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019 - Book 3 Chapter II · Last Days of Pompeii

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  Speaker 1: Book three, chapter two of Last Days of Pompei. 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. Recording by Anne Boulet. Last Days of
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  Speaker 1: POMPEII by Edward G. Bulwer Lytten, Book three, chapter two,
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  Speaker 1: The noonday excursion on the companion sees. But tell me, Glaucus,
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  Speaker 1: said Ione, as they glided down the rippling sarness in
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  Speaker 1: their boat of pleasure. How camest thou with apacities to
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  Speaker 1: my rescue from that bad man? Ask Nittia, Yonder, answered
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  Speaker 1: the Athenian, pointing to the blind girl, who sat at
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  Speaker 1: a little distance from them, leaning pensively over her lyre.
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  Speaker 1: She must have thy thanks, not we. It seems that
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  Speaker 1: she came to my house, and, finding me from home,
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  Speaker 1: sought thy brother in his temple. He accompanied her to
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  Speaker 1: our baisies. On their way they encountered me with a
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  Speaker 1: company of friends whom thy kind letter had given me
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  Speaker 1: a spirit cheerful enough to join. Nidia's quick ear detected
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  Speaker 1: my voice. A few words sufficed to make me the
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  Speaker 1: companion of Epacides. I told not my associates. Why I
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  Speaker 1: left them? Could I trust thy name to their light
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  Speaker 1: tongues and gossiping opinion. Nydia led us to the garden gate,
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  Speaker 1: by which we afterwards bore thee. We entered and were
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  Speaker 1: about to plunge into the mysteries of that evil house,
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  Speaker 1: when we heard thy cry in another direction, thou knowest
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  Speaker 1: the rest. Ione blushed deeply. She then raised her eyes
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  Speaker 1: to those of Glaucus, and he felt all the thanks
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  Speaker 1: she could not utter. Come hither, my Nitia, she said
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  Speaker 1: tenderly to the Thessalian. Did I not tell thee that
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  Speaker 1: thou shouldest be my sister and friend? Hast thou not
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  Speaker 1: already been more my guardian, my preserver? It is nothing,
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  Speaker 1: answered Nydia coldly and without stirring. Ah, I forgot, continued Ione,
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  Speaker 1: I should come to thee, And she moved along the
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  Speaker 1: benches till she reached the place where Nydia sat, and,
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  Speaker 1: flinging her arms caressingly round her, covered her cheeks with kisses.
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  Speaker 1: Nydia was that morning paler than her wont and her
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  Speaker 1: countenance grew even more vain and colorless as she submitted
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  Speaker 1: to the embrace of the beautiful Neapolitan But how camest thou, Nydia,
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  Speaker 1: whispered Ione, to surmise so faithfully the danger I was
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  Speaker 1: exposed to. Didst thou know aught of the Egyptian? Yes,
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  Speaker 1: I knew of his vices? And how, Noble Ione, I
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  Speaker 1: have been a slave to the vicious Those whom I
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  Speaker 1: served were his minions. And thou hast entered his house,
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  Speaker 1: since thou knewest so well that private entrance I have
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  Speaker 1: played on my lyre to our bases, answered the Thessalian
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  Speaker 1: with embarrassment, and thou hast escaped the contagion from which
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  Speaker 1: thou hast saved. Ione returned the Neopolitan, in a voice
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  Speaker 1: too low for the ear of Glaucus. Noble Ione, I
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  Speaker 1: have neither beauty nor station. I am a child, a slave,
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  Speaker 1: and blind. The despicable are ever safe. It was with
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  Speaker 1: a pained and proud and indignant tone that Nydia made
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  Speaker 1: this humble reply, and Ione felt that she only wounded
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  Speaker 1: Nydia by pursuing the subject. She remained silent, and the
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  Speaker 1: bark now floated into the sea. Confess that I was right, Ione,
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  Speaker 1: said Glaucus, and prevailing on thee not to waste this
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  Speaker 1: beautiful noon in thy chamber. Confess that I was right.
