n mercenaries, in the
Neapolitan service, kept guard, played cards, and diced; and a troop
of strangers from beyond the mountains came into the town, accompanied
by a sentry. They wanted to see the city that had risen from the grave
illumined by my beams; and I showed them the wheel-ruts in the streets
paved with broad lava slabs; I showed them the names on the doors, and
the signs that hung there yet: they saw in the little courtyard the
basins of the fountains, ornamented with shells; but no jet of water
gushed upwards, no songs sounded forth from the richly-painted
chambers, where the bronze dog kept the door.

"It was the City of the Dead; only Vesuvius thundered forth his
everlasting hymn, each separate verse of which is called by men an
eruption. We went to the temple of Venus, built of snow-white marble,
with its high altar in front of the broad steps, and the weeping
willows sprouting freshly forth among the pillars. The air was
transparent and blue, and black Vesuvius formed the background, with
fire ever shooting forth from it, like the stem of the pine tree.
Above it stretched the smoky cloud in the silence of the night, like
the crown of the pine, but in a blood-red illumination. Among the
company was a lady singer, a real and great singer. I have witnessed
the homage paid to her in the greatest cities of Europe. When they
came to the tragic theatre, they all sat down on the amphitheatre
steps, and thus a small part of the house was occupied by an audience,
as it had been many centuries ago. The stage still stood unchanged,
with its walled side-scenes, and the two arches in the background,
through which the beholders saw the same scene that had been exhibited
in the old times--a scene painted by nature herself, namely, the
mountains between Sorento and Amalfi. The singer gaily mounted the
ancient stage, and sang. The place inspired her, and she reminded me
of a wild Arab horse, that rushes headlong on with snorting nostrils
and flying mane--her song was so light and yet so firm. Anon I thought
of the mourning mother beneath the cross at Golgotha, so deep was the
expression of pain. And, just as it had done thousands of years ago,
the sound of applause and delight now filled the theatre. 'Happy,
gifted creature!' all the hearers exclaimed. Five minutes more, and
the stage was empty, the company had vanished, and not a sound more
was heard--all were gone. But the ruins stood unchanged, as they will
stand when