Chapter X
WHAT BECOMES OF NYDIA IN THE HOUSE OF ARBACES. THE EGYPTIAN FEELS
COMPASSION FOR GLAUCUS. COMPASSION IS OFTEN A VERY USELESS VISITOR TO THE
GUILTY.
IT will be remembered that, at the command of Arbaces, Nydia followed the
Egyptian to his home, and conversing there with her, he learned from the
confession of her despair and remorse, that her hand, and not Julia's, had
administered to Glaucus the fatal potion. At another time the Egyptian
might have conceived a philosophical interest in sounding the depths and
origin of the strange and absorbing passion which, in blindness and in
slavery, this singular girl had dared to cherish; but at present he spared
no thought from himself. As, after her confession, the poor Nydia threw
herself on her knees before him, and besought him to restore the health and
save the life of Glaucus--for in her youth and ignorance she imagined the
dark magician all-powerful to effect both--Arbaces, with unheeding ears, was
noting only the new expediency of detaining Nydia a prisoner until the trial
and fate of Glaucus were decided. For if, when he judged her merely the
accomplice of Julia in obtaining the philtre, he had felt it was dangerous
to the full success of his vengeance to allow her to be at large--to appear,
perhaps, as a witness--to avow the manner in which the sense of Glaucus had
been darkened, and thus win indulgence to the crime of which he was
accused--how much more was she likely to volunteer her testimony when she
herself had administered the draught, and, inspired by love, would be only
anxious, at any expense of shame, to retrieve her error and preserve her
beloved? Besides, how unworthy of the rank and repute of Arbaces to be
implicated in the disgrace of pandering to the passion of Julia, and
assisting in the unholy rites of the Saga of Vesuvius! Nothing less,
indeed, than his desire to induce Glaucus to own the murder of Apaecides, as
a policy evidently the best both for his own permanent safety and his
successful suit with Ione, could ever have led him to contemplate the
confession of Julia.
As for Nydia, who was necessarily cut off by her blindness from much of the
knowledge of active life, and who, a slave and a stranger, was naturally
ignorant of the perils of the Roman law, she thought rather of the illness
and delirium of her Athenian, than the crime of which she had vaguely heard
him accused, or the chances of the impending trial. Poor wretch that she
was, whom none addressed, none cared for, what did she know of the senate
and the sentence--the hazard of the law--the ferocity of the people--the
arena and the lion's den? She was accustomed only to associate with the
thought of Glaucus everything that was prosperous and lofty--she could not
imagine that any peril, save from the madness of her love, could menace that
sacred head. He seemed to her set apart for the blessings of life. She
only had disturbed the current of his felicity; she knew not, she dreamed
not that the stream, once so bright, was dashing on to darkness and to
death. It was therefore to restore the brain that she had marred, to save
the life that she had endangered that she implored the assistance of the
great Egyptian.
'Daughter,' said Arbaces, waking from his reverie, 'thou must rest here; it
is not meet for thee to wander along the streets, and be spurned from the
threshold by the rude feet of slaves. I have compassion on thy soft
crime--I will do all to remedy it. Wait here patiently for some days, and
Glaucus shall be restored.' So saying, and without waiting for her reply, he
hastened from the room, drew the bolt across the door, and consigned the
care and wants of his prisoner to the slave who had the charge of that part
of the mansion.
Alone, then, and musingly, he waited the morning light, and with it
repaired, as we have seen, to possess himself of the person of Ione.
His primary object, with respect to the unfortunate Neapolitan, was that
which he had really stated to Clodius, viz., to prevent her interesting
herself actively in the trial of Glaucus, and also to guard against her
accusing him (which she would, doubtless, have done) of his former act of
perfidy and violence towards her, his ward--denouncing his causes for
vengeance against Glaucus--unveiling the hypocrisy of his character--and
casting any doubt upon his veracity in the charge which he had made against
the Athenian. Not till he had encountered her that morning--not till he had
heard her loud denunciations--was he aware that he had also another danger
to apprehend in her suspicion of his crime. He hugged himself now at the
thought that these ends were effected: that one, at once the object of his
passion and his fear, was in his power. He believed more than ever the
flattering promises of the stars; and when he sought Ione in that chamber in
the inmost recesses of his mysterious mansion to which he had consigned
her--when he found her overpowered by blow upon blow, and passing from fit
to fit, from violence to torpor, in all the alternations of hysterical
disease--he thought more of the loveliness which no frenzy could distort
than of the woe which he had brought upon her. In that sanguine vanity
common to men who through life have been invariably successful, whether in
fortune or love, he flattered himself that when Glaucus had perished--when
his name was solemnly blackened by the award of a legal judgment, his title
to her love for ever forfeited by condemnation to death for the murder of
her own brother--her affection would be changed to horror; and that his
tenderness and his passion, assisted by all the arts with which he well knew
how to dazzle woman's imagination, might elect him to that throne in her
heart from which his rival would be so awfully expelled. This was his hope:
but should it fail, his unholy and fervid passion whispered, 'At the worst,
now she is in my power.'
