CHAP. XVII.JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
Taking our leave of Rome early on the morning of the first of May, we reached Albano for breakfast, distant sixteen miles. Our party from Rome, besides myself, consisted of an Italian gentleman, a German, and a Frenchman; we were also accompanied by a lady, said to be a princess, and attended by a handsome man-servant; after breakfast we received another and our last passenger, who was a Roman officer. My companion in the cabriolet was the German, whom I took to be an artist, but who was by no means communicative, although he had some knowledge of the French, and a perfect one of the Italian language.
At four o’clock we reached Veletri, where it was intended we should rest for the night; but, notwithstanding this early hour, we were not indulged with supper until eight o’clock, and then it was too scanty to satisfy our hunger, I believe in consequence of the arrival of two English ladies, shortly before it was served up for us. In the interim, we amused ourselves with exploring thecity, which my companions reported to be a fine old town, but neglected, and thinly inhabited. After supper, I retired to the hardest bed which I have met with on my tour; but passengers in voitures are not to consider themselves entitled to the best apartments; the Roman officer, Frenchman and myself, slept in one room; the princess and her servant, I was informed, occupied another; while the German was probably quartered with the vittureno.
In the morning at five o’clock, we left Veletri; and, as it was fine, I walked some distance in company with the German. We had now to travel along the famous Via Appia, originally a paved causeway extending from Rome to Capua, and constructed by Appius Claudius the censor, in the year of Rome, 441; the original bed still remains perfect in various places. We soon, at the village of Cisterna, entered upon the Pontine marshes, formed by an accumulation of the waters from various streams arising on the neighbouring mountains, and prevented from running off, by a want of declivity in the ground, so as to constitute a swampy fen, formerly thirty miles in length and eight broad, and which is still in some degree, a fertile source of infectious miasma, which not unfrequently spreads disease and destruction into the very heart of the capital itself. Through manycenturies, the whole energies of the Roman people, under their various consuls, emperors, and pontiffs, were in vain called into action to drain them; the glory of success was reserved for the late Pope PiusVI.who, in the year 1788, effectually removed this scourge of Rome. The Appian road runs through the middle of these marshes, bounded on the sides by canals, and shaded by double rows of elms and poplars. In the middle of the marshes we stopped to breakfast about eleven o’clock, at a very poor inn. Soon after which a carriage arrived containing the two English ladies who had slept at Veletri at the same inn where we did; but as they had taken breakfast previous to their departure, they were not induced to leave their carriage.
About two or three miles before arriving at Terracina, we passed the celebrated fountain of Feronia, situated within a few paces of the road, and where the goddess of that name, formerly had a temple dedicated to her, but which has now disappeared,—not a vestige,—not even a stone remaining; while the once sacred grove by which it was surrounded, has dwindled away; one single tree hanging a solitary mourner over the violated fountain. It was here, that this goddess of liberty, anddonatrixof personal freedom, bestowed the boon of emancipation upon the slaves of ancientRome, and which was confirmed by peculiar ceremonies performed at her altar. The divinity of the place—unlike its temple—imperishable and immortal—has taken flight to a more genial soil, from whence it is diffusing blessings over the greater portion of a once suffering world. Yes! Spirit of Liberty!
“⸺the Britannia’s isles adores.”⸺“Oh! could I worship ought beneath the skies,That Earth has seen, or Fancy could devise,Thine altar, sacred Liberty! should stand,Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand,With fragrant turf, and flow’rs as wild and fairAs ever dress’d a bank, or scented summer air.”—Cowper.
“⸺the Britannia’s isles adores.”⸺“Oh! could I worship ought beneath the skies,That Earth has seen, or Fancy could devise,Thine altar, sacred Liberty! should stand,Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand,With fragrant turf, and flow’rs as wild and fairAs ever dress’d a bank, or scented summer air.”—Cowper.
“⸺the Britannia’s isles adores.”⸺“Oh! could I worship ought beneath the skies,That Earth has seen, or Fancy could devise,Thine altar, sacred Liberty! should stand,Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand,With fragrant turf, and flow’rs as wild and fairAs ever dress’d a bank, or scented summer air.”—Cowper.
“⸺the Britannia’s isles adores.”
⸺
“Oh! could I worship ought beneath the skies,
That Earth has seen, or Fancy could devise,
Thine altar, sacred Liberty! should stand,
Built by no mercenary, vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and flow’rs as wild and fair
As ever dress’d a bank, or scented summer air.”—Cowper.
