth of water; for which reaſon the large ſhips, that are built here, muſt be towed down to the roads, without maſts, guns, or any thing in them; ſome of theſe veſſels are, at leaſt, twelve hun⯑dred tons burthen, being as lofty as an hundred gun ſhip, though not longer than a frigate. Eight of theſe ſhips ſail every year to Jeddah, before the Hadji, ſtay [101] there two or three months, and return loaded with coffee: this is ſo material an article, in the diet of a Muſſulman, that the prayers and wiſhes of them all are offered up for its ſafety; and, next to the loſs of their country, the loſs of their coffee would be moſt ſeverely felt by them; the greateſt part of it is ſent to Conſtantinople, and other parts of Turkey.

The town, ſays Nieuburk, is ſituated on the weſtern ſide of the Arabian gulph, or Red Sea; but not quite at its extremity. It is not ſurrounded with walls; the houſes, however, are ſo well joined together, that there is no entering the city, but by two ſtreets; one of which, that towards the ſea, is open; and the other ſhut in by an old ruinous gate. The houſes are very indifferent, and the Khans are the only ſubſtantial buildings, There are ſcarce any remains of the caſtle built by the Turks, on the ruins of the ancient Kolgum.

It is badly peopled. Among the inhabitants are ſome Greeks, and a ſmall number of Copts; but, at the ſeaſon of the departure of the ſhips for Jeddah, the concourſe of ſtrangers, collected there, is very great.

The country round about is nothing but rocks, ſlightly covered with ſand, which renders it ſo very [102] barren, that ſcarce any vegetation is to be ſeen; trees, gardens, fields and meadows are entirely unknown. The only article; of food, which is in any plenty, is fiſh. All other ſubſiſtence, for men or cattle, is brought from a great diſtance, from Cairo three days, or from Jaſſa, ſix days journey.

There is not a ſingle ſpring of freſh water in Suez. The only water, that is drinkable, is brought from a place about two leagues from the town, on the other ſide of the gulf. It is the Arabs who bring this water, which they ſell very dear. The principal occupation of the inhabitants is the building of ſhips. This bu⯑ſineſs is in a very flouriſhing ſtate, in ſpite of the dear⯑neſs of wood, iron, and other materials, which are all brought from Cairo on camels. The government of this town is under the influence of the Turks.

Between this town and Tor is a place called Bur⯑kit Pharoon, ſignifying Pharach's whirlpool. This has been determined to be that part of the Red Sea which Moſes, and the children of Iſrael croſſed, as related in the bible, when purſued by Pharaoh; who, they ſay, was drowned, in that very ſpot, where this eddy is. The Arabs have ſtill a cuſtom, when they paſs this place, to kill a ſheep, which they ſmoke with incenſe, after cutting off its head, and then throw it into the ſea, praying at the ſame time.

[103]The government of Suez is under the influence of the Turks. The governor is appointed by the pacha of Grand Cairo. The Arabs, who live near Tor, on the other ſide of the gulf, pay little regard to the Turkiſh governor of Suez. When they are diſſatis⯑fied with him, or the inhabitants, they threaten to bring no more water, and forbid any one to go near the well. The putting this threat into execution would reduce the town to the greateſt extremity; they therefore do every thing to pacify them. They might eaſily ruin the town, if they did not prefer the advantage they derive from the tranſport of merchan⯑dize, on their camels, between Suez and Grand Cairo.

We ourſelves, ſays Nieuburk, experienced the effects of the inſolent threats of theſe Arabs. The Scheiks who had conducted us to Mount Sinai, not having fulfilled their engagements, we refuſed to pay them all the money we agreed to give them. They threatened to kill us; we told them we would defend ourſelves. They then ſaid they would cut off the ſupply of water; we replied that was indifferent to us, who drank only wine; an anſwer which made the Turks laugh, at the Arabs' expence. But, after having intereſted the tribe to take part in their quarrel, the execution of this threat was ſo much dreaded, that the governor entreated us to ſettle the the difference by paying the Scheik.

[104]Every perſon, whether Chriſtian or Mahometan, who travels along the coaſt of Arabia Petraea, either by ſea or land, ſhould take with him a Ghaſir, or guide, to whom he muſt make ſome little preſent, from time to time; as alſo at the end of his journey. By theſe means he will travel through the country, without danger of being moleſted. If the veſſel, on which he embarks, ſhould be ſhipwrecked, it will be plundered by the Arabs; but his goods, or merchan⯑dize, will be reſtored to him immediately, if his Ghaſir is preſent. If the traveller names one who is abſent, a circle will be drawn round them, and they will be kept till he comes; and, then, inſtantly tranſ⯑mitted to him. But if the traveller has no Ghaſir, or if he gives in a fictitious name, his effects will be ſeized upon, without hearing any thing he has to ſay. The Turks, through avarice, in order to ſave ſome little preſent, and out of pride not to be thought to familiarize with the Arabs, very ſeldom take any Ghaſirs; but they ſuffer by this neglect. For the rights of this kind of hoſpitable friendſhip are ſacred among theſe robbers.

When I ſay of Jeddah, ſays Rooke, that it is terra ſenza frutti & populo ſenza fede, I believe I give a pretty juſt deſcription of it; but to enter into a more minute one, it is an old and ill built town, ſurrounded by a broken and ruinous wall, having no ſort, nor [105] any guns mounted; it is ſituated nearly mid-way, be⯑tween Mocha and Suez, on the eaſtern coaſt of the Red Sea, and is a place of the greateſt trade on it; the commerce, between Arabia and Europe, here meets, and is interchanged; the former ſending her gums, drugs, coffee, &c. which are brought in ſmall veſſels, from the whole extent of the coaſt, as far as Baſſora, in the Perſian gulph; and from Europe come cloths, iron, furs, and other articles, by way of Cairo: the revenue, ariſing from the duties on theſe, is ſhared between the Grand Signior, and the Scheriff of Mecca; to whom this place juſtly belongs. It was formerly tributary to the Grand Signior only; but the latter, whoſe dominions ſurround it, ſeized on it; the affair, however, being compromiſed between them, they now ſhare the profits of the port; the for⯑mer ſends annually a Pacha, to ſupport his preten⯑ſions, and collect the revenue; the latter deputes a governor, who is termed the Vizir-Scheriff, and has chief power and authority here.

This town, like Suez, is entirely without freſh water. The inhabitants have none to drink, but what the Arabs collect in their reſervoirs in the moun⯑tains; which they bring, by little and little. on their camels, into the city. The environs are a deep ſand, and very barren. According to tradition, theſe parts have experienced no change ſince the creation of the [106] world; for, in a place a little diſtant from the ſea, they ſtill ſhew the tomb of Eve. In walking about the harbour, ſays Nieubuhr, I was witneſs to the very ſingular manner in which the Arabs take their wild fowl. The fowler undreſſes himſelf, puts ſome ſea-weed on his head, and walks towards the bird, who is not frightned at the approach of the ſea-weed, which he is accuſtomed to ſee floating on the waves. The Arab then ſeizes the duck by the feet. When Pocock, and other travellers, mentioned this method being practiſed in China, their relation was not cre⯑dited. Nothing is, however, more certain.

The people here are not quite ſo black as they are farther South, having a yellowiſh tinge in their com⯑plexions; their way of living, however, is much the ſame: they ſit croſs-legged on the ground at their meals; watch, pray, drink coffee, and ſmoke hookah five times in the day. There are ſeveral coffee-houſes which are always full; the common people there drink their diſh of coffee together, as ours would a pot of beer, at an alehouſe. The women ſeem to have rather more liberty than at Mocha, many of them may be ſeen walking about the ſtreets; but the appearance they make is very extraordinary: thoſe of middling rank wear looſe cloth trowſers, and yel⯑low huzzar-boots, have veils of white linen over their faces, reaching almoſt to the ground, with only [107] two ſlits for the eyes, and wrap themſelves in a large looſe plaid of coarſe cloth; they have a variety of gold and ſilver trinkets round their arms and legs, and wear necklaces of ſmall pieces of money ſtrung; all theſe make a jingle, like bells, as they walk: through one of their noſtrils they wear a ring, with a ſlat plate on it, like a coat button, and dye their hands red, with a herb that grows in the country; they are as fond of ſmoking hookah as the men; and, when they viſit, always take it along with them.

The dreſs of perſons of diſtinction, among the men, is not unlike that of the Turks. They wear their ſhirt over looſe trowſers, made of linen. The jambea, a kind of concave hanger, is faſtened to a large girdle; a waiſtcoat, the ſleeves of which fit cloſe, is covered with a very large mantle. The twiſt, which hangs to the handle of the dagger, has a kind of coral ſuſpended to it, with which the Arabs amuſe themſelves, ſays Nieubuhr, to keep their fingers em⯑ployed. They are unacquainted with the uſe of ſtockings; and wear nothing about their feet, but half-boots, or ſlippers.

The women of faſhion are dreſſed nearly as the Turks are at Cairo; but the common people wear only a ſhirt, without breeches. The Bedouins have nothing but a long piece of linen, which they wrap [108] round their waiſt. The women, among the lower claſs, wear nothing but a long ſhift, hanging looſe; and veil. In theſe three articles conſiſts the whole of their dreſs. We have given a plate of one of theſe women ſelling bread. Her fan is made of a kind of mat, compoſed of leaves of the palm-tree interwove, and a paraſol of the ſame.

Being near the fountain-head of their faith, the people here are great bigots to their religion, and, of courſe, inveterate enemies to the Chriſtians; any ſtranger, of that claſs, is ſure of being inſulted in the ſtreets, unleſs he has a guard with him; they are not allowed to go out of the gate leading to Mecca.

Eve's ſepulchre is a white building, which ſtands about a quarter of a mile North of the town; the Arabs ſay ſhe was certainly buried there, and that her grave is twenty feet in length, which they determine to have been the ſtandard height of mankind, at that early period of the world; the two Arabic words ſig⯑nifying Eve, the mother of all, are inſcribed on the building; they go every ſabbath to pray there, but will not ſuffer a Chriſtian to viſit it. The two moſt valuable productions of this country are, balm of Gi⯑lead, and ſenna, ſays Rooke; the former is extracted from a tree which grows amongſt the mountains, the latter is a ſhrub found near Mecca.

[109]Our merchants uſed to ſend annually ſhips from Bengal, and other parts, to Jeddah; but the arbitrary impoſitions, laid on the goods, and the frauds they ex⯑perienced from the people, have made them entirely diſcontinue this commerce: a moſt glaring inſtance of villany, in the prince of the country, and the Lord Lieutenant of Jeddah, ſtands foremoſt on the latter liſt; they jointly bought the cargo of an Engliſh ſhip, worth near £. 50,000, took the goods, and engaged to pay the money in a few days; but the ſupercargo, after repeated applications, was obliged to return to India, having only the Scheriff's bill, payable the following ſummer; accordingly he returned, was very preſſing for the money, but met with no better ſucceſs than before, and only received a freſh bill, with poſitive aſ⯑ſurances he ſhould be paid the following year; it hap⯑pened before his return, that both the Scheriff and his Vizir were dead; and when he applied for payment of the bill to the reigning Scheriff, who was ſon to the former, he flatly refuſed to pay a farthing, ſaying, that as the debt was incurred by his father, his father only was anſwerable for it; that it was true he was dead, but the body was at his ſervice, and if it would be any ſatisfaction to the creditors, he was very welcome to carry it with him to Bengal.

This city, diſtant a day's journey from Jeddah, is ſituated in a dry and barren ſoil. A few leagues [110] farther up the country, however, towards the moun⯑tains, very fine fruits are to be ſeen in great abun⯑dance. During the ſummer months, the heats are in⯑tolerable at Mecca; the inhabitants, to ſhade them⯑ſelves, ſhut the blinds of their windows very care⯑fully, and water the ſtreets, in order to cool the air. There have been inſtances of perſons being ſuffocated, while they were walking in the ſtreets, by the burning wind called Samoum.

As a great part of the nobility, of the province of Hedsjas, lives here, it is better built than any other city of Arabia. Among the fine edifices it contains, the moſt remarkable is the famous Kaba, or houſe of God, which was held in veneration, even before the time of Mahomet.

I ſhould have been curious enough to have ſeen this extraordinary building, ſays Nieubuhr, but no Chriſtian is permitted to go to Mecca, not that there is any expreſs law to the contrary, or that the more enlightened Mahometans have any thing to object againſt a curioſity of this ſort; but, on account of the prejudices of the people, who, looking upon this as holy ground, think the Chriſtians unworthy to ſet their foot there: it would be profaned, in the opinion of the ſuperſtitious, if it was trodden upon by infidels. The people even imagine, that Chriſtians are pre⯑vented [111] from approaching it by a ſupernatural power. They relate, that an infidel, on his arrival at the hills which ſurround Mecca, was attacked by all the dogs of the city, who came out on purpoſe; and that, ſtruck with this miracle, and the auguſt aſpect of the Kaba, he turned Mahometan.

We muſt preſume then, that all the Europeans who have deſcribed Mecca, from ocular teſtimony, have been renegado's who eſcaped from Turkey. A recent in⯑ſtance ſupports this opinion. On the promiſe of being able to preſerve his religion, a French ſurgeon was perſuaded to accompany the Emir Hadji, as his phy⯑ſician. But, at the firſt ſtation, they obliged him to be circumciſed, and then permitted him to continue his journey.

Although the Mahometans do not permit the Eu⯑ropeans to go to Mecca, they do not object giving them deſcriptions of the Kaba. There are painters who get their livelihood, by making ſmall paintings of the Kaba, and ſelling them to the pilgrims.

To judge from theſe drawings, the kaba is a very inſignificant building; a kind of ſquare tower, whoſe top has a covering of black ſilk thrown over it, em⯑broidered with gold. This covering is made at Ka⯑hira; and a new one, as we have already obſerved in [112] our account of Turkey, is ſent every year by the Grand Signior. The gutters of this building, are of pure gold. What ſeems moſt magnificent in this holy building, are the arcades which ſurround the place where the kaba is ſituated. The Mahometans ſpeak with admiration of the great quantity of gold and ſilver lamps, and chandeliers, contained in theſe ar⯑cades. Yet, according to theſe accounts, which are probably exaggerated, the riches to be found in the kaba, are much inferior to thoſe diſplayed in many of the Catholic churches.

The kaba contains a moſt venerable and extraor⯑dinary relic; this is the famous black ſtone, brought by the angel Gabriel, for the conſtruction of the holy houſe. According to the mufti's, when this ſtone arrived, it was entirely white, and ſo brilliant, that it dazzled the eyes at the diſtance of four days journey; but it wept ſo much, and ſo long for the ſins of men, that it became opaque, and at laſt quite black. Every muſſulman, when he walks round the kaba, muſt kiſs, or at leaſt touch, this compaſſionate ſtone. The ſame honours are not paid to Abraham's ſtone, nor to that of Iſhmael. Pilgrims are diſpenſed with from viſiting and kiſſing them.

The Arabs venerate the kaba, becauſe it was built by Abraham, and ſerved as a houſe of prayer for him. [113] In the ſame precincts, is the well of Zemzem, eſteemed for the excellence of its water, and honoured on account of its miraculous origin. Hagar, turned out of doors by her maſter, ſet down the little Iſhmael on this ſpot, while ſhe went to a fountain, to get ſome water for her ſon, who was dying with thirſt. Not being able to meet with any water, ſhe was ſurprized at her re⯑turn, ſhe was aſtoniſhed to ſee a ſpring iſſuing out be⯑tween the legs of the child; and this ſpring is the well of Zemzem ſtill exiſting.

A range of braſs columns, which go round the kaba, ſerve farther as an ornament to it. Chains run be⯑tween the pillars, which ſupport a multitude of ſilver lamps. The portico's, or arcades, above mentioned, are intended to ſerve as a ſhade to the pilgrims during the violent heats in the day-time. A farther uſe is made of them; the merchants, who follow the caravans in great numbers, diſplay their merchandize under theſe arcades.

The Mahometans have ſo great an opinion of the ſanctity of Mecca, that they extend it to the environs. The territory of this town is reputed ſacred, to cer⯑tain diſtances, which are pointed out by particular marks. Each caravan finds, on its route, one of theſe marks, which is an indication to the pilgrims to put on [114] the humble garb, in which they muſt appear on this holy ground.

At one day's journey, diſtant from the harbour of Jambo, is Medina, a city of a middling ſize, ſur⯑rounded with bad walls, and ſituated in a ſandy plain. It belongs to the Scheriff. Before the time of Ma⯑homet, this city was called Jathreb; but it had the name of Medinet en Nebbi, or city of the prophet, given to it, after Mahomet, on being driven from Mecca, took refuge there; and, in this city, he paſſed the remainder of his days.

The tomb of Mahomet, at Medina, is reſpected by the muſſulmen; but they are not obliged to viſit it, in order to pay their devotions to the tomb. The cara⯑vans of Syria and Egypt, which, on their return from Mecca, paſs near Medina to ſee it.

I had, ſays Nieubuhr, a drawing of the great moſque, in which the tomb is ſeen in one corner. As it was feared the people might render a ſuperſtitious homage to the ſpoils of the prophet, iron nails are placed round the tomb, through which it may be ſeen. It conſiſts of ſimple maſonry, in the form of a cheſt, without other monument. I could not, ſays the above writer, learn what gave riſe to the ridiculous ſtory, well known in Europe, of the large pieces of adamant [115] which ſupported Mahomet's tomb in the air. This tomb is placed between two others, in which repoſe the aſhes of the two firſt califs. Although it is not more magnificent than moſt of the founders of moſques, the building which covers it, is enveloped on the outſide with a covering of green ſilk, embroidered with gold, which the pacha of Damaſcus exchanges for a new one, every ſeven years.

The building is guarded by forty eunuchs, in order to prevent the treaſure being taken away, which is ſaid to be contained there. This treaſure, made up chiefly of preſents from the Turkiſh nobles, is looked upon as very conſiderable; but ſo many abſurd ſtories are blended with this account, that it is impoſſible to know what to think. Many very reſpectable Maho⯑hometans have aſſured me, as a fact, that among other valuable treaſures belonging to this tomb, one is the philoſopher's ſtone, or a large quantity of powder which converts all metals into fine gold.

The mountainous part of the province of Hedsjas, between Mecca, is divided among a number of inde⯑pendent Scheicks. During the months proper for paſturage, the perſons of the higheſt rank in theſe tribes, live under tents in ſummer, and remain the reſt of the year in towns and villages. But the people commonly live in little huts covered with ruſhes.

[116]The moſt remarkable ſtate, and the leaſt known, is that which the Jews have formed to the North-eaſt of Medina. They have their own Scheiks, and are divided into three tribes. They are ſo odious to the Maho⯑metans, who accuſe them of plundering the caravans, that in Syria, the greateſt affront that can be put upon a man, is to call him Beni Kheibar, the name given to theſe Jews.

This eſtabliſhment has, perhaps, given riſe to the fable of the Sabbatic river. Theſe Jews, not tra⯑velling on the ſabbath, cannot follow the caravans. The country they inhabit is, however, ſurrounded with ſuch extenſive deſerts, and ſo very unſafe, that, without joining ſome caravan, it is impoſſible for them to go out of a country ſo iſolé, or to get into it.

CHAP. III. Perſons, Dreſs, Habitations, Food, Cuſtoms, Travelling, Marriages, Arab Women.

HAVING, in our deſcription of Syria and Pa⯑leſtine, given an account of the Bedouin Arabs inhabiting the vallies and frontiers of thoſe two pro⯑vinces; we ſhall conclude our deſcription of Arabia, with ſome intereſting obſervations on the manners and cuſtoms of the Arabs in general; a people hitherto but little known, and which are extracted from the wri⯑tings of Abbé Poiret, in his late travels through part of that country.

How ſhall I paint, ſays the Abbé, the confuſed and contradictory ideas which aroſe in my mind, on the firſt view of theſe Arab hordes? I had approached within half a gun-ſhot of thirty tents, and was pre⯑paring to go up to them, when I was informed that the plague had juſt made its appearance among them. To avoid the danger of communication, I diſmounted [129] from my horſe. The ſpot where I then happened to be, was on the brink of a-rivulet, the ſtream of which was cool, and perfectly limpid; buſhes of roſes, lau⯑rels, and myrtles, formed around me an agreeable ſhade; and the landſcape, bounded by hills, clothed with the moſt beautiful verdure, was animated by nu⯑merous herds feeding at a diſtance, Thus nature, by preſenting this delightful view, tranſported me, in idea, to thoſe happy ages, when men were all ſhepherds, and knew no other riches than their flocks, and the productions of the earth. Occupied with theſe ideas, whilſt wandering over the beauties of this ſcene, and fixing my ſight principally upon the low ſmoky huts of the Arabs, I ſaw, all of a ſudden, about a dozen of them, directing their ſteps towards me. I confeſs, at the ſight of theſe ferocious men, I could not ſuppreſs an emotion of fear; which, in an inſtant, diſpelled all thoſe ideas with which I had been ſo agreeably entertained. They were armed, and I ap⯑prehended ſome attack from them; but the Arabs who accompanied me, aſſured me there was no danger. As ſoon as they were near enough, I ſaluted them ac⯑cording to the cuſtom of the country, and ordered my interpreters to tell them to keep at a certain diſ⯑tance, on account of the contagion. With this re⯑queſt they readily complied, and ſquatting down in a circle round us, converſed with their countrymen for ſome time. They then aſked me, if I would have [130] [...] [131] [...] [128] [...] [129] [...] [130] any milk, I replied in the affirmative; upon which, two of them immediately ſet out, and returned ſoon after, with each a baſon full of it. I drank ſome of it, and, notwithſtanding their forward manner and threatening air, was ſenſible they gave me a kind re⯑ception. I expreſſed my gratitude by my geſtures, and diſtributed among them a ſmall quantity of powder and ſhot, which they requeſted. Forgetting then the picture which had been drawn to me of their man⯑ners, I endeavoured to perſuade myſelf, that the nearer a man is to nature, the better he ought to be. I perceived in them the patriarchs of antiquity, de⯑voted entirely to the care of their flocks, and free from that multiplicity of wants created by luxury. I beheld men, to whom I was indebted for their hoſpi⯑tality, ſince they offered me an aſylum in their tents; and, if I did not find in them the affected politeneſs of Europe, I thought I obſerved, at leaſt, that ruſtic openneſs, that ought to reſide in the man of na⯑ture.

When I took leave of theſe Arabs, they accom⯑panied me near half a mile; and when we parted, they wiſhed me, in their own language, happineſs and peace. Being informed of the meaning of theſe expreſſions, I repeated them very affectionately, and congratulated myſelf, that the firſt Arabic words which I pro⯑nounced, ſerved to expreſs my gratitude; I met with [131] almoſt the ſame reception, ſays the Abbé, from the dif⯑ferent Arab tribes, among whom I went.

In this deſart and uncultivated country, how many enjoyments, and what riches for the naturaliſt! How many uſeful leſſons for the philoſophical obſerver! How humiliating it is for human nature, to ſee almoſt all nations degenerate inſenſibly from the virtue of their anceſtors, and preſerve only their vices! This, however, is the picture which the hiſtory of all ages preſents to us. Where, at preſent, ſhall we find the ſages of Greece, the learned Egyptians, and the heroes of ancient Rome? We ſhould in vain ſeek for them in their deſcendants; while the Aſiatic has preſerved his primitive effeminacy, and the barba⯑rous African ſtill thirſts after blood. How many figures, worthy of exerciſing the pencil of a Raphael, are to be met with among the Moors and Arabs! Eyes full of fire and courage, a ferocious look, manly and ſtrange features, an aquiline noſe, nervous arms, a tall figure, a haughty gait, legs, thighs, and ſhoulders almoſt always naked, are the characteriſtic marks which diſtinguiſh the greater part of them.

Their dreſs is an intereſting object, and believed to be very ancient. It is ſaid, that in ſome parts of the deſart, ſeveral of the tribes go perfectly naked. I have, indeed, met with ſome, ſays the Abbé, who had [132] no kind of veſtment whatever; and others, who had a kind of light drawers; but the greater part wear a dreſs, more or leſs ſimple, according to their wealth and condition. Some, 'I mean the poorer ſort,' wrap themſelves up in a piece of linen cloth, ſeveral yards in length, which they roll, each according to his own manner, around the head and body. This dreſs is perfectly well deſcribed by Fenelon, when, ſpeaking of the cuſtoms of the Boeotians, in his Telemaehus; he ſays, "Their dreſſes are eaſily made; for in that mild climate, nothing is worn but a piece of fine light ſtuff, uncut, which they wrap round their bodies in long folds, giving it whatever form they chuſe. Others add below either a ſhirt, like thoſe of our women, or a tunic of woollen cloth, without ſleeves, which reaches as far as their knees. The richeſt wear, beſides this, a kind of robe, much like the cloaks of the hermits. The fineneſs of their dreſs is alſo proportioned to their fortune. I have ſeen ſeveral Arab chiefs clad in woollen ſtuffs, which, on the firſt view, I have taken for very fine muſlin, of an exceeding bright white colour." The Barbary wool, has always been famous for its beauty. The women, for their dreſs, wear a piece of ſtuff like that of the men, but they arrange it ſomewhat differently. They make a kind of robe of it, which covers ſeveral of thoſe parts that the men leave naked. Beſides this, the Arab women wear ſe⯑veral ornaments, which certainly do not contribute to [133] ſet off their beauty. They wear their hair in treſſes, and ſometimes floating over their ſhoulders; while the men are ſhaved, and reſerve only one tuft in the middle of their head. The ears, arms, and legs of an Arab woman, are ornamented with large iron rings; ſometimes they add bits of coral. Coquettes, after their own manner, inſtead of rouge, which certainly would add very little embelliſhment to their dark complexions, uſe gunpowder mixed with antimony, for tracing out various figures on their foreheads, and above the eye-lids. The men do the ſame on their arms, breaſts, and hands; a little ſuperſtition is, per⯑haps, mixed with theſe myſtical characters. If, to ſupply thoſe colours which they want, our European ladies were obliged to ſubmit to an operation, as pain⯑ful as that employed by the Arabs, it may be much doubted, whether they would wiſh for any other charms than thoſe beſtowed by nature. The female Arabs, to render theſe marks indelible, prick their ſkins in numberleſs places with a needle, and when the blood ceaſes to flow, they apply their powder, finely pound⯑ed, and force it into the pores of the ſkin, by repeated friction.

The dreſs, which has been deſcribed, is, indeed, common among the wandering Arabs of the moun⯑tains, and the deſarts. Thoſe, who live in cities, vary more in their manner of dreſſing. Some go with [134] their heads bare, or covered at moſt with a red bon⯑net; others wear a turban like the Turks, with part of their accoutrements. They uſe ſlippers too, but the mountaineers go always bare-footed.

Thoſe who are fond of antiquities, might make curious and uſeful reſearches reſpecting the dreſs of the African and Aſiatic Arabs. What induces me, ſays Poirét, to believe it is very ancient, is, that theſe people are abſolutely ignorant of a variety of modes. A ſon never thinks of dreſſing any other⯑wiſe than his father; and even if he ſhould, their in⯑duſtry is ſo limited, that their workmen would find themſelves much embarraſſed, were they obliged to change the form of their dreſs, however troubleſome it might be.

The habitations of the Arabs are as ſimple as their dreſs; they inhabit only tents or huts, conſtructed with the branches of trees and reeds. A collection of ſeveral tents, is called a douare: there are ſome which contain from ten to twenty, and even above a hundred. Theſe tents are placed circularly, in order that they may incloſe their flocks in the middle, during the night. If there be any vacant ſpace between two tents, they fill it up with buſhes and thorns, to ex⯑clude ferocious animals. The form of each tent is almoſt like that of a tomb, or of the keel of a veſſel [135] reverſed. They are low, except thoſe of their chiefs, which are extenſive, and have a little more elevation. The cloth of which they are compoſed is of wool, very cloſely woven, and dyed either black or brown. The facility with which theſe habitations are tranſ⯑ported, makes the Arabs often change their abode, according to the ſeaſon, or as their wants may re⯑quire. In winter, they chooſe a Southern expoſure, at the bottom of ſome hill; in ſummer, they approach thoſe places where there are plenty of paſtures, and abundance of ſprings.

An inventory of their furniture may be ſoon taken. They are acquainted with no other bed than the earth, upon which the moſt delicate ſpread a little ſtraw, a mat, or a coarſe carpet. A few earthen veſſels for cooking, and to prepare their courcouſan; a wooden baſon to draw water, and to hold their milk, when they milk their cows; a goat's ſkin to churn their but⯑ter, and two portable mill-ſtones to grind their corn, are all the apparatus of their kitchens.

From this enumeration of their kitchen utenſils, it may readily be ſuppoſed, that their repaſts are neither ſumptuous nor delicate; indeed, nothing can be more ſimple or frugal. They make only one meal a day, which requires any preparation. Beſides this, they take nothing, or elſe they content themſelves with [136] ſome fruit, or a few wild roots. Thoſe, however, who are in eaſy circumſtances, eat two meals a day, which conſiſts only of courcouſan. It will be proper to obſerve, that the wheat in the northern part of Arabia does not, like that in Europe, produce a pure and nutritive flour; but, it is neceſſary to diſtinguiſh in the grain, the mealy part from that which is hard. The firſt, which is in a very ſmall quantity, is gene⯑rally found at the point of the grain and in the middle. This flour makes very bad black bread; and, on this account, it is never uſed. They give it their cattle, or mix it up in ſmall quantities with the part which is hard. The Arabs are unacquainted with the uſe of bread. They bruiſe their wheat by means of two portable ſtones, ſo that it forms a coarſe kind of meal, which they call courcouſan. When they are deſirous of preparing a repaſt, they heap up a quantity of this meal, in a veſſel full of ſmall holes, and place it by way of a covering upon the pot, in which they boil their fleſh, ſo that the vapour which ariſes, penetrates the meal, and makes it ſwell. When this operation is finiſhed, they take out the courcouſan, and put it into another large flat veſſel, ſupported by a foot like that of our drinking glaſſes. This food ſerves them inſtead of bread; and when they eat it, they mix it with a little ſoup, milk, butter, or honey. Above the courcouſan they place their roaſt meat, which every [137] one tears to pieces with his fingers; this is generally beef, mutton, fowls, or goat's fleſh.

When the courcouſan is prepared in this manner, the chief of the tent, or any other Arab, of a rank ſupe⯑rior to the reſt, lays hold of the diſh, and eats firſt, and alone. He ſits ſquatting down, places the courcouſan before him, and, having taken a little with his fingers, forms it into ſmall balls in the hollow of his hand, and throws it into his mouth with much dexterity. When the chiefs have done, the diſh paſſes into the hands of thoſe who are next in dignity: to children, for ex⯑ample, who never eat with their father, nor even in his preſence, unleſs among Arabs of a certain diſ⯑tinction. The women eat laſt; they have nothing but what is left by the men, and even what is left by their own children. They alone have the charge of providing theſe repaſts. According to the principles of their religion, the Arabs are obliged, both before and after meat, to waſh their hands, beard, and mouth; but many neglect this ceremony. As Mahometans, they have nothing to drink but water, drawn up with a wooden baſon, from which they all drink in their turns. However, they do not refuſe wine when it is offered to them, if they are not ſeen. Many of them are even known to drink to exceſs.

[138]When the Arabs undertake long journies, and in places in which it is probable they will meet with no hoſpitality, they carry with them a certain quantity of their meal; and when they are preſſed by hunger, make a few balls of it with water, in the hollow of their hand. This ſlight nouriſhment ſuffices, and ſupports them during very long courſes.

There are other Arabs, whoſe way of living is ſtill more wretched and miſerable. Theſe are the un⯑conquered hordes, who inhabit ſpots inacceſſible. They have no fixed poſſeſſion or place of abode. If they ſometimes ſow a ſmall portion of land, and if they keep flocks, as they are then obliged to ſettle in the plains, they never fail to be robbed. Theſe wretched people, therefore, retire to the thick impe⯑netrable woods, to frightful defiles between the moun⯑tains, or to caverns in the rocks. They live ſeparate, one from the other, and are obliged, as we may ſay, to nouriſh themſelves with the graſs of the field. Wild fruits, tender roots, and the young ſhoots of plants ſup⯑ply them with food. The greater part have fire-arms, which are conſidered as the moſt valuable inheritance that a father can leave to his ſon. They might employ them in hunting, but as they find it very difficult to procure powder and ſhot, they keep them to defend their liberty. They prefer independence and miſery to a more tranquil life, which they could not enjoy in [139] many parts of Arabia; but, by ſubmitting like the reſt of their countrymen to the government of the Turks. Theſe Arabs are the moſt cruel of all, and ſo eagerly do they thirſt after human blood, as to make it eaſily be believed that there are canibals among them. No one dares to penetrate into the defiles of their moun⯑tains. The ſovereigns of the country have, ſome⯑times, carried thither conſiderable armies; but their enterpriſes have always miſcarried. Either the troops have been cut to pieces in the narrow paſſes, or the Arabs have diſperſed and taken ſhelter in the interior parts of their mountains. Sometimes they deſcend to the level country, and plunder the neighbouring na⯑tions. Their figure is horrible; they are lank and meagre, covered with rags, and diſguſting on account of their dirtineſs. They never attack travellers, ex⯑cept when in large bodies; but, as they live at a diſ⯑tance one from the other, when a traveller makes no ſtay among them, and does not give them time to aſſemble, he may paſs in many places without danger.

Though half ſavage, in appearance, the Arabs have certain received ſigns to expreſs friendſhip and re⯑ſpect.—Signs, which among them have as little ſin⯑cerity as among us. The moſt uſual ſalutation, when the Arabs meet, is to put the right-hand on the breaſt, and to incline the head; and in this poſture to wiſh [140] each other a good day. They enquire afterwards, concerning the health of their relations, naming them in order, and do not forget to aſk reſpecting the mare, the flock, the tent, &c. If they are Arabs who are acquainted, they embrace one another reciprocally kiſſing each others face and ſhoulders, or they only lay hold of each other's hands, and kiſs one another. Thoſe among whom an intimate familiarity ſubſiſts, when they meet one another, frequently do nothing but touch the extremity of each other's fingers, after which each puts his own to his mouth and kiſſes them.

When the Arabs accoſt any perſon of dignified rank, ſuch as a chief, a bey, or a kaidi, they kiſs their hand with great reſpect. A mark of favour, on the part of the great man, is to preſent the palm of his hands to the ſubjects who come to render him homage, and whom he wiſhes to diſtinguiſh from others; ge⯑nerally he preſents only the back part of his hand. In ſhort, as a greater mark of ſubmiſſion, they kiſs his head, his ſhoulders, his turban, and his cloaths. There are ſome, even, who proſtrate themſelves, by placing one knee on the earth. An Arab never approaches a great man, without pulling off his flippers.

When two Arabs meet on the highway, they ſalute each other, and aſk all the queſtions above men⯑tioned. [141] without ſtopping, and even when purſuing their journey in different directions: hence, it often happens, that they are too far aſunder to be under⯑ſtood, when they have got to the end of their queſ⯑tions. This, however, does not prevent them from going on.

In converſation, their geſtures are lively, graceful, and expreſſive. When we ſtudy them with atten⯑tion, it is not difficult to comprehend the ſubject of their diſcourſe. Their accent is ſtrong and ſharp, and the ſound of their voice is ſonorous, and may be heard very far. Their being habituated to live in the open fields, and to ſpeak to one another at a great diſtance, makes them acquire, from infancy, a cuſtom of ſpeaking very loud.

The Arabs do not affix to eructation the ſame idea of ruſticity and indelicacy, as do the Europeans. On the contrary, when any one belches or ſneezes, they offer up vows for his health. They ſay ſaha, which ſig⯑nifies, may it do you good. They uſe this expreſſion upon many other occaſions. When any of them eats, drinks, or ſmokes, they ſay to him ſaha, a compli⯑ment much juſter than that uſed by us, when we drink to any one's health.

[142]When the Arabs are at reſt, their uſual poſture is not croſs-legged, like the Turks; they ſit ſquatting, with their fuzee upright between their knees; for they never quit their arms, except when in their tents. In this manner they paſs whole days in doing nothing; and conſider themſelves exceeding happy, when they can give themſelves up to this idleneſs.

The only method of travelling commodiouſly, in this country, is to have a tent to ones ſelf, ſays Abbé Poiret, and to lay in a ſufficiency of proviſions; but ſometimes this precaution is impoſſible. In ſuch a caſe, a traveller muſt be contented to put up with the tents of the Arabs, dirty and diſguſting as they are; but above all, he muſt accuſtom himſelf to their coarſe and unpalatable food. How often muſt he de⯑part in the morning, without knowing where he will arrive in the evening! How oft, loſing himſelf in theſe deſarts, muſt he ſearch out his way amidſt thorny brakes, thick foreſts, ſteep rocks, and burning ſands; ſometimes ſtopped by a river, which he muſt wade through, by a lake which he muſt walk round, or by a marſh which he cannot croſs without danger; ſometimes ſcorched by the ſun▪ or drenched by the rain, and at others dying with thirſt, without being able to find the ſmalleſt ſpring to quench it! If he carries no proviſions with him, it will be impoſſible that he ſhould get any refreſhment before night. This [143] is the only time at which the Arabs make a regular repaſt, or can offer any food to a ſtranger.

But, when night arrives, that period of repoſe for travellers in Europe, it is not ſo here. He muſt then chooſe out a dry ſituation, and well ſheltered to erect his tent; he muſt unſaddle his horſes, unload his mules, cut wood, light fires, and take every precaution that prudence directs to protect himſelf againſt ferocious animals and robbers. It is ſafeſt to encamp not far from the tents of the Arabs, when they can be found. They furniſh many ſuccours when they are tractable; and they are always ſo, when they ſee a perſon with a ſufficient guard.

It is on the bare ground, or at moſt covered with a mat, that the Arabs repoſe; and, it is thus that the traveller muſt reſolve to paſs the night, unleſs he be provided with a mattraſs; which, however, he muſt renounce, when he meets with much rain. Beſides, as all his luggage is incommodious, it will be better to adopt at firſt the cuſtom of the Arabs, to which one muſt come either ſoon or late.

There are a multitude of national prejudices, re⯑marks the Abbé very juſtly, that one cannot get rid of without having been engaged in ſuch journies as theſe. All civilized nations reſemble one another. [144] The characteriſtic marks which diſtinguiſh them, are act ſufficiently prominent to obſerve them; we muſt have a delicacy and acuteneſs of judgment far above the common. Every nation, without doubt, has its peculiar character, cuſtoms and manners, but they are all guided by common principles; and all, more or leſs, enlightened by the arts and ſciences, endeavour to unite around them the conveniences and comforts of life. Amongſt a poliſhed people, genius, ever active and lively, is continually inventing and bringing ſome⯑thing to perfection: it embelliſhes the habitation of man, and converts to his uſe the productions of na⯑ture; but theſe boaſted conveniences, theſe events of ſocial life, are ſo many bonds, which render man a ſlave to a number of fictitious wants; and make him an unhappy being, when his riches or labour cannot ſupply them. Accuſtomed from infancy to enjoy theſe advantages, we believe them to be ſo eſſential to our exiſtence, that to procure them, we forget the labour, the fatigue, and the pain which they coſt us. We exhauſt our ſtrength, deſtroy our health, and ſacri⯑fice our moſt valuable moments to the acquiſition of a fortune, which often eſcapes from us; and even on the brink of the grave, we ſtill form grand projects, in the hopes of poſſeſſing a falſe happineſs, which death in a moment ſnatches from us. Born amidſt ſuch prejudices, ſays the Abbé, I lamented thoſe wan⯑dering [145] tribes to whom our diſcoveries are unknown, and who have neither bread, beds, nor houſes.

