CHAPTER XV.
CHOICE OF A ROUTE—THE “ERCOLANO”—SYRACUSE—THE ALBERGO DEL SOLE—SICILIAN COBBLER—THE EAR OF DIONYSIUS—BEAUTIFUL GARDENS—MUSEUM—MESSINA—ANCIENT FRESCO—TROPEA—STROMBOLI—NAPLES—“HOTEL DE NEW YORK”—HERCULANEUM—POMPEII—STREETS—SHOPS—PRIVATE HOUSES—PROGRESS OF EXCAVATION.
CHOICE OF A ROUTE—THE “ERCOLANO”—SYRACUSE—THE ALBERGO DEL SOLE—SICILIAN COBBLER—THE EAR OF DIONYSIUS—BEAUTIFUL GARDENS—MUSEUM—MESSINA—ANCIENT FRESCO—TROPEA—STROMBOLI—NAPLES—“HOTEL DE NEW YORK”—HERCULANEUM—POMPEII—STREETS—SHOPS—PRIVATE HOUSES—PROGRESS OF EXCAVATION.
During my imprisonment in the Lazaretto, I had employed some of my leisure time in selecting the most agreeable route homewards, for towards England I had pretty much determined to go. My desire to revisit Italy increased in proportion as I approached its shores, and I determined to make the best of my way to Naples, and examine at leisure its manifold beauties and wonders. The “Ercolano,” a fine Sicilian steamer, touching at Messina and Syracuse, seemed to offer a good opportunity for visiting those cities, and catching a distant glimpse of Etna. I took leave of Malta on a beautiful evening in April. The accommodation on board this boat was superior even to that of the French line of packets, and I found my berth so comfortable when I turned in about the hour of ten, thatI soon fell asleep, and enjoyed a night of uninterrupted rest, a gratification which the rheumatism had long before refused me. Nor did I wake until we were ready to drop our anchor in the harbour of Syracuse, when my friend P——s, whom I had been so fortunate as to meet on board, came down to arouse me.
The view from the deck of our ship was lovely. It was a most sultry morning, and the landscape with its glowing sky and blue water, positively rivalled, in intensity of brightness, the odd gummy-looking coloured lithographs in black borders, which one meets with in all the Italian printshops. In the distance towered Etna, faintly smoking, whilst the yellow-looking houses of Syracuse, coming down almost to the water’s edge, were reflected so distinctly therein, that had we stood upon our heads, the same landscape must have greeted us. There was not a breath of air, and the sun, even so early as eight o’clock, shone out as though it would scorch the very fish. No wonder that old Archimedes could set ships on fire with his burning-glasses, at half-a-mile off!
We had no sooner come to a stand-still, and commenced blowing off our steam, than there was a slight stir perceptible on shore, and two or three lazy boatmen pulled offtowards us. At an inn near the shore, the Albergo delSole, (for here the sun seems to influence everything, animate and inanimate,) we found a cool room and a breakfast, both of which were duly appreciated. But Syracuse is too rich in antiquities, to allow of much repose in-doors during a stay limited to twelve hours only, and therefore, though it was positive labour to walk about, I knocked the ashes out of my pipe, and sought the street. At the door of the inn, I found a fierce-looking unshaven cobbler, who presented himself as a cicerone, probably finding thebuona-manoof travellers yield a more profitable revenue than the stall under the windows of the “Sole.” Closing with his offer of service, I strolled off to visit thecontorniof Syracuse, which abound with theatres, aqueducts and fountains, the relics of former greatness, whilst traces of the engineering labours of Archimedes are everywhere manifest.
