Naples, November 10, 1859.
"Co tra calle vive, magna, e lave a faccia."
I understand, my friend--for three centimes I can eat, drink, and washmy face, all by means of one of those slices of watermelon you displaythere on a little table. But Occidental prejudices would prevent me fromenjoying that simple pleasure freely and frankly. And how could I sucka watermelon? I have enough to do merely to keep on my feet in thiscrowd. What a luminous, noisy night in the Strada di Porto! Mountains offruit tower up in the shops, illuminated by multicoloured lanterns. Uponcharcoal furnaces lighted in the open air water boils and steams, andragouts are singing in frying-pans. The smell of fried fish and hotmeats tickles my nose and makes me sneeze. At this moment I find that myhandkerchief has left the pocket of my frock-coat. I am pushed,lifted up, and turned about in every direction by the gayest, the mosttalkative, the most animated and the most adroit populace possible toimagine; and suddenly a young woman of the people, while I am admiringher magnificent hair, with a single shock of her powerful elasticshoulder, pushes me staggering three paces back at least, withoutinjury, into the arms of a maccaroni-eater, who receives me with asmile.
I am in Naples. How I ever managed to arrive here, with a few mutilatedand shapeless remains of baggage, I cannot tell, because I am no longermyself. I have been travelling in a condition of perpetual fright; and Ithink that I must have looked awhile ago in this bright city like an owlbewildered by sunshine. To-night it is much worse! Wishing to obtain aglimpse of popular manners, I went to the Strada di Porto, where I nowam. All about me animated throngs of people crowd and press before theeating-places; and I float like a waif among these living surges, which,even while they submerge you, still caress. For this Neopolitan peoplehas, in its very vivacity, something indescribably gentle and polite.I am not roughly jostled, I am merely swayed about; and I think thatby dint of thus rocking me to and fro, these good folks want to lullme asleep on my feet. I admire, as I tread the lava pavements of thestrada, those porters and fishermen who move by me chatting, singing,smoking, gesticulating, quarrelling, and embracing each other the nextmoment with astonishing versatility of mood. They live through all theirsense at the same time; and, being philosophers without knowing it, keepthe measure of their desires in accordance with the brevity of life. Iapproach a much-patronised tavern, and see inscribed above the entrancethis quatrain in Neopolitan patois:
"Amice, alliegre magnammo e bevimmo N fin che n'ce stace noglio a la lucerna: Chi sa s'a l'autro munno n'ce verdimmo? Chi sa s'a l'autro munno n'ce taverna?" ["Friends, let us merrily eat and drink as long as oil remains in the lamp: Who knows if we shall meet again in another world? Who knows if in the other world there will be a tavern?"]
Even such counsels was Horace wont to give to his friends. You receivedthem, Posthumus; you heard them also, Leuconoe, perverse beauty whowished to know the secrets of the future. That future is now the past,and we know it well. Of a truth you were foolish to worry yourselvesabout so small a matter; and your friend showed his good sense when hetold you to take life wisely and to filter your Greek wines--"Sapias,vina liques." Even thus the sight of a fair land under a spotless skyurges to the pursuit of quiet pleasures, but there are souls for everharassed by some sublime discontent; those are the noblest. You wereof such, Leuconoe; and I, visiting for the first time, in my decliningyears, that city where your beauty was famed of old, I salute withdeep respect your melancholy memory. Those souls of kin to your ownwho appeared in the age of Christianity were souls of saints; and the"Golden Legend" is full of the miracles they wrought. Your friend Horaceleft a less noble posterity, and I see one of his descendants in theperson of that tavern poet, who at this moment is serving out wine incups under the epicurean motto of his sign.
And yet life decides in favour of friend Flaccus, and his philosophyis the only one which adapts itself to the course of events. There is afellow leaning against that trellis-work covered with vine-leaves, andeating an ice, while watching the stars. He would not stoop even topick up the old manuscript I am going to seek with so much trouble andfatigue. And in truth man is made rather to eat ices than to pore overold texts.
