The Last Days of Pompeii

  Chapter IV

  THE RIVAL OF GLAUCUS PRESSES ONWARD IN THE RACE.

  IONE was one of those brilliant characters which, but once or twice,flash across our career. She united in the highest perfection therarest of earthly gifts--Genius and Beauty. No one ever possessedsuperior intellectual qualities without knowing them--the alliterationof modesty and merit is pretty enough, but where merit is great, theveil of that modesty you admire never disguises its extent from itspossessor. It is the proud consciousness of certain qualities that itcannot reveal to the everyday world, that gives to genius that shy, andreserved, and troubled air, which puzzles and flatters you when youencounter it.

  Ione, then, knew her genius; but, with that charming versatility thatbelongs of right to women, she had the faculty so few of a kindredgenius in the less malleable sex can claim--the faculty to bend andmodel her graceful intellect to all whom it encountered. The sparklingfountain threw its waters alike upon the strand, the cavern, and theflowers; it refreshed, it smiled, it dazzled everywhere. That pride,which is the necessary result of superiority, she wore easily--in herbreast it concentred itself in independence. She pursued thus her ownbright and solitary path. She asked no aged matron to direct and guideher--she walked alone by the torch of her own unflickering purity. Sheobeyed no tyrannical and absolute custom. She moulded custom to her ownwill, but this so delicately and with so feminine a grace, so perfect anexemption from error, that you could not say she outraged custom butcommanded it. The wealth of her graces was inexhaustible--shebeautified the commonest action; a word, a look from her, seemed magic.Love her, and you entered into a new world, you passed from this triteand commonplace earth. You were in a land in which your eyes saweverything through an enchanted medium. In her presence you felt as iflistening to exquisite music; you were steeped in that sentiment whichhas so little of earth in it, and which music so well inspires--thatintoxication which refines and exalts, which seizes, it is true, thesenses, but gives them the character of the soul.

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

  Set apart himself from the common world, he loved that daringness ofcharacter which also made itself, among common things, aloof and alone.He did not, or he would not see, that that very isolation put her yetmore from him than from the vulgar. Far as the poles--far as the nightfrom day, his solitude was divided from hers. He was solitary from hisdark and solemn vices--she from her beautiful fancies and her purity ofvirtue.

  If it was not strange that Ione thus enthralled the Egyptian, far lessstrange was it that she had captured, as suddenly as irrevocably, thebright and sunny heart of the Athenian. The gladness of a temperamentwhich seemed woven from the beams of light had led Glaucus intopleasure. He obeyed no more vicious dictates when he wandered into thedissipations of his time, than the exhilarating voices of youth andhealth. He threw the brightness of his nature over every abyss andcavern through which he strayed. His imagination dazzled him, but hisheart never was corrupted. Of far more penetration than his companionsdeemed, he saw that they sought to prey upon his riches and his youth:but he despised wealth save as the means of enjoyment, and youth was thegreat sympathy that united him to them. He felt, it is true, theimpulse of nobler thoughts and higher aims than in pleasure could beindulged: but the world was one vast prison, to which the Sovereign ofRome was the Imperial gaoler; and the very virtues, which in the freedays of Athens would have made him ambitious, in the slavery of earthmade him inactive and supine. For in that unnatural and bloatedcivilization, all that was noble in emulation was forbidden. Ambition inthe regions of a despotic and luxurious court was but the contest offlattery and craft. Avarice had become the sole ambition--men desiredpraetorships and provinces only as the license to pillage, andgovernment was but the excuse of rapine. It is in small states thatglory is most active and pure--the more confined the limits of thecircle, the more ardent the patriotism. In small states, opinion isconcentrated and strong--every eye reads your actions--your publicmotives are blended with your private ties--every spot in your narrowsphere is crowded with forms familiar since your childhood--the applauseof your citizens is like the caresses of your friends. But in largestates, the city is but the court: the provinces--unknown to you,unfamiliar in customs, perhaps in language--have no claim on yourpatriotism, the ancestry of their inhabitants is not yours. In thecourt you desire favor instead of glory; at a distance from the court,public opinion has vanished from you, and self-interest has nocounterpoise.

