the crater of vesuvius during an eruption

Irish Jesuit Province

The Crater of Vesuvius during an EruptionAuthor(s): John FallonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 13, No. 150 (Dec., 1885), pp. 636-643Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20497336 .

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( 636 )

THE CRATER OF VESUVIUS DURING AN ERUPTION.

Bli JOHN FALLeN.

THE little story which I am going to tell is rather an old one

just twenty years old last Spring-and my sole reason for venturing to tell it in print is, that having mentioned it a few

times to friends, I have found that part of it caused some little

surprise, indicating that the experience which it enfolds is not too hackneyed. You will judge, if you care to read. To me the

affair never seemed to involve anything either particularly hazardous or heroic; and I have no doubt dozens of young men

did as I did, during the same season, and without thinking much about it.

It was in the month of March, 1865. Visitors to Rome at

that time will remember a rather lively exodus from the eternal city towards Naples, because the word had gone forth that

Vesuvius was in a state of active eruption, sending up clouds of

ashes, and immense volumes of steam anld smoke, which glowed

like flames at night. This was a sight to attract travellers, the

more so as old Etna was reported to be in an absolute blaze across

the waters, lighting up the straits with its incandescent lava; and the two-fold eruption was at variance with preconceived ideas, that the sister-volcanoes only worked by turns, like alternate safety valves of mother-earth's internal fires.

Following contagious example, and rather glad to have a little

respite from the laborious delights of sight-seeing in Rome, I started one morning without the least preparation, without even surrendering my charming room at the Minerva, but leaving the floor of it all littered with Roman books lent by friends. Books and

floor and room I relent to a young Oxonian, who was sufferinlg ill

health from overwork at home, and further overwork here, whither he had been sent for repose; and my reward was to find

him a renovated man when I returned after a fortnight. Such is

the magic result of a simple change of aspect in Italy.

For miles, as the railway led along, it was through a succession

of valleys, the hills on either side streaked and capped with snow. It must be the clearness of the air, and the consequent night

frosts, that retain this dazzling mantle, notwithstanlding the genial



The Crater of Vesuevius duering ana EBruptioni. 637

sunshine of each successive day; and thus one travels in almost summer garments, all incongruously, amid the vestiges of winter. This same dryness of the atmosphere causes the few white clouds, that float high up in the air, to project shadows on the mountain sides, so deep in tint and so clear in outline, that they mottle the slopes in the strangest manner to our northern eyes.

At Ceprano, the then frontier-town of the Pontifical states, I was fined by the Piedmontese officials for not having my passport in order: this little misfortune was not so much to be wondered at, considering that I had started volcano-hunting without the least preparation. But the curious thing was that, on the return journey I was fined again for some fresh informality of the same precious document, though in the meantime it had been laid before the Spanish embassy, at Naples, to be stamped and signed afresh.

At San Germcano I had just leisure to view from the railway

carriage the mountain-perched monastery of Monte Casslno, princely in its dimensions, fortress-like in style. Is not this quite the senior, the absolute great-great-grandfather, of all the oldest monasteries in Western Europe ? I think it is; and

I noted that the young peasant women, strolling up and down the railway-platform, wore the white veil, in fact, all the head-dress of novices in a convent, except that a little of the throat was ex

posed. Advancing towards Teano, the costume of the people became

more and more picturesque and the landscape finer and finer.

It struck me I had never seen anything more beautiful

than the country rouind Capua. Such tillage ! This is the

heart of Campania, the garden of Italy, the land where toil is

a never-ending joy. I can now understand why the Romans, in all

their fierce resentment, after avenging the defeat of Cannm and the treason of Capua, still spared the husbandmen to cultivate this

paradise !

Tillage is a relative word, so let me give you an idea of what it

means here: the steep hill-sides terraced into levels, those levels shaped into rectangles like billiard-tables, so that not a foot is lost.

