VESUVIUS AND THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.
BY TRUMBULL WHITE.
=Most Famous Volcanic Eruption in History--Roman Cities
Overwhelmed--Scenes of Horror Described by Pliny, the Great
Classic Writer, an Eye-Witness of the Disaster--Buried in
Ashes and Lava--The Stricken Towns Preserved for Centuries
and Excavated in Modern Times as a Wonderful Museum of the
Life of 1800 Years Ago.=
Mount Vesuvius, the world-famed volcano of southern Italy, seen as it
is from every part of the city of Naples and its neighborhood, forms
the most prominent feature of that portion of the frightful and
romantic Campanian coast. For many centuries it has been an object of
the greatest interest, and certainly not the least of the many
attractions of one of the most notable cities of Europe. Naples, with
its bay constitutes as grand a panorama as any to be seen in the
world. The mountain is a link in the historical chain which binds us
to the past, which takes us back to the days of the Roman Empire.
Before the days of Titus it seems to have been unknown as a volcano,
and its summit is supposed to have been crowned by a temple of
Jupiter.
In the year 25 A.D., Strabo, an eminent historian of the time, wrote:
"About these places rises Vesuvius, well cultivated and inhabited all
round, except at its top, which is for the most part level, and
entirely barren, ashy to the view, displaying cavernous hollows in
cineritious rocks, which look as if they had been eaten by fire; so
that we may suppose this spot to have been a volcano formerly, with
burning craters, now extinguished for want of fuel."
Though Strabo was a great historian, it is evident that he was not a
prophet. The subsequent history of Vesuvius has shown that at varying
periods the mountain has burst forth in great eruptive activity.
Herculaneum was a city of great antiquity, its origin being ascribed
by Greek tradition to Hercules, the celebrated hero of the
mythological age of Greece; but it is not certain that it was actually
founded by a Greek colony, though in the time of Sulla, who lived a
hundred years before Christ, it was a municipal and fortified town.
Situated on an elevated ground between two rivers, its position could
not but be considered important, its port Retina being one of the best
on the coast of Campania. Many villas of great splendor were owned in
the neighborhood by Roman patricians; Servilia, the mother of Brutus,
and the favorite mistress of Julius Caesar, resided here on an estate
which he had given to her.
Pompeii, too, was a very ancient city, and was probably founded by a
Grecian colony; for what is considered its oldest building, a Greek
temple, from its similarity to the Praestum temples, fixes the date of
construction with some certainty at about 650 B.C. This temple, by
common consent, is stated to have been dedicated to Hercules, who,
according to Solonus, landed at this spot with a procession of oxen.
The situation of Pompeii possessed many local advantages. Upon the
verge of the sea, at the mouth of the Sarno, with a fertile plain
behind, like many an ancient Italian town, it united the conveniences
of commerce with the security of a military station. According to
Strabo, Pompeii was first occupied by the Oscans, subsequently by the
Tyrrhenians and Pelasgians, and afterwards by the Samnites, in whose
hands it continued until it came into the possession of the Romans.
The delightful position of the city, the genial climate of the
locality, and its many attractions, caused it to become a favorite
retreat of the wealthier Romans, who purchased estates in the
neighborhood; Cicero, among others, having a villa there.
In A.D. 63, during the reign of Nero, an earthquake overthrew a
considerable portion of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Scarcely had the
inhabitants in some measure recovered from their alarm, and begun to
rebuild their shattered edifices, when a still more terrible
catastrophe occurred, and the first recorded eruption of Vesuvius, on
the 23d of August, A.D. 79, completed the ruin of the two cities.
Of this event we fortunately possess a singularly graphic description
by one who was not only an eye-witness, but well qualified to observe
and record its phenomena--Pliny, the Younger, whose narrative is
contained in two letters addressed to the historian Tacitus. These
letters run as follows:
"Your request," he writes, "that I would send you an account of my
uncle's death, in order to transmit a more exact relation of it to
posterity, merits my acknowledgements; for should the calamity be
celebrated by your pen, its memory, I feel assured, will be rendered
imperishable. He was at that time, with the fleet under his command,
at Misenum. On the 24th of August, about one in the afternoon, my
mother desired him to observe a cloud which seemed of unusual shape
and dimensions. He had just returned from taking the benefit of the
sun, and after a cold water bath and a slight repast, had retired to
his study. He immediately arose, and proceeded to a rising ground,
from whence he might more distinctly mark this very uncommon
appearance.
