Chapter IX
STORM IN THE SOUTH. THE WITCH'S CAVERN.
IT was when the heats of noon died gradually away from the earth, thatGlaucus and Ione went forth to enjoy the cooled and grateful air. Atthat time, various carriages were in use among the Romans; the one mostused by the richer citizens, when they required no companion in theirexcursion, was the biga, already described in the early portion of thiswork; that appropriated to the matrons, was termed carpentum, which hadcommonly two wheels; the ancients used also a sort of litter, a vastsedan-chair, more commodiously arranged than the modern, inasmuch as theoccupant thereof could lie down at ease, instead of beingperpendicularly and stiffly jostled up and down. There was anothercarriage, used both for travelling and for excursions in the country; itwas commodious, containing three or four persons with ease, having acovering which could be raised at pleasure; and, in short, answeringvery much the purpose of (though very different in shape from) themodern britska. It was a vehicle of this description that the lovers,accompanied by one female slave of Ione, now used in their excursion.About ten miles from the city, there was at that day an old ruin, theremains of a temple, evidently Grecian; and as for Glaucus and Ioneeverything Grecian possessed an interest, they had agreed to visit theseruins: it was thither they were now bound.
Their road lay among vines and olive-groves; till, winding more and moretowards the higher ground of Vesuvius, the path grew rugged; the mulesmoved slowly, and with labor; and at every opening in the wood theybeheld those grey and horrent caverns indenting the parched rock, whichStrabo has described; but which the various revolutions of time and thevolcano have removed from the present aspect of the mountain. The sun,sloping towards his descent, cast long and deep shadows over themountain; here and there they still heard the rustic reed of theshepherd amongst copses of the beechwood and wild oak. Sometimes theymarked the form of the silk-haired and graceful capella, with itswreathing horn and bright grey eye--which, still beneath Ausonian skies,recalls the eclogues of Maro, browsing half-way up the hills; and thegrapes, already purple with the smiles of the deepening summer, glowedout from the arched festoons, which hung pendent from tree to tree.Above them, light clouds floated in the serene heavens, sweeping soslowly athwart the firmament that they scarcely seemed to stir; while,on their right, they caught, ever and anon, glimpses of the wavelesssea, with some light bark skimming its surface; and the sunlightbreaking over the deep in those countless and softest hues so peculiarto that delicious sea.
'How beautiful!' said Glaucus, in a half-whispered tone, 'is thatexpression by which we call Earth our Mother! With what a kindly equallove she pours her blessings upon her children! and even to thosesterile spots to which Nature has denied beauty, she yet contrives todispense her smiles: witness the arbutus and the vine, which shewreathes over the arid and burning soil of yon extinct volcano. Ah! insuch an hour and scene as this, well might we imagine that the Faunshould peep forth from those green festoons; or, that we might trace thesteps of the Mountain Nymph through the thickest mazes of the glade.But the Nymphs ceased, beautiful Ione, when thou wert created!'
There is no tongue that flatters like a lover's; and yet, in theexaggeration of his feelings, flattery seems to him commonplace. Strangeand prodigal exuberance, which soon exhausts itself by overflowing!
They arrived at the ruins; they examined them with that fondness withwhich we trace the hallowed and household vestiges of our ownancestry--they lingered there till Hesperus appeared in the rosyheavens; and then returning homeward in the twilight, they were moresilent than they had been; for in the shadow and beneath the stars theyfelt more oppressively their mutual love.
It was at this time that the storm which the Egyptian had predictedbegan to creep visibly over them. At first, a low and distant thundergave warning of the approaching conflict of the elements; and thenrapidly rushed above the dark ranks of the serried clouds. Thesuddenness of storms in that climate is something almost preternatural,and might well suggest to early superstition the notion of a divineagency--a few large drops broke heavily among the boughs that halfoverhung their path, and then, swift and intolerably bright, the forkedlightning darted across their very eyes, and was swallowed up by theincreasing darkness.
'Swifter, good Carrucarius!' cried Glaucus to the driver; 'the tempestcomes on apace.'
