and Glaucus had contrived, under cover of the table, to steal her hand.
'It is a pretty song,' said Fulvius, patronizingly.
'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 complimentary 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--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
I
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!
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 Valor wins the world,
They chose a mighty master;
But thy sweet flag of smiles unfurled
Would win the world much faster!
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.
V
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!
'Long 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
Io triumphe! 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.
The sun began 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
favorite 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. 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
workmanship: 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 Ione, 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.'
In order to divert the impression which this incident had occasioned in
an assembly which, considering the civilization 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 Ione 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!' said she, looking down, 'I see that you really love Ione--she
is indeed beautiful.'
'Julia is charming enough to be generous,' replied the Greek. 'Yes, I
love Ione; 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 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 favor 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!'
Alas for him, indeed!
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
grasshopper, and here and there in the brake some solitary bird burst
into sudden song, as suddenly stifled. 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 recognized the voice, and, turning,
he beheld the old mysterious man whom he had seen in the congregation of
the Nazarenes.
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 companion 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 sorrowful 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 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 Jerusalem!--Him from whom came my
