INTRODUCTION
“The great aim of archaeology”, Philippe Diole suggests, is to restore the warmth and truth of life to dead objects. “ Nowhere can that aim be better realized than at Pompeii. The following description makes this evidently clear:
“As my eye adapted to the dark, a pitiful cluster of skeletons emerged from the wet volcanic ash at my feet. They seemed to have been huddled together. Maggi is convinced they were a household in flight: seven adults, four children, and a baby lying cradled beneath one of the adults. The most striking skeleton lay with head buried, as if sobbing into a pillow. “Rick Gore (visitor to Pompeii)
Numerous scenes, such as the one described above, have been uncovered at Pompeii’s excavation site. Many are gruesome, others are particularly moving. All are tragic. Through them we have been permitted an intimate glimpse into the ways of an earlier people and much knowledge and insight have been acquired. It is Vesuvius whom we must thank. With her pumice and ash she achieved the impossible, bringing time to a virtual standstill. Thus she preserved Pompeii and brought her safe and intact into the twentieth century. And then, in the minds and imaginations of many, she was brought to life again.
“Blow on a man’s embers and a live flame will start, “ said poet Robert Graves. How true his words would prove to be. For at Pompeii, “the breath of science coaxes flames of knowledge from bare bones”. As Rick Gore says, “the dead do indeed tell tales at Vesuvius”. Life and death seem suddenly to be on intimate terms.
As a result of archaeological discoveries, we are able to reconstruct, in almost perfect detail, exactly what everyday life must have been like in Pompeii before the eruption. No mirror of the past could possibly be more vivid than the reflection offered us by this city.
But what of the actual day of the eruption; an August day when that whole busy world was brought to such an abrupt stop? Can it too be reconstructed? We know that the eruption itself occurred in the early afternoon, but what were people doing before then and what happened afterwards? These questions, and many others, fascinate me. It is difficult to answer them with any absolute certainty as the information available on the subject is often lacking. I do not believe this should be a deterrent for we should still be permitted to contemplate and fantasize. That is what I have done through this project. Using my imagination and all the archaeological evidence I can find, I have given my own personal impression of what life was like on that final tragic day.
THE FINAL DAY
Dawn on 24 August AD 79 broke like any other day. As the sun began her ascent, Vesuvius and her surroundings gradually lit up. It was a typical August morning. The air was warm and luminous and the sky was clear. In the distance, the Bay of Naples was blue and glassy calm. August was a hot month and the countryside was dry and parched. However, it had not lost any of its striking beauty. Cyprus trees dotted the landscape and in them birds sang, while along one of the roads in the area, a lone traveler covered the last stretch of his journey. His destination was Pompeii. A mule walked rhythmically beside him and as its hooves struck the dry path, puffs of dust rose into the air. Vesuvius looked down onto the scene, her imposing presence dominating all that was around her. Clothes in green olive groves and vineyards, she looked as majestic and noble as ever and the whole atmosphere instilled a feeling of peace. In fact, however, nothing could have been further from the truth.
For, beneath Vesuvius, huge violent forces were at work. Below her was a cavity, melted out of the hard rock. In it was a seething, bubbling mass of scorching, molten magma mixed with poisonous gases. Thousands of years before, this magma had been formed deep under the ground by the extreme heat of the earth’s interior and there it had been confined. Then, in an attempt at freedom, it had gradually melted its way upwards towards the earth’s surface. Not it was almost there. With great surges of energy, the gasses in the magma strained against the sides of the cavity in a frenzied attempt to blast open a vent in the mountain through which it could escape. Vesuvius strained under the tremendous pressure but continued to hold out. Occasionally the forces became so strong that the whole countryside trembled. It would only be a matter of time.
Blissfully unaware of Vesuvius’ agony, the slumbering town of Pompeii was on the verge of awakening. Along her narrow and almost deserted roads, a small band of sleepy-eyed clients made their way to their patron’s residence. In the patricians’ houses, slaves had already been up for hours, sweeping, dusting and polishing. Bedrooms were also alive with activity as maids groomed their ladies using combs, hairpins, mirrors and perfumes. Then, after the hair had been coiffured into elaborate styles, make up was applied – chalk and white lead to the skin, rouge to the lips and cheeks and black ash to eyelids and plucked eyebrows. The men of the houses had also awoken. A brisk wash with cold water, a simple attire and a hastily eaten light breakfast and they were ready to face the day. Then they went out to meet their clients who were waiting patiently.
