THE SLAVE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. THEY WHO BLIND THEMSELVES THE BLIND MAY
FOOL. TWO NEW PRISONERS MADE IN ONE NIGHT.
IMPATIENTLY Nydia awaited the arrival of the no less anxious Sosia.
Fortifying his courage by plentiful potations of a better liquor than
that provided for the demon, the credulous ministrant stole into the
blind girl's chamber.
'Well, Sosia, and art thou prepared? Hast thou the bowl of pure water?'
'Verily, yes: but I tremble a little. You are sure I shall not see the
demon? I have heard that those gentlemen are by no means of a handsome
person or a civil demeanor.'
'Be assured! And hast thou left the garden-gate gently open?'
'Yes; and placed some beautiful nuts and apples on a little table close
by?'
'That's well. And the gate is open now, so that the demon may pass
through it?'
'Surely it is.'
'Well, then, open this door; there--leave it just ajar. And now, Sosia,
give me the lamp.'
'What, you will not extinguish it?'
'No; but I must breathe my spell over its ray. There is a spirit in
fire. Seat thyself.'
The slave obeyed; and Nydia, after bending for some moments silently
over the lamp, rose, and in a low voice chanted the following rude:--
INVOCATION TO THE SPECTRE OF THE AIR
Loved alike by Air and Water
Aye must be Thessalia's daughter;
To us, Olympian hearts, are given
Spells that draw the moon from heaven.
All that Egypt's learning wrought--
All that Persia's Magian taught--
Won from song, or wrung from flowers,
Or whisper'd low by fiend--are ours.
Spectre of the viewless air!
Hear the blind Thessalian's prayer!
By Erictho's art, that shed
Dews of life when life was fled--
By lone Ithaca's wise king,
Who could wake the crystal spring
To the voice of prophecy?
By the lost Eurydice,
Summon'd from the shadowy throng,
As the muse-son's magic song--
By the Colchian's awful charms,
When fair-haired Jason left her arms--
Spectre of the airy halls,
One who owns thee duly calls!
Breathe along the brimming bowl,
And instruct the fearful soul
In the shadowy things that lie
Dark in dim futurity.
Come, wild demon of the air,
Answer to thy votary's prayer!
Come! oh, come!
And no god on heaven or earth--
Not the Paphian Queen of Mirth,
Not the vivid Lord of Light,
Nor the triple Maid of Night,
Nor the Thunderer's self shall be
Blest and honour'd more than thee!
Come! oh, come!
'The spectre is certainly coming,' said Sosia. 'I feel him running
along my hair!'
'Place thy bowl of water on the ground. Now, then, give me thy napkin,
and let me fold up thy face and eyes.'
'Ay! that's always the custom with these charms. Not so tight, though:
gently--gently!'
'There--thou canst not see?'
'See, by Jupiter! No! nothing but darkness.'
'Address, then, to the spectre whatever question thou wouldst ask him,
in a low-whispered voice, three times. If thy question is answered in
the affirmative, thou wilt hear the water ferment and bubble before the
demon breathes upon it; if in the negative, the water will be quite
silent.'
'But you will not play any trick with the water, eh?'
'Let me place the bowl under thy feet--so. Now thou wilt perceive that
I cannot touch it without thy knowledge.'
'Very fair. Now, then, O Bacchus! befriend me. Thou knowest that I
have always loved thee better than all the other gods, and I will
dedicate to thee that silver cup I stole last year from the burly
carptor (butler), if thou wilt but befriend me with this water-loving
demon. And thou, O Spirit! listen and hear me. Shall I be enabled to
purchase my freedom next year? Thou knowest; for, as thou livest in the
air, the birds have doubtless acquainted thee with every secret of this
house,--thou knowest that I have filched and pilfered all that I
honestly--that is, safely--could lay finger upon for the last three
years, and I yet want two thousand sesterces of the full sum. Shall I
be able, O good Spirit! to make up the deficiency in the course of this
year? Speak--Ha! does the water bubble? No; all is as still as a
tomb.--Well, then, if not this year, in two years?--Ah! I hear
something; the demon is scratching at the door; he'll be here
presently.--In two years, my good fellow: come now, two; that's a very
reasonable time. What! dumb still! Two years and a half--three--four?
ill fortune to you, friend demon! You are not a lady, that's clear, or
you would not keep silence so long. Five--six--sixty years? and may
Pluto seize you! I'll ask no more.' And Sosia, in a rage, kicked down
the water over his legs. He then, after much fumbling and more cursing,
managed to extricate his head from the napkin in which it was completely
folded--stared round--and discovered that he was in the dark.
