第17章

Notintcouldbemoreravishing，nolustremoresuperb。Throwastoneintothewater，andthemyriadoftinybubblesthatarecreatedflashoutabrilliantglarelikebluetheatricalfires。Dipanoar，anditsbladeturnstosplendidfrostedsilver，tintedwithblue。Letamanjumpin，andinstantlyheiscasedinanarmormoregorgeousthaneverkinglyCrusaderwore。

ThenwewenttoIschia，butIhadalreadybeentothatislandandtiredmyselftodeath"resting"acoupleofdaysandstudyinghumanvillainy，withthelandlordoftheGrandeSentinelleforamodel。SowewenttoProcida，andfromthencetoPozzuoli，whereSt。PaullandedafterhesailedfromSamos。IlandedatpreciselythesamespotwhereSt。Paullanded，andsodidDanandtheothers。Itwasaremarkablecoincidence。St。PaulpreachedtothesepeoplesevendaysbeforehestartedtoRome。

Nero\'sBaths，theruinsofBaiæ，theTempleofSerapis;Cumæ，wheretheCumænSybilinterpretedtheoracles，theLakeAgnano，withitsancientsubmergedcitystillvisiblefardowninitsdepths——theseandahundredotherpointsofinterestweexaminedwithcriticalimbecility，buttheGrottooftheDogclaimedourchiefattention，becausewehadheardandreadsomuchaboutit。EverybodyhaswrittenabouttheGrottodelCaneanditspoisonousvapors，fromPlinydowntoSmith，andeverytouristhasheldadogoveritsfloorbythelegstotestthecapabilitiesoftheplace。Thedogdiesinaminuteandahalf——achickeninstantly。Asageneralthing，strangerswhocrawlintheretosleepdonotgetupuntiltheyarecalled。Andthentheydon\'teither。Thestrangerthatventurestosleeptheretakesapermanentcontract。Ilongedtoseethisgrotto。

Iresolvedtotakeadogandholdhimmyself\';suffocatehimalittle，andtimehim;suffocatehimsomemoreandthenfinishhim。Wereachedthegrottoataboutthreeintheafternoon，andproceededatoncetomaketheexperiments。Butnow，animportantdifficultypresenteditself。Wehadnodog。ASCENTOFVESUVIUS——CONTINUED。

AttheHermitagewewereaboutfifteenoreighteenhundredfeetabovethesea，andthusfaraportionoftheascenthadbeenprettyabrupt。Forthenexttwomilestheroadwasamixture——sometimestheascentwasabruptandsometimesitwasnot:butonecharacteristicitpossessedallthetime，withoutfailure——withoutmodification——itwasalluncompromis—inglyandunspeakablyinfamous。Itwasarough，narrowtrail，andledoveranoldlavaflow——ablackoceanwhichwastumbledintoathousandfantasticshapes——awildchaosofruin，desolation，andbarrenness——awildernessofbillowyupheavals，offuriouswhirlpools，ofminiaturemountainsrentasunder——ofgnarledandknotted，wrinkledandtwistedmassesofblacknessthatmimickedbranchingroots，greatvines，trunksoftrees，allinterlacedandmingledtogether:andalltheseweirdshapes，allthisturbulentpanorama，allthisstormy，far—stretchingwasteofblackness，withitsthrillingsuggestivenessoflife，ofaction，ofboiling，surging，furiousmotion，waspetrified！——allstrickendeadandcoldintheinstantofitsmaddestrioting！——fettered，paralyzed，andlefttogloweratheaveninimpotentrageforevermore！

Finallywestoodinalevel，narrowvalley（avalleythathadbeencreatedbytheterrificmarchofsomeoldtimeirruption）andoneitherhandtoweredthetwosteeppeaksofVesuvius。Theonewehadtoclimb——theonethatcontainstheactivevolcano——seemedabouteighthundredoronethousandfeethigh，andlookedalmosttoostraight—up—and—downforanymantoclimb，andcertainlynomulecouldclimbitwithamanonhisback。Fourofthesenativepirateswillcarryyoutothetopinasedanchair，ifyouwishit，butsupposetheyweretoslipandletyoufall，——isitlikelythatyouwouldeverstoprolling？Notthissideofeternity，perhaps。Weleftthemules，sharpenedourfinger—nails，andbegantheascentIhavebeenwritingaboutsolong，attwentyminutestosixinthemorning。Thepathledstraightuparuggedsweepofloosechunksofpumice—stone，andforabouteverytwostepsforwardwetook，weslidbackone。Itwassoexcessivelysteepthatwehadtostop，everyfiftyorsixtysteps，andrestamoment。

