Part 16

We have now followed this dreamy mode of life so many weeks, that, coupled with the invigorating airs of October, the desire to enter into a little more activity begins to beset us. Boating is a lazy occupation, unless one handles the oar; and even sight-seeing, usually an extremely laborious business, on the shores of this luxurious bay is deprived of half its wear and tear.

I have forgotten to mention, by the way, that our own house is one of the wonders of the district. Most travellers honour us with a call, much to the advantage of Roberto’s pocket, for he acts as master of ceremonies. Luckily, there is nothing to show but the _loggia_ and the stairs, which one passes in entering, the great saloon, and the terrace. The latter is worth the trouble of mounting a flight of steps to see, and I believe most of the curious go away satisfied. There is, however, a medallion in the great saloon that has the reputation of being an Alexander the Great. It is an antique, I believe; but how far it deserves to be called an Alexander, I cannot say. It is the head of an enthusiast, rather than of a man of intellect; though I think one rarely finds any of the very magnificent bumps and foreheads about the truly distinguished. There are also a bust of Bernardo Tasso, the father of Torquato, and a medallion of Julius Cæsar, representing him as a youth. The Bernardo is probably authentic, as the family of the duke is said to be connected with that of Tasso; but Roberto shows the others, without remorse, as beyond cavil.

Of course we retire when the admirers of Tasso come to look at his residence; but taking a peep the other day at a visitor, I recognized a young Austrian, Baron ----, whom I had seen at Florence, and I went out to speak to him. We chatted together half an hour; and I mention the circumstance, because my companion betrayed a feeling that I find is very prevalent here, on the subject of the recent accession of General Jackson to the presidency. This feeling first discovered itself by some questions relative to the age of the new president; for when I mentioned that he was already an old man, I thought my acquaintance was surprised, not to say disappointed. His expectation evidently was that our democracies had taken the predicted course, and that we were already tasting the sweets of a military despotism. A military despotism, forsooth, in a country containing 2,000,000 square miles of surface, and an army of 6,000 men!

I found that the exaggerated, electioneering trash of the opposition prints at home had made an impression, and, as is usual with most men, that which was ardently desired was readily believed. It is not easy for one living in the retirement of America--for all America is but a _villeggiatura_, and Wall Street worse than retirement, so far as the great political questions and knowledge of the day are concerned, compared with the activity, principles, and designs of Europe;--it is therefore difficult for one dwelling in the retirement of American life to form a correct notion of the opinions that float about here in reference to ourselves. An eminent Neapolitan, a man of singular shrewdness and of high political station, lately asked me seriously, what was the object of the English in making their descent on Washington in 1814. As I supposed a _coup de main_ of that nature, under the peculiar circumstances, spoke for itself, I was as much surprised at the question as he could possibly be with the answer; for when I explained to him that Washington at that time was an open, straggling village, of some eight or nine thousand souls, of whom a good portion were black slaves,--that it covered a surface of nine or ten square miles, without works and without a garrison,--and moreover that its capture would have no more influence on the result of the war, than the seizing and holding for twenty-four hours of any other inland place of the same magnitude,--he expressed his astonishment. I was given clearly to understand, that it was viewed differently in Europe; and, owing to the influence of our enemy, I now believe the war of 1812 is better known here by this useless expedition than by anything else, notwithstanding all our own notions of the matter.

You are to feel no surprise at this; for the influence of England, at this very moment, singularly controls opinion in America itself, of which I have just seen an absurd proof, connected with this very subject. A New York journal, one of those patriotic organs of sentiment which are constantly sneering at the institutions, reserving their indignation and _energies_ for the defence of the illustrious cats and dogs of the country, (which, by the way, are generally much inferior to the cats and dogs of Europe,) has just been quoting the statements of a British officer in relation to the campaigns of New Orleans and Washington, as proof that some of our own previous notions in reference to both were untrue. Now, this very officer who affirms he was at Washington, calls it a place, apparently, of about sixty thousand souls, and passes some architectural strictures on the wings and _main body_ of the Capitol, the latter of which at that time had never been erected! Some of our people will swallow an English camel, when they strain at an American gnat.

LETTER XVII.

