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 CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22

A Note from Nancy

Also by Nancy Warren
About the Author
 INTRODUCTION

Lucy’s first love potion goes horribly wrong Romances get tangled
But worse, someone dies!

Romance is in the air on Harrington Street, Oxford. Detective

Inspector Ian Chisholm is finally showing interest in Lucy, though the
members of the vampire knitting club aren’t too thrilled to have the
police hanging around so close to Cardinal Woolsey’s yarn shop. Up
the street at Frogg Books, shop assistant Alice is in love with her
bookish boss, Charlie, who doesn’t seem to notice.
Lucy’s trying to become more proficient as a witch and when her
cousin Violet talks her into brewing up a love potion to bring Alice
and Charlie together, it seems like a harmless way to improve her
craft.
Until someone dies. Is Lucy’s love potion more deadly than
cupid’s arrow? Or is there a killer on the loose?
The best way to keep up with new releases and special offers is
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 PRAISE FOR THE VAMPIRE KNITTING CLUB SERIES

"THE VAMPIRE KNITTING CLUB is a delightful paranormal

cozy mystery perfectly set in a knitting shop in Oxford,
England. With intrepid, late blooming, amateur sleuth, Lucy
Swift, and a cast of truly unforgettable characters, this
mystery delivers all the goods. It's clever and funny, with plot
twists galore and one very savvy cat! I highly recommend this
sparkling addition to the cozy mystery genre."
— JENN MCKINLAY, NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR

“This was such a well written, fun story that I couldn’t put it
down.”
— DIANA

“Fun and fantastic read”

— DEBORAH
 CHAPTER 1

F rogg’s Books on Harrington Street was exactly what a

bookshop ought to be. The walls were lined with floor-
to-ceiling bookshelves displaying novels, both popular and literary,
non-fiction suitable for both Oxford students and the casual reader,
and a colorful selection of children’s titles. Cozy armchairs were
tucked in quiet corners, inviting the customer to sit and browse.
It was across the street and up the block from Cardinal
Woolsey’s, the knitting and yarn shop I owned in Oxford. My cousin,
and part-time shop assistant, Violet, and I walked up on that
February morning with a definite purpose in mind.
We wanted to recruit Alice Robinson, the bookstore assistant, to
come and teach knitting classes in my shop. I’d have taught them
myself except that I was probably the worst knitter who ever owned
a knitting shop. Vi could knit, but she claimed she couldn’t teach.
Alice seemed like an excellent choice in a knitting teacher. She
was soft-voiced, kind and turned out beautiful work. I’d been
exposed to the best, since I was so often the recipient of the
gorgeous sweaters, shawls, coats and scarves knitted by my friends
in the vampire knitting club that met in the back room of my shop.
Still, for a living woman who hadn’t had hundreds of years to perfect
her craft, Alice was pretty darned good with the needles.
Also, she was nice. I’d had some shady characters end up in my
shop and what I liked about Alice was that she didn’t seem to be a
soul-sucking demon, a murderer, or a thief. Excellent qualifications in
someone working with the public.
I’d wanted to offer knitting classes to patrons with a pulse for
sometime now but I’d needed to find the right teacher. Since
discovering that Alice had taught at her last job, in a knitting shop in
Somerset, I’d been keeping an eye on her. Sure, I didn’t want to
steal the assistant out from under the nose of Frogg’s Books owner,
Charlie Wright but, frankly, Charlie so rarely saw what was under his
nose that I doubted he’d notice if she stopped coming in.
Violet and I were doing some undercover sleuthing, feeling out
whether Alice might be amenable to teaching classes one evening a
week and on Sunday afternoons. If she worked out, she’d earn some
extra money and get an excellent discount on anything she
purchased from Cardinal Woolsey’s.
We walked into the bookstore and I took a moment to look
around. I loved the colorful displays of wool in Cardinal Woolsey’s, a
patchwork of rainbow shades that made actual knitters long to buy
patterns and wool and get started.
I felt the same longing when I came in here. The books all called
to me, begging to be read. If I had time, I’d curl up in the empty
armchair in the corner with a brand new novel and read a few pages
before taking it home with me.
There were a couple of people browsing. Charlie Wright was at
the counter near the back of the shop. It was the cash desk and his
work area. He was seated, reading a book. I suspected he read
every single volume that came through his door, sublimely
unconscious of customers, noise, or boxes to be unpacked.
I knew he was thirty-four, because he’d told me when we’d
chatted at the most recent meeting of our local shop owners’
association. As far as I knew, he’d never been married. Like me, he
lived in the flat above his shop, though I suspected his was quieter
than mine, since I lived above a nest of vampires, including my
grandmother, who often came to visit in the evenings.
He appeared to be a man whose friends were his books. He had
thick, dark hair that flopped down on his forehead as he bent over
reading. He turned a page and pushed his reading glasses up onto
the bridge of his nose with his index finger.
He wore a pink shirt, though it was that shade of pink you get
from absent-mindedly putting something white into the wash with
something red.
Alice was unpacking a box of novels onto the display table at the
front of the shop. She was doing a Valentine’s Day theme, so they
were all love stories, both classic and modern. She wore her dark
hair French braided and then coiled at the back, though a few wispy
ringlets managed to escape and curl around her heart-shaped face.
She had clear gray eyes behind large glasses, a straight nose and
full lips. I’d never seen her wear cosmetics.
She hand-knitted her own cardigans and sweaters and while the
work was exquisite, I always felt that she knitted the pattern one or
two sizes larger than necessary. This meant that all her sweaters
were baggy, so she must have liked them that way. Under her
sweaters she wore crisp blouses done up to the neck and longish
woolen skirts with sensible low-heeled shoes. She looked like a
combination between a schoolgirl and a middle-aged matron.
I guessed her to be about five years older than my own twenty-
seven. Unlike the shop’s owner, she’d glanced up when the bell rang
announcing new customers. She put down the books she was
unpacking, in a neat stack on the table, and came forward with a
smile. “Lucy. Violet. How nice to see you. Are you looking for
anything special or just browsing?”
She had a clear, pleasant voice and there was something
comfortable about her. I knew she was the perfect choice to teach
my beginner’s class. I was very keen to get a good teacher as I
planned to take the class myself.
“I want to talk to you,” I said, “Whenever you have a minute.”
She glanced around. “We’re not that busy. How can I help you?”
Her face softened when she looked at Charlie Wright. No doubt
she believed her feelings were known only to herself, but everyone
in the neighborhood knew she was in love with Charlie. Everyone
except Charlie himself.
 I was extra sensitive to people’s feelings, being a witch, but her
yearning was so strong I could hear it, like a soulful sigh.
I explained to her that I was starting classes and I wanted her to
teach them. She seemed taken aback by the idea and turned her
gaze from Charlie to me. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m very busy here.”
I emphasized the hefty store discount and that we could work
around Frogg’s schedule.
“I don’t know. I like to be available, in case Charlie needs me.”
I wanted to tell her to stop being a doormat, to accept that
Charlie treated her like an old and comfortable pair of slippers. But I
understood a little bit about unrequited love and so I kept my peace.
“Talk it over with Charlie and let me know,” I said.
“Yes. Yes, I will. And thank you for asking me.” Since we were
there anyway, I decided to buy one of the novels Alice was
unpacking. It looked like a very satisfying love story. Vi, meanwhile,
wandered around the non-fiction shelves, emerging with a book
about local herbs.
By that time, Alice was helping a customer choose books for her
grandson’s birthday. We took our purchases to the back. As I placed
my book on the counter, Charlie glanced up. He blinked a few times.
Charlie had gorgeous blue eyes, and a charming smile when he
bothered to use it. If he’d been room décor, he’d have been shabby
chic.
“Ah, Lucy, very nice to see you.”
“Thank you, Charlie. Nice to see you, too.”
That was the extent of our scintillating conversation. He grew
more animated when he rang up Vi’s purchase, telling her how much
she was going to enjoy her herb book and that if she took the guide
with her to the botanical gardens, she’d be able to see a number of
the plants mentioned in the book. He obviously knew a lot more
about local weeds and herbs than about love stories.
While they shared tales of foraging for mushrooms in the
Chilterns, I noticed a poster hanging on the wall, advertising the
upcoming visit of celebrity author, Martin Hodgins. I was very
interested to see he was doing a talk at Frogg’s Books as I’d recently
been involved in helping him get the credit for work that had been
stolen from him more than forty years earlier. In the process I’d
nearly been killed, but I’d also found a good friend in his daughter,
Gemma.
Beside that was a poster asking if anyone had seen a missing
Cardinal College student. Since Cardinal College was a block down
on Harrington Street I took a moment to study the photograph. The
student’s name was Sofia Bazzano. She was a very pretty girl with
long, curly brown hair. It was a casual photo that showed her with a
drink in her hand and a laugh on her face. According to the poster
she was twenty-one years old and last seen two days earlier. Her
roommate had reported her missing when she hadn’t returned
home. She was a stranger to me, but I memorized her face so I
could keep an eye out for her.
The mushroom conversation seemed to be winding down, so I
said, “I’m very excited to see Martin Hodgins speak.”
Charlie glanced at the poster and then at me. “You’d better get
here early. It’s going to be standing room only, I imagine. But, have
you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“His publishers have announced that Martin Hodgins has a new
novel in the works.”
I was so delighted I clapped my hands. “I knew it. I was sure
he’d kept on writing, even if only for his own pleasure all those
years.”
“It seems you were right.”
I was about to say goodbye when I noticed another poster sitting
on Charlie’s desk, presumably waiting to be put up on the board. It
was for an upcoming play. Cardinal College was putting on A
Midsummer Night’s Dream.
He followed my gaze. “You wouldn’t like to post one of these in
your shop, would you? Cardinal College is my old college, you see. I
help out with their big production every year, my way of giving
back.” He shrugged. “Midsummer Night’s Dream isn’t the meatiest of
Shakespeare’s plays, perhaps, but done well it can be very amusing.
Ellen Barrymore will be directing.”
My eyes opened wide. “The Ellen Barrymore?”
 “Yes. She teaches acting at the college. We were very lucky to
get her, though, sadly this is her last year. She’s going to be the
artistic director of Neptune Theatre in London’s West End.”
Ellen Barrymore had made a name for herself on the London
stage when I was a little girl. Gran had taken me to see her play
Nora in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House back when we were studying that play
in high school. However, she’d gained much wider recognition when
she was cast as an alien hunter on American television in the late
1990s.
After that she seemed to make some bad choices, or perhaps
there weren't any better available, in any case, her career seemed to
dry up. I mostly saw her on guest spots on TV and bit parts in Indie
movies.
“She’s here? Working down the street?” I squealed, as excited as
a fan. Which I was.
“Yes. She was a student there, twenty-five years ago now. I’ll be
her assistant.”
“You’re going to be an assistant director?” I don’t know why this
surprised me so much.
He seemed to be as surprised as I was. He cracked his self-
effacing grin. “I won’t be telling the actors what to do, or anything.
My job will be to get them there on time, standing in the right spot
on stage, and make sure everyone knows their lines. That sort of
thing.”
Alice came up, then, and rang up the grandmother’s book. When
the older woman left, Alice said, “I’m helping, too.”
Of course she was. Anything to be near Charlie. She glanced at
her watch. “It’s nearly eleven. I’ll get the coffee on.”
He sat back down and found his place in his book. “Lovely.”
She gazed at him, lovingly. I could feel how much she wanted to
stroke his head. “And I made carrot cake. Your favorite.”
“Yes. Excellent,” he said, without looking up.
Once we were outside, Violet said, “It’s an epic tragedy the way
that girl pines for Charlie.”
“I know. And he’s so clueless. Does he even realize that she
bakes him fresh cakes every day?”
 “Honestly, I think you could substitute a robot with brown hair
and he wouldn’t notice the difference so long as he got his coffee on
time.”
“Poor Alice.”
Vi stopped and put a hand on my arm. “Lucy, I’ve got the most
marvelous idea.” She sounded so enthusiastic that I grew nervous.
“Remember how we talked about you working on your potions?”
Violet was a much more experienced witch than I and she was
always pushing me to go deeper into our craft. My problem was that
my magic was powerful, but not always under my control. I
preferred to stick to small spells within my comfort zone.
There was a tidying up spell that I really loved.
Actually, she’d talked about it and I’d nodded and pretended I
was interested. True, she’d brewed me up a potion that healed my
aches and pains, but I preferred the safety of something I could
purchase at a drug store—which, since living in the UK, I’d learned
to refer to as a chemist.
The idea of me cooking up something that another person might
drink gave me cold shivers just thinking of everything that could go
wrong.
I’d looked at some of the potions in my grimoire, good for things
like curing boils and easing childbirth. It wasn’t like following a
recipe in a cookbook and ending up with a Cordon Bleu worthy meal.
The ingredients in one of the potions included bloodroot, mugwort
and nettles. I knew the resulting brew would look like sewer effluent
and probably taste worse.
Vi looked altogether too excited for my liking. She said, “We’re
going to cook up a love potion that will make Charlie fall in love with
Alice.” She heaved a sigh of happiness. “You’ll love it. It’s like
matchmaking with herbs. Brewing up a happily ever after.”
With my luck, instead of cooking up eternal happiness, I’d give
Alice and Charlie a case of dysentery.
 CHAPTER 2

