Volcanic inspiration: Mount Vesuvius in art

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Vesuvius: The Most Famous Volcano in the World

Gillian Darley

There are many volcanoes in the world – we have heard a great deal this year about ash clouds from Iceland – but Vesuvius is still the most famous volcano of them. In AD 79 it destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum within hours. It has continued to be active sporadically since then, with continuing loss of life, and over the centuries has become a symbol of the power of nature and the helplessness of humanity in its grasp. The suddenness with which life can be snatched away has always provided dramatic subject matter for artists and writers, and a puzzle for theologians and scientists.  And the geographical location of the volcano, serving as the dramatic backdrop to Naples and its beautiful coastline beyond, continues to draw the tourists today. Darley gives us the full history.

Both the Greeks and the Romans considered Vesuvius to be a sacred site, and its name may have come from Vesouuios, son of Ves (Zeus). Volcanic activity was generally attributed to the gods, though from early times there were some thinkers who considered scientific causes. Aristotle, Strabo and Pliny the Elder all considered the explanation that pressure beneath the earth created natural safety valves.

Vesuvius has an important place in human history, not least as the hiding place of Spartacus and his slave army.  But it was the destruction of Herculaneum and Pompeii in AD79, as told in the eye-witness account of Pliny the Younger, that has gripped people over the centuries. After that eruption, there were long periods of inactivity, during which the local population would be lulled into a false sense of security. But then it would suddenly burst into action again – for example in 1139 and 1500 – jolting people into the realization that it was still a dangerous force. Then in 1631 there was a major eruption, causing the first pyroclastic flow since AD79 and killing about 4,000 people. This prompted serious new observation and enquiry, and vast numbers of prints and paintings were produced (often showing the Virgin and protective saints looking down from the safety of clouds above).

From this period on, the British loom large in the history of Vesuvius-visiting. John Milton went in the 1630s, and John Evelyn in the 1640s. But the real heyday came a century later, when the aristocracy and gentry sent their sons on a Grand Tour of Europe to finish their education. These young men arrived with a knowledge of the classical world, so they saw landscapes through the eyes of ancient writers whose work they already knew.

By the 1750s there was a considerable British presence in Naples, and in the early 1760s Sir William Hamiltonarrived as the British Envoy, becoming both the unofficial leader of the British community and an obsessive volcanologist. His diplomatic duties were light and he was able to indulge his personal interests in art, antiquities and science. He was a welcoming host to Grand Tourists for several decades, infectingmany of them with his enthusiasm. His great publication Campi Phlegraei includes wonderful hand-coloured engravings after gouaches by Pietro Fabris. 

Nowadays Sir William Hamilton is best known for the antics of his mistress Emma, who became his second wife. But here, his all-too-neglected first wife, Catherine, is given her due. She hosted musical evenings, and this book includes the delightful (if rather poorly reproduced) painting of the couple by David Allan.

 For the Romantic poets and writers from Britain, Vesuvius was the epitome of the Sublime, an aesthetic appreciation – indeed delight – in elemental nature both beautiful and terrifying. It made a suitable and striking contrast to the icy Alps, which the travellers had crossed to reach Italy. But these Protestant visitors had nothing but contempt for the Neapolitans, with their many religious processions and rituals, with which they attempted to placate Vesuvius every time it started to rumble.

Painters provided gloriously colourful images. The Frenchman Pierre-Jacques Volaire was probably the most prolific, though Joseph Wright of Derby was in many ways the most interesting, for his images relate to the fiery depictions he made of forges and factories in the industrial revolution back home.  Vesuvius was also a great subject for theatre painters, and British audiences enjoyed the vogue for volcanic backdrops and lighting effects. 

By the 1830s, scientists had largely taken over from artists as principal observers and recorders of the scene. Construction of the Vesuvius Observatory began in 1841. The 1872 eruption was recorded on camera. But photography can lie as much as painting: when the great British scientist, Dr Henry Johnston-Lavis, took his photographs of the crater in 1884, he scattered debris on his negatives while they were being exposed in order to boost the dramatic effect.

The British tourist involvement with Vesuvius was modernized by Thomas Cook, whose first escorted tour to Rome and Naples was in the 1860s. By then the trip to Italy was largely by train, made even easier when the Mont Cenis tunnel opened in 1871. Cook broke the longstanding monopoly of the local guides, and developed a little empire of railway lines and buildings near Vesuvius to ease and enhance access to its slopes.    

A recent major eruption of Vesuvius came during the Second World War, in 1944. Allied forces fighting in the area at first thought that it might be the detonation of a huge bomb. Since then, the volcano has given only hints of what it can do. Disaster awaits, for the fertility of the soil has drawn people up the slopes again, and millions are now at risk.

Artistic interest in Vesuvius continues. Last year’s volcano exhibition at Compton Verney, accompanied by James Hamilton’s catalogue entitled Volcano: The Volcano in Western Art, a Brief Introduction, took us right up to the present day, via Andy Warhol to video.

Gilian Darley writes wonderfully. She organizes her material into an enthusiastic account, packing in a great deal of information without giving the reader any sense of overload. She lists and discusses her sources at the end of the book, which makes the publication an excellent all-round introduction to the subject. And she acknowledges that Vesuvius gets to people, confessing to ‘becoming increasingly Vesuvius-struck during the writing of this book’. 

This is a book for everyone. In May 2011 it was Radio 4’s  'Book of the week' – and well deserved too.