I had spoken to him of his health, for I could see that his state was
such as to inspire anxiety, and begged that he would allow me to see if
there was an English doctor at Naples who could visit him. This he would
not assent to, saying that he was quite content with the care of an
Italian doctor who visited him almost daily, and that he hoped to be
able, under my escort, to return within a very short time to England. "I shall never be much better, dear Sophy," he said one day. "The doctor
tells me that I am suffering from some sort of consumption, and that I
must not expect to live long. Yet I yearn to see Worth once more, and to
feel again the west winds blowing in the evening across from Portland,
and smell the thyme on the Dorset downs. In a few days I hope perhaps to
be a little stronger, and I then wish to show you a discovery which I
have made in Naples. After that you may order them to harness the
horses, and carry me back to Worth Maltravers." I endeavoured to ascertain from Signor Baravelli, the doctor, something
as to the actual state of his patient; but my knowledge of Italian was
so slight that I could neither make him understand what I would be at,
nor comprehend in turn what he replied, so that this attempt was
relinquished. From my brother himself I gathered that he had begun to
feel his health much impaired as far back as the early spring, but
though his strength had since then gradually failed him, he had not been
confined to the house until a month past. He spent the day and often
the night reclining on his sofa and speaking little. He had apparently
lost the taste for the violin which had once absorbed so much of his
attention; indeed I think the bodily strength necessary for its
performance had probably now failed him. The Stradivarius instrument
lay near his couch in its case; but I only saw the latter open on one
occasion, I think, and was deeply thankful that John no longer took
the same delight as heretofore in the practice of this art,--not only
because the mere sound of his violin was now fraught to me with such
bitter memories, but also because I felt sure that its performance had
in some way which I could not explain a deleterious effect upon himself. He exhibited that absence of vitality which is so often noticeable in
those who have not long to live, and on some days lay in a state of
semi-lethargy from which it was difficult to rouse him. But at other
times he suffered from a distressing restlessness which forbade him to
sit still even for a few minutes, and which was more painful to watch
than his lethargic stupor. The Italian boy, of whom I have already
spoken, exhibited an untiring devotion to his master which won my heart. His name was Raffaelle Carotenuto, and he often sang to us in the
evening, accompanying himself on the mandoline. At nights, too, when
John could not sleep, Raffaelle would read for hours till at last
his master dozed off. He was well educated, and though I could not
understand the subject he read, I often sat by and listened, being
charmed with his evident attachment to my brother and with the melodious
intonation of a sweet voice. My brother was nervous apparently in some respects, and would never be
left alone even for a few minutes; but in the intervals while Raffaelle
was with him I had ample opportunity to examine and appreciate the
beauties of the Villa de Angelis. It was built, as I have said, on some
rocks jutting into the sea, just before coming to the Capo di Posilipo
as you proceed from Naples. The earlier foundations were, I believe,
originally Roman, and upon them a modern villa had been constructed
in the eighteenth century, and to this again John had made important
additions in the past two years. Looking down upon the sea from the
windows of the villa, one could on calm days easily discern the remains
of Roman piers and moles lying below the surface of the transparent
water; and the tufa-rock on which the house was built was burrowed with
those unintelligible excavations of a classic date so common in the
neighbourhood. These subterraneous rooms and passages, while they
aroused my curiosity, seemed at the same time so gloomy and repellent
that I never explored them. But on one sunny morning, as I walked at
the foot of the rocks by the sea, I ventured into one of the larger of
these chambers, and saw that it had at the far end an opening leading
apparently to an inner room. I had walking with me an old Italian female
servant who took a motherly interest in my proceedings, and who, relying
principally upon a very slight knowledge of English, had constituted
herself my body-guard. Encouraged by her presence, I penetrated this
inner room and found that it again opened in turn into another, and so
on until we had passed through no less than four chambers. They were all lighted after a fashion through vent-holes which somewhere
or other reached the outer air, but the fourth room opened into a fifth
which was unlighted. My companion, who had been showing signs of alarm
and an evident reluctance to proceed further, now stopped abruptly and
begged me to return. It may have been that her fear communicated itself
to me also, for on attempting to cross the threshold and explore the
darkness of the fifth cell, I was seized by an unreasoning panic and by
the feeling of undefined horror experienced in a nightmare. I hesitated
for an instant, but my fear became suddenly more intense, and springing
back, I followed my companion, who had set out to run back to the outer
air. We never paused until we stood panting in the full sunlight by the
sea. As soon as the maid had found her breath, she begged me never to go
there again, explaining in broken English that the caves were known in
the neighbourhood as the "Cells of Isis," and were reputed to be haunted
by demons. This episode, trifling as it may appear, had so great an
effect upon me that I never again ventured on to the lower walk which
ran at the foot of the rocks by the sea. In the house above, my brother had built a large hall after the ancient
Roman style, and this, with a dining-room and many other chambers, were
decorated in the fashion of those discovered at Pompeii. They had been
furnished with the utmost luxury, and the beauty of the paintings,
furniture, carpets, and hangings was enhanced by statues in bronze and
marble. The villa, indeed, and its fittings were of a kind to which
I was little used, and at the same time of such beauty that I never
ceased to regard all as a creation of an enchanter's wand, or as the
drop-scene to some drama which might suddenly be raised and disappear
from my sight. The house, in short, together with its furniture, was,
I believe, intended to be a reproduction of an ancient Roman villa,
and had something about it repellent to my rustic and insular ideas.