A Great Many Of The Wall Paintings
In The Interiors Of Rich Men's Homes Have Been Preserved And Some
Of Them Are Fairly Spicy As To Subject And Text.
It would seem
that in these matters the ancient Pompeiians were pretty nearly
as broad-minded and liberal as the modern Parisians are.
The mural
decorations I saw in certain villas were almost suggestive enough
to be acceptable matter for publication in a French comic paper;
almost, but not quite. Mr. Anthony Comstock would be an unhappy
man were he turned loose in Pompeii - unhappy for a spell, but after
that exceedingly busy.
We lingered on, looking and marveling, and betweenwhiles wondering
whether our automobile's hacking cough had got any better by
resting, until the sun went down and the twilight came. Following
the guidebook's advice we had seen the Colosseum in Rome by
moonlight. There was a full moon on the night we went there. It
came heaving up grandly, a great, round-faced, full-cream, curdy
moon, rich with rennet and yellow with butter fats; but by the
time we had worked our way south to Naples a greedy fortnight had
bitten it quite away, until it was reduced to a mere cheese rind
of a moon, set up on end against the delft-blue platter of a perfect
sky. We waited until it showed its thin rim in the heavens, and
then, in the softened half-glow, with the purplish shadows deepening
between the brown-gray walls of the dead city, I just naturally
turned my imagination loose and let her soar.
Standing there, with the stage set and the light effects just
right, in fancy I repopulated Pompeii. I beheld it just as it was
on a fair, autumnal morning in 79 A. D. With my eyes half closed,
I can see the vision now. At first the crowds are massed and
mingled in confusion, but soon figures detach themselves from the
rest and reveal themselves as prominent personages. Some of them
I know at a glance. Yon tall, imposing man, with the genuine
imitation sealskin collar on his toga, who strides along so
majestically, whisking his cane against his leg, can be no other
than Gum Tragacanth, leading man of the Bon Ton Stock Company,
fresh from his metropolitan triumphs in Rome and at this moment
the reigning matinee idol of the South. This week he is playing
Claude Melnotte in The Lady of Lyons; next week he will be seen
in his celebrated characterization of Matthias in The Bells, with
special scenery; and for the regular Wednesday and Saturday bargain
matinees Lady Audley's Secret will be given.
Observe him closely. It is evident that he values his art. Yet
about him there is no false ostentation. With what gracious
condescension does he acknowledge the half-timid, half-daring
smiles of all the little caramel-chewing Floras and Faunas who
have made it a point to be on Main Street at this hour! With what
careless grace does he doff his laurel wreath, which is of the
latest and most modish fall block, with the bow at the back, in
response to the waved greeting of Mrs. Belladonna Capsicum, the
acknowledged leader of the artistic and Bohemian set, as she sweeps
by in her chariot bound for Blumberg Brothers' to do a little
shopping.
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