Toseeourcomrades，wehadtolookverynearlystraightupatthoseaboveus，andverynearlystraightdownatthosebelow。Westoodonthesummitatlast——ithadtakenanhourandfifteenminutestomakethetrip。

Whatwesawtherewassimplyacircularcrater——acircularditch，ifyouplease——abouttwohundredfeetdeep，andfourorfivehundredfeetwide，whoseinnerwallwasabouthalfamileincircumference。Inthecentreofthegreatcircusringthusformed，wasatornandraggedupheavalahundredfeethigh，allsnowedoverwithasulphurcrustofmanyandmanyabrilliantandbeautifulcolor，andtheditchinclosedthislikethemoatofacastle，orsurroundeditasalittleriverdoesalittleisland，ifthesimileisbetter。Thesulphurcoatingofthatislandwasgaudyintheextreme——allmingledtogetherintherichestconfusionwerered，blue，brown，black，yellow，white——Idonotknowthattherewasacolor，orshadeofacolor，orcombinationofcolors，unrepresented——

andwhenthesunburstthroughthemorningmistsandfiredthistintedmagnificence，ittoppedimperialVesuviuslikeajeweledcrown！

Thecrateritself——theditch——wasnotsovariegatedincoloring，butyet，initssoftness，richness，andunpretentiouselegance，itwasmorecharming，morefascinatingtotheeye。Therewasnothing"loud"aboutitswell—bredandwell—creasedlook。Beautiful？Onecouldstandandlookdownuponitforaweekwithoutgettingtiredofit。Ithadthesemblanceofapleasantmeadow，whoseslendergrassesandwhosevelvetymosseswerefrostedwithashiningdust，andtintedwithpalestgreenthatdeepenedgraduallytothedarkesthueoftheorangeleaf，anddeepenedyetagainintogravestbrown，thenfadedintoorange，thenintobrightestgold，andculminatedinthedelicatepinkofanew—blownrose。Whereportionsofthemeadowhadsunk，andwhereotherportionshadbeenbrokenuplikeanice—floe，thecavernousopeningsoftheone，andtheraggedupturnededgesexposedbytheother，werehungwithalace—workofsoft—tintedcrystalsofsulphurthatchangedtheirdeformitiesintoquaintshapesandfiguresthatwerefullofgraceandbeauty。

Thewallsoftheditchwerebrilliantwithyellowbanksofsulphurandwithlavaandpumice—stoneofmanycolors。Nofirewasvisibleanywhere，butgustsofsulphuroussteamissuedsilentlyandinvisiblyfromathousandlittlecracksandfissuresinthecrater，andwerewaftedtoournoseswitheverybreeze。Butsolongaswekeptournostrilsburiedinourhandkerchiefs，therewassmalldangerofsuffocation。

Someoftheboysthrustlongslipsofpaperdownintoholesandsetthemonfire，andsoachievedthegloryoflightingtheircigarsbytheflamesofVesuvius，andotherscookedeggsoverfissuresintherocksandwerehappy。

Theviewfromthesummitwouldhavebeensuperbbutforthefactthatthesuncouldonlypiercethemistsatlongintervals。Thustheglimpseswehadofthegrandpanoramabelowwereonlyfitfulandunsatisfactory。THEDESCENT。

Thedescentofthemountainwasalaborofonlyfourminutes。Insteadofstalkingdowntheruggedpathweascended，wechoseonewhichwasbeddedknee—deepinlooseashes，andploughedourwaywithprodigiousstridesthatwouldalmosthaveshamedtheperformanceofhimoftheseven—leagueboots。

TheVesuviusoftodayisaverypooraffaircomparedtothemightyvolcanoofKilauea，intheSandwichIslands，butIamgladIvisitedit。Itwaswellworthit。

