Leaving the Temple we made our way into the Stabian Street, passed the Temple of Æsculapius, and did not stop until we had reached the house of Tullus Agrippa. Into this Pharos led me.
"O Tullus Agrippa!" he cried, as if apostrophizing the dead man, "across the sea of time, I, Pharos the Egyptian, salute thee! Great was thy wealth and endless thy resources. Greedy of honour and praise wast thou, and this house was the apex of thy vanity. Here is that same triclinium where thy guests were wont to assemble when thou didst invite them to thy banquets. Here the room in which thou didst condemn thine only son to perpetual banishment. In those days, when the sun was warm and the table was laden with the banquet, and friends crowded about thee and praised the beauty of thy frescoes, the excellence of thy wine, the cunning of thy cook, and the service of thy slaves, little didst thou dream that nineteen centuries later would find thy house roofless, dug up from the bowels of the earth, and thy cherished rooms a show to be gaped at by all who cared to pay a miserable fee. Least of all didst thou think then that Pharos the Egyptian would be standing in the room where once thou didst rule so absolute, telling thy faults and follies to a man of a race that in thy day was well-nigh unknown."
He stopped for a moment, and then, turning to me again, recommenced with fresh energy:
"The owner of this house, Tullus Agrippa, was avaricious, cruel, vain, and sensual. He gave of his wealth only when he was assured of a large return. He was hated on every hand, and by his own family and dependants most of all. What did his wealth avail him on that last dread day, when the streets were filled with flying citizens, when all was confusion and none knew which way to turn for safety? The catastrophe found him tossing on a bed of sickness and scarcely able to stand alone. With the first shock of the earthquake he called imperiously for his favourite slave, but received no answer. He called again, this time almost with entreaty. Still no answer came. The walls of his house trembled and shook as he rose from his couch and staggered out into the fast darkening street. Like a blind man he groped his way to yonder corner, calling upon the names of his gods as he went, and offering every sestertia in his possession to the person who would conduct him to a place of safety. A man brushed against him. He looked up and recognised the gladiator, Tymon, the man he had encouraged and whose richest patron he had been. Accordingly, he seized him and clung to him, offering gifts innumerable if he would only carry him as far as the Marine Gate. But this, as Tymon knew, was no time for helping others, with that terrible shower of ashes pouring down like rain. The gladiator cast him off, but the other was not to be denied. He struggled to his knees and threw his arms around the strong man's legs, but only for an instant. Roused to a pitch of fury by his terror, Tymon struck him a blow on the temple with the full strength of his ponderous fist. The old man stumbled against the wall, clutched at it for support, and at length fell senseless upon the ground. The shower of ashes and scoria quickly covered him, and nineteen hundred years later the workmen, excavating the ruins, discovered his body at the base of yonder wall. Such was the fate of the noble Tullus Agrippa, citizen of Rome, and once the owner of this house."
Before I could reply or ask how he had become familiar with these details, he had made his way outside and was in the road once more. I followed him to the Street of Fortune, passed the House of the Fawn, the Baths, and the Villa of Glaucus. Of each he had some story to tell—some anecdote to relate. From the graphic way in which he described everything, the names and characters he introduced, I might have been excused had I even believed that he had known the city in its prime and been present on the day of its destruction. I said as much to him, but he only shook his head.
"Think what you please," he said. "If I were to tell you the truth you would not believe me. For that reason I prefer that you should credit me with the possession of an exceedingly vivid imagination. If I have succeeded in making the last hour pass pleasantly, I am amply rewarded. But it grows late; the guards are coming in search of us; let us return to the gate."
Accordingly, we made our way back to the Porta Marina, and down the path toward the entrance to the ruins. My companion was evidently well known to the officials, for they treated him with obsequious respect, bowing before him and inquiring if he had seen certain new excavations, as if the success of the latter depended entirely on his good opinion of them. In the road outside a carriage was standing, to which was attached a magnificent pair of black horses. A coachman, dressed in a neat but unpretentious black livery, sat upon the box, while a footman stood beside the carriage door. The whole turn-out was in excellent taste, and would have made a creditable appearance in the Bois de Boulogne or Hyde Park. Into this elegant equipage Pharos invited me to step, and as soon as I had seated myself he took his place beside me. Hot though the night was, a heavy fur rug was wrapped round his knees, and when this had been done he laid himself back upon the cushions with a sigh of relief, as if the exertion of the afternoon had been too much for him.
"So much for Pompeii," he said, as the horses sprang forward. "Now for Naples and the most beautiful creature it contains at present, my ward, the Fräulein Valerie de Vocsqal."