have ceased to exist. Sybaris the powerful, with walls six miles in
circumference, and suburbs extending for eight miles along the Crati,
is now covered with alluvium and shrubs—“its very ruins have perished.”
The city of the Locri, to the south of Gerace, which existed until the
tenth century, when it was destroyed by the Saracens, has at least
retained ruins of its walls, temples, and other buildings. {309} The
only one of these old cities still in existence is Cotrone, the ancient
Crotona, the “gateway to the granary of Calabria.” In travelling along
the coasts of Greater Greece we feel astonished at the few ruins of
a past which exercised so powerful an influence upon the history of
mankind.
The existing towns of Calabria cannot compare in importance with
those of a past age. Rossano, near the site of Sybaris, is the small
capital of a district, and is visited only by coasters. Cosenza, in the
beautiful valley of the Crati, at the foot of the wooded Sila, keeps
up its communications with Naples and Messina through the harbour of
Paola. Catanzaro exports its oil, silk, and fruit either by way of the
Bay of Squillace, on the shores of which Hannibal once pitched his
camp, or through Pizzo, a small port at the southern extremity of the
Bay of Santa Eufemia. Reggio, nestling in groves of lemon and orange
trees at the foot of the Aspromonte, is the most important town of
Calabria. It stands on the narrow strait separating the mainland from
the island of Sicily, and could not fail to absorb some of the commerce
passing through that central gateway of the Mediterranean. Messina and
Reggio mutually complement each other, and the prosperity of the one
must result in that of the sister city.[106]
VII.—SICILY.
The Trinacria of the ancients, the island with the “three
promontories,” is clearly a dependency of the Italian peninsula,
from which it is separated by a narrow arm of the sea. The Strait of
Messina, where narrowest, is not quite two miles in width. It can be
easily crossed in barges, and, with the resources at our command, a
bridge might easily be thrown across it, similar enterprises having
succeeded elsewhere. It can hardly be doubted that before the close
of this century either a tunnel or a bridge will join Sicily to the
mainland, and human industry will thus restore in some way the isthmus
which formerly joined the Cape of Faro to the Italian Aspromonte. We
know nothing about the period when this rupture took place, but to
judge from the ancient name of the strait—Heptastadion—it must have
been much narrower in former times.[107] {310}
[Illustration: Fig. 113.—THE STRAIT OF MESSINA.
Scale 1 : 156,000.]
From an historical point of view Sicily may still be looked upon as a
portion of the mainland, for the strait can be crossed almost as easily
as a wide river. On the other hand, it enjoys all the advantages of a
maritime position. Situate in the very centre of the Mediterranean,
between the Tyrrhenian and the eastern basin, it commands all the
commercial high-roads which lead from the Atlantic to the East. Its
excellent harbours invite navigators to stay on its coasts; its soil is
{311} exceedingly fertile; the most varied natural resources insure
the existence of its inhabitants; and a genial climate promotes the
development of life. Hardly a district of Europe appears to be in a
more favourable position for supporting a dense population in comfort.
Sicily, indeed, is more densely populated and wealthier than the
neighbouring island of Sardinia or either of the Neapolitan provinces,
the Campania alone excepted, and rivals in importance the provinces of
Northern Italy.[108]
Sicily, whenever it has been allowed to rejoice in the possession of
peace and freedom, has always recovered with wonderful rapidity; and it
would certainly now be one of the most prosperous countries if wars had
not so frequently devastated it, and the yoke of foreign oppressors had
not weighed so heavily upon it.
The triangular island of Sicily would possess great regularity of
structure if it were not for the bold mass of Mount Etna, which
rises above the shores of the Ionian Sea at the entrance of the
Strait of Messina. From its base to the summit of its crater, that
huge protuberance forms a region apart, differing from the rest of
Sicily not only geologically, but also with respect to its products,
cultivation, and inhabitants.
[Illustration: Fig. 114.—PROFILE OF MOUNT ETNA.]
