Capri

thumb| thumb| thumb| Capri (Italian; adjective Caprese) is an island located in the Tyrrhenian Sea off the Sorrento Peninsula, on the south side of the Gulf of Naples in the Campania region of Italy. The largest settlement on the island is the town of Capri. The island has been a resort since the time of the Roman Republic. Quotes thumb|A lengthy and momentous letter has arrived from Capri.—Juvenal, on the death of Tiberius thumb|In Capri he could do what he was unable to do at Rome.—Robert Graves Verbosa ac grandis epistola venit a Capreis. A lengthy and momentous letter has arrived from Capri (viz., Tiberius’ villa there). Juvenal, 10, 71 An important letter from the palace, from headquarters, etc. This was the famous despatch of 18 October, 31 AD, conveying Sejanus’ death-signal. Source: W. F. H. King, Classical and Foreign Quotations, 3rd ed. (1904), no. 2892 Tiberius took with him to Capri a number of learned Greek professors, and a picked force of soldiers, including his German bodyguard, and Thrasyllus, and a number of painted strange-looking creatures of doubtful sex and, the most curious choice of all, Cocceius Nerva. Capri is an island in the Bay of Naples about three miles from the coast. Its climate is mild in winter and cool in summer. There is only one possible landing place, the rest of the island being protected by steep cliffs and impassable thickets. How Tiberius spent his leisure time here—when he was not discussing poetry and mythology with the Greeks, or law and politics with Nerva—is too revolting a story even for history. I shall say no more than that he had brought with him a complete set of the famous books of Elephantis, the most copious encyclopædia of pornography ever gathered together. In Capri he could do what he was unable to do at Rome—practise obscenities in the open air among the trees and flowers or down at the water’s edge, and make as much noise as he liked. As some of his field-sports were extremely cruel, the sufferings of his playmates being a great part of his pleasure, he considered that the advantage of Capri’s remoteness greatly outweighed the disadvantages. He did not live wholly there: he used to go for visits to Capua, Baiæ and Antium. But Capri was his headquarters. Robert Graves, I, Claudius (1934), Ch. XXVI Poems of Places Henry W. Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places, Vol. XI (Boston: James R. Osgood & Co., 1877) What the mountainous IsleSeen in the South? ’Tis where a Monster dwelt,Hurling his victims from the topmost cliff;Then and then only merciful, so slow,So subtle, were the tortures they endured.Fearing and feared he lived, cursing and cursed;And still the dungeons in the rock breathe outDarkness, distemper. Strange, that one so vileShould from his den strike terror thro' the world;Should, where withdrawn in his decrepitude,Say to the noblest, be they where they might,'Go from the earth!' and from the earth they went:Yet such things were—and will be, when mankind,Losing all virtue, lose all energy;And for the loss incur the penalty,Trodden down and trampled. Samuel Rogers, from Italy, a Poem (1842), p. 201 There is an isle, kissed by a smiling sea,Where all sweet confluents meet: a thing of heaven,A spent aërolite, that well may beThe missing sister of the starry Seven.Celestial beauty nestles at its knee,And in its lap is naught of earthly leaven.’Tis girt and crowned with loveliness; its year,Eternal summer; winter comes not near.’Tis small, as things of beauty ofttimes are,And in a morning round it you may row,Nor need a tedious haste your bark debarFrom gliding inwards where the ripples flowInto strange grots whose roofs are azure spar,Whose pavements liquid silver. Mild winds blowAround your prow, and at your keel the foam,Leaping and laughing, freshly wafts you home.They call the island Capri,—with a nameDulling an airy dream, just as the soulIs clogged with body palpable,—and FameHath long while winged the word from pole to pole.Its human story is a tale of shame,Of all unnatural lusts a gory scroll,Record of what, when pomp and power agree,Man once hath been, and man again may be.