SYRACUSE AND AETNA.
Tourists bent on the ascent of AEtna leave Catania at the end of the long straight street which terminates in the Piazza Giorni. The ascent begins at once. On both sides of the road luxuriant groves of orange, citron, almond, and carouba trees alternate with vineyards and cornfields rich in the promise of future crops. Yet all are growing on the lava, and lava meets you at every turn: the walls, festooned with the "Bourgainviller," the passion-flower, and beautiful yellow roses, are still of lava; so are the pretty villas and the riant farm-houses and the lodges in the vineyards—all are built of it. The streets through the villages are paved with it. There is a sort of allegorical beauty and poetical justice in the way in which the great common enemy has been, as it were, conquered and subdued—at least for a time—and forced to repair the terrible mischief it has wrought. As the road ascends higher and higher, the vegetation diminishes, and you come at last to a wild waste of rock sprinkled with broom and dwarf oak. A twelve-miles' drive brought our travellers to Nicolosi, where their first visit was paid to the kind old professor and geologist, Dr. Gemmellaro, from whom every kind of assistance is obtained for the ascent of the mountain, which is, as it were, both his child and his home. He is a most good-natured and agreeable old man, whose whole life has been devoted to this one great interest, and whose greatest pleasure seems to be to make others share in the knowledge which he himself possesses. His house a museum of curiosities, and contains a carefully arranged collection of all the geological phenomena of the mountain. Among other things, he showed the party a ptarmigan which had been "caught sitting" by the lava stream, and had been instantly petrified, like Lot's wife! the bird preserving its shape perfectly. The village of Nicolosi is composed of low houses built up and down a long straggling street, with a fine church in the centre. Horse-races were going on the day of our travellers' arrival, and causing immense excitement among the people, who were all in the street in holiday attire. The horses ran, as at the carnival in the Corso, without riders, and were excited to a pitch of madness by the shouts of their starters and the bandeleros stuck in their sides. After watching the races for some little time, our travellers returned to the kind professor's, who had seen the guides required for their ascent of AEtna, but who advised them to delay their expedition for two or three days to allow of a greater melting, of the snow, the season being backward, and to procure the requisite number of mules for so large a party. It was also necessary to send some one beforehand to clear out the snow from the Casa Inglese, the small house of refuge which the professor had built on the summit of the mountain, at the base of the principal cone, and where travellers rest while waiting for the sunrise, or before commencing the last portion of the ascent to the crater. He is very anxious to have this house better built and provided with more comforts, and tried to enlist the interest of our travellers with the English Government in its behalf. Having arranged everything with him, our party retraced their steps to Catania, having decided to visit Syracuse first, and take AEtna on their return.
The following morning, consequently, at half-past three, they started for Syracuse, so as to arrive there before the great heat of the day, and also in time for mass. A long marshy plain occupied the whole of the first stage; after which the road wound through limestone rocks and rich cultivation, till they reached the picturesque village of Lentini. The lake of Lentini is the largest in Sicily, famous for its wild fowl, but also for its malaria. There is a beautiful view of the little town, with its wooded cliffs and deep ravines, from the Capuchin convent above. The scenery increases in beauty as you approach Syracuse, the road descending into deep glens full of ilex, myrtle, oleander, and a variety of aromatic shrubs, and rising again over rocky hills scented with thyme and every kind of wild flower. From hence comes the delicious Hybla honey, which rivals that of Mount Hymettus. Over the wide downs which stretch seaward, the picturesque town of Augusta was seen, perched on the edge of the broad sandy bay.
