The Last Days of Pompeii Part 43

THE PHILTRE. ITS EFFECT.

WHEN Glaucus arrived at his own home, he found Nydia seated under the portico of his garden. In fact, she had sought his house in the mere chance that he might return at an early hour: anxious, fearful, antic.i.p.ative, she resolved upon seizing the earliest opportunity of availing herself of the love-charm, while at the same time she half hoped the opportunity might be deferred.

It was then, in that fearful burning mood, her heart beating, her cheek flus.h.i.+ng, that Nydia awaited the possibility of Glaucus's return before the night. He crossed the portico just as the first stars began to rise, and the heaven above had a.s.sumed its most purple robe.

'Ho, my child, wait you for me?'

'Nay, I have been tending the flowers, and did but linger a little while to rest myself.'

'It has been warm,' said Glaucus, placing himself also on one of the seats beneath the colonnade.

'Very.'

'Wilt thou summon Davus? The wine I have drunk heats me, and I long for some cooling drink.'

Here at once, suddenly and unexpectedly, the very opportunity that Nydia awaited presented itself; of himself, at his own free choice, he afforded to her that occasion. She breathed quick--'I will prepare for you myself,' said she, 'the summer draught that Ione loves--of honey and weak wine cooled in snow.'

'Thanks,' said the unconscious Glaucus. 'If Ione love it, enough; it would be grateful were it poison.'

Nydia frowned, and then smiled; she withdrew for a few moments, and returned with the cup containing the beverage. Glaucus took it from her hand. What would not Nydia have given then for one hour's prerogative of sight, to have watched her hopes ripening to effect--to have seen the first dawn of the imagined love--to have wors.h.i.+pped with more than Persian adoration the rising of that sun which her credulous soul believed was to break upon her dreary night! Far different, as she stood then and there, were the thoughts, the emotions of the blind girl, from those of the vain Pompeian under a similar suspense. In the last, what poor and frivolous pa.s.sions had made up the daring whole! What petty pique, what small revenge, what expectation of a paltry triumph, had swelled the attributes of that sentiment she dignified with the name of love! but in the wild heart of the Thessalian all was pure, uncontrolled, unmodified pa.s.sion--erring, unwomanly, frenzied, but debased by no elements of a more sordid feeling. Filled with love as with life itself, how could she resist the occasion of winning love in return!

She leaned for support against the wall, and her face, before so flushed, was now white as snow, and with her delicate hands clasped convulsively together, her lips apart, her eyes on the ground, she waited the next words Glaucus should utter.

Glaucus had raised the cup to his lips, he had already drained about a fourth of its contents, when his eye suddenly glancing upon the face of Nydia, he was so forcibly struck by its alteration, by its intense, and painful, and strange expression, that he paused abruptly, and still holding the cup near his lips, exclaimed:

'Why, Nydia! Nydia! I say, art thou ill or in pain? Nay, thy face speaks for thee. What ails my poor child?' As he spoke, he put down the cup and rose from his seat to approach her, when a sudden pang shot coldly to his heart, and was followed by a wild, confused, dizzy sensation at the brain. The floor seemed to glide from under him--his feet seemed to move on air--a mighty and unearthly gladness rushed upon his spirit--he felt too buoyant for the earth--he longed for wings, nay, it seemed in the buoyancy of his new existence, as if he possessed them.

He burst involuntarily into a loud and thrilling laugh. He clapped his hands--he bounded aloft--he was as a Pythoness inspired; suddenly as it came this preternatural transport pa.s.sed, though only partially, away.

He now felt his blood rus.h.i.+ng loudly and rapidly through his veins; it seemed to swell, to exult, to leap along, as a stream that has burst its bounds, and hurries to the ocean. It throbbed in his ear with a mighty sound, he felt it mount to his brow, he felt the veins in the temples stretch and swell as if they could no longer contain the violent and increasing tide--then a kind of darkness fell over his eyes--darkness, but not entire; for through the dim shade he saw the opposite walls glow out, and the figures painted thereon seemed, ghost-like, to creep and glide. What was most strange, he did not feel himself ill--he did not sink or quail beneath the dread frenzy that was gathering over him. The novelty of the feelings seemed bright and vivid--he felt as if a younger health had been infused into his frame. He was gliding on to madness--and he knew it not!