I continued to wander about among the drinkers and the singers. Therewere lovers biting into beautiful fruit, each with an arm about theother's waist. Man must be naturally bad; for all this strange joy onlyevoked in me a feeling of uttermost despondency. That thronging populacedisplayed such artless delight in the simple act of living, that all theshynesses begotten by my old habits as an author awoke and intensifiedinto something like fright. Furthermore, I found myself much discouragedby my inability to understand a word of all the storm of chatter aboutme. It was a humiliating experience for a philologist. Thus I had begunto feel quite sulky, when I was startled to hear someone behind meobserve:
"Dimitri, that old man is certainly a Frenchman. He looks so bewilderedthat I really fell sorry for him. Shall I speak to him? ...He has sucha goo-natured look, with that round back of his--do you not think so,Dimitri?"
It was said in French by a woman's voice. For the moment it wasdisagreeable to hear myself spoken of as an old man. Is a man old atsixty-two? Only the other day, on the Pont des Arts, my colleague Perrotd'Avrignac complimented me on my youthful appearance; and I should thinkhim a better authority about one's age than that young chatterbox whohas taken it on herself to make remarks about my back. My back is round,she says. Ah! ah! I had some suspicion myself to that effect, but Iam not going now to believe it at all, since it is the opinion of agiddy-headed young woman. Certainly I will not turn my head round to seewho it was that spoke; but I am sure it was a pretty woman. Why? Becauseshe talks like a capricious person and like a spoiled child. Ugly womenmay be naturally quite as capricious as pretty ones; but as they arenever petted and spoiled, and as no allowances are made for them, theysoon find themselves obliged either to suppress their whims or to hidethem. On the other hand, the pretty women can be just as fantastical asthey please. My neighbour is evidently one of the latter.... But, afterall, coming to think it over, she really did nothing worse than toexpress, in her own way, a kindly thought about me, for which I ought tofeel grateful.
These reflections--include the last and decisive one--passed through mymind in less than a second; and if I have taken a whole minute to tellthem, it is characteristic of most philologists. In less than a second,therefore, after the voice had ceased, I did turn round, and saw apretty little woman--a sprightly brunette.
"Madame," I said, with a bow, "excuse my involuntary indiscretion. Icould not help overhearing what you have just said. You would like tobe of service to a poor old man. And the wish, Madame, has already beenfulfilled--the mere sound of a French voice has given me such pleasurethat I must thank you."
I bowed again, and turned to go away; but my foot slipped upon amelon-rind, and I should certainly have embraced the Parthenopean soilhad not the young lady put out her hand and caught me.
There is a force in circumstances--even in the very smallestcircumstances--against which resistance is vain. I resigned myself toremain the protege of the fair unknown.
"It is late," she said; "do you not wish to go back to your hotel, whichmust be quite close to ours--unless it be the same one?"
"Madame," I replied, "I do not know what time it is, because somebodyhas stolen my watch; but I think, as you say, that it must be time toretire; and I shall be very glad to regain my hotel in the company ofsuch courteous compatriots."
So saying, I bowed once more to the young lady, and also saluted hercompanion, a silent colossus with a gentle and melancholy face.
After having gone a little way with them, I learned, among othermatters, that my new acquaintances were the Prince and Princess Trepof,and that they were making a trip round the world for the purpose offinding match-boxes, of which they were making a collection.
We proceeded along a narrow, tortuous vicoletto, lighted only bya single lamp burni
ng in the niche of a Madonna. The purity andtransparency of the air gave a celestial softness and clearness to thevery darkness itself; and one could find one's way without difficultyunder such a limpid night. But in a little while we began to passthrough a "venella," or, in Neopolitan parlance, a sottoportico, whichled under so many archways and so many far-projecting balconies that nogleam of light from the sky could reach us. My young guide had made ustake this route as a short cut, she assured us; but I think she did soquite as much simply in order to show that she felt at home in Naples,and knew the city thoroughly. Indeed, she needed to know it verythoroughly to venture by night into that labyrinth of subterraneanalleys and flights of steps. If ever any many showed absolute docilityin allowing himself to be guided, that man was myself. Dante neverfollowed the steps of Beatrice with more confidence than I felt infollowing those of Princess Trepof.
The lady appeared to find some pleasure in my conversation, for sheinvited me to take a carriage-drive with her on the morrow to visit thegrotto of Posilippo and the tomb of Virgil. She declared she had seen mesomewhere before; but she could not remember if it had been a Stockholmor at Canton. In the former event I was a very celebrated professor ofgeology; in the latter, a provision-merchant whose courtesy and kindnesshad been much appreciated. One thing certain was that she had seen myback somewhere before.