Experience has undeceived me. I not only know thoſe men, whom I thought ſo wretched, but I have reſided among them, and lived in the ſame manner. I followed their cuſtoms at firſt through neceſſity, and afterwards adopted them from habit. They eat no bread; they are ignorant of the art of cooking vic⯑tuals, and water is their only drink. But what is the con [...]equence? They are more healthy, more robuſt, and diſeaſes are uncommon among them. They have no houſes; but in this happy climate a piece of can⯑vaſs, a hut covered with leaves, or the hollow of a rock, is ſufficient in the worſt weather, to defend one from the injuries of the air. They ſleep in their clothes, and often amidſt moiſture. Would it not, therefore, appear they muſt be attacked by that croud of diſ⯑tempers with which medicine threatens thoſe in Eu⯑rope who ſhould attempt the ſame thing? I was a little frightened, when I found myſelf obliged, for the firſt time, to repoſe in an Arabian hut; I ſlept well, but finding my clothes wet when I awoke, I was ap⯑prehenſive for my health. Luckily I felt no other in⯑convenience than that of having my ſides a little ſore: but this was of no conſequence; they were ſoon ac⯑cuſtomed to the hard earth for a bed, as well as my head to my ſaddle, for a pillow. With a little cuſ⯑tom, [146] one ſleeps as ſoundly in this manner, as in a bed ſurrounded by curtains. Sleep, which then never ex⯑ceeds the bounds preſcribed by nature, diffuſes the balſam of health through all the organs. Reſpiration becomes more lively, and we ſeem animated by a new exiſtence, which one would regret to loſe by too much indulgence.

Beſides this, at the moment when one awakes, there is another pleaſure which few can appreciate, becauſe few know how to enjoy the beauties of nature. In the midſt of theſe ſilent deſarts, when the morning ap⯑pears, the horizon glows with its ruddy light, and its rays gild the ſummits of the diſtant mountains. By little and little, the plains are illumined, ſurrounding objects appear diſtinctly, the flowers expand, and ſcent the gale with their perfume; the birds ſhake their plumage, and ſalute the new day; and, in a moment, all nature is enlivened, and every where preſents the moſt enchanting proſpects. The goat is ſuſpended on the projecting rocks; the ox crops his food in the verdant mead; the lamb bleats by the ſide of its mo⯑ther; and the whole country becomes a true picture of paſtoral life. Theſe are pleaſures unknown to thoſe who can ſleep only in ſome gloomy alcove.

Marriages among the Arabs is nothing but a name. They purchaſe one, two, or three women, as they are [147] able to maintain them; keep them as long as they pleaſe, and afterwards diſmiſs the [...] without any for⯑mality. No people can be more wretched than theſe women. Their huſbands are real deſpots, who ex⯑erciſe the moſt abſolute authority over them, and treat them with the utmoſt contempt. Marriage here, re⯑marks the Abbé again, is not a contract which requires even the conſent of both parties. It is a bargain, con⯑cluded between the parents of the woman, and the perſon who intends to eſpouſe her. In order to ob⯑tain her, he has no need to win her heart, or merit her good graces; for, if he preſents himſelf with one or two beautiful cows, well fed, he is certain of being favourably received. The parents keep the cows, and deliver over their daughter in their ſtead. Whether ſhe is to be happy, or unhappy, is not their buſineſs: ſhe is ſold. If ſhe diſpleaſes her huſband, he ſends her back to her parents, and purchaſes another, or even ſeveral, as we have above remarked. If the re⯑pudiated woman happens to pleaſe another, ſhe will coſt him leſs; as ſhe has before had another huſband.

To the woman is committed the whole manage⯑ment of the family, which is ſometimes very fatiguing; when theſe Arab hordes often change the place of their reſidence. To grind corn, to make it into cour⯑couſan, to cook it, to milk the cows, and to churn the [148] [...] [149] [...] [] [...] [] [...] [148] butter, all belong to the women; but this is the eaſieſt part. Whilſt the men paſs their lives in idleneſs, they leave to the women the ſevereſt labours. It is they who cut wood, and who, with great fatigue, carry it on their ſhoulders. Their burdens are often ſo enor⯑mous, ſays the Abbé, that I could not diſtinguiſh, till very near, under a branchy load, a ſmall human figure, diſguſting with ſweat, and extenuated with toil. It is they, alſo, who often ſow and till the earth. Their hardſhips, however, are ſtill greater, when it is ne⯑ceſſary to pull up the poles of their tents. The huſ⯑band mounts his horſe very peaceably, without any other incumbrance except his arms; while the wife walks on foot, loaded with kitchen furniture, and ſometimes with the tent, when there is no animal to carry it. The huſband often has the cruelty to beat her very ſeverely, when in ſuch a ſituation ſhe is not able to keep up with his horſe. Thus is ſhe obliged to travel acroſs burning ſands, having nothing either often, to eat or to drink.

The ſlave, rather than the companion of her huſ⯑band, ſhe can expect from him neither tenderneſs nor affection. He never ſpeaks, but as an imperious maſ⯑ter, who is ſenſible of that ſuperiority which nature has given him over the woman, by making him ſtrong⯑er. Theſe unhappy wretches are ſubordinate to their children, and even to their ſlaves; they never eat till [149] theſe have finiſhed, and they are obliged to be con⯑tented with what they leave. When they are not called abroad by labour, they remain ſhut up in their tents; where they ſit ſquatting amidſt ſilth and vermin. They almoſt all have the itch, and diffuſe an infec⯑tious ſmell every where around them. Their dreſs conſiſts only of a few greaſy rags, which they never waſh. They have no linen, and carry their whole paltry wardrobe along with them.

Employed in continual exerciſe, their being with child is no reaſon for diminiſhing their labours; they are never interrupted, but at the moment when they bring forth. They have neither midwives nor ſur⯑geons amongſt them. They all deliver themſelves, and their bed of pain is the bare ground. Several of them waſh their children as ſoon as they are born, and wrap them up in the corner of their robe; in other reſpects, they abandon them to nature, and allow them nothing but what is neceſſary to ſupport their exiſtence. When ſcarcely brought to bed, theſe women reſume their labours; to which is added, that of feeding their children. Though little cared for, extended on a ſmall bundle of ſtra [...], ſcarcely covered with a few rags, without ſwaddling clothes, and without bandages; theſe children, however, be⯑come ſtrong and vigorous n a little time, and ſoon follow their mother to the fields.

[150]The Arabs of the mountains are much leſs jealous than thoſe of the towns; none but the chiefs keep their wives ſhut up. The reſt, though they might wiſh to do it, could not, unleſs they were reſolved to ſupply their places in domeſtic labours; but, in them, lazineſs is much more predominant than jealouſy. Theſe women never have their faces covered, though they ought to uſe veils, to hide their uglineſs, rather than to conceal their beauty. Their complexion is like ſoot; their ſkin is dry and parched, and their whole body is painted with different fantaſtical figures. Scarce have they paſſed the bounds of infancy, when the ſigns of premature old age appear on their coun⯑tenances. They are early deformed by wrinkles; but it is eaſily perceived, that they are only the effects of forced labour and misfortune, and not the ravages of years. The attracting graces of youth have not time to diſplay themſelves; and, from infancy to old age, there is ſcarcely any gradation. Dead eyes, a caſt-down and diſordered look, hollow cheeks, a back bent by exceſs of labour, ſigns of the greateſt miſery in the whole external appearance, dejection, heavi⯑neſs, and the moſt gloomy melancholy, form the por⯑trait of the greater part of the Arab mountaineers. They marry very young, bring forth few children, and early terminate their unfortunate career.

[151]In cities, the women loſe in point of liberty, as much as they gain in point of labour. By the jealouſy of their huſbands, they are ſubjected to perpetual im⯑priſonment. Women of diſtinction never go abroad; thoſe who are ſeen in the ſtreets, are of the loweſt claſs; and even theſe wear a very large and thick white veil, which reaches to their knees. They have their faces alſo covered with another veil, which is applied like a maſk. Their under dreſs is a large white ſheet, or blanket, arranged in the form of a robe. They all have long drawers, which deſcend to their heels; and, on their feet, they wear high-heeled ſhoes. In ſuch a dreſs, theſe women appear as if wrapt up in a large bale of cloth; and it is impoſſible to judge what they are, under ſuch a covering, which entirely conceals all their graces. In their houſes, they lay aſide part of their dreſs; and, in the evening, when their huſ⯑bands are at the moſques, it is not uncommon to ſee them enjoying the cool air on their terraces; but they inſtantly diſappear at the ſight of a man—that is, of a muſſulman—for they are very fond of the chriſtians; and, when they perceive them, readily expoſe to their view, every thing the jealouſy of their huſbands obliges them to hide. With ſuch a diſpoſition, and above all under ſuch a conſtraint, an intrigue might be ſoon formed and terminated; but here, there is no greater crime than gallantry, eſpecially in an European. If he is caught, death is inevitable; and there are no other [152] means of eſcaping it, except embracing the religion of Mahomet, and eſpouſing the woman that has been ſeduced. If ſhe be married, there is no reſource for either of the parties. The woman is encloſed in a ſack, and thrown into the ſea; and the man is burnt alive, or cut into a thouſand pieces.

CHAP. IV. Education.

THE following obſervations of the Abbé Poiret, reſpecting the education of the Arabs, will, perhaps, not prove unacceptable to our readers. I was ſurpriſed, ſays this writer, to find a public ſchool in one of their douares; and ſtill more ſo, to find it under the direction of a perſon who was blind. This Arab collected in his tent, about a dozen children of both ſexes, whom he taught to read and write. I obſerved, that their countenances bore no marks of wearineſs or diſguſt, which are too common in our ſchools of Europe; labour, on the contrary, appeared [153] to them like amuſement. They had only one book, the koran, which the maſter knew by heart; and, on that account, he was able to follow his ſcholars, and to correct them, when they went wrong. They chaunt⯑ed their leſſons, each with good humour, and in a different tone; and, though this muſic was not very engaging, I ſaw, with pleaſure, that, among theſe ſa⯑vage hordes, the infancy of man is not abandoned to cruel and mercileſs tyrants, who often blaſt the riſing flowers of genius at an early period of life. The fartheſt advanced taught the younger branches to write, under the direction of the maſter. Inſtead of paper, they had pieces of board covered over with a kind of varniſh; a bit of reed, cut in a very rude man⯑ner, ſupplied the place of a pen; and yet, with this coarſe apparatus, they wrote well, and with great expedition. When they had thoroughly learned their taſk, they waſhed their tablets, upon which ano⯑ther was written; and this always ſome ſentence from the koran. As ſoon as the time of their remaining in ſchool was expired, each child embraced the maſter, (who treated them with great mildneſs and affability,) and returned him thanks for his attention. How re⯑verſe is ſuch a treatment, from that of one of our ſurly pedagoues, who knows no other plan, but that of in⯑ſpiring children with ſentiments of fear and diſguſt!

[154]In the greater part of what are called civilized na⯑tions, children ſcarce come into the world, before they are dreſſed out like puppets. They are made to repeat by rote, a few Latin lines; they are taught, above all, to behave with politeneſs; that is to ſay, to diſſemble and lie; and they are afterwards whipped, for theſe faults, when their parents themſelves are the firſt victims of their own folly. Among the Arabs, the caſe is quite different: children there are entirely abandoned to nature; they are ſeldom careſſed, and never beaten. Left to themſelves, they are employed only in exerciſes ſuited to their age: they run, ſport, quarrel, and become friends; the moſt ardent heat does not intimidate them; dampneſs and cold never hurt them; they throw themſelves into the water, when covered with ſweat, and never ſit down till they have quenched their thirſt. They can ſcarcely walk, when they accompany their fathers, to watch their flocks; mount on the back of the fierceſt bull, and learn, without bridle, and without ſpurs, to manage the moſt untractable courſer. Familiar with every animal, they careſs the ſheep, play with the goat, and, in cloſe purſuit, follow the ox, which eſcapes. By theſe exerciſes, in which they delight, and to which they are never compelled, they become nimble, vigo⯑rous, and robuſt; and are enured to that kind of life for which they are deſtined.

[155]They are accuſtomed early to bear hunger, thirſt, and the moſt laborious journeys, without complaining. Their parents do not ſpoil them, by ſedulous and mi⯑nute attention. An over tender mother, never runs to wipe the ſweat from the dirty forehead of her ſon; if he complains, he is not heard; and if he cries, ſhe is inſenſible to his tears, which are never the means of obtaining what he deſires. He is never prevented from doing what he chuſes, but his parents never humour his caprice. If he wiſhes for any thing, he muſt procure it himſelf; if he cannot, he muſt give it up, and remain contented. He never aſks for any thing; he ſearches for it; and, by this, he accuſtoms himſelf to ſuit his deſires to his ſituation. But this want of complaiſance on the part of the parents, and this kind of independence in the children, do not eſta⯑bliſh, between father and ſon, thoſe gentle bands, and that tender relation, which, to feeling hearts, are the higheſt enjoyments of life. As soon as children can ſupport themſelves, without the help of thoſe to whom they owe their exiſtence, they often abandon them; and they become afterwards, ſtrangers to one another. Their common fate gives them little concern, unleſs they are united by reciprocal intereſt; affection for parents, is, therefore, a ſentiment almoſt unknown to the heart of an Arab; a brother is often an enemy to a brother; and the ties of blood, which are thought [156] to be ſo ſtrong among mankind, are here of little force.

With regard to the real character of children, it is the ſame in Arabia, as elſewhere. Some of them, as in Europe, are eager, lively, full of ſpirits, and of petu⯑lance: their reaſon, though never cultivated, is much forwarder th [...]n that of children in Europe. Amongſt us, a boy of twelve or thirteen, ſcarcely knows how to ſpeak before people older than himſelf. He is timid, baſhful, and dull. On the other hand, the young Arab, wandering in the open plains ſurrounded by tents, herds, and flocks, and enjoying in full liberty, all the pleaſures of youth, the bounties of nature encreaſe his ideas, even with the objects of his delight. As he is reſtrained by no dread, nor checked by any ſenſe of decency, he ſpeaks his ſentiments in a firm and manly tone, without being in the leaſt abaſhed. If he wiſhes to be heard, he is under the neceſſity of at⯑tracting the attention of thoſe to whom he addreſſes himſelf; otherwiſe, he receives no reply. If he aſks queſtions, none of them are anſwered, but as they deſerve it; but, at the ſame time, if what he ſays appears to be juſt, he is heard with attention, and treated as a man; and this mark of diſtinction in⯑ſpires him with the deſire of acting like one. Thus, without much trouble, without maſters, and without tutors, the young Arab, formed by nature, early ac⯑quires [157] thoſe ideas which relate to his occupation; as well as that vigour and noble carriage which an⯑nounce the dignity of man. Their geſtures are not ſtiff, but natural; and their pace is neither too quick nor too ſlow. It is firm and manly; but it is only during infancy, that the Arabs can follow the dictates of nature. Their mild and ſimple manners, gradu⯑ally deſtroyed by brutal prejudices, by the ſangui⯑nary diſpoſitions of their fathers, corrupted by the ſhameful irregularities to which they abandon them⯑ſelves, totally diſappear; and the blood-thirſty ſavage is ſubſtituted to the man of nature.

One of the firſt prejudices, inſtilled into a child, is an implacable hatred againſt all chriſtians; and this idea becomes ſo ſtrengthened by age, that there is not a ſingle Arab, who does not conſider it a meritorious action, to deprive one of life I have been, ſays Abbé Poïret, often greatly harraſſed by theſe children, who flocked round me, as I approached the tents; and I was even under the neceſſity of putting up with the groſſeſt inſults I received from them. Had I attempted to have corrected any of them, their fathers would not have failed to have taken their part, and to have revenged, at my expence, an injury done by a dog, to a ſervant of Mahomet.

[158]The Arabs hate us, at preſent, without knowing the reaſon why, remarks the Abbé. Their anceſtors, however, knew it well. The moſt unjuſt wars, to which fanaticiſm gave the name of holy, carried on, both in Africa and the Eaſt, incenſed againſt us im⯑menſe nations; who, at that time, had done no other hurt, than that of following the religion of Mahomet, whilſt we followed that of Jeſus. Theſe enterprizes were the cauſe of ſhedding much blood, and termi⯑nated by drawing upon us, from the offended nations, a juſt hatred. The name of Chriſtian, has always con⯑tinued to be execrated in all the different countries of the Levant, in Syria, Arabia, Perſia, Armenia, Egypt, Barbary, &c. Fathers have tranſmitted this hatred to their children. In paſſing from one generation to another, the cauſe has been forgotten, but the hatred has remained. It is thus that we pay, at preſent, for the faults committed by our anceſtors, more than ſix hundred years ago.

I have many times ſeen ſome of the women, who had never met a Chriſtian, ſhudder when I appeared, and fly from me, as if I had been a monſter. How⯑ever, by means of ſome little preſent, I always ren⯑dered them more tractable; and when I had familiar⯑ized them ſo far that they ventured to look at me, they appeared aſtoniſhed when they found me like another man. Several of them could not be perſuaded I was [159] a Chriſtian; they particularly examined my gloves, which were green, taking that to be the colour of the ſkin. When I pulled them off, they were in the ut⯑moſt amazement. Every attempt that I made to ex⯑plain their utility, was in vain; for, as theſe people are acquainted only with what is neceſſary, they laugh at all ſuperfluities. They think themſelves ſuperior to us, becauſe they have fewer wants; and, indeed, it muſt be owned, they are in the right. How often, by their raillery, have they given me uſeful leſſons! I was accuſtomed, when I eat of their courcouſan, to uſe a ſpoon, inſtead of forming it into balls with my fingers, like them. They laughed much at this ſuper⯑fluous piece of furniture, which ſelf-love made me re⯑nounce; and I perceived, that, notwithſtanding my awkwardneſs in uſing my fingers, they eſteemed me more, when they ſaw I abandoned my own cuſtoms to adopt theirs. Thus are all the commodities, ſo much boaſted of in Europe, treated in the deſart. In the eyes of an Arab mountaineer, luxury is contemptible; and the ſtrongeſt proof to him of our meanneſs, is our effeminacy.

CHAP. V. Religion.

THE Arabs follow, in a rude manner, the reli⯑ligion of Mahomet. They intermix it with many ſuperſtitions; and, attached to certain external ceremonies, ſeem to be ignorant of its real ſpirit. They obſerve very ſtrictly the Ramadan, the Beiram, prayer, ablution, and circumciſion; but few of them, however, abſtain from wine.

There are ſome, who, under the title of Papas, wear chaplets, hanging from their necks, compoſed of large beads, and who preſide at religious ceremonies, ſuch as prayer, marriages, funerals, &c. but the people can readily diſpenſe with their ſervices. They em⯑ploy their chaplets, as in Roman Catholic countries, to count the number of their prayers; and every time they drop a bead from their fingers, they ſay, How great is God! There is only one God, and Mahomet is his prophet. In this exclamation, and raiſing their [161] thoughts towards God, all their prayers conſiſt. Theſe prayers they repeat wherever they may be; on a journey, in the midſt of their labour, and in the ſilence of retirement. They pronounce their words with a ſtrong emphaſis, as if animated with ſome lively ſen⯑ſation, and ſtruck with the majeſty and beneficence of the Deity. Their manners, however, are quite con⯑trary to theſe ideas.

Ablution, among the Arabs, is not obſerved in ſo rigorous a manner, as among the Turks. It is ſuf⯑ficient, if they waſh ſome part of their bodies, ſuch as the arms, hands, feet, viſage, and beard, which they generally do in the morning, in the evening, and after meals. Several of them neglect this practice; but they are more attentive to their prayers, which they every where repeat. Wherever they may be, whether in the tents, or in the fields, they throw themſelves on their knees, cover their heads with their clothes, proſ⯑trate themſelves three times on the earth, riſe up, and kneel down, alternately, pronouncing each time, "How great is God! Mahomet is his prophet." During the Ramadan, which continues one moon, they take no food till after ſun-ſet; and they even abſtain from water, and from ſmoking. They ſuffer their hair to grow, and neither waſh their clothes, nor ſhave their beards; they even affect to appear covered with filth and dirt. They do the ſame when they loſe a near [162] relation, or when they have the death of any one to revenge.

To the Ramadan ſucceeds the Beiram, which con⯑tinues ſeveral days. The Arabs then dreſs themſelves in their beſt clothes, ſhave their beards, and indulge in diverſions and feaſting. Different tribes viſit each other reciprocally, and all enmity ſeems to be forgot⯑ten: but only during this feſtival.

The return of the new year is alſo a feſtival, uſhered in with entertainments, conſecrated to joy and pleaſure. On the evening before new year's-day, as well as upon every other grand feſtival, thoſe who are appointed to invite the people to prayer, call out much longer, and with a louder voice, than at other times, as grand ſolemnities are announced among us by a greater number of bells.

The extravagant follies, to which the Arabs give themſelves up at that ſeaſon, though different, have ſome reſemblance to a Carnival. The moſt common farce conſiſts in ſpreading out a lion's ſkin over the ſhoulders of four Arabs, concealed under a large car⯑pet, which reaches to their legs. This fantaſtic lion has a long chain about his neck, and is led by another Arab. Several others play on a tabor and flute; whilſt the lion, and ſome dancers, perform very gro⯑teſque [163] dances; others covers themſelves with the ſkin of a camel, inſtead of the ſkin of a lion. In this diſ⯑guiſe they enter every houſe, to which they can find acceſs, followed by a croud of the populace, and, above all, children, who bear in their hands the figures of a camel, and a lion. They receive ſome pieces of money, from every perſon in whoſe houſe they have exhibited their dances.

The laws of hoſpitality are held ſacred among the Arabs; at leaſt, among thoſe who are under the di⯑rection of a chief. The Mahometan ſtranger, who arrives among them, is received with apparent cor⯑diality; he is preſented with courcouſan, and is intro⯑duced into a tent, to repoſe, during the night. Were he the moſt avowed enemy, when he is once admitted into the douare, he has ſeldom occaſion to fear trea⯑chery. This, however, is not that generous and re⯑ſpectable hoſpitality, which, formed among the an⯑cient patriarchs, as well as among the Romans, the ſweeteſt bonds of fraternal friendſhip; which brought together ſtrangers of all countries, and which honoured humanity by anticipating their wants. The Arabs reſpect the life of their gueſt, whilſt he is in their tents; but, if they have reſolved to deſtroy him, they wait until he has left the douare; they then maſ⯑ſacre, without pity, him, whom the evening before they treated as a friend.

[164]The ſyſtem of predeſtination, ſo generally adopted by the Mahometans, renders the Arabs almoſt indiffe⯑rent with regard to whatever may befall them. They never complain of their ſituation; each is contented with his own: ſatisfied with the preſent, they forget the paſt, care little for the future, and conſider death as a neceſſary event, to which they ſubmit without mur⯑muring.

Have their flocks and tents been carried away?—Are they threatened by ſome great danger, perſecuted by their chief, or driven from their poſſeſſions?—Amidſt the greateſt misfortunes, they make uſe of no other expreſſion but this, God will have it ſo. I have ſeen, ſays Poiret, ſome of them, who, when cited by their ſovereigns, to appear before them; and, when almoſt certain of being ſacrificed to their avarice, departed with aſtoniſhing compoſure. If any emotion of fear aroſe in their ſouls, the idea of predeſtination pro⯑duced a calm, and ſilenced the voice of nature. It is alſo to this comforting prepoſſeſſion that they are in⯑debted for that indifference, with which they behold the plague exerciſing the greateſt ravages amongſt them. How often have I ſeen them, during this deſtructive contagion, wait for death without the leaſt emotion; diſcharge all the duties of humanity to thoſe who were inſected, cleans their ulcers, inter the dead; and, without any precaution, put on the clothes of thoſe who had periſhed by this cruel ma⯑lady! [265] They are not, however, ignorant of the dangers of communication; but they deſtroy every objection by theſe words, My deſtiny is written; God will have it ſo.

The Arabs, however, do not give to predeſtination the ſame extent that we do. They apply it only to phyſical events, and ſeldom to moral actions. They believe in free-will; and, rather attached to the exte⯑rior rites of their religion, give themſelves up to the ferocity of their character, without ſeeming to reflect on the morality of their actions. Hence ariſe a multitude of falſe deductions and inconſiſtencies, which are not ſurprizing in a nation rude and ignorant; and hence, thoſe numerous errors in the relations of travellers, who have reſided only for a ſhort time among thoſe people, whoſe manners they wiſhed to deſcribe. Whoever, for example, newly landed upon their coaſts, ſhould advance towards the infected tent; whoever ſhould have ſeen the father of a fa⯑mily diſtribute, without a tear, to his wives and chil⯑dren, the cloth which was to wrap up their bodies after death; and the latter receive it with a ſtoic tran⯑quillity, would, undoubtedly, imagine himſelf trans⯑ported into a ſociety of philoſophers; eſpecially if he ſhould be preſent at the feſtivals, dances, and public marks of joy which they exhibit, amidſt the ravages of the plague. What would he think, on ſeeing a ſon [166] diſcharge towards his father, the laſt duties of huma⯑nity; and, without conſidering the danger of contact, take the clothes from his body, waſh it with care, and commit it to the earth with his own hands?

Such actions, among us, would be conſidered as heroic. Among the Arabs, they are only the con⯑ſequences of their ſyſtem. To undeceive them, on this head, would be deſtroying their tranquillity, amidſt the deſpotiſm and continual alarms which op⯑preſs them. This ſyſtem, in our religion, would open a door to every crime, by depriving us of moral li⯑berty; but, among the Mahometans, it produces re⯑ſignation to the will of the Supreme Being; and, is attended with no other inconvenience, than that of making them neglect thoſe precautions, which are neceſſary to guard them from phyſical evils. Dan⯑gerous in the religion of a Chriſtian; it becomes a maſter-piece of policy and philoſophy: in that of a Mahometan, it differs little from that reſignation to Providence, enjoined by Chriſtianity, but ill under⯑ſtood, and carried too far among Mahometans.

It is alſo from the principles of their religion, that the Arabs have a kind of veneration for idiots, whom they conſider as ſaints, and privileged beings, favoured by heaven. I ſaw one, ſays Poiret, who was perfectly naked; he entered, with freedom, into [167] all the tents, and preſented himſelf before the women, without giving the leaſt offence to their huſbands. To ſtop him, or to treat him with rudeneſs, would have been an action worthy of puniſhment. He could go and eat where he choſe, and no one refuſed to give him what he wiſhed for. Even the ſcheik himſelf endured his importunities and familiarity, with a moſt aſtoniſhing complaiſance.

CHAP. VI. Diſeaſes and Funerals.

THE Arabs are unacquainted with any other phy⯑ſician than nature; or with any other remedies than thoſe preſented by ignorance and ſuperſtition. This nation, which formerly gave birth to ſo many celebrated and able men, for curing the ills of huma⯑nity, who were the fathers of medicine, is, at preſent, even ignorant of its former ſplendor; and has re⯑ſigned, to other kingdoms, the lamp it firſt lighted. It is rather, however, from ignorance, than contempt, [168] that the Arabs, in their maladies, have no recourſe to medicine. The European phyſicians, who happen to be amongſt them, are very well received; and, this character is the only thing that can make them reſpect the life of a ſtranger. What is very ſingular, is, that theſe men, who are often not ſenſible of their being indiſpoſed, when they really are ſo, become ſick, at leaſt in imagination, when they ſee a phyſician; eager to receive his aſſiſtance, and fearing to let ſlip the op⯑portunity, they examine their health ſo ſcrupulouſly, that there are few of them who do not think them⯑ſelves under the neceſſity of taking phyſic, were it only by the way of a preventative. Not daring to de⯑cide themſelves, whether they are well or not, they preſent their arms to the phyſician, that he may feel their pulſe; and they can ſcarce believe his deciſion, when he aſſures them, they are in good health. They have ſo much confidence in letting blood, that the healthieſt think they have occaſion for this operation, which they conſider as an univerſal remedy. For want of a ſurgeon, they often bleed themſelves, by a proceſs, which would be very terrible to thoſe deli⯑cate people, who faint at the ſight of a lancet.

The perſon, who is to perform the operation, begins binding a bandage round the neck of his patient, ſo cloſely, that he is almoſt ſtrangled. When the veins of the forehead appear ſwelled, by the blood checked [169] in its circulation, the operator makes four or five in⯑ciſions, with a razor; and, in a moment, the patient's face is covered with blood, the effuſion of which is aſſiſted, by rolling a cylindric bit of wood over the in⯑ciſions. Sometimes the Arabs bleed themſelves in the feet, but always by purſuing the ſame method. When the operation is finiſhed, they waſh the wounds, apply to them a little clayey earth, ſoftened in water, and bind them up with a handkerchief. This opera⯑tion does not prevent them from immediately follow⯑ing their uſual occupations. To this is all the medi⯑cine of the Arabs confined, except a few particular remedies, preſerved by tradition, and adminiſtered with a certain mixture of ſuperſtition. They have alſo much faith in amulets and taliſmans.

The Arabs, it is true, are not acquainted with that multitude of diſorders, the conſequence of luxury and intemperance. Thoſe, to which they are moſt ſubject, ariſe from their exceſſive filthineſs, from the marſhy places they inhabit, from their exceſſes with women, or from the badneſs of their food. Theſe are cuta⯑neous diſorders, intermittent or putrid fevers, rheu⯑matiſm, and waſting of the humours and blood.

In continual wars with one another, the Arabs are much expoſed to gun-ſhot wounds, and fractures; [170] but they leave them entirely to nature. Some cure, and others preſerve natural ulcers, which they retain during life. But, if the Arabs do not derive the ſame aſſiſtance from medicine as we do, they do not feel its inconveniences: their imaginations are not frightened by the deciſions of a phyſician; and the va⯑rious medicines, with which the apartments of our ſick are furniſhed, neither offend their fight, nor damp their courage. As it is not neceſſary, on account of religion, or of their civil affairs, that they ſhould be forewarned of their laſt hour; they expire without thinking on death. As long as they can move, they walk; if they cannot, they remain in one ſpot, ſtretch⯑ed out on the earth, without ever pulling off their clothes. If the ſick perſon foreſees his laſt moment, he turns his face towards the Eaſt, and dies calmly, recommending himſelf to Mahomet.

Thoſe Arabs, who ſet little value on the lives of mankind, reſpect their remains, and take the utmoſt care of their interment: the want of it, they conſider as one of the greateſt misfortunes that can happen; and, in the preſent deſolation, they die with compo⯑ſure, when they are certain to leave ſome one behind, who will bury them. The ſevereſt puniſhment, there⯑fore, among them, is to be cut in pieces, and thrown to the dogs. Their funeral ceremonies, ſays Poiret, [171] as far as I have had an opportunity of obſerving them, are as follow:

Scarce has an Arab breathed his laſt, when his body is carefully waſhed; after which it is wrapped in a winding-ſheet, of white cloth, reſerved for that purpoſe. This cloth is manufactured in the towns of Arabia; but they ſet the higheſt value upon that brought from Mecca, and which has been bleſſed by the principal Iman. The benediction is expenſive; but the ſingular favours annexed to it, make them forget what it coſts.

As ſoon as the dead body is purified, it is placed upon a kind of litter, and carried to the place of in⯑terment, either on horſeback, or by the friends and relations of the deceaſed. While the men are em⯑ployed in digging the grave, the women ſquat down in a circle round the body, which they feel and un⯑cover; and, afterwards, converſe together with much indifference; but every now and then they break off their diſcourſe, to give vent to their lamentations, to aſk the body queſtions, and to beſeech it, in the moſt earneſt manner, to return again, and take up its abode among them. "Why," ſay they, "haſt thou quitted us? Did we not prepare thy courcouſan well? Alas! ſhall thy children then behold thee no more? Ah! return again; nothing ſhall be wanting to thee. But [172] thou heareſt no more; thou no longer giveſt an an⯑ſwer to our words; thou heareſt only our ſighs, &c." Theſe diſmal lamentations, which diſplay a natural and pathetic eloquence, would have a powerful effect in moving the heart of a ſpectator; did he not ſee theſe very women, a moment after, throw aſide that external appearance of the deepeſt grief, talk and laugh together, and afterwards return to their former lamentations.

During theſe tender complaints, they tear their hair, and open the veins of their temples, with their nails; while the blood trickles down, mingled with their tears, and exhibits an appearance of the deepeſt deſpair. When the grave is finiſhed, the body is de⯑poſited in it, on its ſide, and with the face turned to⯑wards the Eaſt. One of their papas puts into its hands a letter of recommendation to Mahomet; after which a kind of arch is formed over it, with the bran⯑ches of trees, in order that the earth may not touch it. When the grave is covered with earth, other branches of trees are laid over it, and a quantity of large ſtones, to prevent ſavage animals from devour⯑ing the body, in the night time. In the middle of the ſtones an opening is left, where they depoſit earthen veſſels, and other family utenſils; but this is only done to Arabs of rank. Before they quit the grave, they erect in the middle of it, a kind of funeral flag; which [173] is, generally, a piece of the clothes of the deceaſed, fixed to the end of a ſtick. When the ceremony is finiſhed, each returns home with the greateſt tran⯑quillity; and, without ſhewing, in their exterior ap⯑pearance, any ſigns of the melancholy duty which they had been diſcharging.

The neareſt relations and friends of the deceaſed go, from time to time, to viſit his tomb. They re⯑move ſome ſtones from it; and, in part, uncover the body, to ſee that the perſon has not returned to life; and, when the ſmell convinces them of the contrary, they renew their wailings and lamentations. Some ſcatter a little lime over the ſtones, to make this rude tomb look ſomewhat brighter. On every holiday, the Arabs go in crouds, to viſit the tombs of their dead, and to bedew them with their tears.

The Arabs, alſo, as is cuſtomary among us, pay reciprocal viſits, in order to condole with one another. When any of them has loſt a relation, all his friends and neighbours go to viſit him. The men viſit the men, and the women do the ſame to thoſe of their own ſex; and, on the firſt interview, both parties begin to weep, and to ſend forth loud and lamentable cries. Theſe cries are proportioned, to ſhew their dignity. When a perſon mourns for a ſuperior, he howls with all his might; for an equal, his noiſe is not quite ſo [174] loud. Chiefs give vent only to a few ſighs, unleſs it be for another chief. All this is generally preſcribed. A moment after, their joy is renewed, and they think no more of their mourning, except a ſtranger arrives, with whom they muſt commence their howlings afreſh. Theſe ceremonies are not confined to one viſit; they are repeated during eight days, or a fortni [...]ht, and ſometimes much longer. When they are informed of the death of an Arab, in douare, where any of the relations of the deceaſed reſide, men, women, and children, all immediately begin to howl, as loud as they poſſibly can. The dogs too, frightened by their horrid din, join in chorus; but their grief is ſoon allayed, and tranquillity is again reſtored.

In cities, thoſe who are devout, conſider it as a very great act of religion, to convey the dead to the grave. If they ſee a funeral paſſing, they inſtantly quit their occupations, and take the places of thoſe who carry the coffin, until they are relieved by others. The honour of interring the dead is not entruſted to mercenary hands; it is the duty of the neareſt re⯑lation. Fathers inter their children, children their parents; and thus, in order, according to the de⯑gree of relationſhip. One or more papas always aſſiſt at theſe ceremonies who ſing, or rec [...]e ſome verſes of the Alcoran, and give the deceaſed a recommenda⯑tory epiſtle to the holy prophet.

CHAP. I.

THE general name of Italy was probably derived from Aetolia, a Grecian nation, oppoſite to this country, from which it is ſeparated only by the Adri⯑atic gulph. The ſouthern part was inhabited by va⯑rious tribes, who communicated their names to the ſeveral ſubdiviſions; as the Latins, Sabines, Tuſcans, Samnites, and ſo on.

According to the earlieſt accounts in hiſtory, this beautiful peninſula was in the ſame ſituation as it is [176] now, cantoned out into various little ſtates, and re⯑publics, all living in diſtruſt, and at variance with each other.

We have different computations of the extent of Italy, according to the different notions, that ancient and modern writers have entertained of the proper boundaries of this country: let it ſuffice, however, that from the frontiers of Switzerland, to the extre⯑mity of the kingdom of Naples, it is about ſeven hun⯑dred and fifty miles in length; and, from the fron⯑tiers of the duchy of Savoy, to thoſe of the dominions of the ſtate of Venice, which is its greateſt breadth, about four hundred miles; though, in ſome parts, it is ſcarce a fourth part as broad.

It is bounded by the Alps, which ſeparates it from France, Switzerland, and Germany, towards the North and North-weſt; by the gulph of Venice, or Adriatic ſea, and the country of Trent, towards the Eaſt; by the Ionian ſea, and ſtrait of Meſſina, towards the South; and the Tuſcan ſea towards the Weſt.

The principal mountains in Italy are, the Alps and Apennines. The Alps, which word, in its general ac⯑ceptation, ſignifies high mountains, are a long chain of hills, beginning at the mouth of the river Var; and, after many irregular windings, terminating near the [177] river Arſia, in Iſtria, in the Adriatic. They divide Italy from France, Switzerland and Germany, and are variouſly denominated according to their ſituation. The Appennine mountains take their riſe near the Alps, on the ſea-coaſt, in the territories of Genoa, and dividing Italy into almoſt two equal parts, reach to the ſtraits that ſeparate it from Sicily.

The largeſt and moſt remarkable rivers in Italy, are, 1. The Po, in Latin, Padus, or Eridanus, which riſes in one of the higheſt mountains in the Alps. After receiving upwards of thirty ſmall rivers, it empties itſelf into the Adriatic, by ſeven different mouths.

2. The Adige, in Latin Atheſis, has its ſource likewiſe in the Alps, and waters the cities of Trent and Verona. It is the only large river in Lom⯑bardy; and, inſtead of joining the Po, runs, as this river does, into the Adriatic.

3. The Arno flows from the Appennine mountains, and falls into the Tuſcan ſea, near Piſa.

4. The Tiber, in Latin Tiberis, riſes alſo out of the Apennine mountains; and, at a little diſtance from Rome, empties itſelf into the Tuſcan ſea.

[178]Italy lies between the thirtieth, or, if we include Sicily, the thirty-ſeventh and forty-ſixth degree of North latitude; therefore, the air of this country muſt be very different according to the different ſitu⯑ations of the ſeveral countries of which it is compoſed. The Northern parts, that lie upon the Alps, are cold, and covered with ſnow in winter; the hills of the Apennine, which run almoſt the whole length of Italy, are alſo cold; but, the countries on the North of the Apennine, are temperate; and thoſe on the South are warm. The Campania of Rome is unhealthy; and ſo is the Ferrareſe, occaſioned by bogs and ſtag⯑nant waters. In other parts, the air is generally pure and dry; and, though Naples, from its Southern ſitu⯑ation, might be thought the hotteſt; yet, being almoſt ſurrounded by the ſea, it is continually refreſhed by breezes from thence.

