Italy, the Magic Land

dreamf

piri

r sings but

nt; Genoa is picturesque; Venice is a dream city; but Naples is simply-fascinating. There is the common life of the streets and the populace continually en scène; the people who are at home on the sunny side in winter, or the shady side in summer; there is the social life of the nobility, which is brilliant and vivacious. The excursions, of which Naples is the centre, are the chief interest to travellers, and these, while possible in winter, are far more enjoyable in the early spring. Still even in midwinter the days are sunny, and while the air is crisp and cool, it is not cold. The grass is as green as

Ischia

iquid

abound. Castles and ruins gleam white in the sunshine on the ledge of rocky precipices. The curved shores shine like broken lines of silver, with deep indentations at Naples and at Castellammare. Between these two points rises Vesuvius, the thin blue smoke constantly curling from the summit that, since the eruption of 1906, has lost much of its elevation. In many places there is hardly the width of a roadway between the low mountains and the coast, but the cliffs are tropically luxurious in vegetation. Everywhere the habitations of the people crowd the space. From the monasteries and the castles that crown the height

s here are imperfect instruments, and must yield their place to the pencil and the graver. But no canvas can reproduce the light and color which play round this enchanting region. No skill can catch the changing hues of the distant mountains, the star-points of the playing waves, the films of purple and green which spread themselves over the calm waters, the sunsets of gold and orange, and the aerial veils of rose and amethyst which drop upon t

ANT'ELMO

Although the poverty and the primitive life of the great masses of the people have been widely discussed, it is yet true that Naples has a very charming social life, and that the University is a centre of learning and culture. One of the oldest universities in Europe, it has a faculty of over one hundred and twenty professors and more than five thousand students. A large and valuable library, and a mineralogical collection which specialists from all over the world come to study, are among the treasures of this University, which was founded in the early part of the thirteenth century by Emperor Frederick William II. There is now in process of erection a new group of buildings which will embody the latest laboratory and library and other privileges. Arch?ology is, naturally, a special feature of the University of Naples,

subjects. This gallery is largely the work of modern Neapolitan artists. Here is the celebrated picture of Michael Angelo bending over the dead body of Vittoria Colonna, kissing only her hand, and haunted by the after-regret that he did not kiss her fore

r artistic excellence,-on the contrary its art does not make a strong appeal,-but by its originality of treatment. The "Salve Regina" and the "Da Scala d'Oro" are among the more interesting works of this artist, whose recent death has removed a figure of exceptional character in modern art, one who had, pre-eminently, the courage of his convictions. Some few years ago Morelli's "Temptation of St. Anthony" was exhibited in both Paris and Florence, and was generally condemned, perhaps because not wholly understood. The form of the temptation was supposed to be the shapes taken by a morbid and diseased imagination; but while as a psychological conception it was not without value, it was yet far from attractive as a work of art. The finest conception, perhaps, ever depicted of the temptation of St. Anthony-a subject that has haunted many an artist-is that painted by the late Carl Guthers of Washington, a lofty and gifted spirit whose too brief stay on earth ended in the early months of 1907. In this picture the temptation of the saint appears as a vision of all that is purest and sweetest in

ining country in which to extend, indefinitely, its residence and trade districts; it has the most enchanting fairyland of views that ever were seen this side the ethereal world; it has an atmosphere of song and story and a climate that is far from being objectionable. Naples is seldom the possessor of a higher temperature in summer than is New York or Boston; the winters are mild, and they offer weeks of sun

out in-is it paradise? Here is a large salon entirely of glass with an incomparable view all over the gleaming bay, with Capri and Sorrento shining fair on the opposite sides and Vesuvius, a purple peak, in the near distance. The great city of Naples lies spread out below, with its interior heights of Capodimonte and others. It is a view for which alone one might well sail the four thousand miles of se

e convenient location made it possible for the royal hosts to throw their guests into the sea whenever they became tiresome, an accommodation that the modern hostess might, at times, appreciate. On this road, winding up the Posilipo, is the villa where Garibaldi passed the last winter of his life and which is mark

s of Virgil and Homer. In the years of the first and second centuries this plain was dotted with the rich villas of the Roman aristocracy. Here, too, lay the celebrated Lacus Avernus, a volcanic lake which the ancients regarded as the entrance to Avernus itself. Truly it required little imagination to see here the approach to the infer

