The Neapolitan Lovers by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated)

Alexandre Dumas, Delphi Classics

• Publisher: Delphi Classics (Parts Edition)
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781786569158
• Topic: Littérature
• Subtopic: Classiques

This eBook features the unabridged text of 'The Neapolitan Lovers' from the bestselling edition of 'The Collected Works of Alexandre Dumas'.

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CHAPTER I.

THE HERO OF THE NILE.

ON September 22nd, 1798, the magnificent Bay of Naples, always smiling, incessantly furrowed by thousands of boats, always echoing the sound of music and the songs of mariners, was even more joyous, more noisy, and more animated than ever.

September at Naples is glorious, for neither the excessive heat of summer nor the capricious rains of autumn are then known, and this day on which our story opens was one of the most splendid of the month. A flood of golden sunlight bathed the vast amphitheatre of heights which extends one arm to Nisida and the other to Portici, enclosing the favoured town on the slopes of Mount St. Elmo, above which stands the ancient Angevin citadel — a mural crown adorning the brow of the modern Parthenope. The vast expanse of the Bay, resembling an azure carpet strewn with golden spangles, was slightly stirred by the morning breeze, perfumed and balmy, so gentle as to bring a smile to every face it touched and yet keen enough to rouse in the breasts it stirred that yearning towards the Infinite which inspires Man with the proud thought that he also is,

or may become, Divine, and that this world is merely the shelter of a day, a brief resting-place in the life eternal.

Eight o’clock resounded from the church of San Ferdinando and the last vibration had hardly died away when all the thousand bells of the three hundred churches of Naples clanged a joyous peal from their various belfries, while the guns of the forts Del Ovo, Castel Nuovo and Del Carmine thundered forth as if attempting to out-do them and surrounded the town with a girdle of smoke. Above this, St. Elmo, flaming amidst clouds like a volcano in eruption, seemed a new Vesuvius confronting the old.

Both guns and bells were saluting a magnificent galley which at this moment left the quay, crossed the military harbour and, propelled by both sails and oars, glided majestically towards the open sea. She was followed by ten or twelve smaller but scarcely less magnificent craft and might well claim to rival the Bucentaur bearing the Doge to his nuptials with the Adriatic.

On her quarter-deck stood an officer wearing the rich uniform of a Neapolitan Admiral and apparently about forty-six years of age. He was Francis Caracciolo, a scion of an ancient family accustomed to provide ambassadors for kings and lovers for queens, and he stood on his quarter-deck precisely as if he were taking his ship into action.

The whole of the deck was covered with a purple awning, emblazoned with the royal arms, intended to shelter the august passengers from the rays of the sun. They were disposed in groups differing widely in appearance and attitude.

The most considerable of these groups consisted of five men occupying the centre of the ship. Three stood outside the awning on the deck and two carried a golden key suspended from a coat button, indicative of the wearer’s rank as chamberlain. All wore ribbons of various colours sustaining orders of every country, and their breasts were bedizened with stars and crossed with ribbons. The central figure was a man of about forty-seven, tall and slight, but well built. He stooped slightly in consequence of a habit of leaning forward to listen to those who conversed with him. But not the splendid coat richly embroidered with gold, nor the diamond stars of different orders which he wore, nor even the “Majesty,” incessantly on the lips of his attendants, could obviate the vulgarity of his appearance. He had clumsy, large hands, thick ankles and wrists, a low forehead and a retreating chin which accentuated an enormously thick and long nose. The eyes alone were lively and mischievous, but nearly always furtive, and sometimes cruel. This was Ferdinand IV., King by the Grace of God of the Two Sicilies and Jerusalem, an Infante of Spain, Duke of Parma, of Piacenza, of Castro and hereditary Grand Prince of Tuscany, but whom the lazzaroni of Naples qualified quite simply as “II Re Nasone “(“King of the big nose “).

The person most frequently addressed by the monarch and who, though wearing the embroidered coat of diplomacy, wore the most simple dress of the party, was Sir William Hamilton, foster-brother of George III., who for five-and-thirty years had represented Great Britain at the Sicilian Court. The remaining three were the Marquis Malespina, aide-de-camp to the King, John Acton, Irish by birth and Prime Minister, and the Duke d’Ascoli, Ferdinand’s friend and chamberlain.