This country, ſays Buſching, produces every thing in great plenty, for the uſes and conveniences of life. All materials for enjoyment, and a variety of deli⯑cacies, which lie ſcattered, as it were, in other coun⯑tries, are here almoſt every where met with in pro⯑fuſion. Theſe conſiſt of corn, rich wines, and the choiceſt fruits; ſuch as oranges, citrons, lemons, olives, pomegranates, &c. oil, ſugar, almonds, raiſins; mulberry-trees beyond number, to facilitate the pro⯑duction of ſilk; tame and wild beaſts, alabaſter, jaſ⯑per, [179] iron, alum, ſulphur, gold, ſilver, &c. On this account Italy is juſtly ſtiled, by writers, the parent of plenty: the ſource of earthly felicity; the pride of our globe; the garden of Europe; the beauty of the world, and even a microcoſm within itſelf. But the fine plants, which, from time to time, have been brought into the Weſtern countries from Italy, as the reputed mother of them, are not all originally natives, the far greater part being tranſplanted to the Italian ſoil, from the Eaſt. All the fruit-trees, the produce of which the Latins call mala, were tranſported to Italy, after the conqueſt of the Romans in Africa, Greece, Aſia-Minor, and Syria. The apricots came from Epirus, and are called mala Epirotica; the peaches, mala Perſica, from Perſia; the citrons, mala Medica, from Media; the pomegranates, mala Punica, from Carthage; and cheſnuts from Caſtania, in the diſtrict of Magneſia, in Macedonia. The beſt pears, as their names ſufficiently indicate, were ſent from Alexandria, Numidia, Greece, and Numantia. The firſt plumbs were imported from Armenia and Syria, and eſpecially from Damaſcus. Lucius Lucullus, was the firſt who introduced cherry-trees from Pontus, which ſoon after became the growth of all other coun⯑tries throughout Europe.

However rich and exuberant Italy may be deemed in general, yet no ſmall difference is diſcernible, in [180] reſpect to the futility, wholeſomeneſs, and pleaſant⯑neſs of its provinces. It is ſubject to ſeveral, and great inconveniences, eſpecially in the middle and lower parts, as will more particularly appear in the deſcription of the reſpective territories. In ſome countries, the number of inhabitants is far from ſuf⯑ficient for the culture, and improvement of the ſoil. On conſidering the multitude of people in Italy, during the time of the Roman emperors, its preſent deſolateneſs, which is moſt perceptible in the domi⯑nions of the Pope, cannot but appear ſurprizing. Mr. Addiſon, a judicious obſerver of men and things, is of opinion, that the Campania of ancient Rome, con⯑tained more people, than there are at preſent in all Italy; and, that there is not a town of any conſe⯑quence, in the whole country, where the eccleſiaſtics make, if not half, at leaſt one-third of the inha⯑bitants.

Italy may be conſidered under three grand divi⯑ſions: 1. Upper Italy, comprehending Lombardy, ſo as to include the principality of Piedmont; to which may be added, the dukedom of Savoy, though on this ſide the Alps; the duchies of Montſerrat, Milan, Parma, Modena, and Mantua, with the republics of Genoa and Venice. 2. Middle Italy, containing the dominions of the pope, and the grand duke of Tuſ⯑cany; with the republics of Lucca and St. Marino. [181] 3. The lower, or Southern part of Italy, conſiſting of the kingdom of Naples. We will begin with the lower diviſion, the kingdom of Naples, as being moſt proximate to the countries we have been ſpeak⯑ing of, thence proceed to the ſecond diviſion, and end with the firſt, &c.

In giving an account of the ſeveral ſtates, we will comprehend, in one deſcription, the countries belong⯑ing to the ſame prince, whether on the continent, or in the iſlands.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE KINGDOM OF THE TWO SICILIES, FROM BUSCHING, MISSON, LASSELLES, RAY, KEYSLER, FORBES, CONDAMINE, GROSLEY, SWINBURNE, BRYDONE, NORTHALL, MARTIN, PIOZZI, MOORE, &c.
CHAP II. Of the Country, Climate, Productions.

The population of the kingdom of Naples, accord⯑ing to Buſching, in 1782, was 4,675,000; that of Sicily, 1,300,000; and that of the Eſtates belonging to the King, 30 000; in the whole 6,005,000. Naples contains 1,274 ſquare miles; Sicily, 576; the Eſtates of the King, 14; in the whole 1,864.

The kingdom of Naples, independent of the iſland of Sicily, which is part of the empire; and thus gives the title of King of the two Sicilies; I ſay the king⯑dom of Naples itſelf, called Lower Italy, is bounded on the North-eaſt by the Eccleſiaſtical State, known by the name of the Pope's territories; and, on all the other parts, by the Mediterranean and Adriatic ſeas. Its extent, from South-eaſt to North-weſt, is two hun⯑hred and eighty Engliſh miles: from North eaſt to South-weſt, from ninety ſix to one hundred and twenty miles. It is uſually divided into four large provinces, Terra di Lavora, Abruzzo, Apulia, and Calabria; containing the old Samnium, Campania, Apulia, Lu⯑cania, and Brutium, with a little of Latium.

The old Appian road, made by the Romans, from Rome to Capua, and afterwards to the ſeaport [184] Brunduſium, runs almoſt through the whole extent of the kingdom of Naples, and is a wonderful work of man; which, in ſome parts of it, has both on the right and left, one continued row of ruined palaces, temples, aqueducts, and tombs. What a glorious ſight muſt Italy have afforded to Northern Virtuoſi, who came to ſee it in the time of the Upper Empire. This road is a cauſeway, made of the lava of Veſu⯑vius, that liquid fiery ſubſtance, which the volcano has thrown out, from time to time, and which, on cooling, becomes as hard as rock, and as ſmooth as marble. This cauſeway, ſays Groſley, appeared evidently to me, to reſt all along on ſolid maſonry work, lined with ſmall ſtones, of equal ſize with thoſe of the upper ſide, which are about eighteen inches ſquare, and bound together with cement, ſo as to form one ſolid block. In comparing roads of ſuch a conſtruction, with mo⯑dern roads, the latter ſeem only as gravel walks; which, in courſe of time, without repair, would be⯑come mires, impaſſable by carriages: whereas, this pavement has continued, in many places, in the moſt perfect ſtate, more than two thouſand years; being begun three hundred and thirty-two years before Chriſt, by Appius Claudius, the cenſor. It is three hundred and ſixty miles in length.

Fundi, is the frontier town of the kingdom of Naples, between this and the Eccleſiaſtical ſtate. It [185] ſtands upon a plain, ſheltered by hills, which is ſeldom the caſe with Italian towns; but it has nothing very attractive to the traveller.

This country is extremely hot; and ſubjects foreign⯑ers, unleſs they take great care of themſelves, to a ſickly habit of body; particularly if they travel in July, Auguſt, or September. In the lower part of the kingdom, little winter is felt.

The ſummers, even at Naples, are ſo exceeding cloſe and hot, that were it to happen only once in thirty or forty years, they would call it a plague. They ſit in chairs, ſays Sharp, with only a thin callico gown, ſome days, for hours together; wholly occupied in wiping off the ſweat, that runs in channels down their bodies. The winters here are exceedingly pleaſant and wholeſome; for, notwithſtanding the rain, you ſee no damps on the ſtair-caſes, nor on the walls of your chambers; their iron does not ruſt, as with us; nay, the paintings on the outſide of their buildings, in freſco, remain for years. It is ſo warm, that the flies do not leave them all the year. The quantity of rain at Naples, is much more conſiderable, than that which falls on the ſame ſpace of-ground in England. When the rainy ſeaſon ſets in, it commonly laſts ſeveral ſucceſſive weeks, falling, not in ſuch ſhowers as we are accuſtomed to; having rain more [186] or leſs, every month in the year, but, by pailfuls; an abſolute water-ſpout, ſays Swinburne, that carries all before it, and almoſt drowns the unfortunate paſſen⯑ger, who is caught out of doors by the ſtorm; and yet, Naples is ſo well paved, that immediately after the rain, the ſtreets are clean and dry. Whole months of drought, are compenſated by the deluge of a day; and, beſides, the South winds are ſo boiſterous, in winter, as to burſt open the bolts of both doors and windows. In ſummer time, the air is conſtantly re⯑freſhed by the ſea-breeze. Farenheit's thermometer ſeldom riſes higher than 76; whereas, at Rome, it riſes to 89. At the end of January, the thermometer is ſeldom lower than 36. At Rome, it falls to 27; ſo that the difference, between the greateſt degree of heat and cold, at Naples, is only 40 degrees; whereas at Rome, though more to the Northward, it is 62. But the moſt diſagreeable part of the Neapolitan cli⯑mate is the Sirocc, or South-eaſt wind; which, in May and June, is very common. It is infinitely more relaxing, and gives the vapours in a much higher degree, than the worſt of our rainy Novembers. It will blow for ſeven or eight days, or more, without in⯑termiſſion; it blows as hot, as from the mouth of an oven, and gives ſuch a degree of laſſitude, both to mind and body, that renders men abſolutely incapa⯑ble of performing their uſual functions. It is not, perhaps, ſurpriſing, that it ſhould produce theſe effects [187] on a phlegmatic Engliſh conſtitution; but we have juſt now an inſtance, ſays Brydone, that all the mer⯑cury of France, muſt ſink under the load of this hor⯑rid leaden atmoſphere. A ſmart Pariſian marquis came here, about ten days ago, in the month of May, and was ſo full of animal ſpirits, that the people thought him mad. He never remained a moment in the ſame place; but, at their grave converſations, uſed to ſkip from room to room, with ſuch amazing elaſticity, that the Italians ſwore he had got ſprings in his ſhoes. I met him, ſays Brydone, this morning, walking with the ſtep of a philoſopher; a ſmelling-bottle in his hand, and all his vivacity extinguiſhed. I aſked him what made him ſo dull? Ah! mon ami, ſaid he, je n'ennui à la mort;—moi, qui n'ai jamais ſçu l'ennui. Mais cet execrable vent m'accable, & deux jeurs de plus, & je me pend!

The natives themſelves do not ſuffer leſs than ſtran⯑gers; and all nature ſeems to languiſh during this abominable wind. A Neapolitan lover avoids his miſtreſs, with the utmoſt care, in the time of the ſirocc; and the indolence it inſpires, is almoſt ſuf⯑ficient to extinguiſh every paſſion. All works of genius are laid aſide, during its continuance; and, when any thing very flat or inſipid is produced, the ſtrongeſt phraſe of diſapprobation they can beſtow is, [188] Era ſcritto in temps del ſiroceo; i. e. "It was written in the time of the ſirocc."

It is not the warmth of this wind, that renders it ſo oppreſſive to the ſpirits; it is rather the want of that genial quality which is ſo enlivening, and which ever renders the Weſtern breeze ſo agreeable. The ſpring, and elaſticity of the air, ſeems to be loſt; and that active principle, which animates all nature, appears to be dead. The thermometer, which before the wind ſtood at 43, roſe, whilſt it blew, to 71. Sea-bathing is the beſt antidote againſt it.

Martyn ſays, though conſumptive people reſort to Naples, for a recovery of health, yet this is a frequent diſeaſe here. The climate ſeems unfavourable to it; owing, probably, to the ſtillneſs of the bay; the height of the hills behind the city, and the ſudden tranſitions from heat to cold. The rains generally continue from the end of December, to the middle of January, which is followed by an agreeable ſpring, nearly re⯑ſembling the ſummer of our Northern climates; ex⯑cept, that the ſeas are continually ſtormy and dan⯑gerous. Almond trees bloom in February, and gar⯑den vegetables are in ſeaſon all the year round. Ice is ſeldom ſeen in the level country; ſometimes years paſs without ſnow falling, and, when it does fall, it [189] diſſolves as ſoon as it reaches the ground. What is collected, is from the mountains.

In the plains, ice or ſnow is very rarely ſeen. The ſnow, that ſometimes falls in the mountainous parts, is gathered and kept, for cooling liquors in ſummer-time, inſtead of ice. Even ſo early as April, the ſun darts a very great heat, but the nights are cold. The fertility of the ſoil is very extraordinary; being pro⯑ductive to an exuberance of all kinds of grain; and the fineſt fruits and culinary plants may be cultivated and raiſed, at any time of the year. Oil, wines, rice, flax, are equal to the fineſt of other countries. Ca⯑labria affords great quantities of manna; and both there, and in other parts of the kingdom, ſaffron grows, and is deemed as good as that brought from the Eaſt. The hills of Pauſolippo are covered with flouriſhing almond-trees, palm-trees, and the great American agave. Fig-trees are very common all over the king⯑dom; and the evergreen lemon and orange, give the hills a moſt agreeable variety of colours, and the ap⯑pearance of a botanical garden; for lemons, citrons, cedrates, pomegranates, and china apples, grow be⯑tween Rome and Naples, without any particular cul⯑ture. There are whole foreſts of ſuch trees, near Terracina, the frontier between the two ſtates; but they are, in flavour and fragrance, much below the the Spaniſh and Portugal fruits. There are ripe [190] wood-berries, and wood-berry ſorbets, or jellies, to be had in January.

Whilſt I was in England, ſays Sharp, I never heard the words Northern Climate pronounced, but they con⯑veyed to me an idea of barrenneſs and imperfection; I had always conceived that vegetables, and garden-fruits, attained a flavour and ſavourineſs, in the more Southern climes, unknown to the latitude of 51; but, to my great ſurprize, I do not find, that any of their herbage is equal in taſte and ſweetneſs, to that which grows in our gardens; and as to Italy being the gar⯑den of the world, beautiful and fertile as ſome parts of it are, the amazing quantity of barren mountains, extending from almoſt the one extremity to the other, ſhould ſeem to deprive it of that character; and, how⯑ever bold and uncommon the aſſertion may appear, I think England a better reſemblance of a garden than Italy, and ſhould not heſitate to oppoſe our verdure and incloſures, to their myrtle and orange-trees; which laſt are not to be ſeen in winter, out of green-houſes, except in the Southern parts of Italy.

Their green pea (of which they have but one ſort) is infinitely leſs delicious than ours; and what is ſtill more ſurpriſing, few of their fruits excel ours; I be⯑lieve none, except their water-melons, their figs, and their grapes. An Engliſh gentleman at Naples, who [191] imported his raſberry jam from England, made iced raſberry of a much higher flavour, than any made at Naples immediately from the fruit itſelf. A noble Venetian procured a ſkilful gardener from England, in hopes of improving the culture of his garden. I converſed, ſays Sharp, with this gardener, whom I found under a ſtate of diſcouragement and deſpair. he told me, he had not yet ever taſted a peach in Italy, of a true flavour, and he believed he never ſhould; for that he was thwarted and obſtructed by the other gardeners, in his attempts to reform their practice; that he had no authority over them, but was confined to his own proper department, which he told me would anſwer very little purpoſe.

Here are alſo allum, vitriol, ſulphur, rock chryſtal, quarries of fine marble, and a variety of minerals. Glaſs works make a beneficial branch of trade, as do the Neapolitan horſes, which are much eſteemed.

The cream-coloured horſes, ſuch as draw our king's ſtate coach, are a common breed here, and ſhine like ſatin; here are ſome too of a ſhining ſilver white, wonderfully elegant; the ladies exhibit a variety in the colour of their cattle which draw them.

Mrs. Piozzi tells us, that they ſhewed her at Naples, a ſkew-ball, or pye-balled aſs, well proportioned, [192] coated like a racer in an Engliſh ſtud, ſixteen hands and a half high; his colour bay and white, in large patches, and his temper ſingularly mild and gentle; ſhe could have purchaſed it for two pounds fifteen ſhillings Engliſh. Hares and partridges are ſo tame in this country, that they will run under the carriage-wheels.

Buffaloes are here common; a peculiar cheeſe is made of their milk, rolled up like ſtiff pieces of rib⯑band. Of their black ſhining horns, they make ſnuff-boxes and combs; and a buff-leather of their ſkins. As this creature is unruly, they lead them with braſs or iron rings, drawn through their noſes. The wool of their ſheep is fine and good, and they make a great deal of ſilk. Of the filaments, or a kind of hair or wool, growing on ſome ſhell-fiſh, are made waiſtcoats, caps, ſtockings, and gloves, much warmer than wool; and though not ſo fine, and ſoft as ſilk, yet always re⯑taining a peculiar gloſs.

There are ſome diſagreeable animals in this coun⯑try, though harmleſs; one is the green-lizard, of which there are great ſwarms, common, indeed, to moſt other parts of Italy. In ſpring, ſays Keyſler, hundreds of theſe little animals are ſeen baſking on the flat roofs; and as they crawl up and down the walls, if a window or door be left open, they make their [193] way into the houſes. The ſcorpion is a much greater nuſance, which harbours not only in old buildings, and under large ſtones, but infeſts the houſes in this country; ſo that, in ſome places, it is not unuſual to make the beadſteads of poliſhed iron, and to place them at ſome diſtance from the wall, to prevent theſe vermin from getting into the beds. It is true they ſeldom hurt, unleſs attacked, or accidentally injured, which may eaſily happen by a perſon's turning in his bed.

Another plague, almoſt peculiar to the kingdom of Naples, eſpecially the Southern parts, is the tarantula, ſo called from the city of Tarento, in which neigh⯑bourhood it moſt abounds. It is a large ſpider, with eight eyes; the bite, or ſting of which, is cured only by muſic. The patient, under the venom of this in⯑ſect, has extravagant viciſſitudes of ſhrieking, ſobbing, laughing, dancing, &c. They cannot bear the ſight of black, or blue, but ſeem delighted with red or green objects; they have an abhorrence alſo, to eating fruit and vegetables. A melancholy ſilence, and a fixed eye, are the firſt ſymptoms of this diſorder; at this time muſic is called in to rouſe the patient to a violent motion, and thus promoting a copious ſweat. Diffe⯑rent patients are not affected but by different tunes. They muſt be lively, and chiefly with the guitar, haut⯑boy, trumpet, violin, and Sicilian kettle-drum. The [194] country people, ſays Keyſler, who are more or leſs ſkilled in all theſe inſtruments, enforce the operation of their muſic with grimaces, and odd geſticulations. Several tunes are played, before the right one, per⯑haps, is found; I mean the one that ſets the patient a dancing; which exerciſe is involuntary, and heighten⯑ed, by playing quicker on the inſtruments. When nature ſeems to be exhauſted, the muſic is ſuſpended, and the patient put to bed and ſweated. His ſpirits thus recovered, he is called out of bed again by the ſame tune, and dances till he faints with fatigue, and falls, then he is removed to his bed; and thus, in a few days, the cure is compleated. Sometimes it has been known to return the next year; but the ſame preſcription is always applied. If no means of cure are applied, the patient is carried off in a few days. The petticoats of women are apt to harbour theſe vermin; and, of courſe, they are more liable to be bitten than men. Swinburne is of opinion, that if perſons, bit by this inſect, are ever involuntarily affected, it is an attack upon their nerves only, a ſpecies of St. Vitus's dance; but he doubts the truth of the diſorder, and ſo do many others, it having never been known to affect any but the very poor: of this, we ſhall ſay more hereafter.

Among the natural curioſities of this country, the Phrygian ſtone, or the pietra fringifera, may be [195] claſſed. It has neither the hardneſs of ſtone, nor the properties of earth, but conſiſts of an indurated mix⯑ture of earth, rotten beech-wood, and fibres of dif⯑ferent plants; from which, being laid in a moiſt and ſhady place, grow in a few days, according to its ſize, muſhrooms, weighing often twenty pounds each. The ſeed lies in the ſubſtance of the ſtone, and is diſtin⯑guiſhable only from duſt, by a good microſcope. The growth of the muſhrooms is greatly forwarded, by pouring warm water on the ſtone. There are other ſingularities, which we ſhall ſpeak of in the places where they are found.

The Appenine mountains extend throughout the whole length of the country, and terminate at the ſtreights of Sicily. Mount Veſuvius, ſo well known for its fiery eruptions, lies five Italian miles from the city of Naples, but diſtinct from the Appenines. Its declivity, every where towards the ſea, is planted with vines and fruit-trees, and is no leſs fertile towards the bottom. The circumjacent plain affords a charm⯑ing proſpect, and the air is clear and wholeſome. The wine here produced, is very delicious, and of three ſorts; two are a yellow muſcadine; and the third, abuſively called lachrymoe Chriſti, ſo called from the drops of juice oozing from the grapes when fully ripe; of the latter, the little that is made is reſerved for the king's cellar, who makes preſents of it. The South, [196] and Weſt ſides of the mountain, exhibit a very dif⯑ferent view; being, like the top, covered with black cinders, fleck, and ſtones. On this diſmal ſide, the mountain is cleft aſunder. Its North peak reſembles an inverted cone, ſtriking the eye with an accumula⯑ted maſs of ſtones, ſand, and cinders; and is properly the vulcano. It has another peak, called the Somma. The North peak is three thouſand ſix hundred feet above the level of the ſea; but the other peak only three thouſand three hundred and thirty. The black aſhes, with which the upper part of the mountain is covered, render the aſcent very tedious and toilſome; though curious perſons are aſſiſted in climbing, by the peaſants faſtening belts round their waiſts, of which the climbers take hold, and are thus helped up. The higher we aſcend, the hotter is the ground, and often rumbling noiſes are heard from within; and, in many places, are clefts through which the ſmoke conſtantly iſſues. Its mouth alters its form at every irruption, and often the depth within is ſo conſiderable, that cu⯑rious perſons have ventured down into it. Prior to an irruption, the mountain ſeems to give a warning of its rage, by a dreadful noiſe, ſhaking all the adjacent places, and afterwards belching forth aſhes and ſtones, of three or four hundred pounds weight, and caſting them to the diſtance of ſome miles. Several times, as in the years 1694, 1737, 1751, 1754, and 1755, and much later than this, a flaming ſtream of melted [197] ſulphur, metals and minerals, has iſſued out of its crater, or mouth, as from a cauldron boiling over; ſweeping along with it large ſtones, and ravaging the whole country, through which it ſhapes its courſe. When this fluid matter becomes cold, it has all the hardneſs of ſtone; and, in ſome places, ſtands in huge heaps ſixty ells high, which have been broken to pieces to pave the ſtreets. Naples is paved with this lava. The inhabitants, in the neighbourhood, are pleaſed with a moderate eructation every year; experience having taught them, that then few, or no ſhocks of earthquakes, need be apprehended, and theſe but ſlight. There is ſuch a quantity of combuſtible mat⯑ter in the bowels of the earth, in this part of the world, that was it not for theſe tunnels, or chimnies, acting as vent for the fire, earthquakes would be very frequent; and it is remarked, that Veſuvius, and Etna in Sicily, generally vent their fury at the ſame time. Indeed, as it is, earthquakes are very frequent. The city of Herculaneum was overwhelmed with a torrent of fire, in the year 79, and all its buildings buried within the earth, ſeventy feet deep. Pompeia, ſhared the ſame fate; and ſo lately as the year 1783, the whole province of Calabria was laid waſte, and the city of Meſſina, in Sicily, overthrown, and up⯑wards of forty thouſand perſons deſtroyed. The earth ſhook ſo violently, for many days, that the in⯑habitants near the ſea coaſt, on the ſtreights of Sicily, [198] ran out and lay upon the beach, to avoid being cruſhed by the falling houſes; but, unfortunately for them, a promontory, with a whole town upon it, broke from the land, and fell into the ſea, driving the waters before it; which, on their return, over⯑whelmed the beach; and, on their falling backwards into the ſea again, ſwept off with it all that were on the ſhore, to the number of forty thouſand. So dreadful is this calamity!

Mrs. Piozzi arrived at Naples, at two o'clock in the morning, in very ſtormy weather, at a time when Ve⯑ſuvius was vomiting forth torrents of flaming lava down its ſides, and was the only object viſible. At this time thunder, lightning, rain, and wind, were contending for the maſtery; and combining to extin⯑guiſh the torches, brought to light her from her car⯑riage. She aſked a Franciſcan friar, if it was the fa⯑mous vulcano? Yes, replied he, that's our mountain which throws up money for us, by calling foreigners to ſee the extraordinary effects of ſo ſurpriſing a phe⯑nomenon! Such a calmneſs, in ſuch a ſtorm, was more, ſays ſhe, than my ſenſes could credit. The blue lightning, whoſe colour ſhewed the nature of the original minerals, from which ſhe drew her exiſtence, ſhone around us, from time to time, in a broad expanſe, and ſudden darkneſs followed in an inſtant. No object then, but the fiery river could be ſeen, till another flaſh [199] ſhewed us the waves of the ſea, toſſing and breaking, at a height inconceivable.

Nothing, ſure, was ever more awful or ſublime, than our entrance into Naples, at that dead hour of night; not a whiſper to be heard in the ſtreets, and not a glimpſe of light to lead us on our way, but repeated flaſhes of livid lightning, and the glare of the burn⯑ing mountain. My poor maid, adds this lady, had, by this time, nearly loſt her wits by terror; and my French valet, exauſted with fatigue, beat down with the thunder claps, and covered with rain and ſea-ſpray, had juſt life enough to exclaim, "Ah madame! Il me ſemble que nous ſommes venus icy exprès pour voir le fin du monde!"

And yet, there are people who live at the foot of this mountain, without any fear. It is ſo prolific as to compenſate for all this dread; aſk them, if they are not frightened when the vulcano rages, leſt it ſhould carry away their houſes, and they will tell you, no; ſo as we can raiſe our vines and oranges againſt it for three years, (for it acts as a hot wall) our fortune is made, and the houſe may go. If the red river comes, we can run away, and hang the houſe.

It has been diſcovered, that the houſes of the ſub⯑terranean city of Herculaneum, of which we ſhall [200] ſpeak more particularly hereafter, which was built more than two thouſand years ago, were erected on foundations of this lava; a manifeſt proof that the great irruptions, of this mountain, are not all ſub⯑ſequent to that which ſwallowed up the city.

Swinburne is firmly of opinion that Veſuvius has been raiſed, from the level of the plains, by the ſole action of fire contained in its bowels. Indeed, the iſle of Rhodes, that of Aſcenſion, and many in the Archipelago, one which roſe out of the ſea, in 1707, completely prove this aſſertion. For what are iſlands but the tops of hills, riſing juſt above the water, whoſe baſes are at the bottom of the deep; and of ſuch a hill, whoſe top does not emerge above the ſurface, but lies a little below it, as a ſhoal, ſhould be ſwelled by ſubterranean fires, it would riſe above the ocean, and become an iſland.

Half way up the mountain dwells a hermit, in an excavation of the lava, who profits ſo much by tra⯑vellers climbing to its ſummit, that the vulcano muſt rage indeed, before he thinks of quitting his retire⯑ment. Experience has taught him, when to expect an irruption, and be will foretel it with a ſeeming pleaſure. Gentlemen ſtop here to regale, and for aſ⯑ſiſtance to help them up. Sometimes here are three or four fellows attending for that purpoſe, who will [201] contend, with their couteaus, for the honour of leading the way, and for the reward in conſequence. Fellows, that if you were not armed, would plunder you.

About eight miles from Veſuvius, is a half-extinct vulcano, ſtiled by the ancients, the Court of Vulcan; by the moderns Solfatara; though at ſuch a diſtance from Veſuvius, it has a ſubterraneous communication with that mountain. Its form is circular; hills of mo⯑derate elevation ſurround it; and, notwithſtanding the vicinity of the fire, vines and fruit-trees grow very well on the outer declivity; the floor of the crater is white as chalk, a kind of marly clay. It has ſe⯑veral fiſſures, or chaſms, that emit ſmoke, but it never flames. The more Veſuvius rages, the quieter Sol⯑ſatara is. The ground is every where hollow; for if a ſtone be thrown upon it, or the ground be ſtruck with a hammer, a long ſubterraneous echo enſues. If a large ſtone be caſt into one of the holes, which have been dug, the noiſe is little ſhort of thunder. It ſeems to be a vulcano burnt out, and ſunk into itſelf, leav⯑ing a crater-like ground, incloſed with ſome remains of its ſides, ſurrounding it in an amphitheatrical form.

In this neighbourhood are two or three famous lakes. The firſt is that of Agnano, lying in a valley, and about a mile in circumference. The water here, [202] in many places, boils up to the height of two inches, without any ſenſible warmth. It breeds a great num⯑ber of wild ducks, and other water-fowl; and here the king ſometimes comes for the diverſion of ſhoot⯑ing. In a rock, near its banks, is the Grotta del Cane, ſo called, becauſe a dog, on whom the experiment is commonly made, for half a crown (and ſeveral are left there for the purpoſe) forcibly held, with his noſe againſt the bottom, is ſuffocated in a few minutes; but, if thrown within two minutes after into the lake, recovers; owing, no doubt, to the freſh air. Theſe ſulphureous exhalations, are alſo equally fatal to other animals. The ſweating baths are certain cells, or chambers, in the grotto of lake Agnano; two of which have an aperture, each exhaling a very hot ſteam, ſo as to throw a perſon in them into a very pro⯑fuſe ſweat; uſed in venereal caſes, paralytic diſor⯑ders, gout, weakneſs of joints, and internal impoſt⯑humes.

The ſecond lake is the Lucina, famous among the Romans for its fine oyſters, and abundance of fiſh. It is now rather like a pond than a lake, having been filled up by a mountain, formed by an earthquake, in the night of the 19th of September, 1538. This mountain is five hundred perches high, and five Italian miles in circumference.

[203]The lake of Averno, deſcribed by Virgil, has not thoſe poiſonous exhalations, ſo fatal to birds flying over it; for fowls, at preſent, harbour there, ſwim upon it, and the land all round produces fine fruit, and excellent wine; it is about a mile round; and, in ſome places, one hundred and eighty feet deep. The walls, ſtanding near it, are ſuppoſed to be the remains of a temple of Apollo; but, I ſhall ſpeak more of theſe lakes hereafter.

In travelling through the kingdom of Naples, and the Eccleſiaſtical ſtate, ſays Sharp, an Engliſhman is ſtruck at the ſcarcity of villages and cottages; indeed, one may almoſt aſſert, that there is no ſuch thing as a village, or even cluſter of houſes, approaching to the reſemblance of a village. As, therefore, the country is ſo thinly inhabited, we find the towns ſwarming with people. The towns ſtand on the ſummit of hills; and, at ſome diſtance, afford a pleaſant proſpect, being built with ſtone, and the houſes with flat roofs; but, when you enter within the walls, a traveller is diſguſted, the houſes are ſo offenſively naſty; and not only without glaſs to their windows, but even without ſhutters; and the marks of dirty poverty are ſo ſtrong, as almoſt to turn the ſtomach.

There are many handſome cities in Italy; particu⯑larly Benevento, Salerno, Otranto, Bais, &c. and two [204] in Sicily; namely, Palermo, and Meſſina; but the metropolis of the kingdom of Naples, and the city moſt viſited by foreigners, is Naples; of this then we will now ſpeak, and of its environs.

CHAP. III. Of Naples.

NAPLES, ſays Swinburne, is fabled to owe its foundation to a Siren; and idleneſs, that worſt of Sirens, ſeems to have ſpread its baneful influence over this favourite city, which no length of time has been able to diſpel. It has never loſt the ſoft vo⯑luptuous character, which it may be ſaid to have re⯑ceived from Parthenope, its ſupernatural foundreſs. The Crimeans formed a ſettlement in this bay, about three hundred years after the Trojan war, and called it their new town, Neapolis. Naples, thus happily ſitu⯑ated, grew rich and populous. It was, during a ſhort ſpace of time, the ſeat of war, in the days of Hannibal; but, at almoſt, all other periods, enjoyed the moſt pro⯑found [205] peace, under the powerful dominions of the Ro⯑mans. It was ſuffered to live under its municipal laws, worſhip its peculiar deities, and retain its origi⯑nal rites and language. This indulgence was pur⯑chaſed by a quota of ſhips, to be furniſhed when de⯑manded. Thus maintained, in peace and ſecurity, Naples became the centre of polite arts, the ſeat of re⯑fined taſte and luxury, and a favourite reſidence of the rich and voluptuous citizens of Rome. The em⯑perors partook of the faſhionable partiality for its climate, and gave it many ſubſtantial marks of their predilection. But the rougher policy of Veſpaſian altered its conſtitution, and made it a Roman colony. On the diviſion of the empire, Naples was aſſigned to the Eaſtern monarch; and, being connected with Greece, by language and manners, long preſerved its allegiance to that crown, under a kind of ſubordinate, republican government. It ſuffered ſeverely from the Saracens, who invaded Italy about the beginning of the ninth century. King Roger, after the reduction of every other place that now belongs to the King of Naples, was voluntarily admitted here, aboliſhed the ducal government, and aſſumed the title of King of the two Sicilies. Naples, at this time, was large and ſtrong; but its bulwarks were demoliſhed by the em⯑peror Henry VI. and levelled to the ground by his grandſon, Conrad. The emperor Frederick II. father of Conrad, transferred the univerſity of Bologne here, [206] embelliſhed the city with new buildings, and repaired the old ones. Charles I. brother to Louis IX. of France, conquered it, and brought it to perfection, by fixing here his royal reſidence, and the tribunal of juſtice.

That which the police, and ſome remains of ſhame re⯑ſtrain, in other parts, eſpecially in cities, are here, above all the controul of law. The ſulphur, with which their vegetables and food are impregnated; the continual uſe of chocolate, and other laxatives, occaſion neceſ⯑ſities, which will admit neither delay nor circumſpec⯑tion; the court-yards of palaces and hotels, the por⯑ches of private houſes, the ſtairs and landing-places, are ſo many conveniences for paſſengers. Perſons will often throw themſelves out of their coaches, and mingle with the foot-paſſengers, every one taking [210] within the walls of others, that liberty which he allows within his own.

From this general liberty, and the little care taken by an owner or tenant, about the cleanlineſs of his hotel, his houſe, or landing-place, it is eaſily to be ſuppoſed, what filthineſs and infection muſt be in a city, ſo populous as Naples.

There is, however, one pleaſure in walking through the city; the ſtreets being well paved, and kept in good order. No heavy loads on carriages are ſuf⯑fered to be brought into town. The heavieſt cart is that which carries wine; all heavy burdens are brought on the backs of aſſes. Market-gardeners bring in their vegetables by this conveyance, and carry out their dung by the ſame means.

The houſes have all flat roofs, paved with ſtone, and a baluſtrade, that one may ſafely walk on them; numbers of flower-pots, and fruit-trees, in boxes, are placed on them, and produce a very gay effect. Groſley ſays they look like houſes, whoſe tops have been conſumed by fire, eſpecially as the upper part of theſe houſes is blackened by ſmoke, and the va⯑pours [211] of the air, more than the middle parts. A great number of ſtalls, whereon eatables are expoſed to ſale, and of balconies, with lattice windows, take off from the beauty of the ſtreets; but they are handſome notwithſtanding. This city does not, in⯑deed, rival either Rome or Genoa, in ſtately palaces; yet it can boaſt of fine ones, as alſo of a great number of fine fountains; though the water, in moſt of them, is but indifferent. Water is alſo conveyed to the city, from the foot of Mount Veſuvius, by a very grand aqueduct.

The monaſteries, and convents, of both ſexes, are one hundred and forty-nine; beſides which, are thirty-four houſes for poor boys, girls, and women; eleven hoſpitals; five ſeminaries, for eccleſiaſtics; four capital churches; thirty-two pariſh-churches; ſeventy other churches and chapels, and upwards of one hundred and thirty oratories, or chapels of reli⯑gious fraternities. Moſt of the churches are deficient in good paintings, and a fine front; and their marble monuments, are not of thoſe magnificent dimenſions, as thoſe which ſtrike the eye at Rome; but every thing elſe, in beauty and richneſs, ſurpaſſes all of the kind in other Catholic countries. The value of the jewels, and altar-utenſils, being alone eſtimated at ſeveral millions of dollars.

[212] Il Duomo, or the archbiſhop's cathedral, though Gothic, is ſurpriſingly fine; it is dedicated to St. Ja⯑nuarius; and, in one of the chapels, is the tomb of that ſaint: he was biſhop of Benevonto, and is called the patron of the city. They ſay he was murdered, and that ſome of his blood is preſerved in a glaſs phial, which they ſhew; but more of this by-and-by. The dome of this cathedral is exceedingly rich, in all ſorts of ſculpture, painting, gilding, and marble. The high altar is ſuperb, and its tabernacle ſet with the fineſt gems. The moſt remarkable thing, in this church, is a chapel called Il Teſora; the architecture of which is extremely beautiful. In it are the ſtatues of Saints Peter and Paul, finely executed by Finelli; and two pillars of black marble, moſt beautifully ſpotted. The door is of braſs, curiouſly wrought with feſtoons and foliage, and coſt thirty-ſix thouſand ſcudi; each ſcudi, 4s. 2d. The chapel is of a round form, and contains ſeven altars of the fineſt marble, and forty-two pillars of Broccatello. Round the upper part of the wall ſtand twenty-one large bronze images of ſaints, each valued at four thouſand ſcudi; and, under them are ſixty large ſilver buſts, of ſo many ſaints. Moſt of theſe bronzes are by Finelli. The cupola was painted by Lanfranco, Domenichini, and Parmeggiano, but theſe noble pieces have ſuffered by earthquakes, that ſhook the cupola. Behind the high altar, which is detached from the wall, and en⯑tirely [213] of red porphyry, is the ſhrine with ſilver doors, where is kept the head of St. Januarius, and the two phials of his blood.

In the area, between the cathedral and Capua ſtreet, ſtands a fine marble obeliſk, on which is erected a braſs ſtatue of St. Januarius. This obeliſk is annu⯑ally illuminated, on the 19th of September, with a ſplendour hardly to be conceived; whilſt a numerous band of muſic play by it, and all the guns, in the ſeve⯑ral forts, are fired on the occaſion.

Of the four catacombs, hitherto diſcovered in Naples, thoſe of St. Januarius are both of the great⯑eſt extent, and beſt kept. This is a ſubterraneous burial-place, hewn out of a ſolid rock; the paſſages are ſixteen feet high, and arched, and eleven wide. That the Romans buried their dead, long before the eſtabliſhment of Chriſtianity, is out of diſpute. The bodies, in theſe catacombs, were depoſited in cavities, on both ſides of the vaults, one above another, in a kind of ovens; the mouths of which, when full, were cloſed up with a marble ſlab, or with tiles. There are paſſages branching out on each ſide, but theſe are nar⯑row. In many parts, they are ſaid to extend ſeve⯑ral miles, but they are now walled up; robberies, &c. having been committed, by banditti, who uſed to [214] lurk in theſe vaults. Guides, with torches, ſhew you theſe places.

St. Maria Annunziata is one of the fineſt churches in Naples; for the eye every where meets with noble paintings, ſtatues, monuments, baſſo relievos, &c. The gilding alone of the high altar, and the chapel belong⯑ing to it, coſt twenty-three thouſand crowns; and the other ornaments, enriched with lapis lazuli, corne⯑lian, jaſper, agate, and a profuſion of other gems, eighteen thouſand ducats more, each ducat 3s. 4d. The plate, in the veſtry of this church, a few years ſince, weighed above twenty-one thouſand marks.

The hoſpital called La Santa Caſa, belonging to this church, was once the beſt endowed in the whole world. Its annual income, amounting to two hun⯑dred and fifty thouſand pounds ſterling. All this was expended on the ſick, poor, foundlings, and other charitable purpoſes. The children brought up here, are generally about two thouſand five hundred; it being no uncommon thing, in the night, for twenty infants to be put into the wheel, or machine, which ſtands open, both day and night, for the reception of them; and eight wet nurſes attend every day. The boys are brought up to trade, and ſome to the church. The girls, according to their capacities, do the neceſſary work of the hoſpital; are employed in [215] the care and inſtruction of the children; placed in a convent, or married off, with a portion of one hun⯑dred, or two hundred ducats. In ſuch portions, ten thouſand ducats have been expended in one year; and fifteen thouſand foundlings maintained. If ſuch women, as are married, become diſtreſſed widows, or are deſerted by their huſbands; or, in caſe they are unhappy in ſuch marriages, without any fault of theirs, they are re-admitted, and a particular apart⯑ment allowed them for life. The annual amount of the dowries to other women, with which this houſe ſtands charged, by ſeveral ancient legacies and foun⯑dations, was, at leaſt, eighteen thouſand ducats; there being many noble families, whoſe daughters, at their marriage, received two or three thouſand dollars from this hoſpital. The phyſicians, &c. ſtood the houſe, yearly, in fourteen thouſand ducats. To the Santa Caſa belong four other hoſpitals, to which pa⯑tients are ſent, for the convenience of warm bathing, &c. Such was the ſtate of this hoſpital, at the begin⯑ning of this century, when it broke, for above five millions of ducats, on which its total ruin was feared; but it was, at laſt, brought before an imperial com⯑miſſion; when all its revenues, except forty-two thou⯑ſand ducats a year, were made over to the creditors till they were paid; ſo that the girls portions now are re⯑duced from two hundred ducats to fifty. Other ex⯑pences are proportionably diminiſhed.