ItissaidthatduringoneofthegranderuptionsofVesuviusitdischargedmassyrocksweighingmanytonsathousandfeetintotheair，itsvastjetsofsmokeandsteamascendedthirtymilestowardthefirmament，andcloudsofitsasheswerewaftedabroadandfelluponthedecksofshipssevenhundredandfiftymilesatsea！Iwilltaketheashesatamoderatediscount，ifanyonewilltakethethirtymilesofsmoke，butIdonotfeelabletotakeacommandinginterestinthewholestorybymyself。

Chapter31

THEBURIEDCITYOFPOMPEII。

TheypronounceitPom—pay—e。IalwayshadanideathatyouwentdownintoPompeiiwithtorches，bythewayofdamp，darkstairways，justasyoudoinsilvermines，andtraversedgloomytunnelswithlavaoverheadandsomethingoneitherhandlikedilapidatedprisonsgougedoutofthesolidearth，thatfaintlyresembledhouses。Butyoudonothingthekind。

Fullyone—halfoftheburiedcity，perhaps，iscompletelyexhumedandthrownopenfreelytothelightofday;andtherestandthelongrowsofsolidly—builtbrickhouses（roofless）justastheystoodeighteenhundredyearsago，hotwiththeflamingsun;andtherelietheirfloors，clean—wept，andnotabrightfragmenttarnishedorwaitingofthelaboredmosaicsthatpicturedthemwiththebeasts，andbirds，andflowerswhichwecopyinperishablecarpetsto—day;andherearetheVenuses，andBacchuses，andAdonises，makingloveandgettingdrunkinmany—huedfrescoesonthewallsofsaloonandbed—chamber;andtherearethenarrowstreetsandnarrowersidewalks，pa，edwithflagsofgoodbardlava，thenedeeplyruttedwiththechariot—wheels，andtheotherwiththepassingfeetofthePompeiiansofby—gonecenturies;andtherearethebake—shops，thetemples，thehallsofjustice，thebath，s，thetheatres——allclean—scrapedandneat，andsuggestingnothingofthenatureofasilvermineawaydowninthebowelsoftheearth。

Thebrokenpillarslyingabout，thedoorlessdoorwaysandthecrumbledtopsofthewildernessofwalls，werewonderfullysuggestiveofthe"burntdistrict"inoneofourcities，andiftherehadbeenanycharredtimbers，shatteredwindows，heapsofdebris，andgeneralblacknessandsmokinessabouttheplace，theresemblancewouldhavebeenperfect。Butno——thesunshinesasbrightlydownonoldPompeiito—dayasitdidwhenChristwasborninBethlehem，anditsstreetsarecleanerahundredtimesthaneverPompeiiansawtheminherprime。IknowwhereofIspeak——forinthegreat，chiefthoroughfares（MerchantstreetandtheStreetofFortune）haveI

notseenwithmyowneyeshowfortwohundredyearsatleastthepavementswerenotrepaired！——bowrutsfiveandeventeninchesdeepwerewornintothethickflagstonesbythechariot—wheelsofgenerationsofswindledtax—

payers？AnddoInotknowbythesesignsthatStreetCommissionersofPompeiineverattendedtotheirbusiness，andthatiftheynevermendedthepavementstheynevercleanedthem？And，besides，isitnottheinbornnatureofStreetCommis—sionerstoavoidtheirdutywhenevertheygetachance？IwishIknewthenameofthelastonethatheldofficeinPompeiisothatIcouldgivehimablast。Ispeakwithfeelingonthissubject，becauseIcaughtmyfootinoneofthoseruts，andthesadnessthatcameovermewhenI

sawthefirstpoorskeleton，withashesandlavastickingtoit，wastemperedbythereflectionthatmaybethatpartywastheStreetCommissioner。

No——Pompeiiisnolongeraburiedcity。Itisacityofhundredsandhundredsofrooflesshouses，andatangledmazeofstreetswhereonecouldeasilygetlost，withoutaguide，andhavetosleepinsomeghostlypalacethathadknownnolivingtenantsincethatawfulNovembernightofeighteencenturiesago。