The slave urged on the mules--they went swift over the uneven and stonyroad--the clouds thickened, near and more near broke the thunder, andfast rushed the dashing rain.
'Dost thou fear?' whispered Glaucus, as he sought excuse in the storm tocome nearer to Ione.
'Not with thee,' said she, softly.
At that instant, the carriage, fragile and ill-contrived (as, despitetheir graceful shapes, were, for practical uses, most of such inventionsat that time), struck violently into a deep rut, over which lay a log offallen wood; the driver, with a curse, stimulated his mules yet fasterfor the obstacle, the wheel was torn from the socket, and the carriagesuddenly overset.
Glaucus, quickly extricating himself from the vehicle, hastened toassist Ione, who was fortunately unhurt; with some difficulty theyraised the carruca (or carriage), and found that it ceased any longereven to afford them shelter; the springs that fastened the covering weresnapped asunder, and the rain poured fast and fiercely into theinterior.
In this dilemma, what was to be done? They were yet some distance fromthe city--no house, no aid, seemed near.
'There is,' said the slave, 'a smith about a mile off; I could seek him,and he might fasten at least the wheel to the carruca--but, Jupiter! howthe rain beats; my mistress will be wet before I come back.'
'Run thither at least,' said Glaucus; 'we must find the best shelter wecan till you return.'
The lane was overshadowed with trees, beneath the amplest of whichGlaucus drew Ione. He endeavored, by stripping his own cloak, to shieldher yet more from the rapid rain; but it descended with a fury thatbroke through all puny obstacles: and suddenly, while Glaucus was yetwhispering courage to his beautiful charge, the lightning struck one ofthe trees immediately before them, and split with a mighty crash itshuge trunk in twain. This awful incident apprised them of the dangerthey braved in their present shelter, and Glaucus looked anxiously roundfor some less perilous place of refuge. 'We are now,' said he,'half-way up the ascent of Vesuvius; there ought to be some cavern, orhollow in the vine-clad rocks, could we but find it, in which thedeserting Nymphs have left a shelter.' While thus saying he moved fromthe trees, and, looking wistfully towards the mountain, discoveredthrough the advancing gloom a red and tremulous light at no considerabledistance. 'That must come,' said he, 'from the hearth of some shepherdor vine-dresser--it will guide us to some hospitable retreat. Wilt thoustay here, while I--yet no--that would be to leave thee to danger.'
'I will go with you cheerfully,' said Ione. 'Open as the space seems,it is better than the treacherous shelter of these boughs.'
Half leading, half carrying Ione, Glaucus, accompanied by the tremblingfemale slave, advanced towards the light, which yet burned red andsteadfastly. At length the space was no longer open; wild vinesentangled their steps, and hid from them, save by imperfect intervals,the guiding beam. But faster and fiercer came the rain, and thelightning assumed its most deadly and blasting form; they were stilltherefore, impelled onward, hoping, at last, if the light eluded them,to arrive at some cottage or some friendly cavern. The vines grew moreand more intricate--the light was entirely snatched from them; but anarrow path, which they trod with labor and pain, guided only by theconstant and long-lingering flashes of the storm, continued to lead themtowards its direction. The rain ceased suddenly; precipitous and roughcrags of scorched lava frowned before them, rendered more fearful by thelightning that illumined the dark and dangerous soil. Sometimes theblaze lingered over the iron-grey heaps of scoria, covered in part withancient mosses or stunted trees, as if seeking in vain for some gentlerproduct of earth, more worthy of its ire; and sometimes leaving thewhole of that part of th
e scene in darkness, the lightning, broad andsheeted, hung redly over the ocean, tossing far below, until its wavesseemed glowing into fire; and so intense was the blaze, that it broughtvividly into view even the sharp outline of the more distant windings ofthe bay, from the eternal Misenum, with its lofty brow, to the beautifulSorrentum and the giant hills behind.
