The last days of Pompeii

*c*iceT7y\
LMAKY ]

CAUFORNfA J

/TAKE

wm<MM

fflsmmEwM

:Wffi©REN,

FR<

i5R©M3TKIE

.OmiMNEX

j&~

SIR.*PHIUP'SIDNEY

JMB&T DAYS
S^POMPEII^Sr

LYTTON@art

LONDON &.TORONTO
PUBLISHED BYJ M DENT
&.SONS DP &.IN NEWYORK
BYEPDUTTON&CO

^p:

UGS

K~J I I

First Issue of this EditiOxV
Reprinted

March 1906

June 1906; April 1908

/«/y 19 10; September 1912;

August 19 14; September 19 18

/«Zy 1920

Al ii

EDITOR'S NOTE

"The Last Days of Pompeii,'' Lytton's most famous novel
has, with three or four others, fully sustained its fame on to our
own day. In it his idea of historical romance, that is, romance
interwoven in actual history (as stated in his preface to
"Harold") is worked out with great particularity. It is
antiquity made vivacious and all but modern. Three character-
istic books by the author, " Eugene Aram," " Godolphin," and
"The Pilgrims of the Rhine" had appeared in 1832 and 1833.
In the following year, after a stay in Rome and Naples, where
it was chiefly written, " The Last Days of Pompeii " was
published, a book which, in the words of his biographer, "in-
volved society in the raptures of an immense sensation." This
was the first of his Italian novels, to be followed by " Rienzi."
One critic has remarked on "the sound archaeology of ' The Last
Days of Pompeii,'" so that visitors assume, as a matter of
course, the genuine identity of the houses of Diomed and
Glaucus, and give themselves up to the received illusion when
the guide points out the rich form of Julia impressed on the
lava walls of the cellar where she had sought refuge." How-
ever, Lytton's story does not live by its antiquarian knowledge,
less satisfying to-day than at the time of its writing, but by his
verve and resource as a novel-writer. It is worth note that a
disastrous eruption of Mount Vesuvius was taking place when
the book appeared, Naples itself narrowly escaping destruction.

The following is a list of Lord Lytton's works : —

Ismael, and other Poems, 1820 ; Delmour, or the Tale of a Sylphid,
and other Poems, 1823 ; Sculpture (Cambridge Prize Poem), 1825 ;
Weeds and Wild Flowers (Poems, etc.), privately printed, 1825;

8 Editor's Note

O'Neil, or the Rebel (Poem), 1827 ; Falkland, 1827 ; Pelham, 1828 ;
The Disowned, 1829 ; Devereux, 1829 ; Paul Clifford, 1830 ; Eugene
Aram, 1832 ; Godolphin, 1833 ; England and the English, 1833 ; Pil-
grims of the Rhine, 1834 ; The Last Days of Pompeii, 1834 ; The
Student ; Essays ("New Monthly "), 1835 5 Kienzi, 1835 ; The Duchesse
de la Valliere (Drama), 1836; The Sea-Captain, or the Birthright,
1837 ; Athens, its Rise and Fall, etc., 1837 ; Ernest Maltravers, 1837 ;
Alice, or the Mysteries, 1838 ; Leila, or the Siege of Granada, 1838 ;
Calderon the Courtier, 1838 ; The Lady of Lyons (Drama), 1838 ;
Richelieu (Drama), 1838 ; Money (Drama), 1840 ; Night and Morning,

1841 ; Zanoni, 1842 (first sketch, "Zicci," in "Monthly Chronicle,"
1 841) ; Eva, the Ill-omened Marriage, with other Tales and Poems,

1842 ; The Last of the Barons, 1843 ; Poems and Ballads (from German
of Schiller), 1844; Confessions of a Water Patient, 1845; The New
Timon (Poem), 1845, 1847 ; Lucretia, or the Children of the Night,
1846 ; A Word to the Public, 1847 ; Harold, or the last of the Saxon
Kings, 1848 ; King Arthur (Poem), 1848-9 ; The Caxtons, 1850
(first published in "Blackwood") ; Not so bad as we seem (Drama),
1851 ; My Novel, 1853 (first published in "Blackwood"); What will
he do with it? 1858 (first published in " Blackwood") ; St. Stephen's
(Poem), i860 ; A Strange Story, 1862 (first published in "All the Year
Round"); Caxtoniana (Essays), 1863; The Boatman (Poem), 1864
(from "Blackwood"); The Lost Tales of Miletus (Poems), 1866;
Walpole, or Every Man has his Price, 1869 ; Odes and Epodes of
Horace (Translated), 1869 ; The Coming Race, 1873 (first published in
"Blackwood"); Kenelm Chillingly, 1873; The Parisians, 1873 (first
published in "Blackwood").

Occasional Writings : — Letter to a Cabinet Minister on the Present
Crisis, 1834 ; Letter to John Bull, Esq., 1851 ; A Lecture : "Outlines
of the Early History of the East, etc.," 1852; Inaugural Address at
Edinburgh, 1854.

Posthumous Publications : — Speeches and other Political Writings,
1874; Pausanias the Spartan (unfinished), 1876.

THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII

BOOK I

" Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere ; et
Quern fors dierum cunque dabit, lucro
Appone ; nee dulces amores

Sperne, puer, neque tu choreas." — Hor. lib. I. Od. ix.

CHAPTER I

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF POMPEII

" Ho, Diomed, well met ! Do you sup with Glaucus
to-night ? " said a young man of small stature, who wore his
tunic in those loose and effeminate folds which proved him
to be a gentleman and a coxcomb.

" Alas, no ! dear Clodius ; he has not invited me," replied
Diomed, a man of portly frame and of middle age. " By
Pollux, a scurvy trick ! for they say his suppers are the best
in Pompeii."

" Pretty well — though there is never enough of wine for
me. It is not the old Greek blood that flows in his veins,
for he pretends that wine makes him dull the next morning."

"There may be another reason for that thrift," said
Diomed, raising his brows. "With all his conceit and
extravagance he is not so rich, I fancy, as he affects to
be, and perhaps loves to save his amphorae better than his
wit."

"An additional reason for supping with him while the
sesterces last. Next year, Diomed, we must find another
Glaucus."

" He is fond of the dice, too, I hear."

" He is fond of every pleasure ; and while he likes the
pleasure of giving suppers, we are all fond of him."

" Ha, ha, Clodius, that is well said ! Have you ever seen
my wine-cellars, by-the-by ? "

" I think not, my good Diomed."

io The Last Days of Pompeii

" Well, you must sup with me some evening ; I have
tolerable muraenae1 in my reservoir, and I will ask Pansa
the sedile to meet you."

" O, no state with me ! — Persicos odi apparatus, I am
easily contented. Well, the day wanes ; I am for the baths
— and you "

"To the quaestor — business of state — afterwards to the
temple of Isis. Vale ! "

"An ostentatious, bustling, ill-bred fellow," muttered
Clodius to himself, as he sauntered slowly away. "He
thinks with his feasts and his wine-cellars to make us forget
that he is the son of a freedman ; — and so we will, when we
do him the honour of winning his money ; these rich plebeians
are a harvest for us spendthrift nobles."

Thus soliloquising, Clodius arrived in the Via Domitiana,
which was crowded with passengers and chariots, and
exhibited all that gay and animated exuberance of life
and motion which we find at this day in the streets of
Naples.

The bells of the cars as they rapidly glided by each other
jingled merrily on the ear, and Clodius with smiles or nods
claimed familiar acquaintance with whatever equipage was
most elegant or fantastic : in fact, no idler was better known
in Pompeii.

" What, Clodius ! and how have you slept on your good
fortune ? " cried, in a pleasant and musical voice, a young
man, in a chariot of the most fastidious and graceful fashion.
Upon its surface of bronze were elaborately wrought, in the
still exquisite workmanship of Greece, reliefs of the Olympian
games ; the two horses that drew the car were of the rarest
breed of Parthia ; their slender limbs seemed to disdain the
ground and court the air, and yet at the slightest touch of
the charioteer, who stood behind the young owner of the
equipage, they paused motionless, as if suddenly transformed
into stone — lifeless, but lifelike, as one of the breathing
wonders of Praxiteles. The owner himself was of that
slender and beautiful symmetry from which the sculptors
of Athens drew their models ; his Grecian origin betrayed
itself in his light but clustering locks, and the perfect
harmony of his features. He wore no toga, which in the
time of the emperors had indeed ceased to be the general
distinction of the Romans, and was especially ridiculed by
1 Murance — lampreys.

The Two Gentlemen of Pompeii n

the pretenders to fashion ; but his tunic glowed in the richest
hues of the Tyrian dye, and the fibulae, or buckles, by
which it was fastened, sparkled with emeralds : around his
neck was a chain of gold, which in the middle of his breast
twisted itself into the form of a serpent's head, from the
mouth of which hung pendent a large signet ring of
elaborate and most exquisite workmanship ; the sleeves of
the tunic were loose, and fringed at the hand with gold : and
across the waist a girdle wrought in arabesque designs, and
of the same material as the fringe, served in lieu of pockets
for the receptacle of the handkerchief and the purse, the
stilus and the tablets.

" My dear Glaucus ! " said Clodius, " I rejoice to see that
your losses have so little affected your mien. Why, you
seem as if you had been inspired by Apollo, and your face
shines with happiness like a glory ; any one might take
you for the winner, and me for the loser."

" And what is there in the loss or gain of those dull pieces
of metal that should change our spirit, my Clodius ? By
Venus, while yet young, we can cover our full locks with
chaplets — while yet the cithara sounds on unsated ears —
while yet the smile of Lydia or of Chloe flashes over our
veins in which the blood runs so swiftly, so long shall we
find delight in the sunny air, and make bald time itself
but the treasurer of our joys. You sup with me to-night,
you know."

" Who ever forgets the invitation of Glaucus ! "

" But which way go you now ? "

" Why, I thought of visiting the baths : but it wants yet
an hour to the usual time."

" Well, I will dismiss my chariot, and go with you. So,
so, my Phylias," stroking the horse nearest to him, which
by a low neigh and with backward ears playfully acknow-
ledged the courtesy : " a holiday for you to-day. Is he not
handsome, Clodius?"

" Worthy of Phoebus," returned the noble parasite, — " or
of Glaucus."

12 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER II

THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL, AND THE BEAUTY OF FASHION —
THE ATHENIAN'S CONFESSION — THE READER'S INTRO-
DUCTION TO ARBACES OF EGYPT

Talking lightly on a thousand matters, the two young
men sauntered through the streets ; they were now in that
quarter which was filled with the gayest shops, their open
interiors all and each radiant with the gaudy yet harmonious
colours of frescoes, inconceivably varied in fancy and design.
The sparkling fountains, that at every vista threw upwards
their grateful spray in the summer air; the crowd of
passengers, or rather loiterers, mostly clad in robes of the
Tyrian dye; the gay groups collected round each more
attractive shop ; the slaves passing to and fro with buckets
of bronze, cast in the most graceful shapes, and borne
upon their heads ; the country girls stationed at frequent
intervals with baskets of blushing fruit, and flowers more
alluring to the ancient Italians than to their descendants
(with whom, indeed, " latet a?iguis in herba" a disease
seems lurking in every violet and rose") ; the numerous
haunts which fulfilled with that idle people the office of
cafes and clubs at this day ; the shops, where on shelves
of marble were ranged the vases of wine and oil, and before
whose thresholds, seats, protected from the sun by a purple
awning, invited the weary to rest and the indolent to lounge
— made a scene of such glowing and vivacious excitement,
as might well give the Athenian spirit of Glaucus an excuse
for its susceptibility to joy.

" Talk to me no more of Rome," said he to Clodius.
"Pleasure is too stately and ponderous in those mighty
walls : even in the precincts of the court — even in the
Golden House of Nero, and the incipient glories of the
palace of Titus, there is a certain dulness of magnificence —
the eye aches — the spirit is wearied ; besides, my Clodius, we
are discontented when we compare the enormous luxury and
wealth of others with the mediocrity of our own state. But
here we surrender ourselves easily to pleasure, and we have
the brilliancy of luxury without the lassitude of its pomp."

The Blind Flower-Girl 13

" It was from that feeling that you chose your summer
retreat at Pompeii ? "

" It was. I prefer it to Baiae : I grant the charms of the
latter, but I love not the pedants who resort there, and who
seem to weigh out their pleasures by the drachm."

" Yet you are fond of the learned, too ; and as for poetry,
why your house is literally eloquent with ^Eschylus and
Homer, the epic and the drama."

" Yes, but those Romans who mimic my Athenian
ancestors do everything so heavily. Even in the chase
they make their slaves carry Plato with them ; and when-
ever the boar is lost, out they take their books and their
papyrus, in order not to lose their time too. When the
dancing-girls swim before them in all the blandishment of
Persian manners, some drone of a freedman, with a face
of stone, reads them a section of Cicero " De Officiis."
Unskilful pharmacists ! pleasure and study are not elements
to be thus mixed together, they must be enjoyed separately :
the Romans lose both by this pragmatical affectation of
refinement, and prove that they have no souls for either.
Oh, my Clodius, how little your countrymen know of the
true versatility of a Pericles, of the true witcheries of an
Aspasia ! It was but the other day that I paid a visit to
Pliny : he was sitting in his summer-house writing, while
an unfortunate slave played on the tibia. His nephew
(oh ! whip me such philosophical coxcombs !) was reading
Thucydides' description of the plague, and nodding his
conceited little head in time to the music, while his lips
were repeating all the loathsome details of that terrible
delineation. The puppy saw nothing incongruous in
learning at the same time a ditty of love and a description
of the plague."

"Why they are much the same thing," said Clodius.

" So I told him, in excuse for his coxcombry ; — but my
youth stared me rebukingly in the face, without taking the
jest, and answered, that it was only the insensate ear that
the music pleased, whereas the book (the description of the
plague, mind you !) elevated the heart. ' Ah ! ' quoth the
fat uncle, wheezing, ' my boy is quite an Athenian, always
mixing the utile with the duke' O Minerva, how I laughed
in my sleeve ! While I was there, they came to tell the
boy-sophist that his favourite freedman was just dead of a
fever. ' Inexorable death ! ' cried he ; ' get me my Horace.

14 The Last Days of Pompeii

How beautifully the sweet poet consoles us for these mis-
fortunes ! ' Oh, can these men love, my Clodius ? Scarcely
even with the senses. How rarely a Roman has a heart ! He
is but the mechanism of genius — he wants its bones and
flesh."

Though Clodius was secretly a little sore at these remarks
on his countrymen, he affected to sympathise with his
friend, partly because he was by nature a parasite, and
partly because it was the fashion among the dissolute
young Romans to affect a little contempt for the very birth
which, in reality, made them so arrogant ; it was the mode
to imitate the Greeks, and yet to laugh at their own clumsy
imitation.

Thus conversing, their steps were arrested by a crowd
gathered round an open space where three streets met ; and,
just where the porticoes of a light and graceful temple threw
their shade, there stood a young girl, with a flower-basket
on her right arm, and a small three-stringed instrument of
music in the left hand, to whose low and soft tones she was
modulating a wild and half-barbaric air. At every pause in
the music she gracefully waved her flower-basket round,
inviting the loiterers to buy; and many a sesterce was
showered into the basket, either in compliment to the music
or in compassion to the songstress — for she was blind.

" It is my poor Thessalian," said Glaucus, stopping ; " I
have not seen her since my return to Pompeii. Hush ! her
voice is sweet ; let us listen."

THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL'S SONG.

11 Buy my flowers — O buy — I pray !

The blind girl comes from afar ;
If the earth be as fair as I hear them say.

These flowers her children are !
Do they her beauty keep ?

They are fresh from her lap, I know ;
For I caught them fast asleep

In her arms an hour ago.
With the air which is her breath —
Her soft and delicate breath —

Over them murmuring low !

On their lips her sweet kiss lingers yet,

And their cheeks with her tender tears arc wet.

The Blind Flower-Girl 15

For she weeps— that gentle mother weeps —
(As morn and night her watch she keeps,
With a yearning heart and a passionate care)
To see the young things grow so fair ;

She weeps — for love she weeps ;

And the dews are the tears she weeps

From the well of a mother's love !

Ye have a world of light,

Where love in the loved rejoices ;
But the blind girl's home is the House of Night,

And its beings are empty voices.

As one in the realm below,
I stand by the streams of woe !
I hear the vain shadows glide,
I feel their soft breath at my side.

And I thirst the loved forms to see,
And I stretch my fond arms around,
And I catch but a shapeless sound,

For the living are ghosts to me.

Come buy — come buy ? —
Hark ! how the sweet things sigh
(For they have a voice like ours),
* The breath of the blind girl closes
The leaves of the saddening roses — ■
We are tender, we sons of light,
We shrink from this child of night ;
From the grasp of the blind girl free us —
We yearn for the eyes that see us —
We are for night too gay,
In your eyes we behold the day —
O buy — O buy the flowers ! ' "

" I must have yon bunch of violets, sweet Nydia," said
Glaucus, pressing through the crowd, and dropping a
handful of small coins into the basket ; " your voice is
more charming than ever."

The blind girl started forward as she heard the Athenian's
voice; then as suddenly paused, while the blood rushed
violently over neck, cheek, and temples.

" So you are returned ! " said she, in a low voice ; and
then repeated half to herself, " Glaucus is returned ! "

"Yes, child, I have not been at Pompeii above a few-
days. My garden wants your care, as before ; you will visit
it, I trust, to-morrow. And mind, no garlands at my house
shall be woven by any hands but those of the pretty Nydia."

Nydia smiled joyously, but did not answer ; and Glaucus,

1 6 The Last Days of Pompeii

placing in his breast the violets he had selected, turned
gaily and carelessly from the crowd.

" So she is a sort of client of yours, this child ? " said
Clodius.

" Ay — does she not sing prettily ? She interests me, the
poor slave ! Besides, she is from the land of the Gods'
hill — Olympus frowned upon her cradle — she is of
Thessaly."

" The witches' country."

" True ; but for my part I find every woman a witch ;
and at Pompeii, by Venus ! the very air seems to have
taken a love-philtre, so handsome does every face without a
beard seem in my eyes."

" And lo ! one of the handsomest in Pompeii, old
Diomed's daughter, the rich Julia!" said Clodius, as a
young lady, her face covered by her veil, and attended by
two female slaves, approached them, in her way to the
baths."

" Fair Julia, we salute thee ! " said Clodius.

Julia partly raised her veil, so as with some coquetry to
display a bold Roman profile, a full dark bright eye, and a
cheek over whose natural olive art shed a fairer and softer
rose.

" And Glaucus, too, is returned ! " said she, glancing
meaningly at the Athenian. " Has he forgotten," she
added, in a half- whisper, " his friends of the last year ? "

" Beautiful Julia ! even Lethe itself, if it disappear in one
part of the earth, rises again in another. Jupiter does not
allow us ever to forget for more than a moment : but Venus,
more harsh still, vouchsafes not even a moment's oblivion."

" Glaucus is never at a loss for fair words."

" Who is, when the object of them is so fair ? "

" We shall see you both at my father's villa soon," said
Julia, turning to Clodius.

" We will mark the day in which we visit you with a white
stone," answered the gamester.

Julia dropped her veil, but slowly, so that her last glance
rested on the Athenian with affected timidity and real
boldness; the glance bespoke tenderness and reproach.

The friends passed on.

" Julia is certainly handsome," said Glaucus.

" And last year you would have made that confession in a
warmer tone."

The Beauty of Fashion 17

" True ; I was dazzled at the first sight, and mistook for a
gem that which was but an artful imitation."

" Nay," returned Clodius, " all women are the same at
heart. Happy he who weds a handsome face and a large
dower. What more can he desire?"

Glaucus sighed.

They were now in a street less crowded than the rest, at
the end of which they beheld that broad and most lovely
sea, which upon those delicious coasts seems to have
renounced its prerogative of terror, — so soft are the crisping
winds that hover around its bosom, so glowing and so various
are the hues which it takes from the rosy clouds, so fragrant
are the perfumes which the breezes from the land scatter
over its depths. From such a sea might you well believe
that Aphrodite rose to take the empire of the earth.

" It is still early for the bath," said the Greek, who was
the creature of every poetical impulse ; " let us wander from
the crowded city, and look upon the sea while the noon
yet laughs along its billows."

M With all my heart," said Clodius ; " and the bay, too, is
always the most animated part of the city."

Pompeii was the miniature of the civilisation of that age.
Within the narrow compass of its walls was contained, as it
were, a specimen of every gift which luxury offered to
power. In its minute but glittering shops, its tiny palaces,
its baths, its forum, its theatre, its circus — in the energy yet
corruption, in the refinement yet the vice, of its people, you
beheld a model of the whole empire. It was a toy, a play-
thing, a showbox, in which the gods seemed pleased to keep
the representation of the great monarchy of earth, and which
they afterwards hid from time, to give to the wonder of
posterity; — the moral of the maxim, that under the sun
there is nothing new.

Crowded in the glassy bay were the vessels of commerce
and the gilded galleys for the pleasures of the rich citizens.
The boats of the fishermen glided rapidly to and fro ; and
afar off you saw the tall masts of the fleet under the com-
mand of Pliny. Upon the shore sat a Sicilian who, with
vehement gestures and flexile features, was narrating to a
group of fishermen and peasants a strange tale of ship-
wrecked mariners and friendly dolphins : — just as at this
day, in the modern neighbourhood, you may hear upon
the Mole of Naples.

1 8 The Last Days of Pompeii

Drawing his comrade from the crowd, the Greek bent his
steps towards a solitary part of the beach, and the two
friends, seated on a small crag which rose amidst the
smooth pebbles, inhaled the voluptuous and cooling breeze,
which dancing over the waters, kept music with its invisible
feet. There was, perhaps, something in the scene that
invited them to silence and reverie. Clodius, shading his
eyes from the burning sky, was calculating the gains of the
last week ; and the Greek, leaning upon his hand, and
shrinking not from that sun, — his nation's tutelary deity, —
with whose fluent light of poesy, and joy, and love, his own
veins were filled, gazed upon the broad expanse, and envied,
perhaps, every wind that bent its pinions towards the shores
of Greece.

" Tell me, Clodius," said the Greek at last, " hast thou
ever been in love ? "

"Yes, very often."

" He who has loved often," answered Glaucus, " has loved
never. There is but one Eros, though there are many
counterfeits of him."

"The counterfeits are not bad little gods, upon the
whole," answered Clodius.

" I agree with you," returned the Greek. " I adore even
the shadow of Love ; but I adore himself yet more."

" Art thou, then, soberly and honestly in love ? Hast thou
that feeling which the poets describe — a feeling that makes
us neglect our suppers, forswear the theatre, and write
elegies ? I should never have thought it. You dissemble
well."

"I am not far gone enough for that," returned Glaucus,
smiling, " or rather I say with Tibullus, —

4 He whom love rules, where'er his path may be,
Walks safe and sacred.'

In fact, I am not in love ; but I could be if there were but
occasion to see the object. Eros would light his torch, but
the priests have given him no oil."

" Shall I guess the object ? — Is it not Diomed's daughter ?
She adores you, and does not affect to conceal it ; and, by
Hercules, I say again and again, she is both handsome and
rich. She will bind the door-posts of her husband with
golden fillets."

" No, I do not desire to sell myself. - Diomed's daughter

The Athenians Confession 19

is handsome, I grant : and at one time, had she not been

the grandchild of a freedman, I might have Yet no —

she carries all her beauty in her face ; her manners are not
maiden-like, and her mind knows no culture save that of
pleasure."

" You are ungrateful. Tell me, then, who is the fortunate
virgin ? "

" You shall hear, my Clodius. Several months ago I
was sojourning at Neapolis,1 a city utterly to my own heart,
for it still retains the manners and stamp of its Grecian
origin, — and it yet merits the name of Parthenope, from
its delicious air and its beautiful shores. One day I entered
the temple of Minerva, to offer up my prayers, not for
myself more than for the city on which Pallas smiles no
longer. The temple was empty and deserted. The
recollections of Athens crowded fast and meltingly upon
me: imagining myself still alone in the temple, and
absorbed in the earnestness of my devotion, my prayer
gushed from my heart to my lips, and I wept as I prayed.
I was startled in the midst of my devotions, however, by a
deep sigh ; I turned suddenly round, and just behind me
was a female. She had raised her veil also in prayer : and
when our eyes met, methought a celestial ray shot from
those dark and smiling orbs at once into my soul. Never,
my Clodius, have I seen mortal face more exquisitely
moulded : a certain melancholy softened and yet elevated
its expression : that unutterable something which springs
from the soul, and which our sculptors have imparted to the
aspect of Psyche, gave her beauty I know not what of
divine and noble; tears were rolling down her eyes. I
guessed at once that she was also of Athenian lineage ; and
that in my prayer for Athens her heart had responded to
mine. I spoke to her, though with a faltering voice — f Art
thou not, too, Athenian ? \ said I, ' O beautiful virgin ! § At
the sound of my voice she blushed, and half drew her veil
across her face, — ' My forefathers' ashes,' said she, * repose
by the waters of Ilissus : my birth is of Neapolis ; but my
heart, as my lineage, is Athenian.' — ' Let us, then,' said I,
1 make our offerings together : ' and, as the priest now
appeared, we stood side by side, while we followed the
priest in his ceremonial prayer; together we touched the
knees of the goddess — together we laid our olive garlands
1 Naples.

20 The Last Days of Pompeii

on the altar. I felt a strange emotion of almost sacred
tenderness at this companionship. We, strangers from a far
and fallen land, stood together and alone in that temple of
our country's deity : was it not natural that my heart should
yearn to my countrywoman, for so I might surely call her ?
I felt as if I had known her for years ; and that simple rite
seemed, as by a miracle, to operate on the sympathies and
ties of time. Silently we left the temple, and I was about to
ask her where she dwelt, and if I might be permitted to
visit her, when a youth, in whose features there was some
kindred resemblance to her own, and who stood upon the
steps of the fane, took her by the hand. She turned round
and bade me farewell. The crowd separated us : I saw her
no more. On reaching my home I found letters, which
obliged me to set out for Athens, for my relations threatened
me with litigation concerning my inheritance. When that
suit was happily over, I repaired once more to Neapolis ;
I instituted inquiries throughout the whole city, I could
discover no clue of my lost countrywoman, and, hoping to
lose in gaiety all remembrance of that beautiful apparition,
I hastened to plunge myself amidst the luxuries of Pompeii.
This is all my history. I do not love ; but I remember and
regret."

As Clodius was about to reply, a slow and stately step
approached them, and at the sound it made amongst the
pebbles, each turned, and each recognised the new-comer.

It was a man who had scarcely reached his fortieth year,
of tall stature, and of a thin but nervous and sinewy frame.
His skin, dark and bronzed, betrayed his Eastern origin;
and his features had something Greek in their outline
(especially in the chin, the lip, and the brow), save that the
nose was somewhat raised and aquiline; and the bones,
hard and visible, forbade that fleshy and waving contour
which on the Grecian physiognomy preserved even in man-
hood the round and beautiful curves of youth. His eyes,
large and black as the deepest night, shone with no varying
and uncertain lustre. A deep, thoughtful, and half-
melancholy calm seemed unalterably fixed in their majestic
and commanding gaze. His step and mien were peculiarly
sedate and lofty, and something foreign in the fashion and
the sober hues of his sweeping garments added to the
impressive effect of his quiet countenance and stately
form. Each of the young men, in saluting the new-comer,

Reader's Introduction to Arbaces 21

made mechanically, and with care to conceal it from him,
a slight gesture or sign with their fingers ; for Arbaces, the
Egyptian, was supposed to possess the fatal gift of the evil
eye.

"The scene must, indeed, be beautiful," said Arbaces,
with a cold though courteous smile, "which draws the gay
Clodius, and Glaucus the all admired, from the crowded
thoroughfares of the city."

" Is Nature ordinarily so unattractive ? " asked the Greek.

" To the dissipated — yes."

" An austere reply, but scarcely a wise one. Pleasure
delights in contrasts ; it is from dissipation that we learn to
enjoy solitude, and from solitude dissipation."

"So think the young philosophers of the Garden,"
replied the Egyptian ; " they mistake lassitude for medi-
tation, and imagine that, because they are sated with
others, they know the delight of loneliness. But not in
such jaded bosoms can Nature awaken that enthusiasm
which alone draws from her chaste reserve all her unspeak-
able beauty : she demands from you, not the exhaustion of
passion, but all that fervour, from which you only seek, in
adoring her, a release. When, young Athenian, the moon
revealed herself in visions of light to Endymion, it was after
a day passed, not amongst the feverish haunts of men, but
on the still mountains and in the solitary valleys of the
hunter."

" Beautiful simile ! " cried Glaucus ; " most unjust appli-
cation ! Exhaustion ! that word is for age, not youth. By
me, at least, one moment of satiety has never been known ! "

Again the Egyptian smiled, but his smile was cold and
blighting, and even the unimaginative Clodius froze beneath
its light. He did not, however, reply to the passionate
exclamation of Glaucus; but, after a pause, he said, in a
soft and melancholy voice, —

" After all, you do right to enjoy the hour while it smiles
for you ; the rose soon withers, the perfume soon exhales.
And we, O Glaucus ! strangers in the land and far from our
fathers' ashes, what is there left for us but pleasure or regret !
— for you the first, perhaps for me the last."

The bright eyes of the Greek were suddenly suffused with
tears. " Ah, speak not, Arbaces," he cried — " speak not of
our ancestors. Let us forget that there were ever other
liberties than those of Rome ! And Glory ! — oh, vainly

22 The Last Days of Pompeii

would we call her ghost from the fields of Marathon an
Thermopylae ! "

"Thy heart rebukes thee while thou speakest," said the
Egyptian ; " and in thy gaieties this night, thou wilt be more
mindful of Lecena 1 than of Lais. Vale / "

Thus saying, he gathered his robe around him, and
slowly swept away.

" I breathe more freely," said Clodius. " Imitating the
Egyptians, we sometimes introduce a skeleton at our feasts.
In truth, the presence of such an Egyptian as yon gliding
shadow were spectre enough to sour the richest grape of the
Falernian."

" Strange man ! " said Glaucus, musingly ; " yet dead
though he seem to pleasure, and cold to the objects of the
world, scandal belies him, or his house and his heart could
tell a different tale."

" Ah ! there are whispers of other orgies than those of
Osiris in his gloomy mansion. He is rich, too, they say.
Can we not get him amongst us, and teach him the charms
of dice ? Pleasure of pleasures ! hot fever of hope and
fear ! inexpressible unjaded passion ! how fiercely beautiful
thou art, O Gaming ! "

" Inspired — inspired ! " cried Glaucus, laughing ; " the
oracle speaks poetry in Clodius. What miracle next ! "

CHAPTER III

PARENTAGE OF GLAUCUS — DESCRIPTION OF THE HOUSES
OF POMPEII — A CLASSIC REVEL

Heaven had given to Glaucus every blessing but one:
it had given him beauty, health, fortune, genius, illustrious
descent, a heart of fire, a mind of poetry; but it had
denied him the heritage of freedom. He was born in
Athens, the subject of Rome. Succeeding early to an
ample inheritance, he had indulged that inclination for travel

1 Leoena, the heroic mistress of Aristogiton, when put to the
torture, bit out her tongue, that the pain might not induce her to
betray the conspiracy against the sons of Pisistratus. The statue of a
lioness, erected in her honour, was to be seen at Athens in the time of
Pausanias.

Parentage of Glaucus 23

so natural to the young, and had drunk deep of the intoxi-
cating draught of pleasure amidst the gorgeous luxuries of
the imperial court.

He was an Alcibiades without ambition. He was what a
man of imagination, youth, fortune, and talents, readily
becomes when you deprive him of the inspiration of glory.
His house at Rome was the theme of the debauchees, but
also of the lovers of art ; and the sculptors of Greece
delighted to task their skill in adorning the porticoes and
exedrce of an Athenian. His retreat in Pompeii — alas ! the
colours are faded now, the walls stripped of their paintings !
— its main beauty, its elaborate finish of grace and orna-
ment, is gone; yet when first given once more to the day,
what eulogies, what wonder, did its minute and glowing
decorations create — its paintings — its mosaics ! Passionately
enamoured of poetry and the drama, which recalled to
Glaucus the wit and the heroism of his race, that fairy
mansion was adorned with representations of ^Eschylus and
Homer. And antiquaries, who resolve taste to a trade, have
turned the patron to the professor, and still (though the
error is now acknowledged) they style in custom, as they
first named in mistake, the disburied house of the Athenian

GlaUCUS " THE HOUSE OF THE DRAMATIC POET."

Previous to our description of this house, it may be as
well to convey to the reader a general notion of the houses
of Pompeii, which he will find to resemble strongly the
plans of Vitruvius ; but with all those differences in detail,
of caprice and taste, which being natural to mankind, have
always puzzled antiquaries. We shall endeavour to make
this description as clear and unpedantic as possible.

You enter then, usually, by a small entrance-passage
(called vestibulum), into a hall, sometimes with (but more
frequently without) the ornament of columns ; around three
sides of this hall are doors communicating with several
bedchambers (among which is the porter's), the best of
these being usually appropriated to country visitors. At
the extremity of the hall, on either side to the right and
left, if the house is large, there are two small recesses,
rather than chambers, generally devoted to the ladies of the
mansion ; and in the centre of the tessellated pavement of
the hall is invariably a square, shallow reservoir for rain
water (classically termed impluvium), which was admitted
by an aperture in the roof above ; the said aperture being

24 The Last Days of Pompeii

covered at will by an awning. Near this impluvium, which
had a peculiar sanctity in the eyes of the ancients, were
sometimes (but at Pompeii more rarely than at Rome)
placed images of the household gods j — the hospitable
hearth, often mentioned by the Roman poets, and conse-
crated to the Lares, was at Pompeii almost invariably formed
by a movable brazier ; while in some corner, often the most
ostentatious place, was deposited a huge wooden chest,
ornamented and strengthened by bands of bronze or iron,
and secured by strong hooks upon a stone pedestal so
firmly as to defy the attempts of any robber to detach it
from its position. It is supposed that this chest was the
money-box, or coffer, of the master of the house ; though
as no money has been found in any of the chests discovered
at Pompeii, it is probable that it was sometimes rather
designed for ornament than use.

In this hall (or atrium, to speak classically) the clients
and visitors of inferior rank were usually received. In the
houses of the more "respectable," an atriensis, or slave
peculiarly devoted to the service of the hall, was invariably
retained, and his rank among his fellow-slaves was high and
important. The reservoir in the centre must have been
rather a dangerous ornament, but the centre of the hall
was like the grass-plot of a college, and interdicted to the
passers to and fro, who found ample space in the margin.
Right opposite the entrance, at the other end of the hall,
was an apartment (tablintim), in which the pavement was
usually" adorned with rich mosaics, and the walls covered
with elaborate paintings. Here were usually kept the
records of the family, or those of any public office that had
been filled by the owner : on one side of this saloon, if we
may so call it, was often a dining-room, or triclinium ; on
the other side, perhaps, what we should now term a cabinet
of gems, containing whatever curiosities were deemed most
rare and costly; and invariably a small passage for the
slaves to cross to the further parts of the house, without
passing the apartments thus mentioned. These rooms all
opened on a square or oblong colonnade, technically termed
peristyle. If the house was small, its boundary ceased with
this colonnade; and in that case its centre, however
diminutive, was ordinarily appropriated to the purpose of a
garden, and adorned with vases of flowers, placed upon
pedestals: while, under the colonnade, to the right and left,

The Houses of Pompeii 25

were doors admitting to bedrooms,1 to a second triclinium,
or eating-room (for the ancients generally appropriated two
rooms at least to that purpose, one for summer, and one for
winter— or, perhaps, one for ordinary, the other for festive,
occasions); and if the owner affected letters, a cabinet,
dignified by the name of library, — for a very small room was
sufficient to contain the few rolls of papyrus which the
ancients deemed a notable collection of books.

At the end of the peristyle was generally the kitchen.
Supposing the house was large, it did not end with the
peristyle, and the centre thereof was not in that case a
garden, but might be, perhaps, adorned with a fountain, or
basin for fish; and at its end, exactly opposite to the
tablinum, was generally another eating-room, on either side
of which were bedrooms, and, perhaps, a picture-saloon, or
pinacotheca? These apartments communicated again with a
square or oblong space, usually adorned on three sides with
a colonnade like the peristyle, and very much resembling
the peristyle, only usually longer. This was the proper
viridarhmi, or garden, being commonly adorned with a
fountain, or statues, and a profusion of gay flowers : at its
extreme end was the gardener's house; on either side,
beneath the colonnade, were sometimes, if the size of the
family required it, additional rooms.

At Pompeii, a second or third story was rarely of import-
ance, being built only above a small part of the house, and
containing rooms for the slaves; differing in this respect
from the more magnificent edifices of Rome, which
generally contained the principal eating-room (or tenaculum)
on the second floor. The apartments themselves were
ordinarily of small size ; for in those delightful climes they
received any extraordinary number of visitors in the peri-
style (or portico), the hall, or the garden ; and even their
banquet-rooms, however elaborately adorned and carefully
selected in point of aspect, were of diminutive proportions ;
for the intellectual ancients, being fond of society, not of
crowds, rarely feasted more than nine at a time, so that
large dinner- rooms were not so necessary with them as with us.8

1 The Romans had bedrooms appropriated not only to the sleep of
night, but also to the day siesta {cubicula diurnd).

2 In the stately palaces of Rome, this picture-room generally com-
municated with the atrium.

3 When they entertained very large parties, the feast was usually
served in the hall.

26 The Last Days of Pompeii

But the suite of rooms seen at once from the entrance,
must have had a very imposing effect : you beheld at once
the hall richly paved and painted — the tablinum — the
graceful peristyle, and (if the house extended farther) the
opposite banquet-room and the garden, which closed the
view with some gushing fount or marble statue.

The reader will now have a tolerable notion of the
Pompeian houses, which resembled in some respects the
Grecian, but mostly the Roman fashion of domestic archi-
tecture. In almost every house there is some difference in
detail from the rest, but the principal outline is the same in
all. In all you find the hall, the tablinum, and the peristyle,
communicating with each other ; in all you find the walls
richly painted ; and in all the evidence of a people fond of
the refining elegancies of life. The purity of the taste of
the Pompeian s in decoration is, however, questionable :
they were fond of the gaudiest colours, of fantastic designs :
they often painted the lower half of their columns a bright
red, leaving the rest uncoloured ; and where the garden was
small, its wall was frequently tinted to deceive the eye as to
its extent, imitating trees, birds, temples, &c, in perspective
— a meretricious delusion which the graceful pedantry of
Pliny himself adopted, with a complacent pride in its
ingenuity.

But the house of Glaucus was at once one of the smallest,
and yet one of the most adorned and finished of all the
private mansions of Pompeii : it would be a model at this
day for the house of "a single man in May fair" — the envy
and despair of the ccelibian purchasers of buhl and
marquetry.

You enter by a long and narrow vestibule, on the floor of
which is the image of a dog in mosaic, with the well-known
" Cave canem," — or " Beware the dog." On either side is
a chamber of some size ; for the interior part of the house
not being large enough to contain the two great divisions of
private and public apartments, these two rooms were set
apart for the reception of visitors who neither by rank nor
familiarity were entitled to admission in the penetralia of
the mansion.

Advancing up the vestibule you enter an atrium, that
when first discovered was rich in paintings, which in point
of expression would scarcely disgrace a Rafaele. You may
see them now transplanted to the Neapolitan Museum:

The Houses of Pompeii 27

they are still the admiration of connoisseurs — they depict
the parting of Achilles and Briseis. Who does not
acknowledge the force, the vigour, the beauty, employed
in delineating the forms and faces of Achilles and the
immortal slave !

On one side the atrium, a small staircase admitted to
the apartments for the slaves on the second floor; there
also were two or three small bedrooms, the walls of
which pourtrayed the rape of Europa, the battle of the
Amazons, &c.

You now enter the tablinum, across which, at either end,
hung rich draperies of Tyrian purple, half withdrawn.1 On
the walls was depicted a poet reading his verses to his
friends ; and in the pavement was inserted a small and most
exquisite mosaic, typical of the instructions given by the
director of the stage to his comedians.

You passed through this saloon and entered the peristyle ;
and here (as I have said before was usually the case with
the smaller houses of Pompeii) the mansion ended. From
each of the seven columns that adorned this court hung
festoons of garlands : the centre, supplying the place of a
garden, bloomed with the rarest flowers placed in vases of
white marble, that were supported on pedestals. At the
left hand of this small garden was a diminutive fane,
resembling one of those small chapels placed at the side of
roads in Catholic countries, and dedicated to the Penates ;
before it stood a bronzed tripod : to the left of the colon-
nade were two small cubicula, or bedrooms ; to the right
was the triclinium, in which the guests were now assembled.

This room is usually termed by the antiquaries of Naples
" The Chamber of Leda ; " and in the beautiful work of Sir
William Gell, the reader will find an engraving from that
most delicate and graceful painting of Leda presenting her
new-born to her husband, from which the room derives its
name. This charming apartment opened upon the fragrant
garden. Round the table of citrean 2 wood, highly polished
and delicately wrought with silver arabesques, were placed
the three couches, which were yet more common at Pompeii
than the semicircular seat that had grown lately into fashion

1 The tablinum was also secured at pleasure by sliding-doors.

2 The most valued wood— not the modern citron-tree. My learned
friend, Mr. W. S. Landor, conjectures it with much plausibility to have
been mahogany.

28 The Last Days of Pompeii

at Rome: and on these couches of bronze, studded with
richer metals, were laid thick quiltings covered with elabor-
ate broidery, and yielding luxuriously to the pressure.

"Well, I must own," said the sedile Pansa, "that your
house, though scarcely larger than a case for one's fibular, is
a gem of its kind. How beautifully painted is that parting
of Achilles and Briseis ! — what a style ! — what heads ! —
what a — hem ! "

" Praise from Pansa is indeed valuable on such subjects,"
said Clodius, gravely. " Why, the paintings on his walls ! —
Ah ! there is, indeed, the hand of a Zeuxis ! "

"You flatter me, my Clodius; indeed you do," quoth
the sedile, who was celebrated through Pompeii for having
the worst paintings in the world ; for he was patriotic, and
patronised none but Pompeians. " You natter me ; but
there is something pretty — ^Edepol, yes — in the colours, to
say nothing of the design ; — and then for the kitchen, my
friends — ah ! that was all my fancy." -

" What is the design ? " said Glaucus. " I have not yet
seen your kitchen, though I have often witnessed the
excellence of its cheer."

" A cook, my Athenian — a cook sacrificing the trophies
of his skill on the altar of Vesta, with a beautiful muraena
(taken from the life) on a spit at a distance ; — there is some
invention there ! "

At that instant the slaves appeared, bearing a tray covered
with the first preparative initia of the feast. Amidst
delicious figs, fresh herbs strewed with snow, anchovies,
and eggs, were ranged small cups of diluted wine sparingly
mixed with honey. As these were placed on the table,
young slaves bore round to each of the five guests (for
there were no more) the silver basin of perfumed water, and
napkins edged with a purple fringe. But the asdile ostenta-
tiously drew forth his own napkin, which was not, indeed,
of so fine a linen, but in which the fringe was twice as broad,
and wiped his hands with the parade of a man who felt he
was calling for admiration.

"A splendid mappa that of yours," said Clodius; " why,
the fringe is as broad as a girdle ! "

"A trifle, my Clodius : a trifle! They tell me this stripe
is the latest fashion at Rome ; but Glaucus attends to these
things more than I."

" Be propitious, O Bacchus ! " said Glaucus, inclining

A Classic Revel 29

reverentially to a beautiful image of the god placed in the
centre of the table, at the corners of which stood the Lares
and the salt-holders. The guests followed the prayer, and
then, sprinkling the wine on the table, they performed the
wonted libation.

This over, the convivialists reclined themselves on the
couches, and the business of the hour commenced.

" May this cup be my last ! " said the young Sallust, as
the table, cleared of its first stimulants, was now loaded
with the substantial part of the entertainment, and the
ministering slave poured forth to him a brimming cyathus
— " May this cup be my last, but it is the best wine I have
drunk at Pompeii ! "

" Bring hither the amphora," said Glaucus, " and read its
date and its character."

The slave hastened to inform the party that the scroll
fastened to the cork betokened its birth from Chios, and its
age a ripe fifty years.

"How deliciously the snow has cooled it V said Pansa.
"It is just enough."

" It is like the experience of a man who^ has cooled his
pleasures sufficiently to give them a double zest," exclaimed
Sallust.

"\t is like a woman's ' No,' " added Glaucus : " it cools,
but to inflame the more."

" When is our next wild-beast fight ? " said Clodius to*
Pansa.

" It stands fixed for the ninth ide of August," answered
Pansa : "on the day after the Vulcanalia ; — we have a most
lovely young lion for the occasion."

" Whom shall we get for him to eat ? " asked Clodius.
" Alas ! there is a great scarcity of criminals. You must
positively find some innocent or other to condemn to the
lion, Pansa!"

" Indeed I have thought very seriously about it of late,"
replied the sedile, gravely. "It was a most infamous law
that which forbade us to send our own slaves to the wild
beasts. Not to let us do what we like with our own, that's
what I call an infringement on property itself."

" Not so in the good old days of the Republic," sighed
Sallust.

" And then this pretended mercy to the slaves is such a
disappointment to the poor people. How they do love to

30 The Last Days of Pompeii

see a good tough battle between a man and a lion ; and all
this innocent pleasure they may lose (if the gods don't send
us a good criminal soon) from this cursed law ! "

" What can be worse policy," said Clodius, sententiously,
" than to interfere with the manly amusements of the
people ? "

" Well, thank Jupiter and the Fates ! we have no Nero at
present," said Sallust.

" He was, indeed, a tyrant ; he shut up our amphitheatre
for ten years."

" I wonder it did not create a rebellion," said Sallust.

" It very nearly did," returned Pansa, with his mouth full
of wild boar.

Here the conversation was interrupted for a moment by a
flourish of flutes, and two slaves entered with a single dish.

" Ah, what delicacy hast thou in store for us now, my
Glaucus ? " cried the young Sallust, with sparkling eyes.

Sallust was only twenty-four, but he had no pleasure in
life like eating — perhaps he had exhausted all the others :
yet had he some talent, and an excellent heart — as far as it
went.

il I know its face, by Pollux ! " cried Pansa. '• It is an
Ambracian Kid. Ho [snapping his fingers, a usual signal
to the slaves] we must prepare a new libation in honour to
the new-comer."

" I had hoped," said Glaucus, in a melancholy tone, " to
have procured you some oysters from Britain ; but the winds
that were so cruel to Caesar have forbid us the oysters."

" Are they in truth so delicious ? " asked Lepidus,
loosening to a yet more luxurious ease his ungirdled tunic.

" Why, in truth, I suspect it is the distance that gives the
flavour ; they want the richness of the Brundusium oyster.
But, at Rome, no supper is complete without them."

" The poor Britons ! There is some good in them after
all," said Sallust. " They produce an oyster."

u I wish they would produce us a gladiator," said the
aedile, whose provident mind was musing over the wants of
the amphitheatre.

" By Pallas ! " cried Glaucus, as his favourite slave
crowned his streaming locks with a new chaplet, " I love
these wild spectacles well enough when beast fights beast ;
but when a man, one with bones and blood like ours, is
coldly put on the arena, and torn limb from limb, the

A Classic Revel 31

interest is too horrid : I sicken — I gasp for breath — I long
to rush and defend him. The yells of the populace seem
to me more dire than the voices of the Furies chasing
Orestes. I rejoice that there is so little chance of that
bloody exhibition for our next show ! "

The sedile shrugged his shoulders. The young Sallust,
who was thought the best-natured man in Pompeii, stared
in surprise. The graceful Lepidus, who rarely spoke for
fear of disturbing his features, ejaculated " Hercle! " The
parasite Clodius muttered " ^Edepol ! " and the sixth ban-
queter, who was the umbra of Clodius, and whose duty it
was to echo his richer friend, when he could not praise him,
— the parasite of a parasite, — muttered also "^depol ! "

" Well, you Italians are used to these spectacles ; we
Greeks are more merciful. Ah, shade of Pindar ! — the
rapture of a true Grecian game — the emulation of man
against man — the generous strife — the half-mournful tri-
umph— so proud to contend with a noble foe, so sad to see
him overcome ! But ye understand me not."

" The kid is excellent," said Sallust. The slave, whose
duty it was to carve, and who valued himself on his science,
had just performed that office on the kid to the sound of
music, his knife keeping time, beginning with a low tenor
and accomplishing the arduous feat amidst a magnificent
diapason.

" Your cook is, of course, from Sicily ? " said Pansa.

"Yes, of Syracuse."

" I will play you for him," said Clodius. " We will have
a game between the courses."

" Better that sort of game, certainly, than a beast fight ;
but I cannot stake my Sicilian — you have nothing so precious
to stake me in return."

" My Phillida — my beautiful dancing-girl ! "

" I never buy women," said the Greek, carelessly re-
arranging his chaplet.

The musicians, who were stationed in the portico without,
had commenced their office with the kid ; they now directed
the melody into a more soft, a more gay, yet it may be a
more intellectual strain ; and they chanted that song of
Horace beginning " Persicos odi," &c, so impossible to
translate, and which they imagined applicable to a feast that,
effeminate as it seems to us, was simple enough for the
gorgeous revelry of the time. We are witnessing the

32 The Last Days of Pompeii

domestic, and not the princely feast — the entertainment of a
gentleman, not an emperor or a senator.

"Ah, good old Horace ! " said Sallust, compassionately ; " he
sang well of feasts and girls, but not like our modern poets."

" The immortal Fulvius, for instance," said Clodius.

" Ah, Fulvius, the immortal ! " said the umbra.

" And Spuraena ; and Caius Mutius, who wrote three
epics in a year — could Horace do that, or Virgil either ? "
said Lepidus. " Those old poets all fell into the mistake
of copying sculpture instead of painting. Simplicity and
repose — that was their notion ; but we moderns have fire,
and passion, and energy — we never sleep, we imitate the
colours of painting, its life, and its action. Immortal Fulvius ! "

" By the way," said Sallust, " have you seen the new ode
by Spuraena, in honour of our Egyptian I sis ? It is mag-
nificent—the true religious fervour."

" Isis seems a favourite divinity at Pompeii," said Glaucus.

" Yes ! " said Pansa, " she is exceedingly in repute just at
this moment ; her statue has been uttering the most remark-
able oracles. I am not superstitious, but I must confess
that she has more than once assisted me materially in my
magistracy with her advice. Her priests are so pious, too !
none of your gay, none of your proud, ministers of Jupiter
and Fortune : they walk barefoot, eat no meat, and pass the
greater part of the night in solitary devotion ! "

" An example to our other priesthoods, indeed ! — Jupiter's
temple wants reforming sadly," said Lepidus, who was a
great reformer for all but himself.

" They say that Arbaces the Egyptian has imparted some
most solemn mysteries to the priests of Isis," observed
Sallust. " He boasts his descent from the race of Rameses,
and declares that in his family the- secrets of remotest
antiquity are treasured."

" He certainly possesses the gift of the evil eye," said
Clodius. " If I ever come upon that Medusa front without
the previous charm, I am sure to lose a favourite horse, or
throw the canes x nine times running."

"The last would be indeed a miracle !" said Sallust, gravely.

" How mean you, Sallust ? " returned the gamester, with a
flushed brow.

" I mean, what you would leave me if I played often with
you ; and that is — nothing."

1 Canes, or Cannula, the lowest throw at dice.

A Classic Revel 33

Clodius answered only by a smile of disdain.

" If Arbaces were not so rich," said Pansa, with a stately
air, " I should stretch my authority a little, and inquire into
the truth of the report which calls him an astrologer and a
sorcerer. Agrippa, when aedile of Rome, banished all such
terrible citizens. But a rich man — it is the duty of an
aedile to protect the rich ! "

" What think you of this new sect, which I am told has
even a few proselytes in Pompeii, these followers of the
Hebrew God — Christus ? "

" Oh, mere speculative visionaries," said Clodius ; " they
have not a single gentleman amongst them ; their proselytes
are poor, insignificant, ignorant people ! "

" Who ought, however, to be crucified for their blas-
phemy," said Pansa, with vehemence ; " they deny Venus
and Jove I Nazarene is but another name for atheist. Let
me catch them — that's all."

The second course was gone — the feasters fell back on
their couches — there was a pause while they listened to the
soft voices of the South, and the music of the Arcadian reed.
Glaucus was the most rapt and the least inclined to break
the silence, but Clodius began already to think that they
wasted time.

" Bene vobis I (your health !) my Glaucus," said he, quaffing
a cup to each letter of the Greek's name, with the ease of
the practised drinker. " Will you not be avenged on your
ill-fortune of yesterday ? See, the dice court us."

"As you will," said Glaucus.

" The dice in summer, and I an aedile ! " said Pansa,
magisterially ; " it is against all law."

" Not in your presence, grave Pansa," returned Clodius,
rattling the dice in a long box ; " your presence restrains all
license : it is not the thing, but the excess of the thing, that
hurts."

" What wisdom I " muttered the umbra.

" Well, I will look another way," said the aedile.

" Not yet, good Pansa ; let us wait till we have supped,"
said Glaucus.

Clodius reluctantly yielded, concealing his vexation with
a yawn.

"He gapes to devour the gold," whispered Lepidus to
Sallust, in a quotation from the Aulularia of Plautus.

" Ah ! how well I know these polypi, who hold all they

B

34 The Last Days of Pompeii

touch," answered Sallust, in the same tone, and out of the
same play.

The third course, consisting of a variety of fruits, pistachio
nuts, sweetmeats, tarts, and confectionery tortured into a
thousand fantastic and airy shapes, was now placed upon
the table ; and the ministri, or attendants, also set there the
wine (which had hitherto been handed round to the guests)
in large jugs of glass, each bearing upon it the schedule of
its age and quality.

" Taste this Lesbian, my Pansa," said Sallust ; " it is
excellent."

" It is not very old," said Glaucus, " but it has been made
precocious, like ourselves, by being put to the fire : — the
wine to the flames of Vulcan — we to those of his wife — to
whose honour I pour this cup."

"It is delicate," said Pansa, " but there is perhaps the
least particle too much of rosin in its flavour."

" What a beautiful cup ! " cried Clodius, taking up one of
transparent crystal, the handles of which were wrought with
gems, and twisted in the shape of serpents, the favourite
fashion at Pompeii.

" This ring," said Glaucus, taking a costly jewel from the
first joint of his finger and hanging it on the handle, " gives
it a richer show, and renders it less unworthy of thy accept-
ance, my Clodius, on whom may the gods bestow health
and fortune, long and oft to crown it to the brim ! "

"You are too generous, Glaucus," said the gamester,
handing the cup to his slave ; " but your love gives it a
double value."

"This cup to the Graces!" said Pansa, and he thrice
emptied his calix. The guests followed his example.

" We have appointed no director to the feast," cried Sallust.

" Let us throw for him, then." said Clodius, rattling the
dice-box.

" Nay," cried Glaucus, " no cold and trite director for us :
no dictator of the banquet ; no rex co?ivivii. Have not the
Romans sworn never to obey a king ? Shall we be less free
than your ancestors ? Ho ! musicians, let us have the song
I composed the other night : it has a verse on this subject,
' The Bacchic hymn of the Hours.' "

The musicians struck their instruments to a wild Ionic air,
while the youngest voice in the band chanted forth,, in Greek
words, as numbers, the following strain : —

A Classic Revel 35

THE EVENING HYMN OF THE HOURS.

' Through the summer day, through the weary day,
We have glided long ;
Ere we speed to the Night through her portals grey,
Hail us with song ! —
With song, with song,
With a bright and joyous song ;
Such as the Cretan maid,

While the twilight made her bolder,
Woke, high through the ivy shade,

When the wine-god first consoled her.
From the hush'd, low-breathing skies,
Half-shut look'd their starry eyes,
And all around,
With a loving sound,
The ALgea.n waves were creeping :
On her lap lay the lynx's head ;
Wild thyme was her bridal bed ;
And aye through each tiny space,
In the green vine's green embrace
The Fauns were slily peeping ; —
The Fauns, the prying Fauns —
The arch, the laughing Fauns —
The Fauns were slily peeping !

II.

Flagging and faint are we

With our ceaseless flight,
And dull shall our journey be
Through the realm of night,
Bathe us, O bathe our weary wings
In the purple wave, as it freshly springs
To your cups from the fount of light —
From the fount of light — from the fount of light ;
For there, when the sun has gone down in night,
There in the bowl we find him.
The grape is the well of that summer sun,
Or rather the stream that he gazed upon,
Till he left in truth, like the Thespian youth,1
His soul, as he gazed, behind him.

A cup to Jove, and a cup to Love,
And a cup to the son of Maia ;

And honour with three, the band zone-free,
The band of the bright Aglaia.

1 Narcissus.

36 The Last Days of Pompeii

But since every bud in the wreath of pleasure

Ye owe to the sister Hours,
No stinted cups, in a formal measure,

The Bromian law makes ours.
He honours us most who gives us most.
And boasts, with a Bacchanal's honest boast,
He never will count the treasure.
Fastly we fleet, then seize our wings,
And plunge us deep in the sparkling springs ;
And aye, as we rise with a dripping plume,
We'll scatter the spray round the garland's bloom ;

We glow — we glow
Behold, as the girls of the Eastern wave
Bore once with a shout to the crystal cave
The prize of the Mysian Hylas,
Even so — even so,
We have caught the young god in our warm embrace
We hurry him on in our laughing race ;
We hurry him on, with a whoop and song,
The cloudy rivers of night along —

Ho, ho ! — we have caught thee, Psilas ! "

The guests applauded loudly. When the poet is your
host, his verses are sure to charm.

" Thoroughly Greek," said Lepidus : " the wildness, force,
and energy of that tongue, it is impossible to imitate in the
Roman poetry."

" It is, indeed, a great contrast," said Clodius, ironically
at heart, though not in appearance, "to the old-fashioned
and tame simplicity of that ode of Horace which we heard
before. The air is beautifully Ionic : the word puts me in
mind of a toast — Companions, I give you the beautiful
lone."

" lone ! — the name is Greek," said Glaucus, in a soft
voice. "I drink the health with delight. But who is
lone?"

" Ah ! you have but just come to Pompeii, or you would
deserve ostracism for your ignorance," said Lepidus, con-
ceitedly ; "not to know lone, is not to know the chief charm
of our city."

" She is of the most rare beauty," said Pansa ; " and what
a voice ! "

" She can feed only on nightingales' tongues," said
Clodius.

" Nightingales' tongues ! — beautiful thought ! " sighed the
umbra.

" Enlighten me, I beseech you," said Glaucus.

A Classic Revel 37

" Know then " began Lepidus.

" Let me speak," cried Clodius ; M you drawl out your
words as if you spoke tortoises."

" And you speak stones," muttered the coxcomb to him-
self, as he fell back disdainfully on his couch.

" Know then, my Glaucus," said Clodius, "that lone is a
stranger who has but lately come to Pompeii. She sings
like Sappho, and her songs are her own composing ; and as
for the tibia, and the cithara, and the lyre, I know not in
which she most outdoes the Muses. Her beauty is most
dazzling. Her house is perfect ; such taste — such gems —
such bronzes ! She is rich, and generous as she is rich."

" Her lovers, of course," said Glaucus, " take care that
she does not starve ; and money lightly won is always
lavishly spent."

" Her lovers — ah, there is the enigma ! — lone has but one
vice — she is chaste. She has all Pompeii at her feet, and
she has no lovers : she will not even marry."

" No lovers ! " echoed Glaucus.

" No ; she has the soul of Vesta, with the girdle of
Venus."

" What refined expressions ! " said the umbra.

" A miracle ! " cried Glaucus. " Can we not see her ? "

" I will take you there this evening," said Clodius ;
" meanwhile ," added he, once more rattling the dice.

" I am yours ! " said the complaisant Glaucus. " Pansa,
turn your face ! "

Lepidus and Sallust played at odd and even, and the
umbra looked on, while Glaucus and Clodius became
gradually absorbed in the chances of the dice.

" By Pollux ! " cried Glaucus, " this is the second time I
have thrown the caniculae " (the lowest throw).

" Now Venus befriend me ! " said Clodius, rattling the
box for several moments. " O Alma Venus — it is Venus
herself ! " as he threw the highest cast, named from that
goddess, — whom he who wins money, indeed, usually
propitiates !

" Venus is ungrateful to me," said Glaucus, gaily ; " I
have always sacrificed on her altar."

" He who plays with Clodius," whispered Lepidus, " will
soon, like Plautus's Curculio, put his pallium for the stakes."

" Poor Glaucus ! — he is as blind as Fortune herself,"
replied Sallust, in the same tone.

38 The Last Days of Pompeii

" I will play no more," said Glaucus ; " I have lost thirty
sestertia."

"lam sorry ," began Clodius.

" Amiable man ! " groaned the umbra.

" Not at all ! " exclaimed Glaucus ; " the pleasure I take
in your gain compensates the pain of my loss."

The conversation now grew general and animated ; the
wine circulated more freely ; and lone once more became
the subject of eulogy to the guests of Glaucus.

" Instead of outwatching the stars, let us visit one at
whose beauty the stars grow pale," said Lepidus.

Clodius, who saw no chance of renewing the dice,
seconded the proposal; and Glaucus, though he civilly
pressed his guests to continue the banquet, could not but
let them see that his curiosity had been excited by the praises
of lone : they therefore resolved to adjourn (all, at least, but
Pansa and the umbra) to the house of the fair Greek. They
drank, therefore, to the health of Glaucus and of Titus —
they performed their last libation — they resumed their
slippers — they descended the stairs — passed the illumined
atrium — and walking unbitten over the fierce dog painted
on the threshold, found themselves beneath the light of the
moon just risen, in the lively and still crowded streets of
Pompeii.

They passed the jewellers' quarter, sparkling with lights,
caught and reflected by the gems displayed in the shops, and
arrived at last at the door of lone. The vestibule blazed
with rows of lamps ; curtains of embroidered purple hung
on either aperture of the tablinum, whose walls and mosaic
pavement glowed with the richest colours of the artist ; and
under the portico which surrounded the odorous viridarium
they found lone, already surrounded by adoring and
applauding guests !

" Did you say she was Athenian ? " whispered Glaucus,
ere he passed into the peristyle.

" No, she is from Neapolis."

" Neapolis ! " echoed Glaucus ; and at that moment the
group, dividing on either side of lone, gave to his view that
bright, that nymph-like beauty, which for months had shone
down upon the waters of his memory.

The Temple of Isis 39

CHAPTER IV

THE TEMPLE OF ISIS — ITS PRIEST — THE CHARACTER OF
ARBACES DEVELOPS ITSELF

The story returns to the Egyptian. We left Arbaces
upon the shores of the noonday sea, after he had parted
from Glaucus and his companion. As he approached to
the more crowded part of the bay, he paused and gazed
upon that animated scene with folded arms, and a bitter
smile upon his dark features.

" Gulls, dupes, fools, that ye are ! " muttered he to
himself; "whether business or pleasure, trade or religion,
be your pursuit, you are equally cheated by the passions
that ye should rule ! How I could loathe you, if I did not
hate — yes, hate ! Greek or Roman, it is from us, from the
dark lore of Egypt, that ye have stolen the fire that gives
you souls. Your knowledge — your poesy — your laws —
your arts — your barbarous mastery of war (all how tame and
mutilated, when compared with the vast original !) — ye
have filched, as a slave filches the fragments of the feast,
from us ! And now, ye mimics of a mimic ! — Romans,
forsooth ! the mushroom herd of robbers ! ye are our
masters ! the pyramids look down no more on the race
of Rameses — the eagle cowers over the serpent of the
Nile. Our masters — no, not mine. My soul, by the power
of its wisdom, controls and chains you, though the
fetters are unseen. So long as craft can master force,
so long as religion has a cave from which oracles
can dupe mankind, the wise hold an empire over earth.
Even from your vices Arbaces distils his pleasures ; —
pleasures unprofaned by vulgar eyes — pleasures vast,
wealthy, inexhaustible, of which your enervate minds, in
their unimaginative sensuality, cannot conceive or dream !
Plod on, plod on, fools of ambition and of avarice ! your
petty thirst for fasces and qusestorships, and all the
mummery of servile power, provokes my laughter and my
scorn. My power can extend wherever man believes. I
ride over the souls that the purple veils. Thebes may fall,

40 The Last Days of Pompeii

Egypt be a name ; the world itself furnishes the subjects
of Arbaces."

Thus saying, the Egyptian moved slowly on ; and,
entering the town, his tall figure towered above the crowded
throng of the forum, and swept towards the small but
graceful temple consecrated to Isis.

That edifice was then but of recent erection ; the
ancient temple had been thrown down in the earthquake
sixteen years before, and the new building had become
as much in vogue with the versatile Pompeians as a new
church or a new preacher may be with us. The oracles of
the goddess at Pompeii were indeed remarkable, not more
for the mysterious language in which they were clothed,
than for the credit which was attached to their mandates
and predictions. If they were not dictated by a divinity,
they were framed at least by a profound knowledge of
mankind ; they applied themselves exactly to the circum-
stances of individuals, and made a notable contrast to the
vague and loose generalities of their rival temples. As
Arbaces now arrived at the rails which separated the pro-
fane from the sacred place, a crowd, composed of all
classes, but especially of the commercial, collected, breath-
less and reverential, before the many altars which rose in
the open court. In the walls of the cella, elevated on
seven steps of Parian marble, various statues stood in niches,
and those walls were ornamented with the pomegranate
consecrated to Isis. An oblong pedestal occupied the
interior building, on which stood two statues, one of Isis,
and its companion represented the silent and mystic Orus.
But the building contained many other deities to grace the
court of the Egyptian deity : her kindred and many-titled
Bacchus, and the Cyprian Venus, a Grecian disguise for
herself, rising from her bath, and the dog-headed Anubis,
and the ox Apis, and various Egyptian idols of uncouth
form and unknown appellations.

But we must not suppose that among the cities of Magna
Graecia, Isis was worshipped with those forms and cere-
monies which were of right her own. The mongrel and
modern nations of the South, with a mingled arrogance and
ignorance, confounded the worships of all climes and ages.
And the profound mysteries of the Nile were degraded by
a hundred meretricious and frivolous admixtures from the
creeds of Cephisus and of Tibur. The temple of Isis in

The Temple of Isis 41

Pompeii was served by Roman and Greek priests, ignorant
alike of the language and the customs of her ancient votaries ;
and the descendant of the dread Egyptian kings, beneath
the appearance of reverential awe, secretly laughed to scorn
the puny mummeries which imitated the solemn and typical
worship of his burning clime.

Ranged now on either side the steps was the sacrificial
crowd, arrayed in white garments, while at the summit stood
two of the inferior priests, the one holding a palm-branch,
the other a slender sheaf of corn. In the narrow passage
in front thronged the bystanders.

"And what," whispered Arbaces to one of the bystanders,
who was a merchant engaged in the Alexandrian trade, which
trade had probably first introduced in Pompeii the worship
of the Egyptian goddess — "what occasion now assembles
you before the altars of the venerable Isis? It seems, by
the white robes of the group before me, that a sacrifice is
to be rendered; and by the assembly of the priests, that
ye are prepared for some oracle. To what question is it
to vouchsafe a reply? "

" We are merchants," replied the bystander (who was no
other than Diomed) in the same voice, " who seek to know
the fate of our vessels, which sail for Alexandria to-morrow.
We are about to offer up a sacrifice and implore an answer
from the goddess. I am not one of those who have
petitioned the priest to sacrifice, as you may see by my
dress, but I have some interest in the success of the fleet ; —
by Jupiter ! yes. I have a pretty trade, else how could I
live in these hard times?"

The Egyptian replied gravely, — "That though Isis was
properly the goddess of agriculture, she was no less the
patron of commerce." Then turning his head towards
the east, Arbaces seemed absorbed in silent prayer.

And now in the centre of the steps appeared a priest
robed in white from head to foot, the veil parting over the
crown ; two new priests relieved those hitherto stationed
at either corner, being naked half-way down to the breast,
and covered, for the rest, in white and loose robes. At the
same time, seated at the bottom of the steps, a priest
commenced a solemn air upon a long wind-instrument of
music. Half-way down the steps stood another flamen,
holding in one hand the votive wreath, in the other a white
wand ; while, adding to the picturesque scene of that

42 The Last Days of Pompeii

eastern ceremony, the stately ibis (bird sacred to the
Egyptian worship) looked mutely down from the wall
upon the rite, or stalked beside the altar at the base of
the steps.

At that altar now stood the sacrificial flamen.1
The countenance of Arbaces seemed to lose all its rigid
calm while the aruspices inspected the entrails, and to be intent
in pious anxiety — to rejoice and brighten as the signs were
declared favourable, and the fire began bright and clearly
to consume the sacred portion of the victim amidst odours
of myrrh and frankincense. It was then that a dead silence
fell over the whispering crowd, and the priests gathering
round the cella, another priest, naked save by a cincture
round the middle, rushed forward, and dancing with wild
gestures, implored an answer from the goddess. He ceased
at last in exhaustion, and a low murmuring noise was heard
within the body of the statue : thrice the head moved, and
the lips parted, and then a hollow voice uttered these
mystic words : —

"There are waves like chargers that meet and glow,
There are graves ready wrought in the rocks below,
On the brow of the future the dangers lour,
But blest are your barks in the fearful hour. "

The voice ceased — the crowd breathed more freely —
the merchants looked at each other. "Nothing can be
more plain," murmured Diomed ; " there is to be a storm
at sea, as there very often is at the beginning of autumn,
but our vessels are to be saved. O beneficent Isis ! "

"Lauded eternally be the goddess! " said the merchants:
"what can be less equivocal than her prediction?"

Raising one hand in sign of silence to the people, for the
rites of Iris enjoined what to the lively Pompeians was an
impossible suspense from the use of the vocal organs, the
chief priest poured his libation on the altar, and after a
short concluding prayer the ceremony was over, and the
congregation dismissed. Still, however, as the crowd dis-
persed themselves here and there, the Egyptian lingered by
the railing, and when the space became tolerably cleared,
one of the priests, approaching it, saluted him with great
appearance of friendly familiarity.

1 See a singular picture in the Museum of Naples, of an Egyptian
sacrifice.

Its Priest 43

The countenance of the priest was remarkably unpre-
possessing— his shaven skull was so low and narrow in the
front as nearly to approach to the conformation of that of an
African savage, save only towards the temples, where, in
that organ styled acquisitiveness by the pupils of a science
modern in name, but best practically known (as their sculp-
ture teaches us) amongst the ancients, two huge and almost
preternatural protuberances yet more distorted the unshapely
head; — around the brows the skin was puckered into a web
of deep and intricate wrinkles — the eyes, dark and small,
rolled in a muddy and yellow orbit — the nose, short yet
coarse, was distended at the nostrils like a satyr's, — and the
thick but pallid lips, the high cheek-bones, the livid and
motley hues that struggled through the parchment skin,
completed a countenance which none could behold without
repugnance, and few without terror and distrust : whatever
the wishes of the mind, the animal frame was well fitted to
execute them ; the wiry muscles of the throat, the broad
chest, the nervous hands and lean gaunt arms, which were
bared above the elbow, betokened a form capable alike of
great active exertion and passive endurance.

" Calenus," said the Egyptian to this fascinating flaraen,
" you have improved the voice of the statue much by attend-
ing to my suggestion ; and your verses are excellent.
Always prophesy good fortune, unless there is an absolute
impossibility of its fulfilment."

" Besides," added Calenus, " if the storm does come, and
if it does overwhelm the accursed ships, have we not pro-
phesied it ? and are the barks not blest to be at rest ? — for
rest prays the mariner in the ^Egean sea, or at least so says
Horace ; — can the mariner be more at rest in the sea than
when he is at the bottom of it?"

" Right, my Calenus ; I wish Apsecides would take a
lesson from your wisdom. But I desire to confer with you
relative to him and to other matters : you can admit me
into one of your less sacred apartments ? "

"Assuredly," replied the priest, leading the way to one
of the small chambers which surrounded the open gate.
Here they seated themselves before a small table spread
with dishes containing fruit and eggs, and various cold
meats, with vases of excellent wine, of which while the com-
panions partook, a curtain, drawn across the entrance open-
ing to the court, concealed them from view, but admonished

44 The Last Days of Pompeii

them by the thinness of the partition to speak low, or to
speak no secrets : they chose the former alternative.

" Thou knowest," said Arbaces, in a voice that scarcely
stirred the air, so soft and inward was its sound, " that it has
ever been my maxim to attach myself to the young. From
their flexile and unformed minds I can carve out my fittest
tools. I weave — I warp — I mould them at my will. Of the
men I make merely followers or servants; of the women "

" Mistresses," said Calenus, as a livid grin distorted his
ungainly features.

"Yes, I do not disguise it : woman is the main object,
the great appetite, of my soul. As you feed the victim for
the slaughter, / love to rear the votaries of my pleasure. I
love to train, to ripen their minds — to unfold the sweet
blossom of their hidden passions, in order to prepare the
fruit to my taste. I loathe your ready-made and ripened
courtesans ; it is in the soft and unconscious progress of
innocence to desire that I find the true charm of love ; it is
thus that I defy satiety ; and by contemplating the freshness
of others, I sustain the freshness of my own sensations.
From the young hearts of my victims I draw the ingredients
of the caldron in which I re-youth myself. But enough of
this : to the subject before us. You know, then, that in
Neapolis some time since I encountered lone and Apsecides,
brother and sister, the children of Athenians who had
settled at Neapolis. The death of their parents, who knew
and esteemed me, constituted me their guardian. I was not
unmindful of the trust. The youth, docile and mild, yielded
readily to the impression I sought to stamp upon him.
Next to woman, I love the old recollections of my ancestral
land ; I love to keep alive — to propagate on distant shores
(which her colonies perchance yet people) her dark and
mystic creeds. It may be, that it pleases me to delude man-
kind, while I thus serve the deities. To Apaecides I taught
the solemn faith of Isis. I unfolded to him something of
those sublime allegories which are couched beneath her
worship. I excited in a soul peculiarly alive to religious
fervour that enthusiasm which imagination begets on faith.
I have placed him amongst you : he is one of you."

" He is so," said Calenus : " but in thus stimulating his
faith, you have robbed him of wisdom. He is horror-struck
that he is no longer duped : our sage delusions, our speaking
statues and secret staircases dismay and revolt him; he

The Character of Arbaces Develops 45

pines; he wastes away; he mutters to himself; he refuses
to share our ceremonies. He has been known to fre-
quent the company of men suspected of adherence to that
new and atheistical creed which denies all our gods, and
terms our oracles the inspirations of Jhat malevolent spirit
of which eastern tradition speaks. Our oracles — alas ! we
know well whose inspirations they are ! "

"This is what I feared," said Arbaces, musingly, "from
various reproaches he made me when I last saw him. Of
late he hath shunned my steps : I must find him : I must
continue my lessons : I must lead him into the adytum of
Wisdom. I must teach him that there are two stages of
sanctity — the first, faith — the next, delusion ; the one for
the vulgar, the second for the sage."

"I never passed through the first," said Calenus; "nor
you either, I think, my Arbaces."

"You err," replied the Egyptian, gravely. "I believe at
this day (not indeed that which I teach, but that which I
teach not). Nature has a sanctity against which I cannot
(nor would I) steel conviction. I believe in mine own
knowledge, and that has revealed to me, — but no matter.
Now to earthlier and more inviting themes. If I thus ful-
filled my object with Apaecides, what was my design for
lone ? Thow knowest already I intend her for my queen —
my bride — my heart's I sis. Never till I saw her knew I all
the love of which my nature is capable."

" I hear from a thousand lips that she is a second Helen,"
said Calenus ; and he smacked his own lips, but whether at
the wine or at the notion it is not easy to decide.

" Yes, she has a beauty that Greece itself never excelled,"
resumed Arbaces. " But that is not all : she has a soul
worthy to match with mine. She has a genius beyond that
of woman — keen — dazzling — bold. Poetry flows spontane-
ous to her lips : utter but a truth, and, however intricate
and profound, her mind seizes and commands it. Her
imagination and her reason are not at war with each other ;
they harmonise and direct her course as the winds and the
waves direct some lofty bark. With this she unites a daring
independence of thought ; she can stand alone in the world ;
she can be brave as she is gentle ; this is the nature I have
sought all my life in woman, and never found till now. lone
must be mine ! In her I have a double passion ; I wish to
enjoy a beauty of spirit as of form."

46 The Last Days of Pompeii

" She is not yours yet, then ? " said the priest.

" No ; she loves me — but as a friend : — she loves me with
her mind only. She fancies in me the paltry virtues which
I have only the profounder virtue to disdain. But you must
pursue with me her history. The brother and sister were
young and rich : lone is proud and ambitious — proud of
her genius — the magic of her poetry — the charm of her con-
versation. When her brother left me, and entered your
temple, in order to be near him she removed also to
Pompeii. She has suffered her talents to be known. She
summons crowds to her feasts ; her voice enchants them ;
her poetry subdues. She delights in being thought the
successor of Erinna."

" Or of Sappho ? "

" But Sappho without love ! I encouraged her in this
boldness of career — in this indulgence of vanity and of
pleasure. I loved to steep her amidst the dissipations and
luxury of this abandoned city. Mark me, Calenus ! I
desired to enervate her mind ! — it has been too pure to
receive yet the breath which I wish not to pass, but burn-
ingly to eat into, the mirror. I wished her to be sur-
rounded by lovers, hollow, vain, and frivolous (lovers that
her nature must despise), in order to feel the want of love.
Then, in those soft intervals of lassitude that succeed to
excitement — I can weave my spells — excite her interest —
attract her passions — possess myself of her heart. For it is
not the young, nor the beautiful, nor the gay, that should
fascinate lone ; her imagination must be won, and the life of
Arbaces has been one scene of triumph over the imagina-
tions of his kind."

" And hast thou no fear, then, of thy rivals ? The gallants
of Italy are skilled in the art to please."

"None ! Her Greek soul despises the barbarian Romans,
and would scorn itself if it admitted a thought of love for
one of that upstart race."

" But thou art an Egyptian, not a Greek ! "

"Egypt," replied Arbaces, "is the mother of Athens.
Her tutelary Minerva is our deity ; and her founder, Cecrops,
was the fugitive of Egyptian Sais. This have I already taught
to her ; and in my blood she venerates the eldest dynasties
of earth. But yet I will own that of late some uneasy sus-
picions have crossed my mind. She is more silent than she
used to be ; she loves melancholy and subduing music ; she

The Character of Arbaces Develops 47

sighs without an outward cause. This may be the begin-
ning of love — it may be the want of love. In either case it
is time for me to begin my operations on her fancies and
her heart : in the one case, to divert the source of love to
me ; in the other, in me to awaken it. It is for this that I
have sought you."

" And how can I assist you ? "

" I am about to invite her to a feast in my house : I wish
to dazzle — to bewilder — to inflame her senses. Our arts —
the arts by which Egypt trained her young novitiates — must
be employed ; and, under veil of the mysteries of religion,
I will open to her the secrets of love."

"Ah! now I understand: — one of those voluptuous
banquets that, despite our dull vows of mortified coldness,
we, thy priests of Isis, have shared at thy house."

" No, no ! Thinkest thou her chaste eyes are ripe for
such scenes ? No ; but first we must ensnare the brother —
an easier task. Listen to me, while I give you my instruc-
tions."

CHAPTER V

MORE OF THE FLOWER-GIRL — THE PROGRESS OF LOVE

The sun shone gaily into that beautiful chamber in the
house of Glaucus, which I have before said is now called
' ' the Room of Leda." The morning rays entered through
rows of small casements at the higher part of the room, and
through the door which opened on the garden, that answered
to the inhabitants of the southern cities the same purpose
that a greenhouse or conservatory does to us. The size of
the garden did not adapt it for exercise, but the various and
fragrant plants with which it was filled gave a luxury to that
indolence so dear to the dwellers in a sunny clime. And
now the odours, fanned by a gentle wind creeping from the
adjacent sea, scattered themselves over that chamber, whose
walls vied with the richest colours of the most glowing
flowers. Besides the gem of the room — the painting of Leda
and Tyndarus — in the centre of each compartment of the
walls were set other pictures of exquisite beauty. In one

48 The Last Days of Pompeii

you saw Cupid leaning on the knees of Venus ; in another
Ariadne sleeping on the beach, unconscious of the perfidy of
Theseus. Merrily the sunbeams played to and fro on the
tessellated floor and the brilliant walls — far more happily
came the rays of joy to the heart of the young Glaucus.

" I have seen her, then," said he, as he paced that narrow
chamber—" I have heard her — nay, I have spoken to her
again — I have listened to the music of her song, and she
sung of glory and of Greece. I have discovered the long-
sought idol of my dreams ; and like the Cyprian sculptor, I
have breathed life into my own imaginings."

Longer, perhaps, had been the enamoured soliloquy of
Glaucus, but at that moment a shadow darkened the thres-
hold of the chamber, and a young female, still half a child
in years, broke upon his solitude. She was dressed simply
in a white tunic, which reached from the neck to the ankles ;
under her arm she bore a basket of flowers, and in the other
hand she held a bronze water-vase ; her features were more
formed than exactly became her years, yet they were soft
and feminine in their outline, and, without being beautiful
in themselves, they were almost made so by their beauty of
expression; there was something ineffably gentle, and you
would say patient, in her aspect. A look of resigned sorrow,
of tranquil endurance, had banished the smile, but not the
sweetness, from her lips ; something timid and cautious in
her step — something wandering in her eyes, led you to sus-
pect the affliction which she had suffered from her birth ; —
she was blind ; but in the orbs themselves there was no
visible defect — their melancholy and subdued light was
clear, cloudless, and serene. " They tell me that Glaucus
is here," said she; "may I come in?"

"Ah, my Nydia," said the Greek, "is that you? I knew
you would not neglect my invitation."

" Glaucus did but justice to himself," answered Nydia,
with a blush ; " for he has always been kind to the poor
blind girl."

" Who could be otherwise ? " said Glaucus, tenderly, and
in the voice of a compassionate brother.

Nydia sighed and paused before she resumed, without
replying to his remark. " You have but lately returned ? "

"This is the sixth sun that hath shone upon me at
Pompeii."

" And you are well ? Ah, I need not ask — for who that

More of the Flower-Girl 49

sees the earth, which they tell me is so beautiful, can be
ill?"

" I am well. And you, Nydia — how you have grown !
Next year you will be thinking what answer to make your
lovers."

A second blush passed over the cheek of Nydia, but this
time she frowned as she blushed. " I have brought you some
flowers," said she, without replying to a remark that she
seemed to resent ; and feeling about the room till she found
the table that stood by Glaucus, she laid the basket upon
it : " they are poor, but they are fresh-gathered."

" They might come from Flora herself," said he, kindly ;
" and I renew again my vow to the Graces, that I will wear
no other garlands while thy hands can weave me such as
these."

" And how find you the flowers in your viridarium ? — are
they thriving ? "

"Wonderfully so — the Lares themselves must have
tended them."

" Ah, now you give me pleasure ; for I came, as often as
I could steal the leisure, to water and tend them in your
absence."

" How shall I thank thee, fair Nydia ? " said the Greek.
" Glaucus little dreamed that he left one memory so watch-
ful over his favourites at Pompeii."

The hand of the child trembled, and her breast heaved
beneath her tunic. She turned round in embarrassment.
" The sun is hot for the poor flowers," said she, " to-day
and they will miss me ; for I have been ill lately, and it is
nine days since I visited them."

" 111, Nydia ! — yet your cheek has more colour than it
had last year."

" I am often ailing," said the blind girl, touchingly ; " and
as I grow up I grieve more that I am blind. But now to
the flowers ! " So saying, she made a slight reverence with
her head, and passing into the viridarium, busied herself
with watering the flowers.

"Poor Nydia," thought Glaucus, gazing on her; "thine
is a hard doom ! Thou seest not the earth — nor the sun —
nor the ocean — nor the stars ; — above all, thou canst not
behold lone."

At that last thought his mind flew back to the past
evening, and was a second time disturbed in its reveries by

50 The Last Days of Pompeii

the entrance of Clodius. It was a proof how much a single
evening had sufficed to increase and to refine the love of
the Athenian for lone, that whereas he had confided to
Clodius the secret of his first interview with her, and the
effect it had produced on him, he now felt an invincible
aversion even to mention to him her name. He had seen
lone, bright, pure, unsullied, in the midst of the gayest and
most profligate gallants of Pompeii, charming rather than
awing the boldest into respect, and changing the very nature
of the most sensual and the least ideal : — as by her intel-
lectual and refining spells she reversed the fable of Circe,
and converted the animals into men. They who could not
understand her soul were made spiritual, as it were, by the
magic of her beauty ; — they who had no heart for poetry
had ears, at least, for the melody of her voice. Seeing her
thus surrounded, purifying and brightening all things with
her presence, Glaucus almost for the first time felt the
nobleness of his own nature, — he felt how unworthy of the
goddess of his dreams had been his companions and his
pursuits. A veil seemed lifted from his eyes ; he saw that
immeasurable distance between himself and his associates
which the deceiving mists of pleasure had hitherto con-
cealed ; he was refined by a sense of his courage in aspiring
to lone. He felt that henceforth it was his destiny to look
upward and to soar. He could no longer breathe that
name, which sounded to the sense of his ardent fancy as
something sacred and divine, to lewd and vulgar ears. She
was no longer the beautiful girl once seen and passionately
remembered, — she was already the mistress, the divinity of
his soul. This feeling who has not experienced ? — If thou
hast not, then thou hast never loved.

When Clodius therefore spoke to him in affected trans-
ports of the beauty of lone, Glaucus felt only resentment
and disgust that such lips should dare to praise her ; he
answered coldly, and the Roman imagined that his passion
was cured instead of heightened. Clodius scarcely regretted
it, for he was anxious that Glaucus should marry an heiress
yet more richly endowed— Julia, the daughter of the wealthy
Diomed, whose gold the gamester imagined he could readily
divert into his own coffers. Their conversation did not flow
with its usual ease; and no sooner had Clodius left him
than Glaucus bent his way to the house of lone. In passing
by the threshold he again encountered Nydia, who had

More of the Flower-Girl 51

finished her graceful task. She knew his step on the
instant.

" You are early abroad ? " said she.

" Yes ; for the skies of Campania rebuke the sluggard
who neglects them."

" Ah, would I could see them ! " murmured the blind
girl, but so low that Glaucus did not overhear the
complaint.

The Thessalian lingered on the threshold a few moments,
and then guiding her steps by a long staff, which she used
with great dexterity, she took her way homeward. She soon
turned from the more gaudy streets, and entered a quartei
of the town but little loved by the decorous and the sober.
But from the low and rude evidences of vice around her she
was saved by her misfortune. And at that hour the streets
were quiet and silent, nor was her youthful ear shocked by
the sounds which too often broke along the obscene and
obscure haunts she patiently and sadly traversed.

She knocked at the back-door of a sort of tavern ; it
opened, and a rude voice bade her give an account of the
sesterces. Ere she could reply, another voice, less vulgarly
accented, said, —

" Never mind those petty profits, my Burbo. The girl's
voice will be wanted again soon at our rich friend's revels ;
and he pays, as thou knowest, pretty high for his nightingales'
tongues."

" Oh, I hope not — I trust not," cried Nydia, trembling ;
" I will beg from sunrise to sunset, but send me not there."

" And why ? " asked the same voice.

" Because — because I am young, and delicately born, and
the female companions I meet there are not fit associates
for one who — who "

" Is a slave in the house of Burbo," returned the voice
ironically, and with a coarse laugh.

The Thessalian put down the flowers, and, leaning her
face on her hands, wept silently.

Meanwhile, Glaucus sought the house of the beautiful
Neapolitan. He found lone sitting amidst her attendants,
who were at work around her. Her harp stood at her side,
for lone herself was unusually idle, perhaps unusually
thoughtful, that day. He thought her even more beautiful
by the morning light, and in her simple robe, than amidst
the blazing lamps, and decorated with the costly jewels of

52 The Last Days of Pompeii

the previous night : not the less so from a certain paleness
that overspread her transparent hues, — not the less so from
the blush that mounted over them when he approached.
Accustomed to flatter, flattery died upon his lips when he
addressed lone. He felt it beneath her to utter the homage
which every look conveyed. They spoke of Greece ; this was
a theme on which lone loved rather to listen than to con-
verse : it was a theme on which the Greek could have been
eloquent for ever. He described to her the silver olive groves
that yet clad the banks of Ilyssus, and the temples, already
despoiled of half their glories — but how beautiful in decay !
He looked back on the melancholy city of Harmodius the
free, and Pericles the magnificent, from the height of that
distant memory, which mellowed into one hazy light all the
ruder and darker shades. He had seen the land of poetry
chiefly in the poetical age of early youth ; and the associations
of patriotism were blended with those of the flush and spring
of life. And lone listened to him, absorbed and mute;
dearer were those accents, and those descriptions, than all
the prodigal adulation of her numberless adorers. Was it
a sin to love her countryman ? she loved Athens in him —
the gods of her race, the land of her dreams, spoke to her
in his voice ! From that time they daily saw each other.
At the cool of the evening they made excursions on the
placid sea. By night they met again in Ione's porticos and
halls. Their love was sudden, but it was strong ; it filled
all the sources of their life. Heart — brain — sense — imagin-
ation, all were its ministers and priests. As you take some
obstacle from two objects that have a mutual attraction,
they met, and united at once ; their wonder was, that they
had lived separate so long. And it was natural that they
should so love. Young, beautiful, and gifted, — of the same
birth, and the same souls ; — there was poetry in their very
union. They imagined the heavens smiled upon their
affection. As the persecuted seek refuge at the shrine, so
they recognised in the altar of their love an asylum from the
sorrows of earth ; they covered it with flowers, — they knew
not of the serpents that lay coiled behind.

One evening, the fifth after their first meeting at Pompeii,
Glaucus and lone, with a small party of chosen friends,
were returning from an excursion round the bay ; their
vessel skimmed lightly over the twilight waters, whose lucid
mirror was only broken by the dripping oars. As the rest

The Progress of Love 53

of the party conversed gaily with each other, Glaucus lay at
the feet of lone, and he would have looked up in her face,
but he did not dare. lone broke the pause between them.

" My poor brother," said she, sighing, " how once he
would have enjoyed this hour S "

" Your brother ! " said Glaucus ; "I have not seen him.
Occupied with you, I have thought of nothing else, or I
should have asked if that was not your brother for whose
companionship you left me at the Temple of Minerva, in
Neapolis ? "

" It was."

"And is he here?"

" He is."

" At Pompeii ! and not constantly with you ? Im-
possible ! "

" He has other duties," answered lone, sadly ; " he is a
priest of Isis."

" So young, too ; and that priesthood, in its laws at least,
so severe ! " said the warm and bright-hearted Greek, in
surprise and pity. " What could have been his inducement ? "

"He was always enthusiastic and fervent in religious
devotion : and the eloquence of an Egyptian — our friend
and guardian — kindled in him the pious desire to consecrate
his life to the most mystic of our deities. Perhaps in the
intenseness of his zeal, he found in the severity of that
peculiar priesthood its peculiar attraction."

" And he does not repent his choice ? — I trust he is
happy."

lone sighed deeply, and lowered her veil over her eyes.

" I wish," said she, after a pause, "that he had not been
so hasty. Perhaps, like all who expect too much, he is
revolted too easily ! "

" Then he is not happy in his new condition. And this
Egyptian, was he a priest himself? was he interested in
recruits to the sacred band ? "

"No. His main interest was in our happiness. He
thought he promoted that of my brother. We were left
orphans."

" Like myself," said Glaucus, with a deep meaning in his
voice.

lone cast down her eyes as she resumed, —

" And Arbaces sought to supply the place of our parent.
You must know him. He loves genius."

54 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Arbaces S I know him already ; at least, we speak
when we meet. But for your praise I would not seek to
know more of him. My heart inclines readily to most of
my kind. But that dark Egyptian, with his gloomy brow
and icy smiles, seems to me to sadden the very sun. One
would think that, like Epimenides, the Cretan, he had spent
forty years in a cave, and had found something unnatural in
the daylight ever afterwards."

M Yet, like Epimenides, he is kind, and wise, and gentle,"
answered lone.

" Oh, happy that he has thy praise ! He needs no other
virtues to make him dear to me."

"His calm, his coldness," said lone, evasively pursuing
the subject, " are perhaps but the exhaustion of past suffer-
ings; as yonder mountain (and she pointed to Vesuvius),
which we see dark and tranquil in the distance, once nursed
the fires for ever quenched."

They both gazed on the mountain as lone said these
words j the rest of the sky was bathed in rosy and tender
hues, but over that grey summit, rising amidst the woods
and vineyards that then clomb half-way up the ascent, there
hung a black and ominous cloud, the single frown of the
landscape. A sudden and unaccountable gloom came over
each as they thus gazed ; and in that sympathy which love
had already taught them, and which bade them, in the
slightest shadows of emotion, the faintest presentiment of
evil, turn for refuge to each other, their gaze at the same
moment left the mountain, and full of unimaginable tender-
ness, met. What need had they of words to say they
loved ?

CHAPTER VI

THE FOWLER SNARES AGAIN THE BIRD THAT HAD JUST
ESCAPED, AND SETS HIS NETS FOR A NEW VICTIM

In the history I relate, the events are crowded and rapid
as those of the drama. I write of an epoch in which days
sufficed to ripen the ordinary fruits of years.

Meanwhile, Arbaces had not of late much frequented the

The Fowler Snares the Bird 55

house of lone ; and when he had visited her he had not
encountered Glaucus, nor knew he, as yet, of that love
which had so suddenly sprung up between himself and his
designs. In his interest for the brother of lone, he had
been forced, too, a little while, to suspend his interest in
lone herself. His pride and his selfishness were aroused
and alarmed at the sudden change which had come over the
spirit of the youth. He trembled lest he himself should lose
a docile pupil, and Isis an enthusiastic servant. Apaecides
had ceased to seek or to consult him. He was rarely to be
found ; he turned sullenly from the Egyptian, — nay, he fled
when he perceived him in the distance. Arbaces was one
of those haughty and powerful spirits accustomed to master
others ; he chafed at the notion that one once his own
should ever elude his grasp. He swore inly that Apaecides
should not escape him.

It was with this resolution that he passed through a thick
grove in the city, which lay between his house and that of
lone, in his way to the latter ; and there, leaning against
a tree, and gazing on the ground, he came unawares on the
young priest of Isis.

"Apaecides!" said he, — and he laid his hand affection-
ately on the young man's shoulder.

The priest started ; and his first instinct seemed to be
that of flight. " My son," said the Egyptian, " what has
chanced that you desire to shun me ? "

Apaecides remained silent and sullen, looking down on
the earth, as his lips quivered, and his breast heaved with
emotion.

" Speak to me, my friend," continued the Egyptian.
" Speak. Something burdens thy spirit. What hast thou
to reveal ? "

" To thee— nothing."

" And why is it to me thou art thus unconfidential ? "

" Because thou hast been my enemy."

" Let us confer," said Arbaces, in a low voice ; and
drawing the reluctant arm of the priest in his own, he led
him to one of the seats which were scattered within the
grove. They sat down, — and in those gloomy forms there
was something congenial to the shade and solitude of the
place.

Apaecides was in the spring of his years, yet he seemed to
have exhausted even more of life than the Egyptian ; his

56 The Last Days of Pompeii

delicate and regular features were worn and colourless ; his
eyes were hollow, and shone with a brilliant and feverish
glare : his frame bowed prematurely, and in his hands, which
were small to effeminacy, the blue and swollen veins in-
dicated the lassitude and weakness of the relaxed fibres.
You saw in his face a strong resemblance to lone, but
the expression was altogether different from that majestic
and spiritual calm which breathed so divine and classical a
repose over his sister's beauty. In her, enthusiasm was
visible, but it seemed always suppressed and restrained ;
this made the charm and sentiment of her countenance ;
you longed to awaken a spirit which reposed, but evidently
did not sleep. In Apsecides the whole aspect betokened the
fervour and passion of his temperament, and the intellectual
portion of his nature seemed, by the wild fire of the eyes,
the great breadth of the temples when compared with the
height of the brow, the trembling restlessness of the lips, to
be swayed and tyrannised over by the imaginative and ideal.
Fancy, with the sister, had stopped short at the golden goal
of poetry j with the brother, less happy and less restrained, it
had wandered into visions more intangible and unembodied ;
and the faculties which gave genius to the one threatened
madness to the other.

" You say I have been your enemy," said Arbaces. " I
know the cause of that unjust accusation : I have placed
you amidst the priests of Isis — you are revolted at their
trickeries and imposture — you think that I too have deceived
you — the purity of your mind is offended— you imagine that
I am one of the deceitful "

" You knew the jugglings of that impious craft," answered
Apaecides ; " why did you disguise them from me ? — When
you excited my desire to devote myself to the office whose
garb I bear, you spoke to me of the holy life of men
resigning themselves to knowledge — you have given me
for companions an ignorant and sensual herd, who have no
knowledge but that of the grossest frauds ; — you spoke to
me of men sacrificing the earthlier pleasures to the sublime
cultivation of virtue — you place me amongst men reeking
with all the filthiness of vice; — you spoke to me of the
friends, the enlighteners of our common kind — I see but
their cheats and deluders ! Oh ! it was basely done ! — you
have robbed me of the glory of youth, of the convictions of
virtue, of the sanctifying thirst after wisdom. Young as I

The Fowler Snares the Bird 57

was, rich, fervent, the sunny pleasures of earth before me, I
resigned all without a sigh, nay, with happiness and
exultation, in the thought that I resigned them for the
abstruse mysteries of diviner wisdom, for the companion-
ship of gods — for the revelations of Heaven — and now —
now "

Convulsive sobs checked the priest's voice; he covered
his face with his hands, and large tears forced themselves
through the wasted fingers, and ran profusely down his
vest.

"What I promised to thee, that will I give, my friend,
my pupil: these have been but trials to thy virtue — it
comes forth the brighter for thy novitiate, — think no more
of those dull cheats — assort no more with those menials of
the goddess, the atrienses 1 of her hall — you are worthy to
enter into the penetralia. I henceforth will be your priest,
your guide, and you who now curse my friendship shall live
to bless it."

The young man lifted up his head, and gazed with a
vacant and wondering stare upon the Egyptian.

"Listen to me," continued Arbaces, in an earnest and
solemn voice, casting first his searching eyes around to see
that they were still alone. "From Egypt came all the
knowledge of the world; from Egypt came the lore of
Athens, and the profound policy of Crete; from Egypt
came those early and mysterious tribes which (long before
the hordes of Romulus swept over the plains of Italy, and
in the eternal cycle of events drove back civilisation into
barbarism and darkness) possessed all the arts of wisdom
and the graces of intellectual life. From Egypt came the
rites and the grandeur of that solemn Caere, whose inhabi-
tants taught their iron vanquishers of Rome all that they
yet know of elevated in religion and sublime in worship.
And how deemest thou, young man, that that dread Egypt,
the mother of countless nations, achieved her greatness, and
soared to her cloud-capt eminence of wisdom ? — It was the
result of a profound and holy policy. Your modern nations
owe their greatness to Egypt — Egypt her greatness to her
priests. Rapt in themselves, coveting a sway over the
nobler part of man, his soul and his belief, those ancient
ministers of God were inspired with the grandest thought
that ever exalted mortals. From the revolutions of the
1 The slaves who had the care of the atrium.

58 The Last Days of Pompeii

stars, from the seasons of the earth, from the round and
unvarying circle of human destinies, they devised an august
allegory ; they made it gross and palpable to the vulgar by
the signs of gods and goddesses, and that which in reality
was Government they named Religion. Isis is a fable — ■
start not ! — that for which Isis is a type is a reality, an
immortal being ; Isis is nothing. Nature, which she repre-
sents, is the mother of all things — dark, ancient, inscrutable,
save to the gifted few. ' None among mortals hath ever
lifted up my veil,' so saith the Isis that you adore; but
to the wise that veil hath been removed, and we have stood
face to face with the solemn loveliness of Nature. The
priests then were the benefactors, the civilisers of mankind ;
true, they were also cheats, impostors if you will. But think
you, young man, that if they had not deceived their kind
they could have served them? The ignorant and servile
vulgar must be blinded to attain to their proper good ; they
would not believe a maxim — they revere an oracle. The
Emperor of Rome sways the vast and various tribes of earth,
and harmonises the conflicting and disunited elements ;
thence come peace, order, law, the blessings of life. Think
you it is the man, the emperor, that thus sways ? — no, it is
the pomp, the awe, the majesty that surround him — these
are his impostures, his delusions ; our oracles and our
divinations, our rites and our ceremonies, are the means of
our sovereignty and the engines of our power. They are
the same means to the same end, the welfare and harmony
of mankind. You listen to me rapt and intent — the light
begins to dawn upon you."

Apaecides remained silent, but the changes rapidly passing
over his speaking countenance betrayed the effect produced
upon him by the words of the Egyptian — words made
tenfold more eloquent by the voice, the aspect, and the
manner of the man.

