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036 - Book 4 Chapter VIII · Last Days of Pompeii

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  Speaker 1: Book four, Chapter eight of Last Days of Pompeii. This
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  Speaker 1: is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
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  Speaker 1: public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
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  Speaker 1: LibriVox dot org. Last Days of Pompeii by Edward G.
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  Speaker 1: Bulwer Lytton, Book four, Chapter eight, a classic funeral. While
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  Speaker 1: arbasses had been thus employed, sorrow and death were in
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  Speaker 1: the house of Ione. It was the night preceding the
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  Speaker 1: morn in which the solemn funeral rites were to be
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  Speaker 1: decreed to the remains of the murdered Apisides. The corpse
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  Speaker 1: had been removed from the temple of Isis to the
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  Speaker 1: house of the nearest surviving relative. And Ione had heard
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  Speaker 1: in the same breath the death of her brother and
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  Speaker 1: the accusation against her betrothed. That first violent anguish which
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  Speaker 1: blunts the sense of all but itself. In the forbearing
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  Speaker 1: silence of her slaves had prevented her from learning minutely
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  Speaker 1: the circumstances attendant on the fate of her lover. His illness,
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  Speaker 1: his frenzy, and his approaching trial were unknown to her.
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  Speaker 1: She learned only the accusation against him, and at once
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  Speaker 1: indignantly rejected it nay. On hearing that Arbases was the accuser,
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  Speaker 1: she required no more to induce her firmly and solemnly
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  Speaker 1: to believe that the Egyptian himself was the criminal. But
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  Speaker 1: the vast and absorbing importance attached by the ancients to
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  Speaker 1: the performance of every ceremonial connected with the death of
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  Speaker 1: a relation had as yet confined her woe and her
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  Speaker 1: convictions to the chamber of the deceased. Alas it was
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  Speaker 1: not for her to perform that tender and touching office
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  Speaker 1: which obliged the nearest relative to endeavor to catch the
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  Speaker 1: last breath the departing soul of the beloved one. But
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  Speaker 1: it was hers to close the straining eyes the distorted lips,
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  Speaker 1: to watch by the consecrated clay, as fresh bathed and
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  Speaker 1: anointed it lay in festive robes upon the ivory bed,
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  Speaker 1: through the couch with leaves and flowers, and to renew
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  Speaker 1: the solemn cypress branch at the threshold of the door.
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  Speaker 1: And in these sad offices, in lamentation and in prayer,
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  Speaker 1: Ione forgot herself. It was among the loveliest customs of
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  Speaker 1: the ancients to bury the young at the morning twilight,
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  Speaker 1: for as they strove to give the softest interpretation to death.
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  Speaker 1: So they poetically imagined that Aurora, who loved the young,
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  Speaker 1: had stolen them to her embrace. And though in the
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  Speaker 1: instance of the murdered priest, this fable could not appropriately
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  Speaker 1: cheat the fancy, the general custom was still preserved. The
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  Speaker 1: stars were fading one by one from the gray heavens,
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  Speaker 1: and nights slowly receding before the approach of morn. When
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  Speaker 1: a dark group stood motionless before Ione's door, high and
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  Speaker 1: slender torches, made paler by the unmellowed dawn, cast their
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  Speaker 1: light over various countenances, hushed for the moment in one's
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  Speaker 1: solemn and intent expression. And now there arose a slow
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  Speaker 1: and dismal music which accorded sadly with the right and
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  Speaker 1: floated far along the desolate and breathless streets, while a
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  Speaker 1: chorus of female voices the praficie so often cited by
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  Speaker 1: the Roman poets, accompanying the tybesan and misy in flute,
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  Speaker 1: woke the following strain, the funeral dirge, or the sad threshold,
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  Speaker 1: where the cypress bow supplants the rose that should adorn
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  Speaker 1: thy home. On the last pilgrimage, on earth that now
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  Speaker 1: awaits thee wanderer to cocaitus calm darkly, we woo and
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  Speaker 1: weeping we invite Death is thy host. His banquet asks
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  Speaker 1: thy soul. Thy garlands hang within the house of night,
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  Speaker 1: and the black stream alone shall fill thy bowl. No
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  Speaker 1: more for thee, the laughter and the song, the jocund night,
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  Speaker 1: the glory of the day, the argive daughters at their
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  Speaker 1: labors long, the hell bird swooping on its titan prey,
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  Speaker 1: the false iolides upheaving slow, or the eternal hill, the