Excursion up Mount Vesuvius.--The Hermitage.--Difficulty of the ascent.--Aspect of the Crater.--An ideal resemblance of the Entrance of the Infernal Regions.--Fit machinery for Virgil’s epic.--Eruption of the Volcano.--Lovely panoramic view.--Descent from the Cone.--Russian Frigate.--No Marine efficient without national sympathy.--Battle of Navarino.

You may be surprised, that I have said so little about Vesuvius. Notwithstanding my silence, we have not passed a day, scarcely an hour, unless at night,--and many hours of the latter even are an exception,--without having this beautiful mountain under our eyes. I say beautiful, for, including its base, loaded with towns, palaces, ruins, villages, and villas,--its sides seamed with ravines, and occasionally smiling with verdure, or dark with forests,--and its cone of cinders,--it forms altogether an object of great attraction. By day, there is usually a light cloud of smoke rising from the crater, and hovering above it; and by night, occasional flashes illumine the sky and the mouth of the mountain in the way that the fire of a forge brightens and sinks in the darkness. I do not think we have seen any positive flame; but of late we have had brighter gloamings from beneath than are usual.

The heat of the weather had hitherto prevented an attempt to ascend; but W---- and myself determined, not long since, that it was time to make the excursion. To this end we crossed the bay to Naples, and passed the night in town, having also an early start in view. Accordingly we drove to Portici, where we breakfasted. We then mounted our horses, under the protection of a guide of reputation, and proceeded. The ascent for four or five miles is gradual; the road, an indifferent one at the best, and nearly impracticable for wheels, leads at first through vineyards, then among copses, and often along water-courses, or across beds of ancient lava. The summit of the mountain is the cone of which I have spoken. Its form is regular, though the edges are broken, some portions being much higher than others, though the side nearest Naples and the bay, just now, is tolerably even. I believe the perpendicular height of the lowest part of this cone is about eight hundred feet; though it varies materially at different times. From its base, a ridge runs in a westerly direction for the distance of a mile, when it falls away rapidly towards the plain. The form of this ridge is favourable for the ascent as well as for safety, since the land is lower near the cone than at its extremity, and before lava could flow on the latter, it would run down the sides of the ridge both north and south of it. On the extremity of this ridge, which forms a sort of inland promontory, stands the celebrated Hermitage.

We reached this place in less than three hours after quitting Portici, the ascent in its immediate neighbourhood being sharp, but not long. The building is a simple stone structure, with a small chapel connected; but it has all the peculiarities of a tavern, rather than of a religious residence. One who had the appearance of a monk lived there, and administered to our wants, for which consolations we punctually paid. His whole manner was that of an official of the bar, rather than of the altar. In consequence of there having been a few robberies between the Hermitage and the cone, a small guard of soldiers was stationed at the former, with instructions to send one man with each party of travellers.

We remained half an hour at the Hermitage, took a cup of wine, and enjoyed the view, which was magnificent; but, as it was embraced in that from the crater, I shall not speak further of it here. There are some fine trees in front of the buildings, and, altogether, a lovelier spot could not be desired for a recluse. The distance, in an air line, between the summit and the Hermitage, must be about a mile; and although it _sounds_ dangerous to live so near the crater, I would as soon be at this spot in an eruption, as in any of the towns at the base of the mountain, though these lie at five or six times the distance. A little explanation will render the matter clear. Lava, from which most of the danger has arisen in modern times, _cannot_ touch the Hermitage, on account of the formation of the ridge; and, as for the red-hot stones and cinders that are always flying into the air, they ascend in nearly perpendicular lines, and their descent is necessarily much the same. In point of fact, they rarely fall at any distance from the crater. It is these, indeed, of which the cone is entirely composed, and from the base of this cone the Hermitage is distant about a mile. The _quasi_ hermit, therefore, is just that space out of the line of fire.

We left the spot on horseback, and rode near half a mile, by a pretty path, through a wood, and nearly on a level line. We then emerged upon a plain of lava, which lies materially lower than the wood, and from which the heated metal has evidently flowed north and south. This low plain serves as a ditch to the promontory or ridge of the Hermitage. No lava can possibly cross it until it is filled; an event not likely to happen soon, as the lava flows off at each side. Winding our way across it, we soon came to its eastern margin, and dismounted. Here we left the horses, and prepared for the struggle that was to follow.