  Italy, Italy, while I write, your skies are over me--your seas flowbeneath my feet, listen not to the blind policy which would unite allyour crested cities, mourning for their republics, into one empire;false, pernicious delusion! your only hope of regeneration is indivision. Florence, Milan, Venice, Genoa, may be free once more, ifeach is free. But dream not of freedom for the whole while you enslavethe parts; the heart must be the centre of the system, the blood mustcirculate freely everywhere; and in vast communities you behold but abloated and feeble giant, whose brain is imbecile, whose limbs are dead,and who pays in disease and weakness the penalty of transcending thenatural proportions of health and vigour.

  Thus thrown back upon themselves, the more ardent qualities of Glaucusfound no vent, save in that overflowing imagination which gave grace topleasure, and poetry to thought. Ease was less despicable thancontention with parasites and slaves, and luxury could yet be refinedthough ambition could not be ennobled. But all that was best andbrightest in his soul woke at once when he knew Ione. Here was anempire, worthy of demigods to attain; here was a glory, which thereeking smoke of a foul society could not soil or dim. Love, in everytime, in every state, can thus find space for its golden altars. Andtell me if there ever, even in the ages most favorable to glory, couldbe a triumph more exalted and elating than the conquest of one nobleheart?

  And whether it was that this sentiment inspired him, his ideas glowedmore brightly, his soul seemed more awake and more visible, in Ione'spresence. If natural to love her, it was natural that she should returnthe passion. Young, brilliant, eloquent, enamoured, and Athenian, he wasto her as the incarnation of the poetry of her father's land. They werenot like creatures of a world in which strife and sorrow are theelements; they were like things to be seen only in the holiday ofnature, so glorious and so fresh were their youth, their beauty, andtheir love. They seemed out of place in the harsh and every-day earth;they belonged of right to the Saturnian age, and the dreams of demigodand nymph. It was as if the poetry of life gathered and fed itself inthem, and in their hearts were concentrated the last rays of the sun ofDelos and of Greece.

  But if Ione was independent in her choice of life, so was her modestpride proportionably vigilant and easily alarmed. The falsehood of theEgyptian was invented by a deep knowledge of her nature. The story ofcoarseness, of indelicacy, in Glaucus, stung her to the quick. She feltit a reproach upon her character and her career, a punishment above allto her love; she felt, for the first time, how suddenly she had yieldedto that love; she blushed with shame at a weakness, the extent of whichshe was startled to perceive: she imagined it was that weakness whichhad incurred the contempt of Glaucus; she endured the bitterest curse ofnoble natures--humiliation! Yet her love, perhaps, was no less alarmedthan her pride. If one moment she murmured reproaches upon Glaucus--ifone moment she renounced, she almost hated him--at the next she burstinto passionate tears, her heart yielded to its softness, and she saidin the bitterness of anguish, 'He despises me--he does not love me.'

  From the hour the Egyptian had left her she had retired to her mostsecluded chamber, she had shut out her handmaids, she had denied herselfto the crowds that besieged her door. Gla
ucus was excluded with therest; he wondered, but he guessed not why! He never attributed to hisIone--his queen--his goddess--that woman--like caprice of which thelove-poets of Italy so unceasingly complain. He imagined her, in themajesty of her candour, above all the arts that torture. He wastroubled, but his hopes were not dimmed, for he knew already that heloved and was beloved; what more could he desire as an amulet againstfear?

  At deepest night, then, when the streets were hushed, and the high moononly beheld his devotions, he stole to that temple of his heart--herhome; and wooed her after the beautiful fashion of his country. Hecovered her threshold with the richest garlands, in which every flowerwas a volume of sweet passion; and he charmed the long summer night withthe sound of the Lydian lute: and verses, which the inspiration of themoment sufficed to weave.

  But the window above opened not; no smile made yet more holy the shiningair of night. All was still and dark. He knew not if his verse waswelcome and his suit was heard.

  Yet Ione slept not, nor disdained to hear. Those soft strains ascendedto her chamber; they soothed, they subdued her. While she listened, shebelieved nothing against her lover; but when they were stilled at last,and his step departed, the spell ceased; and, in the bitterness of hersoul, she almost conceived in that delicate flattery a new affront.