Our travellers had excellent horses; so that it was not more than half-pas ten when they reached the gates of Syracuse and found themselves in the comfortable little hotel near the port. One of the party started off at once to find a mass; but the good people of Syracuse are very early in their habits, and the lady wandered half over the city before she found what she sought in the beautiful little church of St. Philip, where there happened to be on that day the exposition of the blessed sacrament, and in consequence masses all the morning. On her return she found that the vicar-general had been kindly sent by the archbishop to show her the curiosities of the place. He first took them to the temple of Diana, now converted into a private residence, and of which nothing remains to be seen but some very ancient Doric columns. From thence they proceeded to the world-famed fountain of Arethusa. The spring rises from an arch in the rock, and is protected by a bastion, which defends it from the sea. The papyrus grows here in great luxuriance, and the party gathered some as a specimen, having first duly drank the anciently sacred water. Resuming their carriages, their kind guide now conducted them outside the town to the interesting church and crypt of San Marzian, the first church of Sicily, built on the spot where St. Paul preached during his three days' stay in Syracuse. It is a simple, massive building, of the shape of a Greek cross, and contains the episcopal chair of St. Marzian. Here also is the tomb of the saint, who was the proto-martyr of Sicily. Near the tomb is the rude stone altar where St. Paul said mass. A column of gray granite is shown as that to which St. Marzian was attached for the scourging previous to his execution: it is tinged with his blood. The crypt, however, is the most sacred spot. Here came the apostles St. Peter and St. Paul, with the evangelists St. Mark and St. Luke, on their successive visits to the holy bishop, St. Marzian; where also the local tradition affirms that St. Mark was martyred. The curious font now in the cathedral was found in this crypt, and was probably used for the baptism of many of the early Pagan converts. Adjoining is the place of St. Marzian's martyrdom. The church itself is built over the site of an ancient temple of Bacchus. Leading out of a side door is the entrance to the catacombs, which are more extensive than even those of Naples or Rome, and abound in Christian emblems: crosses, palm-branches, the dove, and other Catholic symbols, are rudely carved on all the vaults and niches, with here and there an early fresco of the Blessed Virgin and Child, or a Greek inscription.
From the catacombs our travellers crossed the plain, thickly studded with ancient columns, sarcophagi, and remains of Greek and Roman buildings, till they came to the little church of St. Nicolo. Underneath is a reservoir with an aqueduct, leading to the great amphitheatre; the principal monument left of Roman work in Syracuse, and [{703}] still in perfect preservation. Recent excavations have cleared the space, so that the seats and arena are clearly visible. From the amphitheatre, a five-minutes' walk leads to the Latomia del Paradiso—a quarry containing in its further recesses the famous Ear of Dionysius. This cavern was excavated by the tyrant for a prison, and so constructed that the faintest whisper could be heard in the chamber above, where he sat listening to the conversation of his victims. It is to be supposed that the listener, according to the proverb, rarely heard any good of himself. It is a wonderfully picturesque spot; the sides of the quarry being lined with fruit-trees and ferns and flowering shrubs, mingled with masses of fallen rock and fragments of ancient masonry. Pistols were fired off by the guides to let the party hear the full force of the echo, which is tremendous. Round a deep spring at the further end of the cavern grew the most beautiful maiden-hair fern. Close by is the Greek theatre, the largest in Sicily, hollowed out of the rock, and capable of containing more than 20,000 spectators.
Returning home to luncheon, the ladies visited on their way the Sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, who are lodged in one of the fine old mediaeval palaces of Syracuse, with beautifully carved windows and doorways. But it is very much out of repair, and very inconvenient for their large orphanage. There are only six or seven sisters here. Their superior is a charming person, and only another proof, if one were needed in that wonderful religious order, of the way in which energy, zeal, and, above all, a burning charity can triumph over the sufferings entailed by a delicate frame and sickly constitution.
After luncheon our travellers started again to meet Monsignor B——— at the cathedral. It is built on the site of an ancient temple of Minerva, but has been ruined by modern church-wardenship and whitewash. There are two fine side chapels, however; one dedicated to the Blessed Sacrament, the other to St. Lucia, in which, is exposed a large silver figure of the saint of great antiquity. The font, of which notice has been taken above, is of marble, supported by seven fine bronze lions. There is a beautiful renaissance doorway leading to the sacristy. A beautiful benediction service with litany was being sung; after which the relics and treasures were examined, which include a beautiful chalice of amber, cut out of one piece, and a pastoral ring of great size and value. In the Place, or court of the cathedral, are fourteen fine columns of Cipollino marble, supposed to have formed part of the ancient temple of Ceres. Opposite the north door of the cathedral is the museum, containing all the antiquities lately discovered in Syracuse and its neighborhood. The finest is a beautiful torso, a Venus of the best date of Greek art. There are also some very fine cameos and medals. The day was closed by a sweetly sung benediction at the orphanage of the Sisters of Charity.