From level to level are vertical drops, sometimes amounting to eight or ten feet, of sheer descent; down these the sparkling water, led

from the mountain-tops for irrigation, tumbles in small cascades

of crystal, then flows along the borders in rippling annd joyous

rivulets, or is borne from plot to plot in tiny aqueducts; while tanks

of white-washed 'masonry stud the hill-sides, to store a supply for the summer droughts. Just now each terrace is carpeted with



638 The Crater of Ve8uvius during an Eruption.

grass-corn of brightest emerald. Amid this verdure run long straight lines of elms, planted from East to West, and pruned to present a letter Y to the sunny South; up these living trunks vines creep and cluster, and run pendant in festoons from tree to tree. At intervals, rows of tall poplars give fresh character to the scene; and, grander than all, giant parasol-pines, one here one there, uprear their mighty trunks and spread their dark boughs, shaped just as their name imports. It was of such the younger Pliny thought and wrote, when he compared to " a pine-tree " the smoke of tl.e Vesuvian eruption that killed his uncle and buried Pompeii, together with so many other cities that we, hard-renid ing moderns, have learned to forget.

At length the fiery cone, main object of my trip, came in view, first to the right, then to the left of the train, as the latter wound

slowly round the outskirts of the ancient city of Parthenope. And, sure enough, the smoke and steam that rose up from it was like the pine-trees we had just passed, only about a thousand yards

high instead of eighty or ninety feet; and the cone, contrary, as

usual, to my preconceived ideas, was covered with dazzling snow

to the very top ! It struck me there was an elegance in the villas that surround

the wide-spreading suburbs of Naples, built, many of them, like

Grecian temples, with pediments and pillars. And, as if for con

trast, I observed huts of bee-hive shape, whether to shelter farm produce or farm-labourers I know not, whose primeval form made

the classic villas all the more effective. ik * ~* *

Scarcely had morning dawned, when I was off to Pompeii. Needless, nay ridiculous, to descant on the unspeakable beau

ties of the coast line, and its familiar perspectives to South and

North, and the deep blue of its sea beneath. A punctilious official, with braided livery and parrot speech,

insisted on guiding me round the roofless town, " par ordre du

gouvernement;" and then I insisted on guiding myself round it again, he following in silence, to his intense amazement and dis

gust. This done, it was quite too late for that day to ascend

Vesuvius with satisfaction. Note that I saw, in a small museum, corpses, or plaster casts

taken from the volcanic moulds of them, of men and women that

were living and speaking in the days of Titus, when Pompeii was

still a city. One was of a Roman legionary, caught by the erup tion while mounting guard, and bravely dying at his post.



The Crater of Vesuvius during an Eriuption. 639

Another was of a youthful matron, her infant in her arms, her silver ring on her finger, the anguish of death on her fac,e.

Another had quite the smallest hands and feet I had ever seen, for one of her stature, and an inexpressibly sad look on her features. Could it be that if ten righteous ones had been sought to save the doomed city, this classic model and the young mother and the brave soldier would not have been eligible for the number ?

Thus one wanders, musing, fooling, thinking, and then re turns, satisfied with the day's hard work, with half the day's pro

gramme unaccomplished.

The three following days went in exploring the northern side of the bay of Naples, from Pozzuoli, where St. Paul landed, to Cape

Misenum where the, trumpeter of JEneas was drowned-by lakes

Lucrine and Avernus, the caves of the sibyl and the dog, and by

ever-matchless BaThe. From these points of view the immense pine

tree cloud of Vesuvius seemed leaning over to one side, and

pouring down the snow-covered slope, then up the opposite hill.

For three more days, constant broken weather detained me with

in the precincts of the city; but you can fancy me visiting the

churches, most of which I understood to be under a temporary in

terdict as to religious service; and, of course, I explored, day after day, the Borbonico museum, in which the collections of pictures, vases, and statues, &c., are beyond reckoning and beyond price. You

can also imagine me indulging in the unfashionable amusement of staring into the shop-windows bedecked with coral, or at the flashing equipages of the Chiaia, and the lazy lazzaroni of the quays. I know not whether it was political prejudice, or the damp weather, but it struck me that the cries I heard resounding

through the streets of Naples were all discordant, and that the people who uttered them were a mixed race, the dregs of many

nationalities, devoid of type or beauty. In many cases the teams

that drew their curiously-poised equipages were almost as composite as themselves, for you might note a horse pulling ignobly abreast

with a mean cow and a meaner donkey; and this not infrequently.