Ancient mariners mostly looked upon the Sicilian volcano as the highest
mountain in the world; nor did they err much as respects the world
known to them, for only at the two extremities of the Mediterranean,
in Spain and Syria, do we meet with mountains exceeding this one
in height; and Mount Etna is not only remarkable from its isolated
position, but likewise by the beauty of its contours, the lurid sheen
of its incandescent lavas, and the column of smoke rising from its
summit. From whatever side we approach Sicily, its snowy head is seen
rising high above all the surrounding mountains. Its position in the
very centre of the Mediterranean contributed in no small measure to
secure to it a pre-eminence amongst mountains. It was looked upon as
the “pillar of the heavens,” and at a later epoch the Arabs only spoke
of it as _el Jebel_, “_the_ mountain,” which has been corrupted by the
people dwelling near it into “Mongibello.”
The mean slopes of Mount Etna, prolonged as they are by streams of lava
extending in every direction, are very gentle, and on looking at a
profile of this mountain it will hardly be believed that its aspect is
so majestic. It occupies, in fact, an area of no less than 460 square
miles, and its base has a development of about 80 miles. The whole of
this space is bounded by the sea, and by the valleys of the Alcantara
and Simeto. A saddle, only 2,820 feet in height, connects it in the
north-west with the mountain system of the remainder of Italy. Small
cones of eruption are met with beyond the mass of the volcano to the
north {312} of the Alcantara, and streams of lava having filled up the
ancient valley of the Simeto, that river was forced to excavate itself
another bed through rocks of basalt, and now descends to the sea in
rapids and cascades.
An enormous hollow, covering an area of ten square miles, and more than
3,000 feet in depth, occupies a portion of the western slope of the
volcano. This is the Val di Bove, a vast amphitheatre of explosion,
the bottom of which is dotted over with subsidiary craters, and which
rises in gigantic steps, over which, when the mountain is in a state of
eruption, pour fiery cascades of lava. Lyell has shown that this Val
di Bove is the ancient crater of Mount Etna, but that, at some period
not known to us, the existing terminal vent opened a couple of miles
farther west. The steep sides of the Val di Bove enable us to gain a
considerable insight into the history of the volcano, for the various
layers of lava may be studied there at leisure. The cliffs upon which
stands the town of Aci Reale afford a similar opportunity for embracing
at one glance a long period of its history. These cliffs, over 300
feet in height, consist of seven distinct layers of lava, successively
poured forth from the bowels of Mount Etna. Each layer consists nearly
throughout of a compact mass, affording no hold for the roots of
plants, but their surfaces have invariably been converted into tufa, or
even mould, owing to atmospheric agencies which operated for centuries
after each eruption. It has likewise been proved not only that these
cliffs increased in height in consequence of successive eruptions, but
that they were also repeatedly upheaved from below. Lines of erosion
resulting from the action of the waves can be distinctly traced at
various elevations above the present level of the Mediterranean. The
lavas, too, have undergone a change of structure since they were poured
forth, as is proved by beautiful caverns enclosed by prismatic columns
of basalt, and by the islet of the Cyclops, near Aci Trezza.
During the last two thousand years Mount Etna has had more than a
hundred eruptions, some of them continuing for a number of years.
Hitherto it has not been possible to trace any regularity in these
eruptions. They appear to occur at irregular intervals, and the
quantity of lava poured forth from the principal or any subsidiary
cone varies exceedingly. The most considerable stream of lava of which
we have any record was that which overwhelmed the city of Catania in
1669. It first converted the fields of Nicolosi into a fiery lake,
then enveloped a portion of the hill of Monpilieri, which for a time
arrested its progress, and finally divided into three separate streams,
the principal of which descended upon Catania. It swept away a part of
that town, filled up its port, and formed a promontory in its stead.
The quantity of lava poured forth on that occasion has been estimated
at 3,532 millions of cubic feet; and nearly 40 square miles of fertile
land, supporting a population of 20,000 souls, were converted into a
stony waste. The double cone of Monti Rossi, with its beautiful crater
now grown over with golden-flowered broom, was formed by the ashes
ejected during that great eruption. More than 700 subsidiary cones,
similar to the Monti Rossi, are scattered over the exterior slopes of
Mount Etna, and bear witness to as many eruptions. The most ancient
amongst them have been nearly obliterated in the {313} course of ages,
or buried beneath streams of lava, but the others still retain their
conical shape, and rise to a height of many hundred feet. Several
amongst them are now covered with forests, and the craters of others
have been converted into gardens—delightful cup-shaped hollows, where
villas shine like gems set in verdure.
[Illustration: Fig. 115.—THE LAVA STREAM OF CATANIA.
