Chapter V: The Disaster

From a dream of happiness such as mortal beings know but once on this side of the grave--a dream of happiness in which all the brightest, noblest, most joyful feelings of the fresh, unsullied, unexhausted heart of youth burst forth, like the streams of the Nile, from a thousand beautiful sources, Ildica and Theodore woke at length, and prepared to return to the side of her mother, to make her a sharer in their joy, and tell her how blessed, how supremely blessed they felt. Clinging close together in attitudes of tenderness, from which Attic sculptors might have learned yet another grace, they rose and moved along the portico. They moved, however, but slowly, lingering still for some fond word, some affectionate caress, or pausing in the scene, hallowed for ever in their eyes by the first spoken words of love, to gaze over it again and again between the colossal pillars of the portico. Over that scene, however, had by this time come a change--one of those sudden, inexplicable alterations not uncommon in southern climates. The moon, which by this time had wandered on far enough to warn them that the crowded moments had flown quickly away, was still hanging over the Adriatic, and pouring forth that glorious flood of light which makes the stars all "veil their ineffectual fires;" but the sky was no longer without clouds, and catching the light upon their rounded but not fleecy edges, the large heavy masses of electric vapour swept slow over the lower part of the sky, between the bright orb and the islands that slept beneath her beams. Theodore and Ildica paused to mark them, as slowly contorting itself into hard and struggling forms, one particular mass lay writhing upon the horizon, like some giant Titan wrestling with agony on his bed of torture. At the same time the breeze, which was balmy, though calm, during the evening, became oppressively hot, with a faint phosphoric smell in the air, and a deep silence seemed to spread over the whole world. The cigala was still, the voices on the shore had ceased, the merry laugh no longer resounded from the open cottage door, and the nightingale, which had prolonged her song after all the rest was silent, ceased also, and left a solemn hush over the whole universe.

"What strange forms that cloud is taking," said Theodore, called even from the thoughts of his own happiness by the sudden alteration of the scene: "and how quiet everything is. Doubtless, there will be a storm to-night. Alas! for those who are upon the treacherous sea."

"But your father," said Ildica; "he goes by land, Theodore. Is it not so?"

"Not so, dearest," replied Theodore; "he visits first Antioch, and then proceeds by land; but it is not for him I fear, as I heard of his landing while I was on the journey hither; but those strange clouds and the heat of the air must surely augur thunder to-night; and I saw a whole fleet of boats this morning at Tragurium, ready to put to sea."

"It is indeed warm," said Ildica; "I feel almost faint with the heat. Had we lived a few centuries ago, Theodore, we might have drawn evil auguries for ourselves and for the fate of our affections from those hard clouds, and the dull and almost mournful silence which has fallen over the world."

"Out upon auguries, my beloved," he replied; "we hold a better faith, and place our trust in God, who made our hearts and formed us for each other. We will confide in him, my Ildica; and for those who do so, signs and portents are but proofs of his power, which should strengthen, not shake our faith."

As he spoke he turned to lead her into the palace; but at that moment the low, sad howling of a dog broke the stillness of the night; and a figure, the face of which was turned from the moonlight, but which Ildica at once recognised as her mother, appeared at the end of the colonnade, and advanced towards them. Ildica and Theodore hastened to meet her, and each took and kissed one of her fair hands. "Give us your blessing, oh my mother!" said the youth; "we have been very happy. I have told Ildica how I love her. I have told her what hopes my father has given me; and she has promised to share my lot and make my home joyful."

"Bless you, my children, bless you!" replied Flavia, while Ildica hid her face on her mother's bosom, and Theodore again pressed his lips upon her hand. "Ye are young lovers, indeed; but still my blessing be upon you; and oh! may God grant that in the course of that love which is made to render us happy, you may be more fortunate than the parents of either! Your father, Theodore, and I have both lost those we loved as fondly as you love one another; but may better fate be yours, my children! may you never lose each other; but go on in the same warm affections through a long life, and death scarcely separate you, till we all meet again in heaven."