T TEMP

d in the glory of Baia. In one of the Epistles of Horace a Roman noble is made to say: "Nothing in the world can be compared with the lovely bay of Baia." Some five hundred years ago this region became so malarial

as ingenti m

e arma viro re

eo, qui nunc

mque tenet per

hat the Cum?an Sibyl dwelt with the mysterious sibylline leaves,-the books that were carried to Rome. A colossal Acropolis was once here, fragments of whose walls are now standing; and the rocky foundat

ed excavation of this buried city, as is Professor Spinazzola of the San Martino museum, who believes that Italy may well become one vast museum of antiquities. "As the theatre of Herculaneum is actually at present a subterranean excavation," he observed, "why not excavate in a similar way the entire city underneath modern

cted as to more than pay for the maintenance. A subterraneous Herculaneum-surely a perfectly unique place of pilgrimage, just as it was nearly two thousand years ago-might

sort of the Roman patricians, who did not bring their treasures with them fr

ons brought to light rare bronzes, mosaics, and papyri. The famous equestrian statue of Balbo, in the Naples Museum, was excavated from Herculaneum. Professor Lanciani and Commendatore Boni of Rome-the lat

ania, returning from Iberia, some three hundred years B.C., and it was in 6

ng with fiery and serpentine vapors. Naught was heard in the darkness but the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the

ogist, whose efforts toward initiating the excavation of Herculane

he best works in the Museum of Naples, especially the

sued from the eruption of 79 A.D. Herculaneum was covered by a torrent of mud consisting of ashes and cinders mixed with water. The mass which covers it, so far from being less favorable to the preservation of objects, is much more favorable than that which covers Pompeii. Pompeii was partially covered with hot ashes and pumice stones, which burnt or damaged the works of art. As it was

of the philosopher Philademus. Unfortunately, the possessor of the villa was a specialist, a student of Epicurean philosophy. While his taste in art was fortunately so catholic, his taste in

y and cultured Romans. It was essentially illiterate. No manuscript can be proved to have been found there. It is true a wax tablet with writing has been found; yet this contains-receipts of auctions.

in total darkness save for the candle that is carried by the guide, and the visitor sees only the stone seats of the amph

amiliar one has become with the literature of Pompeii, with both arch?ological descriptions and imaginative interpretations in romance, and however familiar with its aspects he may have become from replicas in art museums, and from pictures, one can yet hardly approach this silent, phantom city without bei

not of large size, but had evidently been occupied by a person of ample fortune and exquisite taste. The paintings on the walls were numerous, and in the most perfect preservation. In the rear was a minute garden not more than twenty or thirty feet square, with a fairy fountain in the centre; around which were several small statues of children and animals, of white marble, wrought with considerabl

. It has been conjectured that Pompeii had an unusually large proportion of men of property, who had been drawn there by the charms of its situation and climate, and that it thus extended a liberal patronage to Greek architects, painters, and sculptors. At any rate, the spirit of Greece still lives and breathes in its ashes. Its temples, as restored by mode

the illustration they offer to Roman history and Roman literature. The antiquarian of our times stu

lue of noon, and the orange and yellow-green of sunset behold a livelier image of themselves,-a gentle and tideless sea, whose waves break upon the shore like caresses, and never like angry blows. Should he ever become weary of waves and languish for woods, he has only to turn his back upon the sea and climb the hills for an hour or two, and he will find himself in the d

the solid rock, supported by galleries and viaducts from below,-a road that crosses deep gorges and chasms, always with the iridescent colors of the sea below,-and from So

e sea below; and Amalfi itself surpasses all imagination of a ro

ous profusion; the fairy sail of a flitting boat is caught in the deepening dusk; the dark outline of Vesuvius is seen against the horizon; and orange orchards gleam against gray walls. Here Tasso was born, in 1544, fit haunt for a poet, with tangles of g