W e walked back into Cardinal Woolsey’s and there was

Detective Inspector Ian Chisholm trying to choose
between forest green angora wool and a brown merino.
Meritamun, the three-thousand-year-old Egyptian witch who was
my other assistant, was diplomatically agreeing with everything he
said in an effort to help him choose. It wasn’t working. His eyes lit
up when he saw me.
“Ah, here’s Lucy, now.” I had a feeling he’d been putting off
making a decision until I got there so he could see me.
I got a little fluttery seeing him unexpectedly. He’d kissed me
right before Christmas and since then we’d been out on a few dates.
We always had fun, but I think we were both wary of getting
involved too fast. I, obviously, had a lot of secrets I couldn’t share
with a sharp-eyed detective. I was a witch, for one, and my
downstairs neighbors were a nest of vampires.
He had issues of his own. Chief among them, his job. He could
be called out at any time and when he was working a case he did it
with a zeal and determination that I admired even as it meant he
sometimes cancelled our dates at the last minute.
However, there was a warmth in his eyes when he looked at me
that told its own tale. I probably had a similar expression when I
returned his gaze.
He held out the two skeins of wool he was debating. “My auntie
insists on knitting me another jumper. I’ve told her I don’t need one,
but she says it gives her something to do.”
I completely understood how he felt. The vampire knitting club
kept me supplied with new things to wear nearly every day. I
couldn’t turn down their gifts and hurt their feelings. I displayed and
sold what I could, and wore as many of the sweaters, scarves, hats,
socks and dresses as I could. I was running out of closet space.
He only had one lonely aunt to contend with. He didn’t know how
lucky he was. I took both the skeins he held out and replaced them
in the baskets they’d come from.
Instead, I took him to the table of magazines and pulled out the
newest issue from Teddy Lamont’s quarterly magazine, Designer
Knitting with Teddy. Teddy was a contemporary artist and knitwear
designer with homes in London and LA. He’d helped bring knitting
back into fashion. I’d flipped through the latest issue and seen a
sweater I knew immediately would look great on Ian.
The model was featured against a Highlands backdrop, with one
booted foot up on a rock. The sweater was made with variegated
wool in tones ranging from navy to mulberry. It was manly and sexy.
Exactly like Ian.
He looked at the magazine photo doubtfully. “You don’t think it’s
too…Scottish?”
His name was Ian Chisholm. “Aren’t you Scottish?”
“Well, my ancestors are.”
“You don’t have to wear it with a kilt.”
“All right.” He bought the magazine, which included the pattern,
and the wool. “Auntie will be pleased to have a new project.
Thanks.”
Since I felt that he perhaps wanted a few words in private, which
was impossible with both my assistants standing right beside us and
listening to every word, I said I’d walk him to his car.
When we got outside, he said, “I’m glad to get you to myself for
a few minutes.”
Last time I’d seen him he’d suggested we get together on Friday,
which, according to my calendar, was tomorrow. We walked to the
end of the road where I could see his car parked. It was a Mini
Cooper. Not one of the slick new ones built near Oxford, but an
original model. I was certain, without even asking, that he’d disdain
the redesigned ones.
“I was hoping we could see each other tomorrow night, but I’ve
go to work late. Are you free Saturday?”
“You’re working late again?” The words came out before I could
stop them. I had a few issues around the ‘working late’ excuse. My
former boyfriend Todd had said he was working late when he was
working on getting naked with a co-worker. I’d caught them in
flagrante on his kitchen table, so I wasn’t the trusting soul I’d once
been.
Ian was nothing like Todd the Toad and I knew he was telling the
truth, but still, I experienced a flash flood of hot betrayal before I
calmed myself down.
Ian misunderstood the source of my irritation. “I know I’m letting
you down, and I’m sorry. It’s this case.” He put his purchases in his
car and then turned back to me. “There’s an undergrad gone missing
from Cardinal. She’s only twenty-one.”
I nodded. “I saw the poster.”
“Good. The more people looking for her the better. Her parents
are flying in from Dubai tomorrow. I’ll meet with them, see what I
can find out, and get them up to speed on our investigation. With
missing persons, time is of the essence.”
“I do understand. Of course you have to do your job.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take you for a nice dinner Saturday
night. How’s that?”
I thought it sounded fine and said so.
“I’ll look forward to it.” And then he leaned forward and kissed
me. It was so casual, the kind of kiss shared by people who are a
genuine couple. Was that how he saw us? Perhaps that’s where he
thought this was going. I had no idea and wasn’t ready to ask. Ian’s
job would, I thought, always come first.
And I had my own issues, one of which was even now causing a
cold shiver to tingle the back of my neck.
I waited until Ian had driven away before saying aloud, “What
are you? A voyeur?”
 “Hardly,” Rafe said contemptuously, emerging from Rook Lane to
walk by my side. “You put on a display for the entire street. One
couldn’t miss it even if one wanted to.”
“Well, if you’d stop creeping around behind me, you wouldn’t see
what I got up to.”
“I was coming to the shop to see you,” he said with dignity. I
completely understood that Rafe was jealous of Ian. I wished things
could have been different. We were connected in some strange way,
he and I, so we were always aware of each other. And I was drawn
to him, but more in a moth to flame way than one that had a future.
Apart from the mortal/immortal divide, dinner dates with Rafe
were always going to be awkward. He gave the raw food movement
new meaning. Also, I liked to sleep at night when he was at his most
energetic, and I didn’t really want to get old and wrinkled while my
partner remained endlessly gorgeous and looking thirty-five while
having the experience, wisdom and wealth of someone who’d been
around for six centuries.
None of that stopped our mutual attraction or his jealousy.
Sometimes I thought longingly of my old life in Boston where I
hadn’t known I was a witch, when I’d worked in a cubicle and dated
mortals. Okay, it had been boring and unsatisfying and the mortal I’d
been dating turned out to be cheating scum, but back in those
simpler days I didn’t wrestle with questions like, can I be with
someone who can never age or die?
It was hopeless.
And yet, when Rafe talked of leaving Oxford I panicked. Rafe
was, more than anything, my friend and someone who protected me
and helped me, even if he was high-handed and controlling.
“Where is he taking you tomorrow night?”
I don’t know how he’d heard about my Friday night date with
Ian, but Rafe tended to know way too much about my business. I
turned to him and shook my head. “You really need to update your
attitudes from Tudor times. No one takes me anywhere. I’m a
modern woman and a feminist.”
He opened the door to Cardinal Woolsey’s and held it for me.
After we were both inside, he didn’t drop the subject as I’d hoped.
“Where are you independently meeting up with your suitor?”
Violet giggled. “He’s not a suitor.”
Rafe appeared baffled. “What is the correct term?”
Violet sighed and looked dreamy. “The correct term is hottie.”
Rafe rolled his eyes. “I think females had more sense in Tudor
times.”
Now, I believed the subject would drop, but Violet had other
ideas. “Where are you and Detective Hottie going tomorrow night?”
“As a matter of fact, he has to work late. We’re going on
Saturday. To dinner.”
Rafe looked as though he were having trouble keeping his
opinions to himself. Violet didn’t even try. “He’s working late again?
And he seemed so keen on you.”
Meri was watching all of us. She was trying to learn how people
acted in the current age and I felt as though we weren’t giving her
the best role models.
“He is keen on me. But he’s involved in a difficult case. Time
sensitive.”
“That sucks.” Vi brightened up. “But we can work on our secret
project.”
Not so secret once Violet was involved.
Rafe didn’t even ask. He simply waited. And not for long.
Violet turned to him. “Lucy needs to work on her potions so I’m
helping her make a love potion.”
He raised his eyebrows. “To encourage Detective Inspector
Chisholm in his pursuit?”
“No!” I cried. “Honestly, Violet, I’m really not sure I want to
interfere in other people’s love lives.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” Rafe said, half to himself. “You do so
well with your own.”
I ignored him.
Violet said, “I already spoke to Margaret Twig and she’s willing to
help us.”
I was horrified. “When? We only talked about a love potion a few
minutes ago.”
 She looked at me as though I were missing something obvious.
“When you were outside with Ian. We don’t have any time to waste.
February is a very powerful month for love. Saint Valentine’s Day and
all that. And Margaret is the best teacher. Her love potions are
famous. Besides, she’s got all the ingredients and they’re fresh, not
like the dusty old herbs you’ve got upstairs.”
“I don’t know about this.”
“Why? It’s not like I’m suggesting something harmful. Poor Alice
deserves love and, frankly, she’d be really good for Charlie. It’s not
healthy for a man to have his nose stuck in books all day.”
Rafe made a noise like he was clearing his throat. Of course, as
an antiquarian book expert, he also had his nose stuck in a book, or
ancient manuscript or sometimes a papyrus scroll all day long.
“But maybe they aren’t meant to be together. We could do more
harm than good by interfering.” I knew we witches had a code of
honor and were never supposed to do harm. Then I presented my
biggest argument. “Alice hasn’t asked for a love potion.”
“Only because she doesn’t know we’re witches.” She took a step
toward the door. “Shall I pop over and tell her that we’re witches
and we’d love to brew her up a potion to help her attain her heart’s
desire?”
“No.” I scowled at her. Then I turned to my other assistant,
who’d been a witch longer than our whole coven put together.
“Meri? What do you think?”
“One must be very careful when interfering in matters of the
heart,” she said.
Before I could tell her how much I agreed, Rafe said, “You can
ask Alice yourself what she wants. She’s coming in.”
I couldn’t believe it, but he was right. Alice was at that very
moment walking past the window of my shop. I willed her to keep
walking but she slowed her steps and then turned and opened the
door. The cheerful bells announced her arrival.
She looked slightly startled to find all of us staring at her. “Hello.