" While, then," resumed Arbaces, " our fathers of the Nile
thus achieved the first elements by whose life chaos is
destroyed, namely, the obedience and reverence of the
multitude for the few, they drew from their majestic and
starred meditations that wisdom which was no delusion :
they invented the codes and regularities of law — the arts and
glories of existence. They asked belief; they returned the
gift by civilisation. Were not their very cheats a virtue !
Trust me, whosoever in yon far heavens of a diviner and

The Fowler Snares the Bird 59

more beneficent nature look down upon our world, smile
approvingly on the wisdom which has worked such ends.
But you wish me to apply these generalities to yourself;
I hasten to obey the wish. The altars of the goddess of our
ancient faith must be served, and served too by others than
the stolid and soulless things that are but as pegs and hooks
whereon to hang the fillet and the robe. Remember two
sayings of Sextus the Pythagorean, sayings borrowed from
the lore of Egypt. The first is, ' Speak not of God to the
multitude ; ' the second is, ' The man worthy of God is a god
among men.' As Genius gave to the ministers of Egypt
worship, that empire in late ages so fearfully decayed, thus
by Genius only can the dominion be restored. I saw in
you, Apaecides, a pupil worthy of my lessons — a minister
worthy of the great ends which may yet be wrought ; your
energy, your talents, your purity of faith, your earnestness of
enthusiasm, all fitted you for that calling which demands
so imperiously high and ardent qualities : I fanned, there-
fore, your sacred desires ; I stimulated you to the step you
have taken. But you blame me that I did not reveal to
you the little souls and the juggling tricks of your com-
panions. Had I done so, Apaecides, I had defeated my
own object ; your noble nature would have at once revolted,
and Isis would have lost her priest."

Apaecides groaned aloud. The Egyptian continued, with-
out needing the interruption.

" I placed you, therefore, without preparation, in the
temple ; I left you suddenly to discover and to be sickened
by all those mummeries which dazzle the herd. I desired
that you should perceive how those engines are moved by
which the fountain that refreshes the world casts its waters in
the air. It was the trial ordained of old to all our priests.
They who accustom themselves to the impostures of the
vulgar, are left to practise them ; — for those like you, whose
higher natures demand higher pursuit, religion opens more
god-like secrets. I am pleased to find in you the character
I had expected. You have taken the vows ; you cannot
recede. Advance — I will be your guide."

"And what wilt thou teach me, O singular and fearful
man ? New cheats — new "

"No — I have thrown thee into the abyss of disbelief;
I will lead thee now to the eminence of faith. Thou hast
seen the false types : thou shalt learn now the realities they

60 The Last Days of Pompeii

represent. There is no shadow, Apsecides, without its
substance. Come to me this night. Your hand."

Impressed, excited, bewildered by the language of the
Egyptian, Apa^cides gave him his hand, and master and
pupil parted.

It was true that for Apaecides there was no retreat. He
had taken the vows of celibacy : he had devoted himself
to a life that at present seemed to possess all the austerities
of fanaticism, without any of the consolations of belief. It
was natural that he should yet cling to a yearning desire to
reconcile himself to an irrevocable career. The powerful
and profound mind of the Egyptian yet claimed an empire
over his young imagination ; excited him with vague con-
jecture, and kept him alternately vibrating between hope
and fear.

Meanwhile Arbaces pursued his slow and stately way to
the house of lone. As he entered the tablinum, he heard
a voice from the porticoes of the peristyle beyond, which,
musical as it was, sounded displeasingly on his ear — it was
the voice of the young and beautiful Glaucus, and for the
first time an involuntary thrill of jealousy shot through
the breast of the Egyptian. On entering the peristyle, he
found Glaucus seated by the side of lone. The fountain in
the odorous garden cast up its silver spray in the air, and
kept a delicious coolness in the midst of the sultry noon.
The handmaids, almost invariably attendant on lone, who with
her freedom of life preserved the most delicate modesty, sat
at a little distance; by the feet of Glaucus lay the lyre on
which he had been playing to lone one of the Lesbian airs.
The scene — the group before Arbaces, was stamped by that
peculiar and refined ideality of poesy which we yet, not
erroneously, imagine to be the distinction of the ancients, —
the marble columns, the vases of flowers, the statue, white
and tranquil, closing every vista; and, above all, the two
living forms, from which a sculptor might have caught
either inspiration or despair!

Arbaces, pausing for a moment, gazed on the pair with a
brow from which all the usual stern serenity had fled; he
recovered himself by an effort, and slowly approached them,
but with a step so soft and echoless, that even the attend-
ants heard him not ; much less lone and her lover.

"And yet," said Glaucus, "it is only before we love that
we imagine that our poets have truly described the passion ;

The Fowler Snares the Bird 61

the instant the sun rises, all the stars that had shone in his
absence vanish into air. The poets exist only in the night
of the heart; they are nothing to us when we feel the full
glory of the god."

" A gentle and most glowing image, noble Glaucus."

Both started, and recognised behind the seat of lone the
cold and sarcastic face of the Egyptian.

" You are a sudden guest," said Glaucus, rising, and with
a forced smile.

"So ought all to be who know they are welcome,"
returned Arbaces, seating himself, and motioning to
Glaucus to do the same.

" I am glad," said lone, " to see you at length together ;
for you are suited to each other^ and you are formed to be
friends."

"Give me back some fifteen years of life," replied the
Egyptian, " before you can place me on an equality with
Glaucus. Happy should I be to receive his friendship ; but
what can I give him in return? Can I make to him the
same confidences that he would repose in me — of banquets
and garlands — of Parthian steeds, and the chances of the
dice ? these pleasures suit his age, his nature, his career :
they are not for mine."

So saying, the artful Egyptian looked down and sighed;
but from the corner of his eye he stole a glance towards
lone, to see how she received these insinuations of the
pursuits of her visitor. Her countenance did not satisfy him.
Glaucus, slightly colouring, hastened gaily to reply. Nor was
he, perhaps, without the wish in his turn to disconcert and
abash the Egyptian.

" You are right, wise Arbaces," said he ; " we can esteem
each other, but we cannot be friends. My banquets lack
the secret salt which, according to rumour, gives such zest
to your own. And, by Hercules ! when I have reached
your age, if I, like you, may think it wise to pursue the
pleasures of manhood, like you, I shall be doubtless
sarcastic on the gallantries of youth."

The Egyptian raised his eyes to Glaucus with a sudden
and piercing glance.

" I do not understand you," said he, coldly ; " but it is the
custom to consider that wit lies in obscurity." He turned
from Glaucus as he spoke, with a scarcely perceptible sneer
of contempt, and after a moment's pause addressed himself

62 The Last Days of Pompeii

to lone. "I have not, beautiful lone," said he, "been
fortunate enough to find you within doors the last two or
three times that I have visited your vestibule."

" The smoothness of the sea has tempted me much from
home," replied lone, with a little embarrassment.

The embarrassment did not escape Arbaces ; but without
seeming to heed it, he replied with a smile: "You know
the old poet says, that 'Women should keep within doors,
and there converse.' " 1

" The poet was a cynic," said Glaucus, " and hated women."

" He spake according to the customs of his country, and
that country is your boasted Greece."

"To different periods different customs. Had our fore-
fathers known lone, they had made a different law."

"Did you learn these pretty gallantries at Rome?" said
Arbaces, with ill-suppressed emotion.

"One certainly would not go for gallantries to Egypt,"
retorted Glaucus, playing carelessly with his chain.

"Come, come," said lone, hastening to interrupt a con-
versation which she saw, to her great distress, was so little
likely to cement the intimacy she had desired to effect
between Glaucus and her friend, "Arbaces must not be
so hard upon his poor pupil. An orphan, and without a
mother's care, I may be to blame for the independent and
almost masculine liberty of life that I have chosen : yet it is
not greater than the Roman women are accustomed to — it
is not greater than the Grecian ought to be. Alas ! is it
only to be among men that freedom and virtue are to be
deemed united? Why should the slavery that destroys
you be considered the only method to preserve us ? Ah !
believe me, it has been the great error of. men — and one
that has worked bitterly on their destinies — to imagine that
the nature of women is (I will not say inferior, that may be
so, but) so different from their own, in making laws un-
favourable to the intellectual advancement of women.
Have they not, in so doing, made laws against their
children, whom women are to rear ? — against the husbands,
of whom women are to be the friends, nay, sometimes the
advisers ? " lone stopped short suddenly, and her face was
suffused with the most enchanting blushes. She feared lest
her enthusiasm had led her too far; yet she feared the
austere Arbaces less than the courteous Glaucus, for she
1 Euripides.

The Fowler Snares the Bird 63

loved the last, and it was not the custom of the Greeks to
allow their women (at least such of their women as they
most honoured) the same liberty and the same station as
those of Italy enjoyed. She felt, therefore, a thrill of
delight as Glaucus earnestly replied, —

"Ever mayst thou think thus, lone — ever be your pure
heart your unerring guide ! Happy it had been for Greece
if she had given to the chaste the same intellectual charms
that are so celebrated amongst the less worthy of her women.
No state falls from freedom — from knowledge, while your
sex smile only on the free, and by appreciating, encourage
the wise."

Arbaces was silent, for it was neither his part to sanction
the sentiment of Glaucus, nor to condemn that of lone ;
and, after a short and embarrassed conversation, Glaucus
took his leave of lone.

When he was gone, Arbaces, drawing his seat nearer. fio
the fair Neapolitan's, said in those bland and subdudd tonft,
in which he knew so well how to veil the mingled art and
fierceness of his character, —

" Think not, my sweet pupil, if so I may call you, that I
wish to shackle that liberty you adorn while you assume :
but which, if not greater, as you rightly observe, than that
possessed by the Roman women, must at least be accom-
panied by great circumspection, when arrogated by one
unmarried. Continue to draw crowds of the gay, the
brilliant, the wise themselves, to your feet — continue to
charm them with the conversation of an Aspasia, the music
of an Erinna — but reflect, at least, on those censorious
tongues which can so easily blight the tender reputation
of a maiden ; and while you provoke admiration, give, I
beseech you, no victory to envy."

"What mean you, Arbaces?" said lone, in an alarmed
and trembling voice : " I know you are my friend, that you
desire only my honour and my welfare. What is it you
would say?"

"Your friend — ah, how sincerely ! May I speak then as
a friend, without reserve and without offence ? "

" I beseech you do so."

"This young profligate, this Glaucus, how didst thou
know him ? Hast thou seen him often ? " And as Arbaces
spoke, he fixed his gaze steadfastly upon lone, as if he
sought to penetrate into her soul.

64 The Last Days of Pompeii

Recoiling before that gaze, with a strange fear which she
could not explain, the Neapolitan answered with confusion
and hesitation, — "He was brought to my house as a
countryman of my father's, and I may say of mine. I have
known him only within this last week or so : but why these
questions ? "

"Forgive me," said Arbaces; "I thought you might have
known him longer. Base insinuator that he is ! "

" How ! what mean you ? Why that term ? "

" It matters not : let me not rouse your indignation
against one who does not deserve so grave an honour."

" I implore you speak. What has Glaucus insinuated ?
or rather, in what do you suppose he has offended ? "

Smothering his resentment at the last part of Ione's
question, Arbaces continued, — " You know his pursuits, his
companions, his habits; the comissatio and the alea (the
revel and the dice) make his occupation ; — and amongst the
afeociates of vice how can he dream of virtue ? "

" Still you speak riddles. By the gods ! I entreat you,
say the worst at once."

" Well, then, it must be so. Know, my lone, that it was
but yesterday that Glaucus boasted openly — yes, in the
public baths — of your love to him. He said it amused him
to take advantage of it. Nay, I will do him justice, he
praised your beauty. Who could deny it ? But he laughed
scornfully when his Clodius, or his Lepidus, asked him if
he loved you enough for marriage, and when he purposed
to adorn his door-posts with flowers ? *

" Impossible ! How heard you this base slander ? "

" Nay, would you have me relate to you all the comments
of the insolent coxcombs with which the story has circled
through the town? Be assured that I myself disbelieved
at first, and that I have now painfully been convinced by
several ear-witnesses of the truth of what I have reluctantly
told thee."

lone sank back, and her face was whiter than the pillar
against which she leaned for support.

" I own it vexed — it irritated me, to hear your name thus
lightly pitched from lip to lip, like some mere dancing-girl's
fame. I hastened this morning to seek and to warn you.
I found Glaucus here. I was stung from my self-possession.
I could not conceal my feelings ; nay, I was uncourteous
in thy presence. Canst thou forgive thy friend, lone?"

The Fowler Snares the Bird 65

lone placed her hand in his, but replied not.

"Think no more of this," said he; "but let it be a
warning voice, to tell thee how much prudence thy lot
requires. It cannot hurt thee, lone, for a moment; for a
gay thing like this could never have been honoured by even
a serious thought from lone. These insults only wound
when they come from one we love ; far different indeed is
he whom the lofty lone shall stoop to love."

" Love ! " muttered lone, with an hysterical laugh. " Ay,
indeed."

It is not without interest to observe in those remote
times, and under a social system so widely different from
the modern, the same small causes that ruffle and interrupt
the "course of love," which operate so commonly at this
day; — the same inventive jealousy, the same cunning
slander, the same crafty and fabricated retailings of petty
gossip, which so often now suffice to break the ties of the
truest love, and counteract the tenor of circumstances most
apparently propitious. When the bark sails on over the
smoothest wave, the fable tells us of the diminutive fish
that can cling to the keel and arrest its progress : so is it
ever with the great passions of mankind ; and we should
paint life but ill if, even in times the most prodigal of
romance, and of the romance of which we most largely
avail ourselves, we did not also describe the mechanism of
those trivial and household springs of mischief which we
see every day at work in our chambers and at our hearths.
It is in these, the lesser intrigues of life, that we mostly find
ourselves at home with the past.

Most cunningly had the Egyptian appealed to Ione's
ruling foible — most dexterously had he applied the poisoned
dart to her pride. He fancied he had arrested what he
hoped, from the shortness of the time she had known
Glaucus, was, at most, but an incipient fancy ; and hastening
to change the subject, he now led her to talk of her brother.
Their conversation did not last long. He left her, resolved
not again to trust so much to absence, but to visit — to watch
her — every day.

No sooner had his shadow glided from her presence,
than woman's pride — her sex's dissimulation — deserted his
intended victim, and the haughty lone burst into passionate
tears.

66 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER VII

THE GAY LIFE OF THE POMPEIAN LOUNGER — A
MINIATURE LIKENESS OF THE ROMAN BATHS

When Glaucus left lone, he felt as if he trod upon
air. In the interview with which he had just been blessed,
he had for the first time gathered from her distinctly that
his love was not unwelcome to, and would not be un-
rewarded by, her. This hope filled him with a rapture for
which earth and heaven seemed too narrow to afford a
vent. Unconscious of the sudden enemy he had left behind,
and forgetting not only his taunts but his very existence,
Glaucus passed through the gay streets, repeating to him-
self, in the wantonness of joy, the music of the soft air to
which lone had listened with such intentness; and now
he entered the Street of Fortune, with its raised footpath —
its houses painted without, and the open doors admitting
the view of the glowing frescoes within. Each end of the
street was adorned with a triumphal arch : and as Glaucus
now came before the Temple of Fortune, the jutting portico
of that beautiful fane (which is supposed to have been built
by one of the family of Cicero, perhaps by the orator himself)
imparted a dignified and venerable feature to a scene other-
wise more brilliant than lofty in its character. That temple
was one of the most graceful specimens of Roman archi-
tecture. It was raised on a somewhat lofty podium ; and
between two flights of steps ascending to a platform stood
the altar of the goddess. From this platform another flight
of broad stairs led to the portico, from the height of whose
fluted columns hung festoons of the richest flowers. On
either side the extremities of the temple were placed statues
of Grecian workmanship ; and at a little distance from the
temple rose the triumphal arch crowned with an equestrian
statue of Caligula, which was flanked by trophies of bronze.
In the space before the temple a lively throng were assem-
bled— some seated on benches and discussing the politics
of the empire, some conversing on the approaching spectacle
of the amphitheatre. One knot of young men were lauding

The Pompeian Lounger 67

a new beauty, another discussing the merits of the last play ;
a third group, more stricken in age, were speculating on the
chance of the trade with Alexandria, and amidst these were
many merchants in the Eastern costume, whose loose and
peculiar robes, painted and gemmed slippers, and composed
and serious countenances, formed a striking contrast to the
tunicked forms and animated gestures of the Italians.
For that impatient and lively people had, as now, a language
distinct from speech — a language of signs and motions,
inexpressibly significant and vivacious : their descendants
retain it, and the learned Jorio hath written a most
entertaining work upon that species of hieroglyphical
gesticulation.

Sauntering through the crowd, Glaucus soon found him-
self amidst a group of his merry and dissipated friends.

" Ah ! " said Sallust, " it is a lustrum since I saw you."

"And how have you spent the lustrum? What new
dishes have you discovered?"

" I have been scientific," returned Sallust, " and have
made some experiments in the feeding of lampreys : I
confess I despair of bringing them to the perfection which
our Roman ancestors attained."

" Miserable man ! and why ? "

" Because," returned Sallust, with a sigh, " it is no longer
lawful to give them a slave to eat. I am very often tempted
to make away with a very fat carptor (butler) whom I
possess, and pop him slily into the reservoir. He would
give the fish a most oleaginous flavour ! But slaves are not
slaves nowadays, and have no sympathy with their masters'
interest — or Davus would destroy himself to oblige
me!"

" What news from Rome ? " said Lepidus, as he languidly
joined the group.

" The emperor has been giving a splendid supper to the
senators," answered Sallust.

" He is a good creature," quoth Lepidus ; " they say he
never sends a man away without granting his request."

" Perhaps he would let me kill a slave for my reservoir ? "
returned Sallust, eagerly.

"Not unlikely," said Glaucus; "for he who grants a
favour to one Roman, must always do it at the expense of
another. Be sure, that for eveiy smile Titus has caused,
a hundred eyes have wept."

68 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Long live Titus ! " cried Pansa, overhearing the
emperor's name, as he swept patronisingly through the
crowd ; " he has promised my brother a quaestorship,
because he had run through his fortune."

"And wishes now to enrich himself among the people,
my Pansa," said Glaucus.

" Exactly so," said Pansa.

" That is putting the people to some use," said Glaucus.

"To be sure," returned Pansa. "Well, I must go and
look after the serarium — it is a little out of repair ; " and
followed by a long train of clients, distinguished from the
rest of the throng by the togas they wore (for togas, once
the sign of freedom in a citizen, were now the badge of
servility to a patron), the aedile fidgeted fussily away.

" Poor Pansa ! " said Lepidus : " he never has time for
pleasure. Thank Heaven I am not an sedile ! "

" Ah, Glaucus ! how are you ? gay as ever ? " said
Clodius, joining the group.

" Are you come to sacrifice to Fortune ? " said Sallust.

" I sacrifice to her every night," returned the gamester.

" I do not doubt it. No man has made more victims ! "

" By Hercules, a biting speech ! " cried Glaucus,
laughing.

" The dog's letter is never out of your mouth, Sallust,"
said Clodius, angrily: " you are always snarling."

"I may well have the dog's letter in my mouth, since,
whenever I play with you, I have the dog's throw in my
hand," returned Sallust.

" Hist ! " said Glaucus, taking a rose from a flower-girl,
who stood beside.

" The rose is the token of silence," replied Sallust, " but
I love only to see it at the supper-table."

" Talking of that, Diomed gives a grand feast next week,"
said Sallust : "are you invited, Glaucus ? "

" Yes, I received an invitation this morning."

"And I, too," said Sallust, drawing a square piece of
papyrus from his girdle : " I see that he asks us an hour
earlier than usual : an earnest of something sumptuous."1

" Oh ! he is rich as Croesus," said Clodius ; " and his bill
of fare is as long as an epic."

1 The Romans sent tickets of invitation, like the moderns, specifying
the hour of the repast ; which, if the intended feast was to be
sumptuous, was earlier than usual.

The Pompeian Lounger 69

" Well, let us to the baths," said Glaucus : " this is the
time when all the world is there ; and Fulvius, whom you
admire so much, is going to read us his last ode."

The young men assented readily to the proposal, and
they strolled to the baths.

Although the public thermae, or baths, were instituted
rather for the poorer citizens than the wealthy (for the last
had baths in their own houses), yet, to the crowds of all
ranks who resorted to them, it was a favourite place for
conversation, and for that indolent lounging so dear to a
gay and thoughtless people. The baths at Pompeii differed,
of course, in plan and construction from the vast and
complicated thermae of Rome ; and, indeed, it seems that
in each city of the empire there was always some slight
modification of arrangement in the general architecture of
the public baths. This mightily puzzles the learned, —
as if architects and fashion were not capricious before the
nineteenth century ! Our party entered by the principal
porch in the Street of Fortune. At the wing of the portico
sat the keeper of the baths, with his two boxes before him,
one for the money he received, one for the tickets he dis-
pensed. Round the walls of the portico were seats crowded
with persons of all ranks ; while others, as the regimen of
the physicians prescribed, were walking briskly to and fro
the portico, stopping every now and then to gaze on the
innumerable notices of shows, games, sales, exhibitions,
which were painted or inscribed upon the walls. The
general subject of conversation was, however, the spectacle
announced in the amphitheatre ; and each new-comer was
fastened upon by a group eager to know if Pompeii had
been so fortunate as to produce some monstrous criminal,
some happy case of sacrilege or of murder, which would
allow the aediles to provide a man for the jaws of the lion :
all other more common exhibitions seemed dull and tame,
when compared with the possibility of this fortunate
occurrence.

" For my part," said one jolly-looking man, who was a
goldsmith, " I think the emperor, if he is as good as they
say, might have sent us a Jew."

"Why not take one of the new sect of Nazarenes? " said
a philosopher. " I am not cruel : but an atheist, one who
denies Jupiter himself, deserves no mercy."

" I care not how many gods a man likes to believe in,"

70 The Last Days of Pompeii

said the goldsmith; "but to deny all gods is something
monstrous."

"Yet I fancy," said Glaucus, "that these people are not
absolutely atheists. I am told that they believe in a God —
nay, in a future state."

" Quite a mistake, my dear Glaucus," said the philosopher.
"I have conferred with them — they laughed in my face
when I talked of Pluto and Hades."

" O ye gods ! " exclaimed the goldsmith, in horror ; " are
there any of these wretches in Pompeii ? "

" I know there are a few : but they meet so privately
that it is impossible to discover who they are."

As Glaucus turned away, a sculptor, who was a great
enthusiast in his art, looked after him admiringly.

" Ah ! " said he, " if we could get him on the arena —
there would be a model for you ! What limbs ! what a head !
he ought to have been a gladiator ! A subject — a subject —
worthy of our art ! Why don't they give him to the lion ? "

Meanwhile Fulvius, the Roman poet, whom his contem-
poraries declared immortal, and who, but for this history,
would never have been heard of in our neglectful age, came
eagerly up to Glaucus. " Oh, my Athenian, my Glaucus,
you have come to hear my ode ! That is indeed an honour;
you, a Greek — to whom the very language of common life
is poetry. How I thank you. It is but a trifle ; but if I
secure your approbation, perhaps I may get an introduction
to Titus. Oh, Glaucus ! a poet without a patron is an
amphora without a label ; the wine may be good, but
nobody will laud it ! And what says Pythagoras ? —
' Frankincense to the gods, but praise to man.' A patron,
then, is the poet's priest : he procures him the incense, and
obtains him his believers."

" But all Pompeii is your patron, and every portico an
altar in your praise."

" Ah ! the poor Pompeians are very civil —they love to
honour merit. But they are only the inhabitants of a
petty town — spero meliora ! Shall we within?"

" Certainly ; we lose time till we hear your poem."

At this instant there was a rush of some twenty persons
from the baths into the portico; and a slave stationed at
the door of a small corridor now admitted the poet, Glaucus,
Clodius, and a troop of the bard's other friends, into the
passage.

The Pompeian Lounger 71

"A poor place this, compared with the Roman thermae ! "
said Lepidus, disdainfully.

" Yet is there some taste in the ceiling," said Glaucus,
who was in a mood to be pleased with everything ; pointing
to the stars which studded the roof.

Lepidus shrugged his shoulders, but was too languid to
reply.

They now entered a somewhat spacious chamber, which
served for the purposes of the apodyterium (that is, a place
where the bathers prepared themselves for their luxurious
ablutions). The vaulted ceiling was raised from a cornice,
glowingly coloured with motley and grotesque paintings ; the
ceiling itself was panelled in white compartments bordered
with rich crimson ; the unsullied and shining floor was paved
with white mosaics, and along the walls were ranged benches
for the accommodation of the loiterers. This chamber did
not possess the numerous and spacious windows which
Vitruvius attributes to his more magnificent frtgidarium.
The Pompeians, as all the southern Italians, were fond of
banishing the light of their sultry skies, and combined in
their voluptuous associations the idea of luxury with dark-
ness. Two windows of glass l alone admitted the soft and
shaded ray; and the compartment in which one of these
casements was placed was adorned with a large relief of the
destruction of the Titans.

In this apartment Fulvius seated himself with a magisterial
air, and his audience gathering round him, encouraged him
to commence his recital.

The poet did not require much pressing. He drew forth
from his vest a roll of papyrus, and after hemming three
times, as much to command silence as to clear his voice, he
began that wonderful ode, of which, to the great mortifica-
tion of the author of this history, no single verse can be
discovered.

By the plaudits he received, it was doubtless worthy of his
fame ; and Glaucus was the only listener who did not find
it excel the best odes of Horace.

The poem concluded, those who took only the cold bath
began to undress ; they suspended their garments on hooks

1 The discoveries at Pompeii have controverted the long-established
error of the antiquaries, that glass windows were unknown to the
Romans — the use of them was not, however, common among the
middle and inferior classes in their private dwellings.

72 The Last Days of Pompeii

fastened in the wall, and receiving, according to their con-
dition, either from their own slaves or those of the thermae,-
loose robes in exchange, withdrew into that graceful circular
building which yet exists, to shame the unlaving posterity of
the south.

The more luxurious departed by another door to the
tepidarium, a place which was heated to a voluptuous
warmth, partly by a movable fireplace, principally by a sus-
pended pavement, beneath which was conducted the caloric
of the laconicum.

Here this portion of the intended bathers, after unrobing
themselves, remained for some time enjoying the artificial
warmth of the luxurious air. And this room, as befitted its
important rank in the long process of ablution, was more
richly and elaborately decorated than the rest ; the arched
roof was beautifully carved and painted ; the windows above,
of ground glass, admitted but wandering and uncertain rays ;
below the massive cornices were rows of figures in massive
and bold relief; the walls glowed with crimson, the pave-
ment was skilfully tessellated in white mosaics. Here the
habituated bathers, men who bathed seven times a day,
would remain in a state of enervate and speechless lassitude,
either before or (mostly) after the water-bath ; and many of
these victims of the pursuit of health turned their listless
eyes on the new-comers, recognising their friends with a nod,
but dreading the fatigue of conversation.

From this place the party again diverged, according to
their several fancies, some to the sudatorium, which answered
the purpose of our vapour-baths, and thence to the warm-
bath itself ; those more accustomed to exercise, and capable
of dispensing with so cheap a purchase of fatigue, resorted
at once to the calidarium, or water-bath.

In order to complete this sketch, and give to the reader
an adequate notion of this, the main luxury of the ancients,
we will accompany Lepidus, who regularly underwent the
whole process, save only the cold-bath, which had gone
lately out of fashion. Being then gradually warmed in the
tepidarium, which has just been described, the delicate steps
of the Pompeian elegant were conducted to the sudatorium.
Here let the reader depict to himself the gradual process of
the vapour-bath, accompanied by an exhalation of spicy per-
fumes. After our bather had undergone this operation, he
was seized by his slaves, who always awaited him at the

The Pompeian Lounger 73

baths, and the dews of heat were removed by a kind of
scraper, which (by the way) a modern traveller has gravely
declared to be used only to remove the dirt, not one particle
of which could ever settle on the polished skin of the practised
bather. Thence, somewhat cooled, he passed into the water-
bath, over which fresh perfumes were profusely scattered,
and on emerging from the opposite part of the room, a cool-
ing shower played over his head and form. Then wrapping
himself in a light robe, he returned once more to the tepi-
darium, where he found Glaucus, who had not encountered
the sudatorium ; and now, the main delight and extravagance
of the bath commenced. Their slaves anointed the bathers
from vials of gold, of alabaster, or of crystal, studded with
profusest gems, and containing the rarest unguents gathered
from all quarters of the world. The number of these smeg-
mata used by the wealthy would fill a modern volume —
especially if the volume were printed by a fashionable
publisher; Amaracinum, Mega/ium, Nardum — omne quod
exit in urn : — while soft music played in an adjacent chamber,
and such as used the bath in moderation, refreshed and
restored by the grateful ceremony, conversed with all the
zest and freshness of rejuvenated life.

" Blessed be he who invented baths ! " said Glaucus,
stretching himself along one of those bronze seats (then
covered with soft cushions) which the visitor to Pompeii
sees at this day in that same tepidarium. " Whether he
were Hercules or Bacchus, he deserved deification."

" But tell me," said a corpulent citizen, who was groaning
and wheezing under the operation of being rubbed down,
" tell me, O Glaucus ! — evil chance to thy hands, O slave !
why so rough ? — tell me — ugh — ugh ! — are the baths at
Rome really so magnificent ? " Glaucus turned, and recog-
nised Diomed, though not without some difficulty, so red
and so inflamed were the good man's cheeks by the sudatory
and the scraping he had so lately undergone. " I fancy
they must be a great deal finer than these. Eh ? " Sup-
pressing a smile, Glaucus replied, —

" Imagine all Pompeii converted into baths, and you will
then form a notion of the size of the imperial thermae of
Rome. But a notion of the size only. Imagine every
entertainment for mind and body — enumerate all the gym-
nastic games our fathers invented — repeat all the books Italy
and Greece have produced — suppose places for all these

74 The Last Days of Pompeii

games, admirers for all these works — add to this, baths of
the vastest size, the most complicated construction — inter-
sperse the whole with gardens, with theatres, with porticoes,
with schools — suppose, in one word, a city of the gods,
composed but of palaces and public edifices, and you may
form some faint idea of the glories of the great baths of
Rome."

" By Hercules ! " said Diomed, opening his eyes, " why,
it would take a man's whole life to bathe ! "

" At Rome, it often does so," replied Glaucus, gravely.
11 There are many who live only at the baths. They repair
there the first hour in which the doors are opened, and
remain till that in which the doors are closed. They seem
as if they knew nothing of the rest of Rome, as if they
despised all other existence."
11 By Pollux ! you amaze me."

"Even those who bathe only thrice a day contrive to
consume their lives in this occupation. They take their
exercise in the tennis-court or the porticoes, to prepare them
for the first bath ; they lounge into the theatre, to refresh
themselves after it. They take their prandium under the
trees, and think over their second bath. By the time it is
prepared, the prandium is digested. From the second bath
they stroll into one of the peristyles, to hear some new poet
recite : or into the library, to sleep over an old one. Then
comes the supper, which they still consider but a part of the
bath : and then a third time they bathe again, as the best
place to converse with their friends."

" Per Hercle ! but we have their imitators at Pompeii."
" Yes, and without their excuse. The magnificent volup-
tuaries of the Roman baths are happy : they see nothing
but gorgeousness and splendour ; they visit not the squalid
parts of the city ; they know not that there is poverty in the
world. All Nature smiles for them, and her only frown is
the last one which sends them to bathe in Cocytus. Believe
me, they are your only true philosophers."

While Glaucus was thus conversing, Lepidus, with closed
eyes and scarce perceptible breath, was undergoing all the
mystic operations, not one of which he ever suffered his
attendants to omit. After the perfumes and the unguents,
they scattered over him the luxurious powder which pre-
sented any further accession of heat : and this being rubbed
away by the smooth surface of the pumice, he began to

The Pompeian Lounger 75

indue, not the garments he had put off, but those more
festive ones termed "the synthesis," with which the Romans
marked their respect for the coming ceremony of supper, if
rather, from its hour (three o'clock in our measurement of
time), it might not be more fitly denominated dinner. This
done, he at length opened his eyes and gave signs of
returning life.

At the same time, too, Sallust betokened by a long yawn
the evidence of existence.

" It is supper time," said the epicure ; " you, Glaucus and
Lepidus, come and sup with me."

"Recollect you are all three engaged to my house next
week," cried Diomed, who was mightily proud of the
acquaintance of men of fashion.

"Ah, ah! we recollect," said Sallust; "the seat of
memory, my Diomed, is certainly in the stomach."

Passing now once again into the cooler air, and so into
the street, our gallants of that day concluded the ceremony
of a Pompeian bath.

CHAPTER VIII

ARBACES COGS HIS DICE WITH PLEASURE, AND WINS THE
GAME

The evening darkened over the restless city as Apaecides
took his way to the house of the Egyptian. He avoided the
more lighted and populous streets ; and as he strode onward
with his head buried in his bosom, and his arms folded
within his robe, there was something startling in the contrast,
which his solemn mien and wasted form presented to the
thoughtless brows and animated air of those who occasionally
crossed his path.

At length, however, a man of a more sober and staid
demeanour, and who had twice passed him with a curious
but doubting look, touched him on the shoulder.

" Apaecides ! " said he, and he made a rapid sign with his
hands : it was the sign of the cross.

" Well, Nazarene," replied the priest, and his face grew
paler ; " what wouldst thou ? "

76 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Nay," returned the stranger, " I would not interrupt thy
meditations ; but the last time we met, I seemed not to be
so unwelcome."

"You are not unwelcome, Olinthus ; but I am sad and
weary : nor am I able this evening to discuss with you those
themes which are most acceptable to you."

" O backward of heart ! " said Olinthus, with bitter
fervour ; " and art thou sad and weary, and wilt thou turn
from the very springs that refresh and heal ? "

" O earth ! " cried the young priest, striking his breast
passionately, "from what regions shall my eyes open to the
true Olympus, where thy gods really dwell ? Am I to
believe with this man, that none whom for so many centuries
my fathers worshipped have a being or a name ? Am I to
break down, as something blasphemous and profane, the
very altars which I have deemed most sacred ? or am I to
think with Arbaces — what ? "

He paused, and strode rapidly away in the impatience of
a man who strives to get rid of himself. But the Nazarene
was one of those hardy, vigorous, and enthusiastic men, by
whom God in all times has worked the revolutions of earth,
and those, above all, in the establishment and in the re-
formation of His own religion ; — men who were formed to
convert, because formed to endure. It is men of this mould
whom nothing discourages, nothing dismays ; in the fervour
of belief they are inspired and they inspire. Their reason
first kindles their passion, but the passion is the instrument
they use ; they force themselves into men's hearts, while
they appear only to appeal to their judgment. Nothing is so
contagious as enthusiasm ; it is the real allegory of the tale
of Orpheus — it moves stones, it charms brutes. Enthusiasm
is the genius of sincerity, and truth accomplishes no victories
without it.

Olinthus did not then suffer Apsecides thus easily to
escape him. He overtook and addressed him thus : —

" I do not wonder, Apaecides, that I distress you ; that I
shake all the elements of your mind : that you are lost in
doubt ; that you drift here and there in the vast ocean of
uncertain and benighted thought. I wonder not at this, but
bear with me a little ; watch and pray — the darkness shall
vanish, the storm sleep, and God Himself, as He came of
yore on the seas of Samaria, shall walk over the lulled
billows, to the delivery of your soul. Ours is a religion

Arbaces Cogs his Dice 77

jealous in its demands, but how infinitely prodigal in
its gifts ! It troubles you for an hour, it repays you by
immortality."

"Such promises," said Apaecides, sullenly, "are the tricks
by which man is ever gulled. Oh, glorious were the pro-
mises which led me to the shrine of Isis ! "

" But," answered the Nazarene, " ask thy reason, can that
religion be sound which outrages all morality ? You are told
to worship your gods. What are those gods, even according
to yourselves? What their actions, what their attributes?
Are they not all represented to you as the blackest of crimi-
nals ? yet you are asked to serve them as the holiest of
divinities. Jupiter himself is a parricide and an adulterer.
What are the meaner deities but imitators of his vices?
You are told not to murder, but you worship murderers ;
you are told not to commit adultery, and you make
your prayers to an adulterer I Oh ! what is this but a
mockery of the holiest part of man's nature, which is
faith? Turn now to the God, the one, the true God,
to whose shrine I would lead you. If He seem to you
too sublime, two shadowy, for those human associations,
those touching connections between Creator and creature,
to which the weak heart clings — contemplate Him in His
Son, who put on mortality like ourselves. His mortality is
not indeed declared, like that of your fabled gods, by the
vices of our nature, but by the practice of all its virtues. In
Him are united the austerest morals with the tenderest
affections. If He were but a mere man, He had been
worthy to become a god. You honour Socrates — he has his
sect, his disciples, his schools. But what are the doubtful
virtues of the Athenian, to the bright, the undisputed, the
active, the unceasing, the devoted holiness of Christ ? I
speak to you now only of His human character. He came
in that as the pattern of future ages, to show us the form of
virtue which Plato thirsted to see embodied. This was the
true sacrifice that He made for man ; but the halo that
encircled His dying hour not only brightened earth, but
opened to us the sight of heaven ! You are touched — you
are moved. God works in your heart. His Spirit is with
you. Come, resist not the holy impulse ; come at once —
unhesitatingly. A few of us are now assembled to expound
the word of God. Come, let me guide you to them. You
are sad, you are weary. Listen, then, to the words of

78 The Last Days of Pompeii

God: — 'Come to me,' saith He, 'all ye that are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest ! * "

" I cannot now," said Apaecides ; " another time."

" Now — now ! " exclaimed Olinthus, earnestly, and clasp-
ing him by the arm.

But Apaecides, yet unprepared for the renunciation of that
faith — that life, for which he had sacrificed so much, and
still haunted by the promises of the Egyptian, extricated
himself forcibly from the grasp ; and feeling an effort neces-
sary to conquer the irresolution which the eloquence of the
Christian had begun to effect in his heated and feverish
mind, he gathered up his robes and fled away with a speed
that defied pursuit.

Breathless and exhausted, he arrived at last in a remote
and sequestered part of the city, and the lone house of the
Egyptian stood before him. As he paused to recover him-
self, the moon emerged from a silver cloud, and shone full
upon the walls of that mysterious habitation.

No other house was near — the darksome vines clustered
far and wide in front of the building, and behind it rose a
copse of lofty forest trees, sleeping in the melancholy moon-
light ; beyond stretched the dim outline of the distant hills,
and amongst them the quiet crest of Vesuvius, not then so
lofty as the traveller beholds it now.

Apaecides passed through the arching vines, and arrived at
the broad and spacious portico. Before it, on either side of
the steps, reposed the image of the Egyptian sphinx, and the
moonlight gave an additional and yet more solemn calm to
those large, and harmonious, and passionless features, in
which the sculptors of that type of wisdom united so much of
loveliness with awe ; half way up the extremities of the steps
darkened the green and massive foliage of the aloe, and the
shadow of the eastern palm cast its long and unwaving
boughs partially over the marble surface of the stairs.

Something there was in the stillness of the place, and the
strange aspect of the sculptured sphinxes, which thrilled the
blood of the priest with a nameless and ghostly fear, and
he longed even for an echo to his noiseless steps as he
ascended to the threshold.

He knocked at the door, over which was wrought an in-
scription in characters unfamiliar to his eyes ; it opened
without a sound, and a tall Ethiopian slave, without ques-
tion or salutation, motioned to him to proceed.

&

Arbaces Cogs his Dice 79

The wide hall was lighted by lofty candelabra of elaborate
bronze, and round the walls were wrought vast hieroglyphics,
in dark and solemn colours, which contrasted strangely with
the bright hues and graceful shapes with which the inhabit-
ants of Italy decorated their abodes. At the extremity of
the hall, a slave, whose countenance, though not African,
was darker by many shades than the usual colour of the
south, advanced to meet him.

" I seek Arbaces," said the priest ; but his voice trembled
even in his own ear. The slave bowed his head in silence,
and leading Apaecides to a wing without the hall, conducted
him up a narrow staircase, and then traversing several rooms,
in which the stern and thoughtful beauty of the sphinx still
made the chief and most impressive object of the priest's
notice, Apaecides found himself in a dim and half-lighted
chamber, in the presence of the Egyptian.

Arbaces was seated before a small table, on which lay un-
folded several scrolls of papyrus, impressed with the same
character as that on the threshold of the mansion. A small
tripod stood at a little distance, from the incense in which
the smoke slowly rose. Near this was a vast globe, depict-
ing the signs of heaven ; and upon another table lay several
instruments, of curious and quaint shape, whose uses were
unknown to Apaecides. The farther extremity of the room
was concealed by a curtain, and the oblong window in the
roof admitted the rays of the moon, mingling sadly with the
single lamp which burned in the apartment.

"Seat yourself, Apaecides," said the Egyptian, without
rising.

The young man obeyed.

" You ask me," resumed Arbaces, after a short pause, in
which he seemed absorbed in thought, — " You ask me, or
would do so, the mightiest secrets which the soul of man is
fitted to receive ; it is the enigma of life itself that you desire
me to solve. Placed like children in the dark, and but for
a little while, in this dim and confined existence, we shape
our spectres in the obscurity ; our thoughts now sink back
into ourselves in terror, now wildly plunge themselves into
the guideless gloom, guessing what it may contain ; — stretch-
ing our helpless hands here and there, lest, blindly, we stumble
upon some hidden danger ; not knowing the limits of our
boundary, now feeling them suffocate us with compression,
now seeing them extend far away till they vanish into eter-

80 The Last Days of Pompeii

nity. In this state all wisdom consists necessarily in the
solution of two questions — ■ What are we to believe ? and
What are we to reject ? ' These questions you desire me to
decide?"

Apaecides bowed his head in assent.

" Man must have some belief," continued the Egyptian, in
a tone of sadness. " He must fasten his hope to something :
it is our common nature that you inherit when, aghast and
terrified to see that in which you have been taught to place
your faith swept away, you float over a dreary and shoreless
sea of incertitude, you cry for help, you ask for some plank
to cling to, some land, however dim and distant, to attain.
Well, then, listen. You have not forgotten our conversation
of to-day?"

" Forgotten ! "

" I confessed to you that those deities for whom smoke so
many altars were but inventions. I confessed to you that
our rites and ceremonies were but mummeries, to delude
and lure the herd to their proper good. I explained to you
that from those delusions came the bonds of society, the
harmony of the world, the power of the wise ; that power is
in the obedience of the vulgar. Continue we then these
salutary delusions — if man must have some belief, continue
to him that which his fathers have made dear to him, and
which custom sanctifies and strengthens. In seeking a
subtler faith for us, whose senses are too spiritual for the
gross one, let us leave others that support which crumbles
from ourselves. This is wise — it is benevolent."

" Proceed."

" This being settled," resumed the Egyptian, " the old
landmarks being left uninjured for those whom we are about
to desert, we gird up our loins and depart to new climes of
faith. Dismiss at once from your recollection, from your
thought, all that you have believed before. Suppose the
mind a blank, an unwritten scroll, fit to receive impressions
for the first time. Look round the world — observe its order
— its regularity — its design. Something must have created
it — the design speaks a designer : in that certainty we first
touch land. But what is that something ? — A god, you cry.
Stay — no confused and confusing names. Of that which
created the world, we know, we can know, nothing, save
these attributes — power and unvarying regularity : — stern,
crushing, relentless regularity — heeding no individual cases

Arbaces Cogs his Dice 81

— rolling — sweeping — burning on ; — no matter what scat-
tered hearts, severed from the general mass, fall ground and
scorched beneath its wheels. The mixture of evil with good
— the existence of suffering and of crime — in all times have
perplexed the wise. They created a god — they supposed him
benevolent. How then came this evil ? why did he permit
it — nay, why invent, why perpetuate it? To account for
this, the Persian creates a second spirit, whose nature is evil,
and supposes a continual war between that and the god of
good. In our own shadowy and tremendous Typhon, the
Egyptians image a similar demon. Perplexing blunder that
yet more bewilders us ! — folly that arose from the vain delu-
sion that makes a palpable, a corporeal, a human being, of
this unknown power — that clothes the Invisible with attri-
butes and a nature similar to the Seen. No : to this de-
signer let us give a name that does not command our be-
wildering associations, and the mystery becomes more clear
— that name is Necessity. Necessity, say the Greeks,
compels the gods. Then why the gods ? — their agency be-
comes unnecessary — dismiss them at once. Necessity is the
ruler of all we see : — power, regularity — these two qualities
make its nature. Would you ask more ? — you can learn
nothing : whether it be eternal — whether it compel us, its
creatures, to new careers after that darkness which we call
death — we cannot tell. There leave we this ancient, unseen,
unfathomable power, and come to that which, to our eyes, is
the great minister of its functions. This we can task more,
from this we can learn more : its evidence is around us — its
name is Nature. The error of the sages has been to direct
their researches to the attributes of necessity, where all is
gloom and blindness. Had they confined their researches
to Nature — what of knowledge might we not already have
achieved? Here patience, examination, are never directed
in vain. We see what we explore ; our minds ascend a pal-
pable ladder of causes and effects. Nature is the great agent
of the external universe, and Necessity imposes upon it the
laws by which it acts, and imparts to us the powers by which
we examine j those powers are curiosity and memory — their
union is reason, their perfection is wisdom. Well, then, I
examine by the help of these powers this inexhaustible
Nature. I examine the earth, the air, the ocean, the
heaven : I find that all have a mystic sympathy with each
other — that the moon sways the tides — that the air main-

82 The Last Days of Pompeii

tains the earth, and is the medium of the life and sense of
things — that by the knowledge of the stars we measure the
limits of the earth — that we portion out the epochs of time
— that by their pale light we are guided into the abyss of
the past — that in their solemn lore we discern the destinies
of the future. And thus, while we know not that which
Necessity is, we learn, at least, her decrees. And now, what
morality do we glean from this religion ? — for religion it is.
I believe in two deities — Nature and Necessity; I worship
the last by reverence, the first by investigation. What is the
morality my religion teaches ? This — all things are subject
but to general rules ; the sun shines for the joy of the many
— it may bring sorrow to the few ; the night sheds sleep on
the multitude — but it harbours murder as well as rest ; the
forests adorn the earth — but shelter the serpent and the
lion ; the ocean supports a thousand barks — but it engulfs
the one. It is only thus for the general, and not for the uni-
versal benefit, that Nature acts, and Necessity speeds on her
awful course. This is the morality of the dread agents of
the world — it is mine, who am their creature. I would pre-
serve the delusions of priestcraft, for they are serviceable to
the multitude ; I would impart to man the arts I discover,
the sciences I perfect ; I would speed the vast career of
civilising lore : — in this I serve the mass, I fulfil the general
law, I execute the great moral that Nature preaches. For
myself I claim the individual exception ; I claim it for the
wise — satisfied that my individual actions are nothing in the
great balance of good and evil ; satisfied that the product of
my knowledge can give greater blessings to the mass than
my desires can operate evil on the few (for the first can ex-
tend to remotest regions and humanise nations yet unborn),
I give to the world wisdom, to myself freedom. I enlighten
the lives of others, and I enjoy my own. Yes ; our wisdom
is eternal, but our life is short : make the most of it while it
lasts. Surrender thy youth to pleasure, and thy senses to
delight. Soon comes the hour when the wine-cup is shat-
tered, and the garlands shall cease to bloom. Enjoy while
you may. Be still, O Apaecides, my pupil and my follower !
I will teach thee the mechanism of Nature, her darkest and
her wildest secrets — the lore which fools call magic — and the
mighty mysteries of the stars. By this shalt thou discharge
thy duty to the mass ; by this shalt thou enlighten thy race.
But I will lead thee also to pleasures of which the vulgar do

Arbaces Cogs his Dice 83

not dream ; and the day which thou givest to men shall be
followed by the sweet night which thou surrenderest to thyself."
As the Egyptian ceased there rose about, around, beneath,
the softest music that Lydia ever taught, or Iona ever per-
fected. It came like a stream of sound, bathing the senses
unawares ; enervating, subduing with delight. It seemed
the melodies of invisible spirits, such as the shepherd might
have heard in the golden age, floating through the vales of
Thessaly, or in the noontide glades of Paphos. The words
which had rushed to the lip of Apaecides, in answer to the
sophistries of the Egyptian, died tremblingly away. He felt
it as a profanation to break upon that enchanted strain —
the susceptibility of his excited nature, the Greek softness
and ardour of his secret soul, were swayed and captured by
surprise. He sank on the seat with parted lips and thirsting
ear ; while in a chorus of voices, bland and melting as those
which waked Psyche in the halls of love, rose the following
song : —

THE HYMN OF EROS.

" By the cool banks where soft Cephisus flows,
A voice sail'd trembling down the waves of air ;
The leaves blushed brighter in the Teian's rose,
The doves couch'd breathless in their summer lair ;

While from their hands the purple flowerets fell,
The laughing Hours stood listening in the sky ; —

From Pan's green cave to vEgle's1 haunted cell,
Heaved the charm'd earth in one delicious sigh.

' Love, sons of earth ! I am the Power of Love !
Eldest of all the gods, with Chaos * born ;
My smile sheds light along the courts above,
My kisses wake the eyelids of the Morn.

1 Mine are the stars — there, ever as ye gaze,

Ye meet the deep spell of my haunting eyes ;
Mine is the moon — and, mournful if her rays,
'Tis that she lingers where her Carian lies.

•The flowers are mine — the blushes of the rose,

The violet-charmincr Zephyr to the shade ;
Mine the quick light that in the Maybeam glows,
And mine the day-dream in the lonely glade.

' Love, sons of earth — for love is earth's soft lore,
Look where ye will — earth overflows with me ;
Learn from the waves that ever kiss the shore,
And the winds nestling on the heaving sea.

1 The fairest of the Naiads. a Hesiod.

84 The Last Days of Pompeii

c All teaches love ! ' — The sweet voice, like a dream,

Melted in light ; yet still the airs above,
The waving sedges, and the whispering stream,
And the green forest rustling, murmur'd ' Love ! ' '

As the voices died away, the Egyptian seized the hand of
Apaecides, and led him, wandering, intoxicated, yet half-
reluctant, across the chamber towards the curtain at the far
end ; and now, from behind that curtain, there seemed to
burst a thousand sparkling stars ; the veil itself, hitherto
dark, was now lighted by these fires behind into the tenderest
blue of heaven. It represented heaven itself — such a heaven,
as in the nights of June might have shone down over the
streams of Castaly. Here and there were painted rosy and
aerial clouds, from which smiled, by the limner's art, faces
of divinest beauty, and on which reposed the shapes of
which Phidias and Apelles dreamed. And the stars which
studded the transparent azure rolled rapidly as they shone,
while the music, that again woke with a livelier and lighter
sound, seemed to imitate the melody of the joyous spheres.

" Oh ! what miracle is this, Arbaces ? " said Apaecides in
faltering accents. " After having denied the gods, art thou
about to reveal to me "

"Their pleasures!" interrupted Arbaces, in a tone so
different from its usual cold and tranquil harmony that
Apaecides started, and thought the Egyptian himself trans-
formed; and now, as they neared the curtain, a wild — a
loud — an exulting melody burst from behind its conceal-
ment. With that sound the veil was rent in twain — it
parted — it seemed to vanish into air : and a scene, which
no Sybarite ever more than rivalled, broke upon the dazzled
gaze of the youthful priest. A vast banquet-room stretched
beyond, blazing with countless lights, which filled the warm
air with the scents of frankincense, of jasmine, of violets, of
myrrh ; all that the most odorous flowers, all that the most
costly spices could distil, seemed gathered into one ineffable
and ambrosial essence : from the light columns that sprang
upwards to the airy roof, hung draperies of white, studded
with golden stars. At the extremities of the room two
fountains cast up a spray, which, catching the rays of the
roseate light, glittered like countless diamonds. In the
centre of the room as they entered there rose slowly from
the floor, to the sound of unseen minstrelsy, a table spread
with all the viands which sense ever devoted to fancy, and

Arbaces Cogs his Dice 85

vases of that lost Myrrhine fabric,1 so glowing in its colours,
so transparent in its material, were crowned with the exotics
of the East. The couches, to which this table was the
centre, were covered with tapestries of azure and gold ; and
from invisible tubes in the vaulted roof descended showers
of fragrant waters, that cooled the delicious air, and con-
tended with the lamps, as if the spirits of wave and fire
disputed which element could furnish forth the most
delicious odours. And now, from behind the snowy
draperies, trooped such forms as Adonis beheld when he
lay on the lap of Venus. They came, some with garlands,
others with lyres ; they surrounded the youth, they led his
steps to the banquet. They flung the chaplets round him
in rosy chains. The earth — the thought of earth, vanished
from his soul. He imagined himself in a dream, and sup-
pressed his breath lest he should wake too soon ; the senses,
to which he had never yielded as yet, beat in his burning
pulse, and confused his dizzy and reeling sight. And while
thus amazed and lost, once again, but in brisk and Bacchic
measures, rose the magic strain : —

ANACREONTIC.

" In the veins of the calix foams and glows
The blood of the mantling vine,
But oh ! in the bowl of Youth there glows
A Lesbian, more divine !
Bright, bright,
As the liquid light,
Its waves through thine eyelids shine !

Fill up, fill up, to the sparkling brim,

The juice of the young Lyaeus ; 2
The grape is the key that we owe to him
From the gaol of the world to free us.
Drink, drink !
What need to shrink,
When the lambs alone can see us ?

Drink, drink, as I quaff from thine eyes

The wine of a softer tree ;
Give the smiles to the god of the grape — thy sighs,
Beloved one, give to me.
Turn, turn,
My glances burn,
And thirst for a look from thee ! "

1 Which, however, was possibly the porcelain of China,— though this
is a matter which admits of considerable dispute.

- Name of Bacchus, from \v<a} to unbind, to release.

86 The Last Days of Pompeii

As the song ended, a group of three maidens, entwinec
with a chain of starred flowers, and who, while they imitated
might have shamed the Graces, advanced towards him in the
gliding measures of the Ionian dance : such as the Nereids
wreathed in moonlight on the yellow sands of the ^tgear
wave — such as Cytherea taught her handmaids in the
marriage-feast of Psyche and her son.

Now approaching, they wreathed their chaplet round his
head ; now kneeling, the youngest of the three proffered him
the bowl, from which the wine of Lesbos foamed and
sparkled. The youth resisted no more, he grasped the
intoxicating cup, the blood mantled fiercely through his
veins. He sank upon the breast of the nymph who sat
beside him, and turning with swimming eyes to seek for
Arbaces, whom he had lost in the whirl of his emotions, he
beheld him seated beneath a canopy at the upper end of
the table, and gazing upon him with a smile that encouraged
him to pleasure. He beheld him, but not as he had hitherto
seen, with dark and sable garments, with a brooding and
solemn brow : a robe that dazzled the sight, so studded was
its whitest surface with gold and gems, blazed upon his
majestic form; white roses, alternated with the emerald
and the ruby, and shaped tiara-like, crowned his raven locks.
He appeared, like Ulysses, to have gained the glory of a
second youth — his features seemed to have exchanged
thought for beauty, and he towered amidst the loveliness
that surrounded him, in all the beaming and relaxing
benignity of the Olympian god.

" Drink, feast, love, my pupil ! " said he ; " blush not that
thou art passionate and young. That which thou art,
thou feelest in thy veins : that which thou shalt be,
survey ! "

With this he pointed to a recess, and the eyes of
Apaecides, following the gesture, beheld on a pedestal,
placed between the statues of Bacchus and Idalia, the
form of a skeleton.

"Start not," resumed the Egyptian; "that friendly guest
admonishes us but of the shortness of life. From its jaws I
hear a voice that summons us to enjoy."

As he spoke, a group of nymphs surrounded the statue ;
they laid chaplets on its pedestal, and, while the cups were
emptied and refilled at that glowing board, they sang the
following strain : —

Arbaces Cogs his Dice 87

BACCHIC HYMNS TO THE IMAGE OF DEATH.

1 ' Thou art in the land of the shadowy Host,
Thou that didst drink and love :
By the Solemn River, a gliding ghost,
But thy thought is ours above !
If memory yet can fly,
Back to the golden sky,
And mourn the pleasures lost !
By the ruin'd hall these flowers we lay,
Where thy soul once held its palace ;
When the rose to thy scent and sight was gay,
And the smile was in the chalice,
And the cithara's silver voice
Could bid thy heart rejoice
When night eclipsed the day."

Here a new group advancing, turned the tide of the music
into a quicker and more joyous strain.

11.

"Death, death is the gloomy shore

Where we all sail —
Soft, soft, thou gliding oar ;

Blow soft, sweet gale !
Chain with bright wreaths the Hours ;

Victims if all
Ever, 'mid song and flowers,

Victims should fall ! "

Pausing for a moment, yet quicker and quicker danced
the silver-footed music : —

' ' Since Life's so short, we'll live to laugh,
Ah ! wherefore waste a minute !
If youth's the cup we yet can quaff,
Be love the pearl within it ! "

A third band now approached with brimming cups, which
they poured in libation upon that strange altar ; and once
more, slow and solemn, rose the changeful melody : —

Thou art welcome, Guest of gloom,
From the far and fearful sea !

When the last rose sheds its bloom,
Our board shall be spread with thee !
All hail, dark Guest 1

88

The Last Days of Pompeii

Who hath so fair a plea
Our welcome Guest to be,
As thou, whose solemn hall
At last shall feast us all
In the dim and dismal coast ?
Long yet be we the Host !
And thou, Dead Shadow, thou,
All joyless though thy brow,

Thou — but our passing Guest!"

At this moment, she who sat beside Apaxides suddenly

OK im rhf» snnor • J

took up the song \

IV.

" Happy is yet our doom,

The earth and the sun are ours !
And far from the dreary tomb
Speed the wings of the rosy Hours-
Sweet is for thee the bowl,

Sweet are thy looks, my love ;
I fly to thy tender soul,

As the bird to its mated dove !
Take me, ah, take !
Clasp'd to thy guardian breast,
Soft let me sink to rest :

But wake me— ah, wake !
And tell me with words and sighs,
But more with thy melting eyes,
That my sun is not set —
That the Torch is not quench'd at the Urn
lhat we love, and we breathe, and burn,
Tell me— thou lov'st me yet ! "

A Flash House in Pompeii 89

BOOK II

CHAPTER I

A FLASH HOUSE IN POMPEII, AND THE GENTLEMEN OF
THE CLASSIC RING

To one of those parts of Pompeii, which were tenanted
not by the lords of pleasure, but by its minions and its
victims ; the haunt of gladiators and prize-fighters ; of
the vicious and the penniless ; of the savage and the
obscene ; the Alsatia of an ancient city — we are now
transported.

It was a large room, that opened at once on the confined
and crowded lane. Before the threshold was a group of
men, whose iron and well-strung muscles, whose short and
Herculean necks, whose hardy and reckless countenances,
indicated the champions of the arena. On a shelf, without
the shop, were ranged jars of wine and oil ; and right over
this was inserted in the wall a coarse painting, which
exhibited gladiators drinking — so ancient and so venerable
is the custom of signs ! Within the room were placed
several small tables, arranged somewhat in the modern
fashion of " boxes," and round these were seated several knots
of men, some drinking, some playing at dice, some at that
more skilful game called " duodecim scripta" which certain
of the blundering learned have mistaken for chess, though
it rather, perhaps, resembled backgammon of the two, and
was usually, though not always, played by the assistance of
dice. The hour was in the early forenoon, and nothing
better, perhaps, than that unseasonable time itself denoted
the habitual indolence of these tavern loungers. Yet,
despite the situation of the house and the character of
its inmates, it indicated none of that sordid squalor which
would have characterised a similar haunt in a modern city.
The gay disposition of all the Pompeians, who sought, at
least, to gratify the sense even where they neglected the
mind, was typified by the gaudy colours which decorated
the walls, and the shapes, fantastic but not inelegant, in

90 The Last Days of Pompeii

which the lamps, the drinking-cups, the commonest house-
hold utensils, were wrought.

" By Pollux ! " said one of the gladiators, as he leaned
against the wall of the threshold, "the wine thou sellest
us, old Silenus," — and as he spoke he slapped a portly
personage on the back, — " is enough to thin the best blood
in one's veins."

The man thus caressingly saluted, and whose bared arms,
white apron, and keys and napkin tucked carelessly within
his girdle, indicated him to be the host of the tavern, was
already passed into the autumn of his years ; but his form
was still so robust and athletic, that he might have shamed
even the sinewy shapes beside him, save that the muscles
had seeded, as it were, into flesh, that the cheeks were
swelled and bloated, and the increasing stomach threw
into shade the vast and massive chest which rose above
it.

" None of thy scurrilous blusterings with me," growled
the gigantic landlord, in the gentle semi-roar of an insulted
tiger ; " my wine is good enough for a carcase which shall
so soon soak the dust of the spoliarium."1

" Croakest thou thus, old raven ! " returned the gladiator,
laughing scornfully ; " thou shalt live to hang thyself with
despite when thou seest me win the palm crown ; and
when I get the purse at the amphitheatre, as I certainly shall,
my first vow to Hercules shall be to forswear thee and thy
vile potations evermore."

" Hear to him — hear to this modest Pyrgopolinices !
He has certainly served under Bombochides Clunin-
staridysarchides," 2 cried the host. "Sporus, Niger,
Tetraides, he declares he shall win the purse from you.
Why, by the gods ! each of your muscles is strong enough
to stifle all his body, or / know nothing of the arena ! "

" Ha ! " said the gladiator, colouring with rising fury,
" our lanista would tell a different story."

"What story could he tell against me, vain Lydon?"
said Tetraides, frowning.

" Or me, who have conquered in fifteen fights ? " said the
gigantic Niger, stalking up to the gladiator.

1 The place to which the killed or mortally wounded were dragged
from the arena.

2 " Miles Glorious," Act I. ; as much as to say, in modern phrase,
"He has served under Bombastes Furioso."

A Flash House in Pompeii 91

"Orme?" grunted Sporus, with eyes of fire.

"Tush!" said Lydon, folding his arms, and regarding
his rivals with a reckless air of defiance. "The time of
trial will soon come ; keep your valour till then."

" Ay, do," said the surly host ; " and if I press down
my thumb to save you, may the Fates cut my thread ! "

"Your rope, you mean," said Lydon, sneeringly : "here
is a sesterce to buy one."

The Titan wine-vender seized the hand extended to him,
and griped it in so stern a vice that the blood spirted from
the fingers' ends over the garments of the bystanders.

They set up a savage laugh.

" I will teach thee, young braggart, to play the Mace-
donian with me ! I am no puny Persian, I warrant thee !
What, man ! have I not fought twenty years in the ring,
and never lowered my arms once ? And have I not received
the rod from the editor's own hand as a sign of victory, and
as a grace to retirement on my laurels ? And am I now to
be lectured by a boy ? " So saying, he flung the hand from
him in scorn.

Without changing a muscle, but with the same smiling
face with which he had previously taunted mine host, did
the gladiator brave the painful grasp he had undergone.
But no sooner was his hand released, than, crouching for
one moment as a wild cat crouches, you might see his hair
bristle on his head and beard, and with a fierce and shrill
yell he sprang on the throat of the giant, with an impetus
that threw him, vast and sturdy as he was, from his
balance ; — and down, with the crash of a falling rock, he
fell ; — while over him fell also his ferocious foe.

Our host, perhaps, had had no need of the rope so kindly
recommended to him by Lydon, had he remained three
minutes longer in that position. But, summoned to his
assistance by the noise of his fall, a woman, who had
hitherto kept in an inner apartment, rushed to the scene
of battle. This new ally was in herself a match for the
gladiator ; she was tall, lean, and with arms that could give
other than soft embraces. In fact, the gentle helpmate of
Burbo the wine-seller had, like himself, fought in the lists1 —
nay, under the emperor's eye. And Burbo himself — Burbo,
the unconquered in the field, according to report, now and

1 Not only did women sometimes fight in the amphitheatres, but
even those of noble birth participated in that meek ambition.

92 The Last Days of Pompeii

then yielded the palm to his soft Stratonice. This sweet
creature no sooner saw the imminent peril that awaited her
worse half, than without other weapons than those with
which Nature had provided her, she darted upon the
incumbent gladiator, and, clasping him round the waist
with her long and snakelike arms, lifted him by a sudden
wrench from the body of her husband, leaving only his
hands still clinging to the throat of his foe. So have we
seen a dog snatched by the hind legs from the strife with
a fallen rival in the arms of some envious groom; so
have we seen one half of him high in air — passive and
offenceless — while the other half, head, teeth, eyes, claws,
seemed buried and engulfed in the mangled and prostrate
enemy. Meanwhile, the gladiators, lapped, and pampered,
and glutted upon blood, crowded delightedly round the
combatants — their nostrils distended — their lips grinning —
their eyes gloatingly fixed on the bloody throat of the one
and the indented talons of the other.

" Habet ! (he has got it !) habet/" cried they, with a sort
of yell, rubbing their nervous hands.

"Ncn habeo, ye liars; I have not got it !" shouted the
host, as with a mighty effort he wrenched himself from
those deadly hands, and rose to his feet, breathless, panting,
lacerated, bloody; and fronting, with reeling eyes, the
glaring look and grinning teeth of his baffled foe, now
struggling (but struggling with disdain) in the gripe of the
sturdy amazon.

" Fair play ! " cried the gladiators : " one to one ; " and,
crowding round Lydon and the woman, they separated our
pleasing host from his courteous guest.

But Lydon, feeling ashamed at his present position, and
endeavouring in vain to shake off the grasp of the virago,
slipped his hand into his girdle, and drew forth a short
knife. So menacing was his look, so brightly gleamed the
blade, that Stratonice, who was used only to that fashion of
battle which we moderns call the pugilistic, started back in
alarm.

" O gods ! " cried she, " the ruffian ! — he has concealed
weapons ! Is that fair ? Is that like a gentleman and a
gladiator? No, indeed, I scorn such fellows." With that
she contemptuously turned her back on the gladiator, and
hastened to examine the condition of her husband.

But he, as much inured to the constitutional exercises as

A Flash House in Pompeii 93

an English bull-dog is to a contest with a more gentle
antagonist, had already recovered himself. The purple hues
receded from the crimson surface of his cheek, the veins of
the forehead retired into their wonted size. He shook him-
self with a complacent grunt, satisfied that he was still alive,
and then looking at his foe from head to foot with an air of
more approbation than he had ever bestowed upon him
before, —

" By Castor ! " said he, " thou art a stronger fellow than I
took thee for ! I see thou art a man of merit and virtue ;
give me thy hand, my hero ! "

" Jolly old Burbo ! " cried the gladiators, applauding ,
" staunch to the backbone. Give him thy hand, Lydon."

" Oh, to be sure," said the gladiator : " but now I have
tasted his blood, I long to lap the whole."

"By Hercules !" returned the host, quite unmoved, "that
is the true gladiator feeling. Pollux ! to think what good
training may make a man ; why, a beast could not be
fiercer ! "

" A beast ! O dullard ! we beat the beasts hollow ! "
cried Tetraides.

" Well, well," said Stratonice, who was now employed in
smoothing her hair and adjusting her dress, "if ye are all
good friends again, I recommend you to be quiet and
orderly; for some young noblemen, your patrons and
backers, have sent to say they will come here to pay you a
visit : they wish to see you more at their ease than at the
schools, before they make up their bets on the great fight at
the amphitheatre. So they always come to my house for
that purpose : they know we only receive the best gladiators
in Pompeii — our society is very select — praised be the gods ! "

"Yes," continued Burbo, drinking off a bowl, or rather a
pail of wine, "a man who has won my laurels can only
encourage the brave. Lydon, drink, my boy; may you
have an honourable old age like mine ! "

"Come here," said Stratonice, drawing her husband to
her affectionately by the ears, in that caress which Tibullus
has so prettily described — " Come here ! "

"Not so hard, she-wolf! thou art worse than the gladi-
ator," murmured the huge jaws of Burbo.

"Hist!" said she, whispering him; "Calenus has just
stole in, disguised, by the back way. I hope he has brought
the sesterces."

94 The Last Days of Pompeii

"Ho! ho! I will join him," said Burbo; "meanwhile, I
say, keep a sharp eye on the cups — attend to the score.
Let them not cheat thee, wife ; they are heroes, to be sure,
but then they are arrant rogues : Cacus was nothing to
them."

"Never fear me, fool!" was the conjugal reply; and
Burbo, satisfied with the dear assurance, strode through the
apartment, and sought the penetralia of his house.

"So those soft patrons are coming to look at our
muscles," said Niger. " Who sent to previse thee of it, my
mistress ? "

" Lepidus. He brings with him Clodius, the surest better
in Pompeii, and the young Greek, Glaucus."

" A wager on a wager," cried Tetraides ; " Clodius bets
on me, for twenty sesterces ! What say you, Lydon ? "

"He bets on me I " said Lydon.

"No, on me/" grunted Sporus.

"Dolts! do you think he would prefer any of you to
Niger ? " said the athletic, thus modestly naming himself.

"Well, well," said Stratonice, as she pierced a huge
amphora for her guests, who had now seated themselves
before one of the tables, "great men and brave, as ye all
think yourselves, which of you will fight the Numidian lion
in case no malefactor should be found to deprive you of the
option ? "

"I who have escaped your arms, stout Stratonice," said
Lydon, "might safely, I think, encounter the lion."

" But tell me," said Tetraides, " where is that pretty young
slave of yours — the blind girl, with bright eyes? I have
not seen her a long time."

" Oh ! she is too delicate for you, my son of Neptune," *
said the hostess, " and too nice even for us, I think. We
send her into the town to sell flowers and sing to the ladies :
she makes us more money so than she would by waiting on
you. Besides, she has often other employments which lie
under the rose."

" Other employments ! " said Niger ; " why, she is too
young for them."

" Silence, beast ! " said Stratonice ; " you think there is no
play but the Corinthian. If Nydia were twice the age she
is at present, she would be equally fit for Vesta — poor girl ! "

" But, hark ye, Stratonice," said Lydon ; "how didst thou
1 Son of Neptune — a Latin phrase for a boisterous, ferocious fellow.

A Flash House in Pompeii 95

come by so gentle and delicate a slave? She were more
meet for the handmaid of some rich matron of Rome than
for thee."

" That is true," returned Stratonice ; " and some day or
other I shall make my fortune by selling her. How came I
by Nydia, thou askest."

"Ay!"

" Why, thou seest, my slave Staphyla — thou rememberest
Staphyla, Niger?"

"Ay, a large-handed wench, with a face like a comic
mask. How should I forget her, by Pluto, whose hand-
maid she doubtless is at this moment ! "

" Tush, brute ! — Well, Staphyla died one day, and a great
loss she was to me, and I went into the market to buy me
another slave. But, by the gods ! they were all grown so
dear since I had bought poor Staphyla, and money was so
scarce, that I was about to leave the place in despair, when
a merchant plucked me by the robe. ' Mistress,' said he,
' dost thou want a slave cheap ? I have a child to sell — a
bargain. She is but little, and almost an infant, it is true ;
but she is quick and quiet, docile and clever, sings well, and
is of good blood, I assure you.' ' Of what country ? ' said
I. ' Thessalian.' Now I knew the Thessalians were acute
and gentle; so I said I would see the girl. I found her
just as you see her now, scarcely smaller and scarcely
younger in appearance. She looked patient and resigned
enough, with her hands crossed on her bosom, and her eyes
downcast. I asked the merchant his price : it was moderate,
and I bought her at once. The merchant brought her to
my house, and disappeared in an instant. Well, my friends,
guess my astonishment when I found she was blind ! Ha !
ha ! a clever fellow that merchant ! I ran at once to the
magistrates, but the rogue was already gone from Pompeii.
So I was forced to go home in a very ill humour, I assure
you ; and the poor girl felt the effects of it too. But it was
not her fault that she was blind, for she had been so
from her birth. By degrees, we got reconciled to our
purchase. True, she had not the strength of Staphyla, and
was of very little use in the house, but she could soon find
her way about the town, as well as if she had the eyes of
Argus; and when one morning she brought us home a
handful of sesterces, which she said she had got from
selling some flowers she had gathered in our poor little

96 The Last Days of Pompeii

garden, we thought the gods had sent her to us. So from
that time we let her go out as she likes, filling her basket
with flowers, which she wreathes into garlands after the
Thessalian fashion, which pleases the gallants ; and the
great people seem to take a fancy to her, for they always
pay her more than they do any other flower-girl, and she
brings all of it home to us, which is more than any other
slave would do. So I work for myself, but I shall soon
afford from her earnings to buy me a second Staphyla;
doubtless, the Thessalian kidnapper had stolen the blind
girl from gentle parents.1 Besides her skill in the garlands,
she sings and plays on the cithara, which also brings money,
and lately — but that is a secret."

" That is a secret ! What ! " cried Lydon, " art thou
turned sphinx?"

" Sphinx, no ! — why sphinx ? "

" Cease thy gabble, good mistress, and bring us our meat
— I am hungry," said Sporus, impatiently.

" And Ir too," echoed the grim Niger, whetting his knife
on the palm of his hand.

The amazon stalked away to the kitchen, and soon re-
turned with a tray laden with large pieces of meat half-raw :
for so, as now, did the heroes of the prize-fight imagine
they best sustained their hardihood and ferocity : they drew
round the table with the eyes of famished wolves — the
meat vanished, the wine flowed. So leave we those im-
portant personages of classic life to follow the steps of
Burbo.

CHAPTER II

TWO WORTHIES

In the earlier times of Rome the priesthood was a
profession, not of lucre but of honour. It was embraced
by the noblest citizens — it was forbidden to the plebeians.
Afterwards, and long previous to the present date, it was

1 The Thessalian slave-merchants were celebrated for purloining
persons of birth and education ; they did not always spare those of
their own country. Aristophanes sneers bitterly at that people (pro-
verbially treacherous), for their unquenchable desire of gain by this
barter of flesh.

Two Worthies 97

equally open to all ranks; at least, that part of the pro-
fession which embraced the flam ens, or priests, — not of
religion generally, but of peculiar gods. Even the priest
of Jupiter (the Flamen Dialis) preceded by a lictor, and
entitled by his office to the entrance of the senate, at first
the especial dignitary of the patricians, was subsequently
the choice of the people. The less national and less
honoured deities were usually served by plebeian ministers ;
and many embraced the profession, as now the Roman
Catholic Christians enter the monastic fraternity, less from
the impulse of devotion than the suggestions of a calcu-
lating poverty. Thus Calenus, the priest of Isis, was of
the lowest origin. His relations, though not his parents,
were freedmen. He had received from them a liberal
education, and from his father a small patrimony, which he
had soon exhausted. He embraced the priesthood as a
last resource from distress. Whatever the state emoluments
of the sacred profession, which at that time were probably
small, the officers of a popular temple could never complain
of the profits of their calling. There is no profession so
lucrative as that which practises on the superstition of the
multitude.

Calenus had but one surviving relative at Pompeii,
and that was Burbo. Various dark and disreputable ties,
stronger than those of blood, united together their hearts
and interests ; and often the minister of Isis stole disguised
and furtively from the supposed austerity of his devotions ;
— and gliding through the back door of the retired gladiator,
a man infamous alike by vices and by profession, rejoiced
to throw off the last rag of an hypocrisy which, but for the
dictates of avarice, his ruling passion, would at all times
have sat clumsily upon a nature too brutal for even the
mimicry of virtue.

Wrapped in one of those large mantles which came in
use among the Romans in proportion as they dismissed the
toga, whose ample folds well concealed the form, and in
which a sort of hood (attached to it) afforded no less a
security to the features, Calenus now sat in the small and
private chamber of the wine-cellar, whence a small passage
ran at once to that back entrance, with which nearly all the
houses of Pompeii were furnished.

Opposite to him sat the sturdy Burbo, carefully counting
on a table between them a little pile of coins which the

D

98 The Last Days of Pompeii

priest had just poured from his purse — for purses were as
common then as now, with this difference — they were
usually better furnished!

" You see," said Calenus, " that we pay you handsomely,
and you ought to thank me for recommending you to so
advantageous a market."

" I do, my cousin, I do," replied Burbo, affectionately, as
he swept the coins into a leathern receptacle, which he then
deposited in his girdle, drawing the buckle round his
capacious waist more closely than he was wont to do in the
lax hours of his domestic avocations. " And by Isis, Pisis,
and Nisis, or whatever other gods there may be in Egypt,
my little Nydia is a very Hesperides — a garden of gold to
me."

"She sings well, and plays like a muse," returned
Calenus ; " those are virtues that he who employs me
always pays liberally."

"He is a god," cried Burbo, enthusiastically; "every
rich man who is generous deserves to be worshipped. But
come, a cup of wine, old friend: tell me more about it.
What does she do ? she is frightened, talks of her oath, and
reveals nothing."

" Nor will I, by my right hand ! I, too, have taken that
terrible oath of secrecy."

" Oath ! what are oaths to men like us ? "

" True oaths of a common fashion ; but this ! " — and the
stalwart priest shuddered as he spoke. "Yet," he con-
tinued, in emptying a huge cup of unmixed wine, " I will
own to thee, that it is not so much the oath that I dread as
the vengeance of him who proposed it. By the gods ! he is
a mighty sorcerer, and could draw my confession from the
moon, did I dare to make it to her. Talk no more of this.
By Pollux ! wild as those banquets are which I enjoy with
him, I am never quite at my ease there. I love, my boy,
one jolly hour with thee, and one of the plain, unsophisti-
cated, laughing girls that I meet in this chamber, all smoke-
dried though it be, better than whole nights of those
magnificent debauches."

" Ho ! say est thou so ! To-morrow night, please the
gods, we will have then a snug carousal."

" With all my heart," said the priest, rubbing his hands,
and drawing himself nearer to the table.

At this moment they heard a slight noise at the door, as

Two Worthies 99

of one feeling the handle. The priest lowered the hood
over his head.

"Tush!" whispered the host, " it is but the blind girl,"
as Nydia opened the door, and entered the apartment.

" Ho ! girl, and how durst thou ? thou lookest pale, —
thou hast kept late revels ? No matter, the young must be
always the young," said Burbo, encouragingly.

The girl made no answer, but she dropped on one of the
seats with an air of lassitude. Her colour went and came
rapidly : she beat the floor impatiently with her small feet,
then she suddenly raised her face, and said with a deter-
mined voice, —

" Master, you may starve me if you will, — you may beat
me, — you may threaten me with death, — but I will go no
more to that unholy place ! "

1 " How, fool ! " said Burbo, in a savage voice, and his
heavy brows met darkly over his fierce and bloodshot eyes ;
" how, rebellious ! Take care."

" I have said it," said the poor girl, crossing her hands on
her breast.

" What ! my modest one, sweet vestal, thou wilt go no
more ! Very well, thou shalt be carried."

"I will raise the city with my cries," said she, passionately;
and the colour mounted to her brow.

" We will take care of that too ; thou shalt go gagged."

"Then may the gods help me ! " said Nydia, rising ; " I
will appeal to the magistrates."

"Thine oath remei?iber!" said a hollow voice, as for the
first time Calenus joined in the dialogue.

At these words a trembling shook the frame of the
unfortunate girl; she clasped her hands imploringly.
"Wretch that I am!" she cried, and burst violently into
sobs.

Whether or not it was the sound of that vehement
sorrow which brought the gentle Stratonice to the spot, her
grisly form at this moment appeared in the chamber.

" How now ? what hast thou been doing with my slave,
brute ? " said she, angrily, to Burbo.

"Be quiet, wife," said he, in a tone half-sullen, half-
timid; "you want new girdles and fine clothes, do you?
Well then, take care of your slave, or you may want them
long. Vce capiti tuo — vengeance on thy head, wretched
one ! "

ioo The Last Days of Pompeii

" What is this ? " said the hag, looking from one to the
other.

Nydia started as by a sudden impulse from the wall
against which she had leaned : she threw herself at the feet
of Stratonice ; she embraced her knees, and looking up at
her with those sightless but touching eyes, —

" O my mistress ! " sobbed she, " you are a woman — you
have had sisters, — you have been young like me, — feel for
me, — save me! I will go to those horrible feasts no
more ! "

" Stuff ! " said the hag, dragging her up rudely by one of
those delicate hands, fit for no harsher labour than that of
weaving the flowers which made her pleasure or her trade ;
— "stuff! these fine scruples are not for slaves."

"Hark ye," said Burbo, drawing forth his purse, and
chinking its contents : " you hear this music, wife ; by
Pollux ! if you do not break in yon colt with a tight rein,
you will hear it no more."

" The girl is tired," said Stratonice, nodding to Calenus ;
" she will be more docile when you next want her."

" You I you ! who is here ? " cried Nydia, casting her eyes
round the apartment with so fearful and straining a survey,
that Calenus rose in alarm from his seat.

" She must see with those eyes ! " muttered he.

" Who is here ! Speak, in heaven's name ! Ah, if you
were blind like me, you would be less cruel," said she ; and
she again burst into tears.

" Take her away," said Burbo, impatiently ; " I hate these
whimperings."

" Come ! " said Stratonice, pushing the poor child by the
shoulders.

Nydia drew herself aside, with an air to which resolution
gave dignity.

" Hear me," she said ; " I have served you faithfully, — I,
who was brought up — Ah ! my mother, my poor mother !
didst thou dream I should come to this ? " She dashed the
tear from her eyes, and proceeded : — " Command me in
aught else, and I will obey; but I tell you now, hard,
stern, inexorable as you are, — I tell you that I will go there
no more ; or, if I am forced there, that I will implore the
mercy of the prsetor himself — I have said it. Hear me, ye
gods, I swear ! "

The hag's eyes glowed with fire ; she seized the child by

Glaucus Makes a Purchase 101

the hair with one hand, and raised on high the other — that
formidable right hand, the least blow of which seemed
capable to crush the frail and delicate form that trembled
in her grasp. That thought itself appeared to strike her,
for she suspended the blow, changed her purpose, and
dragging Nydia to the wall, seized from a hook a rope,
often, alas! applied to a similar purpose, and the next
moment the shrill, the agonised shrieks of the blind girl,
rang piercingly through the house.

CHAPTER III

GLAUCUS MAKES A PURCHASE THAT AFTERWARDS COSTS
HIM DEAR

" Holla, my brave fellows ! " said Lepidus, stooping his
head as he entered the low doorway of the house of Burbo.
" We have come to see which of you most honours your
lanista." The gladiators rose from the table in respect to
three gallants known to be among the gayest and richest
youths of Pompeii, and whose voices were therefore the
dispensers of amphitheatrical reputation.

" What fine animals ! " said Clodius to Glaucus : " worthy
to be gladiators ! "

" It is a pity they are not warriors," returned Glaucus.

A singular thing it was to see the dainty and fastidious
Lepidus, whom in a banquet a ray of daylight seemed to
blind, — whom in the bath a breeze of air seemed to blast,
— in whom Nature seemed twisted and perverted from
every natural impulse, and curdled into one dubious thing
of effeminacy and art ; — a singular thing was it to see this
Lepidus, now all eagerness, and energy, and life, patting the
vast shoulders of the gladiators with a blanched and girlish
hand, feeling with a mincing gripe their great brawn and
iron muscles, all lost in calculating admiration at that man-
hood which he had spent his life in carefully banishing from
himself.

So have we seen at this day the beardless flutterers of the
saloons of London thronging round the heroes of the Fives-
court; — so have we seen them admire, and gaze, and

102 The Last Days of Pompeii

calculate a bet : — so have we seen them meet together, in
ludicrous yet in melancholy assemblage, the two extremes
of civilised society, — the patrons of pleasure and its slaves —
vilest of all slaves — at once ferocious and mercenary ; male
prostitutes, who sell their strength as women their beauty ;
beasts in act, but baser than beasts in motive, for the last,
at least, do not mangle themselves for money !

" Ha ! Niger, how will you fight ? " said Lepidus : " and
with whom ? "

" Sporus challenges me," said the grim giant ; " we shall
fight to the death, I hope."

" Ah ! to be sure," grunted Sporus, with a twinkle of his
small eye.

" He takes the sword, I the net and the trident : it will
be rare sport. I hope the survivor will have enough to
keep up the dignity of the crown."

" Never fear, we'll fill the purse, my Hector," said
Clodius : " let me see, — you fight against Niger ? Glaucus,
a bet — I back Niger."

" I told you so," cried Niger exultingly. " The noble
Clodius knows me ; count yourself dead already, my
Sporus."

Clodius took out his tablet. — "A bet, — ten sestertia.1
What say you?"

" So be it," said Glaucus. " But whom have we here ?
I never saw this hero before ; " and he glanced at Lydon,
whose limbs were slighter than those of his companions,
and who had something of grace, and something even of
nobleness, in his face, which his profession had not yet
wholly destroyed.

"It is Lydon, a youngster, practised only with the
wooden sword as yet," answered Niger, condescendingly.
"But he has the true blood in him, and has challenged
Tetraides."

" He challenged /«<?," said Lydon : " I accept the offer."

" And how do you fight ? " asked Lepidus. " Chut, my
boy, wait a while before you contend with Tetraides."
Lydon smiled disdainfully.

" Is he a citizen or a slave ? " said Clodius.

" A citizen ; — we are all citizens here," quoth Niger.

" Stretch out your arm, my Lydon," said Lepidus, with
the air of a connoisseur.

1 Little more than ,£80.

Glaucus Makes a Purchase 103

The gladiator, with a significant glance at his companions,
extended an arm which, if not so huge in its girth as those
of his comrades, was so firm in its muscles, so beautifully
symmetrical in its proportions, that the three visitors uttered
simultaneously an admiring exclamation.

" Well, man, what is your weapon ? " said Ciodius, tablet
in hand.

" We are to fight first with the cestus ; afterwards, if both
survive, with swords," returned Tetraides, sharply, and with
an envious scowl.

" With the cestus ! " cried Glaucus ; " there you are
wrong, Lydon ; the cestus is the Greek fashion : I know it
well. You should have encouraged flesh for that contest ;
you are far too thin for it — avoid the cestus."

" I cannot," said Lydon.

"And why?"

" I have said — because he has challenged me."

" But he will not hold you to the precise weapon."

" My honour holds me ! " returned Lydon, proudly.

"I bet on Tetraides, two to one, at the cestus," said
Ciodius ; " shall it be, Lepidus ? — even betting, with
swords."

" If you give me three to one, I will not take the odds,"
said Lepidus : "Lydon will never come to the swords. You
are mighty courteous."

"What say you, Glaucus?" said Ciodius.

" I will take the odds three to one."

" Ten sestertia to thirty."

"Yes/'1

Ciodius wrote the bet in his book.

" Pardon me, noble sponsor mine," said Lydon, in a low
voice to Glaucus : " but how much think you the victor will
gain ? "

" How much? why, perhaps seven sestertia."

" You are sure it will be as much ? "

" At least. But out on you ! — a Greek would have thought
of the honour, and not the money. O Italians ! everywhere
ye are Italians ! "

A blush mantled over the bronzed cheek of the gladiator.

1 The reader will not confound the sestertii with the sestertia. A
sestertium, which was a sum, not a coin, was a thousand times the
value of a sestertius ; the first was equivalent to £8 is. $\d., the last
to id. 3f farthings of our money.

104 The Last Days of Pompeii

"Do not wrong me, noble Glaucus; I think of both,
but I should never have been a gladiator but for the
money."

" Base ! mayest thou fall ! A miser never was a hero."

" I am not a miser," said Lydon, haughtily, and he with-
drew to the other end of the room.

" But I don't see Burbo ; where is Burbo ? I must talk
with Burbo," cried Clodius.

" He is within," said Niger, pointing to the door at the
extremity of the room.

" And Stratonice, the brave old lass, where is she ? " quoth
Lepidus.

"Why, she was here just before you entered; but she
heard something that displeased her yonder, and vanished.
Pollux! old Burbo had perhaps caught hold of some girl
in the back room. I heard a female's voice crying out ; the
old dame is as jealous as Juno."

" Ho ! excellent ! " cried Lepidus, laughing. " Come,
Clodius, let us go shares with Jupiter; perhaps he has
caught a Leda."

At this moment a loud cry of pain and terror startled the
group.

" Oh, spare me ! spare me ! I am but a child, I am blind
— is not that punishment enough?"

" O Pallas ! I know that voice, it is my poor flower-girl!"
exclaimed Glaucus, and he darted at once into the quarter
whence the cry rose.

He burst the door; he beheld Nydia writhing in the
grasp of the infuriate hag ; the cord, already dabbled with
blood, was raised in the air, — it was suddenly arrested.

" Fury ! " said Glaucus, and with his left hand he caught
Nydia from her grasp ; " how dare you use thus a girl, —
one of your own sex, a child ! My Nydia, my poor
infant ! "

"Oh? is that you — is that Glaucus?" exclaimed the
flower-girl, in a tone almost of transport; the tears stood
arrested on her cheek ; she smiled, she clung to his breast,
she kissed his robe as she clung.

" And how dare you, pert stranger ! interfere between a
free woman and her slave. By the gods ! despite your fine
tunic and your filthy perfumes, I doubt whether you are
even a Roman citizen, my mannikin."

" Fair words, mistress, — fair words ! " said Clodius, now

Glaucus Makes a Purchase 105

entering with Lepidus. "This is my friend and sworn
brother ; he must be put under shelter of your tongue, sweet
one ; it rains stones ! "

" Give me my slave ! " shrieked the virago, placing her
mighty grasp on the breast of the Greek.

" Not if all your sister Furies could help you," answered
Glaucus "Fear not, sweet Nydia; an Athenian never
forsook distress ! "

" Holla ! " said Burbo, rising reluctantly, " what turmoil
is all this about a slave? Let go the young gentleman,
wife, — let him go : for his sake the pert thing shall be spared
this once." So saying, he drew, or rather dragged off, his
ferocious helpmate.

" Methought when we entered," said Clodius, " there was
another man present ? "

" He is gone."

For the priest of Isis had indeed thought it high time to
vanish.

" Oh, a friend of mine ! a brother cupman, a quiet dog,
who does not love these snarlings," said Burbo, carelessly.
" But go, child, you will tear the gentleman's tunic if you
cling to him so tight ; go, you are pardoned."

11 Oh, do not — do not forsake me ! " cried Nydia, clinging
yet closer to the Athenian.

Moved by her forlorn situation, her appeal to him, her
own innumerable and touching graces, the Greek seated
himself on one of the rude chairs. He held her on his
knees, — he wiped the blood from her shoulders with his long
hair, — he kissed the tears from her cheeks, — he whispered
to her a thousand of those soothing words with which we
calm the grief of a child ; — and so beautiful did he seem in
his gentle and consoling task, that even the fierce heart of
Stratonice was touched. His presence seemed to shed light
over that base and obscene haunt, — young, beautiful, glorious,
he was the emblem of all that earth made most happy,
comforting one that earth had abandoned !

" Well, who could have thought our blind Nydia had
been so honoured ! " said the virago, wiping her heated
brow.

Glaucus looked up at Burbo.

" My good man," said he, " this is your slave ; she sings
well, she is accustomed to the care of flowers, — I wish to
make a present of such a slave .to a lady. Will you sell her

106 The Last Days of Pompeii

to me ? " As he spoke he felt the whole frame of the poor
girl tremble with delight ; she started up, she put her dis-
hevelled hair from her eyes, she looked around, as if, alas,
she had the power to see!

" Sell our Nydia ! no, indeed," said Stratonice, gruffly.

Nydia sank back with a long sigh, and again clasped the
robe of her protector.

" Nonsense ! " said Clodius, imperiously : " you must
oblige me. What, man ! what, old dame ! offend me, and
your trade is ruined. Is not Burbo my kinsman Pansa's
client ? Am I not the oracle of the amphitheatre and its
heroes ? If I say the word, Break up your wine-jars, — you
sell no more. Glaucus, the slave is yours."

Burbo scratched his huge head, in evident embarrassment.

" The girl is worth her weight in gold to me."

" Name your price, I am rich," said Glaucus.

The ancient Italians were like the modern, there was
nothing they would not sell, much less a poor blind girl.

" I paid six sestertia for her, she is worth twelve now,"
muttered Stratonice.

" You shall have twenty ; come to the magistrates at once,
and then to my house for your money."

" I would not have sold the dear girl for a hundred but
to oblige noble Clodius," said Burbo, whiningly. "And you
will speak to Pansa about the place of designator at the
amphitheatre, noble Clodius ? it would just suit me."

" Thou shall have it," said Clodius ; adding in a whisper
to Burbo, " Yon Greek can make your fortune ; money runs
through him like a sieve : mark to-day with white chalk, my
Priam."

" An dabis ? " said Glaucus, in the formal question of sale
and barter.

" Dabitur" answered Burbo.

"Then, then, I am to go with you, — with you? O
happiness ! " murmured Nydia.

" Pretty one, yes ; and thy hardest task henceforth shall
be to sing thy Grecian hymns to the loveliest lady in
Pompeii."

The girl sprang from his clasp ; a change came over her
whole face, so bright the instant before ; she sighed heavily,
and then once more taking his hand, she said, —

" I thought I was to go to your house ? "

"And so thou shalt for the present; come, we lose time."

The Rival of Glaucus 107

CHAPTER IV

THE RIVAL OF GLAUCUS PRESSES ONWARD IN THE RACE

Ione was one of those brilliant characters which, but once
or twice, flash across our career. She united in the highest
perfection the rarest of earthly gifts, — Genius and Beauty.
No one ever possessed superior intellectual qualities without
knowing them, — the alliteration of modesty and merit is
pretty enough, but where merit is great, the veil of that
modesty you admire never disguises its extent from its
possessor. It is the proud consciousness of certain qualities
that it cannot reveal to the everyday world, that gives to
genius that shy, and reserved, and troubled air, which
puzzles and flatters you when you encounter it.

Ione, then, knew her genius ; but, with that charming
versatility that belongs of right to women, she had the
faculty so few of a kindred genius in the less malleable sex
can claim, — the faculty to bend and model her graceful
intellect to all whom it encountered. The sparkling fountain
threw its waters alike upon the strand, the cavern, and the
flowers ; it refreshed, it smiled, it dazzled everywhere. That
pride, which is the necessary result of superiority, she wore
easily — in her breast it concentred itself in independence.
She pursued thus her own bright and solitary path. She
asked no aged matron to direct and guide her — she walked
alone by the torch of her own unflickering purity. She
obeyed no tyrannical and absolute custom. She moulded
custom to her own will, but this so delicately and with so
feminine a grace, so perfect an exemption from error, that
you could not say she outraged custom but commanded it.
The wealth of her graces was inexhaustible — she beautified
the commonest action; a word, a look from her, seemed
magic. Love her, and you entered into a new world, you
passed from this trite and commonplace earth. You were
in a land in which your eyes saw everything through an
enchanted medium. In her presence you felt as if listening
to exquisite music; you were steeped in that sentiment
which has so little of earth in it, and which music so well
inspires, — that intoxication which refines and exalts, which

108 The Last Days of Pompeii

seizes, it is true, the senses, but gives them the character of
the soul.

She was peculiarly formed, then, to command and fascinate
the less ordinary and the bolder natures of men ; to love her
was to unite two passions, that of love and of ambition, —
you aspired when you adored her. It was no wonder that
she had completely chained and subdued the mysterious
but burning soul of the Egyptian, a man in whom dwelt the
fiercest passions. Her beauty and her soul alike enthralled
him.

Set apart himself from the common world, he loved that
daringness of character which also made itself, among
common things, aloof and alone. He did not, or he would
not see, that that very isolation put her yet more from him
than from the vulgar. Far as the poles — far as the night
from day, his solitude was divided from hers. He was
solitary from his dark and solemn vices — she from her
beautiful fancies and her purity of virtue.

If it was not strange that lone thus enthralled the
Egyptian, far less strange was it that she had captured, as
suddenly as irrevocably, the bright and sunny heart of the
Athenian. The gladness of a temperament which seemed
woven from the beams of light had led Glaucus into pleasure.
He obeyed no more vicious dictates when he wandered into
the dissipations of his time, than the exhilarating voices of
youth and health. He threw the brightness of his nature
over every abyss and cavern through which he strayed. His
imagination dazzled him, but his heart never was corrupted.
Of far more penetration than his companions deemed, he
saw that they sought to prey upon his riches and his youth :
but he despised wealth save as the means of enjoyment, and
youth was the great sympathy that united him to them. He
felt, it is true, the impulse of nobler thoughts and higher
aims than in pleasure could be indulged : but the world was
one vast prison, to which the Sovereign of Rome was the
Imperial gaoler; and the very virtues, which in the free
days of Athens would have made him ambitious, in the
slavery of earth made him inactive and supine. For in that
unnatural and bloated civilisation, all that was noble in
emulation was forbidden. Ambition in the regions of a
despotic and luxurious court was but the contest of flattery
and craft. Avarice had become the sole ambition, — men
desired prsetorships and provinces only as the license to

The Rival of Glaucus 109

pillage, and government was but the excuse of rapine. It
is in small states that glory is most active and pure, — the
more confined the limits of the circle, the more ardent the
patriotism. In small states, opinion is concentrated and
strong, — every eye reads your actions — your public motives
are blended with your private ties, — every spot in your
narrow sphere is crowded with forms familiar since your
childhood, — the applause of your citizens is like the caresses
of your friends. But in large states, the city is but the
court : the provinces — unknown to you, unfamiliar in cus-
toms, perhaps in language, — have no claim on your patriotism,
the ancestry of their inhabitants is not yours. In the court
you desire favour instead of glory ; at a distance from the
court, public opinion has vanished from you, and self-interest
has no counterpoise.

Italy, Italy, while I write, your skies are over me — your
seas flow beneath my feet, listen not to the blind policy
which would unite all your crested cities, mourning for their
republics, into one empire ; false, pernicious delusion ! your
only hope of regeneration is in division. Florence, Milan,
Venice, Genoa, may be free once more, if each is free. But
dream not of freedom for the whole while you enslave the
parts; the heart must be the centre of the system, the blood
must circulate freely everywhere ; and in vast communities
you behold but a bloated and feeble giant, whose brain is
imbecile, whose limbs are dead, and who pays in disease
and weakness the penalty of transcending the natural pro-
portions of health and vigour.

Thus thrown back upon themselves, the more ardent
qualities of Glaucus found no vent, save in that overflowing
imagination which gave grace to pleasure, and poetry to
thought. Ease was less despicable than contention with
parasites and slaves, and luxury could yet be refined though
ambition could not be ennobled. But all that was best and
brightest in his soul woke at once when he knew lone. Here
was an empire, worthy of demigods to attain ; here was a
glory, which the reeking smoke of a foul society could not
soil or dim. Love, in every time, in every state, can thus
find space for its golden altars. And tell me if there ever,
even in the ages most favourable to glory, could be a triumph
more exalted and elating than the conquest of one noble heart?

And whether it was that this sentiment inspired him, his
ideas glowed more brightly, his soul seemed more awake and

no The Last Days of Pompeii

more visible, in Ione's presence. If natural to love her, ic-
was natural that she should return the passion. Young,
brilliant, eloquent, enamoured, and Athenian, he was to her
as the incarnation of the poetry of her father's land. They
were not like creatures of a world in which strife and sorrow
are the elements ; they were like things to be seen only in
the holiday of nature, so glorious and so fresh were their
youth, their beauty, and their love. They seemed out of
place in the harsh and every-day earth ; they belonged of
right to the Saturnian age, and the dreams of demigod and
nymph. It was as if the poetry of life gathered and fed
itself in them, and in their hearts were concentrated the last
rays of the sun of Delos and of Greece.

But if lone was independent in her choice of life, so was
her modest pride proportionably vigilant and easily alarmed.
The falsehood of the Egyptian was invented by a deep
knowledge of her nature. The story of coarseness, of indeli-
cacy, in Glaucus, stung her to the quick. She felt it a re-
proach upon her character and her career, a punishment
above all to her love ; she felt, for the first time, how
suddenly she had yielded to that love; she blushed with
shame at a weakness, the extent of which she was startled
to perceive : she imagined it was that weakness which had
incurred the contempt of Glaucus ; she endured the bitterest
curse of noble natures — humiliation ! Yet her love, per-
haps, was no less alarmed than her pride. If one moment
she murmured reproaches upon Glaucus — if one moment she
renounced, she almost hated him — at the next she burst into
passionate tears, her heart yielded to its softness, and she
said in the bitterness of anguish, " He despises me — he
does not love me."

From the hour the Egyptian had left her she had retired
to her most secluded chamber, she had shut out her hand-
maids, she had denied herself to the crowds that besieged
her door. Glaucus was excluded with the rest ; he
wondered, but he guessed not why ! He never attributed
to his lone — his queen — his goddess — that woman-like
caprice of which the love-poets of Italy so unceasingly com-
plain. He imagined her, in the majesty of her candour,
above all the arts that torture. He was troubled, but his
hopes were not dimmed, for he knew already that he loved
and was beloved ; what more could he desire as an amulet
against fear ?

The Rival of Glaucus in

At deepest night, then, when the streets were hushed, and
the high moon only beheld his devotions, he stole to that
temple of his heart — her home ; 1 and wooed her after the
beautiful fashion of his country. He covered her threshold
with the richest garlands, in which every flower was a
volume of sweet passion ; and he charmed the long summer
night with the sound of the Lydian lute : and verses, which
the inspiration of the moment sufficed to weave.

But the window above opened not ; no smile made yet
more holy the shining air of night. All was still and dark.
He knew not if his verse was welcome and his suit was
heard.

Yet lone slept not, nor disdained to hear. Those soft
strains ascended to her chamber; they soothed, they sub-
dued her. While she listened, she believed nothing against
her lover ; but when they were stilled at last, and his step
departed, the spell ceased ; and, in the bitterness of her
soul, she almost conceived in that delicate flattery a new
affront.

