Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FIRST 6. Chapter VI (continued)

'You knew the jugglings of that impious craft,' answered Apaecides; 'why did you disguise them from me?--When you excited my desire to devote myself to the office whose garb I bear, you spoke to me of the holy life of men resigning themselves to knowledge--you have given me for companions an ignorant and sensual herd, who have no knowledge but that of the grossest frauds; you spoke to me of men sacrificing the earthlier pleasures to the sublime cultivation of virtue--you place me amongst men reeking with all the filthiness of vice; you spoke to me of the friends, the enlighteners of our common kind--I see but their cheats and deluders! Oh! it was basely done!--you have robbed me of the glory of youth, of the convictions of virtue, of the sanctifying thirst after wisdom. Young as I was, rich, fervent, the sunny pleasures of earth before me, I resigned all without a sign, nay, with happiness and exultation, in the thought that I resigned them for the abstruse mysteries of diviner wisdom, for the companionship of gods--for the revelations of Heaven--and now--now...'

Convulsive sobs checked the priest's voice; he covered his face with his hands, and large tears forced themselves through the wasted fingers, and ran profusely down his vest.

'What I promised to thee, that will I give, my friend, my pupil: these have been but trials to thy virtue--it comes forth the brighter for thy novitiate--think no more of those dull cheats--assort no more with those menials of the goddess, the atrienses of her hall--you are worthy to enter into the penetralia. I henceforth will be your priest, your guide, and you who now curse my friendship shall live to bless it.'

The young man lifted up his head, and gazed with a vacant and wondering stare upon the Egyptian.