Did I interrupt a meeting of some kind?” She took a step back. “I
can come back.”
 “No,” I said, stepping forward. “We were looking at the window
display. I was wondering if I should do a Valentine’s theme, though
it’s not a very knitting-oriented holiday.”
We both gazed at the front window where I had the usual range
of cheerful-looking knitted goods with all the materials to make
them. I liked to fill a big basket with various colored balls of wool
and, as she so often did, Nyx, my black cat and familiar, was curled
up in the middle of the basket, her chin resting on a very expensive
ball of silk mohair.
Alice looked lost. “I couldn’t say.” Even mentioning Valentine’s
Day made her look despondent.
Violet caught my eye and opened her own wide, an obvious hint
to me to find a way to ask Alice if she wanted a love potion. I wasn't
sure how I would do that without letting on that we were witches.
Instead, I asked her if she was looking for knitting supplies. She’d
walked into a knitting shop, it seemed like a reasonable question.
Alice blushed and spoke to the back wall. "I was thinking I might
knit Charlie a sweater for his birthday."
Oh the poor woman. Violet made a sound like a moan, or that
might have been Meri. Nyx gagged as though she were about to
cough up a fur ball. Rafe muttered something under his breath. I
ignored them all and said to Alice, "That's a nice idea. When is his
birthday?" I needed to know whether we were looking for a simple
pattern that she could knock off quickly or whether she had plenty
of time.
Her blush deepened. "His birthday’s in November. But I like to
plan ahead."
I had a mental image of her sitting in her lonely flat night after
night feeling connected to Charlie only because she was knitting him
a sweater. I wanted to smack her and tell her to stop acting like his
mother. But how could I?
I glanced at Rafe and made a sideways motion with my head. He
nodded slightly and took the hint. With a brief word of farewell he
headed out the front door. Now there were only the three of us
witches in the shop and Alice, who was planning to knit a sweater
for a man who already treated her like a comfy cardigan he'd wrap
around himself when he was chilly. No one had romantic feelings for
an old woolen sweater.
I barely needed Violet's prodding. I was filled with compassion
for this lovesick woman and wanted to help her. "Do you really think
Charlie’s suddenly going to notice you because you knit him a
sweater?"
I knew it was brutal to let her know that I was perfectly aware of
her hopeless infatuation. However, I wanted to help her and I
couldn't until she'd asked me. If she wanted a love potion, I would
do my best to make her a good one. But, until I knew that she
wanted our interference, I wasn't prepared to step in.
Alice's head jerked up at my words and she stared at me. "You
know?" she asked in mingled horror and relief.
I nodded. "I've seen the way you look at him."
Her shoulders slumped, and she picked up a ball of pink
cashmere and began to knead it in her hands like stubborn bread
dough. "I didn't think anyone knew. Of course, I'm being silly. He
doesn't notice me. Every night I go home and I tell myself he
doesn’t care. But then, I’ll think of a moment when he smiled at me,
and I'll remember how happy he looks when he's eating my cake.
And I think, maybe, one day he'll realize that I'm the best thing
that's ever happened to him."
"How long have you been working at Frogg’s Books?"
She looked even more defeated. "Nearly three years."
"I'm not great at math, but that's nearly a thousand cakes you've
baked him. Probably twice that many cups of tea and coffee you’ve
made him. Has he ever shown any romantic interest in you at all?"
She was stroking the ball of wool in her hands now, the way I
sometimes stroked Nyx when I needed comfort. "Once, he asked
what I was doing on Saturday night. I remember to this day the way
my heart started to pound and I thought he'd finally realized how I
felt and perhaps reciprocated my affection." She shook her head.
"But all he wanted was for me to come in and help him do a
Saturday night stock-taking."
"Ouch," Violet said. She drilled me with her gaze. I didn’t need
mental telepathy to know she was encouraging me to explore the
idea of a love potion with Alice. I nodded and drew in a breath.
"Alice, what if you tried a new approach?"
She looked thoughtful. "I've considered baking cookies instead of
cake. Or maybe I should bring in chocolates. They do say the way to
a man's heart is through his stomach."
I wasn't exactly a femme fatale, but any fool could see that
Alice's attempts to get Charlie to notice her weren't working. "Not
food. I think, after three years, you have proven that doesn't work."
"But what does work?" Her eyes were filled with appeal. "I'm
willing to try anything."
Violet flipped her hair over her shoulder so the bright pink stripe
she’d dyed in her black hair fluttered like a ribbon. "Are you sure
he's worth it? Any man who can't work out from a thousand freshly-
baked cakes that a woman's in love with him sounds a bit thick to
me."
Alice fired up in her beloved's defense. "Charlie's not thick. He’s
one of the most intelligent men I know. He graduated with a degree
in English literature from Cardinal College here in Oxford and he got
a distinction. He's read every significant novel that you could name.
He's read some things in Latin and once I saw him reading a book
that I think was Greek."
Violet made a rude sound. "That's book learning intelligence. I'm
talking about emotional intelligence. I'd say your Charlie has the
emotional intelligence of a small rock."
Alice pondered her words, then wrinkled her nose. "Maybe a
medium-sized rock."
I had to tread carefully in suggesting a love potion. Maybe they
hadn’t burned witches in a very long time, but I wasn’t taking any
chances. "I've heard about a woman who lives out in the
countryside. She claims she can make a love potion. I've never tried
it, and I don't know if it would work, but I wonder if it's worth a
try?"
Alice looked at me as though I might be insane. "A love potion?
What is she, a witch?" Her voice went high on the last word as
though she felt foolish even mentioning creatures that didn't exist
outside of horror novels and children's fairytales. Hah, little did she
know.
Violet and I exchanged a glance. "You could refer to her as a
wise woman," Vi said.
I thought Alice would immediately dismiss the idea. In fact, I
hoped she would and then Violet would leave me alone and not
expect me to concoct a witch’s brew. However, after thinking about
it for a minute, Alice shrugged. "What do I have to lose? Nothing
I've tried so far has worked." She laughed and her whole face
lightened. "Why not? If the potion doesn't work, I'll be no further
behind."
She looked at each of us in turn and I thought, if Charlie ever
saw this sweet, mischievous expression on her face, he might get his
nose out of his book for five minutes and take notice of this
remarkable woman who was pining for him.
Before I had a chance to say anything, Violet jumped in. "That's
excellent. Lucy and I both know this woman, we’ll get her started on
your potion right away."
Right away sounded much too soon for my liking. Alice also
looked uncertain. "Do I have to meet this wit-woman?"
"No, no," Violet said hurriedly. "She's very reclusive."
Alice looked relieved that she didn't have to visit a witch. I didn't
blame her. I wished I didn't have to visit Margaret Twig either. I
hadn’t forgotten the time she stole my cat. Fortunately, Nyx was a
very resourceful familiar and she'd managed to get herself out of
Margaret Twig's clutches without any help from me. However, I knew
that with Margaret there was always a price to be paid.
Almost as though she’d read my thoughts, Alice said, "Is this
potion very expensive?"
“I think twenty-five pounds should do it," Violet said.
Alice laughed again. "I spend more than that each week on cake
ingredients." She opened her bag and counted out the money in
cash.
I began to feel suffocated as the reality of what we were about
to do closed in on me. "Are you sure about this?" I asked her.
 She put her hands in the air in a helpless fashion. "Every year I
send him a Valentine's card anonymously. And every year he doesn't
know who his secret admirer is. I don't even disguise my
handwriting. Maybe this year I'll at least get his attention."
That sounded more like a desperation plan than a sensible one
but I kept my mouth shut since I could see how enthusiastic Violet
was about the idea. She picked up the money and folded it carefully
and put it in her handbag. She got very efficient then. "There are a
couple of other ingredients you'll need to bring us."
I had no idea what she was doing, but of course, she’d made
love potions before. She counted out the items on her fingers. "First,
I'll need a strand of hair from each of you, also, some fresh blood,
yours as well as his, and photographs of you both. If you’re pictured
together that’s even better."
Alice's eyes widened. "Fresh blood? How am I to get Charlie's
blood? I want him to fall in love with me, not end up in the hospital."
"Don't be such a drama queen. He works with books and paper
all day, doesn't he ever get paper cuts?"
"Not very often."
Violet leaned closer to Alice. "You'll have to be resourceful.
Perhaps a small accident with the scissors, or the sharp knives you
open boxes with. It doesn't have to be a great deal of blood, but she
will need some."
I waited, hopefully, for Alice to demand her money back. Instead,
she said, "How do I transport this blood? Assuming I'm able to get
it."
“If you soak up a little of his blood on a cotton handkerchief, that
will do." She shook a warning finger at Alice. "No tissues, mind. The
blood must be on proper cotton or linen."
For a second she seemed to waver in her resolve. I didn't blame
her. Stabbing someone in order to get them to fall in love with you
didn’t exactly scream romance. But, she was desperate enough that
she agreed. "When do you need it?"
"Saturday, after our shops close." Then she looked at me,
obviously remembering that I had a date on Saturday night. “No,
wait, tomorrow. As soon as you have the blood, the hair, and the
pictures, you can pop them down and leave the lot with one of us."
Alice drew in a shaky breath. "I'll do it."
Then she put down the somewhat mangled ball of pink wool and,
with a hurried thanks, left.
As soon as the door shut behind her I turned on Violet.
"Tomorrow? We’re doing this thing tomorrow? With no time to
prepare?"
"Really, Lucy. Don't you keep up with your lunar calendar?" She
pointed out the window, "Tomorrow there will be a full moon."
Of all times for Ian to cancel a date, did it have to be during a
full moon?
My only hope was that Alice would be too squeamish to draw
blood from the man she loved.
 CHAPTER 3