The ascent is rather steeper than the sides of a pile of gravel would be, supposing it to have been formed by the falling of the material on a given place, without a force sufficient to change its outline. It appeared to me to be at an angle of about fifty or fifty-five degrees with the plane of the horizon. As the cinders yield with the weight of a man, the foot sinking often to the instep, it is a severe task to get up this place. We went at it coolly, but steadily, stopping to take breath after short efforts; and I believe we were about twenty minutes in reaching the summit. The cinders were warm in spots, and a sulphurous smoke issued from the cone in a great many places that we passed. I was too experienced a traveller to run myself out of breath, as the moment of enjoyment approached. Having got within a few feet of the top, I paused to recover breath; poor W----, who had commenced with fury, being still a hundred feet beneath me. The guide waited my leisure; but the guard, whose duty compelled him to go no further than the foot of the cone, but who, being on his first excursion, chose to ascend also, lay panting on the rim of the cone, or crater, as I put my foot by his side.

This was another novel and beautiful _coup d’œil_. As the place was very different from what I had expected to see, I shall endeavour to make you understand what it really is. It appeared to me that the depth of the great crater, at the place where we stood, was a little more than half of the descent of the cone itself, on its exterior: though its edge is ragged, and at one spot was two or three hundred feet higher than at that which we had reached. This edge of the cone, or crater, overhung its sides in nearly the whole circuit, and the distance round it was near or quite a mile. It follows, that the diameter of the crater must be about a third of a mile. Its bottom was like a floor of clay, resembling that of the Solfatara, smoke issuing from its crevices. Vivid streaks of brimstone gave it wild, unnatural tints. It seemed quite as level as an ordinary brick-yard, viewed from our stand. A little on one side of this circular plain, rose a small cone, which might be a hundred and fifty or two hundred feet high, formed of the same materials as the outer cone, with an orifice perhaps some eighty or a hundred feet in width. This was the living, or true crater. Out of this spot issued all the smoke, fire, stones, and cinders of the ordinary workings of the mountain, of which, in truth, it is the safety valve. This little haystack-looking cone was nearer to the eastern and southern edges of the great crater than to the northern and western, and it is altogether too low to be visible to any except those who ascend to the place we occupied. The red-hot stones must therefore be propelled upwards many hundred feet, perhaps six or eight, to be seen at Naples or Sorrento, where we have often seen them, however, of late.

The scene that broke upon us, as we arrived, was one of the most extraordinary I ever witnessed. At that instant an ordinary cloud enveloped the summit of the cone, shutting out the whole view, with the exception of the crater and the surrounding objects, and casting a sombre tint on everything. It is probable a few rays from the sun struggled through this vapour, which was not high above our heads, though it seemed to descend half way down the cone, for the streaks of sulphur looked brighter and more unnatural than afterwards. The yellow tint they cast around them, the unnatural, or rather supernatural effect, coupled with the gaping crater, the rumbling of the volcano, and the occasional explosions, combined to give the spot a resemblance to the entrance of the infernal regions. If I could fancy I was obtaining glimpses in at the glories and calm radiance of heaven, when I looked upon the high Alps, looming above the Niesen and cut off from the lower world by a belt of vapour, I had no difficulty in now fancying that I stood on the threshold of hell. Virgil died about half a century before the volcano resumed its action, or he certainly would never have taxed his imagination to use the Lake Avernus, Mare Morto, and Elysian Fields of the Baian shore as machinery for his epic, when Vesuvius presented objects so much more worthy of the subject. The Campagna was as good an Elysian Field as heart could wish, and the crater a Tartarus equal to the epic. It is true, there is no Styx; but the monk I saw at the Hermitage would answer every reasonable purpose of a Charon.

The “_facilis descensus Averni_” would, also, have been physically true, supposing the crater always to maintain its present form; for the circuit of the rim, or upper edge, is not made without hazard, as poor W---- was near demonstrating, in the workings of some of his _goatisms_. The crater, however, changes its appearance at every great convulsion; though the one I have described, I am told, is its general character.