'What, ho! Nydia; the lamp is gone. Ah, traitress; and thou art gone
too; but I'll catch thee--thou shalt smart for this!' The slave groped
his way to the door; it was bolted from without: he was a prisoner
instead of Nydia. What could he do? He did not dare to knock loud--to
call out--lest Arbaces should overhear him, and discover how he had been
duped; and Nydia, meanwhile, had probably already gained the
garden-gate, and was fast on her escape.
'But,' thought he, 'she will go home, or, at least, be somewhere in the
city. To-morrow, at dawn, when the slaves are at work in the peristyle,
I can make myself heard; then I can go forth and seek her. I shall be
sure to find and bring her back, before Arbaces knows a word of the
matter. Ah! that's the best plan. Little traitress, my fingers itch at
thee: and to leave only a bowl of water, too! Had it been wine, it
would have been some comfort.'
While Sosia, thus entrapped, was lamenting his fate, and revolving his
schemes to repossess himself of Nydia, the blind girl, with that
singular precision and dexterous rapidity of motion, which, we have
before observed, was peculiar to her, had passed lightly along the
peristyle, threaded the opposite passage that led into the garden, and,
with a beating heart, was about to proceed towards the gate, when she
suddenly heard the sound of approaching steps, and distinguished the
dreaded voice of Arbaces himself. She paused for a moment in doubt and
terror; then suddenly it flashed across her recollection that there was
another passage which was little used except for the admission of the
fair partakers of the Egyptian's secret revels, and which wound along
the basement of that massive fabric towards a door which also
communicated with the garden. By good fortune it might be open. At
that thought, she hastily retraced her steps, descended the narrow
stairs at the right, and was soon at the entrance of the passage. Alas!
the door at the entrance was closed and secured. While she was yet
assuring herself that it was indeed locked, she heard behind her the
voice of Calenus, and, a moment after, that of Arbaces in low reply.
She could not stay there; they were probably passing to that very door.
She sprang onward, and felt herself in unknown ground. The air grew
damp and chill; this reassured her. She thought she might be among the
cellars of the luxurious mansion, or, at least, in some rude spot not
likely to be visited by its haughty lord, when again her quick ear
caught steps and the sound of voices. On, on, she hurried, extending her
arms, which now frequently encountered pillars of thick and massive
form. With a tact, doubled in acuteness by her fear, she escaped these
perils, and continued her way, the air growing more and more damp as she
proceeded; yet, still, as she ever and anon paused for breath, she heard
the advancing steps and the indistinct murmur of voices. At length she
was abruptly stopped by a wall that seemed the limit of her path. Was
there no spot in which she could hide? No aperture? no cavity? There
was none! She stopped, and wrung her hands in despair; then again,
nerved as the voices neared upon her, she hurried on by the side of the
wall; and coming suddenly against one of the sharp buttresses that here
and there jutted boldly forth, she fell to the ground. Though much
bruised, her senses did not leave her; she uttered no cry; nay, she
hailed the accident that had led her to something like a screen; and
creeping close up to the angle formed by the buttress, so that on one
side at least she was sheltered from view, she gathered her slight and
small form into its smallest compass, and breathlessly awaited her fate.
Meanwhile Arbaces and the priest were taking their way to that secret
chamber whose stores were so vaunted by the Egyptian. They were in a
vast subterranean atrium, or hall; the low roof was supported by short,
thick pillars of an architecture far remote from the Grecian graces of
that luxuriant period. The single and pale lamp, which Arbaces bore,
shed but an imperfect ray over the bare and rugged walls, in which the
huge stones, without cement, were fitted curiously and uncouthly into
each other. The disturbed reptiles glared dully on the intruders, and
then crept into the shadow of the walls.
