most precious treasures that he said:
'In view of your interest, Mr. Brook, in this gracious civilization which so far surpasses anything that Christian nations have yet achieved, you must certainly devote a day to allowing me to show you the buried cities.'
For Roger it was an awful moment; as he was torn between a longing not to miss such a chance, added to the difficulty of refusing Sir William's offer without rudeness and the appalling thought that acceptance would mean the loss of one of his few precious days with Isabella. But to such an old hand as Sir William the workings of Roger's young mind were transparent as glass, and while fingering some long gold pins that had once held up a Roman lady's hair, he went on casually:
'No doubt you have made some friends in Naples to whom you would like to return hospitality. Allow me to do so on your behalf. We will make up a party and I leave it to you to invite anyone you wish.'
'You are too good to me, sir,' Roger exclaimed with heart-felt gratitude. 'The Prince and Princess Francavilla have shown me much kindness, and there is the Condesa Sidonia y Ulloa, with whom I was acquainted at the Court of France. . . .'
Sir William nodded. 'So you met the dark-browed daughter of Conde d'Aranda there, eh? It increases my esteem for you, Mr. Brook, that you prefer the companionship of intelligent women. Pray ask her, then, and those charming Fancavillas, and anyone else to whom you have a mind. Emma, I am sure, will be delighted to have their company.'
Then, to this delightful invitation, Sir William added what was to Roger a magnificent bonus. 'A sloop arrived from Palermo late last night, bringing the news that instead of Their Majesties getting back here on Saturday, as was expected, they have decided to stay on over the weekend, so they will not now reach Naples until Tuesday. In view of the extra time this gives you, if your friends are agreeable, we might make our visit to Herculaneum and Pompeii on Sunday.'
So on the Sunday a party of eight made an early start in two carriages with well-filled picnic baskets and the erudite Sir William as their cicerone. In vivid phrases he made five for them again the terrified inhabitants of the cities of the bay on the night of August 23rd, A.D. 79. Vesuvius had then been known as Mount La Somma and was less than half its present height. There had been earthquakes in the neighbourhood before, and a severe one sixteen years earlier which had thrown down some of the buildings in Pompeii; but they had since been rebuilt with greater beauty, and the 22,000 people who lived in the busy port had almost forgotten the occurrence.
At two o'clock in the morning everyone in the towns for miles along the coast had been alarmed by a terrible growling sound coming from underground. The sky was serene and sea calm, but by dawn it was seen that an enormous column of watery vapour was steaming up like a vast pine tree from the top of the mountain. As the morning advanced it grew and spread, assuming the form of a huge mushroom. For some time it remained suspended motionless in the air, a strange and terrifying sight, but endangering no one. Suddenly it burst and descended on the mountain sides in torrents of boiling rain. Gathering the soil in its progress it rushed down the slope towards the sea in the form of scalding mud and totally engulfed Herculaneum.
In a few hours the town had not only disappeared from the face of the earth, but was buried sixty feet below it. Such of the inhabitants as got away in time fled either to the little town of Neapolis, as Naples was then called, or to Pompeii. The former were inspired by the gods, as Neapolis sustained little damage, and up to eight o'clock in the evening it was thought that Pompeii would also be spared. But at that hour the eruption redoubled in violence, and the volcano began to throw up masses of molten stones. They struck against each other as they were vomited into the air with the roar of continuous thunder, and breaking into small fragments descended on the doomed city.
By two hours after midnight a mineral rain of red-hot stones, each no bigger than a pea, but in effect like a fiery hailstorm, was descending steadUy on Pompeii, burning and blistering everything it touched. Then after it, for hours on end, there fell hundreds of thousands of tons of calcined earth in the form of dust, and a black snow composed of ashes. The clouds laden with these soffocating components had spread far and wide, so that the whole terror occurred in pitch darkness. There now seemed no greater hope of safety in taking one way rather than another.
