Comparison between Naples and New York.--Vesuvius.--Effects of
the Eruption of 1822.--Pompeii.--The great Eruption of 79.--Ruins
of Pompeii.--Places of public resort.--Cicero’s Seat.--Gradual
Disinterment of the Town.--The Sarno.--Herculaneum.--Theatre and
other ancient Remains.--Droll Exhibition of Royal Etiquette.
You know the conditions on which these letters are written. I shall go
on, in my own desultory manner, gleaning what it appears to me others
have left, and speaking of such things only as I know from experience I
should most like to have been set right in, did I depend on reading for
my own information.
Our first night at Naples was absolutely delicious. There was a young
moon, and everything was soft and lovely. It reminded us of an evening
in August at New York, when people walk without their hats, and enjoy
themselves after the intense heat of the day. But Naples has one great
advantage over our own town. It lies literally on the sea; for the bay
has all the advantages of the sea itself, and scarcely ever wants its
refreshing influence. In the deep ravines of streets, one is entirely
sheltered from the sun, and on the shore, one feels the air from the
water. We have built a northern town in a southern latitude, though not
without some excuse for it.
But the two towns are as unlike as their scenery. One is condensed,
the houses clinging in places, to rocky cliffs, some of the streets
actually lying a hundred or two feet above their immediate neighbours;
while the other is straggling, and has a surface shaved down nearly to
a water level. One is overflowing with population; the other, properly
peopled, would contain five times its present numbers. One is all
commerce, shipping, drays, and stevedores, the particles of taste and
beauty existing in fragments; the other all picturesque, the trade and
the port forming the expection.
Immediately beneath our windows, here, is a line of sea-beach, of more
than a mile in extent, that has no sign of trade about it beyond the
boats of fishermen, which lie scattered on the sands and shingle as if
disposed there for the study of the painter. But I must not anticipate.
Vesuvius alone disappointed our expectations. It appeared low and
insignificant compared with the mountains we had seen, filled the eye
less in the view than we had imagined, and was altogether differently
placed. As to its height, it varies essentially by the rising and
falling of the crater, and I am told it is several hundred feet
lower now than it was a year since. Indeed, one well-informed person
says, its last great fall exceeded a thousand feet. You may easily
imagine, however, that a mountain that could bear such a loss must
be of respectable dimensions. I should think the present height of
Vesuvius not far from three thousand feet; but there are peaks behind
Castel-a-mare of double this altitude. The summits of Ischia and Capri
are also high, and the whole southern shore of the bay is a noble
outline of mountains.
Vesuvius, and indeed Naples, stands differently from what I had
thought. The bay itself may be near twenty miles in depth, and its
width varies from about fourteen, to something like eighteen miles,
it being a little wider at its mouth than at its head. The general
direction is east a little north, perhaps east-north-east. Now, the
head of this bay, though irregular, is square, rather than rounded. Of
the two, it presents a convex line to the water, rather than one that
is concave. Naples stands at the north-east corner, and Castel-a-mare
at its south east, distant from each other about fifteen miles in a
direct line; and Vesuvius occupies the centre, a little nearer to the
first than to the last. All idea of danger to either of these places
from lava, is an absurdity. They have reason to apprehend earthquakes,
and internal convulsions, but nothing that comes out of the crater
can ever harm either. Even Portici, which stands on the base of the
mountain itself, is deemed to be reasonably safe.
The hazards of this volcano are easily estimated. Lava, the only
serious cause of danger, breaks out of the sides of the mountain. It
resembles the boiling over of a pot, and its descent can be calculated
like that of water. The interposition of a ravine offers an effectual
barrier. As to the stones and other fiery missiles that are projected
into the air, they necessarily fall in the crater, or on the sides of
the mountain; and their flight does not much exceed that of a bullet,
at the most. It is probably two miles in an air line, from the limits
of their fall to the nearest habitation, if we except the Hermitage,
which is near half that distance. The ashes certainly are borne to a
great distance; but they do good rather than harm, greatly fertilizing
the surrounding country. Vesuvius is, in fact, as far from Naples as
the heights of Staten Island are from New York, and the water actually
lies between them.
