DOI Kapitel:
Chapter II: Naples - The Museum - Capo di Monte
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.59000#0066
Naples—The Museum—Capo di Monte
women have a style of dress distinctly different from
that of Central Italy. The large picture hats are
never out of fashion, any more than the little dark
curls worn on either side of the olive-tinted brow.
They prefer light colours as decidedly as the Roman
lady prefers black. I have known soberly dressed
Englishwomen who, after a few years’ stay in Naples,
have adopted colours that would dismay their oldest
and dearest friends at home !
Now and then through the street crowd bearded
monks pass us with arms folded under wide sleeves.
Sometimes we pass a lemon stand, hung with fresh
branches of mandarins and oranges and laden with
glittering cans of iced water. Round it stands a
group of thirsty men and boys. The Neapolitans are
feverish in blood, and the harsh wine of, their country
does not slacken their thirst as do the cool fruit drinks.
At every step we are pursued by beggars—men,
women, and children. I remember an English tourist
who, in exasperation, mustered up all the Italian he
knew, and, turning upon his tormentors, exclaimed
loudly, “Vado, vado, a Diavolo! ” This had a re-
markable effect upon the superstitious people. Instead
of having said what he had intended,—which, no
doubt, the reader can divine,—he had angrily stated
his intention of going to His Satanic Majesty himself.
Occasionally, in and out among the crowd, we
recognise the unmistakable gait of a sailor, which
reminds us that we are in a great seaport town, and
that men-of-war are anchored in the harbour. Indeed,
23
women have a style of dress distinctly different from
that of Central Italy. The large picture hats are
never out of fashion, any more than the little dark
curls worn on either side of the olive-tinted brow.
They prefer light colours as decidedly as the Roman
lady prefers black. I have known soberly dressed
Englishwomen who, after a few years’ stay in Naples,
have adopted colours that would dismay their oldest
and dearest friends at home !
Now and then through the street crowd bearded
monks pass us with arms folded under wide sleeves.
Sometimes we pass a lemon stand, hung with fresh
branches of mandarins and oranges and laden with
glittering cans of iced water. Round it stands a
group of thirsty men and boys. The Neapolitans are
feverish in blood, and the harsh wine of, their country
does not slacken their thirst as do the cool fruit drinks.
At every step we are pursued by beggars—men,
women, and children. I remember an English tourist
who, in exasperation, mustered up all the Italian he
knew, and, turning upon his tormentors, exclaimed
loudly, “Vado, vado, a Diavolo! ” This had a re-
markable effect upon the superstitious people. Instead
of having said what he had intended,—which, no
doubt, the reader can divine,—he had angrily stated
his intention of going to His Satanic Majesty himself.
Occasionally, in and out among the crowd, we
recognise the unmistakable gait of a sailor, which
reminds us that we are in a great seaport town, and
that men-of-war are anchored in the harbour. Indeed,
23