You may be surprised to hear it, but the volcano itself attracted very little of my attention for the first half-hour after we reached the edge of the crater; nor did it at any time, while on the mountain, fill the first place in my admiration, or even thoughts. Still it was not idle. Five minutes scarcely intervened between the explosions, which were much greater than I had anticipated witnessing. They were preceded by a heavy rumbling, and went off like the puffs of a safety valve to a huge steam-engine, though unaccompanied by any hissing. The reports were not altogether unlike those of artillery; the blowing of a whale had also some resemblance: though neither of these noises was, in all respects, like that of the volcano. Stones were hurled several hundred feet into the air, and fell on or near the little cone, which was constantly growing by these accessions. Cinders, smoke, and flame accompanied each explosion. There were many minor reports, that sounded like the crackings of a great conflagration. Occasionally, large stones fell on the plane of the great crater, at some distance from the little cone; but, I think, any one upon it might easily have avoided them. They sounded, on the plain, like stones cast on the Solfatara.

We did not descend into the crater, though there was a spot where it might be done; but W---- was too much exhausted by the ascent, and I saw little to be gained by it but the right to say we had done it. The explosions were so frequent as to render it impossible to ascend the little cone, and look into the real crater; the fate of Pliny menacing all who did it, as the vapour was constantly rising in sudden and violent puffs, inhaling which would probably have been fatal.

My principal enjoyment, moreover, proceeded from the view with its extraordinary contrasts. To the west, we had the bay, with the islands, the gulf of Gaeta, an exquisite blending of land and water, and the sea; while southward, the Apennines, and the Sorrentine shore, with the gulf of Salerno, through vistas in the peaks, formed altogether a lovely panorama. Then most of the Campagna Felice stretched beneath my eye, like an Eden, walled by mountains. It was a Swiss view in extent, embellished by a true Italian radiance. Naples lay, like a town seen in a camera obscura, against its hills, a brilliant accessory, and the sails that hovered near the port resembled specks. A heavy Russian frigate was riding off the mole, and her fair proportions were distinctly visible through the pure medium, though diminished and fairy-like. I say, the pure medium; for the clouds came and went repeatedly, frequently shutting us in for minutes, and then sailing away, like birds, towards some other peak. The contrasts of these moments were sublime; for while nothing could be more infernal than the crater in its gloom, aided by the accompaniments of the volcano, nothing was more soft and radiant than the picture the earth presented when the veil was removed. The body sympathised with the mind; for the clouds brought the chill of a fog, which the sun relieved by its genial warmth as the vapour departed.

I could have passed the day on the mountain with pleasure; but W---- unaccountably betrayed a physical debility that was extraordinary for one of his active habits, and we descended, after passing a couple of hours on the summit. The descent of the cone was an affair of five minutes. All we had to do was to keep the body perfectly erect, and to throw the leg forward freely; the rapidity of the fall causing us to go down some six or eight feet each step. The shock was completely destroyed by the yielding of the cinders; and, in addition to preserving the perpendicular, the only precaution observed was to stop occasionally, in order not to acquire too much momentum. At the foot of the cone we mounted, and proceeded to Portici, without halting at the Hermitage.

The next morning, previously to returning to Sorrento, the consul accompanied us on board the Russian frigate. This vessel is called the Princess of Lowertcz, after the wife, by a Morganic marriage, of the Grand Duke Constantine. She is a noble frigate, though not very elegant. Her crew appeared sturdy; but the officers had not sufficiently the air of Russians of rank to prove that the service is in favour. No nation will ever have an efficient marine unless its sympathies are strongly with it, as men removed from the public eye, on the high seas, will not exert themselves sufficiently on any other terms. It is a proof of a want of this sympathy, when men of the upper classes avoid the service. This is one reason why the French marine has never done any thing in proportion to its cost. The nation knows so little of maritime affairs, that any thing passes for good; and the public feeling is altogether with the army. Thus, France has been completely mystified with the affair of Navarino; while England says as little about it as may be. Any seaman can appreciate a battle, in which twelve line-of-battle ships are ranged against a few heavy frigates, forts of no strength, and a maze of corvettes. Vessels of the quality of those of Ibrahim could not, at anchor, be brought to act on anyone point in sufficient numbers to overcome a fleet like that under Sir Edward Codrington, if indeed it could be done on the high seas. I see, by a trial now going on in England, that the flag-ship fired less than three rounds in this general engagement!

END OF VOLUME I.

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Transcriber’s note

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

Typos fixed; non-standard spelling retained. Hyphenation has been standardized.