On Monday, the 13th of March, I made another early start for

Pompeii, but was unable, from caitiff weather (tempo cattivo) even

to revisit the ruins, much less to ascend the cone as I had intended.

After spending three dreary hours in the hotel Diomede, waiting in vain for the downpour to stop, I returned. So you see that



640 The Crater of Vestvitus during an Eruption.

bad weather is not altogether the monopoly of old Ireland, as some people assume.

On the following morning I sallied out again, with every cir cumstance propitious. It being the birthday of King Victor Emmanuel, and of his son Prince Humbert (now King), whole regi ments of Bersaglieri were pouring into the Toledo thoroughfare for a review. They are small-sized, but smart well-built men, and as fighting machines I believe they are first-class.

Arrived at Pompeii, I revisited each favourite spot; after which, taking first a good breakfast and then a good guide, I made

straight for the mountain, by " Bosco tre case."

The atmosphere was at starting somewhat hazy; but, as it

cleared off, the view became superb, and fullv repaid the ascent. I

believe I was favoured by the snow, because, although it is no light matter to pull your feet through ten or twelve inches of it, or more, at every step, it mig,ht have been far worse to have had

to scramble over pebbles and cinders, that yield and roll under you evermore.

Arrived at the very lip of the crater, I met two young English

men with their attendant guides, busily engaged cooking eggs in the hot ashes, at the edge of the beetling precipice. To what

will not the eternal principle of " nil admirari " push the juvenile Anglo-Saxon race! . . Every now and again, as I stood panting and admiring, a thundering noise arose from beneath, like the

simultaneous tumbling of many carts of broken stones; then, just

after a few seconds, there came back the clattering sound of a

volley of rock fragments fromn against the steep cliffs on the

opposite side of the crater, of which I could only get momentary

glimpses through the seething volumes of uprushing steam. And now, as if some imp inspired them, the young Anglo

Saxons proposed that we should all three go down with our guides, and have a look at the place below. . . . "1 They were game for it

if I was." . . " It was only five-francs a piece extra." . . . " The

guides were willing." . . . "Those Italians were such cowards they would never venture if there was the least danger." . . . and so on.

So down we went all three, each strapped by the waist, and held

with a rope, like monkeys in a menagerie. The going down was a simple affair, mechanically speaking;

the face of the crater was like a steep sandbank, owing to the

ashes that covered the rock; each step gave a sheer descent of two

or three feet, or more, and we took about eighty or ninety steps



The Crater of Vesuviu8 during an Eruption. 641

downwards, more or less. We went as far as it was tolerably safe

to go, certainly as far as I could endure. The skill of our

guides consisted in steering us right behind the " emissario " from

which the stones were being projected, and this they did with unerring ease. (People less prudent, who neglected this cardinal precaution, paid the penalty on previous and subsequent days.) But no skill could guard our precious feet against the scorchingheat of the ashes, which made us dance strange antics as we sank into

it, all unintentional, but most ridiculous. And no steering could preserve us against the choking effect of its gushing gases, which made us cough till it was unwise to tarry.

And what did we gain by this absurd descent, beyond suffo cation and augmented noise ? Nothing, except that at intervals we got perhaps clearer glimpses of the opposite wall of tne crater, apparently a couple of hundred yards off, all brown and yellow with sulphurous deposits, and streaming with condensed vapour; and then all was clouded again. Vainly did we look downwards

for yawning chasm, or the sight of a great blaze; it was all steam, and smoke, and nothing more.

And now, to reaseend; this was verily, the "mauvais quart d'heure." We had come defiantly down, but were towed igno

miniously out, each guide pulling his own particular victim, and we all coughing like fools, and blind as bats. Such is the effect of

chlorine and sulphur gases on the eyes and lungs of the unac

customed Celt and Saxon. You may believe that I shall not for get those arduous minutes, and was glad when we reached the heaven-sent ozone of the mountain-top.

And here, after a pause for breath, we cooked more hard eggs, eat them together as if we had been friends for years; then coolly, with a calm shake of the hand, we separated for ever. Such is life !

