Capri

Capri (Italian; adjective Caprese) is an island located in the off the, on the south side of the  in the  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

 * 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,  (1934), Ch. XXVI

Poems of Places

 * Henry W. Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places, Vol. XI (Boston: James R. Osgood & Co., 1877)


 * What the mountainous Isle Seen 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 out Darkness, distemper. Strange, that one so vile Should 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 be The 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 debar From gliding inwards where the ripples flow Into strange grots whose roofs are azure spar, Whose pavements liquid silver. Mild winds blow Around your prow, and at your keel the foam, Leaping and laughing, freshly wafts you home.They call the island Capri,—with a name Dulling an airy dream, just as the soul Is clogged with body palpable,—and Fame Hath 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 show Of 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 rows Of 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 sea Whose waters kiss the sweet Parthenope, There is a grot whose rugged front the while Frowns only dark where all is seen to smile. But enter, and behold! surpassing fair The 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 roof Shine as does silver scattered o’er the woof Of some rich robe, or bright as stars whose light Inlays 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 sheen As here gleams forth within this grotto’s screen. And when the oar the boatman gently takes And 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 lie Waiting 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 alone Is the like of thy lustre shone,        Cave of blue!Less of earth than the spirit-world,        Morning ne’er Waters of thine with its dews impearled,    Nor sunrise crimsoned the concave here; But evening in thee hath, as grandly glooms The 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 rim Steadfast, but burning bright and dim        Changefully.On thy huge dome and cathedral aisles,        Loftier far Than 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 lymph Bath 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