Edward George Bulwer-Lytton
The sky is the limit
ISBN: 9788893452359
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Table of contents
BOOK THE FIRST
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF POMPEII.
THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL, AND THE BEAUTY OF FASHION. THE ATHENIAN'S CONFESSION. THE READER'S INTRODUCTION TO ARBACES OF EGYPT.
PARENTAGE OF GLAUCUS. DESCRIPTION OF THE HOUSES OF POMPEII. CLASSIC REVEL.
THE TEMPLE OF ISIS. ITS PRIEST. THE CHARACTER OF ARBACES DEVELOPS ITSELF.
MORE OF THE FLOWER-GIRL. THE PROGRESS OF LOVE.
THE FOWLER SNARES AGAIN THE BIRD THAT HAD JUST ESCAPED, AND SETS HIS NETS FOR A NEW VICTIM.
THE GAY LIFE OF THE POMPEIAN LOUNGER. A MINIATURE LIKENESS OF THE ROMAN BATHS.
ARBACES COGS HIS DICE WITH PLEASURE AND WINS THE GAME.
BOOK THE SECOND
A FLASH HOUSE IN POMPEII, AND THE GENTLEMEN OF THE CLASSIC RING.
TWO WORTHIES.
GLAUCUS MAKES A PURCHASE THAT AFTERWARDS COSTS HIM DEAR.
THE RIVAL OF GLAUCUS PRESSES ONWARD IN THE RACE.
THE POOR TORTOISE. NEW CHANGES FOR NYDIA.
IONE ENTRAPPED. THE MOUSE TRIES TO GNAW THE NET.
THE SOLITUDE AND SOLILOQUY OF THE EGYPTIAN. HIS CHARACTER ANALYSED.
WHAT BECOMES OF IONE IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES. THE FIRST SIGNAL OF THE WRATH OF THE DREAD FOE.
BOOK THE THIRD
THE FORUM OF THE POMPEIANS. THE FIRST RUDE MACHINERY BY WHICH THE NEW ERA OF THE WORLD WAS WROUGHT.
THE NOONDAY EXCURSION ON THE CAMPANIAN SEAS.
THE CONGREGATION.
THE STREAM OF LOVE RUNS ON. WHITHER?
NYDIA ENCOUNTERS JULIA. INTERVIEW OF THE HEATHEN SISTER AND CONVERTED BROTHER. AN ATHENIAN'S NOTION OF CHRISTIANITY.
THE PORTER. THE GIRL. AND THE GLADIATOR.
THE DRESSING-ROOM OF A POMPEIAN BEAUTY. IMPORTANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN JULIA AND NYDIA.
JULIA SEEKS ARBACES. THE RESULT OF THAT INTERVIEW.
STORM IN THE SOUTH. THE WITCH'S CAVERN.
THE LORD OF THE BURNING BELT AND HIS MINION. FATE WRITES HER PROPHECY IN RED LETTERS, BUT WHO SHALL READ THEM?
PROGRESS OF EVENTS. THE PLOT THICKENS. THE WEB IS WOVEN, BUT THE NET CHANGES HANDS.
BOOK THE FOURTH
REFLECTIONS ON THE ZEAL OF THE EARLY CHRISTIANS. TWO MEN COME TO A PERILOUS RESOLVE. WALLS HAVE EARS, PARTICULARLY SACRED WALLS.
A CLASSIC HOST, COOK, AND KITCHEN. APAECIDES SEEKS IONE. THEIR CONVERSATION.
A FASHIONABLE PARTY AND A DINNER A LA MODE IN POMPEII.
THE STORY HALTS FOR A MOMENT AT AN EPISODE.
THE PHILTRE. ITS EFFECT.
A REUNION OF DIFFERENT ACTORS. STREAMS THAT FLOWED APPARENTLY APART RUSH INTO ONE GULF.
IN WHICH THE READER LEARNS THE CONDITION OF GLAUCUS. FRIENDSHIP TESTED. ENMITY SOFTENED. LOVE THE SAME, BECAUSE THE ONE LOVING IS BLIND.
A CLASSIC FUNERAL.
IN WHICH AN ADVENTURE HAPPENS TO IONE.
WHAT BECOMES OF NYDIA IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES. THE EGYPTIAN FEELS COMPASSION FOR GLAUCUS. COMPASSION IS OFTEN A VERY USELESS VISITOR TO THE GUILTY.
NYDIA AFFECTS THE SORCERESS.
A WASP VENTURES INTO THE SPIDER'S WEB.
THE SLAVE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. THEY WHO BLIND THEMSELVES THE BLIND MAY FOOL. TWO NEW PRISONERS MADE IN ONE NIGHT.
NYDIA ACCOSTS CALENUS.
ARBACES AND IONE. NYDIA GAINS THE GARDEN. WILL SHE ESCAPE AND SAVE THE ATHENIAN?
THE SORROW OF BOON COMPANIONS FOR OUR AFFLICTIONS. THE DUNGEON AND ITS VICTIMS.
A CHANCE FOR GLAUCUS.
BOOK THE FIFTH
THE DREAM OF ARBACES. A VISITOR AND A WARNING TO THE EGYPTIAN.
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
SALLUST AND NYDIA'S LETTER.
THE AMPHITHEATRE ONCE MORE.
THE CELL OF THE PRISONER AND THE DEN OF THE DEAD. GRIEF UNCONSCIOUS OF HORROR.
CALENUS AND BURBO. DIOMED AND CLODIUS. THE GIRL OF THE AMPHITHEATRE AND JULIA.
THE PROGRESS OF THE DESTRUCTION.
ARBACES ENCOUNTERS GLAUCUS AND IONE.