Amalfi,-still a

y, beside th

so wonderfu

adness and so

ic! Who can enter it without hearing i

he memor

d beyond

aves and mo

d her mulb

lfi in t

ver her w

deless su

*

irway, not

nds the d

torrent le

ls that a

*

an encha

headlands,

e blue Sa

ickle of w

till and

m discove

th its ru

oses all

hat it must have been in the mystic loveliness of this eyrie that the poet lost himself in a day-dream while Jupiter was dividing all the goods of the world. When

e city of activities a

now the fre

arts of ea

knights in

g to the

steel upo

rimson on

omp of camp

lgrims with

rchants with

*

ike a flee

ssing tru

splendors

mmerce and

eep benea

ient warves

y the engul

t, still wander in midnight hours through the dim cloisters? Does he still keep watch by the body of St. Andrew, the apostle, which he is said to have found and brought to the cathedral where the saint lies, as a saint should lie, gloriously entombed. St. Andrew was the patron saint of Amalfi, but at his death his body was carried from Patras to the Bosphorus, where it was placed in a church in Constantinople. The legend runs that Cardinal Capuano, being in Constantinople, entered the Church of the Holy Apostles to pray, and knowing that the body of the saint was in that city, he besought the heavenly powers to guide him to it. Rising from his devotions he was approached by an aged priest, who announced to t

visitor lingers and leans watching the bluest of seas lying fair under the bluest of skies. The main roa

terina with its rose walks and terraces slipped into the sea in December of 1899, when two guests and se

rom all m

sunken

eets and v

s and tower

s have the

the summer silence is suddenly thrilled by the melody of Neapolitan songs on the air, as if it were a veritable chant d'amour of sirens,-then does one believe in the buried city. These rich baritone voices are surely those of some singers of the buried ages. They are floating across th

in Naples. It was in 1343 that a terrible cataclysm-an earthquake accompanied

ty people were crowding the churches and kneeling in prayer. At night, after the people were in bed, the shock came. The sunset had been fair, the evening quiet, and the people were reassured. But they were awakened from sleep by the violence of falling walls and the terror of the tempest. Petrarcha was lodging in a convent, and he heard the monks calling to one another as they rushed from cell to cell. They hastily gathered crosses and sacred relics in their hands, and, preceded by the prior, sought the chapel, where they passed the night in prayer while the tempe

self. The terrace on the very crest of the mountain commands one of the wonderful views of the world. The cloistered colonnades of this o

e majesty of utter desolation. They are overgrown with flowers, h

s ruined now,

stretch olive gro

ight of summer

*

once a hero's

ughs by lovers

resonant with

ife in summer

with incense

spice and galb

basking in the sun on a flat slab of stone, and gazing eastward, we overlook a foreground of dappled light and shadow; then come two stationary columns built, it seems, of solid gold, where the sunbeams strike along their russet surfa

s; the cliffs disclose yawning caverns where vast clusters of stalactites hang; and as the boat floats toward Capri from the Sorrento promontory its rocky headlands ris

g hard again

gates of E

an, makes this island his home. There are days-sometimes several days in succession-that the sea is high and the boats cannot run between Naples, Sorrento, and Capri; and the enforced seclusion is still the seclusion of the poet's dream. For he shares it with Mithras, the "unconquered god of the sun," whose cult influenced all the monarchs of Europe and who holds his court in the Grotto de Matrimonia. Into this grotto one descends by a flight of nearly two hundred feet; he strolls among the ruins of the villa of Tiberius, where the very air is still vital and vocal with those strange and tragic chapters of Roman life. The Emperor Augustus first founded here palaces and aqueducts. Tiberius, who retired to Capri in the year 27 A.D.,

ide into this cavern; the arch itself spreads downward through the water so that all the light is transmitted from beneath and colored by the sea. Outside the magic world of pantomime there is nothing to equal these effects of blue and silver. . . . Numberless are the caves at Capri. The so-called Green Grotto has the beauty of moss agate in its liquid floor; the Red Grotto shows a warmer chord of color; and where there is no other charm to notice, endless beauty may be found in the play of sunlight upon roofs of limestone, tinted with yellow, orange, and pale pink, mossed over, hung with fern, and catching tones of blue or green from the still deeps beneath. . . . After a day upon the water it is pleasant to rest at sunset in the loggia above the sea. The Bay of Nap

ashore, the amber of the Banskeia rose, the great golden masses of the Maréchal Niel, their faint yellow gleaming against the deep green leaves of myrtle and frond. The intense glowing scarlet of the gladiolus flames from rocks and roadside, and rosemary and the purpl

now any on

ry lies deep down in

s, hearing in the very air that exqui

hat brie

your

the Fates

erfec

gh too so

r dust

ng the

was a

early two thousand feet above the sea. Dante alludes to this in his Paradiso (XXII, XXXVII), and in the prose translation

