Irma in Italy: A Travel Story

  CHAPTER V

  ON SHORE

  The arrival at Naples was much less terrible than many persons hadpictured it to Irma and Aunt Caroline. No one attempted to tear theirchatelaine bags from them; the officers of the _dogana_ were perfectlycivil; no one tried to abstract their trunks. It is true there was along and apparently needless delay before their trunks were examined andmarked, but they made light of this when once they were in the carriageon their way to the hotel.

  The busy streets through which they first passed were broad and clean.Electric cars, hardly different from the American type, ran throughthem. The men and women on the sidewalks stepped along briskly. AuntCaroline and Uncle Jim made constant contrasts between the Naples of thepresent and the past.

  "The cholera of '84 had one good result; it enabled the city fathershere to do away with many old slums, and put these new streets in theirplace."

  Their way eventually led up a broad avenue that mounted to the heightsabove the old city. Once or twice, at a turn of the road, they had aview of the bay, and of Vesuvius in the distance.

  "There, there, Irma," cried Uncle Jim, when they first saw the mountain."Let your heart beat as rapidly as it will; you now look on one of thewonders of the world."

  Their hotel was on ground so high that they entered it by a subway, andthence by elevator to the summit of a rock whereon stood the hotel.While Uncle Jim was securing rooms, the others, by a common impulse,rushed out on a balcony, of which they had caught a glimpse.

  "Yes, this is Naples!" exclaimed Aunt Caroline, looking down on thelovely bay, clear and blue. "But," she continued, "Vesuvius is certainlychanged--I did not realize that losing the top would so alter him, orher. What do you call volcanoes, Irma?"

  "Them," responded Irma, and even Marion smiled at her promptness.

  While they were still looking at the bay and the distant shores ofSorrento and Amalfi, Irma suddenly felt two hands clasp themselves overher eyes.

  "Don't forget your friends just because you have a volcano to look at,"and then, unclasping her hands from Irma's eyes, Muriel stepped infront, where Irma could see her.

  Muriel was one of those who had left the _Ariadne_ the night before, andas she had not mentioned where she should stay in Naples, Irma and herparty were surprised to see her.

  "Isn't it great that we should be here together?" continued Muriel,after the others had said a word or two of greeting. "The onlydisagreeable thing is that I am going on to-morrow, for our motor ishere, and mamma does not wish to wait longer in Naples."

  So it happened that though they planned to spend part of the nextmorning together, this was the last time that Muriel and Irma saw eachother for several weeks.

  "It's well we didn't make plans over night," said Irma, when she joinedthe others at _dejeuner_ on the morning of her arrival in Naples. "Thereseems to be a fine mist in the air; and probably that means rain."

  "Then we won't plan a long drive. You can come shopping with me, Irma,"said Aunt Caroline. "I wish to look for coral."

  "I did not know there was so much coral in the world," said Irma, afterthey had been out some time. "Where do they get it?"

  "From Japan and Sardinia and--oh--several other places."

  "But why should it all come here?"

  "Because in Naples they know how to cut coral and cameos better thanelsewhere in the world."

  "It is beautiful, of course, and there are so many shades of pink, Ishall never know what is meant when any one calls a thing coralcolored."

  "You must choose something for yourself," urged Aunt Caroline, "a littlesouvenir of Naples;" and when Irma hesitated she selected for her astring of pale red beads.

  "The very light pink are the most valuable," said Aunt Caroline, "but Iwill not suggest a change."

  From the shops near the water front they drove over to the GalleriaUmberto I, a huge structure with a glass dome that gave plenty of lightto the shops in the arcades on the street level. Here Irma bought two orthree little gifts for some of her friends at home,--just whom does notmatter now.

  The afternoon passed quickly, and Irma was pleased when Aunt Carolinesaid it would be wiser to get afternoon tea in a restaurant down town.Irma herself would have enjoyed the open-air restaurants which she hadnoted as they drove around, but in the more conventional place that heraunt chose, they managed to find a few novelties on the menu.

  NAPLES. A STREET VIEW.]

  Later, they took a drive through some narrow streets, where Irma sawmany of the peculiarities of Neapolitan street life, of which she hadread a little. There were whole families sitting in front of theirdwellings. In some cases mothers were combing the hair of littlechildren, or changing their clothes, or bending over what Irma called"cooking-stands," for they certainly could hardly be considered stoves.

