street. This constant lowering of baskets from balconies shaded by flaming ultra-marine blinds and draped with the family washing hung out to dry adds greatly to the amusing aspect of the streets, and, thanks to the extraordinary conversational powers of the Neapolitans and the wonderful richness and variety of their gestures, the hubbub and animation are extreme. Then in the morning and afternoon the streets are encumbered by herds of goats and cows, led two by two with ropes. Both cows and goats have bells at their necks and are milked in presence of the customer. The goats even walk up the staircases of the houses and deliver their milk literally at the door, whether it be on the second floor or on the fifth. In the wider streets you must imagine, in addition to this crowd of shouting hawkers, chattering passengers, and swarming children, who in the summer are left to run about quite naked, a constant succession of carts of the most primitive construction, drawn by queer alliances of mules and donkeys and bullocks, often three abreast and one of each kind. The shaft-horse has always a saddle rising high in the air and surmounted by a profusion of bells and brass ornaments, including two or three weathercocks, which spin round as he advances.
The whole life of Naples is in the open air, and everybody lives in the street. The little shops are so entirely taken up by the broad family beds that there is scarcely room left to move about, and the merchandise has to be displayed in the streets. The Toledo, the Chiaja, and some of the modern streets are exceptions, but in the old streets things are as just described. The shoemaker works in the road-way, surrounded by his womankind; the tailor sits cross-legged near by, and the housewife fries her potatoes on the sidewalk. The macaroni, the stewed maize, mashed tomatoes, and other popular food, are cooked and sold right in the road-way. At night, the gossiping and card-playing and eating and drinking all go on in the street. The whole life of the town is out of doors; but it is neither indolent nor squalid, as the tradition has it. Baedeker describes the streets of Naples as being infested with beggars, and the Neapolitans as "the most indolent and the most squalid of the human race." During my stay in Naples I failed to find the justification of this allegation. On the contrary, I observed everywhere the most persistent industry and general cleanliness, particularly personal cleanliness. The modern Neapolitan works from morning until night for very little pay, and his existence is of the most frugal. Why, then, it may be asked, does he remain poor? Why is not Naples a prosperous and wealthy city? One reason is that the trade of Italy has been monopolized by the Northerners, who hold the railways and who have sedulously kept Naples out of the track of communication. It is only within the past few years that Naples has been connected by rail with the other Italian cities. In spite of united Italy, there is still a traditional animosity between the Neapolitans and southern Italians and the Piedmontese and northerners,—the eaters of polenta, as they are contemptuously termed by the eaters of macaroni. Then, again, the civilization of Naples has not progressed with the age. The trades are carefully separated and to a great extent confined within certain quarters. One quarter of the town is inhabited almost exclusively by coppersmiths, another by wheelwrights, another by cabinet-makers, another by coopers, and so forth. The old city is quite like a mediæval town: its streets and shops are scarcely larger than those of Pompeii; the industry is primitive and local. It is the industry of a self-sufficing village community, where each one produces purely for mutual benefit and convenience, and no further. The production and the commerce alike are petty, retail and local. Even houses are sold by retail at Naples, and, instead of buying an entire house, you buy a room, a suite of rooms, or a whole flat, as the case may be. The house where I lived at Naples belonged to thirteen