Another group consisted of two women only, who might have formed a fitting subject for the brush of Angelica Kauffman, and whose appearance could not have failed to arouse interest and attention in even the most indifferent observer, however ignorant of their names and rank. The elder of the two ladies, although past her brilliant youth, still shewed traces of remarkable beauty. Daughter of Maria-Theresa, sister to x Marie-Antoinette, as could be guessed from her features, she was Maria-Carolina, Queen of the Two Sicilies, and wife of Ferdinand IV., whom for various reasons, she had first treated with indifference, which later became dislike and had now developed into contempt. Only political considerations brought the two together, otherwise they lived entirely apart, the King hunting in the royal forests or reposing in his harem at St. Leucio, while the Queen transacted business of state at Naples, Caserta or Portici, with her minister Acton, or rested in orange groves with her favourite Lady Hamilton, who at this moment was sitting at her feet in the attitude of a captive queen.

A single glance bestowed on the latter sufficed to explain not merely the favour with which the Queen regarded her, but also the frenzy of enthusiasm which she excited among the English artists, who depicted her in every possible attitude, and the Neapolitan poets, who sang of her in every metre. If human nature can arrive at the perfection of beauty, then certainly Emma Hamilton had attained this goal, and must have inherited some of that wonderful potion given by Venus to Phaon which endowed its possessor with an irresistible power of attraction.

This assembly of kings, princes and courtiers, sheltered by their purple awning, glided over an azure sea to the-melodious sound of music presided over by Domenico Cimarosa, the royal choir master and composer. The magnificent ship passed successively Résina, Portici and Torre-del-Greco, driven by that soft wind of Baïa which causes the roses of Paestum to bloom twice in a year.

Far beyond Capri and Cape Campanella a man-of-war became visible on the horizon. Observing the royal fleet, she immediately altered her course and headed towards it. A slight puff of smoke appeared from a port-hole and the crimson flag of England unfurled gracefully from the mast, while a prolonged detonation like the roll of distant thunder resounded over the tranquil sea.

When the two ships were within a cable’s length of each other, the royal musicians struck up “God save the King,” to which the sailors of the other ship, the famous Vanguard, who were manning the yards, replied with the three traditional English cheers, due to each official compliment.

The officer in command of the Vanguard was Horatio Nelson. He had just destroyed the French fleet at Aboiikir; by so doing depriving Bonaparte and the republican army of all hope of returning to France. He ordered his ship to lay to so as to allow the royal galley to come alongside, and the accommodation ladder, reserved for guests and officers, to be lowered. Standing hat in hand at the top he awaited his visitors, while all the crew, even those still suffering from wounds, were drawn up three deep on deck ready to present arms. He expected, according to all etiquette, to see first the King, then the Queen, then the Prince Royal and others according to rank; but by a clever feminine piece of strategy, the Queen (Nelson himself mentions this in a letter to his wife) pushed Lady Hamilton to the front. Blushing at being thus forced to take precedence, Emma mounted the steps, and, was it real emotion, or only skilful acting? on seeing Nelson with bandaged head, pale with loss of blood, she turned pale herself, and exclaiming “O dear, dear Nelson!” sank fainting on his breast. Nelson dropped his hat with a cry of joy, and supporting her with his one arm, pressed her to his heart, for one instant forgetting the whole world in a momentary trance of ineffable delight. When he recovered his senses, the King, Queen, and all the Court were already on deck, and all emotion must be suppressed.

The King took Nelson’s hand, and addressing him as the “Liberator of Europe “offered him the magnificent sword of Louis XIV., on the pommel of which were hung the letters patent of the Dukedom of Brontë, and the Grand Cross of the Order of Merit of St. Ferdinand. To this succeeded the Queen, who called him her friend, the “Protector of Thrones,” the “Avenger of Kings,” and taking his hand and that of Emma Hamilton in both her own, pressed them together.

The King himself girded on the historic sword, the Queen presented the title of Duke of Brontë, and Lady Hamilton hung the ribbon sustaining the Cross of St. Ferdinand round the hero’s neck.

Then came all the rest, Prince and Princess Royal, Ministers, Courtiers, but what were their praises compared to those of the King and Queen, or to one touch of the hand of Emma Hamilton?

It was agreed that Nelson should go on board the royal galley, but first of all, Emma, by desire of the Queen, requested to be shewn all the details of the Vanguard, which, like her commander, still shewed glorious and unhealed wounds. Nelson, with Lady Hamilton leaning on his arm, did the honours of his ship with all the pride of a sailor.

