CHAP. XX.NAPLES.—POMPEII.
Monday, June 4th, promising to be favourable for my intention of visiting the remains of Pompeii, distant about fourteen miles from Naples, my friend C⸺, and myself, engaged a curriculo to take us over to that spot; for this conveyance, we paid only twelve carlines, equal to about four shillings; but when it is recollected, that my driver could support himself and his horse through the day, for one-eighth part of that sum, the compensation ceases to be a contemptible one.
We left Naples a little before six, and after resting for breakfast at Torre del Annunciata, arrived at Pompeii about nine o’clock. Our road lay through rich vineyards, and over various beds of lava, the remains of different eruptions from Mount Vesuvius. In 1794, one town through which we passed, Torre del Greco, was destroyed by one of these awful visitations, and yet such is the attachment of the infatuated people to this situation, that a new one has arisen on the self-same spot.
We entered the suburbs of Pompeii, by the villa of the Roman, whose skeleton was foundin the garden, with a purse of gold in his hand, with which he appears to have been endeavouring to escape, when arrested by the overwhelming shower of ashes. After passing these suburbs, in which we noticed a number of monuments, and receptacles for the ashes of the dead, we entered under an ancient gateway into the city itself. It is not easy to describe the sensations which rushed upon my soul, on finding myself within this monumental city, or to give that lucid description which it requires; I shall therefore not apologize for borrowing an account, which corresponds with the ideas I was personally led to form of it. I shall, however, premise, that the order of our exploration, varied from the one usually adopted by the Cicerones, who take you first to the amphitheatre; on the contrary, we commenced with those points, which strangers generally finish with, leaving the theatres and amphitheatre for the last objects of research, and thus, as it were, proceeding from small things to great ones.
“The remains of this town afford a truly interesting spectacle. It is like a resurrection from the dead; the progress of time and decay is arrested, and you are admitted to the temples, the theatres, and the domestic privacy of a people, who have ceased to exist for seventeen centuries. Nothing is wanting but the inhabitants: still, amorning’s walk through the silent streets of Pompeii, will give you a livelier idea of their modes of life, than all the books in the world. They seem like the French of the present day, to have existed only in public. Their temples, theatres, basilicas, and forums, are on the most splendid scale, but in their private dwellings, we discover little, or no attention to comfort. The houses in general, have a small court, round which the rooms are built, which are rather cells than rooms; the greater part are without windows, receiving light only from the door. There are no chimneys; the smoke of the kitchen, which is usually low and dark, must have found its way through a hole in the ceiling.
“The doors are so low, that you are obliged to stoop to pass through them. There are some traces of Mosaic flooring, and the stucco paintings, with which all the walls are covered, are but little injured; and upon their being wetted, they appear as fresh as ever. Brown, red, yellow, and blue, are the prevailing colours. It is a pity that the contents of the houses could not have been allowed to remain in the state in which they were found: but this would have been impossible. Travellers are the greatest thieves in the world. As it is, they will tear down, without scruple, the whole side of a room, to cut out a favourable specimenof the stucco painting. If it were not for this pilfering propensity, we might now see every thing as it really was left at the time of this great calamity; even to the skeleton which was found with a purse of gold in its hand. In the stocks of the guard-room, which was used as a military punishment, the skeletons of four soldiers were found sitting; but these poor fellows have now been released from their ignominious situation, and the stocks, with every thing else that was moveable, have been placed in the museum; the bones being consigned to their parent clay. Pompeii, therefore, exhibits nothing but bare walls, and the walls are without roofs; for these have been broken in, by the weight of the shower of ashes and pumice stones, that caused the destruction of the town.
“The amphitheatre is very perfect, as indeed are the two other theatres, intended for dramatic representations, though it is evident that they had sustained some injury from the earthquake, which, as we learn from Tacitus, had already much damaged this devoted town, before its final destruction by the eruption of Vesuvius. ‘Et motu terræ celebre Campaniæ oppidum Pompeii magna ex parte proruit.’—Tac. Ann.15. c. 22.
“The paintings on the walls of the amphitheatre, represent the combats of gladiators and wildbeasts, the dens of which remain just as they were seventeen hundred years ago. The two theatres for dramatic entertainments, are as close together as our own Drury Lane and Covent Garden. The larger one which might have contained five thousand persons, like the amphitheatre had no roof, but was open to the day. The stage is very much circumscribed—there is no depth, and consequently there are no side scenes; the forms and appearance are like that of our own theatres, when the drop scene is down, and forms the extent of the stage. In the back scene of the Roman stage, which instead of canvas, is composed of unchangeable brick and marble, are three doors; and there are two others on the sides, answering to our stage-doors. It seems that it was the theatrical etiquette, that the premiers roles should have their exits and entrances, through the doors of the back scene, and the inferior ones through those on the sides.
