The dreadful earthquake which happened in Calabria, in 1638, is
described by the Jesuit Kircher, who was at that time on his way to
Sicily to visit Mount Etna. In approaching the gulf of Charybdis, it
appeared to whirl round in such a manner as to form a vast hollow,
verging to a point in the center. On looking toward Etna, it was seen to
emit large volumes of smoke, of a mountainous size, which entirely
covered the whole island, and obscured from his view the very shores.
This, together with the dreadful noise, and the sulphurous stench, which
was strongly perceptible, filled him with apprehensions that a still
more dreadful calamity was impending. The sea was agitated, covered with
bubbles, and had altogether a very unusual appearance. His surprise was
still more increased by the serenity of the weather, there not being a
breath of air, nor a cloud, which might be supposed to put all nature
thus in motion. He therefore warned his companions that an earthquake
was approaching, and landed with all possible diligence at Tropæa, in
Calabria.
He had scarcely reached the Jesuits’ college, when his ears were stunned
with a horrid sound, resembling that of an infinite number of chariots
driven fiercely forward, the wheels rattling, and the thongs cracking.
The tract on which he stood seemed to vibrate, as if he had been in the
scale of a balance which still continued to waver. The motion soon
becoming more violent, he was thrown prostrate on the ground. The
universal ruin around him now redoubled his amazement: the crash of
falling houses, the tottering of towers, and the groans of the dying,
all contributed to excite emotions of terror and despair. Danger
threatened him wherever he should flee; but, having remained unhurt amid
the general concussion, he resolved to venture for safety, and reached
the shore, almost terrified out of his reason. Here he found his
companions, whose terrors were still greater than his own. He landed on
the following day at Rochetta, where the earth still continued to be
violently agitated. He had, however, scarcely reached the inn at which
he intended to lodge, when he was once more obliged to return to the
boat: in about half an hour the greater part of the town, including the
inn, was overwhelmed, and the inhabitants buried beneath its ruins.
Not finding any safety on land, and exposed, by the smallness of the
boat to a very hazardous passage by sea, he at length landed at
Lopizium, a castle midway between Tropæa and Euphæmia, the city to which
he was bound. Here, wherever he turned his eyes, nothing but scenes of
ruin and horror appeared: towns and castles were leveled to the ground;
while Stromboli, although sixty miles distant, was seen to vomit flames
in an unusual manner, and with a noise which he could distinctly hear.
From remote objects his attention was soon diverted to contiguous
danger: the rumbling sound of an approaching earthquake, with which he
was by this time well acquainted, alarmed him for the consequences.
Every instant it grew louder, as if approaching; and the spot on which
he stood shook so dreadfully, that being unable to stand, he and his
companions caught hold of the shrubs which grew nearest to them, and in
that manner supported themselves.
This violent paroxysm having ceased, he now thought of prosecuting his
voyage to Euphæmia, which lay within a short distance. Turning his eyes
toward that city, he could merely perceive a terrific dark cloud, which
seemed to rest on the place. He was the more surprised at this, as the
weather was remarkably serene. Waiting, therefore, until this cloud had
passed away, he turned to look for the city; but, alas! it was totally
sunk, and in its place a dismal and putrid lake was to be seen. All was
a melancholy solitude, a scene of hideous desolation. Such was the fate
of the city of Euphæmia; and the other devastating effects of this
earthquake were so great, that along the whole coast of that part of
Italy, for the space of two hundred miles, the remains of ruined towns
and villages were everywhere to be seen, and the inhabitants, without
dwellings, dispersed over the fields. Kircher at length terminated his
distressful voyage, by reaching Naples, after having escaped a variety
of perils both by sea and land.