One of our first visits was to Pompeii, which lies, perhaps, more
properly at the head of the bay than Castel-a-mare, though they are
not far asunder. The distance between the summit of the mountain and
Pompeii is about five miles; the direction is from north-west to
south-east, Vesuvius lying most northerly. This, of course, brings
Pompeii on the side opposite to that of Naples, and about one half
nearer to the crater. But lava could no more touch this place, than it
could touch Naples, the formation of the land carrying it more towards
the water. The road winds round the head of the bay, which has a
succession of hamlets, villas, towns, and palaces. Indeed, I scarcely
know a spot that is more teeming with population than the base of this
terrible mountain. It is true that there is a broad belt of broken
rising ground between the sea and the regular ascent, of three or four
miles in width; but even this is dotted with habitations, and the lava
_does_ find its way across it. We saw two or three towns and villages
in ruins, from the great eruption of 1822. The lava had passed directly
over houses, when they were strong enough to resist it, and through
them, when not. Of course, that which had cooled, remained, and it is
not easier to fancy a more complete picture of desolation than these
black belts of ruin present in the midst of a moving population;--even
the road had been cut through them. These towns are populous, Torre del
Greco having twelve or thirteen thousand souls, Castel-a-mare more, and
Portici several thousands. The celebrated palace at the latter is so
placed that the public highway passes directly through its great court,
a singular caprice of royalty.
I think we were all a little disappointed with Pompeii. Perhaps
our expectations were wrought up too high, for, certainly, I have
approached no place in Europe with the same feverish excitement. Still
it is an extraordinary thing to see even these remains of a Roman town,
brought to light, as they have been, in their ancient appearance. As
some popular errors, however, exist on the subject of this place, and
touching the catastrophe by which it was overwhelmed, I shall first
endeavour to tell you what I have ascertained on these points on the
spot.
You probably know that, while all this region afforded geological
evidence of a volcanic origin, as is the fact with Ischia, Sorrento,
and so much more of it to-day, including Naples itself, there was
no historical account, prior to the great eruption, of there having
been an active volcano.--The peak of Vesuvius has now three distinct
summits, separated by tolerably deep valleys, and it is probable that
these three peaks were formerly united in one, the separation being
owing to the explosion. Lest you should form an erroneous notion of the
present appearance, however, of this celebrated mountain, it may be
necessary to add that the cone, or the peak, which is actually called
Vesuvius, is so much higher and more conspicuous than the others, that
its form of a cone is not much impaired by the fact; not at all as
seen from many points, particularly from the direction of the sea. The
three mountains, too, if they can be so termed, stand near each other,
on a common base, their dividing valleys, or ravines, not descending
more than a few hundred feet, and they are entirely insulated from the
ordinary ranges of the Apennines.
The great eruption, which occurred in the year 79, was preceded by
the usual signs, but, there being no crater, or, at the most, only
an old one, the first explosion was necessarily tremendous.--Pliny
describes the smoke as resembling a gigantic pine, which rose to a
vast height, and veiled the sun. He meant a pine of this region, or
what is sometimes called a stone pine, of which many are now to be
seen in Lower Italy. It is a tall tree, with an umbrella-shaped top,
very different from any pine we have, and which resembles the smoke of
a fire, before it is driven away by the wind. Boiling water, pumice
stones, ashes, and heated sulphureous air, accompanied the explosion,
and lava succeeded. The wind must have been at the north, for Pliny
the elder lost his life on the beach near Castel-a-mare, by inhaling
the heated gas, a distance of at least seven miles from the crater. As
no one else near him appears to have suffered, his death, it is to be
presumed, was owing to a particular condition of the body; defective
lungs, most probably. The people of Pompeii had time to remove many
of their effects; but the greatest of the popular errors has arisen
from a misapprehension of the nature of the interment. Even now, the
buildings are scarcely covered, and the dirt, or ashes, that lie on
them, is so light, that it may be shoveled like dry sand.--The country
is principally in the vine, and there is a light soil of course; but,
this removed, in dry weather nothing can be more easily worked than
these ancient ashes. Now, every object of any elevation, such as
the towers, must have been left above ground. These would serve as
landmarks; and, as very few things are found in the houses, it is
probable that their owners dug into them, after the alarm was over,
and took away everything of value that could be found. The few human
remains prove that the danger was not instantaneous, or without notice;
for thousands would have been destroyed in such a case, instead of one
or two hundreds.
