Chapter XV
ARBACES AND IONE. NYDIA GAINS THE GARDEN. WILL SHE ESCAPE AND SAVE THEATHENIAN?
WHEN Arbaces had warmed his veins by large draughts of that spiced andperfumed wine so valued by the luxurious, he felt more than usuallyelated and exultant of heart. There is a pride in triumphant ingenuity,not less felt, perhaps, though its object be guilty. Our vain humannature hugs itself in the consciousness of superior craft andself-obtained success--afterwards comes the horrible reaction ofremorse.
But remorse was not a feeling which Arbaces was likely ever toexperience for the fate of the base Calenus. He swept from hisremembrance the thought of the priest's agonies and lingering death: hefelt only that a great danger was passed, and a possible foe silenced;all left to him now would be to account to the priesthood for thedisappearance of Calenus; and this he imagined it would not be difficultto do. Calenus had often been employed by him in various religiousmissions to the neighboring cities. On some such errand he could nowassert that he had been sent, with offerings to the shrines of Isis atHerculaneum and Neapolis, placatory of the goddess for the recent murderof her priest Apaecides. When Calenus had expired, his body might bethrown, previous to the Egyptian's departure from Pompeii, into the deepstream of the Sarnus; and when discovered, suspicion would probably fallupon the Nazarene atheists, as an act of revenge for the death ofOlinthus at the arena. After rapidly running over these plans forscreening himself, Arbaces dismissed at once from his mind allrecollection of the wretched priest; and, animated by the success whichhad lately crowned all his schemes, he surrendered his thoughts to Ione.The last time he had seen her, she had driven him from her presence by areproachful and bitter scorn, which his arrogant nature was unable toendure. He now felt emboldened once more to renew that interview; forhis passion for her was like similar feelings in other men--it made himrestless for her presence, even though in that presence he wasexasperated and humbled. From delicacy to her grief he laid not asidehis dark and unfestive robes, but, renewing the perfumes on his ravenlocks, and arranging his tunic in its most becoming folds, he sought thechamber of the Neapolitan. Accosting the slave in attendance without,he inquired if Ione had yet retired to rest; and learning that she wasstill up, and unusually quiet and composed, he ventured into herpresence. He found his beautiful ward sitting before a small table, andleaning her face upon both her hands in the attitude of thought. Yetthe expression of the face itself possessed not its wonted bright andPsyche-like expression of sweet intelligence; the lips were apart--theeye vacant and unheeding--and the long dark hair, falling neglected anddisheveled upon her neck, gave by the contrast additional paleness to acheek which had already lost the roundness of its contour.
Arbaces gazed upon her a moment ere he advanced. She, too, lifted upher eyes; and when she saw who was the intruder, shut them with anexpression of pain, but did not stir.
'Ah!' said Arbaces in a low and earnest tone as he respectfully, nay,humbly, advanced and seated himself at a little distance from thetable--'Ah! that my death could remove thy hatred, then would I gladlydie! Thou wrongest me, Ione; but I will bear the wrong without a murmur,only let me see thee sometimes. Chide, reproach, scorn me, if thouwilt--I will teach myself to bear it. And is not even thy bitteresttone sweeter to me than the music of the most artful lute? In thysilence the world seems to stand still--a stagnation curdles up theveins of the earth--there is no earth, no life, without the light of thycountenance and the melody of thy voice.'
'Give me back my brother and my betrothed,' said Ione, in a calm andimploring tone, and a few large tears rolled unheeded down her cheeks.
'Would that I could restore the one and save the other!' returnedArbaces, with apparent emotion. 'Yes; to make thee happy I wouldrenounce my ill-fated love, and gladly join thy hand to the Athenian's.Perhaps he will yet come unscathed from his trial (Arbaces had preventedher learning that the trial had already commenced); if so, thou art freeto judge or condemn him thyself. And think not, O Ione, that I wouldfollow thee longer with a prayer of love. I know it is in vain. Sufferme only to weep--to mourn with thee. Forgive a violence deeplyrepented, and that shall offend no more. Let me be to thee only what Ionce was--a friend, a father, a Protector. Ah, Ione! spare me andforgive.'
'I forgive thee. Save but Glaucus, and I will renounce him. O mightyArbaces! thou art powerful in evil or in good: save the Athenian, andthe poor Ione will never see him more.' As she spoke, she rose with weakand trembling limbs, and falling at his feet, she clasped his knees:'Oh! if thou really lovest me--if thou art human--remember my father'sashes, remember my childhood, think of all the hours we passed happilytogether, and save my Glaucus!'
Strange convulsions shook the frame of the Egyptian; his features workedfearfully--he turned his face aside, and said, in a hollow voice, 'If Icould save him, even now, I would; but the Roman law is stern and sharp.Yet if I could succeed--if I could rescue and set him free--wouldst thoube mine--my bride?'