  "I wonder what they are cooking," she said, "in those queer copperkettles or pans. I should not know what to call them."

  "Snail soup, perhaps," replied Aunt Caroline, "or more probablymacaroni."

  The word "macaroni" seemed to catch their coachman's ear, and turningtoward them, he said some words in Italian so rapidly that Aunt Carolinehardly understood, and then, urging his horse, drove straight on.

  "He said something about 'old men,' and 'eating macaroni,' but I have noidea what he really means, and I do not like the region where he istaking us."

  Finally, after many windings, they passed up a street on which thehouses were poor, but of a rather better type than those they had seen ashort time earlier.

  "There must be an institution near by," said Aunt Caroline, after theyhad met, one after the other, several old men wearing a blue uniform.

  This conjecture proved correct, for at the end of the street they cameupon a large building, evidently a home for old men.

  "Why is the driver so anxious to have us go inside? We really must makehim understand. No, no. No, no!" continued Aunt Caroline, and finally,by repeating "No, no," and using gesticulations more emphatic than hisown, she made him turn about. But he still continued his pantomime ofcarrying his hand to his mouth, as if in the act of eating. This hevaried by occasionally pointing toward the windows of the houses he waspassing, where, as their eyes followed the direction of his finger, Irmaand Aunt Caroline saw other blue-coated old men eating at tables closeto the window.

  "I begin to understand," said Aunt Caroline, "he wished us to give theseold men money that they could eat macaroni for us. Now we will let himdo what he will. He has some plan."

  A moment later he had driven them to an open space at the junction oftwo streets, where a man was cooking macaroni in a large copper vessel.Two or three little boys who had been following the carriage now steppedup beside the horses, and they, too, made the gesture in imitation ofeating, at the same time crying, "_Soldi, soldi_."

  "Oh, yes, I recall it all now," said Aunt Caroline, laughing. "It wasthe same when we were here before." Then she threw some coppers to thelittle boys, who immediately handed them over to the man at the cookingstall. He, in his turn, gave each a heaped-up plate of macaroni cookedwith tomato.

  "It would be worth three times the price, though I don't know just whatyou gave them, Aunt Caroline, to see those boys eat such a quantity, andit all disappeared in an instant."

  "It is one of the accomplishments of the Neapolitan street boy to devourat lightning speed great plates of macaroni, in return for the _soldi_of the stranger. Their manner of conveying the macaroni to their mouthswith the sole use of their fingers is indeed a regular circus trick."

  "If the same boys repeat the trick many times a day, I should think theymight have indigestion."

  "They are willing to suffer, for they love macaroni. The poorestNeapolitans eat much uncooked food, not only fruits, but fish and rawvegetables. But the macaroni with _pomo d'oro_ is a real delicacy. Someof those old men would probably have done the trick as adroitly as theboys."

  The driver, smiling broadly on account of his success, as he turnedabout drove again through squalid narrow stree
ts. Those in the carriagecould here look through open doors into the one untidy room, the _basso_that formed the abiding place often for a large family.

  "In warm weather the men of the family usually sleep in the street,"said Aunt Caroline, "and when you see the dark, windowless room that isthe only home that many thousands can call their own, you cannot wonderthat day and night so many Neapolitans prefer the streets."

  Sometimes a wretched beggar would run after the carriage. "We must makeit a rule in Italy to take no notice of these poor creatures.Fortunately, I am told, they are far less numerous than they used to be,and the only way to stop begging is for each to refuse alms. Graduallythey are finding other ways of helping the poor here."

  "I feel sorrier for the horses here than for the people," respondedIrma. "There are so many of them, and most look half starved, as well asill treated."

  "The cruelty of the cab men of Naples is known the world over. Cabs arecheap, and every one drives, and the cabmen not only snap their longwhips freely, but use them viciously, if so inclined. But some one I wastalking with says that a S. P. C. A. has been started here, and alreadyhas accomplished much good."

  "But the donkeys here seem much better cared for. I have noticedseveral that look almost fat, and they have pompons of bright wool, andsome metal decorations shining on their harness, and altogether they arequite gay."