"At that distance it could not be clearly perceived from what mountain
the cloud issued, but it was afterward ascertained to proceed from
Mount Vesuvius. I cannot better describe its figure than by comparing
it to that of a pine tree, for it shot up to a great height like a
trunk, and extended itself at the top into a kind of branches;
occasioned, I imagine, either by a sudden gust of air that impelled
if, the force of which decreased as it advanced upward, or by the
expansion of the cloud itself, when pressed back again by its own
weight. Sometimes it appeared bright, and sometimes dark and spotted,
as it became more or less impregnated with earth and cinders. This
extraordinary phenomenon excited my uncle's philosophical curiosity to
inquire into it more closely. He ordered a light vessel to be got
ready for him, and invited me to accompany him if I pleased. I replied
that I would rather continue my studies.
"As he was leaving the house, a note was brought to him from Rectina,
the wife of Bassus, who was in the utmost alarm at the imminent peril
which threatened her; for her villa being situated at the foot of
Mount Vesuvius, the only mode of escape was by the sea. She earnestly
entreated him, therefore, to hasten to her assistance. He accordingly
changed his first design, and what he began out of curiosity, now
continued out of heroism. Ordering the galleys to put to sea, he went
on board, with an intention of assisting not only Rectina, but several
others, for the villas are very numerous along that beautiful shore.
Hastening to the very place which other people were abandoning in
terror, he steered directly toward the point of danger, and with so
much composure of mind that he was able to make and to dictate his
observations on the changes and aspects of that dreadful scene.
"He was now so nigh the mountain that the cinders, which grew thicker
and hotter the nearer he approached, fell into the vessel, together
with pumice-stones and black pieces of burning rock; and now the
sudden ebb of the sea, and vast fragments rolling from the mountain,
obstructed their nearer approach to the shore. Pausing to consider
whether he should turn back again, to which he was advised by his
pilot, he exclaimed, 'Fortune befriends the brave: carry me to
Pomponianus.'
[Illustration: =EFFECT OF EARTHQUAKE ON MODERN STEEL BUILDING.=
The steel framework of many of the modern skyscrapers stood intact
after the shock, while the brick and stone walls were shaken out.]
[Illustration: =UPPER PICTURE--VESUVIUS DURING RECENT ERUPTION.=]
[Illustration: =LOWER PICTURE--ROAD LEADING UP TO VESUVIUS BEFORE
ERUPTION.=]
"Pomponianus was then at Stabiae, separated by a gulf which the sea,
after several windings, forms upon the shore. He had already sent his
baggage on board; for though not at that time in actual danger, yet
being within prospect of it, he was determined, if it drew nearer, to
put to sea as soon as the wind should change. The wind was
favorable, however, for carrying my uncle to Pomponianus, whom he
found in the greatest consternation. He embraced him tenderly,
encouraging and counselling him to keep up his spirits; and still
better to dissipate his alarm, he ordered, with an air of unconcern,
the baths to be got ready. After having bathed, he sat down to supper
with great cheerfulness, or, what was equally courageous, with all the
semblance of it.
"Meanwhile, the eruption from Mount Vesuvius broke forth in several
places with great violence, and the darkness of the night contributed
to render it still more visible and dreadful. But my uncle, to soothe
the anxieties of his friend, declared it was only the burning of the
villages, which the country people had abandoned to the flames. After
this, he retired to rest; and it is certain he was so little
discomposed as to fall into a deep sleep; for being somewhat
corpulent, and breathing hard, those who attended without actually
heard him snore.