I said she was denied to all ; but there was one exception,
there was one person who would not be denied, assuming
over her actions and her house something like the authority
of a parent ; Arbaces, for himself, claimed an exemption
from all the ceremonies observed by others. He entered
the threshold with the license of one who feels that he is
privileged and at home. He made his way to her solitude
and with that sort of quiet and unapologetic air which
seemed to consider the right as a thing of course. With all
the independence of Ione's character, his heart had enabled
him to obtain a secret and powerful control over her mind.
She could not shake it off; sometimes she desired«to do so ;
but she never actively struggled against it. She was
fascinated by his serpent eye. He arrested, he commanded
her, by the magic of a mind long accustomed to awe and to
subdue. Utterly unaware of his real character or his
hidden love, she felt for him the reverence which genius feels
for wisdom, and virtue for sanctity. She regarded him as
one of those mighty sages of old, who attained to the
mysteries of knowledge by an exemption from the passions of
their kind. She scarcely considered him as a being, like
herself, of the earth, but as an oracle at once dark and
1 Athenseus — "The true temple of Cupid is the house of the beloved

ii2 The Last Days of Pompeii

sacred. She did not love him, but she feared. His presence
was unwelcome to her; it dimmed her spirit even in its
brightest mood ; he seemed, with his chilling and lofty
aspect, like some eminence which casts a shadow over the
sun. But she never thought of forbidding his visits. She
was passive under the influence which created in her breast,
not the repugnance, but something of the stillness of terror.

Arbaces himself now resolved to exert all his arts to possess
himself of that treasure he so burningly coveted. He was
cheered and elated by his conquests over her brother. From
the hour in which Apaecides fell beneath the voluptuous
sorcery of that fete which we have described, he felt his
empire over the young priest triumphant and insured. He
knew that there is no victim so thoroughly subdued as a
young and fervent man for the first time delivered to the
thraldom of the senses.

When Apaecides recovered, with the morning light, from
the profound sleep which succeeded to the delirium of
wonder and of pleasure, he was, it is true, ashamed —
terrified — appalled. His vows of austerity and celibacy
echoed in his ear; his thirst after holiness — had it been
quenched at so unhallowed a stream ? But Arbaces knew
well the means by which to confirm his conquest. From
the arts of pleasure he led the young priest at once to those
of his mysterious wisdom. He bared to his amazed eyes the
initiatory secrets of the sombre philosophy of the Nile — those
secrets plucked from the stars, and the wild chemistry,
which, in those days, when Reason herself was but the
creature of Imagination, might well pass for the lore of a
diviner magic. He seemed to the young eyes of the priest
as a being above mortality, and endowed with supernatural
gifts. That yearning and intense desire for the knowledge
which is not of earth — which had burned from his boyhood
in the heart of the priest — was dazzled, until it confused and
mastered his clearer sense. He gave himself to the art
which thus addressed at once the two strongest of human
passions, that of pleasure and that of knowledge. He was
loth to believe that one so wise could err, that one so lofty
could stoop to deceive. Entangled in the dark web of
metaphysical moralities, he caught at the excuse by which
the Egyptian converted vice into a virtue. His pride was
insensibly flattered that Arbaces had deigned to rank him
with himself, to set him apart from the laws which bound

The Rival of Glaucus 113

the vulgar, to make him an august participator, both in the
mystic studies and the magic fascinations of the Egyptian's
solitude. The pure and stern lessons of that creed to
which Olinthus had sought to make him convert, were
swept away from his memory by the deluge of new passions.
And the Egyptian, who was versed in the articles of that
true faith, and who soon learned from his pupil the effect
which had been produced upon him by its believers, sought,
not unskilfully, to undo that effect, by a tone of reasoning,,
half-sarcastic and half-earnest.

" This faith," said he, " is but a borrowed plagiarism from
one of the many allegories invented by our priests of old.
Observe," he added, pointing to a hieroglyphical scroll, —
" observe in these ancient figures the origin of the Christian's
Trinity. Here are also three gods — the Deity, the Spirit,
and the Son. Observe, that the epithet of the Son is
' Saviour/ — observe, that the sign by which his human
qualities are denoted is the cross.1 Note here, too, the
mystic history of Osiris, how he put on death ; how he lay
in the grave ; and how, thus fulfilling a solemn atonement,
he rose again from the dead ! In these stories we but de-
sign to paint an allegory from the operations of nature and
the evolutions of the eternal heavens. But the allegory un-
known, the types themselves have furnished to credulous
nations the materials of many creeds. They have travelled
to the vast plains of India ; they have mixed themselves up*
in the visionary speculations of the Greek ; becoming more
and more gross and embodied, as they emerge farther from
the shadows of their antique origin, they have assumed a
human and palpable form in this novel faith; and the
believers of Galilee are but the unconscious repeaters of one
of the superstitions of the Nile!"

This was the last argument which completely subdued the
priest. It was necessary to himr as to all, to believe in
something; and undivided and, at last, unreluctant, he
surrendered himself to that belief which Arbaces inculcated,
and which all that was human in passion — all that was
flattering in vanity — all that was alluring in pleasure, served
to invite to, and contributed to confirm.

This conquest, thus easily mader the Egyptian could now
give himself wholly up to the pursuit of a far dearer and

1 The believer will draw from this vague coincidence a very different
corollary from that of the Egyptian..

U4 The Last Days of Pompeii

mightier object; and he hailed, in his success with the
brother, an omen of his triumph over the sister.

He had seen lone on the day following the revel we have
witnessed ; and which was also the day after he had poisoned
her mind against his rival. The next day, and the next, he
saw her also : and each time he laid himself out with con-
summate art, partly to confirm her impression against Glau-
cus, and principally to prepare her for the impressions he
desired her to receive. The proud lone took care to con-
ceal the anguish she endured ; and the pride of woman has
an hypocrisy which can deceive the most penetrating, and
shame the most astute. But Arbaces was no less cautious
not to recur to a subject which he felt it was most politic to
treat as of the lightest importance. He knew that by dwell-
ing much upon the fault of a rival, you only give him dignity
in the eyes of your mistress : the wisest plan is, neither
loudly to hate, nor bitterly to contemn ; the wisest plan is
to lower him by an indifference of tone, as if you could not
dream that he could be loved. Your safety is in concealing
the wound to your own pride, and imperceptibly alarming
that of the umpire, whose voice is fate ! Such, in all times,
will be the policy of one who knows the science of the sex —
it was now the Egyptian's.

He recurred no more, then, to the presumption of
Glaucus ; he mentioned his name, but not more often than
that of Clodius or of Lepidus. He affected to class them
together as things of a low and ephemeral species ; as things
wanting nothing of the butterfly, save its innocence and
its grace. Sometimes he slightly alluded to some invented
debauch, in which he declared them companions; some-
times he adverted to them as the antipodes of those lofty
and spiritual natures, to whose order that of lone belonged.
Blinded alike by the pride of lone, and, perhaps, by his
own, he dreamed not that she already loved; but he
dreaded lest she might have formed for Glaucus the first
fluttering prepossessions that lead to love. And, secretly, he
ground his teeth in rage and jealousy, when he reflected on
the youth, the fascinations, and the brilliancy of that for-
midable rival whom he pretended to undervalue.

It was on the fourth day from the date of the close of the
previous book, that Arbaces and lone sat together.

" You wear your veil at home," said the Egyptian ; " that
is not fair to those whom you honour with your friendship."

The Rival of Glaucus 115

"But to Arbaces," answered lone, who, indeed, had cast
the veil over her features to conceal eyes red with weeping, —
" to Arbaces, who looks only to the mind, what matters it
that the face is concealed ? *

"I do look only to the mind," replied the Egyptian :
"show me then your face — for there I shall see it."

" You grow gallant in the air of Pompeii," said lone, with
a forced tone of gaiety.

" Do you think, fair lone, that it is only at Pompeii that
I have learned to value you ? " The Egyptian's voice
trembled — he paused for a moment, and then resumed.

" There is a love, beautiful Greek, which is not the love
only of the thoughtless and the young — there is a love which
sees not with the eyes, which hears not with the ears ; but
in which soul is enamoured of soul. The countryman
of thy ancestors, the cave-nursed Plato, dreamed of such
a love — his followers have sought to imitate it ; but it is
a love that is not for the herd to echo — it is a love that only
high and noble natures can conceive — it hath nothing
in common with the sympathies and ties of coarse affec-
tion ; — wrinkles do not revolt it — homeliness of feature does
not deter ; it asks youth, it is true, but it asks it only in the
freshness of the emotions j it asks beauty, it is true, but it is
the beauty of the thought and of the spirit. Such is the
love, O lone, which is a worthy offering to thee from the
cold and the austere. Austere and cold thou deemest me —
such is the love that I venture to lay upon thy shrine — thou
canst receive it without a blush."

" And its name is friendship ! " replied lone : her answer
was innocent, yet it sounded like the reproof of one
conscious of the design of the speaker.

" Friendship ! " said Arbaces, vehemently. " No ; that is
a word too often profaned to apply to a sentiment so sacred.
Friendship ! it is a tie that binds fools and profligates !
Friendship ! it is the bond that unites the frivolous hearts of
a Glaucus and a Clodius ! Friendship ! no, t/iat is an
affection of earth, of vulgar habits and sordid sympathies ;
the feeling of which I speak is borrowed from the stars l — ■
it partakes of that mystic and ineffable yearning, which
we feel when we gaze on them — it burns, yet it purifies, — it
is the lamp of naphtha in the alabaster vase, glowing with
fragrant odours, but shining only through the purest vessels .

1 Plato.

u6 The Last Days of Pompeii

No; it is not love, and it is not friendship, that Arbaces
feels for lone. Give it no name — earth has no name for
it — it is not of earth — why debase it with earthly epithets
and earthly associations ? "

Never before had Arbaces ventured so far, yet he felt his
ground step by step : he knew that he uttered a language
which, if at this day of affected platonisms it would speak
unequivocally to the ears of beauty, was at that time strange
and unfamiliar, to which no precise idea could be attached,
from which he could imperceptibly advance or recede,
as occasion suited, as hope encouraged or fear deterred,
lone trembled, though she knew not why ; her veil hid her
features, and masked an expression, which, if seen by the
Egyptian, would have at once damped and enraged him;
in fact, he never was more displeasing to her — the har-
monious modulation of the most suasive voice that ever
disguised unhallowed thought fell discordantly on her ear.
Her whole soul was still filled with the image of Glaucus ;
and the accent of tenderness from another only revolted and
dismayed ; yet she did not conceive that any passion more
ardent than that platonism which Arbaces expressed lurked
beneath his words. She thought that he, in truth, spoke
only of the affection and sympathy of the soul ; but was it
not precisely that affection and that sympathy which had
made a part of those emotions she felt for Glaucus ; and
could any other footstep than his approach the haunted
adytus of her heart?

Anxious at once to change the conversation, she replied,
therefore, with a cold and indifferent voice, " Whomsoever
Arbaces honours with the sentiment of esteem, it is natural
that his elevated wisdom should colour that sentiment with
its own hues ; it is natural that his friendship should be
purer than that of others, whose pursuits and errors he does
not deign to share. But tell me, Arbaces, hast thou seen
my brother of late? He has not visited me for several
■days ; and when I last saw him his manner disturbed and
-alarmed me much. I fear lest he was too precipitate in the
severe choice that he has adopted, and that he repents an
irrevocable step."

" Be cheered, lone," replied the Egyptian. " It is true,
that some little time since he was troubled and sad of spirit;
those doubts beset him which were likely to haunt one of
that fervent temperament, which ever ebbs and flows, and

The Rival of Glaucus 117

vibrates between excitement and exhaustion. But he, lone,
he came to me in his anxieties and his distress ; he sought
one who pitied and loved him ; I have calmed his mind —
I have removed his doubts — I have taken him from the
threshold of Wisdom into its temple ; and before the
majesty of the goddess his soul is hushed and soothed.
Fear not, he will repent no more; they who trust them-
selves to Arbaces never repent but for a moment."

" You rejoice me," answered lone. " My dear brother !
in his contentment I am happy."

The conversation then turned upon lighter subjects ; the
Egyptian exerted himself to please, he condescended even
to entertain ; the vast variety of his knowledge enabled him
to adorn and light up every subject on which he touched ;
md lone, forgetting the displeasing effect of his former
words, was carried away, despite^ her sadness, by the magic
Df his intellect. Her manner became unrestrained and her
language fluent; and Arbaces, who had waited his oppor-
tunity, now hastened to seize it.

"You have never seen," said he, "the interior of my
home ; it may amuse you to do so : it contains some rooms
that may explain to you what you have often asked me
to describe — the fashion of an Egyptian house ; not indeed,
:hat you will perceive in the poor and minute proportions of
Roman architecture the massive strength, the vast space,
:he gigantic magnificence, or even the domestic construction
:>f the palaces of Thebes and Memphis ; but something
:here is, here and there, that may serve to express to you
some notion of that antique civilisation which has human-
sed the world. Devote, then, to the austere friend of your
fouth, one of these bright summer evenings, and let me
boast that my gloomy mansion has been honoured with the
presence of the admired lone.

Unconscious of the pollutions of the mansion, of the
danger that awaited her, lone readily assented to the pro-
posal. The next evening was fixed for the visit ; and the
Egyptian, with a serene countenance, and a heart beating
with fierce and unholy joy, departed. Scarce had he gone,

when another visitor claimed admission. But now we

•eturn to Glaucus.

u8 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER V

THE POOR TORTOISE — NEW CHANGES FOR NYDIA

The morning sun shone over the small and odorous
garden enclosed within the peristyle of the house of the
Athenian. He lay reclined, sad and listlessly, on the
smooth grass which intersected the viridarium ; and a slight
canopy stretched above, broke the fierce rays of the summer
sun.

When that fairy mansion was first disinterred from the
earth they found in the garden the shell of a tortoise thai
had been its inmate.1 That animal, so strange a link in the
creation, to which Nature ^eems to have denied all the
pleasures of life, save life's passive and dream-like per-
ception, had been the guest of the place for years before
Glaucus purchased it ; for years, indeed, which went beyond
the memory of man, and to which tradition assigned ar
almost incredible date. The house had been built and
rebuilt — its possessors had changed and fluctuated — gener-
ations had flourished and decayed — and still the tortoise
dragged on its slow and unsympathising existence. In the
earthquake, which sixteen years before had overthrown
many of the public buildings of the city, and scared away
the amazed inhabitants, the house now inhabited by Glaucus
had been terribly shattered. The possessors deserted it foi
many days; on their return they cleared away the ruins
which encumbered the viridarium, and found still the
tortoise, unharmed and unconscious of the surrounding
destruction. It seemed to bear a charmed life in its languid
blood and imperceptible motions ; yet it was not so inactive
as it seemed : it held a regular and monotonous course :
inch by inch it traversed the little orbit of its domain,
taking months to accomplish the whole gyration. It was a
restless voyager, that tortoise ! — patiently, and with pain, did
it perform its self-appointed journeys, evincing no interest
in the things around it — a philosopher concentrated in itself.
There was something grand in its solitary selfishness ! — the

1 I do not know whether it be still preserved (I hope so), but the
shell of a tortoise was found in the house appropriated, in this work, to
Glaucus.

.J**

The Poor Tortoise 119*

sun in which it basked — the waters poured daily over it —
:he air, which it insensibly inhaled, were its sole and tin-
filing luxuries. The mild changes of the season, in that
ovely clime, affected it not. It covered itself with its
shell — as the saint in his piety — as the sage in his wisdom —
is the lover in his hope.

It was impervious to the shocks and mutations of time — ■
it was an emblem of time itself : slow, regular, perpetual ;
unwitting of the passions that fret themselves around — of
:he wear and tear of mortality. The poor tortoise ! nothing
less than the bursting of volcanoes, the convulsions of the
riven world, could have quenched its sluggish spark ! The
inexorable Death, that spared not pomp or beauty, passed
unheedingly by a thing to which death could bring so
insignificant a change.

For this animal the mercurial and vivid Greek felt all the
wonder and affection of contrast. He could spend hours in
surveying its creeping progress, in moralising over its
mechanism. He despised it in joy — he envied it in
sorrow.

Regarding it now as he lay along the sward — its dull mass
moving while it seemed motionless, the Athenian murmured
to himself: —

" The eagle dropped a stone from his talons, thinking to
break thy shell : the stone crushed the head of a poet.
This is the allegory of Fate ! Dull thing ! Thou hadst a
father and a mother ; perhaps, ages ago, thou thyself hadst a
mate. Did thy parents love, or didst thou ? Did thy slow
blood circulate more gladly when thou didst creep to the
side of thy wedded one ? Wert thou capable of affection ?
Could it distress thee if she were away from thy side ?
Couldst thou feel when she was present? What would
I not give to know the history of thy mailed breast — to gaze
upon the mechanism of thy faint desires — to mark what
hair-breadth difference separates thy sorrow from thy joy !
Yet, methinks, thou wouldst know if lone were present!
Thou wouldst feel her coming like a happier air — like a
gladder sun. I envy thee now, for thou knowest not that
she is absent ; and I — would I could be like thee — between
the intervals of seeing her ! What doubt, what presenti-
ment, haunts me ! why will she not admit me ? Days have
passed since I heard her voice. For the first time, life
grows flat to me. I am as one who is left alone at a

120 The Last Days of Pompeii

banquet, the lights dead, and the flowers faded. Ah ! lone,
couldst thou dream how I adore thee ! "

From these enamoured reveries, Glaucus was interrupted
by the entrance of Nydia. She came with her light, though
cautious step, along the marble tablinum. She passed the
portico, and paused at the flowers which bordered the
garden. She had her water-vase in her hand, and she
sprinkled the thirsting plants, which seemed to brighten at
her approach. She bent to inhale their odour. She touched
them timidly and caressingly. She felt, along their stems,
if any withered leaf or creeping insect marred their beauty.
And as she hovered from flower to flower, with her earnest
and youthful countenance and graceful motions, you could
not have imagined a fitter handmaid for the goddess of the
garden.

" Nydia, my child ! " said Glaucus.

At the sound of his voice she paused at once — listening,
blushing, breathless ; with her lips parted, her face upturned
to catch the direction of the sound, she laid down the vase —
she hastened to him ; and wonderful it was to see how
unerringly she threaded her dark way through the flowers,
and came by the shortest path to the side of her new
lord.

" Nydia," said Glaucus, tenderly stroking back her long
and beautiful hair, " it is now three days since thou hast
been under the protection of my household gods. Have
they smiled on thee? Art thou happy?"

"Ah ! so happy ! " sighed the slave.

"And now," continued Glaucus, "that thou hast recovered
somewhat from the hateful recollections of thy former state,
— and now that they have fitted thee [touching her broidered
tunic] with garments more meet for thy delicate shape, —
and now, sweet child, that thou hast accustomed thyself to
a happiness, which may the gods grant thee ever! I am
about to pray at thy hands a boon."

" Oh ! what can I do for thee ? " said Nydia, clasping her
hands.

"Listen," said Glaucus, "and young as thou art, thou
shalt be my confidant. Hast thou ever heard the name of
lone ? "

The blind girl gasped for breath, and turning pale as one
of the statues which shone upon them from the peristyle, she
answered with an effort, and after a moment's pause, —

New Changes for Nydia 121

" Yes ! I have heard that she is of Neapolis, and
beautiful."

" Beautiful ! her beauty is a thing to dazzle the day !
Neapolis ! nay, she is Greek by origin ; Greece only could
iirnish forth such shapes. Nydia, I love her!"

" I thought so," replied Nydia, calmly.

" I love, and thou shalt tell her so. I am about to send
;hee to her. Happy Nydia, thou wilt be in her chamber —
;hou wilt drink the music of her voice — thou wilt bask in
:he sunny air of her presence ! "

" What ! what ! wilt thou send me from thee ? "

"Thou wilt go to lone," answered Glaucus, in a tone
;hat said, " What more canst thou desire ? *

Nydia burst into tears.

Glaucus, raising himself, drew her towards him with the
soothing caresses of a brother.

" My child, my Nydia, thou weepest in ignorance of the
lappiness I bestow on thee. She is gentle, and kind, and
>oft as the breeze of spring. She will be a sister to thy
fouth — she will appreciate thy winning talents — she will love
:hy simple graces as none other could, for they are like her
:>wn. Weepest thou still, fond fool ? I will not force thee,
sweet. Wilt thou not do for me this kindness ? "

"Well, if I can serve thee, command. See, I weep no
onger — I am calm."

" That is my own Nydia," continued Glaucus, kissing her
land. " Go, then, to her : if thou art disappointed in her
dndness — if I have deceived thee, return when thou wilt.
[ do not give thee to another ; I but lend. My home ever
)e thy refuge, sweet one. Ah ! would it could shelter all
he friendless and distressed ! But if my heart whispers
ruly, I shall claim thee again soon, my child. My home
md I one's will become the same, and thou shalt dwell with
)Oth."

A shiver passed through the slight frame of the blind girl,
}ut she wept no more — she was resigned.

"Go, then, my Nydia, to Ione's house — they shall show
hee the way. Take her the fairest flowers thou canst pluck ;
he vase which contains them I will give thee : thou must
excuse its unworthiness. Thou shalt take, too, with thee
he lute that I gave thee yesterday, and from which thou
mowest so well to awaken the charming spirit. Thou shalt
jive her, also, this letter, in which, after a hundred efforts, I

122 The Last Days of Pompeii

have embodied something of my thoughts. Let thy eai
catch every accent, every modulation of her voice, and tell
me, when we meet again, if its music should flatter me 01
discourage. It is now, Nydia, some days since I have been
admitted to lone; there is something mysterious in this
exclusion. I am distracted with doubts and fears ; learn —
for thou art quick, and thy care for me will sharpen tenfold
thy acuteness — learn the cause of this unkindness ; speak oi
me as often as thou canst ; let my name come ever to thy
lips : insinuate how I love rather than proclaim it ; watch ii
she sighs whilst thou speakest, if she answer thee ; or, if she
reproves, in what accents she reproves. Be my friend,
plead for me : and oh ! how vastly wilt thou overpay the
little I have done for thee ! Thou comprehendest, Nydia •
thou art yet a child — have I said more than thou canst
understand ? "

" No."

"And thou wilt serve me?"

"Yes."

" Come to me when thou hast gathered the flowers, and
I will give thee the vase I speak of; seek me in the chamber
of Leda. Pretty one, thou dost not grieve now ? "

" Glaucus, I am a slave ; what business have I with griei
or joy ? "

"Sayest thou so? No, Nydia, be free. I give thee
freedom; enjoy it as thou wilt, and pardon me that I
reckoned on thy desire to serve me."

" You are offended. Oh ! I would not, for that which no
freedom can give, offend you, Glaucus. My guardian, my
saviour, my protector, forgive the poor blind girl ! She does
not grieve even in leaving thee, if she can contribute to thy
happiness."

" May the gods bless this grateful heart ! " said Glaucus,
greatly moved ; and, unconscious of the fires he excited, he
repeatedly kissed her forehead.

"Thou forgivest me," said she, "and thou wilt talk no
more of freedom ; my happiness is to be thy slave : thou
hast promised thou wilt not give me to another "

"I have promised."

"And now, then, I will gather the flowers."

Silently, Nydia took from the hand of Glaucus the costly
and jewelled vase, in which the flowers vied with each other
in hue and fragrance ; tearlessly she received his parting

The Happy Beauty 123

admonition. She paused for a moment when his voice
ceased — she did not trust herself to reply — she sought his
hand — she raised it to her lips, dropped her veil over her
face, and passed at once from his presence. She paused
again as she reached the threshold ; she stretched her hands
towards it, and murmured, —

" Three happy days — days of unspeakable delight, have I
known since I passed thee — blessed threshold ! may peace
dwell ever with thee when I am gone ! And now, my heart
tears itself from thee, and the only sound it utters bids
me — die ! "

CHAPTER VI

THE HAPPY BEAUTY AND THE BLIND SLAVE

A slave entered the chamber of lone. A messenger
from Glaucus desired to be admitted.

lone hesitated an instant.

" She is blind, that messenger," said the slave ; " she will
do her commission to none but thee."

Base is that heart which does not respect affliction ! The
moment she heard the messenger was blind, lone felt the
impossibility of returning a chilling reply. Glaucus had
chosen a herald that was indeed sacred — a herald that could
not be denied.

"What can he want with me? what message can he
send?" and the heart of lone beat quick. The curtain
across the door was withdrawn ; a soft and echoless step fell
upon the marble ; and Nydia, led by one of the attendants,
entered with her precious gift.

She stood still a moment, as if listening for some sound
that might direct her.

" Will the noble lone," said she, in a soft and low voice,
" deign to speak, that I may know whither to steer these
benighted steps, and that I may lay my offerings at her
feet?"

"Fair child," said lone, touched and soothingly, "give
not thyself the pain to cross these slippery floors, my
attendant will bring to me what thou hast to present ; " and
she motioned to the handmaid to take the vase.

124 The Last Days of Pompeii

" I may give these flowers to none but thee," answered
Nydia ; and, guided by her ear, she walked slowly to the
place where lone sat, and kneeling when she came before
her, proffered the vase.

lone took it from her hand, and placed it on the table at
her side. She then raised her gently, and would have seated
her on the couch, but the girl modestly resisted.

" I have not yet discharged my office," said she ; and she
drew the letter of Glaucus from her vest. " This will,
perhaps, explain why he who sent me chose so unworthy a
messenger to lone."

The Neapolitan took the letter with a hand, the trembling
of which Nydia at once felt and sighed to feel. With folded
arms, and downcast looks, she stood before the proud and
stately form of lone ; — no less proud, perhaps, in her attitude
of submission. lone waved her hand, and the attendants
withdrew; she gazed again upon the form of the young
slave in surprise and beautiful compassion ; then, retiring a
little from her, she opened and read the following letter : —

" Glaucus to lone sends more than he dares to utter. Is
lone ill ? thy slaves tell me * No,' and that assurance com-
forts me. Has Glaucus offended lone ? — ah ! that question
I may not ask from them. For five days I have been
banished from thy presence. Has the sun shone ? — I know
it not. Has the sky smiled ? — it has had no smile for me.
My sun and my sky are lone. Do I offend thee ? Am I
too bold ? Do I say that on the tablet which my tongue
has hesitated to breathe ? Alas ! it is in thine absence
that I feel most the spells by which thou hast subdued me.
And absence, that deprives me of joy, brings me courage.
Thou wilt not see me ; thou hast banished also the common
flatterers that flock around thee. Canst thou confound me
with them? It is not possible! Thou knowest too well
that I am not of them — that their clay is not mine. For
even were I of the humblest mould, the fragrance of the
rose has penetrated me, and the spirit of thy nature hath
passed within me, to embalm, to sanctify, to inspire. Have
they slandered me to thee, lone? Thou wilt not believe
them. Did the Delphic oracle itself tell me thou wert
unworthy, I would not believe it ; and am I less incredulous
than thou ? I think of the last time we met — of the song
which I sang to thee — of the look that thou gavest me in

The Happy Beauty 125

return. Disguise it as thou wilt, lone, there is something
kindred between us, and our eyes acknowledged it, though
our lips were silent. Deign to see me, to listen to me, and
after that exclude me if thou wilt. I meant not so soon to
say I loved. But those words rush to my heart — they will
have way. Accept, then, my homage and my vows. We
met first at the shrine of Pallas ; shall we not meet before a
softer and a more ancient altar ?

" Beautiful ! adored lone ! If my hot youth and my
Athenian blood have misguided and allured me, they have
but taught my wanderings to appreciate the rest — the haven
they have attained. I hang up my dripping robes on the
Sea-god's shrine. I have escaped shipwreck. I have found
thee. lone, deign to see me ; thou art gentle to strangers,
wilt thou be less merciful to those of thine own land ? I
await thy reply. Accept the flowers which I send — their
sweet breath has a language more eloquent than words.
They take from the sun the odours they return — they are
the emblem of the love that receives and repays tenfold —
the emblem of the heart that drunk thy rays, and owes to
thee the germ of the treasures that it proffers to thy smile.
I send these by one whom thou wilt receive for her own
sake, if not for mine. She, like us, is a stranger ; her fathers'
ashes lie under brighter skies : but, less happy than we, she
is blind and a slave. Poor Nydia ! I seek as much as possible
to repair to her the cruelties of Nature and of Fate, in asking
permission to place her with thee. She is gentle, quick, and
docile. She is skilled in music and the song ; and she is a
very Chloris * to the flowers. She thinks lone, that thou
wilt love her : if thou dost not, send her back to me.

" One word more, — let me be bold, lone. Why thinkest
thou so highly of yon dark Egyptian? he hath not about
him the air of honest men. We Greeks learn mankind
from our cradle ; we are not the less profound, in that we
affect no sombre mien ; our lips smile, but our eyes are
grave — they observe — they note — they study. Arbaces is
not one to be credulously trusted : can it be that he hath
wronged me to thee ? I think it, for I left him with thee ;
thou sawest how my presence stung him ; since then thou
hast not admitted me. Believe nothing that he can say to
my disfavour; if thou dost, tell me so at once; for this
lone owes to Glaucus. Farewell! this letter touches thy
1 The Greek Flora.

126 The Last Days of Pompeii

hand ; these characters meet thine eyes — shall they be more
blessed than he who is their author. Once more, farewell ! "

It seemed to lone, as she read this letter, as if a mist
had fallen from her eyes. What had been the supposed
offence of Glaucus ? — that he had not really loved ! And
now, plainly, and in no dubious terms, he confessed that
love. From that moment his power was fully restored. At
every tender word in that letter, so full of romantic and
trustful passion, her heart smote her. And had she doubted
his faith, and had she believed another ? and had she not, at
least, allowed to him the culprit's right to know his crime,
to plead in his defence ? — the tears rolled down her cheeks
— she kissed the letter — she placed it in her bosom : and,
turning to Nydia, who stood in the same place and in the
same posture, —

"Wilt thou sit, my child," said she, "while I write an
answer to this letter?"

"You will answer it, then!" said Nydia, coldly. "Well,
the slave that accompanied me will take back your answer."

" For you," said lone, " stay with me — trust me, your
service shall be light."

Nydia bowed her head.

" What is your name, fair girl?"

"They call me Nydia."

"Your country?"

"The land of Olympus— Thessaly."

" Thou shalt be to me a friend," said lone, caressingly,
" as thou art already half a countrywoman. Meanwhile, I
beseech thee, stand not on these cold and glassy marbles. —
There! now that thou art seated, I can leave thee tor an
instant."

" lone to Glaucus greeting. — Come to me, Glaucus," wrote
lone, — " come to me to-morrow. I may have been unjust
to thee ; but I will tell thee, at least, the fault that has been
imputed to thy charge. Fear not, henceforth, the Egyptian
— fear none. Thou sayest thou hast expressed too much —
alas ! in these hasty words I have already done so. Farewell."

As lone reappeared with the letter, which she did not
dare to read after she had written (Ah ! common rashness,
common timidity of love !) — Nydia started from her seat.

The Happy Beauty 127

" You have written to Glaucus ? "

" I have."

" And will he thank the messenger who gives to him thy
letter?"

lone forgot that her companion was blind ; she blushed
from the brow to the neck, and remained silent.

" I mean this," added Nydia, in a calmer tone ; " the
lightest word of coldness from thee will sadden him — the
lightest kindness will rejoice. If it be the first, let the
slave take back thine answer ; if it be the last, let me — I
will return this evening."

" And why, Nydia," asked lone, evasively, " wouldst thou
be the bearer of my letter ? "

" It is so, then ! " said Nydia. " Ah ! how could it be
otherwise; who could be unkind to Glaucus?"

"My child," said lone, a little more reservedly than
before, "thou speakest warmly — Glaucus, then, is amiable
in thine eyes ? "

"Noble lone! Glaucus has been that to me which
neither fortune nor the gods have been — a frie?id!"

The sadness mingled with dignity with which Nydia
uttered these simple words, affected the beautiful lone : she
bent down and kissed her. "Thou art grateful, and
deservedly so ; why should I blush to say that Glaucus is
worthy of thy gratitude ? Go, my Nydia — take to him thy-
self this letter — but return again. If I am from home when
thou returnest— as this evening, perhaps, I shall be — thy
chamber shall be prepared next my own. Nydia, I have no
sister— wilt thou be one to me ? "

The Thessalian kissed the hand of lone, and then said,
with some embarrassment, —

" One favour, fair lone — may I dare to ask it ? "

"Thou canst not ask what I will not grant," replied the
Neapolitan.

"They tell me," said Nydia, "that thou art beautiful
beyond the loveliness of earth. Alas ! I cannot see that
which gladdens the world ! Wilt thou suffer me, then, to
pass my hand over thy face? — that is my sole criterion of
beauty, and I usually guess aright."

She did not wait for the answer of lone, but, as she
spoke, gently and slowly passed her hand over the bending
and half-averted features of the Greek — features which but
one image in the world can yet depicture and recall — that

128 The Last Days of Pompeii

image is the mutilated, but all-wondrous, statue in her
native city — her own Neapolis; — that Parian face, before
which all the beauty of the Florentine Venus is poor and
earthly — that aspect so full of harmony — of youth — of
genius — of the soul — which modern critics have supposed
the representation of Psyche.1

Her touch lingered over the braided hair and polished
brow — over the downy and damask cheek — over the dimpled
lip — the swan-like and whitish neck. "I know now, that
thou art beautiful," she said : " and I can picture thee to
my darkness henceforth, and for ever ! "

When Nydia left her, lone sank into a deep but delicious
reverie. Glaucus then loved her; he owned it — yes, he
loved her. She drew forth again that dear confession ; she
paused over every word, she kissed every line j she did not
ask why he had been maligned, she only felt assured that he
had been so. She wondered how she had ever believed a
syllable against him ; she wondered how the Egyptian had
been enabled to exercise a power against Glaucus ; she felt
a chill creep over her as she again turned to his warning
against Arbaces, and her secret fear of that gloomy being
darkened into awe. She was awakened from these thoughts
by her maidens, who came to announce to her that the
hour appointed to visit Arbaces was arrived; she started,
she had forgotten the promise. Her first impression was to
renounce it ; her second, was to laugh at her own fears of
her eldest surviving friend. She hastened to add the usual
ornaments to her dress, and doubtful whether she should
yet question the Egyptian more closely with respect to his
accusation of Glaucus, or whether she should wait till, with-
out citing the authority, she should insinuate to Glaucus the
accusation itself, she took her way to the gloomy mansion
of Arbaces.

1 The wonderful remains of the statue so called in the Museo
Borbonico. The face, for sentiment and for feature, is the most
beautiful of all which ancient sculpture has bequeathed to us.

lone Entrapped 129

CHAPTER VII

IONE ENTRAPPED — THE MOUSE TRIES TO GNAW THE NET

"O dearest Nydia!" exclaimed Glaucus as he read the
letter of lone, "whitest robed messenger that ever passed
between earth and heaven — how, how shall I thank thee ? "

" I am rewarded," said the poor Thessalian.

"To-morrow — to-morrow ! how shall I while the hours till
then?"

The enamoured Greek would not let Nydia escape him,
though she sought several times to leave the chamber ; he
made her recite to him over and over again every syllable of
the brief conversation that had taken place between her
and lone ; a thousand times, forgetting her misfortune, he
questioned her of the looks, of the countenance of his
beloved : and then quickly again excusing his fault, he bade
her recommence the whole recital which he had thus in-
terrupted. The hours thus painful to Nydia passed rapidly
and delightfully to him, and the twilight had already
darkened ere he once more dismissed her to lone with a
fresh letter and with new flowers. Scarcely had she gone,
than Clodius and several of his gay companions broke in
upon him ; they rallied him on his seclusion during the
whole day, and his absence from his customary haunts ; they
invited him to accompany them to the various resorts in
that lively city, which night and day proffered diversity to
pleasure. Then, as now, in the south (for no land, perhaps,
losing more of greatness has retained more of custom), it
was the delight of the Italians to assemble at the evening ;
and, under the porticoes of temples or the shade of the
groves that interspersed the streets, listening to music or the
recitals of some inventive tale-teller, they hailed the rising
moon with libations of wine and the melodies of song.
Glaucus was too happy to be unsocial ; he longed to cast off
the exuberance of joy that oppressed him. He willingly
accepted the proposal of his comrades, and laughingly they
sallied out together down the populous and glittering streets.

In the meantime Nydia once more gained the house of
lone, who had long left it; she inquired indifferently
whither lone had gone.

E

130 The Last Days of Pompeii

The answer arrested and appalled her.

"To the house of Arbaces — of the Egyptian? Im-
possible ! "

" It is true, my little one," said the slave, who had replied
to her question. " She has known the Egyptian long."

"Long! ye gods, yet Glaucus loves her!" murmured
Nydia to herself.

"And has," asked she aloud, — "has she often visited
him before?"

"Never till now," answered the slave. "If all the
rumoured scandal of Pompeii be true, it would be better,
perhaps, if she had not ventured there at present. But
she, poor mistress mine, hears nothing of that which reaches
us ; the talk of the vestibulum reaches not to the peristyle." l

" Never till now ! " repeated Nydia. " Art thou sure ? "

" Sure, pretty one : but what is that to thee or to us ? "

Nydia hesitated a moment, and then, putting down the
flowers with which she had been charged, she called to the
slave who had accompanied her, and left the house without
saying another word.

Not tiH she had got half-way back to the house of
Glaucus did she break silence, and even then she only
murmured inly, —

" She does not dream — she cannot — of the dangers into
which she has plunged. Fool that I am, — shall I save her ?
— yes, for I love Glaucus better than myself."

When she arrived at the house of the Athenian, she learnt
that he had gone out with a party of his friends, and none
knew whither. He probably would not be home before
midnight.

The Thessalian groaned; she sank upon a seat in the
hall, and covered her face with her hands as if to collect her
thoughts. "There is no time to be lost," thought she,
starting up. She turned to the slave who had accompanied
her.

" Knowest thou," said she, " if lone has any relative, any
intimate friend at Pompeii ? "

"Why, by Jupiter!" answered the slave, "art thou silly
enough to ask the question ? Every one in Pompeii knows
that lone has a brother who, young and rich, has been —
under the rose I speak — so foolish as to become a priest of
Isis."

1 Terence.

The Mouse Gnaws the Net 131

" A priest of Isis ! O Gods ! his name ? "

" Apaecides."

"I know it all," muttered Nydia: "brother and sister,
then, are to be both victims ! Apaecides ! yes, that was the

name I heard in Ha ! he well, then, knows the peril

that surrounds his sister ; I will go to him."

She sprang up at that thought, and taking the staff which
always guided her steps, she hastened to the neighbouring
shrine of Isis. Till she had been under the guardianship of
the kindly Greek, that staff had sufficed to conduct the
poor blind girl from corner to corner of Pompeii. Every
street, every turning in the more frequented parts, was
familiar to her ; and as the inhabitants entertained a tender
and half-superstitious veneration for those subject to her
infirmity, the passengers had always given way to her timid
steps. Poor girl, she little dreamed that she should, ere
many days were passed, find her blindness her protection,
and a guide far safer than the keenest eyes !

But since she had been under the roof of Glaucus, he
had ordered a slave to accompany her always ; and the
poor devil thus appointed, who was somewhat of the fattest,
and who, after having twice performed the journey to Ione's
house, now saw himself condemned to a third excursion
(whither the gods only knew), hastened after her, deploring
his fate, and solemnly assuring Castor and Pollux that he
believed the blind girl had the talaria of Mercury as well
as the infirmity of Cupid.

Nydia, however, required but little of his assistance to
find her way to the popular temple of Isis : the space before
it was now deserted, and she won without obstacle to the
sacred rail.

" There is no one here," said the fat slave. " What dost
thou want, or whom ? Knowest thou not that the priests
do not live in the temple?"

" Call out," said she, impatiently ; " night and day there
is always one flamen, at least, watching in the shrines of
Isis."

The slave called, — no one appeared.

" Seest thou no one ? "

"No one."

" Thou mistakest ; I hear a sigh : look again."

The slave, wondering and grumbling, cast round his
heavy eyes, and before one of the altars, whose remains

132 The Last Days of Pompeii

still crowd the narrow space, he beheld a form bending as
in meditation.

"I see a figure," said he; "and by the white garments, it
is a priest."

" O flamen of Isis ! " cried Nydia ; " servant of the Most
Ancient, hear me ! "

" Who calls ? " said a low and melancholy voice.

" One who has no common tidings to impart to a
member of your body : I come to declare and not to ask
oracles."

" With whom wouldst thou confer ? This is no hour for
thy conference ; depart, disturb me not ; the night is sacred
to the gods, the day to men."

" Methinks I know thy voice ? thou art he whom I seek ;
yet I have heard thee speak but once before. Art thou not
the priest Apsecides ? "

" I am that man," replied the priest, emerging from the
altar, and approaching the rail.

" Thou art ! the gods be praised ! " Waving her hand to
the slave, she bade him withdraw to a distance; and he,
who naturally imagined some superstition connected,
perhaps, with the safety of lone, could alone lead her to
the temple, obeyed, and seated himself on the ground at a
little distance. "Hush!" said she, speaking quick and
low ; " art thou indeed Apaecides ? "

" If thou knowest me, canst thou not recall my
features ? "

" I am blind," answered Nydia ; " my eyes are in my ear,
and that recognises thee : yet swear thee thou art he."

M By the gods I swear it, by my right hand, and by the
moon ! "

" Hush ! speak low — bend near — give me thy hand ;
knowest thou Arbaces? Hast thou laid flowers at the feet
of the dead ? Ah ! thy hand is cold — hark yet ! — hast thou
taken the awful vow ? "

"Who art thou, whence comest thou, pale maiden?"
said Apsecides, fearfully : " I know thee not ; thine is not
the breast on which this head hath lain ; I have never seen
thee before."

" But thou hast heard my voice : no matter, those recol-
lections it should shame us both to recall. Listen, thou
hast a sister."

" Speak ! speak ! what of her ? "

The Mouse Gnaws the Net 133

"Thou knowest the banquets of the dead, stranger, — it
pleases thee, perhaps, to share them — would it please thee
to have thy sister a partaker ? Would it please thee that
Arabaces was her host?"

" O gods, he dare not ! Girl, if thou mockest me, tremble !
I will tear thee limb from limb ! "

" I speak the truth ; and while I speak, lone is in the
halls of Arbaces — for the first time his guest. Thou
knowest if there be peril in that first time ! Farewell ! I
have fulfilled my charge."

" Stay ! stay ! " cried the priest, passing his wan hand
over his brow. " If this be true, what — what can be done
to save her ? They may not admit me. I know not all the
mazes of that intricate mansion. O Nemesis ! justly am I
punished ! "

"I will dismiss yon slave, be thou my guide and com-
rade ; I will lead thee to the private door of the house : I
will whisper to thee the word which admits. Take some
weapon : it may be needful ! "

"Wait an instant," said Apaecides, retiring into one of
the cells that flank the temple, and reappearing in a few
moments wrapped in a large cloak, which was then much
worn by all classes, and which concealed his sacred dress.
" Now," he said, grinding his teeth, " if Arbaces hath dared
to — but he dare not ! he dare not ! Why should I suspect
him? Is he so base a villain? I will not think it — yet,
sophist ! dark bewilderer that he is ! O gods protect —
hush! are there gods? Yes, there is one goddess, at
least, whose voice I can command; and that is —
Vengeance ! "

Muttering these disconnected thoughts, Apaecides,
followed by his silent and sightless companion, hastened
through the most solitary paths to the house of the
Egyptian.

The slave, abruptly dismissed by Nydia, shrugged his
shoulders, muttered an adjuration, and, nothing loath, rolled
off to his cubiculum.

134 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER VIII

THE SOLITUDE AND SOLILOQUY OF THE EGYPTIAN — HIS
CHARACTER ANALYSED

We. must go back a few hours in the progress of our
story. At the first grey dawn of the day, which Glaucus
had already marked with white, the Egyptian was seated,
sleepless and alone, on the summit of the lofty and
pyramidal tower which flanked his house. A tall parapet
around it served as a wall, and conspired, with the height of
the edifice and the gloomy trees that girded the mansion, to
defy the prying eyes of curiosity or observation. A table,
on which lay a scroll, filled with mystic figures, was before
him. On high, the stars waxed dim and faint, and the
shades of night melted from the sterile mountain-tops ; only
above Vesuvius there rested a deep and massy cloud, which
for several days past had gathered darker and more solid
over its summit. The struggle of night and day was more
visible over the broad ocean, which stretched calm, like a
gigantic lake, bounded by the circling shores that, covered
with vines and foliage, and gleaming here and there with
the white walls of sleeping cities, sloped to the scarce
rippling waves.

It was the hour above all others most sacred to the daring
science of the Egyptian — the science which would read our
changeful destinies in the stars.

He had filled his scroll, he had noted the moment and
the sign ; and, leaning upon his hand, he had surrendered
himself to the thoughts which his calculation excited.

" Again do the stars forewarn me ! Some danger, then,
assuredly awaits me ! " said he, slowly ; " some danger,
violent and sudden in its nature. The stars wear for me
the same mocking menace which, if our chronicles do not
err, they once wore for Pyrrhus — for him, doomed to strive
for all things, to enjoy none — all attacking, nothing gaining
— battles without fruit, laurels without triumph, fame with-
out success ; at last made craven by his own superstitions,
and slain like a dog by a tile from the hand of an old
woman ! Verily, the stars flatter when they give me a type
in this fool of war, — when they promise to the ardour of my

Solitude and Soliloquy 135

wisdom the same results as to the madness of his ambition ;
— perpetual exercise — no certain goal ! — the Sisyphus task,
the mountain and the stone ! — the stone, a gloomy image !
— it reminds me that I am threatened with somewhat of the
same death as the Epirote. Let me look again. ' Beware,'
say the shining prophets, * how thou passest under ancient
roofs, or besieged walls, or overhanging cliffs — a stone
hurled from above, is charged by the curses of destiny
against thee ! ' And, at no distant date from this, comes the
peril : but I cannot, of a certainty, read the day and hour.
Well ! if my glass runs low, the sands shall sparkle to the
last. Yet, if I escape this peril — ay, if I escape — bright
and clear as the moonlight track along the waters glows the
rest of my existence. I see honours, happiness, success,
shining upon every billow of the dark gulf beneath which I
must sink at last. What, then, with such destinies beyond
the peril, shall I succumb to the peril ? My soul whispers
hope, it sweeps exultingly beyond the boding hour, it revels
in the future, — its own courage is its fittest omen. If I
were to perish so suddenly and so soon, the shadow of
death would darken over me, and I should feel the icy
presentiment of my doom. My soul would express, in
sadness and in gloom, its forecast of the dreary Orcus. But
it smiles — it assures me of deliverance."

As he thus concluded his soliloquy, the Egyptian
involuntarily rose. He paced rapidly the narrow space of
that star-roofed floor, and, pausing at the parapet, looked
again upon the grey and melancholy heavens. The chills
of the faint dawn came refreshingly upon his brow, and
gradually his mind resumed its natural and collected calm.
He withdrew his gaze from the stars, as, one after one, they
receded into the depths of heaven ; and his eyes fell over
the broad expanse below. Dim in the silenced port of the
city rose the masts of the galleys ; along that mart of luxury
and of labour was stilled the mighty hum. No lights, save
here and there from before the columns of a temple, or in
the porticos of the voiceless forum, broke the wan and
fluctuating light of the struggling morn. From the heart of
the torpid city, so soon to vibrate with a thousand passions,
there came no sound : the streams of life circulated not ;
they lay locked under the ice of sleep. From the huge
space of the amphitheatre, with its stony seats rising one
above the other — coiled and round as some slumbering

136 The Last Days of Pompeii

monster — rose a thin and ghastly mist, which gathered
darker, and more dark, over the scattered foliage that
gloomed in its vicinity. The city seemed as, after the awful
change of seventeen ages, it seems now to the traveller, — a
City of the Dead.1

The ocean itself — that serene and tideless sea — lay scarce
less hushed, save that from its deep bosom came, softened
by the distance, a faint and regular murmur, like the
breathing of its sleep ; and curving far, as with outstretched
arms, into the green and beautiful land, it seemed uncon-
sciously to clasp to its breast the cities sloping to its margin
— Stabiae,2 and Herculaneum, and Pompeii — those children
and darlings of the deep. "Ye slumber," said the Egyptian,
as he scowled over the cities, the boast and flower of
Campania ; " ye slumber ! — would it were the eternal repose
of death ! As ye now — jewels in the crown of empire — so
once were the cities of the Nile! Their greatness hath
perished from them, they sleep amidst ruins, their palaces
and their shrines are tombs, the serpent coils in the grass of
their streets, the lizard basks in their solitary halls. By that
mysterious law of Nature, which humbles one to exalt the
other, ye have thriven upon their ruins; thou, haughty
Rome, hast usurped the glories of Sesostris and Semiramis
— thou art a robber, clothing thyself with their spoils ! And
these — slaves in thy triumph — that I (the last son of for-
gotten monarchs) survey below, reservoirs of thine all-
pervading power and luxury, I curse as I behold ! The
time shall come when Egypt shall be avenged ! when the
barbarian's steed shall make his manger in the Golden
House of Nero ! and thou that hast sown the wind with
conquest shall reap the harvest in the whirlwind of
desolation ! "

As the Egyptian uttered a prediction which fate so fear-
fully fulfilled, a more solemn and boding image of ill omen
never occurred to the dreams of painter or of poet. The
morning light, which can pale so wanly even the young
cheek of beauty, gave his majestic and stately features
almost the colours of the grave, with the dark hair falling

1 When Sir Walter Scott visited Pompeii with Sir William Gell,
almost his only remark was the exclamation, " The City of the Dead —
the City of the Dead ! "

2 Stabise was indeed no longer a city, but it was still a favourite site
for the villas of the rich.

Solitude and Soliloquy 137

massively around them, and the dark robes flowing long and
loose, and the arm outstretched from that lofty eminence,
and the glittering eyes, fierce with a savage gladness, — half
prophet and half fiend 1

He turned his gaze from the city and the ocean ; before
him lay the vineyards and meadows of the rich Campania.
The gate and walls — ancient, half Pelasgic — of the city,
seemed not to bound its extent. Villas and villages
stretched on every side up the ascent of Vesuvius, not
nearly then so steep or so lofty as at present. For as Rome
itself is built on an exhausted volcano, so in similar security
the inhabitants of the South tenanted the green and vine-
clad places around a volcano whose fires they believed at
rest for ever. From the gate stretched the long street of
tombs, various in size and architecture, by which, on that
side, the city is as yet approached. Above all, rode the
cloud-capped summit of the Dread Mountain, with the
shadows, now dark, now light, betraying the mossy caverns
and ashy rocks, which testified the past conflagrations, and
might have prophesied — but man is blind— that which was
to come !

Difficult was it then and there to guess the causes why
the tradition of the place wore so gloomy and stern a hue ;
why, in those smiling plains, for miles around — to Baise and
Misenum — the poets had imagined the entrance and thres-
holds of their hell — their Acheron, and their fabled Styx:
why, in those Phlegrse,1 now laughing with the vine, they
placed the battles of the gods, and supposed the daring
Titans to have sought the victory of heaven — save, indeed,
that yet, in yon seared and blasted summit, fancy might
think to read the characters of the Olympian thunderbolt.

But it was neither the rugged height of the still volcano,
nor the fertility of the sloping fields, nor the melancholy
avenue of tombs, nor the glittering villas of a polished and
luxurious people, that now arrested the eye of the Egyptian.
On one part of the landscape, the mountain of Vesuvius de-
scended to the plain in a narrow and uncultivated ridge,
broken here and there by jagged crags and copses of wild
foliage. At the base of this lay a marshy and unwholesome
pool ; and the intent gaze of Arbaces caught the outline of
some living form moving by the marshes, and stooping ever
and anon as if to pluck its rank produce.

1 Or, Phlegrai Campi ; viz., scorched or burned fields.

138 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Ho ! " said he, aloud, " I have then, another companion
in these unworldly night-watches. The witch of Vesuvius
is abroad. What ! doth she, too, as the credulous imagine,
— doth she, too, learn the lore of the great stars ? Hath she
been uttering foul magic to the moon, or culling (as her
pauses betoken) foul herbs from the venomous marsh ?
Weil, I must see this fellow-labourer. Whoever strives to
know learns that no human lore is despicable. Despicable
only you — ye fat and bloated things — slaves of luxury —
sluggards in thought — who, cultivating nothing but the
barren sense, dream that its poor soil can produce alike the
myrtle and the laurel. No, the wise only can enjoy — to us
only true luxury is given, when mind, brain, invention, ex-
perience, thought, learning, imagination, all contribute like
rivers to swell the seas of sense ! — lone ! F

As Arbaces uttered that last and charmed word, his
thoughts sunk at once into a more deep and profound
channel. His steps paused ; he took not his eyes from the
ground ; once or twice he smiled joyously, and then, as he
turned from his place of vigil, and sought his couch, he
muttered, " If death frowns so near, I will say at least that I
have lived — lone shall be mine ! "

The character of Arbaces was one of those intricate and
varied webs, in which even the mind that sat within it was
sometimes confused and perplexed. In him, the son of a
fallen dynasty, the outcast of a sunken people, was that
spirit of discontented pride, which ever rankles in one of a
sterner mould, who feels himself inexorably shut from the
sphere in which his fathers shone, and to which Nature as
well as birth no less entitles himself. This sentiment hath
no benevolence; it wars with society, it sees enemies in
mankind. But with this sentiment did not go its com-
mon companion, poverty. Arbaces possessed wealth which
equalled that of most of the Roman nobles ; and this
enabled him to gratify to the utmost the passions which had
no outlet in business or ambition. Travelling from clime
to clime, and beholding still Rome everywhere, he increased
both his hatred of society and his passion for pleasure. He
was in a vast prison, which, however, he could fill with the
ministers of luxury. He could not escape from the prison,
and his only object, therefore, was to give it the character of
the palace. The Egyptians, from the earliest time, were
devoted to the joys of sense ; Arbaces inherited both their

Arbaces' Character Analysed 139

appetite for sensuality and the glow of imagination which
struck light from its rottenness. But still, unsocial in his
pleasures as in his graver pursuits, and brooking neither
superior nor equal, he admitted few to his companionship,
save the willing slaves of his profligacy. He was the solitary
lord of a crowded harem ; but, with all, he felt condemned to
that satiety which is the constant curse of men whose intel-
lect is above their pursuits, and that which once had been
the impulse of passion froze down to the ordinance of cus-
tom. From the disappointments of sense he sought to raise
himself by the cultivation of knowledge ; but as it was not
his object to serve mankind, so he despised that knowledge
which is practical and useful. His dark imagination loved
to exercise itself in those more visionary and obscure re-
searches which are ever the most delightful to a wayward
and solitary mind, and to which he himself was invited by
the daring pride of his disposition and the mysterious tradi-
tions of his clime. Dismissing faith in the confused creeds
of the heathen world, he reposed the greatest faith in the
power of human wisdom. He did not know (perhaps no
one in that age distinctly did) the limits which Nature im-
poses upon our discoveries. Seeing that the higher we mount
in knowledge the more wonders we behold, he imagined
that Nature not only worked miracles in her ordinary
course, but that she might, by the cabala of some master
soul, be diverted from that course itself. Thus he pursued
science, across her appointed boundaries, into the land of
perplexity and shadow. From the truths of astronomy he
wandered into astrological fallacy ; from the secrets of
chemistry he passed into the spectral labyrinth of magic ;
and he who could be sceptical as to the power of the gods,
was credulously superstitious as to the power of man.

The cultivation of magic, carried at that day to a singular
height among the would-be wise, was especially Eastern in
its origin ; it was alien to the early philosophy of the Greeks ;
nor had it been received by them with favour until Ostanes,
who accompanied the army of Xerxes, introduced, amongst
the simple credulities of Hellas, the solemn superstitions of
Zoroaster. Under the Roman emperors it had become,
however, naturalised at Rome (a meet subject for Juvenal's
fiery wit). Intimately connected with magic was the wor-
ship of Isis, and the Egyptian religion was the means by
which was extended the devotion to Egyptian sorcery. The

140 The Last Days of Pompeii

theurgic, or benevolent magic — the goetic, or dark and evil
necromancy — were alike in pre-eminent repute during the
first century of the Christian era; and the marvels of
Faustus are not comparable to those of Apollonius. Kings,
courtiers, and sages, all trembled before the professors of
the dread science. And not the least remarkable of his
tribe was the most formidable and profound Arbaces. His
fame and his discoveries were known to all the cultivators of
magic ; they even survived himself. But it was not by his
real name that he was honoured by the sorcerer and the
sage: his real name, indeed, was unknown in Italy, for
"Arbaces" was not a genuinely Egyptian but a Median
appellation, which, in the admixture and unsettlement of
the ancient races, had become common in the country of
the Nile ; and there were various reasons, not only of pride,
but of policy (for in youth he had conspired against the
majesty of Rome), which induced him to conceal his true
name and rank. But neither by the name he had borrowed
from the Mede, nor by that which in the colleges of Egypt
would have attested his origin from kings, did the culti-
vators of magic acknowledge the potent master. He re-
ceived from their homage a more mystic appellation, and
was long remembered in Magna Graecia and the Eastern
plains by the name of " Hermes, the Lord of the Flaming
Belt." His subtle speculations and boasted attributes of
wisdom, recorded in various volumes, were among those
tokens " of the curious arts " which the Christian converts
most joyfully, yet most fearfully, burnt at Ephesus, depriving
posterity of the proofs of the cunning of the fiend.

The conscience of Arbaces was solely of the intellect — it
was awed by no moral laws. If man imposed these checks
upon the herd, so he believed that man, by superior wisdom,
could raise himself above them. "If [he reasoned] I have
the genius to impose laws, have I not the right to command
my own creations ? Still more, have I not the right to con-
trol— to evade — to scorn — the fabrications of yet meaner in-
tellects than my own ? " Thus, if he were a villain, he jus-
tified his villainy by what ought to have made him virtuous
— namely, the elevation of his capacities.

Most men have more or less the passion for power ; in
Arbaces that passion corresponded exactly to his character.
It was not the passion for an external and brute authority.
He desired not the purple and the fasces, the insignia of

Arbaces' Character Analysed 141

vulgar command. His youthful ambition once foiled and
defeated, scorn had supplied its place — his pride, his con-
tempt for Rome — Rome, which had become the synonyme
of the world (Rome, whose haughty name he regarded with
the same disdain as that which Rome herself lavished upon
the barbarian), did not permit him to aspire to sway over
others, for that would render him at once the tool or crea-
ture of the emperor. He, the Son of the Great Race of
Rameses — he execute the orders of, and receive his power
from, another ! — the mere notion filled him with rage. But
in rejecting an ambition that coveted nominal distinctions,
he but indulged the more in the ambition to rule the heart.
Honouring mental power as the greatest of earthly gifts, he
loved to feel that power palpably in himself, by extending it
over all whom he encountered. Thus had he ever sought
the young — thus had he ever fascinated and controlled
them. He loved to find subjects in men's souls — to rule
over an invisible and immaterial empire ! — had he been less
sensual and less wealthy, he might have sought to become
the founder of a new religion. As it was, his energies were
checked by his pleasures. Besides, however, the vague love
of this moral sway (vanity so dear to sages !) he was
influenced by a singular and dreamlike devotion to all that
belonged to the mystic Land his ancestors had swayed.
Although he disbelieved in her deities, he believed in the
allegories they represented (or rather he interpreted those
allegories anew). He loved to keep alive the worship of
Egypt, because he thus maintained the shadow and the re-
collection of her power. He loaded, therefore, the altars of
Osiris and of Isis with regal donations, and was ever
anxious to dignify their priesthood by new and wealthy
converts. The vow taken — the priesthood embraced — he
usually chose the comrades of his pleasures from those
whom he made his victims, partly because he thus secured
to himself their secrecy — partly because he thus yet more
confirmed to himself his peculiar power. Hence the motives
of his conduct to Apaecides, strengthened as these were, in
that instance, by his passion for lone.

He had seldom lived long in one place ; but as he grew
older, he grew more wearied of the excitement of new
scenes, and he had sojourned among the delightful cities of
Campania for a period which surprised even himself. In
fact, his pride somewhat crippled his choice of residence.

142 The Last Days of Pompeii

His unsuccessful conspiracy excluded him from those burn-
ing climes which he deemed of right his own hereditary
possession, and which now cowered, supine and sunken,
under the wings of the Roman eagle. Rome herself was
hateful to his indignant soul ; nor did he love to find his
riches rivalled by the minions of the court, and cast into
comparative poverty by the mighty magnificence of the
court itself. The Campanian cities proffered to him all that
his nature craved— the luxuries of an unequalled climate —
the imaginative refinements of a voluptuous civilisation.
He was removed from the sight of a superior wealth ; he
was without rivals to his riches ; he was free from the spies
of a jealous court. As long as he was rich, none pried into
his conduct. He pursued the dark tenour of his way un-
disturbed and secure.

It is the curse of sensualists never to love till the
pleasures of sense begin to pall ; their ardent youth is frit-
tered away in countless desires — their hearts are exhausted.
So, ever chasing love, and taught by a restless imagination
to exaggerate, perhaps, its charms, the Egyptian had spent
all the glory of his years without attaining the object of his
desires. The beauty of to-morrow succeeded the beauty of
to-day, and the shadows bewildered him in his pursuit of
the substance. When, two years before the present date,
he beheld lone, he saw, for the first time, one whom he
imagined he could love. He stood, then, upon that bridge
of life, from which man sees before him distinctly a
wasted youth on the one side, and the darkness of
approaching age upon the other: a time in which we are
more than ever anxious, perhaps, to secure to ourselves, ere
it be yet too late, whatever we have been taught to consider
necessary to the enjoyment of a life of which the brightei
half is gone.

With an earnestness and a patience which he had never
before commanded for his pleasures, Arbaces had devoted
himself to win the heart of lone. It did not content him to
love, he desired to be loved. In this hope he had watched
the expanding youth of the beautiful Neapolitan ; and,
knowing the influence that the mind possesses over those
who are taught to cultivate the mind, he had contributed
willingly to form the genius and enlighten the intellect of
lone, in the hope that she would be thus able to appreciate
what he felt would be his best claim to her affection : viz.,

Arbaces' Character Analysed 143

a character which, however criminal and perverted, was
rich in its original elements of strength and grandeur.
When he felt that character to be acknowledged, he will-
ingly allowed, nay, encouraged her, to mix among the idle
votaries of pleasure, in the belief that her soul, fitted for
higher commune, would miss the companionship of his own,
and that, in comparison with others, she would learn to love
herself. He had forgot, that as the sunflower to the sun, so
youth turns to youth, until his jealousy of Glaucus suddenly
apprised him of his error. From that moment, though, as
we have seen, he knew not the extent of his danger, a
fiercer and more tumultuous direction was given to a passion
long controlled. Nothing kindles the fire of love like the
sprinkling of the anxieties of jealousy; it takes then a
wilder, a more resistless flame ; it forgets its softness ; it
ceases to be tender ; it assumes something of the intensity
— of the ferocity — of hate.

Arbaces resolved to lose no further time upon cautious
and perilous preparations : he resolved to place an irre-
vocable barrier between himself and his rivals : he resolved
to possess himself of the person of lone : not that in his
present love, so long nursed and fed by hopes purer than
those of passion alone, he would have been contented with
that mere possession. He desired the heart, the soul, no
less than the beauty, of lone ; but he imagined that once
separated by a daring crime from the rest of mankind —
once bound to lone by a tie that memory could not break,
she would be driven to concentrate her thoughts in him —
that his arts would complete his conquest, and that, accord-
ing to the true moral of the Roman and the Sabine, the
empire obtained by force would be cemented by gentler
means. This resolution was yet more confirmed in him by
his belief in the prophecies of the stars : they had long fore-
told to him this year, and even the present month, as the
epoch of some dread disaster, menacing life itself. He
was driven to a certain and limited date. He resolved to
crowd, monarch-like, on his funeral pyre all that his soul
held most dear. In his own words, if he were to die, he
resolved to feel that he had lived, and that lone should be
his own.

144 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER IX

WHAT BECOMES OF IONE IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES — THE
FIRST SIGNAL OF THE WRATH OF THE DREAD FOE

When lone entered the spacious hall of the Egyptian,
the same awe which had crept over her brother impressed
itself also upon her : there seemed to her as to him some-
thing ominous and warning in the still and mournful faces
of those dread Theban monsters, whose majestic and
passionless features the marble so well portrayed :

" Their look, with the reach of past ages, was wise,
And the soul of eternity thought in their eyes."

The tall ^Ethiopian slave grinned as he admitted her, and
motioned to her to proceed. Half-way up the hall she was
met by Arbaces himself, in festive robes, which glittered
with jewels. Although it was broad day without, the
mansion, according to the practice of the luxurious, was
artificially darkened, and the lamps cast their still and
odour-giving light over the rich floors and ivory roofs.

" Beautiful lone," said Arbaces, as he bent to touch her
hand, " it is you that have eclipsed the day — it is your eyes
that light up the halls — it is your breath which fills them
with perfumes."

" You must not talk to me thus," said lone, smiling,
"you forget that your lore has sufficiently instructed my
mind to render these graceful flatteries to my person unwel-
come. It was you who taught me to disdain adulation :
will you unteach your pupil ? "

There was something so frank and charming in the
manner of lone, as she thus spoke, that the Egyptian was
more than ever enamoured, and more than ever disposed
to renew the offence he had committed ; he, however,
answered quickly and gaily, and hastened to renew the
conversation.

He led her through the various chambers of a house,
which seemed to contain to her eyes, inexperienced to other
splendour than the minute elegance of Campanian cities,
the treasures of the world.

In the walls were set pictures of inestimable art, the lights

What Becomes of lone 145

shone over statues of the noblest age of Greece. Cabinets
of gems, each cabinet itself a gem, filled up the interstices
of the columns ; the most precious woods lined the thres-
holds and composed the doors ; gold and jewels seemed
lavished all around. Sometimes they were alone in these
rooms — sometimes they passed through silent rows of slaves,
who, kneeling as she passed, proffered to her offerings of
bracelets, of chains, of gems, which the Egyptian vainly
entreated her to receive.

" I have often heard," said she, wonderingly, u that you
were rich ; but I never dreamed of the amount of your
wealth."

" Would I could coin it all," replied the Egyptian, " into
one crown, which I might place upon that snowy brow ! "

" Alas ! the weight would crush me ; I should be a second
Tarpeia," answered lone, laughingly.

" But thou dost not disdain riches, O lone ! they know
not what life is capable of who are not wealthy. Gold is
the great magician of earth — it realises our dreams — it gives
them the power of a god — there is a grandeur, a sublimity,
in its possession ; it is the mightiest, yet the most obedient
of our slaves."

The artful Arbaces sought to dazzle the young Neapolitan
by his treasures and his eloquence ; he. sought to awaken in
her the desire to be mistress of what she surveyed : he
hoped that she would confound the owner with the posses-
sions, and that the charms of his wealth would be reflected
on himself. Meanwhile, lone was secretly somewhat uneasy
at the gallantries which escaped from those lips, which, till
lately, had seemed to disdain the common homage we pay
to beauty ; and with that delicate subtlety, which woman
alone possesses, she sought to ward off shafts deliberately
aimed, and to laugh or to talk away the meaning from his
warming language. Nothing in the world is more pretty
than that same species of defence ; it is the charm of the
African necromancer who professed with a feather to turn
aside the winds.

The Egyptian was intoxicated and subdued by her grace
even more than by her beauty : it was with difficulty that he
suppressed his emotions ; alas ! the feather was only power-
ful against the summer breezes — it would be the sport of
the storm.

Suddenly, as they stood in one hall, which was surrounded

146 The Last Days of Pompeii

by draperies of silver and white, the Egyptian clapped his
hands, and, as if by enchantment, a banquet rose from the
floor — a couch or throne, with a crimson canopy, ascended
simultaneously at the feet of lone — and at the same instant
from behind the curtains swelled the invisible and softest
music.

Arbaces placed himself at the feet of lone, — and children,
young and beautiful as Loves, ministered to the feast.

The feast was over, the music sank into a low and subdued
strain, and Arbaces thus addressed his beautiful guest : —

" Hast thou never in this dark and uncertain world — hast
thou never aspired, my pupil, to look beyond — hast thou
never wished to put aside the veil of futurity, and to behold
on the shores of Fate the shadowy images of things to be ?
For it is not the past alone that has its ghosts : each event
to come has also its spectrum — its shade; when the hour
arrives, life enters it, the shadow becomes corporeal, and
walks the world. Thus, in the land beyond the grave, are
ever two impalpable and spiritual hosts — the things to be,
the things that have been ! If by our wisdom we can pene-
trate that land, we see the one as the other, and learn, as /
have learned, not alone the mysteries of the dead, but also
the destiny of the living."

" As thou hast learned ! — Can wisdom attain so far ? "

" Wilt thou prove my knowledge, lone, and behold the
representation of thine own fate? It is a drama more
striking than those of ^schylus : it is one I have prepared
for thee, if thou wilt see the shadows perform their part."

The Neapolitan trembled ; she thought of Glaucus, and
sighed as well as trembled : were their destinies to be
united ? Half incredulous, half believing, half awed, half
alarmed by the words of her strange host, she remained for
some moments silent, and then answered, —

" It may revolt — it may terrify ; the knowledge of the
future will perhaps only embitter the present ! "

" Not so, lone. I have myself looked upon thy future
lot, and the ghosts of thy Future bask in the gardens of
Elysium : amidst the asphodel and the rose they prepare the
garlands of thy sweet destiny, and the Fates, so harsh to
others, weave only for thee the web of happiness and love.
Wilt thou then come and behold thy doom, so that thou
mayest enjoy it beforehand ? "

Again the heart of lone murmured " Glaucus ; " she

m

What Becomes of lone 147

uttered a half-audible assent ; the Egyptian rose, and taking
her by the hand, he led her across the banquet- room — the
curtains withdrew as by magic hands, and the music broke
forth in a louder and gladder strain ; they passed a row of
columns, ©n either side of which fountains cast aloft their
fragrant waters; they descended by broad and easy steps
into a garden. The eve had commenced ; the moon was
already high in heaven, and those sweet flowers that sleep
by day, and fill, with ineffable odours, the airs of night, were
thickly scattered amidst alleys cut through the star-lit
foliage ; or, gathered in baskets, lay like offerings at the feet
of the frequent statues that gleamed along their path.

" Whither wouldst thou lead me, Arbaces ? " said lone,
wonderingly.

" But yonder," said he, pointing to a small building which
stood at the end of the vista. " It is a temple consecrated
to the Fates — our rites require such holy ground."

They passed into a narrow hall, at the end of which hung
a sable curtain. Arbaces lifted it ; lone entered, and found
herself in total darkness.

"Be not alarmed," said the Egyptian, "the light will rise
instantly." While he so spoke, a soft, and warm, and
gradual light diffused itself around ; as it spread over each
object, lone perceived that she was in an apartment of
moderate size, hung everywhere with black ; a couch with
draperies of the same hue was beside her. In the centre of
the room was a small altar, on which stood a tripod of
bronze. At one side, upon a lofty column of granite, was a
colossal head of the blackest marble, which she perceived,
by the crown of wheat-ears that encircled the brow, repre-
sented the great Egyptian goddess. Arbaces stood before
the altar : he had laid his garland on the shrine, and seemed
occupied with pouring into the tripod the contents of a
brazen vase ; suddenly from that tripod leaped into life a
blue, quick, darting, irregular flame ; the Egyptian drew
back to the side of lone, and muttered some words in a
language unfamiliar to her ear ; the curtain at the back of
the altar waved tremulously to and fro — it parted slowly,
and in the aperture which was thus made, lone beheld an
indistinct and pale landscape, which gradually grew brighter
and clearer as she gazed ; at length she discovered plainly
trees, and rivers, and meadows, and all the beautiful
diversity of the richest earth. At length, before the land-

148 The Last Days of Pompeii

scape, a dim shadow glided ; it rested opposite to lone ;
slowly the same charm seemed to operate upon it as over
the rest of the scene ; it took form and shape, and lo ! — in
its feature and in its form lone beheld herself !

Then the scene behind the spectre faded away, and was
succeeded by the representation of a gorgeous palace; a
throne was raised in the centre of its hall the dim forms
of slaves and guards were ranged around it, and a pale
hand held over the throne the likeness of a diadem.

A new actor now appeared ; he was clothed from head
to foot in a dark robe — his face was concealed — he knelt
at the feet of the shadowy lone — he clasped her hand —
he pointed to the throne, as if to invite her to ascend
it.

The Neapolitan's heart beat violently. "Shall the
shadow disclose itself?" whispered a voice beside her —
the voice of Arbaces.

" Ah, yes ! " answered lone, softly.

Arbaces raised his hand — the spectre seemed to drop the
mantle that concealed its form — and lone shrieked — it was
Arbaces himself that thus knelt before her.

" This is, indeed, thy fate ! " whispered again the
Egyptian's voice in her ear. "And thou art destined to
be the bride of Arbaces."

lone started — the black curtain closed over the phantas-
magoria : and Arbaces himself — the real, the living
Arbaces — was at her feet.

" Oh, lone ! " said he, passionately gazing upon her,
" listen to one who has long struggled vainly with his love.
I adore thee ! The Fates do not lie — thou art destined to
be mine — I have sought the world around, and found none
like thee. From my youth upward, I have sighed for such
as thou art. I have dreamed till I saw thee — I wake, and
I behold thee. Turn not away from me, lone ; think not
of me as thou hast thought ; I am not that being — cold,
insensate, and morose, which I have seemed to thee.
Never woman had lover so devoted — so passionate as I
will be to lone. Do not struggle in my clasp : see — I
release thy hand. Take it from me if thou wilt — well, be
it so ! But do not reject me, lone — do not rashly reject —
judge of thy power over him whom thou canst thus trans-
form. I, who never knelt to mortal being, kneel to thee.
I, who have commanded fate, receive from thee my own.

m

What Becomes of lone 149

lone, tremble not, thou art my queen — my goddess : — be
my bride ! All the wishes thou canst form shall be fulfilled.
The ends of the earth shall minister to thee — pomp, power,
luxury, shall be thy slaves. Arbaces shall have no ambition,
save the pride of obeying thee. lone, turn upon me those
eyes — shed upon me thy smile. Dark is my soul when thy
face is hid from it : — shine over me, my sun — my heaven —
my daylight ! — lone, lone — do not reject my love ! "

Alone, and in the power of this singular and fearful man,
lone was not yet terrified ; the respect of his language, the
softness of his voice, reassured her ; and, in her own purity,
she felt protection. But she was confused — astonished :
it was some moments before she could recover the power
of reply.

" Rise, Arbaces ! " said she at length ; and she resigned
to him once more her hand, which she as quickly withdrew
again, when she felt upon it the burning pressure of his lips.
" Rise ! and if thou art serious, if thy language be in
earnest "

"If!" said he tenderly.

" Well, then, listen to me : you have been my guardian,
my friend, my monitor ; for this new character I was not
prepared ; — think not," she added quickly, as she saw his
dark eyes glitter with the fierceness of his passion — " think
not that I scorn — that I am untouched — that I am not
honoured by this homage ; but, say — canst thou hear me
calmly?"

" Ay, though thy words were lightning, and could blast
me!"

"/ love another I" said lone, blushingly, but in a firm
voice.

"By the gods — by hell !" shouted Arbaces, rising to his
fullest height; "dare not tell me that — dare not mock
me : — it is impossible ! — Whom hast thou seen — whom
known ? Oh, lone, it is thy woman's invention, thy woman's
art that speaks — thou wouldst gain time ; I have surprised —
I have terrified thee. Do with me as thou wilt — say that
thou lovest not me ; but say not that thou lovest another ! "

" Alas ! " began lone ; and then, appalled before his
sudden and unlooked-for violence, she burst into tears.

Arbaces came nearer to her — his breath glowed fiercely
on her cheek ; he wound his arms round her — she sprang
from his embrace. In the struggle a tablet fell from her

150 The Last Days of Pompeii

bosom on the ground : Arbaces perceived, and seized it —
it was the letter that morning received from Glaucus. lone
sank upon the couch, half dead with terror.

Rapidly the eyes of Arbaces ran over the writing; the
Neapolitan did not dare to gaze upon him : she did not see
the deadly paleness that came over his countenance — she
marked not his withering frown, nor the quivering of his
lip, nor the convulsions that heaved his breast. He read
it to the end, and then, as the letter fell from his hand, he
said, in a voice of deceitful calmness, —

" Is the writer of this the man thou lovest ? "

lone sobbed, but answered not.

" Speak ! " he rather shrieked than said.

" It is— it is ! *

"And his name — it is written here — his name is
Glaucus ! "

lone, clasping her hands, looked round as for succour or
escape.

" Then hear me," said Arbaces, sinking his voice into a
whisper ; " thou shalt go to thy tomb rather than to his
arms ! What ! thinkest thou Arbaces will brook a rival
such as this puny Greek ? What ! thinkest thou that he
has watched the fruit ripen, to yield it to another ! Pretty
fool — no ! Thou art mine — all — only mine : and thus — thus
I seize and claim thee ! " As he spoke, he caught lone in
his arms ; and, in that ferocious grasp, was all the energy-
less of love than of revenge.

But to lone despair gave supernatural strength : she
again tore herself from him — she rushed to that part of
the room by which she had entered — she half withdrew the
curtain — he had seized her — again she broke away from
him — and fell, exhausted, and with a loud shriek, at the base
of the column which supported the head of the Egyptian
goddess. Arbaces paused for a moment, as if to regain
his breath ; and thence once more darted upon his prey.

At that instant the curtain was rudely torn aside, the
Egyptian felt a fierce and strong grasp upon his shoulder.
He turned — he beheld before him the flashing eyes of
Glaucus, and the pale, worn, but menacing, countenance
of Apsecides. " Ah," he muttered, as he glared from one
to the other, " what Fury hath sent ye hither ? "

" Ate'," answered Glaucus ; and he closed at once with
the Egyptian. Meanwhile, Apaecides raised his sister, now

Wrath of the Dread Foe 151

lifeless, from the ground ; his strength, exhausted by a mind
long overwrought, did not suffice to bear her away, light and
delicate though her shape : he placed her, therefore, on the
couch, and stood over her with a brandishing knife, watch-
ing the contest between Glaucus and the Egyptian, and
ready to plunge his weapon in the bosom of Arbaces should
he be victorious in the struggle. There is,- perhaps, nothing
on earth so terrible as the naked and unarmed contest of
animal strength, no weapon but those which Nature
supplies to rage. Both the antagonists were now locked
in each other's grasp — the hand of each seeking the
throat of the other — the face drawn back — the fierce
eyes flashing — the muscles strained — the veins swelled —
the lips apart — the teeth set; — both were strong beyond
the ordinary power of men, both animated by relentless
wrath ; they coiled, they wound, around each other ; they
rocked to and fro — they swayed from end to end of their
confined arena : — they uttered cries of ire and revenge ; —
they were now before the altar — now at the base of the
column where the struggle had commenced : they drew
back for breath — Arbaces leaning against the column —
Glaucus a few paces apart.

" O ancient goddess ! " exclaimed Arbaces, clasping the
column, and raising his eyes toward the sacred image it
supported, "protect thy chosen, — proclaim thy vengeance
against this thing of an upstart creed, wrho with sacri-
legious violence profanes thy resting-place and assails thy
servant."

As he spoke, the still and vast features of the goddess
seemed suddenly to glow with life ; through the black
marble, as through a transparent veil, flushed luminously a
crimson and burning hue ; around the head played and darted
coruscations of livid lightning ; the eyes became like balls
of lurid fire, and seemed fixed in withering and intolerable
wrath upon the countenance of the Greek. Awed and
appalled by this sudden and mystic answer to the prayer
of his foe, and not free from the hereditary superstitions of
his race, the cheeks of Glaucus paled before that strange
and ghastly animation of the marble, — his knees knocked
together, — he stood, seized with a divine panic, dismayed,
aghast, half unmanned before his foe ! Arbaces gave him
not breathing time to recover his stupor : " Die, wretch ! "
he shouted, in a voice of thunder, as he sprang upon the

152 The Last Days of Pompeii

Greek; "the Mighty Mother claims thee as a living
sacrifice ! " Taken thus by surprise in the first consternation
of his superstitious fears, the Greek lost his footing — the
marble floor was as smooth as glass — he slid — he fell.
Arbaces planted his foot on the breast of his fallen foe.
Apaecides, taught by his sacred profession, as well as by his
knowledge of Arbaces, to distrust all miraculous interposi-
tions, had not shared the dismay of his companion; he
rushed forward, — his knife gleamed in the air, — the
watchful Egyptian caught his arm as it descended, — one
wrench of his powerful hand tore the weapon from the weak
grasp of the priest, — one sweeping blow stretched him to
the earth — with a loud and exulting yell Arbaces brandished
the knife on high. Glaucus gazed upon his impending fate
with unwinking eyes, and in the stern and scornful resigna-
tion of a fallen gladiator, when, at that awful instant, the
floor shook under them with a rapid and convulsive throe, —
a mightier spirit than that of the Egyptian was abroad ! —
a giant and crushing power, before which sunk into sudden
impotence his passion and his arts. It woke — it stirred —
that Dread Demon of the Earthquake — laughing to scorn
alike the magic of human guile and the malice of
human wrath. As a Titan, on whom the mountains are
piled, it roused itself from the sleep of years, — it moved
on its tortured couch, — the caverns below groaned and
trembled beneath the motion of its limbs. In the
moment of his vengeance and his power, the self-prized
demigod was humbled to his real clay. Far and wide
along the soil went a hoarse and rumbling sound, — the
curtains of the chamber shook as at the blast of a storm, —
the altar rocked — the tripod reeled, and high over the
place of contest, the column trembled and waved from
side to side, — the sable head of the goddess tottered
and fell from its pedestal; — and as the Egyptian stooped
above his intended victim, right upon his bended form,
right between the shoulder and the neck, struck the
marble mass ! the shock stretched him like the blow of
death, at once, suddenly, without sound or motion, or
semblance of life, upon the floor, apparently crushed by the
very divinity he had impiously animated and invoked !

"The Earth has preserved her children," said Glaucus,
staggering to his feet. " Blessed be the dread convulsion f
Let us worship the providence of the gods ! " He assisted

Wrath of the Dread Foe 153

Apsecides to rise, and then turned upward the face of
Arbaces ; it seemed locked as in death ; blood gushed
from the Egyptian's lips over his glittering robes ; he fell
heavily from the arms of Glaucus, and the red stream
trickled slowly along the marble. Again the earth shook
beneath their feet ; they were forced to cling to each other ;
the convulsion ceased as suddenly as it came ; they tarried
no longer ; Glaucus bore lone lightly in his arms, and they
fled from the unhallowed spot. But scarce had they
entered the garden than they were met on all sides by flying
and disordered groups of women and slaves, whose festive
and glittering garments contrasted in mockery the solemn
terror of the hour ; they did not appear to heed the
strangers, — they were occupied only with their own fears.
After the tranquillity of sixteen years, that burning and
treacherous soil again menaced destruction; they uttered
but one cry, "the earthquake! the earthquake!"
and passing unmolested from the midst of them, Apaecides
and his companions, without entering the house, hastened
down one of the alleys, passed a small open gate, and there,
sitting on a little mound over which spread the gloom of the
dark green aloes, the moonlight fell on the bended figure of
the blind girl, — she was weeping bitterly.

■Jh

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

the forum of the pompeians ; — THE first rude
machinery by which the new era of the
world was wrought

It was early noon, and the forum was crowded alike with
the busy and the idle. As at Paris at this day, so at that
time in the cities of Italy, men lived almost wholly out of
doors : the public buildings, the forum, the porticos, the
baths, the temples themselves, might be considered their
real homes ; it was no wonder that they decorated so
gorgeously these favourite places of resort, — they felt for

154 The Last Days of Pompeii

them a sort of domestic affection as well as a public pride.
And animated was, indeed, the aspect of the forum of
Pompeii at that time ! Along its broad pavement, com-
posed of large flags of marble, were assembled various
groups, conversing in that energetic fashion which appro-
priates a gesture to every word, and which is still the
characteristic of the people of the south. Here, in seven
stalls on one side the colonnade, sat the money-changers,
with their glittering heaps before them, and merchants and
seamen in various costumes crowding round their stalls. On
one side, several men in long togas * were seen bustling
rapidly up to a stately edifice, where the magistrates
administered justice; — these were the lawyers, active,
chattering, joking, and punning, as you may find them
at this day in Westminster. In the centre of the space,
pedestals supported various statues, of which the most re-
markable was the stately form of Cicero. Around the court
ran a regular and symmetrical colonnade of Doric architec-
ture; and there several, whose business drew them early
to the place, were taking the slight morning repast which
made an Italian breakfast, talking vehemently on the earth-
quake of the preceding night as they dipped pieces of bread
in their cups of diluted wine. In the open space, too, you
might perceive various petty traders exercising the arts of
their calling. Here one man was holding out ribands to a
fair dame from the country ; another man was vaunting to a
stout farmer the excellence of his shoes ; a third, a kind of
stall-restaurateur, still so common in the Italian cities, was
supplying many a hungry mouth with hot messes from his
small and itinerant stove, while — contrast strongly typical of
the mingled bustle and intellect of the time — close by, a
schoolmaster was expounding to his puzzled pupils the
elements of the Latin grammar.2 A gallery above the
portico, which was ascended by small wooden staircases,

1 For the lawyers, and the clients, when attending on their patrons,,
retained the toga after it had fallen into disuse among the rest of the
citizens.

2 In the Museum at Naples is a picture little known, but represent-
ing one side of the forum at Pompeii as then existing, to which I am
much indebted in the present description. It may afford a learned
consolation to my younger readers to know that the ceremony of
hoisting (more honoured in the breach than the observance) is of high
antiquity, and seems to have been performed with all legitimate and
public vigour in the forum of Pompeii.

The Forum of the Pompeians 155

had also its throng ; though, as here the immediate business
of the place was mainly carried on, its groups wore a more
quiet and serious air.

Every now and then the crowd below respectfully gave way
as some senator swept along to the Temple of Jupiter (which
filled up one side of the forum, and was the senators' hall of
meeting), nodding with ostentatious condescension to such
of his friends or clients as he distinguished amongst the
throng. Mingling amidst the gay dresses of the better
orders you saw the hardy forms of the neighbouring farmers,
as they made their way to the public granaries. Hard by
the temple you caught a view of the triumphal arch, and the
long street beyond swarming with inhabitants ; in one of the
niches of the arch a fountain played, cheerily sparkling in
the sunbeams ; and above its cornice rose the bronzed and
equestrian statue of Caligula, strongly contrasting the gay
summer skies. Behind the stalls of the money-changers was
that building now called the Pantheon ; and a crowd of the
poorer Pompeians passed through the small vestibule which
admitted to the interior, with panniers under their arms,
pressing on towards a platform, placed between two columns,
where such provisions as the priests had rescued from
sacrifice were exposed for sale.

At one of the public edifices appropriated to the business
of the city, workmen were employed upon the columns,
and you heard the noise of their labour every now and
then rising above the hum of the multitude : — the columns
are unfinished to this day I

All, then, united, nothing could exceed in variety the cos-
tumes, the ranks, the manners, the occupations of the
crowd; — nothing could exceed the bustle, the gaiety, the
animation, the flow and flush of life all around. You saw
there all the myriad signs of a heated and feverish civilisa-
tion,— where pleasure and commerce, idleness and labour,
avarice and ambition, mingled in one gulf their motley rush-
ing, yet harmonious, streams. ..*****+*»»

Facing the steps of the Temple of Jupiter, with folded
arms, and a knit and contemptuous brow, stood a man of
about fifty years of age. His dress was remarkably plain, —
not so much from its material, as from the absence of all
those ornaments which were worn by the Pompeians of every
rank, — partly from the love of show, partly, also, because
they were chiefly wrought into those shapes deemed most

156 The Last Days of Pompeii

efficacious in resisting the assaults of magic and the influence
of the evil eye. His forehead was high and bald ; the few-
locks that remained at the back of the head were concealed
by a sort of cowl, which made a part of his cloak, to be
raised or lowered at pleasure, and was now drawn half-way
over the head, as a protection from the rays of the sun. The
colour of his garments was brown, no popular hue with the
Pompeians; all the usual admixtures of scarlet or purple
seemed carefully excluded. His belt, or girdle, contained a
small receptable for ink, which hooked on to the girdle, a
stilus (or implement of writing), and tablets of no ordinary
size. What was rather remarkable, the cincture held no
purse, which was the almost indispensable appurtenance of
the girdle, even when that purse had the misfortune to be
empty !

It was not often that the gay and egotistical Pompeians
busied themselves with observing the countenances and
actions of their neighbours ; but there was that in the lip and
eye of this bystander so remarkably bitter and disdainful, as
he surveyed the religious procession sweeping up the stairs
of the temple, that it could not fail to arrest the notice of
many.

" Who is yon cynic ? " asked a merchant of his companion,
a jeweller.

" It is Olinthus," replied the jeweller ; " a reputed Naza-
rene."

The merchant shuddered. "A dread sect !" said he, in
a whispered and fearful voice. " It is said, that when they
meet at nights they always commence their ceremonies by
the murder of a new-born babe ; they profess a community
of goods, too, — the wretches J A community of goods !
What would become of merchants, or jewellers either, if
such notions were in fashion ? "

" That is very true," said the jeweller ; " besides, they wear
no jewels, — they mutter imprecations when they see a
serpent ; and at Pompeii all our ornaments are serpentine."

" Do but observe," said a third, who was a fabricant of
bronze, "how yon Nazarene scowls at the piety of the
sacrificial procession. He is murmuring curses on the
temple, be sure. Do you know, Celcinus, that this fellow,
passing by my shop the other day, and seeing me employed
on a statue of Minerva, told me with a frown that, had it
been marble, he would have broken it ; but the bronze was

The Forum of the Pompeians 157

too strong for him. ' Break a goddess ! 1 said I. * A god-
dess ! ' answered the atheist ; * it is a demon, — an evil spirit ! '
Then he passed on his way cursing. Are such things to be
borne ? What marvel that the earth heaved so fearfully last
night, anxious to reject the atheist from her bosom ? — An
atheist, do I say ? worse still— a scorner of the Fine Arts !
Woe to us fabricants of bronze, if such fellows as this give
the law to society ! "

" These are the incendiaries that burnt Rome under Nero,"
groaned the jeweller.

While such were the friendly remarks provoked by the air
and faith of the Nazarene, Olinthus himself became sensible
of the effect he was producing ; he turned his eyes round,
and observed the intent faces of the accumulating throng,
whispering as they gazed ; and surveying them for a moment
with an expression, first of defiance and afterwards of com-
passion, he gathered his cloak round him and passed on,
muttering audibly, " Deluded idolaters ! — did not last night's
convulsion warn ye ? Alas ! how will ye meet the last
day?"

The crowd that heard these boding words gave them
different interpretations, according to their different shades
of ignorance and of fear ; all, however, concurred in imagin-
ing them to convey some awful imprecation. They regarded
the Christian as the enemy of mankind ; the epithets they
lavished upon him, of which " Atheist " was the most
favoured and frequent, may serve, perhaps, to warn us, be-
lievers of that same creed now triumphant, how we indulge
the persecution of opinion Olinthus then underwent, and
how we apply to those whose notions differ from our own
the terms at that day lavished on the fathers of our faith.

As Olinthus stalked through the crowd, and gained one
of the more private places of egress from the forum, he
perceived gazing upon him a pale and earnest countenance,
which he was not slow to recognise.

Wrapped in a pallium that partially concealed his sacred
robes, the young Apaecides surveyed the disciple of that new
and mysterious creed, to which at one time he had been half
a convert.

" Is he, too, an impostor ? Does this man, so plain and
simple in life, in garb, in mien — does he too, like Arbaces,
make austerity the robe of the sensualist ? Does the veil of
Vesta hide the vices of the prostitute ? "

158 The Last Days of Pompeii

Olinthus, accustomed to men of all classes, and combining
with the enthusiasm of his faith a profound experience of his
kind, guessed, perhaps, by the index of the countenance,
something of what passed within the breast of the priest. He
met the survey of Apsecides with a steady eye, and a brow
of serene and open candour.

" Peace be with thee ! " said he, saluting Apagcides.

" Peace ! " echoed the priest, in so hollow a tone that it
went at once to the heart of the Nazarene.

" In that wish," continued Olinthus, " all good things are
combined — without virtue thou canst not have peace. Like
the rainbow, Peace rests upon the earth, but its arch is lost
in heaven. Heaven bathes it in hues of light — it springs up
amidst tears and clouds, — it is a reflection of the Eternal
Sun, — it is an assurance of calm — it is the sign of a great
covenant between Man and God. Such peace, O young
man ! is the smile of the soul ; it is an emanation from the
distant orb of immortal light. Peace be with you ! "

" Alas ! " began Apaecides, when he caught the gaze
of the curious loiterers, inquisitive to know what could
possibly be the theme of conversation between a reputed
Nazarene and a priest of Isis. He stopped short, and then
added in a low tone — " We cannot converse here, I will
follow thee to the banks of the river 5 there is a walk which
at this time is usually deserted and solitary."

Olinthus bowed assent. He passed through the streets
with a hasty step, but a quick and observant eye. Every
now and then he exchanged a significant glance, a slight
sign, with some passenger, whose garb usually betokened
the wearer to belong to the humbler classes ; for Christianity
was in this the type of all other and less mighty revolutions
— the grain of mustard-seed was in the hearts of the lowly.
Amidst the huts of poverty and labour, the vast stream
which afterwards poured its broad waters beside the cities
and palaces of earth took its neglected source.

The Noonday Excursion 159

CHAPTER 11

THE NOONDAY EXCURSION ON THE CAMPANIAN SEAS

" But tell me, Glaucus," said lone, as they glided down
the rippling Sarnus in their boat of pleasure, " how earnest
thou with Apaecides to my rescue from that bad man ? "

" Ask Nydia yonder," answered the Athenian, pointing to
the blind girl, who sat at a little distance from them, leaning
pensively over her lyre : — " she must have thy thanks, not
we. It seems that she came to my house, and, finding me
from home, sought thy brother in his temple; he accom-
panied her to Arbaces ; on their way they encountered me,
with a company of friends, whom thy kind letter had given
me a spirit cheerful enough to join. Nydia's quick ear
detected my voice — a few words sufficed to make me the
companion of Apaecides ; I told not my associates why I
left them — could I trust thy name to their light tongues
and gossiping opinion ? — Nydia led us to the garden gate,
by which we afterwards bore thee — we entered, and were
about to plunge into the mysteries of that evil house, when
we heard thy cry in another direction. Thou knowest the
rest."

lone blushed deeply. She then raised her eyes to those
of Glaucus, and he felt all the thanks she could not utter.
"Come hither, my Nydia," said she, tenderly, to the
Thessalian.

" Did I not tell thee that thou shouldst be my sister and
friend? Hast thou not already been more? — my guardian,
my preserver ! "

"It is nothing," answered Nydia coldly, and without
stirring.

" Ah ! I forgot," continued lone, — " I should come to
thee ; " and she moved along the benches till she reached
the place where Nydia sat, and flinging her arms caressingly
round her, covered her cheeks with kisses.

Nydia was that morning paler than her wont, and her
countenance grew even more wan and colourless as she
submitted to the embrace of the beautiful Neapolitan. "But
how earnest thou, Nydia," whispered lone, " to surmise so

160 The Last Days of Pompeii

faithfully the danger I was exposed to ? Didst thou know-
aught of the Egyptian ? "

" Yes, I knew of his vices."

"And how?"

" Noble lone, I have been a slave to the vicious — those
whom I served were his minions."

" And thou hast entered his house since thou knewest so
well that private entrance ? "

" I have played on my lyre to Arbaces," answered the
Thessalian, with embarrassment.

" And thou hast escaped the contagion from which thou
hast saved lone ? " returned the Neapolitan, in a voice too
low for the ear of Glaucus.

" Noble lone, I have neither beauty nor station ; I am
a child, and a slave, and blind. The despicable are ever
safe."

It was with a pained, and proud, and indignant tone that
Nydia made this humble reply ; and lone felt that she only
wounded Nydia by pursuing the subject. She remained
silent, and the bark now floated into the sea.

"Confess that I was right, lone," said Glaucus, "in
prevailing on thee not to waste this beautiful noon in thy
chamber — confess that I was right."

" Thou wert right, Glaucus," said Nydia, abruptly.

" The dear child speaks for thee," returned the Athenian.

"But permit me to move opposite to thee, or our light
boat will be over-balanced."

So saying, he took his seat exactly opposite to lone, and
leaning forward, he fancied that it was her breath, and not
the winds of summer, that flung fragrance over the sea.

" Thou wert to tell me," said Glaucus, " why for so many
days thy door was closed to me ? "

" Oh, think of it no more ! " answered lone, quickly ; " I
gave my ear to what I now know was the malice of slander."

u And my slanderer was the Egyptian ? "

Ione's silence assented to the question.

" His motives are sufficiently obvious."

" Talk not of him," said lone, covering her face with her
hands, as if to shut out his very thought.

"Perhaps he may be already by the banks of the slow
Styx," resumed Glaucus; "yet in that case we should
probably have heard of his death. Thy brother, methinks,
hath felt the dark influence of his gloomy soul. When we

The Noonday Excursion 161

arrived last night at thy house he left me abruptly. Will he
ever vouchsafe to be my friend?"

" He is consumed with some secret care," answered lone,
tearfully. "Would that we could lure him from himself!
Let us join in that tender office."

" He shall be my brother," returned the Greek.

" How calmly," said lone, rousing herself from the gloom
into which her thoughts of Apaecides had plunged her —
" how calmly the clouds seem to repose in heaven ; and yet
you tell me, for I knew it not myself, that the earth shook
beneath us last night."

"It did, and more violently, they say, than it has done
since the great convulsion sixteen years ago : the land we
live in yet nurses mysterious terror ; and the reign of Pluto,
which spreads beneath our burning fields, seems rent with
unseen commotion. Didst thou not feel the earth quake,
Nydia, where thou wert seated last night ? and was it not
the fear that it occasioned thee that made thee weep ? "

" I felt the soil creep and heave beneath me, like some
monstrous serpent," answered Nydia ; " but as I saw nothing,
I did not fear : I imagined the convulsion to be a spell of
the Egyptian's. They say he has power over the elements."

"Thou art a Thessalian, my Nydia," replied Glaucus,
"and hast a national right to believe in magic."

"Magic! — who doubts it?" answered Nydia, simply:
"dost thou?"

" Until last night (when a necromantic prodigy did indeed
appal me), methinks I was not credulous in any other magic
save that of love ! " said Glaucus, in a tremulous voice, and
fixing his eyes on lone.

"Ah!" said Nydia, with a sort of shiver, and she awoke
mechanically a few pleasing notes from her lyre ; the sound
suited well the tranquillity of the waters, and the sunny
stillness of the noon.

" Play to us, dear Nydia," said Glaucus, — " play, and give
us one of thine old Thessalian songs : whether it be of
magic or not, as thou wilt — let it, at least, be of love!"

" Of love ! " repeated Nydia, raising her large, wandering
eyes, that ever thrilled those who saw them with a mingled
fear and pity ; you could never familiarise yourself to their
aspect : so strange did it seem that those dark wild orbs
were ignorant of the day, and either so fixed was their deep
mysterious gaze, or so restless and perturbed their glance,

F

1 62 The Last Days of Pompeii

that you felt, when you encountered them, that same vague,
and chilling, and half-preternatural impression, which comes
over you in the presence of the insane, — of those who,
having a life outwardly like your own, have a life within life
— dissimilar — unsearchable — unguessed !

" Will you that I should sing of love ? " said she, fixing
those eyes upon Glaucus.

" Yes," replied he, looking down.

She moved a little way from the arm of lone, still cast
round her, as if that soft embrace embarrassed ; and placing
her light and graceful instrument on her knee, after a short
prelude, she sang the following strain : —

NYDIA'S LOVE-SONG.

I.

" The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose,
And the Rose loved one ;
For who recks the wind where it blows ?
Or loves not the sun ?

II.

None knew whence the humble Wind stole,

Poor sport of the skies —
None dreamt that the Wind had a soul,

In its mournful sighs !

III.

Oh, happy Beam ! how canst thou prove

That bright love of thine ?
In thy light is the proof of thy love.

Thou hast but — to shine !

IV.

How its love can the Wind reveal ?

Unwelcome its sign ;
Mute — mute to its Rose let it steal —

Its proof is — to die ! "

"Thou singest but sadly, sweet girl," said Glaucus ; "thy
youth only feels as yet the dark shadow of Love ; far other
inspiration doth he wake, when he himself bursts and
brightens upon us."

" I sing as I was taught," replied Nydia, sighing.

" Thy master was love-crossed, then — try thy hand at a
gayer air. Nay, girl, give the instrument to me." As Nydia

The Noonday Excursion 163

obeyed, her hand touched his, and, with that slight touch,
her breast heaved — her cheek flushed. lone and Glaucus,
occupied with each other, perceived not those signs of
strange and premature emotions, which preyed upon a heart
that, nourished by imagination, dispensed with hope.