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  Speaker 1: Thou wert right, Glaucus, said Nydia abruptly. The dear child
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  Speaker 1: speaks for thee, returned the Athenian. But permit me to
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  Speaker 1: move opposite to thee, or our light boat will be overbalanced. So, saying,
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  Speaker 1: he took a seat exactly opposite to Ione, and leaning forward,
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  Speaker 1: he fancied that it was her breath and not the
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  Speaker 1: winds of summer, that flung fragrance over the sea. Thou
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  Speaker 1: wert to tell me, said Glaucus, why for so many
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  Speaker 1: days thy door was closed to me? Oh, think of
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  Speaker 1: it no more, answered Ione. Quickly. I gave my ear
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  Speaker 1: to what I now know was the malice of slander,
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  Speaker 1: and my slanderer was the Egyptian. Ione's silence assented to
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  Speaker 1: the question. His motives are sufficiently obvious. Talk not of him,
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  Speaker 1: said Ione, covering her face with her hands, as if
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  Speaker 1: to shut out his very thought. Perhaps he may be
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  Speaker 1: already by the banks of the slow sticks, resumed Glaucus.
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  Speaker 1: Yet in that case we should probably have heard of
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  Speaker 1: his death. Thy brother, methinks have felt the dark influence
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  Speaker 1: of his gloomy soul. When we arrived last night at
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  Speaker 1: thy house, he left me abruptly, will he ever vouchsafe
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  Speaker 1: to be my friend? He is consumed by some secret care,
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  Speaker 1: answered Ione, tearfully, would that we could lure him from himself.
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  Speaker 1: Let us join in that tender office. He shall be
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  Speaker 1: my brother, returned the Greek. How calmly, said Ione, rousing
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  Speaker 1: herself from the gloom into which her thoughts of apacities
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  Speaker 1: had plunged her. How calmly the cloud seemed to repose
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  Speaker 1: in heaven. And yet you tell me, for I knew
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  Speaker 1: it not myself that the earth shook beneath us last night.
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  Speaker 1: It did, and more violently say, than it has done
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  Speaker 1: since the Great Convulsion sixteen years ago. The land we
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  Speaker 1: live in yet nurses mysterious terror, and the reign of Pluto,
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  Speaker 1: which spreads beneath our burning fields, seems rent with unseeing commotion.
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  Speaker 1: Didst thou not feel the earthquake, Nydia, where thou wert
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  Speaker 1: seated last night? And was it not the fear that
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  Speaker 1: it occasioned thee that made thee weep? I felt the
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  Speaker 1: soil creep and heave beneath me like some monstrous serpent,
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  Speaker 1: answered Nydia. But as I saw nothing, I did not fear.
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  Speaker 1: I imagine the convulsion to be a spell of the Egyptians.
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  Speaker 1: They say he has power over the elements. Thou art
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  Speaker 1: a Thessalian, my Nydia, replied Glaucus, and hast a national
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  Speaker 1: right to believe in magic magic. Who doubts it, answered Nydia,
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  Speaker 1: Simply dost thou until last night, when a necromantic prodigy
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  Speaker 1: did indeed appall me. Methinks I was not credulous in
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  Speaker 1: any other magic save that of love, said Glaucus, in
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  Speaker 1: a tremulous voice, and fixing it eyes on ione Ah,
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  Speaker 1: said Nitia, with a sort of shiver, and she woke
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  Speaker 1: mechanically a few pleasing notes from her lyre. The sound
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  Speaker 1: suited well the tranquility of the waters and the sunny
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  Speaker 1: stillness of the noon. Play to us, dear Nitia, said Glaucus.
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  Speaker 1: Play and give us one of thine old Thessalian songs.
