Begging is not mentioned in the early Murray guidebooks, but in the 1908 edition to Rome we read: ‘It is safe to assume that all beggars are professional idlers, and of the criminal class. The honest poor do not beg. Even the physically afflicted could, in nearly every case, earn their living by work if they chose to do so. In order to meet the fierce competition in this overcrowded profession many children are intentionally maimed for life by their parents, who are then able to live in idleness on the alms obtained by the sacrifice.’
In 1897 Baedeker advises: ‘Begging, which is most prevalent at the church-doors, has recently increased in frequency in the streets of Rome … The foolish practice of “scattering” copper coins to be struggled for by the street-arabs is highly reprehensible, and, like most idle gratuities to children, has a demoralising effect upon the recipients.’
Perhaps begging was a further corruption of tourism, because Augustus J. C. Hare, in Cities of Southern Italy, relates: ‘Without having suffered from it, no one can imagine the pest of beggars which make a long stay in the once enchanting Amalfi almost unendurable. Three-fifths of the able-bodied men, and every other woman and child, beg. The greater part of the population now loiter idle all day long in the streets or on the beach, ready to pounce upon strangers, till the traveller, half-maddened, is driven back to his hotel, or into the higher mountains. The only hope of future comfort is never, under any circumstances, to be tempted to give to a beggar; once give, and you are lost.’
The South was said to begin at Naples, and judging from the remarks in most guidebooks, people ought rather to die than see it. In 1853 Murray says: ‘Travellers are liable to four custom-house visitations from the frontier to Naples, which may generally be compromised for the sum of from 6 to 12 carlini. In fact the constant appeal of “buona grazia” will soon convince the traveller, however much he may disapprove of the system, that his convenience will be consulted by a compromise.’
Before entering the Kingdom of Naples we pass through the town of Aversa, which has ‘acquired considerable celebrity for its lunatic asylum, called the Maddalena, established by Murat, and capable of containing 500 persons … one of the earliest to throw aside restraints, and to rely on moral influences founded on the basis of occupation and amusement for the cure. It was more interesting a few years ago, before the barbarous practices of the dark ages were abolished in other countries, than it is now, when the more recent system of England has left it somewhat in the background in regard to modern improvements.’
Murray expatiates tediously at times on the hotels at Naples, but his main points are that travellers should bargain with landlords on arrival and ‘refuse to pay any charge which they know, from experience elsewhere, to be exorbitant. There need be no delicacy on the subject; for it is the common custom of the country. All foreigners make it a rule to adopt this precaution, and for this reason they not only pay about a third less than English travellers, but escape the annoyances and delays of disputed bills.’
There seems to have been some justification for this advice because ‘the principal hotels rank among the best and dearest in Italy’ but the expense of staying in them is ‘greater than any which they have experienced elsewhere from the time of leaving England. No one can deny that the great hotels of Naples are distinguished by their excellent management, and by all which can reconcile the visitor to high charges; and while they continue to deserve this praise, there will always be travellers to support them without reference to expense.’ He goes on to say that the landlords ‘will still further consult their own interests by adopting in every branch of their establishments, and especially in the charges for apartments, a scale of prices which will put an end to the reproach that they have the dearest inns in Italy … In these times of railroads and steam, the general public are the best patrons; and those landlords who become known for the moderation of their charges will be abundantly repaid not only by the increased number of visitors, but by the longer period during which they will be induced to stay.’
One hotel particularly noted is the newly built Hôtel des Etrangers, ‘well situated, and highly spoken of for reasonable charges and an obliging landlord, who has been a courier in English families. His wife, an Englishwoman, was formerly a lady’s maid in the Duke of Newcastle’s family, and has introduced many English comforts into the establishment.’ The hotel, renamed the Royal des Etrangers, still existed in 1912, and had an asterisk of commendation in Baedeker.
The streets at Naples were not lit at night until 1840, when oil lamps were introduced. They were shortly afterwards superseded by gas, ‘which in so crowded and intricate a city has proved one of the greatest improvements which modern civilisation has effected. Within the last few years foot-pavements have been laid down in the principal thoroughfares, but such is the inveteracy of habit that even now the people can hardly be induced to relinquish their ancient custom of walking in the middle of the streets.’
The Corso of Naples, about a mile and a half in length, was paved with flagstones and ‘from morning to night, and we almost add from night to daybreak, the Corso is thronged with people and with carriages; the people shouting at the top of their voices, and the carriages threading their way between the pagodas of the lemonade-sellers, the stalls of the vendors of iced-water, the charcoal fires of the sausage dealers, and a hundred groups of busy people, whose sole occupation appears to be to pass as much of their lives as possible in the open air. It is at all times the noisiest street in Europe, and on extraordinary occasions it presents a perfect sea of human beings, swayed here and there by each successive current, and presenting to the eye of the traveller one of the most curious spectacles it is possible to imagine.’
The impression is of an Indian or oriental city today, but sixty years later Baedeker can still say: ‘The life of the people in Naples is carried on with greater freedom and more careless indifference to publicity than in any other town in Europe.’
In the narrow side streets, much cooking took place in the open air, while other dealers ‘tempt the crowd with fragments from the trattorie or with trays of carefully assorted cigar-ends. The female members of the community are seen going through their toilet, and performing various unpleasing acts of attention to their children, regardless of the public gaze. In summer the children often run about quite naked.’
In the words of J. C. Hare: ‘Naples has been described as a paradise inhabited by devils: but they are lively, and amusing devils — insouciant and idle: good-natured and thieving: kind-hearted and lying: always laughing, except if thwarted, when they will stab their best friend without a pang. Almost everybody in Naples cheats, but cheats in as lively and pleasant a manner as is compatible with possibilities. Nearly all the officials peculate, and perhaps not more than two-thirds of the taxes ever reach the public exchequer. If the traveller is robbed, he will never secure redress …
‘As it is the universal custom amongst the lower orders to marry at seventeen, and Neapolitan women are proverbially prolific, the tall, narrow houses in the back streets swarm with children, and are like rabbit-warrens; whole families live huddled together, but not without cleanliness or decency, though the air sometimes resounds at once with blows and cries, singing and laughter … Little, however, is needed to sustain life at Naples, and there are thousands who consider a dish of beans at midday to be sumptuous fare, while the horrible condiment called pizza (made of dough baked with garlic, rancid bacon, and strong cheese) is esteemed a feast.’ And so many people consider it in modern-day London.