And now, broad, blue, bright, before them, spread that
halcyon sea, fair as at this moment, seventeen centuries
from that date, I behold it rippling on the same divinest
shores. Clime that yet enervates with a soft and Circean
spell — that moulds us insensibly, mysteriously, into harmony
with thyself, banishing the thought of austerer labour, the
voices of wild ambition, the contests and the roar of life ;
filling us with gentle and subduing dreams, making necessary
lo our nature that which is its least earthly portion, so that
the very air inspires us with the yearning and thirst of love.
Whoever visits thee seems to leave earth and its harsh cares
behind — to enter by the Ivory gate into the Land of Dreams.
The young and laughing Hours of the present — the Hours,
those children of Saturn, which he hungers ever to devour,
seem snatched from his grasp. The past — the future — are
forgotten ; we enjoy but the breathing time. Flower of the
world's garden — Fountain of Delight — Italy of Italy —
beautiful, benign Campania ! — vain were, indeed, the Titans,
if on this spot they yet struggled for another heaven ! Here,
if God meant this working-day life for a perpetual holiday, who
would not sigh to dwell for ever — asking nothing, hoping
nothing, fearing nothing, while thy skies shine over him —
while thy seas sparkle at his feet — while thine air brought him
sweet messages from the violet and the orange — and while
the heart, resigned to — beating with — but one emotion,
could find the lips and the eyes, which flatter it (vanity of
vanities !) that love can defy custom, and be eternal ?

It was then in this clime — on those seas, that the
Athenian gazed upon a face that might have suited the
nymph, the spirit of the place : feeding his eyes on the
changeful roses of that softest cheek, happy beyond the
happiness of common life, loving, and knowing himself
beloved.

In the tale of human passion, in past ages, there is some-
thing of interest even in the remoteness of the time. We
love to feel within us the bond which unites the most
distant eras — men, nations, customs perish ; the affections
are immortal ! — they are the sympathies which unite the

164 The Last Days of Pompeii

ceaseless generations. The past lives again, when we look
upon its emotions — it lives in our own ! That which was,
ever is I The magician's gift, that revives the dead — that
animates the dust of forgotten graves, is not in the author's
skill — it is in the heart of the reader !

Still vainly seeking the eyes of lone, as, half downcast,
half averted, they shunned his own, the Athenian, in a low
and soft voice, thus expressed the feelings inspired by
happier thoughts than those which had coloured the song
of Nydia.

THE SONG OF GLAUCUS.

"As the bark floateth on o'er the summer-lit sea,
Floats my heart o'er the deeps of its passion for thee ;
All lost in the space, without terror it glides,
For bright with thy soul is the face of the tides.
Now heaving, now hush'd, is that passionate ocean,

As it catches thy smile or thy sighs ;
And the twin -stars ] that shine on the wanderer's devotion,

Its guide and its god — are thine eyes !

The bark may go down, should the cloud sweep above,
For its being is bound to the light of thy love.
As thy faith and thy smile are its life and its joy,
So thy frown or thy change are the storms that destroy.
Ah ! sweeter to sink while the sky is serene,

If time hath a change for thy heart !
If to live be to weep over what thou hast been,

Let me die while I know what thou art ! "

As the last words of the song trembled over the sea, lone
raised her looks, — they met those of her lover. Happy
Nydia ! — happy in thy affliction, that thou couldst not see
that fascinated and charmed gaze, that said so much — that
made the eye the voice of the soul — that promised the
impossibility of change !

But, though the Thessalian could not detect that gaze,
she divined its meaning by their silence — by their sighs.
She pressed her hands tightly across her breast, as if to keep
down its bitter and jealous thoughts ; and then she hastened
to speak — for that silence was intolerable to her.

1 In allusion to the Dioscuri, or twin-stars, the guardian deity of the
seamen.

The Noonday Excursion 165

" After all, O Glaucus ! " said she, " there is nothing very
mirthful in your strain ! "

" Yet I meant it to be so, when I took up thy lyre, pretty
one. Perhaps happiness will not permit us to be
mirthful."

" How strange is it," said lone, changing a conversation
which oppressed her while it charmed, — "that for the last
several days yonder cloud has hung motionless over
Vesuvius ! Yet not indeed motionless, for sometimes it
changes its form ; and now methinks it looks like some vast
giant, with an arm outstretched over the city. Dost thou
see the likeness — or is it only to my fancy ? "

" Fair lone ! I see it also. It is astonishingly distinct.
The giant seems seated on the brow of the mountain,
the different shades of the cloud appear to form a white
robe that sweeps over its vast breast and limbs ; it seems to
gaze with a steady face upon the city below, to point with
one hand, as thou sayest, over its glittering streets, and to
raise the other (dost thou note it?) towards the higher
heaven. It is like the ghost of some huge Titan brooding
over the beautiful world he lost ; sorrowful for the past — yet
with something of menace for the future."

" Could that mountain have any connection with the last
night's earthquake ? They say that, ages ago, almost in the
earliest era of tradition, it gave forth fires as ^tna still.
Perhaps the flames yet lurk and dart beneath."

" It is possible," said Glaucus, musingly.

" Thou sayest thou art slow to believe in magic ? " said
Nydia, suddenly. " I have heard that a potent witch dwells
amongst the scorched caverns of the mountain, and yon
cloud may be the dim shadow of the demon she confers
with."

"Thou art full of the romance of thy native Thessaly,"
said Glaucus; "and a strange mixture of sense and all
conflicting superstitions."

" We are ever superstitious in the dark," replied Nydia.
"Tell me," she added, after a slight pause, "tell me, O
Glaucus ! do all that are beautiful resemble each other ?
They say you are beautiful, and lone also. Are your faces
then the same ? I fancy not, yet it ought to be so."

"Fancy no such grievous wrong to lone," answered
Glaucus, laughing. " But we do not, alas ! resemble each
other, as the homely and the beautiful sometimes do.

1 66 The Last Days of Pompeii

Ione's hair is dark, mine light; Ione's eyes are — what
colour, lone? I cannot see, turn them to me. Oh, are
they black ? no, they are too soft. Are they blue ? no, they
are too deep: they change with every ray of the sun —
I know not their colour : but mine, sweet Nydia, are grey,
and bright only when lone shines on them ! Ione's cheek
is "

" I do not understand one word of thy description,"
interrupted Nydia, peevishly. " I comprehend only that
you do not resemble each other, and I am glad
of it."

" Why, Nydia ? " said lone.

Nydia coloured slightly. " Because," she replied, coldly,
" I have always imagined you under different forms, and
one likes to know one is right."

"And what hast thou imagined Glaucus to resemble?"
asked lone, softly.

" Music ! " replied Nydia, looking down.

" Thou art right," thought lone.

" And what likeness hast thou ascribed to lone ? "

" I cannot tell yet," answered the blind girl ; " I have not
yet known her long enough to find a shape and sign for my
guesses."

" I will tell thee, then," said Glaucus, passionately ; " she
is like the sun that warms — like the wave that refreshes."

" The sun sometimes scorches, and the wave sometimes
drowns," answered Nydia.

" Take then these roses," said Glaucus ; "let their
fragrance suggest to thee lone."

" Alas, the roses will fade ! " said the Neapolitan,
archly.

Thus conversing, they wore away the hours ; the lovers,
conscious only of the brightness and smiles of love ; the
blind girl feeling only its darkness — its tortures ; — the fierce-
ness of jealousy and its woe !

And now, as they drifted on, Glaucus once more resumed
the lyre, and woke its strings with a careless hand to a strain,
so wildly and gladly beautiful, that even Nydia was aroused
from her reverie, and uttered a cry of admiration.

" Thou seest, my child," cried Glaucus, " that I can yet
redeem the character of love's music, and that I was wrong
in saying happiness could not be gay. Listen, Nydia!
listen, dear lone! and hear

,v.

The Noonday Excursion 167

THE BIRTH OF LOVE.1

" Like a Star in the seas above,

Like a Dream to the waves of sleep —

Up — up — THE INCARNATE LOVE —

She rose from the charmed deep !
And over the Cyprian Isle
The skies shed their silent smile ;
And the Forest's green heart was rife
With the stir of the gushing life —
The life that had leap'd to birth,
In the veins of the happy earth !

Hail ! oh, hail !
The dimmest sea- cave below thee,

The farthest sky-arch above,
In their innermost stillness know thee :

And heave with the Birth of Love !
Gale ! soft Gale !
Thou comest on thy silver winglets,

From thy home in the tender west,
Now fanning her golden ringlets,

Now hush'd on her heaving breast.
And afar on the murmuring sand,
The Seasons wait hand in hand
To welcome thee, Birth Divine,
To the earth which is henceforth thine.

II.

Behold ! how she kneels in the shell,
Bright pearl in its floating cell !
Behold ! how the shell's rose-hues

The cheek and the breast of snow,
And the delicate limbs suffuse,

Like a blush, with a bashful glow.
Sailing on, slowly sailing

O'er the wild water ;
All hail ! as the fond light is hailing

Her daughter,

All hail !
We are thine, all thine evermore :
Not a leaf on the laughing shore,
Not a wave on the heaving sea,

Nor a single sigh

In the boundless sky,
But is vow'd evermore to thee !

1 Suggested by a picture of Venus rising from the sea, taken from
Pompeii, and now in the Museum of Naples.

1 68 The Last Days of Pompeii

in.

And thou, my beloved one — thou,
As I gaze on thy soft eyes now,
Methinks from their depths. I view
The Holy Birth born anew ;
Thy lids are the gentle cell

Where the young Love blushing lies ;
See ! she breaks from the mystic shell,

She comes from thy tender eyes !
Hail ! all hail !
She comes, as she came from the sea,
To my soul as it looks on thee ;

She comes, she comes 1
She comes, as she came from the sea,
To my soul as it looks on thee !

Hail ! all hail ! "

CHAPTER III

THE CONGREGATION

Followed by Apaecides, the Nazarene gained the side of
the Sarnus ; — that river, which now has shrunk into a petty
stream, then rushed gaily into the sea, covered with countless
vessels, and reflecting on its waves the gardens, the vines,
the palaces, and the temples of Pompeii. From its more
noisy and frequented banks, Olinthus directed his steps to a
path which ran amidst a shady vista of trees, at the distance
of a few paces from the river. This walk was in the evening
a favourite resort of the Pompeians, but during the heat and
business of the day was seldom visited, save by some groups
of playful children, some meditative poet, or some disputa-
tive philosophers. At the side farthest from the river,
frequent copses of box interspersed the more delicate and
evanescent foliage, and these were cut into a thousand
quaint shapes, sometimes into the forms of fauns and satyrs,
sometimes into the mimicry of Egyptian pyramids, some-
times into the letters that composed the name of a popular
or eminent citizen. Thus the false taste is equally ancient
as the pure; and the retired traders of Hackney and
Paddington, a century ago, were little aware, perhaps, that
in their tortured yews and sculptured box, they found their
models in the most polished period of Roman antiquity, in

The Congregation 169

the gardens of Pompeii, and the villas of the fastidious
Pliny.

This walk now, as the noonday sun shone perpendicularly
through the chequered leaves, was entirely deserted; at
least no other forms than those of Olinthus and the priest
infringed upon the solitude. They sat themselves on one
of the benches, placed at intervals between the trees, and
facing the faint breeze that came languidly from the river,
whose waves danced and sparkled before them ; — a singular
and contrasted pair ; the believer in the latest — the priest of
the most ancient — worship of the world !

" Since thou leftst me so abruptly," said Olinthus, " hast
thou been happy ? has thy heart found contentment under
these priestly robes ? hast thou, still yearning for the voice
of God, heard it whisper comfort to thee from the oracles of
Isis? That sigh, that averted countenance, give me the
answer my soul predicted."

"Alas!" answered Apaecides, sadly, "thou seest before
thee a wretched and distracted man ! From my childhood
upward I have idolised the dreams of virtue ! I have envied
the holiness of men who, in caves and lonely temples, have
been admitted to the companionship of beings above the
world; my days have been consumed with feverish and
vague desires ; my nights with mocking but solemn visions.
Seduced by the mystic prophecies of an impostor, I have
indued these robes ; — my nature (I confess it to thee
frankly) — my nature has revolted at what I have seen and
been doomed to share in ! Searching after truth, I have
become but the minister of falsehoods. On the evening in
which we last met, I was buoyed by hopes created by that
same impostor, whom I ought already to have better known.
I have — no matter — no matter! suffice it, I have added
perjury and sin to rashness and to sorrow. The veil is now
rent for ever from my eyes; I behold a villain where I
obeyed a demigod ; the earth darkens in my sight ; I am in
the deepest abyss of gloom ; I know not if there be gods
above ; if we are the things of chance ; if beyond the
bounded and melancholy present there is annihilation or an
hereafter — tell me, then, thy faith ; solve me these doubts,
if thou hast indeed the power ! "

" I do not marvel," answered the Nazarene, " that thou
hast thus erred, or that thou art thus sceptic. Eighty years
ago there was no assurance to man of God, or of a certain

170 The Last Days of Pompeii

and definite future beyond the grave. New laws are
declared to him who has ears — a heaven, a true Olympus, is
revealed to him who has eyes — heed then, and listen."

And with all the earnestness of a man believing ardently
himself, and zealous to convert, the Nazarene poured, forth
to Apaecides the assurances of Scriptural promise. He
spoke first of the sufferings and miracles of Christ — he wept
as he spoke : he turned next to the glories of the Saviour's
Ascension — to the clear predictions of Revelation. He
described that pure and unsensual heaven destined to the
virtuous — those fires and torments that were the doom of
guilt.

The doubts which spring up to the mind of later
reasoners, in the immensity of the sacrifice of God to man,
were not such as would occur to an early heathen. He had
been accustomed to believe that the gods had lived upon
earth, and taken upon themselves the forms of men ; had
shared in human passions, in human labours, and in human
misfortunes. What was the travail of his own Alcmena's
son, whose altars now smoked with the incense of countless
cities, but a toil for the human race. Had not the great
Dorian Apollo expiated a mystic sin by descending to the
grave ? Those who were the deities of heaven had been the
lawgivers or benefactors on earth, and gratitude had led to
worship. It seemed therefore, to the heathen, a doctrine
neither new nor strange, that Christ had been sent from
heaven, that an immortal had indued mortality, and tasted
the bitterness of death. And the end for which He thus
toiled and thus suffered — how far more glorious did it seem
to Apaecides than that for which the deities of old had
visited the nether world, and passed through the gates of
death ! Was it not worthy of a God to descend to these
dim valleys, in order to clear up the clouds gathered over
the dark mount beyond — to satisfy the doubts of sages — to
convert speculation into certainty — by example to point out
the rules of life — by revelation to solve the enigma of the
grave — and to prove that the soul did not yearn in vain
when it dreamed of an immortality ? In this last was the
great argument of those lowly men destined to convert the
earth. As nothing is more flattering to the pride and the
hopes of man than the belief in a future state, so nothing
could be more vague and confused than the notions of the
heathen sages upon that mystic subject. Apaecides had

The Congregation 171

already learned that the faith of the philosophers was not
that of the herd; that if they secretly professed a creed
in some diviner power, it was not the creed which they
thought it wise to impart to the community. He had
already learned, that even the priest ridiculed what he
preached to the people — that the notions of the few and the
many were never united. But, in this new faith, it seemed
to him that philosopher, priest, and people, the expounders
of the religion and its followers, were alike accordant : they
did not speculate and debate upon immortality, they spoke
of it as a thing certain and assured ; the magnificence of the
promise dazzled him — its consolations soothed. For the
Christian faith made its early converts among sinners !
many of its fathers and its martyrs were those who had felt
the bitterness of vice, and who were therefore no longer
tempted by its false aspect from the paths of an austere and
uncompromising virtue. All the assurances of this healing
faith invited to repentance — they were peculiarly adapted to
the bruised and sore of spirit ! the very remorse which
Apaecides felt for his late excesses, made him incline to
one who found holiness in that remorse, and who whispered
of the joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.

" Come," said the Nazarene, as he perceived the effect he
had produced, "come to the humble hall in which we
meet — a select and a chosen few; listen there to our
prayers ; note the sincerity of our repentant tears ; mingle
in our simple sacrifice — not of victims, nor of garlands, but
offered by white-robed thoughts upon the altar of the heart.
The flowers that we lay there are imperishable — they bloom
over us when we are no more; nay, they accompany us
beyond the grave, they spring up beneath our feet in heaven,
they delight us with an eternal odour, for they are of the
soul, they partake of its nature ; these offerings are tempta-
tions overcome, and sins repented. Come, oh come ! lose
not another moment; prepare already for the great the
awful journey, from darkness to light, from sorrow to bliss,
from corruption to immortality ! This is the day of the
Lord the Son, a day that we have set apart for our
devotions. Though we meet usually at night, yet some
amongst us are gathered together even now. What joy,
what triumph, will be with us all, if we can bring one stray
lamb into the sacred fold ! "

There seemed to Apaecides, so naturally pure of heart,

172 The Last Days of Pompeii

something ineffably generous and benign in that spirit of
conversation which animated Olinthus — a spirit that found
its own bliss in the happiness of others — that sought in
its wide sociality to make companions for eternity. He was
touched, softened, and subdued. He was not in that mood
which can bear to be left alone ; curiosity, too, mingled with
his purer stimulants — he was anxious to see those rites of
which so many dark and contradictory rumours were afloat.
He paused a moment, looked over his garb, thought of
Arbaces, shuddered with horror, lifted his eyes to the broad
brow of the Nazarene, intent, anxious, watchful — but for his
benefits, for his salvation ! He drew his cloak round him, so
as wholly to conceal his robes, and said, " Lead on, I follow
thee."

Olinthus pressed his hand joyfully, and then descending
to the river side, hailed one of the boats that plyed there
constantly ; they entered it ; an awning overhead, while it
sheltered them from the sun, screened also their persons
from observation : they rapidly skimmed the wave. From
one of the boats that passed them floated a soft music, and
its prow was decorated with flowers — it was gliding towards
the sea.

" So," said Olinthus, sadly, " unconscious and mirthful in
their delusions, sail the votaries of luxury into the great
ocean of storm and shipwreck ! we pass them, silent and
unnoticed, to gain the land."

Apsecides, lifting his eyes, caught through the aperture in
the awning a glimpse of the face of one of the inmates of
that gay bark — it was the face of lone. The lovers were
embarked on the excursion at which we have been made
present. The priest sighed, and once more sunk back upon
his seat. They reached the shore where, in the suburbs, an
alley of small and mean houses stretched towards the bank ;
they dismissed the boat, landed, and Olinthus, preceding the
priest, threaded the labyrinth of lanes, and arrived at last at
the closed door of a habitation somewhat larger than its
neighbours. He knocked thrice — the door was opened and
closed again, as Apaecides followed his guide across the
threshold.

They passed a deserted atrium, and gained an inner
chamber of moderate size, which, when the door was closed,
received its only light from a small window cut over the
door itself. But, halting at the threshold of this chamber,

The Congregation 173

and knocking at the door, Olinthus said, "Peace be with
you ! " A voice from within returned, " Peace with whom ? "
" The Faithful ! " answered Olinthus, and the door opened ;
twelve or fourteen persons were sitting in a semicircle, silent,
and seemingly absorbed in thought, and opposite to a
crucifix rudely carved in wood.

They lifted up their eyes when Olinthus entered, without
speaking; the Nazarene himself, before he accosted them,
knelt suddenly down, and by his moving lips, and his eyes
fixed steadfastly on the crucifix, Apsecides saw that he
prayed inly. This rite performed, Olinthus turned to the
congregation — " Men and brethren," said he, " start not
to behold amongst you a priest of Isis ; he hath sojourned
with the blind, but the Spirit hath fallen on him — he desires
to see, to hear, and to understand."

"Let him," said one of the assembly; and Apsecides
beheld in the speaker a man still younger than himself, of a
countenance equally worn and pallid, of an eye which
equally spoke of the restless and fiery operations of a
working mind.

" Let him," repeated a second voice, and he who thus
spoke was in the prime of manhood ; his bronzed skin and
Asiatic features bespoke him a son of Syria — he had been a
robber in his youth.

" Let him," said a third voice ; and the priest, again
turning to regard the speaker, saw an old man with a long
grey beard, whom he recognised as a slave to the wealthy
Diomed.

" Let him," repeated simultaneously the rest — men who,
with two exceptions, were evidently of the inferior ranks.
In these exceptions, Apaecides noted an officer of the guard,
and an Alexandrian merchant.

"We do not," recommenced Olinthus — " we do not bind
you to secrecy ; we impose on you no oaths (as some of our
weaker brethren would do) not to betray us. It is true,
indeed, that there is no absolute law against us ; but the
multitude, more savage than their rulers, thirst for our lives.
So, my friends, when Pilate would have hesitated, it was the
people who shouted ' Christ to the cross ! ' But we bind you
not to our safety — no ! Betray us to the crowd — impeach,
calumniate, malign us if you will : — we are above death, we
should walk cheerfully to the den of the lion, or the rack of
the torturer — we can trample down the darkness of the

174 The Last Days of Pompeii

grave, and what is death to a criminal is eternity to the
Christian."

A low and applauding murmur ran through the assembly.

" Thou comest amongst us as an examiner, may est thou
remain a convert ! Our religion ? you behold it ! Yon cross
our sole image, yon scroll the mysteries of our Caere and
Eleusis ! Our morality ? it is in our lives ! — sinners we all
have been ; who now can accuse us of a crime ? we have
baptised ourselves from the past. Think not that this is of
us, it is of God. Approach, Medon," beckoning to the old
slave who had spoken third for the admission of Apsecides,
" thou art the sole man amongst us who is not free. But in
heaven, the last shall be first : so with us. Unfold your
scroll, read and explain."

Useless would it be for us to accompany the lecture
of Medon, or the comments of the congregation. Familiar
now are those doctrines, then strange and new. Eighteen
centuries have left us little to expound upon the lore of
Scripture or the life of Christ. To us, too, there would
seem little congenial in the doubts that occurred to a
heathen priest, and little learned in the answers they receive
from men uneducated, rude, and simple, possessing only the
knowledge that they were greater than they seemed.

There was one thing that greatly touched the Neapolitan :
when the lecture was concluded, they heard a very gentle
knock at the door ; the password was given, and replied to ;
the door opened, and two young children, the eldest of
whom might have told its seventh year, entered timidly;
they were the children of the master of the house, that dark
and hardy Syrian, whose youth had been spent in pillage and
bloodshed. The eldest of the congregation (it was that old
slave) opened to them his arms ; they fled to the shelter —
they crept to his breast — and his hard features smiled as he
caressed them. And then these bold and fervent men,
nursed in vicissitude, beaten by the rough winds of life —
men of mailed and impervious fortitude, ready to affront
a world, prepared for torment and armed for death — men,
who presented all imaginable contrast to the weak nerves,
the light hearts, the tender fragility of childhood, crowded
round the infants, smoothing their rugged brows and
composing their bearded lips to kindly and fostering smiles :
and then the old man opened the scroll, and he taught the
infants to repeat after him that beautiful prayer which we

The Congregation 175

still dedicate to the Lord, and still teach to our children ;
and then he told them, in simple phrase, of God's love to
the young, and how not a sparrow falls but His eye sees it.
This lovely custom of infant initiation was long cherished by
the early Church, in memory of the words which said,
"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them
not;" and was perhaps the origin of the superstitious
calumny which ascribed to the Nazarenes the crime which
the Nazarene, when victorious, attributed to the Jew, viz.
the decoying children to hideous rites, at which they were
secretly immolated.

And the stern paternal penitent seemed to feel in the
innocence of his children a return into early life — life ere
yet it sinned : he followed the motion of their young lips
with an earnest gaze; he smiled as they repeated, with
hushed and reverent looks, the holy words : and when the
lesson was done, and they ran, released, and gladly to his
knee, he clasped them to his breast, kissed them again
and again, and tears flowed fast down his cheek — tears,
of which it would have been impossible to trace the source,
so mingled they were with joy and sorrow, penitence and
hope — remorse for himself and love for them !

Something, I say, there was in this scene which peculiarly
affected Apaecides ; and, in truth, it is difficult to conceive a
ceremony more appropriate to the religion of benevolence,
more appealing to the household and everyday affections,
striking a more sensitive chord in the human breast.

It was at this time that an inner door opened gently, and
a very old man entered the chamber, leaning on a staff. At
his presence, the whole congregation rose; there was an
expression of deep, affectionate respect upon every coun-
tenance ; and Apaecides, gazing on his countenance, felt
attracted towards him by an irresistible sympathy. No man
ever looked upon that face without love; for there had
dwelt the smile of the Deity, the incarnation of divinest
love; — and the glory of the smile had never passed
away.

" My children, God be with you ! " said the old man,
stretching his arms ; and as he spoke the infants ran to his
knee. He sat down, and they nestled fondly to his bosom.
It was beautiful to see that mingling of the extremes of
life — the rivers gushing from their early source — the
majestic stream gliding to the ocean of eternity! As the

176 The Last Days of Pompeii

light of declining day seems to mingle earth and heaven,
making the outline of each scarce visible, and blending the
harsh mountain-tops with the sky, even so did the smile of
that benign old age appear to hallow the aspect of those
around, to blend together the strong distinctions of varying
years, and to diffuse over infancy and manhood the light of
that heaven into which it must so soon vanish and be lost.

"Father," said Olinthus, "thou on whose form the
miracle of the Redeemer worked ; thou who wert snatched
from the grave to become the living witness of His mercy
and His power ; behold ! a stranger in our meeting — a new
lamb gathered to the fold ! "

" Let me bless him," said the old man : the throng gave
way. Apsecides approached him as by an instinct : he fell on
his knees before him — the old man laid his hand on the priest's
head, and blessed him, but not aloud. As his lips moved,
his eyes were upturned, and tears — those tears that good
men only shed in the hope of happiness to another — flowed
fast down his cheeks.

The children were on either side of the convert ; his heart
was theirs — he had become as one of them — to enter into
the kingdom of Heaven.

CHAPTER IV

THE STREAM OF LOVE RUNS ON — WHITHER?

Days are like years in the love of the young, when no bar,
no obstacle, is between their hearts — when the sun shines,
and the course runs smooth — when their love is prosperous
and confessed. lone no longer concealed from Glaucus
the attachment she felt for him, and their talk now was only
of their love. Over the rapture of the present the hopes of
the future glowed like the heaven above the gardens of
spring. They went in their trustful thoughts far down the
stream of time : they laid out the chart of their destiny to
come ; they suffered the light of to-day to suffuse the morrow.
In the youth of their hearts it seemed as if care, and change,
and death, were as things unknown. Perhaps they loved
each other the more because the condition of the world
left to Glaucus no aim and no wish but love ; because the

The Stream of Love runs on 177

distractions common in free states to men's affections existed
not for the Athenian ; because his country wooed him not
to the bustle of civil life ; because ambition furnished no
counterpoise to love : and, therefore, over their schemes and
projects, love only reigned. In the iron age they imagined
themselves of the golden, doomed only to live and to love.

To the superficial observer, who interests himself only in
characters strongly marked and broadly coloured, both the
lovers may seem of too slight and commonplace a mould :
in the delineation of characters purposely subdued, the
reader sometimes imagines that there is a want of character ;
perhaps, indeed, I wrong the real nature of these two lovers
by not painting more impressively their stronger individu-
alities. But in dwelling so much on their bright and bird-
like existence, I am influenced almost insensibly by the
forethought of the changes that await them, and for which
they were so ill prepared. It was this very softness and
gaiety of life that contrasted most strongly the vicissitudes
of their coming fate. For the oak without fruit or blossom,
whose hard and rugged heart is fitted for the storm, there is
less fear than for the delicate branches of the myrtle, and
the laughing clusters of the vine.

They had now advanced far into August — the next month
their marriage was fixed, and the threshold of Glaucus was
already wreathed with garlands ; and nightly, by the door of
lone, he poured forth the rich libations. He existed no
longer for his gay companions ; he was ever with lone. In
the mornings they beguiled the sun with music : in the
evenings they forsook the crowded haunts of the gay for
excursions on the water, or along the fertile and vine-clad
plains that lay beneath the fatal mount of Vesuvius. The
earth shook no more ; the lively Pompeians forgot even that
there had gone forth so terrible a warning of their approach-
ing doom. Glaucus imagined that convulsion, in the vanity
of his heathen religion, an especial interposition of the gods,
less in behalf of his own safety than that of lone. He
offered up the sacrifices of gratitude at the temples of his
faith ; and even the altar of Isis was covered with his votive
garlands; — as to the prodigy of the animated marble, he
blushed at the effect it had produced on him. He believed
it, indeed, to have been wrought by the magic of man ; but.
the result convinced him that it betokened not the anger of
a goddess.

178 The Last Days of Pompeii

Of Arbaces, they heard only that he still lived ; stretched
on the bed of suffering, he recovered slowly from the
effect of the shock he had sustained — he left the lovers
unmolested — but it was only to brood over the hour and
the method of revenge.

Alike in their mornings at the house of lone, and in their
evening excursions, Nydia was usually their constant, and
often their sole companion. They did not guess the secret
fires which consumed her : — the abrupt freedom with which
she mingled in their conversation — her capricious and often
her peevish moods found ready indulgence in the recollection
of the service they owed her, and their compassion for her
affliction. They felt an interest in her, perhaps the greater
and more affectionate from the very strangeness and way-
wardness of her nature, her singular alternations of passion
and softness — the mixture of ignorance and genius — of
delicacy and rudeness — of the quick humours of the child,
and the proud calmness of the woman. Although she refused
to accept of freedom, she was constantly suffered to be free ;
she went where she listed ; no curb was put either on her
words or actions ; they felt for one so darkly fated, and so
susceptible of every wound, the same pitying and compliant
indulgence the mother feels for a spoiled and sickly child, —
dreading to impose authority, even where they imagined it
for her benefit. She availed herself of this licence by
refusing the companionship of the slave whom they wished
to attend her. With the slender staff by which she guided
her steps, she went now, as in her former unprotected state,
along the populous streets : it was almost miraculous to
perceive how quickly and how dexterously she threaded
every crowd, avoiding every danger, and could find her
benighted way through the most intricate windings of the
city. But her chief delight was still in visiting the few feet
of ground which made the garden of Glaucus ; — in tending
the flowers that at least repaid her love. Sometimes she
entered the chamber where he sat, and sought a conversation,
which she nearly always broke off abruptly — for conversation
with Glaucus only tended to one subject — lone ; and that
name from his lips inflicted agony upon her. Often she
bitterly repented the service she had rendered to lone :
often she said inly, " If she had fallen, Glaucus could have
loved her no longer ; " and then dark and fearful thoughts
crept into her breast.

The Stream of Love runs on 179

She had not experienced fully the trials that were in store
for her, when she had been thus generous. She had never
before been present when Glaucus and lone were together ;
she had never heard that voice so kind to her, so much
softer to another. The shock that crushed her heart with
the tidings that Glaucus loved, had at first only saddened
and benumbed; — by degrees jealousy took a wilder and
fiercer shape ; it partook of hatred — it whispered revenge.
As you see the wind only agitate the green leaf upon the
bough, while the leaf which has lain withered and seared
on the ground, bruised and trampled upon till the sap and
life are gone, is suddenly whirled aloft — now here — now
there — without stay and without rest ; so the love which
visits the happy and the hopeful hath but freshness on its
wings ! its violence is but sportive. But the heart that hath
fallen from the green things of life, that is without hope,
that hath no summer in its fibres, is torn and whirled by the
same wind that but caresses its brethren ; — it hath no bough
to cling to — it is dashed from path to path — till the winds
fall, and it is crushed into the mire for ever.

The friendless childhood of Nydia had hardened pre-
maturely her character; perhaps the heated scenes of
profligacy through which she had passed, seemingly un-
scathed, had ripened her passions, though they had not
sullied her purity. The orgies of Burbo might only have
disgusted, the banquets of the Egyptian might only have
terrified, at the moment ; but the winds that pass unheeded
over the soil leave seeds behind them. As darkness, too,
favours the imagination, so, perhaps, her very blindness
contributed to feed with wild and delirious visions the love
of the unfortunate girl. The voice of Glaucus had been
the first that had sounded musically to her ear ; his kindness
made a deep impression upon her mind ; when he had left
Pompeii in the former year, she had treasured up in her
heart every word he had uttered ; and when any one told
her that this friend and patron of the poor flower-girl was
the most brilliant and the most graceful of the young
revellers of Pompeii, she had felt a pleasing pride in nursing
his recollection. Even the task which she imposed upon
herself, of tending his flowers, served to keep him in her
mind ; she associated him with all that was most charming
to her impressions ; and when she had refused to express
what image she fancied lone to resemble, it was partly,

180 The Last Days of Pompeii

perhaps, that whatever was bright and soft in nature she
had already combined with the thought of Glaucus. If any
of my readers ever loved at an age which they would now
smile to remember — an age in which fancy forestalled the
reason, let them say whether that love, among all its strange
and complicated delicacies, was not, above all other and
later passions, susceptible of jealousy ? I seek not here the
cause : I know that it is commonly the fact.

When Glaucus returned to Pompeii, Nydia had told
another year of life ; that year, with its sorrows, its loneliness,
its trials, had greatly developed her mind and heart ; and
when the Athenian drew her unconsciously to his breast,
deeming her still in soul as in years a child — when he kissed
her smooth cheek, and wound his arm round her trembling
frame, Nydia felt suddenly, and as by revelation, that those
feelings she had long and innocently cherished were of love.
Doomed to be rescued from tyranny by Glaucus — doomed
to take shelter under his roof — doomed to breathe, but for
so brief a time, the same air — and doomed, in the first rush
of a thousand happy, grateful, delicious sentiments of an
overflowing heart, to hear that he loved another; to be
commissioned to that other, the messenger, the minister;
to feel all at once that utter nothingness which she was —
which she ever must be, but which, till then, her young
mind had not taught her, — that utter nothingness to him
who was all to her; what wonder that, in her wild and
passionate soul, all the elements jarred discordant ; that if
love reigned over the whole, it was not the love which is born
of the more sacred and soft emotions? Sometimes she
dreaded only lest Glaucus should discover her secret ; some-
times she felt indignant that it was not suspected : it was a sign
of contempt — could he imagine that she presumed so far ?
Her feelings to lone ebbed and flowed with every hour;
now she loved her because he did ; now she hated him for
the same cause. There were moments when she could
have murdered her unconscious mistress; moments when
she could have laid down life for her. These fierce and
tremulous alternations of passion were too severe to be
borne long. Her health gave way, though she felt it not
— her cheek paled — her step grew feebler — tears came to
her eyes more often, and relieved her less.

One morning, when she repaired to her usual task in the
garden of the Athenian, she found Glaucus under the

The Stream of Love runs on 181

columns of the peristyle, with a merchant of the town ; he
was selecting jewels for his destined bride. He had already
fitted up her apartment; the jewels he bought that day
were placed also within it — they were never fated to grace
the fair form of lone ; they may be seen at this day among
the disinterred treasures of Pompeii, in the chambers of the
studio at Naples.1

"Come hither, Nydia; put down thy vase, and come
hither. Thou must take this chain from me — stay — there,
I have put it on. — There, Servilius, does it not become
her?"

" Wonderfully ! " answered the jeweller ; for jewellers were
well-bred and flattering men, even at that day. " But when
these ear-rings glitter in the ears of the noble lone, then, by
Bacchus ! you will see whether my art adds anything to
beauty."

" lone ? " repeated Nydia, who had hitherto acknowledged
by smiles and blushes the gift of Glaucus.

"Yes," replied the Athenian, carelessly toying with the
gems ; " I am choosing a present for lone, but there are
none worthy of her."

He was startled as he spoke by an abrupt gesture of
Nydia; she tore the chain violently from her neck, and
dashed it on the ground.

"How is this? What, Nydia, dost thou not like the
bauble ? art thou offended ? "

" You treat me ever as a slave and as a child," replied the
Thessalian, with a breast heaving with ill-suppressed sobs,
and she turned hastily away to the opposite corner of the
garden.

Glaucus did not attempt to follow, or to soothe ; he was
offended ; he continued to examine the jewels and to com-
ment on their fashion — to object to this and to praise that,
and finally to be talked by the merchant into buying all ;
the safest plan for a lover, and a plan that any one will
do right to adopt, — provided always that he can obtain an
lone!

When he had completed his purchase and dismissed the
jeweller, he retired into his chamber, dressed, mounted his
chariot, and went to lone. He thought no more of the
blind girl, or her offence; he had forgotten both the one
and the other.

1 Several bracelets, chains, and jewels, were found in the house.

1 82 The Last Days of Pompeii

He spent the forenoon with his beautiful Neapolitan,
repaired thence to the baths, supped (if, as we have said
before, we can justly so translate the three o'clock ccena
of the Romans) alone, and abroad, for Pompeii had its
restaurateurs : — and returning home to change his dress ere
he again repaired to the house of lone, he passed the peri-
style, but with the absorbed reverie and absent eyes of a
man in love, and did not note the form of the poor blind
girl, bending exactly in the same place where he had left
her. But though he saw her not, her ear recognised at once
the sound of his step. She had been counting the moments
to his return. He had scarcely entered his favourite chamber,
which opened on the peristyle, and seated himself musingly
on his couch, when he felt his robe timorously touched, and,
turning, he beheld Nydia kneeling before him, and holding
up to him a handful of flowers — a gentle and appropriate
peace-offering ; — her eyes, darkly upheld to his own, streamed
with tears.

" I have offended thee," said she, sobbing, " and for the
first time. I would die rather than cause thee a moment's
pain — say that thou wilt forgive me. See ! I have taken up
the chain ; I have put it on ; I will never part from it — it is
thy gift."

" My dear Nydia," returned Glaucus, and raising her, he
kissed her forehead, " think of it no more ! But why, my
child, wert thou so suddenly angry? I could not divine
the cause?"

" Do not ask ! " said she, colouring violently. " I am a
thing full of faults and humours ; you know I am but a
child — you say so often : is it from a child that you can
expect a reason for every folly?"

" But, prettiest, you will soon be a child no more ; and
if you would have us treat you as a woman, you must learn
to govern these singular impulses and gales of passion.
Think not I chide : no, it is for your happiness only I
speak."

" It is true," said Nydia, " I must learn to govern myself.
I must hide, I must suppress, my heart. This is a woman's
task and duty ; methinks her virtue is hypocrisy."

"Self-control is not deceit, my Nydia," returned the
Athenian; "and that is the virtue necessary alike to man
and to woman ; it is the true senatorial toga, the badge of
the dignity it covers ! "

The Stream of Love runs on 183

" Self-control ! self-control ! Well, well, what you say is
right ! When I listen to you, Glaucus, my wildest thoughts
grow calm and sweet, and a delicious serenity falls over me.
Advise, ah ! guide me ever, my preserver ! "

"Thy affectionate heart will be thy best guide, Nydia,
when thou hast learned to regulate its feelings."

" Ah ! that will be never," sighed Nydia, wiping away her
tears.

" Say not so : the first effort is the only difficult one."

"I have made many first efforts," answered Nydia,
innocently. " But you, my Mentor, do you find it so easy
to control yourself? Can you conceal, can you even regulate,
your love for lone ? "

" Love ! dear Nydia : ah ! that is quite another matter,"
answered the young preceptor.

" I thought so ! " returned Nydia, with a melancholy
smile. " Glaucus, wilt thou take my poor flowers ? Do with
them as thou wilt — thou canst give them to lone," added
she, with a little hesitation.

" Nay, Nydia," answered Glaucus, kindly, divining some-
thing of jealousy in her language, though he imagined it
only the jealousy of a vain and susceptible child ; " I will
not give thy pretty flowers to any one. Sit here and weave
them into a garland ; I will wear it this night : it is not the
first those delicate fingers have woven for me."

The poor girl delightedly sat down beside Glaucus. She
drew from her girdle a ball of the many-coloured threads, or
rather slender ribands, used in the weaving of garlands, and
which (for it was her professional occupation) she carried
constantly with her, and began quickly and gracefully to
commence her task. Upon her young cheeks the tears
were already dried, a faint but happy smile played round
her lips ; — childlike, indeed, she was sensible only of the joy
of the present hour : she was reconciled to Glaucus : he had
forgiven her — she was beside him — he played caressingly
with her silken hair — his breath fanned her cheek, — lone,
the cruel lone, was not by — none other demanded, divided,
his care. Yes, she was happy and forgetful ; it was one of
the few moments in her brief and troubled life that it was
sweet to treasure, to recall. As the butterfly, allured by the
winter sun, basks for a little while in the sudden light, ere
yet the wind awakes and the frost comes on, which shall
blast it before the eve, — she rested beneath a beam, which,

184 The Last Days of Pompeii

by contrast with the wonted skies, was not chilling ; and the
instinct which should have warned her of its briefness, bade
her only gladden in its smile.

"Thou hast beautiful locks," said Glaucus. "They were
once, I ween well, a mother's delight."

Nydia sighed ; it would seem that she had not been born
a slave; but she ever shunned the mention of her parentage,
and, whether obscure or noble, certain it is that her birth
was never known by her benefactors, nor by any one in
those distant shores, even to the last. The child of sorrow
and of mystery, she came and went as some bird that enters
our chamber for a moment; we see it flutter for a while
before us, we know not whence it flew or to what region it
escapes.

Nydia sighed, and after a short pause, without answering
the remark, said, —

" But do I weave too many roses in my wreath, Glaucus ?
They tell me it is thy favourite flower."

" And ever favoured, my Nydia, be it by those who have
the soul of poetry : it is the flower of love, of festivals ; it is
also the flower we dedicate to silence and to death; it
blooms on our brows in life, while life be worth the having ;
it is scattered above our sepulchre when we are no more."

"Ah! would," said Nydia, "instead of this perishable
wreath, that I could take thy web from the hand of the
Fates, and insert the roses there!"

" Pretty one ! thy wish is worthy of a voice so attuned to
song ; it is uttered in the spirit of song ; and, whatever my
doom, I thank thee."

"Whatever thy doom ! is it not already destined to all
things bright and fair ? My wish was vain. The Fates will
be as tender to thee as I should."

" It might not be so, Nydia, were it not for love ! While
youth lasts, I may forget my country for a while. But what
Athenian, in his graver manhood, can think of Athens as
she was, and be contented that he is happy, while she is
fallen ? — fallen, and for ever ? "

" And why for ever ? "

" As ashes cannot be rekindled — as love once dead can
never revive, so freedom departed from a people is never
regained. But talk we not of these matters unsuited to
thee."

"To me, oh! thou errest. I, too, have my sighs for

The Stream of Love runs on 185

Greece ; my cradle was rocked at the foot of Olympus ; the
gods have left the mountain, but their traces may be seen —
seen in the hearts of their worshippers, seen in the beauty
of their clime : they tell me it is beautiful, and /have felt
its airs, to which even these are harsh — its sun, to which
these skies are chill. Oh ! talk to me of Greece ! Poor
fool that I am, I can comprehend thee ! and methinks, had
I yet lingered on those snores, had I been a Grecian maid
whose happy fate it was to love and to be loved, I myself could
have armed my lover for another Marathon, a new Plataea.
Yes, the hand that now weaves the roses should have woven
thee the olive crown ! "

" If such a day could come ! " said Glaucus, catching the
enthusiasm of the blind Thessalian, and half rising. — " But
no ! the sun has set, and the night only bids us be
forgetful, — and in forgetfulness be gay : — weave still the
roses ! "

But it was with a melancholy tone of forced gaiety that
the Athenian uttered the last words : and sinking into a
gloomy reverie, he was only wakened from it, a few minutes
afterwards, by the voice of Nydia, as she sang in a low tone
the following words, which he had once taught her : —

THE APOLOGY FOR PLEASURE.

" Who will assume the bays
That the hero wore ?
Wreaths on the Tomb of Days

Gone evermore !
Who shall disturb the brave,
Or one leaf on their holy grave ?
The laurel is vowed to them,
Leave the bay on its sacred stem J

But this, the rose, the fading rose,
Alike for slave and freeman grows.

If Memory sit beside the dead

With tombs her only treasure ;
If Hope is lost and Freedom fled,

The more excuse for Pleasure.
Come, weave the wreath, the roses weave,

The rose at least is ours :
To feeble hearts our fathers leave,

In pitying scorn, the flowers !

1 86 The Last Days of Pompeii

in.

On the summit, worn and hoary,
Of Phyle's solemn hill,
The tramp of the brave is still !
And still in the saddening Mart,
The pulse of that mighty heart,

Whose very blood was glory !
Glaucopis forsakes her own,

The angry gods forget us ;
But yet, the blue streams along,
Walk the feet of the silver Song ;
And the night-bird wakes the moon ;
And the bees in the blushing noon

Haunt the heart of the old Hymettus.
We are fallen, but not forlorn,

If something is left to cherish ;
As Love was the earliest born,

So Love is the last to perish.

Wreathe then the roses, wreathe

The Beautiful still is ours,
While the stream shall flow and the sky shall glow,
The Beautiful still is ours !
Whatever is fair, or soft, or bright,
In the lap of day or the arms of night,
Whispers our soul of Greece — of Greece,
And hushes our care with a voice of peace.
Wreathe then the roses, wreathe !
They tell me of earlier hours ;
And I hear the heart of my Country breathe

From the lips of the Stranger's flowers."

CHAPTER V

NYDIA ENCOUNTERS JULIA — INTERVIEW OF THE HEATHEN

SISTER AND CONVERTED BROTHER AN ATHENIAN'S

NOTION OF CHRISTIANITY

" What happiness to lone ! what bliss to be ever by the
side of Glaucus, to hear his voice ! — And she too can see
him ! "

Such was the soliloquy of the blind girl, as she walked
alone and at twilight to the house of her new mistress,
whither Glaucus had already preceded her. Suddenly she
was interrupted in her fond thoughts by a female voice.

Nydia Encounters Julia 187

"Blind flower-girl, whither goest thou? There is no
pannier under thine arm ; hast thou sold all thy flowers ? "

The person thus accosting Nydia was a lady of a hand-
some but a bold and unmaidenly countenance: it was
Julia, the daughter of Diomed. Her veil was half raised
as she spoke; she was accompanied by Diomed himself,
and by a slave carrying a lantern before them — the merchant
and his daughter were returning home from a supper at one
of their neighbours'.

" Dost thou not remember my voice ? " continued Julia.
" I am the daughter of Diomed the wealthy."

" Ah ! forgive me ; yes, I recall the tones of your voice.
No, noble Julia, I have no flowers to sell."

" I heard that thou wert purchased by the beautiful Greek
Glaucus ; is that true, pretty slave ? " asked Julia.

" I serve the Neapolitan, lone," replied Nydia, evasively.

" Ah ! and it is true, then "

" Come, come ! " interrupted Diomed, with his cloak up to
his mouth, " the night grows cold j I cannot stay here while
you prate to that blind girl : come, let her follow you home,
if you wish to speak to her."

11 Do child," said Julia, with the air of one not accus-
tomed to be refused ; "I have much to ask of thee :
come."

" I cannot this night, it grows late," answered Nydia.
" I must be at home ; I am not free, noble Julia."

" What, the meek lone will chide thee ? — Ay, I doubt not
she is a second Thalestris. But come, then, to-morrow : do
— remember I have been thy friend of old."

" I will obey thy wishes," answered Nydia ; and Diomed
again impatiently summoned his daughter : she was obliged
to proceed, with the main question she had desired to put
to Nydia unasked.

Meanwhile we return to lone. The interval of time that
had elapsed that day between the first and second visit of
Glaucus had not been too gaily spent : she had received a
visit from her brother. Since the night he had assisted in
saving her from the Egyptian, she had not before seen
him.

Occupied with his own thoughts, — thoughts of so serious
and intense a nature, — the young priest had thought little
of his sister ; in truth, men, perhaps of that fervent order of
mind which is ever aspiring above earth, are but little prone

1 88 The Last Days of Pompeii

to the earthlier affections ; and it had been long since
Apaecides had sought those soft and friendly interchanges
of thought, those sweet confidences, which in his earlier
youth had bound him to lone, and which are so natural
to that endearing connection which existed between them.

lone, however, had not ceased to regret his estrange-
ment : she attributed it, at present, to the engrossing duties
of his severe fraternity. And often, amidst all her bright
hopes, and her new attachment to her betrothed — often,
when she thought of her brother's brow prematurely fur-
rowed, his unsmiling lip, and bended frame, she sighed to
think that the service of the gods could throw so deep a
shadow over that earth which the gods created.

But this day when he visited her there was a strange
calmness on his features, a more quiet and self-possessed
expression in his sunken eyes, than she had marked for
years. This apparent improvement was but momentary — it
was a false calm, which the least breeze could ruffle.

" May the gods bless thee, my brother ! " said she,
embracing him.

" The gods ! Speak not thus vaguely ; perchance there
is but otie God ! "

" My brother ! "

"What if the sublime faith of the Nazarene be true?
What if God be a monarch — One — Invisible — Alone?
What if these numerous, countless deities, whose altars fill
the earth, be but evil demons, seeking to wean us from the
true creed ? This may be the case, lone ! "

" Alas ! can we believe it ? or if we believed, would it not
be a melancholy faith ? " answered the Neapolitan. " What !
all this beautiful world made only human ! — the mountain
disenchanted of its Oread — the waters of their Nymph —
that beautiful prodigality of faith, which makes everything
divine, consecrating the meanest flowers, bearing celestial
whispers in the faintest breeze — wouldst thou deny this,
and make the earth mere dust and clay ? No, Apaecides :
all that is brightest in our hearts is that very credulity which
peoples the universe with gods."

lone answered as a believer in the poesy of the old
mythology would answer. We may judge by that reply
how obstinate and hard the contest which Christianity had
to endure among the heathens. The Graceful Superstition
was never silent ; every, the most household, action of their

Interview of Brother and Sister 189

lives was entwined with it, — it was a portion of life itself, as
the flowers are a part of the thyrsus. At every incident
they recurred to a god, every cup of wine was prefaced by a
libation ; the very garlands on their thresholds were dedi-
cated to some divinity ; their ancestors themselves, made
holy, presided as Lares over their hearth and hall. So
abundant was belief with them, that in their own climes, at
this hour, idolatry has never thoroughly been outrooted:
it changes but its objects of worship ; it appeals to innumer-
able saints where once it resorted to divinities ; and it pours
its crowds, in listening reverence, to oracles at the shrines
of St. Januarius or St. Stephen, instead of to those of Isis
or Apollo.

But these superstitions were not to the early Christians
the object of contempt so much as of horror. They did
not believe, with the quiet scepticism of the heathen
philosopher, that the gods were inventions of the priests ;
nor even, with the vulgar, that, according to the dim light
of history, they had been mortals like themselves. They
imagined the heathen divinities to be evil spirits — they
transplanted to Italy and to Greece the gloomy demons of
India and the East ; and in Jupiter or in Mars they
shuddered at the representative of Moloch or of Satan.1

Apaecides had not yet adopted formally the Christian
faith, but he was already on the brink of it. He already
participated the doctrines of Olinthus — he already imagined
that the lively imaginations of the heathen were the sug-
gestions of the arch-enemy of mankind. The innocent and
natural answer of lone made him shudder. He hastened
to reply vehemently, and yet so confusedly, that lone feared
for his reason more than she dreaded his violence.

" Ah, my brother ! " said she, " these hard duties of thine
have shattered thy very sense. Come to me, Apaecides, my
brother, my own brother; give me thy hand, let me wipe
the dew from thy brow ; — chide me not now, I understand
thee not ; think only that lone could not offend thee ! "

1 In Pompeii, a rough sketch of Pluto delineates that fearful deity in
the shape we at present ascribe to the devil, and decorates him with the
paraphernalia of horns and a tail. But, in all probability, it was from
the mysterious Pan, the haunter of solitary places, the inspirer of vague
and soul-shaking terrors, that we took the vulgar notion of the outward
likeness of the fiend ; it corresponds exactly to the cloven-footed Satan.
And in the lewd and profligate rites of Pan, Christians might well
imagine they traced the deceptions of the devil.

190 The Last Days of Pompeii

" lone," said Apaecides, drawing her towards him, and
regarding her tenderly, "can I think that this beautiful
form, this kind heart, may be destined to an eternity of
torment ? "

" Dii meliora ! the gods forbid ! " said lone, in the
customary form of words by which her contemporaries
thought an omen might be averted.

The words, and still more the superstition they implied,
wounded the ear of Apaecides. He rose, muttering to
himself, turned from the chamber, then, stopping, half way,
gazed wistfully on lone, and extended his arms.

lone flew to them in joy ; he kissed her earnestly, and
then he said, —

" Farewell, my sister ! when we next meet, thou mayst be
to me as nothing; take thou, then, this embrace— full yet
of all the tender reminiscences of childhood, when faith and
hope, creeds, customs, interests, objects, were the same to
us. Now, the tie is to be broken ! "

With these strange words he left the house.

The great and severest trial of the primitive Christians
was indeed this ; their conversion separated them from their
dearest bonds. They could not associate with beings
whose commonest actions, whose commonest forms of
speech, were impregnated with idolatry. They shuddered
at the blessing of love, to their ears it was uttered in a
demon's name. This, their misfortune, was their strength ;
if it divided them from the rest of the world, it was to unite
them proportionally to each other. They were men of iron
who wrought forth the Word of God, and verily the bonds
that bound them were of iron also !

Glaucus found lone in tears ; he had already assumed the
sweet privilege to console. He drew from her a recital of
her interview with her brother ; but in her confused account
of language, itself so confused to one not prepared for it, he
was equally at a loss with lone to conceive the intentions or
the meaning of Apaecides.

" Hast thou ever heard much," asked she, " of this new
sect of the Nazarenes, of which my brother spoke ? "

"I have often heard enough of the votaries," returned
Glaucus, " but of their exact tenets know I naught, save that
in their doctrine there seemeth something preternaturally
chilling and morose. They live apart from their kind ; they
affect to be shocked even at our simple uses of garlands ;

A Notion of Christianity 191

they have no sympathies with the cheerful amusements of life ;
they utter awful threats of the coming destruction of the world;
they appear, in one word, to have brought their unsmiling
and gloomy creed out of the cave of Trophonius. Yet," con-
tinued Glaucus, after a slight pause, " they have not wanted
men of great power and genius, nor converts, even among
the Areopagites of Athens. Well do I remember to have
heard my father speak of one strange guest at Athens, many
years ago ; methinks his name was Paul. My father was
amongst a mighty crowd that gathered on one of our
immemorial hills to hear this sage of the East expound :
through the wide throng there rang not a single murmur ! —
the jest and the roar, with which our native orators are
received, were hushed for him ; — and when on the loftiest
summit of that hill, raised above the breathless crowd below,
stood this mysterious visitor, his mien and his countenance
awed every heart, even before a sound left his lips. He
was a man, I have heard my father say, of no tall stature,
but of noble and impressive mien ; his robes were dark and
ample ; the declining sun, for it was evening, shone aslant
upon his form as it rose aloft, motionless, and commanding ;
his countenance was much worn and marked, as of one who
had braved alike misfortune and the sternest vicissitude of
many climes; but his eyes were bright with an almost
unearthly fire ; and when he raised his arm to speak, it was
with the majesty of a man into whom the Spirit of a God
hath rushed !

" ' Men of Athens !' he is reported to have said, ' I find
amongst ye an altar with this inscription — To the
unknown God. Ye worship in ignorance the same Deity
I serve. To you unknown till now, to you be it now
revealed.'

" Then declared that solemn man how this great Maker
of all things, who had appointed unto man his several tribes
and his various homes — the Lord of earth and the universal
heaven, dwelt not in temples made with hands ; that His
presence, His spirit, were in the air we breathed : — our life
and our being were with Him. ' Think you,' he cried,
1 that the Invisible is like your statues of gold and marble ?
Think you that He needeth sacrifice from you : He who
made heaven and earth?' Then spake he of fearful and
coming times, of the end of the world, of a second rising of
the dead, whereof an assurance had been given to man in

192 The Last Days of Pompeii

the resurrection of the mighty Being whose religion he came
to preach.

H When he thus spoke, the long-pent murmur went forth,
and the philosophers that were mingled with the people,
muttered their sage contempt ; there might you have seen
the chilling frown of the Stoic, and the Cynic's sneer ; x —
and the Epicurean, who believeth not even in our own
Elysium, muttered a pleasant jest, and swept laughing
through the crowd : but the deep heart of the people was
touched and thrilled ; and they trembled, though they knew
not why, for verily the stranger had the voice and majesty
of a man to whom ' The Unknown God ' had committed the
preaching of His faith."

lone listened with wrapt attention, and the serious and
earnest manner of the narrator betrayed the impression that
he himself had received from one who had been amongst
the audience that on the hill of the heathen Mars had heard
the first tidings of the word of Christ !

CHAPTER VI

THE PORTER — THE GIRL — AND THE GLADIATOR

The door of Diomed's house stood open, and Medon,
the old slave, sat at the bottom of the steps by which you
ascended to the mansion. That luxurious mansion of the
rich merchant of Pompeii is still to be seen just without the
gates of the city, at the commencement of the Street of
Tombs ; it was a gay neighbourhood, despite the dead. On
the opposite side, but at some yards nearer the gate, was a
spacious hostelry, at which those brought by business or by
pleasure to Pompeii often stopped to refresh themselves.
In the space before the entrance of the inn now stood
wagons, and carts, and chariots, some just arrived, some just
quitting, in all the bustle of an animated and popular resort
of public entertainment. Before the door, some farmers,

1 " The haughty Cynic scowl'd his grovelling hate,
And the soft Garden's rose-encircled child
Smil'd unbelief, and shudder'd as he smil'd."

Praed: Prize Poem, "Athens."

The Porter 193

seated on a bench by a small circular table, were talking
over their morning cups, on the affairs of their calling. On
the side of the door itself was painted gaily and freshly the
eternal sign of the chequers.1 By the roof of the inn
stretched a terrace, on which some females, wives of the
farmers above mentioned, were, some seated, some leaning
over the railing, and conversing with their friends below.
In a deep recess, at a little distance, was a covered seat, in
which some two or three poorer travellers were resting them-
selves, and shaking the dust from their garments. On the
other side stretched a wide space, originally the burial-
ground of a more ancient race than the present denizens of
Pompeii, and now converted into the Ustrinum, or place for
the burning of the dead. Above this rose the terraces of a
gay villa, half hid by trees. The tombs themselves, with
their graceful and varied shapes, the flowers and the foliage
that surrounded them, made no melancholy feature in the
prospect. Hard by the gate of the city, in a small niche,
stood the still form of the well-disciplined Roman sentry,
the sun shining brightly on his polished crest, and the lance
on which he leaned. The gate itself was divided into three
arches, the centre one for vehicles, the others for the foot-
passengers ; and on either side rose the massive walls which
girt the city, composed, patched, repaired at a thousand
different epochs, according as war, time, or the earthquake
had shattered that vain protection. At frequent intervals
rose square towers, whose summits broke in picturesque
rudeness the regular line of the wall, and contrasted well
with the modern buildings gleaming whitely by.

The curving road, which in that direction leads from
Pompeii to Herculaneum, wound out of sight amidst
hanging vines, above which frowned the sullen majesty of
Vesuvius.

" Hast thou heard the news, old Medon ? " said a young
woman, with a pitcher in her hand, as she paused by
Diomed's door to gossip a moment with the slave, ere she
repaired to the neighbouring inn to fill the vessel, and
coquet with the travellers.

" The news ! what news ? " said the slave, raising his eyes
moodily from the ground.

"Why, there passed through the gate this morning, no doubt
ere thou wert well awake, such a visitor to Pompeii ! *
1 There is another inn within the walls similarly adorned.

G

194 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Ay," said the slave, indifferently.

" Yes, a present from the noble Pomponianus."

" A present ! I thought thou saidst a visitor ? "

"It is both visitor and present. Know, O dull and
stupid ! that it is a most beautiful young tiger, for our
approaching games in the amphitheatre. Hear you that,
Medon ? Oh, what pleasure ! I declare I shall not sleep a
wink till I see it ; they say it has such a roar ! "

" Poor fool ! " said Medon, sadly and cynically.

" Fool me no fool, old churl ! It is a pretty thing, a
tiger, especially if we could but find somebody for him to
eat. We have now a lion and a tiger ; only consider that,
Medon! and for want of two good criminals perhaps we
shall be forced to see them eat each other. By-the-by, your
son is a gladiator, a handsome man and a strong, can you
not persuade him to fight the tiger ? Do now, you would
oblige me mightily ; nay, you would be a benefactor to the
whole town."

" Vah ! vah ! " said the slave, with great asperity ; " think
of thine own danger ere thou thus pratest of my poor boy's
death."

" My own danger ! " said the girl, frightened and looking
hastily around — " Avert the omen ! let thy words fall on
thine own head ! " And the girl, as she spoke, touched a
talisman suspended round her neck. " ' Thine own danger ! '
what danger threatens me ? "

" Had the earthquake but a few nights since no
warning ? " said Medon. " Has it not a voice ? Did it
not say to us all, ' Prepare for death ; the end of all things
is at hand ? ' "

"Bah, stuff!" said the young woman, settling the folds
of her tunic. " Now thou talkest as they say the Nazarenes
talked — methinks thou art one of them. Well, I can prate
with thee, grey croaker, no more : thou growest worse and
worse — Vale ! O Hercules, send us a man for the lion —
and another for the tiger !

u Ho ! ho ! for the merry, merry show,
With a forest of faces in every row !
Lo, the swordsmen, bold as the son of Alcmena,
Sweep, side by side, o'er the hushed arena ;
Talk while you may — you will hold your breath
When they meet in the grasp of the glowing death.
Tramp, tramp, how gaily they go !
Ho ! ho ! for the merry, merry show !"

The Gladiator 195

Chanting in a silver and clear voice this feminine ditty,
and holding up her tunic from the dusty road, the young
woman stepped lightly across to the crowded hostelry.

■ My poor son ! " said the slave, half aloud, " is it for
things like this thou art to be butchered ? Oh ! faith of
Christ, I could worship thee in all sincerity, were it but for
the horror which thou inspirest for these bloody lists."

The old man's head sank dejectedly on his breast. He
remained silent and absorbed, but every now and then with
the corner of his sleeve he wiped his eyes. His heart was
with his son ; he did not see the figure that now approached
from the gate with a quick step, and a somewhat fierce and
reckless gait and carriage. He did not lift his eyes till the
figure paused opposite the place where he sat, and with a
soft voice addressed him by the name of —

" Father ! "

" My boy ! my Lydon ! is it indeed thou ? " said the old
man, joyfully. " Ah, thou wert present to my thoughts."

" I am glad to hear it, my father," said the gladiator,
respectfully touching the knees and beard of the slave ;
"and soon may I be always present with thee, not in
thought only."

" Yes, my son — but not in this world," replied the slave,
mournfully.

" Talk not thus, O my sire ! look cheerfully, for I feel so
— I am sure that I shall win the day ; and then, the gold I
gain buys thy freedom. Oh ! my father, it was but a few
days since that I was taunted, by one, too, whom I would
gladly have undeceived, for he is more generous than the
rest of his equals. He is not Roman — he is of Athens — by
him I was taunted with the lust of gain — when I demanded
what sum was the prize of victory. Alas ! he little knew
the soul of Lydon ! "

" My boy ! my boy ! " said the old slave, as, slowly
ascending the steps, he conducted his son to his own little
chamber, communicating with the entrance hall (which in
this villa was the peristyle, not the atrium) : — you may see
it now ; it is the third door to the right on entering. (The
first door conducts to the staircase; the second is but a
false recess, in which there stood a statue of bronze.)
"Generous, affectionate, pious as are thy motives," said
Medon, when they were thus secured from observation,
"thy deed itself is guilt : thou art to risk thy blood for thy

196 The Last Days of Pompeii

father's freedom — that might be forgiven ; but the prize of
victory is the blood of another. Oh, that is a deadly sin ;
no object can purify it. Forbear! forbear! rather would
I be a slave for ever than purchase liberty on such
terms ! "

"Hush, my father!" replied Lydon, somewhat im-
patiently ; " thou hast picked up in this new creed of thine,
of which I pray thee not to speak to me, for the gods that
gave me strength denied me wisdom, and I understand not
one word of what thou often preachest to me, — thou hast
picked up, I say, in this new creed, some singular fantasies
of right and wrong. Pardon me if I offend thee : but
reflect ! Against whom shall I contend ? Oh ! couldst
thou know those wretches with whom, for thy sake, I
assort, thou wouldst think I purified earth by removing one
of them. Beasts, whose very lips drop blood ; things, all
savage, unprincipled in their very courage : ferocious, heart-
less, senseless ; no tie of life can bind them : they know
not fear, it is true — but neither know they gratitude, nor
charity, nor love ; they are made but for their own career,
to slaughter without pity, to die without dread ! Can thy
gods, whosoever they be, look with wrath on a conflict with
such as these, and in such a cause? Oh, my father,
wherever the powers above gaze down on earth, they be-
hold no duty so sacred, so sanctifying, as the sacrifice
offered to an aged parent by the piety of a grateful
son ! "

The poor old slave, himself deprived of the lights of
knowledge, and only late a convert to the Christian faith,
knew not with what arguments to enlighten an ignorance at
once so dark, and yet so beautiful in its error. His first
impulse was to throw himself on his son's breast — his next
to start away — to wring his hands ; and in the attempt to
reprove, his broken voice lost itself in weeping.

"And if," resumed Lydon, — "if thy Deity (methinks
thou wilt own but one?) be indeed that benevolent and
pitying Power which thou assertest Him to be, He will
know also that thy very faith in Him first confirmed me in
that determination thou blamest."

"How ! what mean you ? " said the slave.

" Why, thou knowest that I, sold in my childhood as a
slave, was set free at Rome by the will of my master, whom
I had been fortunate enough to please. I hastened to

The Gladiator 197

Pompeii to see thee — I found thee already aged and infirm,
under the yoke of a capricious and pampered lord — thou
hadst lately adopted this new faith, and its adoption made
thy slavery doubly painful to thee; it took away all the
softening charm of custom, which reconciles us so often to
the worst. Didst thou not complain to me that thou wert
compelled to offices that were not odious to thee as a slave,
but guilty as a Nazarene ? Didst thou not tell me that thy
soul shook with remorse when thou wert compelled to place
even a crumb of cake before the Lares that watch over yon
impluvium ? that thy soul was torn by a perpetual struggle ?
Didst thou not tell me that even by pouring wine before the
threshold, and calling on the name of some Grecian deity,
thou didst fear thou wert incurring penalties worse than
those of Tantalus, an eternity of tortures more terrible than
those of the Tartarian fields ? Didst thou not tell me this ?
I wondered, I could not comprehend ; nor, by Hercules !
can I now : but I was thy son, and my sole task was to
compassionate and relieve. Could 1 hear thy groans, could
I witness thy mysterious horrors, thy constant anguish, and
remain inactive ? No ! by the immortal gods ! the thought
struck me like light from Olympus ! I had no money, but
I had strength and youth — these were thy gifts — I could
sell these in my turn for thee ! I learned the amount of
thy ransom — I learned that the usual prize of a victorious
gladiator would doubly pay it. I became a gladiator — I
linked myself with those accursed men, scorning, loathing,
while I joined — I acquired their skill — blessed be the
lesson ! — it shall teach me to free my father ! "

" Oh, that thou couldst hear Olinthus ! " sighed the old
man, more and more affected by the virtue of his son,
but not less strongly convinced of the criminality of his
purpose.

" I will hear the whole world talk if thou wilt," answered
the gladiator, gaily ; " but not till thou art a slave no more.
Beneath thy own roof, my father, thou shalt puzzle this dull
brain all day long, ay, and all night too, if it give thee
pleasure. Oh, such a spot as I have chalked out for thee !
— it is one of the nine hundred and ninety-nine shops of old
Julia Felix, in the sunny part of the city, where thou mayst
bask before the door in the day — and I will sell the oil and
the wine for thee, my father — and then, please Venus (or if
it does not please her, since thou lovest not her name, it is

198 The Last Days of Pompeii

all one to Lydon ;) — then, I say, perhaps thou mayst have a
daughter, too, to tend thy grey hairs, and hear shrill voices
at thy knee, that shall call thee * Lydon's father ! ' Ah ! we
shall be so happy — the prize can purchase all. Cheer thee !
cheer up, my sire ! — And now I must away — day wears —
the lanista waits me. Come ! thy blessing ! "

As Lydon thus spoke, he had already quitted the dark
chamber of his father ; and speaking eagerly, though in a
whispered tone, they now stood at the same place in which
we introduced the porter at his post.

" O bless thee ! bless thee, my brave boy ! " said Medon,
fervently ; " and may the great Power that reads all hearts
see the nobleness of thine, and forgive its error ! "

The tall shape of the gladiator passed swiftly down the
path ; the eyes of the slave followed its light but stately
steps, till the last glimpse was gone ; and then, sinking once
more on his seat, his eyes again fastened themselves on the
ground. His form, mute and unmoving, as a thing of
stone. His heart ! — who, in our happier age, can even
imagine its struggles — its commotion?

" May I enter ? " said a sweet voice. " Is thy mistress
Julia within ? "

The slave mechanically motioned to the visitor to enter,
but she who addressed him could not see the gesture — she
repeated her question timidly, but in a louder voice.

" Have I not told thee ! " said the slave, peevishly :
"enter."

"Thanks," said the speaker, plaintively; and the slave,
roused by the tone, looked up, and recognised the blind
flower-girl. Sorrow can sympathise with affliction — he
raised himself, and guided her steps to the head of the
adjacent staircase (by which you descended to Julia's apart-
ment), where, summoning a female slave, he consigned to
her the charge of the blind girl.

CHAPTER VII

THE DRESSING-ROOM OF A POMPEIAN BEAUTY — IMPORTANT
CONVERSATION BETWEEN JULIA AND NYDIA

The elegant Julia sat in her chamber, with her slaves
around her; — like the cubiculum which adjoined it, the

The Dressing- Room of a Beauty 199

room was small, but much larger than the usual apartments
appropriated to sleep, which were so diminutive, that few
who have not seen the bed-chambers, even in the gayest
mansions, can form any notion of the petty pigeon-holes
in which the citizens of Pompeii evidently thought it desir-
able to pass the night. But, in fact, "bed" with the
ancients was not that grave, serious, and important part of
domestic mysteries which it is with us. The couch itself
was more like a very narrow and small sofa, light enough to
be transported easily, and by the occupant himself,1 from
place to place ; and it was, no doubt, constantly shifted
from chamber to chamber, according to the caprices of
the inmate, or the changes of the season ; for that side
of the house which was crowded in one month, might,
perhaps, be carefully avoided in the next. There was also
among the Italians of that period a singular and fastidious
apprehension of too much daylight ; their darkened cham-
bers, which first appear to us the result of a negligent
architecture, were the effect of the most elaborate study. In
their porticos and gardens they courted the sun whenever
it so pleased their luxurious tastes. In the interior of their
houses they sought rather the coolness and the shade.

Julia's apartment at that season was in the lower part of
the house, immediately beneath the state rooms above, and
looking upon the garden, with which it was on a level. The
wide door, which was glazed, alone admitted the morn-
ing rays: yet her eye, accustomed to a certain darkness,
was sufficiently acute to perceive exactly what colours were
the most becoming — what shade of the delicate rouge
gave the brightest beam to her dark glance, and the most
youthful freshness to her cheek.

On the table, before which she sat, was a small and
circular mirror of the most polished steel : round which, in
precise order, were ranged the cosmetics and the unguents —
the perfumes and the paints — the jewels and the combs —
the ribands and the gold pins, which were destined to add
to the natural attractions of beauty the assistance of art and
the capricious allurements of fashion. Through the dim-
ness of the room glowed brightly the vivid and various
colourings of the wall, in all the dazzling frescos of Pompeian
taste. Before the dressing-table, and under the feet of Julia,

1 "Take up thy bed and walk" was (as Sir W. Gell somewhere
observes) no metaphorical expression.

200 The Last Days of Pompeii

was spread a carpet, woven from the looms of the East.
Near at hand, on another table, was a silver basin and ewer ;
an extinguished lamp, of most exquisite workmanship, in
which the artist had represented a Cupid reposing under
the spreading branches of a myrtle-tree ; and a small roll of
papyrus, containing the softest elegies of Tibullus. Before
the door, which communicated with the cubiculum, hung a
curtain richly broidered with gold flowers. Such was the
dressing-room of a beauty eighteen centuries ago.

The fair Julia leaned indolently back on her seat, while
the ornatrix {i.e. hairdresser) slowly piled, one above the
other, a mass of small curls, dexterously weaving the false
with the true, and carrying the whole fabric to a height that
seemed to place the head rather at the centre than the summit
of the human form.

Her tunic, of a deep amber, which well set off her dark
hair and somewhat embrowned complexion, swept in ample
folds to her feet, which were cased in slippers, fastened
round the slender ankle by white thongs ; while a profusion
of pearls were embroidered in the slipper itself, which was
of purple, and turned slightly upward, as do the Turkish
slippers at this day. An old slave, skilled by long ex-
perience in all the arcana of the toilet, stood beside the
hairdresser, with the broad and studded girdle of her mis-
tress over her arm, and giving, from time to time (mingled
with judicious flattery to the lady herself), instructions to
the mason of the ascending pile.

"Put that pin rather more to the right — lower — stupid
one ! Do you not observe how even those beautiful eye-
brows are ? — One would think you were dressing Corinna,
whose face is all of one side. Now put in the flowers —
what, fool ! — not that dull pink — you are not suiting colours
to the dim cheek of Chloris : it must be the brightest
flowers that can alone suit the cheek of the young Julia."

" Gently ! " said the lady, stamping her small foot
violently : " you pull my hair as if you were plucking up
a weed ! "

" Dull thing ! " continued the directress of the ceremony.
" Do you not know how delicate is your mistress ?-^you
are not dressing the coarse horsehair of the widow Fulvia.
Now, then, the riband — that's right. Fair Julia, look in the
mirror ; saw you ever anything so lovely as yourself? "

When, after innumerable comments, difficulties, and

The Dressing- Room of a Beauty 201

delays, the intricate tower was at length completed, the next
preparation was that of giving to the eyes the soft languish,
produced by a dark powder applied to the lids and brows ;
a small patch cut in the form of a crescent, skilfully placed
by the rosy lips, attracted attention to their dimples, and to
the teeth, to which already every art had been applied in
order to heighten the dazzle of their natural whiteness.
I To another slave, hitherto idle, was now consigned the
charge of arranging the jewels — the ear-rings of pearl (two
to each ear) — the massive bracelets of gold — the chain
formed of rings of the same metal, to which a talisman cut
in crystals was attached — the graceful buckle on the left
shoulder, in which was set an exquisite cameo of Psyche —
the girdle of purple riband, richly wrought with threads of
gold, and clasped by interlacing serpents — and lastly, the
various rings, fitted to every joint of the white and slender
fingers. The toilet was now arranged according to the last
mode of Rome. The fair Julia regarded herself with a last
gaze of complacent vanity, and reclining again upon her
seat, she bade the youngest of her slaves, in a listless tone,
read to her the enamoured couplets of Tibullus. This
lecture was still proceeding, when a female slave admitted
Nydia into the presence of the lady of the place.

" Salve, Julia ! " said the flower-girl, arresting her steps
within a few paces t from the spot where Julia sat, and
crossing her arms upon her breast. " I have obeyed your
commands."

" You have done well, flower-girl," answered the lady.
"Approach — you may take a seat."

One of the slaves placed a stool by Julia, and Nydia
seated herself.

Julia looked hard at the Thessalian for some moments in
rather an embarrassed silence. She then motioned her
attendants to withdraw, and to close the door. When they
were alone, she said, looking mechanically from Nydia, and
forgetful that she was with one who could not observe her
countenance, —

" You serve the Neapolitan, lone ? "

" I am with her at present," answered Nydia.

" Is she as handsome as they say ? "

" I know not," replied Nydia. " How can / judge ? "

" Ah ! I should have remembered. But thou hast ears,
if not eyes. Do thy fellow-slaves tell thee she is handsome ?

202 The Last Days of Pompeii

Slaves talking with one another forget to flatter even their
mistress."

" They tell me that she is beautiful."

"Hem !— say they that she is tall ? "

"Yes."

"Why, so am I.— Dark haired ? "

" I have heard so."

" So am I. And doth Glaucus visit her much ? "

" Daily," returned Nydia, with a half-suppressed sign.

" Daily, indeed ! Does he find her handsome ? "

" I should think so, since they are so soon to be wedded."

" Wedded ! " cried Julia, turning pale even through the
false roses on her cheek, and starting from her couch.
Nydia did not, of course, perceive the emotion she had
caused. Julia remained a long time silent ; but her heaving
breast and flashing eyes would have betrayed, to one who
could have seen, the wound her vanity had sustained.

" They tell me thou art a Thessalian," said she, at last
breaking silence.

"And truly!"

"Thessaly is the land of magic and of witches, of
talismans and of love-philtres," said Julia.

" It has ever been celebrated for its sorcerers," returned
Nydia, timidly.

" Knowest thou, then, blind Thessalian, of any love-
charms ? "

" I ! " said the flower-girl, colouring ; " 77 how should I ?
No, assuredly not ! "

" The worse for thee ; I could have given thee gold
enough to have purchased thy freedom hadst thou been
more wise."

" But what," asked Nydia, " can induce the beautiful and
wealthy Julia to ask that question of her servant ? Has she
not money, and youth, and loveliness ? Are they not love-
charms enough to dispense with magic ? "

" To all but one person in the world," answered Julia,
haughtily : " but methinks thy blindness is infectious \
and But no matter."

' And that one person ? " said Nydia, eagerly.

" Is not Glaucus,''* replied Julia, with the customary deceit
of her sex. " Glaucus — no ! "

Nydia drew her breath more freely, and after a short
pause Julia recommenced.

Julia and Nydia 203

" But talking of Glaucus, and his attachment to this
Neapolitan, reminded me of the influence of love-spells,
which, for ought I know or care, she may have exercised
upon him. Blind girl, I love, and — shall Julia live to say
it ? — am loved not in return ! This humbles — nay, not
humbles — but it stings my pride. I would see this ingrate
at my feet — not in order that I might raise, but that I might
spurn him. When they told me thou wert Thessalian,
I imagined thy young mind might have learned the dark
secrets of thy clime."

" Alas ! no," murmured Nydia : " would it had ! "

"Thanks, at least, for that kindly wish," said Julia,
unconscious of what was passing in the breast of the
flower-girl.

"But tell me, — thou hearest the gossip of slaves,
always prone to these dim beliefs ; always ready to apply to
sorcery for their own low loves, — hast thou ever heard of
any Eastern magician in this city, who possesses the art of
which thou art ignorant ? No vain chiromancer, no juggler
of the market-place, but some more potent and mighty
magician of India or of Egypt ? "

" Of Egypt ? — yes ! " said Nydia, shuddering. " What
Pompeian has not heard of Arbaces ? "

" Arbaces ! true," replied Julia, grasping at the recollec-
tion. " They say he is a man above all the petty and false
impostures of dull pretenders, — that he is versed in the
learning of the stars, and the secrets of the ancient Nox j
why not in the mysteries of love?"

" If there be one magician living whose art is above that
of others, it is that dread man," answered Nydia j and she
felt her talisman while she spoke.

"He is too wealthy to divine for money?" continued
Julia, sneeringly. " Can I not visit him ? "

" It is an evil mansion for the young and the beautiful,"
replied Nydia. " I have heard, too, that he languishes
in "

" An evil mansion ! " said Julia, catching only the first
sentence. " Why so ? "

"The orgies of his midnight leisure are impure and
polluted — at least, so says rumour."

" By Ceres, by Pan, and by Cybele ! thou dost but
provoke my curiosity, instead of exciting my fears," returned
the wayward and pampered Pompeian. " I will seek and

204 The Last Days of Pompeii

question him of his lore. If to these orgies love be
admitted — why the more likely that he knows its secrets ! "

Nydia did not answer.

" I will seek him this very day," resumed Julia ; " nay
why not this very hour ? 1

" At daylight, and in his present state, thou hast assuredly
the less to fear," answered Nydia, yielding to her own
sudden and secret wish to learn if the dark Egyptian were
indeed possessed of those spells to rivet and attract love, of
which the Thessalian had so often heard.

" And who dare insult the rich daughter of Diomed ? "
said Julia, haughtily. " I will go."

" May I visit thee afterwards to learn the result ? " asked
Nydia, anxiously.

" Kiss me for thy interest in Julia's honour," answered
the lady. "Yes, assuredly. This eve we sup abroad —
come hither at the same hour to-morrow, and thou shalt
know all : I may have to employ thee too ; but enough for
the present. Stay, take this bracelet for the new thought
thou hast inspired me with ; remember, if thou servest
Julia, she is grateful and she is generous."

" I cannot take thy present," said Nydia, putting aside
the bracelet ; " but young as I am, I can sympathise un-
bought with those who love — and love in vain."

" Sayest thou so ! " returned Julia. " Thou speakest like
a free woman — and thou shalt yet be free — farewell ! "

CHAPTER VIII

JULIA SEEKS ARBACES — THE RESULT OF THAT INTERVIEW

Arbaces was seated in a chamber which opened on a
kind of balcony or portico that fronted his garden. His
cheek was pale and worn with the sufferings he had endured,
but his iron frame had already recovered from the severest
effects of that accident which had frustrated his fell designs
in the moment of victory. The air that came fragrantly to
his brow revived his languid senses, and the blood circulated
more freely than it had done for days through his shrunken
veins.

"So, then," thought he, "the storm of fate has broken

Julia Seeks Arbaces 205

and blown over, — the evil which my lore predicted, threaten-
ing life itself, has chanced — and yet I live ! It came as the
stars foretold ; and now the long, bright, and prosperous
career which was to succeed that evil, if I survived it, smiles
beyond : I have passed — I have subdued the latest danger
of my destiny. Now I have but to lay out the gardens of
my future fate — unterrified and secure. First, then, of all
my pleasures, even before that of love, shall come revenge !
This boy Greek — who has crossed my passion — thwarted
my designs — baffled me even when the blade was about to
drink his accursed blood — shall not a second time escape
me ! But for the method of my vengeance ? Of that let
me ponder well ! Oh ! Ate, if thou art indeed a goddess,
fill me with thy direst inspiration ! " The Egyptian sank
into an intent reverie, which did not seem to present to him
any clear or satisfactory suggestions. He changed his
position restlessly, as he revolved scheme after scheme,
which no sooner occurred than it was dismissed : several
times he struck his breast and groaned aloud, with the
desire of vengeance, and a sense of his impotence to ac-
complish it. While thus absorbed, a boy slave timidly
entered the chamber.

A female, evidently of rank from her dress, and that of
the single slave who attended her, waited below and sought
an audience with Arbaces.

" A female ! " his heart beat quick. " Is she young ? "

"Her face is concealed by her veil; but her form is
slight, yet round, as that of youth."

"Admit her," said the Egyptian: for a moment his vain
heart dreamed the stranger might be lone.

The first glance of the visitor now entering the apartment
sufficed to undeceive so erring a fancy. True, she was about
the same height as lone, and perhaps the same age — true,
she was finely and richly formed — but where was that un-
dulating and ineffable grace which accompanied every
motion of the peerless Neapolitan — the chaste and decor-
ous garb, so simple even in the care of its arrangement —
the dignified yet bashful step — the majesty of womanhood
and its modesty ?

" Pardon me that I rise with pain," said Arbaces, gazing
on the stranger : " I am still suffering from recent illness."

" Do not disturb thyself, O great Egyptian ! " returned
Julia, seeking to disguise the fear she already experienced

206 The Last Days of Pompeii

beneath the ready resort of flattery ; " and forgive an un-
fortunate female, who seeks consolation from thy wisdom."

"Draw near, fair stranger," said Arbaces; "and speak
without apprehension or reserve."

Julia placed herself on a seat beside the Egyptian, and
wonderingly gazed around an apartment whose elaborate
and costly luxuries shamed even the ornate enrichment
of her father's mansion ; fearfully, too, she regarded the
hieroglyphical inscriptions on the walls — the faces of the
mysterious images, which at every corner gazed upon her —
the tripod at a little distance — and, above all, the grave and
remarkable countenance of Arbaces himself : a long white
robe like a veil half covered his raven locks, and flowed to
his feet : his face was made even more impressive by its
present paleness ; and his dark and penetrating eyes seemed
to pierce the shelter of her veil, and explore the secrets of
her vain and unfeminine soul.

" And what," said his low, deep voice, " brings thee, O
maiden! to the house of the Eastern stranger?"

" His fame," replied Julia.

" In what ? " said he, with a strange and slight smile.

" Canst thou ask, O wise Arbaces ? Is not thy knowledge
the very gossip theme of Pompeii ? "

"Some little lore have I, indeed, treasured up," replied
Arbaces : "but in what can such serious and sterile secrets
benefit the ear of beauty ? "

" Alas ! " said Julia, a little cheered by the accustomed
accents of adulation ; " does not sorrow fly to wisdom for
relief, and they who love unrequitedly, are not they the
chosen victims of grief?"

" Ha ! " said Arbaces, " can unrequited love be the lot of
so fair a form, whose modelled proportions are visible even
beneath the folds of thy graceful robe ? Deign, O maiden !
to lift thy veil, that I may see at least if the face correspond
in loveliness with the form."

Not unwilling, perhaps, to exhibit her charms, and think-
ing they were likely to interest the magician in her fate,
Julia, after some slight hesitation, raised her veil, and
revealed a beauty which, but for art, had been indeed
attractive to the fixed gaze of the Egyptian.

" Thou comest to me for advice in unhappy love," said
he ; " well, turn that face on the ungrateful ODe : what other
love-charm can I give thee ? "

Julia Seeks Arbaces 207

" Oh, cease these courtesies 1 " said Julia ; " it is a love-
charm, indeed, that I would ask from thy skill ! "

" Fair stranger ! " replied Arbaces, somewhat scornfully,
" love-spells are not among the secrets I have wasted the
midnight oil to attain."

" Is it indeed so ? Then pardon me, great Arbaces, and
farewell!"

" Stay," said Arbaces, who, despite his passion for lone,
was not unmoved by the beauty of his visitor ; and had he
been in the flush of a more assured health, might have
attempted to console the fair Julia by other means than
those of supernatural wisdom, —

" Stay ; although I confess that I have left the witchery
of philtres and potions to those whose trade is in such
knowledge, yet am I myself not so dull to beauty but that
in earlier youth I may have employed them in my own
behalf. I may give thee advice, at least, if thou wilt be
candid with me. Tell me then, first, art thou unmarried,
as thy dress betokens ? "

"Yes," said Julia.

"And, being unblest with fortune, wouldst thou allure some
wealthy suitor ? "

" I am richer than he who disdains me."

" Strange and more strange ! And thou lovest him who
loves not thee ? "

" I know not if I love him," answered Julia, haughtily ;
" but I know that I would see myself triumph over a rival —
I would see him who rejected me my suitor — I would see
her whom he has preferred, in her turn despised."

" A natural ambition and a womanly," said the Egyptian,
in a tone too grave for irony. " Yet more, fair maiden ;
wilt thou confide to me the name of thy lover ? Can
he be Pompeian, and despise wealth, even if blind to
beauty ? "

" He is of Athens," answered Julia, looking down.

" Ha ! " cried the Egyptian, impetuously, as the blood
rushed to his cheek ; •• there is but one Athenian, young
and noble, in Pompeii. Can it be Glaucus of whom thou
speakest ! "

" Ah ! betray me not — so indeed they call him."

The Egyptian sank back, gazing vacantly on the averted
face of the merchant's daughter, and muttering inly to him-
self : this conference, with which he had hitherto only

208 The Last Days of Pompeii

trifled, amusing himself with the credulity and vanity of his,
visitor — might it not minister to his revenge ?

" I see thou canst assist me not," said Julia, offended by
his continued silence; "guard at least my secret. Once
more, farewell ! "

" Maiden," said the Egyptian, in an earnest and serious
tone, "thy suit hath touched me — I will minister to thy will.
Listen to me ; I have not myself dabbled in these lesser
mysteries, but I know one who hath. At the base of
Vesuvius, less than a league from the city, there dwells a
powerful witch; beneath the rank dews of the new moon,
she has gathered the herbs which possess the virtue to chain
Love in eternal fetters. Her art can bring thy lover to thy
feet. Seek her, and mention to her the name of Arbaces : she
fears that name, and will give thee her most potent philtres."

" Alas ! " answered Julia, " I know not the road to the
home of her whom thou speakest of : the way, short though
it be, is long to traverse for a girl who leaves, unknown, the
house of her father. The country is entangled with wild
vines, and dangerous with precipitous caverns. I dare not
trust to mere strangers to guide me ; the reputation of
women of my rank is easily tarnished — and though I care
not who knows that I love Glaucus, I would not have it
imagined that I obtained his love by a spell."

" Were I but three days advanced in health," said the
Egyptian, rising and walking (as if to try his strength) across
the chamber, but with irregular and feeble steps, " I myself
would accompany thee. — Well, thou must wait."

" But Glaucus is soon to wed that hated Neapolitan."

" Wed ! "

"Yes ; in the early part of next month."

" So soon ! Art thou well advised of this ? "

" From the lips of her own slave."

" It shall not be ! " said the Egyptian, impetuously. " Fear
nothing, Glaucus shall be thine. Yet how, when thou
obtainest it, canst thou administer to him this potion ? "

" My father has invited him, and, I believe, the Neapolitan
also, to a banquet, on the day following to-morrow : I shall
then have the opportunity to administer it."

"So be it!" said the Egyptian, with eyes flashing such
fierce joy, that Julia's gaze sank trembling beneath them.
" To-morrow eve, then, order thy litter : — thou hast one at
thy command ? "

The Result of that Interview 209

"Surely — yes," returned the purse-proud Julia.

" Order thy litter — at two miles' distance from the city
is a house of entertainment, frequented by the wealthier
Pompeians, from the excellence of its baths, and the beauty
of its gardens. There canst thou pretend only to shape
thy course — there, ill or dying, I will meet thee by the statue
of Silenus, in the copse that skirts the garden ; and I myself
will guide thee to the witch. Let us wait till, with the even-
ing star, the goats of the herdsmen are gone to rest ; when
the dark twilight conceals us, and none shall cross our steps.
Go home and fear not. By Hades, swears Arbaces, the
sorcerer of Egypt, that lone shall never wed with Glaucus."

" And that Glaucus shall be mine ? " added Julia, filling
up the incompleted sentence.

"Thou hast said it!" replied Arbaces; and Julia, half
frightened at this unhallowed appointment, but urged on by
jealousy and the pique of rivalship, even more than love,
resolved to fulfil it.

Left alone, Arbaces burst forth, —

" Bright stars that never lie, ye already begin the execution
of your promises — success in love, and victory over foes,
for the rest of my smooth existence. In the very hour
when my mind could devise no clue to the goal of venge-
ance, have ye sent this fair fool for my guide ? " He paused
in deep thought. " Yes," said he again, but in a calmer
voice ; " I could not myself have given to her the poison,
that shall be indeed a philtre ! — his death might be thus
tracked to my door. But the witch — ay, there is the fit, the
natural agent of my designs ! "

He summoned one of his slaves, bade him hasten to
track the steps of Julia, and acquaint himself with her
name and condition. This done, he stepped forth into the
portico. The skies were serene and clear ; but he, deeply
read in the signs of their various change, beheld in one
mass of cloud, far on the horizon, which the wind began
slowly to agitate, that a storm was brooding above.

" It is like my vengeance," said he, as he gazed; "the sky
is clear, but the cloud moves on."

2io The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER IX

A STORM IN THE SOUTH — THE WITCH'S CAVERN

It was when the heats of noon died gradually away from
the earth, that Glaucus and lone went forth to enjoy the
cooled and grateful air. At that time, various carriages
were in use among the Romans ; the one most used by the
richer citizens, when they required no companion in their
excursions, was the biga, already described in the early por-
tion of this work; that appropriated to the matrons, was
termed carpentum} which had commonly two wheels ; the
ancients used also a sort of litter, a vast sedan-chair, more
commodiously arranged than the modern, inasmuch as the
occupant thereof could lie down at ease, instead of being
perpendicularly and stiffly jostled up and down.2 There was
another carriage, used both for travelling and for excursions
in the country ; it was commodious, containing three or
four persons with ease, having a covering which could be
raised at pleasure ; and, in short, answering very much the
purpose of (though very different in shape from) the modern
britska. It was a vehicle of this description that the lovers,
accompanied by one female slave of lone, now used in their
excursion. About ten miles from the city, there was at that
day an old ruin, the remains of a temple, evidently Grecian ;
and as for Glaucus and lone everything Grecian possessed
an interest, they had agreed to visit these ruins : it was
thither they were now bound.

Their road lay among vines and olive-groves ; till, winding
more and more towards the higher ground of Vesuvius, the
path grew rugged ; the mules moved slowly, and with
labour j and at every opening in the wood they beheld those
grey and horrent caverns indenting the parched rock, which
Strabo has described ; but which the various revolutions of
time and the volcano have removed from the present aspect
of the mountain. The sun, sloping towards his descent,
cast long and deep shadows over the mountain ; here and
there they still heard the rustic reed of the shepherd

1 For public festivals and games they used one more luxurious and
costly, called pilentum, with four wheels.

3 But they had also the sella, or sedan, in which they sat as we do.

A Storm in the South 211

amongst copses of the beechwood and wild oak. Some-
times they marked the form of the silk-haired and graceful
capella, with its wreathing horn and bright grey eye — which,
still beneath Ausonian skies, recalls the eclogues of Maro,
browsing half-way up the hills ; and the grapes, already
purple with the smiles of the deepening summer, glowed
out from the arched festoons, which hung pendent from tree
to tree. Above them, light clouds floated in the serene
heavens, sweeping so slowly athwart the firmament that they
scarcely seemed to stir ; while, on their right, they caught,
ever and anon, glimpses of the waveless sea, with some light
bark skimming its surface ; and the sunlight breaking over
the deep in those countless and softest hues so peculiar to
that delicious sea.

" How beautiful ! " said Glaucus, in a half-whispered tone,
"is that expression by which we call Earth our Mother!
With what a kindly equal love she pours her blessings upon
her children ! and even to those sterile spots to which
Nature has denied beauty, she yet contrives to dispense her
smiles : witness the arbutus and the vine, which she wreathes
over the arid and burning soil of yon extinct volcano. Ah !
in such an hour and scene as this, well might we imagine
that the laughing face of the Faun should peep forth from
those green festoons ; or, that we might trace the steps of
the Mountain Nymph through the thickest mazes of the
glade. But the Nymphs ceased, beautiful lone, when thou
wert created ! "

There is no tongue that flatters like a lover's ; and yet, in
the exaggeration of his feelings, flattery seems to him
commonplace. Strange and prodigal exuberance, which
soon exhausts itself by overflowing !

They arrived at the ruins ; they examined them with that
fondness with which we trace the hallowed and household
vestiges of our own ancestry — they lingered there till Hes-
perus appeared in the rosy heavens ; and then returning
homeward in the twilight, they were more silent than they
had been ; for in the shadow and beneath the stars they felt
more oppressively their mutual love.

It was at this time that the storm which the Egyptian had
predicted began to creep visibly over them. At first, a low
and distant thunder gave warning of the approaching conflict
of the elements ; and then rapidly rushed above the dark
ranks of the serried clouds. The suddenness of storms in that

212 The Last Days of Pompeii

climate is something almost preternatural, and might well
suggest to early superstition the notion of a divine agency —
a few large drops broke heavily among the boughs that half
overhung their path, and then, swift and intolerably bright,
the forked lightning darted across their very eyes, and was
swallowed up by the increasing darkness.

" Swifter, good Carrucarius ! " cried Glaucus to the driver ;
"the tempest comes on apace."

The slave urged on the mules — they went swift over the
uneven and stony road — the clouds thickened, near and
more near broke the thunder, and fast rushed the dashing
rain.

" Dost thou fear ? " whispered Glaucus, as he sought ex-
cuse in the storm to come nearer to lone.

" Not with thee," said she, softly.

At that instant, the carriage, fragile and ill-contrived (as,
despite their graceful shapes, were, for practical uses, most
of such inventions at that time), struck violently into a deep
rut, over which lay a log of fallen wood ; the driver, with a
curse, stimulated his mules yet faster for the obstacle, the
wheel was torn from the socket, and the carriage suddenly
overset.

Glaucus, quickly extricating himself from the vehicle,
hastened to assist lone, who was fortunately unhurt ; with
some difficulty they raised the carruca (or carriage), and
found that it ceased any longer even to afford them shelter ;
the springs that fastened the covering were snapped asunder,
and the rain poured fast and fiercely into the interior.

In this dilemma, what was to be done ? They were yet
some distance from the city — no house, no aid, seemed near.

"There is," said the slave, "a smith about a mile off; I
could seek him, and he might fasten at least the wheel to the
carruca — but, Jupiter ! how the rain beats ; my mistress will
be wet before I come back."

" Run thither at least," said Glaucus ; " we must find the
best shelter we can till you return."

The lane was overshadowed with trees, beneath the
amplest of which Glaucus drew lone. He endeavoured, by
stripping his own cloak, to shield her yet more from the
rapid rain ; but it descended with a fury that broke through
all puny obstacles : and suddenly, while Glaucus was yet
whispering courage to his beautiful charge, the lightning
struck one of the trees immediately before them, and split

A Storm in the South 213

with a mighty crash its huge trunk in twain. This awful
incident apprised them of the danger they braved in their
present shelter, and Glaucus looked anxiously round for some
less perilous place of refuge. " We are now," said he, " half-
way up the ascent of Vesuvius; there ought to be some
cavern, or hollow in the vine-clad rocks, could we but find it,
in which the deserting Nymphs have left a shelter." While
thus saying he moved from the trees, and, looking wistfully
towards the mountain, discovered through the advancing
gloom a red and tremulous light at no considerable distance.
"That must come," said he, "from the hearth of some
shepherd or vine-dresser — it will guide us to some hospitable
retreat. Wilt thou stay here, while I — yet no — that would
be to leave thee to danger."

" I will go with you cheerfully," said lone. " Open
as the space seems, it is better than the treacherous shelter
of these boughs."

Half leading, half carrying lone, Glaucus, accompanied
by the trembling female slave, advanced towards the light,
which yet burned red and steadfastly. At length the space
was no longer open ; wild vines entangled their steps, and
hid from them, save by imperfect intervals, the guiding
beam. But faster and fiercer came the rain, and the light-
ning assumed its most deadly and blasting form ; they were
still, therefore, impelled onward, hoping, at last, if the light
eluded them, to arrive at some cottage or some friendly
cavern. The vines grew more and more intricate — the light
was entirely snatched from them ; but a narrow path, which
they trod with labour and pain, guided only by the constant
and long-lingering flashes of the storm, continued to lead
them towards its direction. The rain ceased suddenly;
precipitous and rough crags of scorched lava frowned before
them, rendered more fearful by the lightning that illumined
the dark and dangerous soil. Sometimes the blaze lingered
over the iron-grey heaps of scoria, covered in part with
ancient mosses or stunted trees, as if seeking in vain for
some gentler product of earth, more worthy of its ire ; and
sometimes leaving the whole of that part of the scene in
darkness, the lightning, broad and sheeted, hung redly over
the ocean, tossing far below, until its waves seemed glowing
into fire ; and so intense was the blaze, that it brought
vividly into view even the sharp outline of the more distant
windings of the bay, from the eternal Misenum, with its lofty

214 The Last Days of Pompeii

brow, to the beautiful Sorrentum and the giant hills
behind.

Our lovers stopped in perplexity and doubt, when
suddenly, as the darkness that gloomed between the fierce
flashes of lightning once more wrapped them round, they
saw near, but high, before them, the mysterious light.
Another blaze, in which heaven and earth were reddened,
made visible to them the whole expanse ; no house was near,
but just where they had beheld the light, they thought they
saw in the recess of the cavern the outline of a human form.
The darkness once more returned ; the light, no longer
paled beneath the fires of heaven, burned forth again : they
resolved to ascend towards it ; they had to wind their way
among vast fragments of stone, here and there overhung
with wild bushes ; but they gained nearer and nearer to the
light, and at length they stood opposite the mouth of a kind
of cavern, apparently formed by huge splinters of rock that
had fallen transversely athwart each other : and, looking into
the gloom, each drew back involuntarily with a superstitious
fear and chill.

A fire burned in the far recess of the cave ; and over it
was a small cauldron ; on a tall and thin column of iron
stood a rude lamp ; over that part of the wall, at the base of
which burned the fire, hung in many rows, as if to dry, a
profusion of herbs and weeds. A fox, couched before the
fire, gazed upon the strangers with its bright and red eye —
its hair bristling — and a low growl stealing from between its
teeth; in the centre of the cave was an earthen statue,
which had three heads of a singular and fantastic cast : they
were formed by the real skulls of a dog, a horse, and a boar ;
a low tripod stood before this wild representation of the
popular Hecate.

But it was not these appendages and appliances of the
cave that thrilled the blood of those who gazed fearfully
therein — it was the face of its inmate. Before the fire, with
the light shining full upon her features, sat a woman of con-
siderable age. Perhaps in no country are there seen so
many hags as in Italy — in no country does beauty so awfully
change, in age, to hideousness the most appalling and revolt-
ing. But the old woman now before them was not one of
these specimens of the extreme of human ugliness ; on the
contrary, her countenance betrayed the remains of a regular
but high and aquiline order of feature : with stony eyes

The Witch's Cavern 215

turned upon them — with a look that met and fascinated
theirs — they beheld in that fearful countenance the very
image of a corpse ! — the same, the glazed and lustreless
regard, the blue and shrunken lips, the drawn and hollow
jaw — the dead, lank hair, of a pale grey — the livid, green,
ghastly skin, which seemed all surely tinged and tainted by
the grave !