In wild confusion, patricians and plebeians, freedmen and slaves, priests, foreign traders, gladiators and courtesans ran backwards and forwards in frantic efforts to save themselves. Blindly they rushed into one another and into the walls of the houses they could no longer see. The heat was so stifling they could not get their breath. The sulphur fumes got into their eyes and lungs; the falling dust suffocated them, and thousands of them choked out their lives in agony.
The air for many hundreds of feet up was so thick with particles that the night seemed eternal. On the day that followed, the distraught people who had escaped with their lives did not even know that the sun had risen, and thought that it had been blotted out for ever. Even as far away as Rome day was turned into night, and the crowds wailed to the gods in panic, believing that the end of the world had come.
'That,' Sir William told his guests, 'is no figment of my own imagination, but almost the words in which this appalling catastrophe was described by cultured Roman men of letters, such as Pliny the Younger, who were actual eye-witnesses to these ghastly scenes.'
Then he took them to the Forum, the Temples, the Theatre, the Baths, the houses and the shops, showing them the amenities the Romans had enjoyed. And as they ate their picnic lunch he smilingly apologized that he could give them only Lachrima Christi to wash it down, instead of Falernian, as he did not doubt that just as the Roman way of life had reached a peak of civilization still unrealized by themselves, so had the wines of those times been proportionately better drinking.
The following morning it was with something of a shock that Roger realized that it was Monday, and that he had been a week in Naples. It had been a marvellous week, unforgettable as one of unalloyed enjoyment. He had spent every night of it in Isabella's arms and the greater part of each day with her beside him.
Every afternoon had brought a renewal of this lovely carefree existence, where with a little group of charming, laughing companions they had eaten of all the delicacies that sea and land provided, then wandered hand in hand through enchanted gardens.
None of the country villas compared with most of the chateaux he had seen in France. Their furnishings were usually either very old or else tawdry; grass grew between the paving-stones of the terraces and moss upon their steps. The liveries of the footmen were often worn and shabby; but they snowed no servility, and seemed as happy to serve a meal as their masters and mistresses were to eat it. Everyone laughed at the most stupid things, and the servants joined in the jokes that were made at table. They gathered round too afterwards, when to a highly appreciative audience the cavaliers read aloud to the assembled company poems that they had written in praise of the charms of their respective ladies.
Sometimes there had been older people in the parties, but never by a word or look had they suggested that there was anything improper in their juniors pairing off to spend the latter part of the afternoons in amorous dalliance. They had remained, dozing or playing a quiet game of cards up in a sunny, sheltered angle of the house, while the younger people wandered down on to the lower terraces until the colours of the gay silks and satins that they wore disappeared among the greenery of the gardens.
And what wonderful gardens they were! Roger knew that he would never forget their flights of old stone steps, tall candle-like cypresses, ilexes gently whispering in the breeze, miniature cascades, fountains with naiads, tritons and dolphins whose jets of water softly plashed into marble basins; their busts of long-dead Roman Emperors posed on pedestals in bays of clipped yew; their temples to Flora, Diana and Apollo; arbours, rockeries and grottos; their little pavilions, belvederes and semi-circular balustraded view-points, from which lovely vistas opened on to the tranquil bay.
In each there had been a hundred places in which to steal a kiss, or more; and about the light, ethereal loves of these friends of Isabella there had seemed not the least suggestion of sordidness. They gave the impression that they were living again the pastoral loves of shepherds and shepherdesses from the writings of the ancient Greeks; and had created here a new Olympus.
Rogef recalled a morning, now over two years ago, when he had gone to call on his clever friend Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord. The Abb6, as he was then, had just returned from dinner, followed by an all-night entertainment, given by Madame du Barri at her chateau at Luciens, where, in her retirement, she lived in almost fabulous luxury. De Perigord had that day predicted the upheavals that had since occurred in France, and were now sweeping all culture, beauty and light-heartedness away; and, with a sad shake of his handsome head, he had
