The skeletons went with us throughout Herculaneum, and descended
into the cell, all green with damp, under the basilica, and lay down,
fettered and manacled in the place of those found there beside the big
bronze kettle in which the prisoners used to cook their dinners. How
ghastly the thought of it was! If we had really seen this kettle and
the skeletons there--as we did not--we could not have suffered more
than we did. They took all the life out of the House of Perseus, and
the beauty from his pretty little domestic temple to the Penates, and
this was all there was left in Herculaneum to see.
"Is there nothing else?" we demand of the custodian.
"Signori, this is all."
"It is mighty little."
"Perdoni, signori! ma----."
"Well," we say sourly to each other, glancing round at the walls of
the pit, on the bottom of which the bit of city stands, "it is a good
thing to know that Herculaneum amounts to nothing."