It was now two o’clock and the return to Naples would take three hours. Nelson desired his flag-captain to take command, and to the sound of music and of ordnance, descended into the royal galley, which, light as a sea-gull, shook herself free of the man-of-war, and glided gracefully over the waves on her return voyage.

It was now the turn of the Italian Admiral to do the honours of his ship. Nelson and Caracciolo had both fought at the siege of Toulon, where the courage and skill of the latter had been rewarded by the rank of Admiral, thus making him equal to Nelson over whom he had already the advantage of being heir to a name illustrious during three centuries. Possibly this last detail explains the cold greeting exchanged between the Admirals and the evident haste with which Caracciolo returned to his post on the quarter-deck.

Meanwhile Sir William Hamilton had been explaining to the King how the island of Capri had been bought from the Neapolitans by Augustus, who had observed that the branches of a decayed old oak, at the moment of his landing in the island had recovered themselves and put forth fresh leaves. The King listened attentively, and then remarked:

“My dear Ambassador, the quails began their migration three days ago. In a week’s time we will have a grand shoot at Capri; there will be thousands of them.”

The Ambassador, who owed his favour with the King to the fact that he was himself an excellent shot, bowed his acknowledgment.

The Commandants at Naples had kept their glasses fixed on the royal galley and when she was seen to tack and make for Naples, judging that Nelson must be on board, they ordered a salute of a hundred and one guns, such as announces the birth of an heir to the crown. The royal carriages and those belonging to the Embassy were in waiting, it having been agreed that for this day the Palace would cede its rights to the Embassy, that Nelson should be the guest of the Hamiltons, who would give the dinner and the fête which was to follow it, in which the town of Naples would join with illuminations and fireworks.

When close upon the harbour, Lady Hamilton approached Caracciolo and, addressing him with her gentlest voice and most seductive manner:

“The entertainment we are giving to our illustrious countryman will be incomplete,” she said, “if the only sailor who can compare with him does not help us in doing honour to his victory by proposing a toast to the greatness of England, the happiness of the Two Sicilies and the humiliation of the proud French Republic which dares to make war upon kings. We hope that Admiral Caracciolo, the hero of Toulon, will undertake this.”

Caracciolo, one of the handsomest and most dignified men of his time, bowed courteously.

“Milady,” he replied with gravity, “I deeply regret my inability to perform the glorious task you would entrust to me, but the night threatens to be as stormy as the day has been beautiful.”

Lady Hamilton smiled and glanced at the horizon. Except for a few light clouds rising near Procida the blue of the sky was as clear as that of her eyes.

“You do not believe me, Milady,” said Caracciolo, “but a man who has spent two-thirds of his life on this capricious Mediterranean can read the message of the atmosphere. Those light clouds which you see rising over there and approaching us show that the wind is veering from N.W. to West. By ten o’clock this evening it will be blowing from the South which means a “scirocco,” and the port of Naples being open to every wind that blows, and this one in particular, it becomes my duty to see that the ships of His Britannic Majesty, already damaged in battle, at least get a safe anchorage. What we have done to-day, Milady, is simply a perfectly plain declaration of war with France. Now the French are at Rome, five days’ march from here. Believe me, in a very few days it will be well to have both fleets in fighting condition.”

Lady Hamilton frowned.

“Prince,” she said, “I accept your excuse, which shews so much anxiety for the joint interests of their Majesties of England and Naples. But we hope at least to see your charming niece Cecilia, who cannot plead ignorance, having received her invitation the very day on which we heard from Lord Nelson.”

“Alas! Milady, but there is another unhappy circumstance which I have to tell you. My sister-in-law, Cecilia’s mother, has been so ill the last few days that it is impossible for her daughter to leave her, and I received a letter from the poor girl this morning expressing her deep regret at being unable to attend your fête and begging me to present her excuses to your ladyship, which I have the honour to do at this moment.”

During this short conversation the Queen had approached, listened, heard, and understood. She frowned, her lower lip lengthened, and her cheek lost its colour.

“Beware, Prince!” she said in angry tones, and with a smile as threatening as the, light clouds which announced the coming tempest, “no one except those present at Lady Hamilton’s entertainment will be invited to the Court festivals.”

“Alas! Madame,” replied Caracciolo with perfect serenity, “but my poor sister-in-law is so seriously ill that she could not be present at these fêtes if they lasted a whole month, nor consequently can her daughter attend them, since a young girl of her age and position cannot, even at the Palace, appear in society without her mother.”

“Very well, sir,” replied the Queen, unable to control her anger, belie...