  I said she was denied to all; but there was one exception, there was oneperson who would not be denied, assuming over her actions and her housesomething like the authority of a parent; Arbaces, for himself, claimedan exemption from all the ceremonies observed by others. He entered thethreshold with the license of one who feels that he is privileged and athome. He made his way to her solitude and with that sort of quiet andunapologetic air which seemed to consider the right as a thing ofcourse. With all the independence of Ione's character, his heart hadenabled him to obtain a secret and powerful control over her mind. Shecould not shake it off; sometimes she desired to do so; but she neveractively struggled against it. She was fascinated by his serpent eye.He arrested, he commanded her, by the magic of a mind long accustomed toawe and to subdue. Utterly unaware of his real character or his hiddenlove, she felt for him the reverence which genius feels for wisdom, andvirtue for sanctity. She regarded him as one of those mighty sages ofold, who attained to the mysteries of knowledge by an exemption from thepassions of their kind. She scarcely considered him as a being, likeherself, of the earth, but as an oracle at once dark and sacred. Shedid not love him, but she feared. His presence was unwelcome to her; itdimmed her spirit even in its brightest mood; he seemed, with hischilling and lofty aspect, like some eminence which casts a shadow overthe sun. But she never thought of forbidding his visits. She waspassive under the influence which created in her breast, not therepugnance, but something of the stillness of terror.

  Arbaces himself now resolved to exert all his arts to possess himself ofthat treasure he so burningly coveted. He was cheered and elated by hisconquests over her brother. From the hour in which Apaecides fellbeneath the voluptuous sorcery of that fete which we have described, hefelt his empire over the young priest triumphant and insured. He knewthat there is no victim so thoroughly subdued as a young and fervent manfor the first time delivered to the thraldom of the senses.

  When Apaecides recovered, with the morning light, from the profoundsleep which succeeded to the delirium of wonder and of pleasure, he was,it is true, ashamed--terrified--appalled. His vows of austerity andcelibacy echoed in his ear; his thirst after holiness--had it beenquenched at so unhallowed a stream? But Arbaces knew well the means bywhich to confirm his conquest. From the arts of pleasure he led theyoung priest at once to those of his mysterious wisdom. He bared to hisamazed eyes the initiatory secrets of the sombre philosophy of theNile--those secrets plucked from the stars, and the wild chemistry,which, in those days, when Reason herself was but the creature ofImagination, might well pass for the lore of a diviner magic. He seemedto the young eyes of the priest as a being above mortality, and endowedwith supernatural gifts. That yearning and intense desire for theknowledge which is not of earth--which had burned from his boyhood inthe heart of the priest--was dazzled, until it confused and mastered hisclearer sense. He gave himself to the art which thus addressed at oncethe two strongest of human passions, that of pleasure and that ofknowledge. He was loth to believe that one so wise could err, that oneso lofty could stoop to deceive. Entangled in the dark web ofmetaphysical moralities, he caught at the excuse by which the Egyptianconverted vice into a virtue. His pride was insensibly flattered thatArbaces had deigned to rank him with himself, to set him apart from thelaws which bound the vulgar, to make him an august participator, both inthe mystic studies and the magic fascinations of the Egyptian'ssolitude. The pure and stern lessons of that creed to which Olinthushad sought to make him convert, were swept away from his memory by thedeluge of new passions. And the Egyptian, who was versed in the articlesof that true faith, and who soon learned from his pupil the effect whichhad been produced upon him by its believers, sought, not unskilfully, toundo that effect, by a tone of reasoning, half-sarcastic andhalf-earnest.

  'This faith,' said he, 'is but a borrowed plagiarism from one of themany allegories invented by our priests of old. Observe,' he added,pointing to a hieroglyphical scroll--'observe in these ancient figuresthe origin of the Christian's Trinity. Here are also three gods--theDeity, the Spirit, and the Son. Observe, that the epithet of the Son is"Saviour"--observe, that the sign by which his human qualities aredenoted is the cross.' Note here, too, the mystic history of Osiris, howhe put on death; how he lay in the grave; and how, thus fulfilling asolemn atonement, he rose again from the dead! In these stories we butdesign to paint an allegory from the operations of nature and theevolutions of the eternal heavens. But the allegory unknown, the typesthemselves have furnished to credulous nations the materials of manycreeds. They have travelled to the vast plains of India; they havemixed themselves up in the visionary speculations of the Greek; becomingmore and more gross and embodied, as they emerge farther from theshadows of their antique origin, they have assumed a human and palpableform in this novel faith; and the believers of Galilee are but theunconscious repeaters of one of the superstitions of the Nile!'

