The principal cone of Mount Etna was ascended in 1834 by Messrs. Elie de Beaumont and Leopold von Buch. The former describes what they saw in the following terms:—"It was to us a moment of surprise difficult to describe, when we found ourselves unexpectedly on the margin—not, indeed, of the great crater—but of an almost circular gulf, nearly three hundred feet in diameter, which does not touch the great crater save at a small part of its circumference. We peered eagerly into this nearly cylindrical funnel; but vain was our search into the secret of its volcanic action. From the almost horizontal tops of the nearly vertical steeps, nothing can be descried but the upper cone. On trying to reckon those one below another, vision becomes gradually lost in the perfect darkness beneath. No sound issues from this darkness. There are only exhaled slightly sulphurous white vapours, chiefly steam. The dismal aspect of this black and silent gulf, in which our view was lost—its dark moist sides, along which crept, in a languid and monotonous manner, long flakes of vapour of a sombre gray—the great crater to which this narrow gulf is attached, with its confused heap of diverse substances, coloured yellow, gray, red, like the image of chaos—all presented around us an aspect quite funereal and sepulchral."
The French geologist, in having escaped from his visit to the crater with nothing worse than a fit of the vapours, came off better than Empedocles, the Sicilian philosopher, in the days of old: for, as the story goes, this inquisitive sage, being very anxious to have a peep into the crater, and venturing too near, toppled in altogether, and nothing more was seen of him, except one of his sandals, which was vomited up by the volcano—thus conveying to his friends an intimation of the manner of his death.
Some incredulous persons allege that this story has no better foundation than the fable of the poets, that the giant Enceladus, son of Titan and Terra, having offended Jupiter, the infuriated god first felled him with a thunderbolt, and then put Mount Etna as a sort of extinguisher on the top of him—his restlessness underneath fully accounting for all the commotions of the mountain.
Soon after the eruption which took place towards the end of January 1865, the craters then opened were visited by M. Fouqué, a French geologist. At the time of his visit, 10th March, they were seven in number, and he thus describes their modes of action:—
"The three upper craters produced two or three times a minute, powerful detonations like thunderclaps. The lower craters, on the contrary, incessantly gave forth a succession of reports too rapid to be reckoned. These sounds, although unremitting, were clear and distinct, the one from the other. I can find no better comparison for them than the strokes of a hammer falling on an anvil. Had the ancients heard a similar noise, I can readily conceive whence arose the idea of their imagining a forge in the centre of Etna, with the Cyclops for workmen."
Off the eastern coast of Sicily, and not far from Mount Etna, lie the Cyclopean Isles, of one of which the annexed woodcut gives a representation. You will observe what a singular appearance it presents, with its rows of basaltic columns piled one above another. The other isle is close by, and there is an ancient tradition that they at one time formed part of the mainland of Sicily. Homer has a curious story about the manner in which they became detached. The passage occurs towards the end of the ninth book of the Odyssey. He tells that, at the time Ulysses visited Sicily, it was inhabited by the Cyclops, who, as already mentioned, were said to have had each only one eye, situated in his forehead. Their king's name was Polyphemus, a huge giant who beguiled Ulysses and a portion of his crew into a cave, where he killed some of the crew and devoured them for his supper. Ulysses, fearing his turn might come next, persuaded Polyphemus to taste some strong wine he had with him, and filled him so tipsy that he fell fast asleep. While he was in this state, Ulysses burnt out his one eye with a red-hot iron. The giant awoke in agony, but Ulysses contrived to escape from his clutches, and, after getting into his ship, began taunting and jeering the monster. Thereupon Homer says:—
[Illustration: Cyclopean Isle]
"These words the Cyclops' burning rage provoke:
From the tall hill he rends a pointed rock;
High o'er the billows flew the massy load,
And near the ship came thund'ring on the flood.
It almost brushed the helm, and fell before:
The whole sea shook, and refluent beat the shore."
Pope's translation.
The huge missile having thus missed its mark, Ulysses, with great impudence, renewed his jeers, taunting the giant, and telling him who it was that had poked out his eye; whereupon Polyphemus invokes the vengeance of Neptune upon him, and—