“The little theatre is covered, and in better preservation than the other; and it is supposed that this was intended for musical entertainments. The temple of Isis has suffered little injury; the statues alone have been taken away. You see the very altar on which the victims were offered, and you may now ascend without ceremony the private stairs, which led to the sanctumsanctorum of the goddess; where those mysterious rites were celebrated, the nature of which may be shrewdly guessed from the curiosities discovered there, and which are now to be seen in the Museo Borbonico. In a niche on the outside of the temple, was the statue of Harpocraes, the God of silence—who was most appropriately placed here; but
‘Foul deeds will riseThough all the earth o’erwhelm them to men’s eyes.’
‘Foul deeds will riseThough all the earth o’erwhelm them to men’s eyes.’
‘Foul deeds will riseThough all the earth o’erwhelm them to men’s eyes.’
‘Foul deeds will rise
Though all the earth o’erwhelm them to men’s eyes.’
“The streets are very narrow; the marks of wheels on the pavement shew that carriages were in use, but there must have been some regulation to prevent their meeting each other; for one carriage would have occupied the whole of the street, except the narrow trottoir raised on each side for foot passengers, for whose accommodation, there are also raised stepping stones, in order to cross from one side to the other. The distances between the wheel traces, are four feet three inches.
“There is often an emblem over the door of a house, that determines the profession of its former owner. The word ‘Salve’ on one, seems to denote that it was an inn, as we have in our days the sign of ‘The Salutation.’ In the outer brick-work of another, is carved an emblem, which shocks the refinement of modern taste; but which has been an object even of religious adorationin many countries, probably as a symbol of creative power. The same device is found on the stucco of the inner court of another house, with this intimation, ‘Hic habitat Felicitas,’ a sufficient explanation of the character of its inhabitants. Many of the paintings on the walls are very elegant in the taste and design, and they often assist us in ascertaining the uses for which the different rooms were intended. For example, in the baths, we find Tritons, and Naiads; in the bed-chambers, Morpheus scatters his poppies; and in the eating-room, a sacrifice to Esculapius teaches us, that we should eat, to live;—and not live, to eat.
“In one of these rooms, are the remains of a triclinium. A baker’s shop is as plainly indicated, as if the loaves were now at his window. There is a mill for grinding the corn, and the oven for baking; and the surgeon, and the druggist, have also been traced, by the quality of the articles found in their respective dwellings.
“But the most complete specimen that we have of an ancient residence, is the villa which has been discovered, at a small distance without the gate. It is on a more splendid scale, than any of the houses in the town itself, and it has been preserved with scarcely any injury. Some have imagined that this was the Pompeianum—thePompeian villa of Cicero. Be this as it may, it must have belonged to a man of taste. Situated on a sloping bank, the front entrance opens, as it were, into the first floor; below which, on the garden side, into which the house looks—for the door is the only aperture on the road side—is a ground floor, with spacious arcades, and open rooms, all facing the garden; and above are the sleeping-rooms. The walls and ceilings of this villa are ornamented with paintings of very elegant design, all which have a relation to the uses of the apartments in which they are placed. In the middle of the garden there is a reservoir of water, surrounded by columns, and the ancient well still remains. Though we have many specimens of Roman glass in their drinking vessels, it has been doubted, whether they were acquainted with the use of it in the windows. Swinburne, however in describing Pompeii, says, ‘In the window of a bed-chamber some panes of glass are remaining. This would seem to decide the question;—but they remain no longer.’
“The host was fond of conviviality, if we may judge from the dimension of his cellar, which extends under the whole of the house, and the arcades also, and many of the amphoræ remain, in which the wine was stowed. It was here that the skeletons of seven-and-twenty poor wretches werefound, who took refuge in this place from the fiery shower that would have killed them at once, to suffer the lingering torments of being starved to death. It was in one of the porticos leading to the outward entrance, that the skeleton, supposed to be that of the master of the house, was found with a key in one hand, and a purse of gold in the other. So much for Pompeii.”—Matthews.
