The Last Days of Pompeii

by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton

  Chapter VI

  THE PORTER. THE GIRL. AND THE GLADIATOR.

  THE door of Diomed's house stood open, and Medon, the old slave, sat atthe bottom of the steps by which you ascended to the mansion. Thatluxurious mansion of the rich merchant of Pompeii is still to be seenjust without the gates of the city, at the commencement of the Street ofTombs; it was a gay neighborhood, despite the dead. On the oppositeside, but at some yards nearer the gate, was a spacious hostelry, atwhich those brought by business or by pleasure to Pompeii often stoppedto refresh themselves. In the space before the entrance of the inn nowstood wagons, and carts, and chariots, some just arrived, some justquitting, in all the bustle of an animated and popular resort of publicentertainment. Before the door, some farmers, seated on a bench by asmall circular table, were talking over their morning cups, on theaffairs of their calling. On the side of the door itself was paintedgaily and freshly the eternal sign of the chequers. By the roof of theinn stretched a terrace, on which some females, wives of the farmersabove mentioned, were, some seated, some leaning over the railing, andconversing with their friends below. In a deep recess, at a littledistance, was a covered seat, in which some two or three poorertravellers were resting themselves, and shaking the dust from theirgarments. On the other side stretched a wide space, originally theburial-ground of a more ancient race than the present denizens ofPompeii, and now converted into the Ustrinum, or place for the burningof the dead. Above this rose the terraces of a gay villa, half hid bytrees. The tombs themselves, with their graceful and varied shapes, theflowers and the foliage that surrounded them, made no melancholy featurein the prospect. Hard by the gate of the city, in a small niche, stoodthe still form of the well-disciplined Roman sentry, the sun shiningbrightly on his polished crest, and the lance on which he leaned. Thegate itself was divided into three arches, the centre one for vehicles,the others for the foot-passengers; and on either side rose the massivewalls which girt the city, composed, patched, repaired at a thousanddifferent epochs, according as war, time, or the earthquake hadshattered that vain protection. At frequent intervals rose squaretowers, whose summits broke in picturesque rudeness the regular line ofthe wall, and contrasted well with the modern buildings gleaming whitelyby.

  The curving road, which in that direction leads from Pompeii toHerculaneum, wound out of sight amidst hanging vines, above whichfrowned the sullen majesty of Vesuvius.

  'Hast thou heard the news, old Medon?' said a young woman, with apitcher in her hand, as she paused by Diomed's door to gossip a momentwith the slave, ere she repaired to the neighboring inn to fill thevessel, and coquet with the travellers.

  'The news! what news?' said the slave, raising his eyes moodily from theground.

  'Why, there passed through the gate this morning, no doubt ere thou wertwell awake, such a visitor to Pompeii!'

  'Ay,' said the slave, indifferently.

  'Yes, a present from the noble Pomponianus.'

  'A present! I thought thou saidst a visitor?'

  'It is both visitor and present. Know, O dull and stupid! that it is amost beautiful young tiger, for our approaching games in theamphitheatre. Hear you that, Medon? Oh, what pleasure! I declare Ishall not sleep a wink till I see it; they say it has such a roar!'

  'Poor fool!' said Medon, sadly and cynically.

  'Fool me no fool, old churl! It is a pretty thing, a tiger, especiallyif we could but find somebody for him to eat. We have now a lion and atiger; only consider that, Medon! and for want of two good criminalsperhaps we shall be forced to see them eat each other. By-the-by, yourson is a gladiator, a handsome man and a strong, can you not persuadehim to fight the tiger? Do now, you would oblige me mightily; nay, youwould be a benefactor to the whole town.'

  'Vah! vah!' said the slave, with great asperity; 'think of thine owndanger ere thou thus pratest of my poor boy's death.'

  'My own danger!' said the girl, frightened and looking hastilyaround--'Avert the omen! let thy words fall on thine own head!' And thegirl, as she spoke, touched a talisman suspended round her neck. '"Thineown danger!" what danger threatens me?'

  'Had the earthquake but a few nights since no warning?' said Medon.'Has it not a voice? Did it not say to us all, "Prepare for death; theend of all things is at hand?"'