Perhaps the greatest curiosity of the neighbourhood is the celebrated “Ear of Dionysius,” an excavation in the solid rock, occupying one corner of a large quarry. It measures about seventy yards in length, with an average height of forty or fifty feet, but was evidently at one time much more lofty, being now partially filled up. The external orifice is in its form something like a horse’s ear,and the sharp angle at the top, runs along to the extreme end, where it terminates in an opening of a yard square, leading to a chamber. Here, as the story goes, the tyrant used to secrete himself, and feast his ears with the groans of his victims, an assertion which our shoemaking guide declared to be beyond dispute. Those among the Sicilians, however, who have bestowed any thought upon the subject, conjecture that the ear was connected with an adjacent theatre, and that its natural acoustic properties were in some way made subservient to orchestral purposes. This supposition, far-fetched though it may appear, will not seem so improbable, when the relative positions of the ear and that portion of the theatre already excavated, have been duly considered. The mere tearing of a piece of writing-paper, is loudly echoed, and one is really afraid to cough, in consequence of the distressing asthmatic effects which ensue from the other end of the gallery. The noise produced by the discharge of a sixpenny cannon is absolutely deafening, and not only are you obliged to submit to it, but expected to pay also for the injury sustained by your tympanum. I felt glad to escape again into the bright sunshine, and was next conducted by my guide to a garden, the property of some Sicilian nobleman, one of the loveliest spots I ever set footin. It lies sheltered in the bosom of an ancient quarry, which completely encloses it, and the eye is here greeted with rare shrubs, both foreign and indigenous, whilst the sense of smell is regaled with the odours of flowers and tropical fruits. Ripe lemons and citrons dangled amid the dark green foliage, and as this little Eden was not garnished with stiff-looking pieces of painted tin, requesting the visitor “not to touch,” we touched, handled, and tasted to our heart’s content, of the produce of the garden, the old gardener culling here and there for our gratification. He even insisted upon our carrying away with us some lemons of a strange species, of delicious flavour, the pulp being the eatable part. This was white and sweet, and of the consistency of cream-cheese.
Returning to the city, I visited a museum but recently established, possessing already some rarities of great value. The most striking, is a headless statue of Venus, of exquisite symmetry, dug up near some neighbouring catacombs. I never saw so beautiful a figure. Though carefully sought for, the head has not yet been discovered, but the statue was considered to possess such merit, that Canova was sent for to supply the missing portion. He died, however, before he could execute it.
In the evening, we were again summoned on board, and another night’s steaming brought us to Messina, where we had a similar leave of absence from our captain. Two or three of us took a calesse, and saw some of the curiosities of the place, but the town, noisy and bustling, and in respect of its quays and shipping, not unlike Rouen, was soon quitted by us for the more genial campagna, where we strolled at leisure among the hills which rise at the back of the city, from whence the view of the Straits and the Calabrian shore is very beautiful. In an old convent in the suburbs, we were shown a fresco of “the Last Supper,” bearing a striking resemblance to that of Leonardo da Vinci, at Milan, and in precisely the same relative situation at the end of the refectory. It is of very recent discovery, and was accidentally brought to light by the removal of a thick coat of plaster which covered the wall.
Tropea, on the Calabrian coast, seems a charming spot, embosomed in a little rocky valley. Here we took on board a large boat-load of the country people in their picturesque costumes, and amongst them, looking very much out of place, an English engineer, employed in the working of some newly-opened mines. Stromboli, which rises from the water like a vast cone, crowned with a perpetual wreathof thin smoke, was in view a great part of the day. To pass the night below, I found impossible, for a calm evening on the Mediterranean is productive of too much enjoyment, to be snored away altogether in one’s berth. All our passengers seemed alike inclined to shun the cabin, and long after dark, we sat lounging in groups upon the deck, listening to the songs of the Sicilian sailors forward, or watching the lights created under our bows, as we cleaved the water. I never saw the phosphorescent appearance to greater advantage than on this occasion. The froth produced by our paddles was altogether illumined, and looked like a shower of fiery sparks, whilst our wake, almost as far back as the eye could reach, seemed to be a reflection of the milky way.