“⸺Thus deep beneathEarth’s bosom, and the mansions of the gravesOf men, are graves of cities. Such of late,From its long sleep of darkness disenterr’d,Pompeii, with its low and buried roofs,Rose dark upon the miner’s progress, likeA city of the dead! a tomb perchanceWhere living men were buried! Tyrant Death!How didst thou triumph then! thou us’d’st to stealBehind thy sallow harbinger disease,Or take thine open and determinate standIn battle’s ranks, with danger at thy sideForewarning gallant breasts prepar’d to die;But there—thy spect’ral visage darken’d forth,Amid the joyous bosom-scenes of life,From its invisible ambush! There it found,The myriad fantasies of hearts, and brains,Young loves, and hopes, and pleasures, all abroad,Spreading their painted wings, and wantoning,In life’s glad summer-breeze, from flower to flower;And, with the fatal spell of one dread glance.Blasted them all!—how sunk the tender maid,Then silent to the still and stiffening claspOf her dead lover! Echo had not ceas’dTo catch love’s inarticulate ecstasies,Strain’d in a first embrace—for ever, then,Fix’d statue-like in Death’s tremendous armsA hideous contrast! One fell moment still’dLovers and foes alike; workers of good,And guilty wretches:—then the statesman’s brain,Stopp’d in its calculation, and the bardSunk by his lyre;—the loud processionBefore the Temple—all the cares of life,With action and contrivance, through the streetsThronged multitudinous, in their busy timeOf bustle and magnificence,—and allLife’s thousands were abroad, and the high soundsOf civic pomp rose audible from far:—But louder rose the terrible voice of ruinOver their mirth, ‘be still’d,’ and all was hush’d!Save the short shudd’ring cries that rose unheard—The up-turn’d glances from a thousand homes,Thro’ the red closing surge! awful groanOf agitated Nature! while beneath,Ten thousand victims turn’d to die:—aboveBright sunbeams lit the plain—a nameless tomb.”—Maturin.
“⸺Thus deep beneathEarth’s bosom, and the mansions of the gravesOf men, are graves of cities. Such of late,From its long sleep of darkness disenterr’d,Pompeii, with its low and buried roofs,Rose dark upon the miner’s progress, likeA city of the dead! a tomb perchanceWhere living men were buried! Tyrant Death!How didst thou triumph then! thou us’d’st to stealBehind thy sallow harbinger disease,Or take thine open and determinate standIn battle’s ranks, with danger at thy sideForewarning gallant breasts prepar’d to die;But there—thy spect’ral visage darken’d forth,Amid the joyous bosom-scenes of life,From its invisible ambush! There it found,The myriad fantasies of hearts, and brains,Young loves, and hopes, and pleasures, all abroad,Spreading their painted wings, and wantoning,In life’s glad summer-breeze, from flower to flower;And, with the fatal spell of one dread glance.Blasted them all!—how sunk the tender maid,Then silent to the still and stiffening claspOf her dead lover! Echo had not ceas’dTo catch love’s inarticulate ecstasies,Strain’d in a first embrace—for ever, then,Fix’d statue-like in Death’s tremendous armsA hideous contrast! One fell moment still’dLovers and foes alike; workers of good,And guilty wretches:—then the statesman’s brain,Stopp’d in its calculation, and the bardSunk by his lyre;—the loud processionBefore the Temple—all the cares of life,With action and contrivance, through the streetsThronged multitudinous, in their busy timeOf bustle and magnificence,—and allLife’s thousands were abroad, and the high soundsOf civic pomp rose audible from far:—But louder rose the terrible voice of ruinOver their mirth, ‘be still’d,’ and all was hush’d!Save the short shudd’ring cries that rose unheard—The up-turn’d glances from a thousand homes,Thro’ the red closing surge! awful groanOf agitated Nature! while beneath,Ten thousand victims turn’d to die:—aboveBright sunbeams lit the plain—a nameless tomb.”—Maturin.
“⸺Thus deep beneathEarth’s bosom, and the mansions of the gravesOf men, are graves of cities. Such of late,From its long sleep of darkness disenterr’d,Pompeii, with its low and buried roofs,Rose dark upon the miner’s progress, likeA city of the dead! a tomb perchanceWhere living men were buried! Tyrant Death!How didst thou triumph then! thou us’d’st to stealBehind thy sallow harbinger disease,Or take thine open and determinate standIn battle’s ranks, with danger at thy sideForewarning gallant breasts prepar’d to die;But there—thy spect’ral visage darken’d forth,Amid the joyous bosom-scenes of life,From its invisible ambush! There it found,The myriad fantasies of hearts, and brains,Young loves, and hopes, and pleasures, all abroad,Spreading their painted wings, and wantoning,In life’s glad summer-breeze, from flower to flower;And, with the fatal spell of one dread glance.Blasted them all!—how sunk the tender maid,Then silent to the still and stiffening claspOf her dead lover! Echo had not ceas’dTo catch love’s inarticulate ecstasies,Strain’d in a first embrace—for ever, then,Fix’d statue-like in Death’s tremendous armsA hideous contrast! One fell moment still’dLovers and foes alike; workers of good,And guilty wretches:—then the statesman’s brain,Stopp’d in its calculation, and the bardSunk by his lyre;—the loud processionBefore the Temple—all the cares of life,With action and contrivance, through the streetsThronged multitudinous, in their busy timeOf bustle and magnificence,—and allLife’s thousands were abroad, and the high soundsOf civic pomp rose audible from far:—But louder rose the terrible voice of ruinOver their mirth, ‘be still’d,’ and all was hush’d!Save the short shudd’ring cries that rose unheard—The up-turn’d glances from a thousand homes,Thro’ the red closing surge! awful groanOf agitated Nature! while beneath,Ten thousand victims turn’d to die:—aboveBright sunbeams lit the plain—a nameless tomb.”—Maturin.