It is usual to say that the site of Pompeii was discovered about eighty
years since. This may be true as respects the generation then in being,
but could not be true as to very many that went before it. Discoveries
of this nature are a little equivocal. If a man of letters stumbles on
any ancient remains, or a fine valley, or a statue, he calls himself a
discoverer, though thousands in the neighbourhood know all about them.
The latter do not write books on the subject. The ashes are only about
eighteen feet deep, and the walls, in some places, are even higher
than this. The temples, amphitheatre, and even some of the houses,
must have exceeded this height. It is probable that adventurers have
been down into these ruins, in places, in every age since the accident
occurred, though the state of intelligence has prevented the facts from
being published. A Neapolitan poet who wrote near two centuries since,
alludes to the towers as visible in his time. Nothing but alarm could
have prevented the people from clearing away the ashes, and taking
possession of their town again; for the expense could not greatly
exceed that of clearing the streets of New York after a hard winter.
To me, much the most interesting object at Pompeii is the amphitheatre.
It is complete with the exception of its ornaments, and the
marble seats, of which just enough remain to prove that they once
existed; their disappearance demonstrates that the place had been
pretty thoroughly explored, probably soon after the eruption. This
amphitheatre stands by itself, in a corner of the town, against the
walls, and is large for the place. Were those of Rome, Verona, and
Nismes, and one or two more, not in existence, it would be thought
prodigious.
The houses of Pompeii, you will readily conceive, were low, and they
had the flat roofs of cement, that are still used in all this region,
the shape being a little rounded so as to turn the water. I should
think few of them could have been destroyed by the weight of the
ashes immediately, though time would be certain to cause their beams
to rot. Most of the dwellings were connected with shops, but there
are enough of a better sort, to give one a very respectful opinion
of the luxury of the Romans. They are built around courts, which, in
this mild climate, would answer all the purposes of halls for most
of the year, and which, probably, were often veiled from the heat of
the sun by awnings. The diminutive size, and the want of light and
other conveniences of the sleeping-rooms, however, rather detract
from our estimate of ancient comfort. The scale on which the places
of public resort existed, such as the amphitheatre and theatres, the
forum, temples, and baths, coupled with the showy character of the
greater, and the meaner character of the more private, apartments of
the dwelling, I think, leave an impression against the _individuality_
of the people. I do not know whether the public _meddled_ as much among
the Romans, as among us Anglo-Saxons, but the inference seems to be
pretty fair that the man lived voluntarily more before it than is our
practice.
Here I first saw a small fragment of the Appian Way. This road was far
from straight, making deviations from the direct line to communicate
with towns and posts, as well as to avoid natural impediments; as
is proved both here and at Pozzuoli, as well as in other places. It
entered Pompeii by the Naples gate, and left it near the amphitheatre.
It has been uncovered for some little distance in the former direction;
and, as usual, it was bordered by tombs. Cicero somewhere speaks of
sitting with a friend in a certain seat, without this gate, near to a
particular tomb, reading one of his Offices. The seat and tomb are both
there!
