Produced by John T. Horner and David Widger
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII
by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton
BOOK THE FIRST
Chapter I.
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF POMPEII.
'HO, Diomed, well met! Do you sup with Glaucus to-night?' said a youngman of small stature, who wore his tunic in those loose and effeminatefolds which proved him to be a gentleman and a coxcomb.
'Alas, no! dear Clodius; he has not invited me,' replied Diomed, a manof portly frame and of middle age. 'By Pollux, a scurvy trick! for theysay his suppers are the best in Pompeii'.
'Pretty well--though there is never enough of wine for me. It is notthe old Greek blood that flows in his veins, for he pretends that winemakes him dull the next morning.'
'There may be another reason for that thrift,' said Diomed, raising hisbrows. 'With all his conceit and extravagance he is not so rich, Ifancy, as he affects to be, and perhaps loves to save his amphoraebetter than his wit.'
'An additional reason for supping with him while the sesterces last.Next year, Diomed, we must find another Glaucus.'
'He is fond of the dice, too, I hear.'
'He is fond of every pleasure; and while he likes the pleasure of givingsuppers, we are all fond of him.'
'Ha, ha, Clodius, that is well said! Have you ever seen my wine-cellars,by-the-by?'
'I think not, my good Diomed.'
'Well, you must sup with me some evening; I have tolerable muraenae inmy reservoir, and I ask Pansa the aedile to meet you.'
'O, no state with me!--Persicos odi apparatus, I am easily contented.Well, the day wanes; I am for the baths--and you...'
'To the quaestor--business of state--afterwards to the temple of Isis.Vale!'
'An ostentatious, bustling, ill-bred fellow,' muttered Clodius tohimself, as he sauntered slowly away. 'He thinks with his feasts andhis wine-cellars to make us forget that he is the son of a freedman--andso we will, when we do him the honour of winning his money; these richplebeians are a harvest for us spendthrift nobles.'
Thus soliloquising, Clodius arrived in the Via Domitiana, which wascrowded with passengers and chariots, and exhibited all that gay andanimated exuberance of life and motion which we find at this day in thestreets of Naples.
The bells of the cars as they rapidly glided by each other jingledmerrily on the ear, and Clodius with smiles or nods claimed familiaracquaintance with whatever equipage was most elegant or fantastic: infact, no idler was better known in Pompeii.
'What, Clodius! and how have you slept on your good fortune?' cried, ina pleasant and musical voice, a young man, in a chariot of the mostfastidious and graceful fashion. Upon its surface of bronze wereelaborately wrought, in the still exquisite workmanship of Greece,reliefs of the Olympian games; the two horses that drew the car were ofthe rarest breed of Parthia; their slender limbs seemed to disdain theground and court the air, and yet at the slightest touch of thecharioteer, who stood behind the young owner of the equipage, theypaused motionless, as if suddenly transformed into stone--lifeless, butlifelike, as one of the breathing wonders of Praxiteles. The ownerhimself was of that slender and beautiful symmetry from which thesculptors of Athens drew their models; his Grecian origin betrayeditself in his light but clustering locks, and the perfect harmony of hisfeatures. He wore no toga, which in the time of the emperors had indeedceased to be the general distinction of the Romans, and was especiallyridiculed by the pretenders to fashion; but his tunic glowed in therichest hues of the Tyrian dye, and the fibulae, or buckles, by which itwas fastened, sparkled with emeralds: around his neck was a chain ofgold, which in the middle of his breast twisted itself into the form ofa serpent's head, from the mouth of which hung pendent a large signetring of elaborate and most exquisite workmanship; the sleeves of thetunic were loose, and fringed at the hand with gold: and across thewaist a girdle wrought in arabesque designs, and of the same material asthe fringe, served in lieu of pockets for the receptacle of thehandkerchief and the purse, the stilus and the tablets.
'My dear Glaucus!' said Clodius, 'I rejoice to see that your losses haveso little affected your mien. Why, you seem as if you had been inspiredby Apollo, and your face shines with happiness like a glory; any onemight take you for the winner, and me for the loser.'
'And what is there in the loss or gain of those dull pieces of metalthat should change our spirit, my Clodius? By Venus, while yet young,we can cover our full locks with chaplets--while yet the cithara soundson unsated ears--while yet the smile of Lydia or of Chloe flashes overour veins in which the blood runs so swiftly, so long shall we finddelight in the sunny air, and make bald time itself but the treasurer ofour joys. You sup with me to-night, you know.'
'Who ever forgets the invitation of Glaucus!'
'But which way go you now?'
'Why, I thought of visiting the baths: but it wants yet an hour to theusual time.'
'Well, I will dismiss my chariot, and go with you. So, so, my Phylias,'stroking the horse nearest to him, which by a low neigh and withbackward ears playfully acknowledged the courtesy: 'a holiday for youto-day. Is he not handsome, Clodius?'
'Worthy of Phoebus,' returned the noble parasite--'or of Glaucus.'
The Last Days of Pompeii Page 1