“⸺Thus deep beneath
Earth’s bosom, and the mansions of the graves
Of men, are graves of cities. Such of late,
From its long sleep of darkness disenterr’d,
Pompeii, with its low and buried roofs,
Rose dark upon the miner’s progress, like
A city of the dead! a tomb perchance
Where living men were buried! Tyrant Death!
How didst thou triumph then! thou us’d’st to steal
Behind thy sallow harbinger disease,
Or take thine open and determinate stand
In battle’s ranks, with danger at thy side
Forewarning gallant breasts prepar’d to die;
But there—thy spect’ral visage darken’d forth,
Amid the joyous bosom-scenes of life,
From its invisible ambush! There it found,
The myriad fantasies of hearts, and brains,
Young loves, and hopes, and pleasures, all abroad,
Spreading their painted wings, and wantoning,
In life’s glad summer-breeze, from flower to flower;
And, with the fatal spell of one dread glance.
Blasted them all!—how sunk the tender maid,
Then silent to the still and stiffening clasp
Of her dead lover! Echo had not ceas’d
To catch love’s inarticulate ecstasies,
Strain’d in a first embrace—for ever, then,
Fix’d statue-like in Death’s tremendous arms
A hideous contrast! One fell moment still’d
Lovers and foes alike; workers of good,
And guilty wretches:—then the statesman’s brain,
Stopp’d in its calculation, and the bard
Sunk by his lyre;—the loud procession
Before the Temple—all the cares of life,
With action and contrivance, through the streets
Thronged multitudinous, in their busy time
Of bustle and magnificence,—and all
Life’s thousands were abroad, and the high sounds
Of civic pomp rose audible from far:—
But louder rose the terrible voice of ruin
Over their mirth, ‘be still’d,’ and all was hush’d!
Save the short shudd’ring cries that rose unheard—
The up-turn’d glances from a thousand homes,
Thro’ the red closing surge! awful groan
Of agitated Nature! while beneath,
Ten thousand victims turn’d to die:—above
Bright sunbeams lit the plain—a nameless tomb.”—Maturin.
Absorbed in feelings of the most melancholy, but tenderest nature, we commenced our return to Naples, where we arrived about five o’clock in the evening.
We experienced much thunder and lightning for a day or two, which, on the 7th were succeeded by a clear hot day. In the evening, I took a drive in a carriage, in company with Dr. K⸺ to the Lake Agnano. On our way, we passed the Grotto del Cani, or Dog’s Cave, which has the quality of being fatal to that animal when taken into it, whereas the human subject can remainwithin it uninjured. The cause of this phenomenon admits of easy explanation. A quantity of carbonic acid gas is disengaged from apertures, or chinks in the sides of the cavern, and from its greater specific gravity than atmospheric air, falls to the floor which is somewhat lower than the entrance: it is consequently retained there, producing its peculiar noxious effects on animals of low stature when introduced into it,—as a common-sized dog; while others of a superior height, not having their organs of respiration immersed in the injurious fluid, remain in the cave with impunity. Thus readily does philosophy, in this instance, overturn the errors of superstition; for the peculiarities of this cavern, were formerly attributed to the influence of a vengeful deity.
I did not enter the grotto, my friend having neglected to inform me of our approach to it, although the examination of it was a leading object of my evening’s drive. I should, however, have found no gratification, could I have witnessed the convulsive agonies of one of the unfortunate animals, who are kept for the purpose of demonstrating the properties of the cave, and who, after being immersed until life is nearly extinct, are then returned into a purer atmosphere, to reserve them for repeated exhibition. The exhibitors have a peculiar mode of assisting the recovery in thiscase; namely, to throw the poor creature into the lake. It is not easy to conceive, under suspension of vitality from such a source, how this is to contribute to its restoration. On our return, one of these dogs, consisting literally of skin and bone, was lying on the ground near the mouth of the cave. I could not but wish, that the numerous persons who visit this simple natural phenomenon, would provide themselves with bread to feed these poor animals, instead of wantonly amusing themselves with so cruel an experiment of its effects.
On approaching the Lake Agnano, my organ of smell became strongly affected, by the sulphurous exhalation proceeding from its surface, and the marshy grounds around it, and which I readily recognised to be sulphuretted hydrogen. I was astonished by the extraordinary croaking of the numerous frogs, which inhabit this lake, far exceeding any thing I had ever heard from the various froggeries of France or Italy. One would have thought that Aaron’s rod had been extended over it; they appeared to be all around, so that I fancied every step I had to take, must have crushed more or less of them to death. There was no habitation near, or the description of Exodus, chap.VIII.verse 3, must have been realized with respect to it.