" It is a dead thing," said Glaucus.

" Nay — it stirs — it is a ghost or larva" faltered lone, as
she clung to the Athenian's breast.

"Oh, away, away ! " groaned the slave, "it is the Witch
of Vesuvius ! "

" Who are ye ? " said a hollow and ghostly voice. " And
what do ye here?"

The sound, terrible and deathlike as it was— suiting well
the countenance of the speaker, and seeming rather the
voice of some bodiless wanderer of the Styx than living
mortal, would have made lone shrink back into the pitiless
fury of the storm, but Glaucus, though not without some
misgiving, drew her into the cavern.

" We are storm-beaten wanderers from the neighbouring
city," said he, " and decoyed hither by yon light ; we crave
shelter and the comfort of your hearth."

As he spoke, the fox rose from the ground, and advanced
towards the strangers, showing, from end to end, its white
teeth, and deepening in its menacing growl.

" Down, slave ! " said the witch ; and at the sound of her
voice the beast dropped at once, covering its face with its
brush, and keeping only its quick, vigilant eye fixed upon
the invaders of its repose. " Come to the fire if ye will ! "
said she, turning to Glaucus and his companions. " I never
welcome living thing — save the owl, the fox, the toad, and
the viper — so I cannot welcome ye ; but come to the fire
without welcome — why stand upon form ? "

The language in which the hag addressed them was a strange
and barbarous Latin, interlarded with many words of some
more rude and ancient dialect. She did not stir from her seat,
but gazed stonily upon them as Glaucus now released lone
of her outer wrapping garments, and making her place her-
self on a log of wood, which was the only other seat he per-
ceived at hand — fanned with his breath the embers into a
more glowing flame. The slave, encouraged by the bold-
ness of her superiors, divested herself also of her long

2i6 The Last Days of Pompeii

pallet^ and crept timorously to the opposite corner of the
hearth.

" We disturb you, I fear," said the silver voice of lone, in
conciliation.

The witch did not reply — she seemed like one who has
awakened for a moment from the dead, and has then
relapsed once more into the eternal slumber.

"Tell me," said she, suddenly, and after a long pause,
"are ye brother and sister?"

" No," said lone, blushing.

"Are ye married?"

" Not so," replied Glaucus.

" Ho, lovers ! — ha ! — ha ! — ha ! " and the witch laughed
so loud and so long that the caverns rang again.

The heart of lone stood still at that strange mirth. Glaucus
muttered a rapid counterspell to the omen — and the slave
turned as pale as the cheek of the witch herself.

" Why dost thou laugh, old crone ? " said Glaucus, some-
what sternly, as he concluded his invocation.

" Did I laugh ? " said the hag, absently.

" She is in her dotage," whispered Glaucus : as he said
this, he caught the eye of the hag fixed upon him with a
malignant and vivid glare.

" Thou liest ! " said she, abruptly.

" Thou art an uncourteous welcomer," returned Glaucus.

" Hush ! provoke her not, dear Glaucus ! " whispered
lone.

"I will tell thee why I laughed when I discovered ye
were lovers," said the old woman. " It was because it is a
pleasure to the old and withered to look upon young hearts
like yours — and to know the time will come when you will
loathe each other — loathe — loathe — ha I — ha ! — ha ! "

It was now Ione's turn to pray against the unpleasing
prophecy.

" The gods forbid ! " said she. " Yet, poor woman, thou
knowest little of love, or thou wouldst know that it never
changes."

" Was I young once, think ye ? " returned the hag,
quickly; "and am I old, and hideous, and deathly now?
Such as is the form, so is the heart." With these words she
sank again into a stillness profound and fearful, as if the
cessation of life itself.

" Hast thou dwelt here long ? " said Glaucus, after a

The Witch's Cavern 217

pause, feeling uncomfortably oppressed beneath a silence so
appalling.

"Ah, long! — yes."

"It is but a drear abode."

" Ha J thou mayst well say that — Hell is beneath us ! "
replied the hag, pointing her bony finger to the earth.
" And I will tell thee a secret — the dim things below are
preparing wrath for ye above — you, the young, and the
thoughtless, and the beautiful."

"Thou utterest but evil words, ill becoming the hospit-
able," said Glaucus; "and in future I will brave the
tempest rather than thy welcome."

" Thou wilt do well. None should ever seek me — save
the wretched 1 "

" And why the wretched ? " asked the Athenian.

" I am the witch of the mountain," replied the sorceress,
with a ghastly grin ; " my trade is to give hope to the hope-
less : for the crossed in love I have philtres ; for the avari-
cious, promises of treasure; for the malicious, potions of
revenge ; for the happy and the good, I have only what life
has — curses ! Trouble me no more."

With this the grim tenant of the cave relapsed into a
silence so obstinate and sullen, that Glaucus in vain en-
deavoured to draw her into farther conversation. She did not
evince, by any alteration of her locked and rigid features,
that she even heard him. Fortunately, however, the storm,
which was brief as violent, began now to relax ; the rain
grew less and less fierce; and at last, as the clouds parted,
the moon burst forth in the purple opening of heaven, and
streamed clear and full into that desolate abode. Never had
she shone, perhaps, on a group more worthy of the painter's
art. The young, the all-beautiful lone, seated by that rude
fire — her lover already forgetful of the presence of the hag,
at her feet, gazing upward to her face, and whispering sweet
words — the pale and affrighted slave at a little distance —
and the ghastly hag resting her deadly eyes upon them ; yet
seemingly serene and fearless (for the companionship of
love hath such power) were these beautiful beings, things
of another sphere, in that dark and unholy cavern, with its
gloomy quaintness of appurtenance. The fox regarded them
from his corner with his keen and fiery eye : and as Glaucus
now turned towards the witch, he perceived for the first time,
just under her seat, the bright gaze and crested head of a

218 The Last Days of Pompeii

large snake : whether it was that the vivid colouring of
the Athenian's cloak, thrown over the shoulders of lone,
attracted the reptile's anger — its crest began to glow and rise,
as if menacing and preparing itself to spring upon the Nea-
politan ; — Glaucus caught quickly at one of the half-burned
logs upon the hearth — and, as if enraged at the action, the
snake came forth from its shelter, and with a loud hiss
raised itself on end till its height nearly approached that of
the Greek.

" Witch ! " cried Glaucus, " command thy creature, or
thou wilt see it dead."

" It has been despoiled of its venom ! " said the witch,
aroused at his threat ; but ere the words had left her lip, the
snake had sprung upon Glaucus ; quick and watchful, the
agile Greek leaped lightly aside, and struck so fell and dex-
terous a blow on the head of the snake, that it fell prostrate
and writhing among the embers of the fire.

The hag sprung up, and stood confronting Glaucus with a
face which would have befitted the fiercest of the Furies, so
utterly dire and wrathful was its expression — yet even in horror
and ghastliness preserving the outline and trace of beauty —
and utterly free from that coarse grotesque at which the
imaginations of the North have sought the source of terror.

" Thou hast," said she, in a slow and steady voice — which
belied the expression of her face, so much was it passionless
and calm — "thou hast had shelter under my roof, and
warmth at my hearth; thou hast returned evil for good;
thou hast smitten and haply slain the thing that loved me
and was mine : nay, more, the creature, above all others,
consecrated to gods and deemed venerable by man1 — now
hear thy punishment. By the moon, who is the guardian
of the sorceress — by Orcus, who is the treasurer of wrath —
I curse thee ! and thou art cursed ! May thy love be
blasted — may thy name be blackened — may the infernals
mark thee — may thy heart wither and scorch — may thy last
hour recall to thee the prophet voice of the Saga of
Vesuvius ! And thou," she added, turning sharply towards
lone, and raising her right arm, when Glaucus burst
impetuously on her speech : —

" Hag ! " cried he, " forbear ! Me thou hast cursed, and

1 A peculiar sanctity was attached by the Romans (as, indeed, by
perhaps every ancient people) to serpents, which they kept tame in
their houses, and often introduced at their meals.

The Witch's Cavern 219

I commit myself to the gods — I defy and scorn thee ! but
breathe but one word against yon maiden, and I will con-
vert the oath on thy foul lips to thy dying groan. Beware ! "

"I have done," replied the hag, laughing wildly; "for in
thy doom is she who loves thee accursed. And not the less,
that I heard her lips breathe thy name, and know by what
word to commend thee to the demons. Glaucus — thou art
doomed ! " So saying, the witch turned from the Athenian,
and kneeling down beside her wounded favourite, which she
dragged from the hearth, she turned to them her face no
more.

" O Glaucus ! " said lone, greatly terrified, " what have we
done? — Let us hasten from this place; the storm has
ceased. Good mistress, forgive him — recall thy words — he
meant but to defend himself — accept this peace-offering to
unsay the said : " and lone, stooping, placed her purse on
the hag's lap.

"Away!" said she, bitterly — "away! The oath once
woven the Fates only can untie. Away ! "

" Come, dearest ! " said Glaucus, impatiently. " Thinkest
thou that the gods above us or below hear the impotent
ravings of dotage? Come!"

Long and loud rang the echoes of the cavern with the
dread laugh of the Saga — she deigned no further reply.

The lovers breathed more freely when they gained the
open air : yet the scene they had witnessed, the words and
the laughter of the witch, still fearfully dwelt with lone ; and
even Glaucus could not thoroughly shake off the impression
they bequeathed. The storm had subsided — save, now and
then, a low thunder muttered at the distance amidst the
darker clouds, or a momentary flash of lightning affronted
the sovereignty of the moon. With some difficulty they
regained the road, where they found the vehicle already
sufficiently repaired for their departure, and the carrucarius
calling loudly upon Hercules to tell him where his charge
had vanished.

Glaucus vainly endeavoured to cheer the exhausted spirits
of lone ; and scarce less vainly to recover the elastic tone
of his own natural gaiety. They soon arrived before the
gate of the city : as it opened to them, a litter borne by
slaves impeded the way.

" It is too late for egress," cried the sentinel to the inmate
of the litter.

220 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Not so," said a voice, which the lovers started to hear ;
it was a voice they well recognised. " I am bound to the
villa of Marcus Polybius. I shall return shortly. I am
Arbaces the Egyptian."

The scruples of him at the gate were removed, and the
litter passed close beside the carriage that bore the lovers.

" Arbaces, at this hour ! — scarce recovered too, methinks !
. — Whither and for what can he leave the city?" said
GHaucus.

"Alas!" replied lone, bursting into tears, "my soul feels
still more and more the omen of evil. Preserve us, O ye
Gods ! or at least," she murmured inly, " preserve my
Glaucus i "

CHAPTER X

THE LORD OF THE BURNING BELT AND HIS MINION — FATE
WRITES HER PROPHECY IN RED LETTERS, BUT WHO
SHALL READ THEM?

Arbaces had tarried only till the cessation of the tempest
allowed him, under cover of night, to seek the Saga of
Vesuvius. Borne by those of his trustier slaves in whom in
all more secret expeditions he was accustomed to confide, he
lay extended along his litter, and resigning his sanguine
heart to the contemplation of vengeance gratified and love
possessed. The slaves in so short a journey moved very
little slower than the ordinary pace of mules ; and Arbaces
soon arrived at the commencement of a narrow path, which
the lovers had not been fortunate enough to discover ; but
which, skirting the thick vines, led at once to the habitation
of the witch. Here he rested the litter; and bidding his
slaves conceal themselves and the vehicle among the vines
from the observation of any chance passenger, he mounted
alone, with steps still feeble but supported by a long staff,
the drear and sharp ascent.

Not a drop of rain fell from the tranquil heaven ; but the
moisture dripped mournfully from the laden boughs of the
vine, and now and then collected in tiny pools in the crevices
and hollows of the rocky way.

"Strange passions these for a philosopher," thought

The Lord of the Burning Belt 221

Arbaces, " that lead one like me just new from the bed of
death, and lapped even in health amidst the roses of luxury,
across such nocturnal paths as this ; but Passion and
Vengeance treading to their goal can make an Elysium of a
Tartarus." High, clear, and melancholy shone the moon
above the road of that dark wayfarer, glossing herself in
every pool that lay before him, and sleeping in shadow along
the sloping mount. He saw before him the same light that
had guided the steps of his intended victims, but, no longer
contrasted by the blackened clouds, it shone less redly
clear.

He paused, as at length he approached the mouth of the
cavern, to recover breath; and then, with his wonted
collected and stately mien, he crossed the unhallowed
threshold.

The fox sprang up at the ingress of this newcomer, and
by a long howl announced another visitor to his mistress.

The witch had resumed her seat, and her aspect of grave-
like and grim repose. By her feet, upon a bed of dry weeds
which half covered it, lay the wounded snake ; but the quick
eye of the Egyptian caught its scales glittering in the reflected
light of the opposite fire, as it writhed, — -now contracting,
now lengthening, its folds, in pain and unsated anger.

" Down, slave ! " said the witch, as before, to the fox ;
and, as before, the animal dropped to the ground — mute,
but vigilant.

" Rise, servant of Nox and Erebus ! " said Arbaces, com-
mandingly ; " a superior in thine art salutes thee ! rise, and
welcome him."

At these words the hag turned her gaze upon the Egyptian's
towering form and dark features. She looked long and
fixedly upon him, as he stood before her in his Oriental robe,
and folded arms, and steadfast and haughty brow. " Who
art thou," she said at last, " that callest thyself greater in art
than the Saga of the Burning Fields, and the daughter of
the perished Etrurian race ? "

" I am he," answered Arbaces, " from whom all cultivators
of magic, from north to south, from east to west, from the
Ganges and the Nile to the vales of Thessaly and the shores
of the yellow Tiber, have stooped to learn."

" There is but one such man in these places," answered
the witch, " whom the men of the outer world, unknowing
his loftier attributes and more secret fame, call Arbaces the

222 The Last Days of Pompeii

Egyptian : to us of a higher nature and deeper knowledge,
his rightful appellation is Hermes of the Burning Girdle."

" Look again," returned Arbaces : "lam he."

As he spoke he drew aside his robe, and revealed a
cincture seemingly of fire, that burned around his waist,
clasped in the centre by a plate whereon was engraven some
sign apparently vague and unintelligible, but which was
evidently not unknown to the Saga. She rose hastily, and
threw herself at the feet of Arbaces. " I have seen, then,"
said she, in a voice of deep humility, "the Lord of the
Mighty Girdle — vouchsafe my homage."

" Rise," said the Egyptian ; " I have need of thee."

So saying, he placed himself on the same log of wood on
which lone had rested before, and motioned to the witch to
resume her seat.

" Thou sayest," said he, as she obeyed, " that thou art a
daughter of the ancient Etrurian 1 tribes ; the mighty walls
of whose rock-built cities yet frown above the robber race
that hath seized upon their ancient reign. Partly came those
tribes from Greece, partly were they exiles from a more
burning and primeval soil. In either case art thou of
Egyptian lineage, for the Grecian masters of the aboriginal
helot were among the restless sons whom the Nile banished
from her bosom. Equally, then, O Saga! thy descent is
from ancestors that swore allegiance to mine own. By birth
as by knowledge, art thou the subject of Arbaces. Hear
me, then, and obey ! "

The witch bowed her head.

" Whatever art we possess in sorcery," continued Arbaces,
" we are sometimes driven to natural means to attain our
object. The ring 2 and the crystal,3 and the ashes 4 and the
herbs,5 do not give unerring divinations; neither do the
higher mysteries of the moon yield even the possessor of
the girdle a dispensation from the necessity of employing
ever and anon human measures for a human object. Mark
me, then : thou art deeply skilled, methinks, in the secrets
of the more deadly herbs ; thou knowest those which arrest

1 The Etrurians (it may be superfluous to mention) were celebrated
for their enchantments. Arbaces is wrong in assuming their Egyptian
origin, but the Egyptians arrogated the ancestry of almost every one
of the more illustrious races, and there are not wanting modern school-
men who, too credulously, support the claim.

a AaicTvAo/iavTeia. 3 RpvaraWo/xavrtia.

* Tefpofxavrtla. 6 BorapofiayTiia.

The Lord of the Burning Belt 223

life, which burn and scorch the soul from out her citadel,
or freeze the channels of young blood into that ice which
no sun can melt. Do I overrate thy skill ? Speak, and
truly ! "

" Mighty Hermes, such lore is, indeed, mine own. Deign
to look at these ghostly and corpse-like features ; they have
waned from the hues of life merely by watching over the
rank herbs which simmer night and day in yon cauldron."

The Egyptian moved his seat from so unblessed or so
unhealthful a vicinity as the witch spoke.

" It is well," said he ; " thou hast learned that maxim of
all the deeper knowledge which saith, * Despise the body to
make wise the mind.' But to thy task. There cometh
to thee by to-morrow's starlight a vain maiden, seeking of
thine art a love-charm to fascinate from another the eyes
that should utter but soft tales to her own ; instead of thy
philtres, give the maiden one of thy most powerful poisons.
Let the lover breathe his vows to the Shades."

The witch trembled from head to foot.

" Oh pardon ! pardon ! dread master," said she, falteringly,
* but this I dare not. The law in these cities is sharp and
vigilant ; they will seize, they will slay me."

" For what purpose, then, thy herbs and thy potions, vain
Saga ? " said Arbaces, sneeringly.

The witch hid her loathsome face with her hands.

" Oh ! years ago," said she, in a voice unlike her usual
tones, so plaintive was it, and so soft, " I was not the thing
that I am now. — I loved, I fancied myself beloved."

"And what connection hath thy love, witch, with my
commands ? " said Arbaces, impetuously.

" Patience," resumed the witch ; " patience, I implore. I
loved ! another and less fair than I — yes, by Nemesis ! less
fair — allured from me my chosen. I was of that dark
Etrurian tribe to whom most of all were known the secrets
of the gloomier magic. My mother was herself a saga : she
shared the resentment of her child ; from her hands I
received the potion that was to restore me his love ; and
from her, also, the poison that was to destroy my rival. Oh,
crush me, dread walls ! my trembling hands mistook the
phials, my lover fell indeed at my feet ; but dead ! dead !
Since then, what has been life to me ? I became suddenly
old, I devoted myself to the sorceries of my race ; still by
an irresistible impulse I curse myself with an awful penance ;

224 The Last Days of Pompeii

still I seek the most noxious herbs; still I concoct the
poisons ; still I imagine that I am to give them to my hated
rival ; still I pour them into the phial ; still I fancy that they
shall blast her beauty to the dust ; still I wake and see the
quivering body, the foaming lips, the glazing eyes of my
Aulus — murdered, and by me ! "

The skeleton frame of the witch shook beneath strong
convulsions.

Arbaces gazed upon her with a curious though con-
temptuous eye.

" And this foul thing has yet human emotions ! " thought
he ; " still she cowers over the ashes of the same fire that
consumes Arbaces ! — Such are we all ! Mystic is the tie
of those mortal passions that unite the greatest and the
least."

He did not reply till she had somewhat recovered herself,
and now sat rocking to and fro in her seat, with glassy eyes
fixed on the opposite flame, and large tears rolling down her
livid cheeks.

"A grievous tale is thine, in truth," said Arbaces. "But
these emotions are fit only for our youth — age should harden
our hearts to all things but ourselves ; as every year adds a
scale to the shell-fish, so should each year wall and incrust
the heart. Think of those frenzies no more ! And now,
listen to me again ! By the revenge that was dear to thee,
I command thee to obey me ! it is for vengeance that I seek
thee ! This youth whom I would sweep from my path has
crossed me, despite my spells : — this thing of purple and
broidery, of smiles and glances, soulless and mindless, with
no charm but that of beauty — accursed be it ! — this insect
— this Glaucus — I tell thee, by Orcus and by Nemesis, he
must die."

And working himself up at every word, the Egyptian,
forgetful of his debility — of his strange companion — of
everything but his own vindictive rage, strode, with large
and rapid steps, the gloomy cavern.

" Glaucus ! saidst thou, mighty master ! n said the witch,
abruptly ; and her dim eye glared at the name with all that
fierce resentment at the memory of small affronts so common
amongst the solitary and the shunned.

"Ay, so he is called; but what matters the name? Let
it not be heard as that of a living man three days from this
date!"

Fate Writes Her Prophecy 225

" Hear me ! " said the witch, breaking from a short reverie
into which she was plunged after this last sentence of the
Egyptian. " Hear me ! I am thy thing and thy slave !
spare me ! If I give to the maiden thou speakest of that
which would destroy the life of Glaucus, I shall be surely
detected — the dead ever find avengers. Nay, dread man !
if thy visit to me be tracked, if thy hatred to Glaucus be
known, thou mayest have need of thy archest magic to
protect thyself ! "

" Ha ! " said Arbaces, stopping suddenly short j and as a
proof of that blindness with which passion darkens the eyes
even of the most acute, this was the first time when the risk
that he himself ran by this method of vengeance had occurred
to a mind ordinarily wary and circumspect.

"But," continued the witch, "if instead of that which
shall arrest the heart, I give that which shall sear and blast
the brain — which shall make him who quaffs it unfit for the
uses and career of life — an abject, raving, benighted thing
— smiting sense to drivelling, youth to dotage — will not thy
vengeance be equally sated — thy object equally attained ? "

"Oh, witch! no longer the servant, but the sister — the
equal of Arbaces — how much brighter is woman's wit, even
in vengeance, than ours ! how much more exquisite than
death is such a doom ! "

" And," continued the hag, gloating over her fell scheme,
" in this is but little danger ; for by ten thousand methods,
which men forbear to seek, can our victim become mad.
He may have been among the vines and seen a nymph x —
or the vine itself may have had the same effect — ha, ha !
they never inquire too scrupulously into these matters in
which the gods may be agents. And let the worst arrive —
let it be known that it is a love-charm — why, madness is a
common effect of philtres ; and even the fair she that gave
it finds indulgence in the excuse. Mighty Hermes, have I
ministered to thee cunningly ? "

"Thou shalt have twenty years' longer date for this,"
returned Arbaces. " I will write anew the epoch of thy fate
on the face of the pale stars — thou shalt not serve in vain
the Master of the Flaming Belt. And here, Saga, carve
thee out, by these golden tools, a warmer cell in this dreary
cavern — one service to me shall countervail a thousand

1 To see a nymph was to become mad, according to classic and
popular superstition.

226 The Last Days of Pompeii

divinations by sieve and shears to the gaping rustics." So
saying, he cast upon the floor a heavy purse, which clinked
not unmusically to the ear of the hag, who loved the con-
sciousness of possessing the means to purchase comforts she
disdained. " Farewell," said Arbaces, " fail not — outwatch
the stars in concocting thy beverage — thou shalt lord it over
thy sisters at the Walnut-tree,1 when thou tellest them that
thy patron and thy friend is Hermes the Egyptian. To-morrow
night we meet again."

He stayed not to hear the valediction or the thanks of the
witch ; with a quick step he passed into the moonlit air, and
hastened down the mountain.

The witch, who followed his steps to the threshold, stood
long at the entrance of the cavern, gazing fixedly on his
receding form ; and as the sad moonlight streamed over her
shadowy form and deathlike face, emerging from the dismal
rocks, it seemed as if one gifted, indeed, by supernatural
magic had escaped from the dreary Orcus ; and, the fore-
most of its ghostly throng, stood at its black portals — vainly
summoning his return, or vainly sighing to rejoin him. The
hag, then slowly re-entering the cave, groaningly picked up
the heavy purse, took the lamp from its stand, and, passing
to the remotest depth of her cell, a black and abrupt
passage, which was not visible, save at a near approach,
closed round as it was with jutting and sharp crags, yawned
before her : she went several yards along this gloomy path,
which sloped gradually downwards, as if towards the bowels
of the earth, and, lifting a stone, deposited her treasure in
a hole beneath, which, as the lamp pierced its secrets,
seemed already to contain coins of various value, wrung
from the credulity or gratitude of her visitors.

"I love to look at you," said she, apostrophising the
moneys ; "for when I see you I feel that I am indeed of
power. And I am to have twenty years' longer life to
increase your store ! O thou great Hermes ! "

She replaced the stone, and continued her path onward
for some paces, when she stopped before a deep irregular
fissure in the earth. Here, as she bent — strange, rumbling,
hoarse, and distant sounds might be heard, while ever and

1 The celebrated and immemorial rendezvous of the witches at
Benevento. The winged serpent attached to it, long an object of
idolatry in those parts, was probably consecrated by Egyptian super-
stitions.

Fate Writes her Prophecy 227

anon, with a loud and grating noise which, to use a homely
but faithful simile, seemed to resemble the grinding of steel
upon wheels, volumes of streaming and dark smoke issued
forth, and rushed spirally along the cavern.

" The Shades are noiser than their wont," said the hag,
shaking her grey locks ; and, looking into the cavity, she
beheld, far down, glimpses of a long streak of light, intensely
but darkly red. " Strange ! " she said, shrinking back ; " it is
only within the last two days that dull, deep light hath been
visible — what can it portend ? "

The fox, who had attended the steps of his fell mistress,
uttered a dismal howl, and ran cowering back to the inner
cave ; a cold shuddering seized the hag herself at the cry
of the animal, which, causeless as it seemed, the supersti-
tions of the time considered deeply ominous. She muttered
her placatory charm, and tottered back into her cavern,
where, amidst her herbs and incantations, she prepared to
execute the orders of the Egyptian.

" He called me dotard," said she, as the smoke curled
from the hissing cauldron : " when the jaws drop, and the
grinders fall, and the heart scarce beats, it is a pitiable thing
to dote ; but when," she added, with a savage and exulting
grin, "the young, and the beautiful, and the strong, are
suddenly smitten into idiocy — ah, that is terrible ! Burn,
flame — simmer herb — swelter toad — I cursed him, and he
shall be cursed ! "

On that night, and at the same hour which witnessed the
dark and unholy interview between Arbaces and the Saga,
Apaecides was baptised.

CHAPTER XI

PROGRESS OF EVENTS THE PLOT THICKENS — THE WEB IS

WOVEN, BUT THE NET CHANGES HANDS

" And you have the courage, then, Julia, to seek the
Witch of Vesuvius this evening j in company, too, with that
fearful man ? "

" Why, Nydia ? " replied Julia, timidly ; " dost thou
really think there is anything to dread ? These old hags,
with their enchanted mirrors, their trembling sieves, and

228 The Last Days of Pompeii

their moon-gathered herbs, are, I imagine, but crafty im-
postors, who have learned, perhaps, nothing but the very
charm for which I apply to their skill, and which is drawn
but from the knowledge of the field's herbs and simples.
Wherefore should I dread ? "

" Dost thou not fear thy companion ? "

"What, Arbaces? By Dian, I never saw lover more
courteous than that same magician ! And were he not so
dark, he would be even handsome."

Blind as she was, Nydia had the penetration to perceive
that Julia's mind was not one that the gallantries of Arbaces
were likely to terrify. She therefore dissuaded her no more :
but nursed in her excited heart the wild and increasing
desire to know if sorcery had indeed a spell to fascinate love
to love.

"Let me go with thee, noble Julia," said she at length ;
" my presence is no protection, but I should like to be
beside thee to the last."

" Thine offer pleases me much," replied the daughter of
Diomed. "Yet how canst thou contrive it? we may not
return until late, they will miss thee."

" lone is indulgent," replied Nydia. " If thou wilt
permit me to sleep beneath thy roof, I will say that thou,
an early patroness and friend, hast invited me to pass the
day with thee, and sing thee my Thessalian songs ; her
courtesy will readily grant to thee so light a boon."

"Nay, ask for thyself!" said the haughty Julia. "I
stoop to request no favour from the Neapolitan ! "

" Well, be it so. I will take my leave now ; make my
request, which I know will be readily granted, and return
shortly."

"Do so; and thy bed shall be prepared in my own
chamber."

With that, Nydia left the fair Pompeian.

On her way back to lone she was met by the chariot of
Glaucus, on whose fiery and curveting steeds was riveted
the gaze of the crowded street.

He kindly stopped for a moment to speak to the flower-girl.

" Blooming as thine own roses, my gentle Nydia ! and
how is thy fair mistress? — recovered, I trust, from the
effects of the storm?"

"I have not seen her this morning," answered Nydia,
"but "

Progress of Events 229

" But what ? draw back — the horses are too near thee."

" But think you lone will permit me to pass the day with
Julia, the daughter of Diomed? — She wishes it, and was
kind to me when I had few friends."

" The gods bless thy grateful heart ! I will answer tor
Ione's permission."

"Then I may stay over the night, and return to-morrow?"
said Nydia, shrinking from the praise she so little merited.

"As thou and fair Julia please. Commend me to her;
and hark ye, Nydia, when thou hearest her speak, note the
contrast of her voice with that of the silver-toned lone. —
Vale!"

His spirits entirely recovered from the effect of the past
night, his locks waving in the wind, his joyous and elastic
heart bounding with every spring of his Parthian steeds, a
very prototype of his country's god, full of youth and of love
— Glaucus was borne rapidly to his mistress.

Enjoy while ye may the present — who can read the
future ?

As the evening darkened, Julia, reclined within her
litter, which was capacious enough also to admit her blind
companion, took her way to the rural baths indicated by
Arbaces. To her natural levity of disposition, her enterprise
brought less of terror than of pleasurable excitement ; above
all, she glowed at the thought of her coming triumph over
the hated Neapolitan.

A small but gay group was collected round the door of
the villa, as her litter passed by it to the private entrance of
the baths appropriated to the women.

" Methinks, by this dim light," said one of the bystanders,
" I recognise the slaves of Diomed."

" True, Clodius," said Sallust : " it is probably the litter
of his daughter Julia. She is rich, my friend; why dost
thou not proffer thy suit to her?"

"Why, I had once hoped that Glaucus would have
married her. She does not disguise her attachment ; and
then, as he gambles freely and with ill-success "

" The sesterces would have passed to thee, wise Clodius.
A wife is a good thing — when it belongs to another man ! "

" But," continued Clodius, " as Glaucus is, I understand,
to wed the Neapolitan, I think I must even try my chance
with the dejected maid. After all, the lamp of Hymen will
be gilt, and the vessel will reconcile one to the odour of the

230 The Last Days of Pompeii

flame. I shall only protest, my Sallust, against Diomed's
making //^trustee to his daughter's fortune."1

"Ha! ha! let us within, my comissator ; the wine and
the garlands wait us."

Dismissing her slaves to that part of the house set apart
for their entertainment, Julia entered the baths with Nydia,
and declining the offers of the attendants, passed by a
private door into the garden behind.

" She comes by appointment, be sure," said one of the slaves.

" What is that to thee ? " said a superintendent, sourly ;
" she pays for the baths, and does not waste the saffron.
Such appointments are the best part of the trade. Hark !
do you not hear the widow Fulvia clapping her hands ?
Run, fool — run ! "

Julia and Nydia, avoiding the more public part of the
garden, arrived at the place specified by the Egyptian. In
a small circular plot of grass the stars gleamed upon the
statue of Silenus : — the merry god reclined upon a fragment
of rock — the lynx of Bacchus at his feet — and over his
mouth he held, with extended arm, a bunch of grapes,
which he seemingly laughed to welcome ere he devoured.

" I see not the magician," said Julia, looking round :
when, as she spoke, the Egyptian slowly emerged from the
neighbouring foliage, and the light fell palely over his
sweeping robes.

" Salve, sweet maiden ! — But ha ! whom hast thou here ?
we must have no companions ! "

" It is but the blind flower-girl, wise magician," replied
Julia: ''herself a Thessalian."

" Oh ! Nydia ! " said the Egyptian. " I know her well."

Nydia drew back and shuddered.

" Thou hast been at my house, methinks ! " said he,
approaching his voice to Nydia's ear ; " thou knowest the
oath ! — Silence and secrecy, now as then, or beware ! "

"Yet," he added, musingly to himself, "why confide
more than is necessary, even in the blind — Julia, canst thou
trust thyself alone with me ? Believe me, the magician is
less formidable than he seems."

1 It was an ancient Roman law, that no one should make a woman
his heir. The law was evaded by the parent's assigning his fortune to
a friend in trust for his daughter, but the trustee might keep it if he
liked. The law had, however, fallen into disuse before the date of this
story.

The Plot Thickens 231

As he spoke, he gently drew Julia aside.

"The witch loves not many visitors at once," said he:
"leave Nydia here till your return; she can be of no
assistance to us : and, for protection — your own beauty
suffices — your own beauty and your own rank ; yes, Julia,
I know thy name and birth. Come, trust thyself with me,
fair rival of the youngest of the Naiads ! "

The vain Julia was not, as we have seen, easily affrighted ;
she was moved by the flattery of Arbaces, and she readily
consented to suffer Nydia to await her return; nor did
Nydia press her presence. At the sound of the Egyptian's
voice all her terror of him returned : she felt a sentiment
of pleasure at learning she was not to travel in his com-
panionship.

She returned to the Bath-house, and in one of the private
chambers waited their return. Many and bitter were the
thoughts of this wild girl as she sat there in her eternal
darkness. She thought of her own desolate fate, far from
her native land, far from the bland cares that once assuaged
the April sorrows of childhood ; — deprived of the light of
day, with none but strangers to guide her steps, accursed by
the one soft feeling of her heart, loving and without hope,
save the dim and unholy ray which shot across her mind,
as her Thessalian fancies questioned of the force of spells
and the gifts of magic.

Nature had sown in the heart of this poor girl the seeds
of virtue never destined to ripen. The lessons of adversity
are not always salutary — sometimes they soften and amend,
but as often they indurate and pervert. If we consider
ourselves more harshly treated by fate than those around us,
and do not acknowledge in our own deeds the justice of the
severity, we become too apt to deem the world our enemy,
to case ourselves in defiance, to wrestle against our softer
self, and to indulge the darker passions which are so easily
fermented by the sense of injustice. Sold early into slavery,
sentenced to a sordid taskmaster, exchanging her situation,
only yet more to embitter her lot — the kindlier feelings,
naturally profuse in the breast of Nydia, were nipped and
blighted. Her sense of right and wrong was confused by a
passion to which she had so madly surrendered herself; and
the same intense and tragic emotions which we read of in
the women of the classic age — a Myrrha, a Medea —
and which hurried and swept away the whole soul

232 The Last Days of Pompeii

when once delivered to love — ruled, and rioted in, her
breast.

Time passed : a light step entered the chamber where
Nydia yet indulged her gloomy meditations.

" Oh, thanked be the immortal gods ! " said Julia, " I
have returned, I have left that terrible cavern ! Come,
Nydia ! let us away forthwith ! "

It was not till they were seated in the litter that Julia
again spoke.

" Oh ! " said she, tremblingly, " such a scene I such fearful
incantations! and the dead face of the hag! — But, let us
talk not of it. I have obtained the potion — she pledges its
effect. My rival shall be suddenly indifferent to his eye,
and I, I alone, the idol of Glaucus ! "

" Glaucus ! " exclaimed Nydia.

" Ay ! I told thee, girl, at first, that it was not the Athenian
whom I loved : but I see now that I may trust thee wholly
— it is the beautiful Greek ! "

What then were Nydia's emotions ! she had connived,
she had assisted, in tearing Glaucus from lone ; but only to
transfer, by all the power of magic, his affections yet more
hopelessly to another. Her heart swelled almost to suffoca-
tion— she gasped for breath — in the darkness of the vehicle,
Julia did not perceive the agitation of her companion ; she
went on rapidly dilating on the promised effect of her
acquisition, and on her approaching triumph over lone,
every now and then abruptly digressing to the horror of the
scene she had quitted — the unmoved mien of Arbaces, and
his authority over the dreadful Saga.

Meanwhile Nydia recovered her self-possession : a thought
flashed across her : she slept in the chamber of Julia — she
might possess herself of the potion.

They arrived at the house of Diomed, and descended to
Julia's apartment, where the night's repast awaited them.

" Drink, Nydia, thou must be cold ; the air was chill to-
night ; as for me, my veins are yet ice."

And Julia unhesitatingly quaffed deep draughts of the
spiced wine.

"Thou hast the potion," said Nydia ; "let me hold it m
my hands. How small the phial is ! of what colour is the
draught ? "

" Clear as crystal," replied Julia, as she retook the philtre ;
" thou couldst not tell it from this water. The witch assures

The Web is Woven 233

me it is tasteless. Small though the phial, it suffices for a
life's fidelity : it is to be poured into any liquid ; and Glaucus
will only know what he has quaffed by the effect."

" Exactly like this water in appearance ? "

"Yes, sparkling and colourless as this. How bright it
seems ! it is as the very essence of moonlit dews. Bright
thing ! how thou shinest on my hopes through thy crystal
vase ! "

" And how is it sealed ? "

"But by one little stopper — I withdraw it now — the
draught gives no odour. Strange, that that which speaks
to neither sense should thus command all ! "

" Is the effect instantaneous ? "

" Usually ; — but sometimes it remains dormant for a few
hours."

" Oh, how sweet is this perfume ! " said Nydia, suddenly,
as she took up a small bottle on the table, and bent over its
fragrant contents.

" Thinkest thou so ? the bottle is set with gems of some
value. Thou wouldst not have the bracelet yestermorn ; —
wilt thou take the bottle ? "

"It ought to be such perfumes as these that should
remind one who cannot see of the generous Julia. If the
bottle be not too costly "

" Oh ! I have a thousand costlier ones : take it, child ! "

Nydia bowed her gratitude, and placed the bottle in her
vest.

" And the draught would be equally efficacious, whoever
administers it ? "

" If the most hideous hag beneath the sun bestowed it,
such is its asserted virtue that Glaucus would deem her
beautiful, and none but her ! "

Julia, warmed by wine, and the reaction of her spirits,
was now all animation and delight j she laughed loud, and
talked on a hundred matters — nor was it till the night had
advanced far towards morning that she summoned her
slaves and undressed.

When they were dismissed, she said to Nydia, " I will not
suffer this holy draught to quit my presence till the hour
comes for its uses. Lie under my pillow, bright spirit, and
give me happy dreams ! "

So saying, she placed the potion under her pillow.
Nydia's heart beat violently.

234 The Last Days of Pompeii

"Why dost thou drink that unmixed water, Nydia?
Take the wine by its side."

" I am fevered," replied the blind girl, " and the water
cools me. I will place this bottle by my bedside, it refreshes
in these summer nights, when the dews of sleep fall not on
our lips. Fair Julia, I must leave thee very early — so lone
bids — perhaps before thou art awake ; accept, therefore, now
my congratulations."

" Thanks : when next we meet you may find Glaucus at
my feet."

They had retired to their couches, and Julia, worn out by
the excitement of the day, soon slept. But anxious and
burning thoughts rolled over the mind of the wakeful
Thessalian. She listened to the calm breathing of Julia;
and her ear, accustomed to the finest distinctions of sound,
speedily assured her of the deep slumber of her companion.

" Now befriend me, Venus ! " said she, softly.

She rose gently, and poured the perfume from the gift of
Julia upon the marble floor — -she rinsed it several times
carefully with the water that was beside her, and then easily
finding the bed of Julia (for night to her was as day), she
pressed her trembling hand under the pillow and seized the
potion. Julia stirred not, her breath regularly fanned the
burning cheek of the blind girl. Nydia, then, opening the
phial, poured its contents into the bottle, which easily con-
tained them ; and then refilling the former reservoir of the
potion with that limpid water which Julia had assured her
it so resembled, she once more placed the phial in its former
place. She then stole again to her couch, and waited —
with what thoughts ! — the dawning day.

The sun had risen — Julia slept still — Nydia noiselessly
dressed herself, placed her treasure carefully in her vest,
took up her staff, and hastened to quit the house.

The porter, Medon, saluted her kindly as she descended
the steps that led to the street: she heard him not; her
mind was confused and lost in the whirl of tumultuous
thoughts, each thought a passion. She felt the pure morning
air upon her cheek, but it cooled not her scorching veins.

" Glaucus," she murmured, " all the love-charms of the
wildest magic could not make thee love me as I love thee,
lone ! — ah ; away hesitation ! away remorse ! Glaucus, my
fate is in thy smile ; and thine ! O hope ! O joy 1 O
transport, thy fate is in these hands ! "

Zeal of the Early Christians 235

BOOK IV

CHAPTER I

REFLECTIONS ON THE ZEAL OF THE EARLY CHRISTIANS —

TWO MEN COME TO A PERILOUS RESOLVE WALLS

HAVE EARS, PARTICULARLY SACRED WALLS

Whoever regards the early history of Christianity, will
perceive how necessary to its triumph was that fierce spirit of
zeal, which, fearing no danger, accepting no compromise,
inspired its champions and sustained its martyrs. In a
dominant Church the genius of intolerance betrays its cause ;
— in a weak and persecuted Church, the same genius mainly
supports. It was necessary to scorn, to loathe, to abhor the
creeds of other men, in order to conquer the temptations
which they presented — it was necessary rigidly to believe
not only that the Gospel was the true faith, but the sole true
faith that saved, in order to nerve the disciple to the
austerity of its doctrine, and to encouraging him to the
sacred and perilous chivalry of converting the Polytheist
and the Heathen. The sectarian sternness which confined
virtue and heaven to a chosen few, which saw demons in
other gods, and the penalties of hell in other religion — made
the believer naturally anxious to convert all to whom he felt
the ties of human affection ; and the circle thus traced by
benevolence to man was yet more widened by a desire for
the glory of God. It was for the honour of the Christian
faith that the Christian boldly forced its tenets upon the
scepticism of some, the repugnance of others, the sage
contempt of the philosopher, the pious shudder of the
people; — his very intolerance supplied him with his fittest
instruments of success ; and the soft Heathen began at last
to imagine there must indeed be something holy in a zeal
wholly foreign to his experience, which stopped at no
obstacle, dreaded no danger, and even at the torture, or on
the scaffold, referred a dispute far other than the calm
differences of speculative philosophy to the tribunal of an
Eternal Judge. It was thus that the same fervour which

236 The Last Days of Pompeii

made the Churchman of the middle age a bigot without
mercy, made the Christian of the early days a hero without
fear.

Of these more fiery, daring, and earnest natures, not the
least ardent was Olinthus. No sooner had Apaecides been
received by the rites of baptism into the bosom of the
Church, than the Nazarene hastened to make him conscious
of the impossibility to retain the office and robes of priest-
hood. He could not, it was evident, profess to worship
God, and continue even outwardly to honour the idolatrous
altars of the Fiend.

Nor was this all, the sanguine and impetuous mind of
Olinthus beheld in the power of Apaecides the means of
divulging to the deluded people the juggling mysteries
of the oracular Isis. He thought Heaven had sent this
instrument of his design in order to disabuse the eyes of the
crowd, and prepare the way, perchance, for the conversion
of a whole city. He did not hesitate then to appeal to all
the new-kindled enthusiasm of Apaecides, to arouse his
courage, and to stimulate his zeal. They met, according to
previous agreement, the evening after the baptism of.
Apaecides, in the grove of Cybele, which we have before
described.

"At the next solemn consultation of the oracle," said
Olinthus, as he proceeded in the warmth of his address,
"advance yourself to the railing, proclaim aloud to the
people the deception they endure, invite them to enter, to
be themselves the witness of the gross but artful mechanism
of imposture thou hast described to me. Fear not — the
Lord, who protected Daniel, shall protect thee; we, the
community of Christians, will be amongst the crowd ; we
will urge on the shrinking : and in the first flush of the
popular indignation and shame, I myself, upon those very
altars, will plant the palm-branch typical of the Gospel —
and to my tongue shall descend the rushing Spirit of the
living God."

Heated and excited as he was, this suggestion was not
unpleasing to Apaecides. He was rejoiced at so early an
opportunity of distinguishing his faith in his new sect, and
to his holier feelings were added those of a vindictive loath-
ing at the imposition he had himself suffered, and a desire
to avenge it. In that sanguine and elastic overbound of
obstacles (the rashness necessary to all who undertake

Walls have Ears 237

venturous and lofty actions), neither Olinthus nor the
proselyte perceived the impediments to the success of their
scheme, which might be found in the reverent superstition
of the people themselves, who would probably be loth,
before the sacred altars of the great Egyptian goddess, to
believe even the testimony of her priest against her power.

Apaecides then assented to this proposal with a readiness
which delighted Olinthus. They parted with the under-
standing that Olinthus should confer with the more im-
portant of his Christian brethren on his great enterprise,
should receive their advice and the assurances of their
support on the eventful day. It so chanced that one of
the festivals of Isis was to be held on the second day after
this conference. The festival proffered a ready occasion
for the design. They appointed to meet once more on the
next evening at the same spot ; and in that meeting were
finally to be settled the order and details of the disclosure
for the following day.

It happened that the latter part of this conference had
been held near the sacellum, or small chapel, which I have
described in the early part of this work ; and so soon as the
forms of the Christian and the priest had disappeared from
the grove, a dark and ungainly figure emerged from behind
the chapel.

" I have tracked you with some effect, my brother
flamen," soliloquised the eavesdropper ; " you, the priest of
Isis, have not for mere idle discussion conferred with this
gloomy Christian. Alas ! that I could not hear all your
precious plot : enough ! I find, at least, that you meditate
revealing the sacred mysteries, and that to-morrow you meet
again at this place to plan the how and the when. May
Orisis sharpen my ears then, to detect the whole of your
unheard-of audacity ! When I have learned more, I must
confer at once with Arbaces. We will frustrate you, my
friends, deep as you think yourselves. At present, my
breast is a locked treasury of your secret."

Thus muttering, Calenus, for it was he, wrapped his robe
round him, and strode thoughtfully homeward.

238 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER 11

A CLASSIC HOST, COOK, AND KITCHEN — AP^CIDES SEEKS
IONE — THEIR CONVERSATION

It was then the day for Diomed's banquet to the most
select of his friends. The graceful Glaucus, the beautiful
lone, the official Pansa, the high-born Clodius, the immortal
Fulvius, the exquisite Lepidus, the epicurean Sallust, were
not the only honourers of his festival. He expected, also,
an invalid senator from Rome (a man of considerable repute
and favour at court), and a great warrior from Herculaneum,
who had fought with Titus against the Jews, and having
enriched himself prodigiously in the wars, was always told
by his friends that his country was eternally indebted to his
disinterested exertions ! The party, however, extended to a
yet greater number : for although, critically speaking, it was,
at one time, thought inelegant among the Romans to enter-
tain less than three or more than nine at their banquets, yet
this rule was easily disregarded by the ostentatious. Arid
we are told, indeed, in history, that one of the most
splendid of these entertainers usually feasted a select party
of three hundred. Diomed, however, more modest, con-
tented himself with doubling the number of the Muses. His
party consisted of eighteen, no unfashionable number in the
present day.

It was the morning of Diomed's banquet ; and Diomed
himself, though he greatly affected the gentleman and the
scholar, retained enough of his mercantile experience to
know that a master's eye makes a ready servant. Accord-
ingly, with his tunic ungirdled on his portly stomach, his
easy slippers on his feet, a small wand in his hand, where-
with he now directed the gaze, and now corrected the back,
of some duller menial, he went from chamber to chamber
of his costly villa.

He did not disdain even a visit to that sacred apartment
in which the priests of the festival prepare their offerings.
On entering the kitchen, his ears were agreeably stunned
by the noise of dishes and pans, of oaths and commands.
Small as this indispensable chamber seems to have been in
all the houses of Pompeii, it was, nevertheless, usually fitted

A Classic Host, Cook, and Kitchen 239

up with all that amazing variety of stoves and shapes, stew-
pans and saucepans, cutters and moulds, without which a
cook of spirit, no matter whether he be an ancient or a
modern, declares it utterly impossible that he can give you
anything to eat. And as fuel was then, as now, dear and
scarce in those regions, great seems to have been the
dexterity exercised in preparing as many things as possible
with as little fire. An admirable contrivance of this nature
may be still seen in the Neapolitan Museum, viz., a portable
kitchen, about the size of a folio volume, containing stoves
for four dishes, and an apparatus for heating water or other
beverages.

Across the small kitchen flitted many forms which the
quick eye of the master did not recognise.

" Oh ! oh ! " grumbled he to himself, " that cursed Congrio
hath invited a whole legion of cooks to assist him. They
won't serve for nothing, and this is another item in the total
of my day's expenses. By Bacchus ! thrice lucky shall I be
if the slaves do not help themselves to some of the drink-
ing vessels : ready, alas, are their hands, capacious are their
tunics. Me miserum ! "

The cooks, however, worked on, seemingly heedless of the
apparition of Diomed.

" Ho, Euclio, your egg-pan ! What, is this the largest ?
it only holds thirty-three eggs : in the houses /usually serve,
the smallest egg-pan holds fifty, if need be ! "

"The unconscionable rogue!" thought Diomed; "he
talks of eggs as if they were a sesterce a hundred ! "

" By Mercury ! " cried a pert little culinary disciple,
scarce in his novitiate ; " whoever saw such antique sweet-
meat shapes as these ? — it is impossible to do credit to one's
art with such rude materials. Why, Sallust's commonest
sweetmeat shape represents the whole siege of Troy ; Hector

and Paris, and Helen with little Astyanax and the

Wooden Horse into the bargain ! "

" Silence, fool ! " said Congrio, the cook of the house,
who seemed to leave the chief part of the battle to his allies.
" My master, Diomed, is not one of those expensive good-
for-noughts, who must have the last fashion, cost what it will ! "

" Thou liest, base slave ! " cried Diomed, in a great
passion, — "and thou costest me already enough to have
ruined Lucullus himself! Come out of thy den, I want
to talk to thee."

240 The Last Days of Pompeii

The slave, with a sly wink at his confederates, obeyed the
command.

" Man of three letters," 1 said Diomed, with his face of
solemn anger, " how didst thou dare to invite all those rascals
into my house ? — I see thief written in every line of their
faces."

"Yet, I assure you, master, that they are men of most
respectable character — the best cooks of the place ; it is a
great favour to get them. But for my sake "

" Thy sake, unhappy Congrio ! " interrupted Diomed ;
" and by what purloined moneys of mine, by what reserved
filchings from marketing, by what goodly meats converted
into grease, and sold in the suburbs, by what false charges
for bronzes marred, and earthenware broken — hast thou been
enabled to make them serve thee for thy sake ? "

" Nay, master, do not impeach my honesty ! May the
gods desert me if "

"Swear not!" again interrupted the choleric Diomed,
" for then the gods will smite thee for a perjurer, and I shall
lose my cook on the eve of dinner. But, enough of this at
present : keep a sharp eye on thy ill-favoured assistants, and
tell me no tales to-morrow of vases broken, and cups
miraculously vanished, or thy whole back shall be one pain.
And hark thee ! thou knowest thou hast made me pay for
those Phrygian attagens2 enough, by Hercules, to have feasted
a sober man for a year together — see that they be not one
iota over-roasted. The last time, O Congrio, that I gave
a banquet to my friends, when thy vanity did so boldly
undertake the becoming appearance of a Melian crane — thou
knowest it came up like a stone from ^Etna — as if all the
fires of Phlegethon had been scorching out its juices. Be
modest this time, Congrio — wary and modest. Modesty is
the nurse of great actions ; and in all other things, as in this,
if thou wilt not spare thy master's purse, at least consult thy
master's glory."

" There shall not be such a ccena seen at Pompeii since
the days of Hercules."

" Softly, softly — thy cursed boasting again I But I say,

1 The common witty objurgation, from the triliteral word "fur"
(thief).

2 The attagen of Phrygia or Iona (the bird thus anglicised in the
plural) was held in peculiar esteem by the Romans. " Attagen carnis
suavissimse." {Athen., lib, ix. cap. 8, 9.) It was a little bigger than a
partridge.

*•,•■

A Classic Host, Cook, and Kitchen 241

Congrio, yon homwiculus — yon pigmy assailant of my cranes
— yon pert-tongued neophyte of the kitchen, was there
aught but insolence on his tongue when he maligned the
comeliness of my sweetmeat shapes ? I would not be out
of the fashion, Congrio."

"It is but the custom of us cooks," replied Congrio,
gravely, " to undervalue our tools, in order to increase the
effect of our art. The sweetmeat shape is a fair shape, and
a lovely ; but I would recommend my master, at the first
occasion, to purchase some new ones of a "

"That will suffice, " exclaimed Diomed, who seemed
resolved never to allow his slave to finish his sentences.
"Now, resume thy charge — shine — eclipse thyself. Let
.men envy Diomed his cook — let the slaves of Pompeii style
thee Congrio the great ! Go ! yet stay — thou hast not spent
all the moneys I gave thee for the marketing ? "

" 'All!' alas ! the nightingales' tongues and the Roman
tomacula} and the oysters from Britain, and sundry other
things, too numerous now to recite, are yet left unpaid for.
But what matter? every one trusts the Arckimagirus2 of
Diomed the wealthy ! "

" Oh, unconscionable prodigal ! — what waste ! — what
profusion ! — I am ruined ! But go, hasten — inspect ! —
taste ! — perform ! — surpass thyself ! Let the Roman senator
not despise the poor Pompeian. Away, slave — and remem-
ber, the Phrygian attagens."

The chief disappeared within his natural domain, and
Diomed rolled back his portly presence to the more courtly
chambers. All was to his liking — the flowers were fresh,
the fountains played briskly, the mosaic pavements were as
smooth as mirrors.

"Where is my daughter Julia?" he asked.

"At the bath."

" Ah ! that reminds me ! — time wanes ! — and I must
bathe also."

Our story returns to Apsecides. On awaking that day
from the broken and feverish sleep which had followed
his adoption of a faith so strikingly and sternly at variance
with that in which his youth had been nurtured, the young
priest could scarcely imagine that he was not yet in a

1 " candiduli divina tomacula porci. "— -Juvenal, x. 1. 355, A

rich and delicate species of sausage.

2 Archimagirus was the lofty title of the chief cook.

242 The Last Days of Pompeii

dream ; he had crossed the fatal river — the past was hence-
forth to have no sympathy with the future ; the two worlds
were distinct and separate, — that which had been, from that
which was to be. To what a bold and adventurous enter-
prise he had pledged his life ! — to unveil the mysteries in
which he had participated — to desecrate the altars he had
served — to denounce the goddess whose ministering robe he
wore ! Slowly he became sensible of the hatred and the
horror he should provoke amongst the pious, even if success-
ful ; if frustrated in his daring attempt, what penalties might
he not incur for an offence hitherto unheard of — for which
no specific law, derived from experience, was prepared ; and
which, for that very reason, precedents, dragged from the
sharpest armoury of obsolete and inapplicable legislation,
would probably be distorted to meet ! His friends, — the
sister of his youth, — could he expect justice, though he
might receive compassion, from them ? This brave and
heroic act would by their heathen eyes be regarded,
perhaps, as a heinous apostasy, — at the best as a pitiable
madness.

He dared, he renounced, everything in this world, in the
hope of securing that eternity in the next, which had so
suddenly been revealed to him. While these thoughts on
the one hand invaded his breast, on the other hand his
pride, his courage, and his virtue, mingled with reminis-
cences of revenge for deceit, of indignant disgust at fraud,
conspired to raise and to support him.

The conflict was sharp and keen ; but his new feelings
triumphed over his old : and a mighty argument in favour
of wrestling with the sanctities of old opinions and heredi-
tary forms might be found in the conquest over both,
achieved by that humble priest. Had the early Christians
been more controlled by "the solemn plausibilities of
custom " — less of democrats in the pure and lofty acceptation
of that perverted word, — Christianity would have perished in
its cradle !

As each priest in succession slept several nights together
in the chambers of the temple, the term imposed on
Apaecides was not yet completed ; and when he had risen
from his couch, attired himself, as usual, in his robes, and
left his narrow chamber, he found himself before the altars
of the temple.

In the exhaustion of his late emotions he had slept far into

Apaecides Seeks lone 243

the morning, and the vertical sun already poured its fervid
beams over the sacred place.

" Salve, Apaecides ! " said a voice, whose natural asperity
was smoothed by long artifice into an almost displeasing
softness of tone. " Thou art late abroad ; has the goddess
revealed herself to thee in visions ? "

"Could she reveal her true self to the people, Calenus,
how incenseless would be these altars ! "

" That," replied Calenus, " may possibly be true ; but
the deity is wise enough to hold commune with none
but priests."

" A time may come when she will be unveiled without her
own acquiescence."

" It is not likely : she has triumphed for countless ages.
And that which has so long stood the test of time rarely
succumbs to the lust of novelty. But hark ye, young
brother ! these sayings are indiscreet."

" It is not for thee to silence them," replied Apaecides,
haughtily.

" So hot ! — yet I will not quarrel with thee. Why, my
Apaecides, has not the Egyptian convinced thee of the
necessity of our dwelling together in unity ? Has he not
convinced thee of the wisdom of deluding the people and
enjoying ourselves ? If not, oh, brother ! he is not that
great magician he is esteemed."

" Thou, then, hast shared his lessons ? " said Apaecides,
with a hollow smile.

" Ay ! but I stood less in need of them than thou.
Nature had already gifted me with the love of pleasure, and
the desire of gain and power. Long is the way that leads
the voluptuary to the severities of life ; but it is only one
step from pleasant sin to sheltering hypocrisy. Beware the
vengeance of the goddess, if the shortness of that step be
disclosed ! "

"Beware, thou, the hour when the tomb shall be rent
and the rottenness exposed," returned Apaecides, solemnly.
* Vale!"

With these words he left the flamen to his meditations.
When he got a few paces from the temple, he turned to look
back. Calenus had already disappeared in the entry room
of the priests, for it now approached the hour of that repast
which, called prandium by the ancients, answers in point of
date to the breakfast of the moderns. The white and grace-

244 The Last Days of Pompeii

ful fane gleamed brightly in the sun. Upon the altars before
it rose the incense and bloomed the garlands. The priest
gazed long and wistfully upon the scene — it was the last
time that it was ever beheld by him !

He then turned and pursued his way slowly towards the
house of lone ; for before possibly the last tie that united
them was cut in twain — before the uncertain peril of the
next day was incurred, he was anxious to see his last sur-
viving relative, his fondest as his earliest friend.

He arrived at her house, and found her in the garden
with Nydia.

" This is kind, Apsecides," said lone, joyfully; "and how
eagerly have 1 wished to see thee ! — what thanks do 1 not
owe thee ? How churlish hast thou been to answer none of
my letters — to abstain from coming hither to receive the
expressions of my gratitude ! Oh ! thou hast assisted to
preserve thy sister from dishonour ! What, what can she
say to thank thee, now thou art come at last ? "

" My sweet lone, thou owest me no gratitude, for thy
cause was mine. Let us avoid that subject, let us recur not
to that impious man — how hateful to both of us ! I may
have a speedy opportunity to teach the world the nature of
his pretended wisdom and hypocritical severity. But let us
sit down, my sister ; I am wearied with the heat of the sun ;
let us sit in yonder shade, and, for a little while longer, be
to each other what we have been."

Beneath a wide plane-tree, with the cistus and the arbutus
clustering round them, the living fountain before, the green-
sward beneath their feet ; the gay cicada, once so dear to
Athens, rising merrily ever and anon amidst the grass ; the
butterfly, beautiful emblem of the soul, dedicated to Psyche,
and which has continued to furnish illustrations to the
Christian bard, rich in the glowing colours caught from
Sicilian skies,1 hovering about the sunny flowers, itself like
a winged flower — in this spot, and this scene, the brother
and the sister sat together for the last time on earth. You
may tread now on the same place ; but the garden is no
more, the columns are shattered, the fountain has ceased to
play. Let the traveller search amongst the ruins of Pompeii
for the house of lone. Its remains are yet visible ; but I
will not betray them to the gaze of commonplace tourists.

1 In Sicily are found, perhaps, the most beautiful varieties of the
butterfly.

Their Conversation 245

He who is more sensitive than the herd will discover them
easily : when he has done so, let him keep the secret.

They sat down, and Nydia, glad to be alone, retired to
the farther end of the garden.

" lone, my sister," said the young convert, " place your
hand upon my brow ; let me feel your cool touch. Speak
to me, too, for your gentle voice is like a breeze that hath
freshness as well as music. Speak to me, but forbear to bless
me I Utter not one word of those forms of speech which
our childhood was taught to consider sacred ! "

"Alas! and what then shall I say? Our language of
affection is so woven with that of worship, that the words grow
chilled and trite if I banish from them allusion to our gods."

" Our gods / " murmured Apaecides, with a shudder :
" thou slightest my request already."

11 Shall I speak then to thee only of Isis ? "

" The Evil Spirit ! No, rather be dumb for ever, unless at
least thou canst — but away, away this talk ! Not now will
we dispute and cavil ; not now will we judge harshly of each
other. Thou, regarding me as an apostate ! and I all sorrow
and shame for thee as an idolater. No, my sister, let us avoid
such topics and such thoughts. In thy sweet presence a calm
falls over my spirit. For a little while I forget. As I thus lay
my temples on thy bosom, as I thus feel thy gentle arm em-
brace me, I think that we are children once more, and that
the heaven smiles equally upon both. For oh ! if hereafter I
escape, no matter what peril ; and it be permitted me to
address thee on one sacred and awful subject ; should I find
thine ear closed and thy heart hardened, what hope for myself
could countervail the despair for thee ? In thee, my sister,
I behold a likeness made beautiful, made noble, of myself.
Shall the mirror live for ever, and the form itself be broken
as the potter's clay ? Ah, no — no — thou wilt listen to me
yet ! Dost thou remember how we went into the fields by
Baiae, hand in hand together, to pluck the flowers of spring ?
Even so, hand in hand, shall we enter the Eternal Garden,
and crown ourselves with imperishable asphodel ! "

Wondering and bewildered by words she could not com-
prehend, but excited even to tears by the plaintiveness of
their tone, lone listened to these outpourings of a full and
oppressed heart. In truth, Apaecides himself was softened
much beyond his ordinary mood, which to outward seeming
was usually either sullen or impetuous. For the noblest

246 The Last Days of Pompeii

desires are of a jealous nature — they engross, they absorb
the soul, and often leave the splenetic humours stagnant
and unheeded at the surface. Unheeding the petty things
around us, we are deemed morose ; impatient at earthly in-
terruption to the diviner dreams, we are thought irritable
and churlish. For as there is no chimera vainer than the
hope that one human heart shall find sympathy in another,
so none ever interpret us with justice ; and none, no, not
our nearest and our dearest ties, forbear with us in
mercy ! When we are dead and repentance comes too late,
both friend and foe may wonder to think how little there
was in us to forgive !

" I will talk to thee then of our early years," said lone.
" Shall yon blind girl sing to thee of the days of childhood ?
Her voice is sweet and musical, and she hath a song on that
theme which contains none of those allusions it pains thee
to hear."

" Dost thou remember the words, my sister ? " asked
Apsecides.

" Methinks yes ; for the tune, which is simple, fixed them
on my memory."

" Sing to me then thyself. My ear is not in unison with
unfamiliar voices ; and thine, lone, full of household asso-
ciations, has ever been to me more sweet than all the hireling
melodies of Lycia or of Crete. Sing to me ! "

lone beckoned to a slave that stood in the portico, and
sending for her lute, -sang, when it arrived, to a tender and
simple air, the following verses : — *

REGRETS FOR CHILDHOOD

I.

"It is not that our earlier Heaven
Escapes its April showers,
Or that to childhood's heart is given
No snake amidst the flowers.
Ah ! twined with grief
Each brightest leaf.
That's wreath'd us by the Hours !
Young though we be, the Past may sting,

The present feed its sorrow ;

But hope shines bright on every thing

That waits us with the morrow.

Like sun-lit glades,

The dimmest shades

Some rosy beam can borrow.

Their Conversation 247

It is not that our later years

Of cares are woven wholly,
But smiles less swiftly chase the tears, -

And wounds are healed more slowly.
And Memory's vow
To lost ones now,
Makes joys too bright, unholy.
And ever fled the Iris bow

That smiled when clouds were o'er us.
If storms should burst, uncheered we go,
A drearier waste before us ; —
And with the toys
Of childish joys,
We've broke the staff that bore us !

Wisely and delicately had lone chosen that song, sad
though its burthen seemed ; for when we are deeply mourn-
ful, discordant above all others is the voice of mirth : the
fittest spell is that borrowed from melancholy itself, for dark
thoughts can be softened down when they cannot be
brightened ; and so they lose the precise and rigid outline of
their truth, and their colours melt into the ideal. As the
leech applies in remedy to the internal sore some outward
irritation, which, by a gentler wound, draws away the venom
of that which is more deadly, thus, in the rankling festers of
the mind, our art is to divert to a milder sadness on the
surface the pain that gnaweth at the core. And so with
Apaecides, yielding to the influence of the silver voice that
reminded him of the past, and told but of half the sorrow-
born to the present, he forgot his more immediate and fiery
sources of anxious thought. He spent hours in making
lone alternately sing to, and converse with, him ; and when
he rose to leave her, it was with a calmed and lulled mind.

" lone," said he, as he pressed her hand, " should you
hear my name blackened and maligned, will you credit the
aspersion ? "

" Never, my brother, never ! "

" Dost thou not imagine, according to thy belief, that the
evil-doer is punished hereafter, and the good rewarded ? "

" Can you doubt it ? "

" Dost thou think, then, that he who is truly good should
sacrifice every selfish interest in his zeal for virtue ? "

" He who doth so is the equal of the gods."

" And thou believest that, according to the purity and

248 The Last Days of Pompeii

courage with which he thus acts, shall be his portion of bliss
beyond the grave ? "

" So we are taught to hope."

" Kiss me, my sister. One question more. — Thou art to
be wedded to Glaucus : perchance that marriage may separate
us more hopelessly— but not of this speak I now ; — thou art
to be married to Glaucus — dost thou love him ? Nay, my
sister, answer me by words."

"Yes !" murmured lone, blushing.

"Dost thou feel that, for his sake, thou couldst renounce
pride, brave dishonour, and incur death ? I have heard that
when women really love, it is to that excess."

M My brother, all this could I do for Glaucus, and feel
that it were not a sacrifice. There is no sacrifice to those
who love, in what is borne for the one we love."

" Enough ! shall woman feel thus for man, and man feel
less devotion to his God ? "

He spoke no more. His whole countenance seemed
instinct and inspired with a divine life : his chest swelled
proudly ; his eyes glowed : on his forehead was writ the
majesty of a man who can dare to be noble ! He turned to
meet the eyes of lone — earnest, wistful, fearful ; — he kissed
her fondly, strained her warmly to his breast, and in a
moment more he had left the house.

Long did lone remain in the same place, mute and
thoughtful. The maidens again and again came to warn her
of the deepening noon, and her engagement to Diomed's
banquet. At length she woke from her reverie, and pre-
pared, not with the pride of beauty, but listless and melan-
choly, for the festival : one thought alone reconciled her to
the promised visit — she should meet Glaucus — she could
confide to him her alarm and uneasiness for her brother.

CHAPTER III

A FASHIONABLE PARTY AND A DINNER A LA MODE IN
POMPEII

Meanwhile Sallust and Glaucus were slowly strolling
towards the house of Diomed. Despite the habits of
his life, Sallust was not devoid of many estimable qualities.

A Fashionable Party 249

He would have been an active friend, a useful citizen — in
short, an excellent man, if he had not taken it into his head
to be a philosopher. Brought up in the schools in which
Roman plagiarism worshipped the echo of Grecian wisdom,
he had imbued himself with those doctrines by which the
later Epicureans corrupted the simple maxims of their great
master. He gave himself altogether up to pleasure, and
imagined there was no sage like a boon companion. Still,
however, he had a considerable degree of learning, wit, and
good nature; and the hearty frankness of his very vices
seemed like virtue itself beside the utter corruption of
Clodius and the prostrate effeminacy of Lepidus ; and
therefore Glaucus liked him the best of his companions j
and he, in turn, appreciating the nobler qualities of the
Athenian, loved him almost as much as a cold muraena, or
a bowl of the best Falernian.

"This is a vulgar old fellow, this Diomed," said Sallust :
" but he has some good qualities — in his cellar ! "

" And some charming ones — in his daughter."

" True, Glaucus : but you are not much moved by them,
methinks. I fancy Clodius is desirous to be your successor."

" He is welcome. — At the banquet of Julia's beauty, no
guest, be sure, is considered a musca." 1

" You are severe : but she has, indeed, something of the
Corinthian about her — they will be well matched, after all !
What good-natured fellows we are to associate with that
gambling good-for-nought."

" Pleasure unites strange varieties," answered Glaucus.
" He amuses me "

"And natters; — but then he pays himself well! He
powders his praise with gold-dust."

"You often hint that he plays unfairly — think you so
really?"

" My dear Glaucus, a Roman noble has his dignity to
keep up — dignity is very expensive — Clodius must cheat
like a scoundrel, in order to live like a gentleman."

" Ha ha ! — well, of late I have renounced the dice. Ah !
Sallust, when I am wedded to lone, I trust I may yet redeem
a youth of follies. We are both born for better things than
those in which we sympathise now — born to render our
worship in nobler temples than the stye of Epicurus."

"Alas !" returned Sallust, in rather a melancholy tone,

1 Unwelcome and uninvited guests were called muscae, or flies.

250 The Last Days of Pompeii

"what do we know more than this, — life is short — beyond
the grave all is dark ? There is no wisdom like that which
says 'enjoy.'"

" By Bacchus ! I doubt sometimes if we do enjoy the
utmost of which life is capable."

"I am a moderate man," returned Sallust, "and do not
ask * the utmost.' We are like malefactors, and intoxicate
ourselves with wine and myrrh, as we stand on the brink of
death $ but, if we did not do so, the abyss would look very
disagreeable. I own that I was inclined to be gloomy
until I took so heartily to drinking — that is a new life, my
Glaucus."

"Yes ! but it brings us next morning to a new death."

" Why, the next morning is unpleasant, I own ; but, then,
if it were not so, one would never be inclined to read. I
study betimes — because, by the gods ! I am generally unfit
for anything else till noon."

" Fie, Scythian ! "

" Pshaw ! the fate of Pentheus to him who denies
Bacchus."

"Well, Sallust, with all your faults, you are the best
profligate I ever met : and verily, if I were in danger of
life, you are the only man in all Italy who would stretch
out a finger to save me."

" Perhaps / should not, if it were in the middle of supper.
But, in truth, we Italians are fearfully selfish."

" So are all men who are not free," said Glaucus, with a
sigh. " Freedom alone makes men sacrifice to each other."

" Freedom, then, must be a very fatiguing thing to an
Epicurean," answered Sallust. " But here we are at our
host's."

As Diomed's villa is one of the most considerable in
point of size of any yet discovered at Pompeii, and is,
moreover, built much according to the specific instructions
for a suburban villa laid down by the Roman architect, it
may not be uninteresting briefly to describe the plan of the
apartments through which our visitors passed.

They entered, then, by the same small vestibule at which
we have before been presented to the aged Medon, and
passed at once into a colonnade, technically termed the
peristyle ; for the main difference between the suburban
villa and the town mansion consisted in placing, in the first,
the said colonnade in exactly the same place as that which

A Fashionable Party 251

in the town mansion was occupied by the atrium. In the
centre of the peristyle was an open court, which contained
the impluvium.

From this peristyle descended a staircase to the offices ;
another narrow passage on the opposite side communicated
with a garden ; various small apartments surrounded the
colonnade, appropriated probably to country visitors.
Another door to the left on entering communicated with
a small triangular portico, which belonged to the baths ;
and behind was the wardrobe, in which were kept the vests
of the holiday suits of the slaves, and, perhaps, of the
master. Seventeen centuries afterwards were found those
relics of ancient finery calcined and crumbling : kept longer,
alas ! than their thrifty lord foresaw.

Return we to the peristyle, and endeavour now to present
to the reader a coup (Tail of the whole suite of apartments,
which immediately stretched before the steps of the visitors.

Let him then first imagine the columns of the portico,
hung with festoons of flowers ; the columns themselves in
the lower part painted red, and the walls around glowing
with various frescoes ; then, looking beyond a curtain, three
parts drawn aside, the eye caught the tablinum or saloon
(which was closed at will by glazed doors, now slid back
into the walls). On either side of this tablinum were small
rooms, one of which was a kind of cabinet of gems ; and
these apartments, as well as the tablinum, communicated
with a long gallery, which opened at either end upon
terraces ; and between the terraces, and communicating
with the central part of the gallery, was a hall, in which the
banquet was that day prepared. All these apartments,
though almost on a level with the street, were one story
above the garden ; and the terraces communicating with
the gallery were continued into corridors, raised above the
pillars which, to the right and left, skirted the garden below.

Beneath, and on a level with the garden, ran the apart-
ments we have already described as chiefly appropriated to
Julia.

In the gallery, then, just mentioned, Diomed received his
guests.

The merchant affected greatly the man of letters, and,
therefore, he also affected a passion for everything Greek ,
he paid particular attention to Glaucus.

" You will see, my friend," said he, with a wave of his

252 The Last Days of Pompeii

hand, " that I am a little classical here — a little Cecropian

eh ? The hall in which we shall sup is borrowed from

the Greeks. It is an CEcus Cyzicene. Noble Sallust, they
have not, I am told, this sort of apartment in Rome."

" Oh ! " replied Sallust, with a half smile ; " you Pom-
peians combine all that is most eligible in Greece and in
Rome ; may you, Diomed, combine the viands as well as
the architecture ! "

" You shall see — you shall see, my Sallust," replied the
merchant. " We have a taste at Pompeii, and we have also
money."

" They are two excellent things," replied Sallust. " But,
behold, the lady Julia ! "

The main difference, as I have before remarked, in the
manner of life observed among the Athenians and Romans,
was, that with the first, the modest women rarely or never
took part in entertainments ; with the latter, they were the
common ornaments of the banquet j but when they were
present at the feast, it usually terminated at an early hour.

Magnificently robed in white, interwoven with pearls
and threads of gold, the handsome Julia entered the
apartment.

Scarcely had she received the salutation of the two guests,
ere Pansa and his wife, Lepidus, Clodius, and the Roman
senator, entered almost simultaneously ; then came the
widow Fulvia ; then the poet Fulvius, like to the widow in
name if in nothing else; the warrior from Herculaneum,
accompanied by his umbra, next stalked in ; afterwards, the
less eminent of the guests. lone yet tarried.

It was the mode among the courteous ancients to flatter
whenever it was in their power : accordingly it was a sign of
ill-breeding to seat themselves immediately on entering the
house of their host. After performing the salutation, which
was usually accomplished by the same cordial shake of the
right hand which we ourselves retain, and sometimes, by the
yet more familiar embrace, they spent several minutes in
surveying the apartment, and admiring the bronzes, the
pictures, or the furniture, with which it was adorned — a mode
very impolite according to our refined English notions, which
place good breeding in indifference. We would not for the
world express much admiration of another man's house, for
fear it should be thought we had never seen anything so
fine before !

A Fashionable Party 253

"A beautiful statue this of Bacchus!" said the Roman
senator.

" A mere trifle ! " replied Diomed.

" What charming paintings ! " said Fulvia.

" Mere trifles ! " answered the owner.

" Exquisite candelabra ! " cried the warrior.

" Exquisite ! " echoed his umbra.

" Trifles ! trifles ! " reiterated the merchant.

Meanwhile, Glaucus found himself by one of the windows
of the gallery, which communicated with the terraces, and
the fair Julia by his side.

" Is it an Athenian virtue, Glaucus," said the merchant's
daughter, " to shun those whom we once sought ? "

" Fair Julia— no ! "

" Yet methinks, it is one of the qualities of Glaucus."

"Glaucus never shuns a friend I" replied the Greek, with
some emphasis on the last word.

" May Julia rank among the number of his friends ? "

" It would be an honour to the emperor to find a friend
in one so lovely."

" You evade my question," returned the enamoured Julia.
"But tell me, is it true that you admire the Neapolitan
lone?"

" Does not beauty constrain our admiration ? "

" Ah ! subtle Greek, still do you fly the meaning of my
words. But say, shall Julia be indeed your friend ? "

" If she will so favour, me, blessed be the gods ! The day
in which I am thus honoured shall be ever marked in white."

" Yet, even while you speak, your eye is resting— your
colour comes and goes — you move away involuntarily — you
are impatient to join lone ! "

For at that moment lone had entered, and Glaucus had
indeed betrayed the emotion noticed by the jealous beauty.

" Can admiration to one woman make me unworthy the
friendship of another? Sanction not so, O Julia, the libels
of the poets on your sex ! "

" Well, you are right — or I will learn to think so. Glaucus,
yet one moment ! You are to wed lone ; is it not so ? "

" If the Fates permit, such is my blessed hope."

" Accept, then, from me, in token of our new friendship,
a present for your bride. Nay, it is the custom of friends,
you know, always to present to bride and bridegroom some
such little marks of their esteem and favouring wishes."

254 The Last Days of Pompeii

' f Julia ! I cannot refuse any token of friendship from
one like you. I will accept the gift as an omen from
Fortune herself."

" Then, after the feast, when the guests retire, you will
descend with me to my apartment, and receive it from my
hands. Remember ! " said Julia, as she joined the wife of
Pansa, and left Glaucus to seek lone.

The widow Fulvia and the spouse of the sedile were
engaged in high and grave discussion.

11 O Fulvia ! I assure you that the last account from Rome
declares that the frizzling mode of dressing the hair is
growing antiquated ; they only now wear it built up in a
tower, like Julia's, or arranged as a helmet — the Galerian
fashion, like mine, you see : it has a fine effect, I think. I
assure you, Vespius (Vespius was the name of the Hercu-
laneum hero) admires it greatly."

" And nobody wears the hair like yon Neapolitan, in the
Greek way."

" What, parted in front, with the knot behind ? Oh, no ;
how ridiculous it is ! it reminds one of the statue of Diana !
Yet this lone is handsome, eh ? "

" So the men say ; but then she is rich : she is to marry
the Athenian — I wish her joy. He will not be long
faithful, I suspect; those foreigners are very faithless."

" Oh, Julia ! " said Fulvia, as the merchant's daughter
joined them ; " have you seen the tiger yet ? "

"No!"

"Why, all the ladies have been to see him. He is so
handsome ! "

" I hope we shall find some criminal or other for him
and the lion," replied Julia. "Your husband (turning to
Pansa's wife) is not so active as he should be in this
matter."

" Why, really, the laws are too mild," replied the dame
of the helmet. " There are so few offences to which the
punishment of the arena can be awarded ; and then, too,
the gladiators are growing effeminate ! The stoutest bestiarii
declare they are willing enough to fight a boar or a bull ;
but as for a lion or a tiger, they think the game too much
in earnest."

"They are worthy of a mitre,"1 replied Julia, in disdain.

1 Mitres were worn sometimes by men, and considered a great mark
of effeminacy.

A Fashionable Party 255

" Oh ! have you seen the new house of Fulvius, the
dear poet ? " said Pansa's wife.

" No : is it handsome ? "

"Very! — such good taste. But they say, my dear, that
he has such improper pictures ! He won't show them to
the women : how ill-bred ! "

" Those poets are always odd," said the widow. " But
he is an interesting man ; what pretty verses he writes !
We improve very much in poetry : it is impossible to read
the old stuff now."

" I declare I am of your opinion," returned the lady of
the helmet. "There is so much more force and energy
in the modern school."

The warrior sauntered up to the ladies.

" It reconciles me to peace," said he, "when I see such
faces."

" Oh ! you heroes are ever flatterers," returned Fulvia,
hastening to appropriate the compliment specially to
herself.

" By this chain, which I received from the emperor's
own hand," replied the warrior, playing with a short chain
which hung round the neck like a collar, instead of descend-
ing to the breast, according to the fashion of the peaceful —
" By this chain, you wrong me ! I am a blunt man — a
soldier should be so."

" How do you find the ladies of Pompeii generally ? " said
Julia.

" By Venus, most beautiful ! They favour me a little,
it is true, and that inclines my eyes to double their
charms."

" We love a warrior," said the wife of Pansa.

" I see it : by Hercules ! it is even disagreeable to be too
celebrated in these cities. At Herculaneum they climb the
roof of my atrium to catch a glimpse of me through the
compluvium; the admiration of one's citizens is pleasant
at first, but burthensome afterwards."

" True, true, O Vespius ! " cried the poet, joining the
group: "I find it so myself."

" You ! " said the stately warrior, scanning the small
form of the poet with ineffable disdain. " In what legion
have you served?"

" You may see my spoils, my exuviae, in the forum itself,"
returned the poet, with a significant glance at the women.

256 The Last Days of Pompeii

" I have been among the tent-companions, the con-
tubernales, of the great Mantuan himself."

" I know no general from Mantua," said the warrior,
gravely. " What campaign have you served ? "

"That of Helicon."

" I never heard of it."

" Nay, Vespius, he does but joke," said Julia, laughing.

" Joke ! By Mars, am I a man to be joked ! "

"Yes; Mars himself was in love with the mother of
jokes," said the poet, a little alarmed. " Know, then, O
Vespius I that I am the poet Fulvius. It is I who make
warriors immortal ! "

"The gods forbid!" whispered Sallust to Julia. c If
Vespius were made immortal, what a specimen of tiresome
braggadocio would be transmitted to posterity ! "

The soldier looked puzzled ; when, to the infinite relief
of himself and his companions, the signal for the feast was
given.

As we have already witnessed at the house of Glaucus the
ordinary routine of a Pompeian entertainment, the reader
is spared any second detail of the courses, and the manner
in which they were introduced.

Diomed, who was rather ceremonious, had appointed
a nomenclator, or appointer of places, to each guest.

The reader understands that the festive board was com-
posed of three tables ; one at the centre, and one at each
wing. It was only at the outer side of these tables that the
guests reclined ; the inner space was left untenanted, for
the greater convenience of the waiters or ministri. The
extreme corner of one of the wings was appropriated to
Julia as the lady of the feast; that next her, to Diomed.
At one corner of the centre table was placed the aedile ; at
the opposite corner, the Roman senator — these were the
posts of honour. The other guests were arranged, so that
the young (gentleman or lady) should sit next each other,
and the more advanced in years be similarly matched. An
agreeable provision enough, but one which must often have
offended those who wished to be thought still young.

The chair of lone was next to the couch of Glaucus.1
The seats were veneered with tortoiseshell, and covered

1 In formal parties the women sat in chairs, — the men reclined.
It was only in the bosom of families that the same ease was granted
to both sexes — the reason is obvious.

A Fashionable Party 257

with quilts stuffed with feathers, and ornamented with
costly embroideries. The modern ornaments of epergne
or plateau were supplied by images of the gods, wrought
in bronze, ivory, and silver. The sacred salt-cellar and
the familiar Lares were not forgotten. Over the table and
the seats a rich canopy was suspended from the ceiling.
At each corner of the table were lofty candelabra — for
though it was early noon, the room was darkened — while
from tripods, placed in different parts of the room, distilled
the odour of myrrh and frankincense ; and upon the
abacus, or sideboard, large vases and various ornaments of
silver were ranged, much with the same ostentation (but
with more than the same taste) that we find displayed
at a modern feast.

The custom of grace was invariably supplied by that of
libations to the gods ; and Vesta, as queen of the house-
hold gods, usually received first that graceful homage.

This ceremony being performed, the slaves showered
flowers upon the couches and the floor, and crowned
each guest with rosy garlands, intricately woven with
ribands, tied by the rind of the linden-tree, and each
intermingled with the ivy and the amethyst — supposed
preventives against the effect of wine ; the wreaths of the
women only were exempted from these leaves, for it was
not the fashion for them to drink wine in public. It was
then that the president Diomed thought it advisable to
institute a basi/eus, or director of the feast — an important
office, sometimes chosen by lot ; sometimes, as now, by
the master of the entertainment.

Diomed was not a little puzzled as to his election. The
invalid senator was too grave and too infirm for the proper
fulfilment of his duty ; the sedile Pansa was adequate enough
to the task : but then, to choose the next in official rank to
the senator, was an affront to the senator himself. While
deliberating between the merits of the others, he caught the
mirthful glance of Sallust, and, by a sudden inspiration,
named the jovial epicure to the rank of director, or arbiter
bibendi.

Sallust received the appointment with becoming humility.

" I shall be a merciful king," said he, " to those who
drink deep ; to a recusant, Minos himself shall be less
inexorable. Beware ! "

The slaves handed round basins of perfumed water,

258 The Last Days of Pompeii

by which lavation the feast commenced : and now the table
groaned under the initiatory course.

The conversation, at first desultory and scattered, allowed
lone and Glaucus to carry on those sweet whispers, which
are worth all the eloquence in the world. Julia watched
them with flashing eyes.

" How soon shall her place be mine ! " thought she.

But Clodius, who sat in the centre table, so as to observe
well the countenance of Julia, guessed her pique, and
resolved to profit by it. He addressed her across the
table in set phrases of gallantry ; and as he was of high
birth and of a showy person, the vain Julia was not so
much in love as to be insensible to his attentions.

The slaves, in the interim, were constantly kept upon the
alert by the vigilant Sallust, who chased one cup by another
with a celerity which seemed as if he were resolved upon
exhausting those capacious cellars which the reader may yet
see beneath the house of Diomed. The worthy merchant
began to repent his choice, as amphora after amphora was
pierced and emptied. The slaves, all under the age of
manhood (the youngest being about ten years old, — it was
they who filled the wine, — the eldest, some five years older,
mingled it with water), seemed to share in the zeal of
Sallust ; and the face of Diomed began to glow as he
watched the provoking complacency with which they
seconded the exertions of the king of the feast.

" Pardon me, O senator ! " said Sallust ; " I see you
flinch ; your purple hem cannot save you — drink ! "

" By the gods," said the senator, coughing, " my lungs
are already on fire; you proceed with so miraculous a
swiftness, that Phaeton himself was nothing to you. I
am infirm, O pleasant Sallust : you must exonerate me."

" Not I, by Vesta ! I am an impartial monarch — drink."

The poor senator, compelled by the laws of the table,
was forced to comply. Alas I every cup was bringing him
nearer and nearer to the Stygian pool.

"Gently! gently! my king," groaned Diomed; "we
already begin to "

"Treason!" interrupted Sallust; "no stern Brutus
here ! — no interference with royalty ! "

" But our female guests "

" Love a toper ! Did not Ariadne dote upon Bacchus ? "

The feast proceeded; the guests grew more talkative

A Fashionable Party 259

and noisy; the dessert or last course was already on the
table ; and the slaves bore round water with myrrh and
hyssop for the finishing lavation. At the same time, a
small circular table that had been placed in the space
opposite the guests suddenly, and as by magic, seemed
to open in the centre, and cast up a fragrant shower,
sprinkling the table and the guests ; while as it ceased the
awning above them was drawn aside, and the guests per-
ceived that a rope had been stretched across the ceiling, and
that one of those nimble dancers for which Pompeii was
so celebrated, and whose descendants add so charming a
grace to the festivities of Astley's or Vauxhall, was now
treading his airy measures right over their heads.

This apparition, removed but by a cord from one's
pericranium, and indulging the most vehement leaps,
apparently with the intention of alighting upon that cerebral
region, would probably be regarded with some terror by a
party in May Fair; but our Pompeian revellers seemed
to behold the spectacle with delighted curiosity, and
applauded in proportion as the dancer appeared with the
most difficulty to miss falling upon the head of whatever
guest he particularly selected to dance above. He paid
the senator, indeed, the peculiar compliment of literally
falling from the rope, and catching it again with his
hand, just as the whole party imagined the skull of the
Roman was as much fractured as ever that of the poet
whom the eagle took for a tortoise. At length, to the great
relief of at least lone, who had not much accustomed herself
to this entertainment, the dancer suddenly paused as a
strain of music was heard from without. He danced again
still more wildly ; the air changed, the dancer paused
again ; no, it could not dissolve the charm which was
supposed to possess him ! He represented one who by
a strange disorder is compelled to dance, and whom only
a certain air of music can cure.1 At length the musician
seemed to hit on the right tune ; the dancer gave one leap,
swung himself down from the rope, alighted on the floor,
and vanished.

One art now yielded to another ; and the musicians
who were stationed without on the terrace struck up a
soft and mellow air, to which were sung the following

1 A dance still retained in Campania.

260 The Last Days of Pompeii

words, made almost indistinct by the barrier between and
the exceeding lowness of the minstrelsy : —

FESTIVE MUSIC SHOULD BE LOW.

" Hark ! through these flowers our music sends its greeting

To your loved halls, where Psilas * shuns the day ;
When the young god his Cretan nymph was meeting
He taught Pan's rustic pipe this gliding lay :
Soft as the dews of wine

Shed in this banquet hour,
The rich libation of Sound's stream divine,
O reverent harp, to Aphrodite pour !

II.

Wild rings the trump o'er ranks to glory marching ;

Music's sublimer bursts for war are meet ;
But sweet lips murmuring under wreaths o'er-arching,
Find the low whispers like their own most sweet.
Steal, my lull'd music, steal

Like woman's half-heard tone.
So that whoe'er shall hear, shall think to feel
In thee the voice of lips that love his own."

At the end of that song Ione's cheek blushed more
deeply than before, and Glaucus had contrived, under cover
of the table, to steal her hand.

" It is a pretty song," said Fulvius, patronisingly.

" Ah ! if you would oblige us ! " murmured the wife of
Pansa.

" Do you wish Fulvius to sing ? " asked the king of the
feast, who had just called on the assembly to drink the
health of the Roman senator, a cup to each letter of his
name.

"Can you ask?" said the matron, with a compli-
mentary glance at the poet.

Sallust snapped his fingers, and whispering the slave
who came to learn his orders, the latter disappeared, and
returned in a few moments with a small harp in one hand,
and a branch of myrtle in the other.

The slave approached the poet, and with a low reverence
presented to him the harp.

" Alas ! I cannot play," said the poet.

"Then you must sing to the myrtle. It is a Greek
fashion : Diomed loves the Greeks — I love the Greeks —
1 Bacchus.

A Fashionable Party 261

you love the Greeks — we all love the Greeks — and between
you and me this is not the only thing we have stolen from
them. However, I introduce this custom — I, the king :
sing, subject, sing ! "

The poet, with a bashful smile, took the myrtle in his
hands, and after a short prelude sang as follows, in a
pleasant and well-tuned voice : —

THE CORONATION OF THE LOVES.1

The merry Loves one holiday
Were all at gambols madly ;
But Loves too long can seldom play

Without behaving sadly.
They laugh'd, they toy'd, they romp'd about,
And then for change they all fell out.
Fie, fie ! how can they quarrel so ?

My Lesbia — ah, for shame, love
Methinks 'tis scarce an hour ago
When we did just the same, love.

II.

The Loves, 'tis thought, were free till then,

They had no king or laws, dear ;
But gods, like men, should subject be,

Say all the ancient saws, dear.
And so our crew resolved, for quiet,
To choose a king to curb their riot.

A kiss : ah ! what a grievous thing

For both, methinks, 'twould be, child,
If I should take some prudish king,
And cease to be so free, child 1

III.

Among their toys a Casque they found,

It was the helm of Ares ;
With horrent plumes the crest was crown'd,

It frightened all the Lares.
So fine a king was never known —
They placed the helmet on the throne.
My girl, since Valour wins the world,

They chose a mighty master ;
But thy sweet flag of smiles unfurled
Would win the world much faster !

1 Suggested by two Pompeian pictures in the museum at Naples
which represented a dove and a helmet enthroned by Cupids.

262 The Last Days of Pompeii

IV.

The Casque soon found the Loves too wild

A troop for him to school them ;
For warriors know how one such child

Has aye contrived to fool them.
They plagued him so, that in despair
He took a wife the plague to share.

If kings themselves thus find the strife

Of earth, unshared, severe, girl ;
Why just to halve the ills of life,
Come, take your partner here, girl.

Within that room the Bird of Love
The whole affair had eyed then ;
The monarch hail'd the royal dove,
And placed her by his side then :
What mirth amidst the Loves was seen !
' Lovig live,' they cried, ' our King and Queen.'
Ah ! Lesbia, would that thrones were mine,

And crowns to deck that brow, love !
And yet I know that heart of thine
For me is throne enow, love !

VI.

The urchins hoped to tease the mate

As they had teased the hero ;
But when the Dove in judgment sate
They found her worse than Nero !
Each look a frown, each word a law ;
The little subjects shook with awe.
In thee I find the same deceit ; —

Too late, alas ! a learner !
For where a mien more gently sweet ?
And where a tyrant sterner ? "

This song, which greatly suited the gay and lively fancy
of the Pompeians, was received with considerable applause,
and the widow insisted on crowning her namesake with the
very branch of myrtle to which he had sung. It was
easily twisted into a garland, and the immortal Fulvius was
crowned amidst the clapping of hands and shouts of
Iotriumphel The song and the harp now circulated round
the party, a new myrtle branch being handed about, stopping
at each person who could be prevailed upon to sing.1

1 According to Plutarch {Sympos. lib. i.) it seems that the branch of
myrtle or laurel was not carried round in order, but passed from the
first person on one couch to the first on another, and then from the
second on the one to the second on the other, and so on.

A Fashionable Party 263

The sun begun now to decline, though the revellers, who
had worn away several hours, perceived it not in their
darkened chamber; and the senator, who was tired, and
the warrior, who had to return to Herculaneum, rising to
depart, gave the signal for the general dispersion. " Tarry
yet a moment, my friends," said Diomed ; " if you will go
so soon, you must at least take a share in our concluding
game."

So saying, he motioned to one of the ministri, and
whispering him, the slave went out, and presently returned
with a small bowl containing various tablets carefully
sealed, and, apparently, exactly similar. Each guest was
to purchase one of these at the nominal price of the lowest
piece of silver : and the sport of this lottery (which was
the favourite diversion of Augustus, who introduced it)
consisted in the inequality, and sometimes the incongruity,
of the prizes, the nature and amount of which were specified
within the tablets. For instance, the poet, with a wry face,
drew one of his own poems (no physician ever less willingly
swallowed his own draught) ; the warrior drew a case of
bodkins, which gave rise to certain novel witticisms relative
to Hercules and the distaff; the widow Fulvia obtained
a large drinking-cup ; Julia, a gentleman's buckle; and
Lepidus, a lady's patch-box. The most appropriate lot
was drawn by the gambler Clodius, who reddened with
anger on being presented to a set of cogged dice.1 A
certain damp was thrown upon the gaiety which these
various lots created by an accident that was considered
ominous ; Glaucus drew the most valuable of all the
prizes, a small marble statue of Fortune, of Grecian work-
manship : on handing it to him the slave suffered it to
drop, and it broke in pieces.

A shiver went round the assembly, and each voice
cried spontaneously on the gods to avert the omen.

Glaucus alone, though perhaps as superstitious as the
rest, affected to be unmoved.

" Sweet Neapolitan," whispered he tenderly to lone, who
had turned pale as the broken marble itself, "I accept
the omen. It signifies that in obtaining thee, Fortune
can give no more, — she breaks her image when she blesses
me with thine"

1 Several cogged dice were found in Pompeii. Some of the virtues
may be modern, but it is quite clear that all the vices are ancient.

264 The Last Days of Pompeii

In order to divert the impression which this incident had
occasioned in an assembly which, considering the civilisation
of the guests, would seem miraculously superstitious, if at
the present day in a country party we did not often see
a lady grow hypochondriacal on leaving a room last of
thirteen, Sallust now crowning his cup with flowers, gave
the health of their host. This was followed by a similar
compliment to the emperor; and then, with a parting
cup to Mercury to send them pleasant slumbers, they
concluded the entertainment by a last libation, and broke
up the party.

Carriages and litters were little used in Pompeii, partly
owing to the extreme narrowness of the streets, partly to
the convenient smallness of the city. Most of the guests
replacing their sandals, which they had put off in the
banquet-room, and induing their cloaks, left the house
on foot attended by their slaves.

Meanwhile, having seen lone depart, Glaucus turning
to the staircase which led down to the rooms of Julia,
was conducted by a slave to an apartment in which he
found the merchant's daughter already seated.

" Glaucus I ? said she, looking down, " I see that you
really love lone — she is indeed beautiful."

" Julia is charming enough to be generous," replied the
Greek. " Yes, I love lone ; amidst all the youth who
court you, may you have one worshipper as sincere."

" I pray the gods to grant it ! See, Glaucus, these pearls
are the present I destine to your bride : may Juno give
her health to wear them ! "

So saying, she placed a case in his hand, containing
a row of pearls of some size and price. It was so much
the custom for persons about to be married to receive
these gifts, that Glaucus could have little scruple in
accepting the necklace, though the gallant and proud
Athenian inly resolved to requite the gift by one of
thrice its value. Julia then stopping short his thanks,
poured forth some wine into a small bowl.

"You have drunk many toasts with my father," said
she, smiling, — "one now with me. Health and fortune
to your bride ! "

She touched the cup with her lips and then presented
it to Glaucus. The customary etiquette required that
Glaucus should drain the whole contents ; he accordingly

The Story Halts at an Episode 265

did so. Julia, unknowing the deceit which Nydia had
practised upon her, watched him with sparkling eyes ;
although the witch had told her that the effect might
not be immediate, she yet sanguinely trusted to an
expeditious operation in favour of her charms. She
was disappointed when she found Glaucus coldly replace
the cup, and converse with her in the same unmoved but
gentle tone as before. And though she detained him
as long as she decorously could do, no change took place
in his manner.

" But to-morrow," thought she, exultingly recovering her
disappointment, — " to-morrow, alas for Glaucus 1 "

Alas for him, indeed 1

CHAPTER IV

THE STORY HALTS FOR A MOMENT AT AN EPISODE

Restless and anxious, Apaecides consumed the day in
wandering through the most sequestered walks in the
vicinity of the city. The sun was slowly setting as he paused
beside a lonely part of the Sarnus, ere yet it wound amidst
the evidences of luxury and power. Only through
openings in the woods and vines were caught glimpses
of the white and gleaming city, in which was heard in
the distance no din, no sound, nor " busiest hum of men."
Amidst the green banks crept the lizard and the grass-
hopper, and here and there in the brake some solitary bird
burst into sudden song, as suddenly stilled. There was
deep calm around, but not the calm of night ; the air still
breathed of the freshness and life of day ; the grass still
moved to the stir of the insect horde ; and on the opposite
bank the graceful and white capella passed browsing through
the herbage, and paused at the wave to drink.

As Apaecides stood musingly gazing upon the waters, he
heard beside him the low bark of a dog.

"Be still, poor friend," said a voice at hand; "the
stranger's step harms not thy master." The convert
recognised the voice, and, turning, h« beheld the old
mysterious man whom he had seen in the congregation
of the Nazarenes.

266 The Last Days of Pompeii

The old man was sitting upon a fragment of stone
covered with ancient mosses; beside him were his staff
and scrip; at his feet lay a small shaggy dog, the com-
panion in how many a pilgrimage perilous and strange.

The face of the old man was as balm to the excited spirit
of the neophyte : he approached, and craving his blessing,
sat down beside him.

" Thou art provided as for a journey, father," said he :
"wilt thou leave us yet?"

" My son," replied the old man, " the days in store for
me on earth are few and scanty ; I employ them as becomes
me travelling from place to place, comforting those whom
God has gathered together in His name, and proclaiming
the glory of His Son, as testified to His servant."

" Thou hast looked, they tell me, on the face of Christ ? "

"And the face revived me from the dead. Know, young
proselyte to the true faith, that I am he of whom thou
readest in the scroll of the Apostle. In the far Judea, and
in the city of Nain, there dwelt a widow, humble of spirit
and sad of heart ; for of all the ties of life one son alone
was spared to her. And she loved him with a melancholy
love, for he was the likeness of the lost. And the son died.
The reed on which she leaned was broken, the oil was dried
up in the widow's cruse. They bore the dead upon his
bier ; and near the gate of the city, where the crowd were
gathered, there came a silence over the sounds of woe, for
the Son of God was passing by. The mother, who followed
the bier, wept, — not noisily, but all who looked upon her
saw that her heart was crushed. And the Lord pitied her,
and he touched the bier, and said, *I say unto thee,
Arise.' And the dead man woke and looked upon the
face of the Lord. Oh, that calm and solemn brow, that
unutterable smile, that careworn and sbrrowful face, lighted
up with a God's benignity — it chased away the shadows of
the grave ! I rose, I spoke, I was living, and in my mother's
arms — yes, I am the dead revived ! The people shouted,
the funeral horns rung forth merrily : there was a cry, ' God
has visited His people ! ' I heard them not — I felt — I saw
— nothing — but the face of the Redeemer ! "

The old man paused, deeply moved ; and the youth felt
his blood creep, and his hair stir. He was in the presence
of one who had known the Mystery of Death !

" Till that time," renewed the widow's son, " I had been

The Story Halts at an Episode 267

as other men : thoughtless, not abandoned ; taking no heed,
but of the things of love and life; nay, I had inclined to
the gloomy faith of the earthly Sadducee ! But, raised from
the dead, from awful and desert dreams that these lips never
dare reveal — recalled upon earth, to testify the powers of
Heaven — once more mortal, the witness of immortality ; I
drew a new being from the grave. O faded — O lost Jeru-
salem ! — Him from whom came my life, I beheld adjudged
to the agonised and parching death ! — Far in the mighty
crowd, I saw the light rest and glimmer over the cross ; I
heard the hooting mob, I cried aloud, I raved, I threatened
— none heeded me — I was lost in the whirl and the roar of
thousands ! But even then, in my agony and His own, me-
thought the glazing eye of the Son of Man sought me out —
His lip smiled, as when it conquered death — it hushed me,
and I became calm. He who had defied the grave for
another, — what was the grave to him? The sun shone
aslant the pale and powerful features, and then died away !
Darkness fell over the earth ; how long it endured, I know
not. A loud cry came through the gloom— a sharp and
bitter cry ! — and all was silent.

