The Sun.
London, England, 1834-10-06 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. 3 Vols.
R. Bentley : London, 1834.

We have conceived a higher idea of Mr. Bulwer's
genius from this work than from any he has yet at-
tempted. In power and fertility of invention, it is
equal to " Paul Clifford ;" in imagination, far superior.
The choice of subject, too, is admirable, though at
the same time hazardous, inasmuch as it raises expec-
tations in the reader's mind which nothing short of
first-rate ability can realize. The sudden overwhelm-
ing of a vast city,—the blotting it out from the face of
the earth, at the very moment when its pulse of life
beats highest, when all is enjoyment and festivity
within its walls—what an impressive theme is here I
How it fills up every nook and crevice of the imagina-
tion ! Yet, ambitious as is the subject he has chosen,
Mr. Bulwer has shown himself every way qualified to
grapple with it. There is nothing complex—nothing frag-
mentary—nothing far-fetched in his mode of handling.
His incidents rise naturally, one out of the other ; his
descriptions of costume, scenery, and manners are
strictly classical; and his characters just such as might
have been residents at Pompeii, at the period of which
he treats. The portion of his tale which we like least,
is the first book ; and for this reason, that there is
rather too much parade of learning about it—too
much ostentation and elaborateness in its portraiture of
the domestic habits of the Romans. But when Mr.
Bulwer once gets fairly warmed with his subject, he
throws aside all this, and moves forward with the ease
and vigour and boldness of one who is conscious, at
every step of his progress, that he has a perfect mastery
over his subject. The interest of his story commences
with the second book, or rather we should say, with
the introduction of Arbaces,the Egyptian, on the stage.
A grander, or more ably developed conception than
this, more finished in details, or more harmonious as a
whole, is not to be found in the whole records of
modern fiction. It is a dream of the imagination in its
sublimest mood, yet in perfect keeping with the truth
of history. Of a different order, yet equally efficient,
is the sketch of the blind girl Nydia, which is by far
the most original portrait Mr. Bulwer has yet drawn,
full of grace, full of tenderness, full of every thing that
we most love in woman. Her very helplessness interests
us in favour of this delightful being, whom we like
the better from the contrast she presents to lone, a
character of mere ambitious display, eloquently enforced
indeed, but as cold as Parian marble. Nydia lives
and breathes in every scene. lone—whose prototype,
by the bye, may be found in Corinne—is, from first to
last, a mere piece of polished still life. She does not
start out from, but lies fiat and dull, on the canvas.
Far different is Glaucus, the Athenian, a character
made up of strength and weakness, of manhood and effe-
minacy ; dissipated, vet refined in its dissipation ; ca-
pricious, yet graceful and amiable in its very caprices ;
fond of ease, yet capable of the boldest efforts ; en-
dowed with all brilliant accomplishments; intellectual—
imaginative—haunted by a constant sense of the Beau-
tiful in nature and art ;—" an Alcibiades ;" in short (to
use the author's own words), " without ambition."
This character is conceived in the true classic spirit,
and as nicely discriminated and gracefully hit off as
that of Pelham himself. Nor must we omit to men-
tion the witch of Vesuvius--a sketch evidently sug-
gested by the Canidia of Horace—who is thus graphi-
cally introduced to us—
" A fire burned in the far recess of the cave—and over it
was a small caldron ; on a tall and thin column of iron stood a
rude lamp ; over that part of the wall, at the base of which
burned the fire, hung in many rows, as if to dry, a profusion of
herbs and weeds A fox, couched before the fire, gazed upon
the strangers with its bright and red eye—its hair bristling—
and a low growl stealing from between its teeth ; in the centre
of the cave was an earthen statue, which had three heads of a
singular and fantastic cast ; they were formed by the real
skulls of a dog, a horse, and a boar • a low tripod stood before
this wild representation of the popular Hecate.
" But it was not these appendages and appliances of the
cave that thrilled the blood of those who gazed fearfully there-
in—it was the face of its inmate. Before the fire, with the
light shining full upon her features, sate a woman of consider-
able age. Perhaps in no country are there seen so many hags
as in Italy—in no country does beauty so awfully change, in
age, to hideousness the most appalling and revolting. But
the old woman now before them was not one of these speci-
mens of the extreme of human ugliness ; on the contrary_
her countenance betrayed the remains of a regular but high
and aquiline order of feature ;with stony eyes turned upon
them—with a look that met and fascinated theirs—they be-
held in that fearful countenance the very image of a corpse I—
the same, the glazed and lustreless regard—the blue and
shrunken lips—the drawn and hollow jaw—the dead—lank
hair—of a pale grey—the livid--green—ghastly skin—which
seemed all surely tinged and tainted by the grave I
" It is a dead thing 1' said Glaucus.
" ' Nay—it stirs—.it is a ghost or larva,' faltered lone, as
she clung to the Athenian's breast.
" Oh, away—Away l'—groaned the slave ; it is the Witch
-of Vesuvius.'