Along the streets, the shopkeepers began to open their shops, preparing themselves for morning customers. Vendors, meanwhile, set up their make shirt stands and arranged their wares as always. There was nothing unusual about this day. It seemed destined to be like any other.
It is true that for several days now, mild earth tremors had been felt in the region, but in this zone they were not at all unusual. Besides, in comparison with the disastrous earthquake of 17 years earlier, they seemed slight and insignificant. The fact that the wells in the countryside had suddenly dried up was not a cause for concern. August was a hot and dry month and there was nothing rare about dry wells at that time of the year. It was to be expected and there was no shortage of water as an aquaduct from the mountains continued to supply it. Thus life went on as it always did.
Pompeii was in one of her gayest moods. It was the anniversary of the long dead Emperor Augustus and a festival celebrating this occasion had been in progress for days. Schools had been closed and, as part of the festivities, a series of plays was being held in the Theatre. Mornings were reserved for rehearsals. The festival attracted many to the city and as the morning progressed and the heat mounted, the roads leading to Pompeii began to stream with summer vacationers and peasants who had come to see the sights. Also present were numerous carts and other horse driven conveyances, each carrying commercial wares towards the city. One such cart was packed with fish, freshly caught near the Sarnus River mouth early that morning. Another contained olives and grapes, produced on a farm in the region.
Outside all the major gates of the city were lines of hawkers and vendors making the most of the good business. On sale were coral charms for potency, grapes, melons, glass trinkets, sulphur matches, sandals and shoes, votive images and numerous other items. Many of the produce carrying vehicles that arrived at the gates were too large to enter the narrow streets of the city. They were stopped outside and immediately a band of slaves set to work, unloading and transferring the cargo to smaller two wheeled carts and, in that form, it was delivered to its destination. The streets of Pompeii itself was bustling with activity. They were crammed with carts, litters, workmen, pedlars and citizens of every kind. All the shops had been open for hours and were displaying their wares while snack bars sold edible delicacies and hot drinks. Other shops selling grain, fruit and cloth also served customers. In one of the food shops, meat and poultry were suspended from the bar over the entrance and large earthenware pots, built into the counter of the shop, contained a variety of foodstuffs.
Along many pavements, street musicians played their instruments and the music they made, coupled with shouts of encouragement from passing pedestrians all added to the din and bustle.
In one of the streets, nestled between two shops, was a religious shrine. Above it were paintings of the Gods to whom it was dedicated and as people walked past, they offered sacrifices on a small altar. At the corner of the street, at one of the public fountains, poor women collected water in jugs while, nearby, a group of young boys waged mock gladiator fights.
In one of the many bakeries in Pompeii, an ass, its eyes covered by blinkers, plodded in endless circles as it turned a stone mill to grind flour. Braying in protest against its harness, it flicked away flies with its tail. In another room a baker kneaded dough into round loaves which he transferred into a hot oven. That the bread would turn out a success was assured – the phallic emblem over the oven would protect it.
Meanwhile, in all the small workshops, activity was at its morning peak. In cloth factories, women were weaving wool into material at the loom while fullers were busy at their vats, treating the cloth in solutions of pot ash, fuller’s earth and human urine, treading it under foot and finally stretching, brushing and trimming it into shape. Elsewhere mosaicists were busy with their tesserae – pieces of glazed stone and glass. Carpenters were hammering, sawing and shaping their wood with lathes. Marble workers were cutting and polishing polychrome marble and alabaster, while a tinker repaired a broken pot in his forge. A plumber plugged a leaking pipe and a wheelwright fixed a buckled rim.
The forum, busy as usual, was jammed with people who had come to do their chores or socialize. Ladies passed in litters borne by slaves or, if on foot, were protected from the sun by green parasols carried by their maids. Pedlars moved about bawling out the good value of their wares and next to one of the buildings, a professional scribe mounted a ladder to write a public notice on the wall. Along all the walls were numerous other written notices from past times. Games at the amphitheatre, forthcoming elections and theatrical plays were all advertised and graffiti had also been written, in a variety of scrawls, by ordinary citizens recording lost property and accommodation to let, amongst other things. There were also love messages, crude jokes and witty remarks galore.