Our lovers stopped in perplexity and doubt, when suddenly, as thedarkness that gloomed between the fierce flashes of lightning once morewrapped them round, they saw near, but high, before them, the mysteriouslight. Another blaze, in which heaven and earth were reddened, madevisible to them the whole expanse; no house was near, but just wherethey had beheld the light, they thought they saw in the recess of thecavern the outline of a human form. The darkness once more returned;the light, no longer paled beneath the fires of heaven, burned forthagain: they resolved to ascend towards it; they had to wind their wayamong vast fragments of stone, here and there overhung with wild bushes;but they gained nearer and nearer to the light, and at length they stoodopposite the mouth of a kind of cavern, apparently formed by hugesplinters of rock that had fallen transversely athwart each other: and,looking into the gloom, each drew back involuntarily with asuperstitious fear and chill.
A fire burned in the far recess of the cave; and over it was a smallcauldron; on a tall and thin column of iron stood a rude lamp; over thatpart of the wall, at the base of which burned the fire, hung in manyrows, as if to dry, a profusion of herbs and weeds. A fox, couchedbefore the fire, gazed upon the strangers with its bright and redeye--its hair bristling--and a low growl stealing from between itsteeth; in the centre of the cave was an earthen statue, which had threeheads of a singular and fantastic cast: they were formed by the realskulls of a dog, a horse, and a boar; a low tripod stood before thiswild representation of the popular Hecate.
But it was not these appendages and appliances of the cave that thrilledthe blood of those who gazed fearfully therein--it was the face of itsinmate. Before the fire, with the light shining full upon her features,sat a woman of considerable age. Perhaps in no country are there seenso many hags as in Italy--in no country does beauty so awfully change,in age, to hideousness the most appalling and revolting. But the oldwoman now before them was not one of these specimens of the extreme ofhuman ugliness; on the contrary, her countenance betrayed the remains ofa regular but high and aquiline order of feature: with stony eyes turnedupon them--with a look that met and fascinated theirs--they beheld inthat fearful countenance the very image of a corpse!--the same, theglazed and lustreless regard, the blue and shrunken lips, the drawn andhollow jaw--the dead, lank hair, of a pale grey--the livid, green,ghastly skin, which seemed all surely tinged and tainted by the grave!
'It is a dead thing,' said Glaucus.
'Nay--it stirs--it is a ghost or larva,' faltered Ione, as she clung tothe Athenian's breast.
'Oh, away, away!' groaned the slave, 'it is the Witch of Vesuvius!'
'Who are ye?' said a hollow and ghostly voice. 'And what do ye here?'
The sound, terrible and deathlike as it was--suiting well thecountenance of the speaker, and seeming rather the voice of somebodiless wanderer of the Styx than living mortal, would have made Ioneshrink back into the pitiless fury of the storm, but Glaucus, though notwithout some misgiving, drew her into the cavern.
'We are storm-beaten wanderers from the neighboring city,' said he, 'anddecoyed hither by yon light; we crave shelter and the comfort of yourhearth.'
As he spoke, the fox rose from the ground, and advanced towards thestrangers, showing, from end to end, its white teeth, and deepening inits menacing growl.
'Down, slave!' said the witch; and at the sound of her voice the beastdropped at once, covering its face with its brush, and keeping only itsquick, vigilant eye fixed upon the invaders of its repose. 'Come to thefire if ye will!' said she, turning to Glaucus and his companions. 'Inever welcome living thing--save the owl, the fox, the toad, and theviper--so I cannot welcome ye; but come to the fire without welcome--whystand upon form?'
The language in which the hag addressed them was a strange and barbarousLatin, interlarded with many words of some more rude, and ancientdialect. She did not stir from her seat, but gazed stonily upon them asGlaucus now released Ione of her outer wrapping garments, and making herplace herself on a log of wood, which was the only other seat heperceived at hand--fanned with his breath the embers into a more glowingflame. The slave, encouraged by the boldness of her superiors, divestedherself also of her long palla, and crept timorously to the oppositecorner of the hearth.
'We disturb you, I fear,' said the silver voice of Ione, inconciliation.
The witch did not reply--she seemed like one who has awakened for amoment from the dead, and has then relapsed once more into the eternalslumber.
'Tell me,' said she, suddenly, and after a long pause, 'are ye brotherand sister?'
'No,' said Ione, blushing.
'Are ye married?'
