the complete writings-2-第39节

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This　plain　is　not　all　level；　however。　　Decided　spurs　push　down　into　it　from　the　hills；　and　great　chasms；　deep；　ragged；　impassable；　split　in　the　tufa；　extend　up　into　it　from　the　sea。　　At　intervals；　at　the　openings　of　these　ravines；　are　little　marinas；　where　the　fishermen　have　their　huts'　and　where　their　boats　land。　　Little　villages；　separate　from　the　world；　abound　on　these　marinas。　　The　warm　volcanic　soil　of　the　sheltered　plain　makes　it　a　paradise　of　fruits　and　flowers。

Sorrento；　ancient　and　romantic　city；　lies　at　the　southwest　end　of　this　plain；　built　along　the　sheer　sea　precipice；　and　running　back　to　the　hills；a　city　of　such　narrow　streets；　high　walls；　and　luxuriant　groves　that　it　can　be　seen　only　from　the　heights　adjacent。　　The　ancient　boundary　of　the　city　proper　was　the　famous　ravine　on　the　east　side；　a　similar　ravine　on　the　south；　which　met　it　at　right　angles；　and　was　supplemented　by　a　high　Roman　wall；　and　the　same　wall　continued　on　the　west　to　the　sea。　　The　growing　town　has　pushed　away　the　wall　on　the　west　side；　but　that　on　the　south　yet　stands　as　good　as　when　the　Romans　made　it。　　There　is　a　little　attempt　at　a　mall；　with　double　rows　of　trees；　under　that　wall；　where　lovers　walk；　and　ragged；　handsome　urchins　play　the　exciting　game　of　fives；　or　sit　in　the　dirt；　gambling　with　cards　for　the　Sorrento　currency。　　I　do　not　know　what　sin　it　may　be　to　gamble　for　a　bit　of　printed　paper　which　has　the　value　of　one　sou。

The　great　ravine；　three　quarters　of　a　mile　long；　the　ancient　boundary　which　now　cuts　the　town　in　two；　is　bridged　where　the　main　street；　the　Corso；　crosses；　the　bridge　resting　on　old　Roman　substructions；　as　everything　else　about　here　does。　　This　ravine；　always　invested　with　mystery；　is　the　theme　of　no　end　of　poetry　and　legend。　　Demons　inhabit　it。　　Here　and　there；　in　its　perpendicular　sides；　steps　have　been　cut　for　descent。　　Vines　and　lichens　grow　on　the　walls：　in　one　place；　at　the　bottom；　an　orange　grove　has　taken　root。　　There　is　even　a　mill　down　there；　where　there　is　breadth　enough　for　a　building；　and　altogether；　the　ravine　is　not　so　delivered　over　to　the　power　of　darkness　as　it　used　to　be。　　It　is　still　damp　and　slimy；　it　is　true；　but　from　above；　it　is　always　beautiful；　with　its　luxuriant　growth　of　vines；　and　at　twilight　mysterious。　　I　like　as　well；　however；　to　look　into　its　entrance　from　the　little　marina；　where　the　old　fishwives　arc　weaving　nets。

These　little　settlements　under　the　cliff；　called　marinas；　are　worlds　in　themselves；　picturesque　at　a　distance；　but　squalid　seen　close　at　hand。　　They　are　not　very　different　from　the　little　fishing…stations　on　the　Isle　of　Wight；　but　they　are　more　sheltered；　and　their　inhabitants　sing　at　their　work；　wear　bright　colors；　and　bask　in　the　sun　a　good　deal；　feeling　no　sense　of　responsibility　for　the　world　they　did　not　create。　　To　weave　nets；　to　fish　in　the　bay；　to　sell　their　fish　at　the　wharves；　to　eat　unexciting　vegetables　and　fish；　to　drink　moderately；　to　go　to　the　chapel　of　St。　Antonino　on　Sunday；　not　to　work　on　fast　and　feast　days；　nor　more　than　compelled　to　any　day；　this　is　life　at　the　marinas。　　Their　world　is　what　they　can　see；　and　Naples　is　distant　and　almost　foreign。　　Generation　after　generation　is　content　with　the　same　simple　life。　　They　have　no　more　idea　of　the　bad　way　the　world　is　in　than　bees　in　their　cells。




