From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn Part 16

CHAPTER XXV.

NAPLES.--POMPEII AND PaeSTUM.

NAPLES, October 23d.

"See Naples and die!" is an old Italian proverb, which, it must be confessed, is putting it rather strongly, but which still expresses, with pardonable exaggeration, the popular sense of the surpa.s.sing beauty of this city and its environs. Florence, lying in the valley of the Arno, as seen from the top of Fiesole, is a vision of beauty; but here, instead of a river flowing between narrow banks, there opens before us a bay that is like a sea, alive with ships, with beautiful islands, and in the background Vesuvius, with its column of smoke ever rising against the sky. The bay of Naples is said to be the most beautiful in the world; at least its only rival is in another hemisphere--in the bay of Rio Janeiro. It must be fifty miles in circuit (it is nineteen miles across from Naples to Sorrento), and the whole sh.o.r.e is dotted with villages, so that when lighted up at night, it seems girdled with watch fires.

And around this broad-armed bay (as at Nice and other points along the Mediterranean), Summer lingers after she has left the north of Italy.

Not only vineyards and olive groves cover the southern slopes, but palm trees grow in the open air. Here the old Romans loved to come and sun themselves in this soft atmosphere. On yonder island of Capri are still seen the ruins of a palace of Tiberius; Cicero had a villa at Pompeii; and Virgil, though born at Mantua, wished to rest in death upon these milder sh.o.r.es, and here, at the entrance of the grotto of Posilippo, they still point out his tomb.

In its interior Naples is a great contrast to Rome. It is not only larger (indeed, it is much the largest city in Italy, having half a million of inhabitants), but brighter and gayer. Rome is dark and sombre, always reminding one of the long-buried past; Naples seems to live only in the present, without a thought either of the past or of the future. A friend who came here a day or two before us, expressed the contrast between the two cities by saying energetically, "Naples is life: Rome is death!" Indeed, we have here a spectacle of extraordinary animation. I have seen somewhere a series of pictures of "Street Scenes in Naples," and surely no city in Europe offers a greater variety of figures and costumes, as rich and poor, princes and beggars, soldiers and priests, jostle each other in the noisy, laughing crowd.

Even the poorest of the people have something picturesque in their poverty. The lazzaroni of Naples are well known. They are the lowest cla.s.s of the population, such as may be found in all large cities, and which is generally the most disgusting and repulsive. But here, owing to the warm climate, they can live out of doors, and thus the rags and dirt, which elsewhere are hidden in garrets and cellars, are paraded in the streets, making them like a Rag Fair. One may see a host of young beggars--little imps, worthy sons of their fathers--lying on the sidewalk, asleep in the sun, or coolly picking the vermin from their bodies, or showing their dexterity in holding aloft a string of macaroni, and letting it descend into their mouths, and then running after the carriage for a penny.

The streets are very narrow, very crowded, and very noisy. From morning to night they are filled with people, and resound with the cries of market-men and women, who make a perfect Bedlam. Little donkeys, which seem to be the universal carryalls, come along laden with fruit, grapes and vegetables. The loads put on these poor beasts are quite astonishing. Though not much bigger than Newfoundland dogs, each one has two huge panniers hung at his sides, which are filled with all sorts of produce which the peasants are bringing to market.

Often the poor little creature is so covered up that he is hardly visible under his load, and might not be discovered, but that the heap seems to be in motion, and a pair of long ears is seen to project through the superinc.u.mbent ma.s.s, and an occasional bray from beneath sounds like a cry for pity.

The riding carts of the laboring people also have a power of indefinite multiplication of the contents they carry. I thought that an Irish jaunting-car would hold about as many human creatures as anything that went on wheels, but it is quite surpa.s.sed by the country carts one sees around Naples, in which a mere rat of a donkey scuds along before an indescribable vehicle, on which half a dozen men are stuck like so many pegs (of course they stand, for there is not room for them to sit), with women also, and a baby or two, and a fat priest in the bargain, and two or three urchins dangling behind! Sometimes, for convenience, babies and vegetables are packed in the same basket, and swung below!

With such variety in the streets, one need not go out of the city for constant entertainment. And yet the charm of Naples is in its environs, and one who should spend a month or two here, might make constant excursions to points along the bay, which are attractive alike by their natural beauty and their historical interest. He may follow the sh.o.r.e from Ischia clear around to Capri, and enjoy a succession of beautiful points, as the sh.o.r.e-line curves in and out, now running into some sheltered nook, where the olive groves grow thick in the southern sun, and then coming to a headland that juts out into the sea. Few things can be more enchanting than such a ride along the bay to Baiae on one side or from Castellamare to Sorrento and Amalfi, on the other.

