'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 Apaecides; 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; 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 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, 'do I dream still?--Am I with the dead?'
'Mighty Hermes--no! Thou art with one death-like, but not dead.
Recognize 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 camest 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 side, uttered a shrill howl, and fell down and
died, 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 vapor 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 remembered 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 earthquake 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, wandering 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!'
'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 wishest to live? What sweets dost thou
discover in existence?'
'It is not life that is sweet, but death that is awful,' replied 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, croaker!' 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 amphitheatre 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
arraying 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.
Only, to their great chagrin, the slaves in attendance on Ione, and the
worthy Sosia, as gaoler to Nydia, were condemned 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 favor. Thou knowest the vessel that lies in the harbor
which belonged to Narses, of Alexandria; I have purchased it of him.
The day after tomorrow we shall begin to remove my stores.'
'So soon! 'Tis well. Arbaces shall be obeyed--and his ward, Ione?'
'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. Suddenly 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? I 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 calculations.
'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, doubt--away, pity! Reflect O my heart--
reflect, for the future, but two images--Empire and Ione!'
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 nothing 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 procession 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 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 appropriated 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 or equestrian 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 awning, 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