Of course this eruption was merely one of the ordinary ones of

Vesuvius, quite a second-class affair compared with the grand dis plays that history tells of, and of which the cone itself is a speaking record. Even within quite recent memory there have been times when the mountain has shot up red hot stones and burn

ing ashes, in volumes inconceivable, and when it has trembled and

collapsed in its paroxysms, and poured out streams of molteni lava, some of them narrow, others hundreds of yards wide and running along for miles. To approach its lip at such times would have been death indeed. Such streams harden rapidly, but take years, almost generations, to cool. I touched one, still hot, that was



642 The Crater of Vesuvius during an Eruption.

vomited long years ago. Each lava stream has its date, and all, have a hard metallic ring, and in places a hollow sound.

Hi'storically speaking, it is pretty well attested that in the davs of kingly and consular Rome, the crater was as quiescent as if it had been utterly extinct; its fires were a mere legend of the prehistoric past, only living in the doubtful nomenclature of the surroundings. Within its dense recesses a jungle of wild vines luxuriated; and here Spartacus, with his valiant companions, made his first brave stand for freedom; from here he and they escaped, down heights deemed too steep for human foot, with ladders made of the creeping boughs, and then, mere gladiators and slaves though they were, they defeated their pursuers, and gave the consuls and legions of Rome ample work to subdue them.

The sudden awakening of the volcano in the days of Titus is

the theme of the younger Pliny's letters, and whatPompeii, Hercu

laneum, &c., too well attest. History tells of another dormant stage, all through the sixteenth century and the early part of the seventeenth, followed by another fierce awakening, with human holocausts in many many thousands, and ashes floating through the air off to the Isles, of Greece, and the distant Bosphorus.

Since then the mountain's record has been a pretty lively one;.

and, like a great earth-bubble it has gone up and down, Varying

vastly in height with several of its principal eruptions. All this.

may be had in books; but let me revert to self.

Passing down to the station of Torre Annunziata, the sole of

one of my boots fell out, thanks to the atrocious scorching it had

got in the crater; and for the first, and, I trust, the last time in

my life, I had to walk barefooted, " quuad" one foot. Arrived at

the village, I was shown a cistern that was being cut through three successive layers of volcanic ash, the upper and middle ones

about three feet thick, the latter already indurated like Roman

tufa, the undermost one apparently still harder.

It struck me the people about Torre Annunziata have features

of classic type, in this respect differing vastly from the lower orders of the capital. Not only have they glorious hair and eyes, but also

small mouths, fine teeth, straight profiles, and something suggesting lineal descent from the grand old Hellenic-speaking colonists of

antiquity. Buttheir amusements did not strike me as either classic

or sublime; one was, to sit on the ruins of a wall in absolute and

utter idleness; another, and apparently a better, to lie fiat on the

ground, with about three feet of maccaroni pendant from an out

stretched hand, the classic lips busily engaged gnawing at the other



Be Brave! 643

extremity; thus mildly to devour is their dear delight. Listless and contented, with a much worse danger than the sword of

Damocles ever hanging over them, those are the people to rebuild their homesteads after each fresh eruption, before the cinders are yet cool, while the embers are yet smoking. Mere existence here is life to them; life elsewhere would be banishment and death. A few short years of calm is all they ask of heaven, and this they thus enjoy. Good-bye.

BE BRAVE!

B E brave! for cowardice is ever fatala Make all the bulwarks of thy weak heart sure,

Gird uip thy soul within thee for the battle, And sternly set thy spirit to endure.

Be brave I Tbere is no hope of thine evadingP This field where thou mast either yield or win.

A timid soul works out its own degrading, And much depends on how thou dost begini.

Thy life shall be just what thine actions make it, Warfare mutst come, thoulgh it cotne soon or late;

The cross is certain, whether thou dost take it With willing hands, or shrinkingt from its weight.

Be brave, with that true courage God bestoweth On humble hearts whose weakness IHe makes strong;

The end of all thy Father's wisdom knoweth, And thine own heart shall kniow it too ere long.

The struggle may last long, but not for ever, Let not Obrist's freeman tremble like a slave.

Whatever He may ask of thee, oh ! never

Forget the crown is greater-then, be brave I SISTERI MARY AGNES.



the crater of vesuvius during an eruption

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