Irma in Italy Part 11

At this moment a sacristan swinging his keys offered to lead them to the Chapel of St. Januarius, and there they saw the tabernacle with the relics, and the silver bust of the saint and of thirty other saints.

Though the Chapel contained some fine paintings by Domenichino, its decorations were rather more florid than beautiful.

The crypt under the church was much more interesting, with its great bronze doors, and marble columns from a Temple of Apollo that once stood near 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 the carriage. "This is but the first of scores of churches you'll have to visit in Italy. Luckily Naples has fewer noteworthy pictures than Rome or 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 where Conradin 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 been interested in it. Though he was only seventeen when he died, if he had lived 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 Aunt Caroline. 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's designs, and the statue itself realized all Irma's ideals of a hero. In the Piazza del Mercato, they saw two fountains marking the spot where Conradin and Frederic of Baden were beheaded, by order of Charles of Anjou.

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

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

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

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

"Why, the same as everybody's," responded Irma, after a moment's hesitation. "A man who does a brave thing, without fear of danger, and without 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, might have been a hero, but he was seventeen--just my age."

"I was not thinking especially of his age," said Irma. "I only meant that thus far Conradin had had no chance to show what great things he could 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's questions. Fortunately she was saved the need of replying by the appearance of Aunt Caroline, and at the same moment Marion, rising from his chair, walked off without another word.

Together Aunt Caroline and Irma stood for a few minutes, looking from the bay, where almost opposite them Vesuvius loomed up against the dull sky, toward the city at their feet, with its square roofs and occasional towers, 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 moment Irma felt a returning throb of homesickness. She realized how far she was from home.

CHAPTER VI

NAPLES AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD

At Naples Irma saw that if she attempted to record half that interested her, no diary would be large enough, and if she tried to describe things at length, there would be time for little else. So she made rather brief notes, which, when she reached home would recall what she had seen, so that she could then describe at greater length to the family.

A more experienced traveller might have been less interested in the Royal Palace, but, since it was her first palace, Irma found in it an air of romance that Uncle Jim was inclined to scoff at. It was a long, imposing building, with eight statues on the facade, representing the different dynasties that had governed Naples: Roger the Norman, Frederic II of Hohenstaufen, Charles I of Anjou, Alphonse I, Charles V, Charles III of Bourbon, Joachim Murat, and Victor Emanuel.

"Poor Neapolitans!" exclaimed Uncle Jim. "No wonder they are restless, so often changing rulers, and until now seldom having kings who cared a farthing for them. Even before these Normans there were Greeks, Oscans, Romans, Goths, and Byzantines, all to take their turn here in Southern Italy. Neapolitans are naturally turbulent and troublesome in America.

It will take them some time to learn to govern themselves."

"We are not out to listen to history lectures. We simply wish to see things," said Aunt Caroline.

"But this palace is in such bad taste. I am trying to divert your minds from its hideous furnis.h.i.+ngs."

Though in her secret heart Irma admired the throne room, with its gold embroidered, crimson velvet furniture, enormous Sevres and Dresden vases, and its more artistic bronze busts, later, perhaps, what she remembered best of this visit was the magnificent terrace view of the harbor and the a.r.s.enal.

"Do the Neapolitans get their love of noise from all those ancestors you were talking about, Uncle Jim?" she asked, as they drove along the broad Toledo, where the crack of whips, the braying of donkeys, and the shouts of hawkers prevented conversation. Uncle Jim raised his hand deprecatingly, as if an adequate reply were then impossible.

"There," cried Aunt Caroline. "I understand why the people of Naples use gestures so largely. You know they can carry on long conversations without a word. By use of their hands they can make themselves understood above the din of the streets."

"A good theory, if gesture were not as common in the country districts as in Naples."

Here Marion interrupted. "We might stop at the Catacombs to-day, if you wish."

"I don't wish," cried Irma decidedly.

Marion looked at her with surprise.

"No Catacombs to-day, only Capo di Monte," returned Aunt Caroline.

Then they drove swiftly past one or two squares containing statues, one a monument to Dante, and at last, at the Bosco, they showed their permits. They felt the charm of the gardens around Capo di Monte, laid out in English style, but they did not linger in the Palace itself; Marion said the Sword of Scandberg was the one thing he had come to see, and though he spent a few minutes in the armory, he gave but a pa.s.sing glance at the high colored Capo di Monte ware.

"My mother has some of that," he said, as Aunt Caroline called his attention to a particularly beautiful piece.

"Isn't it very valuable?" asked Irma.

He made no reply. Perhaps he did not hear her. But Irma remembered that she had never before heard Marion refer to his mother.

That very afternoon, while the others rested, Marion explored the city by himself, and came back in great spirits. He had been up in the _lanterna_, or lighthouse, where he had had a magnificent view of the town, and in the Villa del Popolo, a great open square, he had come upon one of the public readers who daily gather there at a certain hour, and read aloud from some of the great poets to a circle of auditors; each of whom had paid a small price for the privilege of listening. He had glanced also at the University, which has four thousand students and one hundred professors.

Of the whole party, Marion, indeed, saw the most of Naples. He went among the fishermen at the wharves; he inspected the old mediaeval forts, Castello St. Elmo, so magnificently situated on the heights, Castello dell' Ovo by the water, and the others. He brought home many little bits of amusing folklore, gathered from the boatmen, especially regarding their belief in the evil eye. In his new, friendly mood, he shared the results of his wanderings, until Irma began to think him a decidedly entertaining boy.