Between two edges of lapillus which have formed on the right and left
of the rails, among mountains of ashes accumulated here and there in
order to free the way, that the trains might get as far as Ottaiano,
the little station is crowded with different and strange people. Here
are dark faced peasants, silently advancing from the villages where
they have been sheltered, and now looking for the little home which
once was theirs. Civil functioneers who come here perhaps to try and,
doubtless in vain, to rebuild some kind of social life among the
ruins of this new Pompei. Small proprietors have climbed up here just
through that sad curiosity some people, seem to feel who know they are
ruined: rich proprietors of lands and houses, who come to calculate
how much of their fortunes has been lost, and consider whether it
is worth the while to fight for the future; some weeping woman of
the people, a few but rare ladies who have come through a spirit of
charity. Many soldiers, many officers, all covered with dust, and not
brilliant looking certainly, but fulfilling the most constant and
patient duty, a duty always greater and more complex. Here is their
general in the midst of a group of persons, who draw close to him,
wishing for something, (every body wishes for something), and general
Durelli has an answer for everyone, a brief but kind answer. He has
a word for everybody, and promises only what he can keep. He is the
soul, the breath, the mind, of this new Pompei. I know all this, and I
simply bow to him, as I don't want to make him lose any of his precious
time. But later when all interrogatories, with every distinguished or
obscure person, peasants, gentlemen, poor traders or proprietors of
Ottaiano is over, every one declares to me that in this incomparable
trouble, in this ruination of the prettiest of towns, the choice of
General Durelli, as a reorganiser, could not be better. He occupies one
of the few standing houses left inhabited by the parson, and he sleeps
there a few hours, and takes his meals, but he is always on his feet,
always around, plunging his high boots deep in a meter of lapillus,
going to and fro, watching every thing, providing promptly to all with
clear and efficacious orders. Around him, groups of bare-footed women,
with half naked children in their arms, push and press, while new
people coming from the different main roads, arrive, urging him with
demands and requests. The women, especially the poorest of them, with
sad looking faces relate to him their misfortune, and general Durelli
always kind and patient tries to console them and give them what they
ask. He begs them to be quiet and wait, hoping for better times.
They draw slowly away, sitting in groups on the ground or on the
accumulated ashes, forming thus a strange and never to be forgotten
picture. Their clothes are gray with ashes and dust, whilst their
babies with smutty faces and hair, lay quietly in their arms, watching
eagerly around. They wait there in silence. Perhaps better hours will
come.