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  Speaker 1: Whether it be of magic or not, as thou wilt,
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  Speaker 1: let it at least be of love. Of love, repeated Nitia,
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  Speaker 1: raising her large wandering eyes that ever thrilled those who
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  Speaker 1: saw them with a mingled fear and pity. You could
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  Speaker 1: never familiarize yourself to their aspect. So strange did it
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  Speaker 1: seem that those dark, wild orbs were ignorant of the day,
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  Speaker 1: and either so fixed with their deep mysterious gaze or
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  Speaker 1: so restless and perturbed their glance, that you felt when
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  Speaker 1: you encountered them, that same vague and chilling and half
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  Speaker 1: preternatural impression that comes over you in the presence of
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  Speaker 1: the insane, of those who, having a life outwardly like
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  Speaker 1: your own, have a life within them, life dissimilar, unsearchable, unguessed.
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  Speaker 1: Will you that I should sing of love? She said,
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  Speaker 1: fixing her eyes upon Glaucus, Yes, he replied, looking down.
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  Speaker 1: She moved a little way from the arm of Ione,
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  Speaker 1: still cast round her, as if that soft embrace embarrassed,
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  Speaker 1: and placing her light and graceful instrument on her knee.
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  Speaker 1: After a short prelude, she sang the following strain Nitia's
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  Speaker 1: love song. One the Wind and the beam love the
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  Speaker 1: rose and the rose loved. One for who recks the
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  Speaker 1: wind where it blows, or loves not the sun? Two?
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  Speaker 1: None knew hence the humble wind stole poor sport of
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  Speaker 1: the skies. None dreamt that the wind had a soul
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  Speaker 1: in its mournful size. Three, O happy Beam, How canst
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  Speaker 1: thou prove that bright love of thine in thy light
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  Speaker 1: is the proof of thy love. Thou hast but to shine,
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  Speaker 1: For how is love? Can the wind reveal? Unwelcome it
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  Speaker 1: sigh mute, mute to his rose, Let it steal its
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  Speaker 1: proof is to die? Thou singest, but sadly, sweet girl,
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  Speaker 1: said Glaucus, Thy youth only feels as yet the dark
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  Speaker 1: shadow of love. Far other inspiration doth he wake when
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  Speaker 1: he himself bursts and brightens upon us? I sing as
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  Speaker 1: I was taught, Nitty replied, sighing, thy master was love cross.
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  Speaker 1: Then try thy hand at a gayer air. Nay, girl,
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  Speaker 1: give that instrument to me. As Nittia obeyed, her hand
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  Speaker 1: touched his, and with that slight touch her breast heaved,
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  Speaker 1: her cheeks flushed. Ione and Glaucus, occupied with each other,
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  Speaker 1: perceived not those signs of strange and premature emotions which
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  Speaker 1: preyed upon a heart that nourished by imagination, dispensed with hope,
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  Speaker 1: and now broad blue bright before them spread the halcyon
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  Speaker 1: sea fair as at this moment, seventeen centuries from that date,
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  Speaker 1: I behold it rippling on the same Divinus shores, clime
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  Speaker 1: that yet enervates with a sigh, often Circians spell that
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  Speaker 1: molds us insensibly mysteriously into harmony with thyself, banishing the
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  Speaker 1: thought of busterior labor, the voices of wild ambition, the contests,
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  Speaker 1: and the roar of life, filling us with gentle and
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  Speaker 1: subduing dreams, making necessary to our nature that which is
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  Speaker 1: its least earthly portion, so that the very air inspires
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  Speaker 1: us with the yearning and thirst of love. Whoever visits
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  Speaker 1: thee seems to leave earth and its harsh cares behind,
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  Speaker 1: to enter by the ivory gate into the land of dreams,
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  Speaker 1: the young and laughing hours of the present, the hours
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  Speaker 1: those children of Saturn, which he hungers ever to devour,
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  Speaker 1: seems snatched from his grasp. The past, the future are forgotten.