THE　VILLA　NARDI

The　Villa　Nardi　hangs　over　the　sea。　　It　is　built　on　a　rock；　and　I　know　not　what　Roman　and　Greek　foundations；　and　the　remains　of　yet　earlier　peoples；　traders；　and　traffickers；　whose　galleys　used　to　rock　there　at　the　base　of　the　cliff；　where　the　gentle　waves　beat　even　in　this　winter…time　with　a　summer　swing　and　sound　of　peace。

It　was　at　the　close　of　a　day　in　January　that　I　first　knew　the　Villa　Nardi；a　warm；　lovely　day；　at　the　hour　when　the　sun　was　just　going　behind　the　Capo　di　Sorrento；　in　order　to　disrobe　a　little；　I　fancy；　before　plunging　into　the　Mediterranean　off　the　end　of　Capri；　as　is　his　wont　about　this　time　of　year。　　When　we　turned　out　of　the　little　piazza；　our　driver　was　obliged　to　take　off　one　of　our　team　of　three　horses　driven　abreast；　so　that　we　could　pass　through　the　narrow　and　crooked　streets；　or　rather　lanes　of　blank　walls。　　With　cracking　whip；　rattling　wheels；　and　shouting　to　clear　the　way；　we　drove　into　the　Strada　di　San　Francisca；　and　to　an　arched　gateway。　　This　led　down　a　straight　path；　between　olives　and　orange　and　lemon…trees；　gleaming　with　shining　leaves　and　fruit　of　gold；　with　hedges　of　rose…trees　in　full　bloom；　to　another　leafy　arch；　through　which　I　saw　tropical　trees；　and　a　terrace　with　a　low　wall　and　battered　busts　guarding　it；　and　beyond；　the　blue　sea；　a　white　sail　or　two　slanting　across　the　opening；　and　the　whiteness　of　Naples　some　twenty　miles　away　on　the　shore。

The　noble　family　of　the　Villa　did　not　descend　into　the　garden　to　welcome　us；　as　we　should　have　liked；　in　fact；　they　have　been　absent　now　for　a　long　time；　so　long　that　even　their　ghosts；　if　they　ever　pace　the　terrace…walk　towards　the　convent；　would　appear　strange　to　one　who　should　meet　them；　and　yet　our　hostess；　the　Tramontano；　did　what　the　ancient　occupants　scarcely　could　have　done；　gave　us　the　choice　of　rooms　in　the　entire　house。　　The　stranger　who　finds　himself　in　this　secluded　paradise；　at　this　season；　is　always　at　a　loss　whether　to　take　a　room　on　the　sea；　with　all　its　changeable　loveliness；　but　no　sun；　or　one　overlooking　the　garden；　where　the　sun　all　day　pours　itself　into　the　orange　boughs；　and　where　the　birds　are　just　beginning　to　get　up　a　spring　twitteration。　　My　friend；　whose　capacity　for　taking　in　the　luxurious　repose　of　this　region　is　something　extraordinary；　has　tried；　I　believe；　nearly　every　room　in　the　house；　and　has　at　length　gone　up　to　a　solitary　room　on　the　top；　where；　like　a　bird　on　a　tree　he　looks　all　ways；　and；　so　to　say；　swings　in　the　entrancing　air。　　But；　wherever　you　are；　you　will　grow　into　content　with　your　situation。