The next morning, after a daybreak mass at the cathedral, one of the party breakfasted with the archbishop, who afterward showed her his palace and gardens, which are very fine. In the latter grew the largest citrons she had ever seen, very nearly equalling the gigantic oranges at Jaffa. Adjoining his garden-wall is a convent of Benedictine nuns, which was likewise visited. The good-natured prefect then insisted on taking the whole party in his carriages to the Franciscan convent of St. Lucia outside the town. There is an interesting Norman church attached to it, raised over the site of the saint's martyrdom; and a granite column is shown as that to which she was fastened on the occasion. Her tomb is cut in the rock at the back of the altar, underneath which is a fine statue of the saint by Bernini.
From this spot a narrow lane, traversing vineyards fenced by stone walls, leads to the convent of Sta. Maria di Gesù, in front of which is a fine stone [{704}] cross. Passing by an aqueduct in very tolerable preservation, and by a succession of old tombs cut in the cliff, our party arrived at the Capuchin convent—a fortified building, with fosse and drawbridge and machicolated battlements. A little gate at the side led them into the Latomie, or quarries, from whence the stone was taken to build the city. Here is one of the most beautiful spots in the neighborhood of Syracuse. It is a vast pit, about a hundred feet in depth; and of many acres in extent, planted with oranges, citrons, pomegranates, figs, and cypresses, with an undergrowth of roses, arums, acanthus, ferns, and creepers of every kind, and overrun with ivy and wild vine. The whole is walled in by lofty gray cliffs hung with creepers; and from the midst of this wilderness of beautiful and almost rank vegetation rise two tall insulated masses of rock, with an ancient flight of steps cut in the side of one of them, but now inaccessible. The cliffs are hollowed into vast halls or caverns, in one of which the prefect told our travellers that he had given a fête to Prince Alfred on his first visit to Syracuse. The kind old monk who had been their escort brought them fruit, bread, and wine in this deliciously cool retreat, and sat a long time talking of the Holy Land, where he had been, and which he was delighted to find was equally well known and appreciated by his guests. Here and there, embedded in the rocks, are traces of ancient sepultures; and one or two Protestant epitaphs on the cliffs prove that the quarries have, even in late days, been used for purposes of burial. Leaving this beautiful spot with great regret, and acceding to the request of the good old monk that they would first pray with him for a few minutes in the church for a blessing on the Holy Land Mission, our travellers visited one or two more of the antiquities in the neighborhood, including the recently excavated baths of Diana, full of beautiful marbles and mosaics; the sepulchral road, the perpendicular sides of which are lined, with niches for cinerary urns; the tombs of Archimedes and Timoleon, and other interesting remains of Greek and Roman times; after which they returned once more to the city and to the museum, where the collection of natural history had yet to be seen, which contains everything most interesting of the kind in Sicily, and also the library. The latter contains priceless treasures, of which the most remarkable are—a rare copy of the gospel of St. John, of the twelfth century; a Koran on paper, of 1199, brought from Egypt by Lord Nelson, and given by him to the Cavalier Landolina, who was the real founder of the library; a very fine block-book, a replica of one of those in the Wilton library; and many beautifully illuminated martyrologies and missals.
Nothing can be kinder or more hospitable than the residents of Syracuse. The visit of our travellers was necessarily too limited in point of time to enable them to profit by it; but every one offered their carriage and horses, and put their palaces, not figuratively, but actually à leur disposition. There are still some beautiful medieval palaces in the town, especially the Palazzo Montalto, with its pointed windows and dog-tooth mouldings. It bears also some curious Gothic inscriptions, like the houses at Avila, and with the date 1397.
A charming boating excursion was made by one or two of the party from Syracuse to the fountain of Cyane, up the river Anapus, the only spot in Europe where the papyrus still grows wild. Nothing remains of the temple of Jupiter Olympus, which one visits by the way, but two broken columns. But there is a lovely sketch a little further on of a ruined bridge, with a date-palm overhanging the stream, and a foreground of magnificent tangled vegetation of reeds, sugar-cane, acanthus, iris, and every kind of aquatic plants, and which the slow progress of one's boat through the weeds enables one fully to enjoy. The Anapus [{705}] leads into the Cyane, which is a far clearer stream, but very narrow. Here the papyrus grows luxuriantly among flags and castor-oil plants. It was sent from Egypt by Ptolemy to King Hieron II., and has flourished ever since. Struggling up the narrow stream and through the choking mass of vegetation, which threatened to close the passage altogether, our travellers' boat at last arrived at a beautiful circular basin, fringed with papyrus and purple iris; the water, very deep, was clear as crystal, and swarming with fish. This was known in old times as the famous "dark-blue spring," converted by heathen mythology into a nymph; and an annual festival was held here in honor of Ceres. Now it is utterly deserted, save by an occasional traveller or sportsman seeking food for his gun from the multitude of snipes and wild fowl which resort to its banks and make their nests in its undisturbed arid reedy shores. That same evening our travellers returned to Catania, charmed with their expedition, and full of gratitude for all the kindness which had been showered upon them.
