The neapolitan lovers, p.1
THE NEAPOLITAN LOVERS, page 1
THE NEAPOLITAN LOVERS
THE FIRST PART OF La San-Felice
Translated by R. S. Garnett
In 1861, Dumas, having helped Giuseppe Garibaldi conquer the Kingdom of Naples, resided in a comfortable Neapolitan villa, where he had access to the secret archives of the late Bourbon regime. From his historical research came a work of history, Les Bourbons des Naples, and a work of historical fiction titled La San Felice.
First published in La Presse from 1863 to 1865, this novel was one of Dumas’ last successes. It concerns the establishment of the Republic in Naples in 1799 by General Championnet and the re-establishment of the Bourbons three months later. Interestingly, the novel features the Admiral Horatio Nelson, Sir William and Lady Emma Hamilton, among the various other characters.
The Neapolitan Lovers is more history than fiction and was Dumas’ personal favorite among his many works. The novel opens with the arrival of the British commander of the Mediterranean fleet, Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson (1758-1805), in Naples. Nelson has just crushed the French fleet in the Battle of the Nile, stranding Napoleon and his army in Egypt. Nelson is met by the Bourbon King and Queen of Naples, Ferdinand (1759-1825) and Maria Carolina (1752-1814).
The titlepage of the first edition
Dumas, close to the time of publication
CONTENTS
TRANSLATOR’S INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
A later English edition
TRANSLATOR’S INTRODUCTION.
BRITISH subjects all the world over, being familiar with the life of Nelson, will remember that having won the battle of the Nile and so blocked up Bonaparte and his army in Egypt, he returned to Naples in the poor wretched Vanguard, as he described his vessel, sighting the city on 22nd September, 1798.
Dumas opens the present romance on the following day when Ferdinand IV., King of the Two Sicilies, and his Queen Maria Carolina, sister of Marie Antoinette; Caracciolo, accompanied by the British Minister, Sir William Hamilton with his celebrated wife who were also in the royal galley, came out into the bay of Naples to meet the saviour of Italy, as the Queen called our greatest Admiral.
Three months later, almost day for day, after that brilliant and joyous reception on the water, Nelson, on a wild, stormy night, secretly and stealthily embarked King Ferdinand, his family and courtiers in three barges, and having thus transported them on board the Vanguard, conveyed them from Naples to Palermo.
What had occurred during these three months? Why this royal flight in the dead of night under the protection of Nelson? Dumas is going to explain it all down to the most minute detail in his inimitable manner, and we need only mention that King Ferdinand was so anxious to obliterate every record of that epoch that he issued a decree ordering every proclamation, every edict, manifesto, deed and writing to be given up by his Neapolitan subjects to his police within eight days. For what purpose? Simply for burning by the public hangman. The hangman was, however, to preserve one complete set for the use and as the property of His Majesty. This decree was dated 18th January, 1800.
Dumas had long awaited an opportunity of dealing with the Neapolitan Claudius and the Venetian Messalina (King Ferdinand and Queen Maria Carolina). He might have said in the words of Hernani when he was at war with Charles V.:
La meurtre est entre nous affaire de famille.
In 1851 Dumas wrote: —
“Perhaps some day my filial vengeance will evoke these two blood-stained spectres and force them to pose in naked hideousness before posterity; perhaps some day the assassins of Caracciolo and the mistress of Acton will account to me for the father’s love that they snatched from me when I was scarcely old enough to know what it was to have a father.’’
The opportunity, then, was long in coming, but when it arrived it did so in the most dramatic manner possible.
In May, 1860, Dumas had hardly finished writing his “Memoirs of Garibaldi “from material handed him by his friend, when, bound for a tour in the East, he learnt on arriving at Genoa that Garibaldi had just left that port for Sicily. Dumas read some letters left for him by Garibaldi with Vecchi, the historian, and realising the vast results which would follow the success of such an enterprise as the conquest of Sicily, set sail again on his yacht the Emma for Palermo, which he reached just as the Dictator had taken it after a three days’ siege. The remainder of the campaign was witnessed by Dumas who accompanied Garibaldi, and has recorded those marvellous days in his “Garibaldians in Sicily,” being the letters which, as a Special Correspondent, he tore from his note book and despatched to Paris.
The conquest of Sicily accomplished, Dumas, with the hearty assent of Garibaldi went to Marseilles to buy arms and ammunition for the “Thousand Heroes,” and having seen them despatched, sailed for Naples, where, much to the annoyance of the authorities, he anchored the Emma in the bay.
The joy of our author may be imagined when Garibaldi, having crossed the strait and entered Naples, the while King Francis fled, installed him, the poet and romancer, in the Chiatamone Palace, giving him permission to examine the secret Archives of the City. There he found the unique set of the public documents, manuscripts and letters which the public hangman had reserved for the delectation of King Ferdinand, his father’s murderer.
Had Garibaldi’s entry into Naples achieved no other result than making Dumas happy, his many admirers would, doubtless, have deemed it worth accomplishing, but it did more than that, for it enabled our author to write the present story. With what delight must he, have examined that royal set of papers, filled as they were with proofs of the baseness, cruelty and folly of the King and Queen. As he read, he saw them with Nelson, Sir William and Lady Hamilton, Caracciolo,. Cardinal Ruffo, the unspeakable General Mack, the French Republican General Championnet, the Conspirators Hector Caraffa, Cirillo, Palmieri, Manthonnet, the monk Fra Pacifico, the bandit Fra Diavolo, and a host besides. Then his imagination taking fire, he seized a pen and sketched out his plan, including many characters which his long acquaintance with Italy and the Italians enabled him to invent at will. Soon his Neapolitan newspaper “The Independent,” which Garibaldi suggested he should establish and edit, heralded the publication in its columns of the new romance in the Italian language, while the Parisian journal “La Presse,” to which a copy of the original manuscript was to be despatched, informed its readers of the good fortune in store for them. In due course, the story took its place in the “Oeuvres Complètes,” where it fills four volumes.
Such is the history of the present book, which, although much read on the continent, appears to be almost unknown in this country.
It may be admitted that the best way to write a romance, a historical romance especially, is not to select the murderers of one’s own father as principal characters — and indeed but few of us could do so — and did not history, as it undoubtedly does, support Dumas in his main facts and conclusions respecting King Ferdinand and his Queen, the reader might be excused for supposing that the author’s ardent imagination had misled him. A book which nearly every one possesses, Southey’s “Life of Nelson,” will convince any one who refers to it in the matter. Those who have time and opportunity may profitably read a more detailed study made with documents at the author’s hand which were unknown to Southey — ” La Reine Marie — Caroline de Naples,” — by A. Gagnière. They will then, we consider, be able to say that Dumas, although writing from the standpoint and with the predispositions of a Frenchman, took his vengeance in a legitimate and creditable manner, when he composed this historical romance.
R. S. GARNETT.
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
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.
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