Many of the halls and courts are adorned with splendid mosaic pavements, and other ornamental stone-work. There is an immense building, containing a great number of apartments, used for a public bath. Some of these apartments were heated by flues passing between the walls;—a device which was formerly thought to be an invention of modern days. But there are many things at Pompeii which show ingenuity equal, and sometimes superior, to that of our own age. I was struck with a very simple contrivance for making a door swing to, without springs or weights, which I have never seen imitated anywhere.
The public buildings at Pompeii are numerous and striking, but cannot be properly described without drawings. At the door of the theatre was found one of the tickets of ivory, with the number of the box marked upon it. On the walls of the houses may still be seen the theatrical announcements, such as with us are pasted up at the corners of the streets. Those at Pompeii are written with a brush on a ground of stucco, and were washed off as often as the bill was changed. The last one stood a little longer than the writer expected. Pliny tells us the people were in the theatre when the eruption broke out.
It is impossible to specify half the curious and interesting objects to be seen here without writing a volume. Temples, theatres, amphitheatres, porticoes, fountains, arches, tombs, and the private dwellings of thousands of men, who appear to have left them but yesterday, all make a strange and most exciting impression on the feelings. You almost expect the owners of the houses to step back and ask your business there. It is curious to observe that the objects which, in their own day, were the most trivial and unimportant, are now precisely those which are beheld with the greatest interest. We cannot pass without curious attention the cart-ruts in the streets, or the charcoal scrawlings made by idle boys upon the walls, or the names of Mr. A, B, and C, who lived in this, that, and the other house. There is a place where a mason was at work, putting on mortar; he had just laid on a trowel-full, and was drawing a stroke to smooth it down, when the alarm of the eruption was given, and he left his work and ran. There stand the stone and mortar to this day, with the mark of the unfinished stroke! He would have made all smooth in one second more—but 1700 years have passed, and it is not done yet. An hundred volumes written on the uncertainty of human purpose could not make the fact half so striking as this little incident!
CHAPTER XX.
Journey towards Rome.—Vineyards.—The olive season.—Beautiful scene at Mola di Gaeta.—A shepherd among the mountains.—The robbers of Fondi.—The Pontine marshes.—Velletri.—The nightingale.—First sight of Rome.
On the first day of April I set out for Rome. For ten or fifteen miles beyond Naples, the country appeared to be nothing but one great vineyard. The vines are not propped by poles, as I found them in Sicily, but are trained to poplar trees. I passed many wells by the roadside, furnished with water-wheels turned by oxen: these are used for irrigating the fields in summer, from which I judged that the country often suffers from drought. All along the road were guard-houses with gens-d’armes at regular intervals, a security against robbers, according to the design; but we generally found these valiant fellows fast asleep! We might have stolen their muskets and made them all prisoners before they were well awake. The roads in this quarter are covered with a fine white dust, which in the unclouded season of midsummer must have a bad effect upon the eyes. The great number of blind people we saw, confirmed the impression. About noon we reached Capua, famous for having once been the most luxurious city in the world, but now a decayed town, where everybody seems to be fast asleep. Beyond this place the road began to run among the hills. At night we stopped at the village of St. Agatha, where we found a tolerably good inn. We set out early next morning, and passed through fields covered with olive trees. The peasants whom we met had sprigs of olive stuck in their hats. This was the olive season, and we saw the women and children picking up the fruit under the trees. When the olives are ripe, they turn black and drop from the trees. The oil is squeezed from them by a common press. The olives used for pickling are taken from the tree before they are ripe.
