Gazette Of The United States, & Philadelphia Daily Advertiser

Foreign Intelligence

FROM A LONDON PAPER.

FERDINAND KING OF NAPLES.

Nothing can be more disrespectful and contemptuous than the manner in which most of the late Italian writers speak of the present king of Naples. If we may believe them, his tutors early instilled into him an eager fondness for hunting, fishing, &c. amusements in which he is still known to indulge with a marked predilection—The king of Naples is of a lively disposition, and was still more so in his early youth: his governor was studious to discover new modes of recreation for him, and at the same time to repress in him a too great propensity to mildness and facility, which were the predominant ingredients in his character. St. Nicandre did not forget that one of the most favorite amusements of the prince of Asturias, now king of Spain, was to tear off the skin of rabbits; but his pupil he instigated to the pleasure of killing them. The young king posted himself in a narrow pass, towards which these miserable creatures were driven, and there, armed with a club proportioned to his strength, he fell upon and killed them, expressing his joy in loud peals of laughter. In order to give variety to this humane diversion, he took rabbits, dogs, cats, and diverted himself with tossing them in blankets till they expired. His passion for this amusement ripened into the desire of treating human beings in the same manner, an amusement of which his governor highly approved, as of the most reasonable kind. Peasants, soldiers, mechanics, and even the nobility and gentry thus became the sport and playthings of this sceptred child.

Such is the plan upon which Ferdinand IV. was brought up; nor was he troubled with so much as learning to read and write. His wife was his first school-mistress; an education of this description could not fail of forming a bad king. The Neapolitans expected no better, but future events demonstrated the folly of those conjectures. The prevailing influence of a good disposition triumphed over the errors of this vicious education. He came, after a time, to execrate the cruelties which he perpetrated in his infancy; and he afterwards proved, on a variety of occasions, that he was not destitute either of the good qualities of the heart or the understanding. He might have approved himself a good prince, had he succeeded in correcting himself of his inordinate passion for hunting and fishing, which engross those precious moments which might have been employed in pursuits that tend to the public good.

Among the various anecdotes to which Ferdinand's passion for hunting has given birth, there is one which it is proper to record, because it manifests the suavity of his disposition, and the goodness of his heart: —a poor, disconsolate woman happened to fall in with him in a forest; she was unacquainted with his person, and she appeared to be deeply afflicted. The king enquired into her situation. She informed him that she had seven children, and that she had recently lost her husband, that the little she possessed had lately been laid waste by the king's hounds. "How cruel is it (continued the widow) to have for a king a hunter, whose amusements wring such a flood of tears from the eyes of his subjects; why does this dronish simpleton come and lay waste my farm?"

Ferdinand replied that his amusements were justifiable, and that, as he belonged to his majesty's service, he would not fail to acquaint him with the complaint, without, however, insisting on the approbrious terms with which it was accompanied. "Tell everything you can (replied the undaunted widow) it is all the same to me, for I expect no redress at his hands." The king accompanied her as far as her cabin: being desirous to examine the mischief and injury he had occasioned, he got an estimate made of it by two neighbouring peasants who were as little acquainted with his person as the widow. He then drew from his purse the whole of what money he had about him; he rewarded the arbitrators, and gave the remainder to the widow, who was also indemnised far beyond any damage of which she had complained.

It is doubtless under the pressure of extraordinary circumstances and of sudden emergencies, that the human character fully unfolds and manifests itself. On being informed of the disastrous fate of Calabria, Ferdinand was laid prostrate and confounded, and that to such a pitch, that he was for a time unable to utter a single word. "Good God!" said he, after a long silence and a passion of tears! "Good God! Messina is then destroyed, and Calabria almost completely and entirely ruined!" He then reclined himself upon a bed, where he remained for near two hours in extreme agitation.

The Queen, on her return from an excursion of pleasure, went into his apartment, and ridiculed and scoffed the cause of his uneasiness. She told him that he was nothing better than a child, a mere child, a man without any energy of character. What then, said she, is the cause of this deep despair? Does our existence depend upon the fate of Messina or Calabria? The King made no reply, but sent for the whole of his ministers —spoke to each in particular, and gave the most positive orders that every assistance should be given to the unfortunate persons whose lives had been spared. He then retired to his private apartment, where he shut himself up, and continued for twenty-four hours in the deepest agonies of grief, nor did he afford admittance to any person until the news of the arrival of fresh couriers were announced to him.

The details contained in these dispatches were of a most painful nature. The king fell into a real delirium; he continued much agitated, and walked up and down the apartments, uttering sobs and groans of desperation. The queen again made her appearance: and asked him—"What then would be your sorrow should you have lost one of your children?" Ferdinand hereupon restored to his reason, and turning himself towards her with majestic dignity, fixed an eye upon her that witnessed high indignation: "Know," said he, "that I would have more quietly sustained the loss of my whole family than that of one of my provinces. Are not the many thousand men who have perished my children likewise?"

Upon this answer, so truly worthy of a King, the Queen withdrew.

"Ah!" continued Ferdinand, "with what pleasure would I not redeem the lives of my unfortunate Calabrians and Messinians, even at the loss of my whole family. Who is the cruel and barbarous Prince who could hesitate a moment in sacrificing six of his children, in order to save the lives of an hundred thousand faithful subjects?"