  "Those queer-shaped bits of metal," said her aunt, "are devices,sometimes pagan, and sometimes Christian, that the superstitious Italianwishes his animals to wear to guard against the evil eye or other ills.But here we are at the hotel."

  "Where do you suppose we have been?" asked Uncle Jim, greeting Irma andher aunt, as they entered their sitting-room. "And what will you givefor what I have for you?"

  "Letters, letters! Give them to us quickly."

  "Yes, letters. I found them at our bankers, and also obliged him tohonor my letter of credit, but just now I dare say you would rather havethe letters than the money."

  The letters, written so soon after their departure, contained littlenews. Yet Irma found hers particularly cheering, because they broughther so closely in touch with the family at home.

  "Napoleon," her mother wrote, "was very low spirited the day you lefthome, but with the fickleness of his kind, he now wags his tailhopefully as if he expected you to-morrow. Mahala's grief is mitigatedby her expectation of post cards from strange places, and Tessie iswondering about presents. The boys, I am sorry to say, do not let yourabsence weigh upon them. Baseball is now the one important thing."

  Then followed some directions about taking care of herself, and makingthe most of her opportunities.

  A short letter from Lucy gave her school news, but Irma sighed, becausethere was no word from Gertrude.

  That evening, as Irma sat on the balcony after dinner, Marion came nearher.

  "You were very good to go with Uncle Jim for our letters. It makes homeseem so much nearer, to know that letters can reach me."

  "Yes," said Marion, "I suppose so."

  "Was there good news in yours, too?" continued Irma, after a moment ofsilence.

  Without answering, Marion walked forward to the edge of the balcony.

  "Shall I ever learn to practice what mother always preaches," thoughtIrma, conscience-stricken lest she had disturbed Marion, "not to askdirect personal questions?"

  Marion continued to walk up and down with his hands in his pockets. Thenhe stopped directly in front of Irma. "Tell me what was in yourletters," he said abruptly. "I had none."

  So surprised was Irma by Marion's interest, that at first she couldhardly reply.

  "Yes," he continued, dropping into a chair beside her, "I should like tohear about some one else's relations."

  Then Irma found her voice, and prefacing her remarks with, "There reallywas not much news in the letters I had to-day," she soon found herselftelling Marion all about home, about her father and mother, about Tessieand the boys and Mahala, and last, but not least, about Nap.

  Marion listened attentively, occasionally making some comment thatshowed he was really interested in what Irma said.

  Then, after perhaps half an hour, he rose as abruptly as he had satdown, and with a hasty "good night," went indoors.

  "Yet after all I have told him, he didn't say a word about his ownfamily. How queer he is!" thought Irma.

  "As we have been better than most travellers in going to morningservice," said Uncle Jim, on Sunday, "we will do as they do by drivingthis afternoon. I, for one, wish to see the Cathedral, and there areother churches worth visiting."

  Toward the middle of the afternoon, therefore, the four travellers setforth for the Cathedral dedicated to San Gennaro (St. Januarius), thepatron saint of Naples. In a cross street, on their way, their carriagedrew up to let a funeral procession pass.

  It was a typically Neapolitan procession, yet uncommonly gorgeous, withits white, open-sided hearse, showing a coffin covered with beautifulflowers. The hearse was drawn by eight horses, their heads decoratedwith yellow, and saddlecloths trimmed with gilt. Close to the horseswere a number of priests carrying lighted candles, and after them two orthree carriages heaped with wreaths.

  Irma's attention, however, was most attracted by a dozen weird-lookingmen in long, loose garments, with dominoes over their faces, with holescut out for eyes, that made them almost ghostly.

  "Who are they?" she whispered to Aunt Caroline.

  "Professional mourners, my dear, and those men in uniform in the lastcarriages are probably family servants."

  "Oh, yes," interposed Marion, "that is the way the Romans did. It's oneof their old customs handed down--to have a whole retinue of retainersin the funeral procession."

  As they turned into the broad street toward the Cathedral, the sidewalkswere thronged, and in the distance they heard the music of a band.

  Aunt Caroline translated briefly the succession of rapid sentences withwhich the driver answered her.