Our first visit was to POMPEII, so interesting by its melancholy fate, and by the revelations of ancient life in its recent excavations. It was destroyed in an eruption of Vesuvius in the reign of t.i.tus, in the year 79, and so completely was it buried that for seventeen hundred years its very site was not known. It was only about the middle of the last century that it was discovered, and not till within a few years that excavations were prosecuted with much vigor. Now the city is uncovered, the roofs are taken off from the houses, and we can look down into the very homes of the people, and see the interior of their dwellings, and all the details of their domestic life.

We spent four or five hours in exploring this buried city, going with a guide from street to street, and from house to house. How strange it seemed to walk over the very pavements that were laid there before our Saviour was born, the stones still showing the ruts worn by the wheels of Roman chariots two thousand years ago!

We examined many houses in detail, and found them, while differing in costliness (some of them, such as those of Diomed and Sall.u.s.t and Polybius, being dwellings of the rich), resembling each other in their general arrangement. All seemed to be built on an Oriental model, designed for a hot climate, with a court in the centre, where often a fountain filled the air with delicious coolness, and lulled to rest those who sought in the rooms which opened on the court a retreat from the heat of the summer noon. From this central point of the house, one may go through the different apartments--bedroom, dining-room, and kitchen--and see how the people cooked their food, and where they eat it; where they dined and where they slept; how they lay down and how they rose up. In almost every house there is a niche for the Penates, or household G.o.ds, which occupied a place in the dwellings of the old Pompeiians, such as is given by devout Catholics to images of the Virgin and saints, at the present day.

But that which excites the greatest wonder is the decorations of the houses--the paintings on the walls, which in their grace of form and richness of color, are still subjects of admiration, and furnish many a model to architects and decorators. A great number of these have been removed to the Museum at Naples, where artists are continually studying and copying them. In this matter of decorative art, Wendell Phillips may well claim--as he does in his eloquent lecture on "The Lost Arts"--that there are many things in which the ancients, whether Romans, Greeks, or Egyptians, were superior to the boastful moderns.

Something of the luxury of those times is seen in the public baths, which are fitted up with furnaces for heating the water, and pipes for conveying it, and rooms for reclining and cooling one's self after the bath, and other refinements of luxury, which we had vainly conceived belonged only to modern civilization.

From the houses we pa.s.s to the shops, and here we find all the signs of active life, as if the work had been interrupted only yesterday.

Pa.s.sing along the street, one sees the merchant's store, the apothecary's shop, and the blacksmith's forge. To be sure, the fire is extinguished, and the utensils which have been discovered have been carried off to the Museum at Naples; but it needs only to light up the coals, and we might hear again the ring on the anvils where the hammer fell, struck by hands that have been dust for centuries. And here is a bakery, with all the implements of the trade: the stone mills standing in their place for grinding the corn (is it not said that "two shall be grinding at the mill; one shall be taken and the other left"?); the vessels for the flour and for water, the trough for kneading the bread, and the oven for baking--long brick ovens they are, just like those in which our New England mothers are wont to bake their Thanksgiving pies. Nay, we have some of the bread that was baked, loaves of which are still preserved, charred and blackened by the fire, and possibly might be eaten, although the bread is decidedly well done.

Of course, the most imposing structures that have been uncovered are the public buildings in the Forum and elsewhere--the basilica for the administration of justice; the theatres for games; and the temples for the worship of the G.o.ds.

I was curious as to the probable loss of life in the destruction of the city, and conclude that it was not very great in proportion to the population. We have no means of knowing exactly the number of inhabitants. Murray's Guide Book says 30,000, but a careful measurement shows that not more than 12,000 could have been within the walls, while perhaps as many more were outside of it. As yet there have been discovered not more than six hundred skeletons; so that it is probable that the greater number made their escape.

But even these--though few compared with the whole--are enough to disclose, by their att.i.tudes, the suffering and the agony of their terrible fate. From their postures, it is plain that the inhabitants were seized with mortal terror when destruction came upon them. Many were found with their bodies p.r.o.ne on the earth, who had evidently thrown themselves down, and buried their faces in their hands, as if to hide from their eyes the danger that was in the air. Some tried to escape with their treasures. In one house five skeletons were found, with bracelets and rings of gold, silver, and bronze, lying on the pavement. A woman was found with four rings on one of her fingers, set with precious stones, with gold bracelets and earrings and pieces of money. Perhaps her avarice or her vanity proved her destruction. But the hardest fate was that of those who could not fly, as captives chained in their dungeons. Three skeletons were found in a prison, with the manacles still on their fleshless hands. Even dumb beasts shared in the general catastrophe. The horse that had lost its rider pawed and neighed in vain; and the dog that howled at his master's gate, but would not leave him, shared his fate. The skeletons of both are still preserved.