At noon we arrived at Mola di Gaeta, one of the most delightful spots I ever beheld. It stands on the sea-shore, and is skirted by a range of lofty hills covered with orange groves. The trees were laden with fruit as bright as gold. The fresh green foliage, the clear sky, the blue sea, and the white towers of Gaeta which appear on a promontory stretching out into the ocean, all combine to form a most enchanting prospect. I do not wonder that Cicero chose this spot for his country-seat; here they showed us the spot where, according to Plutarch, he was killed. Further on we continued to find the same abundance of olive trees: this appears to be a great oil district. A range of rocky mountains at a distance seemed to consist of nothing but naked crags; but the plains and low hills are under good cultivation. The soil in most parts is very rich, and the country wants nothing but a good government and an industrious people, to make the kingdom of Naples one of the most flourishing territories on the face of the earth. In the afternoon we traversed a steep, narrow mountain pass, and entered upon a wild, rugged country. I got out of the carriage and trudged along on foot, for the road was so hilly that I could keep ahead of the horses. The country exhibited quite a solitude; there was neither house nor human being to be seen for miles. Suddenly the notes of a wild kind of music fell on my ear, and looking down a rocky glen, I discovered a shepherd tending his flock, and piping on a reed in the true Arcadian style. It was the first genuine spectacle of pastoral life that I had ever seen, and I halted some minutes to take a view of him. Very pretty poems have been written about pastoral manners, in which shepherds and shepherdesses make fine romantic figures. The sight of a real shepherd, however, is enough to dissipate all the romance of this subject. This fellow wore the true pastoral dress, jacket and leggins of sheepskin, with the wool outside!—a more ragged, scarecrow-looking object never met my eyes. I would give a round sum of money to get one of these Neapolitan shepherds to show himself in the streets of Boston. An Indian sachem would be nothing in comparison to him.
The country continued wild and broken till we reached Fondi, a town among the mountains, once notorious for its robberies. These were carried on so openly and to such an extent, that the government were obliged to surround the town with troops, and threaten to batter every house to the ground with cannon, unless the leaders of the banditti were given up. Since these fellows have been hanged, and the roads guarded with soldiers, travelling has been pretty safe. But nothing except force prevents the inhabitants of Fondi from resuming their old habits of robbery. I never saw so villanous-looking a set of ragamuffins anywhere else. Every man and boy in the town has the genuine countenance of a cut-throat; and the women do not look much better. We stopped here just long enough to get our passports examined; but that was long enough. Though the people are not allowed to rob, they almost make up for it in begging; for their impudence and obstinacy in this business nearly amount to violence. The whole population were either crowding around us, begging, or lying in crowds about the church steps, lazily sunning themselves. I longed to stir up the louts, and set them to work. From laziness to begging, and from begging to robbery, is a regular and almost inevitable progress.
The road beyond Fondi ran along the shores, and in the afternoon we reached the territory of the Pope. The first sight we saw here was a herd of buffaloes in a field. These animals are tame, and used the same as oxen. They are not like the buffalo, or, more properly, bison of the western prairies, but a distinct species of quadruped. At night we reached Terracina, the first town in the papal dominions. It stands on the seashore, at the foot of a lofty, precipitous rock. During the night the wind was high, and drove a heavy surf upon the beach. A bright moonlight made a stroll along the shore very pleasant. In the morning the wind had gone down, and we recommenced our journey. Here we entered upon the famous Pontine marshes, over which the road passes nearly thirty miles in a straight line, and a great part of the way bordered by trees. These marshes consist of swampy and boggy tracts, with lagoons of water and patches of dry pasture-land interspersed here and there. Herds of buffaloes and black swine were roaming about in the dry spots, and the lagoons were covered with flocks of wild ducks and other waterfowl; but not a human being or a house was to be seen. These marshes breed so pestilential an air in summer, that the neighborhood is uninhabitable. They are bordered by a range of mountains on one side, and on the other by the Mediterranean.
There were no thick woods anywhere to be seen; a few scattered cork and ilex trees were all that met the eye. The mountains were bare to their very summits. The country, after passing the marshes, became very beautiful, and as we approached the town of Velletri we beheld the most enchanting landscapes. Here, for the first time, I heard the nightingale. He sings in the most lively and voluble strain, and is well worthy of his great reputation among the feathered songsters; but there is no American bird whom he resembles in tone or manner. We stopped for the night at Velletri, which stands on a commanding eminence, with an almost boundless prospect toward the south. On the other side, you look down a deep valley and up the side of a mountain beyond, covered with verdant fields, gardens, vineyards, and every variety of cultivation.