  'Bah, stuff!' said the young woman, settling the folds of her tunic.'Now thou talkest as they say the Nazarenes talked--methinks thou artone of them. Well, I can prate with thee, grey croaker, no more: thougrowest worse and worse--Vale! O Hercules, send us a man for thelion--and another for the tiger!'

  Ho! ho! for the merry, merry show, With a forest of faces in every row! Lo, the swordsmen, bold as the son of Alcmena, Sweep, side by side, o'er the hushed arena; Talk while you may--you will hold your breath When they meet in the grasp of the glowing death. Tramp, tramp, how gaily they go! Ho! ho! for the merry, merry show!

  Chanting in a silver and clear voice this feminine ditty, and holding upher tunic from the dusty road, the young woman stepped lightly across tothe crowded hostelry.

  'My poor son!' said the slave, half aloud, 'is it for things like thisthou art to be butchered? Oh! faith of Christ, I could worship thee inall sincerity, were it but for the horror which thou inspirest for thesebloody lists.'

  The old man's head sank dejectedly on his breast. He remained silentand absorbed, but every now and then with the corner of his sleeve hewiped his eyes. His heart was with his son; he did not see the figurethat now approached from the gate with a quick step, and a somewhatfierce and reckless gait and carriage. He did not lift his eyes tillthe figure paused opposite the place where he sat, and with a soft voiceaddressed him by the name of:

  'Father!'

  'My boy! my Lydon! is it indeed thou?' said the old man, joyfully. 'Ah,thou wert present to my thoughts.'

  'I am glad to hear it, my father,' said the gladiator, respectfullytouching the knees and beard of the slave; 'and soon may I be alwayspresent with thee, not in thought only.'

  'Yes, my son--but not in this world,' replied the slave, mournfully.

  'Talk not thus, O my sire! look cheerfully, for I feel so--I am surethat I shall win the day; and then, the gold I gain buys thy freedom.Oh! my father, it was but a few days since that I was taunted, by one,too, whom I would gladly have undeceived, for he is more generous thanthe rest of his equals. He is not Roman--he is of Athens--by him I wastaunted with the lust of gain--when I demanded what sum was the prize ofvictory. Alas! he little knew the soul of Lydon!'

  'My boy! my boy!' said the old slave, as, slowly ascending the steps, heconducted his son to his own little chamber, communicating with theentrance hall (which in this villa was the peristyle, not theatrium)--you may see it now; it is the third door to the right onentering. (The first door conducts to the staircase; the second is buta false recess, in which there stood a statue of bronze.) 'Generous,affectionate, pious as are thy motives,' said Medon, when they were thussecured from observation, 'thy deed itself is guilt: thou art to riskthy blood for thy father's freedom--that might be forgiven; but theprize of victory is the blood of another. Oh, that is a deadly sin; noobject can purify it. Forbear! forbear! rather would I be a slave forever than purchase liberty on such terms!'

  'Hush, my father!' replied Lydon, somewhat impatiently; 'thou hastpicked up in this new creed of thine, of which I pray thee not to speakto me, for the gods that gave me strength denied me wisdom, and Iunderstand not one word of what thou often preachest to me--thou hastpicked up, I say, in this new creed, some singular fantasies of rightand wrong. Pardon me if I offend thee: but reflect! Against whom shallI contend? Oh! couldst thou know those wretches with whom, for thysake, I assort, thou wouldst think I purified earth by removing one ofthem. Beasts, whose very lips drop blood; things, all savage,unprincipled in their very courage: ferocious, heartless, senseless; notie of life can bind them: they know not fear, it is true--but neitherknow they grat
itude, nor charity, nor love; they are made but for theirown career, to slaughter without pity, to die without dread! Can thygods, whosoever they be, look with wrath on a conflict with such asthese, and in such a cause? Oh, My father, wherever the powers abovegaze down on earth, they behold no duty so sacred, so sanctifying, asthe sacrifice offered to an aged parent by the piety of a grateful son!'

  The poor old slave, himself deprived of the lights of knowledge, andonly late a convert to the Christian faith, knew not with what argumentsto enlighten an ignorance at once so dark, and yet so beautiful in itserror. His first impulse was to throw himself on his son's breast--hisnext to start away to wring his hands; and in the attempt to reprove,his broken voice lost itself in weeping.

