Martin de Alteriis, The Traveling Cartoonist:
"The Herculaneum"

As a schoolboy, I was fascinated by a black and white photograph in my Latin textbook. While the teacher regaled my class with tales of august emperors and angry Gods, I often turned to this photo, which depicted a two-story building with tiny windows on a straight, narrow street. The photo was labeled: "A Typical Roman Via (Herculaneum)."

Through those lessons and other reading, I developed a glorious vision of antiquity. Consequently, when I found myself on a dreary street in a seedy Neapolitan suburb twenty years later, I feared disappointment. "Where are the excavations?" I asked in faltering Italian, wondering if I was in the wrong place and worried the locals would consider me a fool. But they'd been asked that question all their lives, and politely pointed to a gate at the end of the street.

The Herculaneum is several miles from Pompeii. Unlike its more famous neighbor, it was not engulfed by the lava that flowed out of Vesuvius in 79 AD, but by a torrential mud slide that followed the eruption. Although Herculaneum is much smaller than Pompeii, it is better preserved, apparently because mud was less destructive than lava.

I entered the ruins by crossing an old aquaduct that now serves as a bridge. Herculanuem’s streets were quiet and tranquil in the midday heat. Slowly, I began to tread large, flat, stones over which Roman carts had once been hauled. Chunky curbs separated the high sidewalk from the deep road. Open doorways invited me into the cool villas. Gingerly, I tip-toed over the entrance halls, crept through the rooms, and snuck into placid courtyards. It was easy to imagine that the centurions, merchants, and servants were all enjoying a peaceful siesta.

Slowly and meticulously, I explored the villas. While their design and lay out were intriguing, I was even more fascinated by the decorations that remained on their walls and floors. My Latin teacher would have been pleased: I could identify many of the gods and heroes depicted in the frescos and mosaics.

Hercules, the city's mythical founder, dominates a fresco in what is now called the "Collegio degli Augustali." Neptune, the God of the Sea, has several manifestations. His bearded image can be found on fountains as well as mosaics; sometimes, he stands with his gold triton, and sometimes he reclines with the dolphins. Neptune's prominence is understandable because, in ancient times, the city was a port.

The excavations of Herculaeum began in the early eighteenth century. At that time, the Kings of Naples made the digs a hobby; and frequently brought honored guests for afternoons of treasure hunting. Progress was slow because the mud had hardened to rock; occasionally frustrated princes used explosives to hasten their progress. Since the nineteen thirties, however, the excavations have been professionally managed, and more ruins have been uncovered. Even so, at least a quarter of the town still lies buried under the modest homes of residents who adamantly refuse to move.

Despite the activities of the Neapolitan Kings, many buildings have survived. Thanks to their thick, sturdy walls, the public baths are among the best preserved. I paced the mosaic floors of the "tepidarium" (mild bath), gazed through a skylight, admired the stucco carvings of warriors in a corridor, passed into the "calidarium" (hot bath), descended a few steps into the basin, closed my eyes, and imagined steam rising off bubbling waters.

Besides private houses and public baths, Herculaneum has a variety of well preserved shops. At the cereal shop, clay urns were placed in stone counters. Measures of grain would be scooped from the urns, weighed on a scale and poured into shoppers' containers. At the wine store, terracotta jars were stacked in racks or propped against the walls. Some were slim and narrow, others were round and fat; I tried to picture servants lugging these jars home for their masters.

At one point, I became aware of an intense silence. There were no tour buses outside; no groups lumbering through the ruins. Instead there was a silence that seemed to stretch back centuries. It should only be broken, I thought, by a harpist in one of the atriums, or an Opera singer in the ampitheater.

Before leaving, I located the street depicted in my latin textbook. My guidebook told me it's the "IV Cardine," and the house I'd always been fascinated by is the "Casa del Tramezzo di Legno" (House of the wooden screen). I ran my hand over the facade, touching its curious little window and the marble around its front door. Stepping back, I noted that, just like in the photo, there were cypress trees in the slopes behind the house. For a moment, I almost heard my Latin teacher chiding my inattention to his lesson.

I began my transition back to the twentieth century. Slowly and respectfully, I left the site. Before going to the train station, I stopped in a bar just outside the main gate. While I sipped a Coke, the owner's entire family gathered to bid farewell to a twentysomething son who was leaving to perform his obligatory military service. Under the circumstances, it was easy to imagine he'd been called to join the legions.

Sidebar: Those staying in either Naples or Sorrento can tour Herculaneum in a morning or an afternoon. The easiest way to get there is by rail, using the Circumvesuviana line from either Naples' main station in Piazza Garibaldi, or from Sorrento. About 2-3 trains an hour make the journey to Ercolano (Herculaneum's modern name); it takes about approximately 15 minutes from Naples and approximately 45 minutes from Sorrento. The site is open between 9 am and sunset, every day of the week, and the entrance fee is the equivalent of about $15.