The Last Days of Pompeii

  Chapter VI

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

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

  Meanwhile, Arbaces had not of late much frequented the house of Ione;and when he had visited her he had not encountered Glaucus, nor knew he,as yet, of that love which had so suddenly sprung up between himself andhis designs. In his interest for the brother of Ione, he had beenforced, too, a little while, to suspend his interest in Ione herself.His pride and his selfishness were aroused and alarmed at the suddenchange which had come over the spirit of the youth. He trembled lest hehimself should lose a docile pupil, and Isis an enthusiastic servant.Apaecides had ceased to seek or to consult him. He was rarely to befound; he turned sullenly from the Egyptian--nay, he fled when heperceived him in the distance. Arbaces was one of those haughty andpowerful spirits accustomed to master others; he chafed at the notionthat one once his own should ever elude his grasp. He swore inly thatApaecides should not escape him.

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

  'Apaecides!' said he--and he laid his hand affectionately on the youngman's shoulder.

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

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

  'Speak to me, my friend,' continued the Egyptian. 'Speak. Somethingburdens thy spirit. What hast thou to reveal?'

  'To thee--nothing.'

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

  'Because thou hast been my enemy.'

  'Let us confer,' said Arbaces, in a low voice; and drawing the reluctantarm of the priest in his own, he led him to one of the seats which werescattered within the grove. They sat down--and in those gloomy formsthere was something congenial to the shade and solitude of the place.

  Apaecides was in the spring of his years, yet he seemed to haveexhausted even more of life than the Egyptian; his delicate and regularfeatures were worn and colorless; his eyes were hollow, and shone with abrilliant and feverish glare: his frame bowed prematurely, and in hishands, which were small to effeminacy, the blue and swollen veinsindicated the lassitude and weakness of the relaxed fibres. You saw inhis face a strong resemblance to Ione, but the expression was altogetherdifferent from that majestic and spiritual calm which breathed so divineand classical a repose over his sister's beauty. In her, enthusiasm wasvisible, but it seemed always suppressed and restrained; this made thecharm and sentiment of her countenance; you longed to awaken a spiritwhich reposed, but evidently did not sleep. In Apaecides the wholeaspect betokened the fervor and passion of his temperament, and theintellectual portion of his nature seemed, by the wild fire of the eyes,the great breadth of the temples when compared with the height of thebrow, the trembling restlessness of the lips, to be swayed andtyrannized over by the imaginative and ideal. Fancy, with the sister,had stopped short at the golden goal of poetry; with the brother, lesshappy and less restrained, it had wandered into visions more intangibleand unembodied; and the faculties which gave genius to the onethreatened madness to the other.

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

  'You knew the jugglings of that impious craft,' answered Apaecides; 'whydid you disguise them from me?--When you excited my desire to devotemyself to the office whose garb I bear, you spoke to me of the holy lifeof men resigning themselves to knowledge--you have given me forcompanions an ignorant and sensual herd, who have no knowledge but thatof the grossest frauds; you spoke to me of men sacrificing the earthlierpleasures to the sublime cultivation of virtue--you place me amongst menreeking with all the filthiness of vice; you spoke to me of the friends,the enlighteners of our common kind--I see but their cheats anddeluders! Oh! it was basely done!--you have robbed me of the glory ofyouth, of the convictions of virtue, of the sanctifying thirst afterwisdom. Young as I was, rich, fervent, the sunny pleasures of earthbefore me, I resigned all without a sign, nay, with happiness andexultation, in the thought that I resigned them for the abstrusemysteries of diviner wisdom, for the companionship of gods--for therevelations of Heaven--and now--now...'

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

  'What I promised to thee, that will I give, my friend, my pupil: thesehave been but trials to thy virtue--it comes forth the brighter for thynovitiate--think no more of those dull cheats--assort no more with thosemenials of the goddess, the atrienses of her hall--you are worthy toenter into the penetralia. I henceforth will be your priest, yourguide, and you who now curse my friendship shall live to bless it.'