" But who shall tell the terrors of the night ? I walked
along the city — the earth reeled to and fro, and the houses
trembled to their base — the living had deserted the streets,
but not the Dead: through the gloom I saw them glide —
the dim and ghastly shapes, in the cerements of the grave,
— with horror, and woe, and warning on their unmoving
lips and lightless eyes ! — they swept by me, as I passed —
they glared upon me — I had been their brother; and they
bowed their heads in recognition ; they had risen to tell the
living that the dead can rise ! "

Again the old man paused, and, when he resumed, it was
in a calmer tone.

" From that night I resigned all earthly thought but that
of serving Him. A preacher and a pilgrim, I have traversed
the remotest corners of the earth, proclaiming His Divinity,
and bringing new converts to His fold. I come as the wind,
and as the wind depart ; sowing, as the wind sows, the seeds
that enrich the world.

" Son, on earth we shall meet no more. Forget not this
hour, — what are the pleasures and the pomps of life ? As the
lamp shines, so life glitters for an hour ; but the soul's light
is the star that burns for ever, in the heart of illimitable space."

268 The Last Days of Pompeii

It was then that their conversation fell upon the general
and sublime doctrines of immortality; it soothed and
elevated the young mind of the convert, which yet clung to
many of the damps and shadows of that cell of faith which
he had so lately left — it was the air of heaven breathing on
the prisoner released at last. There was a strong and
marked distinction between the Christianity of the old man
and that of Olinthus ; that of the first was more soft, more
gentle, more divine. The hard heroism of Olinthus had
something in it fierce and intolerant — it was necessary to
the part he was destined to play — it had in it more of the
courage of the martyr than the charity of the saint. It
aroused, it excited, it nerved, rather than subdued and
softened. But the whole heart of that divine old man was
bathed in love; the smile of the Deity had burned away
from it the leaven of earthlier and coarser passions, and left
to the energy of the hero all the meekness of the child.

"And now," said he, rising at length, as the sun's last
ray died in the west; "now, in the cool of twilight, I
pursue my way towards the Imperial Rome. There yet
dwell some holy men, who like me have beheld the face of
Christ; and them would I see before I die."

" But the night is chill for thine age, my father, and the
way is long, and the robber haunts it; rest thee till to-
morrow."

" Kind son, what is there in this scrip to tempt the robber ?
And the Night and the Solitude ! — these make the ladder
round which angels cluster, and beneath which my spirit can
dream of God. Oh ! none can know what the pilgrim feels
as he walks on his holy course ; nursing no fear, and
dreading no danger— for God is with him ! He hears the
winds murmur glad tidings ; the woods sleep in the shadow
of Almighty wings ;— the stars are the Scriptures of Heaven,
the tokens of love, and the witnesses of immortality. Night
is the Pilgrim's day." With these words the old man
pressed Apaecides to his breast, and taking up his staff and
scrip, the dog bounded cheerily before him, and with slow
steps and downcast eyes he went his way.

The convert stood watching his bended form, till the
trees shut the last glimpse from his view ; and then, as the
stars broke forth, he woke from the musings with a start,
reminded of his appointment with Olinthus.

The Philtre 269

CHAPTER V

THE PHILTRE ITS EFFECT

When Glaucus arrived at his own home, he found Nydia
seated under the portico of his garden. In fact, she had
sought his house in the mere chance that he might return at
an early hour : anxious, fearful, anticipative, she resolved
upon seizing the earliest opportunity of availing herself of
the love-charm, while at the same time she half hoped the
opportunity might be deferred.

It was then, in that fearful burning mood, her heart
beating, her cheek flushing, that Nydia awaited the
possibility of Glaucus's return before the night. He
crossed the portico just as the first stars began to rise, and
the heaven above had assumed its most purple robe.

" Ho, my child, wait you for me? "
I "Nay, I have been tending the flowers, and did but
linger a little while to rest myself."

" It has been warm," said Glaucus, placing himself also
on one of the seats beneath the colonnade.
, " Very."

"Wilt thou summon Davus? The wine I have drunk
heats me, and I long for some cooling drink."

Here at once, suddenly and unexpectedly, the very
opportunity that Nydia awaited presented itself; of himself,
at his own free choice, he afforded to her that occasion.
She breathed quick — " I will prepare for you myself," said
she, "the summer draught that lone loves — of honey and
weak wine cooled in snow."

"Thanks," said the unconscious Glaucus. "If lone
love it, enough ; it would be grateful were it poison."

Nydia frowned, and then smiled ; she withdrew for a few
moments, and returned with the cup containing the beverage.
Glaucus took it from her hand. What would not Nydia
have given then for one hour's prerogative of sight, to have
watched her hopes ripening to effect: — to have seen the
first dawn of the imagined love ; — to have worshipped with
more than Persian adoration the rising of that sun which
her credulous soul believed was to break upon her dreary
night ! Far different, as she stood then and there, were the

270 The Last Days of Pompeii

thoughts, the emotions of the blind girl, from those of the
vain Pompeian under a similar suspense. In the last, what
poor and frivolous passions had made up the daring whole !
What petty pique, what small revenge, what expectation of a
paltry triumph, had swelled the attributes of that sentiment
she dignified with the name of love ! but in the wild heart
of the Thessalian all was pure, uncontrolled, unmodified
passion : — erring, unwomanly, frenzied, but debased by no
elements of a more sordid feeling. Filled with love as with
life itself, how could she resist the occasion of winning love
in return !

She leaned for support against the wall, and her face,
before so flushed, was now white as snow, and with her
delicate hands clasped convulsively together, her lips apart,
her eyes on the ground, she waited the next words Glaucus
should utter.

Glaucus had raised the cup to his lips, he had already
drained about a fourth of its contents, when his eye suddenly
glancing upon the face of Nydia, he was so forcibly struck
by its alteration, by its intense, and painful, and strange
expression, that he paused abruptly, and still holding the
cup near his lips, exclaimed, —

"Why, Nydia! Nydia! I say, art thou ill or in pain?
Nay, thy face speaks for thee. What ails my poor child ? '*
As he spoke, he put down the cup and rose from his seat to
approach her, when a sudden pang shot coldly to his heart,
and was followed by a wild, confused, dizzy sensation at the
brain. The floor seemed to glide from under him — his feet
seemed to move on air — a mighty and unearthly gladness
rushed upon his spirit — he felt too buoyant for the earth —
he longed for wings, nay, it seemed in the buoyancy of his
new existence, as if he possessed them. He burst in-
voluntarily into a loud and thrilling laugh. He clapped his
hands — he bounded aloft — he was as a Pythoness inspired ;
suddenly as it came this preternatural transport passed,
though only partially, away. He now felt his blood rushing
loudly and rapidly through his veins ; it seemed to swell, to
exult, to leap along, as a stream that has burst its bounds,
and hurries to the ocean. It throbbed in his ear with a
mighty sound, he felt it mount to his brow, he felt the veins
in the temples stretch and swell as if they could no longer
contain the violent and increasing tide — then a kind of
darkness fell over his eyes — darkness, but not entire ; for

Its Effect 271

through the dim shade he saw the opposite walls glow out,
and the figures painted thereon seemed, ghost-like, to creep
and glide. What was most strange, he did not feel himself
ill — he did not sink or quail beneath the dread frenzy that
was gathering over him. The novelty of the feelings seemed
bright and vivid — he felt as if a younger health had been
infused into his frame. He was gliding on to madness —
and he knew it not !

Nydia had not answered his first question — she had not
been able to reply — his wild and fearful laugh had roused her
from her passionate suspense : she could not see his fierce
gesture — she could not mark his reeling and unsteady step
as he paced unconsciously to and fro ; but she heard the
words, broken, incoherent, insane, that gushed from his lips.
She became terrified and appalled — she hastened to him,
feeling with her arms until she touched his knees, and then
falling on the ground she embraced them, weeping with
terror and excitement.

" Oh, speak to me ! speak ! you do not hate me ? — speak,
speak ! "

" By the bright goddess, a beautiful land this Cyprus !
Ho ! how they fill us with wine instead of blood ! now they
open the veins of the Faun yonder, to show how the tide
within bubbles and sparkles. Come hither, jolly old god !
thou ridest on a goat, eh ? — what long silky hair he has !
He is worth all the coursers of Parthia. But a word with
thee — this wine of thine is too strong for us mortals. Oh !
beautiful ! the boughs are at rest ! the green waves of the
forest have caught the Zephyr and drowned him ! Not a
breath stirs the leaves — and I view the Dreams sleeping
with folded wings upon the motionless elm ; and I look
beyond, and I see a blue stream sparkle in the silent noon ;
a fountain — a fountain springing aloft ! Ah ! my fount,
thou wilt not put out the rays of my Grecian sun, though
thou triest ever so hard with thy nimble and silver arms.
And now, what form steals yonder through the boughs?
she glides like a moonbeam ! — she has a garland of oak-
leaves on her head. In her hand is a vase upturned, from
which she pours pink and tiny shells, and sparkling water.
Oh ! look on yon face ! Man never before saw its like.
See ! we are alone ; only I and she in the wide forest.
There is no smile upon her lips — she moves, grave and
sweetly sad. Ha ! fly, it is a nymph ! — it is one of the wild

272 The Last Days of Pompeii

Napsese ! 1 Whoever sees her becomes mad — fly ! see, she
discovers me ! "

"Oh! Glaucus! Glaucus! do you not know me? Rave
not so wildly, or thou wilt kill me with a word ! "

A new change seemed now to operate upon the jarring
and disordered mind of the unfortunate Athenian. He put
his hand upon Nydia's silken hair ; he smoothed the locks
— he looked wistfully upon her face, and then, as in the
broken chain of thought one or two links were yet un severed,
it seemed that her countenance brought its associations of
lone ; and with that remembrance his madness became yet
more powerful, and it swayed and tinged by passion, as he
burst forth, —

" I swear by Venus, by Diana, and by Juno, that though
I have now the world on my shoulders, as my countryman
Hercules (ah, dull Rome ! whoever was truly great was of
Greece ; why, you would be godless if it were not for us !) —
I say, as my countryman Hercules had before me, I would
let it fall into chaos for one smile from lone. Ah, Beautiful,
— Adored," he added, in a voice inexpressibly fond and
plaintive, "thou lovest me not. Thou art unkind to me.
The Egyptian hath belied me to thee — thou knowest not
what hours I have spent beneath thy casement — thou
knowest not how I have outwatched the stars, thinking thou,
my sun, wouldst rise at last, — and thou lovest me not, thou
forsakest me ! Oh ! do not leave me now ! I feel that my
life will not be long ; let me gaze on thee at least unto the
last. I am of the bright land of thy fathers — I have trod
the heights of Phyle — I have gathered the hyacinth and
rose amidst the olive-groves of Ilyssus. Thou shouldst not
desert me, for thy fathers were brothers to my own. And
they say this land is lovely, and these climes serene, but I
will bear thee with me — Ho! dark form, why risest thou
like a cloud between me and mine? Death sits calmly
dread upon thy brow — on thy lip is the smile that slays :
thy name is Orcus, but on earth men call thee Arbaces.
See, I know thee ! fly, dim shadow, thy spells avail not ! "

"Glaucus! Glaucus!" murmured Nydia, releasing her
hold and falling, beneath the excitement of her dismay,
remorse, and anguish, insensible on the floor.

" Who calls ? " said he in a loud voice. " lone, it is she !
they have borne her off — we will save her — where is my
1 Presiding over hills and woods.

A Reunion of Different Actors 273

stilus ? Ha, I have it ! I come, lone, to thy rescue ! I
come ! I come ! "

So saying, the Athenian with one bound passed the
portico, he traversed the house, and rushed with swift but
vacillating steps, and muttering audibly to himself, down
the starlit streets. The direful potion burnt like fire in his
veins, for its effect was made, perhaps, still more sudden
from the wine he had drunk previously. Used to the
excesses of nocturnal revellers, the citizens, with smiles
and winks, gave way to his reeling steps; they naturally
imagined him under the influence of the Bromian god, not
vainly worshipped at Pompeii ; but they who looked twice
upon his face started in a nameless fear, and the smile
withered from their lips. He passed the more populous
streets ; and, pursuing mechanically the way to Ione's house,
he traversed a more deserted quarter, and entered now the
lonely grove of Cybele, in which Apaecides had held his
interview with Olinthus.

CHAPTER VI

A REUNION OF DIFFERENT ACTORS — STREAMS THAT FLOWED
APPARENTLY APART RUSH INTO ONE GULF

Impatient to learn whether the fell drug had yet been
administered by Julia to his hated rival, and with what
effect, Arbaces resolved, as the evening came on, to seek
her house, and satisfy his suspense. It was customary, as I
have before said, for men at that time to carry abroad with
them the tablets and the stilus attached to their girdle ; and
with the girdle they were put off when at home. In fact,
under the appearance of a literary instrument, the Romans
carried about with them in that same stilus a very sharp and
formidable weapon. It was with his stilus1 that Cassius
stabbed Caesar in the senate-house. Taking, then, his
girdle and his cloak, Arbaces left his house, supporting his
steps, which were still somewhat feeble (though hope and
vengeance had conspired greatly with his own medical
science, which was profound, to restore his natural strength),

1 From the stilus may be derived the stiletto of the Italians.

274 The Last Days of Pompeii

by his long staff: Arbaces took his way to the villa of
Diomed.

And beautiful is the moonlight of the south ! In those
climes the night so quickly glides into the day, that twilight
scarcely makes a bridge between them. One moment of
darker purple in the sky — of a thousand rose-hues in the
water — of shade half victorious over light ; and then burst
forth at once the countless stars — the moon is up — night
has resumed her reign !

Brightly then, and softly bright, fell the moonbeams over
the antique grove consecrated to Cybele — the stately trees,
whose date went beyond tradition, cast their long shadows
over the soil, while through the openings in their boughs
the stars shone, still and frequent. The whiteness of the
small sacellum in the centre of the grove, amidst the dark
foliage, had in it something abrupt and startling ; it recalled
at once the purpose to which the wood was consecrated, —
its holiness and solemnity.

With a swift and stealthy pace, Calenus, gliding under the
shade of the trees, reached the chapel, and gently putting
back the boughs that completely closed around its rear,
settled himself in his concealment; a concealment so
complete, what with the fane in front and the trees behind,
that no unsuspicious passenger could possibly have detected
him. Again, all was apparently solitary in the grove : afar
off you heard faintly the voices of some noisy revellers, or
the music that played cheerily to the groups that then, as
now in those climates, during the nights of summer, lingered
in the streets, and enjoyed, in the fresh air and the liquid
moonlight, a milder day.

From the height on which the grove was placed, you saw
through the intervals of the trees the broad and purple sea,
rippling in the distance, the white villas of Stabiae in the
curving shore, and the dim Lectiarian hills mingling with
the delicious sky. Presently the tall figure of Arbaces, in
his way to the house of Diomed, entered the extreme
end of the grove; and at the same instant Apascides, also
bound to his appointment with Olinthus, crossed the
Egyptian's path.

" Hem ! Apascides," said Arbaces, recognising the priest
at a glance; "when last we met, you were my foe. I
have wished since then to see you, for I would have you
still my pupil and my friend.5,

A Reunion of Different Actors 275

Apaecides started at the voice of the Egyptian; and
halting abruptly, gazed upon him with a countenance full of
contending, bitter, and scornful emotions.

"Villain and impostor!" said he at length; "thou hast
recovered then from the jaws of the grave ! But think not
again to weave around me thy guilty meshes. — Retiarius, I
am armed against thee ! "

" Hush ! " said Arbaces, in a very low voice — but his
pride, which in that descendant of kings was great, betrayed
the wound it received from the insulting epithets of the
priest in the quiver of his lip and the flush of his tawny
brow. M Hush ! more low ! thou mayest be overheard, and
if other ears than mine had drunk those sounds — why "

" Dost thou threaten ? — what if the whole city had heard
me?"

" The manes of my ancestors would not have suffered me
to forgive thee. But, hold, and hear me. Thou art enraged
that I would have offered violence to thy sister. — Nay,
peace, peace, but one instant, I pray thee. Thou art right ;
it was the frenzy of passion and of jealousy — I have
repented bitterly of my madness. Forgive me ; I, who
never implored pardon of living man, beseech thee now to
forgive me. Nay, I will atone the insult — I ask thy sister in
marriage ; — start not, — consider, — what is the alliance of
yon holiday Greek compared to mine ? Wealth unbounded
— birth that in its far antiquity leaves your Greek and
Roman names the things of yesterday — science — but that
thou knowest ! Give me thy sister, and my whole life shall
atone a moment's error."

"Egyptian, were even I to consent, my sister loathes the
very air thou breathest : but I have my own wrongs to forgive
— I may pardon thee that thou hast made me a tool to
thy deceits, but never that thou hast seduced me to become
the abettor of thy vices — a polluted and a perjured man.
Tremble 1 — even now I prepare the hour in which thou and
thy false gods shall be unveiled. Thy lewd and Circean
life shall be dragged to day, — thy mumming oracles dis-
closed— the fane of the idol Isis shall be a byword and a
scorn — the name of Arbaces a mark for the hisses of
execration ! Tremble ! "

The flush on the Egyptian's brow was succeeded by a
livid paleness. He looked behind, before, around, to feel
assured that none were by ; and then he fixed his dark and

276 The Last Days of Pompeii

dilating eye on the priest, with such a gaze of wrath and
menace, that one, perhaps, less supported than Apaecides by
the fervent daring of a divine zeal, could not have faced
with unflinching look that lowering aspect. As it was,
however, the young convert met it unmoved, and returned
it with an eye of proud defiance.

"Apaecides," said the Egyptian, in a tremulous and in-
ward tone, "beware! What is it thou wouldst meditate?
Speakest thou — reflect, pause before thou repliest — from the
hasty influences of wrath, as yet divining no settled purpose,
or from some fixed design ? "

" I speak from the inspiration of the True God, whose
servant I now am," answered the Christian, boldly ; "and in
the knowledge that by His grace human courage has already
fixed the date of thy hypocrisy and thy demon's worship ;
ere thrice the sun has dawned, thou wilt know all ! Dark
sorcerer, tremble, and farewell ! "

All the fierce and lurid passions which he inherited from
his nation and his clime, at all times but ill concealed
beneath the blandness of craft and the coldness of philo-
sophy, were released in the breast of the Egyptian.
Rapidly one thought chased another ; he saw before him an
obstinate barrier to even a lawful alliance with lone — the
fellow-champion of Glaucus in the struggle which had
baffled his designs — the reviler of his name — the threatened
desecrator of the goddess he served while he disbelieved —
the avowed and approaching revealer of his own impostures
and vices. His love, his repute, nay, his very life, might be
in danger — the day and hour seemed even to have been
fixed for some design against him. He knew by the words
of the convert that Apaecides had adopted the Christian
faith : he knew the indomitable zeal which led on the
proselytes of that creed. Such was his enemy ; he grasped
his stilus, — that enemy was in his power ! They were now
before the chapel; one hasty glance once more he cast
around; he saw none near, — silence and solitude alike
tempted him.

" Die, then, in thy rashness ! " he muttered ; " away,
obstacle to my rushing fates!"

And just as the young Christian had turned to depart,

Arbaces raised his hand high over the left shoulder of

Apaecides, and plunged his sharp weapon twice into his breast.

Apaecides fell to the ground pierced to the heart, — he fell

Streams that Rush into one Gulf 277

mute, without even a groan, at the very base of the sacred
chapel.

Arbaces gazed upon him for a moment with the fierce
animal joy of conquest over a foe. But presently the full
sense of the danger to which he was exposed flashed upon
him ; he wiped his weapon carefully in the long grass, and
with the very garments of his victim ; drew his cloak round
him, and was about to depart, when he saw, coming up the
path, right before him, the figure of a young man, whose
steps reeled and vacillated strangely as he advanced : the
quiet moonlight streamed full upon his face, which seemed,
by the whitening ray, colourless as marble. The Egyptian
recognised the face and form of Glaucus. The unfortunate
and benighted Greek was chanting a disconnected and mad
song, composed from snatches of hymns and sacred odes, all
jarringly woven together.

" Ha ! " thought the Egyptian, instantaneously divining
his state and its terrible cause ; " so, then, the hell-draught
works, and destiny hath sent thee hither to crush two of my
foes at once ! "

Quickly, even ere this thought occurred to him, he had
withdrawn on one side of the chapel, and concealed himself
amongst the boughs ; from that lurking place he watched, as
a tiger in his lair, the advance of his second victim. He
noted the wandering and restless fire in the bright and
beautiful eyes of the Athenian ; the convulsions that dis-
torted his statue-like features, and writhed his hueless lip.
He saw that the Greek was utterly deprived of reason.
Nevertheless, as Glaucus came up to the dead body of Apae-
cides, from which the dark red stream flowed slowly over
the grass, so strange and ghastly a spectacle could not fail
to arrest him, benighted and erring as was his glimmering
sense. He paused, placed his hand to his brow, as if to
collect himself, and then saying, —

" What ho ! Endymion, sleepest thou so soundly ? What
has the moon said to thee ? Thou makest me jealous ; it
is time to wake," — he stooped down with the intention of
lifting up the body.

Forgetting — feeling not — his own debility, the Egyptian
sprung from his hiding-place, and, as the Greek bent,
struck him forcibly to the ground, over the very body of
the Christian; then, raising his powerful voice to its
highest pitch, he shouted, —

278 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Ho, citizens, — oh ! help me ! — run hither — hither ! —
A murder — a murder before your very fane ! Help, or the
murderer escapes!" As he spoke, he placed his foot on
the breast of Glaucus : an idle and superfluous precaution ;
for the potion operating with the fall, the Greek lay there
motionless and insensible, save that now and then his lips
gave vent to some vague and raving sounds.

As he there stood awaiting the coming of those his voice
still continued to summons, perhaps some remorse, some
compunctious visitings — for despite his crimes he was
human, — haunted the breast of the Egyptian ; the defence-
less state of Glaucus — his wandering words — his shattered
reason, smote him even more than the death of Apaecides,
and he said, half audibly, to himself, —

" Poor clay ! — poor human reason ; where is the soul now ?
I could spare thee, O my rival — rival never more ! But
destiny must be obeyed — my safety demands thy sacrifice."
With that, as if to drown compunction, he shouted yet
more loudly ; and drawing from the girdle of Glaucus the
stilus it contained, he steeped it in the blood of the
murdered man, and laid it beside the corpse.

And now, fast and breathless, several of the citizens came
thronging to the place, some with torches, which the moon
rendered unnecessary, but which flared red and tremulously
against the darkness of the trees ; they surrounded the
spot.

" Lift up yon corpse," said the Egyptian, " and guard well
the murderer."

They raised the body, and great was their horror and
sacred indignation to discover in that lifeless clay a priest of
the adored and venerable Isis ; but still greater, perhaps, was
their surprise, when they found the accused in the brilliant
and admired Athenian.

" Glaucus ! " cried the bystanders, with one accord ; "is
it even credible ? "

" I would sooner," whispered one man to his neighbour,
" believe it to be the Egyptian himself."

Here a centurion thrust himself into the gathering crowd,
with an air of authority.

" How ! blood spilt ! who the murderer ? "

The bystanders pointed to Glaucus.

" He ! — by Mars, he has rather the air of being the
victim ! Who accuses him ? "

Streams that Rush into one Gulf 279

"7," said Arbaces, drawing himself up haughtily; and the
jewels which adorned his dress flashing in the eyes of the
soldier, instantly convinced that worthy warrior of the
witness's respectability.

" Pardon me — your name ? " said he.

"Arbaces; it is well known methinks in Pompeii.
Passing through the grove, I beheld before me the Greek
and the priest in earnest conversation. I was struck by the
reeling motions of the first, his violent gestures, and the
loudness of his voice ; he seemed to me either drunk or
mad. Suddenly I saw him raise his stilus — I darted for-
ward— too late to arrest the blow. He had twice stabbed
his victim, and was bending over him, when, in my horror
and indignation, I struck the murderer to the ground. He
fell without a struggle, which makes me yet more suspect
that he was not altogether in his senses when the crime was
perpetrated; for, recently recovered from a severe illness,
my blow was comparatively feeble, and the frame of
Glaucus, as you see, is strong and youthful."

" His eyes are open now — his lips move," said the
soldier. "Speak, prisoner, what sayest thou to the
charge ? "

" The charge — ha — ha ! Why, it was merrily done ;
when the old hag set her serpent at me, and Hecate
stood by laughing from ear to ear — what could I do ?
But I am ill — I faint — the serpent's fiery tongue hath
bitten me. Bear me to bed, and send for your physician ;
old ^Esculapius himself will attend me if you let him know
that I am Greek. Oh, mercy — mercy — I burn ! — marrow
and brain, I burn ! "

And, with a thrilling and fierce groan, the Athenian fell
back in the arms of the bystanders.

" He raves," said the officer, compassionately ; " and in
his delirium he has struck the priest. Hath any one present
seen him to-day ? "

"I," said one of the spectators, "beheld him in the
morning. He passed my shop and accosted me. He
seemed well and sane as the stoutest of us ! "

"And I saw him half an hour ago," said another,
" passing up the streets, muttering to himself with strange
gestures, and just as the Egyptian has described."

" A corroboration of the witness ! it must be too true.
He must at all events to the praetor ; a pity, so young and

280 The Last Days of Pompeii

so rich ! But the crime is dreadful : a priest of Isis, in his
very robes, too, and at the base itself of our most ancient
chapel!"

At these words the crowd were reminded more forcibly,
than in their excitement and curiosity they had yet been, of
the heinousness of the sacrilege. They shuddered in pious
horror.

"No wonder the earth has quaked," said one, "when it
held such a monster ! "

" Away with him to prison — away ! " cried they all.

And one solitary voice was heard shrilly and joyously
above the rest : —

" The beasts will not want a gladiator now,

' Ho, ho, for the merry, merry show ! ' "

It was the voice of the young woman whose conversation
with Medon has been repeated.

"True — true — it chances in season for the games ! " cried
several ; and at that thought all pity for the accused seemed
vanished. His youth, his beauty, but fitted him better for
the purpose of the arena.

"Bring hither some planks — or if at hand, a litter — to
bear the dead," said Arbaces : "a priest of Isis ought
scarcely to be carried to his temple by vulgar hands,
like a butchered gladiator."

At this the bystanders reverently laid the corpse of Apae-
cides on the ground, with the face upwards ; and some of
them went in search of some contrivance to bear the body,
untouched by the profane.

It was just at that time that the crowd gave way to right
and left as a sturdy form forced itself through, and Olinthus
the Christian stood immediately confronting the Egyptian.
But his eyes, at first, only rested with inexpressible grief
and horror on that gory side and upturned face, on which
the agony of violent death yet lingered.

" Murdered ! " he said. "Is it thy zeal that has brought
thee to this ? Have they detected thy noble purpose, and
by death prevented their own shame ? "

He turned his head abruptly, and his eyes fell full on the
solemn features of the Egyptian.

As he looked, you might see in his face, and even the
slight shiver of his frame, the repugnance and aversion
which the Christian felt for one whom he knew to be so

Streams that Rush into one Gulf 281

dangerous and so criminal. It was indeed the gaze of the
bird upon the basilisk — so silent was it and so prolonged.
But shaking off the sudden chill that had crept over him,
Olinthus extended his right arm towards Arbaces, and said,
in a deep and loud voice, —

" Murder hath been done upon this corpse ! Where is
the murderer ? Stand forth, Egyptian ! For, as the Lord
liveth, I believe thou art the man ! "

An anxious and perturbed change might for one moment
be detected on the dusky features of Arbaces; but it
gave way to the frowning expression of indignation and
scorn, as, awed and arrested by the suddenness and vehe-
mence of the charge, the spectators pressed nearer and
nearer upon the two more prominent actors.

" I know," said Arbaces, proudly, " who is my accuser,
and I guess wherefore he thus arraigns me. Men and
citizens, know this man for the most bitter of the
Nazarenes, if that or Christians be their proper name!
What marvel that in his malignity he dares accuse even
an Egyptian of the murder of a priest of Egypt ! "

" I know him ! I know the dog ! " shouted several voices.
" It is Olinthus the Christian — or rather the Atheist : — he
denies the gods ! "

"Peace, brethren," said Olinthus, with dignity, "and hear
me ! This murdered priest of Isis before his death embraced
the Christian faith — he revealed to me the dark sins, the
sorceries of yon Egyptian — the mummeries and delusions
of the fane of Isis. He was about to declare them publicly.
He, a stranger, unoffending, without enemies ! who should
shed his blood but one of those who feared his witness?
Who might fear that testimony the most? — Arbaces, the
Egyptian ! "

" You hear him ! " said Arbaces ; " you hear him ! he
blasphemes ! Ask him if he believes in Isis ! "

"Do I believe in an evil demon?" returned Olinthus, boldly.

A groan and shudder passed through the assembly.
Nothing daunted, for prepared at every time for peril,
and in the present excitement losing all prudence, the
Christian continued, —

"Back, idolaters! this clay is not for your vain and
polluting rites — it is to us — to the followers of Christ, that
the last offices due to a Christian belong. I claim this dust
in the name of the great Creator who has recalled the spirit ! "

282 The Last Days of Pompeii

With so solemn and commanding a voice and aspect the
Christian spoke these words, that even the crowd forbore
to utter aloud the execration of fear and hatred which in
their hearts they conceived. And never, perhaps, since
Lucifer and the Archangel contended for the body of the
mighty Lawgiver, was there a more striking subject for the
painter's genius than that scene exhibited. The dark
trees — the stately fane — the moon full on the corpse of
the deceased — the torches tossing wildly to and fro in
the rear — the various faces of the motley audience — the
insensible form of the Athenian, supported, in the distance ;
and in the foreground, and above all, the forms of Arbaces
and the Christian : the first drawn to its full height, far taller
than the herd around; his arms folded, his brow knit, his
eyes fixed, his lip slightly curled in defiance and disdain.
The last bearing, on a brow worn and furrowed, the majesty
of an equal command — the features stern, yet frank — the
aspect bold, yet open— the quiet dignity of the whole form
impressed with an ineffable earnestness, hushed, as it were,
in a solemn sympathy with the awe he himself had created.
His left hand pointing to the corpse — his right hand raised
to heaven.

The centurion pressed forward again.

" In the first place, hast thou, Olinthus, or whatever be
thy name, any proof of the charge thou hast made against
Arbaces, beyond thy vague suspicions?"

Olinthus remained silent — the Egyptian laughed con-
temptuously.

" Dost thou claim the body of a priest of Isis as one of
the Nazarene or Christian sect ? n

" I do."

" Swear then by yon fane, yon statue of Cybele, by yon
most ancient sacellum in Pompeii, that the dead man
embraced your faith I "

" Vain man ! I disown your idols I I abhor your temples !
How can I swear by Cybele then ? "

" Away, away with the Atheist ! away ! the earth will
swallow us, if we suffer these blasphemers in a sacred
grove — away with him to death ! "

" To the beasts t " added a female voice in the centre of
the crowd; "we shall have one a-piece tioiu for the lion a?id
tiger!"

" If, O Nazarene, thou disbelievest in Cybele, which of

Streams that Rush into one Gulf 283

our gods dost thou own?" resumed the soldier, unmoved
by the cries around.

" None ! »

" Hark to him ! hark ! " cried the crowd.

" O vain and blind ! " continued the Christian, raising his
voice : " can you believe in images of wood and stone ? Do
you imagine that they have eyes to see, or ears to hear, or
hands to help ye ? Is yon mute thing carved by man's art a
goddess ! — hath it made mankind ? — alas ! by mankind was
it made. Lo ! convince yourself of its nothingness — of
your folly."

And as he spoke he strode across to the fane, and ere any
of the bystanders were aware of his purpose, he, in his com-
passion or his zeal, struck the statue of wood from its
pedestal.

" See !" cried he, "your goddess cannot avenge herself.
Is this a thing to worship ? "

Further words were denied to him : so gross and daring a
sacrilege — of one, too, of the most sacred of their places of
worship — filled even the most lukewarm with rage and
horror. With one accord the crowd rushed upon him,
seized, and but for the interference of the centurion, they
would have torn him to pieces.

" Peace ! " said the soldier, authoritatively, — " refer we
this insolent blasphemer to the proper tribunal — time has
been already wasted. Bear we both the culprits to the
magistrates; place the body of the priest on the litter —
carry it to his own home."

At this moment a priest of Isis stepped forward. " I
claim these remains, according to the custom of the priest-
hood."

" The flamen be obeyed," said the centurion. " How is
the murderer ? "

" Insensible or asleep."

" Were his crimes less, I could pity him. On ! "

Arbaces, as he turned, met the eye of that priest of Isis
— it was Calenus ; and something there was in that glance,
so significant and sinister, that the Egyptian muttered to
himself, —

" Could he have witnessed the deed ? "

A girl darted from the crowd, and gazed hard on the
face of Olinthus. " By Jupiter, a stout knave / I say,
we shall have a man for the tiger now ; one for each beast i "

284 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Ho ! " shouted the mob ; " a man for the lion, and
another for the tiger! What luck! Io Paean!"

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH THE READER LEARNS THE CONDITION OF

GLAUCUS — FRIENDSHIP TESTED ENMITY SOFTENED

LOVE THE SAME; BECAUSE THE ONE LOVING IS

BLIND

The night was somewhat advanced, and the gay lounging-
places of the Pompeians were still crowded. You might
observe in the countenances of the various idlers a more
earnest expression than usual. They talked in large knots
and groups, as if they sought by numbers to divide the half-
painful, half-pleasurable anxiety which belonged to the
subject on which they conversed : it was a subject of life
and death.

A young man passed briskly by the graceful portico of
the Temple of Fortune — so briskly, indeed, that he came with
no slight force full against the rotund and comely form of
that respectable citizen Diomed, who was retiring homeward
to his suburban villa.

" Holloa ! " groaned the merchant, recovering with some
difficulty his equilibrium ; " have you no eyes ? or do you
think I have no feeling ? By Jupiter ! you have well nigh
driven out the divine particle ; such another shock, and my
soul will be in Hades ! "

" Ah, Diomed ! is it you ? forgive my inadvertence. I
was absorbed in thinking of the reverses of life. Our poor
friend, Glaucus, eh ! who could have guessed it ? "

" Well, but tell me, Clodius, is he really to be tried by the
senate ? "

" Yes ; they say the crime is of so extraordinary a nature
that the senate itself must adjudge it ; and so the lictors are
to induct him1 formally."

" He has been accused publicly, then?"

" To be sure ; where have you been not to hear that ? "

" Why, I have only just returned from Neapolis, whither
I went on business the very morning after his crime; —

1 Plin. Ep. ii. 11, 12 ; v. 4, 13.

The Condition of Glaucus 285

so shocking, and at my house the same night that it
happened ! "

" There is no doubt of his guilt," said Clodius, shrugging
his shoulders ; " and as these crimes take precedence of all
little undignified peccadilloes, they will hasten to finish the
sentence previous to the games."

" The games ! Good gods ! " replied Diomed, with a
slight shudder : " can they adjudge him to the beasts ? — so
young, so rich ! "

" True ; but then he is a Greek. Had he been a Roman,
it would have been a thousand pities. These foreigners can
be borne with in their prosperity ; but in adversity we must
not forget that they are in reality slaves. However, we of
the upper classes are always tender-hearted ; and he would
certainly get off tolerably well if he were left to us : for,
between ourselves, what is a paltry priest of Isis ! — what Isis
herself? But the common people are superstitious; they
clamour for the blood of the sacrilegious one. It is
dangerous not to give way to public opinion."

"And the blasphemer — the Christian, or Nazarene, or
whatever else he be called?"

" Oh, poor dog ! if he will sacrifice to Cybele or Isis, he
will be pardoned — if not, the tiger has him. At least, so I
suppose ; but the trial will decide. We talk while the urn's
still empty. And the Greek may yet escape the deadly © l
of his own alphabet. But enough of this gloomy subject.
How is the fair Julia?"

" Well, I fancy."

" Commend me to her. But hark ! the door yonder
creaks on its hinges; it is the house of the praetor. Who
comes forth ? By Pollux ! it is the Egyptian ! What can
he want with our official friend ! "

"Some conference touching the murder, doubtless,"
replied Diomed; "but what was supposed to be the in-
ducement to the crime ? Glaucus was to have married the
priest's sister."

" Yes : some say Apaecides refused the alliance. It might
have been a sudden quarrel. Glaucus was evidently drunk ;
— nay, so much so as to have been quite insensible when
taken up, and I hear is still delirious — whether with wine,
terror, remorse, the Furies, or the Bacchanals, I cannot say."

1 0, the initial of ddvaros (death), the condemning letter of the Greeks
as C was of the Romans.

286 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Poor fellow ! — he has good counsel ? "
"The best — Caius Pollio, an eloquent fellow enough.
Pollio has been hiring all the poor gentlemen and well-born
spendthrifts of Pompeii to dress shabbily and sneak about,
swearing their friendship to Glaucus (who would not have
spoken to them to be made emperor ! — I will do him justice,
he was a gentleman in his choice of acquaintance), and try-
ing to melt the stony citizens into pity. But it will not do ;
Isis is mightily popular just at this moment."

" And, by-the-by, I have some merchandise at Alexandria.
Yes, Isis ought to be protected."

" True ; so farewell, old gentleman : we shall meet soon ;
if not, we must have a friendly bet at the Amphitheatre.
All my calculations are confounded by this cursed misfor-
tune of Glaucus ! He had bet on Lydon the gladiator ; I
must make up my tablets elsewhere. Vale ! "

Leaving the less active Diomed to regain his villa, Clodius
strode on, humming a Greek air, and perfuming the night
with the odours that steamed from his snowy garments and
flowing locks.

" If," thought he, " Glaucus feed the lion, Julia will no
longer have a person to love better than me ; she will
certainly doat on me; — and so, I suppose, I must marry.
By the gods ! the twelve lines begin to fail — men look
suspiciously at my hand when it rattles the dice. That
infernal Sallust insinuates cheating ; and if it be discovered
that the ivory is clogged, why farewell to the merry supper
and the perfumed billet ; — Clodius is undone ! Better
marry, then, while I may, renounce gaming, and push my
fortune (or rather the gentle Julia's) at the imperial court."

Thus muttering the schemes of his ambition, if by that
high name the projects of Clodius may be called, the
gamester found himself suddenly accosted ; he turned and
beheld the dark brow of Arbaces.

" Hail, noble Clodius ! pardon my interruption ; and
inform me, I pray you, which is the house of Sallust ? "

" It is but a few yards hence, wise Arbaces. But does
Sallust entertain to-night?"

" I know not," answered the Egyptian ; " nor am I,
perhaps, one of those whom he would seek as a boon
companion. But thou knowest that his house holds the
person of Glaucus, the murderer."

"Ay! he, good-hearted epicure, believes in the Greek's

Friendship Tested 287

innocence ! You remind me that he has become his surety ;
and, therefore, till the trial, is responsible for his appearance.1
Well, Sallust's house is better than a prison, especially that
wretched hole in the forum. But for what can you seek
Glaucus?"

" Why, noble Clodius, if we could save him from execu-
tion it would be well. The condemnation of the rich is a
blow upon society itself. I should like to confer with him
— for I hear he has recovered his senses — and ascertain the
motives of his crime ; they may be so extenuating as to
plead in his defence."

" You are benevolent, Arbaces."

" Benevolence is the duty of one who aspires to wisdom,"
replied the Egyptian, modestly. " Which way lies Sallust's
mansion ? "

" I will show you," said Clodius, "if you will suffer me to
accompany you a few steps. But, pray what has become of
the poor girl who was to have wed the Athenian — the sister
of the murdered priest ? "

" Alas ! well-nigh insane ! Sometimes she utters impreca-
tions on the murderer — then suddenly stops short — then
cries, ' But why curse ? Oh, my brother ! Glaucus was not
thy murderer — never will I believe it ! ' Then she begins
again, and again stops short, and mutters awfully to herself,
' Yet if it were indeed he ? ' "

" Unfortunate lone ! "

"But it is well for her that those solemn cares to the
dead which religion enjoins have hitherto greatly absorbed
her attention from Glaucus and herself : and, in the dimness
of her senses, she scarcely seems aware that Glaucus is
apprehended and on the eve of trial. When the funeral
rites due to Apsecides are performed, her apprehension will
return ; and then I fear me much that her friends will be
revolted by seeing her run to succour and aid the murderer
of her brother ! "

" Such scandal should be prevented."

" I trust I have taken precautions to that effect. I am
her lawful guardian, and have just succeeded in obtaining
permission to escort her, after the funeral of Apaecides, to
my own house ; there, please the gods ! she will be secure."

"You have done well, sage Arbaces. And, now, yonder

1 If a criminal could obtain surety (called vades in capital offences),
he was not compelled to lie in prison till after sentence.

288 The Last Days of Pompeii

is the house of Sallust. The gods keep you ! Yet, hark
you, Arbaces — why so gloomy and unsocial ? Men say you
can be gay — why not let me initiate you into the pleasures
of Pompeii ? — I flatter myself no one knows them better."

" I thank you, noble Clodius : under your auspices I
might venture, I think, to wear the philyra : but, at my age,
I should be an awkward pupil."

" Oh, never fear ; I have made converts of fellows of
seventy. The rich, too, are never old."

" You flatter me. At some future time I will remind you
of your promise."

" You may command Marcus Clodius at all times : — and
so, vale!"

" Now," said the Egyptian, soliloquising, " I am not
wantonly a man of blood; I would willingly save this
Greek, if, by confessing the crime, he will lose himself for
ever to lone, and for ever free me from the chance of
discovery ; and I can save him by persuading Julia to own
the philtre, which will be held his excuse. But if he do not
confess the crime, why Julia must be shamed from the con-
fession, and he must die ! — die, lest he prove my rival with
the living — die, that he may be my .proxy with the dead !
Will he confess? — can he not be persuaded that in his
delirium he struck the blow? To me it would give far
greater safety than even his death. Hem ! we must hazard
the experiment."

Sweeping along the narrow street, Arbaces now approached
the house of Sallust, when he beheld a dark form wrapped
in a cloak, and stretched at length across the threshold of
the door.

So still lay the figure, and so dim was its outline, that any
other than Arbaces might have felt a superstitious fear, lest
he beheld one of those grim lemures, who, above all other
spots, haunted the threshold of the homes they formerly
possessed. But not for Arbaces were such dreams.

" Rise ! " said he, touching the figure with his foot ; " thou
obstructest the way ! "

" Ha ! who art thou ? " cried the form, in a sharp tone ,
and as she raised herself from the ground, the starlight fell
full on the pale face and fixed but sightless eyes of Nydia the
Thessalian. "Who art thou? I knowthe burden of thy voice."

" Blind girl ! what dost thou here at this late hour ? Fie !
— is this seeming thy sex or years ? Home, girl ! "

Love the Same 289

" I know thee," said Nydia, in a low voice, " thou art
Arbaces the Egyptian : " then, as if inspired by some sudden
impulse, she flung herself at his feet, and clasping his knees,
exclaimed, in a wild and passionate tone, " Oh dread and
potent man ! save him — save him ! He is not guilty — it is
I ! He lies within, ill — dying, and I — I am the hateful
cause ! And they will not admit me to him — they spurn
the blind girl from the hall. Oh, heal him ! thou knowest
some herb — some spell — some counter-charm, for it is a
potion that hath wrought this frenzy ! "

" Hush, child ! I know all ! — thou forgettest that I
accompanied Julia to the saga's home. Doubtless her hand
administered the draught ; but her reputation demands thy
silence. Reproach not thyself — what must be, must : mean-
while, I seek the criminal — he may yet be saved. Away ! "

Thus saying, Arbaces extricated himself from the clasp
of the despairing Thessalian, and knocked loudly at the door.

In a few moments the heavy bars were heard suddenly to
yield, and the porter, half opening the door, demanded who
was there.

"Arbaces — important business to Sallust relative to
Glaucus. I come from the praetor."

The porter, half yawning, half groaning, admitted the tall
form of the Egyptian. Nydia sprang forward. "How is
he ? " she cried ; " tell me — tell me ! "

" Ho, mad girl ! is it thou still ? — for shame ! Why, they
say he is sensible."

" The gods be praised ! — and you will not admit me ?
Ah ! I beseech thee "

" Admit thee ! — no. A pretty salute I should prepare for
these shoulders were I to admit such things as thou ! Go
home ! "

The door closed, and Nydia, with a deep sigh, laid herself
down once more on the cold stones; and, wrapping her
cloak round her face, resumed her weary vigil.

Meanwhile Arbaces had already gained the triclinium,
where Sallust, with his favourite freedman, sat late at supper.

" What ! Arbaces ! and at this hour ! — Accept this cup."

" Nay, gentle Sallust ; it is on business, not pleasure, that
I venture to disturb thee. How doth thy charge? — they
say in the town that he has recovered sense."

" Alas ! and truly," replied the good-natured but thought-
less Sallust, wiping the tear from his eyes; "but so shattered

K

290 The Last Days of Pompeii

are his nerves and frame that I scarcely recognise the
brilliant and gay carouser I was wont to know. Yet, strange
to say, he cannot account for the cause of the sudden frenzy
that seized him — he retains but a dim consciousness of what
hath passed; and, despite thy witness, wise Egyptian,
solemnly upholds his innocence of the death of Apaecides."

" Sallust," said Arbaces, gravely, " there is much in thy
friend's case that merits a peculiar indulgence ; and could
we learn from his lips the confession and the cause of his
crime, much might be yet hoped from the mercy of the
senate ; for the senate, thou knowest, hath the power either
to mitigate or to sharpen the law. Therefore it is that I
have conferred with the highest authority of the city, and
obtained his permission to hold a private conference this
night with the Athenian. To-morrow, thou knowest, the
trial comes on."

" Well," said Sallust, " thou wilt be worthy of thy Eastern
name and fame if thou canst learn aught from him ; but
thou mayst try. Poor Glaucus ! — and he had such an
excellent appetite ! He eats nothing now ! "

The benevolent epicure was moved sensibly at this
thought. He sighed, and ordered his slaves to refill his cup.

" Night wanes," said the Egyptian ; " suffer me to see thy
ward now."

Sallust nodded assent, and led the way to a small
chamber, guarded without by two dozing slaves. The door
opened ; at the request of Arbaces, Sallust withdrew— the
Egyptian was alone with Glaucus.

One of those tall and graceful candelabra common to
that day, supporting a single lamp, burned beside the narrow
bed. Its rays fell palely over the face of the Athenian, and
Arbaces was moved to see how sensibly that countenance
had changed. The rich colour was gone, the cheek was
sunk, the lips were convulsed and pallid; fierce had been
the struggle between reason and madness, life and death.
The youth, the strength of Glaucus had conquered ; but the
freshness of blood and soul — the life of life — its glory and
its zest, were gone for ever.

The Egyptian seated himself quietly beside the bed;
Glaucus still lay mute and unconscious of his presence. At
length, after a considerable pause, Arbaces thus spoke : —

" Glaucus, we have been enemies. I come to thee alone
and in the dead of night — thy friend, perhaps thy saviour."

Love the Same 291

As the steed starts from the path of the tiger, Glaucus
sprang up breathless — alarmed, panting at the abrupt voice,
the sudden apparition of his foe. Their eyes met, and
neither, for some moments, had power to withdraw his gaze.
The flush went and came over the face of the Athenian, and
the bronzed cheek of the Egyptian grew a shade more
pale. At length, with an inward groan, Glaucus turned
away, drew his hand across his brow, sunk back, and
muttered, —

" Am I still dreaming ? "

" No, Glaucus, thou art awake. By this right hand and
my father's head, thou seest one who may save thy life.
Hark ! I know what thou hast done, but I know also its
excuse, of which thou thyself art ignorant. Thou hast com-
mitted murder, it is true — a sacrilegious murder : frown not
— start not — these eyes saw it. But I can save thee — I can
prove how thou wert bereaved of sense, and made not a free-
thinking and free-acting man. But in order to save thee,
thou must confess thy crime. Sign but this paper, acknow-
ledging thy hand in the death of Apaecides, and thou shalt
avoid the fatal urn."

" What words are these ? — Murder and Apascides ! — Did
I not see him stretched on the ground bleeding and a corpse ?
and wouldst thou persuade me that I did the deed ? Man,
thou liest ! Away ! "

" Be not rash — Glaucus, be not hasty ; the deed is proved.
Come, come, thou mayst well be excused for not recalling
the act of thy delirium, and which thy sober senses would
have shunned even to contemplate. But let me try to
refresh thy exhausted and weary memory. Thou knowest
thou wert walking with the priest, disputing about his sister ;
thou knowest he was intolerant, and half a Nazarene, and
he sought to convert thee, and ye had hot words ; and he
calumniated thy mode of life, and swore he would not
marry lone to thee — and then, in thy wrath and thy frenzy,
thou didst strike the sudden blow. Come, come ; you can
recollect this ! — read this papyrus, it runs to that effect — sign
it, and thou art saved."

" Barbarian, give me the written lie, that I may tear it !
/ the murderer of Ione's brother : / confess to have injured
one hair of the head of him she loved ! Let me rather
perish a thousand times ! "

" Beware ! " said Arbaces, in a low and hissing tone ;

292 The Last Days of Pompeii

" there is but one choice — thy confession and thy signature,
or the amphitheatre and the lion's maw ! "

As the Egyptian fixed his eyes upon the sufferer, he
hailed with joy the signs of evident emotion that seized the
latter at these words. A slight shudder passed over the
Athenian's frame — his lip fell — an expression of sudden fear
and wonder betrayed itself in his brow and eye.

" Great gods ! " he said, in a low voice, " what reverse is
this ? It seems but a little day since life laughed out from
amidst roses — lone mine — youth, health, love, lavishing on
me their treasures ; and now — pain, madness, shame, death !
And for what? What have I done? Oh, I am mad
still?"

" Sign, and be saved ! " said the soft, sweet voice of the
Egyptian.

"Tempter, never ! " cried Glaucus, in the reaction of rage.
11 Thou knowest me not : thou knowest not the haughty
soul of an Athenian ! The sudden face of death might
appal me for a moment, but the fear is over. Dishonour
appals for ever ! Who will debase his name to save his
life ? who exchange clear thoughts for sullen days ? who will
belie himself to shame, and stand blackened in the eyes of
glory and of love ? If to earn a few years of polluted life
there be so base a coward, dream not, dull barbarian of
Egypt ! to find him in one who has trod the same sod as
Harmodius, and breathed the same air as Socrates. Go !
leave me to live without self-reproach — or to perish without
fear ! "

" Bethink thee well ! the lion's fangs : the hoots of the
brutal mob : the vulgar gaze on thy dying agony and
mutilated limbs : thy name degraded ; thy corpse unburied ;
the shame thou wouldst avoid clinging to thee for aye and
ever ! "

" Thou ravest ! thou art the madman ! shame is not in the
loss of other men's esteem, — it is in the loss of our own.
Wilt thou go ? — my eyes loathe the sight of thee ! hating
ever, I despise thee now ! "

" I go," said Arbaces, stung and exasperated, but not
without some pitying admiration of his victim, — " I go ; we
meet twice again — once at the Trial, once at the Death !
Farewell!"

The Egyptian rose slowly, gathered his robes about him,
and left the chamber. He sought Sallust for a moment,

A Classic Funeral 293

whose eyes began to reel with the vigils of the cup : " He is
still,unconscious, or still obstinate ; there is no hope for
him."

" Say not so," replied Sallust, who felt but little resent-
ment against the Athenian's accuser, for he possessed no
great austerity of virtue, and was rather moved by his
friend's reverses than persuaded of his innocence, — "say
not so, my Egyptian ! so good a drinker shall be saved if
possible. Bacchus against Isis ! "

" We shall see," said the Egyptian.

Suddenly the bolts were again withdrawn — the door un-
closed ; Arbaces was in the open street ; and poor Nydia
once more started from her long watch.

" Wilt thou save him ? " she cried, clasping her hands.

" Child, follow me home ; I would speak to thee — it is
for his sake I ask it."

"And thou wilt save him ? "

No answer came forth to the thirsting ear of the blind
girl : Arbaces had already proceeded far up the street ; she
hesitated a moment, and then followed his steps in silence.

" I must secure this girl," said he, musingly, " lest she give
evidence of the philtre ; as to the vain Julia, she will not
betray herself."

CHAPTER VIII

A CLASSIC FUNERAL

While Arbaces had been thus employed, Sorrow and
Death were in the house of lone. It was the night preceding
the morn in which *the solemn funeral rites were to be
decreed to the remains of the murdered Apascides. The
corpse had been removed from the temple of Isis to the
house of the nearest surviving relative, and lone had heard,
in the same breath, the death of her brother and the accusa-
tion against her betrothed. That first violent anguish which
blunts the sense to all but itself, and the forbearing silence
of her slaves, had prevented her learning minutely the cir-
cumstances attendant on the fate of her lover. His illness,
his frenzy, and his approaching trial, were unknown to her.
She learned only the accusation against him, and at once
indignantly rejected it ; nay, on hearing that Arbaces was

294 The Last Days of Pompeii

the accuser, she required no more to induce her firmly and
solemnly to believe that the Egyptian himself was the
criminal. But the vast and absorbing importance attached
by the ancients to the performance of every ceremonial con-
nected with the death of a relation, had, as yet, confined her
woe and her convictions to the chamber of the deceased.
Alas ! it was not for her to perform that tender and touching
office, which obliged the nearest relative to endeavour to
catch the last breath — the parting soul — of the beloved one :
but it was hers to close the straining eyes, the distorted lips :
to watch by the consecrated clay, as, fresh bathed and
anointed, it lay in festive robes upon the ivory bed ; to strew
the couch with leaves and flowers, and to renew the solemn
cypress-branch at the threshold of the door. And in these
sad offices, in lamentation and in prayer, lone forgot herself.
It was among the loveliest customs of the ancients to bury
the young at the morning twilight ; for, as they strove to
give the softest interpretation to death, so they poetically
imagined that Aurora, who loved the young, had stolen them
to her embrace ; and though in the instance of the murdered
priest this fable could not appropriately cheat the fancy, the
general custom was still preserved.1

The stars were fading one by one from the grey heavens,
and night slowly receding before the approach of morn,
when a dark group stood motionless before Ione's door.
High and slender torches, made paler by the unmellowed
dawn, cast their light over various countenances, hushed for
the moment in one solemn and intent expression. And now
there arose a slow and dismal music, which accorded sadly
with the rite, and floated far along the desolate and breathless
streets ; while a chorus of female voices (the Praeficse so
often cited by the Roman poets), accompanying the Tibicen
and the Mysian flute, woke the following strain : —

THE FUNERAL DIRGE.

"O'er the sad threshold, where the cypress bough
Supplants the rose that should adorn thy home,
On the last pilgrimage on earth that now
Awaits thee, wanderer to Cocytus, come !

1 This was rather a Greek than a Roman custom ; but the reader will
observe that in the cities of Magna Graecia the Greek customs and
superstitions were much mingled with the Roman.

A Classic Funeral 295

Darkly we woo, and weeping we invite —

Death is thy host — his banquet asks thy soul,

Thy garlands hang within the House of Night,
And the black stream alone shall fill thy bowl.

No more for thee the laughter and the song,

The jocund night — the glory of the day !
The Argive daughters 1 at their labours long ;

The hell-bird swooping on its Titan prey —
The false yEolides2 upheaving slow,

O'er the eternal hill, the eternal stone ;
The crowned Lydian,3 in his parching woe,

And green Callirrhoe's monster -headed son,4 —

These shalt thou see, dim shadow'd through the dark,

Which makes the sky of Pluto's dreary shore ;
Lo ! where thou stand'st, pale-gazing on the bark,

That waits our rite8 to bear thee trembling o'er !
Come, then ! no more delay ! — the phantom pines

Amidst the Unburied for its latest home ;
O'er the grey sky the torch impatient shines —

Come, mourner, forth ! — the lost one bids thee come."

As the hymn died away, the group parted in twain ; and
placed upon a couch, spread with a purple pall, the corpse
of Apascides was carried forth, with the feet foremost. The
designator, or marshal of the sombre ceremonial, accom-
panied by his torch-bearers, clad in black, gave the signal,
and the procession moved dreadly on.

First went the musicians, playing a slow march — the
solemnity of the lower instruments broken by many a louder
and wilder burst of the funeral trumpet : next followed the
hired mourners, chanting their dirges to the dead ; and the
female voices were mingled with those of boys, whose tender
years made still more striking the contrast of life and death
— the fresh leaf and the withered one. But the players, the
buffoons, the archimimus (whose duty it was to personate the
dead) — these, the customary attendants at ordinary funerals,
were banished from a funeral attended with so many terrible
associations.

The priests of Isis came next in their snowy garments,
barefooted, and supporting sheaves of corn; while before the
corpse were carried the images of the deceased and his many
Athenian forefathers. And behind the bier followed, amidst

1 The Danai'des. 2 Sisyphus. 3 Tantalus. 4 Geryon.
6 The most idle novel-reader need scarcely be reminded, that not till
after the funeral rites were the dead carried over the Styx.

296 The Last Days of Pompeii

her women, the sole surviving relative of the dead — her
head bare, her locks dishevelled, her face paler than marble,
but composed and still, save ever and anon, as some tender
thought — awakened by the music, flashed upon the dark
lethargy of woe, she covered that countenance with her
hands, and sobbed unseen; for hers were not the noisy
sorrow, the shrill lament, the ungoverned gesture, which
characterised those who honoured less faithfully. In that
age, as in all, the channel of deep grief flowed hushed and
still.

And so the procession swept on, till it had traversed the
streets, passed the city gate, and gained the Place of Tombs
without the wall, which the traveller yet beholds.

Raised in the form of an altar — of unpolished pine,
amidst whose interstices were placed preparations of com-
bustible matter — stood the funeral pyre ; and around it
drooped the dark and gloomy cypresses so consecrated by
song to the tomb.

As soon as the bier was placed upon the pile, the attendants
parting on either side, lone passed up to the couch, and stood
before the unconscious clay for some moments motionless
and silent. The features of the dead had been composed
from the first agonised expression of violent death. Hushed
for ever the terror and the doubt, the contest of passion, the
awe of religion, the struggle of the past and present, the hope
and the horror of the future ! — of all that racked and
desolated the breast of that young aspirant to the Holy of
Life, what trace was visible in the awful serenity of that
impenetrable brow and unbreathing lip ? The sister gazed,
and not a sound was heard amidst the crowd ; there was
something terrible, yet softening, also, in the silence ; and
when it broke, it broke sudden and abrupt — it broke, with
a loud and passionate cry — the vent of long-smothered
despair.

" My brother ! my brother ! " cried the poor orphan,
falling upon the couch; "thou whom the worm on thy
path feared not — what enemy couldst thou provoke ? Oh,
is it in truth come to this ? Awake ! awake ! We grew
together ! Are we thus torn asunder ? Thou art not dead
— thou sleepest. Awake ! awake ! "

The sound of her piercing voice aroused the sympathy of
the mourners, and they broke into loud and rude lament.
This startled, this recalled lone ; she looked up hastily and

A Classic Funeral 297

confusedly, as if for the first time sensible of the presence of
those around.

llA/i!" she murmured with a shiver, " zve are not then
alone I "

With that, after a brief pause, she rose ; and her pale and
beautiful countenance was again composed and rigid. With
fond and trembling hands, she unclosed the lids of the
deceased ; 1 but when the dull glazed eye, no longer beaming
with love and life, met hers, she shrieked aloud, as if she
had seen a spectre. Once more recovering herself she
kissed again and again the lids, the lips, the brow ; and with
mechanic and unconscious hand, received from the high
priest of her brother's temple the funeral torch.

The sudden burst of music, the sudden song of the
mourners announced the birth of the sanctifying flame.

HYMN TO THE WIND.

"On thy couch of cloud reclined,
Wake, O soft and sacred Wind !
Soft and sacred will we name thee,
Whosoe'er the sire that claim thee, —
Whether old Auster's dusky child,
Or the loud son of Eurus wild ;
Or his 2 who o'er the darkling deeps,
From the bleak North, in tempest sweeps ;
Still shalt thou seem as dear to us
As flowery-crowned Zephyrus,
When, through twilight's starry dew,
Trembling, he hastes his nymph 3 to woo.

II.

Lo ! our silver censers swinging,
Perfumes o'er thy path are flinging, —
Ne'er o'er Tempe's breathless valleys,
Ne'er o'er Cypria's cedarn alleys,
Or the Rose-isle's 4 moonlit sea,
Floated sweets more worthy thee.
Lo ! around our vases sending
Myrrh and nard with cassia blending :
Paving air with odours meet,
For thy silver-sandall'd feet 1

III.

August and everlasting air !
The source of all that breathe and be,

1 Pliny, ii. 37. 2 Boreas. s Flora. * Rhodes.

298 The Last Days of Pompeii

From the mute clay before thee bear

The seeds it took from thee !
Aspire, bright Flame ! aspire !

Wild wind ! — awake, awake 1
Thine own, O solemn Fire !

O Air, thine own retake !

IV.

It comes ! it comes ! Lo ! it sweeps,
The Wind we invoke the while !

And crackles, and darts, and leaps
The light on the holy pile !

It rises ! its wings interweave

With the flames, — how they howl and heave !
Toss'd, whirl'd to and fro,
How the flame-serpents glow 1
Rushing higher and higher,
On— on, fearful Fire !
Thy giant limbs twined
With the arms of the Wind !

Lo ! the elements meet on the throne

Of death — to reclaim their own !

Swing, swing the censer round —
Tune the strings to a softer sound !
From the chains of thy earthly toil,
From the clasp of thy mortal coil,
From the prison where clay confined thee,
The hands of the flame unbind thee !
O Soul ! thou art free— all free !

As the winds in their ceaseless chase,

When they rush o'er their airy sea,
Thou mayst speed through the realms of space,

No fetter is forged for thee !
Rejoice ! o'er the sluggard tide
Of the Styx thy bark can glide,
And thy steps evermore shall rove
Through the glades of the happy grove ;
Where, far from the loath'd Cocytus,
The loved and the lost invite us.
Thou art slave to the earth no more !

O soul, thou art freed ! — and we? —
Ah ! when shall our toil be o'er ?

Ah ! when shall we rest with thee ? "

And now high and far into the dawning skies broke the
fragrant fire ; it flushed luminously across the gloomy
cypresses — it shot above the massive walls of the neighbour-
ing city ; and the early fisherman started to behold the
blaze reddening on the waves of the creeping sea.

A Classic Funeral 299

But lone sat down apart and alone, and, leaning her face
upon her hands, saw not the flame, nor heard the lamentation
of the music : she felt only one sense of loneliness, — she
had not yet arrived to that hallowing sense of comfort, when
we know that we are not alone — that the dead are with us !

The breeze rapidly aided the effect of the combustibles
placed within the pile. By degrees the flame wavered,
lowered, dimmed, and slowly, by fits and unequal starts,
died away — emblem of life itself; where, just before, all was
restlessness and flame, now lay the dull and smouldering
ashes.

The last sparks were extinguished by the attendants — the
embers were collected. Steeped in the rarest wine and the
costliest odours, the remains were placed in a silver urn,
which was solemnly stored in one of the neighbouring
sepulchres beside the road ; and they placed within it the
vial full of tears, and the small coin which poetry still con-
secrated to the grim boatman. And the sepulchre was
covered with flowers and chaplets, and incense kindled on
the altar, and the tomb hung round with many lamps.

But the next day, when the priest returned with fresh
offerings to the tomb, he found that to the relics of heathen
superstition some unknown hands had added a green palm-
branch. He suffered it to remain, unknowing that it was
the sepulchral emblem of Christianity.

When the above ceremonies were over, one of the
Praeficas three times sprinkledthe mourners from the purifying
branch of laurel, uttering the last word, " llicet /" — Depart!
— and the rite was done.

But first they paused to utter — weepingly and many times
— the affecting farewell, "Salve Eternum!" And as lone
yet lingered, they woke the parting strain.

SALVE ETERNUM.

Farewell ! O soul departed !

Farewell ! O sacred urn !
Bereaved and broken-hearted,

To earth the mourners turn !
To the dim and dreary shore,
Thou art gone our steps before !
But thither the swift Hours lead us,
And thou dost but a while precede us,
Salve — salve !

300 The Last Days of Pompeii

Loved urn, and thou solemn cell,
Mute ashes ! — farewell, farewell !

Salve — salve !

II.

Ilicet — ire licet —
Ah, vainly would we part !
Thy tomb is the faithful heart.
About evermore we bear thee ;
For who from the heart can tear thee ?
Vainly we sprinkle o'er us

The drops of the cleansing stream :
And vainly bright before us

The lustral fire shall beam.
For where is the charm expelling
Thy thought from its sacred dwelling ?
Our griefs are thy funeral feast,
And Memory thy mourning priest,

Salve — salve !

Ilicet — ire licet !
The spark from the hearth is gone

Wherever the air shall bear it ;
The elements take their own —

The shadows receive thy spirit.
It will soothe thee to feel our grief,

As thou glid'st by the Gloomy River !
If love may in life be brief,

In death it is fixed for ever.

Salve — salve !
In the hall which our feasts illume,
The rose for an hour may bloom ;
But the cypress that decks the tomb —
The cypress is green for ever !

Salve — salve ! "

CHAPTER IX

IN WHICH AN ADVENTURE HAPPENS TO IONE

While some stayed behind to share with the priests the
funeral banquet, lone and her handmaids took homeward
their melancholy way. And now (the last duties to her
brother performed) her mind awoke from its absorption, and
she thought of her affianced, and the dread charge against
him Not — as we have before said — attaching even a

An Adventure Happens to lone 301

momentary belief to the unnatural accusation, but nursing
the darkest suspicion against Arbaces, she felt that justice
to her lover and to her murdered relative demanded her to
seek the praetor, and communicate her impression, unsup-
ported as it might be. Questioning her maidens, who had
hitherto — kindly anxious, as I have said, to save her the
additional agony — refrained from informing her of the state
of Glaucus, she learned that he had been dangerously ill :
that he was in custody, under the roof of Sallust ; that the
day of his trial was appointed.

"Averting gods," she exclaimed; "and have I been so
long forgetful of him ? Have I seemed to shun him ? O !
let me hasten to do him justice — to show that I, the nearest
relative of the dead, believe him innocent of the charge.
Quick ! quick ! let us fly. Let me soothe — tend — cheer
him ! and if they will not believe me ; if they will not lead
to my conviction ; if they sentence him to exile or to death,
let me share the sentence with him ! "

Instinctively she hastened her pace, confused and be-
wildered, scarce knowing whither she went ; now designing
first to seek the praetor, and now to rush to the chamber of
Glaucus. She hurried on — she passed the gate of the city
— she was in the long street leading up the town. The
houses were opened, but none were yet astir in the streets ;
the life of the city was scarce awake — when lo ! she- came
suddenly upon a small knot of men standing beside a
covered litter. A tall figure stepped from the midst of them,
and lone shrieked aloud to behold Arbaces.

" Fair lone ! " said he, gently, and appearing not to heed
her alarm : " my ward, my pupil ! forgive me if I disturb thy
pious sorrows ; but the praetor, solicitous of thy honour, and
anxious that thou mayest not rashly be implicated in the
coming trial; knowing the strange embarrassment of thy
state (seeking justice for thy brother, but dreading punish-
ment to thy betrothed) — sympathising, too, with thy unpro-
tected and friendless condition, and deeming it harsh that
thou shouldst be suffered to act unguided and mourn alone
— hath wisely and paternally confided thee to the care of
thy lawful guardian. Behold the writing which intrusts
thee to my charge ! "

' " Dark Egyptian ! " cried lone, drawing herself proudly
aside ; " begone ! It is thou that hast slain my brother !
Is it to thy care, thy hands yet reeking with his blood, that

302 The Last Days of Pompeii

they will give the sister ? Ha ! thou turnest pale ! thy con-
science smites thee ! thou tremblest at the thunderbolt of
the avenging god ! Pass on, and leave me to my woe ! "

" Thy sorrows unstring thy reason, lone," said Arbaces,
attempting in vain his usual calmness of tone. *' I forgive
thee. Thou wilt find me now, as ever, thy surest friend.
But the public streets are not the fitting place for us to
confer — for me to console thee. Approach, slaves ! Come,
my sweet charge, the litter awaits thee."

The amazed and terrified attendants gathered round lone,
and clung to her knees.

" Arbaces," said the eldest of the maidens, " this is surely
not the law ! For nine days after the funeral, is it not
written that the relatives of the deceased shall not be
molested in their homes, or interrupted in their solitary
grief?"

"Woman!" returned Arbaces, imperiously waving his
hand, " to place a ward under the roof of her guardian is not
against the funeral laws. I tell thee I have the fiat of the
praetor. This delay is indecorous. Place her in the litter."

So saying, he threw his arm firmly round the shrinking
form of lone. She drew back, gazed earnestly in his face,
and then burst into hysterical laughter : —

" Ha, ha ! this is well — well ! Excellent guardian —
paternal law ! Ha, ha ! " And, startled herself at the dread
echo of that shrill and maddened laughter, she sunk, as it
died away, lifeless upon the ground. ... A minute more,
and Arbaces had lifted her into the litter. The bearers
moved swiftly on, and the unfortunate lone was soon borne
from the sight of her weeping handmaids.

CHAPTER X

WHAT BECOMES OF NYDIA IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES —
THE EGYPTIAN FEELS COMPASSION FOR GLAUCUS — COM-
PASSION IS OFTEN A VERY USELESS VISITOR TO THE
GUILTY

It will be remembered that, at the command of Arbaces,
Nydia followed the Egyptian to his home, and conversing
there with her, he learned from the confession of her

What Becomes of Nydia 303

despair and remorse, that her hand, and not Julia's, had
administered to Glaucus the fatal potion. At another time
the Egyptian might have conceived a philosophical interest
in sounding the depths and origin of the strange and
absorbing passion which, in blindness and in slavery, this
singular girl had dared to cherish ; but at present he spared
no thought from himself. As, after her confession, the poor
Nydia threw herself on her knees before him, and besought
him to restore the health and save the life of Glaucus — for
in her youth and ignorance she imagined the dark magician
all-powerful to effect both — Arbaces, with unheeding ears,
was noting only the new expediency of detaining Nydia a
prisoner until the trial and fate of Glaucus were decided.
For if, when he judged her merely the accomplice of Julia
in obtaining the philtre, he had felt it was dangerous to the
full success of his vengeance to allow her to be at large —
to appear, perhaps, as a witness — to avow the manner in
which the sense of Glaucus had been darkened, and thus
win indulgence to the crime of which he was accused — how
much more was she likely to volunteer her testimony when
she herself had administered the draught, and, inspired by
love, would be only anxious, at any expense of shame, to
retrieve her error and preserve her beloved ? Besides, how
unworthy of the rank and repute of Arbaces to be implicated
in the disgrace of pandering to the passion of Julia, and
assisting in the unholy rites of the Saga of Vesuvius !
Nothing less, indeed, than his desire to induce Glaucus to
own the murder of Apaecides, as a policy evidently the best
both for his own permanent safety and his successful suit
with lone, could ever have led him to contemplate the
confession of Julia.

As for Nydia, who was necessarily cut off by her blindness
from much of the knowledge of active life, and who, a slave
and a stranger, was naturally ignorant of the perils of the
Roman law, she thought rather of the illness and delirium
of her Athenian, than the crime of which she had vaguely
heard him accused, or the chances of the impending trial.
Poor wretch that she was, whom none addressed, none cared
for, what did she know of the senate and the sentence — the
hazard of the law — the ferocity of the people — the arena and
the lion's den ? She was accustomed only to associate with
the thought of Glaucus everything that was prosperous and
lofty — she could not imagine that any peril, save from the

304 The Last Days of Pompeii

madness of her love, could menace that sacred head. He
seemed to her set apart for the blessings of life. She only
had disturbed the current of his felicity ; she knew not, she
dreamed not that the stream, once so bright, was dashing on
to darkness and to death. It was therefore to restore the
brain that she had marred, to save the life that she had
endangered that she implored the assistance of the great
Egyptian.

" Daughter," said Arbaces, waking from his reverie, "thou
must rest here ; it is not meet for thee to wander along the
streets, and be spurned from the threshold by the rude feet
of slaves. I have compassion on thy soft crime — I will do
all to remedy it. Wait here patiently for some days, and
Glaucus shall be restored." So saying, and without waiting
for her reply, he hastened from the room, drew the bolt
across the door, and consigned the care and wants of his
prisoner to the slave who had the charge of that part of
the mansion.

Alone, then, and musingly, he waited the morning light,
and with it repaired, as we have seen, to possess himself of
the person of lone.

His primary object, with respect to the unfortunate
Neapolitan, was that which he had really stated to Clodius,
viz., to prevent her interesting herself actively in the trial
of Glaucus, and also to guard against her accusing him
(which she would, doubtless, have done) of his former act
of perfidy and violence towards her, his ward — denouncing
his causes for vengeance against Glaucus — unveiling the
hypocrisy of his character — and casting any doubt upon his
veracity in the charge which he had made against the
Athenian. Not till he had encountered her that morning —
not till he had heard her loud denunciations — was he aware
that he had also another danger to apprehend in her suspicion
of his crime. He hugged himself now at the thought that
these ends were effected : that one, at once the object of his
passion and his fear, was in his power. He believed more
than ever the flattering promises of the stars ; and when he
sought lone in that chamber in the inmost recesses of his
mysterious mansion to which he had consigned her — when
he found her overpowered by blow upon blow, and passing
from fit to fit, from violence to torpor, in all the alternations
of hysterical disease — he thought more of the loveliness
which no frenzy could distort than of the woe which he had

What Becomes of Nydia 305

brought upon her. In that sanguine vanity common to men
who through life have been invariably successful, whether in
fortune or love, he flattered himself that when Glaucus had
perished — when his name was solemnly blackened by the
award of a legal judgment, his title to her love for ever
forfeited by condemnation to death for the murder of her
own brother — her affection would be changed to horror ;
and that his tenderness and his passion, assisted by all the
arts with which he well knew how to dazzle woman's imagina-
tion, might elect him to that throne in her heart from which
his rival would be so awfully expelled. This was his hope :
but should it fail, his unholy and fervid passion whispered,
" At the worst, now she is in my power."

Yet, withal, he felt that uneasiness and apprehension
which attended upon the chance of detection, even when
the criminal is insensible to the voice of conscience — that
vague terror of the consequences of crime, which is often
mistaken for remorse at the crime itself. The buoyant air of
Campania weighed heavily upon his breast ; he longed to
hurry from a scene where danger might not sleep eternally
with the dead ; and, having lone now in his possession, he
secretly resolved, as soon as he had witnessed the last agony
of his rival, to transport his wealth — and her, the costliest
treasure of all, to some distant shore.

" Yes," said he, striding to and fro his solitary chamber
— " yes, the law that gave me the person of my ward gives
me the possession of my bride. Far across the broad main
will we sweep on our search after novel luxuries and in-
experienced pleasures. Cheered by my stars, supported by
the omens of my soul, we will penetrate to those vast and
glorious worlds which my wisdom tells me lie yet untracked
in the recesses of the circling sea. There may this heart,
possessed of love, grow once more alive to ambition — there,
amongst nations uncrushed by the Roman yoke, and to
whose ear the name of Rome has not yet been wafted, I
may found an empire, and transplant my ancestral creed ;
renewing the ashes of the dead Theban rule ; continuing in
yet grander shores the dynasty of my crowned fathers, and
waking in the noble heart of lone the grateful consciousness
that she shares the lot of one who, far from the aged rotten-
ness of this slavish civilisation, restores the primal elements
of greatness, and unites in one mighty soul the attributes of
the prophet and the king."

306 The Last Days of Pompeii

From this exultant soliloquy, Arbaces was awakened to
attend the trial of the Athenian.

The worn and pallid cheek of his victim touched him less
than the firmness of his nerves and the dauntlessness of his
brow ; for Arbaces was one who had little pity for what was
unfortunate, but a strong sympathy for what was bold. The
congenialities that bind us to others ever assimilate to the
qualities of our own nature. The hero weeps less at the
reverses of his enemy than at the fortitude with which he
bears them. All of us are human, and Arbaces, criminal as
he was, had his share of our common feelings and our
mother clay. Had he but obtained from Glaucus the
written confession of his crime, which would, better than
even the judgment of others, have lost him with lone, and
removed from Arbaces the chance of future detection, the
Egyptian would have strained every nerve to save his rival.
Even now his hatred was over — his desire of revenge was
slaked : he crushed his prey, not in enmity, but as an obstacle
in his path. Yet was he not the less resolved, the less crafty
and persevering, in the course he pursued, for the destruction
of one whose doom was become necessary to the attainment
of his objects : and while, with apparent reluctance and
compassion, he gave against Glaucus the evidence which
condemned him, he secretly, and through the medium of
the priesthood, fomented that popular indignation which
made an effectual obstacle to the pity of the senate. He
had sought Julia ; he had detailed to her the confession of
Nydia ; he had easily, therefore, lulled any scruple of con-
science which might have led her to extenuate ^the offence
of Glaucus by avowing her share in his frenzy : and the
more readily, for her vain heart had loved the fame and the
prosperity of Glaucus — not Glaucus himself; she felt no
affection for a disgraced man — nay, she almost rejoiced in
the disgrace that humbled the hated lone. If Glaucus
could not be her slave, neither could he be the adorer of
her rival. This was sufficient consolation for any regret at
his fate. Volatile and fickle, she began again to be moved by
the sudden and earnest suit of Clodius, and was not willing
to hazard the loss of an alliance with that base but high-born
noble by any public exposure of her past weakness and
immodest passion for another. All things then smiled upon
Arbaces — all things frowned upon the Athenian.

Nydia Affects the Sorceress 307

CHAPTER XI

NYDIA AFFECTS THE SORCERESS

When the Thessalian found that Arbaces returned to her
no more — when she was left, hour after hour, to all the
torture of that miserable suspense which was rendered by
blindness doubly intolerable, she began, with outstretched
arms, to feel around her prison for some channel of escape ;
and finding the only entrance secure, she called aloud, and
with the vehemence of a temper naturally violent, and now
sharpened by impatient agony.

" Ho, girl ! " said the slave in attendance, opening the
door ; " art thou bit by a scorpion ? or thinkest thou that we
are dying of silence here, and only to be preserved, like the
infant Jupiter, by a hullabaloo ? "

"Where is thy master? and wherefore am I caged here?
I want air and liberty : let me go forth ! "

" Alas ! little one, hast thou not seen enough of Arbaces
to know that his will is imperial ! He hath ordered thee to
be caged ; and caged thou art, and I am thy keeper. Thou
canst not have air and liberty ; but thou mayst have what
are much better things — food and wine."

" Proh Jupiter ! " cried the girl, wringing her hands ;
"and why am I thus imprisoned? What can the great
Arbaces want with so poor a thing as I am ? "

"That I know not, unless it be to attend on thy new
mistress, who has been brought hither this day."

" What ! lone here ? "

* Yes, poor lady ; she liked it little, I fear. Yet, by the
Temple of Castor ! Arbaces is a gallant man to the women.
Thy lady is his ward, thou knowest."

" Wilt thou take me to her ? "

" She is ill — frantic with rage and spite. Besides, I have
no orders to do so ; and I never think for myself. When
Arbaces made me slave of these chambers,1 he said, ' I have
but one lesson to give thee ; — while thou servest me, thou
must have neither ears, eyes, nor thought ; thou must be but
one quality — obedience."

1 In the houses of the great, each suite of chambers had its peculiar
slave.

308 The Last Days of Pompeii

" But what harm is there in seeing lone ? "

" That I know not ; but if thou wan test a companion, I
am willing to talk to thee, little one, for I am solitary enough
in my dull cubiculum. And, by the way, thou art Thessa-
lian — knowest thou not some cunning amusement of knife
and shears, some pretty trick of telling fortunes, as most of
thy race do, in order to pass the time ? "

" Tush, slave, hold thy peace ! or, if thou wilt speak, what
hast thou heard of the state of Glaucus ? "

"Why, my master has gone to the Athenian's trial;
Glaucus will smart for it ! "

"For what?"

" The murder of the priest Apsecides."

" Ha ! " said Nydia, pressing her hands to her forehead ;
" something of this I have indeed heard, but understand
not. Yet, who will dare to touch a hair of his head?"

11 That will the lion, I fear."

"Averting gods ! what wickedness dost thou utter ? "

" Why, only that, if he be found guilty, the lion, or may be
the tiger, will be his executioner."

Nydia leaped up, as if an arrow had entered her heart ;
she uttered a piercing scream ; then, falling before the feet
of the slave, she cried, in a tone that melted even his rude
heart, —

" Ah ! tell me thou jestest — thou utterest not the truth —
speak, speak ! "

" Why, by my faith, blind girl, I know nothing of the law ;
it may not be so bad as I say. But Arbaces is his accuser,
and the people desire a victim for the arena. Cheer thee !
But what hath the fate of the Athenian to do with thine ? "

" No matter, no matter — he has been kind to me : thou
knowest not, then, what they will do ? Arbaces his accuser !
O fate ! The people — the people ! Ah ! they can look
upon his face — who will be cruel to the Athenian ! — Yet was
not Love itself cruel to him ? "

So saying, her head drooped upon her bosom : she sunk
into silence ; scalding tears flowed down her cheeks ; and
all the kindly efforts of the slave were unable either to
console her or distract the absorption of her reverie.

When his household cares obliged the ministrant to leave
her room, Nydia began to re-collect her thoughts. Arbaces
was the accuser of Glaucus ; Arbaces had imprisoned her
here ; was not that a proof that her liberty might be

Nydia Affects the Sorceress 309

serviceable to Glaucus ? Yes, she was evidently inveigled
into some snare ; she was contributing to the destruction
of her beloved ! Oh, how she panted for release ! For-
tunately, for her sufferings, all sense of pain became merged
in the desire of escape ; and as she began to revolve the
possibility of deliverance, she grew calm and thoughtful.
She possessed much of the craft of her sex, and it had been
increased in her breast by her early servitude. What slave
was ever destitute of cunning? She resolved to practise
upon her keeper j and calling suddenly to mind his super-
stitious query as to her Thessalian art, she hoped by that
handle to work out some method of release. These doubts
occupied her mind during the rest of the day and the long
hours of night ; and, accordingly, when Sosia visited her the
following morning, she hastened to divert his garrulity into
that channel in which it had before evinced a natural
disposition to flow.

She was aware, however, that her only chance of escape
was at night; and accordingly she was obliged, with a
bitter pang at the delay, to defer till then her purposed
attempt.

"The night," said she, "is the sole time in which we
can well decipher the decrees of Fate — then it is thou must
seek me. But what desirest thou to learn ? "

" By Pollux ! I should like to know as much as my
master ; but that is not to be expected. Let me know, at
least, whether I shall save enough to purchase my freedom,
or whether this Egyptian will give it me for nothing. He
does such generous things sometimes. Next, supposing
that be true, shall I possess myself of that snug taberna
among the Myropolia,1 which I have long had in my eye ?
'Tis a genteel trade that of a perfumer, and suits a retired
slave who has something of a gentleman about him ! "

"Ay! so you would have precise answers to those
questions? — there are various ways of satisfying you.
There is the Lithomanteia, or Speaking-stone, which
answers your prayer with an infant's voice; but, then, we
have not that precious stone with us — costly is it and rare.
Then there is the Gastromanteia, whereby the demon casts
pale and deadly images upon the water, prophetic of the
future. But this art requires also glasses of a peculiar
fashion, to contain the consecrated liquid, which we have
1 The shops of the perfumers.

310 The Last Days of Pompeii

not. I think, therefore, that the simplest method of satisfying
your desire would be by the Magic of Air."

"I trust," said Sosia, tremulously, "that there is nothing
very frightful in the operation? I have no love for
apparitions."

" Fear not ; thou wilt see nothing ; thou wilt only hear by
the bubbling of water whether or not thy suit prospers.
First, then, be sure, from the rising of the evening star, that
thou leavest the garden-gate somewhat open, so that the
demon may feel himself invited to enter therein ; and place
fruits and water near the gate as a sign of hospitality ; then,
three hours after twilight, come here with a bowl of the
coldest and purest water, and thou shalt learn all, according
to • the Thessalian lore my mother taught me. But forget
not the garden-gate — all rests upon that : it must be open
when you come, and for three hours previously."

" Trust me," replied the unsuspecting Sosia ; " I know
what a gentleman's feelings are when a door is shut in his
face, as the cookshop's hath been in mine many a day ; and
I know, also, that a person of respectability, as a demon of
course is, cannot but be pleased, on the other hand, with
any little mark of courteous hospitality. Meanwhile, pretty
one, here is thy morning's meal."

" But what of the trial ? "

" Oh, the lawyers are still at it — talk, talk — it will last
over till to-morrow."

" To-morrow ? You are sure of that ? "

"So I hear."

" And lone ? "

" By Bacchus ! she must be tolerably well, for she was
strong enough to make my master stamp and bite his lip
this morning. I saw him quit her apartment with a brow
like a thunder-storm."

"Lodges she near this ? "

"No — in the upper apartments. But I must not stay
prating here longer. — Vale!"

A Wasp in the Spider's Web 311

CHAPTER XII

A WASP VENTURES INTO THE SPIDER'S WEB

The second night of the trial had set in ; and it was
nearly the time in which Sosia was to brave the dread
Unknown, when there entered, at that very garden-gate
which the slave had left ajar — not, indeed, one of the
mysterious spirits of earth or air, but the heavy and most
human form of Calenus, the priest of Isis. He scarcely
noted the humble offerings of indifferent fruit, and still more
indifferent wine, which the pious Sosia had deemed good
enough for the invisible stranger they were intended to
allure. "Some tribute," thought he, "to the garden god.
By my father's head ! if his deityship were never better
served, he would do well to give up the godly profession.
Ah ! were it not for us priests, the gods would have a sad
time of it. And now for Arbaces — I am treading a quick-
sand, but it ought to cover a mine. I have the Egyptian's
life in my power — what will he value it at ? "

As he thus soliloquised, he crossed through the open court
into the peristyle, where a few lamps here and there broke
upon the empire of the starlit night ; and issuing from one
of the chambers that bordered the colonnade, suddenly
encountered Arbaces.

11 Ho ! Calenus — seekest thou me ? " said the Egyptian ;
and there was a little embarrassment in his voice.

"Yes, wise Arbaces — I trust my visit is not unseason-
able ? "

" Nay — it was but this instant that my freedman Callias
sneezed thrice at my right hand ; I knew, therefore, some
good fortune was in store for me — and, lo ! the gods have
sent me Calenus."

" Shall we within to your chamber, Arbaces ? "

" As you will : but the night is clear and balmy — I have
some remains of languor yet lingering on me from my
recent illness — the air refreshes me — let us walk in the
garden — we are equally alone there."

"With all my heart," answered the priest; and the two
friends passed slowly to one of the many terraces which,

312 The Last Days of Pompeii

bordered by marble vases and sleeping flowers, intersected
the garden.

" It is a lovely night," said Arbaces — " blue and beautiful
as that on which, twenty years ago, the shores of Italy first
broke upon my view. My Calenus, age creeps upon us — let
us, at least, feel that we have lived."

"Thou, at least, mayst arrogate that boast," said Calenus,
beating about, as it were, for an opportunity to communi-
cate the secret which weighed upon him, and feeling his
usual awe of Arbaces still more impressively that night,
from tile quiet and friendly tone of dignified condescension
which the Egyptian assumed — "Thou, at least, mayst
arrogate that boast. Thou hast had countless wealth — a
frame on whose close-woven fibres disease can find no space
to enter — prosperous love — inexhaustible pleasure — and,
even at this hour, triumphant revenge."

"Thou alludest to the Athenian. Ay, to-morrow's sun
the fiat of his death will go forth. The senate does not
relent. But thou mistakest: his death gives me no other
gratification than that it releases me from a rival in the
affections of lone. I entertain no other sentiment of
animosity against that unfortunate homicide."

" Homicide ! " repeated Calenus, slowly and meaningly ;
and, halting as he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Arbaces.
The stars shone pale and steadily on the proud face of their
prophet, but they betrayed there no change : the eyes of
Calenus fell disappointed and abashed. He continued
rapidly — " Homicide ! it is well to charge him with that
crime ; but thou, of all men, knowest that he is innocent."

" Explain thyself," said Arbaces, coldly ; for he had
prepared himself for the hint his secret fears had foretold.

"Arbaces," answered Calenus, sinking his voice into a
whisper, " I was in the sacred grove, sheltered by the chapel
and the surrounding foliage. I overheard — I marked the
whole. I saw thy weapon pierce the heart of Apaecides. I
blame not the deed — it destroyed a foe and an apostate."

"Thou sawest the whole!" said Arbaces, drily; "so I
imagined — thou wert alone ? "

" Alone ! " returned Calenus, surprised at the Egyptian's
calmness.

" And wherefore wert thou hid behind the chapel at that
hour?"

" Because I had learned the conversion of Apaecides to

A Wasp in the Spider's Web 313

the Christian faith — because I knew that on that spot he was
to meet the fierce Olinthus — because they were to meet
there to discuss plans for unveiling the sacred mysteries of
our goddess to the people — and I was there to detect, in
order to defeat them."

" Hast thou told living ear what thou didst witness ? "

" No, my master : the secret is locked in thy servant's
breast."

" What ! even thy kinsman Burbo guesses it not ! Come
the truth 1 "

" By the gods "

" Hush ! we know each other — what are the gods to us ? "

" By the fear of thy vengeance, then, — no ! "

"And why hast thou hitherto concealed from me this
secret ? Why hast thou waited till the eve of the Athenian's
condemnation before thou hast ventured to tell me that
Arbaces is a murderer ? And having tarried so long, why
revealest thou now that knowledge ? "

" Because — because " stammered Calenus, colouring

and in confusion.

" Because," interrupted Arbaces, with a gentle smile, and
tapping the priest on the shoulder with a kindly and familiar
gesture — "because, my Calenus (see now, I will read thy heart,
and explain its motives) — because thou didst wish thoroughly
to commit and entangle me in the trial, so that I might have
no loophole of escape ; that I might stand firmly pledged to
perjury and to malice, as well as to homicide ; that having
myself whetted the appetite of the populace to blood, no
wealth, no power, could prevent my becoming their victim :
and thou tellest me thy secret now, ere the trial be over and
the innocent condemned, to show what a desperate web of
villany thy word to-morrow could destroy; to enhance in
this, the ninth hour, the price of thy forbearance ; to show
that my own arts, in arousing the popular wrath, would, at
thy witness, recoil upon myself; and that if not for Glaucus,
for me would gape the jaws of the lion ! Is it not so ? "

" Arbaces," replied Calenus, losing all the vulgar audacity
of his natural character, " verily thou art a. Magian ; thou
readest the heart as it were a scroll."

"It is my vocation," answered the Egyptian, laughing
gently. " Well, then, forbear ; and when all is over, I will
make thee rich."

" Pardon me,' said the priest, as the quick suggestion of

314 The Last Days of Pompeii

that avarice, which was his master-passion, bade him trust no
future chance of generosity ; " pardon me ; thou saidst right
— we know each other. If thou wouldst have me silent,
thou must pay something in advance, as an offer to Harpo-
crates.1 If the rose, sweet emblem of discretion, is to take
root firmly, water her this night with a stream of gold."

" Witty and poetical ! " answered Arbaces, still in that
bland voice which lulled and encouraged, when it ought to
have alarmed and checked, his griping comrade. "Wilt
thou not wait the morrow?"

" Why this delay ? Perhaps, when I can no longer give
my testimony without shame for not having given it ere the
innocent man suffered, thou wilt forget my claim ; and,
indeed, thy present hesitation is a bad omen of thy future
gratitude."

" Well, then, Calenus, what wouldst thou have me pay
thee?"

" Thy life is very precious, and thy wealth is very great,"
returned the priest, grinning.

" Wittier and more witty. But speak out — what shall be
the sum ? "

" Arbaces, I have heard that in thy secret treasury below,
beneath those rude Oscan arches which prop thy stately
halls, thou hast piles of gold, of vases, and of jewels, which
might rival the receptacles of the wealth of the deified
Nero. Thou mayst easily spare out of those piles enough
to make Calenus among the richest priests of Pompeii, and
yet not miss the loss."

" Come, Calenus," said Arbaces, winningly, and with a
frank and generous air, " thou art an old friend, and hast
been a faithful servant. Thou canst have no wish to take
away my life, nor I a desire to stint thy reward : thou shalt
descend with me to that treasury thou referrest to, thou
shalt feast thine eyes with the blaze of uncounted gold and
the sparkle of priceless gems ; and thou shalt for thy own
reward, bear away with thee this night as much as thou canst
conceal beneath thy robes. Nay, when thou hast once seen
what thy friend possesses, thou wilt learn how foolish it
would be to injure one who has so much to bestow. When
Glaucus is no more, thou shalt pay the treasury another
visit. Speak I frankly and as a friend ? "

" Oh, greatest, best of men ! " cried Calenus, almost
1 The God of Silence.

The Slave Consults the Oracle 315

weeping with joy, "canst thou thus forgive my injurious
doubts of thy justice, thy generosity?"

" Hush ! one other turn and we will descend to the Oscan

arches."

CHAPTER XIII

THE SLAVE CONSULTS THE ORACLE THEY WHO BLIND

THEMSELVES THE BLIND MAY FOOL — TWO NEW
PRISONERS MADE IN ONE NIGHT

Impatiently Nydia awaited the arrival of the no less
anxious Sosia. Fortifying his courage by plentiful potations
of a better liquor than that provided for the demon, the
credulous ministrant stole into the blind girl's chamber.

"Well, Sosia, and art thou prepared? Hast thou the
bowl of pure water ? "

" Verily, yes : but I tremble a little. You are sure I shall
not see the demon? I have heard that those gentlemen
are by no means of a handsome person or a civil demeanour."

11 Be assured ! And hast thou left the garden-gate gently
open ? "

" Yes ; and placed some beautiful nuts and apples on a
little table close by ? "

"That's well. And the gate is open now, so that the
demon may pass through it?"

" Surely it is."

"Well, then, open this door; there — leave it just ajar.
And now, Sosia, give me the lamp."

" What, you will not extinguish it ? "

" No ; but I must breathe my spell over its ray. There
is a spirit in fire. Seat thyself."

The slave obeyed; and Nydia, after bending for some
moments silently over the lamp, rose, and in a low voice
chanted the following rude

INVOCATION TO THE SPECTRE OF THE AIR.

" Loved alike by Air and Water
Aye must be Thessalia's daughter ;
To us, Olympian hearts, are given
Spells that draw the moon from heaven.
All that Egypt's learning wrought —
All that Persia's Magian taught —

316 The Last Days of Pompeii

Won from song, or wrung from flowers,
Or whisper'd low by fiend — are ours.

Spectre of the viewless air !
Hear the blind Thessalian's prayer !
By Erictho's art, that shed
Dews of life when life was fled : —
By lone Ithaca's wise king,
Who could wake the crystal spring
To the voice of prophecy ?
By the lost Eurydice,
Summon'd from the shadowy throng,
As the muse-son's magic song —
By the Colchian's awful charms,
When fair-haired Jason left her arms ; —
Spectre of the airy halls,
One who owns thee duly calls !
Breathe along the brimming bowl,
And instruct the fearful soul
In the shadowy things that lie
Dark in dim futurity.
Come, wild demon of the air,
Answer to thy votary's prayer !
Come ! oh, come !

And no god on heaven or earth —
Not the Paphian Queen of Mirth,
Not the vivid Lord of Light,
Nor the triple Maid of Night,
Nor the Thunderer's self shall be
Blest and honour'd more than thee !
Come ! oh, come I "

" The spectre is certainly coming," said Sosia. " I feel
him running along my hair ! "

" Place thy bowl of water on the ground. Now, then,
give me thy napkin, and let me fold up thy face and eyes."

" Ay ! that's always the custom with these charms. Not
so tight, though : gently — gently ! "

M There — thou canst not see ? "

" See, by Jupiter ! No ! nothing but darkness."

"Address, then, to the spectre whatever question thou
wouldst ask him, in a low-whispered voice, three times. If
thy question is answered in the affirmative, thou wilt hear
the water ferment and bubble before the demon breathes
upon it ; if in the negative, the water will be quite silent."

" But you will not play any trick with the water, eh ? "

" Let me place the bowl under thy feet — so. Now thou
wilt perceive that I cannot touch it without thy knowledge."

The Blind may Fool the Blind 317

"Very fair. Now, then, O Bacchus ! befriend me.
Thou knowest that I have always loved thee better than all
the other gods, and I will dedicate to thee that silver cup I
stole last year from the burly carptor (butler), if thou wilt
but befriend me with this water-loving demon. And thou,
O Spirit 1 listen and hear me. Shall I be enabled to
purchase my freedom next year? Thou knowest; for, as
thou livest in the air, the birds x have doubtless acquainted
thee with every secret of this house, — thou knowest that I
have niched and pilfered all that I honestly — that is, safely
— could lay finger upon for the last three years, and I yet
want two thousand sesterces of the full sum. Shall I be
able, O good Spirit ! to make up the deficiency in the
course of this year ? Speak — Ha ! does the water bubble ?
No ; all is as still as a tomb. — Well, then, if not this year,
in two years ? — Ah ! I hear something ; the demon is
scratching at the door; he'll be here presently. — In two
years, my good fellow : come now, two ; that's a very
reasonable time. What ! dumb still ! Two years and a
half — three — four? Ill fortune to you, friend demon!
You are not a lady, that's clear, or you would not keep
silence so long. Five — six — sixty years ? and may Pluto
seize you ! I'll ask no more." And Sosia, in a rage,
kicked down the water over his legs. He then, after much
fumbling and more cursing, managed to extricate his head
from the napkin in which it was completely folded — stared
round — and discovered that he was in the dark.

" What, ho ! Nydia ; the lamp is gone. Ah, traitress ;
and thou art gone too ; but I'll catch thee — thou shalt
smart for this ! "

The slave groped his way to the door ; it was bolted from
without : he was a prisoner instead of Nydia. What could
he do ? He did not dare to knock loud — to call out — lest
Arbaces should overhear him, and discover how he had
been duped ; and Nydia, meanwhile, had probably already
gained the garden-gate, and was fast on her escape.

" But," thought he, " she will go home, or, at least, be
somewhere in the city. To-morrow, at dawn, when the
slaves are at work in the peristyle, I can make myself
heard ; then I can go forth and seek her. I shall be sure

1 Who are supposed to know all secrets. The same superstition
prevails in the East, and is not without example, also, in our northern
legends.

3i 8 The Last Days of Pompeii

to find and bring her back, before Arbaces knows a word of
the matter. Ah ! that's the best plan. Little traitress, my
fingers itch at thee : and to leave only a bowl of water,
too I Had it been wine, it would have been some
comfort."

While Sosia, thus entrapped, was lamenting his fate, and
revolving his schemes to repossess himself of Nydia, the
blind girl, with that singular precision and dexterous rapidity
of motion, which, we have before observed, was peculiar to
her, had passed lightly along the peristyle, threaded the
opposite passage that led into the garden, and, with a
beating heart, was about to proceed towards the gate, when
she suddenly heard the sound of approaching steps, and
distinguished the dreaded voice of Arbaces himself. She
paused for a moment in doubt and terror • then suddenly it
flashed across her recollection that there was another
passage which was little used except for the admission of
the fair partakers of the Egyptian's secret revels, and which
wound along the basement of that massive fabric towards a
door which also communicated with the garden. By good
fortune it might be open. At that thought, she hastily
retraced her steps, descended the narrow stairs at the right,
and was soon at the entrance of the passage. Alas ! the
door at the entrance was closed and secured. While she
was yet assuring herself that it was indeed locked, she
heard behind her the voice of Calenus, and, a moment
after, that of Arbaces in low reply. She could not stay
there ; they were probably passing to that very door. She
sprang onward, and felt herself in unknown ground. The
air grew damp and chill ; this reassured her. She thought
she might be among the cellars of the luxurious mansion,
or, at least, in some rude spot not likely to be visited by its
haughty lord, when again, her quick ear caught steps and
the sound of voices. On, on, she hurried, extending her
arms, which now frequently encountered pillars of thick and
massive form. WTith a tact, doubled in acuteness by her
fear, she escaped these perils, and continued her way, the
air growing more and more damp as she proceeded; yet,
still, as she ever and anon paused for breath, she heard the
advancing steps and the indistinct murmur of voices. At
length she was abruptly stopped by a wall that seemed the
limit of her path. Was there no spot in which she could
hide ? No aperture ? no cavity ? There was none ! She

Two New Prisoners 319

stopped, and wrung her hands in despair; then again,
nerved as the voices neared upon her, she hurried on by
the side of the wall ; and coming suddenly against one of
the sharp buttresses that here and there jutted boldly forth,
she fell to the ground. Though much bruised, her senses
did not leave her ; she uttered no cry ; nay, she hailed the
accident that had led her to something like a screen ; and
creeping close up to the angle formed by the buttress, so
that on one side at least she was sheltered from view, she
gathered her slight and small form into its smallest compass,
and breathlessly awaited her fate.