[216]Here is alſo an inſtitution, called Sacra Monte della Pietà; whoſe revenue, amounting to fifty thouſand ducats, is, for two years, lent out on pledges without intereſt, in ſums not exceeding ten ducats. Many wealthy perſons, who either want opportunity, or not being inclined to make purchaſes, or lend on intereſt, or mortgages, place their fortunes here; partly for ſe⯑curity, and partly for the benefit of the poor.

The late king of Spain began a new palace at Capo di Monte, but, diſcouraged by the difficulty of acceſs, and procuring water, he left it unfiniſhed. Twenty-four rooms, however, of this neglected palace, are filled with the collection that was removed from Parma; conſiſting of an invaluable ſet of pictures, a library, a fine cabinet of medals, and a great number of cameos and intaglios, particularly an onyx tazza, eight inches in diameter; but none of theſe valuable articles are hung up, or properly diſpoſed. The books are unpacked, and all is in confuſion.

In the palace of the prince di Tarſia is a library open for the public, three days in a week. There are ſeveral other good libraries, but the principal one is the king's.

Of all the palaces in Naples, that of the king's is the moſt magnificent. In the audience-room, are finely [217] painted the moſt remarkable actions of the Spaniſh nation. The ſala Regia, where the carnival enter⯑tainments are given, is hung with the portraits of all the viceroys at full length. A particular gallery is taken up with the exploits of the duke of Alva. In another ſaloon is repreſented the war carried on by Charles V. with John Frederick, elector of Saxony. In the palace-chapel is a ſubterraneous communica⯑tion (a good reſource for viceroys and courtiers) to the Nuovo Caſtello, by the ſea-ſide, which is well gar⯑riſoned; forty-two pieces of ordnance are mounted on the walls and baſtions; among which are ſome taken by Charles V. from the elector of Saxony, at the battle of Muhlberg.

Caſtello del Uovo, or Egg Caſtle, ſo called from its oval figure, ſtands in the ſea upon a rock, joined to the continent by a bridge two hundred and twenty paces long. This caſtle is ſaid to have been anciently the palace of Lucullus. It is ſupplied with freſh water con⯑veyed under the bridge.

The third check, upon the city of Naples, is the caſtle of St. Elmo. It is ſituated on an eminence, to⯑wards the Weſt, and the plan is in the form of a ſtar, with ſix rays. Its ſubterraneous works are very ſpa⯑cious, and hewn out of a rock to ſuch a depth, as to be bomb-proof; on which account, a great number of [218] military ſtores are here kept. It can alſo be ſupplied with proviſions from Caſtello Nuovo, by means of a ſub⯑terraneous communication. In the upper part of St. Elmo's caſtle are ſeven ciſterns of water; and, under the vaults and mines, is a reſervoir large enough for two galleys to ſail on. The water, which is always extremely cold, is drawn up by a bucket, through a kind of aperture.

One of the pleaſanteſt parts of the city is the Pi⯑aggie, that is, the Strand, from its proximity to the ſea-ſhore. The coolneſs of the air, the agreeableneſs of the proſpect, the extent of the area, and its freedom from duſt, make it the evening reſort of the quality; ſo that it is no uncommon thing to ſee ſome hundreds of coaches here; but, on theſe occaſions, perſons of different ſexes never ride together in the ſame coach. Nothing can be more delightful than the gardens to the right-hand, on the hill, adorned with walks of orange, cedar, and palm-trees, and a profuſion of the moſt beautiful flowers.

The bay of Naples is thirty miles in circum⯑ference, and twelve miles acroſs. The harbour is very ſpacious, and has a grand light-houſe, with a mole, five hundred paces in length, which ſeparates the main harbour from the baſon. The latter is behind the New Caſtle, and has generally in it four gallies; the [219] crews of which, both rowers and ſoldiers, are obliged every Lent, to come to confeſſion, and receive the ſacrament.

The harbour is formed by the mole, which pro⯑jects near half a mile into the ſea. It was begun to be built in 1302. It is in the form of a bending arm, and about ſixty feet broad, conſiſting of large ſtones, hewn and ſquare, ſo cloſely cemented, that it ſtands unmoveable like a rock, and braves the fury of the moſt impetuous waves. In the middle of the elbow ſtands the light-houſe, a beautiful, lofty, round tower; at the end of the bending of the elbow, is a ſmall fort. There is alſo a chapel, near the middle of the mole, where maſs is duly ſaid for ma⯑riners. The mole is broad enough for two coaches to go a-breaſt, and ſufficient room for them to turn at the end. It is the moſt agreeable public walk about the city, and much frequented in ſummer evenings, by perſons of faſhion, to enjoy the freſco, or refreſhing breezes from the ſea. On each ſide the mole, ſhips and other veſſels are chained; and from it is a beau⯑tiful proſpect of Mount Veſuvius, the delightful coun⯑try about Portici, and the beautiful aſcent of great part of Naples; the houſes and gardens appearing one above another, almoſt to the caſtle of St. Elmo. The company here have conſtantly concerts of the fineſt muſic; whoſe ſounds are wonderfully ſweet, in a ſtill evening, owing to the water; and add conſiderably [220] to the pleaſures of the place. The harbour for the gallies will contain about twenty, defended by the old town of St Vincent, now uſed as a place of con⯑finement, for diſobedient children.

Naples has ſeveral ſquares, but they are ſmall and irregular; many of them have, in the middle, a ſhort obeliſk, loaded with decorations, far from pleaſing to the eye; but the fineſt is that of Medina, oppoſite the new caſtle. The upper baſon is ſupported by the three Graces; and, on the top, ſtands a ſuperb Neptune, attended by ſeveral other figures, all ejecting water. The town is well ſupplied with daily markets, ſo that proviſions are ever freſh, and in great plenty. Their wine is the beſt in Europe, and both fiſh and fleſh are extremely good. There are two or three good inns, for the ac⯑commodation of travellers. The apartments are in⯑different, but every thing elſe will be found good, and the cooks excellent; gentlemen may have a ready furniſhed lodging, ſuch as it is, (for there are few better than what we meet with in the poor-houſes of Shoreditch) and have their proviſions from the inns. Wines are exceedingly cheap; nine gallons may be bought for 3s. 3d. and fellows, who ſpeak a little broken Engliſh, are ready as valet de places, to attend you every where; but they are much greater knaves here, than the generality of their fraternity.

[221]Some thouſands of the populace, called the Laza⯑roni, or black-guards, have no other habitation than the ſtreets; and much the greater part of the other portion, having no employ, either from want of ma⯑nufactures, or their natural propenſity to idleneſs, are ſauntering in the ſtreets from morning to night, and make thoſe crowds at Naples; which are not ſeen in other places, but on feſtivals, elections, and other public days.

Theſe lazaroni, ſays Moore, are computed at above thirty thouſand; and have, on ſome well known oc⯑caſions, as the inſurrection of Maſſaniello, and others, had the government, for a ſhort time, in their own hands. The greater part of them have no dwelling-houſes, but ſleep every night in the ſtreets, under porticos, piazzas, or any kind of ſhelter they can find. Thoſe, who have wives and children, live in the ſuburbs, near Pauſilippo, in huts, or in caverns; or chambers dug out of that mountain. Some get a livelihood by fiſhing, others by carrying loads to and from the ſhipping. Many walk about the ſtreets, ready to run on errands, or perform any labour in their power, for a very ſmall reward. As they do not meet with conſtant employ, their wages are not ade⯑quate to their maintenance; the ſoup and bread, diſ⯑tributed at the gates of convents, ſupply the deficiency. The lazaroni are generally repreſented as a lazy, [222] licentious, and turbulent ſet of people; but Dr. Moore entertained a very different idea of their cha⯑racter. This idleneſs, ſays he, is evidently the effect of neceſſity, not of choice; they are always ready to perform any work, however laborious, for a reaſon⯑able gratification. It muſt proceed from the fault of government, when ſuch a number of ſtout, active citi⯑zens remain unemployed; and, ſo far are they from being licentious and turbulent, that I cannot help thinking they are too tame and ſubmiſſive. Though the inhabitants of the Italian cities were the firſt who ſhook off the feudal yoke; and though, in Naples, they have long enjoyed the privilege of municipal ju⯑riſdiction; the external ſplendor of the nobles, and the authority they ſtill exerciſe on the peaſants, impoſe upon the minds of the lazaroni; and, however bold and reſentful they may be, of injuries offered by others, they bear the inſolence of the nobility, as paſ⯑ſive as peaſants fixed to the ſoil. A coxcomb of a volanti, or running footman, tricked out in a fantaſtic dreſs, or any of the liveried ſlaves of the gueſts, make no ceremony of treating theſe poor fellows with all the inſolence, and inſenſibility natural to their maſters; and for no viſible reaſon, but becauſe he is dreſſed in lace, and they in rags. Inſtead of telling them to make way, when the noiſe in the ſtreets prevents the common people from hearing the approach of the car⯑riage, a ſtroke acroſs the ſhoulders, with the cane of [223] the running footman, is the uſual warning they re⯑ceive. Nothing animates this people to inſurrection, but ſome very preſſing and very univerſal cauſes, ſuch as ſcarcity of bread: every other grievance they bear, as if it was their charter. When we conſider thirty thouſand human creatures, without beds, or habita⯑tions, wandering almoſt naked, in ſearch of food, through the ſtreets of a well-built city; when we think of the opportunities they have of being together, and of comparing their own deſtitute ſituation, with the affluence of others, one cannot help being aſto⯑niſhed at their patience.

Let the prince be diſtinguiſhed by ſplendor and magnificence; let the great and the rich have their luxuries; but, in the name of humanity, let the poor, who are willing to work, have food in abundance, to ſatisfy the cravings of nature; and raiment, to defend them from the inclemencies of the weather.

If their governors, whether through weakneſs, or neglect, do not ſupply them with theſe, they certainly have a right to help themſelves. Every law of equity, and common ſenſe, will juſtify them in revolting againſt ſuch governors; and in ſatisfying their own wants, from the ſuperfluities of lazy luxury.

[224]Mrs. Piozzi gives us a very different idea of this ſet of men; and ſays, that the natural indolence of the Neapolitans makes them regardleſs of the com⯑forts and inconveniences of life. As the weather is exceedingly warm, the lazaroni, who have but little care about appearances, go with a vaſt deal of their perſons uncovered, except that of tatooing their ſhoul⯑ders and legs, as do the Indians, with figures inde⯑libly marked in their ſkin, by gunpowder, and other means. The man, who rows you about the delightful bay of Naples, has, perhaps, the angel Raphael, or the Virgin Mary, delineated, on one ſun-burnt leg, the ſaint of the town, upon the other; and the glory, or ſeven ſpirits of God, upon his brawny ſhoulders. They hate work, ſays this lady, and why? Becauſe they want for nothing, having few deſires. A houſe would be an inconvenience to them; and, though many of them have decent clothes, they throw them off till a time of gala, and will ſit by the ſea-ſide play⯑ing at moro, with their fingers.

A Florentine nobleman, continues Mrs. Piozzi, told me once, that he aſked one of theſe fellows to carry his portmanteau for him, and offered him a carlini; more in proportion to a Neapolitan, than an Engliſh ſhilling would be to a London porter; he had not twenty yards to go with it. "Are you hungry, maſter?" cries the fellow; "No replied Count Ma⯑nucei," [225] but what of that?—"Why, then, no more am I," was the anſwer, "and it is too hot weather to carry burthens;" and ſo turned about on the other ſide and lay ſtill.

This claſs of people, ſay this lady, amounting to a number that even terrifies one to think of, gives the city an air of gaiety and cheerfulneſs, one cannot help rejoicing in. The Toledo-ſtreet is one con⯑tinual crowd. Nothing can exceed the confuſion to a walker; and here are little gigs, drawn by one horſe, which, without any bit in his mouth, but a ſtring tied over his noſe, tears along with inconceivable rapidity: a ſmall narrow gilt chain to hold one, ſet between the two wheels, and no ſprings to it, nor any thing elſe which can add to the weight; and this flying car is a kind of [...]iacre, or hackney coach, that will travel a mile for fourpence halfpenny; or at the rate of a carlini, or four-pence halfpenny, an hour.

The coat of arms, belonging to Naples, was an unbridled horſe; but one of their late kings put a bit into its mouth, as an emblem of his having brought the Neapolitans to ſubjection.

I have given my readers one reaſon, of the popu⯑louſneſs of the towns in the kingdom of Naples; that of the country places being deſerted. Another [226] that fills Naples, ſays Sharp, is, that it furniſhes its own inhabitants, and, perhaps, is the only metropolis in Europe that does ſo. London, Paris, and other chief cities, are ſupplied with the people from the country; the luxury, and expenſiveneſs of large towns, being ſo great an impediment to marriage, and popu⯑louſneſs, they would all, in the ordinary courſe of na⯑ture, be depopulated in a few years, were they not an⯑nually recruited from other parts: but, in Naples, the caſe is different, from a ſingular cuſtom among the gentry, in hiring married ſervants, in preference to unmarried ones. In Paris, or London, very few ſer⯑vants can hope to be employed, who are not ſingle; and therefore an infinite number, of this claſs of peo⯑ple, muſt paſs their lives in celibacy; as the inſtances in theſe cities are but rare, where footmen and maid-ſervants can ſupport themſelves, after marriage, by a different occupation.

But in Naples, it is almoſt an univerſal faſhion, to give their men-ſervants board-wages, not admitting them to ſleep in their houſes. This naturally in⯑duces them to marry, giving them a ſettlement ſo eſſen⯑tial to the character acquired here, by all ranks of maſters; but what ſeems ſtill more to facilitate ma⯑trimony, in this order of people, is the prodigious number of young women, ready to accept the firſt offer; for, in Italy, they are not taken into ſervice as [227] in England, A nobleman, who keeps forty men ſer⯑vants, has ſeldom more than two maids; and, indeed, it is ſo much the province of the men, to do the houſe-buſineſs, that they are employed all over the country, even to the making of the beds. This circumſtance, with the difficulty ſhe has to acquire her living here, by any other means, is the reaſon why they ſeldom make an objection to the certain poverty attending on marriage. The ſwarms of children, in all the ſtreets inhabited by the poor, are ſuch as will naturally reſult from this practice; and as a married couple, though they have ſix or ſeven children, never occupy more than one room; the extreme populouſneſs of Naples muſt conſequently follow from ſuch cauſes.

The lazaroni are ſuch miſerable wretches, as are not to be ſeen in any other town in Europe. Per⯑haps, among the aſhes of our glaſs-houſes in London, we may find two or three beggars not unlike them; and they are ſuffered to ſun themſelves a great part of the day, under the palace-walls, where they lie baſking like dirty ſwine, and are a much more nauſeous ſpec⯑tacle. Being almoſt naked, they ſuffer extremely in cold weather; and were the climate leſs mild, they would certainly periſh; even the greater part of the poor, who work for their livelihood, ſeldom wear ſhoes or ſtockings, and their children never; but, notwithſtanding the power of uſe, the cold in the [228] winter months produces chilblains, and ſore legs, to a piteous degree.

To give my readers an idea of the ſtarving life of the poor, I ſhall only mention the wages of ſervants, to which all kinds of wages are nearly proportionate. A Neapolitan gentleman pays his footman five ducats a month; a nobleman, perhaps ſix. All the quality, who keep pages, give them ſix or ſeven ducats, with a livery once in two years, and another for gala days only, which laſts ten years; but neither ſhoes, ſtock⯑ings, nor waſhing. With this ſum they ſubſiſt them⯑ſelves and families; for this pay includes board wages; nor are the tables of the gentry ſo amply provided here, as to admit of the leaſt depredation, as is the caſe in England, where married ſervants generally maintain their wives from their maſter's larder. Now, a ducat is about 3s. 9d. five of which make ſome⯑thing leſs than 19s. the whole monthly income of the greater number of livery ſervants in Naples. The cuſtom of vails is, in a manner, unknown, except by great chance, or at the beginning of the year, when they receive a few trifling perquiſites. The genera⯑lity of ſervants, marrying very young, their wives, for the moſt part, bleſt with a numerous progeny, the cares of which are a ſufficient occupation for the wiſe, makes it that the labour of her hands can add but little to their ſtock. The rent of a room, for a month, is a [229] ducat, which leaves exactly fifteen ſhillings for cloath⯑ing and maintaining the whole family. After this de⯑tail, it will not appear ſtrange that they ſeldom eat either meat, or freſh fiſh, but find themſelves under the neceſſity of feeding chiefly on vegetables, a cheap ſort of cheeſe, ſalt fiſh, and a coarſe bread; which laſt is as dear at Naples, as at London. If it excites won⯑der, how they contrive to live on theſe wages, it is ſtill more ſo, how it is contrived on four ducats, or four and a half, the uſual price given by lawyers and tradeſmen; for every one here has the rage of keep⯑ing a footman, down to a ſet of houſekeepers, who hire one for the Sunday only; and there are thoſe who hire one on that day, for an hour or two only, ſo that ſome ſervants will let themſelves out to three or four different maſters on the ſame Sunday, one in the morning, another at noon, and a third after dinner, and ſo on. This claſs of ſervants are wittily called Domenichini, or Sunday-men; Domenica ſignifying Sunday. I muſt not omit to obſerve, that in great families, a few of the upper ſervants are not at board-wages, but are dieted by their maſters, for the con⯑venience of conſuming what remains at table.

The king's footmen receive only eight ducats, and ſix carlines a month, equal to 1l. 12s. 6d. and two carlines a day extraordinary, when his majeſty is at any of his palaces out of Naples. This extraordinary [230] allowance is granted them, for their particular main⯑tenance, as they cannot partake of the ſame dinner with their wives and families.

I ſhall cloſe this account of the lowneſs of ſervants' wages, with remarking, that they all prefer a carline (fourpence halfpenny) a day, for board-wages, to the being maintained by their maſters; by which one may judge, with what vile proviſion they can ſubſiſt. They know nothing of the ſuperfluities ſo common amongſt our poor; I mean the exceſſive uſe of ſtrong and ſpirituous liquors, a matter of ſuch notoriety, that I do not remember to have ſeen in the ſtreets, one drunken man or woman, if I may except a few ſoldiers, and a few valets-de-place. Indeed, the cuſtom, or ſpirit of ſobriety, is rooted ſo deeply in their manners, that the luxury they indulge, is a paſſion for ſnow, or ice-water, and lemonade. You ſee the very dregs of the mob, ſpending their farthings, or halfpenny, on a glaſs of thoſe liquors, in the coldeſt ſeaſon of the year; the ſame thing is practiſed by the great, in a more elegant and expenſive manner. Perhaps the heat of the climate may have indicated this luxury firſt, in the ſummer months, but it is now become one of the neceſſaries of life; and government has availed itſelf of the faſhion, by making a monopoly of the ſnow at Naples, and ſelling it at a very high price, about three farthings a pound.

[231]It is this cheapneſs of ſervants that accounts for the ſhowy appearance ſome of the quality here make with ſmall fortunes; but what enables them alſo to ſupport a large houſehold, and a vaſt quantity of coach-horſes and carriages, is the circumſtance of confining themſelves to that one luxury. They have no expenſive country-houſes and gardens, no hounds, no race-horſes, no parliament elections; and, in ſhort, no great demands for the education of their children; diſpoſing of all the girls in convents, on very eaſy terms, whilſt they are children, where they are left all their lives, unleſs they provide them huſbands; for ſingle young ladies are not ſuffered to appear in the world, neither at ſpectacles, nor viſits. The ſmall expence of their tables, alſo, is another means of enabling them to figure away with equipages. It is not uſual here, to dine or ſup at each others houſes; and there are ſome who never do, except only on Chriſtmas-day, or, perhaps, during that week; nay, in general, are they ſo unaccuſtomed to entertain one another, that the greater number ſeldom receive their friends, but upon weddings, deaths, and lyings-in. They alſo carry their parſimony ſo far, as to lock up their fine furniture, in the intervals of theſe ceremo⯑nies. It is amazing, at how ſmall an expence the ge⯑nerality of the firſt people live here, as to their table. It is not an uncommon thing, ſays Sharp, to contract with the cook, or one of the upper ſervants, to ſupply [232] their dinners at ſo much a-head; and, I ſhall ſcarcely be credited, when I mention ſo ſmall a ſum as nine⯑pence Engliſh, wine included; nevertheleſs, this is a practice not only at Naples, but at Rome, and other parts of Italy; and is a fact that may be depended on. There are, however, a few exceptions amongſt the no⯑bility, to this retired manner of eating. There are ſome, who, when they entertain, give the moſt ſplen⯑did, expenſive, and elegant dinners that can be con⯑ceived. The prince of Franca Villa, when Mr. Sharp was there, in 1765, kept a kind of open table every night, with twelve or fourteen covers; where the Engliſh, of any conſequence, were at all times re⯑ceived with the greateſt politeneſs. Though it be not the cuſtom to dine or ſup with one another, except on ex⯑traordinary occaſions, their viſits being merely conver⯑ſations; ſome few exert themſelves to give balls, and even ſome of the merchants adopt this practice.

Now I am mentioning viſits, it may be worth noticing a certain tireſome etiquette, prevailing in this place, of waiting in the ſtreets, on evening viſits, till two pages give in your name, and bring down flambeaux to light you up ſtairs, perhaps almoſt to the top of the houſe, as the quality live generally a great height from the ground. All this parſimony, in other reſpects, enables them, I ſay, to figure away with equipages, and that they do, more than in any other place in the [233] world. Some of their princes have forty or fifty coach-horſes; more than twenty different carriages; thirty, forty, or fifty domeſtic pages; beſides four, five, or ſix running footmen, before their chariots. A running footman ſeems almoſt an indiſpenſible neceſſary of life here; for a gentleman never rides poſt, on the road near Naples, nor takes an airing, that is not preceded by one of theſe poor breathleſs fellows. They are uſeful, indeed, in the ſtreets; for, owing to the continual noiſe and buſtle of the people, many of them would be run over, if it was not for theſe men, to bid them get out of the way.

The eſtates, poſſeſſed by the dukes and princes here, two or three excepted, are not equal to thoſe of our Engliſh nobility. The prince of Franca Villa's is about thirteen thouſand pounds a year; and no prince makes a greater appearance at Naples than him. The emoluments of the great officers of ſtate, and the ſalaries of all the king's ſervants, are much ſmaller than in England. The fees, alſo, of lawyers and phyſicians, are trifling, compared with ours; and talents, of every kind, are but poorly recompenſed; ſo that affluence is not diffuſed, through every ſtreet, as in London; but is confined almoſt within the narrow circle of the nobility. The lord-ſteward, lord chamberlain, and maſter of the horſe, have each eighteen hundred ducats a year, not three hundred and fifty pounds [234] ſterling; and about £1. 6s. a day, for their table, when the king is not at Naples. The maſter of the horſe has likewiſe a coach and ſix, two running foot⯑men and two footmen, at the king's expence. The lords of the bed-chamber have but thirty ducats a month, which is about ſeventy pounds a year; and thirteen ſhillings a day for their table, when the king is abſent: and there are no perquiſites annexed to theſe offices. It is, therefore, not to be wondered at, that ſo many of the nobles, with ſmall eſtates, though they have a place at court, are obliged to live retired, not⯑withſtanding the low prices of proviſions and la⯑bour.

The royal palace forms a ſquare, with a court in the middle; has a noble ſtair-caſe, which takes up one ſide. The front is grand, and well executed; the architecture is bold and noble, done by Fontana, and originally intended as a palace for the viceroys, when under the Spaniſh government. A theatre is built in this palace, very commodious for operas. All the apartments abound in fine paintings, and beau⯑tiful tapeſtry. The cielings have gold grounds, with white ornaments. There are red and white marble frames to the doors, with figures and gilt plates on them. The gardens reach to the ſea-ſide, but are nothing extraordinary. There is always here a ſplen⯑did court, and the nobility exceed thoſe of the court [235] of France, in their dreſſes and equipages. When a lady of quality goes there, ſhe is conducted in the following manner: ſhe ſets out alone in a gilded coach, with glaſs windows behind as well as before. This is preceded by another neat coach, in which ſits a perſon, genteely dreſſed, called her Braceira, who hands her in and out of her coach. Another coach follows, wherein are four pages, or more, ac⯑cording to her rank; and a rich ſedan chair is carried empty, by two chairmen, near the ſide of her coach. When they reach the palace, the braceira gets out, and hands the lady into her ſedan; the pages walk⯑ing, two and two, on each ſide, richly dreſſed. In this manner ſhe is carried up ſtairs, where ſhe quits her ſedan, and the pages ſupport her train, which is ſome yards in length, till ſhe comes to the drawing-room door, when it is buttoned up with loops. The braceira and pages wait her return, in the anti-cham⯑ber, when ſhe is re-conducted to her coach. It is re⯑marked that, though the Neapolitan ladies dreſs them⯑ſelves to great advantage, they are not ſo beautiful in appearance, as thoſe at Florence and Rome. The ſtate coach of the king is ſaid to have coſt ten thouſand pounds, and is the moſt magnificent in Europe. It is very large, and richly gilt, even the tire round the wheels. It is uſually drawn by ſix noble black horſes, whoſe harneſs is extremely rich, and the reins of broad, ſolid gold-lace; the carved work is the fineſt [236] imaginable, and the painting ſo extraordinary, that nothing can exceed it. Inſtead of iron or braſs, theſe parts, as well as the ornaments, are ſilver, and ſilver gilt.

There is not, ſays Moore, a city in all the world, with the ſame number of inhabitants, in which ſo few ſeem to contribute to the wealth of the community, by uſeful or productive labour, as Naples; but the number of prieſts, monks, fidlers, lawyers, nobility, footmen and lazaroni, ſurpaſs all reaſonable proportion. The king of Naples counts a hundred perſons, among his ſubjects, with the title of prince; a ſtill greater num⯑ber, with that of duke. Six or ſeven of theſe, ſays Moore, have from ten to twelve, or thirteen hundred pounds a year; a conſiderable number have fortunes about half that value, and the annual revenue of many, is not above one or two thouſand pounds. With reſpect to the inferior orders of nobility, they are much poorer. Many counts and marquiſſes, have not above three or four hundred pounds of paternal eſ⯑tate; many ſtill leſs, and ſome few enjoy a title with⯑out any eſtate whatever; and yet many of them make a very ſplendid appearance. I dined once, ſays Moore, with the duke of Hamilton, at prince Iacci's; we paſſed through twelve or thirteen large rooms, before we arrived at the dining-room. There were thirty-ſix perſons at table, and each gueſt had a foot⯑man [237] behind his chair. Other domeſtics, belonging to the prince, remained in the adjacent rooms, and in the hall. We afterwards paſſed through a number of other rooms, in our way to one, where there was a commanding proſpect.

When there is no opera, the Corſo, or ſea-ſhore, is the great ſcene of Neapolitan parade. The fineſt car⯑riages are painted, gilt, varniſhed, and lined, in a richer and more beautiful manner, than are yet become faſhionable either in England or France. They are often drawn by ſix, ſometimes by eight horſes; two running footmen, gaily dreſſed, precede the carriage; and three or four handſome ſervants, in rich liveries, hang behind. The ladies and gentlemen, within the coaches, glitter in all the brilliancy of lace, embroi⯑dery, and jewels. The carriages, for gala days, are purpoſely made, with very large windows, that thoſe within may be ſeen. Nothing can be more ſhowy than the harneſs of the horſes; their heads and manes are ornamented with the rareſt plumage, and their tails ſet off with ribbands, and artificial flowers, in ſuch a graceful manner, as leads us to think they were dreſſed by thoſe who dreſſed their ladies.

After all, you will imagine, perhaps, the amuſe⯑ment cannot be very great. The carriages follow each other in two lines, moving in oppoſite directions. [238] The company within ſmile and bow, and wave the hand, as they paſs and repaſs their acquaintance; and, doubtleſs, imagine themſelves the moſt important figures in the proceſſion. The horſes, however, ſeem to be of a very different way of thinking; and to con⯑ſider themſelves as the chief objects of admiration, looking on the livery-ſervants, the volanti's, lords and ladies, as their natural ſuite, on all ſuch ſolemn oc⯑caſions.

Under an appearance of giddineſs, levity, and mer⯑riment, the commonalty and citizens, ſays Groſley, amidſt labour and pleaſure, conceal deep and well-conducted views, if not in every head, at leaſt as a body; and as a body, they form a democracy, inde⯑pendent of the king, and of the nobility, joining with the latter, when their intereſt ſo requires. The lower clergy, and the majority of monks, with whom Naples ſwarms, never fail ſiding with them.

The citizens of Naples, thus, form a ſociety of their own, perfectly diſtinct from the nobility; and, al⯑though they are not the moſt induſtrious people in the world, yet, having ſome degree of occupation, and their time being divided between buſineſs and pleaſure, they, probably, have more enjoyment than thoſe who, without internal reſources, or opportu⯑nities [239] of active exertion, paſs their lives in ſenſual gratifications.

The great theatre of St. Carlo, adjoining to the royal palace, is vaſt, noble, and elegant; as in de⯑ſcribing this, we ſhall deſcribe every other Italian theatre, they being all built on the ſame plan, we will be the more particular. The form is a truncated el⯑lipſe, aſtoniſhingly ſpacious, having ſix rows of boxes all round the houſe, ſimilar to the new opera-houſe in London; thirty in each row, except the two loweſt, out of which the king's box is taken, and this is fronting the ſtage, and occupies four of them, and is on a level with the ſecond range, or row. Each of theſe boxes, like a room, is furniſhed with a table, pier-glaſs, ta⯑peſtry, carpet, canopy, branches, &c. is large enough to hold twelve perſons ſtanding; but they are ſo nar⯑row, that only three ladies can ſit in front; the three next behind them, to ſee, muſt ſtand up, ſo that all thoſe behind theſe can ſee little or nothing. The king's is a ſaloon, and large enough to contain the royal fa⯑mily, and part of the court. The orcheſtra will hold two hundred performers. The pit contains fifteen rows of ſeats, thirty in a row, ſeparated by broad reſts for the elbow, like arms of a chair; beſides an in⯑terval all through the middle, and a circuit all round under the boxes, which will hold one hundred and fifty perſons ſtanding. The ſeat of each chair, in the pit, [240] lifts up like the lid of a box, and has a lock to faſten it. There are gentlemen ſufficient in Naples to hire, by the year, the firſt four rows next to the orcheſtra, who take the key of the ſeat home with them, leaving it locked, by which means they are always ſure of their place at any hour; and, as the intervals, between the rows, are wide enough to permit perſons to paſs, with⯑out diſturbing others, they are exceedingly conve⯑nient. The uſual price for the ſeaſon, in which they give four new operas, is twenty ducats, about 3l. 15s. Thoſe who do not hire ſeats by the year, pay three carlines, about thirteen-pence-halfpenny, for their place in the pit.

The price of a box, for the whole year, is two hun⯑dred and forty ducats, or near 47l. or a leſs price in proportion to the length of the ſeaſon. The three lower ranges are hired by ladies of diſtinct on, for a year; the other three are let out by the night; but, they muſt hire the whole box; yet, if any ſingle ſtranger wiſhes admittance, they are, if properly re⯑commended, invited into the boxes of the nobility. The nobility will let their boxes, when they do not go themſelves; and often, on gala nights, or at the opening of a new opera, will do the ſame; for which they will get an exorbitant price, ſometimes fifteen ducats, or more. It is common not only to receive company in theſe boxes, but to take ice and other re⯑freſhments, [241] to ſup and play at cards; for the ſize of the theatre, and the noiſe of the audience are ſuch, that the performers and band are but indiſtinctly heard, except when a favourite air is ſinging; but, indeed, the opera is conſidered more as a place of rendezvous, than otherwiſe; and this imperfection is not much attended to. The ſeaſon generally laſts from the fifth of November, to the beginning of Sep⯑tember.

The decorations of the theatre, inſtead of being like ſcenes, repreſent ſome public place, the inſide of a temple, or palace; the whole on three large pieces; two along the ſides, and one in front, in which pain⯑ters diſplay all the magic of perſpective. It is the cuſtom in Italy, to light the ſtage only, which renders the houſe dark and gloomy; but, on gala nights, or when the king is preſent, it is ſuperbly illuminated. The large glaſs in the front of each box, againſt which two wax lights, as large as torches, are placed, and other lights in the boxes, and on the ſtage, properly diſpoſed, make the houſe brilliant; but the glare and the ſmoke is, on the other hand, offenſive.

Dark as the boxes are, they would be much more ſo, if thoſe who ſit in them, did not, at their own ex⯑pence, put up a couple of candles. The ladies, in the boxes and pit of the opera-houſe in London, make a [242] more brilliant appearance, than in the boxes at Naples; where, on common nights, it is not poſſible to diſtinguiſh a feature acroſs the houſe. The gen⯑tlemen in the pit do not, in the whole, make a good figure; for, though there are many officers well dreſt, and other gentlemen, yet the major part of the com⯑pany are ſhabby; conſiſting of perſons who pay nothing, ſuch as the upper ſervants of ladies who hire boxes; upper ſervants of ambaſſadors; and, ſome⯑ſometimes, for a ſmall fee to the door-keepers, ſuch ſervants gain admiſſion for friends. The houſe and the ſtage is ſo large, that, in windy weather, you would imagine yourſelf in the ſtreet, (the wind blowing ſo hard in the pit and boxes) and it often occaſions colds.

The performers are not paid ſo liberally at Naples, as at London; but, conſidering the difference in the price of things, the pay of the capital ſingers does not fall much ſhort of it. Gabrielli had eighteen hundred ſequins, or nine hundred pounds ſterling. The firſt man has three thouſand five hundred ducats; the firſt dancer two thouſand; the firſt woman dancer fifteen hundred, each ducat about three ſhillings and ten⯑pence ſterling.

The Impreſſario, or manager, is bound to very hard terms, ſo that his profits are inconſiderable. The theatre being part of the palace, the king reſerves [243] for himſelf, and officers, fifteen boxes, without paying any thing; and the junto, deputed by his majeſty, to ſuperviſe the opera, reſerve to themſelves a right of nominating ſingers and dancers, which obliges the managers, ſometimes, to pay them an exorbitant price; and, to add to the misfortune, the nobility here, as in England, are ſlow of pay, and a manager muſt not compel them. The women-dancers, by an order from court, are obliged to wear black drawers.

The exhibition is variegated by marches, battles, triumphs, all in the moſt grand execution. Battles are fought between numerous fencing-maſters, in rich uniforms, and who appear all really fighting; the claſh⯑ing of their weapons keeping time with the orcheſtra. Theſe battles are not without their cavalry and mount⯑ed on horſes from the king's ſtables, or thoſe of the firſt nobility. In triumphs, the car is drawn by the king's fineſt-horſes, capariſoned by the manager. The in⯑tervals between the acts, are filled up with ballets to French muſic.

Compoſers labour to rival each other in the muſic of the operas; and thus, frequently, the ſame piece is ſet ſeveral times to muſic. In Metaſtatio's Demophoon, ſet by the celebrated Saſſone; the arietta Miſero Par⯑goletto, in which Timante ſpeaks to his ſon, whom he holds in his arms, the expreſſion is of that nature, [244] as to draw tears from the whole audience. Clapping, in Italy, is a ſignal for an encore; of courſe, they never clap, unleſs they wiſh to have the ſinging re⯑peated; and this is ſometimes done to a fifth or ſixth time; and, in theſe repetitions it is, that the ſinger exerts every reſource of nature and art, to ſurpaſs himſelf in each repetition, by the variety of gradations, which he introduces into the trills, modulations, and whatever belongs to the expreſſion. Slight and quick as ſome of theſe gradations may be, not one of them eſcapes an Italian ear; they perceive them, they feel them, they reliſh them with a delight, in Italy, called, "The foretaſte of the joys of Paradiſe;" where, we hope, there will be others equivalent for thoſe nations, equally good; but, whoſe organs are leſs ſenſible to the powers of harmony.

There are two other theatres, in which comic operas are performed, without dances; and there is a neat little play-houſe, in which they act comedies. All the theatres are open on Saturday and Sunday evenings, and each of them once in the week, be⯑ſides.

The playhouſe, ſays Sharp, is hardly better than a cel⯑lar, and is uſually called Cantina, (cellar) being ten ſteps down from the ſtreet into the pit, which holds ſeventy or eighty people, when crouded; the price a carline, four-pence [245] halfpenny. There is a gallery round the pit, turn⯑ed into ten or twelve boxes, each holding four; the price eight carlines for the box. At ſuch a price, it is natural to ſuppoſe, that the ſcenes, dreſſes, actors, and decorations, muſt be indifferent. It will not, how⯑ever, be ſo eaſy to imagine the ſhabbineſs of the au⯑dience, which chiefly conſiſts of men, in dirty caps and waiſtcoats, in the pit; for the boxes are gene⯑rally empty. All the Italian gentlemen and ladies ſpit, and indelicately; not in their handkerchiefs, or in a bye corner; but, in the cantina, they ſpit all about them, on the walls, on your cloaths; and their naſti⯑neſs is offenſive to the laſt degree: the exhibition is little better than buffoonery, juſt as we ſee practiſed in England by Merry Andrews, on the ſtages of moun⯑tebanks, and on the outſide of booths, at Bartholo⯑mew-fair.

In the moſt reſpectable claſs of citizens are com⯑prehended the lawyers; of whom there are incredible numbers in this town. The moſt eminent of this pro⯑feſſion hold, indeed, a kind of intermediate rank, between the nobility and citizens; the reſt are on a level with the phyſicians, the principal merchants, and the artiſts; none of whom, with all their induſtry, can make great fortunes.

[246]But theſe citizens having fewer avocations, and no public walks, or gardens, where they reſort, are more frequently ſeen ſauntering and converſing in the ſtreets. In London and Paris, the people who fill the ſtreets are mere paſſengers, hurrying from place to place, on buſineſs. They make no ſtop. Whilſt you ſit in your chamber, in either of theſe cities, the uſual noiſe you hear from the ſtreets is, that of the car⯑riages; but at Naples, where they talk with uncom⯑mon vivacity, and where whole ſtreets, full of talkers, are in continual employment; the noiſe of carriages is completely drowned, in the aggregated clack of human voices. In the midſt of all this idleneſs fewer riots, or outrages of any kind happen, than might be expected in any town, where the police is far from being ſtrict; and where ſuch multitudes of poor unemployed people meet together, every day; a proof, that the national character of the Itali⯑ans is quietneſs, ſubmiſſion, and good order; and partly to the common people, being univerſally ſober.

Mr. Addiſon ſays, that when a Neapolitan does not know what to do with himſelf, he tumbles over his papers, in order to ſtart a law-ſuit; for bow, other⯑wiſe, would the many thouſands of lawyers be ſup⯑ported in this capital? The firſt time Mr. Sharp went to their vicaria, that is, their Weſtminſter-hall, he was [247] mortified in having ſet out ſo late from home, finding the ſtreet crowded with advocates, in their way to dinner; but, notwithſtanding the difficulty he had of threading the multitude, who were pouring out in ſuch numbers, he found, when he had puſhed into the hall, almoſt as much preſſing, as is uſually met with the firſt night of a new play at the London theatres.