Calenus shivered as he looked around and breathed the damp, unwholesome
air.
'Yet,' said Arbaces, with a smile, perceiving his shudder, 'it is these
rude abodes that furnish the luxuries of the halls above. They are like
the laborers of the world--we despise their ruggedness, yet they feed
the very pride that disdains them.'
'And whither goes yon dim gallery to the left asked Calenus; 'in this
depth of gloom it seems without limit, as if winding into Hades.'
'On the contrary, it does but conduct to the upper rooms,' answered
Arbaces, carelessly: 'it is to the right that we steer to our bourn.'
The hall, like many in the more habitable regions of Pompeii, branched
off at the extremity into two wings or passages; the length of which,
not really great, was to the eye considerably exaggerated by the sudden
gloom against which the lamp so faintly struggled. To the right of
these alae, the two comrades now directed their steps.
'The gay Glaucus will be lodged to-morrow in apartments not much drier,
and far less spacious than this,' said Calenus, as they passed by the
very spot where, completely wrapped in the shadow of the broad,
projecting buttress, cowered the Thessalian.
'Ay, but then he will have dry room, and ample enough, in the arena on
the following day. And to think,' continued Arbaces, slowly, and very
deliberately--'to think that a word of thine could save him, and consign
Arbaces to his doom!'
'That word shall never be spoken,' said Calenus.
'Right, my Calenus! it never shall,' returned Arbaces, familiarly
leaning his arm on the priest's shoulder: 'and now, halt--we are at the
door.'
The light trembled against a small door deep set in the wall, and
guarded strongly by many plates and bindings of iron, that intersected
the rough and dark wood. From his girdle Arbaces now drew a small ring,
holding three or four short but strong keys. Oh, how beat the griping
heart of Calenus, as he heard the rusty wards growl, as if resenting the
admission to the treasures they guarded!
'Enter, my friend,' said Arbaces, 'while I hold the lamp on high, that
thou mayst glut thine eyes on the yellow heaps.'
The impatient Calenus did not wait to be twice invited; he hastened
towards the aperture.
Scarce had he crossed the threshold, when the strong hand of Arbaces
plunged him forwards.
'The word shall never be spoken!' said the Egyptian, with a loud
exultant laugh, and closed the door upon the priest.
Calenus had been precipitated down several steps, but not feeling at the
moment the pain of his fall, he sprung up again to the door, and beating
at it fiercely with his clenched fist, he cried aloud in what seemed
more a beast's howl than a human voice, so keen was his agony and
despair: 'Oh, release me, release me, and I will ask no gold!'
The words but imperfectly penetrated the massive door, and Arbaces again
laughed. Then, stamping his foot violently, rejoined, perhaps to give
vent to his long-stifled passions:
'All the gold of Dalmatia,' cried he, 'will not buy thee a crust of
bread. Starve, wretch! thy dying groans will never wake even the echo of
these vast halls; nor will the air ever reveal, as thou gnawest, in thy
desperate famine, thy flesh from thy bones, that so perishes the man who
threatened, and could have undone, Arbaces! Farewell!'
'Oh, pity--mercy! Inhuman villain; was it for this...'
The rest of the sentence was lost to the ear of Arbaces as he passed
backward along the dim hall. A toad, plump and bloated, lay unmoving
before his path; the rays of the lamp fell upon its unshaped hideousness
and red upward eye. Arbaces turned aside that he might not harm it.
'Thou art loathsome and obscene,' he muttered, 'but thou canst not
injure me; therefore thou art safe in my path.'
The cries of Calenus, dulled and choked by the barrier that confined
him, yet faintly reached the ear of the Egyptian. He paused and
listened intently.
'This is unfortunate,' thought he; 'for I cannot sail till that voice is
dumb for ever. My stores and treasures lie, not in yon dungeon it is
true, but in the opposite wing. My slaves, as they move them, must not
hear his voice. But what fear of that? In three days, if he still
survive, his accents, by my father's beard, must be weak enough,
then!--no, they could not pierce even through his tomb. By Isis, it is
cold!--I long for a deep draught of the spiced Falernian.'
With that the remorseless Egyptian drew his gown closer round him, and
resought the upper air.