Towering high above the scene rose the forum’s colonnades. Supported by columns of white marble, they surrounded the forum on three sides, giving it a characteristic narrow, oblong appearance. Below the colonnades, in their shadow, citizens mingled, enjoying relief from the heat, and hawkers set up their stands.
At every open entrance to the forum’s enclosure, rows of upright stones served as effective barriers to vehicles. Thus citizens walked without fear of being run over.
In the open part of the forum stood numerous statues of famous Romans and notable citizens. Among them a marble statue of a Roman senator on horseback glinted in the sunlight. Against it idlers lounged. Dead emperors looked down on them with fixed, lifeless stares.
Surrounding the statues stood temples dedicated to Apollo, Jupiter, Emperor Vespasianus and the city’s guardian spirits. These splendid buildings all added to the forum’s impressive façade.
The Basilica was empty because the law courts were closed during the festivities, but at its steps, gossip-mongers continued to gather. Other of the city’s buildings, including the town hall, treasury and the offices of chief magistrates were also closed.
In the north-eastern corner of the forum was the provision market. Its auction rooms were empty but butchers’ stalls, grocery and fruit shops were sill in operation. In the middle of the market’s porticoed space stood a twelve sided, domed building – the fish market. Inside the fishmonger gutted fish while, nearby, his helper prepared the first stages of his garnus sauce. First he mixed the entrails of sardines with finely chopped portions of fish, roe and eggs, then he pounded, crushed and stirred it into a homogeneous pulp.
Meanwhile, the men’s section of the forum’s baths had opened and assistants aided early comers to undress. Men lay down on marble slabs while slaves rubbed them down with oil scraping away impurities using blunt edged strigils. Nearby masseurs were hard at work, massaging skin and muscles. In the palaestra, naked men exercised in the sun, throwing balls, wrestling or fencing with wooden swords. All over, friends greeted one another with delighted shouts. The din was tremendous. In the caldarium, men sat or wallowed in steaming water while next door, in the frigidarium, a boy plunged into the circular bath of cold water. Nearby, a group of young bloods laughed over the latest amatory drawings on the white plastered walls.
As the morning lengthened, lunchtime approached. In patrician houses the slaves were busy in the shaded dining rooms, setting tables for the light luncheon that Romans preferred. The streets and forum gradually quietened as people left for their residences and the food that awaited them.
The inns and taverns around the city began to fill up. People from all the lower walks of the community gathered there to eat, drink, gamble and flirt with the slave girls who acted as waitresses. In rooms above the inns, ladies of easy virtue entertained their clients. The mood was festive and jolly.
Meanwhile the tinker had finished repairing his pot and was admiring his work. Elsewhere a man bit hungrily into a freshly baked roll. Suddenly, without warning, a violent crack split the air. The earth heaved and shook. Buildings swayed; tables collapsed and food spewed over the floors; statues and pillars toppled. The yellow sunlight turned abruptly to a grey overcast. Deafening roars reverberated around the countryside as people rushed, panic-stricken, into the street. Children wailed hysterically. Women screamed in terror. It was the seventh hour; the holocaust had begun.
The pressure of Vesuvius had reached climatic heights, so much so, that she had been unable to hold out. With an agonized, shattering, bull-like roar, she had exploded. Gases rushed through opened vents like water through a pipe. The newly formed crater vomited red hot boulders. Then followed a continuous rushing upward blast of friction pounded stones, cinders, ash and pumice. (1) Hurled into the air, the debris billowed into a gigantic mushroom shaped cloud which blocked the light of the sun. The world was plunged into darkness.
Then, overcome by its immense weight, the cloud scattered and opened up into branches which plummeted earthwards.
Next, the crater belched forth torrents of scorching steam which condensed and, combined with sea spray in the air, produced downpours which churned up the lava surface into a boiling mass of mud. This formed a torrid, treacly river which poured down the mountain into the countryside below. Meanwhile, showers of pumice were falling over Pompeii and red-hot, they burned or pitted everything they touched. Blackened stones and cinders, charred and cracked by the intense heat of the volcano, also rained down. Then came blankets of hot, suffocating ash and lethal gases.