Northall informs us, that the inhabitants of Naples are divided into Titolati Mobili de Seggio, Nobilita fuori de Seggi, Civilta, and Plebe. To the firſt order belong the princes and nobility; to the ſecond, all the natives of the country, with all ſtrangers ſettled at Naples, and living in a noble manner; in the third, are ranked doctors in all ſciences, lawyers, notaries, officers of the courts of judicature, phyſicians, ban⯑kers, jewellers, goldſmiths, ſilk-merchants, and book-ſellers; the fourth claſs, comprehends all the reſt of the inhabitants.

Naples, with reſpect to its municipal police, is di⯑vided into ſix ſeggis, or wards, five of which are go⯑verned by a committee of nobles; the other belongs to the plebeians, and is diſtributed into twenty-nine quarters, under the direction of an Eletto, or mayor. Theſe wards meet in open porticos, which alternately have the honour of being the theatre where, in the [248] month of May, the blood of St. Januarius is liqui⯑fied, as will be ſpoken of hereafter.

The city having, as has been obſerved, neither watchman nor lamps, one father Rocco, a Dominican, has perſuaded the people to ſubſcribe oil for lamps, to burn before images; he fixes theſe up in the moſt convenient places, and thus turns their devotion to public account.

Proviſions, I have obſerved, are plentiful and cheap; poultry, game, and fiſh, are abundant; fruit and ve⯑getables are to be had all the winter. The wants of na⯑ture are ſo eaſily ſatisfied, ſays Marlyn, that the lower claſs of people work but little; their great pleaſure is to baſk in the ſun, and do nothing. The lazaroni wallow about like ſwine. Perſons of a middle rank paſs much of their time in coffee-houſes; few purſue their callings, with any degree of zeal or activity.

Architecture is by no means in a good taſte at Naples. Of three hundred churches and upwards, there is not one, ſays Martyn, with a front or portico, which has any merit; many of them preſent nothing but a bare wall. They endeavour to make amends by abundance of interior decorations. There is a pro⯑fuſion of gilding and painting in them, but their pain⯑ters [249] have been corrupted by the national taſte for brilliancy and extravagance.

However, to reſcue this fine city from the accuſa⯑tion of a bad taſte in its public ornaments, the king has cauſed the Farneſian bull to be tranſported from Rome, in order to have it placed on the great foun⯑tain, in the walk of the royal villa. This immenſe group conſiſts of ſix figures, larger than life, and many ſmaller ones, together with the rock in which they are repreſented; all ſaid to be hewn out of one block of marble. It was originally brought from Rhodes to Rome, and placed on Caracalla's baths. It repreſents Amphion and Zetus, who, by order of Antione their mother, are binding Dirce to the horns of a wild bull.

I Stadii Publici are the buildings of the univerſity, made from deſigns of Fontana. The front is adorned with antique ſtatues, found at Crema. Profeſſors read lectures here on all the ſciences.

There are, in this city, three conſervatories, for the education of boys in the profeſſion of muſic. Theſe furniſh a band for the church of the Franciſcans, morning and evening, during eight days in Oc⯑tober.

[250]The monaſteries of this city are exceedingly rich. There are not leſs than one hundred and ſeventy-eight of them including thoſe hoſpitals that are under the directions of the monks; and, as the monks are the hereditary counſel of the populace, it is evident they do not want for counſellors. The monks, who con⯑verſe with the nobility and the citizens, are very ſtu⯑dious and artful, in ſcenting inheritances; and leave no ſtone unturned, to procure for their houſes, either preſents, or partial legacies, when they cannot graſp the whole To the ſucceſs of theſe practices, are owing thoſe amazing riches, which are diſplayed in the decoration of their churches, in the brilliant and very coſtly ſpectacles frequently given there, and in the enormous quantity of plate, with which their ſocieties are crowded. The churches of Naples are, perhaps, as rich in this kind, as all the churches of Italy put together.

Every monaſtery has a good laboratory, which brings in conſiderably. Moſt of the monks practiſe phyſic. Every laboratory is celebrated for ſome pe⯑culiar medicine, or conſerve, which is not made any where elſe, and for theſe it has a ſure demand.

I will cloſe this account of Naples, with a declara⯑tion of Mr. Sherlock. Though it has many diſagree⯑able circumſtances attending it, ſo that a man who could live out of it, would not like to be an inhabi⯑tant of the place; yet, there are a variety of things that will attract a traveller, to view it, perhaps, in pre⯑ference to moſt other cities of Europe; but, chiefly, an account of the delightful ſcenes around it. It is not ſurprizing, ſays Sherlock, that Virgil ſh [...]uld make ſuch fine verſes at Naples; the air is ſo ſoft and ſo pure, the ſun ſo brilliant and ſo warm, and the face of nature ſo rich and diverſified; that the imagination feels a vivacity and vigour, which it ſcarce ever per⯑ceives in other countries.

I am not a poet, but I am one fond of verſes, and I have never read them, adds he, with more pleaſure than here. Every time I went to my window, I felt [252] myſelf electrified; my ſpirits revived; my imagination grew warm; and my ſoul became ſuſceptible of the ſofteſt and ſublimeſt impreſſions; and, no wonder, when the objects that preſent themſelves to my view are recited.

On the right, the hill of Pauſilippo, whoſe form is ſemicircular, and adorned to its ſummit with trees and pleaſure houſes; from its point, which loſes itſelf in the ſea, this mountain increaſes inſenſibly, till it ar⯑rives behind the centre of Naples; and, on its ſummit is ſeen a vaſt tower, overlooking the city and crown⯑ing the ſcene. On the left, a chain of vaſt high mountains, ſurrounding the oppoſite ſide of the gulph, or bay of Naples; and whoſe rugged boldneſs, forms a moſt happy contraſt with the elegant and cultivated beauties of Pauſilippo. Shakeſpere and Corneille, would have looked to the left. Racine and Pope, to the right.

The ſea under my windows; and, beſides the ideas which that ſea preſents, as the moſt intereſting object in nature next the ſun, by its grandeur, its beauty, and its variety of appearances, it here ſhews all the riches of commerce, by large ſhips paſſing and re⯑paſſing every moment. Often did I riſe before day, to enjoy the breezes of the morn, and the ſetting of the ſun. In no horizon does he appear with more ſplendor; no where does he ſo well deſerve the epi⯑thet of Golden. He riſes behind Veſuvius, to illumine the pleaſant hill of Pauſilippo, and the boſom of the moſt beautiful bay in the univerſe; ſmooth as a mir⯑ror, and all in motion by the veſſels. The object, that terminates the perſpective, is the iſland of Caprea, fa⯑mous for the retreat of Tiberius, and the rocks of the Syrens; on viewing it we call to mind, that near theſe rocks the prudent Ulyſſes ſtopped his ears; and that, not far from hence, the leſs wiſe Hannibal gave him⯑ſelf up to the pleaſures of harmony, and the careſſes of the ſeducing Camilla.

CHAP. IV. Of the People, Character, &c.

The women and children do not look ſo healthy here, as in other parts of Italy. A great number of women are obſerved, to have wens in their throats, as bad as in ſome other countries; owing to their drinking, in ſummer, ſo great a quantity of ſnow-water.

The common dreſs of the ordinary women, which ladies likewiſe adopt, if they venture abroad on foot, and wiſh not to be known, are two black, ſilk petti⯑coats, which ſerve entirely to conceal their whole figures; as, when both are tied round the waiſt, one is ſuddenly turned up; and, as they pull it quick over their heads, a looſe trimming of narrow, black gauze, drops over the face; whilſt a hook and eye faſtens all cloſe under the chin, and gives them an air not un⯑like our country wenches, who throw the gown tail over their heads, to protect them from a ſummer ſhower. The holliday dreſſes of the peaſants, round Naples, are very rich and cumberſome. We often ſee, ſays Mrs. Piozzi, a great, coarſe, raw-bone fellow, panting for heat under a thick blue velvet coat, co⯑mical enough; the females in a ſcarlet cloth petticoat, with a broad gold-lace at the bottom; a jacket open [256] before, but charged with heavy ornaments, and the head▪ not unbecomingly, dreſſed with an embroidered hankerchief from Turkey.

Swinburne ſays, the young countrywomen are, in general, far from handſome, though they have fine eyes and handſome features; their hands and feet are clumſy, their ſhapes neglected, their necks not firm, and their ſkins diſcoloured, by living ſo much in the ſun, without bonnets. Amongſt them, we may find almoſt every mode of hair-dreſſing, ſeen in the Greek and Roman coins. The coiffeure of the younger Fauſtina, with the coil of plaited hair upon the crown of the head, occurs, frequently, in the old town; that with the coil lower down, which may be properly ſtiled Lucilla's head-dreſs, is common among the younger part of the ſex, in the ſuburbs of Chiaia, and Plotinas, among the women more advanced in years. Very little ſuffices to cloath the lazaroni, except on holi⯑days; and then he is, indeed, tawdrily decked out with a laced jacket, and flame-coloured ſtockings; his buckles are of an enormous magnitude; and ſeem to be the prototype of thoſe with which our preſent men of mode load their inſteps. The women are alſo very ſplendid on ſuch days of ſhow; but their hair is then bound up in tiſſue caps, and ſcarlet nets. Ci⯑tizens and lawyers are plain enough in their apparel; but, the female part of their family vies with the firſt [257] court ladies, in expenſive dreſs, and all the vanities of modiſh fopperies. Luxury hath, of late, advanced with gigantic ſtrides at Naples. Forty years ago, the Neapolitan ladies wore nets and ribbands on their heads, as the Spaniſh women do at this day, and not twenty of them were poſſeſſed of a cap: but hair, plainly dreſſed, is a mode now confined to the loweſt order of people; and all the diſtinction of dreſs, between the wife of a nobleman, and that of a citi⯑zen, is entirely laid aſide. Expence and extrava⯑gance are here in the extreme; the great families, adds Swinburne, are oppreſſed with a load of debt; the working part of the community always ſpend the price of their labour before they receive it; and the citizen is reduced to great parſimony, almoſt to pe⯑nury, in houſekeeping; in order to anſwer theſe de⯑mands of external ſhow. Short commons, at home; whet his appetite, when invited out to dinner; and it is ſcarce credible what a quantity of victuals he will devour. The nobility, in general, are well ſerved, and live comfortably, but it is not their cuſ⯑tom to invite ſtrangers; the number of poor depen⯑dents that dine with them, and cannot properly be introduced into company, prevents the great families from inviting foreigners: another reaſon may be, their ſleeping after dinner in ſo regular a manner, as to undreſs and go to bed. No ladies, or gentlemen, finiſh their toilets till the afternoon; on which account [258] they dine at twelve or one o'clock. The great of⯑ficers of ſtate, and miniſters, live in a different ſtyle, and keep ſumptuous tables; to which ſtrangers and others have frequent invitations.

The eſtabliſhment of a Neapolitan grandee's houſe⯑hold, is on a very expenſive plan. The number of ſer⯑vants, and equipages, would ſuffice for a ſovereign prince; and the wardrobe of their wives is on the ſame magnificent ſcale; yet no lady, of whatever rank or fortune, has more than one hundred ducats a month, for pin-money. At the birth of every child, the huſ⯑band makes his wife a preſent of one hundred ounces of ſilver, and ſome valuable trinkets, according to his fortune.

The king takes very little ſtate upon him; he lives among his ſubjects, with the old Roman idea, of a window in his heart; he rides and rows, and hunts the wild boar, ſays Mrs. Piozzi, and catches fiſh in the bay; and ſells it too, at market, as dear as he can; but gives away the money directly, ſo that he is very much beloved. The people know the worſt of him, that is, he ſhoots at the birds, dances with the girls, eats macaroni, and rows againſt the watermen in the bay. One of them, when this lady was there, by his un⯑courtly effort, ſhe adds, to out-row the king, ſtrained himſelf, and bled much at the noſe; this accident made [259] the king conqueror, and he won the trifling wager that was laid between them; laughed, and leaped on ſhore, amid the acclamations of the populace, who huzza'd him home to his palace; from whence he ſent double the ſum he won to the waterman's wife, with other tokens of kindneſs. For, whilſt he reſolves to be happy himſelf, he is equally determined to make no man wretched. When the Emperor and the Grand Duke, his brothers in law, talked to him of their new projects, for reformation in the church, he told them, that he ſaw but little advantage they brought into their ſtates, by theſe new fangled notions; that when he was at Milan and Florence, the deuce a Neapolitan could be found in either, whilſt his capital was crouded with refugees from them; that, in ſhort, they might do their way, but he would do his; that he had not now an enemy in the world, public or private; and that he would not make himſelf any, for the ſake of propa⯑gating doctrines he did not underſtand, and could not take the trouble to ſtudy; that he ſhould ſay his prayers as he uſed to do, and had no doubt of their being heard, whilſt he only begged bleſſings on his be⯑loved people; ſo, if theſe wiſe brothers-in-law would ſee him enjoy life, inſtead of ſhortening it, by unne⯑ceſſary cares, they might come and ſee him the next morning, play a match at tennis.

[260]The truth is, the jolly Neapolitans lead a coarſe life, but an unoppreſſed one. Marks of abundance are ſeen in all parts of the town. There is no ſettled market in any place; but every third ſhop, almoſt, is full of what the French call ſo properly, ammunition de bouche; whilſt whole boars, kids, and ſmall calves, dangle from a ſort of neat ſcaffolding, all with their ſkins on, and make a pretty appearance. Poulterers hang up their birds in the feathers too; not lay them on boards plucked, as they do at Venice and London. The principal ſtreets, ſays Swinburne, are lined with ſellers of macaroni, fried and boiled fiſh, puddings, cakes, and vegetables of all ſorts; where, for a very ſmall ſum, which the lazaroni earn, by running of an errand, or picking of pockets, he may find a ready meal, at all hours. The flaggon, hanging out at every convent, invites him to quench his thirſt with wine; or if he prefers water, as moſt of the poor do, there are ſtalls in all the thoroughfares, where lemonade and iced water is ſold. The paſſion for iced water is ſo great, and ſo general at Naples, that none but mere beggars will drink it in its natural ſtate; and a ſcar⯑city of bread would not be more ſeverely felt, than a ſcarcity of ſnow. It is brought in boats every morn⯑ing, from the mountains behind Caſtelamare, and is farmed out at a great rent by the Jeſuits.

[261]In the Chriſtmas ſeaſon, the Italians are peculiarly ingenious in decorating their ſhops, and ſetting out their wares. Every grocer, fruiterer, &c. mingles orange, lemon, and myrtle leaves among the goods expoſed at his door, as we do ever-greens in our churches; but with infinitely more taſte. Some odd pretty moveable coffee-houſes too, or lemonade-ſhops, ſet on wheels, adorned with gilding, painting, &c. and covered with ices, orgeats, and other refreſhments; as it were in emulation, each of the other, and in a ſtrange variety of ſhapes and forms, help towards the finery of Naples. I have counted thirty, adds Mrs. Piozzi, of theſe galante ſhops, on each ſide of the ſtreet; which, with their neceſſary illuminations, make a brilliant figure by candle-light, till twelve at night; when all the ſhow ceaſes, and every one puts out his candle and goes to bed. Till that hour, how⯑ever, few things can exceed the merriment of Naples; while volantes, or running-footmen, dreſſed like tum⯑blers before a ſhow, precede all carriages of diſtinc⯑tion, and endeavour to keep the people from being run over; yet, whilſt they are liſtening to ſome ſtreet orator, as ſhall be preſently deſcribed, they often get cruſhed and killed: yet as Pope ſays,

See ſome ſtrange comfort every ſtate attend.

[262]The lazaroni, who has his child run over by a man of quality, has a regular claim on him for no leſs than twelve carlines, about five ſhillings Engliſh. If it is his wife, he gets two ducats, live or die; and for the maſter of the family, not a houſekeeper, (for houſe he has none) three ducats is the ſettled compenſation, for they do not ſtand here for trifles. The truth is, human life is lower rated in all parts of Italy than with us. They think nothing of an individual, but ſee him periſh, (except by the hand of juſtice) as a cat, or a dog. A young man, ſays this ſame author, ſell from our carriage one evening, at Milan, a friend whom our coachman had picked up. There was a crowd in the ſtreet, and an embarras, and the fellow tumbled from behind, and died on the ſpot. No one even ſpoke upon the occaſion, or I believe thought about the matter, except one woman; who ſuppoſed he had neglected to croſs himſelf when he got up be⯑hind.

In Naples, ſays Dr. Moore, they are accuſtomed to ſtreet orators; theſe are men who, ſpouter-like, will repeat ſtanzas from Arioſto, or any other poet, in a pom⯑pous, recitative cadence, peculiar to the natives of Italy, and who hold the book in their hands, in caſe their me⯑mory ſhould fail them. They occaſionally comment on the paſſages they recite, in proſe; in order to bring the poet's expreſſion nearer to the capacities of their [263] hearers. The Doctor tells us, he liſtened to one ſome time, and that his auditory increaſed every mo⯑ment; men, women, and children, bringing ſeats from the neighbouring houſes, to ſit down round him. His cloak hung looſe from one ſhoulder, his right-arm being diſengaged for the purpoſes of oratory. Sometimes he winds it with a ſlow, ſmooth motion, according with the cadence of the verſes; ſometimes he preſſed it to his heart, to give energy to the pathos of the poet. Now he gathered the hanging folds of the right ſide of his cloak, and held them gracefully up, in imitation of a Roman ſenator; and anon he ſwung them acroſs his left ſhoulder, like a citizen of Naples; he humoured the ſtanza by his voice, which he could modulate to the key of any paſſion; from the boiſterous burſts of rage, to the tender notes of pity and of love. But, when he came to deſcribe the exploits of Orlando, from Arioſto, he truſted neither to the power of his own voice, nor the poet's genius; but, throwing off his cloak, and graſping his cane, he aſſumed the warlike attitude, and ſtern countenance of that hero; repreſenting, by the moſt animated ac⯑tions, how he drove his ſpear through the bodies of ſix of her enemies at once; the point, at the ſame time, killing a ſeventh, who would alſo have remained transfixed with his companions, if the ſpear could have held more than ſix men of an ordinary ſize upon it, at a time.

His audience illiterate, as we may ſuppoſe them, ſeemed to feel the pathetic and ſublime, as well as the ludicrous parts of the ancient bard.

At Rome, theſe ſtreet-orators entertain their au⯑dience with entertaining paſſages from hiſtory; that whilſt it amuſes the populace, and keeps them from leſs innocent and more expenſive paſtimes, it gives them ſome general idea of hiſtory. Street-orators, therefore, are a more uſeful ſet of men, than another claſs, of which there are numbers at Rome, who en⯑tertain companies with extemporaneous verſes, on any given ſubject, and who are called Improuviſatori.

Little concerts, of vocal and inſtrumental muſic, are heard every evening in ſome particular ſtreet; and on the beach of the bay; and young men and women are ſeen dancing to the muſic of ambulatory per⯑formers.

[265]To the mere ſpectator, the amuſements of the com⯑mon people afford more delight than thoſe of the great, becauſe they ſeem to be more enjoyed by the former, than the latter. After inſipid characters in high life, whoſe internal vacancy leads them to ſeek amuſement in public places, and whoſe inſenſibility prevents them from finding it, have, probably, brought this appearance of a want of all enjoyment into faſhion; thoſe who wiſh to be thought of what is called the Ton, imitate the mawkiſts inſipidity of their ſuperiors in rank, and imagine it diſtinguiſhes them from the vulgar, to ſuppreſs all the natural expreſ⯑ſions of pity, joy, or admiration; and to ſeem, upon all occaſions, in a ſtate of complete apathy. Theſe amiable creatures frequent public places, that it may be ſaid of them, "They are not as other men are." You will ſee them occaſionally at the play-houſes, placed in the boxes, as ſo many frights with unchang⯑ing features; and whilſt the reſt of the audience yield to the emotions excited by the poets and the actors, theſe men of the Ton, preſerve the moſt diſtreſſed ſe⯑renity of countenance; and, except pronouncing, from time to time, Pſhaw! and Stuff!—one would think them the expreſs repreſentation of the Pagan gods, who have eyes, but do not ſee; and ears, but do not hear.

[266]Not ſo a Naples auditory; no buſts that gather round the ſtreet orators here. I ſaw very lately, ſays Moore, a large cluſter of men, women, and children, entertained to the higheſt degree; and, to all appear⯑ance, made exceedingly happy, by a poor fellow with a maſk on his face, and a guitar in his hands. He aſſembled the crowd by the ſongs that he ſung, ac⯑companied by his inſtrument; and by a thouſand merry ſtories he told them with infinite drollery. This aſſembly was in an open place, facing the bay, and near the palace. The old women ſat liſtening, with their diſtaffs, ſpinning a coarſe flax, and wetting the thread with their ſpittle; their grand-children ſprawling at their feet, and amuſed with the twirling of the ſpindle. The men and their wives, the youths and their miſtreſſes, ſat in a circle, with their eyes fixed on the muſician, who kept them laughing for a great part of the evening, with his ſtories, which he introduced occaſionally, with tunes on the guitar. At laſt, when the company was moſt numerous, and at the higheſt pitch of good humour, he ſuddenly pulled off his maſk, laid down his guitar, opened a little box that ſtood before him, and addreſſed his audience in the following words: "Ladies and Gen⯑tlemen, there is a time for all things; we have had jeſting enough; innocent mirth is excellent for the health of the body, but other things are requiſite for the health of the ſoul. I will now, with your permiſſion, [267] my honourable maſters and miſtreſſes, entertain you with ſomething ſerious, and of infinitely greater im⯑portance; ſomething, for which all of you will have reaſon to bleſs me, as long as you live." Here he ſhook out of a bag, a great number of little wooden crucifixes. "I am juſt come from the holy houſe of Loretto, my fellow Chriſtians," continued he, "on purpoſe to furniſh you with theſe jewels, more pre⯑cious than all the gold of Peru, and all the pearls of the ocean. Now, my beloved brethren and ſiſters, you are afraid that I ſhall demand a price for theſe ſacred croſſes, far above your abilities, and ſome⯑thing correſpondent with their value; by way of in⯑demnification, for the fatigue and expence of the long journey I have made on your account, all the way from the habitation of the bleſſed Virgin, to this thrice renowned city of Naples; the riches and libe⯑rality of whoſe inhabitants are celebrated all over the globe. No, my generous Neapolitans, I do not wiſh to take the advantage of your pious and liberal diſpoſitions; I will not aſk for theſe invaluable cru⯑cifixes (all of which, let me inform you, have touched the foot of the holy image of the bleſſed Virgin, which was formed by the hands of St. Luke; and, moreover, each of them has been taken in the Santiſſimo Scodella, the ſacred porringer, in which the Virgin made the pap for for the infant Jeſus) I will not, I ſay, aſk an ounce of gold, no, not even a crown of ſilver; my [268] regard for you is ſuch, that I ſhall let you have them for a penny a piece."

This morſel of eloquence, no doubt, was a great pennyworth; and, when we recollect the ſums that ſome men are paid for their oratory in England, though they never can produce ſo pathetic a ſpe⯑cimen; we muſt naturally conclude, that eloquence is a much rarer commodity in England, than in Italy.

Writers ſeem to attribute to the Neapolitans, a barbarity of diſpoſition. Sherlock ſays, they are good people, but have adopted by inſtinct, the citizen of Geneva; and they cultivate neither the arts nor the ſciences, through fear of corrupting their morals. If the nation is barbarous, it is far from being harſh, or ſevere; on the contrary, it is very good-natured, and deſirous of contributing to the pleaſure of foreigners. They are naturally good, but are abſolutely in the ſtate in which nature produced them; and they perpetrate all crimes, and are guilty of all ſorts of rudeneſs, without being conſcious of doing wrong. Having had no education, they have no principle. A man of the firſt quality will tread on your toes, and not make you the leaſt apology; acquainted with you the next day, he cannot do enough to oblige you; he will carry you to a concert, offer you his box at the theatre; he will do all he knows; but all he knows is [269] little. It is the ſame with the women, they have all an inclination to be amiable, but they know not how.

The race of Sirens are not yet extinct here; there are many young women who ſing divinely; of Circes there are ſcarce any; but we ſee, in the aſſemblies, ſeveral of the companions of Ulyſſes. The eaſineſs of the women, and the Scirocco enervate the bodies of the men, and muſic enervates their ſouls; ſo as to ren⯑der uſeleſs all the beauties which nature has laviſhed on this charming country. In no other place will be found more natural talents, or more circumſtances fa⯑vourable to the arts; but the cauſes abovementioned, added to the indolence inſpired by the climate, and the abſolute want of Maecenaſes to patroniſe them, render Naples, as ſavage as Ruſſia; and, as a proof of this aſſertion, all the Ruſſians, that viſit the place, are ſtruck with the reſemblance between the Neapolitans and their countrymen.

After giving my readers the opinion of Mr. Sher⯑lock, who ſeems to write with a tenderneſs for human nature. It may not be amiſs to obſerve what Keyſler ſays upon this ſubject. According to ſome, ſays he, there is a greater evil ſtill remains, than either the ſcor⯑pion or tarantula. The worſt creatures, ſay theſe people, in this delicious country, are the inhabitants themſelves; who, beſides, their execrable and unna⯑tural [270] luſts, are of a vindictive, treacherous, and bloody diſpoſition.

Though national charges generally imply ignorance, narrowneſs of ſoul, and uncharitableneſs; it is certain, that the hiſtory of Naples, almoſt beyond any other, abounds in ſad inſtances of exceſſive depravity of hu⯑man nature. Tophana, the noted female poiſoner, who firſt invented the Aqua Tophania, was living in priſon, when Keyſler was there; and few foreigners left Naples, without ſeeing this infernal hag. She was a little old woman, who had entered into a kind of religious ſiſterhood; and, on this account, if not on a worſe, her life was ſpared. She is ſaid to have poiſoned ſome hundreds of people, and was remarkably liberal of her drops, which ſhe gave by way of alms, to wives, who, from ſeveral intimations, ſhe knew would not be inconſoleable for the loſs of their huſbands. Five or ſix drops of this liquid, would diſpatch the perſon who took them; and they could be lowered, or tem⯑pered, ſo as to take effect in any determinate time. This water, ſays Keyſler, ſtill continues to be privately made at Naples, under the appellation of Acquetta di Napoli; and not many years ſince, a ſmall caſk of it was, according to orders, ſent to a certain country; but ſince, lemon-juice has been found an antidote againſt it; this vile compoſition has fallen into ſome diſrepute.

[271]It muſt be in conſequence of the precariouſneſs of puniſhment, ſays Sharp, that this city furniſhes many more delinquents, in proportion to its ſize, than our wicked London. There are in the priſons, at Naples, generally between two and three thouſand; ſome ſay more; beſides about two thouſand in the galleys, lying in the harbour. Even murderers, ſometimes, eſcape unpuniſhed. It is ſcarce credible, but a magiſtrate of this city declared to a gentleman, who was aſking ſome queſtions on the ſubject, that, the preceding week, the populace had been very orderly, for that only four murders had been committed. This, adds Sharp, I had from a noble Neapolitan, who atteſted it as a fact; perhaps it might be exaggerated; but they cer⯑tainly do not hold murder in ſo horrid a light here, as in colder climates. A young gentleman informed me, that on the road to this place, from Rome, he ſaw at a diſtance a ſcuffle among ſome poſtillions, in which, as it turned out afterwards, one of them was ſtabbed dead. On enquiry into the matter, he was cooly an⯑ſwered, that it was only a colpo di coltello, (a ſtab with a knife.)

The indifference with which the crime of mur⯑der is regarded, among the lower claſſes of the Italians, is further illuſtrated by the following anec⯑dote. A gentleman of Naples, in paſſing occa⯑ſionally before the king's palace, had frequently no⯑ticed [272] a man of ſingular appearance at work. He was chained to ſome others, and aſſiſted in removing rub⯑biſh, and bringing ſtones for a new building, the foundation of which had juſt been laid. The man, by having often ſeen him paſs, recollected his perſon, and always took off his hat, as he found an oppor⯑tunity. The gentleman, not knowing how to account for his attention, was induced, one day, to inquire the cauſe of his civility and of his chains. To the firſt part of the query he anſwered, in the Neapolitan ſtyle, that it was "il ſuo devere, his duty;" and to the ſecond he ſaid, that he was in that predicament for una minchionerioe, a trifle." "Ho ammazzata ſolamente una donna," ſaid he, "I have only killed a woman."

The inhabitants of this country, ſays Keyſler, have, in all ages been remarkable for a voluptuous manner of living. The luxury of Capua and Atella is well known, and Naples is by Ovid ſtiled,

It muſt be owned that in no great city, in Europe, are the proſtitutes ſo numerous and abandoned. Theſe Donne libere, as they are called, amount to eighteen thouſand in this one city; and one particular [273] part of it is a receptacle for two thouſand; and yet it is no uncommon thing for eccleſiaſtics to lodge in theſe infamous parts of the town. This totally cor⯑rupts all the youth; and the clergy, being exempt from the civil juriſdiction, and connived at by their ſupe⯑riors, that the ſacred order may not be diſgraced by puniſhments, ſet the worſt of examples.

They tell us, ſays Moore, that the very air of Italy contributes to its profligacy. Propertius intreats his Cynthia not to remain too long on ſhore, which he ſeems to think dangerous to the chaſteſt maiden.

Martial aſſerts, that a woman, who came here as chaſte as Penelope, if ſhe remained any time, would depart as licentious and depraved as Helen. I have certainly met with ladies, after they have reſided ſome time at Naples, who, in point of character and con⯑ſtitution, were thought to have much ſtronger reſem⯑blance to Helen than Penelope; but, as I have no [274] faith, adds Moore, in the ſudden operations of phy⯑ſical cauſes, in matters of this kind; I never doubted of theſe ladies having carried the ſame diſpoſition to Naples, as they brought from it. Though there are not wanting thoſe who affirm, that the influence of this ſeducing climate, is evident now, in as ſtrong a degree, as it is deſcribed to have been anciently; that it pervades people of all ranks and conditions, and that in the convents themſelves:

For my own part, continues this author, I muſt ac⯑knowledge, that I ſaw nothing whilſt I was there, to juſtify the general imputation above-mentioned. There are perſons who contend, that the Neapolitans are of a colder conſtitution▪ and more philoſophic in the command of their paſſions, than any people in Europe. Do not the lower claſs of men, ſay they, ſtrip themſelves before the houſes, which front the bay, and bathe in the ſea, without the leaſt cere⯑mony? Are not numbers of theſe athletic figures, during the heat of the day, ſeen walking and ſporting on the ſhore perfectly naked, and with no more idea of ſhame, than Adam, felt in his ſtate of innocence; whilſt the ladies from their coaches, and the ſervant maids and young girls, who paſs along, contemplate [275] this ſingular ſpectacle, with as little apparent emo⯑tion, as the ladies in Hyde-park, behold a review of the horſe-guards?

Groſley ſays, princes are as common at Naples, as marquiſſes at Paris. The luxury of the nobi⯑lity lies chiefly in their equipages. Their mules, or horſes, are the fineſt that can be got; the length of the traces is one chief mark of grandeur and diſ⯑tinction; and their lacqueys are very handſome well-made fellows, in rich liveries, trailing ſwords of an enormous length; whereas the maſter's ſword, which is more like a poniard, is carried by the firſt lackey at a button-hole.

The peaſants in this country, according to Keyſler, are ſo flothful, as to prefer begging, or robbing, to la⯑bour and induſtry; but, in the city of Naples, there is ſomething of an induſtrious ſpirit, and ſeveral flouriſhing manufactures are there carried on. It is a phraſe here, that a king, to keep the people quiet, muſt provide three F's; namely, Feſte, Farine, and Forche; that is, "Feſtivity, Flour, and Gibbets," the people being exceſſively fond of public diverſions; clamorous on the dearth of corn; and ſeditious, unleſs kept in awe by ſeverity.

[276]The fiſhermen of St. Lucia, ſays Swinburne, are the handſomeſt men in Naples. They have the true old Grecian features, and ſuch well-proportioned limbs, as might ſerve for models in any academy of deſign. Indeed, the whole race of men in this city, according to Sharp, are more robuſt and athletic, than the run of mankind in London, and carry larger burdens.

Wives are in ſuch ſubordination to their huſbands, that, though the lower claſs, particularly fiſhermen's wives, is always fighting and ſcolding, they never re⯑ſiſt their huſband's authority; but, when he comes, to ſeparate the combatants, and carry home his diſhe⯑velled ſpouſe, ſhe goes off quietly with him; and ſeems to ſtand as much in awe of her conſort, as the Ruſſian wives do of theirs, and ſuffers herſelf to be beaten by him with as little murmuring. I was once, ſays Swinburne, ſhewn a woman here, who, during the life of her firſt huſband, was a pattern of modeſty, and evenneſs of temper to the whole pariſh; but, in con⯑tracting a ſecond marriage, ſurprized and ſcandalized the neighbourhood with her perpetual riots, and boiſ⯑terous behaviour. On being reprimanded by the cu⯑rate, ſhe ever frankly acknowledged, that her former huſband underſtood the management of a wife, and uſed to check her intemperate burſts of paſſion, by timely correction; but that her preſent helpmate was too mild to apply the proper chaſtiſement, which [277] every wife requires more or leſs. Men ſeldom inter⯑fere in feminine brawls; when they do, they gene⯑rally content themſelves with abuſing, threatening, or ſhaking a cudgel, or pitchfork at their antagoniſt, till the crowd comes in to part them. Sometimes a man is ſtabbed, but this is rare among the fiſhermen. Manners vary with the diſtricts; in ſome they en⯑gage with bludgeons. Theſe are the true lazaroni of Maſſaniello; in others, the attack is made with knives, and other deadly weapons; but the Neapo⯑litans are by no means ſo blood-thirſty and revenge⯑ful, as repreſented. It requires more than a ſlight provocation to lead them to extremities. Drunken⯑neſs is not a common vice at Naples, of courſe, quar⯑rels are rare. It is alſo uncommon to ſee any thing, in public, like gallantry, among the people; no ſol⯑diers, or ſailors, leading their doxies; or girls going about in queſt of lovers; all which, in other coun⯑tries, give riſe to riot and bloodſhed. Though at Naples, there is only a nominal police, yet houſe-breaking is unknown, riots ſtill more ſo; it bears no proportion to the murders committed in the diſtant provinces, where I am credibly informed, ſays Swin⯑burne, no leſs than four thouſand perſons are killed annually. Moſt of theſe crimes are perpetrated with guns, in the mountainous countries, where a great fe⯑rocity of character and wildneſs of manners pre⯑vail.

[278]Ciciſbeos are as general here, as in other parts of Italy. Many people in England imagine, the majo⯑rity of Ciciſbeos, to be an innocent kind of dangling fribble, but they are utterly miſtaken; nor do I find that it is underſtood here, ſays Sharp, that the ladies live in greater purity with their Ciciſbeos, than with their huſbands; and generally ſpeaking, with much leſs. If only one-half of the ladies practiſed this cuſtom, the other half would deſpiſe them; but, in fact, very few have any pretence to upbraid the reſt with bad conduct. To ſay the truth, if you invite five ladies to dinner, you muſt lay ten plates; as each, for a cer⯑tainty, brings her Ciciſbeo with her.

How is it probable, that huſbands and wives ſhould have any love for each other, when they are always brought together, without the leaſt participation of their own; nothing being conſulted by parents, but for⯑tune and family.

Children here, have very little tendency to ſupport the friendſhip and harmony of the married ſtate. A certain knowledge of every wife's attachment to a lover extinguiſhes all ſocial affection, and all fondneſs for the offspring; and it is only the eldeſt born who, the huſband is ſure belongs to him; and for that ſe⯑curity, it is generally requiſite the birth ſhould take [279] place the firſt year, as the women ſeldom hold out longer without a Ciceſbeo.

The Calabreſe have ſome very capricious notions. One is, ſays Swinburne, that every child, whoſe mother has been true to her marriage vow, muſt neceſſarily reſemble the father. It is thought a reproach, to have been fuckled by any one but one's own mother.

They repoſe great confidence in judgments, and expect to ſee every one who jeers at the defect of another, afflicted with the ſame. Inoculation has been attempted at one place near Reggio; but from ill ſucceſs and ſuperſtitious averſion, thoſe who have un⯑dergone the operation, are marked by ſome oppro⯑brious nickname.

If a perſon dies in the fields, it is believed his ſpirit will appear in the ſame place, in white robes; and that the only way of laying it is, to ſend out young boys to approach ſilently, and to cover it with a volley of ſtones. Not long ſince, ſays Swinburne, a Dominican prieſt, ſitting in his white garment, on a hill near Tropea, taking a ſketch of the country; was ſuppoſed to be the ſpirit of an old mad woman, who had drop⯑ped down dead ſome time before, on that very ſpot; and was near being killed by the youths of the neigh⯑bouring [280] village, before he could convince them of the little conceits of their error.

The funeral behaviour, and meaſure of grief of the Calabreſe, are regulated by the ſtricteſt etiquette. The virtues, as well as vices, of a deceaſed father of a family, are recapitulated by the oldeſt man in company. The widow repeats his words, adds com⯑ments of her own, then roars out loudly, and plucks off handfuls of her hair, which ſhe ſtrews over the bier. Daughters tear their locks, and beat their breaſts, but remain ſilent. More diſtant relations re⯑peat the oration cooly, and commit no outrage upon their perſons. When the kinſman of a baron, or a rich citizen dies, a number of old women are hired to perform all theſe ceremonies, and howl for the fa⯑mily.

At Naples, the forms are rather different. I was one day, ſays Swinburne, preſent at the funeral of an old fiſherman. The actions of his widow were ſo overſtrained, as to be truly ridiculous; ſhe tore off her hair and clothes, and yelled in the moſt hideous manner, till her ſtep-ſons appeared to take poſſeſſion of the goods. She then turned, her fury upon them, and beat them out of the houſe. The prieſts now came for the body, and ſhe oppoſed their entry for a decent length of time; but, at laſt, ſuffering herſelf [281] to be overpowered, flew to the window with her daughters and her mother (who, from having outlived many relations, had ſcarcely a hair left on her head) and there beat her breaſt, ſcratched her cheeks, and threw whole handfuls of hair towards the bier, with the frantick geſtures of a demoniack. The proceſſion was no ſooner out of ſight, than all was quiet; and in five minutes I heard them laughing and dancing about the room, as if rejoicing to be rid of the old churl.

In ſome parts of the country, it is a rule to faſt the whole day of interment. Two women, in a village near Salerno, mother and daughter of a farmer, at whoſe removal from the houſe, they had acted their parts with great applauſe, locked themſelves up; and, in order to gather ſtrength, after the fatigue they had undergone; began, in defiance of cuſtom, to fry ſome pieces of tripe for their dinner. As ill luck would have it, a couple of relations, who living at a great diſtance, had come too late for the ceremony, knocked at the door, to pay their reſpects to the diſconſolate widow. Great was the difficulty they found in gain⯑ing admittance: all the parade of grief was again diſ⯑played, the dinner ſlipped into a napkin, and hid under the bed, and nothing heard in the room but groans and lamentations. The ſtrangers entered with compoſed mien, and were endeavouring, with little ſucceſs, to adminiſter comfort to their unhappy kinſ⯑women; [282] when behold! a dog they had brought with them, winded the fry, and dragged it out into the middle of the floor, to the great anger of the viſitors, and utter confuſion of the mourners, whoſe reputation was irretrievably ruined in the eſteem of the whole pariſh.

CHAP. V. Of the Environs, Eaſt of Naples.

THE environs of Naples are highly entertaining to the claſſical ſcholar, the antiquary, and the naturaliſt. To the Weſt are Puzzuoli, and Baiae; to the Eaſt, Veſuvius, the ſubterranean cities, and the muſeum at Portici.

