WHAT BECOMES OF NYDIA IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES. THE EGYPTIAN FEELS
COMPASSION FOR GLAUCUS. COMPASSION IS OFTEN A VERY USELESS VISITOR TO
THE GUILTY.
IT will be remembered that, at the command of Arbaces, Nydia followed
the Egyptian to his home, and conversing there with her, he learned from
the confession of her despair and remorse, that her hand, and not
Julia's, had administered to Glaucus the fatal potion. At another time
the Egyptian might have conceived a philosophical interest in sounding
the depths and origin of the strange and absorbing passion which, in
blindness and in slavery, this singular girl had dared to cherish; but
at present he spared no thought from himself. As, after her confession,
the poor Nydia threw herself on her knees before him, and besought him
to restore the health and save the life of Glaucus--for in her youth and
ignorance she imagined the dark magician all-powerful to effect
both--Arbaces, with unheeding ears, was noting only the new expediency of
detaining Nydia a prisoner until the trial and fate of Glaucus were
decided. For if, when he judged her merely the accomplice of Julia in
obtaining the philtre, he had felt it was dangerous to the full success
of his vengeance to allow her to be at large--to appear, perhaps, as a
witness--to avow the manner in which the sense of Glaucus had been
darkened, and thus win indulgence to the crime of which he was
accused--how much more was she likely to volunteer her testimony when
she herself had administered the draught, and, inspired by love, would
be only anxious, at any expense of shame, to retrieve her error and
preserve her beloved? Besides, how unworthy of the rank and repute of
Arbaces to be implicated in the disgrace of pandering to the passion of
Julia, and assisting in the unholy rites of the Saga of Vesuvius!
Nothing less, indeed, than his desire to induce Glaucus to own the
murder of Apaecides, as a policy evidently the best both for his own
permanent safety and his successful suit with Ione, could ever have led
him to contemplate the confession of Julia.
As for Nydia, who was necessarily cut off by her blindness from much of
the knowledge of active life, and who, a slave and a stranger, was
naturally ignorant of the perils of the Roman law, she thought rather of
the illness and delirium of her Athenian, than the crime of which she
had vaguely heard him accused, or the chances of the impending trial.
Poor wretch that she was, whom none addressed, none cared for, what did
she know of the senate and the sentence--the hazard of the law--the
ferocity of the people--the arena and the lion's den? She was
accustomed only to associate with the thought of Glaucus everything that
was prosperous and lofty--she could not imagine that any peril, save
from the madness of her love, could menace that sacred head. He seemed
to her set apart for the blessings of life. She only had disturbed the
current of his felicity; she knew not, she dreamed not that the stream,
once so bright, was dashing on to darkness and to death. It was
therefore to restore the brain that she had marred, to save the life
that she had endangered that she implored the assistance of the great
Egyptian.
'Daughter,' said Arbaces, waking from his reverie, 'thou must rest here;
it is not meet for thee to wander along the streets, and be spurned from
the threshold by the rude feet of slaves. I have compassion on thy soft
crime--I will do all to remedy it. Wait here patiently for some days,
and Glaucus shall be restored.' So saying, and without waiting for her
reply, he hastened from the room, drew the bolt across the door, and
consigned the care and wants of his prisoner to the slave who had the
charge of that part of the mansion.
Alone, then, and musingly, he waited the morning light, and with it
repaired, as we have seen, to possess himself of the person of Ione.
His primary object, with respect to the unfortunate Neapolitan, was that
which he had really stated to Clodius, viz., to prevent her interesting
herself actively in the trial of Glaucus, and also to guard against her
accusing him (which she would, doubtless, have done) of his former act
of perfidy and violence towards her, his ward--denouncing his causes for
vengeance against Glaucus--unveiling the hypocrisy of his character--and
casting any doubt upon his veracity in the charge which he had made
against the Athenian. Not till he had encountered her that morning--not
till he had heard her loud denunciations--was he aware that he had also
another danger to apprehend in her suspicion of his crime. He hugged
himself now at the thought that these ends were effected: that one, at
once the object of his passion and his fear, was in his power. He
believed more than ever the flattering promises of the stars; and when
he sought Ione in that chamber in the inmost recesses of his mysterious
mansion to which he had consigned her--when he found her overpowered by
blow upon blow, and passing from fit to fit, from violence to torpor, in
all the alternations of hysterical disease--he thought more of the
loveliness which no frenzy could distort than of the woe which he had
brought upon her. In that sanguine vanity common to men who through
life have been invariably successful, whether in fortune or love, he
flattered himself that when Glaucus had perished--when his name was
solemnly blackened by the award of a legal judgment, his title to her
love for ever forfeited by condemnation to death for the murder of her
own brother--her affection would be changed to horror; and that his
tenderness and his passion, assisted by all the arts with which he well
knew how to dazzle woman's imagination, might elect him to that throne
in her heart from which his rival would be so awfully expelled. This
was his hope: but should it fail, his unholy and fervid passion
whispered, 'At the worst, now she is in my power.'