Nydia had not answered his first question--she had not been able to reply--his wild and fearful laugh had roused her from her pa.s.sionate suspense: she could not see his fierce gesture--she could not mark his reeling and unsteady step as he paced unconsciously to and fro; but she heard the words, broken, incoherent, insane, that gushed from his lips.

She became terrified and appalled--she hastened to him, feeling with her arms until she touched his knees, and then falling on the ground she embraced them, weeping with terror and excitement.

'Oh, speak to me! speak! you do not hate me?--speak, speak!'

'By the bright G.o.ddess, a beautiful land this Cyprus! Ho! how they fill us with wine instead of blood! now they open the veins of the Faun yonder, to show how the tide within bubbles and sparkles. Come hither, jolly old G.o.d! thou ridest on a goat, eh?--what long silky hair he has!

He is worth all the coursers of Parthia. But a word with thee--this wine of thine is too strong for us mortals. Oh! beautiful! the boughs are at rest! the green waves of the forest have caught the Zephyr and drowned him! Not a breath stirs the leaves--and I view the Dreams sleeping with folded wings upon the motionless elm; and I look beyond, and I see a blue stream sparkle in the silent noon; a fountain--a fountain springing aloft! Ah! my fount, thou wilt not put out rays of my Grecian sun, though thou triest ever so hard with thy nimble and silver arms. And now, what form steals yonder through the boughs? she glides like a moonbeam!--she has a garland of oak-leaves on her head.

In her hand is a vase upturned, from which she pours pink and tiny sh.e.l.ls and sparkling water. Oh! look on yon face! Man never before saw its like. See! we are alone; only I and she in the wide forest. There is no smile upon her lips--she moves, grave and sweetly sad. Ha! fly, it is a nymph!--it is one of the wild Napaeae! Whoever sees her becomes mad-fly! see, she discovers me!'

'Oh! Glaucus! Glaucus! do you not know me? Rave not so wildly, or thou wilt kill me with a word!'

A new change seemed now to operate upon the jarring and disordered mind of the unfortunate Athenian. He put his hand upon Nydia's silken hair; he smoothed the locks--he looked wistfully upon her face, and then, as in the broken chain of thought one or two links were yet unsevered, it seemed that her countenance brought its a.s.sociations of Ione; and with that remembrance his madness became yet more powerful, and it swayed and tinged by pa.s.sion, as he burst forth:

'I swear by Venus, by Diana, and by Juno, that though I have now the world on my shoulders, as my countryman Hercules (ah, dull Rome! whoever was truly great was of Greece; why, you would be G.o.dless if it were not for us!)--I say, as my countryman Hercules had before me, I would let it fall into chaos for one smile from Ione. Ah, Beautiful,--Adored,' he added, in a voice inexpressibly fond and plaintive, 'thou lovest me not.

Thou art unkind to me. The Egyptian hath belied me to thee--thou knowest not what hours I have spent beneath thy cas.e.m.e.nt--thou knowest not how I have out.w.a.tched the stars, thinking thou, my sun, wouldst rise at last--and thou lovest me not, thou forsakest me! Oh! do not leave me now! I feel that my life will not be long; let me gaze on thee at least unto the last. I am of the bright land of thy fathers--I have trod the heights of Phyle--I have gathered the hyacinth and rose amidst the olive-groves of Ilyssus. Thou shouldst not desert me, for thy fathers were brothers to my own. And they say this land is lovely, and these climes serene, but I will bear thee with me--Ho! dark form, why risest thou like a cloud between me and mine? Death sits calmly dread upon thy brow--on thy lip is the smile that slays: thy name is Orcus, but on earth men call thee Arbaces. See, I know thee! fly, dim shadow, thy spells avail not!'