Altogether, the most vivid account which has been given of the overthrow of the city, is by the English novelist, Bulwer, in his "Last Days of Pompeii." He pictures a great crowd collected for gladiatorial combats. That the people had these cruel sports, is shown by the amphitheatre which remains to this day; and the greatest number of skeletons in any one spot was thirty-six, in a building for the training of gladiators. In the amphitheatre, according to the novelist, the people were a.s.sembled when the destruction came. The lion had been let loose, but more sensitive than man to the strange disturbance in the elements, crept round the arena, instead of bounding on his prey, losing his natural ferocity in the sense of terror. Beasts in the dens below filled the air with howls, till the a.s.sembly, roused from the eager excitement of the combat, at length looked upward, and in the darkening sky above them read the sign of their approaching doom.

But no high-wrought description can add to the actual terror of that day, as recounted by historians. There are some things which cannot be overdrawn, and even Bulwer does not present to the imagination a greater scene of horror than the plain narrative of the younger Pliny, who was himself a witness of the destruction of Pompeii from the bay, and whose uncle, advancing nearer to get a better view, perished.

A city which has had such a fate, and which, after being buried for so many centuries, is now disentombed, deserves a careful memorial, which shall comprise both an authentic historical account of its overthrow, with a detailed report of the recent discoveries. We are glad, therefore, to meet here a countryman of ours who has taken the matter in hand, and is fully competent for the task. Rev. J. C. Fletcher, who is well known in America as the author of a work on Brazil, which is as entertaining as it is instructive, has been residing two years in Naples, preparing for the Harpers a work on Pompeii, which cannot fail to be of great interest, and to which we look forward as the most valuable account we shall have of this long-buried city.

Another excursion of almost equal interest was to PaeSTUM, some fifty miles below Naples, the ruins of which are second only to those of the Parthenon. It is an excursion which requires two days, and which we accordingly divided. We went first to Sorrento, on the southern sh.o.r.e of the bay, one of the most beautiful spots around Naples, a kind of eyrie, or eagle's nest, perched on the cliff, and looking off upon the glittering waters. Here we were joined by a German lady and her daughter, whom we had met before in Florence and in Rome, and who are to be our travelling companions in the East; and who added much to our pleasure as we picnicked the next day in the Temple of Neptune. With our party thus doubled we rode along the sh.o.r.e over that most beautiful drive from Sorrento to Castellamare, and went on to Salerno to pa.s.s the night, from which the excursion to Paestum is easily made the next day.

Notwithstanding the great interest of this excursion, it has been made less frequently than it would have been but for the fact that, until quite recently, the road has been infested by brigands, who had an unpleasant habit of starting up by the roadside with blunderbusses in their hands, and a.s.sisting you to alight from the carriage, and taking you for an excursion into the mountains, from which a message was sent to your friends in Naples, that on the deposit of a thousand pounds or so at a certain place you would be returned safely. If friends were a little slow in taking this hint, and coming to the rescue, sometimes an ear of the unfortunate captive was cut off and sent to the city as a gentle reminder of what awaited him if the money was not forthcoming immediately. Of course, it did not need many such warnings to squeeze the last drop of blood out of friends, who eagerly drained themselves to save a kinsman, who had fallen into the jaws of the lion, from a horrible fate.

That these were not idle tales told to frighten travellers, we had abundant evidence. Within a very few years there have been repeated adventures of the kind. An English gentleman whom we met at Salerno, who had lived some forty years in this part of Italy, told us that the stories were not at all exaggerated; that one gang of bandits had their headquarters but half a mile from his house, and that when captured they confessed that they had often lain in wait for _him_!

These pleasing reminiscences gave a cheerful zest to the prospect of our journey on the morrow, although at present there is little danger.

Since the advent of Victor Emmanuel, brigandage, like a good many other inst.i.tutions of the old regime, has been got rid of. Our English friend last saw his former neighbors, as he was riding in a carriage, and three of them pa.s.sed him, going to be shot. Since then the danger has been removed; and still it gives one a little excitement to drive where such incidents were common only a few years ago, and even now it is not at all disagreeable to see soldiers stationed at different points along the road.

Though brigandage has pa.s.sed away _here_, like many an other relic of the good old times, it still flourishes in Sicily, where all efforts to extirpate it have as yet proved unsuccessful, and where one who is extremely desirous of a little adventure, may find it without going far outside the walls of Palermo.

