Syndic—who from his position was considered
to be well informed upon the current movements
of the world, and the diplomatic gossip
of the courts of Europe—informed me, for
my own comfort, that it was well understood
England must go down, now that Lord Peel
was dead. The doctor had heard that
Palmerston had been put into prison in
consequence of a letter from King Ferdinand to
Queen Victoria; in fact, her Majesty had
often been heard to declare that she would
not tolerate him any longer. Lords Gladstone
and Roosl were also discussed, and then a
worthy priest assured me that the Roman
Catholic religion had been recently proclaimed
in England. I said that I did not know it.
O yes, he answered, perfectly true; besides
it had been long known here, that the Queen
was favourable to the change, and that she
had a private chapel in her palace, where she
constantly heard mass. But Lord Roosl, it
was supposed, had exercised a baneful
influence upon her. The great guns having
presently exhausted all their ammunition,
there occurred a silence, during which I turned
to the bridegroom, who was very anxious to
be eloquent to me upon the private story of
his feast. He had distributed so much bread
among the poor; he had thrown so many
pounds (a hundred and forty pounds) of comfits
among the people; he was about to tell
me what he had prepared for dinner, with
the secret history of every dish, when we
were told that it was ready, and proceeded to
the table.

There was one small table reserved for the
dignitaries, at the head of which sat, of course,
the Syndic, supported on one side by the
bride and on the other by myself, in my
distinguished capacity of foreigner. Other
distinguished persons ranged themselves
about us with a ceremonious and impressive
silence. The dinner was worthy to be set
before a Mayor, and it was eaten rapidly by a
large number of the guests. There was no
uniformity displayed in the mode of eating, as
there is at English dinner-tables. Every one
threw his character into his work; and the
long table was bordered round with groups of
busy arms and heads amusingly contrasted:
the even line being here and there pleasantly
broken by an upraised hand, from which two
or three feet of maccaroni were in course of
being dropped into a mouth below. Not one
of the least important persons in the party was
the village poet—carpenter by trade—a Peter
Quince, with a great faculty for rhyming, who
produced many a burst of laughter by his
couplets. Every chance incident that caught his
attention at the dinner-table was improvised
immediately into verse; brindisis were rhymed
off to the health of everybody. The habit
caught like fire on coal upon the fancy of the
company; the people warmed, and fumed, and
presently broke out into a blaze of verse;
everybody had rhymed toasts to propose, or
rhymed comments on a neighbour's nose, and
thought it fit to show his wit by doing away
with prose. As others became talkative, the
impelling genius who had set loose the flood
of rhyme became reserved, and hiccupped
secretly behind his hand. His poetical
abilities being esteemed, a peculiar flagon of
wine had been placed at his side when dinner
commenced, in order that he might be forced—
by aid of a glass, as they force cucumbers—to
flower early. He had accordingly burst out
into bloom very soon after dinner had
commenced, but, by the time dinner was over, his
productive power was exhausted.

Dinner being over, they removed the tables
and called in guitar and tambourin. Dancing
began, at which the guests acquitted
themselves gracefully and merrily, labouring well
to tire each other down until it was nearly
sunset. Then the whole party turned out to
escort me in triumph to the steps that lead
down into Capri. There was no cloud in the
sky as we exchanged farewells on the brow of
the hill; the Bay of Naples lay before us like
a great, calm lake, bounded by islands which
seemed lost in the deep golden tints of the
departing sun. The eye could skirt the coast
and rest upon Misenum, Baiæ, Pozzuoli,
Naples, which at a distance of twenty-three
miles was so clearly seen, that it almost
invited one to look in at its open windows;
then there was the rich back-ground far away,
and coming back from this, my eyes dwelt
cheerfully again upon the gay little crowd of
villagers of Anacapri, with his worship the
Syndic joking at their head, all ready, with
bright eyes, waving handkerchiefs, and a fire
of absurd amiable couplets, to see me safely
off upon my journey down the mountain
stairs.

I was hospitably urged to visit Anacapri
again, when, according to just custom, the
return feast would be given by the relations
of the bride. It was quite fair that the
bride's family should have its turn of merriment,
since its members were bound, by a
custom rigidly observed, to stay at home upon
the wedding-day as mourners for the loss of
the departed girl. Before I end my story,
let me say for the credit of Italian villagers,
that although most of the guests at the
wedding-feast were of the lower orders—
fishermen and rustics—and neither wine nor
mirth were stinted, I saw no trace of intoxication,
if I except the prostration of the poet,
who enjoyed the privilege of poet's license in
his measures; and I heard no syllable, in jest
or earnest, that was not as pure as the fresh
mountain air.

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