Morning brought us to Naples, and I was once more landed at the custom-house. A solitary pound ofLatakia, the last of my stock, was seized upon with evident avidity. I had foolishly imagined that by making no attempt to conceal it, it might escape notice. Two of my friends were more fortunate. They succeeded inrunninga couple of bags, containing a dozen or more pounds, by hanging them over the arm in their cloaks, the officers who handled their pockets omitting to notice those garments. I put up atthe “Hotel de New York,” close to the quay, in preference to the more expensive houses of the Chiaja, usually patronized by our countrymen. Two of my fellow-travellers, one a Russian, the other abrave Belge, bore me company, and we had no reason to regret our choice. Here I had the good fortune to meet with alaquais de place, who could speak no broken English whatever, and finding that his French would likewise have stood a poor chance of being recognised in the Palais Royal, I engaged him immediately.
On the morning after my arrival at Naples, I arose with feelings akin to those of the school-boy, to whom the pedagogue has granted awhole holiday, and whose excitement at the consciousness of some extraordinary pleasure to come, prompts him to jump out of bed some hours before there is any occasion. I was about to visit Pompeii,—the very idol of all my wishes, since the day, when seated in my lofty cane-bottomed chair, I was allowed, by way of especial treat to see, but not to touch, the curious pictures in Sir William Gell’s book. Now, I was about to roam at will through its deserted streets, and realize some of those feelings which I had experienced as a child, when listening to the wondrous tales of travelled friends, or themore glowing pages of some pleasant author, whose imagination has enabled us to mix with its busy and unconscious multitudes at the very moment of its destruction.
A carriage with three stout black horses, unicorn-fashion, was at the door of the hotel by half-past seven, and providing ourselves with some cold fowl and Capri wine, we set off for Herculaneum, rattling over the hard stones at a pace which would have been alarming, had our horses been held in by any other than a Neapolitan coachman. A ride of an hour brought us to Resina, and we alighted at the stone steps which lead to an ancient theatre, freed only in part from the load of lava which buried it. The sinking of a well by a peasant is said to have led to its discovery, in the year 1713. The lad who provided us with torches, and showed us over the place, pointed to the various spots where such and such relics had been found, referring us to the Museum at Naples for the farther gratification of our curiosity, and seeming to agree with us that these interesting objects might, with equal propriety, have been left where they were first discovered, instead of being transplanted from the places with which they are associated, to swell an already over-stocked collection. Such, however, has been the fate of every moveable relic of antiquity disinterredat Pompeii and Herculaneum. There is thus comparatively little left to interest the visitor, and having strolled through the damp passages, and poked our torches into the dark comers, we proceeded down one of the little guttered streets of Resina, to the garden-gate, which serves as the portal to Herculaneum. Having passed the threshold, and descended a few steps, we stood upon the Appian Way. On each side of this, probably one of the chief thoroughfares, the houses have been cleared of the lava, which, like a boiling tide, flowed in upon and covered them, and the visitor may now walk at will among the roofless dwellings of the city, while his busy imagination vainly tries to invest them with the forms and figures of those who trod the same stones eighteen hundred years before. On some of the walls there are frescoes, which appear to have retained their primitive brightness of colour, notwithstanding the intense heat to which they have been exposed, and there are still many beautiful pieces of mosaic in the floors of some of the houses, which, from fear of breakage, have escaped translation to the Museum.
Owing to the great difficulty and expense of removing the solid lava, but a small portion only of Herculaneum has been laid bare, and though it is probable that a rich storeof antiquities would be brought to light by further excavation, it seems unlikely that the Neapolitan Government will go to any more expense in that way.
Regaining our carriage, which had been waiting for us in the road above, we pushed on for three or four miles, through thick clouds of dust, to La Nunciata, catching an occasional glimpse of Castellamare and the blue mountains beyond, whilst Vesuvius, rising from among the cindery-looking vineyards of the rareLagrima, formed the prominent feature on our left hand. At every step, the evidences of volcanic movement meet the eye. The foundations of the houses are of lava, lying in huge masses by the road-side, just as they have been rolled down from the mountain, and the carriage-way itself is so beautifully hard, that it needs only an occasional shower to wash away the dust, to retain it in perfect order.