L ater that afternoon, I heard the unmistakable sounds of one

of the vampires coming up through the trapdoor from their
underground lair and into my back room. I had particularly
acute hearing, better than either of my two witch assistants, so I
wasn't worried that the two customers currently shopping in my
store would be alarmed.
Unless it was my grandmother sleepwalking again. We’d nearly
cured her of the habit, but it was quite alarming when a
sleepwalking vampire, who'd been well-known in the neighborhood
and had once owned this shop, wandered in looking sleepy and
confused. Just in case Gran was up to her old tricks, I slipped behind
the curtain and into my back room. To my relief, it wasn't my undead
grandmother, but Theodore, a former policeman, coming up through
the trap door, which led to the tunnels below my shop where some
of the vampires lived.
Theodore had a round, babyish face and pale blue eyes. Those
eyes were currently brimming with anticipation. Since the biggest
problem the vampires had was boredom, I was always pleased when
they had a project, so long as it was something harmless that didn't
involve me. He said in a whisper, "All clear out front?"
I shook my head and put a finger to my lips. I heard the two
ladies say goodbye and then peeked out to make sure they were
gone. In a normal voice I asked, "What is it?"
 "They've asked me to paint the sets for A Midsummer Night's
Dream. I’m very excited by the possibilities, the whimsy, the magic,
the enchanted wood."
Theodore had done a lot of scene painting for amateur theater
productions over the years. Since he'd only recently moved to
Oxford, he could still go out in public without raising eyebrows. The
vampires tended to move location every generation or so in order to
avoid suspicion since they remained eternally whatever age they had
been when they were turned. Rafe, I knew, was past the time when
he should have left, but Theodore hadn't been in Oxford more than
about five years, so he had lots of time left.
"That's wonderful," I said. I wasn't entirely certain why he'd
come up here, was it just to tell me the good news?
He looked bashful. "I'm glad you think so, Lucy. I wondered if
you'd like to help me."
I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly. "You want me to help you
paint the sets? Theodore, I have absolutely no artistic talent
whatsoever."
He looked even more bashful. "You don’t need talent, just be
willing to wield a paintbrush. I'm very shy around young people,
especially the ladies. I wondered if you could come with me on
Saturday. It’s the initial meeting of the full cast and crew. If you
could come with me, just until I get comfortable."
A bashful vampire? Now I'd heard everything. But, as I’d grown
to know the undead knitters who lived beneath the shop, I’d become
very fond of them. Theodore had knitted me some particularly
beautiful sweaters and one shawl that I really loved. I wanted to
help him. Plus, I thought it might be fun to help behind the scenes
of a play. Maybe I’d get to spend time with Ellen Barrymore.
Since Charlie and Alice would both be there, I’d have a chance to
see if the love potion had any effect. So, after making sure that both
Meri and Violet thought they could do without me on Saturday
afternoon, I agreed to help Theodore.
I half hoped that Alice would lose her nerve, especially in the blood-
drawing department, but she hurried in about three o'clock on Friday
afternoon, looking terribly guilty and somewhat pale. She held a
canvas bag in trembling hands and, waiting until there was no one in
the shop, rushed forward and said, "I did it. It was horrible, but I did
it."
Violet beamed at her, "That's wonderful, Alice. How did you get
the blood?"
"I stabbed him with a knife." She looked so shaky I thought she
might faint.
Violet's bright smile dimmed. "You did what?"
She waved a hand about and I saw that there was a large
sticking plaster on her index finger. "Don't make me feel worse than
I do. I couldn't think how I might get blood from him, and so,
instead of cutting a slice of cake in the kitchen, like I usually do, I
brought the cake out to the desk. I’d brought in my sharpest paring
knife from home. I asked him to hold the plate.
“He barely paid any attention. He put his hand on the plate and
still kept reading his book. So, it was easily done, though it took a
great deal of courage and resolution. I sliced his thumb and
pretended I thought it was the cake."
She looked so horrified I had to suppress a laugh. "What did he
do?"
"He jumped right out of his seat and shouted a word that I didn't
even believe he knew."
"Oh dear. Did it bleed very badly?"
“It was all right once I’d tied the handkerchief quite tightly
around the wound. Of course, then I was in a pickle because I
needed that handkerchief. He kept waving me away when I offered
him a sticking plaster but, finally, I prevailed. The handkerchief is in
the bag, along with mine. The hair’s in there, too, and the picture."
"You did very well," Violet said, peeking in the bag. Her eyes
widened. "Blimey, you're sure he’s still alive?"
"Please don't make jokes. It was very stressful." She looked near
tears.
 "Why don’t you come in the back," I said. "I'll make you a nice
cup of tea."
"Thank you," she said with real gratitude. "I can't remember the
last time someone made me a cup of tea."
I smiled. "Sorry I don't have any nice cake, but I do have some
homemade gingersnaps."
She shuddered. “I had to throw my cake away. It's got blood all
over it."
I shuddered myself.
Then, she looked at the tin of biscuits. "Your grandmother always
used to make gingersnaps."
In fact, she'd made this batch but I didn't let on. "Yes, I know.
She left me the recipe and, whenever I make them, I always think of
her."
While the kettle heated, she said, "Lucy, do you know this
person?"
I didn't want to admit intimacy with Margaret Twig so I said, "I've
met her."
"And you think she's good?"
I thought of some of the spells I’d seen her cast. "Oh, she's very
good."
She sighed. Her hair was in a neat braid that had flipped to the
front and she began to play with the end of it. "You read in Victorian
novels about heroines who pine away for love, and do the most
ridiculous things for their beloved and I always thought I was too
sensible for that." She accepted a cup of tea with thanks. "And then
I met Charlie. In my sane moments I think it’s absurd to attempt a
love potion, but I am that pining heroine. I'll try anything to have
Charlie. Anything at all."
"I understand. I can't promise the potion will make Charlie fall in
love with you, but for twenty-five quid I suppose it's worth the
gamble."
She nodded and swallowed. "When will the potion be ready?"
"I'm not positive, but I think now Violet has the ingredients, she
can take them to the wise woman and brew it up right away. I think
you might have it by tomorrow."
 A dreamy look came over her. "Perhaps by this Valentine's Day, I
will have my heart's desire.”
“I hope so." Then I opened the tin. "Have a biscuit."
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
patrizii, sempre però con espressione allegorica. Ho già pur detto
che in seguito, nell’epoca del risorgimento, Italia predominò tutte le
altre nazioni nella perfezione di quest’arte. Impiegavasi questa
principalmente nel lavoro di anelli e sigilli, de’ quali, come dissi in
questa mia opera, usavasi moltissimo e però di pompejani se ne
hanno molti: e la glittica poi conta inoltre fra’ suoi capolavori una
maravigliosa coppa nel Museo napolitano summentovato.
 Gneo Pompeo. Vol. II Cap. XVIII. Belle Arti.

Finchè si provò allora la influenza greca, l’arte romana grandeggiò;

mano mano che scemava, amenenciva contemporaneamente di sua
degnità, e, abbandonata a sè, ricadde nel fare pesante, secco e
freddo.
Così ritengonsi di greci artefici i musaici, ai quali ho riserbato le
ultime parole in questo capitolo dell’Arti, e dei quali Pompei ne largì
di superbi, anzi il più superbo che si conti fra quanti si hanno
dell’antichità, nella Battaglia d’Arbela o di Isso, come dovrebbesi per
mio avviso più propriamente dire, ed a cui consacrerò peculiare
discorso.
Ma prima si conceda che rapidi cenni io fornisca intorno a quest’arte.
Ne derivano la denominazione da Musa; quasi il suo lavoro
ingegnoso fosse invenzione ispirata dalle figlie di Mnemosine, o
forse perchè se ne decorasse dapprima un tempio delle Muse. Ciò
che più importa sapere si è com’essa unicamente consista
nell’accozzamento di pietruzze, o pezzetti di marmo, di silice, di
materie vetrificate e colorate, adattate con istucco o mastice sopra
stucco e levigandone la superficie. Si chiamò dapprima pavimentum
barbaricum, quando del musaico si valse per coprire aree alle quali
si volle togliere umidità. Poi si disposero a disegni semplici, come a
quadrelli di scacchiere, onde si venne al tesselatum, che era formato
di pietre riquadrate. Progredendo l’artificio, ne seguì la specie del
sectile, formato di figure regolari combinate insieme, che è quel
lavoro che noi chiamiamo a commesso od a compartimento. Poi con
frammenti orizzontali di forme diverse si giunse a piegare l’artificio a
tutte le idee, capricci e disegni, come greche, festoni, ghirigori, ed a
tutto quanto insomma costituisce ciò che chiamavasi opus
vermiculatum, come si trova ricordato dal verso di Lucilio:

Arte pavimento, atque emblemata vermiculato

E qui piacemi avvertire come tutto questo processo non abbiasi a

confondere con quello che dicevasi opus signinum, nome dato ad
una peculiare sorta di materiale adoperato pure a far pavimenti,
consistente in tegole poste in minuzzoli e mescolate con cemento,
quindi ridotte in una sostanza solida colla mazzeranga. Ebbero
questi lavori il qualificativo di signini, dalla città di Signia, ora Segni,
famosa per la fabbricazione delle tegole e che prima introdusse
questo genere di pavimentazione.
Tutti questi primitivi saggi non erano ancora il musaicum
propriamente detto, ma quel che i Greci chiamavano litostrato; per
giungere al musivum opus, che rappresenta oggetti d’ogni natura,
emblemata, non bastavano per avventura i marmi e ciottoli:
convenne fabbricare de’ piccoli cubi di cristalli artifiziali colorati.
Tornò facile il connettere le asarota, ossia musaici rappresentanti
ossa e reliquie di banchetto, o un pavimento scopato, che con tanta
naturalezza fu imitato, da ingannare chiunque.
Così, avanti ogni altro paese, in Grecia si spiegò il lusso de’
pavimenti e, prima di ogni altra città, presso gli effeminati sovrani di
Pergamo. Citansi di poi i musaici del secondo piano della nave di
Gerone II, che in tanti quadretti di meravigliosa esecuzione
rappresentava i fatti principali dell’Iliade, tutti condotti a musaico;
quindi i lavori eguali del magnifico palazzo in Atene di Demetrio
Falereo.
È probabile che similmente si lavorasse a Roma coll’introdursi
dell’arte greca; e quanto si rinvenne in Pompei potrebbe essere
irrecusabile prova, se già noi non sapessimo come in questa città usi
e costumanze vi fossero eziandio speciali e dedotti da Grecia, e
come di colà vi si rendessero agevolmente artisti. Tuttavia dal
seguente passo di Plinio, pare che ai giorni di Tito imperatore, ne’
quali Ercolano e Pompei toccarono l’estrema rovina, questa del
musaico fosse nuova importazione, e che appena facesse capolino
in Roma verso il tempo di Vespasiano.
Plinio adunque, dopo aver detto che i terrazzi grecanici a musaico
vennero da’ Romani adottati al tempo di Silla e citato ad esempio il
tempio della Fortuna a Preneste, dove quel dittatore vi fece fare il
pavimento con piccole pietruzze; così sostiene che l’introduzione de’
pavimenti di musaico nelle camere con pezzetti di vetro fosse affatto
recente: Pulsa deinde ex humo pavimenta in cameras transiere, e
vitro: novitium et inventum. Agrippa certe in Thermis, quas Romæ
fecit, figlinum opus encausto pinxit: in reliquis albaria adornavit: non
dubio vitreas facturus cameras, si prius inventum id fuisset, aut a
parietibus scenæ, ut diximus, Scauri pervenisset in cameras [342].
Checchè ne sia, se recente consideravasi a’ tempi di Plinio il
Vecchio l’introduzione in Italia del musaico, questo si presenta
nondimeno fiorentissimo d’un tratto e grande nelle opere pompejane.
Gli scavi offrirono saggi appartenenti a tutte le epoche di progresso
di quest’arte, e in ognuno si manifesta una prodigiosa fecondità
d’invenzione negli artisti della Magna Grecia, e chi si assunse di
riprodurli con disegni ne ammanì interessantissimi volumi.
Non è possibile dunque occuparmene qui per ricordarli tutti; solo mi
restringerò a dire de’ più importanti.
Un musaico quadrato di circa cinque piedi e tre pollici, fu rinvenuto
nella casa detta di Pane, rappresentante un genio alato che a
cavalcion d’un leone si inebbria. L’espressione del fanciullo è
mirabile, come mirabile è la mossa del leone: la cornice a foglie, a
frutti ed a maschere teatrali compiono la perfetta esecuzione.
Un altro di forma circolare, di sette piedi di diametro, trovato nella
casa appellata del Centauro, rappresenta allegoricamente la Forza
domata dall’Amore, in un leone ricinto da alati amori che gli
intrecciano di fiori la fulva chioma. Nella parte superiore del musaico
vedesi una sacerdotessa che fa una libazione; nella parte inferiore
stanno l’una di fronte all’altra due donne sedute. Se non il disegno,
che lascerebbe desiderj, l’esecuzione e l’effetto de’ colori sono
sorprendenti.
Nella casa detta di Omero, nel tablinum si trovò un musaico istoriato
raffigurante un choragium, o luogo in cui si facevano le prove
teatrali, come già sa il lettore, per quel che ne ho detto nei capitoli
intorno ai Teatri. Sono diverse figure in piedi, attori che stanno
intorno al corago, o direttore, che li sta istruendo, il manoscritto della
commedia alla mano. Un tibicine soffia nelle tibie, come
accompagnando la recitazione del corago, perocchè paja veramente
che ogni teatrale rappresentazione fosse dal suon delle tibie
secondata. Vi hanno maschere disposte per gli attori e uno sfondo
pure interessante: il tutto condotto con una rara maestria.
Nella stessa casa detta di Omero, sulla soglia si vide un musaico
rappresentante un cane incatenato colla leggenda cave canem. Si
raccoglie da tal lavoro artistico come all’usanza comune presso i
Latini di tenere alla porta della casa un vero cane, quasi a custodia
di essa, si fosse sostituito in tempi più civili una pittura del cane,
eseguita in musaico e collocata, varcato appena il limitare, sul suolo
colla suddetta leggenda; o altre parole, composte pure in musaico,
bastassero, come salve, giusta quanto si vede nella casa delle
Vestali, o salve lvcrv, ecc. consuetudine quest’ultima che vediamo
copiata in molte case signorili de’ nostri giorni.
Ma eccoci alla casa del Fauno. In essa, ove già trovammo sorgere
dal mezzo dell’impluvium la stupenda statuetta in bronzo che forma
altra delle opere più preziose degli scavi, si rinveniva altresì nel
tablinum un musaico quadrato incorniciato da una greca assai
corretta e dipinta a svariati colori, nel cui mezzo è un leone, che in
uno stupendo scorcio, sembra stia per islanciarsi, così da incutere
spavento a chi lo guarda. È a rimpiangere che sia assai
danneggiato.
Nella stessa casa v’ha inoltre la maraviglia di quest’arte del musaico,
la giustamente famosa Battaglia d’Arbela, o di Isso, o il passaggio
del Granico che si voglia ritenere, che per grandezza, invenzione ed
esecuzione sorpassa quanti musaici si conoscano finora. Mette
conto che qui ne dica più largamente che non degli altri.
Anzitutto noto che esso misura un’altezza di otto piedi e mezzo, e
una larghezza di sedici piedi e due pollici, senza calcolare il fregio,
che a mo’ di cornice circonda il soggetto; onde hassi a ragione a
proclamarlo per il più grande musaico conosciuto.
Ora eccone la descrizione.
A manca di chi riguarda, che è anche la parte più guasta, vedesi su
d’un corsiero un giovane guerriero, che tosto distinguesi per il posto
concessogli di fronte al capo dell’esercito nemico, come il capo esso
pure dell’una delle armate. Ha la lorica di finissimo lavoro al petto e
la purpurea clamide agli omeri ondeggiante. Ha scoperto il capo,
perocchè il cimiero gli sia nel calor della mischia caduto, e stringe
nella destra la lancia, che sembra aver egli appena ritratta dal fianco
d’un guerriero, cui è caduto sotto il cavallo ferito di strale che gli
rimase confitto. L’agonia di questo infelice guerriero è espressa con
toccante verità. Dietro di lui ve n’ha un altro, che comunque ei pur
vulnerato, combatte tuttavia: ambi formanti intoppo a suntuosa
quadriga, i cui cavalli veggonsi disordinati, ma che indubbiamente
traggono altro importante personaggio, il qual rivolge l’attenzione sui
due feriti e intima a’ suoi di venir loro in aiuto; mentre un soldato
tiengli presso un corsiero in resta, su cui potrà quel personaggio
montare appena ei ne abbia l’opportunità e pigliar diversa parte
all’azione. Lo scorcio di questo cavallo è d’una prodigiosa bellezza.