Total chaos prevailed as hundreds of people rushed in the direction of the city gates and the open countryside beyond. Others hid in their houses, hoping that they would be safe, only to find that they were trapped. A few tried to save their precious belongings and paid for them with their lives while others frantically unharnessed horses and mules from carts and mounted them. All along the streets people collapsed under hails of pumice and were trampled in the darkness. The stench of sulphur permeated the air while ash clogged nostrils and mouths. A man fell to his knees and with his hands clasped over his face, choked to death. Nearby, a father lifted himself onto an arm and attempted to crawl towards his children but by the time he reached them, they had been consumed under a blanket of hot ash. All around pillars and masonry crashed to the ground.
In a certain house in Pompeii, the house of Euphebe, a man strained under the weight of his favourite statue as he frantically moved it from the garden to the atrium. There he covered it, protectively, in cloth. He died doing so.
Not far away, in the house of Cryptoporticus, a mother, with her tiny daughter in her arms, took refuge in an underground room. When it became unbearably hot, she squeezed through a skylight into the garden. There she was struck down, her child pinned underneath her.
Outside the house of Sallust, a mistress and her three maids fled for their lives, clutching jewellery, money and a silver mirror. As the mistress collapsed in a crumpled heap, the belongings she carried flew in all directions.
Meanwhile, in the house of Menander, slaves discovered that the front door was jammed. Realising that the roof was their only chance of escape, they charged for the stairs but ten died before they could reach them. The lone survivor made it to the second storey only to realize it was a death-trap. Desperate and panic stricken, he struck at a wall with a hammer in a frenzied attempt to break through but it was to no avail and eventually, he collapsed with exhaustion and death overtook him.
At a tavern, gladiators abandoned their drinks and fled for the gates, leaving their trumpets behind. They were more fortunate than over sixty of their colleagues who died in the gladiators’ barracks. Nearby, a man mounted a horse, already laden with clothes, food and valuables. With a pitiful scream, the horse toppled. Neither it, nor its rider ever rose again.
In a villa, just outside Pompeii, thirty four occupants took refuge in an underground vault. By taking bread, food and a goat with them, they prepared themselves for a long stay. And a long stay it was. For over 19 centuries passed before they emerged.
In one of the rooms of Publoius Paquius Proculus, seven children cowered in terror as the ceiling above them creaked and groaned under a tremendous strain. Suddenly it gave way and with a resounding roar, came down to meet them.
The Temple of Isis also began to collapse and priests grabbed priceless temple treasures and fled for safety. One fell at the corner of Via dell ‘ Abbondanza while the others managed to reach the triangular forum. There they were obliterated by crashing columns and their costly emblems scattered.
Nearby, in the house of Vesonius Primus, howls of agony and terror reverberated from wall to wall, as a dog struggled desperately against a chain. Through a hole in the ceiling, thick, hot ash showered into the room and piled up. Eventually, contorted in a grotesque position, the animal came to rest and was still.
In the southern part of the city, thousands of screaming, jostling people crammed through the gates and made their way towards the coast. Escape by sea was their only chance of survival. It was pitch black. Occasionally writhing, snake-like flashes of electricity darted across the sky, lighting the way, but only for seconds at a time. People collapsed like flies but many managed to struggle to their feet again and with desperate courage, they stumbled on, fighting exhaustion all the way …..
Hours had passed since the first violent crack had shattered the peace. Ash continued to rain down onto Pompeii in unrelenting showers but the terrified screams that had coursed through her were now silent. The frantic cries for help had ended. The hysterical crowds that had rushed, panic stricken, in all directions had disappeared. Even the bodies that had strewn the streets were no longer visible but covered under blankets of ash. No one stirred. Nothing moved. Pompeii was dead.
EPILOGUE
Daylight returned two days later. Only then was the shocking extent of the destruction revealed – the great cone of Vesuvius, that had stood so proud, was now a ragged stump. The countryside, once lush and green, and dotted with towns, farms and magnificent villas was a grey barren wilderness of ash. A deathly quiet hung over the land like a shroud. Where Pompeii had stood, only the tops of tall buildings and pillars emerged.
As the weeks passed, pathetic groups of survivors crept back to the site in search of the bodies of their loved ones and their lost possessions. They burrowed in the ash but it was to no avail. Eventually they went away to mourn.
Gradually, over the years, a new level of soil built up. The protruding ruins collapsed and Pompeii totally disappeared from sight. Slowly she was erased from human memory. The writings concerning her were lost or destroyed. Even her name was forgotten. It was as if the lost city of Vesuvius had never been.