Flavia raised her eyes towards the sky, and for a moment remained in silence, though her lips still moved. The next instant, however, she added, "I came out to seek you, not because I thought you long absent, nor because I had any cause of fear; but I know not how or why it is I have a painful, apprehensive anxiety hangs upon me to-night, which will not let me rest. Perhaps it is the sultry heat of the atmosphere; the air has grown very oppressive; even the animals seem to feel it. Your sister's dog, Theodore, would not rest in her usual place by my feet, but ran out through the curtains; and Aspar told me as I passed that it had fled to the garden. How the cattle, too, are lowing in the village stalls! Do you not hear them? Does the wind come from Bratia?"

"Nearly," replied Theodore; "but cast away melancholy, my dear mother. Oh! that Ildica and I could give you a share of our happiness!"

"You do! you do, dear youth!" replied Flavia; "I do share in your happiness; and this melancholy will pass away again. Those who have known much grief are subject to such thick-coming fancies; and the first touch of deep sorrow brushes off the bloom of hope, crushes the firm confidence of the heart, and leaves shrinking apprehension to tremble at every breath; but let us in; there is a storm coming on."

As she spoke there was a low melancholy sound came rushing over the waters of the Adriatic; the clouds, which had before passed so slow and silently along, seemed now agitated by some unknown cause, and rushed in dark black volumes over the moon; while here and there, amid the clefts and rents of their dark canopy, looked out a calm bright star. But still the mourning sound increased; and the bending branches of the olives down below told that the breath of the tempest was already felt. The next instant, ere the lovers and Flavia could escape from the colonnade, the blast of the hurricane struck the building and shook the massy structure to its foundations. Behind the shelter of a pillar the two women escaped; but Theodore, strong and active as he was, found himself dashed forward against the wall of the palace; while leaves, and flowers, and broken boughs of trees were whirled about in the air, and strewed the marble pavement of the portico. It lasted but for a moment, however, dying away as it came, with a low moan; while a few large drops of rain followed, as if the punished demon of the storm fulfilled his allotted task of destruction with tears and with regret.

"Flavia! Ildica! you are not hurt!" cried Theodore, springing towards them.

"No! no!" replied Flavia; "we are safe; though it was a fearful gale. But let us in, Theodore; it may return. Hark! Good God! what is this?"

Well might she so exclaim. The wind had gone by; even its murmur had ceased; when suddenly there rose a roar from the earth as if ten thousand war-chariots had met in the shock of battle. The lightning burst forth from the clouds, and flashed along amid the innumerable dark gigantic pillars of the colonnade, lighting the whole of its vast extent with the blue and ghastly glare; the thunder rolled from the zenith to the horizon with a peal which would have deafened the ear to the loudest voice. But the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled, scarcely seen or heard; for below, around, was a more dreadful visitation still. The earth shook beneath their feet; the pavement rose and fell like the waves of the sea; the enormous columns tottered and reeled; the walls of massive stone bent to and fro; while the roar of the earthquake and the echoing of the thunder were rendered more terrific by the crash of falling building, and the shrieks both from the interior of the palace and the more distant village. Theodore cast his arms round Ildica and her mother; and, staggering along, hurried them down the steps across the level in front of the palace, and out of danger of its shaken walls. It was the impulse of the moment which made him act, and Flavia yield; but she paused ere they were many steps from the building, exclaiming, "My children! Theodore, my children! Your sister and Ammian! I must go back."

"And I will go too!" said Ildica, in a voice so calm that it made her lover turn suddenly to gaze upon her, who seemed to have lost the timid girl in the first moment of danger and horror.

"No, no!" he exclaimed. "Dear mother, hear me! There will be a second shock doubtless, but it will be some minutes ere it comes. Hasten with Ildica beyond the Golden Gate and up the side of the hill, out of reach of all buildings! I will seek Ammian and Eudochia, and join you in a moment. Fly, fly, dear mother! I leave in your charge what I value more than life. Save her!"