But we will not stop to waste words on brigands, when we have before us the ruins of Paestum. As we drive over a long, level road, we see in the distance the columns of great temples rising over the plain, not far from the sea. They are perhaps more impressive because standing alone, not in the midst of a populous city like the Parthenon, with Athens at its base, but like Tadmor in the wilderness, solitary and desolate, a wonder and a mystery. Except the custodian of the place there was not a human creature there; nor a sound to be heard save the cawing of crows that flew among the columns, and lighted on the roof.

In such silence we approached these vast remains of former ages. The builders of these mighty temples have vanished, and no man knows even their names. It is not certain by whom they were erected. It is supposed by a Greek colony that landed on the sh.o.r.es of Southern Italy, and there founded cities and built temples at least six hundred years before the Christian era. The style of architecture points to a Greek origin. The huge columns, without any base, and with the plain Doric capitals, show the same hands that reared the Parthenon. But whoever they were, there were giants in the earth in those days; and the Cyclopean architecture they have left puts to shame the pigmy constructions of modern times. How small it makes one feel to compare his own few years with these h.o.a.ry monuments of the past! So men pa.s.s away, and their names perish, even though the structures they have builded may survive a few hundred, or a few thousand years. What lessons on the greatness and littleness of man have been read under the shadow of these giant columns. Hither came Augustus, in whose reign Christ was born, to visit ruins that were ancient even in his day. Here, where a Caesar stood two thousand years ago, the traveller from another continent (though not from New Zealand) stands to-day, to muse--at Paestum, as at Pompeii--on the fate which overtakes all human things, and at last whelms man and his works in one undistinguishable ruin.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS.

November 1st.

Our excursion to Vesuvius was delayed for some days to await the arrival of the Franklin, which was to bring us the lieutenant who was our travelling companion in Germany last summer, and who wished to make the ascent in our company. At length, on Thursday, the firing of heavy guns told us that the great ship was coming into the harbor, and we were soon on board, where we received a most hearty welcome, not only from our kinsman, but from all the officers. The Franklin is the Flag-ship of our European squadron, and bears the flag of Admiral John L. Worden, the gallant officer whose courage and skill in fighting the Monitor against the Merrimack in Hampton Roads in 1862, saved the country in an hour of imminent peril. Well do we remember the terror in New York caused by the tidings of the sinking of the Congress and the c.u.mberland by that first ironclad--a new sea monster whose powers of destruction were unknown, and which we expected to see within a week sailing up our harbor, and demanding the surrender of the city.

From this and other dangers, which we shudder to contemplate, we were saved by the little Monitor on that eventful day. As Admiral Worden commands only the _fleet_, the _ship_ is commanded by an officer who bears the same honored name as the ship itself--Captain Franklin. We were very proud to see such men, surrounded by a fine set of officers, representing our country here. As we made frequent visits to the ship, we came to feel quite at home there. Not the least pleasant part of these visits was to meet several American ladies--the wife and daughters of Admiral Worden, and the wife of Captain Franklin. Men who have rendered distinguished services to their country are certainly ent.i.tled to a little domestic comfort on their long voyages; while the presence of such ladies is a benefit to all on board. When men are alone, whether in camp or on a ship, they are apt to become a little rough, and the mere presence of a n.o.ble woman has a refining influence over them. I can see it here in these young officers, who all seem to have a chivalrous feeling towards these ladies, who remind them of their own mothers and sisters at home. A more happy family I have not met on land or sea.

To their company we are indebted for much of the pleasure of our excursion to Vesuvius. On Sat.u.r.day a large party was made up from the ship, which included the family of Admiral Worden, Captain and Mrs.

Franklin, and half a dozen lieutenants. Our excellent consul at Naples, Mr. Duncan, and his sister, were also with us. We filled four carriages, and away we went through the streets of Naples at a furious rate; sweeping around the bay (along which, as we looked through arched pa.s.sages to the right, we could see villas and gardens stretching down to the waters), till we reached Resina, which stands on the site of buried Herculaneum. Here we turned to the left, and began the ascent. And now we found it well that our drivers had harnessed three stout horses abreast to each carriage, as we had a hard climb upward along the blackened sides of the mountain.

We soon perceived the wide-spread ruin wrought by successive eruptions of the volcano. Over all this mountain side had rolled a deluge of fire, and on every hand were strewn the wrecks of the mighty desolation. It seemed as if a destroying angel had pa.s.sed over the earth, blasting wherever his shadow fell. On either side stretched miles and miles of lava, which had flowed here and there slowly and sluggishly like molten iron, turning when interrupted in its course, and twisted into a thousand shapes.