We arrived at Terracina at eight o’clock, and at five in the morning recommenced our journey. After travelling five or six miles, we crossed the barriers between the Roman and Neapolitan states, where our passports were examined by the commandant of a small fort placed there. After this, the country expands itself into the vale of Fondi, the mountains retiring in such way, as to form a beautiful amphitheatre, richly clothed with luxuriant and diversified woods. Our road passed through the middle of this vale; a fine lake formed by the waters of innumerable mountain streams, which run through the plain, bounding it on the right,—beyond which lay the sea.
At Fondi, a small town situated in the above vale, the Appian road exists in its original state, composed of broad rough flag stones closely laid together, but without any cement interposed between them. The town of Fondi, like most southern towns, has a gloomy appearance, in consequence of the narrowness of the streets, and unglazed state of the windows. We now passed through Castelone, and after descending a steep hill, reached Mola de Gaieta, where we breakfasted at an excellent inn, delightfully situated, and commanding a fine view of the sea. Near this place, on the right of the road, we passed an ancient tower, said to be the tomb of Cicero, erected on the spot where he was murdered.
“Mola is in itself an insignificant place, but it derives interest, if not grandeur from its beautiful site; it consists of one street, formed by the Via Appia on the side, at the foot of a range of broken picturesque hills and mountains, covered with corn, vines, and olive-trees, and topped with rocks, churches, and towers. The waters that stream from these hills, unite and gush forth in a fountain close to the town. The most conspicuous and striking object from the town of Mola, is the fortress of Gaieta, crowning the rocky promontory of the same name, with its white ramparts and batteries.”
On leaving Gaieta, we passed over the river Garigliano by means of a wooden bridge. Our road after this, lay through the defiles of Mount Massicus, which communicates with those of Callicula, a mountain covered with forests, and we reached St. Agado about seven in the evening, when we took up our quarters for the night; here I was compelled to sleep in the same room with a man whom we had accidentally taken up on the road, and to which, being satisfied he was an indifferent, character, I at first strenuously objected, but finding I could get no other accommodation, I at length acceded, on condition that a third bed in the room should be also occupied; which was then filled by the servant of the Italian lady.
We set out from St. Agado at four o’clock in the morning, and at ten reached Capua for breakfast; here our vittureno drove us into the stable-yard, and left us to get our breakfast where we could, for the inn was fully occupied by Austrian officers, who were quartered at this place: there was no resource, but to put up with a bad breakfast at a miserable coffee-house.
We were informed, that an English carriage had been stopped by banditti the preceding evening, about a post on the other side of St. Agado, one of the horses shot dead, and their courier wounded; but the robbers becoming alarmed,took to flight before they had secured their booty. We congratulated ourselves upon an escape, having passed over the same ground only two hours before this actually occurred.
Capua is a small unimportant town, distinct from the ancient city of that name, which was situated at some distance, where remains of an amphitheatre are still visible, and which before the building of that of Vespasian, was considered superior to any in Rome itself; indeed old Capua is said, at one time, to have vied with Rome and Carthage themselves, in size and magnificence. It was here that the victorious army of Hannibal, is said to have been enervated by the luxuries of Italy. The alliance which this fated city formed with the Carthaginians, in opposition to its former mistress, proved its ruin; in the spirit of insulted majesty and retributive justice, it was besieged by the Consular armies. In vain did Hannibal exert his high military talents for the relief of his new friends; he could not force the Romans to abandon the siege, and at length the unfortunate Capuans were compelled to bow under the yoke of their conquerors.
Capua is distant sixteen miles from Naples, the intermediate country comprising one of the most fertile tracts of Italy, upon which nature has abundantly lavished her beauties and advantages.
About half way to Naples, we passed through the neat and modern town of Averso, remarkable for having one of the best regulated and most interesting lunatic asylums in the world, the results of which, as tending to the restoration of the patients, have been most felicitous. The system of treatment embraces an extended plan of amusement, of which the charms ofmusicform an important feature.
“There is a charm, a pow’r that sways the breast,Bids every passion revel and be still;Inspires with rage, or all your cares dissolves;Can soothe distraction, and almost despair;That pow’r is music.”—Armstrong.
“There is a charm, a pow’r that sways the breast,Bids every passion revel and be still;Inspires with rage, or all your cares dissolves;Can soothe distraction, and almost despair;That pow’r is music.”—Armstrong.
“There is a charm, a pow’r that sways the breast,Bids every passion revel and be still;Inspires with rage, or all your cares dissolves;Can soothe distraction, and almost despair;That pow’r is music.”—Armstrong.
“There is a charm, a pow’r that sways the breast,
Bids every passion revel and be still;
Inspires with rage, or all your cares dissolves;
Can soothe distraction, and almost despair;
That pow’r is music.”—Armstrong.
We reached Naples about four o’clock in the afternoon, and after the customary formalities of examining the baggage and passports, the former of which was much facilitated by some trifling pecuniary arguments, we were allowed to proceed to our respective quarters.