"Excuse me," she added; "we are continually travelling, my husband andI, to collect match-boxes and to change our ennui by changing country.Perhaps it would be more reasonable to content ourselves with a singlevariety of ennui. But we have made all our preparations and arrangementsfor travelling: all our plans have been laid out in advance, and itgives us no trouble, whereas it would be very troublesome for us tostop anywhere in particular. I tell you all this so that you many notbe surprised if my recollections have become a little mixed up. But fromthe moment I first saw you at a distance this evening, I felt--in factI knew--that I had seen you before. Now the question is, 'Where wasit that I saw you?' You are not then, either the geologist or theprovision-merchant?"
"No, Madame," I replied, "I am neither the one nor the other; and I amsorry for it--since you have had reason to esteem them. There is reallynothing about me worthy of your interest. I have spent all my lifeporing over books, and I have never traveled: you might have known thatfrom my bewilderment, which excited your compassion. I am a member ofthe Institute."
"You are a member of the Institute! How nice! Will you not writesomething for me in my album? Do you know Chinese? I would like so muchto have you write something in Chinese or Persian in my album. I willintroduce you to my friend, Miss Fergusson, who travels everywhereto see all the famous people in the world. She will be delighted....Dimitri, did you hear that?--this gentleman is a member of theInstitute, and he has passed all his life over books."
The prince nodded approval.
"Monsieur," I said, trying to engage him in our conversation, "it istrue that something can be learned from books; but a great deal more canbe learned by travelling, and I regret that I have not been able togo round the world like you. I have lived in the same house for thirtyyears and I scarcely every go out."
"Lived in the same house for thirty years!" cried Madame Trepof; "is itpossible?"
"Yes, Madame," I answered. "But you must know the house is situated onthe bank of the Seine, and in the very handsomest and most famous partof the world. From my window I can see the Tuileries and the Louvre,the Pont-Neuf, the towers of Notre-Dame, the turrets of the Palais deJustice, and the spire of the Sainte-Chapelle. All those stones speak tome; they tell me stories about the days of Saint-Louis, of the Valois,of Henri IV., and of Louis XIV. I understand them, and I love them all.It is only a very small corner of the world, but honestly, Madame, whereis there a more glorious spot?"
At this moment we found ourselves upon a public square--a largo steepedin the soft glow of the night. Madame Trepof looked at me in an uneasymanner; her lifted eyebrows almost touched the black curls about herforehead.
"Where do you live then?" she demanded brusquely.
"On the Quai Malaquais, Madame, and my name is Bonnard. It is not a namevery widely known, but I am contented if my friends do not forget it."
This revelation, unimportant as it was, produced an extraordinary effectupon Madame Trepof. She immediately turned her back upon me and caughther husband's arm.
"Come, Dimitri!" she exclaimed, "do walk a little faster. I am horriblytired, and you will not hurry yourself in the least. We shall never gethome.... As for you, monsieur, your way lies over there!"
She made a vague gesture in the direction of some dark vicolo, pushedher husband the opposite way, and called to me, without even turning herhead.
"Adieu, Monsieur! We shall not go to Posilippo to-morrow, nor theday after, either. I have a frightful headache!... Dimitri, you areunendurable! will you not walk faster?"
I remained for the moment stupefied, vainly trying to think what I couldhave done to offend Madame Trepof. I had also lost my way, and seemeddoomed to wander about all night. In order to ask my way, I would haveto see somebody; and it did not seem likely that I should find a singlehuman being who could understand me. In my despair I entered a streetat random--a street, or rather a horrible alley that had the look of amurderous place. It proved so in fact, for I had not been two minutes init before I saw two men fighting with knives. They were attacking eachother more fiercely with their tongues than with their weapons; and Iconcluded from the nature of the abuse they were showering upon eachother that it was a love affair. I prudently made my way into a sidealley while those two good fellows were still much too busy with theirown affairs to think about mine. I wandered hopelessly about for awhile, and at last sat down, completely discouraged, on a stone bench,inwardly cursing the strange caprices of Madame Trepof.
"How are you, Signor? Are you back from San Carlo? Did you hear the divasing? It is only at Naples you can hear singing like hers."
I looked up, and recognised my host. I had seated myself with my back tothe facade of my hotel, under the window of my own room.