The commencement of the road, from Naples to Puzzuoli, lies through the grotta di Pauſilippe, which opens into one of the ſuburbs. Formerly, it was neceſſary to croſs Mount Pauſilippo, which, from its delightful appearance, is ſaid to have derived its Greek name, implying grief appeaſing; but, at preſent, [283] that labour is unneceſſary; a broad ſubterraneous road being cut through the mountain. This paſſage is conducted, chiefly, through large rocks, and ſome⯑times through ſtrata of ſand. It is at both ends, between ninety and an hundred feet high, in order to throw in more light. Towards the middle, where the top is lower, two large vent-holes, for light and air, are made through the roof of this grotto; but the light is not ſufficient; and travellers are, beſides, ex⯑tremely incommoded with the duſt, in this ſubter⯑raneous paſſage. The bottom of it, which in the time of Charles V. was paved with broad ſtones, like the ſtreets of Naples, is cleaned ſeveral times in a year; and then it is pretty free from duſt; but, as it is a road extremely frequented, this convenience is of no long duration. The breadth is between eighteen and twenty feet, ſo that there is ſufficient room for two carriages to avoid each other, and, to prevent any inconvenience on this head; it is uſual, in the dark places, to call out to any perſon coming the contrary Way, to know on which ſide they intend to keep. When they anſwer alla montagna, "to the mountain," it ſignifies the Naples ſide; which, to thoſe coming from the city, is on the right-hand; and alla marina, "to the ſea," denotes the left-hand ſide. We have often drove through this paſſage, ſays Lady Millar, but never without flambeaux.

[284]Its length is ſomething more than half an Italian mile. On the left-hand, near the middle, is an ora⯑tory hewn out of the rock, with a lamp continually burning in it. The grotto is, by the vulgar, ſuppoſed to have been made by magic, and that Virgil was the ſorcerer who wrought it. The poet, it is true, gives a deſcription of the Cumaean grotto, but this the learned populace apply to the grotto of Pauſilippo; and conclude, ſince he has ſo circumſtantially de⯑ſcribed an ancient ſybil, or propheteſs, that he muſt have been a wizard. If a man, ſays Addiſon, would form to himſelf a juſt idea of this place, he muſt fancy a vaſt rock, undermined from one end to the other, and a highway running through it, near as long and as broad as the Mall in St. James's park.

Opinions vary concerning the firſt openers of this grotto. This kind of rocky ſubſtance is perforated with ſo much eaſe, and the cuſtom of carrying on ſub⯑terraneous galleries, ſeems to have prevailed at ſo very early a period of ſociety, that ſome authors have aſcribed the work to the giants, or the Cimmerians, who were wont to make caves, their places of reſi⯑dence, as well as the repoſitory of their plunder. Others aſſert it to have been done by Cocceius, an ar⯑chitect, of the Auguſtan age. From Seneca's expreſ⯑ſions, complaining of its inconveniences, we gather, that it was then open only for foot paſſengers.

[285]Poſſibly, the cutting of a road through the moun⯑tain, was at firſt not thought of, but the great quan⯑tity of ſtones fetched out of it, for the buildings in Naples, and Puzzuoli, might occaſion ſuch a deep excavation on both ſides; that, at laſt, for the con⯑venience of travelling, government employed work⯑men to pull down, and clear away the intermediate ſpace: beſides, it is not to be ſuppoſed the way was at firſt in ſuch a good condition, as it is at preſent. Seneca, in his fifty-ſeventh letter ſays, Nihil illo carcere longius, nihil illis faucibus obſcurius; i. e. "This dun⯑geon is intolerably long and extremely dark." From whence it may be inferred, that the apertures, which in Strabo's time, through which light entered at the ſides, were ſoon after ſtopped up, either by earth⯑quakes, or want of proper care.

Neapolitan hiſtorians agree, that king Alphonſo, of the Arragon family, cauſed this paſſage to be con⯑ſiderably widened; and Don Pedro de Toledo, vice⯑roy, under the emperor Charles V. is known to have given orders for levelling and paving the ground, as likewiſe for enlarging the two vent-holes, which had been bored through by order of Alphonſo I. That it was entirely wrought by art, is unqueſtionable, from the marks it bears of chizels, and other tools uſed by ſtone-cutters. The earthquakes that have made ſuch havock, among the numerous remains of antiquity in [286] theſe parts, have hitherto ſpared this uſeful work. Its ſafety is, probably, due to the ſolidity of the rock, in which there does not appear any veins, or mixture of ſulphur, or any kind of inflammable particles. Under this mountain is a large quarry, from which they dig ſtone, that is frequently uſed in the buildings at Naples. On the ſide of the mountain next the ſea, and amongſt the rocks, grows the plant Opuntia, or Indian fig, on which is found the cochineal. Upon the top of this grotto, are ſtill ſome remains of an antique aqueduct, which conveyed water from Serino, to ſupply a re⯑ſervoir called Piſcina mirabile, of which we ſhall ſpeak hereafter.

The duſt in this grotto, ſays Swinburne, is intolera⯑ble in ſummer, and the ſcantineſs of light at all ſea⯑ſons of the year, diſtreſſing; for, that which is ad⯑mitted through the apertures abovementioned, is no ſecurity againſt the danger of being run over, cruſhed againſt the wall, or at leaſt hurt by the faggots which aſſes are continually bringing from the woods. I never could accuſtom myſelf, ſays the above author, per⯑fectly to this ſubterraneous road, but with haſty ſteps ſought to leave it as the ſeat of noiſe, gloom, duſt, and unwholeſome damps; wondering, at the ſame time, how paſſengers ventured into ſuch a place at all hours, ſingly, or in company, without any guard to prevent aſſaults, or ſufficient light to detect a lurking [287] aſſaſſin. Were a ſimilar thoroughfare neceſſary, near any other capital, it would require all the exertion of the magiſtracy, to preſerve the lives and properties of the inhabitants, who had occaſion to paſs through it; near London, none but a madman would venture into it. It is certainly no ſmall matter of ſurprize, to find this paſſage ſo ſecure, in a country ſo ill pro⯑vided with officers of police; it reflects honour upon the national character, and, indeed, it behoves me to give teſtimony in its favour; as I never, ſays Swin⯑burne, met with any inſult, nor ſaw reaſon to expect one, during my long abode among the Neapolitans, or my innumerable and pervious rides and walks, through different parts of the kingdom.

Above the Eaſtern entrance of this celebrated grotta, on the brink of a precipice, in a vineyard be⯑longing to the Marquis Salcitro, are to be ſeen the ruins of an ancient mauſoleum. It was originally built in the form of a pyramid; but the lower part of it, which is all that is now remaining, is not much un⯑like a large oven. The way to it is not to be found without a guide; and, on the ſide towards Pauſilippo, it is ſo narrow, and runs along ſuch a high precipice, that it is ſomewhat dangerous to perſons ſubject to giddineſs. This ancient ruin, generally paſſes for the monument of the poet Virgil; but without ſufficient grounds, ſays Keyſler, to warrant ſuch conjecture. In [288] the wall within it, are ten ſmall niches, or cavities, ap⯑parently deſigned for urns. According to Alphonſo de Hereda, late biſhop of Ariano, the marble urn in which Virgil's arches had been depoſited, ſtood here on nine ſmall, marble pillars, of which, at preſent, there is not the leaſt appearance; and what became of ſuch a remarkable piece of antiquity, is alſo a great myſtery. Some pretend, that at the earneſt ſo⯑licitations of the inhabitants of Mantua, they were preſented to that city; but others affirm, that the Car⯑dinal of Mantua, found means to get them into his poſſeſſion. The third opinion is, that the urn was tranſported to Genoa, but that the pillars were ap⯑plied to ſome other uſe. This is certain, that at Mantua, where they pride themſelves not a little, on account of their city being the birth-place of that immortal bard, they know nothing of the place of his burial. Steſſano, in his account of the churches of Naples ſays, that in his time, which was no longer ago than 1560, both the urn and the pillars were in being, with this diſtich, then legible, near them:

[289]This inſcription was ſet up again in 1684, by order of the Duke di Peſcolanciano, to whom this garden then belonged. The Mauſoleum is now overgrown with ſhrubs and buſhes, among which are a few laurel trees, ſuppoſed by the credulous, to grow again ſpon⯑taneouſly, though often rooted up. At preſent, the only inſcription in the whole Mauſoleum, is the fol⯑lowing:

Many a ſolitary walk, ſays Moore, have I taken to this place. The earth which contains his aſhes, we expected to find cloathed in the brighteſt verdure. Viewed from this magic ſpot, the objects which adorn the bay, become doubly intereſting. The poets verſes are here recollected with additional pleaſure; the verſes of Virgil are interwoven in our minds, with a thouſand intereſting ideas; with the memory of our boyiſh years, or the ſportive ſcenes of childhood, of our earlieſt friends and companions, many of whom are now dead; and of thoſe who ſtill live and for whom we retain the firſt impreſſion of affection, and who are at [290] ſuch diſtance, as renders the hope of ever ſeeing them again uncertain. No wonder, therefore, that in a con⯑templative mood, our ſteps are often directed to a ſpot ſo well calculated to create and cheriſh ſentiments con⯑genial with the ſtate of our mind. But then comes an antiquarian, with his odious doubts, to diſturb the pleaſing ſource of our enjoyment; and, from the fair and delightful regions of fancy, conveys us in a mo⯑ment to a dark, barren, and comfortleſs deſart;—he doubts whether this be the real place where the aſhes of Virgil were depoſited; and tells us an unſatisfac⯑tory ſtory about the other ſide of the bay; and that he is rather inclined to believe, the poet was buried ſomewhere there, without determining any particular ſpot. Would to Heaven, that theſe doubters would keep their minds to themſelves, and not ruffle the tranquillity of true believers!

But after all, why ſhould not this be the real tomb of Virgil? Why ſhould theſe enthuſiaſts, who delight in pilgrimage to this ſpot, be deprived of that plea⯑ſure? Why ſhould the poet's ghoſt be allowed to wander along the dreary banks of the Styx, till anti⯑quarians erect a cenotaph to his memory? Even they acknowledge he was buried in this bay, and near Naples; and tradition has fixed on this ſpot, which, excluſive of every other preſumption, is a much [291] ſtronger evidence in its favour, than their vague con⯑jectures againſt it.

Of the ancient monuments at Naples the moſt en⯑tire, and unqueſtionably the moſt curious, is Virgil's tomb, ſays Groſley. This monument, which by Miſſon and Montfaucon, is repreſented as a pyramid almoſt ruined, is a lanthorn or turret, about twenty feet high, on open arcades; the ſolid parts of which were formerly adorned with pillars. This ſtructure ſtands on a platform, cut in the Eaſtern ſide of the hill of Pauſilippo, in ſight of the two bays of Naples; the harbour, the caſtles, part of the city lengthways, and fronting Mount Veſuvius. Unqueſtionably, it was, in order to make it ſo conſpicuous, that its elevation ſo much exceeds the proportion of its baſe. It com⯑mands the entrance of the favourite grotto; and, by the excavations daily carrying on in this part of the mountain, commands it ſo, that at preſent it is ſcarce two feet from the brink of a precipice, a hundred and eighty feet deep; and, if theſe excavations be con⯑tinued, they muſt certainly undermine this valuable monument.

On the external ſurface of the cupola, in which it terminates, is a prodigy much celebrated by the Ita⯑lian poets; I mean its being exactly crowned with a laurel, though the only nouriſhment the tree receives [292] is, what its roots meet with in the joining of the ſtones. All travellers are ſure to have a pluck at this tree, which they do by means of a rope, with a ſtone at the end of it. You may be ſure, ſays Lady Millar, in her deſcription of this celebrated tomb, "I am poſ⯑ſeſſed of ſome of the leaves of this ſacred tree; how happy ſhould I be, if drinking a decoction of them, would inſpire me with Virgilian poeſy! The ſide of the mountain where the tomb ſtands, inſtead of any trees of this kind, is covered with yews and firs. Vir⯑gil's laurel, however, recruits its daily loſſes, and perpe⯑tuates itſelf with renovating vigour. In the ſixteenth century, there was only one ſtem which ſtood in the centre of the cupola, where we will ſuppoſe it to have been planted by ſome Neapolitan, a warm admirer of Virgil. About the beginning of the laſt century, a fir blown by the wind, from a collateral foot of the mountain, fell with its top on the ſtem thus choaking it; but nature herſelf repaired the accident, ſetting, as layers, the compreſſed ramifications of the root, which now have ſpread over the cupola's whole ſur⯑face.

Beautiful points of view offer themſelves every ſtep in aſcending this mountain; the ſummit of which is covered with villas and gardens, planted with ever⯑greens, belonging to ſeveral noble families at Naples. Further on, towards the North, is the convent of the [293] Camaldoli, from which there is a moſt ſublime ſea-view, and a moſt beautiful land-one. Hence you may go through foreſts of cheſnuts, opening ſome⯑times to noble views, till you reach the glacis of the caſtle of St. Elmo; where the whole city and ſuburbs appear in one collective picture. The Carthuſian convent, adjoining to the caſtle, is, perhaps, the beſt ſituated monaſtery in Europe.

On this mountain, in the Villa Mazza, are the re⯑mains of Pollio's fiſh-ponds, ſo often mentioned in the works of ancient writers; the expence he was at in embelliſhing them, the extravagant paſſion he had for his fiſh, which, by care and feeding, grew to a remark⯑able ſize; the cruel food with which he ſupplied them, and the rebuke he met with from Auguſtus, in whoſe preſence he bad ordered a ſlave to be thrown into the pond, for a trivial offence; are circumſtances that have rendered theſe reſervoirs famous.

Puzzuoli is ſituated about ſeven miles from Naples. It had its ancient name, Puteoli, either from a ſulphu⯑reous ſtench, or from the great number of putéi, or holes, which are made here, on account of the ſul⯑phur works, and by digging for ſand; which in an⯑cient times was found very ſerviceable for building, eſpecially under water. Quis enim ſatis miretur, ſays Pliny, peſſimam ejus terroe partem ideoque pulverem ap⯑pellatam [294] in Puteolaris, collibus opponi maris fluctibus, merſumque protinus fieri lapidem inexpugnabilem undis, & fortiorem quotidie, utique ſi Cumano miſceretur coe⯑mento: i. e. "Who can ſufficiently admire, that the worſt part of the ſoil, in the mountains of Puteoli, which is called duſt, or ſand, ſhould be made into a bulwark againſt the ſea; and, when ſunk under water, ſhould ſoon become a ſtone, impregnable by the waves, and every day grow ſtronger; eſpecially if it is mixed with Cumaean cement." It is aſſerted, by ſome authors, that this city was founded five hundred and twenty-two years before the Chriſtian Aera, by one Decius, ſon of Neptune; and, according to others, by ſome one elſe. It is moſt agreeably ſituated on the margin of a ſmall bay; and the great quantity of beautiful ſtones, and gems caſt up by the ſea, is a ſuf⯑ficient proof of its former ſplendor and magnificence. The greateſt part of theſe ſtones, are of a blue, or a red caſt, with ſeveral pieces of Verde antico, por⯑phyry, &c. and ſeem to have been uſed in Moſaic work; there are frequently found agate, cornelian, amethyſt, jaſper, onyx, beryl, lapis lazuli, &c. and many of them cameos, and intaglios.

On every hill, and vale of the environs, appear the ruins of extenſive villas, once embelliſhed with all the elegancies of combined arts; now traced only by half buried, mouldering walls, and ſome marble frag⯑ments; [295] left, as it were, to vouch for the taſte and coſt⯑lineſs with which they were conſtructed. In the laſt period of the commonwealth, and during the gaudy aera of the Coeſars, almoſt every perſon, of exalted rank, had a houſe in this country, which the ſagacious anti⯑quaries of Puzzuoli point out to you, without doubt or heſitation.

The town of Puzzuoli, and its environs, ſays Moore, preſents ſuch a number of objects worthy of the attention of the antiquarian, the natural philo⯑ſopher, and the claſſic ſcholar; that to deſcribe all, with the minuteneſs they deſerve, would fill volumes. The cathedral, now under the protection of St. Ja⯑nuarius, and St. Proculus, was formerly a temple, de⯑dicated to Auguſtus.

It is built of large ſtones, without cement. No more of the ancient temple remains, than ſome Co⯑rinthian columns, with their capitals, and part of the entablature, of Parian marble, and beautiful work⯑manſhip, in one of the ſide-walls of the cathedral.

The temple of Jupiter Serapis, in this city, is ac⯑counted a very intereſting monument of antiquity; being quite different from the Roman and Greek temples, and built in the manner of the Aſiatics; pro⯑bably by the Egyptian and Aſiatic merchants, who [296] ſettled here; this place having been the great empo⯑rium of Italy, until the Romans built Oſtia and An⯑tium. The ruins of this temple are in the fineſt pre⯑ſervation of any round Naples. It was originally encompaſſed by forty-two ſquare rooms, which are now almoſt reduced to ruins; yet ſtill ſome columns of beautiful white marble are to be ſeen, fluted, and highly finiſhed. The whole was paved with large ſlabs of marble, and the edifice completely encruſted with the ſame. It is curious to ſee the maſſy rings fixed in the pavement, to which the victims were faſtened, and the copper pipes, or drains, to convey away their blood: here is a pierced ſquare of marble, of exquiſite workmanſhip, which ſerved as a drain ſtone; for it is placed in the center of a quadran⯑gular part of the temple, preciſely under the open part of the roof, in order to receive and carry off the rain water, which entered at the opening. Half of its buildings are ſtill buried under the earth, thrown upon it by volcanic commotions, or accumulated by the crumblings of the hill.

The encloſure is ſquare, ſays Swinburne, environed with buildings for prieſts, and baths for votaries: in the center remains a circular platform, with four flights of ſteps up to it; vaſes for fire, a centrical altar, rings for victims, and other appendages of ſacrifice entire and not diſplaced; ſixteen columns of African [297] marble, that ſuſtained the roof and the ſtatues, have been removed to the new palace at Caſerta, the pe⯑deſtals of the ſtatues only remaining.

In that part of the town, called la Piazza, is placed a ſquare pedeſtal of white marble, found in the year 1690. Each ſide has a bas-relief. Although they are much injured, we may diſtinguiſh fourteen figures, by which are repreſented ſo many cities of Aſia-Minor. The pedeſtal is inſcribed to Tiberius, and probably a ſtatue of him had been placed upon it; erected, according to the opinion of ſome learned men, by theſe fourteen cities that were near being en⯑tirely demoliſhed by an earthquake, in his reign, to whom he had ſent very liberal ſupplies. It is eſteemed a moſt beautiful bas-relief, and a work of excellent taſte.

The ruins of its ancient edifices, are widely ſpread along the adjacent hills and ſhores. An amphi⯑theatre ſtill exiſts, entire in moſt of its parts. It is ſaid to have ſtood formerly within the walls of the city, but is now near a mile diſtant from it. This is a proof of the great decay of the town, from its former extent and ſplendor. The arena, which is now a garden, is two hundred and fifty feet long; the por⯑ticos of entrance, which were below the ſteps, or ſeats, for the ſpectators, and the dens for wild beaſts, with a [298] ſtone trough in each, to hold water for them, are ſtill to be ſeen. Here, it is ſaid, St. Januarius and his companions were thrown, to be devoured by wild beaſts; but the latter were, it ſeems, not wanting in reſpect due to ſuch holy perſonages, and never offered to lay a paw on them. At the entrance of St. Janu⯑arius's priſon, now converted into a chapel, is an in⯑ſcription, ſignifying, that it was conſecrated by the biſhop of Puzzuoli, in 1689; and promiſing an indul⯑gence of forty days, to thoſe who devoutly viſit that ſacred ſpot in this amphitheatre. Suetonius ſays, Au⯑guſtus aſſiſted in perſon at the games celebrated here.

There is a curious antiquity here, called the laby⯑rinth of Dedalus; it is near the amphitheatre, but, by the learned, ſuppoſed to have been a reſervoir to ſerve the city of Puzzuoli with water. To every one of theſe apartments there are four doors, which makes the place extremely intricate. A little further is an arched vault, ſupported by eleven pillars, incruſted with tartar; and, at preſent, it is a winec-ellar. This, likewiſe, ſeems to have been a reſervoir. Half a league from Puzzuoli, are the columbarias, or tombs, the deſcent into which is by ladders. There is nothing very curious in theſe repoſitories of the dead; they are of a ſimple ſtructure, with ſmall niches, in which urns, filled with the aſhes of the family, were depoſited.

[299]This town is chiefly inhabited by fiſhermen; their children run after ſtrangers with plates full of moſaic pieces, of various colours; amongſt which may fre⯑quently be found medals, intaglios, and engravings on gems; theſe the ſea throw upon the beach, and are purchaſed for a trifle. Some of them are genuine, but many are falſe; and theſe mock antiquities are frequently impoſed on ignorant ſtrangers; which are no more than the refuſe of lapidaries ſhops, procured from Naples; but, whoever has a little intelligence in theſe matters, cannot eaſily be deceived.

The ruins of Cicero's villa, near this city, are of ſuch extent, as to give a high idea of the wealth of this great orator. Had fortune, ſays Moore, always beſtowed her gifts with ſo much propriety, ſhe never would have been accuſed of blindneſs. Neither this villa, nor that at Tuſculum, nor any of his country-ſeats, were the ſcenes of idleneſs or riot. They are diſtinguiſhed by the names of the works he compoſed in them; works which have always been the delight of the learned; and which, ſtill more than the impor⯑tant ſervices he rendered his country, have contri⯑buted to immortalize his name.

Here it was he wrote both the books, intitled Quoeſ⯑tionum Academicarum. The ruins of this famous aca⯑demia of Cicero, ſays Lady Millar, are a mile and a [300] quarter round; but this immenſe building is now ſo demoliſhed, there is no poſſibility of aſcertaining its regular plan; though we took the trouble of walking, or rather ſtumbling over the rubbiſh, through a num⯑ber of rooms, we could not find one that could be termed a large one, in a modern Engliſh houſe. Some of the pavement ſtill remains, compoſed of ſmall dies of white marble, forming a moſaic pattern; moſt of the rooms were vaulted, and many of the arches ſtill remain entire.

It is evident that the ſea has covered the greateſt part of this building, as conſiderable veſtiges, which plainly appear to have been part of the ſtructure, are diſ⯑cernable at low water: this is highly probable, for an additional reaſon; the academia was ſo cloſe to the ſea, as to admit Cicero's gueſts to have amuſed them⯑ſelves by fiſhing from his windows.

The mole of the harbour of Puzzuoli, is a ſtupen⯑dous work. There are now fourteen piles remaining, built with a ſort of ſtone called Piperno, and faced with brick; theſe piles are connected by half-ruined arches. The common people uſually call it, Il ponte di Caligula, as if it were the ruins of the bridge built by that emperor, from Puzzuoli to Baiae. This error, Suetonius's life of that emperor very ſatisfactorily Confutes, where he ſays, that what Caligula built, [301] was no more than a bridge of boats, covered with earth, and reaching from Baiae to the Puzzuoli mole; ſo that the piers are not only plainly diſtinguiſhed from the moveable bridge of Caligula, but he has likewiſe called it by the name of moles, which is even now applied to any congeries of rocks, or ſtone, that ſerves for the ſecurity of an harbour. That the pilaſ⯑ters in the ſea, before Puzzuoli, did not belong to a bridge, is likewiſe further apparent, from their not being placed in a ſtrait line, but forming a curve towards the North.

The ſea, about Puzzuoli, abounds in fiſh, eſpecially of the teſtaceous kind. Here is alſo a fiſh called Cavallo Marino, which is not quite an inch in length, and is generally dried for keeping. The head of this little fiſh very much reſembles that of a horſe: it is often bruiſed with vinegar and honey, and ap⯑plied, by way of plaiſter, to the part bitten by a mad dog. This ſpecies of fiſh is alſo found on the other ſide of Italy, along the coaſts of the Adriatic.

The purple dye of this place was in ſuch eſteem, among the ancient Romans, as to be ſaid to have ri⯑valled that of Tyre; it is the blood taken from the vein in the ſhell-fiſh, probably the perriwinkle, and of which there is ſo ſmall a quantity, as not to exceed one drop in each fiſh.

[302] Sylla having abdicated the dictatorſhip, is ſaid to have retired, and paſſed the remainder of his days in this city.

CHAP. VI. The ſame Subject continued.

PURSUING the path towards Naples, ſays Swin⯑burne, in his deſcription of the environs, I ar⯑rived at a convent of Capuchin Friars, which com⯑mands ſo fine a proſpect, that many painters have choſen it as a ſtation for delineating the bay. Saint Januarius is ſuppoſed to have completed his martyr⯑dom on this ſpot, by the axe, after facing the wild beaſts with impunity. He was biſhop of Beneven⯑tum, in the third century; but did not ſuperſede Saint Aſprenius, in the patronage of Naples, till eleven hundred years after his death.

[303]The ciſtern that contains water for the uſe of this convent, is a baſon, ſupported ſolely by one column; it was thus contrived, clear of all contact with the walls of the cellar, from a diſcovery being made, that poiſonous vapours tranſpired through the ground, and contaminated the water in the common reſervoirs.

The bay, between Puzzuoli and Baiae, is about three miles in breadth. In the circuit of this bay lies Monte Barbara, anciently Mons Gaurus, the fa⯑vourite of Bacchus; undoubtedly of volcanic origin, though beyond the records of hiſtory. It was this mountain, which is now one of the moſt barren ſpots round Naples, that was formerly ſo celebrated for its Falernian wine. The common people have a notion, that immenſe treaſures lie buried in it, guarded by evil ſpirits.

Directly oppoſite to Il Monte Barbaro, towards the Weſt, lies Il Monte Nuovo, or the new mountain, which roſe inſtantaneouſly in the night of the nineteenth of September, 1538, during an earthquake, which cauſed a terrible devaſtation in the neighbourhood. "It may ſeem ſtill more wonderful," ſays Gaſſendi in his phyſics, "that not only mountains ſhoot up in the continent, but even iſlands in the middle of the ſea. As to mountains, nothing can be more notorious than that of Puzzuoli, which was, in one night, formed by [304] a congeries of pumice ſtones and aſhes, to the height of above a thouſand paces."

Though this alteration happened at the time of an earthquake, it was not cauſed by it; earthquakes, in⯑deed, often overturn mountains, but never produce any; to do this, the irruption of a volcano is re⯑quired. Swinburne, in his deſcription of this pheno⯑menon, ſays, in 1538, after previous notice by re⯑peated quakings, the convulſed earth burſt aſunder, and made way for a deluge of hot aſhes and flames; which, being ſhot up to an immenſe height into the darkened atm [...]ſphere, fell down again all round, and formed: circular mound, four miles in circum⯑ference, and one thouſand feet high, with a large cup in the middle. Immediately after the exploſion, the wind roſe furiouſly, and waſted the lighter particles over the country, burning and blaſting all vegetation in its progreſs: wherever theſe aſhes, impregnated with poiſon, adhered to the graſs, death became the lot of all beaſts that brouſed upon it. The terrors occaſioned by this ſhock, threatened the abandonment of the whole diſtrict; ſcarcely a family durſt remain even within ſight of this horrid heap; which had over⯑whelmed a large town, filled up a lake, and buried under it a very extenſive tract of cultivated lands.

[305]Part of this mountain is cultivated; but the larger portion of its declivity is widely overgrown with prickly broom, and rank weeds, that emit a very foetid, ſulphureous ſmell, The crater is ſhallow its inſide clad with ſhrubs, and the little area at the bot⯑tom planted with fig and mulberry-trees; a moſt ſtriking ſpecimen of the amazing viciſſitudes that take place in this extraordinary country. Near the foot of this mountain, the ſubterraneous fires act with ſuch immediate power, that even the ſand, at the bottom of the ſea, is heated to an intolerable degree.

A long neck of land prevents the waves from waſhing, into a ſedgy pool, the poor remnants of the Lucrine lake; once ſo renowned for the abundance and flavour of its ſhell-fiſh, of which large beds lined the ſhallows; while a deep channel in the middle afforded riding and anchoring for veſſels, and a paſ⯑ſage into the inner baſon of Lake Avernus. A ſmall canal now ſerves to diſcharge the ſuperabundant waters. I ſuppoſe, ſays Swinburne, that originally the Lucrine lake was only a marſh overflowed by the ſea, till Hercules gave it extent and depth, by raiſing a mound acroſs, and damming out the ſalt-water; and afterwards, that Auguſtus formed the Julian port, by raiſing this wear to a ſufficient level, and thereby procuring depth of water for a navy to float in. [306] Virgil, in his praiſes of Auguſtus, ſays,

Sergius Orata, ſays Pliny, primus optimum ſaporem oſtreis Lucrinis adjudicavit. "Sergius Orata was the firſt who diſtinguiſhed the delicate flavour of the oyſters of the Lucrine lake." Non me Lucrina juve⯑rint conchylia! "Not Lucrine oyſters would my pa⯑late pleaſe," ſays Horace in one of his odes.

It was in this lake, according to the teſtimony of Solinus, and other ancient writers, that there was in Auguſtus's time, a dolphin made ſo tame by a boy, that he would ſit upon him, and croſs the lake on his back, from Baiae to Puzzuoli.

[307]Lake Avernus lies about half a mile diſtant, on the left-hand, in the road to Cuma. This lake, like the mountain Gaurus, is exceedingly altered, but much for the better. According to ancient hiſtorians, no fiſh could live in it; and its noxious vapours aſcended to ſuch a height, that birds flying over it dropt down dead. Lucretius in his ſixth book ſpeaks thus of it:

The noxious quality attributed to this lake, and the ſulphureous exhalations ſo fatal to birds, who ſhould attempt to fly over it, are likewiſe particularly mentioned in the ſixth book of Virgil. This lake is at preſent ſtocked with variety of good fiſh, and the birds not only fly over it unhurt, but wild ducks, and other aquatic fowls are to be ſeen upon it; and the adjacent vineyards produce a very good ſort of wine. Servius (ad Aenead iii. v. 442.) aſcribes the noxious air about this lake, in ancient times, to the thick and lofty woods that then ſurrounded it, which hindered the diſperſion of the effluvia; adding, that Auguſtus, having ordered the wood to be cut down and extir⯑pated, [308] the country ſoon put on a chearful appear⯑ance.

Swinburne, in his deſcription of this lake, tells us that the landſcape, though confined, is extremely pleaſing; the dark blue ſurface of theſe unruffled waters, ſaid to be three hundred and ſixty feet deep, ſtrongly re⯑flects the tapering groves, that cover its ſloping in⯑cloſure, of about only half a mile in diameter: ſhoals of wild fowl ſwim about, and king-fiſhers ſhoot along under the banks; a large octagon temple, in ruins, ad⯑vances majeſtically to the brink; its marble orna⯑ments have long been removed, but its form and ſize render it a noble object. It was, probably, dedicated to the infernal gods, to whoſe worſhip theſe ſolemn ſhades were formerly conſecrated. Black aged groves then ſtretched their boughs over the watery abyſs, and, with impenetrable foliage, excluded almoſt every ray of wholeſome light; mephitic vapours, aſcending from the hot bowels of the earth, being denied free paſſage to the upper atmoſphere, floated along the ſurface in poiſoned miſts. Theſe circumſtances pro⯑duced horrors fit for ſuch gloomy deities; a colony of Cimmerians, as well ſuited to the rites as to the place itſelf, cut dwellings in the boſoms of the ſur⯑rounding hills, and officiated as prieſts of Tartarus. Superſtition, always delighting in dark ideas, eagerly ſeized on this ſpot, and hither ſhe led her trembling [309] votaries, to celebrate her diſmal orgies; here ſhe evoked the manes of departed heroes—here ſhe of⯑fered ſacrifices to the gods of hell, and attempted to dive into the ſecrets of futurity. Poets enlarged upon the popular theme, and painted its awful ſcenery with the ſtrongeſt colours of their art. Homer brings Ulyſſes to Avernus, as to the mouth of the infernal abodes; and, in imitation of the Grecian bard, Virgil con⯑ducts his hero to the ſame ground. The holineſs of theſe ſhades remained unimpeached for many ages: Hannibal marched his army to offer incenſe at this altar.

After a long reign of undiſturbed gloom and cele⯑brity, a ſudden glare of light was let in upon Aver⯑nus: the horrors were diſpelled, and with them vaniſhed the ſanctity of the lake; the axe of Agrippa brought its foreſt to the ground, diſturbed its ſleepy waters with ſhips, and gave room for all its malignant effluvia to eſcape. Modern writers, ſays Swinburne, charge ancient authors with exaggeration, in deſcrib⯑ing the virulence of its exhalations; but I think them entitled to more reſpect, for even now the air is feveriſh and dangerous; as the jaundiced faces of the vine-dreſſers, who have ſucceeded the Sybils, and the Cimmerians in poſſeſſion of the temple, moſt ruefully teſtify.

[310] Boccacio relates, that during his reſidence at the Neapolitan court, the ſurface of this lake was ſuddenly covered with dead fiſh, black and ſinged, as if killed by ſome ſubaqueous eruption of fire. At preſent it abounds with tench; the Locrine with eels. The change of fortune, in theſe lakes, is ſingular: in the ſplendid days of Imperial Rome, the Lucrine was the choſen ſpot for the parties of pleaſure of a vo⯑luptuous court; they are deſcribed by Seneca, as the higheſt refinement of extravagance and luxury; now a ſlimy bed of ruſhes covers the ſcatered ponds of this once beautiful ſheet of water; and the duſky Aver⯑nus is now clear and ſerene; offering a moſt alluring ſurface and charming ſcenes for ſimilar amuſements.

Oppoſite the temple, ſays Swinburne, I entered a cave, uſually ſtiled the Sybils Grotto; it ſeems more likely to have been the mouth of a communication, between Cuma and Avernus, than the abode of a propheteſs; eſpecially as the ſybil is poſitively ſaid by hiſtorians, to have dwelt in a cavern under the Cu⯑maean citadel. A moſt acute and indefatigable un⯑raveller of antiquarian clews, thinks it was part of the canal that Nero projected from the mouth of the Tiber, to the Julian port.

The entrance to the cave of the ſybil, as it is com⯑monly called, is about three yards wide, near five feet [311] high, and two hundred and twenty, or two hundred and thirty yards to the end: here is a narrow way, deſcending to two ſmall cells, where there are baths. From the largeſt of theſe, they ſay, there is a corri⯑dore, or paſſage, ending in an outlet, now made up with bricks; and that there is a third cell, with a wind⯑ing ſtaircaſe, leading from it to the top of the moun⯑tain, but now ſtopped up by dirt.

Northall notices only one room. After advancing about two hundred paces, there is a paſſage which leads to ſome baths, where the ſecond grotto is. It is a little room, about fourteen feet long, and eight broad, and of a height proportionable. On the walls are ſome ſmall remains of gilding, and moſaic work: but it ſeems very myſterious, how the ſybil could live in ſo confined a place.

Keyſler, likewiſe, who ſeems to have viſited this ſup⯑poſed reſidence of the ſybil, notices only one apart⯑ment, at the extremity of the paſſage; in which, ſays he, there is a kind of ſtone trough; by ſome antiquarians imagined to be the ſybil's bath; and, by others, her bed: on the walls are ſeveral figures, made of ſmall ſtones, and ſhells of different colours, curiouſly ar⯑ranged. The pavement is alſo a moſaic work, but cannot be ſeen diſtinctly, as it is covered with water. Here, ſays Keyſler, the Lago Averno is twenty-five [312] fathoms deep, and almoſt entirely ſurrounded with a riſing ground; ſo that a canal of communication with the ſea, which need not be above the length of half an Italian mile, would make it one of the moſt commodious harbours in the univerſe.

On the ſide of the Lucrine lake, towards the ſea, is a hill, with a deep rent on its ſummit; which the poor illiterate people are taught to believe, was made at our Saviour's crucifixion; and that it was the paſ⯑ſage through which he deſcended into the Limbus patrum, in order to releaſe the Patriarchs; and to this ſuperſtitious notion, the mountain owes the name of Il monte di Chriſto.

Between Averno, and the city of Cuma, is to be ſeen part of the Via Appia, where two hills are joined by means of a noble arch, called Arco Felice, built with large bricks; its height is ſeventy, and its breadth fifty-five feet: the paſſage under it is twenty feet four inches. It is ſuppoſed, ſays Martyn, but without any probability, to have been a gate of the city of Cuma.

From this high ground, there is a view of the dreary, flat ſhore of Patria, where, on the edge of a large pond, are ſome heaps of ſtones, the ruins of Liter⯑num. Hither P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus, with⯑drew [313] from the accuſations of his enemies, and ſpent his latter days in philoſophical retirement: by this voluntary exile, he preſerved his perſon from in⯑dignity, without being indebted for his ſafety to a diſpenſation of any poſitive, though unjuſt law of his country. Seneca mentions having ſlept in the villa, which two hundred years before had been the aſylum of that hero: he deſcribes it as a ſubſtantial building, in a garden, ſurrounded with high walls, and flanked with towers, to defend it againſt a ſudden attack; in it was a ciſtern, capable of containing water enough for an army to drink; and, for the private uſe of the maſter, a ſmall gloomy bath, after the ſimple faſhion of thoſe times. This ſhore was, probably, leſs un⯑wholeſome, when Scipio lived here, than it is in its preſent uncultivated ſtate, overflowed with foetid pools of brackiſh water.

If tradition can be relied on, Scipio's aſhes were depoſited here, and the word Patria ſtill remaining fixed in the wall of a watch-tower, and giving name to the adjacent lake, is a fragment of his angry epi⯑taph: ingrata neque enim mea oſſa habebis. "Ungrate⯑ful country, you ſhall not even have my bones." It is at leaſt certain, that no urn, or monumental inſcrip⯑tion, belonging to this illuſtrious member of the fa⯑mily, has been found in the ſepulchre of the Scipios, lately diſcovered at Rome.

[314]From hence, ſays Swinburne, we rowed about ſix miles Eaſtward, to the inſulated rock, on which ſtood the citadel of Cuma, (the firſt city founded in Italy by Grecian emigrants) once the ſeat of commerce, the parent of Naples, and the capital of a ſtate that ruled the ſeas, before either Rome or Carthage were heard of: its proſperity was of long continuance, while yet the power of infant Rome remained crampt within the narrow limits of her own plains. Under the ſway of Ariſtodemus, Cuma afforded an aſylum to Tarquin the proud, the depoſed king of Rome.

As Rome advanced in her fortunate career, the glory of all her neighbouring powers faded away before her; the Cumaeans, in their turn, ſubmitted to the yoke, and were treated with lenity; but real liberty was gone, and the trade abandoned her ſhores. The Goths reduced it ſtill lower; and at laſt, being merely a receptacle for thieves, it was in 1207, totally ruined and forſaken.

This rocky hill is the produce of an eruption, and hollowed into many ſpacious caverns; amongſt which we look, in vain, for the grotto, where the Cumaean ſybil pronounced her oracles; that ſanctuary was de⯑ſtroyed in the Gothic war. Agathias informs us, that it was ſcooped into the form of a temple; the roof of which ſerved as a foundation for one of the prin⯑cipal [315] towers of the fortreſs. The hermitage of Wark⯑worth, in Northumberland, ſays Swinburne, celebrated by the pen of Dr. Percy, may ſerve to give an idea of this ſybilline grotto. When Narſes inveſted the ci⯑tadel, he cauſed this rocky cover to be cut through in ſeveral directions, and then propped up with beams; as ſoon as every thing was in readineſs for the aſſault, the wood was ſet on fire. Upon the props being con⯑ſumed, the rocks gave way, and brought the walls down headlong with them into the temple; and, on theſe accumulated ruins, the Imperial troops entered the breach.

