On ye fourth of May I went to see the celebrated miracle of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius.[32] The Duc de Sangro, in whose house we saw the miracle, gave us afterward a ball. The composition of the material puzzles the chemists. The miracle, such as it is, requires the vigour and warmth of a young hand to reduce it from its concrete state to fluidity.
Sunday, 5th May.—Prince Esterhazy, the Imperial Ambassador, gave a splendid fête in honour of the young Archduke. The King, Queen, and Prince Royal were present: the Queen came and sat by me the greater part of the evening. She is lively and entertaining in conversation. It was whispered about the room that the atrocious Marseillais were marching upon Paris to destroy the Queen.
6th May.—Rode out as usual; a very pretty retired ride towards the Camaldoli.
7th.—Infamously bad weather, which made us delay our project of passing the day at Baia. We therefore confined ourselves within hail (?) of land, and dined at Pollio’s villa upon Posilippo. We rowed by the side of the charming Colline. The whole detail of the country is delightful; the bright green of the vine contrasted with the brilliant yellow of the tufa produces the most pleasing effect. Pollio’s villa is on the East side of the Colline, from whence it commanded a fine view of the chain of Apennines with the high point of St. Angelo lowering above, the towns of Pompeia, Stabia, the promontory of Minerva, and the whole of the bay including an oblique view of Capri. We attempted to row round Nisida, but a threatening storm prevented us. We rowed to the Porto Pavone, a lovely little harbour formed like a peacock’s tail, which figure gave rise to the name. We dined at Pollio’s villa during a violent thunderstorm. I conquered my fears and behaved with great intrepidity.
BAIA
The next day we embarked at Pozzuoli for Baia. At Pozzuoli, a tolerable statue of Tiberius, ornamented with bas-reliefs representing 14 cities destroyed by an earthquake and restored by him; monster as he was he could sometimes be betrayed into a good action. We passed Mons Gaurus, on which grew the Falernian wine so much praised by Horace, who either did not know what good wine was or the quality of the grape has changed, as the wine it now yields has no claim to encomium. The next summit is Monte Nuovo, raised by a terrible earthquake and eruption out of the Lucrine Lake within the space of 24 hours; its elevation destroyed a small town situated on its banks. The crater of Monte Nuovo gives one a very good notion of a volcano: the hill composed of light volcanic ashes which will soon become compact enough to be called tufa. We passed by Nero’s baths and villa.
On landing at Baia, the first object is the Temple of Venus, an octagon building; above it is a circular building dedicated to Mercury and another to Diana, of which only half remains, like the section of a building in architectural drawing. In the centre it had a cupola not unlike the form of the Pantheon. The present castle of Baia is upon the spot where Julius Caesar had a villa. Every atom of this once favoured spot was either highly decorated with fine gardens, fountains, porches, and terraces, or adorned with luxurious villas. Marius was reproached in the Senate for living in a spot so much the seat of pleasure. Sylla, Cicero, Lucullus, Pompey, Caesar, Hortensius, all had villas. The baths of Nero are between Baia and the Lucrine Lakes; the heat of the water is so great that an egg is boiled in two minutes. The sand under the sea is so heated that one could not with convenience hold it for any time. This all proves the vicinity of that powerful agent so destructive to this beautiful country: hourly may one expect some dreadful explosion that may perhaps lay the very spot I am now on many hundreds of feet below its present level, or raise it to the height of Vesuvius. The sea was rough, and the periodical storm came on an hour later than the preceding day. It is singular the degree of accuracy with which the people foretell the approach of bad weather, and even the duration of it. We returned by land. We passed the ruins of Cicero’s academic villa. How grand it must have been in its days of splendour. Atticus procured from Greece the pictures and statues; that they must have been excellent one cannot doubt, both from his fine taste and the facility with which he could obtain the finest subjects.
We went next day from Pozzuoli to Misenum: Lady Spencer declined going from a reason which I did not know till afterwards, or it doubtless would have operated in retaining me, viz., the length of the sea excursion, and the probability of a storm. The sea was very rough, and I, of course, was very nervous. We passed through pieces of what are called Caligula’s Bridge, but more likely to have been a mole beyond which he carried a bridge of boats over which he rode to fulfil a prophecy, which was, “That it was as unlikely that he should come to the Empire, as that he should ride across the Bay of Baia on horseback.”
PLINY’S DEATH
We landed at Bacoli, a place which receives its name from the oxen brought by Hercules from Geryon, King of Spain. Bacoli in Greek (if I spell it right) signifies ox stall. Remains are shewn of a tomb of Agrippina, Nero’s mother, but antiquaries say it has a stronger resemblance to a theatre than to a sepulchre. We wandered amidst the Elysian fields, but saw no blessed souls. All my gloomy cogitations at the prospect of futurity, brought to my mind by the fiction of poets, vanished at the sight of present danger, and the lowering black clouds menaced a fierce storm. Nor was the threat in vain, for shortly it was followed by the severest thunder, lightning, rain, and hail I had ever witnessed. We crossed the Stygian Lake in the height of it, and Charon might have expected some passengers for his infernal wherry. We landed and dined upon the ruins of Misenum close to the port. It was from this spot Pliny the elder beheld the burst of smoke from the mountain, and even felt the cinders. What a magnificent but dreadful sight it must have been. Unfortunately curiosity impelled him to approach the yawning volcano; he endeavoured to land at Herculaneum, but was prevented by the smoke and ashes, he tried Pompeia, and from thence went to his friend Pomponius at Stabia, near which he was overwhelmed and suffocated by the cinders. Near Misenum Tiberius breathed out his gloomy soul.