Naples Revisited

  

 

 

 

Edward Hutton returned to Naples in 1957 having first visited the city sixty years before. Although Italy had changed dramatically, especially after the Second World War, there was something unchanging about Naples. Here I reproduce his Preface to Naples and Campania Revisited.

 

While Italy is still the most delightful of all countries to live in, I must admit that with the rapid democratization of the world since the Second World War a rather saddening change has befallen her.

 

The age of the traveller is gone; even the age of the tourist too. Now the tripper, decanted in crowds from charabanc and motor-coach, descends on the lovely cities, and passes like a flood from Cathedral to gallery and museum, open-mouthed or indifferent; or masquerading as a pilgrimage swamps such a city as Assisi, so that it is only possible to enjoy the place in peace in the winter from November to March. Pandemonium resumes her reign at Easter.

 

And then there is the sophistication of the countryside. Even the Via Appia, the “Queen of Roads”, the backbone of Campania, is outraged with every sort of commercial placard and advertisement. And all its antiquity has been sacrificed to the motor-car.

 

It is, of course, petrol and perhaps America that are the great levellers.

 

The noise everywhere in the cities has not only increased but has changed its nature. It is no longer human but mechanical. Every city, every town proclaims at its gates: Zona di Silenzio, which means that it is forbidden to sound the motor-horn in its streets. But what is the good of that when every car, every lorry, every Vespa, every motor-cycle is driven with open exhaust to make as much noise as possible? For the Italian seems to believe that noise is power. In many cities, in Florence for instance and in Rome, too, it is difficult to get any sleep till the not so early hours of the morning, and then at five or six o’clock it begins all over again.

 

Naples, save Rome the only capitol city in the peninsula, seems largely oblivious of those incursions, which are absorbed perhaps by the Cathedral of S. Januarius, and the museum, but chiefly I suspect by Pompeii and Capri. At any rate the churches of Naples, full of pictures of the seventeenth century and Neapolitan Baroque, are for the most part unvisited, and if the Toledo once no doubt “inexpressively Neapolitan” has been commercialized till it is entirely anonymous and has really become the “Via Roma”, that is to say like any other main street in Milan or Turin, there still remains as unvisited as the churches, and almost as I remember them when I first came to Naples sixty years ago, many strade, vichi, salite, fondaci, and not least the Via del Tribunale and the speccanapoli—the Via San Biagio and the Piazza Capuana with its lovely Tuscan gate and its market entirely Neapolitan neither vulgarized nor emasculate.

 

To stroll in those narrow streets filled with light and shade between the lofty balconied houses from church to church, from the majolica cloister of the Clarisse of Santa Chiara to the arcaded and fountained garden of San Gregorio Armeno under its many coloured dome, from the Guglia of the Immacolata to the Guglia of San Domenico, from the shrine of the blood of S. Gennaro to the ossuary of Sant’ Agostino alla Zecca, from the tomb of Tino di Camaino in the Donna Regina to the strange Baroque statues of San Severo, to leave Donatello in Sant’ Angelo a Nilo to find Antonio Rossellino in Monte Oliveto, to search for the pictures of Caravaggio, of Caracciolo, of Stanzione, will fill many a morning with quiet unhustled happiness, as though today were yesterday, and almost as though the Regno had never passed away. For in Naples certainly the old songs are the best.

 

                                                   O dolce Napoli,

                                                   O suol beato,

                                                   Ove sorridere

                                                   Volle il creato!

                                                   Tu sei l’impero

                                                   Dell’ armonia—

                                                   Santa Lucia!

                                                   Santa Lucia!

 

1957

 

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Edward Hutton: Naples and Campania Revisited. London, 1958. Preface. Pp. vii-viii. 

Canossa: End of the Journey

  

 

 

 

Edward Hutton ended his tour of Lombardy with a visit to Canossa, and a stirring account of the once-famous meeting between the Emperor Henry, and Pope Gregory VII (Hildebrand). Here are some excerpts from his account.

 

Canossa remains in the imagination of the world as the symbol of the mighty work that Rome achieved during the Dark Ages, I mean the creation of the Papacy that was not only to dominate  but to civilize Europe, and when Hildebrand on that bare and pallid rock broke Henry in the cruel winter of 1077 that creation was proclaimed to Europe and the two succeeding centuries were already secured….