" Who are ye ?' said a hollow and ghostly voice. And
what do ye here ?'
" The sound, terrible and death-like as it was-.-suiting well
the countenance of the speaker—and seeming rather the voice
of some bodiless wanderer of the Styx, than living mortal—.
would have made lone shrink back into the pitiless fury of the
storm—but Glaucus—though not without some misgiving—
drew her into the cavern.
We are storm-beaten wanderers from the neighbouring
city,' said he, 'and, decoyed hither by yon light, we crave
shelter and the comfort of your hearth.'
" As he spoke, the fox rose from the ground, and advanced
towards the strangers, showing from end to end its white teeth,
and deepening in its menacing growl.
Down, slave I' said the witch; and at the sound of her
voice the beast dropped at once, covering its face with its
brush, and keeping only its quick, vigilant eye fixed upon the
invaders of its repose. Come to the fire, if ye will l' said she,
turning to Glaucus and his companions. I never welcome
living thing—save the owl, the fox, the toad, and the viper
so I cannot welcome ye; but come to the fire without wel-
come—why stand upon form.' "

The scenes between Arbaces, the Egyptian seer,
and lone, whom he desires to make the victim of his
lust, possess, some of them, an energy that is quite ap-
palling. We give a portion of one of them, and re-
gret much that we cannot give the whole
A new actor now appeared—he was clothed from head to
foot in a dark robe—you saw neither his face, nor the outline
of his figure—he knelt at the feet of the showy lone—he
clasped her hand—he pointed to the throne, as if to invite her
to ascend it.

~ The Neapolitan's heart beat violently—, Shall the sha-
dow disclose itself?' whispered a voice beside her—the voice
of Arbaces.

Ah, yes P answered lone, softly.
" Arbaces raised his band—the spectre seemed to drop the
mantle that concealed its form—and lone shrieked—it was Ar-
baces himself that thus knelt before her.
"' This is, indeed, thy fate whispered again the Egyp-
tian's voice in her ear. And thou are destined to be the
bride of Arbaces.'

" lone started—the black curtain closed over the phantasma-
goria ; and Arbaces himself, the real, the living Arbaces, was
at her feet.

" ' Oh, lone 1' said he, passionately gazing upon her;

listen to one who has long struggled vainly with his love. I
adore thee The Fates do not lie—thou art destined to be
mine—l have sought the world around, and found none like
thee. From my youth upward, I have sighed for such as thou
art. I have dreamed, till I saw thee—l awake, and I behold
thee. Turn not away from me, lone ; think not of me as
thou has thought ; I am not that being—cold—insensate, and
morose, which I have seemed to thee. Never woman had
lover, so devoted—so passionate as I will be to lone. Do not
struggle in my clasp—see—l release thy hand. Take it from
me, if thou wilt—well, be it so I But do not reject me, long
—do not rashly reject—judge of thy power over me, when
thou canst thus transform. I who never knelt to mortal being,
kneel to thee. I who have commanded fate receivtfrom thee
my own. lone, tremble not, thou art my queeti—my god-
dess ;—be my bride ! All the wishes thou canst form shall be
fulfilled. The ends of the earth shall minister to thee—pomp,
power, luxury, shall be thy slaves. Arbaces shall have no
ambition, save the pride of obeying thee. lone, turn upon
me those eyes--shed upon me thy smile. Dark is my soul,
when thy face is hid from it—shine over me, my sun—my
heaven—my daylight I—lone, lone—do not reject my love l'
" Alone, and in the power of this singular and fearful man,
lone was not yet terrified; the respect of his language, the
softness of his voice, re-assured her ; and in her own purity,
she felt protection. But she was confused—astonished ;it
was some moments before she could recover the power of reply.
" Rise, Arbaces 1' said she, at length ; and she resigned to
him once more her hand, which she as quickly withdrew again,
when she felt upon it the burning pressure of his lips. Rise t
and if thou art serious, if thy language be in earnest—'
" ' If!' said he, tenderly.
" 6 Well, then, to me ; you have been my guardian—
my friend—my monitor ; for this new character I was not pre-
pared—think not,' she added quickly, as she saw his dark
eyes glitter with the fierceness of his passion—' think not, that
I scorn—that I am not touched—that I am not honoured by—
this homage ; but, say—canst thou hear me calmly ?'
" Ay, though thy words were lightning, and could blast
me l'

,‘ , I love another I' said lone, blushingly, but in a firm
voice.

" By the gods—by hell l' shouted Arbaces rising to his
fullest height ; dare not tell me that—dare not mock me :
it is impossible I—whom hast thou seen—whom known ? Oh,
lone ! it is thy woman's invention ; thy woman's art, that
speaks—thou wouldst gain time : I have surprised—l have ter-
rified thee. Do with me as thou wilt—say, that thou lovest
not me ; but, say not, that thou lovest another 1'
"' Alas !' began lone ; and then, appalled before his sud-
den and unlooked-for violence, she burst into tears.'

" Arbaces came nearer to her—his breath glowed fiercely
on her cheek ; he wound his arms round her—she sprang from
his embrace. In the struggle a tablet fell from her bosom on
the ground : Arbaces perceived, and seized it—it was the let-
ter that morning received from Glaucus. lone sunk upon the
couch, half dead with terror."