Yet, withal, he felt that uneasiness and apprehension which attended
upon the chance of detection, even when the criminal is insensible to
the voice of conscience--that vague terror of the consequences of crime,
which is often mistaken for remorse at the crime itself. The buoyant
air of Campania weighed heavily upon his breast; he longed to hurry from
a scene where danger might not sleep eternally with the dead; and,
having Ione now in his possession, he secretly resolved, as soon as he
had witnessed the last agony of his rival, to transport his wealth--and
her, the costliest treasure of all, to some distant shore.
'Yes,' said he, striding to and fro his solitary chamber--'yes, the law
that gave me the person of my ward gives me the possession of my bride.
Far across the broad main will we sweep on our search after novel
luxuries and inexperienced pleasures. Cheered by my stars, supported by
the omens of my soul, we will penetrate to those vast and glorious
worlds which my wisdom tells me lie yet untracked in the recesses of the
circling sea. There may this heart, possessed of love, grow once more
alive to ambition--there, amongst nations uncrushed by the Roman yoke,
and to whose ear the name of Rome has not yet been wafted, I may found
an empire, and transplant my ancestral creed; renewing the ashes of the
dead Theban rule; continuing in yet grander shores the dynasty of my
crowned fathers, and waking in the noble heart of Ione the grateful
consciousness that she shares the lot of one who, far from the aged
rottenness of this slavish civilization, restores the primal elements of
greatness, and unites in one mighty soul the attributes of the prophet
and the king.' From this exultant soliloquy, Arbaces was awakened to
attend the trial of the Athenian.
The worn and pallid cheek of his victim touched him less than the
firmness of his nerves and the dauntlessness of his brow; for Arbaces
was one who had little pity for what was unfortunate, but a strong
sympathy for what was bold. The congenialities that bind us to others
ever assimilate to the qualities of our own nature. The hero weeps less
at the reverses of his enemy than at the fortitude with which he bears
them. All of us are human, and Arbaces, criminal as he was, had his
share of our common feelings and our mother clay. Had he but obtained
from Glaucus the written confession of his crime, which would, better
than even the judgment of others, have lost him with Ione, and removed
from Arbaces the chance of future detection, the Egyptian would have
strained every nerve to save his rival. Even now his hatred was
over--his desire of revenge was slaked: he crushed his prey, not in
enmity, but as an obstacle in his path. Yet was he not the less
resolved, the less crafty and persevering, in the course he pursued, for
the destruction of one whose doom was become necessary to the attainment
of his objects: and while, with apparent reluctance and compassion, he
gave against Glaucus the evidence which condemned him, he secretly, and
through the medium of the priesthood, fomented that popular indignation
which made an effectual obstacle to the pity of the senate. He had
sought Julia; he had detailed to her the confession of Nydia; he had
easily, therefore, lulled any scruple of conscience which might have led
her to extenuate the offence of Glaucus by avowing her share in his
frenzy: and the more readily, for her vain heart had loved the fame and
the prosperity of Glaucus--not Glaucus himself, she felt no affection
for a disgraced man--nay, she almost rejoiced in the disgrace that
humbled the hated Ione. If Glaucus could not be her slave, neither
could he be the adorer of her rival. This was sufficient consolation
for any regret at his fate. Volatile and fickle, she began again to be
moved by the sudden and earnest suit of Clodius, and was not willing to
hazard the loss of an alliance with that base but high-born noble by any
public exposure of her past weakness and immodest passion for another.
All things then smiled upon Arbaces--all things frowned upon the
Athenian.