  This was the last argument which completely subdued the priest. It wasnecessary to him, as to all, to believe in something; and undivided and,at last, unreluctant, he surrendered himself to that belief whichArbaces inculcated, and which all that was human in passion--all thatwas flattering in vanity--all that was alluring in pleasure, served toinvite to, and contributed to confirm.

  This conquest, thus easily made, the Egyptian could now give himselfwholly up to the pursuit of a far dearer and mightier object; and hehailed, in his success with the brother, an omen of his triumph over thesister.

  He had seen Ione on the day following the revel we have witnessed; andwhich was also the day after he had poisoned her mind against his rival.The next day, and the next, he saw her also: and each time he laidhimself out with consummate art, partly to confirm her impressionagainst Glaucus, and principally to prepare her for the impressions hedesired her to receive. The proud Ione took care to conceal the anguishshe endured; and the pride of woman has an hypocrisy which can deceivethe most penetrating, and shame the most astute. But Arbaces was noless cautious not to recur to a subject which he felt it was mostpolitic to treat as of the lightest importance. He knew that by dwellingmuch upon the fault of a rival, you only give him dignity in the eyes ofyour mistress: the wisest plan is, neither loudly to hate, nor bitterlyto contemn; the wisest plan is to lower him by an indifference of tone,as if you could not dream that he could be loved. Your safety is inconcealing the wound to your own pride, and imperceptibly alarming thatof the umpire, whose voice is fate! Such, in all times, will be thepolicy of one who knows the science of the sex--it was now theEgyptian's.

  He recurred no more, then, to the presumption of Glaucus; he mentionedhis name, but not more often than that of Clodius or of Lepidus. Heaffected to cla
ss them together as things of a low and ephemeralspecies; as things wanting nothing of the butterfly, save its innocenceand its grace. Sometimes he slightly alluded to some invented debauch,in which he declared them companions; sometimes he adverted to them asthe antipodes of those lofty and spiritual natures, to whose order thatof Ione belonged. Blinded alike by the pride of Ione, and, perhaps, byhis own, he dreamed not that she already loved; but he dreaded lest shemight have formed for Glaucus the first fluttering prepossessions thatlead to love. And, secretly, he ground his teeth in rage and jealousy,when he reflected on the youth, the fascinations, and the brilliancy ofthat formidable rival whom he pretended to undervalue.

  It was on the fourth day from the date of the close of the previousbook, that Arbaces and Ione sat together.

  'You wear your veil at home,' said the Egyptian; 'that is not fair tothose whom you honour with your friendship.'

  'But to Arbaces,' answered Ione, who, indeed, had cast the veil over herfeatures to conceal eyes red with weeping--'to Arbaces, who looks onlyto the mind, what matters it that the face is concealed?'

  'I do look only to the mind,' replied the Egyptian: 'show me then yourface--for there I shall see it.'

  'You grow gallant in the air of Pompeii,' said Ione, with a forced toneof gaiety.

  'Do you think, fair Ione, that it is only at Pompeii that I have learnedto value you?' The Egyptian's voice trembled--he paused for a moment,and then resumed.

  'There is a love, beautiful Greek, which is not the love only of thethoughtless and the young--there is a love which sees not with the eyes,which hears not with the ears; but in which soul is enamoured of soul.The countryman of thy ancestors, the cave-nursed Plato, dreamed of sucha love--his followers have sought to imitate it; but it is a love thatis not for the herd to echo--it is a love that only high and noblenatures can conceive--it hath nothing in common with the sympathies andties of coarse affection--wrinkles do not revolt it--homeliness offeature does not deter; it asks youth, it is true, but it asks it onlyin the freshness of the emotions; it asks beauty, it is true, but it isthe beauty of the thought and of the spirit. Such is the love, O Ione,which is a worthy offering to thee from the cold and the austere.Austere and cold thou deemest me--such is the love that I venture to layupon thy shrine--thou canst receive it without a blush.'

  'And its name is friendship!' replied Ione: her answer was innocent, yetit sounded like the reproof of one conscious of the design of thespeaker.

