LETTER XIV. Repeated Visit to the Museum. Magnificence of the Collection.Want of a Catalogue. Want of Interest in the City at large. Agreeable Society. Elegant Amusements. Beautiful Excursions. Delicious Climate. - - Reverse of the Medal. Tremendous Ignorance. Education the only Cure for all the Evils complained of at Naples. Anecdote of the King. Visit to Herculaneum.- Proposals for a Joint Stock Company of different Nations to lay it open. · Palace at Portici. Extract from the Album of Vesuvius. -- OUR researches have been made quite in the right order. The delightful collection of pots and crocks, spades, casseroles, lamps, scales, padlocks, waterpails, cups, tongs, decanters, spinning spindles, lanterns, bodkins, egg-boilers, surgical instruments, combs, hair-pins, rouge, musical instruments, and hundreds of other articles that I cannot enumerate, together with several very satisfactory lumps of dow ready for the oven. . . . all these would have been looked at with infinitely less interest, had we not so recently visited the dwellings where they were found. Of this incomparable museum it is impossible to speak with sufficient admiration. The rarity and intrinsic value of the objects (some of the finest cameos and intaglios in the world being among them); the manner in which they were found; the incredible richness of the statue galleries; the charming field for patient and learned research furnished by the countless rolls of halfburnt manuscripts; the unequalled mosaics; the admirable morsels of fresco; the collection of vases so far beyond all price; to say nothing of the pictures, among which are many that are excellent,altogether form an assemblage of precious objects not to be paralleled in the world. Were there but a well-arranged catalogue, it would be perfect. For the sake of this gallery we did repeatedly submit to the necessity of turning away from the brilliant and graceful Chiaja, and submit to be driven through the unattractive streets, or rather street of Naples; for though the distance from the Chiatamone to the Museum is considerable, the long strada Toledo reaches nearly the whole way. But were it not for this royal museum, I believe we should scarcely have entered the city at all. Surely, of all the cities in the world, Naples is at once the ugliest and the most beautiful . . . the fairest and the foulest. I can hardly persuade myself that we are abiding in a capital, said to contain three hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, so wondrously little do we see or know of their abodes. If we drive to the palace of the Capo di Monte, or climb to any other elevation, we may certainly convince ourselves that a very considerable mass of buildings covers the steep acclivity between the summit of these heights and the blue sea at their feet. . . . and this is pretty nearly all that any body seems to know of the large and populous city of Naples. I do not mean literally to say that we have entered no churches, or that we have failed to visit the royal library, or the old catacombs, or the coral shops; but as to driving about, as you do in all other cities, to look at squares and streets for their own sake, you do no such thing. I might, perhaps, be tempted to suppose that our delight in the surpassing beauty of the region immediately around the hôtel where we are lodged had made us voluntary prisoners to it, did I not find the following passage in our faithful guide, Mrs. Starkie: "The only parts of this city calculated to arrest the attention of foreigners are the Strada Nuovo, Toledo, the Largo del Palozzo, Santa Lucia, the Chiatamone, and the Chiaja." This is most perfectly true; and as the few points here enumerated all lie very closely together, it is evident that "the attention of foreigners" cannot be given to the major part of the dwellings, which contain above three hundred thousand souls. Even when standing in the most advantageous spot of the gardens at the Capo di Monte, you not only look over, but most completely overlook the mass of buildings below it, in order to regale your eyes with objects perfectly distinct from them, and that NAPLES. 237 form a picture which that unerring judge called "all the world" declares to be unrivalled. The brightness of this picture must be seen before it can be dreamed of; and then, I trust, it may be often dreamed of without being seen. To minds possessing the faculty of enjoying the goods the gods provide them, without making any inquiries about what is passing next door, Naples must seem a paradise any thing more perfect than the arrangements made here for enjoyment cannot. easily be imagined. By the kind offices of Lady S, to whom an introduction from a highly valued common friend immediately made us known, we were at once launched into the small but very brilliant circle that constitutes the beau monde of Naples. If it were larger, it would be less delightful . if it were smaller, it would be less brilliant. The Accademia, where the aristocracy of the town receive every Monday evening during the winter en hôtes, is a most happy specimen of what well-managed subscription rooms may be, but so seldom are. Sufficiently spacious for all the purposes of the pleasant meeting, yet not large enough to make a small assemblage feel forlorn; well ventilated, well warmed, well carpeted; splendidly lighted; with good music, and good tea. "What can I say more?" as Agi Baba asks us. It is possible, certainly, that my entrée there being made under the auspices of one who was not only very charming herself, but who was surrounded by every body else who was very charming in the elegant circle, may have made me see every thing through a medium tout soit peu couleur de rose; nevertheless, I do truly believe the Accademia at Naples to be one of the bestarranged meetings of the kind that can be met with any where. Of the San Carlo theatre it is superfluous to say any thing, as its reputation is too widely spread to need it. It was in the box of the same amiable personage that I repeatedly enjoyed the delight of its perfect orchestra. . . . . On one occasion, the birthday of the queen-mother, I had the advantage of seeing it brilliantly illuminated; the effect of which, though greatly less dazzling, was infinitely more splendid, both as to colour as well as size, than that of the Pergola at Florence, which I saw illuminated on the fête of Don Giovanni, and which, from the dazzling white of the panels, so nearly blinded me, that I was obliged to leave the house after looking round it for a very few minutes. There is also a good French troop of vaudeville performers in the town; and dinners as splendid as heart can wish cheer every afternoon, and very elegant parties enliven every evening; while the morning brings rides and drives, by the incomparable Strada Nuova, Baia, et cætera, through an atmosphere that has all the fragrant softness of summer without its heat. . . . I think I may venture to say without danger of being accused of exaggeration, that Naples is the MOST delightful |