Scale 1 : 200,000.]
Most of these subsidiary cones lie at an elevation of between 3,300
and 6,500 feet above the sea, and it is there the internal forces make
themselves most strongly felt. As a rule the subterranean activity
is less violent near the summit, and during most of the eruptions
the great terminal crater merely serves as a vent, through which the
aqueous vapours and gases make their escape. Fumaroles surrounding it
convert the soil into a kind of pap, and the substances which escape
from them streak the scoriæ with brilliant colours—scarlet, yellow,
and emerald green. The internal heat makes itself felt on many parts
of the exterior slopes. It converts loose rocks into a compact mass,
far less difficult to climb than are the loose cinders of Mount
Vesuvius. Travellers ascending the mountain need fear nothing from
volcanic bombs. Showers of stone are occasionally ejected from the
principal vent, but this is quite an exceptional occurrence. If it were
not so, the small structure above the precipices of the Val di Bove,
which dates from the {314} time of the Romans, and is known as the
“Philosopher’s Tower,” would long ago have been buried beneath débris.
A meteorological observatory might therefore be established with safety
on the summit of this mountain, and no better station could be found
for giving warning of approaching storms.
[Illustration: Fig. 116.—SUBSIDIARY CONES OF MOUNT ETNA.]
The summit of Mount Etna, 10,866 feet in height, does not penetrate
the zone of perennial snow, and the heat emitted from the subterranean
focus soon melts the incipient glaciers which accumulate in hollows.
Nevertheless the upper half of the mountain is covered with a shroud of
white during a great part of the year. It might be imagined that the
snow and copious rains would give birth to numerous rivulets descending
from the slopes of the volcano; but the small stones and cinders which
cover the solid beds of lava promptly absorb all moisture, and springs
are met with only in a few favoured spots. They are abundant on the
lower slopes, or in the immediate vicinity of the sea. One of these
is the fountain of Acis, which issues from the chaos of rocks which
Polyphemus is said to have hurled at the ships of sage Ulysses. Another
gives birth to the river Amenano, which rises in the town of Catania,
and hastens in silvery cascades towards its port. When we look at these
clear springs in the midst of black sands and burnt rocks we are able
to comprehend the fancy of the ancient Greeks, who regarded them as
divine beings, in whose honour they struck medals and raised statues.
Though running streams are scarcely met with on the slopes of Mount
Etna, its cinders retain a sufficient quantity of moisture to support
a luxuriant vegetation. The mountain is clad with verdure except where
the surface of the lava is too compact to be penetrated by the roots of
plants. Only the highest regions, which are covered with snow during
the greater part of the year, are barren. It is {315} a remarkable
fact that the flora of the Alps should not be met with on Mount Etna,
although the temperature suits it exactly.
Formerly the volcano was surrounded by a belt of forests occupying the
zone between the cultivated lands and the region of snow and cinders.
Such is the case no longer. On the southern slope, which is that
usually ascended by tourists, there are no forests at all, and only
the trunk of some ancient oak is occasionally met with. On the other
slopes groves of trees are more frequent, particularly in the north,
where there remain a few lofty trees, which impart quite an alpine
character to the scenery. But the wood-cutters prosecute their work of
extermination without mercy, and it is to be feared that the time is
not very distant when even the last vestiges of the ancient forests
will have disappeared. The magnificent chestnuts on the western slopes,
amongst which could be admired until recently the “tree of the hundred
horses,” bear witness to the astonishing fertility of the lava. If the
cultivators of the soil only desired it, a few years would suffice to
restore to Mount Etna its ancient covering of foliage.
The cultivated zone occupying the lower slopes of the mountains
presents in many places the appearance of a beautiful garden. There are
groves of olive, orange, lemon, and other fruit trees, in the midst
of which rise clumps of palms, and villas, churches, and monasteries
peep out from this mass of verdure. The fertility of the soil is so
great that it supports a population three or four times more numerous
than that in any other part of Italy. More than 300,000 inhabitants
dwell on the slopes of a mountain which might be supposed to inspire
terror, and which actually bursts at intervals, burying fertile fields
beneath a fiery deluge. Town succeeds town along its base like pearls
in a necklace, and when a stream of lava effects a breach in this
chain of human habitations it is closed up again as soon as the lava
has had time to cool. From the rim of the crater the mountain climber
looks down with astonishment upon these human ant-hills. The concentric
zones of houses and verdure contrast curiously with the snows and ashes
occupying the centre of the picture, and with the barren limestone
rocks beyond the Simeto. And this is only a small portion of the vast
and marvellous prospect, embracing a radius of 124 miles. Well may the
beholder be enchanted by the unrivalled spectacle of three seas, of a
deeper blue than the skies, washing the shores of Sicily, of Calabria,
and of the Æolian Islands.
