The Baroque in Naples, Italy
It was once considered the most beautiful capital in Europe. According to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Naples was a kind of paradise, where everyone lived in a state of dream-like intoxication. Some twenty years later, Stendhal wrote that Via Toledo, with its palaces and carriages, was the most cheerful street in the world, and that, as a lover of opera, he found the Teatro di San Carlo even finer than Teatro alla Scala.
Teatro di San Carlo, Naples
I am referring, of course, to Naples, capital of the Bourbon Kingdom of Naples (1734–1860), the final destination of travellers on the Grand Tour. Spellbound by the city’s natural beauty, they fell in love with its joyous atmosphere, often preferring it to the austerity of papal Rome. From the heights of Vomero came the songs of washerwomen —‘O sole mio’ — one of the best-known Neapolitan melodies, while the tarantella was danced in the streets, that whirling dance which legend attributes to the Graces themselves, devised to entice Odysseus and echoing the enchantment of the Sirens.
It is not my intention to persuade you that Naples is a flawless city. Yet, despite its many difficulties, it remains a place no discerning traveller can afford to overlook. I arrived on the occasion of an exhibition devoted to the Neapolitan Baroque, staged across the city’s principal museums, historic palazzi and churches, and spanning the period from 1606 — the year of Caravaggio’s arrival — until the mid-eighteenth century.
Interior of the San Gregorio Armeno, Naples - Courtesy: Giuseppe Guida
In truth, the Baroque in Naples requires no exhibition to make it visible; it is everywhere, the city’s most characteristic artistic expression. And yet it can seem elusive, concealed within narrow, shadowed streets of the sort one sees in films. The city is no labyrinth, however. Its grid resembles a chessboard, preserving the layout of ancient Greek Neapolis, later transformed by the arrival of powerful religious orders — the Benedictines, Dominicans, Jesuits and Carmelite nuns — who occupied entire blocks to erect their churches and monasteries. Spanish nobles followed in the wake of the House of Aragon, the viceroys and the Spanish Bourbons; together with the local aristocracy, they commissioned grand residences in the exuberant Baroque style as it came into fashion.
Courtyard of the Certosa di San Martino, Naples
Naples abounds in contrasts. The despondency of the poor, whom I encountered in the streets, seemed to dissolve into hope when they gathered in prayer within churches resplendent with precious marbles, sculpture, silver and gilded ceilings — in short, with all the splendour of the Baroque — such as the Cappella di San Gennaro or the Church of the Gesù Nuovo. It is, after all, a city marked by a troubled history of plague, famine, volcanic eruptions and earthquakes. “Under the clearest sky, the most precarious soil,” wrote Goethe of Naples. Hence the proliferation of litanies and the profound devotion to San Gennaro, the city’s patron saint.
The Biblioteca Oratoriana dei Girolamini, Naples — one of the most beautiful libraries in the world
The monastic libraries, filled with manuscripts and crowned by richly frescoed ceilings — like that of the Complesso dei Girolamini — are havens of Neapolitan culture. The cloisters of convents such as Santa Chiara possess a worldly elegance, their majolica-clad columns and benches adorned with flowers, vines, hunting scenes, classical myths and lively depictions of dance and music. In the shade of a pergola, cloistered nuns pass silently, absorbed in sacred texts. The Neapolitans, no less than their forebears, cherish the theatricality of the Baroque. Even the excavations of Pompeii, which revealed the ornamental language of antiquity, did not fundamentally alter local taste, as they did among British travellers on the Grand Tour.
The cloister of Santa Chiara, Naples, richly decorated with majolica tiles
From the terrace of the Hotel Excelsior I gaze at the immense cone of Mount Vesuvius, rising from the gulf — at once menacing and enthralling. Its eruptions have inspired painters and writers alike, yet for Neapolitans, who live daily in its shadow, the volcano serves almost as a barometer. “Today there is a plume,” or “Now it has stopped,” an elderly man remarked. Vesuvius is part of their very soul, and I wonder whether the Bay of Naples would still be deemed the most beautiful in the world were it not for its presence.
Panoramic view of Naples, with Mount Vesuvius rising in the background
Below, lies the picturesque harbour of Santa Lucia, animated by guitarists and restaurants. Beyond, stretches the Sorrento peninsula; further still, in the open sea, rises the enchanting silhouette of Capri.
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