"The court which led to his apartment being nearly filled with stones
and ashes, it would have been impossible for him, had he continued
there longer, to have made his way out; it was thought proper,
therefore, to awaken him. He got up and joined Pomponianus and the
rest of his company who were not unconcerned enough to think of going
to bed. They consulted together which course would be the more
prudent: to trust to the houses, which now shook from side to side
with frequent and violent concussions; or to escape to the open
country, where the calcined stones and cinders fell in such
quantities, as notwithstanding their lightness, to threaten
destruction. In this dilemma they decided on the open country, as
offering the greater chance of safety; a resolution which, while the
rest of the company hastily adopted it through their fears, my uncle
embraced only after cool and deliberate consideration. Then they went
forth, having pillows tied upon their heads with napkins; and this was
their sole defence against the storm of stones that fell around them.
"It was now day everywhere else, but there a deeper darkness prevailed
than in the obscurest night, though it was in some degree dissipated
by torches and lights of various kinds. They thought proper to go down
further upon the shore, to ascertain whether they might safely put out
to sea; but found the waves still extremely high and boisterous. There
my uncle, having drunk a draught or two of cold water, flung himself
down upon a cloth which was spread for him, when immediately the
flames and their precursor, a strong stench of sulphur, dispersed the
rest of the company, and compelled him to rise. He raised himself with
the assistance of two of the servants, but instantly fell down dead;
suffocated, I imagine by some gross and noxious vapor. As soon as it
was light again, which was not until the third day after this
melancholy accident, his body was found entire, and free from any sign
of violence, exactly in the same posture that he fell, so that he
looked more like one asleep than dead."
In a second letter to Tacitus, Pliny in relating his own experiences,
says:
"Day was rapidly breaking, but the light was exceedingly faint and
languid; the buildings all around us tottered; and though we stood
upon open ground, yet, as the area was narrow and confined, we could
not remain without certain and formidable peril, and we therefore
resolved to quit the town. The people followed us in a panic of alarm,
and, as to a mind distracted with terror every suggestion seems more
prudent than its own, pressed in great crowds about us in our way out.
"As soon as we had reached a convenient distance from the houses, we
stood still, in the midst of a perilous and most dreadful scene. The
chariots which we had ordered to be drawn out oscillated so violently,
though upon level ground, that we could not keep them steady, even by
supporting them with large stones. The sea seemed to roll back upon
itself, and to be driven from its strands by the earth's convulsive
throes; it is certain, at least, that the shore was considerably
enlarged, and that several marine animals were left upon it. On the
other side, a black and terrible cloud, bursting with an igneous
serpentine vapor, darted out a long train of fire, resembling, but
much larger than the flashes of lightning.
"Soon after the black cloud seemed to descend and enshroud the whole
ocean; as, in truth, it entirely concealed the island of Caprea and
the headland of Misenum. The ashes now began to fall upon us, though
in no considerable quantity. Turning my head, I perceived behind us a
dense smoke, which came rolling in our track like a torrent. I
proposed, while there was yet some light, to diverge from the
highroad, lest my mother should be crushed to death in the dark by the
crowd that followed us. Scarcely had we stepped aside when darkness
overspread us; not the darkness of a cloudy night, or when there is no
moon, but that of a chamber which is close shut, with all the lights
extinct.
"And then nothing could be heard but the shrieks of women, the cries
of children, and the exclamations of men. Some called aloud for their
little ones, others for their parents, others for their husbands,
being only able to distinguish persons by their voices; this man
lamented his own fate, that man the fate of his family; not a few
wished to die out of very fear of death; many lifted their hands to
the gods; but most imagined the last eternal night was come, which
should destroy the world and the gods together.
"At length, a glimmer of light appeared, which we imagined to be
rather the foretoken of an approaching burst of flames, as in truth it
was, than the return of day. The fire, however, having fallen at a
distance from us, we were again immersed in dense darkness, and a
heavy shower of ashes fell upon us, which we were compelled at times
to shake off--otherwise we should have been crushed and buried in the
heap.
"After a while, this dreadful darkness gradually disappeared like a
cloud of smoke; the actual day returned, and with it the sun, though
very faintly, and as when an eclipse is coming on. Every object that
presented itself to our eyes (which were extremely weakened) seemed
changed, being covered with a crust of white ashes, like a deep layer
of snow. We returned to Misenum, where we refreshed ourselves as well
as we could, and passed an anxious night between hope and fear,
though, indeed, with a much larger share of the latter; for the
earthquake still continued, while several excited individuals ran up
and down, augmenting their own and their friends' calamities by
terrible predictions."
