In the years after the eruption, when some of the Pompeii’s buildings were still visible,
scavengers burrowed into the rubble to recover valuables.
But by the time the ash and pumice ripened into soil, and a new generation of settlements
sprouted over the ruins, all knowledge of the city’s location had been lost.
An irrigation channel was dug through the site in 1592, turning up inscriptions that
at least one scholar connected with Pompeii.
Yet despite his insight, and despite other discoveries, Pompeii was only identified in
the mid-eighteenth century, when the first excavations began.
After a slow start, a grand aristocratic villa came to light, followed by a monumental theater
and a temple glowing with frescoes.
Gradually, inexorably, Pompeii became famous.
From the beginning, the bodies found among the ruins were part of the site’s mystique.
Early descriptions were often fanciful.
Four skeletons lying beside iron shackles, for example, were interpreted as the remains
of prisoners left chained in their cell.
A jewelry-draped woman found in the gladiator barracks was described as a wealthy matron
caught in the act of visiting her gladiator lover.
A skeleton discovered near one of the city gates was enthusiastically misinterpreted
as a soldier who had remained at his post, spear in hand, through the horrors of the
eruption.
The best-known of all the victims discovered in the early days of the excavation at Pompeii
came to light in the Villa of Diomedes, a lavish aristocratic residence just outside
the city walls.
Here, the bones of twenty people were found in a subterranean wine cellar, lying where
they fell when the pyroclastic surge came howling through the skylights.
As they began to clear the skeletons, the excavators noticed that exact impressions
of the victims’ long-vanished clothes and flesh had been imprinted in the volcanic debris.
One young woman had left an almost perfect image, down to the features of her face and
folds of her tunic.
Although the diggers shattered this mold as they tried to remove it, they managed to save
a few pieces, including the impression of one breast.
This became a highlight of the site museum, and eventually inspired an eccentric French
novel.
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The sensational finds in the House of Diomedes, where the faces of the dead were impressed
in the ash, were the first of many.
As more of Pompeii was cleared, the excavators noticed that many skeletons were found in
body-shaped hollows.
These, they realized, had been made when the ash of the pyroclastic surge hardened around
clothing and flesh.
In 1863, the director of the excavations had the idea of filling these hollows with plaster
of Paris and glue, creating a haunting mirror image.
This was the origin of the famous plaster casts, which convey, more powerfully than
any description, the anguished final moments of the victims of Vesuvius.
In striking contrast to Pompeii, Herculaneum seemed almost devoid of human remains.
Then, in 1980, workers digging a drainage trench uncovered a jumbled heap of skeletons
along the city’s ancient seafront.
Further investigation revealed several hundred bodies crowded into a series of small boathouses
and scattered over what had been a narrow beach.
Like the vast majority of the dead found in Pompeii, the victims crowded along the seafront
of Herculaneum had been caught by the pyroclastic surge, their lungs seared by burning ash,
their bodies blackened by fourth-degree burns.
Forensic analysis of the skeletons revealed some interesting facts: the people of Herculaneum
ate quite a bit of fish, were mostly free of lead poisoning, and were – on average
– slightly taller than the modern inhabitants of Naples.
Beyond such details, these bodies found at Herculaneum and Pompeii humanize the eruption
and the world it destroyed.
Take, for example, the very first group of plaster casts made in Pompeii, a family of
four.
The father was carrying the house keys, a few pieces of golden jewelry, and about 400
sestertii of coins – probably the family savings.
The mother held a bag with more valuables – a mirror, some silverware, a figurine
made of amber.
Their two young daughters had their hands free as they scrambled with their parents
over the heaped debris.
The pyroclastic surge caught them all in street near the forum.
A rich man, carrying a fortune in gold and silver coins.
A slave, iron shackles on his ankles.
A doctor, his box of instruments beside him.
A soldier, sword and dagger at his belt.
A boy, sick in bed.
All victims of the same disaster, all participants in the same tantalizingly familiar world.
To date, about 1,150 bodies have been found in Pompeii, and 350 in Herculaneum.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, are still buried.
Roughly a quarter of Pompeii and three quarters of Herculaneum remain unexcavated, along with
dozens of villas and small settlements.
Many more victims must lie along the ancient roads, caught in mid-flight.
Last year, on a humid July morning, I walked up to the summit of Vesuvius.
With the exception of a few silently steaming fumaroles, all was stillness in the crater.
Below, the glittering arc of the bay swept toward the tower blocks of Naples.
After a few minutes of squinting, I was able to pick out the site of Pompeii, all but submerged
beneath a choppy sea of modern development.
The same sprawl has crept to the very foot of the volcano, awaiting the next eruption.
But for now, the mountain is as quiet as the landscape in a Roman fresco, just as it was
until that crisp October afternoon, nineteen centuries ago, when it destroyed Pompeii.
I hope you enjoyed this video and the rest of my Pompeii series.
Please consider supporting toldinstone on Patreon.
You might also be interested in my book, Naked Statues, Fat Gladiators, and War Elephants.
Thanks for watching.