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  Speaker 1: We enjoy but the breathing time, flower of the world's garden,
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  Speaker 1: fountain of delight, Italy of Italy, beautiful, benign Campania, vain
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  Speaker 1: were indeed the Titans, if on this spot they yet
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  Speaker 1: struggled for another heaven Here, If God meant this working
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  Speaker 1: day for a perpetual holiday, who would not sigh to
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  Speaker 1: dwell forever, asking nothing, hoping nothing, fearing nothing, while thy
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  Speaker 1: skies shine over him, While thy seas sparkle at his feet,
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  Speaker 1: while thine air brought him sweet messages from the violet
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  Speaker 1: and the orange. And while the heart resigned to beating
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  Speaker 1: with but one emotion, but could find the lips and
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  Speaker 1: the eyes which flatter it. Vanity of vanities, that love
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  Speaker 1: can defy custom and be eternal. It was then, in
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  Speaker 1: this clime, on those seas, that the Athenian gazed upon
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  Speaker 1: a face that might have suited the nymph, the spirit
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  Speaker 1: of the place, feeding his eyes on the changeful roses
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  Speaker 1: of that softest cheek, happy beyond the happiness of common life,
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  Speaker 1: loving and knowing himself beloved. In the tale of human
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  Speaker 1: passion in past ages, there is something of interest, even
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  Speaker 1: in the remoteness of the time. We love to feel
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  Speaker 1: within us the bond which unites the most distant era
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  Speaker 1: men nations. Customs perish, the affections are immortal. They are
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  Speaker 1: the sympathies which unite the ceaseless generations. The past lives
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  Speaker 1: again when we look upon its emotions. It lives in
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  Speaker 1: our own. That which was ever is the magician's gift
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  Speaker 1: that revives the dead, that animates the dust of forgotten graves,
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  Speaker 1: is not in the author's skill. It is in the
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  Speaker 1: heart of the reader, still vainly seeking the eyes of Ione.
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  Speaker 1: As half downcast, half averted, they shunned his own. The
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  Speaker 1: Athenian in a low and soft voice, thus expressed the
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  Speaker 1: feelings inspired by happier thoughts than those which had colored
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  Speaker 1: the song of Nydia the song of Glaucus. One. As
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  Speaker 1: the bark floateth on o'er the sunlit sea floats my
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  Speaker 1: heart o'er the deeps of its passion for thee all
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  Speaker 1: lost in the space without terror, it glides for bright,
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  Speaker 1: thy soul is the face of the tides, now heaving,
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  Speaker 1: now hushed, is the passion ocean as it catcheth thy smile,
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  Speaker 1: er thy sighs. And the twin stars that shine on
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  Speaker 1: the wanderer's devotion, its guide and its God, are thine eyes. Two.
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  Speaker 1: The bark may go down should the clouds sweep above,
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  Speaker 1: for its being is bound to the light of Thy love.
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  Speaker 1: As thy faith and thy smile are its life and
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  Speaker 1: its joy. So thy frown or thy change are the
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  Speaker 1: storms that destroy. Ah sweeter to sink while the sky
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  Speaker 1: is serene. If time hath a change for thy heart,
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  Speaker 1: if to live be to weep over what thou hast been?
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  Speaker 1: Let me die while I know what thou art. As
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  Speaker 1: the last words of the song trembled over the sea,
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  Speaker 1: Ione raised her looks. They met those of her lover,
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  Speaker 1: happy Nydia, happy in thy affliction, that thou couldst not see,
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  Speaker 1: that fascinated and charmed gaze that said so much, that
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  Speaker 1: made thee eye the voice of the soul, that promised
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  Speaker 1: the impossibility of change. But though the Thessalian could not
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  Speaker 1: do tech the gaze, she divined its meaning by their silence,
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  Speaker 1: by their sighs. She pressed her hands lightly across her breast,
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  Speaker 1: as if to keep down its bitter and jealous thoughts.