Between Cuma and Miſenum, lies the lake Acheron or Palus Acheruſia, ſo well known among the an⯑cients; and, from its black water, is by Virgil termed tenebroſa palus, "the gloomy lake." For the increaſe of its fiſhery, a canal has been made from the main ſea into this lake, by which means the waters of it have been much mended, and rendered fitter for fiſh to live in. Moſt of the fiſhermen live upon a little iſland in the middle of the lake; but the fiſh they catch, are chiefly eels and barbles. At preſent it is called Lago di Fuſaro. Here, ſays Swinburne, my conductors ſhewed me the ruins of the tomb of Caius Marius. As I am apt to believe that popular tales have always ſome foundation, however feeble to reſt upon; I think it probable, that the aſhes of a Roman [316] of that name were depoſited here; but it cannot be thoſe of the famous Conſul; becauſe Sylla cauſed his remains to be taken out of the tomb and ſcattered to the wind.

In theſe parts, as our antiquarians tell us, Servilius Vatia had a ſeat, to which he retired under the tyran⯑nical reign of Tiberius. Vatia, on account of the re⯑treat he had choſen, was cried up as the happieſt of the Romans; ſo that it was a common ſaying, O Vatia ſolus ſcis vivere: "O Vatia, you alone know how to live." But Seneca ſeems to have been of a different opinion; for, in his fifty-fifth epiſtle, he ſays, ille latere ſciebat non vivere—Nunquam aliter hanc villam Vatiâ vivo proeteribam, quam ut dicerem. Vatia hic ſitus eſt. "He knew how to ſecrete himſelf, not how to enjoy life.—Nor did I ever paſs his houſe, without ſaying, Vatia lies there."

Juſt below the above lake is the Mare morto. The ancients pretend that dead bodies were carried over this lake, from Miſenum to the Elyſian fields. It is a double pool, ſays Swinburne, of which the outer di⯑viſion is open to the ſea; the inner one, occaſionally ſhut up for the purpoſe of fiſhing. A ſlip of ſand divides it from the channel of Procida; and, at the ex⯑tremity, riſes the ſolitary, ſhelving promontory of Mi⯑ſeno; the ruins of a city of that name are ſcattered [317] at its foot; and the remains of a theatre very appa⯑rent. A fine fragment of marble cornice is ſtill left, to bear teſtimony of the elegance with which it was decorated, in the richeſt luxuriance of the compoſite order.

Miſeno is ſaid to derive its name from a companion of Aeneas, who was buried here, according to Virgil.

On this peninſula, a villa was built by Caius Marius, with a degree of elegance, that gave great offence to the moſt auſtere among the Romans, who thought it ill ſuited to the character of ſo rough a ſoldier. Upon the ſame foundation, Lucullus, the plunderer of the Eaſtern world, erected an edifice; in compariſon of which, the former houſe was a cottage; but even his [318] magnificence was eclipſed by the ſplendor of the pa⯑lace, which the emperors raiſed on the ſame ſpot. To theſe proud abodes of heroes, and monarchs, which have long been levelled to the ground, a few fiſhing huts, and a lonely public-houſe have ſucceeded; hither boatmen reſort to tipple, perhaps on the iden⯑tical ſite, where the voluptuous maſters of the world quaffed Chian and Valernian wine.

Near this ſpot is the Piſcina Mirabilis; it is a ſub⯑terraneous ciſtern, divided into alleys, by rows of ſquare pillars, from which ſprings an arched roof; the incruſtation, formed anciently upon the plaiſtered walls, by the ſediment of the water; is now ſo ſtrong an alabaſter, as almoſt to defy the pick-axe; and ſo thick and compact, as to be ſuſceptible of a very fine poliſh.

It is much diſputed by whom this reſervoir was built. Some attribute it to Lucullus; others are of opinion that Agrippa had it made, for the conve⯑nience of the fleet, or for watering the gardens; and the chambers near it, ſays Keyſler, called cento came⯑relle, ſeem to have been deſigned for the ſame pur⯑poſe.

The channel, where the fleet of Agrippa moored, has now but one craggy cobble, ſtationed to ferry [319] over paſſengers. I croſſed it, ſays Swinburne, to the Elyſian fields; which are bounded on the North ſide by a ſmall eminence, covered with vine-bearing trees; the face of the bank is hollowed into number⯑leſs caves, and places of ſepulture; and an ancient way leads from the ferry towards Capua, between rows of monumental buildings; which by an unuſual permutation of property, from being filled with the aſhes of the dead, are now occupied by living pea⯑ſants. The cauſe of this road, and its environs, being ſo uncommonly crouded with tombs, exiſts in the ſu⯑perſtitious creed of the Pagans, who held inhumation neceſſary to ſalvation; and a grave, the only door through which a ſoul could paſs to a future ſtate of bliſs. According to the ſpirit of this tenet, neither the inhabitant who died peaceably in his bed at Miſenum, nor the mariner, who met his fate in battle, or in ſhip⯑wreck, was ſuffered by his friends to remain without the honours of a tomb: to every perſon, even of mo⯑derate rank, a ſuitable mauſoleum was erected, to pro⯑cure for his departed ſoul, free ingreſs into the Ely⯑ſian ſhades. Theſe circumſtances coincide, admira⯑bly, with the fables and traditions handed down, con⯑cerning this country, from a very early period. Homer brings Ulyſſes hither, and here he fixes the ſcene of his Stygian machinery; thus the Mare morto paſſed for Acheron, and the adjoining fields for the vale of Elyſium, to which the dead were wafted in the boat of [320] Charon. This was literally true, with regard to ſuch perſons as died at Miſenum.

Off this promontory lie the iſlands Iſchia and Pro⯑cida; well worthy the trouble of a viſit, ſays Martyn, from any curious traveller: the former of theſe, for richneſs of ſoil, abundance of products, and beauty of ſituation, may vie with the moſt celebrated ſpots on the globe: theſe advantages have drawn many ſettlers to its ſhores, and added eight thouſand inhabitants to its liſts, in the laſt thirty years.

The ancients believed Iſchia to have been raiſed out of the boſom of the deep, by the force of central fires: the Chalcydians were the firſt adventurers, that dared to ſet foot on this igneous ſoil, and were amply repaid for their riches, by the immenſe wealth they drew from the ſettlement: however, continual earth⯑quakes and eruptions, forced them to abandon the place. Hiero, king of Syracuſe, who was indefatiga⯑ble, in advancing the commercial intereſts of his do⯑minions, ſent a colony to this iſland; but the emolu⯑ments falling ſhort of his expectations, he ſoon with⯑drew his people; ſince that epoch, Iſchia has uſually obeyed the maſters of the adjacent continent. All Iſchia is of fiery origin; but its North-weſt angle is more diſturbed, and more overturned by eruptions, than any other part of it. On this ſide of the iſland [321] are ſome vapour-baths, erected on a neck of land, ſtrongly impregnated with ſulphur, and other mine⯑rals, the uſual concomitants of volcanos.

At the diſtance of a mile, ſouth of theſe ſudatories, is the town of Foria, inhabited by an induſtrious peo⯑ple; they employ a conſiderable number of ſmall veſſels, in the carriage of their fruit and wines; but, the want of a harbour, expoſes them to great loſſes in ſtormy weather. The houſes of this burgh are ſolidly built; but the ſtreets are almoſt too narrow for an aſs, with a pair of panniers. The environs are ex⯑tremely fertile; the young women, ſays Swinburne, I met coming down the mountain, with baſkets of figs upon their heads, were tall and handſome; their fea⯑tures regularly fine, their eyes ſparkling, their ſhape and gait light and airy beyond expreſſion.

On the declivity of the central mountain of the iſland, is a crater; circular, ſhallow, and embanked with a vaſt mound of cinders; it is full of lava, twiſted and curled, as if, while in a fluid ſtate, it had been ſtirred round with a ſtick. No vegetation has as yet taken place on theſe ſubſtances, though they have been expoſed to the air ſince the year 1301. The eruption laſted near two months, and cauſed ſuch de⯑vaſtation in the human and animal ſpecies, by the ma⯑lignity of its vapours, and poiſonous qualities of its [322] aſhes, that whoever could eſcape, fled from this land of horror. I arrived at the ſummit of this mountain, adds Swinburne, juſt as the ſun had extricated his orb out of a maſs of heavy vapours, that ſtill hung upon the Appennine: as his rays diverged, the fogs that floated on the ſea vaniſhed, and a view roſe gradually to the ſight, of which ſo weak a pencil as mine, can never give an adequate idea. As the magnificent view from Mount Epomeo, ſeems the moſt intereſting object of curioſity in the iſland, we ſhall proceed with our author's deſcription of it. The diſtant part of the picture, ſays Swinburne, diſplayed the moſt ad⯑mirable marine, and terreſtrial ſcenery, while the fore⯑ground exhibited the richneſs of a fertile, populous iſland. This vaſt expanſe, of ſea and land, lay un⯑folded before me like a chart; on which every object was marked with preciſion.

The pinnacle of Epomeo, is a white rock of tufa, in the heart of which is hewn a church, cells, galleries, and other conveniences for ſeven hermits, under the patronage of St. Nicholas. Theſe recluſes ſubſiſt upon alms, collected thrice a week about the iſland, while the ſeaſon permits; but, during ſome months of the year, the ſnow lies ſo deep in this peak, as to ſhut them out from all communication with mankind. They have ſome plots of garden; but ſeem to exert themſelves little in the culture, or the improvement [323] of them; the cells are dirty, and their inhabitants ap⯑pear to have no turn for ſtudy, or mechanics; their prior is a Frenchman, who, twenty years ago, was go⯑vernor of Iſchia, till moved with compunction, for the ſins of his military life, and deſpairing of purity of conſcience in the ſoul atmoſphere below, he became an anchoret in this exalted region; he has been twelve years confined to his truckle-bed by the gout; but re⯑tains a freſh florid complexion, and tolerable ſpirits. The paſſage to the cells is contrived to wind through the rock, ſo as to admit views of almoſt every part of the iſland; towards the South, the declivity is very gradual to the ſea, and cloathed in the richeſt garb of vegetative nature; the North ſide of the mountain is more abrupt and deſtitute of verdure; at the foot of its tremendous point lies a circular baſon; from whence, in former times, iſſued flames and fiery torrents that overwhelmed the country; but its operations have ceaſed, during ſuch an immenſe ſeries of years, that the borders are tumbled in, and almoſt every diſtinc⯑tive feature of a crater obliterated.

Procida, anciently Prochyta, which lies between the cape of Miſenum and Iſchia, about two miles diſtant from each, is a ſmall iſland about ſix miles in circum⯑ference. The earlieſt writers of hiſtory ſpeak of Pro⯑cida, as land torn from the continent by the violence of earthquakes, and fiery commotions. The upper [324] part of the cliffs of this iſland, in which many ſpacious caverns have been worn by the waves, or left empty in the convulſive boilings, that raiſed the iſland above the waters, is a tufa ſtone of various hues, brown, white, yellow, and purple. The King's palace, which he ſometimes viſits for the ſake of ſhooting, ſtands on the point of this excavated promontory.

This iſland gave birth to, or was, at leaſt, the pro⯑perty of John of Procida, a man of great fame in the annals of the thirteenth century. Though rich, and nobly born, this extraordinary perſon did not diſdain the practice of phyſic; but improved a ſtrong natural genius, by every help the ſcanty knowledge of the age afforded. The great features of his character were ſagacity, activity, daringneſs, and perſeverance; with theſe qualities he undertook to avenge his countrymen of the Provencals; who, under Charles of Anjou, had reduced both Sicilies to ſlavery, and deſtroyed the houſe of Suabia. This plan for deſtroying the French being ſettled, he inſinuated himſelf into the private meetings of the Sicilians; and, by incendiary diſ⯑courſes, fed the fire of diſcontent, till he ſaw the pro⯑per moment for blowing it up into a flame: at his nod, though, perhaps, the criſis was haſtened by ſome accidental outrages, all Sicily roſe in arms at the fatal ſound of the evening bell, known by the name of the [325] Sicilian veſpers; and almoſt every Frenchman periſhed.

The fiſhing, of this little iſland, brings in a hand⯑ſome profit, owing to the extraordinary expertneſs of the Neapolitan divers. I have frequently known their ſtay under water, ſays Swinburne, to exceed two minutes, and have been aſſured, that ſome can, and do remain longer. Their common method of taking oyſters, ſea-urchins, and other ſhell-fiſh, is, to plunge in, head foremoſt, amongſt the rocks; and with a ſtrong knife, wrench the ſhells off the ſtones to which they adhere; then, riſing to the ſurface, throw their booty into a floating baſket tied to their foot: but the vio⯑lence of the exertion, and the preſſure of the water, weaken their lungs, and ſhorten their lives; few reach the age of thirty years. When they go in ſearch of the razor-fiſh, called in Neapolitan cannolicchi, they walk up to their ſhins in the ſea, backwards and for⯑wards, with the greateſt gravity and attention; moving their feet ſideways along the ſand, till they feel the ſharp edge of a razor-ſhell, then they dart down with amazing rapidity, and ſeize their prey. From this ſtately deportment, comes the local proverbial ex⯑preſſion, of a perſon walking about in a brown ſtudy; he is fiſhing for cannolicchi.

[326]In the center of the gulph, of which this fragment of Cape Miſenum makes the extreme Weſtern point, are the mutilated remnants of Baiae, that elegant re⯑ſort of the gay maſters of the world. The hot ſprings, and medicinal vapours that abound in its environs, muſt very early have excited the attention of valetu⯑dinarians; as bathing was the conſtant ſolace of the Greeks while in health, and their remedy when diſ⯑eaſed: but Baiae does not ſeem to have attained a degree of celebrity ſuperior to that of other baths, till the Roman commonwealth began to be in the wane. As ſoon as the plunder of a conquered world was transferred, from works of public uſe and orna⯑ment, to objects of private luxury; the tranſcendent advantages, which Baiae offered to Roman volup⯑tuaries, flying from the capital in ſearch of health and pleaſure, were attended to with enthuſiaſm: the va⯑riety of its natural baths, the ſoftneſs of its climate, and the beauties of its landſcape, captivated the minds of opulent nobles, whoſe paſſion for bathing knew no bounds; abundance of linen, and diſuſe of ointments, render the practice leſs neceſſary in modern life; but the ancients performed no exerciſe, engaged in no ſtudy, without previous ablutions, which at Rome re⯑quired an enormous expence in aqueducts, ſtones, and and attendants: a place, therefore, where waters na⯑turally heated to every degree of warmth, bubbled ſpontaneouſly out of the ground, in the pleaſanteſt of [327] all ſituations, was ſuch a treaſure, as could not be overlooked. Hither, at firſt, retired for a temporary relaxation, the mighty rulers of the empire, to ſtring anew their nerves, and revive their ſpirits, fatigued with bloody campaigns and civil conteſts. Their ha⯑bitations were ſmall and modeſt; but, ſoon, increaſing luxury added palace to palace; ſo that ground was wanting for the vaſt demand. Enterpriſing architects, ſupported by infinite wealth, carried their foundations into the ſea, and drove that element back from its limits; it has ſince taken ample revenge, and reco⯑vered much more than it ever loſt.

From being a place of reſort, for a ſeaſon, Baiae now grew up to a permanent city; whoever found himſelf diſqualified by age, or infirmity, for ſuſtaining any longer an active part on the political theatre; who⯑ever, from an indolent diſpoſition, ſought a place, where the pleaſures of the town were combined with the ſweets of a rural life; whoever wiſhed to with⯑draw from the dangerous neighbourhood of a court, and the baneful eye of informers, flocked hither, to enjoy life, untainted with fear and trouble. Such af⯑fluence rendered Baiae as much a miracle of art, as it was before of nature; its ſplendor may be inferred from its innumerable ruins, heaps of marbles, moſaics, and other precious fragments of taſte.

[328]It flouriſhed in full glory down to the days of Theo⯑doric the Goth; but the deſtruction of theſe enchanted palaces, followed quickly upon the irruption of the Northern conquerors, who overturned the Roman ſyſtem, ſacked, and burned all before them; and de⯑ſtroyed, or diſperſed, the whole race of nobility. Loſs of fortune left the Romans neither the means, nor, indeed, the thought of ſupporting ſuch expenſive eſta⯑bliſhments; which can only be enjoyed in perfection, during peace and proſperity. No ſooner had opu⯑lence withdrawn her hand, than the unbridled ſea ruſhed upon its old domain; moles and buttreſſes were torn aſunder, and waſhed away; whole promon⯑tories, with the proud towers that once crowned their brows, were undermined, and tumbled headlong into the deep; where, many feet below the ſurface, pave⯑ments of ſtreets, foundations of houſes, and maſſes of walls may ſtill be deſcried. Internal commotions of the earth contributed alſo largely to this general devaſ⯑tation; mephitic vapours, and ſtagnated waters, have converted this favourite ſeat of health into the den of peſtilence, at leaſt during the eſtival heats; yet Baiae, in its ruined ſtate, and ſtripped of all its ornaments, ſtill preſents many beautiful and ſtriking ſubjects for the pencil.

As we rowed under the lofty headlands, ſays Swin⯑burne; our Cicerone pointed to vaults and terraces, [329] and allotted them reſpectively to the reſidence of ſome illuſtrious perſonage of antiquity. The ſands abound with fragments rolled from the ruins; and ſome men employ themſelves in the ſummer time, in dragging the bottom of the ſea with ſmall baſkets; and ſeldom fail of bringing up with the ſand, a medal or corne⯑lian, that repays them for their time and labour.

At the bottom of the bay, and at the foot of the ſteep rocks; which ſerve as a foundation to the ruins, called Nero's houſe, are ſome dark caves of great depth, leading to the hotteſt of all vapour baths: no one can remain long in them, or, indeed, penetrate to the end, without an extraordinary degree of ſtrength and reſolution. Theſe baths, thirty in number, are ſaid to have been adorned with Greek inſcriptions, and ſtatues, denoting by their expreſſions and atti⯑tudes, what particular part of the human frame was af⯑fected and relieved from its pains, by each particular bath. Parrino informs us, that three phyſicians of Salerno, apprehenſive of the ruin, that the ſurprizing efficacy and reputation of theſe waters would bring upon their college, came hither in the dead of the night, mutilated the figures, defaced the letters, and, as far as their time would allow, diſturbed the courſe of the ſprings; but the hiſtorian adds, very gravely, that Hygeia, ever watchful over the health of Naples, revenged this barbarous outrage, by conjuring up a [330] ſtorm, that buried the three doctors in the ſea, before they could reach their home or triumph in the ſucceſs of their villainy. The ſprings at the bottom of the grotto are ſo hot, as to boil an egg hard almoſt inſtan⯑taneouſly. Martyn ſays, theſe baths are much fre⯑quented; and that there are ſometimes, from the hoſ⯑pitals of the annunciation alone at Naples, above nine hundred patients.

As for the city of Baiae, which ſtood on this coaſt, there is not the leaſt remains to be ſeen of it. The fort, lately built here, is called Baia, and ſtands upon a rock; but the air of it is ſo unwholeſome, that the governor ſleeps every night at Puzzuoli, which is on the oppoſite ſide of the bay, about three miles diſtant. Sometimes priſoners are brought to this fort, which is more dreaded than any other priſon in Italy.

On the ſea ſhore, facing Baiae, is an ancient temple of Mercury, which may be looked upon as the pan⯑theon in miniature, for it is not above twenty-five common paces in diameter. It is quite round, with an aperture in the center of the roof, for the admiſſion of light; two perſons, directly oppoſite to each other, and whiſpering cloſe to the wall, may converſe with each other, without being overheard by the company in the middle.

[331]Not far from this temple, and nearer Baiae, is an octangular ſhell of a temple of Venus. Behind this temple is a dark apartment hewn in a rock, called La ſtanza di Venere, or Venus's apartment; the roof of which is embelliſhed with bas-reliefs. Theſe pieces repreſent nothing obſcene or immodeſt, but only my⯑thological ſtories and emblems; as a man purſuing a woman, a cupid, ſeveral ſwans, fiſhes, feſtoons, &c.

After paſſing a precipice that projects over the ſea, the remains of Hortenſius's villa are to be ſeen. This celebrated orator, Cicero unjuſtly calls Triton, becauſe he had accuſtomed the fiſhes in his ponds to come to his call, and fed them with his own hand.

Near Hortenſius's villa is ſhewn an ancient ruin, ſaid to have been the monument of Agrippina, who was put to death by Nero, her own ſon. Within it, on the left-hand, is an apartment, to which we aſcend by a ladder, where are ſeveral bas-reliefs of plaiſter, repreſenting a ſphynx, a griffin, and other imaginary animals. A figure of a woman, about two feet high, to be ſeen here, paſſes for Agrippina herſelf; and; adjoining to this, is a ſmaller apartment, where anti⯑quarians ſay that her remains were depoſited; but with what truth, or even probability, is not eaſily de⯑termined. For Tacitus affirms, that even after the death of her unnatural ſon, the tomb of Agrippina, [332] conſiſted only of an heap of earth thrown together, between Miſenum, and the villa of Julius Coeſar. That this unfortunate princeſs had a ſeat in this neigh⯑bourhood is unqueſtionable, as appears from Tacitus; but the ſame author points out its ſituation near the Lucrine lake.

Between Baia and Cape Miſeno, are, likewiſe, ſeveral other remains of antiquity; but, by the ex⯑planations of them, are moſtly grounded on uncer⯑tain conjectures, Among other pieces, there has been dug up hereabouts, a ſtatue of Venus, twice as big as the life, holding a globe in one hand, and three golden apples in the other; from whence ſome anti⯑quarians conclude, that Venus Genetrix muſt have had a temple in this neighbourhood; and, as Julius Coeſar had a country-ſeat near Baiae, others ſtill farther alledge, that he founded and built this temple.

On this coaſt there is likewiſe an ancient temple, called Boaula or Boalia, aſcribed to Hercules; who, according to the ancient fable, brought hither the oxen which he had ſtolen in Spain. Even ſtill, a ſmall diſtrict here bears the name of Baulo or Baula, concerning which Silius Italicus ſays, ‘Hercules videt ipſe littore Baulos. Lib. xii.’ ‘"Herculean Bauli founded on that ſhore He view'd."’

[333]The antiquarians are at a loſs where to look for Bauli, or the villa where Nero conducted his mother, after her coming from Antium. According to Tacitus, it muſt have ſtood between Cape Miſenum, and the Lago Bojano.

That the Elyſian fields extend themſelves towards the Dead Sea, is taken for granted; but as for the exact ſituation, ſome look for it about the diſtrict of Baula, where, at preſent, ſtands a mean village; others place the Elyſian fields, near the Mereato del ſabato, as it is called. Others again are poſitive, that the Elyſian fields muſt have been in the neigh⯑bourhood of Cuma. All theſe ſpots, the fertility of the ſoil excepted, which produce delicious fruits and wine, exhibit nothing ſo beautiful and ſtriking, as to deſerve the appellation of Elyſian fields.

It was at Bauli, which is very near Baiae, obſerves Lady Millar, that the monſter Nero contrived the means of aſſaſſinating his mother. Acinetus, who commanded his fleet at Cape Miſenum, was the man who ſuggeſted to him, the contrivance of a falſe bot⯑tom to the ſhip, on board of which Agripina em⯑barked, after a great feaſt given by her ſon, to ratify their reconciliation. Here it was alſo, that the famous triumvirate Coeſar, Pompey, and Mark Anthony, met and conſulted: and here it was, adds Lady Millar, we [334] ſat down amongſt a number of peaſants, not in a wine-houſe, but at the door of one, extremely hungry and fatigued, and fed moſt heartily on very coarſe bread, anchovies, and eggs; but our beverage was Falernian wine, very juſtly celebrated by Horace, the growth of the Monte Falerno, one of the mountains that bounded our view.

The whole of this beauteous bay, formerly the ſeat of pleaſure, and at one period, the moſt populous ſpot in Italy, is now very thinly inhabited; and the con⯑traſt is ſtill ſtronger between its ancient opulence and preſent poverty, than between the numbers of its an⯑cient and preſent inhabitants. It muſt be acknow⯑ledged, that we can hardly look around us in any part of the world, without perceiving objects, which, to a contemplative mind, convey reflections on the inſtability of grandeur, and ſad viciſſitudes and re⯑verſes, to which human affairs are liable; but here thoſe objects are ſo numerous, and ſo ſtriking, that they muſt make an impreſſion on the moſt careleſs paſſenger.

In returning from Baia to Puzzuoli, there is a road cloſe by the ſea, hewn through a rock, and near it is an inſcription in Latin.

[335]"Inſtead of the road raiſed by Hercules, amidſt the fury of the waves, repaired by Coeſar, when dictator, for ſelf-intereſt, and reſtored by Agrippa for oſtentation, and after all ruined by the violence of the ſea; Pedro Antonio, of Arragon, in the reign of Charles II. having, for the health of the public, put the baths in a good condition, has, on the firmneſs of a rock, ſubſtituted this road, contrived by a wiſer Her⯑cules, deſtined to a better purpoſe, and which will ſtand in no need of a Coeſar, or an Agrippa. Tra⯑veller, go on chearfully along the Arragonian road to Baiae, where, as the marble underneath informs thee, are noble baths, not ſubſervient to luxury, but con⯑ducive to health. 1668."

CHAP. VII. Of the Environs, Weſt of Naples.

HAVING now taken a view of the environs Eaſt of Naples, we will proceed to the Weſtern ſide, which is no leſs intereſting, on account of Hercula⯑neum, Pompeii, and the muſeum at Portici.

[336]A broad, level road, by the ſea-ſide, and through a village, where many of the nobility have villas, leads to the palace at Portici, at a ſmall diſtance from which is the entrance into Herculaneum; a city buried by a torrent of lava, that iſſued from the mountain, in the firſt year of the emperor Titus Veſpaſian. The thick⯑neſs of the heap that covers it, has been much in⯑creaſed, by fiery ſtreams vomited, ſince that cata⯑ſtrophe, and now forms a maſs of twenty-four feet deep of dark-grey ſtone, which is eaſily broken to pieces. By its non-adheſion to foreign bodies, marbles, and bronzes, are preſerved in it, as in a caſe made to fit them; and exact moulds, of the faces and limbs of ſtatutes, are frequently found in this ſubſtance.

The preciſe ſituation, of this ſubterraneous city, was not known till the year 1713; when it was acci⯑dentally diſcovered by ſome labourers, who, in dig⯑ging a well, ſtruck upon a ſtatue on the benches of the theatre. Many others were afterwards dug out, and ſent to France by the prince of Elbeuf; but little progreſs was made in the excavation, till Charles, infanta of Spain, aſcended the Neapolitan throne: by his unwearied efforts, and liberality, a very conſide⯑rable part of Herculaneum has been explored; and ſuch treaſures of antiquity drawn out, as form the moſt curious muſeum in the world. It being too arduous a taſk to attempt removing the covering, the king contented himſelf with cutting galleries to the principal buildings, and cauſing the extent of one or two of them to be cleared: of theſe the theatre is the moſt conſiderable. On a baluſtrade, which di⯑vided [338] the orcheſtra from the ſtage, was found a row of ſtatues; and, on each ſide of the pulpitum, the equeſtrian figure of a perſon of the Nonian family; they are now placed under the porticos of the palace; and, from the great rarity of equeſtrian ſtatues in marble, would be very valuable objects, were their workmanſhip even leſs excellent than it is; one of them, in particular, is a very fine piece of ſculp⯑ture.

Since the King of Spain left Naples, the digging has been continued, but with leſs ſpirit and expen⯑diture; indeed, the collection of curioſities brought out of Herculaneum and Pompeii, is already ſo con⯑ſiderable, that a relaxation of zeal and activity be⯑comes excuſeable.

This city, ſays Northall, muſt have been ſituated where Portici is at preſent, for we knew we croſſed under the main ſtreet, by hearing the coaches rattle over our heads. It has been called by the poets, the city, or the ſalt-pits of Hercules. Urbs Herculea, Sa⯑linoe Herculeoe. This was one of the moſt ancient cities of Europe, and is ſuppoſed to have been built before the Trojan war. Dionyſius, of Halicarnaſſus, relates, that it was founded by Hercules; and, though many of the relations of Dionyſius are fabulous, yet there are many reaſons why his account of this city [339] ought not to be ſuppreſſed, or rejected. According to him, Hercules, having deſtroyed the tyrants and rob⯑bers, who infeſted Spain and Gaul, paſſed the Alps, and entered Italy, where he built Pompeia, and after⯑wards Herculaneum, at which place his fleet met him. The Romans became maſters of the city, two hundred and ninety-three years before Chriſt. The agreeable ſituation of this coaſt induced many Romans to build villas there; and it appears there were ſeveral at Her⯑culaneum. Cicero mentions one belonging to Fabius and Seneca, another built by C. Coeſar. It appears, likewiſe, by a deſcription given by Statius, of theſe villas, that they were decorated with the fineſt paint⯑ings and ſculpture, by Aleppo, Phidias, Polycletus, and other Greek maſters; which will account for the great number of exquiſite remains, of ancient art, found in the city of Herculaneum.

It is at Portici, ſix miles from Naples, that the ſuperb muſeum of antiques, found at Herculaneum and Pompeia, is depoſited. Were there nothing but the cabinet of Portici and Pompeia, worth viewing in Italy, they alone would conſiderably repay any tra⯑veller, for all the inconveniences he muſt ſuffer from bad roads, bad inns, &c. ſhould they be even more wretched, ſays Lady Millar, than ſome that we have experienced.

[340]From theſe gloomy vaults, ſpeaking of the deſcent into Herculaneum, I returned, ſays Swinburne, with eagerneſs, to contemplate the riches they once con⯑tained, now arranged in a wing of the palace of Por⯑tici. This muſeum poſſeſſes not only ſtatues, buſts, altars, inſcriptions, and other ornamental appendages of opulence and luxury, but alſo an entire aſſortment of the domeſtic, muſical, and chirurgical inſtruments uſed by the ancients; tripods of elegant form and ex⯑quiſite execution; lamps in endleſs variety; vaſes and baſons of noble dimenſions; chandeliers of the moſt beautiful ſhapes; pateras and other appurtenances of ſacrifice; looking-glaſſes of poliſhed metal; coloured glaſs, ſo hard, clear, and well ſtained, as to appear like emeralds, ſapphires, and other precious ſtones; a kitchen completely fitted up with copper pans, lined with ſilver; kettles, ciſterns for heating water, and every neceſſary for culinary purpoſes; ſpecimens of various ſorts of eatables, retaining their form, though burnt to a cinder; corn, bread, fiſh, oil, wine, and flour; a lady's toilet, fully furniſhed with combs, thimbles, rings, paint, ear-rings, &c. the buſts fill ſe⯑veral rooms; but very few of the originals, whom they are meant to imitate, are known. The floors are paved with ancient moſaic; few rare medals have been found in theſe ruins; the moſt curious is a gold medallion of Auguſtus, ſtruck in Sicily, when he had been ſaluted emperor fifteen times. The freſco paint⯑ings, [341] which, for the ſake of preſervation, have been torn off the walls, and framed and glazed, are to be ſeen in another part of the palace; the elegance of the attitudes, and the infinite variety of the ſubjects, ſtamp them as performances worthy of the attention of artiſts and antiquarians; but no pictures, yet found, are maſterly enough to prove, that the Greeks car⯑ried the art of painting, to ſo great a height of per⯑fection, as they did that of ſtatuary; yet, can we ſup⯑poſe, thoſe authors incapable of appreciating the merits of an Apelles or a Zeuxis; who, with ſo much critical diſcernment, have pointed out the beauties of the works of a Phidias or a Praxiteles; beauties, that we have ſtill an opportunity of contemplating? Would they have beſtowed equal praiſes on both kinds of performances, if either of them had been much in⯑ferior to the other? I think it is not probable, and we muſt preſume, that the capital productions of ancient painters, being of more periſhable materials than buſts and ſtatues, have been deſtroyed in the fatal diſaſters that have ſo often afflicted both Greece and Italy. Herculaneum and Pompeii were but towns of the ſecond order; and not likely to poſſeſs the maſter-pieces of the great artiſts, which were uſually deſtined to adorn the more celebrated temples, or the palaces of kings and emperors.

[342]A more valuable acquiſition, than bronzes and pic⯑tures, were thought to be made, when a large parcel of manuſcripts was found among the ruins; hopes were entertained, that many works of the claſſicks, which time has deprived us of, were now going to be reſtored to light; and that a new mine of ſcience was on the point of being opened. But the difficulty of unrolling the burnt parchment, of paſting the frag⯑ments on a flat ſurface, and of decyphering the ob⯑ſcure letters, have proved ſuch obſtacles, that very little progreſs has been made in the work. A prieſt invented the method of proceeding; but it would re⯑quire the joint labours of many learned men, to carry on ſo nice and tedious an operation, with any ſucceſs. Perhaps, ſuch an employment would be well calcula⯑ted to fill up the idle hours of the nuns; whoſe delicate fingers are beſt adapted to ſo nice an operation. At preſent, the work is ſuſpended, and manuſcripts lie in duſty heaps, as uſeleſs to the learned world, as they had been for the preceding ſeventeen centuries. One volume, that was unrolled and completely read, con⯑tained a Greek treatiſe, againſt the bad effects of muſic in a republic.

Among the antique marbles, the figures of animals, as well the fabulous, as thoſe that imitate nature, are finely done; they were uſed to convey water into the baths, and there is much humour expreſſed in their [343] countenance; eſpecially in thoſe of the chimeras, ba⯑ſiliſks, &c. An elegant ſtatue of Diana, in white marble carved after the purple gown, worn by the Roman ladies of antiquity; the garment is edged with a lace, exactly reſembling point; it is about an inch and an half broad, and has been purple and gilt, great part of which ſtill remains. The ſtatue, buſts, bas-reliefs, in bronze, which are very numerous, are of ſuch ex⯑quiſite workmanſhip, that it is not in the power of the moſt able artiſt of this day, to execute repreſentations, in metal of any kind, that can rival, or even bear a competition with many of them.

All the rooms, about ten in number, are paved with antique moſaic, exactly as they found their pre⯑ſent floors in Herculaneum; theſe rooms, being con⯑ſtructed of ſimilar dimenſions for their reception; and no two of them are of the ſame pattern, The Al'y Grec borders, encompaſs every different floor, and are cu⯑rious in their regularity, and linear intricacy. One pavement particularly deſerves notice, it repreſents a Roman camp, forming an exact ſquare; in the middle, of each ſide, is a gate fronting the center. Towers of three ſtories high, at equal diſtances, encompaſs the whole; they are all alike in ſize, except thoſe at the angles, which appear larger, and more conſiderable than the others. The ſeats, for the muſicians, found in the orcheſtra at Herculaneum, are curious; the [344] frames and legs being ſtill perfect; they are of bronze, and have been gilt; ſome of the gilding ſtill remains; the legs repreſent two ſerpents on each ſide of the ſtool; which, forming a kind of croſs, ſomewhat like two Ss, deſcribe the ſerpentine line of beauty, and produce a moſt graceful effect. Here are alſo in⯑ſcriptions, ſetting forth the names of thoſe who uſed the bath at Stabia.

Amongſt the utenſils in bronze, the ſcales and weights deſerve notice, for the delicacy of their work⯑manſhip. It appears, that the weights commonly uſed, were buſts of gods, or heroes, ſuſpended by a ring. The ſcales are of various ſizes; beſides a great many inſtruments for weighing, like thoſe called in England ſteelyards; to which the weights, reſembling human figures, ſeem to have belonged. The moulds for ices, and various inſtruments for ornamenting paſtry, clearly prove the luxury of thoſe times to have far exceeded, in fertility of invention, that of our day: a great va⯑riety of ſtrainers, pierced in the moſt curious manner, and which are frequently found in pairs, one fitting into the other; but, for what uſe deſigned, is not eaſy to determine; many of them are in ſilver, others in bronze. Here are culinary utenſils, of more various ſhapes and ſizes, than can be found in the beſt fur⯑niſhed modern kitchen.

[345]One of theſe rooms is built, and furniſhed, in the exact conformity with a kitchen diſcovered entire; it contains a number of articles, many of them ſo com⯑plicated, that their uſe does not clearly appear; each veſſel is of bronze, and of fine workmanſhip: upon the whole, it ſeems indiſputable, that the ancients em⯑ployed more refinements in their entertainments, than the moderns; and muſt have ſerved up a much greater variety of diſhes than we do. The dreſſers, ſtew-holes, ſtoves, boilers, fiſh-kettles, reſemble ours, though they ſeem to have been better contrived. The lamps to light the apartments, and the candelabras to ſuſtain them, ſhew a ſurpriſing fertility of invention and execution. Here are alſo tunable bells, of dif⯑ferent ſizes, for their cattle, reſembling thoſe in Eng⯑land, called tintinabula; alſo keys, letters to ſtamp with, perhaps to mark linen; inſtruments of agricul⯑ture, ſurgery and mathematics. Another article, of culinary uſe, which would be very convenient and agreeable in England, is a kind of portable kitchen, which does not exceed the ſize of a commodious plate-warmer; in the center is a vaſe for water; under it a furnace for fire, with an invention for boiling meat at the ſame time that it heats the water; this vaſe has a double bottom, and three little flews, or chimneys for carrying off the ſmoke; the double bot⯑tom admits of ſtewing any thing in the manner called by the French à la braiſe: this would be a moſt con⯑venient [346] machine, for thoſe who like to eat in parks or gardens. They have cups and ſaucers in ſilver, of ſuperior ſculpture to any I have ever yet ſeen; and reſembling in make thoſe now uſed for tea and cof⯑fee: their handles are ſo curiouſly contrived, as to balance them, and prevent their overturning, however careleſsly held when full.

The inſtruments of muſic, I particularly remarked, are the following; the ſeringa, or flute of ſeveral notes, formed of bone, and which may be frequently ſeen as the inſignia, in painting, if not always accom⯑panying the God Pan, and the ſatyrs: the Crotali; theſe are like baſons, or deep ſaucers, with broad brims; they were ſtruck againſt each other, and are of braſs. The Siſtrum, in ſhape like a horſe-ſhoe, croſſed by ſeveral wires paſſing through holes, and ſo made, as to admit of their ſlipping from ſide to ſide; when this inſtrument is waved by the hand, the wires produce a loud noiſe. The Tibioe, or double flute; this is made of metal.

In armoury are many ſhields, iron boots, ſpears, &c. In ſhort, were we to deſcribe all the curious articles, that have been dug out of this celebrated city, it would fill a volume. Such accounts have been publiſhed, and to theſe we muſt refer the reader, [347] whoſe taſte for antiquities, will lead him to ſuch en⯑quiries.

Sixteen miles North of Naples ſtood the ancient city of Capua; which is ſaid, at one period, to have vied in magnificence with Rome and Carthage. Han⯑nibal's army is ſaid to have been conquered by the luxuries of this place. Whether Capua brought on the ruin of Hannibal, or not, it is certain that Hannibal occaſioned the ruin of Capua. The Capuans, having broken their connexion with Rome, and formed an alliance with her enemy, were beſieged by Fulvius and Appius. Hannibal exerted all his abilities for his new friends, but was not able to bring the Romans to a battle, or to raiſe the ſiege; and Capua fell a victim. Capua was a flouriſhing city, three hundred and fifty years before the birth of Chriſt; and, in the time of Auguſtus, contained three hundred thouſand inhabi⯑tants, and a great number of magnificent buildings. It continued in a ſtate of grandeur during the conti⯑nuance of the Roman empire, but afterwards ſuffered greatly from the Goths; next fell into the hands of the Lombards, and was, at laſt, burnt by the Saracens, in 842. Twelve years after this, its inhabitants removed to New Capua, then built, about three miles from it. Several villages are erected on the ſcite of Old Capua, and one of them bears its name; but the only remains of its former grandeur, worth noticing, is an amphi⯑theatre; [348] the lower order, Tuſcan, with a Doric over it. In its preſent imperfect ſtate, the architecture ap⯑pears clumſy; it was built with brick, and faced with ſtone or marble; but the facing is all carried off. Many of the ruins have been removed into the new town; the walls of the town-houſe are lined with them, and exhibit gigantic groteſque heads, which adorned the key-ſtones of the amphitheatre; private houſes are alſo enriched with fragments of theſe ruins, and the Cathedral can boaſt of many of them.