'Not so,' replied Glaucus.
'Ho, lovers!--ha!--ha!--ha!' and the witch laughed so loud and so longthat the caverns rang again.
The heart of Ione stood still at that strange mirth. Glaucus muttered arapid counterspell to the omen--and the slave turned as pale as thecheek of the witch herself.
'Why dost thou laugh, old crone?' said Glaucus, somewhat sternly, as heconcluded his invocation.
'Did I laugh?' said the hag, absently.
'She is in her dotage,' whispered Glaucus: as he said this, he caughtthe eye of the hag fixed upon him with a malignant and vivid glare.
'Thou liest!' said she, abruptly.
'Thou art an uncourteous welcomer,' returned Glaucus.
'Hush! provoke her not, dear Glaucus!' whispered Ione.
'I will tell thee why I laughed when I discovered ye were lovers,' saidthe old woman. 'It was because it is a pleasure to the old and witheredto look upon young hearts like yours--and to know the time will comewhen you will loathe each other--loathe--loathe--ha!--ha!--ha!'
It was now Ione's turn to pray against the unpleasing prophecy.
'The gods forbid!' said she. 'Yet, poor woman, thou knowest little oflove, or thou wouldst know that it never changes.'
'Was I young once, think ye?' returned the hag, quickly; 'and am I old,and hideous, and deathly now? Such as is the form, so is the heart.'With these words she sank again into a stillness profound and fearful,as if the cessation of life itself.
'Hast thou dwelt here long?' said Glaucus, after a pause, feelinguncomfortably oppressed beneath a silence so appalling.
'Ah, long!--yes.'
'It is but a drear abode.'
'Ha! thou mayst well say that--Hell is beneath us!' replied the hag,pointing her bony finger to the earth. 'And I will tell thee asecret--the dim things below are preparing wrath for ye above--you, theyoung, and the thoughtless, and the beautiful.'
'Thou utterest but evil words, ill becoming the hospitable,' saidGlaucus; 'and in future I will brave the tempest rather than thywelcome.'
'Thou wilt do well. None should ever seek me--save the wretched!'
'And why the wretched?' asked the Athenian.
'I am the witch of the mountain,' replied the sorceress, with a ghastlygrin; 'my trade is to give hope to the hopeless: for the crossed in loveI have philtres; for the avaricious, promises of treasure; for themalicious, potions of revenge; for the happy and the good, I have onlywhat life has--curses! Trouble me no more.
With this the grim tenant of the cave relapsed into a silence soobstinate and sullen, that Glaucus in vain endeavored to draw her intofarther conversation. She did not evince, by any alteration of herlocked and rigid features, that she even heard him. Fortunately,however, the storm, which was brief as violent, began now to relax; therain grew less and less fierce; and at last, as the clouds parted, themoon burst forth in the purple opening of heaven, and streamed clear andfull into that desolate abode. Never had she shone, perhaps, on a groupmore worthy of the painter's art. The young, the all-
beautiful Ione,seated by that rude fire--her lover already forgetful of the presence ofthe hag, at her feet, gazing upward to her face, and whispering sweetwords--the pale and affrighted slave at a little distance--and theghastly hag resting her deadly eyes upon them; yet seemingly serene andfearless (for the companionship of love hath such power) were thesebeautiful beings, things of another sphere, in that dark and unholycavern, with its gloomy quaintness of appurtenance. The fox regardedthem from his corner with his keen and fiery eye: and as Glaucus nowturned towards the witch, he perceived for the first time, just underher seat, the bright gaze and crested head of a large snake: whether itwas that the vivid coloring of the Athenian's cloak, thrown over theshoulders of Ione, attracted the reptile's anger--its crest began toglow and rise, as if menacing and preparing itself to spring upon theNeapolitan--Glaucus caught quickly at one of the half-burned logs uponthe hearth--and, as if enraged at the action, the snake came forth fromits shelter, and with a loud hiss raised itself on end till its heightnearly approached that of the Greek.
'Witch!' cried Glaucus, 'command thy creature, or thou wilt see itdead.'