'Glaucus! Glaucus!' murmured Nydia, releasing her hold and falling, beneath the excitement of her dismay, remorse, and anguish, insensible on the floor.

'Who calls?' said he in a loud voice. 'Ione, it is she! they have borne her off--we will save her--where is my stilus? Ha, I have it! I come, Ione, to thy rescue! I come! I come!'

So saying, the Athenian with one bound pa.s.sed the portico, he traversed the house, and rushed with swift but vacillating steps, and muttering audibly to himself, down the starlit streets. The direful potion burnt like fire in his veins, for its effect was made, perhaps, still more sudden from the wine he had drunk previously. Used to the excesses of nocturnal revellers, the citizens, with smiles and winks, gave way to his reeling steps; they naturally imagined him under the influence of the Bromian G.o.d, not vainly wors.h.i.+pped at Pompeii; but they who looked twice upon his face started in a nameless fear, and the smile withered from their lips. He pa.s.sed the more populous streets; and, pursuing mechanically the way to Ione's house, he traversed a more deserted quarter, and entered now the lonely grove of Cybele, in which Apaecides had held his interview with Olinthus.

Chapter VI

A REUNION OF DIFFERENT ACTORS. STREAMS THAT FLOWED APPARENTLY APART RUSH INTO ONE GULF.

IMPATIENT to learn whether the fell drug had yet been administered by Julia to his hated rival, and with what effect, Arbaces resolved, as the evening came on, to seek her house, and satisfy his suspense. It was customary, as I have before said, for men at that time to carry abroad with them the tablets and the stilus attached to their girdle; and with the girdle they were put off when at home. In fact, under the appearance of a literary instrument, the Romans carried about with them in that same stilus a very sharp and formidable weapon. It was with his stilus that Ca.s.sius stabbed Caesar in the senate-house. Taking, then, his girdle and his cloak, Arbaces left his house, supporting his steps, which were still somewhat feeble (though hope and vengeance had conspired greatly with his own medical science, which was profound, to restore his natural strength), by his long staff--Arbaces took his way to the villa of Diomed.

And beautiful is the moonlight of the south! In those climes the night so quickly glides into the day, that twilight scarcely makes a bridge between them. One moment of darker purple in the sky--of a thousand rose-hues in the water--of shade half victorious over light; and then burst forth at once the countless stars--the moon is up--night has resumed her reign!

Brightly then, and softly bright, fell the moonbeams over the antique grove consecrated to Cybele--the stately trees, whose date went beyond tradition, cast their long shadows over the soil, while through the openings in their boughs the stars shone, still and frequent. The whiteness of the small sacellum in the centre of the grove, amidst the dark foliage, had in it something abrupt and startling; it recalled at once the purpose to which the wood was consecrated--its holiness and solemnity.

With a swift and stealthy pace, Calenus, gliding under the shade of the trees, reached the chapel, and gently putting back the boughs that completely closed around its rear, settled himself in his concealment; a concealment so complete, what with the fane in front and the trees behind, that no unsuspicious pa.s.senger could possibly have detected him.

Again, all was apparently solitary in the grove: afar off you heard faintly the voices of some noisy revellers or the music that played cheerily to the groups that then, as now in those climates, during the nights of summer, lingered in the streets, and enjoyed, in the fresh air and the liquid moonlight, a milder day.

From the height on which the grove was placed, you saw through the intervals of the trees the broad and purple sea, rippling in the distance, the white villas of Stabiae in the curving sh.o.r.e, and the dim Lectiarian hills mingling with the delicious sky. Presently the tall figure of Arbaces, in his way to the house of Diomed, entered the extreme end of the grove; and at the same instant Apaecides, also bound to his appointment with Olinthus, crossed the Egyptian's path.

'Hem! Apaecides,' said Arbaces, recognizing the priest at a glance; 'when last we met, you were my foe. I have wished since then to see you, for I would have you still my pupil and my friend.'

Apaecides started at the voice of the Egyptian; and halting abruptly, gazed upon him with a countenance full of contending, bitter, and scornful emotions.

