In 1549 William Thomas, some-time official at the court of Edward VI, published the earliest description in English of Naples. He praised the city for its “goodly streets and beautiful buildings” and its “fair women”, musing that “Naples contendeth with Venice whether (it) should be preferred for sumptuous dames”. It sounds as though he at least had some fun before he was hanged, drawn and quartered five years later.
Notwithstanding
that genetic augmentation must have had its effect during the centuries since
Thomas’ report, the ideal of the Neapolitan beauty lives on – in my imagination,
at least – and occasionally manifests itself, in passing, on the streets. More often,
however, I am disappointed to see Botox-filled lips – more akin to Donald
Duck’s bill than Sofia Loren’s pout.
Global
fashions prevail here, as they will in any other modern city, yet there is
still much about Naples that is unique and seemingly baked into its collective
psyche. The same can be said of any other place but, for now, I am here and keen
to experience whatever is special about the place.
Another historical observation, this from 1779
by the Irish singer Michael Kelly, is that “despite the cheapness of wine in
Naples, I never, during my sojourn there, witnessed a single instance of
intoxication”. Nor have I (though it has been only two weeks and I am off the
streets much earlier these days). At around the same time, Henry Swinburne noted
that violent behaviour was rare in the populace and attributed this to two
factors: lack of drunkenness and the ‘safety valve’ of loud and uninhibited verbal
disagreement that dissipates the energy that drives physical violence. Only
statistics can prove the former, but any Brit can tell that this place is noisy.
The extent
to which the characteristics of a city’s people are shaped and endure over time
must have something to do with its buildings and historic institutions. When
one or other of the kings* of Naples took his throne, he devised a cunning plan
to keep an eye on his various dukes etc by requiring them to maintain
residences in the city, away from their country seats, where they could get up
to no good and form sneaky alliances against the monarchy. The result of this
strategy was the stuff of estate agents’ dreams: urban plots shot up in value. Naples
became the first city to build tenements over three stories high, into which
poor people were squeezed, while the aristocracy built vast palazzi in all the
best spots. All that architecture remains in the centre of Naples, which is
famous for its picturesque, laundry-strung, narrow streets squashed between
royal palaces and churches so vast they could accommodate half the population
were they to be converted into apartments.
But the
churches stand, some empty and derelict, others still used for worship. The
palaces also remain, though these are now undergoing perpetual restoration, as
the state rooms in all their decadent magnificence are opened up to the public
(for a fee) and the remainder of the spaces hung with the city’s trove of art. On
a visit to the Palazzo Capodimonte, for example, we trudged through room after
room full of religious paintings (not one of which conveyed an iota of joy) and
were quite relieved that only one of the two floors was currently open to
visitors.
Despite the
city’s adaptations to modernity, it is easy to conjure the 16th
century when so much of the ethos of the time is hard wired into the “goodly streets
and beautiful buildings” that remain. What other explanation is there for the
unique vibe of the place?
*I forget which of the many.