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  Speaker 1: eternal stone, the crowned Ldian in his parching woe and
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  Speaker 1: green calorhose monster headed sun. These shalt thou see, dim
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  Speaker 1: shadowed through the dark which makes the sky of Pluto's
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  Speaker 1: dreary shore lo where thou standest, pale, gazing on the
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  Speaker 1: bark that waits our right to bear thee trembling oar,
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  Speaker 1: Come then, no more delay. The phantom pines amidst the
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  Speaker 1: unburied for his latest home, or the gray sky, the
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  Speaker 1: torch impatient shines, Come mourner forth. The lost One bids
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  Speaker 1: thee calm. As the hymn died away. The group parted
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  Speaker 1: in Twain and placed upon a couch spread with a
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  Speaker 1: purple pall. The corpse of Apisides was carried forth with
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  Speaker 1: the feet foremost. The designator or marshal of the sober ceremonial,
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  Speaker 1: accompanied by his torch bearers clad in black, gave the signal,
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  Speaker 1: and the procession moved dreadly on. First went the musicians,
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  Speaker 1: playing a slow march, the solemnity of the lower instruments
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  Speaker 1: broken by many a louder and wilder burst of the
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  Speaker 1: funeral trumpet. Next followed the hired mourners, chanting their dirges
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  Speaker 1: to the dead, and the female voices were mingled with
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  Speaker 1: those of boys, whose tender years made still more striking
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  Speaker 1: the contrast of life and death, the fresh leaf and
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  Speaker 1: the withered one. But the players, the buffoons, the archimimus,
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  Speaker 1: whose duty is to personate the dead. These the customary
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  Speaker 1: attendants at ordinary funerals, were banished from a funeral attended
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  Speaker 1: with so many terrible associations. The priests of ices came next,
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  Speaker 1: in their snowy garments, barefooted and supporting sheaves of corn,
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  Speaker 1: while before the corpse were carried the images of the
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  Speaker 1: deceased and his many Athenian forefathers. And behind the bier
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  Speaker 1: followed amidst her women, the sole surviving relative of the dead,
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  Speaker 1: her head bare, her locks disheveled, her face paler than marble,
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  Speaker 1: but composed and still save ever and anon. As some
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  Speaker 1: tender thought, awakened by the music, flashed upon the dark
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  Speaker 1: lethargy of woe, she covered that countenance with her hands
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  Speaker 1: and sobbed unseen, for hers were not the noisy sorrow,
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  Speaker 1: the shrill lament, the ungoverned gesture, which characterized those who
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  Speaker 1: honored less faithfully in that age. As in all the
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  Speaker 1: channel of deep grief flowed, hushed and still, And so
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  Speaker 1: the procession swept on till it had traversed the streets
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  Speaker 1: past the city gate, and gained the place of tombs.
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  Speaker 1: Without the wall which the traveler yet beholds. Raised in
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  Speaker 1: the form of an altar of unpolished pine, amidst whose
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  Speaker 1: interstices were placed preparations of combustible matter, stood the funeral pyre,
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  Speaker 1: and around it drooped the dark and gloomy cypresses so
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  Speaker 1: consecrated by song to the tomb. As soon as the
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  Speaker 1: beer was placed upon the pile, the attendants, parting on
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  Speaker 1: either side, ione passed up to the couch and stood
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  Speaker 1: before the unconscious clay for some moments, motionless and silent.
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  Speaker 1: The features of the dead had been composed from the
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  Speaker 1: first agonized expression of violent death, hushed forever, the terror
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  Speaker 1: and the doubt, the contest of passion, the awe of religion,
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  Speaker 1: the struggle of the past and present, the hope and
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  Speaker 1: the horror of the future, of all that ransacked and desolated,
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  Speaker 1: the breast of that young aspirant to the holy of life.
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  Speaker 1: What trace was visible in the awful serenity of that
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  Speaker 1: impenetrable brow and unbreathing lip. The sister gazed, and not
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  Speaker 1: a sound was heard amidst the crowd. There was something terrible,
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  Speaker 1: yet softening, also in the silence. And when it broke,
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  Speaker 1: it broke sudden and abrupt. It broke with a loud
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  Speaker 1: and passionate cry, the vent of long smothered despair, My
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  Speaker 1: bra my brother, cried the poor orphan falling upon the couch,
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  Speaker 1: Thou whom the worm on thy path feared? Not What
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  Speaker 1: enemy couldst thou provoke? Oh is it in truth? Come
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  Speaker 1: to this awake, awake we grow together? Are we thus
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  Speaker 1: torn asunder? Thou art not dead? Thou sleepest awake, awake.