The following morning found one of the party very early at the convent of her old friends the Benedictines, where the superior received her with his usual fatherly kindness, and presented her, as a surprise, with the deed of affiliation to their order, which he had obtained for her from Monte Casino; together with a picture of the saint and the miraculous medal or cross of St. Benedict, with its mysterious letters, C.S.S.M.L. (Crux sacra sit mihi lux), a medal always given by St. Vincent de Paul to his Sisters of Charity, as a defence in the many perils of their daily lives. Once more the traveller heard that glorious music, which, beautiful at all times, is so especially thrilling at the benediction service. The organ begins with a low, sweet, wailing sound, which those beautiful and cultivated voices respond: and then bursts into thunder, expressing, as far as mortal instrument can, the glorious majesty of God. It was the feast of St. Monica—that saint so dear to every widowed mother's heart; and the fact, in connection with the English stranger, had not been forgotten by the kind abbate, who came up and whispered to her as she knelt before mass: "My child, the prayers and communions of the community this day will be offered up for you, that you may follow in the steps of St. Monica, and finally reap her reward."
Returning at seven to the hotel, the whole party started once more for Nicolosi, on their way to undertake the more formidable ascent of AEtna. Arriving, after a four hours' drive, at the house of their old friend Professor Gemmellaro, they found he had kindly made every arrangement for their start; and after about an hour's delay in settling the pack-saddles, packing up provisions for the night, and arranging everything with the guides, they mounted their mules and began the ascent. For some miles they passed through a tract of lava, sprinkled here and there with broom and heather, till they reached a cattle-shed, called Casa di Rinazzi, where they came to a picturesque wood of dwarf oak looking like the outskirts of an English park. From thence to Casa del Bosco the road is both easy and pleasant, and our travellers began to think that the difficulties of the ascent (to people who had crossed, as they had done, the Lebanon in deep snow) would be comparatively trifling. They soon, however, discovered their mistake. At the Casa del Bosco they stopped to rest their mules and make some tea, while the guides advised them to put on as much additional clothing as they could for the coming cold. The peasants were at work round them collecting the snow in reservoirs close to the cavern called the Grotta delle Capre—that snow so invaluable to the dwellers in the plain, and the sole substitute for ice to the inhabitants of Catania.
But here the real toil of the ascent begins. It is only nine miles from hence to the summit; but those nine miles are terribly severe, not only from their steepness, but from the nature of the ground, composed of a black loose ash, interspersed with sharply pointed lava rocks, on which you tread and stumble, and seem to recede two steps for every one you take. As you ascend higher the snow conceals the inequalities of the ground, but does not make them the less fatiguing. The cold, too, increases every instant, and our travellers regretted that they had not followed their guides' advice and brought both overstockings and gloves. After toiling up in this manner for two hours, they came to a pile of lava which marks the distance halfway between the Casa del Bosco and the Casa Inglese. The snow here increased in depth—the rarefaction of the air became painfully intense; while the clouds of sulphur from the eruption, which still continued on the opposite side of the mountain, driven in their faces by the wind, made some of the party so sick that they could scarcely proceed. The cold, too, became well-nigh intolerable. The mule of one of the ladies sank in a snowdrift, rolled and fell some way down the precipice, compelling her to continue the journey on foot; but her feet and hands were so numbed and so nearly on the verge of being frostbitten, that it was with the utmost difficulty she could go on. At last the Casa Inglese was reached. It is a low stone house, built on what is called the Piano del Lago, a small ledge of frozen water, 10,000 feet above the sea. In spite of the orders of the professor, it was still half full of snow when they arrived; and this had to be cleared out, and made into what the children call "snow men," before the frozen travellers could enter and endeavor to make a fire with the wood they had brought with them. The guides cautioned those who were still on their mules to descend very gently, as, in the semi-frozen state they were in, the least, jerk or slip might occasion a broken limb. One of the party was lifted off her horse at last and laid on some rugs by the fire, which for a long time resisted all efforts to light; and then her limbs had to be rubbed with snow to restore some kind of animation. When this object was attained, the overpowering smoke—for there was no chimney or fireplace—made the remedy almost worse than the disease. All this time they had been well-nigh deafened by the detonations from the mountain, which, at regular intervals, sounded like artillery practice on a large scale. Everything they had brought with them was frozen, including the milk they had got at Nicolosi, and of which they were obliged to break the bottle before they could melt any for their tea. After a time, the younger portion of the travellers lay down to rest on some straw arranged in wooden shelves or layers round the inner room, one at the top of the other, after the manner of pears and apples in a kitchen-garden house in England. A French geologist and two other professors had joined their party, and of course had no other place to go to; but the appearance of the company, roosting in this way on the shelves, was comical in the extreme.