  'Friendship!' said Arbaces, vehemently. 'No; that is a word too oftenprofaned to apply to a sentiment so sacred. Friendship! it is a tiethat binds fools and profligates! Friendship! it is the bond that unitesthe frivolous hearts of a Glaucus and a Clodius! Friendship! no, that isan affection of earth, of vulgar habits and sordid sympathies; thefeeling of which I speak is borrowed from the stars'--it partakes ofthat mystic and ineffable yearning, which we feel when we gaze onthem--it burns, yet it purifies--it is the lamp of naphtha in thealabaster vase, glowing with fragrant odorous, but shining only throughthe purest vessels. No; it is not love, and it is not friendship, thatArbaces feels for Ione. Give it no name--earth has no name for it--itis not of earth--why debase it with earthly epithets and earthlyassociations?'

  Never before had Arbaces ventured so far, yet he felt his ground step bystep: he knew that he uttered a language which, if at this day ofaffected platonisms it would speak unequivocally to the ears of beauty,was at that time strange and unfamiliar, to which no precise idea couldbe attached, from which he could imperceptibly advance or recede, asoccasion suited, as hope encouraged or fear deterred. Ione trembled,though she knew not why; her veil hid her features, and masked anexpression, which, if seen by the Egyptian, would have at once dampedand enraged him; in fact, he never was more displeasing to her--theharmonious modulation of the most suasive voice that ever disguisedunhallowed thought fell discordantly on her ear. Her whole soul wasstill filled with the image of Glaucus; and the accent of tendernessfrom another only revolted and dismayed; yet she did not conceive thatany passion more ardent than that platonism which Arbaces expressedlurked beneath his words. She thought that he, in truth, spoke only ofthe affection and sympathy of the soul; but was it not precisely thataffection and that sympathy which had made a part of those emotions shefelt for Glaucus; and could any other footstep than his approach thehaunted adytum of her heart?

  Anxious at once to change the conversation, she replied, therefore, witha cold and indifferent voice, 'Whomsoever Arbaces honors with thesentiment of esteem, it is natural that his elevated wisdom should colorthat sentiment with its own hues; it is natural that his friendshipshould be purer than that of others, whose pursuits and errors he doesnot deign to share. But tell me, Arbaces, hast thou seen my brother oflate? He has not visited me for several days; and when I last saw himhis manner disturbed and alarmed me much. I fear lest he was tooprecipitate in the severe choice that he has adopted, and that herepents an irrevocable step.'

  'Be cheered, Ione,' replied the Egyptian. 'It is true that, some littletime since he was troubled and sad of spirit; those doubts beset himwhich were likely to haunt one of that fervent temperament, which everebbs and flows, and vibrates between excitement and exhaustion. But he,Ione, he came to me his anxieties and his distress; he sought one whopitied me and loved him; I have calmed his mind--I have removed hisdoubts--I have taken him from the threshold of Wisdom into its temple;and before the majesty of the goddess his soul is hushed and soothed.Fear not, he will repent no more; they who trust themselves to Arbacesnever repent but for a moment.'

  'You rejoice me,' answered Ione. 'My dear brother! in his contentment Iam happy.'

  The conversation then turned upon lighter subjects; the Egyptian exertedhimself to please, he condescended even to entertain; the vast varietyof his knowledge enabled him to adorn and light up every subject onwhich he touched; and Ione, forgetting the displeasing effect of hisformer words, was carried away, despite her sadness, by the magic of hisintellect. Her manner became unrestrained and her language fluent; andArbaces, who had waited his opportunity, now hastened to seize it.

  'You have never seen,' said he, 'the interior of my home; it may amuseyou to do so: it contains some rooms that may explain to you what youhave often asked me to describe--the fashion of an Egyptian house; notindeed, that you will perceive in the poor and minute proportions ofRoman architecture the massive strength, the vast space, the giganticmagnificence, or even the domestic construction of the palaces of Thebesand Memphis; but something there is, here and there, that may serve toexpress to you some notion of that antique civilization which hashumanized the world. Devote, then, to the austere friend of your youth,one of these bright summer evenings, and let me boast that my gloomymansion has been honored with the presence of the admired Ione.'

  Unconscious of the pollutions of the mansion, of the danger that awaitedher, Ione readily assented to the proposal. The next evening was fixedfor the visit; and the Egyptian, with a serene countenance, and a heartbeating with fierce and unholy joy, departed. Scarce had he gone, whenanother visitor claimed admission.... But now we return to Glaucus.