Pompeii certainly offers a multitude of objects of intense interest,
(but which I shall not describe for the thousandth time;) but whoever
fancies he sees in it a disinterred town that needs only to be peopled
to be perfect, has an imagination more fertile than mine. It wears the
aspect of a ruin. It is true that the modern towns and villages of
this region are not without something of the same appearance; for the
absence of visible roofs, the apertures of the windows, which, when
open, show no glass,--and open they generally are in summer,--and the
dun hue, conspire to give them a look not unlike that of this Roman
city. But Pompeii has still more of this character, from the manner
in which its temples were destroyed, (as is thought,) by a severe
earthquake a few years previously to the eruption. The broken columns,
and the other fragments, sufficiently testify to this fact.
The walls are well preserved, and I walked for some distance on them.
The summits of their towers have principally disappeared, for they must
have risen above the ashes, and were probably the towers spoken of by
the poet mentioned, the Romans seldom building any other. They have a
strong resemblance to the walls of the towns of France, which were used
before artillery was much improved. The inscriptions, signs, scribbling
on the walls, and divers other little usages of the sort, certainly
produce a startling effect, referring as they do to the most familiar
things of an age so very remote, and in a manner of so little design.
These things savour more of peopled streets, than the houses.
The Neapolitan government keeps slowly at work, disinterring. Its
deliberation has been idly censured, as are many other things of this
nature, by inconsiderate travellers; but I believe it prudent and even
necessary. The town is probably near half disinterred, and it would be
possible to lay it entirely bare in a twelvemonth,--perhaps in a single
month; but it would be at the risk of injuring paintings, as well as of
loss by frauds and haste. A small piece of coin mixed with ashes and
cinders, or a child’s toy, is easily overlooked in a scramble. This
much derided deliberation is probably in the interest of knowledge,
besides the fact that nothing presses. A house had been laid open
just before our visit, that showed the necessity for caution. Among
other curious things, in its court was a small fountain, ornamented
with shells, which came out as fresh and uninjured as if they had
just been put together. Another house nearly adjoining, has a similar
fountain. In both cases the courts are rather small, though one of the
buildings has the appearance of a dwelling of some pretension. You will
understand that these courts did not receive carriages, like ours, or
rather like the European courts, but they were a species of domestic
cloisters, by which the light was admitted, and by means of which the
communications with the different rooms were maintained. In a few
instances there were small gardens in addition to the courts: but I
suspect that the street which contains most of the good houses remains
to be opened. Looking about at the forum, theatres, and temples, I
find it difficult to believe that such edifices would have been erected
for the uses of those only who dwelt in habitations like most of these
which have already been disinterred.
It would be possible to render Pompeii immeasurably more interesting
than it is at present, by roofing a few of the houses; or by covering
them with arches, and using them as places in which to exhibit the
different articles found there, and which are now assembled in the
Studio at Naples. Perhaps one of the buildings might be nearly
furnished in such a manner. I think, as things now are, the ruins lose
in interest by the absence of these articles, and the articles by the
absence of the ruins. There would be a certain inconvenience in this
arrangement, it is true, but I think it would be more than compensated
for, by the intensity of the interest that would be created, to say
nothing of the greater distinctness that would be afforded to our ideas
of the ancient domestic economy.
Pompeii once stood on a low promontory, and was a port, but the land
has made in a way to throw the sea back, fully a mile. Through this
low bottom the Sarno now flows into the bay. In the present state
of the entrance of the river, no vessel could approach the town, it
being difficult to get a common boat into it when there is any wind. A
portion of this stream was led through the town and the water still
flows in the artificial channel beneath the houses and temples!
Our guide went through the usual routine tolerably well, but he had
obtained a droll jumble of languages from the different strangers
who frequent the place. With _him_ the conversation was principally
in Italian and French, while among ourselves we occasionally spoke
English. Ambitious to show his knowledge, he called out to me, as I
stepped into a building to examine it, with a strange confusion of
grammar and tongues--“_Eh! Signore; celuilà sono tutti shops._”
Returning from Pompeii, we stopped to visit Herculaneum. This place, in
very many particulars, is of far greater interest than the other. It
was much more important of itself, and, instead of being barely covered
with ashes and cinders, it was indeed buried; the distance between
the pit of the theatre that is opened, and the surface of the ground,
being about seventy feet. Lava did the work here, and as every thing
was covered while the rolling mass was in a state of fusion, the fiery
fluid found its way into every crevice, cooling around them, so as to
preserve the forms of the things it enveloped.