The sketches of the gladiators, and more especially
of Stratonice, who is little more than a Variorum
Edition of " Brimstone Bess" in Pelham, are failures.
They are not vigorous, but revolting, portraitures ; su-
perfluous too, and at variance with the character of the
narrative, which is earnest, solemn, and profoundly
tragic, and should not be deformed by the introduction
of flippant, or ribald vulgarity. But we forget these
minor blemishes—these specks in the sun—when we
come to the description of the earthquake and final
engulphment of Pompeii. Had Mr. Bulwer written
nought but this, he would have written quite enough to
hand down his name to posterity. There is a Miltonic
grandeur about the description—a sublimity of thought,
and power of expression, that fill the mind with awe
and wonder. We subjoin a specimen, just premising
that the catastrophe is supposed to take place at the
very moment when the citizens of Pompeii are witness-
ing the combats of the gladiators and wild beasts in the
amphitheatre :
" He says right,' said the Praetor. Ho I guards—re-
movo Arbaces—guard Calenus I Sallust, we hold you re-
sponsible for your accusation. Let the sports be resumed.'
" What cried Calenus, turning round to the people,
shall Isis be thus contemned ? Shall the blood of Apwcides
yet cry for vengeance ? Shall justice be delayed now, that it
may be frustrated hereafter ? Shall the lion be cheated of his
lawful prey ? A god—a god !—I feel the god rush to my lips 1
To the lion—to the lion with Arbaces
" His exhausted frame could support no longer the ferocious
malice of the priest ; he sank on the ground in strong convul-
sions—the foam gathered to his mouth—he was as a man, in-
deed, whom a supernatural power had entered I The people
saw and shuddered.

" ' It is a god inspires the holy man—to the lion with the
Egyptian !'
" With that cry up sprung—on moved—thousands upon
thousands I They rushed from the heights—they poured down
in the direction of the Egyptian. In vain did the iEdile com-
mand—in vain did the Praetor lift his voice and proclaim
the law. The people had been already rendered savage by
the exhibition of blood—they thirsted for more—their super-
stition aided their ferocity. Aroused—inflamed by the spec-
tacle of their victims, they forgot the authority of their rulers.
It was one of those dread popular convulsions common to
crowds wholly ignorant, half free and half servile ; and
which the peculiar constitution of the Roman provinces
so frequently exhibited. The power of the Praetor
was as a reed beneath the whirlwind ; still, at his word,
the guards had drawn themselves along the lower benches, on
which the upper classes sat separate from the vulgar. They
made but a feeble barrier—the waves of the human sea halted
for a moment, to enable. Arbaces to count the exact moment
of his doom ! In despair, and in a terror which beat down
even pride, he glanced his eyes over the rolling and rushing.
crowd—when, right above them, through the wide chasm
which had been left in the velaria, he beheld a strange and
awful apparition—he beheld—and his craft restored his
courage !
" He stretched his band on high ; over his lofty brow and
royal features there came an expression of unutterable solem-
nity and command.
" Behold he shouted with a voice of thunder, which
stilled the roar of the crowd ; ' behold how the gods protect
the guiltless ! The fires of the avenging Orcus burst forth
against the false witness of my accusers.'
" The eyes of the crowd followed the gestures of the
Egyptian, and beheld with ineffable dismay a vast vapour
shooting from the summit of Vesuvius, in the form of a gigan-
tic pine-tree ; (Pliny) the trunk, blackness—the branches,
fire ;—a fire that shifted and wavered in its hues with every
moment, now fiercly luminous, now of a dull and dying red,
that again blazed terifically forth with intolerable glare
" There was a dead, heart-sunken silence—through which
there suddenly broke the roar of the lion, which, from within
the building, was echoed back by the sharper and fiercer yells
of its fellow-beast. Dread seers were they of the Burden of
the Atmosphere, and wild prophets of the wrath to come !
" Then there rose on high the universal shrieks of women ;
the men stared at each other, but were dumb. At that mo-
ment they felt the earth shake beneath their feet ; the walls
of the theatre trembled; and beyond, in the distance,
they heard the crash of falling roofs ; an instant more,
and the mountain-cloud seemed to roll towards them,
dark and rapid, like a torrent ; at the same time, it cast forth
from its bosom a shower of ashes mixed with vast fragments
of burning stone I Over the crushing vines,—over the de-
solate streets—over the amphitheatre itself—far and wide,
_with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea,—fell that
awful shower !

"No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Arbaces ;
safety for themselves was their sole thought. Each turned to fly
—each dashing, pressing, crushing, against the other. Tramp.
ling recklessly over the fallen—amidst groans, and oaths, and
prayers, and sudden shrieks, the enormous crowd, vomited
itself forth through the numerous passages. Whither should
they fly? Some anticipating a second earthquake, hastened
to their homes to load themselves with their most costly
goods, and escape while it was yet time ; others, dreading
the showers of ashes that now fell fast, torrent upon torrent,
over the streets, rushed under the roofs of the nearest
houses, or temples, or sheds—shelter of any kind—for
protection from the terrors of the open air. But darker, and
larger, and mightier, spread the cloud above them. It was a
sudden and most ghastly Night rushing upon the realm of
Noon 1"