By the Ionian Sea | Page 5

street, until the driver
had spent every phrase of importunate invitation; now, one may saunter
as one will, with little disturbance. Down on the Piliero, whither I have
been to take my passage for Paola, I catch but an echo of the jubilant
uproar which used to amaze me. Is Naples really so much quieter? If I
had time I would go out to Fuorigrotta, once, it seemed to me, the
noisiest village on earth, and see if there also I observed a change. It
would not be surprising if the modernization of the city, together with
the state of things throughout Italy, had a subduing effect upon
Neapolitan manners. In one respect the streets are assuredly less gay.
When I first knew Naples one was never, literally never, out of hearing
of a hand-organ; and these organs, which in general had a peculiarly
dulcet note, played the brightest of melodies; trivial, vulgar if you will,

but none the less melodious, and dear to Naples. Now the sound of
street music is rare, and I understand that some police provision long
since interfered with the soft-tongued instruments. I miss them; for, in
the matter of music, it is with me as with Sir Thomas Browne. For Italy
the change is significant enough; in a few more years spontaneous
melody will be as rare at Naples or Venice as on the banks of the
Thames.
Happily, the musicians errant still strum their mandoline as you dine.
The old trattoria in the Toledo is as good as ever, as bright, as
comfortable. I have found my old corner in one of the little rooms, and
something of the old gusto for zuppa di vongole. The homely wine of
Posillipo smacks as in days gone by, and is commended to one's lips by
a song of the South. . . .
Last night the wind changed and the sky began to clear; this morning I
awoke in sunshine, and with a feeling of eagerness for my journey. I
shall look upon the Ionian Sea, not merely from a train or a steamboat
as before, but at long leisure: I shall see the shores where once were
Tarentum and Sybaris, Croton and Locri. Every man has his intellectual
desire; mine is to escape life as I know it and dream myself into that
old world which was the imaginative delight of my boyhood. The
names of Greece and Italy draw me as no others; they make me young
again, and restore the keen impressions of that time when every new
page of Greek or Latin was a new perception of things beautiful. The
world of the Greeks and Romans is my land of romance; a quotation in
either language thrills me strangely, and there are passages of Greek
and Latin verse which I cannot read without a dimming of the eyes,
which I cannot repeat aloud because my voice fails me. In Magna
Graecia the waters of two fountains mingle and flow together; how
exquisite will be the draught!
I drove with my luggage to the Immacolatella, and a boatman put me
aboard the steamer. Luggage, I say advisedly; it is a rather heavy
portmanteau, and I know it will be a nuisance. But the length of my
wanderings is so uncertain, its conditions are so vaguely anticipated. I
must have books if only for rainy days; I must have clothing against a
change of season. At one time I thought of taking a mere wallet, and
now I am half sorry that I altered my mind. But ----
We were not more than an hour after time in starting. Perfect weather. I

sang to myself with joy upon the sunny deck as we steamed along the
Bay, past Portici, and Torre del Greco, and into the harbour of Torre
Annunziata, where we had to take on cargo. I was the only cabin
passenger, and solitude suits me. All through the warm and cloudless
afternoon I sat looking at the mountains, trying not to see that cluster of
factory chimneys which rolled black fumes above the many-coloured
houses. They reminded me of the same abomination on a shore more
sacred; from the harbour of Piraeus one looks to Athens through trails
of coal-smoke. By a contrast pleasant enough, Vesuvius to-day sent
forth vapours of a delicate rose-tint, floating far and breaking seaward
into soft little fleeces of cirrus. The cone, covered with sulphur,
gleamed bright yellow against cloudless blue.
The voyage was resumed at dinner-time; when I came upon deck again,
night had fallen. We were somewhere near Sorrento; behind us lay the
long curve of faint-glimmering lights on the Naples shore; ahead was
Capri. In profound gloom, though under a sky all set with stars, we
passed between the island and Cape Minerva; the haven