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  Speaker 1: The sound of her piercing voice roused the sympathy of
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  Speaker 1: the mourners, and they broke into loud and rude lament.
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  Speaker 1: This startled this recalled Ione. She looked up hastily and confusedly,
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  Speaker 1: as if for the first time sensible of the presence
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  Speaker 1: of those around ah. She murmured with a shiver, we
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  Speaker 1: are not then alone with that. After a brief pause,
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  Speaker 1: she rose, and her pale and beautiful countenance was again
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  Speaker 1: composed and rigid. With fond and trembling hands, she unclosed
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  Speaker 1: the lids of the deceased, But when the doll glazed eye,
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  Speaker 1: no longer beaming with love and life, met hers, she
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  Speaker 1: shrieked aloud, as if she had seen a specter. Once more,
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  Speaker 1: recovering herself, she kissed again and again, the lids, the lips,
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  Speaker 1: the brow, and with mechanic and unconscious hand, received from
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  Speaker 1: the high Priest of her brother's temple the funeral torch.
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  Speaker 1: The sudden burst of music, the sudden song of the mourners,
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  Speaker 1: announced the birth of the sanctifying flame. Him to the wind,
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  Speaker 1: one on thy couch of cloud reclined wake O, soft
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  Speaker 1: and sacred wind, Soft and sacred. Will we name thee
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  Speaker 1: who sow'er the sire that claim thee, whether old Ouster's
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  Speaker 1: dusky child or the loud sun of Eurus wild, or
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  Speaker 1: his who o'er the darkling deeps from the bleak north
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  Speaker 1: in tempest sweeps, Still shalt thou seem as dear to
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  Speaker 1: us as flowery crowned zephyrus, When through twilight's starry dew
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  Speaker 1: trembling he hastes his nymph to woo two lo our
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  Speaker 1: silver censers swinging perfumes o'er thy path are flinging ne'er
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  Speaker 1: o'er Tempe's breathless valleys, ne'er or cyprious cedarn alleys, or
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  Speaker 1: the rose Isle's moonlit sea floated sweets. More worthy THEE
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  Speaker 1: lo around our vases, sending myrrh and nard with cassia,
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  Speaker 1: blending paving air with odorous meat for thy silver sandal'd
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  Speaker 1: feet three August and everlasting air, the source of all
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  Speaker 1: that breathe and be from the mute clay before thee
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  Speaker 1: bare the seeds it took from thee aspire bright flame,
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  Speaker 1: aspire wild wind. Awake, Awake thine, own o solemn fire,
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  Speaker 1: o e'er thine own retake. Four It comes, It comes, lo,
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  Speaker 1: It sweeps the wind, we invoke the while and crackles
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  Speaker 1: and darts and leaps the light on the holy pile.
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  Speaker 1: It rises, Its wings interweave with the flames. How they
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  Speaker 1: howl and heave tossed world to and fro. How the
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  Speaker 1: flame serpents glow, rushing higher and higher on on fearful fire.
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  Speaker 1: Thy giant limbs twin'd with the arms of the wind. Lo,
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  Speaker 1: the elements meet on the throne of death to reclaim
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  Speaker 1: their own. Five. Swing swing the censer round. Tune the
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  Speaker 1: strings to a softer sound. From the chains of thy
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  Speaker 1: earthly toil, from the clasp of thy mortal coil, from
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  Speaker 1: the prison where clay can find thee The hands of
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  Speaker 1: the flame unbind thee. O soul, Thou art free, all
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  Speaker 1: free as the winds in their ceaseless chase. When they
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  Speaker 1: rush o'er their airy sea, Thou mayst speed through the
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  Speaker 1: realms of space. No fetter is forged for thee rejoice
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  Speaker 1: or the sluggard tide of the sticks. Thy bark can glide,
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  Speaker 1: and thy steps ever or more shall rove through the
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  Speaker 1: glades of the happy grove, where far from the loathed Cocatus,
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  Speaker 1: the loved and the lust invite us. Thou art slave
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  Speaker 1: to the earth no more, o soul, thou art freed
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  Speaker 1: and we ah, When shall our toil be over? Ah?