* * * * *Terrace and slope from shore to summit showOf all rich climes the glad-surrendered spoil.Here the bright olive’s phantom branches glow,There the plump fig sucks sweetness from the soil.Mid odorous flowers that through the Zodiac blow,Returning tenfold to man’s leisured toil,Hesperia’s fruit hangs golden. High in air,The vine runs riot, spurning human care.And flowers of every hue and breath abound,Charming the sense; the burning cactus glows,Like daisies elsewhere dappling all the ground,And in each cleft the berried myrtle blows.The playful lizard glides and darts around,The elfin fireflies flicker o’er the rowsOf ripened grain. Alien to pain and wrong,Men fill the days with dance, the nights with song. Alfred Austin, from Rome or Death! (1873), IV–VI, VIII–IX Beneath the vine-clad slopes of Capri’s Isle,Which run down to the margin of that seaWhose waters kiss the sweet Parthenope,There is a grot whose rugged front the whileFrowns only dark where all is seen to smile.But enter, and behold! surpassing fairThe magic sight that meets your vision there,—Not heaven! with all its broad expanse of blue,Gleams colored with a sheen so rich, so rare,So changing in its clear, translucent hue;Glassed in the lustrous wave, the walls and roofShine as does silver scattered o’er the woofOf some rich robe, or bright as stars whose lightInlays the azure concave of the night.You cannot find throughout this world, I ween,Waters so fair as those within this cave,Color like that which flashes from the wave,Or which is steeped in such cerulean sheenAs here gleams forth within this grotto’s screen.And when the oar the boatman gently takesAnd dips it in the flood, a fiery glow,Ruddy as phosphor, stirs in depths below;Each ripple into burning splendor breaks,As though some hidden fires beneath did lieWaiting a touch to kindle into flame,And shine in radiance on the dazzled eye,As sparkling up from wells of light they came,To make this grot a glory far and nigh. Charles D. Bell, "The Azure Grotto" in The Argonaut (9 January 1909), p. 21 Many an archèd roof is bent        Over the wave,But none like thine, from the firmament    To the shells that at thy threshold lave.What name shall shadow thy rich-blue sheen,Violet, sapphire, or ultramarine,        Beautiful cave?Blue,—all blue,—may we not compare it        With heaven’s hue,With the pearl-shell, with burning spirit,    Or with aught that is azure too?No! for in ghostly realms aloneIs the like of thy lustre shone,        Cave of blue!Less of earth than the spirit-world,        Morning ne’erWaters of thine with its dews impearled,    Nor sunrise crimsoned the concave here;But evening in thee hath, as grandly gloomsThe twilight which thy one star illumes,        A rival sphere.And that star—the great eye of heaven        Watching thee—Waxes and wanes with morn and even,    Beams as the skies beyond may be;Resting on thy horizon’s rimSteadfast, but burning bright and dim        Changefully.On thy huge dome and cathedral aisles,        Loftier farThan man’s monuments, Capri piles    Island rocks, which mountains are.Gleams through the flood thy spangled floor,As light streams in by thine open door        On rock and spar.The world without by that sole portal        May enter in;And therefore sacred to shapes immortal    For classic ages thy halls have been.Sailing along from the lessening skylight,Let us from the deepening twilight        Its secrets win.Mermaids, mantled in mazarine,        Fancy sees;The ocean-sirens, and her, their queen,    Of music-charméd memories.Still breathes the ancient Parthenope,O’er waters of modern Napoli        Her melodies.Blue,—blue,—beautiful and intense,—        Everywhere:Spirits, or some one spirit immense,    Breathing and burning in the air;Making an ardent presence felt,Till the rocks seem as like to melt        In the glare!No! they may emit no heat,        Those prisoned beams.At noontide, in thy coolness sweet,    The glowing Italian summer dreams,And the limpid and sparkling lymphBath of beauty, in form of nymph,        Well beseems.World of wonders and strange delights,        Submontane sea,Bowers of branching stalactites,    Islands of lapis lazuli,And waves so clear, and air so rich,That, gazing, we know not which is which,—        Adieu to thee!To bathe the burning brow is sweet        In such baptism,Often to find out truth’s retreat,    In sparkling grotto, in cool abysm;So shall deep quiet thy soul imbue,And melt into one harmonious hue        The garish prism! William Gibson, "The Grotto Azzuro" in A Vision of Faery Land and Other Poems (1853), p. 102 See also Lake Como External links Category:Cities and towns in Italy