The Last Days of Pompeii by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (freda ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Chapter XIII

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