But if this was a terrible sight, there was something to relieve the eye, as we looked away in the distance to where the smile of G.o.d still rests on an unsmitten world. As we mounted higher, we commanded a wider view, and surely never was there a more glorious panorama than that which was unrolled at our feet on that October morning. There was the bay of Naples, flashing in the sunlight, with the beautiful islands of Ischia and Capri lying, like guardian fortresses, off its mouth, and ships coming and going to all parts of the Mediterranean.

What an image was presented in that one view of the contrasts in our human life between sunshine and shadow--blooming fields on one hand, and a blackened waste on the other; above, a region swept by fire, and below, gardens and vineyards, and cities and villages, smiling in peace and security.

We had left Naples at nine o'clock, but it was noon before we reached the Observatory--a station which the Italian Government has established on the side of the mountain for the purpose of making meteorological observations. This is the limit to which carriages can ascend, and here we rested for an hour. Our watchful lieutenants had thoughtfully provided a substantial lunch, which the steward spread in a little garden overlooking the bay, and there a.s.sembled as merry a group of Americans as ever gathered on the sides of Vesuvius.

From the Observatory, those who would spare any unnecessary fatigue may take mules a mile farther to the foot of the cone, but our party preferred the excitement of the walk after our long ride. In ascending the cone, no four-footed beast is of any service; one must depend on his own strong limbs, unless he chooses to accept the aid of some of the fierce looking attendants who offer their services as porters. A lady may take a chair, and for forty francs be carried quite to the top on the shoulders of four stout fellows. But the more common way is to take two a.s.sistants, one to go forward who drags you up by a strap attached around his waist, to which you hold fast for dear life, while another _pushes_ behind. Our young lady had _three_ escorts. She drove a handsome team of two ahead, while a third lubberly fellow was trying to make himself useful, or, at least, to earn his money, by putting his hands on her shoulders, and thus urging her forward. I believe I was the only person of the party, except the Consul and one lieutenant, who went up without a.s.sistance. I took a man at first, rather to get rid of his importunity, but he gave out sooner than I did, stopping after a few rods to demand more money, whereupon I threw him off in disgust, and made the ascent alone. But I would not recommend others to follow my example, as the fatigue is really very great, especially to one unused to mountain climbing. Not only is the cone very steep, but it is covered with ashes; so that one has no firm hold for his feet, but sinks deep at every step. Thus he makes slow progress, and is soon out of breath. He can only keep on by going _very slowly_. I had to stop every few minutes, and throw myself down in the ashes, to rest. But with these little delays, I kept steadily mounting higher and higher.

As we neared the top, the presence of the volcano became manifest, not merely from the cloud which always hangs about it, but by smoke issuing from many places at the side. It seemed as if the mountain were a vast smouldering heap out of which the internal heat forced its way through every aperture. Here and there a long line of smoke seemed to indicate a subterranean fissure or vein, through which the pent-up fires forced their way. As we crossed these lines of smoke the sulphurous fumes were stifling, especially when the wind blew them in our faces.

But at last all difficulties were conquered, and we stood on the very top, and looked over the awful verge into the crater.

Those who have never seen a volcano are apt to picture it as a tall peak, a slender cone, like a sugar loaf, with a round aperture at the top, like the chimney of a blast furnace, out of which issues fire and smoke. Something of this indeed there is, but the actual scene is vastly greater and grander. For, instead of a small round opening, like the throat of a chimney, large enough for one flaming column, the crater is nearly half a mile across, and many hundreds of feet deep; and one looks down into a yawning gulf, a vast chasm in the mountain, whose rocky sides are yellow with sulphur, and out of which the smoke issues from different places. At times it is impossible to see anything, as dense volumes of smoke roll upward, which the wind drives toward us, so that we are ourselves lost in the cloud. Then they drift away, and for an instant we can see far down into the bowels of the earth.

Standing on the bald head of Vesuvius, one cannot help some grave reflections, looking at what is before him only from the point of view of a man of science. The eruption of a volcano is one of the most awful scenes in nature, and makes one shudder to think of the elements of destruction that are imprisoned in the rocky globe. What desolation has been wrought by Vesuvius alone--how it has thrown up mountains, laid waste fields, and buried cities! What a spectacle has it often presented to the terrified inhabitants of Naples, as it has shot up a column not only of smoke, but of fire! The flames have often risen to the height of a mile above the summit of the mountain, their red blaze lighting up the darkness of the night, and casting a glare over the waters of the bay, while the earth was moaning and trembling, as if in pain and fear.

And the forces that have wrought such destruction are active still.