WepassedthroughthegatewhichfacestheMediterranean，（calledthe"MarineGate，"）andbytherusty，brokenimageofMinerva，stillkeepingtirelesswatchandwardoverthepossessionsitwaspowerlesstosave，andwentupalongstreetandstoodinthebroadcourtoftheForumofJustice。Thefloorwaslevelandclean，andupanddowneithersidewasanoblecolonnadeofbrokenpillars，withtheirbeautifulIonicandCorinthiancolumnsscatteredaboutthem。AttheupperendwerethevacantseatsoftheJudges，andbehindthemwedescendedintoadungeonwheretheashesandcindershadfoundtwoprisonerschainedonthatmemorableNovembernight，andtorturedthemtodeath。Howtheymusthavetuggedatthepitilessfettersasthefiercefiressurgedaroundthem！

ThenweloungedthroughmanyandmanyasumptuousprivatemansionwhichwecouldnothaveenteredwithoutaformalinvitationinincomprehensibleLatin，intheoldentime，whentheownerslivedthere——andweprobablywouldn\'thavegotit。Thesepeoplebuilttheirhousesagooddealalike。

Thefloorswerelaidinfancifulfigureswroughtinmosaicsofmany—coloredmarbles。AtthethresholdyoureyesfalluponaLatinsentenceofwelcome，sometimes，orapictureofadog，withthelegend"BewareoftheDog，"

andsometimesapic—tureofabearorafaunwithnoinscriptionatall。

Thenyouenterasortofvestibule，wheretheyusedtokeepthehat—rack，Isuppose;nextaroomwithalargemarblebasininthemidstandthepipesofafountain;oneithersidearebedrooms;beyondthefountainisareception—room，thenalittlegarden，dining—room，andsoforthandsoon。Thefloorswereallmosaic，thewallswerestuccoed，orfrescoed，orornamentedwithbas—

reliefs，andhereandtherewerestatues，largeandsmall，andlittlefish—

pools，andcascadesofsparklingwaterthatsprangfromsecretplacesinthecolonnadeofhandsomepillarsthatsurroundedthecourt，andkepttheflower—bedsfreshandtheaircool。ThosePompeiianswereveryluxuriousintheirtastesandhabits。ThemostexquisitebronzeswehaveseeninEurope，camefromtheexhumedcitiesofHerculaneumandPompeii，andalsothefinestcameosandthemostdelicateengravingsonpreciousstones;

theirpictures，eighteenornineteencenturiesold，areoftenmuchmorepleasingthanthecel—ebratedrubbishoftheoldmastersofthreecenturiesago。Theywerewellupinart。Fromthecreationoftheseworksofthefirst，clearuptotheeleventhcentury，artseemshardlytohaveexistedatall——atleastnoremnantsofitareleft——anditwascurioustoseehowfar（insomethings，atanyrate，）theseoldtimepagansexcelledtheremotegenerationsofmastersthatcameafterthem。TheprideoftheworldinsculpturesseemtobetheLaocoonandtheDyingGladiator，inRome。

TheyareasoldasPompeii，weredugfromtheearthlikePompeii;buttheirexactageorwhomadethemcanonlybeconjectured。Butworn，andcracked，withoutahistory，andwiththeblemishingstainsofnumberlesscenturiesuponthem，theystillmutelymockatalleffortstorivaltheirperfections。

Itwasaquaintandcuriouspastime，wanderingthroughthisoldsilentcityofthedead——loungingthroughutterlydesertedstreetswherethousandsandthousandsofhumanbeingsonceboughtandsold，andwalkedandrode，andmadetheplaceresoundwiththenoiseandconfusionoftrafficandpleasure。Theywerenotlazy。Theyhurriedinthosedays。Wehadevidenceofthat。Therewasatempleononecorner，anditwasashortercuttogobetweenthecolumnsofthattemplefromonestreettotheotherthantogoaround——andbeholdthatpathwayhadbeenworndeepintotheheavyflagstonefloorofthebuildingbygenerationsoftime—savingfeet！Theywouldnotgoaroundwhenitwasquickertogothrough。Wedothatwayinourcities。