You know that Herculaneum was discovered by digging a well. Since
that time, which was more than a century since, the hole has been
enlarged so as to disinter the entire pit of the theatre, and galleries
have been cut around it, enabling one to examine nearly all of that
particular edifice. Owing to the formation of the ground, this city
has been covered very unequally, not only as to depth, but as to
substance. The lava is a hundred feet deep in places, while, towards
Resina, the covering is very like that of Pompeii, and not essentially
deeper. This thin and light coat of earth, however, is unfortunately
over the suburbs, rather than over the town itself. A portion of these
suburbs have been laid bare, and the result has been the discovery of
several houses, and even portions of streets, that are very like those
of Pompeii. One is called a villa, that is not much, if any, inferior
to the well-known villa of the latter town.
It is fair to presume that this region was much visited by earthquakes,
previously to the great eruption. A pent volcano is certain to
produce calamities of this nature, and we know from history, that the
earthquake of 69 did great injury to these two towns in particular.
Slight earthquakes are even now quite common. To this cause is probably
owing the lowness of the dwellings; those of Herculaneum, that are
quite laid open, being no higher than those of Pompeii. There were
also a forum and a temple opened, but parts have been filled again in
receiving the _débris_ of new diggings. Some apprehensions for the town
above may have caused this provision; as Portici and Resina both stand,
more or less, over the buried city.
We descended into the theatre by a passage cut through the lava, and
explored its neighbourhood by torchlight. The stage, proscenium,
consular seats, orchestra, and lobbies, are open; and it was a curious
sensation to wander through such places under such circumstances.
The general appearance was that of a mine; but when the eye came to
scrutinize the details, and to find that the place was once actually
a populous city, which exists as near as possible in its ancient
condition, embedded, filled, gorged with lava, a feeling of awe and
of intense admiration comes over one. I think this place, out of all
comparison, the most imposing sight of the two. Pompeii offers more to
investigation, and more for the gratification of common curiosity; but
there is a sublimity in the catastrophe of Herculaneum, a grandeur in
its desolation, that have no parallel. One is like examining a mummy
carelessly prepared, in which the mass has been so far preserved, it is
true, as to show a general but a hideous likeness to humanity, while
the other is opening one of those graves that, owing to some property
of the soil, preserves the body with most of the peculiarities of the
living man. The lava and the stone of the edifices are so intimately
united, that one does not, at first, distinguish between them in those
places where the separation has not been made; and I cannot describe
the effect on the feelings, when it is suddenly ascertained that the
hand is actually resting on a portion of a human structure.
As the light descends by the large opening that was made around the
well, the stage and pit of the theatre, with all its more principal
parts, are sufficiently obvious. But even this excites a sensation
different from any other ruin (the word is misapplied, for every thing
is nearly as perfect as on the day when the catastrophe occurred)
when the frightful interment is contemplated. Judge for yourself of
the appearance of a large and even elegant structure, placed in the
bosom of rocks, eighty feet beneath the surface, and of the crowd of
associations that press upon the mind at contemplating such an object.
Of the magnitude of the edifice you may form some notion by that of the
proscenium, which is set down in the books at one hundred and thirty
feet in length, the rest of the building being in proportion of course.
It is said this theatre would hold ten thousand people, but the number
strikes me as extravagant.--When it was first opened, everything that
was not liable to be removed, or destroyed, by the motion and heat of
the lava, was found as it stood at the moment of the disaster. Thus the
stage had all its permanent decorations, though some were displaced and
injured, such as bronzes, alabaster columns, &c. These fragments have
been preserved in the museums. You know that the celebrated equestrian
statues of the Balbi came from Herculaneum.