  'And if,' resumed Lydon--'if thy Deity (methinks thou wilt own but one?)be indeed that benevolent and pitying Power which thou assertest Him tobe, He will know also that thy very faith in Him first confirmed me inthat determination thou blamest.'

  'How! what mean you?' said the slave.

  'Why, thou knowest that I, sold in my childhood as a slave, was set freeat Rome by the will of my master, whom I had been fortunate enough toplease. I hastened to Pompeii to see thee--I found thee already aged andinfirm, under the yoke of a capricious and pampered lord--thou hadstlately adopted this new faith, and its adoption made thy slavery doublypainful to thee; it took away all the softening charm of custom, whichreconciles us so often to the worst. Didst thou not complain to me thatthou wert compelled to offices that were not odious to thee as a slave,but guilty as a Nazarene? Didst thou not tell me that thy soul shookwith remorse when thou wert compelled to place even a crumb of cakebefore the Lares that watch over yon impluvium? that thy soul was tornby a perpetual struggle? Didst thou not tell me that even by pouringwine before the threshold, and calling on the name of some Greciandeity, thou didst fear thou wert incurring penalties worse than those ofTantalus, an eternity of tortures more terrible than those of theTartarian fields? Didst thou not tell me this? I wondered, I could notcomprehend; nor, by Hercules! can I now: but I was thy son, and my soletask was to compassionate and relieve. Could I hear thy groans, could Iwitness thy mysterious horrors, thy constant anguish, and remaininactive? No! by the immortal gods! the thought struck me like lightfrom Olympus! I had no money, but I had strength and youth--these werethy gifts--I could sell these in my turn for thee! I learned the amountof thy ransom--I learned that the usual prize of a victorious gladiatorwould doubly pay it. I became a gladiator--I linked myself with thoseaccursed men, scorning, loathing, while I joined--I acquired theirskill--blessed be the lesson!--it shall teach me to free my father!'

  'Oh, that thou couldst hear Olinthus!' sighed the old man, more and moreaffected by the virtue of his son, but not less strongly convinced ofthe criminality of his purpose.

  'I will hear the whole world talk if thou wilt,' answered the gladiator,gaily; 'but not till thou art a slave no more. Beneath thy own roof, myfather, thou shalt puzzle this dull brain all day long, ay, and allnight too, if it give thee pleasure. Oh, such a spot as I have chalkedout for thee!--it is one of the nine hundred and ninety-nine shops ofold Julia Felix, in the sunny part of the city, where thou mayst baskbefore the door in the day--and I will sell the oil and the wine forthee, my father--and then, please Venus (or if it does not please her,since thou lovest not her name, it is all one to Lydon)--then, I say,perhaps thou mayst have a daughter, too, to tend thy grey hairs, andhear shrill voices at thy knee, that shall call thee "Lydon's father!"Ah! we shall be so happy--the prize can purchase all. Cheer thee! cheerup, my sire!--And now I must away--day wears--the lanista waits me.Come! thy blessing!'

  As Lydon thus spoke, he had already quitted the dark chamber of hisfather; and speaking eagerly, though in a whispered tone, they now stoodat the same place in which we introduced the porter at his post.

  'O bless thee! bless thee, my brave boy!' said Medon, fervently; 'andmay the great Power that reads all hearts see the nobleness of thine,and forgive its error!'

  The tall shape of the gladiator passed swiftly down the path; the eyesof the slave followed its light but stately steps, till the last glimpsewas gone; and then, sinking once more on his seat, his eyes againfastened themselves on the ground. His form, mute and unmoving, as athing of stone. His heart!--who, in our happier age, can even imagineits struggles--its commotion?

  'May I enter?' said a sweet voice. 'Is thy mistress Julia within?'

  The slave mechanically motioned to the visitor to enter, but she whoaddressed him could not see the gesture--she repeated her questiontimidly, but in a louder voice.

  'Have I not told thee!' said the slave, peevishly: 'enter.'

  'Thanks,' said the speaker, plaintively; and the slave, roused by thetone, looked up, and recognized the blind flower-girl. Sorrow cansympathize with affliction--he raised himself, and guided her steps tothe head of the adjacent staircase (by which you descended to Julia'sapartment), where, summoning a female slave, he consigned to her thecharge of the blind girl.