'Thine?' repeated Ione, rising: 'thine!--thy bride? My brother's bloodis unavenged: who slew him? O Nemesis, can I even sell, for the life ofGlaucus, thy solemn trust? Arbaces--thine? Never.'
'Ione, Ione!' cried Arbaces, passionately; 'why these mysteriouswords?--why dost thou couple my name with the thought of thy brother'sdeath?'
'My dreams couple it--and dreams are from the gods.'
'Vain fantasies all! Is it for a dream that thou wouldst wrong theinnocent, and hazard thy sole chance of saving thy lover's life?'
'Hear me!' said Ione, speaking firmly, and with a deliberate and solemnvoice: 'If Glaucus be saved by thee, I will never be borne to his home abride. But I cannot master the horror of other rites: I cannot wed withthee. Interrupt me not; but mark me, Arbaces!--if Glaucus die, on thatsame day I baffle thine arts, and leave to thy love only my dust!Yes--thou mayst put the knife and the poison from my reach--thou maystimprison--thou mayst chain me, but the brave soul resolved to escape isnever without means. These hands, naked and unarmed though they be,shall tear away the bonds of life. Fetter them, and these lips shallfirmly refuse the air. Thou art learned--thou hast read how women havedied rather than meet dishonour. If Glaucus perish, I will notunworthily linger behind him. By all the gods of the heaven, and theocean, and the earth, I devote myself to death! I have said!'
High, proud, dilating in her stature, like one inspired, the air andvoice of Ione struck an awe into the breast of her listener.
'Brave heart!' said he, after a short pause; 'thou art indeed worthy tobe mine. Oh! that I should have dreamt of such a partner in my loftydestinies, and never found it but in thee! Ione,' he continued rapidly,'dost thou not see that we are born for each other? Canst thou notrecognize something kindred to thine own energy--thine own courage--inthis high and self-dependent soul? We were formed to unite oursympathies--formed to breathe a new spirit into this hackneyed and grossworld--formed for the mighty ends which my soul, sweeping down the gloomof time, foresees with a prophet's vision. With a resolution equal tothine own, I defy thy threats of an inglorious suicide. I hail thee asmy own! Queen of climes undarkened by the eagle's wing, unravaged byhis beak, I bow before thee in homage and in awe--but I claim thee inworship and in love! Together will we cross the ocean--together will wefound our realm; and far distant ages shall acknowledge the long race ofkings born from the marriage-bed of Arbaces and Ione!'
'Thou ravest! These mystic declamations are suited rather to somepalsied crone selling charms in the market-place than to the wiseArbaces. Thou hast heard my resolution--it is fixed as the Fatesthemselves. Orcus has heard my vow, and it is written in the book ofthe unforgetful Hades. Atone, then, O Arbaces!--atone the past: converthatred into regard--vengeance into gratitude; preserve one who shallnever be thy rival. These are acts suited to thy original nature, whichgives forth sparks of something high and noble. They weigh in thescales of the Kings of Death: they turn the balance on that day when thedisembodied soul stands shivering and dismayed between Tartarus andEly
sium; they gladden the heart in life, better and longer than thereward of a momentary passion. Oh, Arbaces! hear me, and be swayed!'
'Enough, Ione. All that I can do for Glaucus shall be done; but blameme not if I fail. Inquire of my foes, even, if I have not sought, if Ido not seek, to turn aside the sentence from his head; and judge meaccordingly. Sleep then, Ione. Night wanes; I leave thee to rest--andmayst thou have kinder dreams of one who has no existence but in thine.'
Without waiting a reply, Arbaces hastily withdrew; afraid, perhaps, totrust himself further to the passionate prayer of Ione, which racked himwith jealousy, even while it touched him to compassion. But compassionitself came too late. Had Ione even pledged him her hand as his reward,he could not now--his evidence given--the populace excited--have savedthe Athenian. Still made sanguine by his very energy of mind, he threwhimself on the chances of the future, and believed he should yet triumphover the woman that had so entangled his passions.
As his attendants assisted to unrobe him for the night, the thought ofNydia flashed across him. He felt it was necessary that Ione shouldnever learn of her lover's frenzy, lest it might excuse his imputedcrime; and it was possible that her attendants might inform her thatNydia was under his roof, and she might desire to see her. As this ideacrossed him, he turned to one of his freedmen:
'Go, Callias,' said he, 'forthwith to Sosia, and tell him, that on nopretence is he to suffer the blind slave Nydia out of her chamber. But,stay--first seek those in attendance upon my ward, and caution them notto inform her that the blind girl is under my roof Go--quick!'