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  Speaker 1: When shall we rest with thee? And Now high and
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  Speaker 1: far into the dawning skies broke the fragrant fire. It
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  Speaker 1: flushed luminously across the gloomy cypresses. It shot above the
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  Speaker 1: massive walls of the neighboring city, and the early fishermen
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  Speaker 1: started to behold the blaze reddening on the waves of
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  Speaker 1: the creeping sea. But Ione sat down apart and alone,
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  Speaker 1: and leaning her face upon her hands, saw not the flame,
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  Speaker 1: nor heard the lamentation of the music. She felt only
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  Speaker 1: one sense of loneliness. She had not yet arrived to
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  Speaker 1: that hallowing sense of comfort when we know that we
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  Speaker 1: are not alone, that the dead are with us. The
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  Speaker 1: breeze rapidly aided the effect of the combustibles placed within
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  Speaker 1: the pile. By degrees. The flame wavered lowered, dimmed, and slowly,
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  Speaker 1: by fits and unequal starts, died away. Emblem of life itself.
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  Speaker 1: Where just before all was restlessness and flame, now lay
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  Speaker 1: the dull and smoldering ashes the last sparks were extinguished
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  Speaker 1: by the attendants. The embers were collected, steeped in the
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  Speaker 1: rarest wine, and the costliest odorus. The remains were placed
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  Speaker 1: in a silver urn which was solemnly stored in one
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  Speaker 1: of the neighboring sepulchers beside the road, and they placed
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  Speaker 1: within it the vial full of tears and the small
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  Speaker 1: coin which poetry still consecrated to the grim boatman. And
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  Speaker 1: the sepulcher was covered with flowers and chaplets, and incense
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  Speaker 1: kindled on the altar, and the tomb hung round with
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  Speaker 1: many lamps. But the next day, when the priest returned
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  Speaker 1: with fresh offerings to the tomb, he found that to
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  Speaker 1: the relics of heathen superstition, some unknown hands had added
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  Speaker 1: a green palm branch. He suffered it to remain unknowing
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  Speaker 1: that it was the sepulchral emblem of Christianity. When the
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  Speaker 1: above ceremonies were over, one of the proficiae three times
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  Speaker 1: sprinkled the mourners from the purifying branch of laurel, uttering
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  Speaker 1: the last word alissate depart, and the rite was done.
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  Speaker 1: But first they paused to utter weepingly, and many times,
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  Speaker 1: the affecting farewell salve eternum, and as ione yet lingered,
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  Speaker 1: they woke the parting strain salvee eternum one, Farewell O
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  Speaker 1: soul departed, Farewell O sacred urn, bereaved and broken hearted
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  Speaker 1: to earth the mourner's turn to the dim and dreary shore.
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  Speaker 1: Thou art gone our steps before, but thither the swift
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  Speaker 1: hours lead us, and thou dost but a while precede
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  Speaker 1: us Salve Salve loved Urn, and thou solemn sell mute ashes, farewell,
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  Speaker 1: farewell Salve Salve two eliset ere liset ah. Vainly would
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  Speaker 1: we part thy tomb is the faithful heart about evermore
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  Speaker 1: we bear thee for who from the heart can tear
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  Speaker 1: thee Vainly we sprinkle o'er us the drops of the
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  Speaker 1: cleansing stream, and vainly bright before us the lustral fire
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  Speaker 1: shall beam. For where is the charm expelling thy thought
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  Speaker 1: from its sacred dwelling. Our griefs are thy funeral feast
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  Speaker 1: and memory, thy mourning priest. Salve Salve three iliset ere liset.
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  Speaker 1: The spark from the hearth is gone, wherever the air
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  Speaker 1: shall bear it. The elements take their own. The shadows
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  Speaker 1: receive Thy spirit. It will soothe thee to feel our grief,
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  Speaker 1: as thou glidest by the gloomy river. If love may
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  Speaker 1: in life be brief in death, it is fixed forever
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  Speaker 1: salve salve in the hall which our feasts illumine. The
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  Speaker 1: rose for an hour may bloom, but the cypress that
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  Speaker 1: decks the tomb, the cypress is green. Forever Sath Salve.
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  Speaker 1: End of Book four, Chapter eight,