Everywhere，youseethingsthatmakeyouwonderhowoldtheseoldhouseswerebeforethenightofdestructioncame——things，too，whichbringbackthoselongdeadinhabitantsandplacethelivingbeforeyoureyes。Forinstance:Thesteps（twofeetthick——lavablocks）thatleadupoutoftheschool，andthesamekindofstepsthatleadupintothedresscircleoftheprincipaltheatre，arealmostwornthrough！Foragestheboyshurriedoutofthatschool，andforagestheirparentshurriedintothattheatre，andthenervousfeetthathavebeendustandashesforeighteencenturieshavelefttheirrecordforustoreadto—day。IimaginedIcouldseecrowdsofgentlemenandladiesthrongingintothetheatre，withticketsforsecuredseatsintheirhands，andonthewall，Ireadtheimaginaryplacard，ininfamousgrammar，"POSITIVELYNOFREELIST，EXCEPTMEMBERSOFTHEPRESS！"

Hangingaboutthedoorway（Ifancied，）wereslouchyPompeiianstreet—boysutteringslangandprofanity，andkeepingawaryeyeoutforchecks。I

enteredthetheatre，andsatdowninoneofthelongrowsofstonebenchesinthedresscircle，andlookedattheplacefortheorchestra，andtheruinedstage，andaroundatthewidesweepofemptyboxes，andthoughttomyself，"Thishousewon\'tpay。"Itriedtoimaginethemusicinfullblast，theleaderoftheorchestrabeatingtime，andthe"versatile"So—and—So（whohad"justreturnedfromamostsuccessfultourintheprovincestoplayhislastandfarewellengagementofpositivelysixnightsonly，inPompeii，previoustohisdepartureforHerculaneum，"）chargingaroundthestageandpilingtheagonymountainshigh——butIcouldnotdoitwithsucha"house"asthat;thoseemptybenchestiedmyfancydowntodullreality。

Isaid，thesepeoplethatoughttobeherehavebeendead，andstill，andmolderingtodustforagesandages，andwillnevercareforthetriflesandfolliesoflifeanymoreforever——"Owingtocircumstances，etc。，etc。，therewillnotbeanyperformanceto—night。"Closedownthecurtain。Putoutthelights。

AndsoIturnedawayandwentthroughshopaftershopandstoreafterstore，fardownthelongstreetofthemerchants，andcalledforthewaresofRomeandtheEast，butthetradesmenweregone，themartsweresilent，andnothingwasleftbutthebrokenjarsallsetincementofcindersandashes:thewineandtheoilthatoncehadfilledthemweregonewiththeirowners。

Inabake—shopwasamillforgrindingthegrain，andthefurnacesforbakingthebread:andtheysaythathere，inthesamefurnaces，theexhumersofPompeiifoundnice，wellbakedloaveswhichthebakerhadnotfoundtimetoremovefromtheovensthelasttimehelefthisshop，becausecircumstancescompelledhimtoleaveinsuchahurry。

Inonehouse（theonlybuildinginPompeiiwhichnowomanisnowallowedtoenter，）werethesmallroomsandshortbedsofsolidmasonry，justastheywereintheoldtimes，andonthewallswerepictureswhichlookedalmostasfreshasiftheywerepaintedyesterday，butwhichnopencouldhavethehardihoodtodescribe;andhereandtherewereLatininscriptions——obscenescintillationsofwit，scratchedbyhandsthatpossiblywereupliftedtoHeavenforsuccorinthemidstofadrivingstormoffirebeforethenightwasdone。

Inoneoftheprincipalstreetswasaponderousstonetank，andawater—spoutthatsuppliedit，andwherethetired，heatedtoilersfromtheCampagnausedtoresttheirrighthandswhentheybentovertoputtheirlipstothespout，thethickstonewasworndowntoabroadgrooveaninchortwodeep。Thinkofthecountlessthousandsofhandsthathadpressedthatspotintheagesthataregone，tosoreduceastonethatisashardasiron！

TheyhadagreatpublicbulletinboardinPompeii——aplacewhereannouncementsforgladiatorialcombats，elections，andsuchthings，wereposted——notonperishablepaper，butcarvedinenduringstone。Onelady，who，Itakeit，wasrichandwellbroughtup，advertisedadwellingorsotorent，withbathsandallthemodernimprovements，andseveralhundredshops，stipulatingthatthedwellingsshouldnotbeputtoimmoralpurposes。YoucanfindoutwholivedinmanyahouseinPompeiibythecarvedstonedoor—platesaffixedtothem:andinthesamewayyoucantellwhotheywerethatoccupythetombs。Everywherearoundarethingsthatrevealtoyousomethingofthecustomsandhistoryofthisforgottenpeople。ButwhatwouldavolcanoleaveofanAmericancity，ifitonceraineditscindersonit？Hardlyasignorasymboltotellitsstory。