Meanwhile Arbaces and the priest were taking their way
to that secret chamber whose stores were so vaunted by the
Egyptian. They were in a vast subterranean atrium, or
hall ; the low roof was supported by short, thick pillars of
an architecture far remote from the Grecian graces of that
luxuriant period. The single and pale lamp, which
Arbaces bore, shed but an imperfect ray over the bare and
rugged walls, in which the huge stones, without cement,
were fitted curiously and uncouthly into each other. The
disturbed reptiles glared dully on the intruders, and then
crept into the shadow of the walls.

Calenus shivered as he looked around and breathed the
damp, unwholesome air.

"Yet," said Arbaces, with a smile, perceiving his shudder,
" it is these rude abodes that furnish the luxuries of the halls
above. They are like the labourers of the world, — we
despise their ruggedness, yet they feed the very pride that
disdains them."

" And whither goes yon dim gallery to the left ? " asked
Calenus ; " in this depth of gloom it seems without limit,
as if winding into Hades."

" On the contrary, it does but conduct to the upper
rooms," answered Arbaces, carelessly : " it is to the right
that we steer to our bourn."

The hall, like many in the more habitable regions of
Pompeii, branched off at the extremity into two wings or
passages ; the length of which, not really great, was to the
eye considerably exaggerated by the sudden gloom against
which the lamp so faintly struggled. To the right of these
alee the two comrades now directed their steps.

" The gay Glaucus will be lodged to-morrow in apart-
ments not much drier, and far less spacious than this," said

320 The Last Days of Pompeii

Calenus, as they passed by the very spot where, completely
wrapped in the shadow of the broad, projecting buttress,
cowered the Thessalian.

" Ay, but then he will have dry room, and ample enough,
in the arena on the following day. And to think," con-
tinued Arbaces, slowly, and very deliberately— " to think
that a word of thine could save him, and consign Arbaces
to his doom ! "

"That word shall never be spoken," said Calenus.

"Right, my Calenus! it never shall," returned Arbaces,
familiarly leaning his arm on the priest's shoulder : " and
now, halt — we are at the door."

The light trembled against a small door deep set in the
wall, and guarded strongly by many plates and bindings of
iron, that intersected the rough and dark wood. From his
girdle Arbaces now drew a small ring, holding three or four
short but strong keys. Oh, how beat the griping heart of
Calenus, as he heard the rusty wards growl, as if resenting
the admission to the treasures they guarded !

"Enter, my friend," said Arbaces, "while I hold the
lamp on high, that thou mayst glut thine eyes on the yellow
heaps."

The impatient Calenus did not wait to be twice invited ;
he hastened towards the aperture.

Scarce had he crossed the threshold, when the strong
hand of Arbaces plunged him forwards.

" The word shall never be spoken ! " said the Egyptian,
with a loud exultant laugh, and closed the door upon the
priest.

Calenus had been precipitated down several steps, but
not feeling at the moment the pain of his fall, he sprung up
again to the door, and beating at it fiercely with his clenched
fist, he cried aloud in what seemed more a beast's howl
than a human voice, so keen was his agony and despair :
" Oh, release me, release me, and I will ask no gold ! "

The words but imperfectly penetrated the massive door,
and Arbaces again laughed. Then, stamping his foot
violently, rejoined, perhaps to give vent to his long-stifled
passions, —

" All the gold of Dalmatia," cried he, " will not buy thee
a crust of bread. Starve, wretch ! thy dying groans will
never wake even the echo of these vast halls j nor will the
air ever reveal, as thou gnawest, in thy desperate famine,

Nydia Accosts Calenus 321

thy flesh from thy bones, that so perishes the man who
threatened, and could have undone, Arbaces ! Farewell 1 "

11 Oh, pity — mercy ! Inhuman villain ; was it for
this "

The rest of the sentence was lost to the ear of Arbaces
as he passed backward along the dim hall. A toad, plump
and bloated, lay unmoving before his path ; the rays of the
lamp fell upon its unshaped hideousness and red upward
eye. Arbaces turned aside that he might not harm it.

" Thou art loathsome and obscene," he muttered, " but
thou canst not injure me; therefore thou art safe in my
path."

The cries of Calenus, dulled and choked by the barrier
that confined him, yet faintly reached the ear of the
Egyptian. He paused and listened intently.

" This is unfortunate," thought he ; " for I cannot sail till
that voice is dumb for ever. My stores and treasures lie,
not in yon dungeon it is true, but in the opposite wing.
My slaves, as they move them, must not hear his voice.
But what fear of that ? In three days, if he still survive,
his accents, by my father's beard, must be weak enough,
then ! — no, they could not pierce even through his tomb.
By Isis, it is cold ! — I long for a deep draught of the spiced
Falernian."

With that the remorseless Egyptian drew his gown closer
round him, and resought the upper air.

CHAPTER XIV

NYDIA ACCOSTS CALENUS

What words of terror, yet of hope, had Nydia overheard !
The next day Glaucus was to be condemned ; yet there lived
one who could save him, and adjudge Arbaces to his doom,
and that one breathed within a few steps of her hiding-place !
She caught his cries and shrieks — his imprecations — his
prayers, though they fell choked and muffled on her ear.
He was imprisoned, but she knew the secret of his cell :
could she but escape — could she but seek the praetor, he
might yet in time be given to light, and preserve the
Athenian. Her emotions almost stifled her ; her brain

322 The Last Days of Pompeii

reeled — she felt her sense give way — but by a violent effort
she mastered herself; and, after listening intently for several
minutes, till she was convinced that Arbaces had left the
space to solitude and herself, she crept on as her ear guided
her to the very door that had closed upon Calenus. Here
she more distinctly caught his accents of terror and despair.
Thrice she attempted to speak, and thrice her voice failed
to penetrate the folds of the heavy door. At length finding
the lock, she applied her lips to its small aperture, and the
prisoner distinctly heard a soft tone breathe his name.

His blood curdled — his hair stood on end. That awful
solitude, what mysterious and preternatural being could
penetrate ! " Who's there ? " he cried, in new alarm ;
"what spectre — what dread larva, calls upon the lost
Calenus ? "

" Priest," replied the Thessalian, " unknown to Arbaces,
I have been, by the permission of the gods, a witness to his
perfidy. If I myself can escape from these walls, I may
save thee. But let thy voice reach my ear through this
narrow passage, and answer what I ask."

"Ah, blessed spirit," said the priest, exultingly, and
obeying the suggestion of Nydia, " save me, and I will sell
the very cups on the altar to pay thy kindness."

" I want not thy gold — I want thy secret. Did I hear
aright ? — Canst thou save the Athenian Glaucus from the
charge against his life ? "

" I can — I can ! — therefore (may the Furies blast the foul
Egyptian !) hath Arbaces snared me thus, and left me to
starve and rot ! "

" They accuse the Athenian of murder : canst thou
disprove the accusation?"

"Only free me, and the proudest head of Pompeii is not
more safe than his. I saw the deed done — I saw Arbaces
strike the blow ; I can convict the true murderer and acquit
the innocent man. But if I perish, he dies also. Dost
thou interest thyself for him ? Oh, blessed stranger, in my
heart is the urn which condemns or frees him ! "

" And thou wilt give full evidence of what thou
knowest ? "

" Will ! — Oh ! were hell at my feet — yes ! Revenge on
the false Egyptian ! — revenge ! — revenge ! revenge ! "

As through his ground teeth Calenus shrieked forth those
last words, Nydia felt that in his worst passions was her

Arbaces and lone 323

certainty of his justice to the Athenian. Her heart beat :
was it to be her proud destiny to preserve her idolised — her
adored ? " Enough," said she, " the powers that conducted
me hither will carry me through all. Yes, I feel that I
shall deliver thee. Wait in patience and hope."

" But be cautious, be prudent, sweet" stranger. Attempt
not to appeal to Arbaces — he is marble. Seek the praetor —
say what thou knowest — obtain his writ of search ; bring
soldiers, and smiths of cunning — these locks are wondrous
strong ! Time flies — I may starve — starve ! if you are not
quick ! Go — go ! Yet stay — it is horrible to be alone ! —
the air is like a charnel — and the scorpions — ha ! and the
pale larvse ; oh ! stay, stay ! "

" Nay," said Nydia, terrified by the terror of the priest,
and anxious to confer with herself, — "nay, for thy sake, I
must depart. Take hope for thy companion — farewell ! "

So, saying, she glided away, and felt with extended arms
along the pillared space until she had gained the farther end
of the hall and the mouth of the passage that led to the
upper air. But there she paused ; she felt that it would be
more safe to wait awhile, until the night was so far blended
with the morning that the whole house would be buried in
sleep, and so that she might quit it unobserved. She, there-
fore, once more laid herself down, and counted the weary
moments. In her sanguine heart, joy was the predominant
emotion. Glaucus was in deadly peril — but she should save
him !

CHAPTER XV

ARBACES AND IONE — NYDIA GAINS THE GARDEN WILL

SHE ESCAPE AND SAVE THE ATHENIAN?

When Arbaces had warmed his veins by large draughts
of that spiced and perfumed wine so valued by the luxurious,
he felt more than usually elated and exultant of heart.
There is a pride in triumphant ingenuity, not less felt,
perhaps, though its object be guilty. Our vain human
nature hugs itself in the consciousness of superior craft
and self-obtained success — afterwards comes the horrible
reaction of remorse.

324 The Last Days of Pompeii

But remorse was not a feeling which Arbaces was likely
ever to experience for the fate of the base Calenus. He
swept from his remembrance the thought of the priest's
agonies and lingering death : he felt only that a great danger
was passed, and a possible foe silenced ; all left to him now
would be to account to the priesthood for the disappearance
of Calenus ; and this he imagined it would not be difficult
to do. Calenus had often been employed by him in various
religious missions to the neighbouring cities. On some
such errand he could now assert that he had been sent, with
offerings to the shrines of Isis at Herculaneum and Neapolis,
placatory of the goddess for the recent murder of her priest
Apaecides. When Calenus had expired, his body might be
thrown, previous to the Egyptian's departure from Pompeii,
into the deep stream of the Sarnus ; and when discovered,
suspicion would probably fall upon the Nazarene atheists,
as an act of revenge for the death of Olinthus at the arena.
After rapidly running over these plans for screening himself,
Arbaces dismissed at once from his mind all recollection of
the wretched priest ; and, animated by the success which
had lately crowned all his schemes, he surrendered his
thoughts to lone. The last time he had seen her, she had
driven him from her presence by a reproachful and bitter
scorn, which his arrogant nature was unable to endure. He
now felt emboldened once more to renew that interview ; for
his passion for her was like similar feelings in other men —
it made him restless for her presence, even though in that
presence he was exasperated and humbled. From delicacy
to her grief he laid not aside his dark and unfestive robes,
but, renewing the perfumes on his raven locks, and arranging
his tunic in its most becoming folds, he sought the chamber
of the Neapolitan. Accosting the slave in attendance
without, he inquired if lone had yet retired to rest ; and
learning that she was still up, and unusually quiet and com-
posed, he ventured into her presence. He found his beauti-
ful ward sitting before a small table, and leaning her face
upon both her hands in the attitude of thought. Yet the
expression of the face itself possessed not its wonted bright
and Psyche-like expression of sweet intelligence ; the lips
were apart — the eye vacant and unheeding — and the long
dark hair, falling neglected and dishevelled upon her neck,
gave by the contrast additional paleness to a cheek which
had already lost the roundness of its contour.

Arbaces and lone 325

Arbaces gazed upon her a moment ere he advanced.
She, too, lifted up her eyes ; and when she saw who was
the intruder, shut them with an expression of pain, but did
not stir.

" Ah ! " said Arbaces, in a low and earnest tone as he
respectfully, nay, humbly, advanced and seated himself at a
little distance from the table — "Ah ! that my death could re-
move thy hatred, then would I gladly die ! Thou wrongest me,
lone; but I will bear the wrong without a murmur, only
let me see thee sometimes. Chide, reproach, scorn me,
if thou wilt — I will teach myself to bear it. And is not
even thy bitterest tone sweeter to me than the music of the
most artful lute ? In thy silence the world seems to stand
still — a stagnation curdles up the veins of the earth — there
is no earth, no life, without the light of thy countenance
and the melody of thy voice."

"Give me back my brother and my betrothed," said
lone, in a calm and imploring tone, and a few large tears
rolled unheeded down her cheeks.

"Would that I could restore the one and save the
other ! " returned Arbaces, with apparent emotion. " Yes ;
to make thee happy I would renounce my ill-fated love,
and gladly join thy hand to the Athenian's. Perhaps he
will yet come unscathed from his trial [Arbaces had pre-
vented her learning that the trial had already commenced] ;
if so, thou art free to judge or condemn him thyself. And
think not, O lone, that I would follow thee longer with a
prayer of love. I know it is in vain. Suffer me only to
weep — to mourn with thee. Forgive a violence deeply
repented, and that shall offend no more. Let me be to
thee only what I once was — a friend, a father, a protector.
Ah, lone ! spare me and forgive."

" I forgive thee. Save but Glaucus, and I will renounce
him. O mighty Arbaces ! thou art powerful in evil or in
good : save the Athenian, and the poor lone will never see
him more." As she spoke, she rose with weak and trembling
limbs, and falling at his feet, she clasped his knees : " Oh !
if thou really lovest me — if thou art human — remember my
father's ashes, remember my childhood, think of all the
hours we passed happily together, and save my Glaucus ! "

Strange convulsions shook the frame of the Egyptian;
his features worked fearfully — he turned his face aside, and
said, in a hollow voice, " If I could save him, even now, I

326 The Last Days of Pompeii

would ; but the Roman law is stern and sharp. Yet if I
could succeed — if I could rescue and set him free — wouldst
thou be mine — my bride ? "

" Thine ? " repeated lone, rising : " thine ! — thy bride ?
My brother's blood is unavenged : who slew him ? O
Nemesis, can I even sell, for the life of Glaucus, thy solemn
trust ? Arbaces — thine ? Never."

" lone, lone ! " cried Arbaces, passionately ; " why these
mysterious words ? — why dost thou couple my name with
the thought of thy brother's death ? "

" My dreams couple it — and dreams are from the gods."

" Vain fantasies all ! Is it for a dream that thou wouldst
wrong the innocent, and hazard thy sole chance of saving
thy. lover's life?"

" Hear me ! " said lone, speaking firmly, and with a
deliberate and solemn voice : " if Glaucus be saved by thee,
I will never be borne to his home a bride. But I cannot
master the horror of other rites : I cannot wed with thee.
Interrupt me not ; but mark me, Arbaces ! — if Glaucus die,
on that same day I baffle thine arts, and leave to thy love
only my dust ! Yes, — thou mayst put the knife and the
poison from my reach — thou mayst imprison — thou mayst
chain me, but the brave soul resolved to escape is never
without means. These hands, naked and unarmed though
they be, shall tear away the bonds of life. Fetter them, and
these lips shall firmly refuse the air. Thou art learned —
thou hast read how women have died rather than meet dis-
honour. If Glaucus perish, I will not unworthily linger
behind him. By all the gods of the heaven, and the ocean,
and the earth, I devote myself to death ! I have said ! "

High, proud, dilating in her stature, like one inspired,
the air and voice of lone struck an awe into the breast of
her listener.

" Brave heart ! " said he, after a short pause ; " thou art
indeed worthy to be mine. Oh ! that I should have dreamt
of such a partner in my lofty destinies, and never found it
but in thee ! lone," he continued rapidly, " dost thou not
see that we are born for each other ? Canst thou not recog-
nise something kindred to thine own energy — thine own
courage — in this high and self-dependent soul ? We were
formed to unite our sympathies — formed to breathe a new
spirit into this hackneyed and gross world — formed for the
mighty ends which my soul, sweeping down the gloom of

Arbaces and lone 327

time, foresees with a prophet's vision. With a resolution
equal to thine own, I defy thy threats of an inglorious
suicide. I hail thee as my own ! Queen of climes un-
darkened by the eagle's wing, unravaged by his beak, I bow
before thee in homage and in awe — but I claim thee in
worship and in love ! Together will we cross the ocean —
together will we found our realm ; and far distant ages shall
acknowledge the long race of kings born from the marriage-
bed of Arbaces and lone ! "

" Thou ravest ! These mystic declamations are suited
rather to some palsied crone selling charms in the
market-place than to the wise Arbaces. Thou hast heard
my resolution, — it is fixed as the Fates themselves. Orcus
has heard my vow, and it is written in the book of the un-
forgetful Hades. Atone, then, O Arbaces ! — atone the
past : convert hatred into regard — vengeance into gratitude;
preserve one who shall never be thy rival. These are acts
suited to thy original nature, which gives forth sparks of
something high and noble. They weigh in the scales of
the Kings of Death : they turn the balance on that day
when the disembodied soul stands shivering and dismayed
between Tartarus and Elysium ; they gladden the heart in
life, better and longer than the reward of a momentary
passion. Oh, Arbaces I hear me, and be swayed ! "

" Enough, lone. All that I can do for Glaucus shall be
done ; but blame me not if I fail. Inquire of my foes, even,
if I have not sought, if I do not seek, to turn aside the sen-
tence from his head ; and judge me accordingly. Sleep then,
lone. Night wanes ; I leave thee to rest, — and mayst
thou have kinder dreams of one who has no existence but
in thine."

Without waiting a reply, Arbaces hastily withdrew; afraid,
perhaps, to trust himself further to the passionate prayer of
lone, which racked him with jealousy, even while it touched
him to compassion. But compassion itself came too late.
Had lone even pledged him her hand as his reward, he
could not now — his evidence given — the populace excited —
have saved the Athenian. Still, made sanguine by his very
energy of mind, he threw himself on the chances of the
future, and believed he should yet triumph over the woman
that had so entangled his passions.

As his attendants assisted to unrobe him for the night,
the thought of Nydia flashed across him. He felt it was

328 The Last Days of Pompeii

necessary that lone should never learn of her lover's frenzy,
lest it might excuse his imputed crime ; and it was possible
that her attendants might inform her that Nydia was under
his roof, and she might desire to see her. As this idea
crossed him, he turned to one of his freed men, —

" Go, Callias," said he, " forthwith to Sosia, and tell him,
that on no pretence is he to suffer the blind slave Nydia out
of her chamber. But, stay — first seek those in attendance
upon my ward, and caution them not to inform her that the
blind girl is under my roof. Go — quick ! "

The freedman hastened to obey. After having discharged
his commission with respect to Ione's attendants, he sought
the worthy Sosia. He found him not in the little cell which
was apportioned for his cubiculum ; he called his name
aloud, and from Nydia's chamber, close at hand, he heard
the voice of Sosia reply, —

" Oh, Callias, is it you that I hear ? — the gods be praised !
Open the door, I pray you ! "

Callias withdrew the bolt, and the rueful face of Sosia
hastily protruded itself.

" What ! — in the chamber with that young girl, Sosia !
Proh pudorl Are there not fruits ripe enough on the wall,
but that thou must tamper with such green "

" Name not the little witch ! " interrupted Sosia, im-
patiently ; " she will be my ruin ! " And he forthwith
imparted to Callias the history of the Air Demon, and the
escape of the Thessalian.

" Hang thyself, then, unhappy Sosia ! I am just charged
from Arbaces with a message to thee ; on no account art
thou to suffer her, even for a moment, from that chamber ! "

" Me miseruml" exclaimed the slave. " What can I do !
— by this time she may have visited half Pompeii. But to-
morrow I will undertake to catch her in her old haunts.
Keep but my counsel, my dear Callias."

" I will do all that friendship can, consistent with my own
safety. But are you sure she has left the house ? — she may
be hiding here yet."

" How is that possible ? She could easily have gained
the garden; and the door, as I told thee, was open."

" Nay, not so ; for, at that very hour thou specifiest,
Arbaces was in the garden with the priest Calenus. I went
there in search of some herbs for my master's bath to-
morrow. I saw the table set out ; but the gate I am sure

Nydia Gains the Garden 329

was shut : depend upon it, that Calenus entered by the
garden, and naturally closed the door after him."

" But it was not locked."

"Yes; for I myself, angry at a negligence which might
expose the bronzes in the peristyle to the mercy of any
robber, turned the key, took it away, and — as I did not see
the proper slave to whom to give it, or I should have rated
him finely — here it actually is, still in my girdle."

" Oh, merciful Bacchus ! I did not pray to thee in vain,
after all. Let us not lose a moment ! Let us to the garden
instantly — she may yet be there ! "

The good-natured Callias consented to assist the slave ;
and after vainly searching the chambers at hand, and the
recesses of the peristyle, they entered the garden.

It was about this time that Nydia had resolved to quit
her hiding-place, and venture forth on her way. Lightly,
tremulously holding her breath, which ever and anon broke
forth in quick convulsive gasps, — now gliding by the flower-
wreathed columns that bordered the peristyle — now darken-
ing the still moonshine that fell over its tesselated centre —
now ascending the terrace of the garden — now gliding
amidst the gloomy and breathless trees, she gained the fatal
door — to find it locked ! We have all seen that expression
of pain, of uncertainty, of fear, which a sudden disappoint-
ment of touch, if I may use the expression, casts over the
face of the blind. But what words can paint the intolerable
woe, the sinking of the whole heart, which was now visible
on the features of the Thessalian? Again and again her
small, quivering hands wandered to and fro the inexorable
door. Poor thing that thou wert ! in vain had been all thy
noble courage, thy innocent craft, thy doublings to escape
the hound and huntsmen ! Within but a few yards from
thee, laughing at thy endeavours— thy despair — knowing
thou wert now their own, and watching with cruel patience
their own moment to seize their prey — thou art saved from
seeing thy pursuers !

" Hush, Callias ! — let her go on. Let us see what she
will do when she has convinced herself that the door is
honest."

" Look ! she raises her face to the heavens — she mutters
— she sinks down despondent ! No ! by Pollux, she has
some new scheme ! She will not resign herself! By
Jupiter, a tough spirit ! See, she springs up — she retraces

330 The Last Days of Pompeii

her steps — she thinks of some other chance ! — I advise thee,
Sosia, to delay no longer : seize her ere she quit the garden, —
now!"

" Ah ! runaway ! I have thee — eh ? " said Sosia, seizing
upon the unhappy Nydia.

As a hare's last human cry in the fangs of the dogs — as
the sharp voice of terror uttered by a sleep-walker suddenly
awakened — broke the shriek of the blind girl, when she felt
the abrupt gripe of her gaoler. It was a shriek of such utter
agony, such entire despair, that it might have rung haunt-
ingly in your ears for ever. She felt as if the last plank of
the sinking Glaucus were torn from his clasp ! It had been
a suspense of life and death ; and death had now won the
game.

"Gods! that cry will alarm the house! Arbaces sleeps
full lightly. Gag her ! " cried Callias.

" Ah ! here is the very napkin with which the young witch
conjured away my reason ! Come, that's right ; now thou art
dumb, as well as blind."

And, catching the light weight in his arms, Sosia soon
gained the house, and reached the chamber from which
Nydia had escaped. There, removing the gag, he left her
to a solitude so racked and terrible, that out of Hades its
anguish could scarcely be exceeded.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SORROW OF BOON COMPANIONS FOR OUR AFFLICTIONS

THE DUNGEON AND ITS VICTIMS

It was now late on the third and last day of the trial of
Glaucus and Olinthus. A few hours after the court had
broke up and judgment been given, a small party of the
fashionable youth at Pompeii were assembled round the
fastidious board of Lepidus.

"So Glaucus denies his crime to the last?" said Clodius.

" Yes ; but the testimony of Arbaces was convincing ; he
saw the blow given," answered Lepidus.

" What could have been the cause ? "

" Why, the priest was a gloomy and sullen fellow. He

Sorrow of Boon Companions 331

probably rated Glaucus soundly about his gay life and gam-
ing habits, and ultimately swore he would not consent to his
marriage with lone. High words arose ; Glaucus seems to
have been full of the passionate god, and struck in sudden
exasperation. The excitement of wine, the desperation of
abrupt remorse, brought on the delirium under which he
suffered for some days; and I can readily imagine, poor
fellow ! that, yet confused by that delirium, he is even now
unconscious of the crime he committed ! Such, at least, is
the shrewd conjecture of Arbaces, who seems to have been
most kind and forbearing in his testimony.''

" Yes ; he has made himself generally popular by it. But,
in consideration of these extenuating circumstances, the
senate should have relaxed the sentence."

" And they would have done so, but for the people ; but
they were outrageous. The priest had spared no pains to
excite them ; and they imagined — the ferocious brutes ! —
because Glaucus was a rich man and a gentleman, that he
was likely to escape ; and therefore they were inveterate
against him, and doubly resolved upon his sentence. It
seems, by some accident or other, that he was never formally
enrolled as a Roman citizen ; and thus the senate is de-
prived of the power to resist the people, though, after all,
there was but a majority of three against him. Ho ! the
Chian!"

" He looks sadly altered ; but how composed and
fearless ! "

" Ay, we shall see if his firmness will last over to-morrow.
But what merit in courage, when that atheistical hound,
Olinthus, manifested the same ? "

" The blasphemer ! Yes," said Lepidus, with pious wrath,
u no wonder that one of the decurions was, but two days
ago, struck dead by lightning in a serene sky.1 The gods
feel vengeance against Pompeii while the vile desecrator is
alive within its walls.

" Yet so lenient was the senate, that had he but expressed
his penitence, and scattered a few grains of incense on the
altar of Cybele, he would have been let off. I doubt
whether these Nazarenes, had they the state religion, would
be as tolerant to us, supposing we had kicked down the

1 Pliny says that, immediately before the eruption of Vesuvius, one of
the dectiriones viunicipales was — though the heaven was unclouded —
struck dead by lightning.

332 The Last Days of Pompeii

image of their Deity, blasphemed their rites, and denied
their faith."

" They give Glaucus one chance, in consideration of the
circumstances ; they allow him, against the lion, the use of
the same stilus wherewith he smote the priest."

" Hast thou seen the lion ? hast thou looked at his teeth
and fangs, and wilt thou call that a chance ? Why, sword
and buckler would be mere reed and papyrus against the
rush of the mighty beast ! No, I think the true mercy has
been, not to leave him long in suspense ; and it was therefore
fortunate for him that our benign laws are slow to pronounce,
but swift to execute ; and that the games of the amphi-
theatre had been, by a sort of providence, so long since
fixed for to-morrow. He who awaits death, dies twice."

" As for the Atheist," said Clodius, " he is to cope the
grim tiger naked-handed. Well, these combats are past
betting on. We will take the odds ? "

A peal of laughter announced the ridicule of the question.

"Poor Clodius!" said the host; "to lose a friend is
something; but to find no one to bet on the chance of
his escape is a worse misfortune to thee."

"Why, it is provoking; it would have been some consol-
ation to him and to me to think he was useful to the last."

" The people," said the grave Pansa, " are all delighted
with the result. They were so much afraid the sports at
the amphitheatre would go off without a criminal for the
beasts ; and now, to get two such criminals is indeed a joy
for the poor fellows ! They work hard ; they ought to have
some amusement."

"There speaks the popular Pansa, who never moves with-
out a string of clients as long as an Indian triumph. He is
always prating about the people. Gods ! he will end by
being a Gracchus ! "

" Certainly I am no insolent patrician," said Pansa, with
a generous air.

" Well," observed Lepidus, " it would have been assuredly
dangerous to have been merciful at the eve of a beast-fight. If
ever 7, though a Roman bred and born, come to be tried,
pray Jupiter there may be either no beasts in the vivaria, or
plenty of criminals in the gaol."

" And pray," said one of the party, " what has become of
the poor girl whom Glaucus was to have married? A
widow without being a bride — that is hard ! "

Sorrow of Boon Companions 333

"Oh," returned Clodius, " she is safe under the protec-
tion of her guardian, Arbaces. It was natural she should go
to him when she had lost both lover and brother."

"By sweet Venus, Glaucus was fortunate among the
women. They say the rich Julia was in love with him."

" A mere fable, my friend," said Clodius, coxcombically j
" I was with her to-day. If any feeling of the sort she ever
conceived, I flatter myself that / have consoled her."

"Hush, gentlemen!" said Pansa; "do you not know
that Clodius is employed at the house of Diomed in blowing
hard at the torch ? It begins to burn, and will soon shine
bright on the shrine of Hymen."

" Is it so ? " said Lepidus. " What ! Clodius become a
married man ? — Fie ! "

"Never fear," answered Clodius; "old Diomed is de-
lighted at the notion of marrying his daughter to a noble-
man, and will come down largely with the sesterces. You
will see that I shall not lock them up in the atrium. It will
be a white day for his jolly friends, when Clodius marries an
heiress."

" Say you so ? " cried Lepidus ; " come, then, a full cup
to the health of the fair Julia ! "

While such was the conversation — one not discordant to
the tone of mind common among the dissipated of that day,
and which might perhaps, a century ago, have found an
echo in the looser circles of Paris — while such, I say, was
the conversation in the gaudy triclinium of Lepidus, far
different the scene which scowled before the young Athenian.

After his condemnation, Glaucus was admitted no more
to the gentle guardianship of Sallust, the only friend of his
distress. He was led along the forum till the guards stopped
at a small door by the side of the temple of Jupiter. You
may see the place still. The door opened in the centre in
a somewhat singular fashion, revolving round on its hinges,
as it were, like a modern turnstile, so as only to leave half
the threshold open at the same time. Through this narrow
aperture they thrust the prisoner, placed before him a loaf
and a pitcher of water, and left him to darkness, and, as he
thought, to solitude. So sudden had been that revolution
of fortune which had prostrated him from the palmy height
of youthful pleasure and successful love to the lowest abyss
of ignominy, and the horror of a most bloody death, that he
could scarcely convince himself that he was not held in the

334 The Last Days of Pompeii

meshes of some fearful dream. His elastic and glorious
frame had triumphed over a potion, the greater part of
which he had fortunately not drained. He had recovered
sense and consciousness, but still a dim and misty depression
clung to his nerves and darkened his mind. His natural
courage, and the Greek nobility of pride, enabled him to
vanquish all unbecoming apprehension, and, in the judg-
ment-court, to face his awful lot with a steady mien and
unquailing eye. But the consciousness of innocence scarcely
sufficed to support him when the gaze of men no longer
excited his haughty valour, and he was left to loneliness and
silence. He felt the damps of the dungeon sink chillingly
into his enfeebled frame. He — the fastidious, the luxurious,
the refined — he who had hitherto braved no hardship and
known no sorrow. Beautiful bird that he was ! why had he
left his far and sunny clime — the olive-groves of his native
hills — the music of immemorial streams? Why had he
wantoned on his glittering plumage amidst these harsh and
ungenial strangers, dazzling the eyes with his gorgeous hues,
charming the ear with his blithesome song — thus suddenly
to be arrested — caged in darkness — a victim and a prey — his
gay flights for ever over — his hymns of gladness for ever
stilled ! The poor Athenian ! his very faults the exuberance
of a gentle and joyous nature, how little had his past career
fitted him for the trials he was destined to undergo ! The
hoots of the mob, amidst whose plaudits he had so often
guided his graceful car and bounding steeds, still rang
gratingly in his ear. The cold and stony faces of his former
friends (the co-mates of his merry revels) still rose before his
eye. None now were by to soothe, to sustain, the admired,
the adulated stranger. These walls opened but on the dread
arena of a violent and shameful death. And lone! of her,
too, he had heard naught ; no encouraging word, no pitying
message ; she, too, had forsaken him ; she believed him
guilty — and of what crime ? — the murder of a brother ! He
ground his teeth — he groaned aloud — and ever and anon a
sharp fear shot across him. In that fell and fierce delirium
which had so unaccountably seized his soul, which had so
ravaged the disordered brain, might he not, indeed, unknow-
ing to himself, have committed the crime of which he was
accused ? Yet, as the thought flashed upon him, it was as
suddenly checked ; for, amidst all the darkness of the past,
he thought distinctly to recall the dim grove of Cybele, the

The Dungeon and its Victims 335

upward face of the pale dead, the pause that he had made
beside the corpse, and the sudden shock that felled him to
the earth. He felt convinced of his innocence ; and yet
who, to the latest time, long after his mangled remains were
mingled with the elements, would believe him guiltless, or
uphold his fame ? As he recalled his interview with Arbaces,
and the causes of revenge which had been excited in the
heart of that dark and fearful man, he could not but believe
that he was the victim of some deep-laid and mysterious
snare — the clue and train of which he was lost in attempting
to discover : and lone — Arbaces loved her — might his rival's
success be founded upon his ruin ? That thought cut him
more deeply than all ; and his noble heart was more stung
by jealousy than appalled by fear. Again he groaned aloud.

A voice from the recess of the darkness answered that
burst of anguish. " Who [it said] is my companion in this
awful hour ? Athenian Glaucus, it is thou ? "

"So, indeed, they called me in mine hour of fortune:
they may have other names for me now. And thy name,
stranger ? "

" Is Olinthus, thy co-mate in the prison as the trial."

" What ! he whom they call the Atheist ? Is it the injus-
tice of men that hath taught thee to deny the providence of
the gods ? "

"Alas!" answered Olinthus : "thou, not I, art the true
Atheist, for thou deniest the sole true God — the Unknown
One — to whom thy Athenian fathers erected an altar. It is
in this hour that I know my God. He is with me in the
dungeon ; His smile penetrates the darkness ; on the eve of
death my heart whispers immortality, and earth recedes from
me but to bring the weary soul nearer unto heaven."

"Tell me," said Glaucus, abruptly, "did I not hear thy
name coupled with that of Apaecides in my trial ? Dost thou
believe me guilty ? "

" God alone reads the heart ! but my suspicion rested not
upon thee."

" On whom then ? "

" Thy accuser, Arbaces."

" Ha ! thou cheerest me : and wherefore ? "

M Because I know the man's evil breast, and he had cause
to fear him who is now dead."

With that, Olinthus proceeded to inform Glaucus of those
details which the reader already knows, the conversion of

336 The Last Days of Pompeii

Apaecides, the plan they had proposed for the detection of
the impostures of the Egyptian priestcraft, and of the seduc-
tions practised by Arbaces upon the youthful weakness of
the proselyte. " Therefore," concluded Olinthus, "had the
deceased encountered Arbaces, reviled his treasons, and
threatened detection, the place, the hour, might have favoured
the wrath of the Egyptian, and passion and craft alike dic-
tated the fatal blow."

" It must have been so ! " cried Glaucus, joyfully. " I am
happy."

" Yet what, O unfortunate ! avails to thee now the discov-
ery ? Thou art condemned and fated ; and in thine inno-
cence thou wilt perish."

" But I shall know myself guiltless ; and in my mysterious
madness I had fearful, though momentary, doubts. Yet tell
me, man of a strange creed, thinkest thou that for small
errors, or for ancestral faults, we are for ever abandoned and
accursed by the powers above, whatever name thou allottest
to them ? "

" God is just, and abandons not His creatures for their
mere human frailty. God is merciful, and curses none but
the wicked who repent not."

"Yet it seemeth to me as if, in the divine anger, I had
been smitten by a sudden madness, a supernatural and
solemn frenzy, wrought not by human means."

"There are demons on earth," answered the Nazarene,
fearfully, "as well as there are God and His Son in heaven ;
and since thou acknowledgest not the last, the first may have
had power over thee."

Glaucus did not reply, and there was a silence for some
minutes. At length the Athenian said, in a changed, and
soft, and half-hesitating voice, "Christian, believest thou,
among the doctrines of thy creed, that the dead live again —
that they who have loved here are united hereafter — that
beyond the grave our good name shines pure from the mor-
tal mists that unjustly dim it in the gross-eyed world — and
that the streams which are divided by the desert and the
rock meet in the solemn Hades, and flow once more into
one?"

" Believe I that, O Athenian ? No, I do not believe — I
know ! and it is that beautiful and blessed assurance which
supports me now. O Cyllene ! " continued Olinthus, passion-
ately, "bride of my heart! torn from me in the first month

A Chance for Glaucus 337

of our nuptials, shall I not see thee yet, and ere many days
be past ? Welcome, welcome death, that will bring me to
heaven and thee ! "

There was something in this sudden burst of human affec-
tion which struck a kindred chord in the soul of the Greek.
He felt, for the first time, a sympathy greater than mere
affliction between him and his companion. He crept nearer
towards Olinthus; for the Italians, fierce in some points,
were not unnecessarily cruel in others; they spared the
separate cell and the superfluous chain, and allowed the vic-
tims of the arena the sad comfort of such freedom and such
companionship as the prison would afford.

" Yes," continued the Christian, with holy fervour, " the
immortality of the soul — the resurrection — the reunion of
the dead — is the great principle of our creed — the great
truth a God suffered death itself to attest and proclaim. No
fabled Elysium — no poetic Orcus — but a pure and radiant
heritage of heaven itself, is the portion of the good."

" Tell me, then, thy doctrines, and expound to me thy
hopes," said Glaucus, earnestly.

Olinthus was not slow to obey that prayer ; and there —
as oftentimes in the early ages of the Christian creed — it
was in the darkness of the dungeon, and over the approach
of death, that the dawning Gospel shed its soft and
consecrating rays.

CHAPTER XVII

A CHANCE FOR GLAUCUS

The hours passed in lingering torture over the head of
Nydia from the time in which she had been replaced in her
cell.

Sosia, as if afraid he should be again outwitted, had
refrained from visiting her until late in the morning of the
following day, and then he but thrust in the periodical
basket of food and wine, and hastily reclosed the door.
That day rolled on, and Nydia felt herself pent — barred —
inexorably confined, when that day was the judgment-day of
Glaucus, and when her release would have saved him ! Yet
knowing, almost impossible as seemed her escape, that the

338 The Last Days of Pompeii

sole chance for the life of Glaucus rested on her, this young
girl, frail, passionate, and acutely susceptible as she was —
resolved not to give way to a despair that would disable her
from seizing whatever opportunity might occur. She kept
her senses whenever, beneath the whirl of intolerable
thought, they reeled and tottered; nay, she took food and
wine that she might sustain her strength — that she might
be prepared !

She revolved scheme after scheme of escape, and was
forced to dismiss all. Yet Sosia was her only hope, the only
instrument with which she could tamper. He had been
superstitious in the desire of ascertaining whether he could
eventually purchase his freedom. Blessed gods ! might he
not be won by the bribe of freedom itself? was she not
nearly rich enough to purchase it ? Her slender arms were
covered with bracelets, the presents of lone ; and on her
neck she yet wore that very chain which, it may be remem-
bered, had occasioned her jealous quarrel with Glaucus, and
which she had afterwards promised vainly to wear for ever.
She waited burningly till Sosia should again appear : but as
hour after hour passed, and he came not, she grew impatient.
Every nerve beat with fever ; she could endure the solitude
no longer— she groaned, she shrieked aloud — she beat her-
self against the door. Her cries echoed along the hall, and
Sosia, in peevish anger, hastened to see what was the matter,
and silence his prisoner if possible.

" Ho ! ho ! what is this ? " said he, surlily. " Young
slave, if thou screamest out thus, we must gag thee again.
My shoulders will smart for it, if thou art heard by my
master."

" Kind Sosia, chide me not — I cannot endure to be so
long alone," answered Nydia ; " the solitude appals me. Sit
with me, I pray, a little while. Nay, fear not that I should
attempt to escape ; place thy seat before the door. Keep
thine eye on me — I will not stir from this spot."

Sosia, who was a considerable gossip himself, was moved
by this address. He pitied one who had nobody to talk
with — it was his case too ; he pitied — and resolved to relieve
himself. He took the hint of Nydia, placed a stool before
the door, leant his back against it, and replied, —

" I am sure I do not wish to be churlish ; and so far as a
little innocent chat goes, I have no objection to indulge you.
But mind, no tricks — no more conjuring ! "

A Chance for Glaucus 339

" No, no ; tell me, dear Sosia, what is the hour ? "

" It is already evening — the goats are going home."

" O gods ! how went the trial ? "

" Both condemned ! "

Nydia repressed the shriek. "Well — well, I thought it
would be so. When do they suffer?"

" To-morrow, in the amphitheatre. If it were not for
thee, little wretch, I should be allowed to go with the rest
and see it."

Nydia leant back for some moments. Nature could
endure no more — she had fainted away. But Sosia did not
perceive it, for it was the dusk of eve, and he was full of his
own privations. He went on lamenting the loss of so delight-
ful a show, and accusing the injustice of Arbaces for singling
him out from all his fellows to be converted into a gaoler ;
and ere he had half finished, Nydia, with a deep sigh,
recovered the sense of life.

" Thou sighest, blind one, at my loss ! Well, that is
some comfort. So long as you acknowledge how much you
cost me, I will endeavour not to grumble. It is hard to be
ill-treated, and yet not pitied."

"Sosia, how much dost thou require to make up the
purchase of thy freedom ? "

" How much ? Why, about two thousand sesterces."

"The gods be praised ! not more? Seest thou these
bracelets and this chain? They are well worth double
that sum. I will give them thee if "

" Tempt me not : I cannot release thee. Arbaces is a
severe and awful master. Who knows but I might feed the
fishes of the Sarnus ? Alas ! all the sesterces in the world
would not buy me back into life. Better a live dog than a
dead lion."

" Sosia, thy freedom ! Think well ! If thou wilt let me
out only for one little hour ! — let me out at midnight —I will
return ere to-morrow's dawn ; nay, thou canst go with me."

" No," said Sosia, sturdily, " a slave once disobeyed
Arbaces, and he was never more heard of."

" But the law gives a master no power over the life of a
slave."

" The law is very obliging, but more polite than efficient.
I know that Arbaces always gets the law on his side.
Besides, if I am once dead, what law can bring me to life
again ! "

340 The Last Days of Pompeii

Nydia wrung her hands. " Is there no hope, then ? " said
she, convulsively.

" None of escape till Arbaces gives the word."

"Well, then," said Nydia, quickly, "thou wilt not, at
least, refuse to take a letter for me : thy master cannot kill
thee for that."

"To whom?"

"The praetor."

" To a magistrate ? No — not I. I should be made a
witness in court, for what I know ; and the way they cross-
examine the slaves is by the torture."

" Pardon : I meant not the praetor — it was a word that
escaped me unawares : I meant quite another person — the
gay Sallust."

" Oh ! and what want you with him ? "

" Glaucus was my master ; he purchased me from a cruel
lord. He alone has been kind to me. He is to die. I
shall never live happily if I cannot, in his hour of trial and
doom, let him know that one heart is grateful to him.
Sallust is his friend; he will convey my message."

" I am sure he will do no such thing. Glaucus will have
enough to think of between this and to-morrow without
troubling his head about a blind girl."

"Man," said Nydia, rising, "wilt thou become free?
Thou hast the offer in thy power ; to-morrow it will be too
late. Never was freedom more cheaply purchased. Thou
canst easily and unmissed leave home : less than half an
hour will suffice for thine absence. And for such a trifle
wilt thou refuse liberty?"

Sosia was greatly moved. It was true that the request was
remarkably silly ; but what was that to him ? So much the
better. He could lock the door on Nydia, and, if Arbaces
should learn his absence, the offence was venial, and would
merit but a reprimand. Yet, should Nydia's letter contain
something more than what she had said — should it speak of
her imprisonment, as he shrewdly conjectured it would do —
what then ! It need never be known to Arbaces that he had
carried the letter. At the worst the bribe was enormous —
the risk light — the temptation irresistible. He hesitated no
longer — he assented to the proposal.

"Give me the trinkets, and I will take the letter. Yet
stay — thou art a slave — thou hast no right to these
ornaments — they are thy master's."

A Chance for Glaucus 341

"They were the gifts of Glaucus; he is my master.
What chance hath he to claim them ? Who else will know
they are in my possession ? "

" Enough — I will bring thee the papyrus."

" No, not papyrus — a tablet of wax and a stilus."

Nydia, as the reader will have seen, was born of gentle
parents. They had done all to lighten her calamity, and her
quick intellect seconded their exertions. Despite her blind-
ness, she had therefore acquired in childhood, though
imperfectly, the art to write with the sharp stilus upon
waxen tablets, in which her exquisite sense of touch came
to her aid. When the tablets were brought to her, she thus
painfully traced some words in Greek, the language of her
childhood, and which almost every Italian of the higher
ranks was then supposed to know. She carefully wound
round the epistle the protecting thread, and covered its knot
with wax ; and ere she placed it in the hands of Sosia, she
thus addressed him : —

" Sosia, I am blind and in prison. Thou mayst think to
deceive me — thou mayst pretend only to take the letter to
Sallust — thou mayst not fulfil thy charge : but here I
solemnly dedicate thy head to vengeance, thy soul to the
infernal powers, if thou wrongest thy trust ; and I call upon
thee to place thy right hand of faith in mine, and repeat after
me these words : — * By the ground on which we stand — by
the elements which contain life and can curse life — by
Orcus, the all-avenging — by the Olympian Jupiter, the all-
seeing — I swear that I will honestly discharge my trust, and
faithfully deliver into the hands of Sallust this letter ! And
if I perjure myself in this oath, may the full curses of
heaven and hell be wreaked upon me ! ' Enough ! — I trust
thee — take thy reward. It is already dark — depart at once."

" Thou art a strange girl, and thou hast frightened me
terribly ; but it is all very natural : and if Sallust is to be
found, I give him this letter as I have sworn. By my faith, I
may have my little peccadilloes ! but perjury — no ! I leave
that to my betters."

With this Sosia withdrew, carefully passing the heavy bolt
athwart Nydia's door — carefully locking its wards : and,
hanging the key to his girdle, he retired to his own den,
enveloped himself from head to foot in a huge disguising
cloak, and slipped out by the back way undisturbed and
unseen.

342 The Last Days of Pompeii

The streets were thin and empty. He soon gained the
house of Sallust. The porter bade him leave his letter, and
be gone ; for Sallust was so grieved at the condemnation of
Glaucus, that he could not on any account be disturbed.

" Nevertheless, I have sworn to give this letter into his
own hands — do so I must ! " And Sosia, well knowing by
experience that Cerberus loves a sop, thrust some half a
dozen sesterces into the hand of the porter.

" Well, well," said the latter, relenting, " you may enter if
you will ; but, to tell you the truth, Sallust is drinking himself
out of his grief. It is his way when anything disturbs him.
He orders a capital supper, the best wine, and does not give
over till everything is out of his head — but the liquor."

" An excellent plan — excellent ! Ah, what it is to be
rich ! If I were Sallust, I would have some grief or another
every day. But just say a kind word for me with the atriensis
— I see him coming."

Sallust was too sad to receive company ; he was too sad,
also, to drink alone ; so, as was his wont, he admitted his
favourite freed man to his entertainment, and a stranger
banquet never was held. For ever and anon, the kind-
hearted epicure sighed, whimpered, wept outright, and then
turned with double zest to some new dish or his refilled
goblet.

"My good fellow," said he to his companion, "it was a
most awful judgment — heigho ! — it is not bad that kid, eh ?
Poor, dear Glaucus ! — what a jaw the lion has too ! Ah,
ah, ah ! "

And Sallust sobbed loudly — the fit was stopped by a
counteraction of hiccups.

" Take a cup of wine," said the freedman.

" A thought too cold : but then how cold Glaucus must
be ! Shut up the house to-morrow — not a slave shall stir
forth — none of my people shall honour that cursed arena —
No, no!"

*' Taste the Falernian — your grief distracts you. By the
gods it does — a piece of that cheesecake."

It was at this auspicious moment that Sosia was admitted
to the presence of the disconsolate carouser.

" Ho— what art thou ? "

" Merely a messenger to Sallust. I give him this billet
from a young female. There is no answer that I know of.
May I withdraw?"

A Chance for Glaucus 343

Thus said the discreet Sosia, keeping his face muffled in
his cloak, and speaking with a feigned voice, so that he
might not hereafter be recognised.

" By the gods — a pimp ! Unfeeling wretch ! — do you not
see my sorrows ? Go ! — and the curses of Pandarus with
you ! "

Sosia lost not a moment in retiring.

" Will you read the letter, Sallust ? " said the freedman.

" Letter ! — which letter ? " said the epicure, reeling, for he
began to see double. "A curse on these wenches, say I !
Am I a man to think of — {hiccup) — pleasure, when — when —
my friend is. going to be eat up ? "

" Eat another tartlet."

" No, no ! My grief chokes me ! "

" Take him to bed," said the freedman ; and, Sallust's
head now declining fairly on his breast, they bore him off to
his cubiculum, still muttering lamentations for Glaucus, and
imprecations on the unfeeling overtures of ladies of pleasure.

Meanwhile Sosia strode indignantly homeward. " Pimp,
indeed ! " quoth he to himself. " Pimp ! a scurvy-tongued
fellow that Sallust ! Had I been called knave, or thief,
I could have forgiven it ; but pimp ! Faugh ! There is
something in the word which the toughest stomach in the
world would rise against. A knave is a knave for his own
pleasure, and a thief a thief for his own profit; and
there is something honourable and philosophical in being a
rascal for one's own sake : that is doing things upon principle —
upon a grand scale. But a pimp is a thing that denies itself
for another — a pipkin that is put on the fire for another
man's pottage ! a napkin, that every guest wipes his hands
upon ! and the scullion says, ' by your leave,' too. A pimp !
I would rather he had called me parricide ! But the man
was drunk, and did not know what he said ; and, besides, I
disguised myself. Had he seen it had been Sosia who
addressed him, it would have been 'honest Sosia!' and,
1 worthy man ! ' I warrant. Nevertheless, the trinkets have
been won easily — that's some comfort ! and, O goddess
Feronia ! I shall be a freedman soon ! and then I should
like to see who'll call me pimp ! — unless, indeed, he pay me
pretty handsomely for it ! "

While Sosia was soliloquising in this high-minded and
generous vein, his path lay along a narrow lane that led
towards the amphitheatre and its adjacent palaces. Suddenly,

344 The Last Days of Pompeii

as he turned a sharp corner he found himself in the midst of
a considerable crowd. Men, women, and children, all were
hurrying or laughing, talking, gesticulating ; and, ere he was
aware of it, the worthy Sosia was borne away with the
noisy stream.

" What now ? " he asked of his nearest neighbour, a young
artificer; "what now? Where are all these good folks
thronging ? Does any rich patron give away alms or viands
to-night ? "

" Not so, man — better still," replied the artificer ; " the
noble Pansa — the people's friend — has granted the public
leave to see the beasts in their vivaria. By Hercules ! they
will not be seen so safely by some persons to-morrow."

" 'Tis a pretty sight," said the slave, yielding to the throng
that impelled him onward ; " and since I may not go to the
sports to-morrow, I may as well take a peep at the beasts
to-night."

" You will do well," returned his new acquaintance, " a
lion and a tiger are not to be seen at Pompeii every
day."

The crowd had now entered a broken and wide space
of ground, on which, as it was only lighted scantily and from
a distance, the press became dangerous to those whose limbs
and shoulders were not fitted for a mob. Nevertheless, the
women especially — many of them with children in their
arms, or even at the breast — were the most resolute in
forcing their way ; and their shrill exclamations of complaint
or objurgation were heard loud above the more jovial and
masculine voices. Yet, amidst them was a young and
girlish voice, that appeared to come from one too happy in
her excitement to be alive to the inconvenience of the crowd.

" Aha ! " cried the young woman, to some of her com-
panions, " I always told you so ; I always said we should
have a man for the lion ; and now we have one for the tiger
too ! I wish to-morrow were come ! "

" Ho, ho ! for the merry, merry show,
With a forest of faces in every row !
Lo ! the swordsmen, bold as the son of Alcmaena,
Sweep, side by side, o'er the hushed arena.
Talk while you may, you will hold your breath
When they meet in the grasp of the glowing death !
Tramp ! tramp ! how gaily they go !
Ho ! ho ! for the merry, merry show ! "

A Chance for Glaucus 345

" A jolly girl ! " said Sosia.

" Yes," replied the young artificer, a curly-headed, hand-
some youth. " Yes," replied he, enviously ; " the women love
a gladiator. If I had been a slave, I would have soon found
my schoolmaster in the lanista ! "

" Would you, indeed? " said Sosia, with a sneer. "People's
notions differ ! "

The crowd had now arrived at the place of destination ;
but as the cell in which the wild beasts were confined was
extremely small and narrow, tenfold more vehement than it
hitherto had been was the rush of the aspirants to obtain
admittance. Two of the officers of the amphitheatre, placed
at the entrance, very wisely mitigated the evil by dispensing
to the foremost only a limited number of tickets at a time,
and admitting no new visitors till their predecessors had
sated their curiosity. Sosia, who was a tolerably stout
fellow, and not troubled with any remarkable scruples of
diffidence or good breeding, contrived to be among the first
of the initiated.

Separated from his companion the artificer, Sosia found
himself in a narrow cell of oppressive heat and atmosphere,
and lighted by several rank and flaring torches.

The animals, usually kept in different vivaria, or dens,
were now, for the greater entertainment of the visitors,
placed in one, but equally indeed divided from each other
by strong cages protected by iron bars.

There they were, the fell and grim wanderers of the
desert, who have now become almost the principal agents of
this story. The lion, who, as being the more gentle by
nature than his fellow-beast, had been more incited to
ferocity by hunger, stalked restlessly and fiercely to and fro
his narrow confines : his eyes were lurid with rage and
famine : and as, every now and then, he paused and glared
around, the spectators fearfully pressed backward, and drew
their breath more quickly. But the tiger lay quiet and
extended at full length in his cage, and only by an occa-
sional play of his tail, or a long impatient yawn, testified any
emotion at his confinement, or at the crowd which honoured
him with their presence.

" I have seen no fiercer beast than yon lion even in the
amphitheatre of Rome," said a gigantic and sinewy fellow
who stood at the right hand of Sosia.

". I feel humbled when I look at his limbs," replied, at the

346 The Last Days of Pompeii

left of Sosia, a slighter and younger figure, with his arms
folded on his breast.

The slave looked first at one, and then at the other.
" Virtus in medio I — virtue is ever in the middle ! " muttered
he to himself; "a goodly neighbourhood for thee, Sosia — a
gladiator on each side ! "

11 That is well said, Lydon," returned the huger gladiator ;
"I feel the same."

"And to think," observed Lydon, in a tone of deep
feeling, "to think that the noble Greek, he whom
we saw but a day or two since before us, so full of
youth, and health, and joyousness, is to feast yon
monster ! "

" Why not ? " growled Niger, savagely : " many an honest
gladiator has been compelled to a like combat by the
emperor — why not a wealthy murderer by the law?"

Lydon sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and remained
silent. Meanwhile the common gazers listened with staring
eyes and lips apart : the gladiators were objects of
interest as well as the beasts — they were animals of the same
species ; so the crowd glanced from one to the other — the
men and the brutes : — whispering their comments and
anticipating the morrow.

" Well ! " said Lydon, turning away, " I thank the gods
that it is not the lion or the tiger I am to contend with ;
even you, Niger, are a gentler combatant than they."

** But equally dangerous," said the gladiator, with a fierce
laugh ; and the bystanders, admiring his vast limbs and
ferocious countenance, laughed too.

"That as it may be," answered Lydon, carelessly, as
he pressed through the throng and quitted the den.

" I may as well take advantage of his shoulders," thought
the prudent Sosia, hastening to follow him : " the crowd
always give way to a gladiator, so I will keep close behind,
and come in for a share of his consequence."

The son of Medon strode quickly through the mob, many
of whom recognised his features and profession.

" That is young Lydon, a brave fellow : he fights to-
morrow," said one.

" Ah ! I have a bet on him," said another ; " see how
firmly he walks ! "

" Good luck to thee, Lydon ! " said a third.

" Lydon, you have my wishes," half whispered a fourth,

A Chance for Glaucus 347

smiling (a comely woman of the middle class) — " and if you
win, why, you may hear more of me."

"A handsome man, by Venus!" cried a fifth, who was a
girl scarce in her teens. " Thank you," returned Sosia,
gravely taking the compliment to himself.

However strong the purer motives of Lydon, and certain
though it be that he would never have entered so bloody a
calling but from the hope of obtaining his father's freedom,
he was not altogether unmoved by the notice he excited.
He forgot that the voices now raised in commendation
might, on the morrow, shout over his death-pangs. By
nature fierce and reckless, as well as generous and warm-
hearted, he was already imbued with the pride of a pro-
fession that he fancied he disdained, and affected by the
influence of a companionship that in reality he loathed.
He saw himself now a man of importance ; his step grew yet
lighter, and his mien more elate.

"Niger," said he, turning suddenly, as he had now
threaded the crowd ; " we have often quarrelled ; we are not
matched against each other, but one of us, at least, may
reasonably expect to fall — give us thy hand."

" Most readily," said Sosia, extending his palm.

" Ha ! what fool is this ? Why, I thought Niger was
at my heels ! "

11 1 forgive the mistake," replied Sosia, condescendingly :
"don't mention it; the error was easy — I and Niger are
somewhat of the same build."

" Ha ! ha ! that is excellent ! Niger would have slit thy
throat had he heard thee ! "

" You gentlemen of the arena have a most disagreeable
mode of talking," said Sosia ; " let us change the con-
versation."

" Vah I vah ! " said Lydon, impatiently ; "I am in no
humour to converse with thee ! "

"Why, truly," returned the slave, "you must have serious
thoughts enough to occupy your mind : to-morrow is, I think,
your first essay in the arena. Well, I am sure you will die
bravely ! "

" May thy words fall on thine own head ! " said Lydon,
superstitiously, for he by no means liked the blessing of
Sosia. "Die! No — I trust my hour is not yet come."

"He who plays at dice with death must expect the
dog's throw," replied Sosia, maliciously. "But you are a

348 The Last Days of Pompeii

strong fellow, and I wish you all imaginable luck ; and so,
vale ! "

With that the slave turned on his heel, and took his way-
homeward.

" I trust the rogue's words are not ominous," said Lydon,
musingly. "In my zeal for my father's liberty, and my
confidence in my own thews and sinews, I have not con-
templated the possibility of death. My poor father ! I am
thy only son ! — if I were to fall "

As the thought crossed him, the gladiator strode on with
a more rapid and restless pace, when suddenly, in an
opposite street, he beheld the very object of his thoughts.
Leaning on his stick, his form bent by care and age, his
eyes downcast, and his steps trembling, the grey-haired
Medon slowly approached towards the gladiator. Lydon
paused a moment : he divined at once the cause that
brought forth the old man at that late hour.

" Be sure, it is I whom he seeks," thought he ; " he is
horror-struck at the condemnation of Olinthus — he more
than ever esteems the arena criminal and hateful — he comes
again to dissuade me from the contest. I must shun him —
I cannot brook his prayers — his tears."

These thoughts, so long to recite, flashed across the young
man like lightning. He turned abruptly and fled swiftly in
an opposite direction. He paused not till, almost spent and
breathless, he found himself on the summit of a small
acclivity which overlooked the most gay and splendid part
of that miniature city ; and as there he paused, and gazed
along the tranquil streets glittering in the rays of the moon
(which had just arisen, and brought partially and pic-
turesquely into light the crowd around the amphitheatre at a
distance, murmuring, and swaying to and fro), the influence
of the scene affected him, rude and unimaginative though
his nature. He sat himself down to rest upon the steps of
a deserted portico, and felt the calm of the hour quiet and
restore him. Opposite and near at hand, the lights gleamed
from a palace in which the master now held his revels.
The doors were open for coolness, and the gladiator beheld
the numerous and festive group gathered round the tables
in the atrium ; l while behind them, closing the long vista
of the illumined rooms beyond, the spray of the distant

1 In the atrium, as I have elsewhere observed, a larger party of
guests than ordinary was frequently entertained.

A Chance for Glaucus 349

fountain sparkled in the moonbeams. There, the garlands
wreathed around the columns of the hall — there, gleamed
still and frequent the marble statue — there, amidst peals of
jocund laughter, rose the music and the lay.

EPICUREAN SONG.

11 Away with your stories of Hades,

Which the Flamen has forged to affright us, —
We laugh at your three Maiden Ladies,
Your Fates, — and your sullen Cocytus.

Poor Jove has a troublesome life, sir,

Could we credit your tales of his portals —

In shutting his ears on his wife, sir,
And opening his eyes upon mortals.

Oh, blest be the bright Epicurus !

Who taught us to laugh at such fables ;
On Hades they wanted to moor us,

And his hand cut the terrible cables.

If, then, there's a Jove or a Juno,

They vex not their heads about us, man ;

Besides, if they did, I and you know
'Tis the life of a god to live thus, man !

What ! think you the gods place their bliss — eh ? —

In playing the spy on a sinner ?
In counting the girls that we kiss, eh ?

Or the cups that we empty at dinner ?

Content wtih the soft lips that love us,

This music, this wine, and this mirth, boys,

We care not for gods up above us, —

We know there's no god for this earth, boys ! "

While Lydon's piety (which accommodating as it might
be, was in no slight degree disturbed by these verses, which
embodied the fashionable philosophy of the day) slowly
recovered itself from the shock it had received, a small
party of men, in plain garments and of the middle class,
passed by his resting-place. They were in earnest conver-
sation, and did not seem to notice or heed the gladiator as
they moved on.

" O horror on horrors ! " said one ; " Olinthus is snatched
from us ! our right arm is lopped away ! When will Christ
descend to protect his own ? "

"Can human atrocity go farther?" said another: "to

350 The Last Days of Pompeii

sentence an innocent man to the same arena as a murderer !
But let us not despair ; the thunder of Sinai may yet be
heard, and the Lord preserve his saint. ■ The fool hath said
in his heart, There is no God.' "

At that moment out broke again, from the illumined
palace, the burden of the reveller's song : —

" We care not for gods up above us —

We know there's no god for this earth, boys ! "

Ere the words died away, the Nazarenes, moved by sudden
indignation, caught up the echo, and, in the words of one of
their favourite hymns, shouted aloud —

THE WARNING HYMN OF THE NAZARENES.

11 Around — about — for ever near thee,
God — OUR God — shall mark and hear thee !
On his car of storm He sweeps !
Bow, ye heavens, and shrink, ye deeps !
Woe to the proud ones who defy Him ! —
Woe to the dreamers who deny Him !
Woe to the wicked, woe !
The proud stars shall fail —
The sun shall grow pale —
The heavens shrivel up like a scroll — -
Hell's ocean shall bare
Its depths of despair,
Each wave an eternal soul !
For the only thing, then,
That shall not live again

Is the corpse of the giant Time.
Hark, the trumpet of thunder !
Lo. earth rent asunder !
And, forth, on His Angel-throne,
He comes through the gloom,
The Judge of the Tomb,
To summon and save His own !

Oh, joy to Care, and woe to Crime,
He comes to save His own !
Woe to the proud ones who defy Him !
Woe to the dreamers who deny Him !

Woe to the wicked, woe ! "

A sudden silence from the startled hall of revel succeeded
these ominous words : the Christians swept on, and were
soon hidden from the sight of the gladiator. Awed, he
scarce knew why, by the mystic denunciations of the

The Dream of Arbaces 351

Christians, Lydon, after a short pause, now rose to pursue
his way homeward.

Before him, how serenely slept the starlight on that lovely
city! how breathlessly its pillared streets reposed in their
security ! — how softly rippled the dark-green waves beyond ! —
how cloudless spread, aloft and blue, the dreaming Cam-
panian skies ! Yet this was the last night for the gay
Pompeii ! the colony of the hoar Chaldean ! the fabled city
of Hercules ! the delight of the voluptuous Roman ! Age
after age had rolled, indestructive, unheeded, over its head ;
and now the last ray quivered on the dial-plate of its doom !
The gladiator heard some light steps behind — a group of
females were wending homeward from their visit to the
amphitheatre. As he turned, his eye was arrested by a
strange and sudden apparition. From the summit of
Vesuvius, darkly visible at the distance, there shot a pale,
meteoric, livid light — it trembled an instant and was gone.
And at the same moment that his eye caught it, the voice of
one of the youngest of the women broke out hilariously and
shrill :—

" Tramp ! Tramp ! how gaily they go !
Ho, ho! for the morrow's merry show!"

BOOK V
CHAPTER I

THE DREAM OF ARBACES A VISITOR AND A WARNING TO

THE EGYPTIAN

The awful night preceding the fierce joy of the amphi-
theatre rolled drearily away, and greyly broke forth the
dawn of the last day of pompeii ! The air was uncom-
monly calm and sultry— a thin and dull mist gathered over
the valleys and hollows of the broad Campanian fields.
But yet it was remarked in surprise by the early fishermen,
that, despite the exceeding stillness of the atmosphere, the
waves of the sea were agitated, and seemed, as it were,
to run disturbedly back from the shore; while along the

352 The Last Days of Pompeii

blue and stately Sarnus, whose ancient breadth of channel
the traveller now vainly seeks to discover, there crept a
hoarse and sullen murmur, as it glided by the laughing
plains and the gaudy villas of the wealthy citizens. Clear
above the low mist rose the time-worn towers of the
immemorial town, the red-tiled roofs of the bright streets,
the solemn columns of many temples, and the statue-
crowned portals of the Forum and the Arch of Triumph.
Far in the distance, the outline of the circling hills soared
above the vapours, and mingled with the changeful hues of
the morning sky. The cloud that had so long rested over
the crest of Vesuvius had suddenly vanished, and its rugged
and haughty brow looked without a frown over the beautiful
scenes below.

Despite the earliness of the hour, the gates of the city
were already opened. Horsemen upon horsemen, vehicle
after vehicle, poured rapidly in; and the voices of numerous
pedestrian groups, clad in holiday attire, rose high in joyous
and excited merriment ; the streets were crowded with
citizens and strangers from the populous neighbourhood of
Pompeii; and noisily — fast — confusedly swept the many
streams of life towards the fatal show.

Despite the vast size of the amphitheatre, seemingly so
disproportioned to the extent of the city, and formed to
include nearly the whole population of Pompeii itself, so
great, on extraordinary occasions, was the concourse of
strangers from all parts of Campania, that the space before
it was usually crowded for several hours previous to the
commencement of the sports, by such persons as were
not entitled by their rank to appointed and special seats.
And the intense curiosity which the trial and sentence
of two criminals so remarkable had occasioned, increased
the crowd on this day to an extent wholly unprecedented.

While the common people, with the lively vehemence
of their Campanian blood, were thus pushing, scrambling,
hurrying on, — yet, amidst all their eagerness, preserving,
as is now the wont with Italians in such meetings, a
wonderful order and unquarrelsome good humour, a strange
visitor to Arbaces was threading her way to his sequestered
mansion. At the sight of her quaint and primaeval garb —
of her wild gait and gestures — the passengers she encoun-
tered touched each other and smiled ; but as they caught a
glimpse of her countenance, the mirth was hushed at once,

The Dream of Arbaces 353

for the face was as the face of the dead ; and, what with the
ghastly features and obsolete robes of the stranger, it
seemed as if one long' entombed had risen once more
amongst the living. In silence and awe each group gave
way as she passed along, and she soon gained the broad
porch of the Egyptian's palace.

The black porter, like the rest of the world, astir at
an unusual hour, started as he opened the door to her
summons.

The sleep of the Egyptian had been unusually profound
during the night ; but, as the dawn approached, it was
disturbed by strange and unquiet dreams, which impressed
him the more as they were coloured by the peculiar
philosophy he embraced.

He thought that he was transported to the bowels of the
earth, and that he stood alone in a mighty cavern supported
by enormous columns of rough and primaeval rock, lost, as
they ascended, in the vastness of a shadow athwart
whose eternal darkness no beam of day had ever glanced.
And in the space between these columns were huge wheels,
that whirled round and round unceasingly, and with a
rushing and roaring noise. Only to the right and left
extremities of the cavern, the space between the pillars was
left bare, and the apertures stretched away into galleries —
not wholly dark, but dimly lighted by wandering and erratic
fires, that, meteor-like, now crept (as the snake creeps) along
the rugged and dank soil ; and now leaped fiercely to and
fro, darting across the vast gloom in wild gambols — suddenly
disappearing, and as suddenly bursting into tenfold bril-
liancy and power. And while he gazed wonderingly upon
the gallery to the left, thin, mist-like, aerial shapes passed
slowly up ; and when they had gained the hall they seemed
to rise aloft, and to vanish, as the smoke vanishes, in the
measureless ascent.

He turned in fear towards the opposite extremity — and
behold ! there came swiftly, from the gloom above, similiar
shadows, which swept hurriedly along the gallery to the
right, as if borne involuntarily adown the sides of some
invisible stream ; and the faces of these spectres were more
distinct than those that emerged from the opposite passage ;
and on some was joy, and on others sorrow — some were
vivid with expectation and hope, some unutterably dejected
by awe and horror. And so they passed, swift and con-

M

354 The Last Days of Pompeii

stantly on, till the eyes of the gazer grew dizzy and blinded
with the whirl of an ever-varying succession of things
impelled by a power apparently not their own.

Arbaces turned away, and, in the recess of the hall,
he saw the mighty form of a giantess seated upon a pile of
skulls, and her hands were busy upon a pale and shadowy
woof; and he saw that the woof communicated with the
numberless wheels, as if it guided the machinery of their
movements. He thought his feet, by some secret agency,
were impelled towards the female, and that he was borne
onwards till he stood before her, face to face. The coun-
tenance of the giantess was solemn and hushed, and
beautifully serene. It was as the face of some colossal
sculpture of his own ancestral sphinx. No passion — no
human emotion, disturbed its brooding and unwrinkled
brow : there was neither sadness, nor joy, nor memory, nor
hope : it was free from all with which the wild human heart
can sympathise. The mystery of mysteries rested on its
beauty, — it awed, but terrified not : it was the Incarnation
of the sublime. And Arbaces felt the voice leave his lips}
without an impulse of his own ; and the voice asked —

" Who art thou, and what is thy task ? "

" I am That which thou hast acknowledged," answered,
without desisting from its work, the mighty phantom. " My
name is Nature ! These are the wheels of the world, and
my hand guides them for the life of all things."

"And what," said the voice of Arbaces, "are these
galleries, that strangely and fitfully illumined, stretch on
either hand into the abyss of gloom ? "

"That," answered the giant-mother, "which thou be-
holdest to the left, is the gallery of the Unborn. The
shadows that flit onward and upward into the world, are the
souls that pass from the long eternity of being to their
destined pilgrimage on earth. That which thou beholdest to
thy right, wherein the shadows descending from above
sweep on, equally unknown and dim, is the gallery of the
Dead ! "

"And, wherefore," said the voice of Arbaces, "yon
wandering lights, that so wildly break the darkness ; but
only break, not reveal ? "

" Dark fool of the human sciences ! dreamer of the stars,
and would-be decipherer of the heart and origin of things !
those lights are but the glimmerings of such knowledge as is

The Dream of Arbaces 355

vouchsafed to Nature to work her way, to trace enough of the
past and future to give providence to her designs. Judge,
then, puppet as thou art, what lights are reserved for thee ! "

Arbaces felt himself tremble as he asked again, " Where-
fore am I here ? "

"It is the forecast of thy soul — the prescience of thy
rushing doom — the shadow of thy fate lengthening into
eternity as it declines from earth."

Ere he could answer, Arbaces felt a rushing wind sweep
down the cavern, as the winds of a giant god. Borne aloft
from the ground, and whirled on high as a leaf in the storms
of autumn, he beheld himself in the midst of the Spectres of
the Dead, and hurrying with them along the length of gloom.
As in vain and impotent despair he struggled against the
impelling power, he thought the wind grew into something
like a shape — a spectral outline of the wings and talons of an
eagle, with limbs floating far and indistinctly along the air,
and eyes that, alone clearly and vividly seen, glared stonily
and remorselessly on his own.

" What art thou ? " again said the voice of the Egyptian.

" I am That which thou hast acknowledged ; " and the
spectre laughed aloud — " and my name is Necessity."

" To what dost thou bear me ? "

"To the Unknown."

" To happiness or to woe ? "

" As thou hast sown, so shalt thou reap."

"Dread thing, not so! If thou art the Ruler of Life,
thine are my misdeeds, not mine."

" I am but the breath of God ! " answered the mighty

WIND.

" Then is my wisdom vain ! " groaned the dreamer.

" The husbandman accuses not fate, when, having sown
thistles, he reaps not corn. Thou hast sown crime, accuse
not fate if thou reapest not the harvest of virtue."

The scene suddenly changed. Arbaces was in a place of
human bones ; and lo ! in the midst of them was a skull, and
the skull, still retaining its fleshless hollows, assumed slowly,
and in the mysterious confusion of a dream, the face of Apae-
cides ; and forth from the grinning jaws there crept a small
worm, and it crawled to the feet of Arbaces. He attempted
to stamp on it and crush it j but it became longer and larger
with that attempt. It swelled and bloated till it grew into a
vast serpent : it coiled itself round the limbs of Arbaces ; it

356 The Last Days of Pompeii

crunched his bones ; it raised its glaring eyes and poisonous
jaws to his face. He writhed in vain; he withered — he
gasped — beneath the influence of the blighting breath — he
felt himself blasted into death. And then a voice came from
the reptile, which still bore the face of Apaecides and rang in
his reeling ear, —

"Thy victim is thy judge! the worm thou wouldst
crush becomes the serpent that devours thee ! "

With a shriek of wrath, and woe, and despairing resistance,
Arbaces awoke — his hair on end — his brow bathed in dew —
his eyes glazed and staring — his mighty frame quivering as an
infant's, beneath the agony of that dream. He awoke — he
collected himself — he blessed the gods whom he disbelieved,
that he was in a dream ; — he turned his eyes from side to
side — he saw the dawning light break through his small but
lofty window — he was in the Precincts of Day — he rejoiced
— he smiled ; his eyes fell, and opposite to him he beheld the
ghastly features, the lifeless eye, the livid lip — of the hag of
Vesuvius !

" Ha ! " he cried, placing his hands before his eyes, as to
shut out the grisly vision, "dol dream still ? — Am I with the
dead?"

" Mighty Hermes — no ! Thou art with one death-like, but
not dead. Recognise thy friend and slave."

There was a long silence. Slowly the shudders that passed
over the limbs of the Egyptian chased each other away,
faintlier and faintlier dying till he was himself again.

" It was a dream, then," said he. " Well — let me dream
no more, or the day cannot compensate for the pangs of
night. Woman, how earnest thou here, and wherefore ? "

" I came to warn thee," answered the sepulchral voice of
the saga.

" Warn me ! The dream lied not, then ? Of what peril ? "

" Listen to me. Some evil hangs over this fated city. Fly
while it be time. Thou knowest that I hold my home on that
mountain beneath which old tradition saith there yet burn
the fires of the river of Phlegethon ; and in my cavern is a
vast abyss, and in that abyss I have of late marked a red and
dull stream creep slowly, slowly on ; and heard many and
mighty sounds hissing and roaring through the gloom. But
last night, as I looked thereon, behold the stream was no
longer dull, but intensely and fiercely luminous ; and while I
gazed, the beast that liveth with me, and was cowering by my

A Visitor and a Warning 357

side, uttered a shrill howl, and fell down and died,1 and the
slaver and froth were round his lips. I crept back to my
lair ; but I distinctly heard, all the night, the rock shake and
tremble ; and, though the air was heavy and still, there were
the hissing of pent winds, and the grinding as of wheels,
beneath the ground. So, when I rose this morning at the
very birth of dawn, I looked again down the abyss, and I saw
vast fragments of stone borne black and floatingly over the
lurid stream ; and the stream itself was broader, fiercer,
redder than the night before. Then I went forth, and
ascended to the summit of the rock : and in that summit
there appeared a sudden and vast hollow, which I had never
perceived before, from which curled a dim, faint smoke ; and
the vapour was deathly, and I gasped, and sickened, and
nearly died. I returned home. I took my gold and my
drugs, and left the habitation of many years ; for I remem-
bered the dark Etruscan prophecy which saith, ' When the
mountain opens, the city shall fall — when the smoke crowns
the Hill of the Parched Fields, there shall be woe and weeping
in the hearths of the Children of the Sea.' Dread master, ere
I leave these walls for some more distant dwelling, I come to
thee. As thou livest, know I in my heart that the earth-
quake that sixteen years ago shook this city to its solid base,
was but the forerunner of more deadly doom. The walls of
Pompeii are built above the fields of the Dead, and the
rivers of the sleepless Hell. Be warned and fly ! "

" Witch, I thank thee for thy care of one not ungrateful.
On yon table stands a cup of gold ; take it, it is thine. I
dreamt not that there lived one, out of the priesthood of Isis,
who would have saved Arbaces from destruction. The signs
thou hast seen in the bed of the extinct volcano," continued
the Egyptian, musingly, " surely tell of some coming danger
to the city ; perhaps another earthquake fiercer than the last.
Be that as it may, there is a new reason for my hastening
from these walls. After this day I will prepare my departure.
Daughter of Etruria, whither wendest thou ? "

"I shall cross over to Herculaneum this day, and, wander-
ing thence along the coast, shall seek out a new home. I am
friendless : my two companions, the fox and the snake, are
dead. Great Hermes, thou hast promised me twenty
additional years of life ! "

1 We may suppose that the exhalations were similar in effect to those
of the Grotta del Cane.

358 The Last Days of Pompeii

"Aye," said the Egyptian, "I have promised thee. But,
woman," he added, lifting himself upon his arm, and gazing
curiously on her face, " tell me, I pray thee, wherefore thou
wishcst to live? What sweets dost thou discover in
existence ? "

" It is not life that is sweet, but death that is awful," re-
plied the hag, in a sharp, impressive tone, that struck forcibly
upon the heart of the vain star-seer. He winced at the truth
of the reply ; and no longer anxious to retain so uninviting
a companion, he said, " Time wanes ; I must prepare for the
solemn spectacle of this day. Sister, farewell ! enjoy thyself
as thou canst over the ashes of life."

The hag, who had placed the costly gift of Arbaces in the
loose folds of her vest, now rose to depart. When she had
gained the door she paused, turned back, and said, " This may
be the last time we meet on earth ; but whither flieth the flame
when it leaves the ashes ? — Wandering to and fro, up and
down, as an exhalation on the morass, the flame may be seen
in the marshes of the lake below ; and the witch and the
Magian, the pupil and the master, the great one and the
accursed one, may meet again. Farewell ! "

" Out, croker ! " muttered Arbaces, as the door closed on
the hag's tattered robes ; and, impatient of his own thoughts,
not yet recovered from the past dream, he hastily summoned
his slaves.

It was the custom to attend the ceremonials of the amphi-
theatre in festive robes, and Arbaces arrayed himself that day
with more than usual care. His tunic was of the most
dazzling white : his many fibulae were formed from the most
precious stones : over his tunic flowed a loose eastern robe,
half-gown, half-mantle, glowing in the richest hues of the
Tyrian dye ; and the sandals, that reached half way up the
knee, were studded with gems, and inlaid with gold. In the
quackeries that belonged to his priestly genius, Arbaces never
neglected, on great occasions, the arts which dazzle and
impose upon the vulgar ; and on this day, that was for ever
to release him, by the sacrifice of Glaucus, from the fear of a
rival and the chance of detection, he felt that he was array-
ing himself* as for a triumph or a nuptial feast.

It was customary for men of rank to be accompanied to
the shows of the amphitheatre by a procession of their slaves
and freedmen; and the long "family" of Arbaces were
already arranged in order, to attend the litter of their lord.

A Visitor and a Warning 359

Only, to their great chagrin, the slaves in attendance on
lone, and the worthy Sosia, as gaoler to Nydia, were con-
demned to remain at home.

" Callias," said Arbaces, apart to his freedman, who was
buckling on his girdle, " I am weary of Pompeii ; I propose
to quit it in three days, should the wind favour. Thou
knowest the vessel that lies in the harbour which belonged to
Narses, of Alexandria ; I have purchased it of him. The day
after to-morrow we shall begin to remove my stores."

" So soon ! 'Tis well. Arbaces shall be obeyed ; — and
his ward, lone ? "

" Accompanies me. Enough ! — is the morning fair ? "

" Dim and oppressive ; it will probably be intensely hot in
the forenoon."

" The poor gladiators, and more wretched criminals !
Descend, and see that the slaves are marshalled."

Left alone, Arbaces stepped into his chamber of study,
and thence upon the portico without. He saw the dense
masses of men pouring fast into the amphitheatre, and heard
the cry of the assistants, and the cracking of the cordage, as
they were straining aloft the huge awning under which the
citizens, molested by no discomforting ray, were to behold, at
luxurious ease, the agonies of their fellow creatures. Sud-
denly a wild strange sound went forth, and as suddenly died
away — it was the roar of the lion. There was a silence in
the distant crowd ; but the silence was followed by joyous
laughter — they were making merry at the hungry impatience
of the royal beast.

" Brutes ! " muttered the disdainful Arbaces, " are ye less
homicides than I am ? / slay but in self-defence — ye make
murder pastime."

He turned with a restless and curious eye, towards
Vesuvius. Beautifully glowed the green vineyards round its
breast, and tranquil as eternity lay in the breathless skies the
form of the mighty hill.

" We have time yet, if the earthquake be nursing," thought
Arbaces ; and he turned from the spot. He passed by the
table which bore his mystic scrolls and Chaldean calcula-
tions.

" August art ! " he thought, " I have not consulted thy
decrees since I passed the danger and the crisis they foretold
What matter ? — I know that henceforth all in my path is bright
and smooth. Have not events already proved it ? Away

360 The Last Days of Pompeii

doubt— away, pity! Reflect, O my heart — reflect, for the
future, but two images — Empire and lone ! "

CHAPTER II

THE AMPHITHEATRE

Nydia, assured by the account of Sosia, on his return
home, and satisfied that her letter was in the hands of
Sallust, gave herself up once more to hope. Sallust would
surely lose no time in seeking the praetor — in coming to the
house of the Egyptian — in releasing her — in breaking the
prison of Calenus. That very night Glaucus would be free.
Alas ! the night passed — the dawn broke ; she heard noth-
ing but the hurried footsteps of the slaves along the hall and
peristyle, and their voices in preparation for the show. By-
and-by, the commanding voice of Arbaces broke on her ear
— a flourish of music rung out cheerily : the long pro-
cession were sweeping to the amphitheatre to glut their eyes
on the death-pangs of the Athenian !

The procession of Arbaces moved along slowly, and with
much solemnity, till now, arriving at the place where it was
necessary for such as came in litters or chariots to alight,
Arbaces descended from his vehicle, and proceeded to the
entrance by which the more distinguished spectators were
admitted. His slaves, mingling with the humbler crowd,
were stationed by officers who received their tickets (not
much unlike our modern Opera ones), in places in the
popularia (the seats apportioned to the vulgar). And now,
from the spot where Arbaces sat, his eyes scanned the
mighty and impatient crowd that filled the stupendous
theatre.

On the upper tier (but apart from the male spectators)
sat the women, their gay dresses resembling some gaudy
flower-bed ; it is needless to add that they were the most
talkative part of the assembly; and many were the looks
directed up to them, especially from the benches appro-
priated to the young and the unmarried men. On the
lower seats round the arena sat the more high-born and
wealthy visitors — the magistrates and those of senatorial

The Amphitheatre 361

or equestrian 1 dignity ; the passages which, by corridors at
the right and left, gave access to these seats, at either end of
the oval arena, were also the entrances for the combatants.
Strong palings at these passages prevented any unwelcome
eccentricity in the movements of the beasts, and confined
them to their appointed prey. Around the parapet which
was raised above the arena, and from which the seats
gradually rose, were gladiatorial inscriptions, and paintings
wrought in fresco, typical of the entertainments for which
the place was designed. Throughout the whole building
wound invisible pipes, from which, as the day advanced,
cooling and fragrant showers were to be sprinkled over the
spectators. The officers of the amphitheatre were still
employed in the task of fixing the vast awning (or velaria}
which covered the whole, and which luxurious invention the
Campanians arrogated to themselves : it was woven of the
whitest Apulian wool, and variegated with broad stripes of
crimson. Owing either to some inexperience on the part of
the workmen, or to some defect in the machinery, the awn-
ing, however, was not arranged that day so happily as usual ;
indeed, from the immense space of the circumference, the
task was always one of great difficulty and art — so much so,
that it could seldom be adventured in rough or windy
weather. But the present day was so remarkably still that
there seemed to the spectators no excuse for the awkward-
ness of the artificers ; and when a large gap in the back of
the awning was still visible, from the obstinate refusal of one
part of the velaria to ally itself with the rest, the murmurs of
discontent were loud and general.

The sedile Pansa, at whose expense the exhibition was
given, looked particularly annoyed at the defect, and vowed
bitter vengeance on the head of the chief officer of the show,
who, fretting, puffing, perspiring, busied himself in idle
orders and unavailing threats.

The hubbub ceased suddenly — the operators desisted —
the crowd were stilled — the gap was forgotten — for now, with
a loud and warlike flourish of trumpets, the gladiators,
marshalled in ceremonious procession, entered the arena.
They swept round the oval space very slowly and deliber-
ately, in order to give the spectators full leisure to admire
their stern serenity of feature — their brawny limbs and

1 The equites sat immediately behind the senators.

362 The Last Days of Pompeii

various arms, as well as to form such wagers as the excite-
ment of the moment might suggest.

" Oh ! u cried the widow Fulvia to the wife of Pansa, as
they leaned down from their lofty bench, M do you see that
gigantic gladiator ? how drolly he is dressed ! "

" Yes," said the sedile's wife, with complacent importance,
for she knew all the names and qualities of each combatant ;
" he is a retiarius or netter j he is armed only, you see, with
a three-pronged spear like a trident, and a net ; he wears no
armour, only the fillet and the tunic. He is a mighty man,
and is to fight with Sporus, yon thick-set gladiator, with the
round shield and drawn sword, but without body armour ;
he has not his helmet on now, in order that you may see his
face — how fearless it is ! — by-and-by he will fight with his
vizor down."

" But surely a net and a spear are poor arms against a
shield and sword? "

" That shows how innocent you are, my dear Fulvia; the
retiarius has generally the best of it."

" But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked — is it
not quite improper ? By Venus ! but his limbs are beauti-
fully shaped ! "

" It is Lydon, a young untried man ! he has the rashness
to fight yon other gladiator similarly dressed, or rather
undressed — Tetraides. They fight first in the Greek fashion,
with the cestus ; afterwards they put on armour, and try
sword and shield."

" He is a proper man, this Lydon ; and the women, I am
sure, are on his side."

" So are not the experienced betters 5 Clodius offers three
to one against him ! "

" Oh, Jove ! how beautiful ! " exclaimed the widow, as
two gladiators, armed cap-d-pie, rode round the arena on light
and prancing steeds. Resembling much the combatants in
the tilts of the middle age, they bore lances and round
shields beautifully inlaid : their armour was woven intricately
with bands of iron, but it covered only the thighs and the
right arms; short cloaks, extending to the seat, gave a
picturesque and graceful air to their costume; their legs
were naked, with the exception of sandals, which were
fastened a little above the ankle. " Oh, beautiful ! Who
.are these ? " asked the widow.

" The one is named Berbix — he has conquered twelve

The Amphitheatre 363

times ; the other assumes the arrogant name of Nobilior.
They are both Gauls."

While thus conversing, the first formalities of the show
were over. To these succeeded a feigned combat with
wooden swords between the various gladiators matched
against each other. Amongst these, the skill of two Roman
gladiators, hired for the occasion, was the most admired ; and
next to them the most graceful combatant was Lydon. This
sham contest did not last above an hour, nor did it attract
any very lively interest, except among those connoisseurs of
the arena to whom art was preferable to more coarse
excitement ; the body of the spectators were rejoiced when
it was over, and when the sympathy rose to terror. The
combatants were now arranged in pairs, as agreed before-
hand ; their weapons examined ; and the grave sports of the
day commenced amidst the deepest silence — broken only by
an exciting and preliminary blast of warlike music.

It was often customary to begin the sports by the most
cruel of all, and some bestiarius, or gladiator appointed to
the beasts, was slain first, as an initiatory sacrifice. But in
the present instance, the experienced Pansa thought it
better that the sanguinary drama should advance, not
decrease, in interest; and, accordingly, the execution of
Olinthus and Glaucus was reserved for the last. It was
arranged that the two horsemen should first occupy the
arena ; that the foot gladiators, paired off, should then be
loosed indiscriminately on the stage ; that Glaucus and the
lion should next perform their part in the bloody spectacle ;
and the tiger and the Nazarene be the grand finale. And,
in the spectacles of Pompeii, the reader of Roman history
must limit his imagination, nor expect to find those vast and
wholesale exhibitions of magnificent slaughter with which a
Nero or a Caligula regaled the inhabitants of the Imperial
City. The Roman shows, which absorbed the more cele-
brated gladiators, and the chief proportion of foreign beasts,
were indeed the very reason why, in the lesser towns of the
empire, the sports of the amphitheatre were comparatively
humane and rare ; and in this, as in other respects, Pompeii
was but the miniature, the microcosm of Rome. Still, it
was an awful and imposing spectacle, with which modern
times have, happily, nothing to compare : — a vast theatre,
rising row upon row, and swarming with human beings, from
fifteen to eighteen thousand in number, intent upon no

364 The Last Days of Pompeii

fictitious representation — no tragedy of the stage — but the
actual victory or defeat, the exultant life or the bloody
death, of each and all who entered the arena !

The two horsemen were now at either extremity of the
lists (if so they might be called) ; and, at a given signal from
Pansa, the combatants started simultaneously as in full
collision, each advancing his round buckler, each poising on
high his light yet sturdy javelin ; but just when within three
paces of his opponent, the steed of Berbix suddenly halted,
wheeled round, and, as Nobilior was borne rapidly by, his
antagonist spurred upon him. The buckler of Nobilior,
quickly and skilfully extended, received a blow which other-
wise would have been fatal.

" Well done, Nobilior ! " cried the praetor, giving the first
vent to the popular excitement.

" Bravely struck, my Berbix ! " answered Clodius from
his seat.

And the wild murmur, swelled by many a shout, echoed
from side to side.

The vizors of both the horsemen were completely closed
(like those of the knights in after times), but the head was,
nevertheless, the great point of assault ; and Nobilior, now
wheeling his charger with no less adroitness than his
opponent, directed his spear full on the helmet of his foe.
Berbix raised his buckler to shield himself, and his quick-
eyed antagonist, suddenly lowering his weapon, pierced him
through the breast. Berbix reeled and fell.

" Nobilior ! Nobilior ! " shouted the populace.

"I have lost ten sestertia,"1 said Clodius, between his
teeth.

" Habet! — he has it," said Pansa, deliberately.

The populace, not yet hardened into cruelty, made the
signal of mercy j but as the attendants of the arena
approached, they found the kindness came too late ; — the
heart of the Gaul had been pierced, and his eyes were set in
death. It was his life's blood that flowed so darkly over
the sand and sawdust of the arena.

" It is a pity it was so soon over — there was little enough
for one's trouble," said the widow Fulvia.

" Yes — I have no compassion for Berbix. Any one might
have seen that Nobilior did but feint. Mark, they fix the
fatal hook to the body — they drag him away to the
1 A little more than ^80.

The Amphitheatre 365

spoliarium — they scatter new sand over the stage ! Pansa
regrets nothing more than that he is not rich enough to
strew the arena with borax and cinnabar, as Nero used to
do."

" Well, if it has been a brief battle, it is quickly suc-
ceeded. See my handsome Lydon on the arena — ay — and
the net-bearer too, and the swordsmen ! Oh, charming ! "

There were now on the arena six combatants : Niger and
his net, matched against Sporus with his shield and his short
broadsword j Lydon and Tetraides, naked save by a cincture
round the waist, each armed only with a heavy Greek
cestus — and two gladiators from Rome, clad in complete
steel, and evenly matched with immense bucklers and
pointed swords.

The initiatory contest between Lydon and Tetraides
being less deadly than that between the other combatants,
no sooner had they advanced to the middle of the arena
than, as by common consent, the rest held back, to see how
that contest should be decided, and wait till fiercer weapons
might replace the cestus, ere they themselves commenced
hostilities. They stood leaning on their arms and apart
from each other, gazing on the show, which, if not bloody
enough, thoroughly to please the populace, they were still
inclined to admire, because its origin was of their ancestral
Greece.

No person could, at first glance, have seemed less evenly
matched than the two antagonists. Tetraides, though not
taller than Lydon, weighed considerably more ; the natural
size of his muscles was increased, to the eyes of the vulgar,
by masses of solid flesh ; for, as it was a notion that the
contest of the cestus fared easiest with him who was plump-
est, Tetraides had encouraged to the utmost his hereditary
predisposition to the portly. His shoulders were vast, and
his lower limbs thick-set, double-jointed, and slightly curved
outward, in that formation which takes so much from beauty
to give so largely to strength. But Lydon, except that he
was slender even almost to meagreness, was beautifully and
delicately proportioned ; and the skilful might have per-
ceived that, with much less compass of muscle than his foe,
that which he had was more seasoned — iron and compact.
In proportion, too, as he wanted flesh, he was likely to
possess activity ; and a haughty smile on his resolute face
which strongly contrasted the solid heaviness of his enemy's

366 The Last Days of Pompeii

gave assurance to those who beheld it, and united their hope
to their pity : so that, despite the disparity of their seeming
strength, the cry of the multitude was nearly as loud for
Lydon as for Tetraides.

Whoever is acquainted with the modern prize-ring — who-
ever has witnessed the heavy and disabling strokes which
the human fist, skilfully directed, hath the power to bestow
— may easily understand how much that happy facility would
be increased by a band carried by thongs of leather round
the arm as high as the elbow, and terribly strengthened
about the knuckles by a plate of iron, and sometimes a
plummet of lead. Yet this, which was meant to increase,
perhaps rather diminished, the interest of the fray : for it
necessarily shortened its duration. A very few blows, suc-
cessfully and scientifically planted might suffice to bring the
contest to a close ; and the battle did not, therefore, often
allow full scope for the energy, fortitude and dogged per-
severance, that we technically style pluck, which not unusually
wins the day against superior science, and which heightens
to so painful a delight the interest in the battle and the
sympathy for the brave.

" Guard thyself ! " growled Tetraides, moving nearer
and nearer to his foe, who rather shifted round him
than receded.

Lydon did not answer, save by a scornful glance of his
quick, vigilant eye. Tetraides struck — it was as the blow of
a smith on a vice ; Lydon sank suddenly on one knee — the
blow passed over his head. Not so harmless was Lydon's
retaliation : he quickly sprung to his feet, and aimed his
cestus full on the broad breast of his antagonist. Tetraides
reeled — the populace shouted.

"You are unlucky to-day," said Lepidus to Clodius : "you
have lost one bet — you will lose another."

" By the gods ! my bronzes go to the auctioneer if that is
the case. I have no less than a hundred sestertia * upon
Tetraides. Ha, ha ! see how he rallies ! That was a home
stroke : he has cut open Lydon's shoulder. — A Tetraides ! —
a Tetraides ! "

" But Lydon is not disheartened. By Pollux ! how well
he keeps his temper. See how dexterously he avoids those
hammer-like hands ! — dodging now here, now there — circling
round and round. Ah, poor Lydon ! he has it again."
1 Above ^800.

The Amphitheatre 367

" Three to one still on Tetraides ! What say you,
Lepidus ? "

" Well, nine sestertia to three — be it so ! What ! again,
Lydon ? He stops — he gasps for breath. By the gods, he
is down ; No — he is again on his legs. Brave Lydon ! Te-
traides is encouraged — he laughs loud — he rushes on him."

"Fool — success blinds him — he should be cautious.
Lydon's eye is like the lynx's," said Clodius, between his
teeth.

" Ha, Clodius ! saw you that ? Your man totters ! Another
blow— he falls— he falls !"

" Earth revives him, then. He is once more up ; but
the blood rolls down his face."

" By the thunderer ! Lydon wins it. See how he presses
on him ! That blow on the temple would have crushed an
ox ! it has crushed Tetraides. He falls again — he cannot
move — habet / — habet I f

" Habet!" repeated Pansa. "Take them out and give
them the armour and swords."

" Noble editor," said the officers, " we fear that Tetraides
will not recover in time ; howbeit, we will try."

" Do so."

In a few minutes the officers, who had dragged off the
stunned and insensible gladiator, returned with rueful coun-
tenances. They feared for his life ; he was utterly incapaci-
tated from re-entering the arena.

" In that case," said Pansa, M hold Lydon a subdititius ;
and the first gladiator that is vanquished, let Lydon supply
his place with the victor."

The people shouted their applause at this sentence : then
they again sunk into deep silence. The trumpet sounded
loudly. The four combatants stood each against each in
prepared and stern array.

" Dost thou recognise the Romans, my Clodius ; are they
among the celebrated, or are they merely ordinarii? "

" Eumolpus is a good second-rate swordsman, my Lepidus.
Nepimus, the lesser man, I have never seen before : but he
is the son of one of the imperial foca/es,1 and brought up in
a proper school j doubtless they will show sport, but I have
no heart for the game ; I cannot win back my money — I am
undone. Curses on that Lydon ! who could have supposed
he was so dexterous or so lucky ? "

1 Gladiators maintained by the emperor.

368 The Last Days of Pompeii

"Well, Clodius, shall I take compassion on you, and
accept your own terms with these Romans ? "

" An even ten sestertia on Eumolpus, then ? "

" What ! when Nepimus is untried ? Nay, nay ; that is
too bad."

" Well— ten to eight ? "

" Agreed."

While the contest in the amphitheatre had thus com-
menced, there was one in the loftier benches for whom it
had assumed, indeed, a poignant — a stifling interest. The
aged father of Lydon, despite his Christian horror of the
spectacle, in his agonised anxiety for his son, had not
been able to resist being the spectator of his fate. One
amidst a fierce crowd of strangers — the lowest rabble of the
populace — the old man saw, felt nothing, but the form — the
presence of his brave son ! Not a sound had escaped his
lips when twice he had seen him fall to the earth ; — only he
had turned paler, and his limbs trembled. But he had
uttered one low cry when he saw him victorious ; uncon-
scious, alas ! of the more fearful battle to which that victory
was but a prelude.

" My gallant boy ! " said he, and wiped his eyes.

"Is he thy son ? " said a brawny fellow to the right of the
Nazarene ; " he has fought well : let us see how he does by-
and-by. Hark ! he is to fight the first victor. Now, old
boy, pray the gods that that victor be neither of the Romans !
nor, next to them, the giant Niger."

The old man sat down again and covered his face. The
fray for the moment was indifferent to him — Lydon was not
one of the combatants. Yet — yet — the thought flashed
across him — the fray was indeed of deadly interest — the first
who fell was to make way for Lydon ! He started, and bent
down, with straining eyes and clasped hands to view the
encounter.

The first interest was attracted towards the combat of
Niger with Sporus ; for this species of contest, from the
fatal result which usually attended it, and from the great
science it required in either antagonist, was always peculiarly
inviting to the spectators.

They stood at a considerable distance from each other.
The singular helmet which Sporus wore (the vizor of which
was down) concealed his face ; but the features of Niger
attracted a fearful and universal interest from their com-

The Amphitheatre 369

pressed and vigilant ferocity. Thus they stood for some
moments, each eyeing each, until Sporus began slowly, and
with great caution, to advance, holding his sword pointed,
like a modern fencers, at the breast of his foe. Niger
retreated as his antagonist advanced, gathering up his net
with his right hand, and never taking his small glittering eye
from the movements of the swordsman. Suddenly when
Sporus had approached nearly at arm's length, the retiarius
threw himself forward, and cast his net. A quick inflection
of body saved the gladiator from the deadly snare ! he
uttered a sharp cry of joy and rage, and rushed upon Niger :
but Niger had already drawn in his net, thrown it across his
shoulders, and now fled round the lists with a swiftness
which the secutor1 in vain endeavoured to equal. The
people laughed and shouted aloud, to see the ineffectual
efforts of the broad-shouldered gladiator to overtake the
flying giant : when, at that moment, their attention was
turned from these to the two Roman combatants.

They had placed themselves at the onset face to face, at
the distance of modern fencers from each other : but the
extreme caution which both evinced at first had prevented
any warmth of engagement, and allowed the spectators full
leisure to interest themselves in the battle between Sporus
and his foe. But the Romans were now heated into full and
fierce encounter: they pushed — returned — advanced on —
retreated from — each other with all that careful yet scarcely
perceptible caution which characterises men well experienced
and equally matched. But at this moment, Eumolpus, the elder
gladiator, by that dexterous back-stroke which was considered
in the arena so difficult to avoid, had wounded Nepimus in
the side. The people shouted ; Lepidus turned pale.

" Ho ! " said Clodius, " the game is nearly over. If Eu-
molpus fights now the quiet fight, the other will gradually
bleed himself away."

" But, thank the gods f he does not fight the backward
fight. See ! — he presses hard upon Nepimus. By Mars I
but Nepimus had him there ! the helmet rang again ! —
Clodius, I shall win I "

" Why do I ever bet but at the dice ? " groaned Clodius
to himself ; — " or why cannot one cog a gladiator ? "

1 So called from the office of that tribe of gladiators, in following the
foe the moment the net was cast, in order to smite him ere he could
have time to rearrange it.

370 The Last Days of Pompeii

" A Sporus ! — a Sporus 1 " shouted the populace, as Niger
having now suddenly paused, had again cast his net, and
again unsuccessfully. He had not retreated this time with
sufficient agility — the sword of Sporus had inflicted a severe
wound upon his right leg ; and, incapacitated to fly, he was
pressed hard by the fierce swordsman. His great height
and length of arm still continued, however, to give him no
despicable advantages ; and steadily keeping his trident at
the front of his foe, he repelled him successfully for several
minutes. Sporus now tried, by great rapidity of evolution,
to get round his antagonist, who necessarily moved with pain
and slowness. In so doing, he lost his caution — he advanced
too near to the giant — raised his arm to strike, and received
the three points of the fatal spear full in his breast ! He
sank on his knee. In a moment more, the deadly net was
cast over him,'he struggled against its meshes in vain ; again
— again — again he writhed mutely beneath the fresh strokes
of the trident — his blood flowed fast through the net and
redly over the sand. He lowered his arms in acknowledg-
ment of defeat

The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning
on his spear, looked to the audience for their judgment.
Slowly, too, at the same moment, the vanquished gladiator
rolled his dim and despairing eyes around the theatre. From
row to row, from bench to bench, there glared upon him
but merciless and unpitying eyes.