THE DESPAIR OF THE LOVERS. THE CONDITION OF THE MULTITUDE.
THE NEXT MORNING. THE FATE OF NYDIA.
WHEREIN ALL THINGS CEASE LETTER FROM GLAUCUS TO SALLUST, TEN YEARS AFTER THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.
BOOK THE FIRST
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.'
'Well, you must sup with me some evening; I have tolerable muraenae
in
my reservoir, and I ask Pansa the aedile 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 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 acknowledged the courtesy: 'a holiday for
you
to-day. Is he not handsome, Clodius?'
'Worthy of Phoebus,' returned the noble parasite--'or of
Glaucus.'
THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL, AND THE BEAUTY OF FASHION. THE ATHENIAN'S CONFESSION. THE READER'S INTRODUCTION 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 colors 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
anguis 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.'
'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 AEschylus 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 whenever 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 dulce." O Minerva, how I laughed in my sleeve!
While I
was there, they came to tell the boy-sophist that his favorite
freedman
was just dead of a fever. "Inexorable death!" cried he; "get me my
Horace. How beautifully the sweet poet consoles us for these
misfortunes!" 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 sympathize 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
I.
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 are wet.
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!
II.
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, 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.'
'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.'
'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 civilization 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
plaything, 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 command 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 shipwrecked
mariners
and friendly dolphins--just as at this day, in the modern
neighborhood,
you may hear upon the Mole of Naples.
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--
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 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, 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 molded: 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--"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, "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 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
recognized 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 manhood 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, 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 meditation, 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 unspeakable beauty: she demands
from
you, not the exhaustion of passion, but all that fervor, 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 application!
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 would we call her ghost from the fields of
Marathon
and Thermopylae!'
'Thy heart rebukes thee while thou speakest,' said the Egyptian;
'and in
thy gaieties this night, thou wilt be more mindful of Leoena 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!'
PARENTAGE OF GLAUCUS. DESCRIPTION OF THE HOUSES OF POMPEII. 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 so natural
to
the young, and had drunk deep of the intoxicating 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 exedrae of an Athenian. His retreat in
Pompeii--alas! the
colors are faded now, the walls stripped of their paintings!--its
main
beauty, its elaborate finish of grace and ornament, 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 AEschylus 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 endeavor to
make
this description as clear and unpedantic as possible.
You enter then, usually, by a small entrance-passage (called
cestibulum), 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
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--the
hospitable hearth, often mentioned by the Roman poets, and
consecrated
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 (tablinum), 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, were doors admitting to bedrooms,
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
viridarium, 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 importance, 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
caenaculum) 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 peristyle (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. 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 architecture. 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 all the evidence of a people fond of the refining elegancies of
life. The purity of the taste of the Pompeians in decoration is,
however, questionable: they were fond of the gaudiest colors, of
fantastic designs; they often painted the lower half of their
columns a
bright red, leaving the rest uncolored; and where the garden was
small,
its wall was frequently tinted to deceive the eye as to its extent,
imitating trees, birds, temples, etc., 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
Mayfair'--the envy and despair of the coelibian 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: 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 portrayed the rape of Europa, the
battle of
the Amazons, etc.
You now enter the tablinum, across which, at either end, hung rich
draperies of Tyrian purple, half withdrawn. 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
colonnade 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 newborn to her husband, from which the room derives
its
name. This charming apartment opened upon the fragrant garden.
Round
the table of citrean 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 at Rome: and on these couches of bronze, studded with
richer
metals, were laid thick quiltings covered with elaborate broidery,
and
yielding luxuriously to the pressure.
'Well, I must own,' said the aedile Pansa, 'that your house, though
scarcely larger than a case for one's fibulae, 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 aedile, who
was
celebrated through Pompeii for having the worst paintings in the
world;
for he was patriotic, and patronized none but Pompeians. 'You
flatter
me; but there is something pretty--AEdepol, yes--in the colors, 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 aedile ostentatiously 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 nappa 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 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!' 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.
'It 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
aedile, 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 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.
'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 flavor;
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.'
'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 favorite 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 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 aedile 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 'AEdepol!' and
the
sixth banqueter, 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 'AEdepol!'
'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
triumph--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 rearranging 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', etc., 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 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 colors 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 Isis? It is magnificent--the true religious
fervor.'
'Isis seems a favorite divinity at Pompeii,' said Glaucus.
'Yes!' said Pansa, 'she is exceedingly in repute just at this
moment;
her statue has been uttering the most remarkable 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 favorite horse, or throw the canes 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.'
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 blasphemy,' said
Pansa,
with vehemence; 'they deny Venus and Jove! 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! (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!' 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 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 flavor.'
'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 favorite 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 acceptance, 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 convivii. 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:--
I
II
III
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 Ione.'
'Ione!--the name is Greek,' said Glaucus, in a soft voice. 'I
drink the
health with delight. But who is Ione?'
'Ah! you have but just come to Pompeii, or you would deserve
ostracism
for your ignorance,' said Lepidus, conceitedly; 'not to know Ione,
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.
'Know then...' began Lepidus.
'Let me speak,' cried Clodius; 'you drawl out your words as if you
spoke
tortoises.'
'And you speak stones,' muttered the coxcomb to himself, as he fell
back
disdainfully on his couch.
'Know then, my Glaucus,' said Clodius, 'that Ione 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!--Ione 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 Vestal 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.
'I will play no more,' said Glaucus; 'I have lost thirty
sestertia.'
'I am 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 Ione 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 Ione: 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 Ione. 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 colors of the artist;
and
under the portico which surrounded the odorous viridarium they
found
Ione, 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 Ione, gave to his view that bright, that nymph-like
beauty, which for months had shone down upon the waters of his
memory.
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!