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

  'Listen to me,' continued Arbaces, in an earnest and solemn voice,casting first his searching eyes around to see that they were stillalone. 'From Egypt came all the knowledge of the world; from Egypt camethe lore of Athens, and the profound policy of Crete; from Egypt camethose early and mysterious tribes which (long before the hordes ofRomulus swept over the plains of Italy, and in the eternal cycle ofevents drove back civilization into barbarism and darkness) possessedall the arts of wisdom and the graces of intellectual life. From Egyptcame the rites and the grandeur of that solemn Caere, whose inhabitantstaught their iron vanquishers of Rome all that they yet know of elevatedin religion and sublime in worship. And how deemest thou, young man,that that Egypt, the mother of countless nations, achieved hergreatness, and soared to her cloud-capt eminence of wisdom?--It was theresult of a profound and holy policy. Your modern nations owe theirgreatness to Egypt--Egypt her greatness to her priests. Rapt inthemselves, coveting a sway over the nobler part of man, his soul andhis belief, those ancient ministers of God were inspired with thegrandest thought that ever exalted mortals. From the revolutions of thestars, from the seasons of the earth, from the round and unvaryingcircle of human destinies, they devised an august allegory; they made itgross and palpable to the vulgar by the signs of gods and goddesses, andthat which in reality was Government they named Religion. Isis is afable--start not!--that for which Isis is a type is a reality, animmortal being; Isis is nothing. Nature, which she represents, is themother of all things--dark, ancient, inscrutable, save to the giftedfew. "None among mortals hath ever lifted up my veil," so saith theIsis that you adore; but to the wise that veil hath been removed, and wehave stood face to face with the solemn loveliness of Nature. Thepriests then were the benefactors, the civilizers of mankind; true, theywere also cheats, impostors if you will. But think you, young man, thatif they had not deceived their kind they could have served them? Theignorant and servile vulgar must be blinded to attain to their propergood; they would not believe a maxim--they revere an oracle. TheEmperor of Rome sways the vast and various tribes of earth, andharmonizes the conflicting and disunited elements; thence come peace,order, law, the blessings of life. Think you it is the man, the emperor,that thus sways?--no, it is the pomp, the awe, the majesty that surroundhim--these are his impostures, his delusions; our oracles and ourdivinations, our rites and our ceremonies, are the means of oursovereignty and the engines of our power. They are the same means tothe same end, the welfare and harmony of mankind. You listen to me raptand intent--the light begins to d
awn upon you.'

  Apaecides remained silent, but the changes rapidly passing over hisspeaking countenance betrayed the effect produced upon him by the wordsof the Egyptian--words made tenfold more eloquent by the voice, theaspect, and the manner of the man.

  'While, then,' resumed Arbaces, 'our fathers of the Nile thus achievedthe first elements by whose life chaos is destroyed, namely, theobedience and reverence of the multitude for the few, they drew fromtheir majestic and starred meditations that wisdom which was nodelusion: they invented the codes and regularities of law--the arts andglories of existence. They asked belief; they returned the gift bycivilization. Were not their very cheats a virtue! Trust me, whosoeverin yon far heavens of a diviner and more beneficent nature look downupon our world, smile approvingly on the wisdom which has worked suchends. But you wish me to apply these generalities to yourself; I hastento obey the wish. The altars of the goddess of our ancient faith mustbe served, and served too by others than the stolid and soulless thingsthat are but as pegs and hooks whereon to hang the fillet and the robe.Remember two sayings of Sextus the Pythagorean, sayings borrowed fromthe lore of Egypt. The first is, "Speak not of God to the multitude";the second is, "The man worthy of God is a god among men." As Geniusgave to the ministers of Egypt worship, that empire in late ages sofearfully decayed, thus by Genius only can the dominion be restored. Isaw in you, Apaecides, a pupil worthy of my lessons--a minister worthyof the great ends which may yet be wrought; your energy, your talents,your purity of faith, your earnestness of enthusiasm, all fitted you forthat calling which demands so imperiously high and ardent qualities: Ifanned, therefore, your sacred desires; I stimulated you to the step youhave taken. But you blame me that I did not reveal to you the littlesouls and the juggling tricks of your companions. Had I done so,Apaecides, I had defeated my own object; your noble nature would have atonce revolted, and Isis would have lost her priest.'