Tutto il resto dello spazio a destra non è che una scena di
desolazione e scompiglio, comunque una selva di picche accenni
che l’impeto de’ combattenti da ambe le parti prosegue.
Quanti studiarono la composizione di questo musaico, ne inferirono
che le assise de’ guerrieri vinti, come la forma della quadriga, esser
non possano che d’un esercito persiano, avendo tutti la tiara, propria
di questo popolo, come si vede in altri antichi monumenti, e più
ancora si distinguano per Persiani ai grifi ricamati sopra le anassiridi,
o calzoni come essi portano, e sopra le selle.
Se dunque il guerriero vittorioso e feritore vestito alla greca, per la
somiglianza al tipo assegnatogli da statue e medaglie è Alessandro il
Grande: il capo de’ Persiani non può essere allora di necessità che
Dario, perchè avente la tiara diritta, che solo aveva diritto il re di così
portare [343]; com’egli solo la candice, o mantello di porpora, e la
tunica listata di bianco [344] ed egli solo l’arco di sì straordinaria
grandezza, ond’ebbero que’ della sua dinastia il nomignolo di
Cojanidi, cioè arcieri.
Constatati i due capi principali degli eserciti nel musaico raffigurati,
nelle persone dei due re, Alessandro e Dario, il soggetto allora deve
rappresentare la Battaglia di Isso, non il passaggio del Granico, nè il
combattimento di Arbela. Imperocchè il primo fu operato in estate; i
Persiani in esso si servirono di carri falcati, che qui non si veggono,
nè i due re si trovarono a fronte, e nulla poi indichi l’esistenza di un
fiume, ciò che dall’artista non si sarebbe negletto di riprodurre a
segnalare quel fatto, s’egli avesse inteso d’esprimere il passaggio
del Granico. Egualmente la battaglia di Arbela fu combattuta ai primi
di ottobre; v’ebbero pure carri falcati ed Alessandro incontro a Dario
non si valse della lancia, come vedesi nel mosaico, ma dell’arco con
cui uccise l’auriga del re. Ora l’albero, che qui si vede tutto privo di
foglie, esclude inoltre che non si potesse essere nè in estate, nè in
ottobre, mentre in Assiria tutto un tal mese gli alberi serbino intatto
l’onore delle frondi; ma nel verno, venendo anche da Plutarco
ricordato che la battaglia di Isso fosse combattuta in dicembre,
quando le piante dovevano essere, come nel musaico, prive di
foglie. Diodoro Siculo e Quinto Curzio narrano per di più che a tal
battaglia assistessero i dorifori, o guerrieri armati di lance, scelti per
la guardia del re fra i dieci mila immortali, coi loro abiti ricamati d’oro
e coi loro monili, e qui li vediamo appunto.
Tutte queste particolarità si raccolgono dai Cenni publicati dal dotto
cav. Bernardo Quaranta [345], ravvicinandovi altresì i particolari storici
che spiegano ognor meglio la composizione del musaico.
Dario tentò dapprima di decidere il combattimento d’Isso con l’ajuto
della cavalleria; e già i Macedoni si vedevano accerchiati,
allorquando Alessandro chiamò a sè Parmenione con la cavalleria
tessala. Allora la mischia divenne terribile: Alessandro, scorto da
lunge il re di Persia che incoraggiava i suoi dall’alto del suo carro ed
alla testa della sua cavalleria, combatte egli come semplice soldato,
per penetrare fino a colui che riguardava come suo nemico
personale e sperava la gloria di ucciderlo di sua mano. Ma ecco che
offresi una scena sublime di coraggio e di devozione. Osoatre,
fratello del re di Persia, vedendo il Macedone ostinato a cogliere
Dario, spinge il suo cavallo dinnanzi la reale quadriga e trascina
sopra tal punto la cavalleria scelta che egli comanda: ivi segue una
spaventevole carnificina; ivi mordono la polve Atiziete e Reomitrete e
Sabacete, Alessandro stesso vi è ferito nella coscia. Finalmente
Dario prende la fuga, abbandonando la candice e l’arco reale.
Io plaudo e convengo pertanto col dotto illustratore, credendo sia qui
veramente trattata la Battaglia d’Isso, e non altro combattimento
d’Alessandro il Grande.
Tutto poi, per quanto riguarda esecuzione, è in questo musaico
stupendamente trattato. Il guerriero che spira, cogli intestini lacerati,
è di una verità insuperabile: i cavalli non potrebbero essere più belli
e animati. Correzione di disegno, espressione di teste, movenza di
figure, disposizione di gruppi, sapienza di scorci, colorito ed ombre,
tutto vi è con una incredibile superiorità trattato.
«Or bene, conchiude un illustratore di questa insuperata opera, tutte
siffatte bellezze non sono che quelle d’una copia: quei vivi lumi sono
soltanto riflessi, perocchè il musaico fu imitato certamente da un
quadro. Che dobbiamo dunque pensare dell’originale? A chi
attribuirlo? A Nicia, a Protogene, ad Eufranore, che dipinsero
Alessandro? o piuttosto a quel Filosseno di Eretria, discepolo di
Nicomaco, la pittura del quale, superiore a tutte le altre, a detta di
Plinio, e fatta pel re Cassandro, rappresentava il combattimento di
Alessandro e di Dario? Non si andrebbe per avventura più d’accosto
al verisimile, pensando al divo Apelle stesso, che accompagnò
Alessandro nella sua spedizione, e che solo ottenne in seguito il
dritto di pingere il suo ritratto, come Lisippo quello si ebbe di gittarlo
in bronzo, e Pergotele di scolpirlo sopra pietre preziose.»
Dopo ciò, mi trovo in debito di avvertire che il disegno che ho
procurato per questa edizione del rinomatissimo musaico, appare
completato dal lato sinistro, — che, come ho già avvertito, fu non so
dire se dall’ultimo cataclisma toccato a Pompei, o dal precedente, o
fors’anco dall’incuria di chi lo sbarazzò dalle rovine, come or si vede
al Museo Nazionale, guasto, — per opera del ch. pittore napolitano
Maldarelli padre, da un acquarello del quale, fornitomi dal mio
eccellente amico Adolfo Doria, l’ho fatto ricavare perchè il lettore
avesse un’idea esatta della maravigliosa composizione.
Non tenni conto più sopra, onde non interrompere il corso della
storia dell’arti, delle botteghe o studj di scultura, che emersero dagli
scavi di Pompei: trovi qui il cenno di essi il proprio posto.
Nell’uscire dalla nuova Fullonica, e discosto di poco dalla medesima,
designata dal N. 5, fu scoperto uno studio di scultura, riconosciutosi
tale dalla esistenza di più un blocco di marmo, già digrossato e
abozzato, e diversi arnesi atti appunto a lavorare il marmo e
condurre oggetti d’arte.
Ma uno studio di scultura, anzi tutta una dimora, più interessante
all’epoca di sua scoperta, che fu verso la fine del passato secolo
(1795-98), perocchè adesso lo si ravvisi nel più deplorevole stato di
abbandono e di rovina, sorgeva nella casa presso il tempio di Giove
e di Giunone, nella via di Stabia. Ivi pure, nell’atrio della casa, si
raccolsero statue appena abozzate, talune presso ad essere
compite, elegantissime anfore di bronzo, blocchi di marmo, fra i quali
uno appena segato colla sega vicina ed altri utensili artistici. Vi si
trovò pure un orologio solare, un uovo di marmo da collocarsi nel
pollajo, per correggere la chiocciola onde non rompa i suoi, un
bacino e un vaso di bronzo, con basso rilievo.
In una città come Pompei, nella quale, se non al pari di Ercolano,
certo nondimeno in modo non dubbio le Arti erano in onore, così che
ci avvenne trovarne capolavori nelle più umili dimore, doveva essere
impossibile che gli scavi non ci additassero magazzeni e studj di
scultura; nè è presumere troppo il pronosticare che pur ne’ futuri
sterramenti se ne troveranno altri.
La città si risvegliava da quel mortale letargo, in cui l’aveva gittata il
terremuoto del 63, e sgomberando le rovine e rimettendosi a nuovo,
era naturale che artisti giungessero, chiamati d’ogni dove ed
aprissero studj e botteghe per tanto lavoro.

