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1854.] 



VESUVIUS AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD, 



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TORONTO, JUNE, 18 54. 



Memoranda of Vesuvius and its Neighbourhood* 



By the Rev. Henry Scadding, D.D., Cantab. Read before the Canadian 

 Institute, March 2oth, 1854. 



Continued from page 241. 



We shall now pay a rapid visit to the volcanic district west- 

 wards of Vesuvius — appropriately named the Phlegnean fields, 

 " the fields of fire," if the Greek etymology of the name be the 

 correct one. We shall tread on ground teeming with recollec- 

 tions of illustrious or remarkable men. I shall be pardoned, 

 then, if here and there, though still looking at things in general in 

 a volcanic point of view, I indulge in some brief historical notices 

 as I pass. Traversing the whole length of the ever-lively Naples — 

 where, doubtless, we have before our eyes a picture of an old Greek 

 community, in modernized costume, — we arrive on its western side 

 at a tunnel perforating the mass of ancient volcanic tufa, known 

 as the hill of Posilipo. Here, before you enter, you may leave 

 your carriage for a short time, and ascend by some steps on the 

 left, and examine the dilapidated columbarium to which tradition 

 points as once the receptacle of the ashes of Virgil. It is certain 

 that the poet had a house on this hill, and that therein he com- 

 posed his Georgics and Eclogues and the greater portion of his 

 ^Eneid. It is a spot which harmonizes well with the poet's me- 

 mory, having within view numerous localities whose names have 

 become household words through his pen — a spot rendered in an 

 additional degree venerable now, by reminiscences of illustrious 

 men, who, from Statins and Petrarch, to Milton, Thomson, and 

 Gra}', with pious steps, have visited it. — Milton at the tomb of 

 Virgil ! Was it not there, while standing at the shrine of a kindred 

 soul, that the inspiration, already stirring the fair young English 

 bard, shaped the effectual resolve to leave words behind him which 

 the world " should not willingly let die?" — It is curious' to remember 

 that in the middle ages the name of Virgil was popularly known 

 only as that of a magician — doubtless from the assumed famili- 

 arity which he exhibits in his 6th Book with the world of spirits. 

 It was from the prevalence of this idea, that Dante made him 

 the conductor of himself through the realms below. — Dante in 

 his turn was, for similar reasons, pointed at by the rustics of his 

 day as the man who had visited the abodes of the dead. And 

 to close the list of popular misunderstandings in respect to fa- 

 mous persons — Horace, by the peasantry in the neighbourhood of 

 the Sabine farm, is at this moment believed to have been an 

 Englishman, from the numerous English who take such 

 pains to scramble to the spot. — But we must return to the tunnel 

 below, which itself — though it bears to this day visible marks, 

 not of the magician's wand, but of instruments more substantial 

 — was once popularly attributed to the supernatural power of 

 Virgil. It may be briefly described as 2244 feet long, 21-J feet 

 wide, from 69 to 25 feet in height; gloomy, dust}', and unsavory. 

 There are several other similar grottoes, as they are illusively called, 

 in this neighbourhood — all artificial, and dating back before the 

 Christian era. They are short cuts from town to town, made 

 through the rather soft volcanic rock. — You are now on the road 

 which leads to Pozzuoli. You are interested at observing evi- 

 dences of the latitude in which you are. You notice in the hills 

 Vol. II, No. 11, Juke, 1854. 



specimens of the palmetto-palm. You perceive the stone-pine — 

 the familiar object in Italian views — stretching out its flat pecu- 

 liar top. You see the aloe and the cactus in profusion. You 

 observe peasants under trees dancing to the sound of the guitar. 

 You meet rude ass-drawn and ox-drawn vehicles loaded with 

 strange tropical-looking fruits and vegetables. 



You soon enter upon the Phlegrsean fields in earnest. You 

 arrive at the well known Lake Agnano — an irregularly-shaped 

 ancient crater, three miles in circumference, filled with a sheet of 

 water. From fissures in its walls issues sulphurous vapour of a 

 temperature of 180° Fahrenheit, showing that a highly heated 

 mass is not far off. Here you have exhibited to you the world- 

 famous but rather insignificant Grotto del Cane — a small cell 

 containing a spiracle from below, up which rushes carbonic acid 

 gas, mingled with steam. — A little to the westward you come to 

 another partially extinct crater — ihe Solfatara — an irregular oval 

 plain, sounding treacherously hollow to the tread, and full of 

 steaming and smoky fumeroles, which at night emit a glow as 

 from a furnace, showing that they communicate immediately 

 with red-hot material. Within the base of what was the ancient 

 cone of the Solfatara, in the far depths, water is incessantly heard 

 heard in the act of boiling, in which state it finds an outlet. It 

 is stated to be an aluminous water containing iron, lime, and free 

 sulphuric acid. Some of the hills which form part of this an- 

 cient crater are white with an aluminous efflorescence. 



You next approach Astroni, a very perfect crater, four miles in 

 circumference, bearing on its floor three small but deep lakes. 

 It reminds you, on a small scale, of those circular valleys, which, 

 with the aid of a good telescope, you see on the surface of the 

 moon. Indeed I doubt notbut that in these Phlegra?an fields, we 

 have by analogy many hints given of what we should meet with, 

 were we permuted to take a stroll on the lunar disc. — Travelling 

 still westwards, you come next to a very conspicuous and per- 

 fectly formed crater, three miles and a half in circumference — 

 Monte Barbaro (the ancient Gaurus) — covered with vineyards 

 producing the wine which Horace sings of as Falernian; and 

 near by are two more similar craters, only smaller — Oigliano and 

 Campana. Proceeding yet westwards, you come to Avernus 

 itself, the dread entrance to Hades. In the old prehistoric era, this 

 crater no doubt possessed some of the awfulness of the pre- 

 sent interior of Vesuvius. The Cuma?an colonists transplanted 

 to this neighbourhood the myths of their native Greece, and 

 easily established Campanian duplicates of their own Styx, Co- 

 cytus, and Acheron. Here is the scene of the well-known 

 Nekuia of the 11th Book of the Odyssey, and of the descent of 

 JEneas in the 6th Book of the ^Eneid. The ancient Italians 

 must have enjoyed these references of the poets more keenly than 

 modern readers can. They must have felt the iEneid to have 

 been a national poem much more thoroughly than we do — the 

 mere naming of a locality being sufficient to call up to their 

 minds the often visited spot — with its brilliant colouring and his- 

 toric and poetic associations. — Avernus is now a cheerful place; 

 a beautiful lake, abounding with fish, lies in its basin, and over 

 it and on it feathered fowl sport with impunity. The etymology 

 of Avernns (quasi Aornos, "birdless") is now supposed to be 

 fanciful, though Virgil, and Lucretius before him, adopted it. 

 The true origin of the name appears to be in the Phoenician 

 Evoron, denoting " gloom" or " darkness." But though the old 

 composition of the name may not be true, still it is probable that 

 in the ancient times birds would seldom be seen about the spot. 

 Instinct would lead them to shun the breath of a volcano, as 

 surely as it leads their congeners to revel so joyously, as we see 

 them doing, in the wholesome spray of our Niagara. 