InoneoftheselongPompeiianhallstheskeletonofamanwasfound，withtenpiecesofgoldinonehandandalargekeyintheother。Hehadseizedhismoneyandstartedtowardthedoor，butthefierytempestcaughthimattheverythreshold，andhesankdownanddied。Onemoreminuteofprecioustimewouldhavesavedhim。Isawtheskeletonsofaman，awoman，andtwoyounggirls。Thewomanhadherhandsspreadwideapart，asifinmortalterror，andIimaginedIcouldstilltraceuponhershapelessfacesomethingoftheexpressionofwilddespairthatdistorteditwhentheheavensrainedfireinthesestreets，somanyagesago。Thegirlsandthemanlaywiththeirfacesupontheirarms，asiftheyhadtriedtoshieldthemfromtheenvelopingcinders。Inoneapartmenteighteenskeletonswerefound，allinsittingpostures，andblackenedplacesonthewallsstillmarktheirshapesandshowtheirattitudes，likeshadows。Oneofthem，awoman，stillworeuponherskeletonthroatanecklace，withhernameengraveduponit——JULIEDIDIOMEDE。

ButperhapsthemostpoeticalthingPompeiihasyieldedtomodernresearch，wasthatgrandfigureofaRomansoldier，cladincompletearmor;who，truetohisduty，truetohisproudnameofasoldierofRome，andfullofthesterncouragewhichhadgiventothatnameitsglory，stoodtohispostbythecitygate，erectandunflinching，tillthehellthatragedaroundhimburnedoutthedauntlessspirititcouldnotconquer。

WeneverreadofPompeiibutwethinkofthatsoldier;wecannotwriteofPompeiiwithoutthenaturalimpulsetogranttohimthementionhesowelldeserves。Letusrememberthathewasasoldier——notapoliceman——andso，praisehim。Beingasoldier，hestaid，——becausethewarriorinstinctforbadehimtofly。Hadhebeenapolicemanhewouldhavestaid，also——becausehewouldhavebeenasleep。

TherearenothalfadozenflightsofstairsinPompeii，andnootherevidencesthatthehousesweremorethanonestoryhigh。Thepeopledidnotliveintheclouds，asdotheVenetians，theGenoeseandNeapolitansofto—day。

WecameoutfromunderthesolemnmysteriesofthiscityoftheVenerablePast——thiscitywhichperished，withallitsoldwaysanditsquaintoldfashionsaboutit，remotecenturiesago，whentheDiscipleswerepreachingthenewreligion，whichisasoldasthehillstousnow——andwentdreamingamongthetreesthatgrowoveracresandacresofitsstillburiedstreetsandsquares，tillashrillwhistleandthecryof"Allaboard——lasttrainforNaples！"wokemeupandremindedmethatIbelongedinthenineteenthcentury，andwasnotadustymummy，cakedwithashesandcinders，eighteenhundredyearsold。Thetransitionwasstartling。TheideaofarailroadtrainactuallyrunningtoolddeadPompeii，andwhistlingirreverently，andcallingforpassengersinthemostbustlingandbusiness—likeway，wasasstrangeathingasonecouldimagine，andasunpoeticalanddisagreeableasitwasstrange。

ComparethecheerfullifeandthesunshineofthisdaywiththehorrorstheyoungerPlinysawhere，the9thofNovember，A。D。79，whenhewassobravelystrivingtoremovehismotheroutofreachofharm，whileshebeggedhim，withallamother\'sunselfishness，toleavehertoperishandsavehimself。\'Bythistimethemurkydarknesshadsoincreasedthatonemighthavebelievedhimselfabroadinablackandmoonlessnight，orinachamberwhereallthelightshadbeenextinguished。Oneveryhandwasheardthecomplaintsofwomen，thewailingofchildren，andthecriesofmen。Onecalledhisfather，anotherhisson，andanotherhiswife，andonlybytheirvoicescouldtheyknoweachother。Manyintheirdespairbeggedthatdeathwouldcomeandendtheirdistress。"Someimploredthegodstosuccorthem，andsomebelievedthatthisnightwasthelast，theeternalnightwhichshouldengulftheuniverse！"Evensoitseemedtome——andIconsoledmyselfforthecomingdeathwiththereflection:BEHOLD，THEWORLDISPASSINGAWAY！"********