The graphic accounts of Pliny the Younger have been confirmed in every
respect by scientific examination of the buried cities. The eruption
was terrible in all its circumstances--the rolling mud, the cloud of
darkness, the flashes of electric fire, the shaking earth--but yet
more terrible in its novelty of character and the seemingly wide range
of its influence. These combined causes would appear to have exercised
a fatal effect on the Pompeians, and but for them nearly all might
have escaped. Thus, the amphitheatre was crowded when the catastrophe
occurred, but only two or three skeletons have been found in it, which
probably were those of gladiators already killed or wounded. The bold,
the prompt, and the energetic saved themselves by immediate flight;
those who lingered through love or avarice, supine indifference, or
palsying fear, perished.
Many sought refuge in the lower rooms or underground cellars of their
houses, but there the steaming mud pursued and overtook them. Had it
been otherwise, they must have died of hunger or suffocation, as all
avenues of egress were absolutely blocked up.
It is impossible to exaggerate the horrors of the last day of the
doomed city. The rumbling of the earth beneath; the dense obscurity
and murky shadow of the heaven above; the long, heavy roll of the
convulsed sea; the strident noise of the vapors and gases escaping
from the mountain-crater; the shifting electric lights, crimson,
emerald green, lurid yellow, azure, blood red, which at intervals
relieved the blackness, only to make it ghastlier than before; the
hot, hissing showers which descended like a rain of fire; the clash
and clang of meeting rocks and riven stones; the burning houses and
flaming vineyards; the hurrying fugitives, with wan faces and
straining eyeballs, calling on those they loved to follow them; the
ashes, and cinders, and boiling mud, driving through the darkened
streets, and pouring into the public places; above all, that fine,
impalpable, but choking dust which entered everywhere, penetrating
even to the lowest cellar, and against which human skill could devise
no effectual protection; all these things must have combined into a
whole of such unusual and such awful terror that the imagination
cannot adequately realize it. The stoutest heart was appalled; the
best-balanced mind lost its composure. The stern Roman soldier stood
rigidly at his post, content to die if discipline required it, but
even his iron nerves quailed at the death and destruction around him.
Many lost their reason, and wandered through the city, gibbering and
shrieking lunatics. And none, we may be sure, who survived the peril,
ever forgot the sights and scenes they had witnessed on that day of
doom.
Three days and nights were thus endured with all the anguish of
suspense and uncertainty. On the fourth day the darkness, by degrees,
began to clear away. The day appeared, the sun shining forth; but all
nature seemed changed. Buried beneath the lava lay temple and circus,
the tribunal, the shrine, the frescoed wall, the bright mosaic floor;
but there was neither life nor motion in either city of the dead,
though the sea which once bore their argosies still shimmered in the
sunshine, and the mountain which accomplished their destruction still
breathed forth smoke and fire.
The scene was changed; all was over; smoke and vapor and showers had
ceased, and Vesuvius had returned to its normal slumber. Pompeii and
Herculaneum were no more. In their place was a desolated plain, with
no monuments visible, no house to be seen--nothing but a great surface
of white ashes, which hardened and petrified, and finally
disintegrated into soil upon which, years after, might be seen the
fruitful vine, the waving corn, and wild flowers in all their
loveliness and beauty, hiding the hideous tragedy of a bygone age.
It was about the middle of the eighteenth century that systematic
excavations in the ashes that covered Pompeii began. Since that time
the work has been slow, though continuous, and great progress has been
made in disinterring the buried city. To-day it is a municipal museum
of the Roman Empire as it was 1,800 years ago. The architecture is
almost unmarred; the colors of decorated tiles on the walls are still
bright; the wheel marks are fresh looking; the picture of domestic
life as it was is complete, except for the people who were destroyed
or driven from the city. No other place in all the world so completely
portrays that period of the past to us as does Pompeii, overwhelmed by
Vesuvius, hidden for centuries, and now once more in view to the world
to-day.