in the childish belief that he who had aimed almost at universal empire, and had in vain attempted to grapple with and overthrow the pride and power of England, would be content to remain on that puny isle, within a hop, step and jump of France, as it were, and almost within speaking distance of the legions whom he had led to glory. Then we sailed past Monte Cristo, the scene of Dumas’ celebrated romance of that name. Mostly, at a distance, the isles look bare of life and vegetation, rocks rising out of the blue waves; and yet we know it to be otherwise. At best, however, they must be poor places to live in, far from the great battle of life, and out of touch with human progress. We pass Sardinia, but see little of it. This is Sunday, and to-day the Church clergy, who are numerous, seem to have had a good innings. Unfortunately, I came into collision with one of them. As I entered the smoking-room after breakfast, I saw there had been held there an early Communion, and the implements utilized on such occasions were lying about. In a light and flippant tone I asked whether this was High Church or Low Church or Broad Church. A little oily parson, who was apparently guarding the vessels, angrily exclaimed, ‘Sir, it is the Church!’ ‘Thank you,’ I said; ‘I only wanted to know. To me it is a matter of indifference.’ ‘That was very naughty of you,’ said a mild, gentlemanly young man at my side. Let everyone worship God, or what he takes to be God, as best he may. I scorn not the savage who bows down to idols of wood and stone. To him they represent a Divine presence and power. I claim a similar liberty for the High Churchman, who sees sacred emblems in vessels of human device to be bought in the shops, or wrought by devout females; but let him give me the same freedom, and not denounce me as little better than one of the wicked, as void of Christian faith, because I turn from man’s devices to cry out of the aching heart to the living God, if haply I may find Him.
But I am digressing; for the fact is that I always see more of sacerdotalism afloat than I do on land. We are getting on pleasantly as regards social companionship. It was very cold in the train to Dover, and I felt inclined to take rather a gloomy view of the situation. It was worse on board the Dover and Calais packet, where the whole of the deck was set apart for first-class passengers, while we unfortunate second-class men were sent down below to see what we could out of the cabin windows. But once in the French second-class carriages, really much nicer than our own, reserve was broken, the tongue began to wag, and all went merry as a marriage-bell. I was much pleased with my neighbour – a Yorkshireman, I think, who had brought with him a bag of new farthings to be utilized for backsheesh. He offered me some, but I refused. At my time of life I should not like to be caught by a wild Arab of the desert to whom I had offered a new farthing for the familiar sovereign, the use of which is known from China to Peru. The pompous elderly first-class passenger amuses me. He has got his English paper, and he carries it with him everywhere, in spite of the fact that its news is some days old. One of my fellow-passengers had bought himself at Marseilles a small footstool to keep his feet dry – a needless precaution, as all the seats are built with a view to protect the passengers from the damp of the decks, always rather moist after the early morning scrub and scour. The daily bath is in much request. The young Englishman must have his morning bath – a favourable sign, if it be true that cleanliness is next to godliness. We are rather a miscellaneous lot – there are Scotchmen, whose sweet Doric I fail to understand, and Cockneys, who ignore the letter h; but some of the ladies are charming, and that is saying a good deal.
Long before we reach Naples the awnings are put up and we rejoice in all the warmth of an English summer; and never did the far-famed bay look more beautiful, and the towns and castles and convents that line the cliffs in every direction for miles look more bright. The usual babel of sounds reigned in the bay as singers and divers and dealers in fruit and other articles of Neapolitan production were clamorous to sell them. The worst feature of the Neapolitan petty dealer is that he is too anxious to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. I know of many English who stay in Rome merely because the people deal fairer with the stranger within its gates. It is quite otherwise in Naples. The native pays fourpence for his two pounds of bread; the Englishman always has to pay fivepence. It is in vain you go to another baker. For a week he will charge you fourpence, and then he raises his price. One peculiarity of the Naples tradesman is that men of the same trade always stick together; and he does not spread out his business like the English shopkeeper of to-day. For instance, if he is a baker he does not deal in pastry, and the pastrycook does not interfere with him. But away from the trading classes the poverty of the people is really awful. You see men very lightly dressed sleeping on the broad pavement at all hours; and yet they adore their King, and are now building him a grand new monument just in front of the Royal Palace. Naples still needs better drainage; and the substitution of current money in gold or silver for its copper coinage would be a great improvement. Personally, this time I had no reason to find fault with the people. I found an honest boatman who rowed me to the ship for half a franc.
The one redeeming point in Naples is the untiring efforts of the Protestant ministers of all denominations – Church, Baptist, Presbyterian, and Wesleyan, the latter especially active and doing a good work in the way of schools. I called in at the Sailors’ Rest, an awful climb to get to, but a real rest when you get there. The present missionary is Mr. Burrowes, and his wife, the latter a genuine Scotchwoman of the better sort. They deal in the institution and on board ships with other peoples, with other religions and political opinions, and the result is very satisfactory. The number of destitute persons who have been relieved is as large as ever. Seamen are relieved and weaned from drink. Almost every evening there is something going on bright and cheerful at the Rest. The Sunday evening services have been found especially useful. After the evening service of a Sunday a large number of men stop to sing their favourite hymns, and the number of interesting temperance and religious works circulated is very large. The English colporteur, Mr. Copley, has given away 1,000 copies of the New Testament during the year, and he is aided by a band of foreign colporteurs quite as active as himself. It is work that ought to be more liberally supported by Christians at home. The good it does is great; its needs are pressing. I hope I may not appeal for the Sailors’ Home of Rest at Naples in vain. During the year 1895, 176 persons stayed in the Home, including those sent there by the British and foreign consuls, passing travellers from ships. Many stayed only one night, such as seamen from warships. About 140 persons got free teas, not including the relief given to destitute people. It is a pity that such a real good work should languish for want of popular support amongst the wealthy English residents at Naples and at home.
CHAPTER III
NAPLES OF TO-DAY
Once more I am in Naples, with its houses rising one over another, in front of me, and Vesuvius looking down on me, and across the loveliest bay the world has yet seen. There is little to see in Naples beyond its museum, which no one should omit to visit, and Pompeii, to which you are conveyed by train, where you come face to face with ancient civilization and ancient life. For the traveller the city is rich in hotels, and at one of them – the Hôtel Vesuve, a magnificent structure with stately halls – I once spent a happy week. I had come with money enough to defray my two days’ expenses; but, to my horror, I had to stay longer than I intended, and you may judge of my delight when the manager, who knew me, at the end of the week refused a penny for my board and daily food. I wish I could speak as well of the shopkeepers, who fleece you as much as possible, and are prone to give you bad money for good.
The people are industrious, and mostly very poor; but they don’t drink, and content themselves with water and a slice of lemon – always on sale in the streets. They are devout Roman Catholics, but, nevertheless, an official said to me, ‘Morality is unknown here.’ I met with a man from Newcastle, an engineer, who employs a thousand people here, and gave them an excellent character. ‘Do you employ any English?’ I asked. ‘Not one,’ was his reply; ‘they drink too much and are too troublesome.’ Taxes are awful and Custom dues ditto. I landed here once with twenty-five cigars, a present from one of the gentlemanly captains of the Orient line. I could have put them in my pocket, and no one would have been any wiser. I thought, however, ‘Italy is a poor country, and I might as well contribute my mite towards its exhausted exchequer.’ My confidence was misplaced; for those cigars I had to pay a duty – incredible as it may seem – of three shillings and ninepence! Only