AfterbrowsingamongthestatelyruinsofRome，ofBaiæ，ofPompeii，andafterglancingdownthelongmarbleranksofbatteredandnamelessimperialheadsthatstretchdownthecorridorsoftheVatican，onethingstrikesmewithaforceitneverhadbefore:theunsubstantial，unlastingcharacteroffame。Menlivedlonglives，intheoldentime，andstruggledfeverishlythroughthem，toilinglikeslaves，inoratory，ingeneralship，orinliterature，andthenlaidthemdownanddied，happyinthepossessionofanenduringhistoryandadeathlessname。Well，twentylittlecenturiesflutteraway，andwhatisleftofthesethings？Acrazyinscriptiononablockofstone，whichsnuffyantiquariesbotheroverandtangleupandmakenothingoutofbutabarename（whichtheyspellwrong）——nohistory，notradition，nopoetry——nothingthatcangiveitevenapassinginterest。

WhatmaybeleftofGeneralGrant\'sgreatnamefortycenturieshence？This——intheEncyclopediaforA。D。5868，possibly:"URIAHS。（orZ。）GRAUNT——popularpoetofancienttimesintheAztecprovincesoftheUnitedStatesofBritishAmerica。SomeauthorssayflourishedaboutA。D。742;butthelearnedAh—ahFoo—foostatesthathewasacotemporaryofScharkspyre，theEnglishpoet，andflourishedaboutA。D。1328，somethreecenturiesaftertheTrojanwarinsteadofbeforeit。Hewrote\'RockmetoSleep，Mother。\'"Thesethoughtssaddenme。Iwilltobed。

Chapter32

Home，again！Forthefirsttime，inmanyweeks，theship\'sentirefamilymetandshookhandsonthequarter—deck。Theyhadgatheredfrommanypointsofthecompassandfrommanylands，butnotonewasmissing;therewasnotaleofsicknessordeathamongtheflocktodampenthepleasureofthereunion。Oncemoretherewasafullaudienceondecktolistentothesailors\'chorusastheygottheanchorup，andtowaveanadieutothelandaswespedawayfromNaples。Theseatswerefullatdinneragain，thedominopartieswerecomplete，andthelifeandbustleontheupperdeckinthefinemoonlightatnightwaslikeoldtimes——oldtimesthathadbeengoneweeksonly，butyettheywereweekssocrowdedwithincident，adventureandexcitement，thattheyseemedalmostlikeyears。TherewasnolackofcheerfulnessonboardtheQuakerCity。Foronce，hertitlewasamisnomer。

Atsevenintheevening，withthewesternhorizonallgoldenfromthesunkensun，andspeckedwithdistantships，thefullmoonsailinghighoverhead，thedarkblueoftheseaunderfoot，andastrangesortoftwilightaffectedbyallthesedifferentlightsandcolorsaroundusandaboutus，wesightedsuperbStromboli。Withwhatmajestythemonarchheldhislonelystateabovethelevelsea！Distanceclothedhiminapurplegloom，andaddedaveilofshimmeringmistthatsosoftenedhisruggedfeaturesthatweseemedtoseehimthroughaawebofsilvergauze。Historchwasout;

hisfiresweresmoldering;atallcolumnofsmokethatroseupandlostitselfinthegrowingmoonlightwasallthesignhegavethathewasalivingAutocratoftheSeaandnotthespectreofadeadone。

AttwointhemorningwesweptthroughtheStraitsofMessina，andsobrightwasthemoonlightthatItalyontheonehandandSicilyontheotherseemedalmostasdistinctlyvisibleasthoughwelookedatthemfromthemiddleofastreetweweretraversing。ThecityofMessina，milk—white，andstarredandspangledalloverwithgaslights，wasafairyspectacle。

