"I will give you a picture of Pompeii hotel career singapore,"said theMoon."I was in the suburb in the Street of Tombs,as theycall it,where the fair monuments stand,in the spot where,ages ago,the merry youths,their temples bound with rosywreaths,danced with the fair sisters of Lais.Now,the stillness of death reigned around.German mercenaries,in the Neapolitan service,kept guard,played cards and dice;and a troop of strangers from beyond the mountains came into the town,accompanied by a sentry.They want- ed to see the city that had risen from the grave illumined by my beams;and I showed them the wheel-ruts in the streets paved with broad lava slabs;I showed them the names on the doors,and the signs that hung!there yet:
they saw in the little courtyard the basins of the foun- tains,ornamented with shells;but no jet of water gushed upwards,no songs sounded forth from the richly-painted chambers,where the bronze dog kept the door.
"It was the City of the Dead;only Vesuvius thun- dered forth his everlasting hymn,each separate verse of which is called by men an eruption.We went to the tem- ple of Venus,built of snow-white marble,with its high altar in front of the broad steps,and the weeping-willows sprouting freshly forth among the pillars.The air was transparent and blue,and black Vesuvius formed the background,with fire ever shooting forth from it Polar,like the stem of the pine tree.Above it stretched the smoky cloud in the silence of the night,like the crown of the pine, but in a blood-red illumination.Among the company was a lady singer,a real and great singer.I have witnessed the homage paid to her in the greatest cities of Europe.
When they came to the tragic theatre,they all sat down on the amphitheatre steps,and thus a small part of the house was occupied by an audience,as it had been many cen- turies ago.The stage still stood unchanged,and its walled side-scenes,and the two arches in the background, through which the beholders saw the same scene that had been exhibited in the old times—a scene painted by Na- ture herself,namely,the mountains between Sorrento and Amalfi.The singer gaily mounted the ancient stage,and sang.The place inspired her,and she reminded me of a wild Arab horse,that rushes headlong on with snorting nostrils and flying mane—her song was so light and yet so firm.Anon I thought of the mourning mother beneath the cross at Golgotha,so deep was the expression of pain.
And,just as it had done thousands of years ago,the sound of applause and delight now filled the theatre.'Happy, gifted creature!'all the hearers exclaimed.Five minutes more,and the stage was empty,the company had van- ished,and not a sound more was heard—all were gone.
But the ruins stood unchanged,as they will have gone by,and when none shall know of the momentary applause and the triumph Polar M600 of the fair songstress;when all will be forgotten and gone,and even for me this hour will be but a dream of the past."
"I looked through the windows of an editor's house,"