The freedman hastened to obey. After having discharged his commissionwith respect to Ione's attendants, he sought the worthy Sosia. He foundhim not in the little cell which was apportioned for his cubiculum; hecalled his name aloud, and from Nydia's chamber, close at hand, he heardthe voice of Sosia reply:
'Oh, Callias, is it you that I hear?--the gods be praised!' Open thedoor, I pray you!'
Callias withdrew the bolt, and the rueful face of Sosia hastilyprotruded itself.
'What!--in the chamber with that young girl, Sosia! Proh pudor! Arethere not fruits ripe enough on the wall, but that thou must tamper withsuch green...'
'Name not the little witch!' interrupted Sosia, impatiently; 'she willbe my ruin!' And he forthwith imparted to Callias the history of the AirDemon, and the escape of the Thessalian.
'Hang thyself, then, unhappy Sosia! I am just charged from Arbaces witha message to thee; on no account art thou to suffer her, even for amoment, from that chamber!'
'Me miserum!' exclaimed the slave. 'What can I do!--by this time shemay have visited half Pompeii. But tomorrow I will undertake to catchher in her old haunts. Keep but my counsel, my dear Callias.'
'I will do all that friendship can, consistent with my own safety. Butare you sure she has left the house?--she may be hiding here yet.'
'How is that possible? She could easily have gained the garden; and thedoor, as I told thee, was open.'
'Nay, not so; for, at that very hour thou specifiest, Arbaces was in thegarden with the priest Calenus. I went there in search of some herbsfor my master's bath to-morrow. I saw the table set out; but the gate Iam sure was shut: depend upon it, that Calenus entered by the garden,and naturally closed the door after him.'
'But it was not locked.'
'Yes; for I myself, angry at a negligence which might expose the bronzesin the peristyle to the mercy of any robber, turned the key, took itaway, and--as I did not see the proper slave to whom to give it, or Ishould have rated him finely--here it actually is, still in my girdle.'
'Oh, merciful Bacchus! I did not pray to thee in vain, after all. Letus not lose a moment! Let us to the garden instantly--she may yet bethere!'
The good-natured Callias consented to assist the slave; and after vainlysearching the chambers at hand, and the recesses of the peristyle, theyentered the garden.
It was about this time that Nydia had resolved to quit her hiding-place,and venture forth on her way. Lightly, tremulously holding her breath,which ever and anon broke forth in quick convulsive gasps--now glidingby the flower--wreathed columns that bordered the peristyle--nowdarkening the still moonshine that fell over its tessellated centre--nowascending the terrace of the garden--now gliding amidst the gloomy andbreathless trees, she gained the fatal door--to find it locked! We haveall seen that expression of pain, of uncertainty, of fear, which asudden disappointment of touch, if I may use the expression, casts overthe face of the blind. But what words can paint the intolerable woe, thesinking of the whole heart, which was now visible on the features of theThessalian? Again and again her small, quivering hands wandered to andfro the inexorable door. Poor thing that thou wert! in vain had been allthy noble courage, thy innocent craft, thy doublings to escape the houndand huntsmen! Within but a few yards from thee, laughing at thyendeavors--thy despair--knowing thou wert now their own, and watchingwith cruel patience their own moment to seize their prey--thou art savedfrom seeing thy pursuers!
'Hush, Callias!--let her go on. Let us see what she will do when shehas convinced herself that the door is honest.'
'Look! she raises her face to the heavens--she mutters--she sinks downdespondent! No! by Pollux, she has some new scheme! She will notresign herself! By Jupiter, a tough spirit! See, she springs up--sheretraces her steps--she thinks of some other chance!--I advise thee,Sosia, to delay no longer: seize her ere she quit the garden--now!'
'Ah! runaway! I have thee--eh?' said Sosia, seizing upon the unhappyNydia. As a hare's last human cry in the fangs of the dogs--as the sharpvoice of terror uttered by a sleep-walker suddenly awakened--broke theshriek of the blind girl, when she felt the abrupt gripe of her gaoler.It was a shriek of such utter agony, such entire despair, that it mighthave rung hauntingly in your ears for ever. She felt as if the lastplank of the sinking Glaucus were torn from his clasp! It had been asuspense of life and death; and death had now won the game.
'Gods! that cry will alarm the house! Arbaces sleeps full lightly. Gagher!' cried Callias.
'Ah! here is the very napkin with which the young witch conjured away myreason! Come, that's right; now thou art dumb as well as blind.'
And, catching the light weight in his arms, Sosia soon gained the house,and reached the chamber from which Nydia had escaped. There, removingthe gag, he left her to a solitude so racked and terrible, that out ofHades its anguish could scarcely be exceeded.
The Last Days of Pompeii Page 41
