Daily Yellowstone Journal

THE EXCAVATIONS AT POMPEII.

Bringing to Light a Beautiful House—Discovery of a Skeleton.

It seems odd to speak of a dead city as a growing one. But that is exactly the case with Pompeii. There are many cities in Italy that do not grow half as fast as the one buried by the ashes of Vesuvius 1,800 years ago. A person visiting it at intervals of a year notices a marked enlargement of its boundaries. The Italians, you know, are the champion diggers. They make the shovel fly when they attack the grave of Pompeii. We saw a gang of them at work there. A government overseer watched them like a hawk. He wanted to be sure that they pocketed no jewelry, coins, or objects of art or utility yielded by the excavations. The only produce of their toil in that line as we stood by was a bit of iron, which the guide called a hinge, and the fragment of a small marble column. The spades busily plied were gradually bringing to light a beautiful house. The floors were mosaic, with simple but graceful designs in scroll pattern—nearly as fresh of color as if laid yesterday. The walls bore frescoes of fainter tints—grinning masks, fawns, cupids, birds, fish, and fruit. It had evidently been the home of a well-to-do citizen of Pompeii. The nervous movements of the workmen betrayed their anxiety. They were hoping at every moment to make a valuable "find." Perhaps they might hit upon a great iron chest, studded with round knobs like a boiler, and full of gold, money, or ornaments, or they might be startled by coming suddenly upon a skull or other human remains. In the latter event, the work is suspended till a careful inspection is made.

The responsible and intelligent person in charge proceeds to ascertain if the dead Pompeiian has left a mould of himself or herself in the plastic ashes. If so, he prepares a mixture of plaster of Paris, breaks a hole in the crust, and slowly pours in the liquid till the mould is full. When it has hardened, the casting is tenderly removed. Lo! there is a rough image, showing some poor creature in the agonies of death, prone on the floor, face downward.

Thus, most usually, were the inhabitants of the doomed city caught by the destroying angel. The skull, or leg, or arm, or whatever other part of the skeleton has not relapsed into its original dust, may attach itself to the plaster cast in the proper place, or may require to be joined on by a pardonable "restoration." In either case the effect is thrilling in its horrible reality. Nothing in painting or sculpture can shock the beholder more than these self-produced and truthful statues exhibited in the museum, which is the first and most interesting thing shown to visitors. But, though neither gold nor silver, nor the minutest scrap of a skeleton, nor anything else of importance was unearthed for my benefit, I quitted the new excavations with reluctance to examine those parts of Pompeii with which the world is already familiar through the medium of books and pictures. I found myself quite at home in the bakery, the wine shop, at the oil merchant's, at the houses of Pansa, of Sallust, of the "Tragic Poet," and the rest. The high stepping-stones across the streets looked familiar, as if I had trodden them before. The deep ruts cut by the carts as they groaned up the hill, coming from the ancient Stabia, were like friendly landmarks. So fully have art and literature made us acquainted with this disinterred city.

It may be true, as our guide insists, that the temples, forums, baths, theaters, and fine houses now above ground surpass anything of the kind that may hereafter be discovered at Pompeii. But the Italian government is not disposed to take that for granted. Liberal sums are yearly appropriated to push on the work. It bears fruit. A new temple or amphitheater may not be struck every year, but something is constantly being turned up to instruct the world in the manners and customs of the old Romans, so well reflected in the representative city of Pompeii. Of bronze or stone statues, household implements, and tools of trades, the yield is immense and steady. These may be counted by the thousand in the splendid museum at Naples. One can see so many articles of luxury and use exactly similar to those he buys nowadays, that he is fain to pause and try to remember what besides the steam engine, the photograph, and the electric telegraph we moderns have invented. There being no more room at Naples to store these treasures, the excess of them is huddled together in the court-yards and houses of Pompeii herself. It is estimated that at the present rate this mine of antiquities will not be worked out in fifty years.—Journal of Commerce.