At three o'clock, however, every one rose, and commenced the ascent of the cone, so as to reach the top by sunrise. The distance is short, but intensely steep; it is like going up the side of a house; and the difficulty is heightened by the loose ashes in which you sink at every step, and the hot fumes of sulphurous vapor which pour out of the sides of the cone. Only a portion of our travellers persevered to the top; the others being reluctantly compelled by faintness and violent sickness to retrace their steps. On reaching the crater, they at first saw nothing but a deep yawning chasm, full of smoke, which kept pouring out in their faces. The eruption, which one of the party had [{707}] seen in perfection two months before, was some miles off, and had burst out of a new crater on the Taormina side of the mountain. But with the dawning light the whole magnificent scene was revealed to them. It has been so admirably and accurately described by Mr. Gladstone, that any attempt at a fresh description could be but a poor repetition of his words. Sufficient, then, is it to say that the view at sunrise repaid all the sufferings of the ascent. AEtna, unlike other mountains, stands alone, rising straight from the plain, with no rivals to dispute her height, or intercept any portion of the glorious view below. The whole of Sicily is stretched out at your feet, the hills below looking like the raised parts of a map for the blind. Not only is the panorama unequalled in magnificence, but there are atmospherical phenomena in it which belong to AEtna alone. As the sun rises over the Calabrian coast, a perfect and distinct image of the cone is reflected—as on the sheet of a magic-lantern—on the horizon below, gradually sinking lower and lower as the sun becomes brighter, and finally disappearing altogether. As it was early in the season, the snow extended over the whole of the so-called desert region, while the wood below seemed to encircle the mountain as with a green belt, which added to the beautiful effect of the whole. Tired and exhausted, and yet delighted, our travellers descended the cone, and rejoined their companions at the Casa Inglese, who had been compelled to content themselves with seeing the sun rise from a green hillock just below the house. They determined on their way home to diverge a little from the straight route, in order to visit the Val del Bove, that weird and ghost-like chasm which had struck them so much when looking down upon it from the height of the cone. Floundering in the snow, which was a good deal deeper on that side of the mountain, their mules continually sinking and struggling up again, breaking their saddle-girths in the effort, and consequently landing their riders continually on the soft snow, the party arrived at last on the edge of this magnificent amphitheatre. It is of vast size, enclosed by precipices 3,000 feet in height, and filled with gigantic rocks, of wonderfully strange and fantastic shapes, standing out separately, like beasts—hence its name. The perfect silence of the spot reminds one of some Egyptian city of the dead. Smoke, explosion, dripping ice, or rushing torrents characterize the other extinct craters in this wonderful mountain; but in this one all is still and silent as the grave. It is stern as the curse of Kehama, and as if the lava had been cast up in these wonderful shapes in some extraordinary convulsion of nature, and then had been petrified as it rose. Our travellers lingered long, looking over the edge of the precipice, vainly wishing to be able to descend into the enchanted valley, and at last reluctantly turned their muels' heads in the direction of Nicolosi. The descent was intensely fatiguing, from the continual jerking and slipping of their beasts; and they arrived more dead than alive at the kind professor's house, after being more than eight hours in the saddle. A few hours later found them once more in the burning sunshine of Catania, where the thermometer in the shade, was 86°, while it had been 27° on the mountain, a difference in one day of 59° degrees of temperature. But no difficulties should discourage the traveller from attempting the ascent of AEtna, which is worth coming the whole way from England for itself alone. A few days later saw our party on the deck of the Vatican steamer, en route for Naples, carrying away with them recollections of enjoyment and kindness such as will ever associate piety in their minds with pleasant thoughts and grateful memories.