Arrived at the gate of Pompeii, we regained the Via Appia, and leaving our carriage under the thick shade of some almond-trees, entered the street of tombs, or suburb of the ancient city. Here is the house said to have been tenanted by the wealthy Diomede, with its ground and upper floors, and walled garden, and a capacious cellar extending round three sides of the quadrangle. It was here that the skeletonsof seven persons were found huddled together in a corner, most probably those of the females of the family, who had retreated to thesouterrain, in the hope that they might be sheltered from the burning shower which issued from the mountain. But the ashy rain penetrated and pervaded everything, filtering through the crevices in the form of a fine dust, filling up the very amphoræ, with which old Diomede, doubtless abon vivant, had plentifully stored his cellar. Farther on, are several tombs in excellent preservation, and then passing through the gate, we entered upon one of the chief streets of the city. The paved carriage-way still shows the wheel-marks of former times, although the street itself is so narrow, that it is difficult to believe there was much passing to and fro. It seems more probable that horses and vehicles were left at theOsterie, outside the gates, and that locomotion within the city was principally confined to walking, with the occasional luxury of a sedan.
The street in which we now found ourselves, appears to have been one of the busiest thoroughfares of the city, to judge from the line of shops on either side, which all bear more or less evidence of the business once carried on therein. In that of the baker, for example, who ground his flour,kneaded the dough, and baked his bread in one and the same little shop, we found the mill, the slab, and the oven. It appears, however, that so sudden was the alarm which seized the terrified inhabitants, that the poor baker fled with the rest, leaving his batch in the oven, whence it was drawn after a lapse of near two thousand years, and deposited in the Borbonico. At the counter of the wine-shop, the print of the measure is still apparent, whilst now and then the eye is greeted with a sign, either on the sill or over the door-way, of callings somewhat more objectionable. Shops and private houses stand side by side, and close to the splendid dwellings, of which the ownership has been assigned to Sallust, Cecilius Capella, and Modestus, may be seen the modest shop of a blacksmith, and the laboratory of a dispensing chemist. Farther on are baths, and an academy of music, with the house of the Edile Pansa; a hotel, the studio of a painter, and a crockery shop. The houses of private individuals are recognized by the inscriptions in red-letters, even now perfectly legible, whilst the identity of the particular business carried on in the shops is less doubtfully established by the relics continually found in them. The Terme, or baths, are in excellent preservation, from the bason of marble down to the leaden pipe and water-cock.The house of the Fauns has been lately discovered, and a number of interesting relics were in course of removal at the time of our visit, though it was some consolation to learn, that the beautiful tessellated pavement, which adorns the whole ground-floor of this building, is to remain intact. Each of our guides carried a large wet sponge, to bring out the colours of the mosaics and frescoes. The former, indeed, are kept sedulously concealed by a layer of dust and broken fragments, and would entirely escape the eye of any traveller, unaccompanied by acustode.
Having examined the most interesting houses in the heart of the city, we walked over an extensive tract of orchard-ground, to the amphitheatre, which is in a state of great preservation. Here, the range of benches appropriated to the Pompejan ladies appears to have been the uppermost tier, as far as possible removed from the arena, and therefore less exposed to risk from the accidental escape of any of the animals. From the nature of the relics here discovered, it seems probable that some spectacle was in course of performance, when the first shower of hot ashes gave the signal for flight, though it would appear that the danger was not so immediate, but that all had time to make good their retreat.
On returning to the city, we paused to examine the Temple of Isis and its oracle, a spot which the imagination of Sir E. B. Lytton has invested with such peculiar interest, and passing into the ruins of the Forum, we seated ourselves on some fragments of its chaste Doric columns, and opened our wallets. Here we took a retrospective glance at the wonders disclosed by our morning’s ramble, and fixed them upon our minds whilst the recollection of them was still fresh. For more than eighty years the process of excavation has been carrying on, and it is supposed, that at the present rate of disinterment, another eighty must elapse before the whole of Pompeii is uncovered. Not a third part, indeed, of the ground within the walls, which are two miles round, has yet been moved, and if the supposition be correct, that the whole of this area is built upon, there is labour in store for many generations.