Hushed was the roar — the murmur! The silence was
dread, for in it was no sympathy J not a hand — no, not even
a woman's hand — gave the signal of charity and life !
Sporus had never been popular in the arena ; and, lately,
the interest of the combat had been excited on behalf of
the wounded Niger. The people were warmed into blood —
the mimic fight had ceased to charm $ the interest had
mounted up to the desire of sacrifice and the thirst of
death !

The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed : he uttered
no prayer — no groan. The people gave the signal of death !
In dogged but agonised submission, he bent his neck to
receive the fatal stroke. And now, as the spear of the
retiarius was not a weapon to inflict instant and certain death,
there stalked into the arena a grim and fatal form, brandish
ing a short, sharp sword, and with features utterly concealed
beneath its vizor. With slow and measured steps, this dismal

The Amphitheatre 371

headsman approached the gladiator, still kneeling — laid the
left hand on his humbled crest — drew the edge of the blade
across his neck — turned round to the assembly, lest, in the
last moment, remorse should come upon them ; the dread
signal continued the same : the blade glittered brightly in
the air — fell — and the gladiator rolled upon the sand ; his
limbs quivered — were still, — he was a corpse.1

His body was dragged at once from the arena through the
gate of death, and thrown into the gloomy den termed
technically the spoliarium. And ere it had well reached
that destination, the strife between the remaining combatants
was decided. The sword of Eumolpus had inflicted the
death- wound upon the less experienced combatant. A new
victim was added to the receptacle of the slain.

Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a universal
movement ; the people breathed more freely, and resettled
themselves in their seats. A grateful shower was cast over
every row from the concealed conduits. In cool and
luxurious pleasure they talked over the late spectacle of
blood. Eumolpus removed his helmet, and wiped his
brows ; his close curled hair and short beard, his noble
Roman features and bright dark eye attracted the general
admiration. He was fresh, unwounded, unfatigued.

The editor paused, and proclaimed aloud that, as Niger's
wound disabled him from again entering the arena, Lydon
was to be the successor to the slaughtered Nepimus, and the
new combatant of Eumolpus.

"Yet, Lydon," added he, "if thou wouldst decline the
combat with one so brave and tried, thou mayst have full
liberty to do so. Eumolpus is not the antagonist that was
originally decreed for thee. Thou knowest best how far
thou canst cope with him. If thou failest, thy doom is
honourable death ; if thou conquerest, out of my own purse
I will double the stipulated prize."

The people shouted applause. Lydon stood in the lists,
he gazed around ; high above he beheld the pale face, the
straining eyes, of his father. He turned away irresolute for
a moment. No ! the conquest of the cestus was not
sufficient — he had not yet won the prize of victory — his
father was still a slave !

1 See the engraving from the friezes of Pompeii, in the work on that
city published in the "Library of Entertaining Knowledge," vol. ii.
p. 211.

372 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Noble sedile ! " he replied, in a firm and deep tone, " I
shrink not from this combat. For the honour of Pompeii,
I demand that one trained by its long-celebrated lanista shall
do battle with this Roman."

The people shouted louder than before.
" Four to one against Lydon ! " said Clodius to Lepidus.
' ' I would not take twenty to one ! Why, Eumolpus is a
very Achilles, and this poor fellow is but a tyro ! "

Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon ; he smiled ;
yet the smile was followed by a slight and scarce audible
sigh — a touch of compassionate emotion, which custom
conquered the moment the heart acknowledged it.

And now both, clad in complete armour, the sword drawn,
the vizor closed, the two last combatants of the arena (ere
man, at least, was matched with beast), stood opposed to
each other.

It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to the
praetor by one of the attendants of the arena ; he removed
the cincture — glanced over it for a moment — his countenance
betrayed surprise and embarrassment. He re-read the
letter, and then muttering, — " Tush ! it is impossible ! — the
man must be drunk, even in the morning, to dream of such
follies ! " — threw it carelessly aside, and gravely settled
himself once more in the attitude of attention to the sports.
The interest of the public was wound up very high.
Eumolpus had at first won their favour ; but the gallantry of
Lydon, and his well-timed allusion to the honour of the
Pompeian lanista, had afterwards given the latter the
preference in their eyes.

" Holla, old fellow ! " said Medon's neighbour to him.
"Your son is hardly matched; but never fear, the editor
will not permit him to be slain — no, nor the people neither ;
he has behaved too bravely for that. Ha ! that was a home
thrust ! — well averted, by Pollux ! At him again, Lydon !
— they stop to breathe ! What art thou muttering, old boy ? "
" Prayers ! " answered Medon, with a more calm and
hopeful mien than he had yet maintained.

"Prayers! — trifles! The time for gods to carry a man
away in a cloud is gone now. Ha ! Jupiter ! what a blow !
Thy side — thy side ! — take care of thy side, Lydon ! "

There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly.
A fierce blow from Eumolpus, full on the crest had brought
Lydon to his knee.

The Amphitheatre 373

" Habet ! — he has it ! " cried a shrill female voice ; " he has
it!"

It was the voice of the girl who had so anxiously
anticipated the sacrifice of some criminal to the beasts.

M Be silent, child ! " said the wife of Pansa, haughtily.
" Noti habet I — he is not wounded ! "

"I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon,"
muttered the girl.

Meanwhile Lydon, who had hitherto defended himself
with great skill and valour, began to give way before the
vigorous assaults of the practised Roman ; his arm grew
tired, his eye dizzy, he breathed hard and painfully. The
combatants paused again for breath.

" Young man," said Eumolpus, in a low voice, " desist ; I
will wound thee slightly — then lower thy arms ; thou hast
propitiated the editor and the mob — thou wilt be honourably
saved ! "

" And my father still enslaved ! " groaned Lydon to him-
self. " No ! death or his freedom."

At that thought, and seeing that, his strength not being
equal to the endurance of the Roman, everything depended
on a sudden and desperate effort, he threw himself fiercely
on Eumolpus ; the Roman warily retreated — Lydon thrust
again — Eumolpus drew himself aside — the sword grazed his
cuirass — Lydon's breast was exposed — the Roman plunged
his sword through the joints of the armour, not meaning,
however, to inflict a deep wound ; Lydon, weak and
exhausted, fell forward, fell right on the point: it passed
through and through, even to the back. Eumolpus drew
forth his blade ; Lydon still made an effort to regain his
balance — his sword left his grasp — he struck mechanically
at the gladiator with his naked hand, and fell prostrate on
the arena. With one accord, editor and assembly made the
signal of mercy — the officers of the arena approached — they
took off the helmet of the vanquished. He still breathed ;
his eyes rolled fiercely on his foe ; the savageness he had
acquired in his calling glared from his gaze, and lowered
upon the brow darkened already with the shades of death ;
then, with a convulsive groan, with a half start, he lifted his
eyes above. They rested not on the face of the editor nor
on the pitying brows of his relenting judges. He saw them
not ; they were as if the vast space was desolate and bare ;
one pale agonising face alone was all he recognised — one

374 The Last Days of Pompeii

cry of a broken heart was all that, amidst the murmurs and
the shouts of the populace, reached his ear. The ferocity
vanished from his brow ; a soft, a tender expression of
sanctifying but despairing filial love played over his features
— played — waned — darkened ! His face suddenly became
locked and rigid, resuming its former fierceness. He fell
upon the earth.

" Look to him," said the sedile ; " he has done his duty ! "

The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium.

" A true type of glory, and of its fate ! " murmured Arbaces
to himself; and his eye, glancing round the amphitheatre,
betrayed so much of disdain and scorn, that whoever
encountered it felt his breath suddenly arrested, and his
emotions frozen into one sensation of abasement and of awe.

Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre ; the
attendants sprinkled fresh sand over the arena.

" Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian," said
the editor.

And a deep and breathless hush of overwrought interest,
and intense (yet, strange to say, not unpleasing) terror lay,
like a mighty and awful dream, over the assembly.

CHAPTER III

SALLUST AND NYDIA'S LETTER

Thrice had Sallust awakened from his morning sleep,
and thrice, recollecting that his friend was that day to perish,
had he turned himself with a deep sigh once more to court
oblivion. His sole object in life was to avoid pain ; and
where he could not avoid, at least to forget it.

At length, unable any longer to steep his consciousness in
slumber, he raised himself from his incumbent posture, and
discovered his favourite freedman sitting by his bedside as
usual ; for Sallust, who, as I have said, had a gentlemanlike
taste for the polite letters, was accustomed to be read to for
an hour or so previous to his rising in the morning.

" No books to-day ! no more Tibullus ! no more Pindar
for me ! Pindar ! alas, alas ! the very name recalls those
games to which our arena is the savage successor. Has it
begun — the amphitheatre ? are its rites commenced ? "

Sallust and Nydia's Letter 375

" Long since, O Sallust ! Did you not hear the trumpets
and the trampling feet ? "

" Ay, ay ; but the gods be thanked, I was drowsy, and
had only to turn round to fall asleep again."

" The gladiators must have been long in the ring ? "

" The wretches ! None of my people have gone to the
spectacle ? "

" Assuredly not ; your orders were too strict."

" That is well — would the day were over ! What is that
letter yonder on the table ? "

" That ! Oh, the letter brought to you last night, when
you were — too — too "

" Drunk to read it, I suppose. No matter, it cannot be
of much importance."

" Shall I open it for you, Sallust ?"

" Do : anything to divert my thoughts. Poor Glaucus ! ,s

The freedman opened the letter. "What! Greek?"
said he : " some learned lady, I suppose." He glanced over
the letter, and for some moments the irregular lines traced
by the blind girl's hand puzzled him. Suddenly, however, his
countenance exhibited emotion and suprise. " Good gods !
noble Sallust ! what have we done not to attend to this
before ? Hear me read !

" ' Nydia, the slave, to Sallust, the friend of Glaucus ! I
am a prisoner in the house of Arbaces. Hasten to the
praetor ! procure my release, and we shall yet save Glaucus
from the lion. There is another prisoner within these walls,
whose witness can exonerate the Athenian from the charge
against him ; — one who saw the crime — who can prove the
criminal in a villain hitherto unsuspected. Fly ! hasten !
quick ! quick ! Bring with you armed men, lest resistance
be made, and a cunning and dexterous smith ; for the
dungeon of my fellow-prisoner is thick and strong. Oh !
by thy right hand and thy father's ashes, lose not a mo-
ment ! ' "

" Great Jove ! " exclaimed Sallust, starting, " and this day
— nay, within this hour, perhaps, he dies. What is to be
done? I will instantly to the praetor."

" Nay ; not so. The praetor (as well as Pansa, the editor
himself) is the creature of the mob ; and the mob will not
hear of delay ; they will not be balked in the very moment
of expectation. Besides, the publicity of the appeal would
forewarn the cunning Egyptian. It is evident that he has

376 The Last Days of Pompeii

some interest in these concealments. No ; fortunately thy
slaves are in thy house."

" I seize thy meaning," interrupted Sallust : " arm the
slaves instantly. The streets are empty. We will ourselves
hasten to the house of Arbaces, and release the prisoners.
Quick ! quick ! What ho ! Davus there ! My gown and
sandals, the papyrus and a reed.1 I will write to the praetor,
to beseech him to delay the sentence of Glaucus, for that,
within an hour, we may yet prove him innocent. So, so,
that is well. Hasten with this, Davus, to the praetor, at the
amphitheatre. See it given to his own hand. Now then,
O ye gods ! whose providence Epicurus denied, befriend
me, and I will call Epicurus a liar ! "

CHAPTER IV

THE AMPHITHEATRE ONCE MORE

Glaucus and Olinthus had been placed together in that
gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals of the arena
awaited their last and fearful struggle. Their eyes, of late
accustomed to the darkness, scanned the faces of each other
in this awful hour, and by that dim light, the paleness, which
chased away the natural hues from either cheek, assumed
a yet more ashy and ghastly whiteness. Yet their brows
were erect and dauntless — their limbs did not tremble —
their lips were compressed and rigid. The religion of the
one, the pride of the other, the conscious innocence of
both, and, it may be, the support derived from their mutual
companionship, elevated the victim into the hero.

"Hark! hearest thou that shout? They are growling
over their human blood," said Olinthus.

" I hear ; my heart grows sick ; but the gods support
me."

" The gods ! O rash young man ! in this hour recognise
only the One God. Have I not taught thee in the dungeon,
wept for thee, prayed for thee ? — in my zeal and in my
agony, have I not thought more of thy salvation than my
own?"

1 The reed (calamus) was used for writing on papyrus and parchment ;
the stilus for writing on waxen tablets, plates of metal, etc Letters
were written sometimes on tablets, sometimes on papyrus.

The Amphitheatre Once More 377

" Brave friend ! " answered Glaucus, solemnly, " I have
listened to thee with awe, with wonder, and with a secret
tendency towards conviction. Had our lives been spared,
I might gradually have weaned myself from the tenets of
my own faith, and inclined to thine ; but, in this last hour
it were a craven thing, and a base, to yield to hasty terror
what should only be the result of lengthened meditation.
Were I to embrace thy creed, and cast down my father's
gods, should I not be bribed by thy promise of heaven, or
awed by thy threats of hell ? Olinthus, no ! Think we of
each other with equal charity — I honouring thy sincerity —
thou pitying my blindness or my obdurate courage. As
have been my deeds, such will be my reward; and the
Power or Powers above will not judge harshly of human
error, when it is linked with honesty of purpose and truth
of heart. Speak we no more of this. Hush ! Dost thou
hear them drag yon heavy body through the passage ?
Such as that clay will be ours soon."

" O Heaven ! O Christ ! already I behold ye ! " cried
the fervent Olinthus, lifting up his hands ; " I tremble not
— I rejoice that the prison-house shall be soon broken."

Glaucus bowed his head in silence. He felt the dis-
tinction between his fortitude and that of his fellow-sufferer.
The heathen did not tremble ; but the Christian exulted.

The door swung gratingly back — the gleam of spears
shot along the walls.

" Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come." said a loud
and clear voice ; " the lion awaits thee."

" I am ready," said the Athenian. " Brother and co-mate,
one last embrace ! Bless me — and farewell ! V

The Christian opened his arms — he clasped the young
heathen to his breast — he kissed his forehead and cheek —
he sobbed aloud — his tears flowed fast and hot over the
features of his new friend.

" Oh ! could I have converted thee, I had not wept.
Oh ! that I might say to thee, f We two shall sup this night
in Paradise ! ' "

" It may be so yet," answered the Greek, with a tremulous
voice. " They whom death part not, may meet yet beyond
the grave : on the earth — on the beautiful, the beloved
earth, farewell for ever ! — Worthy officer, I attend you."

Glaucus tore himself away ; and when he came forth
into the air, its breath, which, though sunless, was hot and

378 The Last Days of Pompeii

arid, smote witheringly upon him. His frame, not yet
restored from the effects of the deadly draught, shrank and
trembled. The officers supported him.

" Courage ! " said one ; " thou art young, active, well knit.
They give thee a weapon ! despair not, and thou mayst
yet conquer."

Glaucus did not reply ; but, ashamed of his infirmity, he
made a desperate and convulsive effort, and regained the
firmness of his nerves. They anointed his body, completely
naked, save by a cincture round the loins, placed the stilus
(vain weapon !) in his hand, and led him into the arena.

And now when the Greek saw the eyes of thousands and
tens of thousands upon him, he no longer felt that he was
mortal. All evidence of fear — all fear itself — was gone. A
red and haughty flush spread over the paleness of his
features — he towered aloft to the full of his glorious stature.
In the elastic beauty of his limbs and form, in his intent
but unfrowning brow, in the high disdain, and in the
indomitable soul, which breathed visibly, which spoke
audibly, from his attitude, his lip, his eye, — he seemed the
very incarnation, vivid and corporeal, of the valour of his
land — of the divinity of its worship — at once a hero and a
god!

The murmur of hatred and horror at his crime, which
had greeted his entrance, died into the silence of in-
voluntary admiration and half-compassionate respect; and
with a quick and convulsive sigh, that seemed to move the
whole mass of life as if it were one body, the gaze of the
spectators turned from the Athenian to a dark uncouth
object in the centre of the arena. It was the grated den
of the lion !

"By Venus, how warm it is!" said Fulvia; "yet there
is no sun. Would that those stupid sailors1 could have
fastened up that gap in the awning ! "

" Oh ! it is warm, indeed. I turn sick — I faint ! " said the
wife of Pansa ; even her experienced stoicism giving way
at the struggle about to take place.

The lion had been kept without food for twenty-four
hours, and the animal had, during the whole morning,
testified a singular and restless uneasiness, which the keeper
had attributed to the pangs of hunger. Yet its bearing

1 Sailors were generally employed in fastening the velaria of the
amphitheatre.

The Amphitheatre Once More 379

seemed rather that of fear than of rage; its roar was
painful and distressed; it hung its head — snuffed the air
through the bars — then lay down — started again — and
again uttered its wild and far-resounding cries. And now,
in its den, it lay utterly dumb and mute, with distended
nostrils forced hard against the grating, and disturbing with
a heaving breath, the sand below on the arena.

The editor's lip quivered, and his cheek grew pale; he
looked anxiously around — hesitated — delayed ; the crowd
became impatient. Slowly he gave the sign ; the keeper,
who was behind the den, cautiously removed the grating,
and the lion leaped forth with a mighty and glad roar of
release. The keeper hastily retreated through the grated
passage leading from the arena, and left the lord of the
forest — and his prey.

Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the
firmest posture at the expected rush of the lion, with his
small and shining weapon raised on high, in the faint hope
that one well-directed thrust (for he knew that he should
have time but for one) might penetrate through the eye to
the brain of his grim foe.

But, to the unutterable astonishment of all, the beast
seemed not even aware of the presence of the criminal.

At the first moment of its release it halted abruptly in
the arena, raised itself half on end, snuffing the upward air
with impatient sighs ; then suddenly it sprang forward, but
not on the Athenian. At half-speed it circled round and
round the space, turning its vast head from side to side
with an anxious and perturbed gaze, as if seeking only
some avenue of escape; once or twice it endeavoured to
leap up the parapet that divided it from the audience, and,
on failing, uttered rather a baffled howl than its deep-
toned and kingly roar. It evinced no sign, either of wrath
or hunger ; its tail drooped along the sand, instead of
lashing its gaunt sides ; and its eye, though it wandered at
times to Glaucus, rolled again listlessly from him. At
length, as if tired of attempting to escape, it crept with a
moan into its cage, and once more laid itself down to
rest.

The first surprise of the assembly at the apathy of the
lion soon grew converted into resentment at its cowardice ;
and the populace already merged their pity for the fate of
Glaucus into angry compassion for their own disappointment.

380 The Last Days of Pompeii

The editor called to the keeper.

" How is this ? Take the goad, prick him forth, and
then close the door of the den."

As the keeper, with some fear, but more astonishment,
was preparing to obey, a loud cry was heard at one of the
entrances of the arena ; there was a confusion, a bustle —
voices of remonstrance suddenly breaking forth, and sud-
denly silenced at the reply. All eyes turned in wonder at
the interruption, towards the quarter of the disturbance;
the crowd gave way, and suddenly Sallust appeared on
the senatorial benches, his hair dishevelled — breathless —
heated — half-exhausted. He cast his eyes hastily round the
ring. " Remove the Athenian," he cried ; " haste — he is
innocent ! Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian — he is the
murderer of Apaecides ! "

11 Art thou mad, O Sallust ! " said the praetor, rising from
his seat. " What means this raving ? "

" Remove the Athenian ! — Quick ! or his blood be on
your head. Praetor, delay, and you answer with your own
life to the emperor ! I bring with me the eye-witness to
the death of the priest Apaecides. Room there ! — stand
back ! — give way ! People of Pompeii, fix every eye upon
Arbaces — there he sits ! Room there for the priest Calenus ! "

Pale, haggard, fresh from the jaws of famine and of death,
his face fallen, his eyes dull as a vulture's, his broad frame
gaunt as a skeleton, — Calenus was supported into the very
row in which Arbaces sat. His releasers had given him
sparingly of food ; but the chief sustenance that nerved
his feeble limbs was revenge !

"The priest Calenus ! — Calenus !" cried the mob. "Is
it he ? No — it is a dead man ? "

" It is the priest Calenus," said the praetor, gravely.
"What hast thou to say?"

"Arbaces of Egypt is the murderer of Apaecides, the
priest of Isis; these eyes saw him deal the blow. It is
from the dungeon into which he plunged me— it is from
the darkness and horror of a death by famine — that the
gods have raised me to proclaim his crime ! Release the
Athenian — he is innocent ! "

" It is for this, then, that the lion spared him. — A miracle !
a miracle ! " cried Pansa.

"A miracle; a miracle !" shouted the people; "remove
the Athenian — Arbaces to the lion I "

The Amphitheatre Once More 381

And that shout echoed from hill to vale — from coast to
sea — " Arbaces to the lion /"

" Officers, remove the accused Glaucus — remove, but
guard him yet," said the praetor. " The gods lavish their
wonders upon this day."

As the praetor gave the word of release, there was a cry
of joy — a female voice — a child's voice — and it was of joy !
It rang through the heart of the assembly with electric force
— it was touching, it was holy, that child's voice ! And the
populace echoed it back with sympathising congratulation 1

"Silence ! " said the grave praetor — " who is there?"

"The blind girl — Nydia," answered Sallust; "it is her
hand that has raised Calenus from the grave, and delivered
Glaucus from the lion."

"Of this hereafter," said the praetor. "Calenus, priest
of Isis, thou accusest Arbaces of the murder of Apaecides ? "

" I do."

" Thou didst behold the deed ? "

" Praetor — with these eyes "

" Enough at present — the details must oe reserved for
more suiting time and place. Arbaces of Egypt, thou
hearest the charge against thee — thou hast not yet spoken —
what hast thou to say ? "

The gaze of the crowd had been long riveted on Arbaces :
but not until the confusion which he had betrayed at the
first charge of Sallust and the entrance of Calenus had
subsided. At the shout, " Arbaces to the lion ! " he had
indeed trembled, and the dark bronze of his cheek had
taken a paler hue. But he had soon recovered his haughti-
ness and self-control. Proudly he returned the angry
glare of the countless eyes around him ; and replying now
to the queston of the praetor, he said, in that accent so
peculiarly tranquil and commanding, which characterised
his tones, —

" Praetor, this charge is so mad that it scarcely deserves
reply. My first accuser is the noble Sallust — the most
intimate friend of Glaucus ! my second is a priest ; I revere
his garb and calling — but, people of Pompeii ! ye know
somewhat of the character of Calenus — he is griping and
gold-thirsty to a proverb ; the witness of such men is to be
bought ! Praetor, I am innocent ! "

"Sallust," said the magistrate, "where found you Calenus?"

" In the dungeons of Arbaces."

382 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Egyptian," said the praetor, frowning, " thou didst, then,
dare to imprison a priest of the gods — and wherefore ? *'

"Hear me," answered Arbaces,' rising calmly, but with
agitation visible in his face. "This man came to threaten
that he would make against me the charge he has now
made, unless I would purchase his silence with half my
fortune : I remonstrated — in vain. Peace there — let not
the priest interrupt me ! Noble praetor — and ye, O people !
I was a stranger in the land — I knew myself innocent of
crime — but the witness of a priest against me might yet
destroy me. In my perplexity I decoyed him to the cell
whence he has been released, on pretence that it was the
coffer-house of my gold. I resolved to detain him there
until the fate of the true criminal was sealed, and his
threats could avail no longer ; but I meant no worse. I
may have erred — but who amongst ye will not acknowledge
the equity of self-preservation ? Were I guilty, why was the
witness of this priest silent at the trial? — then I had not
detained or concealed him. Why did he not proclaim my
guilt when I proclaimed that of Glaucus ? Praetor, this
needs an answer. For the rest, I throw myself on your
laws. I demand their protection. Remove hence the
accused and the accuser. I will willingly meet, and cheer-
fully abide by, the decision of the legitimate tribunal. This
is no place for further parley."

" He says right," said the praetor. " Ho ! guards — remove
Arbaces — guard Calenus ! Sallust, we hold you responsible
for your accusation. Let the sports be resumed."

"What!" cried Calenus, turning round to the people,
"shall Isis be thus contemned? Shall the blood of
Apaecides yet cry for vengeance ? Shall justice be delayed
now, that it may be frustrated hereafter ? Shall the lion be
cheated of his lawful prey ? A god ! a god ! — I feel the
god rush to my lips! To the lion — to the lion with
Arbaces ! "

His exhausted frame could support no longer the ferocious
malice of the priest ; he sank on the ground in strong con-
vulsions— the foam gathered to his mouth — he was as a man,
indeed, whom a supernatural power had entered! The
people saw and shuddered.

" It is a god that inspires the holy man ! To the lion with
the Egyptian ! "

With that cry up sprang— on moved — thousands upon

The Amphitheatre Once More 383

thousands ! They rushed from the heights — they poured
down in the direction of the Egyptian. In vain did the
aedile command — in vain did the praetor lift his voice and
proclaim the law. The people had been already rendered
savage by the exhibition of blood — they thirsted for more —
their superstition was aided by their ferocity. Aroused —
inflamed by the spectacle of their victims, they forgot the
authority of their rulers. It was one of those dread popular
convulsions common to crowds wholly ignorant, half free
and half servile ; and which the peculiar constitution of the
Roman provinces so frequently exhibited. The power of
the praetor was as a reed beneath the whirlwind; still, at his
word the guards had drawn themselves along the lower
benches, on which the upper classes sat separate from the
vulgar. They made but a feeble barrier — the waves of the
human sea halted for a moment, to enable Arbaces to count
the exact moment of his doom ! In despair, and in a terror
which beat down even pride, he glanced his eyes over the
rolling and rushing crowd — when, right above them, through
the wide chasm which had been left in the velaria, he beheld
a strange and awful apparition — he beheld — and his craft
restored his courage !

He stretched his hand on high ; over his lofty brow and
royal features there came an expression of unutterable
solemnity and command.

" Behold ! " he shouted with a voice of thunder, which
stilled the roar of the crowd ; " behold how the gods protect
the guiltless ! The fires of the avenging Orcus burst forth
against the false witness of my accusers ! "

The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian,
and beheld, with ineffable dismay, a vast vapour shooting
from the summit of Vesuvius, in the form of a gigantic pine-
tree ; 1 the trunk, blackness, — the branches, fire ! — a fire that
shifted and wavered in its hues with every moment, now
fiercely luminous, now of a dull and dying red, that again
blazed terrifically forth with intolerable glare !

There was a dead, heart-sunken silence — through which
there suddenly broke the roar of the lion, which was echoed
back from within the building by the sharper and fiercer
yells of its fellow-beast. Dread seers were they of the
Burden of the Atmosphere, and wild prophets of the wrath
to come !

1 Pliny.

384 The Last Days of Pompeii

Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of women ;
the men stared at each other, but were dumb. At that
moment they felt the earth shake beneath their feet ; the
walls of the theatre trembled : and, beyond in the distance,
they heard the crash of falling roofs ; an instant more and
the mountain-cloud seemed to roll towards them, dark
and rapid, like a torrent ; at the same time, it cast forth
from its bosom a shower of ashes mixed with vast fragments
of burning stone! Over the crushing vines, — over the
desolate streets, — over the amphitheatre itself, — far and
wide, — with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea, — fell
that awful shower !

No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Arbaces ;
safety for themselves was their sole thought. Each turned
to fly — each dashing, pressing, crushing, against the other.
Trampling recklessly over the fallen — amidst groans, and
oaths, and prayers, and sudden shrieks, the enormous
crowd vomited itself forth through the numerous passages.
Whither should they fly? Some, anticipating a second
earthquake, hastened to their homes to load themselves
with their more costly goods, and escape while it was yet
time ; others, dreading the showers of ashes that now fell
fast, torrent upon torrent, over the streets, rushed under the
roofs of the nearest houses, or temples, or sheds — shelter of
any kind — for protection from the terrors of the open air.
But darker, and larger, and mightier, spread the cloud above
them. It was a sudden and more ghastly Night rushing
upon the realm of Noon !

CHAPTER V

THE CELL OF THE PRISONER AND THE DEN OF THE
DEAD — GRIEF UNCONSCIOUS OF HORROR

Stunned by his reprieve, doubting that he was awake,
Glaucus had been led by the officers of the arena into a
small cell within the walls of the theatre. They threw a
loose robe over his form, and crowded round in congratu-
lation and wonder. There was an impatient and fretful cry
without the cell; the throng gave way, and the blind girl,

The Cell of the Prisoner 385

led by some gentler hand, flung herself at the feet of
Glaucus.

" It is /who have saved thee," she sobbed ; " now let me
die!"

" Nydia, my child ! — my preserver ! "

" Oh, let me feel thy touch — thy breath ! Yes, yes, thou
livest ! We are not too late ! That dread door, methought
it would never yield ! and Calenus — oh ! his voice was as
the dying wind among tombs : — we had to wait, — gods ! it
seemed hours ere food and wine restored to him something
of strength. But thou livest ! thou livest yet ! And I — /
have saved thee ! "

This affecting scene was soon interrupted by the event
just described.

" The mountain ! the earthquake ! " resounded from side
to side. The officers fled with the rest ; they left Glaucus
and Nydia to save themselves as they might.

As the sense of the dangers around them flashed on the
Athenian, his generous heart recurred to Olinthus. He,
too, was reprieved from the tiger by the hand of the gods ;
should he be left to a no less fatal death in the neighbouring
cell ? Taking Nydia by the hand, Glaucus hurried across
the passages ; he gained the den of the Christian ! He
found Olinthus kneeling and in prayer.

"Arise ! arise ! my friend," he cried. "Save thyself, and
fly ! See ! Nature is thy dread deliverer ! " He led forth the
bewildered Christian, and pointed to a cloud which advanced
darker and darker, disgorging forth showers of ashes and
pumice stones; — and bade him hearken to the cries and
trampling rush of the scattered crowd.

"This is the hand of God — God be praised!" said
Olinthus, devoutly.

" Fly ! seek thy brethren ! Concert with them thy
escape. Farewell ! "

Olinthus did not answer, neither did he mark the
retreating form of his friend. High thoughts and solemn
absorbed his soul : and in the enthusiasm of his kindling
heart, he exulted in the mercy of God rather than trembled
at the evidence of His power.

At length he roused himself, and hurried on, he scarce
knew whither.

The open doors of a dark, desolate cell suddenly appeared
on his path ; through the gloom within there flared and

N

386 The Last Days of Pompeii

flickered a single lamp ; and by its light he saw three grim
and naked forms stretched on the earth in death. His feet
were suddenly arrested ; for, amidst the terrors of that drear
recess — the spoliarium of the arena — he heard a low voice
calling on the name of Christ !

He could not resist lingering at that appeal : he entered
the den, and his feet were dabbled in the slow streams of
blood that gushed from the corpses over the sand.

"Who," said the Nazarene, "calls upon the son of
God?"

No answer came forth; and turning round, Olinthus
beheld, by the light of the lamp, an old grey-headed man
sitting on the floor, and supporting in his lap the head of
one of the dead. The features of the dead man were firmly
and rigidly locked in the last sleep ; but over the lip there
played a fierce smile — not the Christian's smile of hope, but
the dark sneer of hatred and defiance. Yet on the face still
lingered the beautiful roundness of early youth. The hair
curled thick and glossy over the unwrinkled brow j and the
down of manhood but slightly shaded the marble of the
hueless cheek. And over this face bent one of such un-
utterable sadness — of such yearning tenderness — of such
fond and such deep despair ! The tears of the old man
fell fast and hot, but he did not feel them ; and when his
lips moved, and he mechanically uttered the prayer of his
benign and hopeful faith, neither his heart nor his sense
responded to the words : it was but the involuntary emotion
that broke from the lethargy of his mind. His boy was
dead, and had died for him ! — and the old man's heart was
broken !

" Medon ! " said Olinthus, pityingly, " arise, and fly !
God is forth upon the wings of the elements ! The New
Gomorrah is doomed ! — Fly, ere the fires consume thee ! "

" He was ever so full of life ! — he cannot be dead ! Come
hither ! — place your hand on his heart ! — sure it beats
yet ? "

" Brother, the soul has fled ! We will remember it in
our prayers ! Thou canst not reanimate the dumb clay !
Come, come — hark ! while I speak, yon crashing walls ! —
hark ! yon agonising cries ! Not a moment is to be lost ! —
Come ! "

H I hear nothing ! " said Medon, shaking his grey hair.
" The poor boy, his love murdered him I "

Grief Unconscious of Horror 387

" Come ! come ! forgive this friendly force."

"What! Who could sever the father from the son?"
And Medon clasped the body tightly in his embrace, and
covered it with passionate kisses. " Go ! " said he, lifting
up his face for one moment. " Go ! — we must be alone ! "

"Alas ! " said the compassionate Nazarene, " Death hath
severed ye already ! "

The old man smiled very calmly. " No, no, no ! " he
muttered, his voice growing lower with each word, — " Death
has been more kind ! "

With that his head drooped on his son's breast — his arms
relaxed their grasp. Olinthus caught him by the hand —
the pulse had ceased to beat ! The last words of the father
were the words of truth, — Death had been more kind!

Meanwhile Glaucus and Nydia were pacing swiftly up
the perilous and fearful streets. The Athenian had learned
from his preserver that lone was yet in the house of Arbaces.
Thither he fled, to release — to save her ! The few slaves
whom the Egyptian had left at his mansion when he had
repaired in long procession to the amphitheatre, had been
able to offer no resistance to the armed band of Sallust :
and when afterwards the volcano broke forth, they had
huddled together, stunned and frightened, in the inmost
recesses of the house. Even the tall Ethiopian had forsaken
his post at the door ; and Glaucus (who left Nydia without —
the poor Nydia, jealous once more, even in such an hour !)
passed on through the vast hall without meeting one from
whom to learn the chamber of lone. Even as he passed,
however, the darkness that covered the heavens increased
so rapidly that it was with difficulty he could guide his
steps. The flower-wreathed columns seemed to reel and
tremble; and with every instant he heard the ashes fall
cranchingly into the roofless peristyle. He ascended to the
upper rooms — breathless he paced along, shouting out aloud
the name of lone ; and at length he heard, at the end of a
gallery, a voice — her voice, in wondering reply ! To rush
forward — to shatter the door — to seize lone in his arms —
to hurry from the mansion — seemed to him the work of an
instant ! Scarce had he gained the spot where Nydia was,
than he heard steps advancing towards the house, and recog-
nised the voice of Arbaces, who had returned to seek his
wealth and lone ere he fled from the doomed Pompeii.
But so dense was already the reeking atmosphere, that the

388 The Last Days of Pompeii

foes saw not each other, though so near, — save that, dimly
in the gloom, Glaucus caught the moving outline of the
snowy robes of the Egyptian.

They hastened onward — those three : Alas ! whither ?
They now saw not a step before them— the blackness became
utter. They were encompassed with doubt and horror ! —
and the death he had escaped seemed to Glaucus only to
have changed its form and augmented its victims.

CHAPTER VI

CALENUS AND BURBO — DIOMED AND CLODIUS — THE GIRL
OF THE AMPHITHEATRE AND JULIA

The sudden catastrophe which had, as it were, riven the
very bonds of society, and left prisoner and jailer alike free,
had soon rid Calenus of the guards to whose care the
praetor had consigned him. And when the darkness and the
crowd separated the priest from his attendants, he hastened
with trembling steps towards the temple of his goddess.
As he crept along, and ere the darkness was complete, he
felt himself suddenly caught by the robe, and a voice
muttered in his ear, —

" Hist ! — Calenus ! — an awful hour ! "

" Ay ! by my father's head ! Who art thou ? — thy face is
dim, and thy voice is strange ! "

" Not know thy Burbo ?— fie ! "

" Gods ! — how the darkness gathers ! Ho, ho ! — by yon
terrific mountain, what sudden blazes of lightning ! J —
How they dart and quiver ! Hades is loosed on earth ! "

" Tush ! — thou believest not these things, Calenus ! Now
is the time to make our fortune ! "

" Ha ! "

" Listen ! Thy temple is full of gold and precious
mummeries ! — let us load ourselves with them, and then
hasten to the sea and embark ! None will ever ask an
account of the doings of this day."

* Volcanic lightnings. These phenomena were especially the charac-
teristic of the long subsequent eruption of 1779, and their evidence is
visible in the tokens of that more awful one, now so imperfectly
described,

Calenus and Burbo 389

" Burbo, thou art right ! Hush, and follow me into
the temple. Who cares now — who sees now — whether thou
art a priest or not ? Follow, and we will share."

In the precincts of the temple were many priests gathered
around the altars, praying, weeping, grovelling in the dust.
Impostors in safety, they were not the less superstitious in
danger ! Calenus passed them, and entered the chamber
yet to be seen in the south side of the court. Burbo
followed him — the priest struck a light. Wine and viands
strewed the table ; the remains of a sacrificial feast.

" A man who has hungered forty-eight hours," muttered
Calenus, "has an appetite even in such a time." He
seized on the food, and devoured it greedily. Nothing
could, perhaps, be more unnaturally horrid than the
selfish baseness of these villains ; for there is nothing
more loathsome than the valour of avarice. Plunder and
sacrilege while the pillars of the world tottered to and
fro ! What an increase to the terrors of nature can be
made by the vices of man !

" Wilt thou never have done ? " said Burbo, impatiently ;
" thy face purples and thine eyes start already."

" It is not every day one has such a right to be hungry.
Oh, Jupiter ! what sound is that ? — the hissing of fiery
water ! What ! does the cloud give rain as well as flame !
Ha ! — what ! shrieks ? And, Burbo, how silent all is now !
Look forth ! "

Amidst the other horrors, the mighty mountain now cast
up columns of boiling water. Blent and kneaded with the
half-burning ashes, the streams fell like seething mud over
the streets in frequent intervals. And full, where the priests
of Isis had now cowered around the altars, on which they
had vainly sought to kindle fires and pour incense, one of
the fiercest of those deadly torrents, mingled with immense
fragments of scoria, had poured its rage. Over the bended
forms of the priests it dashed: that cry had been of
death — that silence had been of eternity ! The ashes —
the pitchy stream — sprinkled the altars, covered the pave-
ment, and half concealed the quivering corpses of the
priests !

" They are dead," said Burbo, terrified for the first time,
and hurrying back into the cell. " I thought not the danger
was so near and fatal."

The two wretches stood staring at each other — you might

390 The Last Days of Pompeii

have heard their hearts beat ! Calenus, the less bold by
nature, but the more griping, recovered first.

" We must to our task, and away ! " he said, in a low
whisper, frightened at his own voice. He stepped to the
threshold, paused, crossed over the heated floor and his
dead brethren to the sacred chapel, and called to Burbo to
follow. But the gladiator quaked, and drew back.

"So much the better," thought Calenus; "the more will
be my booty." Hastily he loaded himself with the more
portable treasures of the temple ; and thinking no more of
his comrade, hurried from the sacred place. A sudden flash
of lightning from the mount showed to Burbo, who stood
motionless at the threshold, the flying and laden form of the
priest. He took heart ; he stepped forth to join him, when
a tremendous shower of ashes fell right before his feet.
The gladiator shrank back once more. Darkness closed
him in. But the shower continued fast — fast ; its heaps
rose high and suffocatingly — deathly vapours steamed from
them. The wretch gasped for breath — he sought in despair
again to fly — the ashes had blocked up the threshold — he
shrieked as his feet shrank from the boiling fluid. How
could he escape ? he could not climb to the open space ;
nay, were he able, he could not brave its horrors. It were
best to remain in the cell, protected, at least, from the fatal
air. He sat down and clenched his teeth. By degrees, the
atmosphere from without — stifling and venomous — crept
into the chamber. He could endure it no longer. His
eyes, glaring round, rested on a sacrificial axe, which some
priest had left in the chamber : he seized it. With the
desperate strength of his gigantic arm, he attempted to hew
his way through the walls.

Meanwhile, the streets were already thinned ; the crowd
had hastened to disperse itself under shelter ; the ashes
began to fill up the lower parts of the town ; but, here and
there, you heard the steps of fugitives cranching them
warily, or saw their pale and haggard faces by the blue glare
of the lightning, or the more unsteady glare of torches, by
which they endeavoured to steer their steps. But ever and
anon, the boiling water, or the straggling ashes, mysterious
and gusty winds, rising and dying in a breath, extinguished
these wandering lights, and with them the last living hope
of those who bore them.

In the street that leads to the gate of Herculaneum,

Diomed and Clodius 391

Clodius now bent his perplexed and doubtful way. " If I
can gain the open country," thought he, " doubtless there
will be various vehicles beyond the gate, and Herculaneum
is not far distant. Thank Mercury ! I have little to lose,
and that little is about me ! "

" Holla ! — help there — help ! " cried a querulous and
frightened voice. " I have fallen down — my torch has gone
out — my slaves have deserted me. I am Diomed — the rich
Diomed ; — ten thousand sesterces to him who helps me ! "

At the same moment, Clodius felt himself caught by the
feet. "Ill fortune to thee,— let me go, fool," said the
gambler.

" Oh, help me up !— give me thy hand ! "

" There— rise ! "

" Is this Clodius ? I know the voice ! Whither fliest
thou ? "

" Towards Herculaneum."

" Blessed be the gods ! our way is the same, then, as far
as the gate. Why not take refuge in my villa? Thou
knowest the long range of subterranean cellars beneath the
basement — that shelter, what shower can penetrate ? "

"You speak well," said Clodius musingly. "And by
storing the cellar with food, we can remain there even some
days, should these wondrous storms endure so long."

" Oh, blessed be he who invented gates to a city ! " cried
Diomed. " See ! — they have placed a light within yon arch :
by that let us guide our steps."

The air was now still for a few minutes : the lamp from
the gate streamed out far and clear : the fugitives hurried on
— they gained the gate — they passed by the Roman sentry ;
the lightning: flashed over his livid face and polished helmet,
but his stern features were composed even in their awe !
He remained erect and motionless at his post. That hour
itself had not animated the machine of the ruthless majesty
of Rome into the reasoning and self-acting man. There he
stood, amidst the crashing elements : he had not received
the permission to desert his station and escape.1

Diomed and his companion hurried on, 'when suddenly a
female form rushed athwart their way. It was the girl whose
ominous voice had been raised so often and so gladly in
anticipation of " the merry show."

" Oh, Diomed ! " she cried, " shelter ! shelter ! See,"—

1 The skeletons of more than ope sentry were found at their posts.

392 The Last Days of Pompeii

pointing to an infant clasped to her breast — " see this little
one !— it is mine ! — the child of shame ! I have never
owned it till this hour. But now I remember I am a
mother ! I have plucked it from the cradle of its nurse :
she had fled ! Who could think of the babe in such an
hour, but she who bore it ? Save it ! save it ! "

" Curses on thy shrill voice ! Away, harlot ! " muttered
Clodius between his ground teeth.

" Nay, girl," said the more humane Diomed ; " follow if
thou wilt. This way — this way — to the vaults ! "

They hurried on — they arrived at the house of Diomed —
they laughed aloud as they crossed the threshold, for they
deemed the danger over.

Diomed ordered his slaves to carry down into the sub-
terranean gallery, before described, a profusion of food and
oil for lights ; and there Julia, Clodius, the mother and her
babe, the greater part of the slaves, and some frightened
visitors and clients of the neighbourhood, sought their
shelter.

CHAPTER VII

THE PROGRESS OF THE DESTRUCTION

The cloud, which had scattered so deep a murkiness over
the day, had now settled into a solid and impenetrable mass.
It resembled less even the thickest gloom of a night in the
open air than the close and blind darkness of some narrow
room.1 But in proportion as the blackness gathered, did
the lightnings around Vesuvius increase in their vivid and
scorching glare. Nor was their horrible beauty confined to
the usual hues of fire ; no rainbow ever rivalled their varying
and prodigal dyes. Now brightly blue as the most azure
depth of a southern sky — now of a livid and snakelike green,
darting restlessly to and fro as the folds of an enormous
serpent — now of a lurid and intolerable crimson, gushing
forth through the columns of smoke, far and wide, and
lighting up the whole city from arch to arch, — then sud-
denly dying into a sickly paleness, like the ghost of their
own life !

1 Pliny.

The Progress of the Destruction 393

In the pauses of the showers, you heard the rumbling of
the earth beneath, and the groaning waves of the tortured
sea ; or, lower still, and audible but to the watch of intensest
fear, the grinding and hissing murmur of the escaping gases
through the chasms of the distant mountain. Sometimes
the cloud appeared to break from its solid mass, and, by the
lightning, to assume quaint and vast mimicries of human or
of monster shapes, striding across the gloom, hurtling one
upon the other, and vanishing swiftly into the turbulent
abyss of shade; so that, to the eyes and fancies of the
affrighted wanderers, the unsubstantial vapours were as the
bodily forms of gigantic foes, — the agents of terror and of
death.1

The ashes in many places were already knee-deep ; and
the boiling showers which came from the steaming breath
of the volcano forced their way into the houses, bearing with
them a strong and suffocating vapour. In some places,
immense fragments of rock, hurled upon the house roofs,
bore down along the streets masses of confused ruin, which
yet more and more, with every hour, obstructed the way ;
and, as the day advanced, the motion of the earth was more
sensibly felt — the footing seemed to slide and creep — nor
could chariot or litter be kept steady, even on the most level
ground.

Sometimes the huger stones striking against each other
as they fell, broke into countless fragments, emitting sparks
of fire, which caught whatever was combustible within their
reach ; and along the plains beyond the city the darkness
was now terribly relieved ; for several houses, and even vine-
yards, had been set on flames ; and at various intervals the
fires rose suddenly and fiercely against the solid gloom. To
add to this partial relief of the darkness, the citizens had,
here and there, in the more public places, such as the
porticos of temples and the entrances to the forum, en-
deavoured to place rows of torches ; but these rarely con-
tinued long ; the showers and the winds extinguished them,
and the sudden darkness into which their sudden birth was
converted had something in it doubly terrible and doubly
impressing on the impotence of human hopes, the lesson of
despair.

Frequently, by the momentary light of these torches,
parties of fugitives encountered each other, some hurrying
1 Dion Cassius.

394 The Last Days of Pompeii

towards the sea, others flying from the sea back to the land ;
for the ocean had retreated rapidly from the shore — an utter
darkness lay over it, and upon its groaning and tossing
waves the storm of cinders and rock fell without the protec-
tion which the streets and roofs afforded to the land. Wild
— haggard — ghastly with supernatural fears, these groups
encountered each other, but without the leisure to speak, to
consult, to advise; for the showers fell now frequently,
though not continuously, extinguishing the lights, which
showed to each band the deathlike faces of the other, and
hurrying all to seek refuge beneath the nearest shelter. The
whole elements of civilisation were broken up. Ever and
anon, by the flickering lights, you saw the thief hastening by
the most solemn authorities of the law, laden with, and fear-
fully chuckling over, the produce of his sudden gains. If,
in the darkness, wife was separated from husband, or parent
from child, vain was the hope of reunion. Each hurried
blindly and confusedly on. Nothing in all the various and
complicated machinery of social life was left save the primal
law of self-preservation !

Through this awful scene did the Athenian wade his way,
accompanied by lone and the blind girl. Suddenly, a rush
of hundreds, in their path to the sea, swept by them. Nydia
was torn from the side of Glaucus, who, with lone, was
borne rapidly onward ; and when the crowd (whose forms
they saw not, so thick was the gloom) were gone, Nydia was
still separated from their side. Glaucus shouted her name.
No answer came. They retraced their steps — in vain : they
could not discover her — it was evident she had been swept
along some opposite direction by the human current. Their
friend, their preserver, was lost ! And hitherto Nydia had
been their guide. Her blindness rendered the scene familiar to
her alone. Accustomed, through a perpetual night, to thread
the windings of the city, she had led them unerringly towards
the sea-shore, by which they had resolved to hazard an escape.
Now, which way could they wend ? all was rayless to them
— a maze without a clue. Wearied, despondent, bewildered,
they, however, passed along, the ashes falling upon their
heads, the fragmentary stones dashing up in sparkles before
their feet.

"Alas! alas!" murmured lone, "I can go no farther;
my steps sink among the scorching cinders. Fly, dearest !
• — beloved, fly ! and leave me to my fate ! "

The Progress of the Destruction 395

" Hush, my betrothed ! my bride ! Death with thee is
sweeter than life without thee ! Yet, whither— oh ! whither,
can we direct ourselves through the gloom? Already it
seems that we have made but a circle, and are in the very
spot which we quitted an hour ago."

" O gods ! yon rock — see, it hath riven the roof before
us ! It is death to move through the streets ! "

" Blessed lightning ! See, lone — see ! the portico of the
Temple of Fortune is before us. Let us creep beneath it ;
it will protect us from the showers."

He caught his beloved in his arms, and with difficulty and
labour gained the temple. He bore her to the remoter and
more sheltered part of the portico, and leaned over her, that
he might shield her, with his own form, from the lightning
and the showers ! The beauty and the unselfishness of love
could hallow even that dismal time !

" Who is there ? " said the trembling and hollow voice of
one who had preceded them in their place of refuge. " Yet,
what matters ? — the crush of the ruined world forbids to us
friends or foes."

lone turned at the sound of the voice, and, with a faint
shriek, cowered again beneath the arms of Glaucus : and he,
looking in the direction of the voice, beheld the cause of her
alarm. Through the darkness glared forth two burning eyes
— the lightning flashed and lingered athwart the temple —
and Glaucus, with a shudder, perceived the lion to which he
had been doomed couched beneath the pillars ; — and, close
beside it, unwitting of the vicinity, lay the giant form of
him who had accosted them — the wounded gladiator, Niger

That lightning had revealed to each other the form of
beast and man ; yet the instinct of both was quelled. Nay,
the lion crept nearer and nearer to the gladiator, as for
companionship ; and the gladiator did not recede or tremble.
The revolution of Nature had dissolved her lighter terrors
as well as her wonted ties.

While they were thus terribly protected, a group of men
and women, bearing torches, passed by the temple. They
were of the congregation of the Nazarenes ; and a sublime
and unearthly emotion had not, indeed, quelled their awe,
but it had robbed awe of fear. They had long believed,
according to the error of the early Christians, that the Last
Day was at hand ; they imagined now that the Day had
come.

396 The Last Days of Pompeii

" Woe ! woe ! " cried, in a shrill and piercing voice, the
elder at their head. " Behold ! the Lord descendeth to
judgment ! He maketh fire come down from heaven in the
sight of men ! Woe ! woe ! ye strong and mighty ! Woe
to ye of the fasces and the purple ! Woe to the idolater and
the worshipper of the beast ! Woe to ye who pour forth the
blood of saints, and gloat over the death-pangs of the sons
of God ! Woe to the harlot of the sea ! — woe ! woe ! "

And with a loud and deep chorus, the troop chanted forth
along the wild horrors of the air, — " Woe to the harlot of
the sea ! — woe ! woe ! *

The Nazarenes paced slowly on, their torches still flicker-
ing in the storm, their voices still raised in menace and
solemn warning, till, lost amid the windings in the streets,
the darkness of the atmosphere and the silence of death
again fell over the scene.

There was one of the frequent pauses in the showers, and
Glaucus encouraged lone once more to proceed. Just as
they stood, hesitating, on the last step of the portico, an old
man, with a bag in his right hand and leaning upon a youth,
tottered by. The youth bore a torch. Glaucus recognised
the two as father and son — miser and prodigal.

" Father," said the youth, " if you cannot move more
swiftly, I must leave you, or we both perish ! "

" Fly, boy, then, and leave thy sire ! "

" But I cannot fly to starve ; give me thy bag of gold ! "
And the youth snatched at it.

" Wretch ! wouldst thou rob thy father?"

"Ay! who can tell the tale in this hour ? Miser,
perish ! "

The boy struck the old man to the ground, plucked
the bag from his relaxing hand, and fled onward with a
shrill yell.

" Ye gods ! " cried Glaucus : " are ye blind, then, even
in the dark ? Such crimes may well confound the guiltless
with the guilty in one common ruin. lone, on ! — on ! "

Arbaces Encounters Glaucus 397

CHAPTER VIII

ARBACES ENCOUNTERS GLAUCUS AND IONE

Advancing, as men grope for escape in a dungeon, lone
and her lover continued their uncertain way. At the
moments when the volcanic lightnings lingered over the
streets, they were enabled, by that awful light, to steer and
guide their progress : yet, little did the view it presented to
them cheer or encourage their path. In parts, where the
ashes lay dry and uncommixed with the boiling torrents,
cast upward from the mountain at capricious intervals, the
surface of the earth presented a leprous and ghastly white.
In other places, cinder and rock lay matted in heaps, from
beneath which emerged the half-hid limbs of some crushed
and mangled fugitive. The groans of the dying were broken
by wild shrieks of women's terror — now near, now distant —
which, when heard in the utter darkness, were rendered
doubly appalling by the crushing sense of helplessness and
the uncertainty of the perils around ; and clear and distinct
through all were the mighty and various noises from the
Fatal Mountain; its rushing winds; its whirling torrents;
and, from time to time, the burst and roar of some more
fiery and fierce explosion. And ever as the winds swept
howling along the street, they bore sharp streams of burning
dust, and such sickening and poisonous vapours, as took
away, for the instant, breath and consciousness, followed by
a rapid revulsion of the arrested blood, and a tingling sensa-
tion of agony trembling through every nerve and fibre of
the frame.

"Oh, Glaucus! my beloved! my own! — take me to thy
arms ! One embrace ! let me feel thy arms around me —
and in that embrace let me die — I can no more ! "

" For my sake, for my life — courage, yet, sweet lone — my
life is linked with thine : and see — torches — this way ! Lo !
how they brave the wind ! Ha ! they live through the
storm — doubtless, fugitives to the sea ! we will join them."

As if to aid and reanimate the lovers, the winds and
showers came to a sudden pause ; the atmosphere was pro-
foundly still — the mountain seemed at rest, gathering,
perhaps, fresh fury for its next burst; the torch-bearers

398 The Last Days of Pompeii

moved quickly on. " We are nearing the sea," said, in a
calm voice, the person at their head. " Liberty and wealth
to each slave who survives this day ! Courage ! I tell you
that the gods themselves have assured me of deliverance
—On ! "

Redly and steadily the torches flashed full on the eyes of
Glaucus and lone, who lay trembling and exhausted on his
bosom. Several slaves were bearing, by the light, panniers
and coffers, heavily laden ; in front of them, — a drawn sword
in his hand, — towered the lofty form of Arbaces.

" By my fathers ! " cried the Egyptian, " Fate smiles upon
me even through these horrors, and, amidst the dreadest
aspects of woe and death, bodes me happiness and love.
Away, Greek ! I claim my ward, lone ! "

" Traitor and murderer ! " cried Glaucus, glaring upon his
foe, " Nemesis hath guided thee to my revenge ! — a just
sacrifice to the shades of Hades, that now seem loosed on
earth. Approach — touch but the hand of lone, and thy
weapon shall be as a reed — I will tear thee limb from
limb!"

Suddenly, as he spoke, the place became lighted with an
intense and lurid glow. Bright and gigantic through the
darkness, which closed around it like the walls of hell, the
mountain shone — a pile of fire ! Its summit seemed riven
in two ; or rather, above its surface there seemed to rise two
monster shapes, each confronting each, as Demons con-
tending for a World. These were of one deep blood-red
hue of fire, which lighted up the whole atmosphere far and
wide ; but, below, the nether part of the mountain was still
dark and shrouded, save in three places, adown which flowed,
serpentine and irregular, rivers of the molten lava. Darkly
red through the profound gloom of their banks, they flowed
slowly on, as towards the devoted city. Over the broadest
there seemed to spring a cragged and stupendous arch, from
which, as from the jaws of hell, gushed the sources of the
sudden Phlegethon. And through the stilled air was heard
the rattling of the fragments of rock, hurtling one upon
another as they were borne down the fiery cataracts — dark-
ening, for one instant, the spot where they fell, and suffused
the next, in the burnished hues of the flood along which
they floated!

The slaves shrieked aloud, and, cowering, hid their faces.
The Egyptian himself stood transfixed to the spot, the glow

Arbaces Encounters Glaucus 399

lighting up his commanding features and jewelled robes.
High behind him rose a tall column that supported the
bronze statue of Augustus ; and the imperial image seemed
changed to a shape of fire !

With his left hand circled round the form of lone — with
his right arm raised in menace, and grasping the stilus which
was to have been his weapon in the arena, and which he
still fortunately bore about him, with his brow knit, his lips
apart, the wrath and menace of human passions arrested
as by a charm, upon his features, Glaucus fronted the
Egyptian !

Arbaces turned his eyes from the mountain — they rested
on the form of Glaucus ! He paused a moment : " Why,"
he muttered, " should I hesitate ? Did not the stars foretell
the only crisis of imminent peril to which I was subjected ?
— Is not that peril past ? "

" The soul," cried he aloud, " can brave the wreck of
worlds and the wrath of imaginary gods ! By that soul will
I conquer to the last ! Advance, slaves ! — Athenian, resist
me, and thy blood be on thine own head ! Thus, then, I
regain lone ! "

He advanced one step — it was his last on earth ! The
ground shook beneath him with a convulsion that cast all
around upon its surface. A simultaneous crash resounded
through the city, as down toppled many a roof and pillar !
— the lightning, as if caught by the metal, lingered an
instant on the Imperial Statue — then shivered bronze and
column ! Down fell the ruin, echoing along the street, and
riving the solid pavement where it crashed ! — The prophecy
of the stars was fulfilled !

The sound — the shock, stunned the Athenian for several
moments. When he recovered, the light still illuminated
the scene — the earth still slid and trembled beneath ! lone
lay senseless on the ground ; but he saw her not yet — his
eyes were fixed upon a ghastly face that seemed to emerge,
without limbs or trunk, from the huge fragments of the
shattered column — a face of unutterable pain, agony, and
despair! The eyes shut and opened rapidly, as if sense
were not yet fled ; the lips quivered and grinned — then
sudden stillness and darkness fell over the features, yet
retaining that aspect of horror never to be forgotten !

So perished the wise Magician — the great Arbaces — the
Hermes of the Burning Belt — the last of the royalty of Egypt !

400 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER IX

THE DESPAIR OF THE LOVERS — THE CONDITION OF THE
MULTITUDE

Glaucus turned in gratitude but in awe, caught lone once
more in his arms, and fled along the street, that was yet in-
tensely luminous. But suddenly a duller shade fell over the
air. Instinctively he turned to the mountain, and beheld 1
one of the two gigantic crests, into which the summit had
been divided, rocked and wavered to and fro ; and then, with
a sound, the mightiness of which no language can describe,
it fell from its burning base, and rushed, an avalanche of
fire, down the sides of the mountain ! At the same instant
gushed forth a volume of blackest smoke — rolling on, over
air, sea, and earth.

Another — and another — and another shower of ashes, far
more profuse than before, scattered fresh desolation along
the streets. Darkness once more wrapped them as a veil ;
and Glaucus, his bold heart at last quelled and despairing,
sank beneath the cover of an arch, and, clasping lone to his
heart — a bride on that couch of ruin — resigned himself to
die.

Meanwhile Nydia, when separated by the throng from
Glaucus and lone, had in vain endeavoured to regain them.
In vain she raised that plaintive cry so peculiar to the blind ;
it was lost amidst a thousand shrieks of more selfish terror.
Again and again she returned to the spot where they had
been divided — to find her companions gone, to seize every
fugitive — to inquire of Glaucus — to be dashed aside in the
impatience of distraction. Who in that hour spared one
thought to his neighbour ? Perhaps in scenes of universal
horror, nothing is more horrid than the unnatural selfishness
they engender. At length it occurred to Nydia, that as it
had been resolved to seek the sea-shore for escape, her most
probable chance of rejoining her companions would be to
persevere in that direction. Guiding her steps, then, by the
staff which she always carried, she continued, with incredible
dexterity, to avoid the masses of ruin that encumbered the
path — to thread the streets — and unerringly (so blessed now
was that accustomed darkness, so afflicting in ordinary life !)
to take the nearest direction to the sea-side.

The Despair of the Lovers 401

Poor girl ! — her courage was beautiful to behold ! — and
Fate seemed to favour one so helpless ! The boiling
torrents touched her not, save by the general rain which
accompanied them ; the huge fragments of scoria shivered
the pavement before and beside her, but spared that frail
form : and when the lesser ashes fell over her, she shook
them away with a slight tremor,1 and dauntlessly resumed
her course.

Weak, exposed, yet fearless, supported but by one wish,
she was a very emblem of Psyche in her wanderings ; of
Hope, walking through the Valley of the Shadow ; of the
Soul itself— lone but undaunted, amidst the dangers and the
snares of life !

Her path was, however, constantly impeded by the crowds
that now groped amidst the gloom, now fled in the tempor-
ary glare of the lightnings across the scene ; and, at length, a
group of torch-bearers rushing full against her, she was
thrown down with some violence.

" What ! " said the voice of one of the party, " is this the
brave blind girl ! By Bacchus, she must not be left here to
die ! Up ! my Thessalian ! So — so. Are you hurt ?
That's well ! Come along with us ! we are for the shore ! "

" O Sallust ! it is thy voice ! The gods be thanked !
Glaucus ! Glaucus ! have ye seen him ? "

" Not I. He is doubtless out of the city by this time.
The gods who saved him from the lion will save him from
the burning mountain."

As the kindly epicure thus encouraged Nydia, he drew her
along with him towards the sea, heeding not her passionate
entreaties that he would linger yet awhile to search for
Glaucus ; and still, in the accent of despair, she continued
to shriek out that beloved name, which, amidst all the
roar of the convulsed elements, kept alive a music at her
heart.

The sudden illumination, the bursts of the floods of lava,
and the earthquake, which we have already described,
chanced when Sallust and his party had just gained the
direct path leading from the city to the port ; and here they
were arrested by an immense crowd, more than half the
population of the city. They spread along the field without

1 "A heavy shower of ashes rained upon us, which every now and
then we were obliged to shake off, otherwise we should have been
crushed and buried in the heap." — Pliny.

402 The Last Days of Pompeii

the walls, thousands upon thousands, uncertain whither to
fly. The sea had retired far from the shore ; and they who
had fled to it had been so terrified by the agitation and
preternatural shrinking of the element, the gasping forms of
the uncouth sea things which the waves had left upon the
sand, and by the sound of the huge stones cast from the
mountain into the deep, that they had returned again to the
land, as presenting the less frightful aspect of the two. Thus
the two streams of human beings, the one seaward, the
other from the sea, had met together, feeling a sad comfort
in numbers ; arrested in despair and doubt.

" The world is to be destroyed by fire," said an old man in
long loose robes, a philosopher of the Stoic school : " Stoic
and Epicurean wisdom have alike agreed in this prediction :
and the hour is come ! "

" Yea ; the hour is come ! " cried a loud voice, solemn,
but not fearful.

Those around turned in dismay. The voice came from
above them. It was the voice of Olinthus, who, surrounded
by his Christian friends, stood upon an abrupt eminence on
which the old Greek colonists had raised a temple to Apollo,
now time worn and half in ruin.

As he spoke there came that sudden illumination which
had heralded the death of Arbaces, and glowing over that
mighty multitude, awed, crouching, breathless — never on
earth had the faces of men seemed so haggard ! — never had
meeting of mortal beings been so stamped with the horror
and sublimity of dread ! — never till the last trumpet sounds,
shall such meeting be seen again ! And above those the
form of Olinthus, with outstretched arm and prophet brow,
girt with the living fires. And the crowd knew the face of
him they had doomed to the fangs of the beast — then their
victim — now their warner ! and through the stillness again
came his ominous voice —

"The hour is come ! "

The Christians repeated the cry. It was caught up — it was
echoed from side to side — woman and man, childhood and
old age, repeated, not aloud, but in a smothered and dreary
murmur —

" The hour is come ! "

At that moment, a wild yell burst through the air ; — and,
thinking only of escape, whither it knew not, the terrible
tiger of the desert leaped amongst the throng, and hurried

The Condition of the Multitude 403

through its parted streams. And so came the earthquake —
and so darkness once more fell over the earth !

And now new fugitives arrived. Grasping the treasures
no longer destined for their lord, the slaves of Arbaces
joined the throng. One only of all their torches yet flickered
on. It was borne by Sosia ; and its light falling on the face
of Nydia, he recognised the Thessalian.

"What avails thy liberty now, blind girl?" said the
slave.

" Who art thou ? canst thou tell me of Glaucus ? "

" Ay ; I saw him but a few minutes since."

" Blessed be thy head ! where ? "

" Couched beneath the arch of the forum — dead or dying !
— gone to rejoin Arbaces, who is no more ! "

Nydia uttered not a word, she slid from the side of
Sallust ; silently she glided through those behind her, and
retraced her steps to the city. She gained the forum — the
arch; she stooped down — she felt around — she called on
the name of Glaucus.

A weak voice answered — " Who calls on me ? Is it the
voice of the Shades ? Lo ! I am prepared ! "

"Arise! follow me! Take my hand! Glaucus, thou
shalt be saved ! "

In wonder and sudden hope, Glaucus arose — " Nydia
still ? Ah ! thou, then, art safe ! "

The tender joy of his voice pierced the heart of the poor
Thessalian, and she blessed him for his thought of her.

Half leading, half carrying lone, Glaucus followed his
guide. With admirable discretion, she avoided the path
which led to the crowd she had just quitted, and, by another
route, sought the shore.

After many pauses and incredible perseverance, they
gained the sea, and joined a group, who, bolder than the
rest, resolved to hazard any peril rather than continue in
such a scene. In darkness they put forth to sea ; but, as
they cleared the land and caught new aspects of the
mountain, its channels of molten fire threw a partial redness
over the waves.

Utterly exhausted and worn out, lone slept on the breast
of Glaucus, and Nydia lay at his feet. Meanwhile the
showers of dust and ashes, still borne aloft, fell into the wave,
and scattered their snows over the deck. Far and wide,
borne by the winds, those showers descended upon the

404 The Last Days of Pompeii

remotest climes, startling even the swarthy African ; and
whirled along the antique soil of Syria and of Egypt.1

CHAPTER X

THE NEXT MORNING — THE FATE OF NYDIA

And meekly, softly, beautifully, dawned at last the light
over the trembling deep ! — the winds were sinking into rest
— the foam died from the glowing azure of that delicious sea.
Around the east, thin mists caught gradually the rosy hues
that heralded the morning ; Light was about to resume her
reign. Yet, still, dark and massive in the distance, lay the
broken fragments of the destroying cloud, from which red
streaks, burning dimlier and more dim, betrayed the yet
rolling fires of the mountain of the " Scorched Fields." The
white walls and gleaming columns that had adorned the
lovely coasts were no more. Sullen and dull were the shores
so lately crested by the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii.
The darlings of the deep were snatched from her embrace !
Century after century shall the mighty Mother stretch forth
her azure arms, and know them not — moaning round the
sepulchres of the Lost !

There was no shout from the mariners at the dawning
light — it had come too gradually, and they were too wearied
for such sudden bursts of joy — but there was a low, deep
murmur of thankfulness amidst those watchers of the long
night. They looked at each other and smiled — they took
heart — they felt once more that there was a world around,
and a God above them ! And in the feeling that the worst
was passed, the over-wearied ones turned round, and fell
placidly to sleep. In the growing light of the skies there
came the silence which night had wanted : and the bark
drifted calmly onward to its port. A few other vessels, bear-
ing similar fugitives, might be seen in the expanse, apparently
motionless, yet gliding also on. There was a sense of
security, or companionship, and of hope, in the sight of their
slender masts and white sails. What beloved friends, lost
and missed in the gloom, might they not bear to safety and
to shelter !

In the silence of the general sleep, Nydia rose gently. She
1 Dion Cassius.

The Fate of Nydia 405

bent over the face of Glaucus — she inhaled the deep breath
of his heavy slumber, — timidly and sadly she kissed his
brow — his lips ; she felt for his hand — it was locked in that
of lone ; she sighed deeply, and her face darkened. Again
she kissed his brow, and with her hair wiped from it the
damps of night. " May the gods bless you, Athenian ! " she
murmured : " may you be happy with your beloved one ! —
may you sometimes remember Nydia ! Alas ! she is of no
further use on earth ! "

With these words she turned away. Slowly she crept
along by the fori, or platforms, to the farther side of the
vessel, and, pausing, bent low over the deep ; the cool spray
dashed upward on her feverish brow. " It is the kiss of
death," she said — " it is welcome." The balmy air played
through her waving tresses — she put them from her face, and
raised those eyes — so tender, though so lightless — to the
sky, whose soft face she had never seen !

" No, no ! " she said, half aloud, and in a musing and
thoughtful tone, " I cannot endure it ; this jealous, exact-
ing love — it shatters my whole soul in madness ! I might
harm him again — wretch that I was ! I have saved him —
twice saved him — happy, happy thought : why not die
happy ? — it is the last glad thought I can ever know. Oh !
sacred Sea ! I hear thy voice invitingly — it hath a freshen-
ing and joyous call. They say that in thy embrace is dis-
honour— that thy victims cross not the fatal Styx — be it so !
— I would not meet him in the Shades, for I should meet
him still with her ! Rest — rest — rest ! there is no other
Elysium for a heart like mine ! "

A sailor, half dozing on the deck, heard a slight splash on
the waters. Drowsily he looked up, and behind, as the
vessel merrily bounded on, he fancied he saw something
white above the waves ; but it vanished in an instant. He
turned round again, and dreamed of his home and children.

When the lovers awoke, their first thought was of each
other — their next of Nydia ! She was not to be found —
none had seen her since the night. Every crevice of the
vessel was searched — there was no trace of her. Mysterious
from first to last, the blind Thessalian had vanished for
ever from the living world ! They guessed her fate in
silence : and Glaucus and lone, while they drew nearer to
each other (feeling each other the world itself) forgot their
deliverance, and wept as for a departed sister.

406 The Last Days of Pompeii

CHAPTER THE LAST

WHEREIN ALL THINGS CEASE

Letter from Glaucus to Sallust, ten years after the destruction of
Pompeii.

Athens.

" Glaucus to his beloved Sallust — greeting and health !
— You request me to visit you at Rome — no, Sallust, come
rather to me at Athens ! I have forsworn the Imperial
City, its mighty tumult and hollow joys. In my own land
henceforth I dwell for ever. The ghost of our departed
greatness is dearer to me than the gaudy life of your loud
prosperity. There is a charm to me which no other spot
can supply, in the porticos hallowed still by holy and
venerable shades. In the olive-groves of Ilyssus I still hear
the voice of poetry — on the heights of Phyle, the clouds of
twilight seem yet the shrouds of departed freedom — the
heralds — the heralds — of the morrow that shall come ! You
smile at my enthusiasm, Sallust ! — better be hopeful in chains
than resigned to their glitter. You tell me you are sure that I
cannot enjoy life in these melancholy haunts of a fallen
majesty. You dwell with rapture on the Roman splendours,
and the luxuries of the imperial court. My Sallust — ' no?i
sum qualis eram ' — I am not what I was ! The events of
my life have sobered the bounding blood of my youth. My
health has never quite recovered its wonted elasticity ere it
felt the pangs of disease, and languished in the damps of a
criminal's dungeon. My mind has never shaken off the dark
shadow of the Last Day of Pompeii — the horror and the
desolation of that awful ruin ! — Our beloved, our re-
membered Nydia ! I have reared a tomb to her shade, and
I see it every day from the window of my study. It keeps
alive in me a tender recollection — a not unpleasing sadness
— which are but a fitting homage to her fidelity, and the
mysteriousness of her early death. lone gathers the flowers,
but my own hand wreathes them daily around the tomb. She
was worthy of a tomb in Athens !

"You speak of the growing sect of the Christians in
Rome. Sallust, to you I may confide my secret; I have

All Things Cease 407

pondered much over that faith— I have adopted it. After
the destruction of Pompeii, I met once more with Olinthus
— saved, alas ! only for a day, and falling afterwards a
martyr to the indomitable energy of his zeal. In my pre-
servation from the lion and the earthquake he taught me to
behold the hand of the unknown God ! I listened — believed
• — adored ! My own, my more than ever beloved lone, has
also embraced the creed ! — a creed, Sallust, which, shedding
light over this world, gathers its concentrated glory, like a
sunset, over the next ! We know that we are united in the
soul, as in the flesh, for ever and for ever ! Ages may roll on,
our very dust be dissolved, the earth shrivelled like a scroll ;
but round and round the circle of eternity rolls the wheel of
life — imperishable — unceasing ! And as the earth from the
sun, so immortality drinks happiness from virtue, which is
the smile upon the face of God ! Visit me, then, Sallust ;
bring with you the learned scrolls of Epicurus, Pythagoras,
Diogenes ; arm yourself for defeat ; and let us, amidst the
groves of Academus, dispute, under a surer guide than any
granted to our fathers, on the mighty problem of the true
ends of life and the nature of the soul.

" lone — at that name my heart yet beats ! — lone is by my
side as I write : I lift my eyes, and meet her smile. The
sunlight quivers over Hymettus : and along my garden I
hear the hum of the summer bees. Am I happy, ask you ?
Oh, what can Rome give me equal to what I possess at
Athens? Here, everything awakens the soul and inspires
the affections — the trees, the waters, the hills, the skies, are
those of Athens ! — fair, though mourning — mother of the
Poetry and the Wisdom of the World. In my hall I see
the marble faces of my ancestors. In the Ceramicus, I sur-
vey their tombs ! In the streets, I behold the hand of
Phidias and the soul of Pericles. Harmodius, Aristogiton —
they are everywhere — but in our hearts ! — in mine, at least,
they shall not perish ! If anything can make me forget that
I am an Athenian and not free, it is partly the soothing — the
love — watchful, vivid, sleepless — of lone : — a love that has
taken a new sentiment in our new creed — a love which
none of our poets, beautiful though they be, had shadowed
forth in description j for mingled with religion, it partakes of
religion ; it is blended with pure and unworldly thoughts :
it is that which we may hope to carry through eternity, and
keep, therefore, white and unsullied, that we may not blush

408 The Last Days of Pompeii

to confess it to our God ! This is the true type of the dark
fable of our Grecian Eros and Psyche — it is, in truth, the
soul asleep in the arms of love. And if this, our love, sup-
port me partly against the fever of the desire for freedom,
my religion supports me more ; for whenever I would grasp
the sword and sound the shell, and rush to a new Marathon
(but Marathon without victory), I feel my despair at the
chilling thought of my country's impotence — the crushing
weight of the Roman yoke, comforted, at least, by the
thought that earth is but the beginning of life — that the
glory of a few years matters little in the vast space of eter-
nity— that there is no perfect freedom till the chains of clay
fall from the soul, and all space, all time, become its heri-
tage and domain. Yet, Sallust, some mixture of the soft
Greek blood still mingles with my faith. I can share not
the zeal of those who see crime and eternal wrath in men
who cannot believe as they. I shudder not at the creed of
others. I dare not curse them — I pray the Great Father to
convert. This lukewarmness exposes me to some suspicion
amongst the Christians : but I forgive it ; and, not offending
openly the prejudices of the crowd, I am thus enabled to
protect my brethren from the danger of the law, and the
consequences of their own zeal. If moderation seem to me
the natural creature of benevolence, it gives, also, the greatest
scope to beneficence.

" Such, then, O Sallust ! is my life — such my opinions. In
this manner I greet existence and await death. And thou,

glad-hearted and kindly pupil of Epicurus, thou But

come hither, and see what enjoyments, what hopes are ours
— and not the splendour of imperial banquets, nor the
shouts of the crowded circus, nor the noisy forum, nor the
glittering theatre, nor the luxuriant gardens, nor the voluptu-
ous baths of Rome,— shall seem to thee to constitute a life
of more vivid and uninterrupted happiness than that which
thou so unreasonably pitiest as the career of Glaucus the
Athenian ! — Farewell ! "

******

******

Nearly Seventeen Centuries had rolled away when the

City of Pompeii was disinterred from its silent tomb,1 all

vivid with undimmed hues; its walls fresh as if painted

yesterday, — not a hue faded on the rich mosaic of its floors,

1 Destroyed A.D. 79; first discovered a.d. 1750.

All Things Cease 409

— in its forum the half-finished columns as left by the
workman's hand, — in its gardens the sacrificial tripod, — in
its halls the chest of treasure, — in its baths the strigil, — in
its theatres the counter of admission, — in its saloons the fur-
niture and the lamp, — in its triclinia the fragments of the
last feast, — in its cubicula the perfumes and the rouge of
faded beauty, — and everywhere the bones and skeletons of
those who once moved the springs of that minute yet
gorgeous machine of luxury and of life !

In the house of Diomed, in the subterranean vaults,
twenty skeletons (one of a babe) were discovered in one
spot by the door, covered by a fine ashen dust, that had
evidently been wafted slowly through the apertures, until it
had filled the whole space. There were jewels and coins,
candelabra for unavailing light, and wine hardened in the
amphorae for a prolongation of agonised life. The sand,
consolidated by damps, had taken the forms of the skeletons
as in a cast ; and the traveller may yet see the impression of
a female neck and bosom of young and round proportions
— the trace of the fated Julia ! It seems to the inquirer as
if the air had been gradually changed into a sulphurous
vapour ; the inmates of the vaults had rushed to the door,
to find it closed and blocked up by the scoria without, and
in their attempts to force it, had been suffocated with the
atmosphere.

In the garden was found a skeleton with a key by its bony
hand, and near it a bag of coins. This is believed to have
been the master of the house — the unfortunate Diomed,
who had probably sought to escape by the garden, and
been destroyed either by the vapours or some fragment of
stone. Beside some silver vases lay another skeleton, pro-
bably of a slave.

The houses of Sallust and of Pansa, the Temple of Isis,
with the juggling concealments behind the statues — the lurk-
ing-place of its holy oracles, — are now bared to the gaze of
the curious. In one of the chambers of that temple was
found a huge skeleton with an axe beside it : two walls had
been pierced by the axe — the victim could penetrate no
farther. In the midst of the city was found another skele-
ton, by the side of which was a heap of coins, and many of
the mystic ornaments of the fane of Isis. Death had fallen
upon him in his avarice, and Calenus perished simultane-
ously with Burbo ! As the excavators cleared on through

410 The Last Days of Pompeii

the mass of ruin, they found the skeleton of a man literally
severed in two by a prostrate column ; the skull was of so
striking a conformation, so boldly marked in its intellectual,
as well as its worse physical developments, that it has
excited the constant speculation of every itinerant believer
in the theories of Spurzheim who has gazed upon that
ruined palace of the mind. Still, after the lapse of ages, the
traveller may survey that airy hall within whose cunning
galleries and elaborate chambers once thought, reasoned,
dreamed, and sinned, the soul of Arbaces the Egyptian.

Viewing the various witnesses of a social system which
has passed from the world for ever — a stranger, from that
remote and barbarian Isle which the Imperial Roman
shivered when he named, paused amidst the delights of
the soft Campania and composed this history!

THE ExND

T6MPL6 pR£SS .1/ L£TCHWOR.TH

<3$*4£s££i England

EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY

SELECTED SECTIONS

(Full Catalogue on Application)

ESSAYS AND BELLES LETTRES

10 Bacon's Essays. Intro, by Oliphant Smeaton

11 Coleridge's Biographia Literaria. Intro, by Arthur Symons

12 Emerson's Essays. First and Second Series

13 Froude's Short Studies. Vol. I.

14 Lamb's Essays of Elia. Introduction by Augustine Birrell

65 Hazlitt's Shakespeare's Characters

66 Holmes' Autocrat of the Breakfast Table

67 „ Professor at the Breakfast Table

68 „ Poet at the Breakfast Table

69 Lady Montagu's Letters. Intro, by R. Brimley Johnson

70 Walton's Compleat Angler. Intro, by Andrew Lang

115 Matthew Arnold's Essays. Intro, by G. K. Chesterton

116 Brown's Rab and his Friends, etc.

117 Irving'8 Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon

118 Reynolds' Discourses. Intro, by L. March Phillipps
162 Coleridge's Essays and Lectures on Shakespeare, etc.

164-167 The Spectator. 4 vols. Intro, by G. Gregory Smith
168 Tytler's Essay on the Principles of Translation
207 Ruskin's Seven Lamps of Architecture. Intro. Selwyn Image
208-212 „ Modern Painters. 5 vols. Intro, by Lionel Cust

213-215 „ Stones of Venice. 3 vols. Intro, by L. March Phillipps

216 „ Unto This Last, The Political Economy of Art

217 „ Elements of Drawing and Perspective

218 „ Pre-Raphaelitism. Lectures on Architecture and
Painting, Academy Notes, 1855-1859, and Notes on the
Turner Gallery. Intro, by Laurence Binyon

219 Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies, The Two Paths, and The King of

the Golden River. Intro, by Sir Oliver Lodge

223 De Quincey's Opium Eater. Intro, by Sir G. Douglas

224 Mazzini's Duties of Man, etc. Intro, by Thos. Jones, M.A.
225-226 Macaulay's Essays. 2 vols. Intro, by A. J. Grieve, M.A.

227 Elyot's Gouernour. Intro, and Glossary by Prof. Foster Watson

228 Ulric the Farm Servant. Edited with Notes by John Ruskin

278 Carlyle's Sartor Resartus and Heroes and Hero Worship

279 Emerson's Representative Men. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

280 Machiavelli's Prince. Special Trans, and Intro, by W. K. Marriott

281 Thoreau's Walden. Intro, by Walter Raymond

282 Ruskin's Ethics of the Dust. Intro, by Grace Rhys

321 Hazlitt's Table Talk

322 Emerson's Nature, Conduct of Life, Essays from the *' Dial "

323 Ruskin's Crown of Wild Olive and Cestus of Aglaia

346 Craik's Manual of English Literature

347 Swift's Tale of a Tub, The Battle of the Books, etc.

348 Gilfillan's Literary Portraits. Intro, by Sir W. Robertson Nicoll
411 Hazlitt's Lectures on the English Comic Writers

439 Macaulay's Miscellaneous Essays and The Lays of Ancient Rome
440-442 Florio's Montaigne. Intro, by A. R. Waller, M.A. 3 vols.
450 Ruskin's Time and Tide with other Essays

458 Matthew Arnold's Study of Celtic Literature, and other Critical

Essays, with Supplement by Lord Strangford, etc.

459 Hazlitt's Spirit of the Age and Lectures on English Poets

ESSAYS AND BELLES LETTRES— continued

460 Burke's Reflections on the French Revolution and contingent

Essays. Intro, by A. J. Grieve, M.A.

461 Utopia and the Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation. By

Sir Thomas More. Intro, by Judge O'Hagan
493 Theology in the English Poets. Stopford A. Brooke, M.A.
504 Herbert Spencer's Essays on Education. Intro, by E. W. Elliot

517 Isaac Taylor's Words and Places, or Etymological Illustrations

of History, Ethnology, and Geography. Intro. Edward Thomas

518 Bousseau's Emile. Translated by Barbara Foxley

619 Hamilton's The Federalist: a Commentary on the Constitution

of the United States
520-521 Bagehot's Literary Studies. 2 vols. Intro, by George Sampson
566 The Invisible Playmate, W. V., Her Book, and In Memory of

W. V. By William Canton
667 Emerson's Society and Solitude and other Essays
568 Dryden's Dramatic Essays. With an Intro, by W. H. Hudson

607 Among My Books. By James Russell Lowell

608 Past and Present. By Thomas Carlyle. Intro, by R. W. Emerson

609 The English Mail Coach and Other Writings. By Thos. de

Quincey. Intro, by S. Hill Burton

610 The English Humourists and the Four Georges. By W. M.

Thackeray. Intro, by Walter Jerrold
653 A Century of Essays : An Anthology of English Essayists

673 Essays in the Study of Folk-Songs. By the Countess

Martinengo -Cesaresco

674 The Letters from Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple.

Edited and connotated (with a new historical Introduction)
by Judge Parry

675 Anthology of Prose. Compiled and Ed. by Miss S. L. Edwards
703-704 Carlyle's Essays. 2 vols. With Note by J. Russell Lowell

705 Froude's Short Studies. Vol. II.

723 Newman's On the Scope and Nature of University Education,

and a paper on Christianity and Scientific Investigation.
Latro. by Wilfrid Ward

724 Penn's The Peace of Europe, Some Fruits of Solitude, and

other writings

FICTION

AN HISTORICAL LIBRARY— TWELVE VOLUMES

15 Lytton's Harold. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

16 Scott's Ivanhoe. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

17 Edgar's Cressy and Poictiers. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

18 Lytton's Last of the Barons. Intro, by R. G. Watkin

19 Manning's Sir Thomas More. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

20 Kingsley's Westward Ho ! Intro, by A. G. Grieve

71 Scott's Fortunes of Nigel

72 „ Woodstock. Intro, by Edward Garnett

73 Thackeray '8 Esmond. Intro, by Walter Jerrold

74 Defoe's Captain Singleton. Intro, by Edward Garnett

75 Scott's Waverley

76 Dickens* Barnaby Rudge. Intro, by W. Jerrold

21 Austen's (Jane) Sense and Sensibility. Intro, by R. B. Johnson

22 „ Pride and Prejudice. Intro, by R. B. Johnson

23 „ Mansfield Park. Intro, by R. B. Johnson

24 „ Emma. Intro, by R. B, Johnson

25 „ Northanger Abbey & Persuasion. Intro. R. B. Johnson

26 Balzac's Wild Ass's Skin. Intro, by Prof. Saintsbury

27 Eliot's Adam Bede

28 Kingsley's (H.) Ravenshoe

29 Reade's (C.) The Cloister and the Hearth. Intro, by A. C.

30 Trollope's Barchester Towers [Swinburne

77 Cooper's The Deerslayer 78 Cooper's The Pathfinder

79 „ The Last of the Mohicans

80 Lytton's Last Days of Pompeii

81 Dumas' The Three Musketeers

82 Marryat's Mr. Midshipman Easy. Intro, by R. B. Johnson

83 Gaskell's Cranford

84 Wood's The Channings

FICTION— continued

102 Dickens' Tale of Two Cities. Intro, by Walter Jerrold

119 Borrow's Lavengro. Intro, by Thomas Seccombe

120 „ Romany Rye

121 Eliot's Silas Marner. Intro, by Annie Matheson

122 Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter

123 Mulock's John Halifax, Gentleman. Intro, by J. Shaylor

Sir Walter Scott's Works : —

124 The Abbot 133 Guy Mannering

125 Anne of Geierstein 134 The Heart of Midlothian

126 The Antiquary 135 Kenilworth

127 Highland Widow and Be- 136 The Monastery

trothed 137 Old Mortality

128 Black Dwarf and Legend 138 Peveril of the Peak

of Montrose 139 The Pirate

129 Bride of Lammermoor 140 Quentin Durward

130 Castle Dangerous and The 141 Redgauntlet

Surgeon's Daughter 142 Rob Roy

131 Count Robert of Paris 143 St. Ronan's Well

132 Fair Maid of Perth 144 The Talisman

169 Balzac '8 Eugenie Grandet. Intro, by Prof. Saintsbury

170 „ Old Goriot. Intro, by Prof. Saintsbury

171 Fenimore Cooper's Pioneers 172 Fenimore Cooper's Prairie

173 Dickens' Old Curiosity Shop. Intro, by G. K. Chesterton

174 Dumas' Black Tulip. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

175 „ Twenty Years After. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

176 Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables. Intro, by Ernest Rhya

177 Lever's Harry Lorrequer. Intro, by Lewis Melville

178 Lover's Handy Andy. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

179 Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

180 „ ,, Typee. Datro. by Ernest Rhys

181 Trollope's Framley Parsonage. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

182 „ Warden. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

229 Balzac's Atheist's Mass. Preface by George Saintsbury

230 Kingsley's Hypatia

231 Eliot's Romola. Intro, by Rudolf Dircks

232 Marryat's Peter Simple. Intro, by R. Brimley Johnson

Charles Dickens' Works. With Intro, by G. K. Chesterton : —

233 Oliver Twist 240 Dombey & Son

234 Great Expectations 241 Martin Chuzzlewit

235 Pickwick Papers 242 David Copperfleld

236 Bleak House 290 American Notes

237 Sketches by Boz 291 Child's History of England

238 Nicholas Nickleby 292 Hard Times

239 Christmas Books 293 Little Dorrit

294 Our Mutual Friend

243 Bronte's Wuthering Heights

244 Oliphant's Salem Chapel. Intro, by Sir W. Robertson Nicoll

283 Defoe's Memoirs of a Cavalier. Intro, by G. A. Aitken

284 Balzac's Christ in Flanders. Intro, by George Saintsbury

285 „ Chouans. Intro, by George Saintsbury

286 „ The Quest of the Absolute. Intro, by George Saintsbury

287 C. Bronte's Jane Eyre. Intro, by May Sinclair

288 „ Shirley. Intro, by May Sinclair

289 Defoe's Journal of the Plague Year. Intro, by G. A. Aitken

295 Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. Intro, by J. M. D.

296 Kingsley's Hereward the Wake. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

297 Melville's Omoo. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

298 Thackeray's Vanity Fair. Intro, by Hon. Whitelaw Reid

299 Beade's Peg Womngton and Christie Johnstone. Intro, by
304 Blackmore's Lorna Doone [Ernest Rhys
320 Edgar's Runnymede and Lincoln Fair. Intro, by L. K. Hughes

324 Manning's Mary Powell and Deborah's Diary. Intro, by

Katherine Tynan (Mrs. Hinkson)

325 George Eliot's Mill on the Floss. Intro. Sir W. Robertson Nicoll

326 Dumas' Marguerite de Valois (" La Reine Margot ")

327 Peacock's Headlong Hall and Nightmare Abbey

328 " Long Will." By Florence Converse

FICTION — continued •

329 Charlotte M. Yonge's The Dove in the Eagle's Nee*. Intro, by

349 Balzac's Cat and Racket, and other Stories [Eleanor Hull

350 R. D. Blackmore's Springhaven

351 Charlotte Bronte's Villette. Intro, by May Sinclair

352 Fanny Burney's Evelina. Intro, by R. B. Johnson

353 George Eliot's Felix Holt

354 Erckmann-Chatrian's The Conscript and Waterloo

355-356 Fielding's Tom Jones. Intro, by George Salntsbury. 2 vols

357 G. P. R. James's Richelieu. Intro, by Rudolf Dircks

358 Marrvat'8 Percival Keene. Intro, by E. R.

359 Thackeray's Christmas Books. Intro, by Walter Jerrold

360 Anthony Trollope's Dr. Thome

361 „ „ The Small House at Allington

362 C. M. Yonge's The Heir of Redclyffe. Intro, by Mrs. Meynell
363-364 Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. 2 vols. Intro, by S. R, John
391-392 Trollope's The Last Chronicles of Barset. 2 vols.

393-394 Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. 2 vols.
400 Ainsworth's The Tower of London
410 Edgeworth's Castle Rackrent and The Absentee
414 Dickens' Christmas Stories. Intro, by G. K. Chesterton

416 Kingsley's (Henry) Geoffry HairJyn

417 Bronte's The Professor. Intro, by May Sinclair

418 Curtis's Prue and I, and Lotus Eating. Intro, by H. W. Mabie

419 Balzac's Catherine de Medici. Intro, by Prof. Saintsbury

420 Dumae' The Forty-Five 421 Dumas' Chicot the Jester

422 Victor Hugo's Notre Dame. Intro, by the late A. C. Swinburne

423 Daudet's Tartarin of Tarascon and Tartarin on the Alps

424 Hawthorne's The Marble Faun. Intro, the late Sir Leslie Stephen
425-426 Thackeray's Pendennis. Intro, by Walter Jerrold. 2 vols.

427 Gait's Annals of the Parish. Intro, by G. Baillie Macdonald

428 Aimard's The Indian Scout

462 Charles Kingsley's Alton Locke

463 Balzac's Cousin Pons. Intro, by Prof. Saintsbury

464 Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White

465-466 Thackeray's Newcomes. Intro, by Walter Jerrold. 2 vols.

467 Fielding's Joseph Andrews. Intro, by Prof. Saintsbury

468 George Eliot's Scenes of Clerical Life

469 Tolstoi. Master and Man, and other Parables and Tales. New

Translation
501 Dostoieffsky's Crime and Punishment. Intro. Laurence Irving
505 Sheppard's Charles Auchester. Intro, by Jessie M. Middleton
507-508 Thackeray's Virginians. 2 vols. Intro, by Walter Jerrold
509 Victor Hugo's Toilers of the Sea. Intro, by Ernest Rhys

522 Ainsworth's Old St. Paul's. Intro, by W. E. A. Axon

523 Whyte-Melville's The Gladiators. Intro, by J. Mavrogordato

524 Mrs. Gaskell's Sylvia's Lovers. Intro, by Mrs. Ellis Chadwick
525-527 Tolstoi's War and Peace. 3 vols.

528 Turgeniev's Virgin Soil. A new translation by Rochelle S.

529 Scheffel's Ekkehard : a Tale of the 10th Century [Townsend

530 Balzac's The Country Doctor. Intro, by George Saintsbury

531 Hawthorne's Twice Told Tales

532 Lytton's Rienzi. Intro, by E. H. Blakeney, M.A.

533 Dostoieffsky's Prison Life in Siberia. Intro, by Mdm. Stepniak

534 George Sand's The Devil's Pool and Francois the Waif

535 Disraeli's Coningsby. Intro, by Langdon Davies

536 Dickens' Uncommercial Traveller. Intro. G. K. Chesterton
588 Two Years before the Mast. By Richard Henry Dana

591 Tolstoi's Childhood, Boyhood, & Youth. Trans, by C. J. Hogarth

592 The Blithedale Romance. By Nathaniel Hawthorne
593-595 The Vicomte de Bragelonne. By Alexandre Dumas. 3 vols.

596 The Rise and Fall of Cesar Birotteau. By Honore de Balzac

597 Joan Seaton. By Mary Beaumont. Intro, by R. F. Horton, D. D.

598 Mary Barton. By Mrs. GasKell. Intro, by Thomas Seccornbo
599-600 Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. 2 vols. Intro, by T. Carlyle

611 Yeast. By Charles Kingsley
612-613 Tolstoi's Anna Karenina. 2 vols. Trans, by Rochelle S. Townsend

614 Dumas* Le Chevalier de Maison Rouge. Intro, by Julius Bramont

615 Cousin Phillis, etc. By Mrs. Gaskell. Intro, by Thos. Seccombe

616 Frankenstein. By Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

FICTION— continued

617 Sterne's Tristram Shandy. Intro, by Prof. G. Saintsbury

618 Marryat's Jacob Faithful

654 Letters from the Underworld and Other Tales. By Fedor

Dostoieffsky. Trans, by C. J. Hogarth.

655 The Fall of Constantinople. By J. M. Neale.

656 Balzac's Lost Illusions. With an Intro, by George Saintsbury

676 Peter Wilkins; or, The Flying Indians. By Robert Paltook.

Intro, by A. H. Bullen

677 Turgeniev's Liza. Trans, by W. R. S. Ralston

678 George MacDonald's Sir Gibbie

679 Morier's Hajji Baba

680 North and South. By Mrs. Gaskell

681 Bret Harte's Luck of Roaring Camp and other Tales

682 Dostoieffsky's The Idiot

683-684 Pamela. By Samuel Richardson. Intro, by G. Saintsbury. 2 vol3.

685 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. By Anne Bronte

686 The Country Parson. By Balzac

687 Thackeray's Roundabout Papers

706-707 The Story of a Peasant. By Erckmann-Chatrian. Translated
by C. J. Hogarth. 2 vols.

708 The Subaltern. By G. R. Gleig

709 Windsor Castle. By Harrison Ainsworth

710 Tom Cringle '8 Log. By Michael Scott

711 Dostoieff sky's Poor Folk and The Gambler. Trans. C. J. Hogarth

725 Edwin Drood. With an Introduction by G. K. Chesterton.

Completing the works of Dickens in Everyman's Library

726 Nicolai Gogol's Dead Souls. Translated into English by

C. J. Hogarth
733 Balzac's Ursule MirouSt. Intro, by George Saintsbury
740 Gogol's Taras Bulba and Other Tales

HISTORY

31-32 Carlyle'a French Revolution. Intro, by H. Belloc. 2 vols.

33 Finlay'8 Byzantine Empire
34-36 Macaulay's History of England. 3 vols.

85 Burnet's History of His Own Times
86-88 Motley's Dutch Republic. 3 vols.
89 Stanley's Memorials of Canterbury
185 Finlay's Greece under the Romans
186-197 Grote's History of Greece. 12 vols. Intro, by A. D. Lindsay
198-199 Thierry's Norman Conquest. 2 vols. Intro, by J. A. Price, B.A.

250 Sismondi's Italian Republics

251 Stanley's Lectures on the Eastern Church. Intro. A. J. Grieve,

273 Tacitus. Vol I. Annals. Intro, by E. H. Blakeney [M.A.

274 „ Vol. II. Agricola & Germania. Intro. E. H. Blakeney

300 Creasy's Decisive Battles of the World. Intro, by E. Rhys

301 Prescott's Conquest of Peru. Intro, by Thomas Seccombe, M.A.
302-303 Parkman's Conspiracy of Pontiac. 2 vols.

333 Chronicles of the Crusades (De Joinville's). Trans, with Intro,
by Sir F. Marzials, C.B.
372-374 Froude's Henry VIII. Intro, by Llewellyn Williams, M.P. 3 vols.

375 ,, Edward VI. Intro. Llewellyn Williams, M.P., B.C.L.

376 Machiavelli's History of Florence
377-378 Milman's History of the Jews. 2 vols.

397-398 Prescott's Conquest of Mexico. With Intro, by Thomas Seccombe.

432 Liitzow's History of Bohemia [2 vols.

433 Merivale's History of Rome. (An Introductory vol. to Gibbon.)

Edited with Intro, and Notes by Oliphant Smeaton, M.A.
434-436, 474-476 Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. 6 vols.
Edited with Intro, and Notes by Oliphant Smeaton, M.A.

477 Froude's Mary Tudor. With Intro. Llewellyn Williams, M.P.,

478 Washington Irving's Conquest of Granada. [B.C.L.

479 Bede's Ecclesiastical History, etc. Intro, by Vida D. Scudder

480 The Pilgrim Fathers. Intro, by John Masefleld

542-545 Mommsen's The History of Rome. Translated by W. P. Dick-
son, LL.D. 4 vols. With a review of the work by E. A. Freeman

583-587 Froude's History of Queen Elizabeth's Reign. 5 vols. Com-
pleting Froude's " History of England," in 10 vols.

HISTORY— continued
621-623 Constitutional History of England. 3 vols. By Henry Hallam
624 The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Trans, by James Ingram

712 Josephus' Wars of the Jews. Intro, by Dr. Jacob Hart

713 The French Revolution. By F. A. M. Mignet.
727-728 Green's Short History of the English People. Edited and Revised

by L. Cecil Jane, with an Appendix by R. P. Farley, B.A.
734 Ancient Law. By Sir Henry Maine. With a lengthy Introduc-
tion by Professor Morgan of London University.
737-738 A History of France. By Jean Victor Duruy. Translated by
L. Cecil Jane and Lucy Menzies. Introduction by Richard
Wilson, D.Litt.

ROMANCE

45-46 Le Morte d'Arthur. 2 vols. Intro, by Prof. Rhys

97 Lady Guest's Mabinogion. Intro, by Rev. R. Williams

204 Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. Intro, by Rev. H. E. Lewis

259-260 Kalevala. 2 vols. Intro, by W. F. Kirby, F.L.S., F.E.S.

261 Early Romances of William Morris. Intro, by Alfred Noyea

312 The Fall of the Nibelungs. Translated by Margaret Armour

S36 Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination. Intro. Padraic Colum

385-386 Don Quixote. Motteau's Translation. 2 vols. Lockhart'9 Intro.

437-438 The Adventures of Gil Bias. Intro, by Anatole Le Braz. 2 vols.

445 The High History of the Holy Graal

497 Aucaesin and Nicolette, with other Mediaeval Romances

556 Bulflnch's Legends of Charlemagne

557 French Mediaeval Romances. Translated by Eugene Mason
»-58 The Story of Burnt Njal. Trans, by Sir George Dasent
575 The Life and Death of Jason. By William Morris

577 Histories of the Kings of Britain. By Geoffrey of Monmouth

578 Wace's Arthurian Romance, translated by Eugene Mason.

Layamon's Brut. Introduction by Lucy A. Paton
634 Two Morte d'Arthur Romances. Intro, by Lucy A. Paton

698 Eric and Enid. By Chr6tien de Troyes. Trans., with Intro.

and Notes, by William Wistar Comfort

699 The Grettir Saga. Newly trans, by G. Ainslie Hight

717 Heimskringla : The Olaf Sagas. Trans, by Samuel Laing,
Intro, and Notes by John Beveridge

LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.

ALDINE HOUSE, BEDFORD STREET, W.C.2

a rt n a a

FEB 12 1991

U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES

III

CD2M3SDfe,3b