  Apaecides groaned aloud. The Egyptian continued, without heeding theinterruption.

  'I placed you, therefore, without preparation, in the temple; I left yousuddenly to discover and to be sickened by all those mummeries whichdazzle the herd. I desired that you should perceive how those enginesare moved by which the fountain that refreshes the world casts itswaters in the air. It was the trial ordained of old to all our priests.They who accustom themselves to the impostures of the vulgar, are leftto practise them--for those like you, whose higher natures demand higherpursuit, religion opens more god-like secrets. I am pleased to find inyou the character I had expected. You have taken the vows; you cannotrecede. Advance--I will be your guide.'

  'And what wilt thou teach me, O singular and fearful man? Newcheats--new...'

  'No--I have thrown thee into the abyss of disbelief; I will lead theenow to the eminence of faith. Thou hast seen the false types: thoushalt learn now the realities they represent. There is no shadow,Apaecides, without its substance. Come to me this night. Your hand.'

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

  It was true that for Apaecides there was no retreat. He had taken thevows of celibacy: he had devoted himself to a life that at presentseemed to possess all the austerities of fanaticism, without any of theconsolations of belief It was natural that he should yet cling to ayearning desire to reconcile himself to an irrevocable career. Thepowerful and profound mind of the Egyptian yet claimed an empire overhis young imagination; excited him with vague conjecture, and kept himalternately vibrating between hope and fear.

  Meanwhile Arbaces pursued his slow and stately way to the house of Ione.As he entered the tablinum, he heard a voice from the porticoes of theperistyle beyond, which, musical as it was, sounded displeasingly on hisear--it was the voice of the young and beautiful Glaucus, and for thefirst time an involuntary thrill of jealousy shot through the breast ofthe Egyptian. On entering the peristyle, he found Glaucus seated by theside of Ione. The fountain in the odorous garden cast up its silverspray in the air, and kept a delicious coolness in the midst of thesultry noon. The handmaids, almost invariably attendant on Ione, whowith her freedom of life preserved the most delicate modesty, sat at alittle distance; by the feet of Glaucus lay the lyre on which he hadbeen playing to Ione one of the Lesbian airs. The scene--the groupbefore Arbaces, was stamped by that peculiar and refined ideality ofpoesy which we yet, not erroneously, imagine to be the distinction ofthe ancients--the marble columns, the vases of flowers, the statue,white and tranquil, closing every vista; and, above all, the two livingforms, from which a sculptor might have caught either inspiration ordespair!

  Arbaces, pausing for a moment, gazed on the pair with a brow from whichall the usual stern serenity had fled; he recovered himself by aneffort, and slowly approached them, but with a step so soft andecholess, that even the attendants heard him not; much less Ione and herlover.

  'And yet,' said Glaucus, 'it is only before we love that we imagine thatour poets have truly described the passion; the instant the sun rises,all the stars that had shone in his absence vanish into air. The poetsexist only in the night of the heart; they are nothing to us when wefeel the full glory of the god.'

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

  Both started, and recognized behind the seat of Ione the cold andsarcastic face of the Egyptian.

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

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

  'I am glad,' said Ione, 'to see you at length together; for you aresuited to each other, and you are formed to be friends.'

  'Give me back some fifteen years of life,' replied the Egyptian, 'beforeyou can place me on an equality with Glaucus. Happy should I be toreceive his friendship; but what can I give him in return? Can I maketo him the same confidences that he would repose in me--of banquets andgarlands--of Parthian steeds, and the chances of the dice? thesepleasures suit his age, his nature, his career: they are not for mine.'