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  Speaker 1: Then she hastened to speak, for that silence was intolerable
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  Speaker 1: to her. After all, O Glaucus, she said, there is
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  Speaker 1: nothing very mirthful in your strain, Yet I meant it
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  Speaker 1: to be so when I took up thy lyre pretty one.
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  Speaker 1: Perhaps happiness will not permit us to be mirthful. How
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  Speaker 1: strange it is, said Ione, changing a conversation which oppressed
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  Speaker 1: her while it charmed that. For the last several days,
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  Speaker 1: yonder cloud has hung motionless over Vesuvius, yet not indeed motionless,
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  Speaker 1: for sometimes it changes its form. Now methinks it looks
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  Speaker 1: like some vast giant with an arm outstretched over the city.
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  Speaker 1: Dost thou see the likeness? Or is it only to
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  Speaker 1: my fancy fair ione? I see it? Also? It is
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  Speaker 1: astonishingly distinct. The giant seems seated on the brow of
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  Speaker 1: the mountain. The difference shades of the cloud appear to
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  Speaker 1: form a white robe that sweeps over its vast breast
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  Speaker 1: and limbs. It seems to gaze with a steady face
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  Speaker 1: upon the city below, to point with one hand, as
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  Speaker 1: thou sayest, over its glittering streets, and to raise the other.
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  Speaker 1: Dost thou note it towards the higher heaven. It is
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  Speaker 1: like the ghost of some huge titan, brooding over the
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  Speaker 1: beautiful world he lost, sorrowful for the past, yet with
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  Speaker 1: something of menace for the future. Could that mountain have
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  Speaker 1: any connection with last night's earthquake? They say that ages ago,
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  Speaker 1: almost in the earliest era of tradition, it gave forth
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  Speaker 1: fires as Etna. Still. Perhaps the flames yet lurk and
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  Speaker 1: dart beneath. It is possible, said Glaucus, musingly. Thou sayest
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  Speaker 1: thou art slow to believe in magic? Said Nydia. Suddenly,
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  Speaker 1: I have heard that a potent which dwells amongst the
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  Speaker 1: scorched caverns of the mountain, and yon Cloud may be
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  Speaker 1: the dim shadow of the demon. She confers with, Thou
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  Speaker 1: art full of the Roman. Answer, thy native Thessaly, said Glaucus,
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  Speaker 1: and a strange mixture of sense and all conflicting superstitions.
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  Speaker 1: We are ever superstitious in the dark, replied Nydia. Tell me,
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  Speaker 1: she added, after a slight pause, tell me, o, Glaucus,
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  Speaker 1: do all that are beautiful resemble each other? They say,
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  Speaker 1: you are beautiful, and Ione? Also? Are your faces then
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  Speaker 1: the same? I fancy not yet it ought to be
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  Speaker 1: so fancy. No, such grievous wrong to Ione, answered Glaucus, laughing.
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  Speaker 1: But we do not, alas resemble each other as the
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  Speaker 1: homely and the beautiful? Sometimes do. Ione's hair is dark,
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  Speaker 1: mine light. Ione's eyes are what color? Ione? I cannot see?
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  Speaker 1: Turn them to me. Oh are they black? No? They
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  Speaker 1: are too soft? Are they blue? No? They are too deep.
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  Speaker 1: They change with every ray of the sun. I know
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  Speaker 1: not their color, but mine, sweet Nitia, are gray and
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  Speaker 1: bright only when Ione shines on them. Ione's cheek is
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  Speaker 1: I do not understand one word of thy description, interrupted Nydia, peevishly.
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  Speaker 1: I comprehend only that you do not resemble each other,
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  Speaker 1: and I am glad of it, Why, Nydia, said Ione.
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  Speaker 1: Nydia colors slightly, because, she replied coldly, I have always
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  Speaker 1: imagined you under different forms, and one likes to know
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  Speaker 1: one is right. And what dost thou imagine Glaucus to resemble?
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  Speaker 1: Asked Ione softly, music, replied Nydia, looking down, Thou art right,
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  Speaker 1: thought Ione. And what likeness hast thou ascribed to Ione?