 

At Ciano you may get a mule or you may walk to Rosetta to that magnificent and isolated spot where the destiny of Europe for more than two centuries was decided. All the way is fair, and nothing in the world is more inspiring than the splendid climb from Ciano to Canossa. The lords of Canossa held in their day not only these mountains and all the passes into Italy across them, but a vast part of Lombardy, including Parma, Reggio, Mantua and Brescia, to say nothing of Tuscany and Spoleto. One feels at once on leaving Reggio and entering the region of the hills that one is at least really in their country.

 

Matilda…was the greatest of her house, the gran donna d’Italia, the friend of Hildebrand and the handmaid and protectress of the Papacy and the Church, she who reminded Dante of Persephone as she went alone singing and plucking flower after flower that strewed her way. We shall meet her again at Canossa. She lived a virgin, and on her death her vast inheritance passed by her will to the Holy See…. 

 

If you set out from Reggio…by road you will pass the Quattro Castella….but the Quattro Castella offers the traveller one of the most astonishing spectacles in Italy. Four conical hills rise from the vast hillside all in a line barring the way, and each crowned by a castle. They are the first outworks of that vast system of defense which guarded Canossa. [299]…

 

After Rossena, the great white and naked rock of Canossa crowned by its ruin comes in sight, in wonderful contrast with Rossena itself. Here in the winter of 1077 the two great forces of the world met in combat, and the emperor fell.

 

It is almost impossible for us in our confused and wholly material age to understand the drama that was played out upon this naked upland, as it were upon the top of the world, in the three days and nights of that bitter January. The emperor had come from his Germany into Italy with the intention of making the Pope prisoner. He knew not what he was proposing. To humble the Latin world, which the Papacy expressed, was in itself a barbarian, if an honourable, adventure; but to break the heart and soul of Europe was to achieve what even Attila had failed to do. As the event proved,  when the two men were face to face it was the barbarian who was to go down, and that not by force of arms but by force of will….

 

At Canossa everything was ready for an attack. Azzo d’Este was there and Hugh, Abbot of Clugny, and over them all the great Countess [Matilda]. Uplifted before all Europe, the Emperor and the Pope faced one another to decide who should be master.

 

Henry came. Was it the mountains that had broken him, or the astonishment of Italy, or the hand of God? Whatever it was, he was broken. His first act was to beg intercession from Matilda, who with Hugh the Abbot met him when he begged it at Bianello. The countess, who was his cousin, undertook to plead his cause.

 

Then Hildebrand said:  “If Henry is indeed repentant, let him lay down crown and sceptre, and declare that he is unworthy of the name of king.”

 

There spoke the soul of Europe that cannot be broken.

 

Henry did as he was ordered. It was the end of January; the earth was covered with snow, the streams were silent with frost. In the thin garb of a penitent, in a shirt of white linen, the successor of the Caesars, nay Caesar himself, slowly climbed the rocky path to the outer gate of Canossa. And they all looked upon him as he stood before the closed inner gate. There; in the bitter weather, he waited fasting for three days and three nights. On the fourth day, half dead with cold, the wretched Emperor was brought into the presence of God’s Vice-gerent. He prostrated himself in the dust, crying for pardon….

 

That scene will live forever in the mind of man, for it is the most perfect expression of that Europe out of which we are come and to which we shall return. Canossa is its monument, a place worthier of pilgrimage by us who are European than ever was Becket’s tomb of Canterbury, holy though that was and famous through the world. Canossa was a bigger victory than Canterbury, and Italy a bigger stage than England.

Look you, then, how the mountains shine hence, and all Lombardy is spread out before them, and Italy far away thrice guarded there to the south. It is well that our journey should draw to an end in such a famous place as this, where we may look back upon our many days of going, and possess them all in a single heart’s beat, a single glance, as Hildebrand looked over the world.

 

There lies Cisalpine Gaul, jewelled with cities--Modena, Parma, Verona, Mantua; girdled with her mighty river, the glistening belt of the Po; islanded by the Euganeans, and ringed and fortressed by the Alps. Here are the Apennines, yonder is Italy; and the story of Europe, that noble tale of great Rome turned Christian, and all our past, at our feet. 

 

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Edward Hutton: The Cities of Lombardy, New York, 1912. Pp. 297-303.