A Yankee Engineer Abroad

The wide prospect broke upon us with the suddenness of a revelation. It was as if a vast curtain had rolled away. We seemed to have alighted, rather than to have ascended, and to be looking for the first time upon a new-found world. The entire island of Sicily, the Straits of Messina, a large portion of the Calabrian coast, and a wide expanse of the clear Mediterranean make up the features of the gigantic panorama. So imposing is the picture, that the mind as well as the eye must repose a moment before it can descend to particulars. It is not easy at first to realize that long extents of coast and wide stretches of sea can occupy so narrow a space in the view. The details come out by degrees with the brightening light. That little cluster of specks down yonder in the distance is the city of Catania, so memorable for its sufferings from the fires and throes of Etna. Farther on, among those curving lines of shore, is the ancient Syracuse, the city of the tyrant Dionysius and of the philosopher Archimedes. St. Paul landed there on his way to Rome, and thence he “fetched a compass and came to Rhegium,” yon little town, just visible on the other side of the straits. Those fading outlines in the north and east are the giant Apennine chains of southern Italy. ...The first striking phenomenon in a sunrise on Mount Etna is the appearance of its shadow projected upon the plain of the island. Simple and necessary as this shadow is, I was not prepared for its peculiar effect in the landscape. The mountain being a perfect cone, unconnected with any other range, its representation possesses a remarkable regularity. It appeared first at the instant of the emergence of the sun: photographed upon the opposite sky, a dark distinct copy of the mountain we stood upon. This effect was for an instant only; then the rising sun threw down the shadow upon the Sicilian plain – broad, clear, and perfect, reaching out to the west full a hundred miles – a triangle of darkness in the midst of surrounding light. The length shortens rapidly as the sun ascends, and the edges become still more sharply defined, but the perfectly triangular form is preserved, the actual irregularities being quite imperceptible from the distance. Speaking of being alone — in Italy, this is scarcely possible. What a world of polite, disinterested attention the traveller does receive, to be sure! He cannot go out into the streets, nor even into the lanes and byways, without becoming the centre of attraction and the object of many little delicate and pointed attentions. A very large class of the community has nothing else in the world to do than to look out for a stranger and to press themselves thus gently upon his notice. So many dirty caps are pulled-off in his honour, with a lowly bow and a “long life” to his eccellenza! And so many dirtier hands are extended (always with hollow palms upward) in warm and affectionate greeting! If he turns his back upon these somewhat too-pressing attentions and enters his hotel, the scene is moderately changed in outline, but the main features are the same. The master of the mansion greets him with the lowest possible of inclinations, and the throng of waiters and idlers raise their caps in the most servile humility, contending who shall be most forward to do him reverence. And then, when he takes his departure, after having settled his “little bill” – of not more than twice or, at the very farthest, three or four times its proper amount – how cheering, how beautiful are the distinterested farewells of these same affectionate friends. The garçon slides up with a grin and a twist. “He is the garçon, Sir, and wishes you bon voyage.” The cameriere, too, breathes a fervent felicissimo viaggio, hat-in-hand. The stout facchinos, who have relieved each other in bringing down the carpet-bag, stand grouped about with the most winning smiles. Neither is “boots” absent on this occasion, nor the portier and numberless others; the nameless hangers-on of the establishment are seen hurrying up in the perspective, eager to be in at the departure. No, no! One is never alone in Italy – nor at a loss as to what to do with his superfluous change.