Flavia hesitated; but that moment a slave with a torch rushed out into the portico seeking them, while the motion of the ground subsided, and all became still. It was the swift runner, Aspar, who came up, crying, "Fly, lady! fly, dear mistress! the worst shock is never first; fly to the hills, fly!"

"Away with them, Aspar, beyond the Golden Gate," cried Theodore, breaking from them; "I will join you instantly! Away, away!"

Thus saying, he darted from them, rushed through the portico, and crossed the side avenue, while the wild clamour from the principal street of the palace echoed through the long halls and galleries; and the deep darkness in which that part of the building was plunged rendered the distant sound of wailing and of terror more frightful. On, on he went, though fragments of stone and cement obstructed his way, and crumbled under his feet, showing that even the first shock had been severe enough to shake that strong and massive fabric through every part. But Theodore still hurried forward, till, at length, in his haste, as he passed the spot where he and Ildica had seen the slaves playing on the pavement, he stumbled over a large soft body, and, stooping down, he felt with horror beneath his touch the yet warm form of a man, with the newly-fallen capital of a neighbouring column lying with crushing weight upon his loins. The long hair floating on his shoulders showed Theodore that the unhappy being had been a slave; but still the instinctive benevolence of the youthful heart made him pause a moment to ascertain if life were extinct. He spoke, but not a tone answered; he lifted the hand, in which life's soft warmth yet lingered; but not even a convulsive movement of the fingers told that one spark of the immortal fire still glowed in the mortal body. All was motionless, insensible, lifeless; and Theodore hurried on.

The gates of the Cyzicene hall were open; the glare of lights and the sound of voices came from within; and Theodore instantly entered, as the shortest way to the apartments occupied by Flavia and her household. Never, perhaps, did terror in all its forms present itself more awfully than in that grand and splendid chamber. There, as a general point of meeting, had collected eighty or ninety of the slaves and domestics of both sexes. Fear had not yet had time to subside; and with pale and haggard faces, livid lips, and wide anxious eyes they remained, some clinging to the columns which had so lately been shaken like reeds; some kneeling in the midst, and uttering the confused and terrified prayer; some cast down upon the pavement in utter self-abandonment; some hiding their eyes in their garments, as if they could shut out the approaching horrors that they feared to witness; some gazing wildly up to the roof, which they expected momently to fall upon them. Large fragments of the beautiful paintings which had covered the walls were now seen dashed about upon the floor; and a wide rent in the solid masonry over the door showed how insecure was the shelter which those terrified beings had sought from the night of the earthquake.

In the midst stood, gathered together in the hour of danger, three dusky Numidians, with a servant from the neighbouring Pentopolis, who, in happier times, had been too near akin to the dark Africans to live with them in amity, but who now clung to them for support; while a gigantic slave from the Porphyry mountains, one of the few who looked the unusual dangers of the night in the face with calm determination, was seen in the front, crushing out under his large foot a torch which one of his more terrified companions had let fall. There were two or three others who stood near, and, with arms folded on their chests, and dark brows full of stern resolution, gazed towards the door, as if waiting what horror was to come next.

In the hands of some of the bolder slaves were the torches which gave light to the hall; and the moment Theodore entered, one started from the group, exclaiming, in tones of eager--ay, and affectionate inquiry--though they were but slaves, "The Lady Flavia? Where is the Lady Flavia? Where is the Lady Flavia?"

He spoke as an old servant might speak to a boy he had known from infancy; but Theodore was no longer a boy; for the last nine months and the last few hours together had made him a man in mind as well as in body, and he replied with that prompt tone of commanding courage which won instant obedience.