I have only given you my first impressions on visiting these two
remarkable places, as volumes exist filled with their details, arranged
with care, and collected with accuracy. To the American, to whom a
quaint chimney top, half a century old is a matter of interest, I
should think few objects in Europe would present more attractions than
either; for though much older and even better specimens of ancient
art and ancient manners are certainly to be found, none others exist
surrounded by so many of the evidences of familiar life.
The entire base of Vesuvius, which in former times, as now, seems to
have been a favourite residence, offers the same species of remains,
wherever a shaft is sunk or an opening made, though there are but two
or three buried cities. Many villas and hamlets have been discovered,
and I have seen one or two of them in the distance. A much more
wonderful thing as is said, I know not with what truth, is the fact,
that Pompeii stands on lava, which in itself covers another town. This
may be true, for the site might induce the occupation of the spot; and
if true, what a miserable figure human annals make!
On returning from this visit I witnessed a droll scene beneath our
windows. There is a small garden, with a pavilion, directly opposite
the hotel. It stands on the margin of the sea, is enclosed with a high
wall, and is the property of the crown; the royal children frequently
coming to it to take exercise. While we were seated in the balconies,
enjoying the sea-breeze, a carriage and four, with a _piqueur_, and
the royal liveries, drove to the door of the pavilion, and set down
a gentleman and a lady, with a boy and a girl, the latter about six,
and the former perhaps four years old. These were two of the younger
children of the king.--They went together into the house. It was not
long, however, before they all came out again.--A crowd had collected
by this time, and every one stood uncovered, the guards, at the gate
of the garden, with presented arms. The children were lifted into the
hind seats of the carriage, an open barouche, with great respect, and
their attendants were about to take the front seats, when the little
creatures sprang on them, with the zest that forbidden pleasures are
apt to excite. The gentleman and lady remonstrated without success;
the sight of the horses overcoming the sense of etiquette. The boy,
in particular, was for driving. The lady then entered the carriage,
carefully avoiding seating herself on the hind seat, and finally
succeeded in persuading the girl to take her proper place; but his
royal highness, the Conde d’Aquila, for such is the appellation of the
boy, resolutely refused to budge. At last, the whole affair consuming
several minutes, the gentleman entered, seated himself by the side
of the lady, took the young prince in his lap, and whispered his
remonstrances, but all in vain, the little fellow struggling manfully
to get a sight of the horses again. Tired with his pertinacity, he was
put, by respectful violence, in his proper place, the servant closed
the doors in haste, the coachman whipped his horses, and the equipage
dashed off, with the obstinate little prince pinned by force on the
precise spot that etiquette enjoined he should occupy. The whole time
the crowd was uncovered, and the soldiers stood at presented arms.
Deference to royalty is carried very far here.--W---- and myself
were strolling in one of the public buildings lately, and I stopped
to read a proclamation. While carelessly running my eyes over it, a
sentinel ordered me to take off my hat. It was commanded that the royal
proclamation should be read uncovered. As this was a little too much in
the spirit of Gessler I preferred not reading any more to submission.
I do not mention these things to deride them, for they have their use,
though proper substitutes exist: but simply as touches of the country.
I wish there was a little less of this abstract deference for station
and authority here, as I sincerely wish there were a good deal more of
both (under certain limitations of common sense) in America. Society
loses nothing by causing those who do not know how to reason, to feel.
Besides, there is great danger that, in the absence of respect for
station, men will get to have a respect for mere money, which is the
most abject and contemptible of all conditions of the mind, to say
nothing of its direct tendency to corruption. I should deem it a _pas
en avant_, could we hear it said at home, “That fellow is proud of his
descent, his manners, his knowledge of the world, his conversation, his
connections,” his any thing, in short, instead of the vulgar accusation
of being “purse-proud.”