Yet, withal, he felt that uneasiness and apprehension which attended upon
the chance of detection, even when the criminal is insensible to the voice
of conscience--that vague terror of the consequences of crime, which is
often mistaken for remorse at the crime itself. The buoyant air of Campania
weighed heavily upon his breast; he longed to hurry from a scene where
danger might not sleep eternally with the dead; and, having Ione now in his
possession, he secretly resolved, as soon as he had witnessed the last agony
of his rival, to transport his wealth--and her, the costliest treasure of
all, to some distant shore.
'Yes,' said he, striding to and fro his solitary chamber--'yes, the law that
gave me the person of my ward gives me the possession of my bride. Far
across the broad main will we sweep on our search after novel luxuries and
inexperienced pleasures. Cheered by my stars, supported by the omens of my
soul, we will penetrate to those vast and glorious worlds which my wisdom
tells me lie yet untracked in the recesses of the circling sea. There may
this heart, possessed of love, grow once more alive to ambition--there,
amongst nations uncrushed by the Roman yoke, and to whose ear the name of
Rome has not yet been wafted, I may found an empire, and transplant my
ancestral creed; renewing the ashes of the dead Theban rule; continuing in
yet grander shores the dynasty of my crowned fathers, and waking in the
noble heart of Ione the grateful consciousness that she shares the lot of
one who, far from the aged rottenness of this slavish civilization, restores
the primal elements of greatness, and unites in one mighty soul the
attributes of the prophet and the king.' From this exultant soliloquy,
Arbaces was awakened to attend the trial of the Athenian.
The worn and pallid cheek of his victim touched him less than the firmness
of his nerves and the dauntlessness of his brow; for Arbaces was one who had
little pity for what was unfortunate, but a strong sympathy for what was
bold. The congenialities that bind us to others ever assimilate to the
qualities of our own nature. The hero weeps less at the reverses of his
enemy than at the fortitude with which he bears them. All of us are human,
and Arbaces, criminal as he was, had his share of our common feelings and
our mother clay. Had he but obtained from Glaucus the written confession of
his crime, which would, better than even the judgment of others, have lost
him with Ione, and removed from Arbaces the chance of future detection, the
Egyptian would have strained every nerve to save his rival. Even now his
hatred was over--his desire of revenge was slaked: he crushed his prey, not
in enmity, but as an obstacle in his path. Yet was he not the less resolved,
the less crafty and persevering, in the course he pursued, for the
destruction of one whose doom was become necessary to the attainment of his
objects: and while, with apparent reluctance and compassion, he gave against
Glaucus the evidence which condemned him, he secretly, and through the
medium of the priesthood, fomented that popular indignation which made an
effectual obstacle to the pity of the senate. He had sought Julia; he had
detailed to her the confession of Nydia; he had easily, therefore, lulled
any scruple of conscience which might have led her to extenuate the offence
of Glaucus by avowing her share in his frenzy: and the more readily, for her
vain heart had loved the fame and the prosperity of Glaucus--not Glaucus
himself, she felt no affection for a disgraced man--nay, she almost rejoiced
in the disgrace that humbled the hated Ione. If Glaucus could not be her
slave, neither could he be the adorer of her rival. This was sufficient
consolation for any regret at his fate. Volatile and fickle, she began
again to be moved by the sudden and earnest suit of Clodius, and was not
willing to hazard the loss of an alliance with that base but high-born noble
by any public exposure of her past weakness and immodest passion for
another. All things then smiled upon Arbaces--all things frowned upon the
Athenian.