At　the　Villa　Nardi　we　have　no　sound　of　wheels；　no　noise　of　work　or　traffic；　no　suggestion　of　conflict。　　I　am　under　the　impression　that　everything　that　was　to　have　been　done　has　been　done。　　I　am；　it　is　true；　a　little　afraid　that　the　Saracens　will　come　here　again；　and　carry　off　more　of　the　nut…brown　girls；　who　lean　over　the　walls；　and　look　down　on　us　from　under　the　boughs。　　I　am　not　quite　sure　that　a　French　Admiral　of　the　Republic　will　not　some　morning　anchor　his　three…decker　in　front；　and　open　fire　on　us；　but　nothing　else　can　happen。　　Naples　is　a　thousand　miles　away。　　The　boom　of　the　saluting　guns　of　Castel　Nuovo　is　to　us　scarcely　an　echo　of　modern　life。　　Rome　does　not　exist。　　And　as　for　London　and　New　York）　they　send　their　people　and　their　newspapers　here；　but　no　pulse　of　unrest　from　them　disturbs　our　tranquillity。　　Hemmed　in　on　the　land　side　by　high　walls；　groves；　and　gardens；　perched　upon　a　rock　two　hundred　feet　above　the　water；　how　much　more　secure　from　invasion　is　this　than　any　fabled　island　of　the　southern　sea；　or　any　remote　stream　where　the　boats　of　the　lotus…eaters　float！

There　is　a　little　terrace　and　flower…plat；　where　we　sometimes　sit；　and　over　the　wall　of　which　we　like　to　lean；　and　look　down　the　cliff　to　the　sea。　　This　terrace　is　the　common　ground　of　many　exotics　as　well　as　native　trees　and　shrubs。　　Here　are　the　magnolia；　the　laurel；　the　Japanese　medlar；　the　oleander；　the　pepper；　the　bay；　the　date…palm；　a　tree　called　the　plumbago；　another　from　the　Cape　of　Good　Hope；　the　pomegranate；　the　elder　in　full　leaf；　the　olive；　salvia；　heliotrope；　close　by　is　a　banana…tree。

I　find　a　good　deal　of　companionship　in　the　rows　of　plaster　busts　that　stand　on　the　wall；　in　all　attitudes　of　listlessness；　and　all　stages　of　decay。　　I　thought　at　first　they　were　penates　of　the　premises；　but　better　acquaintance　has　convinced　me　that　they　never　were　gods；　but　the　clayey　representations　of　great　men　and　noble　dames。　　The　stains　of　time　are　on　them；　some　have　lost　a　nose　or　an　ear；　and　one　has　parted　with　a　still　more　important　memberhis　head；an　accident　that　might　profitably　have　befallen　his　neighbor；　whose　curly　locks　and　villainously　low　forehead　proclaim　him　a　Roman　emperor。　　Cut　in　the　face　of　the　rock　is　a　walled　and　winding　way　down　to　the　water。　I　see　below　the　archway　where　it　issues　from　the　underground　recesses　of　our　establishment；　and　there　stands　a　bust；　in　serious　expectation　that　some　one　will　walk　out　and　saunter　down　among　the　rocks；　but　no　one　ever　does。　　Just　at　the　right　is　a　little　beach；　with　a　few　old　houses；　and　a　mimic　stir　of　life；　a　little　curve　in　the　cliff；　the　mouth　of　the　gorge；　where　the　waves　come　in　with　a　lazy　swash。　　Some　fishing…boats　ride　there；　and　the　shallow　water；　as　I　look　down　this　sunny　morning；　is　thickly　strewn　with　floating　peels　of　oranges　and　lemons；　as　if　some　one　was　brewing　a　gigantic　bowl　of　punch。　　And　there　is　an　uncommon　stir　of　life；　for　a　schooner　is　shipping　a　cargo　of　oranges；　and　the　entire　population　is　in　a　clamor。　　Donkeys　are　coming　down　the　winding　way；　with　a　heavy　basket　on　either　flank；　stout　girls　are　stepping　lightly　down　with　loads　on　their　heads；　the　drivers　shout；　the　donkeys　bray；　the　people　jabber　and　order　each　other　about；　and　the　oranges；　in　a　continual　stream；　are　poured　into　the　long；　narrow　vessel；　rolling　in　with　a　thud；　until　there　is　a　yello