[Illustration:  The House of Lucretius.]

The house of Marcus Lucretius.—­Very curious.  A peristyle forming a sort of platform, occupied with baubles, which they have had the good taste to leave there; a miniature fountain, little tiers of seats, a small conduit, a small fish-tank, grotesque little figures in bronze, statuettes and images of all sorts,—­Bacchus and Bacchantes, Fauns and Satyrs, one of which, with its arm raised above its head, is charming.  Another in the form of a Hermes holds a kid in its arms; the she-goat trying to get a glimpse of her little one, is raising her fore-feet as though to clamber up on the spoiler.  These odds and ends make up a pretty collection of toys, a shelf, as it were, on an ancient what-not of knick-knacks.

Then, there are the Adonis and the Hermaphrodite in the house of Adonis; the sacrarium or domestic chapel in the house of the Mosaic Columns; the wild beasts adorning the house of the Hunt; above all, the fresh excavations, where the paintings retain their undiminished brilliance.  But if all these houses are to be visited, they are not to be described.  Antiquaries dart upon this prey with frenzy, measuring the tiniest stone, discussing the smallest painting, and leaving not a single frieze or panel without some comment, so that, after having read their remarks, one fancies that everything is precious in this exhumed curiosity-shop.  These folks deceive themselves and they deceive us; their feelings as virtuosos thoroughly exhaust themselves upon a theme which is very attractive, very curious, ’tis true, but which calls for less completely scientific hands to set it to music, the more so that in Pompeii there is nothing grand, or massive, or difficult to comprehend.  Everything stands right forth to the gaze and explains itself as clearly and sharply as the light of day.

Moreover, these houses have been despoiled.  I might tell you of a pretty picture or a rich mosaic in such-and-such a room.  You would go thither to look for it and not find it.  The museum at Naples has it, and if it be not there it is nowhere.  Time, the atmosphere, and the sunlight have destroyed it.  Therefore, those who make out an inventory of these houses for you are preparing you bitter disappointments.

The only way to get an idea of Pompeian art is not to examine all these monuments separately, but to group them in one’s mind, and then to pay the museum an attentive visit.  Thus we can put together a little ideal city, an artistic Pompeii, which we are going to make the attempt to explore.

Pompeii had two and even three forums.  The third was a market; the first, with which you are already acquainted, was a public square; the other, which we are about to visit, is a sort of Acropolis, inclosed like that of Athens, and placed upon the highest spot of ground in the city.  From a bench, still in its proper position at the extremity of this forum, you may distinguish the valley of the Sarno, the shady