  So saying, the artful Egyptian looked down and sighed; but from thecorner of his eye he stole a glance towards Ione, to see how shereceived these insinuations of the pursuits of her visitor. Hercountenance did not satisfy him. Glaucus, slightly coloring, hastenedgaily to reply. Nor was he, perhaps, without the wish in his turn todisconcert and abash the Egyptian.

  'You are right, wise Arbaces,' said he; 'we can esteem each other, butwe cannot be friends. My banquets lack the secret salt which, accordingto rumor, gives such zest to your own. And, by Hercules! when I havereached your age, if I, like you, may think it wise to pursue thepleasures of manhood, like you, I shall be doubtless sarcastic on thegallantries of youth.'

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

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

  'I have not, beautiful Ione,' said he, 'been fortunate enough to findyou within doors the last two or three times that I have visited yourvestibule.'

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

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

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

  'He spoke according to the customs of his country, and that country isyour boasted Greece.'

  'To different periods different customs. Had our forefathers knownIone, they had made a different law.'

  'Did you learn these pretty gallantries at Rome?' said Arbaces, withill-suppressed emotion.

  'One certainly would not go for gallantries to Egypt,' retorted Glaucus,playing carelessly w
ith his chain.

  'Come, come,' said Ione, hastening to interrupt a conversation which shesaw, to her great distress, was so little likely to cement the intimacyshe had desired to effect between Glaucus and her friend, 'Arbaces mustnot be so hard upon his poor pupil. An orphan, and without a mother'scare, I may be to blame for the independent and almost masculine libertyof life that I have chosen: yet it is not greater than the Roman womenare accustomed to--it is not greater than the Grecian ought to be.Alas! is it only to be among men that freedom and virtue are to bedeemed united? Why should the slavery that destroys you be consideredthe only method to preserve us? Ah! believe me, it has been the greaterror of men--and one that has worked bitterly on their destinies--toimagine that the nature of women is (I will not say inferior, that maybe so, but) so different from their own, in making laws unfavorable tothe intellectual advancement of women. Have they not, in so doing, madelaws against their children, whom women are to rear?--against thehusbands, of whom women are to be the friends, nay, sometimes theadvisers?' Ione stopped short suddenly, and her face was suffused withthe most enchanting blushes. She feared lest her enthusiasm had led hertoo far; yet she feared the austere Arbaces less than the courteousGlaucus, for she loved the last, and it was not the custom of the Greeksto allow their women (at least such of their women as they most honored)the same liberty and the same station as those of Italy enjoyed. Shefelt, therefore, a thrill of delight as Glaucus earnestly replied:

  'Ever mayst thou think thus, Ione--ever be your pure heart your unerringguide! Happy it had been for Greece if she had given to the chaste thesame intellectual charms that are so celebrated amongst the less worthyof her women. No state falls from freedom--from knowledge, while yoursex smile only on the free, and by appreciating, encourage the wise.'

  Arbaces was silent, for it was neither his part to sanction thesentiment of Glaucus, nor to condemn that of Ione, and, after a shortand embarrassed conversation, Glaucus took his leave of Ione.

  When he was gone, Arbaces, drawing his seat nearer to the fairNeapolitan's, said in those bland and subdued tones, in which he knew sowell how to veil the mingled art and fierceness of his character:

  'Think not, my sweet pupil, if so I may call you, that I wish to shacklethat liberty you adorn while you assume: but which, if not greater, asyou rightly observe, than that possessed by the Roman women, must atleast be accompanied by great circumspection, when arrogated by oneunmarried. Continue to draw crowds of the gay, the brilliant, the wisethemselves, to your feet--continue to charm them with the conversationof an Aspasia, the music of an Erinna--but reflect, at least, on thosecensorious tongues which can so easily blight the tender reputation of amaiden; and while you provoke admiration, give, I beseech you, novictory to envy.'

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

  'Your friend--ah, how sincerely! May I speak then as a friend, withoutreserve and without offence?'