comes open so much as she has power to be. Therefore I pray thee, and do thou, father, assure me if I have power to receive so much grace, that I may see thee with uncovered shape.' Whereon he, 'Brother, thy high desire shall be fulfilled in the last sphere, where are fulfilled all others and my own. There perfect, mature, and whole is every desire; in that alone is every part there where it always was: for it is not in space, and hath not poles; and our stairway reaches up to it, wherefore thus from thy sight it conceals itself. Far up as there the patriarch Jacob saw it stretch its topmost part when it appeared to him so laden with Angels. But now no one lifts his feet from earth to ascend it; and my rule is remaining as waste of paper. The walls, which used to be an abbey, have become

ind them, with only a sign, up over that stairway; so did her virtue overcome my nature. But never here belo

k, he so fears the too-much." And then he heard: "If thou couldst see, as I do, the charity which burns among us thy thoughts would be expressed.

a new entrance has been constructed. In the passageway of the medi?val entrance St. Benedict is said to have had his cell, and of recent years the German Benedictines, believing they had located the original cell, had it located, restored, and decorated with Egyptian frescoes. Several of the courts of this convent are connected by beautiful arcades with lofty arches, and adorned with statues, among which are those of St. Benedict and his sister, St. Scholastica. Still farther up the hill, upon the monastery, stands the church which is built on the site of the ancient one that was erected by St. Benedict himself-this present edifice dating back to 1637. A

iracles wrought by St. Benedict. In the refectory is the "Miracle of the Loaves," by Bassano; and in the chapel below are paintings by Mazzaroppi and Ma

dating back to the sixteenth century; there is the complete series of Papal bulls that were sent to the monastery of Monte Cassino from the eleventh century to the present time, many of them being richly illuminated and decorated with curiously elaborate seals. There is an autograph letter of the Sultan Mohammed II to Pope Nicholas IV, with the Pope's reply,-the theme of the correspondence being the Pope's threat of war. The imperial Mohammed seems to have been in terror of this, and in his epistle he ex

silver, gold, and rosso antico. The library proper contains some eleven thousan

an landscapes and ancient monuments, thus set Monte Cassino to mus

Labor and the

al towns are

and where every

rian or a

*

inum, the old

was born, wh

er his birthpla

en o'er cities

lendor is, that

ctor as a scho

haps the dreams

folios for sc

lifted, like a

on a mountai

's convent re

e walls agai

mber how on

thway leadin

vent bells for

rkening town

*

f the place wa

it seemed; eac

beration fr

the ages t

an thirteen c

ing from the

sted with its

e mountain sol

ere his Conve

ork, and counte

e a clarion,

beacon in th

*

h window, I b

Benedict so o

and the vall

sun,-and stood

*

of the Present

d the actual

d of battle

and the next worl

ace whatever contribution he pleases for the poor of the place. The Italian government, in 1866, declared this monastery to be a "Monumento Nazionale," and it is now a famous ecclesiastical school

cus," Thomas Aquinas, was born (in 1224), the son of Count Landulf, in the Castel Roccasecca. He was educated in the monastery

ught with thee

or! life see

e bounties, i

armers to thei

, and that mi

atten, that min

ightly thanks

Him who hath

nt my herd, my

obler things I

nshine, worms

s? Oh! give me

master; not a

e where Christ's

eet high, from whose summit one of the finest views of all southern Europe is attained. The Gulf of Gaeta, the valley of San Germano, the wild and romantic mountain region

elf, Is th

ll vanish

land of s

t beauty,

s pictured dream-region t

the twelve gre

and there his

illars toward t

em by a godde

ts were sacred

wain a serpent

ound the primal

s dreamed, wit

d and afar and unattained, still lost in t

s beyond the

Ischia

iquid

e sea-surge

galleon wre

torms, thy

g landmark

terrace-w

gliding

lonna,-i

and loved

gfe

ly two that,

her, as God dot

endship, that h

ust, that yie

h curtain up,

white templ

d, so waste!-an

th, of throbbi

dencies! O fa

ek the spot whe

e, and read a

he tearful leg

with the memori

ll didst learn

uld he else?)-t

an,-heart, brai

twice

lonna to Mic

et J.