Mount Pelorus, which forms a continuation of the chain of the
Aspromonte of Calabria, is of very inferior height to Mount Etna, but
it had existed for ages when the space now occupied by the volcano was
only a bay of the sea. It was formerly believed that a crater existed
on the highest summit of Pelorus dedicated to Neptune, and now to the
“Mother of God,” or _Dinna Mare_ (3,600 feet), but such is not the
case. These mountains consist of primitive and transition rocks, with
beds of limestone and marble on their flanks. They first follow the
coast of the Ionian Sea, where they form numerous steep promontories,
and then, turning abruptly towards the west, run parallel with that of
the Æolian Sea. Their culminating point, near the centre, is known as
Madonia (6,336 feet), and the magnificent forests which still clothe
it impart to that part of the island {316} quite a northern aspect,
and we might almost fancy ourselves in the Apennines or Maritime Alps.
Limestone promontories of the most varied profile advance into the blue
waters of the sea, and render this coast one of the most beautiful of
the Mediterranean. We are seized with admiration when we behold the
enormous quadrangular block of Cefalù, the more undulating hill of
Termini, the vertical masses of Coltafano, and above all, near Palermo,
the natural fortress of Monte Pellegrino (1,970 feet), an almost
inaccessible rock, upon which Hamilcar Barca resisted for three years
the efforts of a Roman army to dislodge him. Monte San Giuliano (2,300
feet), an almost isolated limestone summit, terminates this chain in
the west. It is the Eryx of the ancients, who dedicated it to Venus.
The mountains which branch off from this main chain towards the south
gradually decrease in height as they approach the sea. The principal
slopes of the island descend towards the Ionian and Sicilian Seas,
and all its perennial rivers—the Platani, Salso, and Simeto—flow in
these directions. The rivers on the northern slope are mere _fiumare_,
formidable after heavy rains, but lost in beds of shingle during the
dry season. The lakes and swamps of the island are likewise confined to
the southern slope of the mountains. Amongst them are the _pantani_,
and the Lake, or _biviere_, of Lentini, which is the most extensive
sheet of water in Sicily; the Lake of Pergusa, or Enna, formerly
surrounded by flowery meadows in which Proserpine was seized by Pluto;
the _biviere_ of Terranova; and several marshy tracts, the remains of
ancient bays of the sea. This southern coast of the island contrasts
most unfavourably with the northern, for, in the place of picturesque
promontories of the most varied outline, we meet with a monotonous
sandy shore, devoid of all shade. Natural harbours are scarce there,
and during the winter storms vessels frequenting it are exposed to much
danger.
The southern slope of Sicily, to the south of the Madonia, consists
of tertiary and more recent rocks, abounding in fossil shells mostly
belonging to species still living in the neighbouring sea. In the hills
to the south of Catania these tertiary rocks alternate with strata of
volcanic origin, which are evidently derived from submarine eruptions.
This process is still going on between Girgenti and the island of
Pantellaria, where the submarine volcano of Giulia or Ferdinandea
occasionally rises above the surface of the sea. It was seen in 1801,
and thirty years later it had another eruption, resulting in the
formation of an island four miles in circumference, which was examined
by Jussieu and Constant Prévost. In 1863 it appeared for the third
time. But the waves of the sea have always washed away the ashes and
cinders ejected on these occasions, spreading them in regular layers
over the bottom of the sea, and thus producing an alternation of
strata similar to that observed at Catania. In 1840 the summit of this
submarine volcano was covered with only six feet of water, but recently
no soundings were obtained at a depth of fifty fathoms.
[Illustration: Fig. 117.—THE MACCALUBAS AND GIRGENTI.
Scale 1 : 100,000.]