FINE DEL VOLUME SECONDO.

 INDICE

CAPITOLO XII. — I Teatri — Teatro Comico

— Passione degli antichi pel teatro —
Cause — Istrioni — Teatro Comico od
Odeum di Pompei — Descrizione —
Cavea, præcinctiones, scalæ, vomitoria —
Posti assegnati alle varie classi —
Orchestra — Podii o tribune — Scena,
proscenio, pulpitum — Il sipario — Chi
tirasse il sipario — Postscenium —
Capacità dell’Odeum pompejano — Echea
o vasi sonori — Tessere d’ingresso al teatro
— Origine del nome piccionaja al luogo
destinato alla plebe — Se gli spettacoli
fossero sempre gratuiti — Origine de’ teatri,
teatri di legno, teatri di pietra — Il teatro
Comico latino — Origini — Sature e
Atellane — Arlecchino e Pulcinella —
Riatone, Andronico ed Ennio — Plauto e
Terenzio — Giudizio contemporaneo dei
poeti comici — Diversi generi di commedia:
togatæ, palliatæ, trabeatæ, tunicatæ,
tabernariæ — Le commedie di Plauto e di
Terenzio materiali di storia — Se in Pompei
si recitassero commedie greche — Mimi e
Mimiambi — Le maschere, origine e scopo
— Introduzione in Roma — Pregiudizj
contro le persone da teatro — Leggi teatrali
repressive — Dimostrazioni politiche in
teatro — Talia musa della Commedia Pag. 5
CAPITOLO XIII. — I Teatri — Teatro Tragico
— Origini del teatro tragico — Tespi ed
Eraclide Pontico — Etimologia di tragedia e
ragioni del nome — Caratteri — Epigene,
Eschilo e Cherillo — Della maschera
tragica — L’attor tragico Polo —
Venticinque specie di maschere —
Maschere trovate in Pompei — Palla o
Syrma — Coturno — Istrioni —
Accompagnamento musicale — Le tibie e i
tibicini — Melpomene, musa della Tragedia
— Il teatro tragico in Pompei — L’architetto
Martorio Primo — Invenzione del velario —
Biasimata in Roma — Ricchissimi velarii di
Cesare e di Nerone — Sparsiones o
pioggie artificiali in teatro — Adacquamento
delle vie — Le lacernæ, o mantelli da teatro
— Descrizione del Teatro Tragico — Gli
Olconj — Thimele — Aulæum — La Porta
regia e le porte hospitalia della scena —
Tragici latini: Andronico, Pacuvio, Accio,
Nevio, Cassio Severo, Varo, Turanno
Graccula, Asinio Pollione — Ovidio tragico
— Vario, Lucio Anneo Seneca, Mecenate
— Perchè Roma non abbia avuto tragedie
— Tragedie greche in Pompei — Tessera
teatrale — Attori e Attrici — Batillo, Pilade,
Esopo e Roscio — Dionisio — Stipendj
esorbitanti — Un manicaretto di perle —
Applausi e fischi — La claque, la clique e la
Consorteria — Il suggeritore — Se l’Odeo
di Pompei fosse attinenza del Gran Teatro 53