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  Speaker 1: I cannot tell yet, answered the blind girl. I have
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  Speaker 1: not yet known her long enough to find a shape
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  Speaker 1: and sign for my guesses. I will tell thee, then,
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  Speaker 1: said Glaucus, passionately. She is like the sun that warms,
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  Speaker 1: like the wave that refreshes. The sun sometimes scorches, and
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  Speaker 1: the waves sometimes drowns, answered Nydia. Take then, these roses,
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  Speaker 1: said Glaucus. Let their fragrance such to thee. Ione. Alas
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  Speaker 1: the roses will fade, said the Neopolitan archly, thus conversing,
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  Speaker 1: they wore away the hours, the lovers conscious only of
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  Speaker 1: the brightness and smiles of love, the blind girl feeling
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  Speaker 1: only its darkness, its tortures. The fierceness of jealousy and
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  Speaker 1: its woe. And now as they drift on, Glaucus once
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  Speaker 1: more resumed the lyre and woke its strings with a
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  Speaker 1: careless hand to a strain so wildly and gladly beautiful
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  Speaker 1: that even Nydia was roused from her reverie and uttered
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  Speaker 1: a cry of admiration. Thou seest my child, cried Glaucus,
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  Speaker 1: that I can yet redeem the character of Love's music,
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  Speaker 1: and that I was wrong in saying happiness could not
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  Speaker 1: be gay. Listen, Nydia, Listen, dear Ione, And here the
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  Speaker 1: birth of love one like a star in the seas above,
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  Speaker 1: like a dream to the waves of sleep. Up up
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  Speaker 1: the incarnate Love. She rose from the charm deep and
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  Speaker 1: over the Cyprian isle. The skies shed their slight, violent smile,
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  Speaker 1: and the forest green heart is rife with the stir
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  Speaker 1: of the gushing life, the life that had leaped to
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  Speaker 1: birth in the veins of the happy earth. Hail, O, Hail,
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  Speaker 1: the dimmest sea cave below thee, the farthest sky arch above,
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  Speaker 1: in their innermost stillness, know thee and heave with the
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  Speaker 1: birth of love. Gale, soft gale, Thou comest on thy
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  Speaker 1: silver winglets from thy home in the tender west, now
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  Speaker 1: fanning her golden ringlets, now hushed on her heaving breast,
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  Speaker 1: and afar on the murmuring sand, the seasons weight hand
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  Speaker 1: in hand to welcome thee birth divine to the earth,
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  Speaker 1: which is henceforth thine. Two. Behold how she kneels in
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  Speaker 1: the shell bright pearl in its floating cell. Behold how
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  Speaker 1: the shells rose hues the cheek and the breast of snow,
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  Speaker 1: and the delicate limbs suffuse like a blush with a
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  Speaker 1: bashful glow, sailing on slowly, sailing o'er the wild water.
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  Speaker 1: All hail, as the fawn light is hailing her dog,
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  Speaker 1: All hail. We are thine, all thine evermore, not a
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  Speaker 1: leaf on the laughing shore, not a wave on the
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  Speaker 1: heaving sea, nor a single sigh in the boundless sky,
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  Speaker 1: but is vowed evermore to thee. Three And thou, my
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  Speaker 1: beloved one. Thou, as I gaze on thy soft eyes,
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  Speaker 1: now methinks from their depths I view the holy birth
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  Speaker 1: born anew. Thy lids are the gentle cell where the
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  Speaker 1: young love blushing lies. See she breaks from the mystic shell.
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  Speaker 1: She comes from thy tender eyes. Hail, all hail. She
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  Speaker 1: comes as she came from the sea to my soul,
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  Speaker 1: as it looks on thee. She comes, she comes, She
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  Speaker 1: comes as she came from the sea to my soul,
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  Speaker 1: as it looks on thee. Hail, all hail. End of
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  Speaker 1: Book three, Chapter two,