'It has been despoiled of its venom!' said the witch, aroused at histhreat; but ere the words had left her lip, the snake had sprung uponGlaucus; quick and watchful, the agile Greek leaped lightly aside, andstruck so fell and dexterous a blow on the head of the snake, that itfell prostrate and writhing among the embers of the fire.
The hag sprung up, and stood confronting Glaucus with a face which wouldhave befitted the fiercest of the Furies, so utterly dire and wrathfulwas its expression--yet even in horror and ghastliness preserving theoutline and trace of beauty--and utterly free from that coarse grotesqueat which the imaginations of the North have sought the source of terror.'Thou hast,' said she, in a slow and steady voice--which belied theexpression of her face, so much was it passionless and calm--'thou hasthad shelter under my roof, and warmth at my hearth; thou hast returnedevil for good; thou hast smitten and haply slain the thing that loved meand was mine: nay, more, the creature, above all others, consecrated togods and deemed venerable by man,--now hear thy punishment. By themoon, who is the guardian of the sorceress--by Orcus, who is thetreasurer of wrath--I curse thee! and thou art cursed! May thy love beblasted--may thy name be blackened--may the infernals mark thee--may thyheart wither and scorch--may thy last hour recall to thee the prophetvoice of the Saga of Vesuvius! And thou,' she added, turning sharplytowards Ione, and raising her right arm, when Glaucus burst impetuouslyon her speech:
'Hag!' cried he, 'forbear! Me thou hast cursed, and I commit myself tothe gods--I defy and scorn thee! but breathe but one word against yonmaiden, and I will convert the oath on thy foul lips to thy dying groan.Beware!'
'I have done,' replied the hag, laughing wildly; 'for in thy doom is shewho loves thee accursed. And not the less, that I heard her lipsbreathe thy name, and know by what word to commend thee to the demons.Glaucus--thou art doomed!' So saying, the witch turned from theAthenian, and kneeling down beside her wounded favorite, which shedragged from the hearth, she turned to them her face no more.
'O Glaucus!' said Ione, greatly terrified, 'what have we done?--Let ushasten from this place; the storm has ceased. Good mistress, forgivehim--recall thy words--he meant but to defend himself--accept thispeace-offering to unsay the said': and Ione, stooping, placed her purseon the hag's lap.
'Away!' said she, bitterly--'away! The oath once woven the Fates onlycan untie. Away!'
'Come, dearest!' said Glaucus, impatiently. 'Thinkest thou that thegods above us or below hear the impotent ravings of dotage? Come!'
Long and loud rang the echoes of the cavern with the dread laugh of theSaga--she deigned no further reply.
The lovers breathed more freely when they gained the open air: yet thescene they had witnessed, the words and the laughter of the witch, stillfearfully dwelt with Ione; and even Glaucus could not thoroughly shakeoff the impression they bequeathed. The storm had subsided--save, nowand then, a low thunder muttered at the distance amidst the darkerclouds, or a momentary flash of lightning affronted the sovereignty ofthe moon. With some difficulty they regained the road, where they foundthe vehicle already sufficiently repaired for their departure, and thecarrucarius calling loudly upon Hercules to tell him where his chargehad vanished.
Glaucus vainly endeavored to cheer the exhausted spirits of Ione; andscarce less vainly to recover the elastic tone of his own naturalgaiety. They soon arrived before the gate of the city: as it opened tothem, a litter borne by slaves impeded the way.
'It is too late for egress,' cried the sentinel to the inmate of thelitter.
'Not so,' said a voice, which the lovers started to hear; it was a voicethey well recognized. 'I am bound to the villa of Marcus Polybius. Ishall return shortly. I am Arbaces the Egyptian.'
The scruples of him at the gate were removed, and the litter passedclose beside the carriage that bore the lovers.
'Arbaces, at this hour!--scarce recovered too, methinks!--Whither andfor what can he leave the city?' said Glaucus.
'Alas!' replied Ione, bursting into tears, 'my soul feels still more andmore the omen of evil. Preserve us, O ye Gods! or at least,' shemurmured inly, 'preserve my Glaucus!'
The Last Days of Pompeii Page 25