  'I beseech you do so.'

  'This young profligate, this Glaucus, how didst thou know him? Hast thouseen him often?' And as Arbaces spoke, he fixed his gaze steadfastlyupon Ione, as if he sought to penetrate into her soul.

  Recoiling before that gaze, with a strange fear which she could notexplain, the Neapolitan answered with confusion and hesitation: 'He wasbrought to my house as a countryman of my father's, and I may say ofmine. I have known him only within this last week or so: but why thesequestions?'

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

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

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

  'I implore you speak. What has Glaucus insinuated? or rather, in whatdo you suppose he has offended?'

  Smothering his resentment at the last part of Ione's question, Arbacescontinued: 'You know his pursuits, his companions his habits; thecomissatio and the alea (the revel and the dice) make his occupation;and amongst the associates of vice how can he dream of virtue?'

  'Still you speak riddles. By the gods! I entreat you, say the worst atonce.'

  'Well, then, it must be so. Know, my Ione, that it was but yesterdaythat Glaucus boasted openly--yes, in the public baths--of your love tohim. He said it amused him to take advantage of it. Nay, I will do himjustice, he praised your beauty. Who could deny it? But he laughedscornfully when his Clodius, or his Lepidus, asked him if he loved youenough for marriage, and when he purposed to adorn his door-posts withflowers?'

  'Impossible! How heard you this base slander?'

  'Nay, would you have me relate to you all the comments of the insolentcoxcombs with which the story has circled through the town? Be assuredthat I myself disbelieved at first, and that I have now painfully beenconvinced by several ear-witnesses of the truth of what I havereluctantly told thee.'

  Ione sank back, and her face was whiter than the pillar against whichshe leaned for support.

  'I own it vexed--it irritated me, to hear your name thus lightly pitchedfrom lip to lip, like some mere dancing-girl's fame. I hastened thismorning to seek and to warn you. I found Glaucus here. I was stungfrom my self-possession. I could not conceal my feelings; nay, I wasuncourteous in thy presence. Canst thou forgive thy friend, Ione?'

  Ione placed her hand in his, but replied not.

  'Think no more of this,' said he; 'but let it be a warning voice, totell thee how much prudence thy lot requires. It cannot hurt thee,Ione, for a moment; for a gay thing like this could never have beenhonored by even a serious thought from Ione. These insults only woundwhen they come from one we love; far different indeed is he whom thelofty Ione shall stoop to love.'

  'Love!' muttered Ione, with an hysterical laugh. 'Ay, indeed.'

  It is not without interest to observe in those remote times, and under asocial system so widely different from the modern, the same small causesthat ruffle and interrupt the 'course of love', which operate socommonly at this day--the same inventive jealousy, the same cunningslander, the same crafty and fabricated retailings of petty gossip,which so often now suffice to break the ties of the truest love, andcounteract the tenor of circumstances most apparently propitious. Whenthe bark sails on over the smoothest wave, the fable tells us of thediminutive fish that can cling to the keel and arrest its progress: sois it ever with the great passions of mankind; and we should paint lifebut ill if, even in times the most prodigal of romance, and of theromance of which we most largely avail ourselves, we did not alsodescribe the mechanism of those trivial and household springs ofmischief which we see every day at work in our chambers and at ourhearths. It is in these, the lesser intrigues of life, that we mostlyfind ourselves at home with the past.

  Most cunningly had the Egyptian appealed to Ione's ruling foible--mostdexterously had he applied the poisoned dart to her pride. He fanciedhe had arrested what he hoped, from the shortness of the time she hadknown Glaucus, was, at most, but an incipient fancy; and hastening tochange the subject, he now led her to talk of her brother. Theirconversation did not last long. He left her, resolved not again totrust so much to absence, but to visit--to watch her--every day.

  No sooner had his shadow glided from her presence, than woman'spride--her sex's dissimulation--deserted his intended victim, and thehaughty Ione burst into passionate tears.