Seen from where we were, that is from top to bottom, this spectacle was superb and terrifying; at each internal convulsion that the mountain essayed, you felt it tremble beneath you, and it seemed as if it would burst asunder; then came the explosion, similar to a gigantic tree of flame and smoke that shook its leaves of lava.
Finally, we reached the extremity of this new lake of Sodom, and we found ourselves in an oasis of vines, pomegranates and olives. We had not the courage to go any farther. We lay down in the grass, and our guides brought us an armful of grapes and a hatful of figs.
It was marvellous to us; but there was not the smallest drop of water for our poor Milord to drink, and we perceived him devouring the skin of the figs and grapes. We gave him part of our repast, and for the first, and probably for the last, time in his life he dined off figs and grapes.
I have often a desire to put myself in the place of Milord and write his memoirs as Hoffmann wrote those of his cat, Murr. I am convinced that he must have had, seen from the canine point of view, (I beg the Académie’s pardon for the expression) extremely new impressions of the people and countries that he has visited.
A quarter of an hour after this halt we were in the village, writing upon our tablets this judicious observation—that the volcanoes follow but do not resemble each other: we were nearly frozen when ascending Etna, and we were nearly roasted when descending Stromboli.
Jadin and I each extended a hand towards the mountain and swore that notwithstanding Vesuvius, Stromboli was the last volcano whose acquaintance we would make.
Le Capitaine Aréna: Impressions de Voyage (Paris, 1836).
THE HIGH WOODS
(SOUTH AMERICA)
CHARLES KINGSLEY