  "He says there was a special service in the Cathedral to-day. But themusic goes the other way, and we cannot see the procession."

  Inside the church, persons of all ages and conditions were walkingabout, boys and girls, young men and women, some of whom carried a babyin arms, bent old men and women, too, and as there was no service then,when acquaintances met, they stopped for a chat, as if on a streetcorner.

  "The Cathedral," explained Aunt Caroline, "is dedicated to St.Januarius, Naples's patron saint, Bishop of Beneventum, whom Diocletianput to death. Some of his blood, gathered up by a Christian woman, ispreserved in a vessel in his chapel here. The precious relic is lockedup in boxes within boxes, but twice a year it is brought out with greatceremony. If the blood liquefies quickly, the superstitious peoplebelieve it a favorable omen for the city; if it does not, they aredowncast at the prospect of great misfortunes for the next six months."

  At this moment a sacristan swinging his keys offered to lead them to theChapel of St. Januarius, and there they saw the tabernacle with therelics, and the silver bust of the saint and of thirty other saints.Though the Chapel contained some fine paintings by Domenichino, itsdecorations were rather more florid than beautiful.

  The crypt under the church was much more interesting, with its greatbronze doors, and marble columns from a Temple of Apollo that once stoodnear the site.

  But neither Marion nor Irma cared to linger long in the Cathedral.

  "Don't sigh," protested Uncle Jim, as Irma took her place in thecarriage. "This is but the first of scores of churches you'll have tovisit in Italy. Luckily Naples has fewer noteworthy pictures than Romeor Florence, and your aunt cannot help dealing leniently with us here."

  "The only church I wish to see in Naples," said Irma, "is the one whereConradin is buried."

  Marion looked up quickly. "Is Conradin one of your heroes, too?"

  "His whole story is so sad," replied Irma, "that I have always beeninterested in it. Though he was only seventeen when he died, if he hadlived to be old enough, he would probably have become
a real hero."

  "Can't a boy of seventeen be a real hero?" asked Marion anxiously.

  "I did not mean that he couldn't."

  "But you said----" began Marion.

  "Stop, children. You'll find yourselves quarrelling," interposed AuntCaroline. Then she spoke a word or two to the coachman.

  "I have asked him," she said, "to drive us to the Conradin monument."

  Within the church all admired the beautiful reliefs from Thorwaldsen'sdesigns, and the statue itself realized all Irma's ideals of a hero. Inthe Piazza del Mercato, they saw two fountains marking the spot whereConradin and Frederic of Baden were beheaded, by order of Charles ofAnjou.

  On their way home, as their carriage skirted the poorer section, wheregoats and fowls wandered about as freely as the children who wereplaying with them, Uncle Jim told amusing stories of goats he had seengoing intelligently from door to door to be milked by regular customers,in some cases even walking up several pairs of stairs to the rightapartment.

  "I have read those very stories myself," said Irma, "so if you wish toastonish me, please think of something new."

  That evening as she sat on the balcony, Marion approached Irma with anexpression even more serious than usual.

  "What is your idea of a hero?" he asked abruptly, as he slipped into thechair beside her.

  "Why, the same as everybody's," responded Irma, after a moment'shesitation. "A man who does a brave thing, without fear of danger, andwithout thinking what he will gain from it."

  "Can't a boy be a hero?"

  "Yes, indeed--and a girl also," she replied.

  "But I noticed to-day that you said Conradin, if he had lived, mighthave been a hero, but he was seventeen--just my age."

  "I was not thinking especially of his age," said Irma. "I only meantthat thus far Conradin had had no chance to show what great things hecould do. But he might have had chances had he lived longer."

  "Oh! Then a hero must do great things."

  For the moment Irma was puzzled, not understanding the drift of Marion'squestions. Fortunately she was saved the need of replying by theappearance of Aunt Caroline, and at the same moment Marion, rising fromhis chair, walked off without another word.

  Together Aunt Caroline and Irma stood for a few minutes, looking fromthe bay, where almost opposite them Vesuvius loomed up against the dullsky, toward the city at their feet, with its square roofs and occasionaltowers, with here and there a few palm trees giving a tropical touch.The long white road wound like a thread up the hill, and for a momentIrma felt a returning throb of homesickness. She realized how far shewas from home.