DOI chapter:
Chapter I: Naples
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.59000#0028
Naples
does the luxuriant growth of the South clothe the summit
with the vineyards of long ago, when gardens crept up to
the very mouth of the crater, when mossy grass encircled
it as with a velvet belt, and the rose-coloured homes
of the inhabitants clustered round its knees as closely as
they had clustered in the thoughtless days of Pompeiian
splendour. The molten lava upon its sides has taken
weird and fantastic shapes, which have been likened to a
confused mass of fallen horses and riders contorted upon
a field of battle. One hardy flower still lingers there-
“ La qual null’ altro allegra arbor ne fiore
Tuoi cespi solitari in torno spargi,
Odorata ginestra.”1
So wrote the greatest of Italy’s nineteenth-century poets
before the snowy cloud above the mountain had again
darkened to blood-red, and before again its fiery tongue
had licked away the persistent trace of vegetation. Well
may the sleep of Vesuvius be likened to “some great
trance, the ages coming and going all the while.”
The eruption of 1631 produced much Neapolitan
literature, poetical and scientific. The following is a
free translation of one of the three somewhat over-
wrought poems on Vesuvius which were written at that
time by Gian Battista Basile, author of the Pentamerone,
whose works are now very rare :—
“ With strenuous throb of fire and mighty aim,
The earth is furrowed as by a monstrous plough ;
1 “ Where no other laughing tree or flower
Encircles thy lonely growth,
Perfumed genet.”
3
does the luxuriant growth of the South clothe the summit
with the vineyards of long ago, when gardens crept up to
the very mouth of the crater, when mossy grass encircled
it as with a velvet belt, and the rose-coloured homes
of the inhabitants clustered round its knees as closely as
they had clustered in the thoughtless days of Pompeiian
splendour. The molten lava upon its sides has taken
weird and fantastic shapes, which have been likened to a
confused mass of fallen horses and riders contorted upon
a field of battle. One hardy flower still lingers there-
“ La qual null’ altro allegra arbor ne fiore
Tuoi cespi solitari in torno spargi,
Odorata ginestra.”1
So wrote the greatest of Italy’s nineteenth-century poets
before the snowy cloud above the mountain had again
darkened to blood-red, and before again its fiery tongue
had licked away the persistent trace of vegetation. Well
may the sleep of Vesuvius be likened to “some great
trance, the ages coming and going all the while.”
The eruption of 1631 produced much Neapolitan
literature, poetical and scientific. The following is a
free translation of one of the three somewhat over-
wrought poems on Vesuvius which were written at that
time by Gian Battista Basile, author of the Pentamerone,
whose works are now very rare :—
“ With strenuous throb of fire and mighty aim,
The earth is furrowed as by a monstrous plough ;
1 “ Where no other laughing tree or flower
Encircles thy lonely growth,
Perfumed genet.”
3