"She is safe," he cried, gazing round him. "Up, up, all of you! Lie not there in prostrate terror, herding together like sheep beneath the lightning. Up, if you would save your lives! Up, and away! You with the torches go before them! Out beyond the Golden Gate you will find your mistress and Aspar. Keep close to the walls till you are in the open field! Another shock is coming, and the parapets and capitals fall first, but fall far out from the buildings. Crowd not together so, and crush each other in the doorway! Out, coward! would you kill your fellows to save your own miserable life? So! quietly--but speedily. You, Cremera! and you, and you, Marton, come with me! You are brave and honest, and love your lady. Snatch up whatever jewels and valuable things you see, and follow quick! Where is Eudochia? Where my brother Ammian?

"Her chamber is within the Lady Flavia's!" said the Arab Cremera; and, darting through the lesser doorway, Theodore hastened thither, followed by the three he had called, and one or two others, gathering up caskets, and scrinia, and gold, and jewels, as they hurried through the more private apartments of the palace. A sound of murmuring voices was before him as he came near the chamber of Flavia; but, dashing aside the curtain, he rushed in.

Kneeling upon the floor, as she had risen from her bed in terror, with her bright hair flowing in waving lines over her shoulders, her hands clasped, and her eyes raised to heaven as her lips trembled with prayer, was Eudochia; while beside her, fainting with terror, lay the negro girl who had sat beside the Hyader, lately so gay and thoughtless. Near her stood Ammian, whose first impulse had been to seek her; but in whose dark imaginative eyes, instead of terror, shone a strange and almost sportive fire, as if his excited fancy felt a degree of pleasure even in a scene so full of danger and of horror. Nevertheless, he was eagerly entreating his fair _sister_, as he called her, to conquer her terrors, and to fly with him to seek their mother, exclaiming, "Come, come, Eudochia, you shall pray to-morrow--or to-night, if you like it better, when once you are somewhere safe. Your prayers will go to heaven in but tattered garments, if they have to force their way through yon rift in the roof. Come, come! Oh, here is Theodore! Where are my mother and Ildica?"

"Both safe!" replied Theodore. "But this is no hour for sport, Ammian;" and, without question, he caught up his sister in his arms. "You take the casket from Cremera, Ammian!" he continued. "Let him take yon poor girl! Hark, there is a rushing sound! Quick, quick, it is coming again! On before, Ammian. On before, to the Golden Gate!"

Eudochia clung to his breast, and, hurrying on with a step of light, he bore her through the many chambers of the building, till, turning through the great hall called the Atrium, he entered one of the transverse streets, and paused a moment to listen if the sound continued. All, however, was still and dark, except where the murmur of voices and the rush of feet were heard from a distant spot, and where a number of torches appeared gathered together near the beautiful octagonal temple of Jupiter, or where from the apartments occupied by the old and incapable conservator of the palace were seen issuing forth two or three slaves with lights, and a solitary priest bearing the consecrated vessels of the temple, which had already been converted to a Christian church.

Onward, in the same direction, Theodore now bore the fair light form of his sister; but ere he had reached the end of the street, another awful phenomenon took place. From the midst of the intense, deep, black expanse which the sky now presented, burst forth an immense globe of fire, lighting with a fearful splendour the gigantic masses, columns, and towers of the palace; showing the neighbouring hills and woods beyond the gates, and even displaying the heavy piles of mountains that lay towering up towards the north. No thunder accompanied the meteor; and its progress through the sky was only marked by a sound as of a strong but equal wind, till suddenly it burst and dispersed with a tremendous crash, leaving all in deeper darkness than before.

The sight had made the multitude pause and fall upon their knees before the church; and as Theodore approached he heard a voice exclaiming, "Let us die here! We may as well end our days here as in the open fields! Let us die here!"