This submarine volcano is not the only witness to the activity of
subterranean forces in Southern Italy. We meet there with mineral
springs discharging carbonic acid and other gases, which prove fatal
to the smaller animals venturing within their influence, and with
a naphtha lake near Palagonia, from which escape, {317} likewise,
irrespirable gases. A similar phenomenon may be witnessed in connection
with the Lake of Pergusa, which occupies an ancient crater about
four miles in circumference, and usually abounds in tench and eels.
From time to time, however, an escape of poisonous gases appears to
take place from the bottom of the lake, which kills the fish, whose
carcasses rise to the surface. Another of these _salses_ has made its
appearance farther west, near the Palazzo Adriano, {318} and, indeed,
the whole of underground Sicily appears to be in a state of chemical
effervescence.
Next to Mount Etna the great centre of volcanic activity in Sicily
appears to be near Girgenti, at a place known as the _Maccalubas_.
The aspect of this spot changes with the seasons. In summer bubbles
of gas escape from small craters filled with liquid mud, which
occasionally overflows, and runs down the exterior slopes. The rains
of winter almost obliterate these miniature volcanoes, and the plain
is then converted into one mass of mud, from which the gases escape.
At the beginning of this century the soil was occasionally shaken by
earthquakes, and on these occasions jets of mud and stones were ejected
to a height of ten or twenty yards. The Maccalubas appear now to be in
a state of quiescence, for these mud volcanoes also seem to have their
regular periods of rest and activity.
The deposits of sulphur, which constitute one of the riches of Sicily,
undoubtedly owe their existence to these subterranean lakes of seething
lava. These sulphur beds are met with in the tertiary strata extending
from Centorbi to Cattolica, in the province of Girgenti. They date from
the epoch of the Upper Miocene, and are deposited upon layers of fossil
infusoria exhaling a bituminous odour. Geologists are not yet agreed on
the origin of these sulphur beds, but it is most likely that they are
derived from sulphate of lime carried to the surface by hot springs. In
the same formation beds of gypsum and of rock-salt are met with, and
the latter may frequently be traced from a saline effervescence known
as _occhi di sale_ (“eyes of salt”).
Sicily, like Greece, enjoys one of the happiest climates. The heat
of summer is tempered by sea breezes which blow regularly during the
hottest part of each day. The cold of winter would not be felt at all
if it were not for the total absence of every comfort in the houses,
for ice is not known, and snow exceedingly rare. The autumn rains
are abundant, but there are many fine days even during that season.
The prevailing winds from the north and west are salubrious, but the
_sirocco_, which usually blows towards the south-east, is deadly,
especially when it reaches the northern coast. It generally blows for
three or four days, and during that time no one thinks of clarifying
wine, salting meat, or painting houses or furniture. This wind is the
great drawback to the climate. In some parts of Sicily the exhalations
from the swamps are dangerous, but this is entirely the fault of man.
It is owing to his neglect that Agosta and Syracuse suffer from fevers,
and that death forbids the stranger to approach the ruins of ancient
Himera.[109]
Temperature and moisture impart to the vegetation of the plains and
lower valleys a semi-tropical aspect. Many plants of Asia and Africa
have become acclimatized in Sicily. Groups of date-palms are seen in
the gardens, and the plains around Sciacca, almost African in their
appearance, abound in groves of dwarf palms, or _giummare_, to which
ancient Selinus was indebted for its epithet of _Palmosa_. Cotton
grows on the slopes of the hills up to a height of 600 feet above the
sea; bananas, sugar-cane, and bamboos do not require the shelter of
{319} greenhouses; the _Victoria regia_ covers the ponds with its
huge leaves and flowers; the papyrus of the Nile, which is not known
anywhere else in Europe, chokes up the bed of the Anapo, near Syracuse:
formerly it grew also in the Oreto, near Palermo, but it does so no
longer. The cactus of Barbary (_Cactus opuntia_) has become the most
characteristic plant of the coast districts of Sicily, and is rapidly
covering the most unpromising beds of lava. These and other plants
flourish most luxuriantly on the southern slopes of Mount Etna, where
the orange-tree bears fruit at a height of 1,700 feet, and the larch
ascends even to 7,400 feet. These slopes facing the African sun are the
hottest spots in Europe, for the volcano shelters them from the winds
of the north, whilst its dark-coloured scoriæ and cinders absorb the
rays of the mid-day sun.