Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FOURTH 17. Chapter XVII (continued)

The streets were thin and empty. He soon gained the house of Sallust. The porter bade him leave his letter, and be gone; for Sallust was so grieved at the condemnation of Glaucus, that he could not on any account be disturbed.

'Nevertheless, I have sworn to give this letter into his own hands--do so I must!' And Sosia, well knowing by experience that Cerberus loves a sop, thrust some half a dozen sesterces into the hand of the porter.

'Well, well,' said the latter, relenting, 'you may enter if you will; but, to tell you the truth, Sallust is drinking himself out of his grief. It is his way when anything disturbs him. He orders a capital supper, the best wine, and does not give over till everything is out of his head--but the liquor.'

'An excellent plan--excellent! Ah, what it is to be rich! If I were Sallust, I would have some grief or another every day. But just say a kind word for me with the atriensis--I see him coming.'

Sallust was too sad to receive company; he was too sad, also, to drink alone; so, as was his wont, he admitted his favorite freedman to his entertainment, and a stranger banquet never was held. For ever and anon, the kind-hearted epicure sighed, whimpered, wept outright, and then turned with double zest to some new dish or his refilled goblet.

'My good fellow,' said he to his companion, it was a most awful judgment--heigho!--it is not bad that kid, eh? Poor, dear Glaucus!--what a jaw the lion has too! Ah, ah, ah!'

And Sallust sobbed loudly--the fit was stopped by a counteraction of hiccups.

'Take a cup of wine,' said the freedman.

'A thought too cold: but then how cold Glaucus must be! Shut up the house to-morrow--not a slave shall stir forth--none of my people shall honour that cursed arena--No, no!'

'Taste the Falernian--your grief distracts you. By the gods it does--a piece of that cheesecake.'