But, to his surprise, the next moment the calm sweet tones of the Lady Flavia struck his ear, replying to the words which she had heard too. "No, my friends! no!" she said, in a voice which had no terror in its sound, but was all calm but energetic tenderness. "No! it is our duty to God, to ourselves, to our brethren, to our children, to take the means of safety which are at hand. Let us fly quick from among these buildings, which another shock may cast down to crush us. There may be dangers even beyond the walls, but here are certain perils. Let us go forth; I came back but to seek my children! Lo, they have come in safety, and let us now depart. Oh, delay not, pause not, for the hesitation of terror more often points the dart and sharpens the sword that slays us, than the rashness of courage. Come, my friends, let us come. God will protect us; let us take the means he gives. Come, my Theodore, come. Ammian, you look as your father used to look when he went forth to battle. Should not such a face as that shame terror, my friends? Come, I pray ye, come!"

Even as she spoke, the same hollow rushing sound was again heard; the steps on which she stood, above the rest, shook beneath her, and Ammian, seizing her hand, hurried forward. Clouds of dust rose up into the air, shrieks of terror burst from the very lips that had so lately proposed to remain and die there, and every one now rushed towards the gate. But their steps were staggering and unequal, for the solid earth was again shaken, the buildings and the columns were seen tottering and bending by the light of the torches, the crash of falling masses blended with the roar of the earthquake, part of the frieze of the temple was dashed into the midst of the group of slaves, who were flying on before their mistress, and one among them was struck down.

"Stop!" said the voice of Flavia; "let us not leave any one we can save. Hold the torch here!" But it was in vain. The man was crushed like a trodden worm!

"God receive thy spirit to his mercy, through Christ!" cried the priest; and they rushed on, while still the earthquake seemed to roll the ground in waves beneath their feet, and their eyes grew dim and dizzy with the drunken rocking of the enormous buildings, through the midst of which they passed. The gate, though not far, seemed to take an age to reach, and joyful was the heart of every one as they drew near. But just as they were about to go forth, the struggling of the feverish earth appeared to reach its height; and one of those colossal flanking towers, which seemed destined to outlast a thousand generations, swayed to and fro like a young heart sorely tempted between virtue and crime, and then fell overthrown, with a sound like thunder across the very path of the fugitives. It left a chasm where it had stood, however; and through that rugged breach the terrified multitude took their way, stumbling and falling over the convulsed and quivering masses of stone.

Glad, glad were all bosoms when those walls were passed; and though still the ground heaved beneath their feet, though the roar continued, and the very trees were heard to crack and shiver as they passed along, yet all felt that some hope of safety was gained; though when they looked around, and saw the black and tangible darkness that covered the whole earth, and hid every object except that on which the occasional torchlight fell--when they gazed, I say, into that dull and vacant, unreplying blank, and heard the hollow roaring voice of the earthquake around, below, above, well might their hearts still sink, and well might many a one among them think that the predicted day of general dissolution had at length arrived.

Still carrying his sister in his arms, Theodore had followed Flavia and Ammian through the broken walls; and it was not till their feet trod the more secure ground beyond that he asked, "Where is Ildica, my mother?"

"Here at hand, upon the hill, my noble Theodore," she answered. "Eudochia now is safe," she added; "leave her with me, and give our dear Ildica tidings of our escape, for she promised not to quit the spot where I left her till my return. Yon faint spot of light upon the old tumulus--that is Aspar's torch."

Theodore placed his sister on her feet beside Flavia, and hurried on. He had no light with him; the heavens and the earth were all in darkness, and the roar of the last shock still rang, though more faintly, in the air. Yet, ere he had arrived within the feeble and indistinct glare of the slave's torch, the quickened ear of love and apprehension had caught the sound, and recognised the tread of his coming feet; and in a moment Ildica was in his arms, and her fair face buried on his throbbing bosom.[4]

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[Footnote 4: In "The Story of Azimantium," which I published about six years ago in Blackwood's Magazine, and which has since been re-published in "The Desultory Man," I gave very nearly the same account of this great earthquake with that here given. The actors and the scene are different; but the principal facts, being founded on historical truth, are the same.]

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