Agreatpartyofuswereondecksmokingandmakinganoise，andwaitingtoseefamousScyllaandCharybdis。AndpresentlytheOraclesteppedoutwithhiseternalspy—glassandsquaredhimselfonthedecklikeanotherColossusofRhodes。Itwasasurprisetoseehimabroadatsuchanhour。

NobodysupposedhecaredanythingaboutanoldfablelikethatofScyllaandCharybdis。Oneoftheboyssaid:

"Hello，doctor，whatareyoudoinguphereatthistimeofnight？——Whatdoyouwanttoseethisplacefor？"

"WhatdoIwanttoseethisplacefor？Youngman，littledoyouknowme，oryouwouldn\'tasksuchaquestion。Iwishtoseealltheplacesthat\'smentionedintheBible。"

"Stuff——thisplaceisn\'tmentionedintheBible。"

"Itain\'tmentionedintheBible！——thisplaceain\'t——wellnow，whatplaceisthis，sinceyouknowsomuchaboutit？"

"Whyit\'sScyllaandCharybdis。"

"ScyllaandCha——confoundit，IthoughtitwasSodomandGomorrah！"

Andhecloseduphisglassandwentbelow。Theaboveistheshipstory。

ItsplausibilityismarredalittlebythefactthattheOraclewasnotabiblicalstudent，anddidnotspendmuchofhistimeinstructinghimselfaboutScripturallocalities。——TheysaytheOraclecomplains，inthishotweather，lately，thattheonlybeverageintheshipthatispassable，isthebutter。Hedidnotmeanbutter，ofcourse，butinasmuchasthatarticleremainsinameltedstatenowsinceweareoutofice，itisfairtogivehimthecreditofgettingonelongwordintherightplace，anyhow，foronceinhislife。Hesaid，inRome，thatthePopewasanoble—lookingoldman，butheneverdidthinkmuchofhisIliad。

WespentonepleasantdayskirtingalongtheIslesofGreece。Theyareverymountainous。Theirprevailingtintsaregrayandbrown，approachingtored。Littlewhitevillagessurroundedbytrees，nestleinthevalleysorroostupontheloftyperpendicularsea—walls。

Wehadonefinesunset——arichcarmineflushthatsuffusedthewesternskyandcastaruddyglowfaroverthesea。——Finesunsetsseemtoberareinthispartoftheworld——oratleast，strikingones。Theyaresoft，sensuous，lovely——theyareexquisiterefined，effeminate，butwehaveseennosunsetshereyetlikethegorgeousconflagrationsthatflameinthetrackofthesinkingsuninourhighnorthernlatitudes。

Butwhatweresunsetstous，withthewildexcitementuponusofapproachingthemostrenownedofcities！Whatcaredweforoutwardvisions，whenAgamemnon，Achilles，andathousandotherheroesofthegreatPastweremarchinginghostlyprocessionthroughourfancies？Whatweresunsetstous，whowereabouttoliveandbreatheandwalkinactualAthens;yea，andgofardownintothedeadcenturiesandbidinpersonfortheslaves，DiogenesandPlato，inthepublicmarket—place，orgossipwiththeneighborsaboutthesiegeofTroyorthesplendiddeedsofMarathon？Wescornedtoconsidersunsets。

Wearrived，andenteredtheancientharborofthePiræusatlast。

Wedroppedanchorwithinhalfamileofthevillage。Awayoff，acrosstheundulatingPlainofAttica，couldbeseenalittlesquare—toppedhillwithasomethingonit，whichourglassessoondiscoveredtobetheruinededificesofthecitadeloftheAthenians，andmostprominentamongthemloomedthevenerableParthenon。Soexquisitelyclearandpureisthiswonderfulatmospherethateverycolumnofthenoblestructurewasdiscerniblethroughthetelescope，andeventhesmallerruinsaboutitassumedsomesemblanceofshape。Thisatadistanceoffiveorsixmiles。Inthevalley，neartheAcropolis，（thesquare—toppedhillbeforespokenof，）Athensitselfcouldbevaguelymadeoutwithanordinarylorgnette。Everybodywasanxioustogetashoreandvisittheseclassiclocalitiesasquicklyaspossible。Nolandwehadyetseenhadarousedsuchuniversalinterestamongthepassengers。