Modern Capua is but a ſmall place, fortified with a rampart. The ſtreets are narrow, dirty, ill-paved, and thin of people. There is but one inn in the town, yet it is an archbiſhopric. No city in Italy contains a greater number of ancient inſcriptions, brought here from old Capua; and a ſtatue, of king Charles II. of Spain, is erected in the market-place. The country, between this and Naples, (diſtance ſix⯑teen miles) is fertile, and delightful in the extreme. The cauſeway, though of a much later date than the Appian way, it is not at all inferior to it; and, in many parts, the rows of trees, planted on each ſide, form a fine viſto, more than a mile in length. The country, on each ſide, is diverſified with corn-fields, gardens, and vineyards; and the vines climbing up the lofty trees, and interwoven with their luxurious branches, from a kind of natural feſtoon.

[349]The king is building a palace at Caſſerta, on the plain where ancient Capua ſtood, out of all propor⯑tion to the revenues of the kingdom; and, when finiſhed, will be one of the moſt ſpacious and magni⯑ficent palaces in Europe. This immenſe building is of a quadrangular form, 750 feet Engliſh, by 580; about 112 feet high, comprehending five habitable ſtories, which contain ſuch a number of apartments, as will accommodate the moſt numerous court, without any acceſſary buildings.

The quadrangule is divided into four courts, each about 252 feet by 170. In each of the two princi⯑pal fronts are three correſponding gates; forming three openings, which pierce the whole building. The middle gates form the entry to a magnificent portico, for coaches. The grand ſtaircaſe is adorned with the richeſt marble; and all the apartments correſpond with the external appearance. Moore tells us, that when he was there in 1777, among the workmen em⯑ployed in finiſhing this palace, were one hundred and fifty Africans, taken priſoners from the ſtates of Bar⯑bary, with whom Naples is always at war. There were about as many Chriſtian ſlaves, condemned to work there, for crimes againſt the laws; they are, however, better cloathed and fed than the Africans.

[350]The gardens, belonging to this palace, are equally extenſive and magnificent. A great number of fine ſtatues, moſt of them copies of the beſt antiques, are there in readineſs to ſet up, when the gardens are finiſhed; which, probably, are by this time. Here was a very large elephant, kept by African ſlaves. In the garden is an artificial water, and an iſland with a kind of caſtle on it, regularly fortified, and a nu⯑merous train of artillery; ſome of them nine or ten pounders. I no ſooner entered this fort, ſays Moore, than I wiſhed uncle Toby and corporal Trim had been of our party; it would have charmed the ſoul of the worthy veteran, and his faithful ſervant.

At Lorrento, on a bay of the ſea, eighteen or twenty miles South of Naples, the town that gave birth to Taſſo, in 1544, are the noble ruins of a villa men⯑tioned in Statius's Sylvoe, that belonged to Pollius Foelix; it appears to have been accurately deſcribed by that poet; for, though the ſmaller features are disfigured, the great out-lines of the place are ſtill diſcernable.

CHAP VIII. Of the ſeveral Cities, &c.

AVELLINO is a city, about thirty miles weſt of Naples, in the road to Tarento; we enter it by a fine avenue, a mile long, between two rows of poplars, remarkable for their height, bulk, and cloſe⯑neſs of foliage. The country, from Naples, is delight⯑ful; particularly the immenſe plains of Nola, (remark⯑able for the invention of bells) which are one entire grove of tall elms and poplars, planted in rows, to ſupport the vines growing at their feet, and ſtretching their branches from tree to tree, in beautiful garlands. Between the lines, the huſbandman ſows corn and pulſe, without any fallow; and, to prevent the land from being exhauſted, raiſes early crops of Lupins and beans, which he hoes up before they ſeed, and buries for manure. The harrowing, and rolling, is performed by oxen. This ſoil is a ſandy volcanic loam, very rich and vegetative.

[352]Avellino is a conſiderable city, extending a mile in length, down the declivity of a hill, with ugly ſtreets, but tolerable houſes. The churches have nothing to recommend them, being crouded with mon⯑ſtrous ornaments, in a barbarous ſtile, apparently bor⯑rowed from the Spaniards. The cathedral is a poor building. The good people of this town need not run to Naples, to ſee the blood of St. Januarius; for they have a ſtatue of St. Lawrence, with a phial of his blood; which, for eight days in Auguſt, entertains them with a ſimilar miraculous liquefaction. Their only edifice of note is a public granary, of the com⯑poſite order, adorned with antique ſtatues, and a very elegant one, in bronze, of Charles II. king of Spain, whilſt a boy. The number of inhabitants is between eight and ten thouſand. The biſhop's revenue about 1,125l. ſterling a year. The magiſtracy conſiſts of a ſyndic, and four eletti, all annual; which offices are engroſſed by a certain number of families, that neither inter-marry, nor aſſociate with the reſt of the burghers. There is a manufactory here that dyes cloth, made up of various qualities and colours, but chiefly blue; the duty of which brings in a revenue, to the prince, of 3,750l. yearly. They make alſo here, a great deal of macaroni, which is in great repute all over the country.

[353]Avellino abounds with cattle and proviſions of every kind; a good mule ſells for eleven pounds Engliſh, and a bullock for nine pounds. Each ſtreet is ſupplied with wholeſome water, but their wine is in⯑different. The volcanic ſoil produces little corn, but fruit in abundance, particularly the hazel nut. Nut-buſhes cover the face of the valley; and, in prolific years, bring in a profit of 60,000 ducats, equal to 11,250l. Engliſh. They are what we call Spaniſh nuts.

The women of this neighbourhood are handſome, and take great pains to deck out their perſons to ad⯑vantage. Once a week they waſh their hair, with a lye of wood aſhes, that changes it from a dark brown to a flaxen yellow, of many different tints in the ſame head of hair. This I take, ſays Swinburne, to be the true flava Coeſaries of the Latin poets. Experience has taught me to diſcover many traces of ancient cuſ⯑toms, in the modes and habits of the modern Italians. Attentive obſervation will recognize the Preficoe of the ancients, in the appearance and actions of old women, hired in Calabria, to howl at burials. A claſ⯑ſic ſcholar cannot ſtroll under the groves of the plain, without calling to mind Horace's—

[354] That is, "The rough and invincible vine-dreſſer, before whom the traveller often relaxed, calling him cuckold;" for he will ſee this vine-dreſſer ſitting among the boughs, laſhing raw lads, and baſhful maid⯑ens, as they return from market, with the ſame groſs wit, and rough jokes, that gave ſuch jeſt to the farces of Atella.

That verſe in Virgil,

Naturally ſtrikes us, when, in our walks, under the rocky clifts of Pauſilippo, we ſee the peaſant ſwing⯑ing from the top of a tree, on a rope of twiſted wil⯑lows, trimming the poplar and the luxuriant tendrils of the vine, and making the whole vale ring with his ruſtic ditty.

Great likeneſſes may be found among the paintings of Herculaneum, of the Neapolitan girls dancing to the ſnapping of their fingers, and the beat of a tam⯑bourine; their petticoats whirling about them. A young fiſherman of Naples, naturally throws his limbs into the moſt graceful attitudes; and it was, no doubt, from the ſtudy of ſimilar figures, that the Grecian ſta⯑tuaries, drew their nice ideas of beauty, and perfection of form.

[355]If an antiquary longs for a Roman diſh, Sorento will ſupply him with the teats of a ſow, dreſſed in the an⯑tique taſte, by the name of Verina. The rigging of ſmall veſſels, at the preſent day, anſwers the deſcrip⯑tion of ancient ſailing; and, without examining the trim of theſe boats, it will not be eaſy to comprehend the manoeuvres of Ulyſſes, or Aeneas, in their various navigations.

In deſcending the laſt ridge of hills, between the Eaſtern and Weſtern courts of Italy, we come into the extenſive plains of Puglia; in the center of which ſtands Foggia, a principal town of the province of Capitanata, without walls, citadel, or gates. It is neatly built of white ſtone, and has two or three good ſtreets. The cuſtom-houſe has a handſome edifice. This town, with many others on the coaſt of the Adri⯑atic, was ruined in 1732, by an earthquake, and has been rebuilt with neatneſs and regularity. In ſum⯑mer the air is unwholeſome; and all, who can remove, deſert it, during the hot months. In winter, it con⯑tains twenty thouſand inhabitants, including ſtrangers. All the large ſtreets, and open ſquares, are undermined with vaults, where corn is buried, and preſerved ſound, from year to year.

This town has been of ſome conſequence in former years, and ſtill is, being a ſtaple for corn and wool, [356] and where the toll of ſheep is paid to and from Puglia; for vaſt quantities of ſheep deſcend in autumn from the mountains of Abruzzo, into the warm plains of Puglia, to yean; and, in May, return to the high country. The invention of this duty is aſcribed, by Varro, to the ancient Romans; who, on ſubduing the Italian ſtates, were accuſtomed to allot the improved lands to their non-citizens; whilſt they left the waſtes, and leſs cultivated tracts, to the original poſſeſſors, on their paying a tenth of the produce of the corn-lands, and a fifth of all other fruits. Breeders of cattle and ſheep, were to compound with the cenſors. In later times, the emperor appropriated all ſuch common lands to themſelves, and cauſed them to be conſidered as royalties. As this traffic increaſed, the crown, not being poſſeſſed of a ſufficient range of paſture for the great flocks, purchaſed other lands of the Puglian pro⯑prietors. Theſe royal paſtures are bounded by ſtones, and are known by the name of Taooliere; they ex⯑tend ſixty miles in length, and thirty in breadth, and are capable of feeding one million, two hundred thouſand ſheep: in return, the ſhepherds of Abruzzo bound themſelves for ever, to drive their flocks here yearly, from the mountains, and to pay certain duties, or toll, for every one hundred head of ſheep. This duty is called the dogana, and is one of the richeſt mines of wealth, belonging to the crown of Naples. It has been continually increaſing. Soon after its in⯑ſtitution, [357] it cleared 72,000 ducats; in 1730, it pro⯑duced 235,972. At preſent, the neat profit, ariſing to the king, from letting the paſtures, is about 40,000 ducats; but with the duties in tallow, wool, &c. this amounts to 400,000.

On account of the great variety of field ſports, to which the adjacent hills and plains are peculiarly adapted, this town was a favourite reſidence of the German princes. Charles I. of Spain, erected a ſump⯑tuous palace here, and died in this place, in his way to Brindiſi, in 1285. The Puglian ſportſmen run down hares with greyhounds, and purſue the wild boar, with one lurcher, and two or three maſtiffs. The hunters ride with a lance, and a pair of piſtols.

A few miles from Foggia are ſome faint traces of walls, ſaid to be thoſe of Arpi, or Argyripae, once the capital of a kingdom, founded by Diomed, after the ſiege of Troy. The flat paſtures, about this place, and Manfredonia, for twenty miles, abound in aſpho⯑dels, thiſtles, wild artichokes, and fennel-grant; of the laſt are made bee-hives, and chair-bottoms. The leaves are given to aſſes, and the peaſants eat the ten⯑der buds, when boiled, as a delicacy. This plant, ſays Swinburne, who travelled over the ſpot, covers half the plain, between Foggia and Manfredonia; and grows ſo high, that there is an inſtance, in one [358] of the wars, between France and Spain, of the Spa⯑niards having marched through it undiſcovered, cloſe up to the French entrenchments. The artichokes are given to buffaloes.

Manfredonia is a city, built by Manfred, in 1261. In order to found it, under the moſt favourable auſ⯑pices, he called together the moſt eminent profeſſors of aſtrology, a ſcience he had great confidence in; and cauſed them to calculate the happieſt hour and minute for laying the firſt ſtone. The port was ſecured from ſtorms by a pier; the ramparts were built of the moſt ſolid materials; and, in the great town, was hung a bell of ſo conſiderable a volume, as to be heard over all the plain of Capitanata, to alarm the country in caſe of invaſion. In ſpite, however, of all the pre⯑cautions taken by Manfred, neither his pains, or the horoſcopes of his wizards, have been able to render it opulent or powerful. It carries on a direct trade in corn, with Venice and Greece, but has ſcarce ſix thouſand inhabitants. It was pillaged by the Turks in 1620. All ſorts of vegetables abound here, and are infinitely ſuperior to thoſe raiſed in the volcanic ſoil of Naples; and fiſh is plentiful and cheap.

About twenty miles South of Manfredonia, on the coaſt, in the way to Brindiſi, are the fields of Cannae, famous for the victory obtained over the Romans by [359] Hannibal, in the 536th year of Rome. The traces of the town are very faint, conſiſting of fragments of altars, cornices, gates, walls, vaults, and under-ground granaries. It was deſtroyed the year before the bat⯑tle. The ſcene of action is marked out to poſterity, by the name of Pezzo di Sangue; "field of blood:" The peaſants frequently turn up ſpurs, and heads of lances, with the plough; and horſe loads of armour and weapons, have been, at different times, carried away. The bread of this place is as brown as ma⯑hogany, and quite gritty, owing to the incompact tex⯑ture of the ſtone, with which the millers grind their corn. They beat out their corn here, by the tramp⯑ling of a great number of mares, tied in a ſtring by their tails, and whipped round and round. In the Terra di Otranto, they do this by a pair of oxen, who drag between them a heavy rough ſtone, that forces out the grain.

Barletti is another city on the coaſt, a little more to the South. It has a ruinous aſpect, its walls tumb⯑ling down, and its ditches filled with rubbiſh; but the city within, though thinly inhabited, is magnificently built. It conveys the idea of ſome mighty ſtate, re⯑duced by conqueſt to a province, or depopulated by peſtilence. Its ſtreets are wide and well paved, the houſes large and lofty, and built with hewn ſtone; which, from age, has acquired a poliſh like marble. [360] Some of theſe venerable manſions have the ſtones cut angularly, after the Tuſcan manner. Many houſes ſtill retain painted arches, ſhort twiſted columns, and other remnants of the taſte of the Saracens, who are ſuppoſed to have built them; whilſt others are deco⯑rated with all the embelliſhments of the old Grecian architecture. The cathedral is remarkable for its an⯑tique granite columns. Ferdinand I. was crowned here.

In the market-place ſtands a bronze coloſſal ſtatue, ſeventeen feet three inches high, ſuppoſed to repre⯑ſent the emperor Heraclius, who began his reign in 610. He is ſtanding, dreſt in a military habit, crowned with a diadem, a ſhort cloak hanging from his left ſhoulder, and thrown over his left arm, which holds a globe; his right arm is raiſed above his head, and graſps a ſmall croſs. The image is rude and incor⯑rect, and the attitude awkward; Swinburne ſuppoſes it to have been cut in Italy, and dreſſed after the Roman faſhion. The citadel is ſpacious, and commands the port, which is a labyrinth conſiſting of ſeveral irre⯑gular piers, where ſhips are moored, but not ſheltered from the North. The exports here, are ſalt, corn, almonds, and liquorice, which laſt grows here ſpon⯑taneouſly in the ſwamps.

[361]The next city ſouthward is Trani, a ſea-port town alſo, and an archbiſhopric. There is, here, a colle⯑giate ſeminary, but the ſtudents ſeem averſe to ſtudy. From time immemorial, no work is done in Trani after dinner, ſo that the whole afternoon is ſpent by the in⯑habitants in dozing, chattering, or ſauntering. Though the exportation of corn from this place is conſiderable, it ſeems the only buſineſs ſtirring. Induſtry ſeems to have forſaken the cities on this coaſt; there are too many of them; ſo that, jealous of each other, they enfeeble their trade; and, being averſe to all friendly intercourſe, never ſtudy their intereſts. All ſorts of vegetables here are plentiful, and exquiſite; the mar⯑ket-people ſell beans and peas by weight, and uſe peb⯑bles in lieu of weights.

Trani is tolerably well built with ſtone, on uneven ground. The harbour is encircled by the town, and has ſcarcely depth of water enough to float a boat. The corn ſhips anchor two miles from the ſhore. The cathedral was erected ſix hundred years ago, and is a mean building. Here is alſo a caſtle, conſiſting of ſome gloomy towers; but the monaſtery of St. Clare is a ſumptuous encloſure. If there was a good road on this coaſt, it would be delightful to travel it, with the Adriatic on one ſide, and olive groves on the other. There are other cities between Trani and Brindiſi, viz. Biſceglia, Molfetta, Giovenazzo, and [362] Bari. As they have nothing remarkable, we ſhall paſs them and ſpeak of Bari.

Bari makes a great figure at a diſtance, it is de⯑fended by double walls, and an old caſtle, occupying a rocky peninſula, of a triangular form, about a mile in circumference. The houſes are, in general, mean, but built on a ſoil raiſed by the ruins of former edi⯑fices, near thirty feet above the level of the ſea. From the rampart, ſays Swinburne, at every turn of the eye, we catch a different view of the ſea and coaſt, ſtretching from the mountains of Garganus, to the hills of Oſtuni. The towns, that riſe along this line in various de⯑grees of ſhade, have a beautiful effect, and nothing can be more pictureſque, than the fleets of fiſhing-boats, ſteering for their reſpective harbours, on the approach of night. On ſhore, the bloom of ſpring, and lively foliage, contraſted with innumerable white cottages, form an enchanting rural ſcene.

This city is alſo an archbiſhopric. The cathedral has no extenſive beauties, and its revenues do not ex⯑ceed 1,125l. Engliſh. Its ſteeple is one of the higheſt in the kingdom, about 253 feet from the ground: among the treaſures of this place, is an iron diadem, with which ſome Barian writers pretend the Norman kings were crowned. Religious orders abound in Bari, and ſome of them have rich gaudy churches, [363] with good paintings. Here are twelve convents for men, five for women, and three hoſpitals. The in⯑habitants are about 16,700, are an active pains-taking ſet of people, and carry on a good trade, in oil and almonds. They alſo export to the Venetian iſlands, a large quantity of pot-aſh, ſoap, aniſeed and garlick.

Brindiſi was the ancient Brunduſium, that gave birth to Pacuvius, and where Virgil died. In this city Octavianus firſt aſſumed the name of Coeſar; and here he concluded one of his ſhort-lived peaces with Antony. The barbarians, who ravaged every corner of Italy, did not ſpare ſo rich a town; and, in 836, the Saracens gave a finiſhing blow to its fortunes. The phrenzy for expeditions to Paleſtine, (it being one of the ports where pilgrims and warriors took ſhip⯑ping,) contributed powerfully to the re-eſtabliſhment of this city. It was alſo benefited by the reſidence of the emperor Frederick, whoſe frequent armaments for the Holy Land, required his preſence at this place of rendezvous; but, the loſs of Jeruſalem, the fall of the Grecian empire, and the ruin of all the Levant trade, after the Turks had conquered the Eaſt, re⯑duced Brindiſi to a ſtate of inactivity and deſolation, from which it has never been able to emerge. The Appian way, paſſing Bari, terminated at Brundu⯑ſium.

[364]Brindiſi, as it now appears, is a great city, if the extent of its walls be conſidered; but the inhabited houſes do not fill above half the encloſure. The ſtreets are crooked and rough, the buildings poor and ruinous; and it has no very remarkable church, or edifice. The canons of the cathedral retain the an⯑cient cuſtom of having hand-maids; but, as they take care to chooſe them, ſays Swinburne, of canonical age and face, we may ſuppoſe theſe focarioe, to be only chaſte repreſentatives of the help-mates allowed the clergy, before popes and councils had reprobated them. Theſe women are exempt from taxes, and enjoy many privileges. When they die, they are buried gratis, and the funeral is attended by the chap⯑ter, with great ſolemnity; a mark of reſpect not paid to any relations of the canons.

Near the port, ſtand the walls of a palace, erected by Walter de Brienne, in a very bad taſte. Its ma⯑terials are grey ſtone, divided at regular diſtances, with broad courſes of black marble. Little remains of ancient Brunduſium, except innumerable broken pillars, fixed at the corners of ſtreets, to defend the houſes from carts; fragments of coarſe moſaic work, the floors of former habitations, the column of the light-houſe, a large marble baſon, into which the water runs from brazen heads of deer, ſome inſcrip⯑tions, ruins of aqueducts, coins, and other ſmall fur⯑niture [365] of an antiquary's cabinet. The caſtle, built to protect the Northern branch of the harbour, is large and ſtately.

The port is double, and the fineſt in the Adriatic. The outer part is formed by two promontories, that ſtretch off gradually from each other, as they advance into the ſea; leaving a very narrow channel at the baſe of the angle. The iſland of St. Andrew, on which is a fortreſs, lies out between the capes, and ſecures the whole road from the fury of the waves. In this deep pit, or ſpace, large ſhips may ride at anchor. At the bottom of the bay the hills recede, in a ſemicircular ſhape, to leave room for the inner haven, which, as it were, claſps the city in its arms; or rather encircles it in the figure of a ſtag's head and horns. This form is ſaid to have given riſe to its name Brunduſium; in the old Meſſapian language ſignifying a deer's head. Nothing can be more beau⯑tiful than this interior port, or better adapted to trade and navigation. It is very deep, and extends in length two miles and a half; in breadth, 1200 feet in the wideſt part. The hills, and the town, ſhelter it on all ſides. The north ridge is plentifully cultivated and planted; but, that to the South is bare of wood, and all ſown with corn. In ancient days, the com⯑munication between the two havens, was marked by lights, placed on Corinthian columns. Of theſe, one [366] remains entire on its pedeſtal, is built with a green and white marble, its capital adorned with figures of Syrens and Tritons, mixed with the Acanthus leaf, and upon it is a circular vaſe, which formerly held the fire. The whole kingdom of Naples cannot ſhew a more complete ſituation for trade; and yet it has nei⯑ther commerce, huſbandry, nor is it populous. From the obſtructions in the channel of communication, between the outer and inner haven, ariſes the tribe of evils that deſolate this unhappy town. Julius Coeſar may be ſaid to have begun its ruin, by attempting to block up Pompey's fleet. He drove piles into the neck of land, between the two ridges of hills; threw in earth, trees, and ruins of houſes, and had nearly accompliſhed the blockade, when Pompey ſailed out, and eſcaped to Greece. (See the plate, where the references are marked by birds.)

• 1. Roman way.
• 2. Caſtle.
• 3. Light-houſe.
• 4. Point of land where Julius Coeſar formed the blockade.
• 5. The old way into the harbour.
• 6. The new way.
• 7. The caſtle of the Iſle of St. Andrew.
• 8. The Atlantic.

[367]In the fifteenth century, the prince of Tarento ſunk ſome ſhips in the middle of the paſſage, to prevent the royaliſts from entering the port, which became a reſt⯑ing-place for ſea-weeds and ſand, and thus blocked up the paſſage. In 1752, the evil was increaſed, ſo as to prevent the waves beating through; and, from this period, the port became a fetid green lake; no fiſh but eels could live in it, nor any boat ply, except canoes of a ſingle tree. The low grounds at each end were overflowed, and converted into marſhes; which every ſummer created ſuch a peſtilence, as in a few years ſwept off the greateſt part of its inhabitants. From the number of eighteen thouſand, they were re⯑duced in 1766, to five thouſand livid wretches, tor⯑mented with agues and malignant fevers. In 1775, fifteen hundred died during the autumn. Well may Swinburne call this a woeful change of climate. Forty years ago, the air of Brindiſi was eſteemed ſo wholeſome, that the convents of Naples uſed to ſend their conſumptive friars here, for the recovery of their health. This induced the remaining citizens to apply for relief, to one of the kings, Marceſtus, who was a native of the place, and the port has been re-opened in conſequence. It will now admit large boats; the ſea ruſhes in and out at all tides; and the canal, which is ſeven hundred yards long, in a direct line from the column, is cleared; its parapets de⯑fended by piles and faſcines; and it is in contempla⯑tion [368] to erect ſtone piers on each ſide. Sir Wil⯑liam Hamilton ſays, in 1789, the canal is now ſo choaked up, as to have only ſeven feet in depth of of water, in many places, and the peſtilential air is as prevalent as ever. The engineer who undertook to clear it failed; but another is appointed, who means to widen the canal to ſixty-ſeven feet, and make it twenty-one feet deep; but there is every reaſon to fear, ſays Sir William, that the propoſed remedy will prove ineffectual, and that this unfortunate city is doomed to ſpeedy deſtruction. The workmen, in clearing the channel, have found ſome medals and ſeals, and have drawn up many piles, ſays Swinburne, that were driven in by Julius Coeſar. They are ſmall oaks, ſtripped of their bark, and ſtill are as freſh as if they had been cut only a month; though buried, above eighteen centuries, ſeven feet under the ſand. The ſoil about the town is light and good, produces ex⯑cellent cotton, which is manufactured into gloves and ſtockings at Brindiſi.

CHAP. IX. In Continuation.

THE next city, of any note, is Lecce; this lies between the North latitudes of 40 and 41 in the peninſula, called the heel of Italy; the breadth of which is about thirty miles. Lecce is on the Eaſ⯑tern coaſt, Gallipoli on the Weſtern. The country here is open, interſperſed with ſome coppices of ſmall, jagged leaved oaks; the fields decorated with looſe ſtone walks. The Adriatic ſea, here, is not more than ſixty miles over; the ſnowy tops, of the Grecian mountains, are, in a clear day, viſible. The villages, in this peninſula, make a very pleaſing appearance, the houſes being built with white ſtone; but the churches are ornamented in a very barbarous ſtyle, and the face of the country is too rocky, and too bare of trees, corn, and graſs, to be agreeable.

Lecce, the capital of Terra di Otranto, the ſeat of its tribunal, and the ſecond city in the kingdom, is [370] better paved and built, than any town in this pro⯑vince. If the builders here had the ſmalleſt taſte, the buildings would make a noble figure; for the ſtone of the country is ſo fine, white, and ſoft, when taken from the quarry, that it may be moulded like wax, and will receive any form from the chiſel; yet, when expoſed to the air, becomes hard and durable; but the architecture here, ſays Swinburne, is cramped into ſuch crowded, uncouth decorations, as to be far in⯑ferior to that of the Goths and Saracens. Many of the paintings in the churches, and houſes of the no⯑bility, are by Verrio, a native of Lecce, long em⯑ployed in England; he died in 1707. The number of people here does not exceed thirteen thouſand; very inadequate to the extent of the city, which has the reputation of being, to the kingdom of Naples, what Thebes was to Greece; and a native of Lecce, is ſaid to be diſtinguiſhable from his fellow-ſubjects, by his heavy manner, and dull comprehenſion. It has, notwithſtanding, an academy of Belles Lettres. Lecce is twenty-four miles from Brindiſi, and is a biſhoprick. Muſic is here cultivated with a degree of enthuſiaſm, and many of the nobility are good per⯑formers, and proud of exhibiting on ſolemn feſtivals. Leccean muſic has a very plaintive character, peculiar to itſelf.

[371]Otranto is a ſmall city, ſtands on a hill, and con⯑tains only three thouſand inhabitants. Its harbour ſmall, but convenient. The cathedral is Gothic, and, agreeable to the mode in Puglia, has a ſubterranean ſanctuary. The columns are of beautiful marble, and granite; the pavement, a rude ſpecies of Moſaic, called Saracenic, like the tomb of Edward I. in Weſt⯑minſter-abbey. Theſe moſaics are compoſed of pieces of porphyry, ſerpentine and cubes of gilt glaſs, diſ⯑poſed in ſtars, coiles, or chequers. The compart⯑ments of the halls are bordered with them; and the ſmall twiſted columns, that ſupport the pulpits and ca⯑nopies, are ornamented with a ſpiral ſhape of the ſame work.

Otranto was a Roman colony, and is an arch⯑biſhop's ſee. It was invaded by the Turks in 1480, inveſted, ſtormed, and pillaged; its prelate was ſlain at the church door; eight hundred principal inhabi⯑tants dragged out of the gates and butchered, and their bodies left unburied for twelve months. Swin⯑burne ſays, he was entertained here with the muſic of ſome of thoſe itinerant performers, that play at Chriſt⯑mas, in the ſtreets of Rome and Naples. Their na⯑tive country is Baſilicata, where the inhabitants of the Apennines learn, from their infancy, to raiſe the mat⯑tock with one hand, and play on the bagpipe, or flagelet, with the other. With theſe people, muſic [372] is rather a talent awakened by neceſſity, than an act of paſtime or luxury. Their uſual employment is draining of lands; but as ſuch work is not always needful, they travel with their muſical inſtruments for a maintenance, all over Italy, France, and Spain. Some have gone as far as America, and brought back much wealth with them. Their concerts are gene⯑rally compoſed of two muſicians, who play in uniſon, with two long large bagpipes, one an octave higher than the other; whilſt a third ſounds a kind of hautboy; and, at the end of each ritornel, chants a rural ditty, to which the bagpipes play an accompa⯑niment. The inſtruments are all made by the ſhep⯑herds themſelves, in thoſe forms and ſizes, which tra⯑dition has handed down to them, and experience has taught them to imitate.

Being in the country of the tarantula, Mr. Swin⯑burne took ſome pains to inveſtigate every particular reſpecting that inſect; but could find no perſon bitten with it, the ſeaſon of the year not being far enough advanced. He, however, prevailed on a woman, who had formerly been bitten, to act the part, and dance before him. Many muſicians were ſummoned, and ſhe performed it, as they all declared, to per⯑fection. At firſt, ſhe lolled ſtupidly on a chair, whilſt the ſtrains were dull; but, when the men touched the chord, ſuppoſed to vibrate to her heart, ſhe [373] ſprang up with a hedious yell, ſtaggered round the room like a perſon drunk, holding a handkerchief in both hands, raiſing them alternately, and moving in very true time. As the muſic grew briſker, her motions quickened, and ſhe ſkipped about with great vigour, and variety of ſteps, every now and then ſhrieking very loud. Wherever a perſon bit is to dance, a place is prepared for them, hung round with ribbands, and bunches of grapes. The patients are dreſſed in white, with red, green, and yellow rib⯑bands, theſe being the favourite colours; on their ſhoulders they caſt a white ſcarf, let their hair fall looſe about their ears, and throw their heads as far back as they can bear it. They are exact copies of the ancient prieſteſſes of Bacchus. The orgies of that god, whoſe worſhip under various ſymbols was more widely ſpread over the globe, than that of any other divinity, were doubtleſs performed with energy and enthuſiaſm, by the lively inhabitants of this warm climate. The introduction of Chriſtianity having aboliſhed all theſe heatheniſh rites, and the women not daring to act any frantic part, as bacchantes, Swinburne is of opinion, that, unwilling to give up ſo darling an amuſement, they deviſed other pretences. Accident may have led them to the diſcovery of the tarantula; and, on the ſtrength of its poiſon, the Pug⯑lian dames ſtill enjoy their old dance, though time has effaced the memory of its ancient name and inſti⯑tution. [374] It has been proved that the tarantula is a harmleſs inſect, and the inſanity, ſaid to be occa⯑ſioned by its bite, and cured by muſic, is an impo⯑ſition only on the credulous. It is a large ſpider with eight eyes, placed four, two, and two.

Gallipoli lies on the Eaſtern ſhore of the penin⯑ſula, about thirty miles from Otranto, in the gulph of Tarento. It ſtands on a rocky iſland, joined to the continent by a bridge, near which flows a foun⯑tain of very fine water. From the remoteſt antiquity, this ſtation was ſo very favourable to commerce, that every maritime power wiſhed to ſecure it; but, the crown of Naples has ſo deſerted it, that it has neither harbour, nor ſhelter for ſhipping. Its inhabitants do not exceed ſix thouſand; but they are eaſy in their circumſtances, lively, merry, and, in general, well in⯑formed. The air is rather conſumptive. The build⯑ings are tolerable, and ſome of the churches have good paintings. Good muſlins, cotton ſtockings, and other parts of apparel are here manufactured, and pur⯑chaſed by the Provencals. The cotton trade brings in about thirty thouſand ducats yearly. Their wine is good, but oil is the great ſupport of the place. Two-thirds of all olive plantations are exported to France and the north of Italy; the remainder is ſent to Naples, and other Italian ports. In 1766, oil was exported to the value of one million of ducats.

[375]The olive tree is, here, attended with the greateſt care. The fruit is not gathered, but kept till it falls. The common method, of making oil, is to cruſh the olives to a paſte, with a perpendicular millſtone, run⯑ning round a trough. This paſte is put into flat, round, ruſh baſkets, piled one upon another, and then put under a preſs. After the firſt preſſing, ſcald⯑ing water is poured into each baſket, its contents ſtirred up, and they are again preſſed; and ſo re⯑peatedly, till no more oil can be ſkimmed from the ſurface.

Tarento is the next city we ſhall mention, and ſhall dwell rather longer upon this, as affording more entertainment to our readers. It is nearly in the ſame latitude with Brindiſi, only on the Weſtern coaſt of the peninſula, about thirty miles from Brin⯑diſi. It is a ſeaport, at the upper end of the gulph of Tarento; and admits of reflections on the general viciſſitudes of the fate of empires. Tarento, where now ſcarce a ſingle fiſhing boat diſturbs the boſom of its waters, is that where the trading veſſels of half the world once rendezvouſed; where the mighty navy of Carthage once diſplayed its flag. Of all the tem⯑ples, gymnaſia, theatres, and other monuments of glory and opulence, not ſo much as a ſingle column riſes on the hill where Tarentum once ſtood; which is on the left in the plate of the preſent town; the [376] paltry buildings, of ſome mean convents, mark its ancient ſcite; whilſt the modern city, crowded into a narrow iſland, holds the place of the old citadel, and ſtill reſembles a fortreſs, more than an emporium of trade; but, in ſpite of all this change, Tarento is ſtill replete with wonderful beauties.

The preſent city ſtands upon a neck of land, di⯑vided from the oppoſite country by the ſea of Pic⯑colo, which runs from the gulph of Tarento by a narrow ſtreight, ſix miles up into the country, form⯑ing a large oval lake, three miles wide, divided into two bays by a narrow promontory. Tarento is joined to the oppoſite land by a bridge of ſeven arches. Through theſe the tide flows with great im⯑petuoſity, and nothing now but ſmall boats can be ad⯑mitted, which, before the building of the bridge, was the entrance of the harbour. On this bridge is carried the aqueduct, that ſupplies the city with water from the oppoſite ſhore. This bay, and the city, is a delightful ſcene. Olive woods clothe the fine ground on both ſides, and the oppoſite hills are rich in corn-fields and orchards. Over the city, and beyond the bridge, ſhips appear at anchor in the gulph, or outer port, and the blue mountains of Baſilcata on the right, complete the proſpect. (See the plate.)

[377]The city of Tarento has not much to boaſt of. The ſtreets are remarkably dirty, and narrow; particularly the Marina, which runs along the Mare Piccolo; and is, without diſpute, the moſt diſguſtful habitation of human beings in Europe; except, perhaps, the Jeſuits Ghetto at Rome. The only tolerable ſtreet is a ter⯑race, above the ſteep rocks that hang over the gulph, or great ſea, and prevent all acceſs on that quarter. The cathedral has but little merit. The ſquare, near the bridge, is the only opening of any extent, and the general reſort of the citizens in ſummer, when they ſit round the fountain, to enjoy the ſoft evening breeze, and refreſh themſelves with the fanning of the balmy air. In the hot ſummer months, the air is not very wholeſome; but, the archbiſhop is ſtudying every means to improve the place by cultivation, and other means. Swinburne was well entertained here. At the priory, he had, for ſupper, fifteen different ſorts of ſhell-fiſh, all fat and ſavory; particularly a ſmall muſ⯑cle, tinged both within and without with the richeſt violet colour, and the ſhell covered with ſhag. This muſcle is dragged for in the great ſea, and then ſcat⯑tered on heaps of ſtones, ſunk by the fiſhermen, at every head-land of the Mare Piccolo.

Brunduſium was the great ſupply of oyſters for the Roman tables. From that port, the ſpawn was car⯑ried to ſtock their public reſervoirs at the Lucrine [378] lake, near Baia; and no mention is made, by the an⯑cients, of any Tarentine ſhellfiſh, except the ſcallop; but they have now ninety-three different ſorts, all eat⯑able; and oyſters among the reſt. Very fine branch⯑ing coral is alſo found, along the Eaſt coaſt of this city; the places are kept a ſecret. The quantity may be judged of by a boat's crew, once drawing up, in one day, as much as ſold for ninety-three pounds fif⯑teen ſhillings Engliſh, that is five hundred ducats, each ducat three ſhillings and nine-pence ſterling.

The ſeas of Tarento are as copiouſly ſtocked with the ſcaly and finny tribes, as with the cruſtaceous and teſtaceous. The people depend on their fiſhery for ſubſiſtence, and pay very heavy duties to the crown, and rents to private perſons. The King receives 1700l. a-year for rent.

Never was a place more completely ſwept off the face of the earth than Tarentum, not a ſingle ruin left; ſcarce a mark, that ſuch a city ever exiſted on the ſpot; and yet we are well aſſured by hiſtorians, that a rival of Rome, once raiſed her proud towers, and arrayed her numerous armies along theſe now lone⯑ſome hills. Near the Alcantarine convent is a ſmall hillock, wholly formed of the ſhells of fiſh, employed by the ancients in the compoſition of their celebrated purple dye; and, not far from it, are the remains of [379] ſome reſervoirs and conduits belonging to their work. Below the ruins of theſe reſervoirs, the ſhore is thickly ſtrewed with fragments of Etruſcan vaſes; and a little nearer the city is the Argentaria, where the gold and ſilverſmiths had their ſhops. It ſtill deſerves the name, from a number of medals, rings, chains, and other trinkets, conſtantly dug out of it.

The cotton manufacture employs theſe poor Ta⯑rentines, who are not able to be fiſhermen. The pay of a huſbandman is a carline (fourpence halfpenny) a day. Cultivation goes on well; in ſome places the crops are divided between the landlord and the farmer: but the quantity of waſte lands is incredible; and whatever pains they beſtow on corn-lands, no one has an idea of improving either paſture or meadow. Not a ſeed is ſown, not a weed deſtroyed, not a buſh grub⯑bed up.

I muſt not omit to mention the greateſt curioſity, in this part of the world; which is a well, mentioned by Pliny in his ſecond book. Juxta oppidum Manduriam lacus ad margines plenus, neque exhauſtis aquis minuitur, neque enfuſis augetur. "Near the town of Manduria, is a lake full to the brim, whoſe waters never diminiſh, nor increaſe by addition." This well Swinburne ex⯑amined: it excites the admiration of the people as much now, as it did in ancient days. The water, in [380] this circular cavern, lighted from above by a ſpacious aperture, never riſes or falls beyond a certain mark. If as much rubbiſh be thrown in, as will fill it half-way up, it never riſes the water above the mark; if the rubbiſh riſes above the mark, the water diſappears. Clear away the mud to the bottom, and you find a hard ſmooth floor, without any ſigns of a chaſm for the water to run off. The water is good and ſupplies the town; of courſe, all experiments on it are for⯑bidden.

Every baron in this country keeps a certain num⯑ber of truſty, determined fellows, to protect his vaſſals, convey his rents, and prevent depredations on his game and foreſts. They howl by the ſide of his coach, to defend his perſon and baggage. The rad⯑knights, or radmen, kept by ancient barons, were of the ſame kind.