'Villain and impostor!' said he at length; 'thou hast recovered then from the jaws of the grave! But think not again to weave around me thy guilty meshes. Retiarius, I am armed against thee!'

'Hus.h.!.+' said Arbaces, in a very low voice--but his pride, which in that descendant of kings was great, betrayed the wound it received from the insulting epithets of the priest in the quiver of his lip and the flush of his tawny brow. 'Hus.h.!.+ more low! thou mayest be overheard, and if other ears than mine had drunk those sounds--why...'

'Dost thou threaten?--what if the whole city had heard me?'

'The manes of my ancestors would not have suffered me to forgive thee.

But, hold, and hear me. Thou art enraged that I would have offered violence to thy sister. Nay, peace, peace, but one instant, I pray thee. Thou art right; it was the frenzy of pa.s.sion and of jealousy--I have repented bitterly of my madness. Forgive me; I, who never implored pardon of living man, beseech thee now to forgive me. Nay, I will atone the insult--I ask thy sister in marriage--start not--consider--what is the alliance of yon holiday Greek compared to mine? Wealth unbounded--birth that in its far antiquity leaves your Greek and Roman names the things of yesterday--science--but that thou knowest! Give me thy sister, and my whole life shall atone a moment's error.'

'Egyptian, were even I to consent, my sister loathes the very air thou breathest: but I have my own wrongs to forgive--I may pardon thee that thou hast made me a tool to thy deceits, but never that thou hast seduced me to become the abettor of thy vices--a polluted and a perjured man. Tremble!--even now I prepare the hour in which thou and thy false G.o.ds shall be unveiled. Thy lewd and Circean life shall be dragged to day--thy mumming oracles disclosed--the fane of the idol Isis shall be a byword and a scorn--the name of Arbaces a mark for the hisses of execration! Tremble!'

The flush on the Egyptian's brow was succeeded by a livid paleness. He looked behind, before, around, to feel a.s.sured that none were by; and then he fixed his dark and dilating eye on the priest, with such a gaze of wrath and menace, that one, perhaps, less supported than Apaecides by the fervent daring of a divine zeal, could not have faced with unflinching look that lowering aspect. As it was, however, the young convert met it unmoved, and returned it with an eye of proud defiance.

'Apaecides,' said the Egyptian, in a tremulous and inward tone, 'beware!

What is it thou wouldst meditate? Speakest thou--reflect, pause before thou repliest--from the hasty influences of wrath, as yet divining no settled purpose, or from some fixed design?'

'I speak from the inspiration of the True G.o.d, whose servant I now am,'

answered the Christian, boldly; 'and in the knowledge that by His grace human courage has already fixed the date of thy hypocrisy and thy demon's wors.h.i.+p; ere thrice the sun has dawned, thou wilt know all!

Dark sorcerer, tremble, and farewell!'

All the fierce and lurid pa.s.sions which he inherited from his nation and his clime, at all times but ill concealed beneath the blandness of craft and the coldness of philosophy, were released in the breast of the Egyptian. Rapidly one thought chased another; he saw before him an obstinate barrier to even a lawful alliance with Ione--the fellow-champion of Glaucus in the struggle which had baffled his designs--the reviler of his name--the threatened desecrator of the G.o.ddess he served while he disbelieved--the avowed and approaching revealer of his own impostures and vices. His love, his repute, nay, his very life, might be in danger--the day and hour seemed even to have been fixed for some design against him. He knew by the words of the convert that Apaecides had adopted the Christian faith: he knew the indomitable zeal which led on the proselytes of that creed. Such was his enemy; he grasped his stilus--that enemy was in his power! They were now before the chapel; one hasty glance once more he cast around; he saw none near--silence and solitude alike tempted him.

'Die, then, in thy rashness!' he muttered; 'away, obstacle to my rus.h.i.+ng fates!'

And just as the young Christian had turned to depart, Arbaces raised his hand high over the left shoulder of Apaecides, and plunged his sharp weapon twice into his breast.