CAPITOLO XIV. — I Teatri — L’Anfiteatro — 103

Introduzione in Italia dei giuochi circensi —
Giuochi trojani — Panem et circenses —
Un circo romano — Origine romana degli
Anfiteatri — Cajo Curione fabbrica il primo
in legno — Altro di Giulio Cesare — Statilio
Tauro erige il primo di pietra — Il Colosseo
— Data dell’Anfiteatro pompejano —
Architettura sua — I Pansa — Criptoportico
— Arena — Eco — Le iscrizioni del Podio
— Prima Cavea — I locarii — Seconda
Cavea — Somma Cavea — Cattedre
femminili — I Velarii — Porta Libitinense —
Lo Spoliario — I cataboli — Il triclinio e il
banchetto libero — Corse di cocchi e di
cavalli — Giuochi olimpici in Grecia —
Quando introdotti in Roma — Le fazioni
degli Auriganti — Giuochi Gladiatorj —
Ludo Gladiatorio in Pompei — Ludi
gladiatorj in Roma — Origine dei Gladiatori
— Impiegati nei funerali — Estesi a
divertimento — I Gladiatori al lago Fùcino
— Gladiatori forzati — Gladiatori volontarj
— Giuramento de’ gladiatori auctorati —
Lorarii — Classi gladiatorie: secutores,
retiarii, myrmillones, thraces, samnites,
hoplomachi, essedarii, andabati,
dimachæri, laquearii, supposititii,
pegmares, meridiani — Gladiatori Cavalieri
e Senatori, nani e pigmei, donne e matrone
— Il Gladiatore di Ravenna di Halm — Il
colpo e il diritto di grazia — Deludiæ — Il
Gladiatore morente di Ctesilao e Byron —
Lo Spoliario e la Porta Libitinense — Premj
ai Gladiatori — Le ambubaje — Le Ludie —
I giuochi Floreali e Catone — Naumachie
— Le Venationes o caccie — Di quante
 sorta fossero — Caccia data da Pompeo —
Caccie di leoni ed elefanti — Proteste degli
elefanti contro la mancata fede — Caccia
data da Giulio Cesare — Un elefante
funambolo — L’Aquila e il fanciullo — I
Bestiarii e le donne bestiariæ — La legge
Petronia — Il supplizio di Laureolo —
Prostituzione negli anfiteatri — Meretrici
appaltatrici di spettacoli — Il Cristianesimo
abolisce i ludi gladiatorj — Telemaco
monaco — Missilia e Sparsiones

CAPITOLO XV. — Le Terme — Etimologia —

Thermæ, Balineæ, Balineum, Lavatrinæ —
Uso antico de’ Bagni — Ragioni — Abuso
— Bagni pensili — Balineæ più famose —
Ricchezze profuse ne’ bagni publici —
Estensione delle terme — Edificj contenuti
in esse — Terme estive e jemali — Aperte
anche di notte — Terme principali — Opere
d’arte rinvenute in esse — Terme di
Caracalla — Ninfei — Serbatoi e
Acquedotti — Agrippa edile — Inservienti
alle acque — Publici e privati — Terme in
Pompei — Terme di M. Crasso Frugio —
Terme publiche e private — Bagni rustici —
Terme Stabiane — Palestra e Ginnasio —
Ginnasio in Pompei — Bagno degli uomini
— Destrictorium — L’Imperatore Adriano
nel bagno de’ poveri — Bagni delle donne
— Balineum di M. Arrio Diomede —
Fontane publiche e private — Provenienza
delle acque — Il Sarno e altre acque —
Distribuzione per la città — Acquedotti 183
CAPITOLO XVI. — Le Scuole — Etimologia 231
— Scuola di Verna in Pompei — Scuola di
Valentino — Orbilio e la ferula — Storia de’
primordj della coltura in Italia — Numa e
Pitagora — Etruria, Magna Grecia e Grecia
— Ennio e Andronico — Gioventù romana
in Grecia — Orazio e Bruto — Secolo d’oro
— Letteratura — Giurisprudenza —
Matematiche — Storia naturale —
Economia rurale — Geografia — Filosofia
romana — Non è vero che fosse ucciditrice
di libertà — Biblioteche — Cesare incarica
Varrone di una biblioteca publica — Modo
di scrivere, volumi, profumazione delle
carte — Medicina empirica — Medici e
chirurghi — La Casa del Chirurgo in
Pompei — Stromenti di chirurgia rinvenuti
in essa — Prodotti chimici —
Pharmacopolæ, Seplasarii, Sagæ —
Fabbrica di prodotti chimici in Pompei —
Bottega di Seplasarius — Scuole private

CAPITOLO XVII. — Le Tabernæ — Istinti dei 271

Romani — Soldati per forza — Agricoltori
— Poca importanza del commercio
coll’estero — Commercio marittimo di
Pompei — Commercio marittimo di Roma
— Ignoranza della nautica — Commercio
d’importazione — Modo di bilancio —
Ragioni di decadimento della grandezza
romana — Industria — Da chi esercitata —
Mensarii ed Argentarii — Usura — Artigiani
distinti in categorie — Commercio al minuto
— Commercio delle botteghe —
Commercio della strada — Fori nundinari o
 venali — Il Portorium o tassa delle derrate
portate al mercato — Le tabernæ e loro
costruzione — Institores — Mostre o
insegne — Popinæ, thermopolia, cauponæ,
œnopolia — Mercanti ambulanti —
Cerretani — Grande e piccolo commercio
in Pompei — Foro nundinario di Pompei —
Tabernæ — Le insegne delle botteghe —
Alberghi dì Albino, di Giulio Polibio e Agato
Vajo, dell’Elefante o di Sittio e della Via
delle Tombe — Thermopolia — Pistrini,
Pistores, Siliginari — Plauto, Terenzio,
Cleante e Pittaco Re, mugnai — Le mole di
Pompei — Pistrini diversi — Paquio
Proculo, fornaio, duumviro di giustizia —
Ritratto di lui e di sua moglie — Venditorio
d’olio — Ganeum — Lattivendolo —
Fruttajuolo — Macellai — Myropolium,
profumi e profumieri — Tonstrina, o
barbieria — Sarti — Magazzeno di tele e di
stofe — Lavanderie — La Ninfa Eco — Il
Conciapelli — Calzoleria e Selleria —
Tintori — Arte Fullonica — Fulloniche di
Pompei — Fabbriche di Sapone — Orefici
— Fabbri e falegnami — Præfectus
fabrorum — Vasaj e vetrai — Vasi vinarj —
Salve Lucru

CAPITOLO XVIII. — Belle Arti — Opere sulle 345

Arti in Pompei — Contraffazioni —
Aneddoto — Primordj delle Arti in Italia —
Architettura etrusca — Architetti romani —
Scrittori — Templi — Architettura
pompejana — Angustia delle case —
Monumenti grandiosi in Roma — Archi —
Magnificenza nelle architetture private —
Prezzo delle case di Cicerone e di Clodio
— Discipline edilizie — Pittura — Pittura
architettonica — Taberna o venditorio di
colori in Pompei — Discredito delle arti in
Roma — Pittura parietaria — A fresco —
All’acquarello — All’encausto — Encaustica
— Dipinti su tavole, su tela e sul marmo —
Pittori romani — Arellio — Accio Prisco —
Figure isolate — Ritratti — Pittura di
genere: Origine — Dipinti bottegai —
Pittura di fiori — Scultura — Prima e
seconda maniera di statuaria in Etruria —
Maniera greca — Prima scultura romana —
Esposizione d’oggetti d’arte — Colonne —
Statue, tripodaneæ, sigillæ — Immagini de’
maggiori — Artisti greci in Roma — Cajo
Verre — Sue rapine — La Glittica — La
scultura al tempo dell’Impero — In Ercolano
e Pompei — Opere principali — I Busti —
Gemme pompejane — Del Musaico — Sua
origine e progresso — Pavimentum
barbaricum, tesselatum, vermiculatum —
Opus signinum — Musivum opus —
Asarota — Introduzione del musaico in
Roma — Principali musaici pompejani — I
Musaici della Casa del Fauno — Il Leone
— La Battaglia di Isso — Ragioni perchè si
dichiari così il soggetto — A chi appartenga
la composizione — Studj di scultura in
Pompei
 NOTE:

1. Lib. VII c. 2.

2. Cajo Quinzio Valgo, figlio di Cajo, e Marco Porcio, figlio di Marco,

duumviri, hanno, per decreto dei duumviri, fatto fare il teatro coperto e i
medesimi lo hanno collaudato.

3. «L’Odeo che s’incontra a sinistra nell’uscire dal teatro.»

4. Apologia c. VI. Ne hieme voluptas impudica frigeret.

5. Cap. XLIV.

6. Trad. di Vincenzo Lancetti.

7. Marco Oculazio Vero, figlio di Marco, duumviro sopra i giuochi —

Bréton, pel contrario, constatando essersi qui scritto Olconius e non
Holconius, come più spesso altrove, ne fa maraviglia; ma maggiore in
me avrebbe a fare vedendo che, ammonito pure da ciò, non volle
leggere, come altri lessero, invece di Olconius, Oculatius.

8. Svet. Nero, c. 12; Juven. Sat., II. v. 147.

9. Lib. V. c. 7.

10.

Tal se ’l teatro il ricco arazzo adorna,

Mentre s’innalza al ciel la seta e l’opra,
Delle varie figure, ond’ella è adorna,
Prima lascia apparir la testa sopra;
Poi, secondo che al panno alzan le corna
Le corde, fa che il busto si discopra:
Come poi giugne al segno, ivi si vede
D’ogni effigie ogni membro insino al piede.

Trad. di Gio. Andrea Dell’Anguillara, Lib. X, ott. 37.

11. Diz. delle Antich. alla voce Aulæa.

12. Epist. II. I. 189.

13. Metam. lib. III.

14. «Calato sotto l’auleo, e ripiegati i siparii, si disporrà la scena.» Lib. X.

Discorre Apulejo di ciò, come se avesse luogo nella rappresentazione
d’un balletto pantomimico, il cui soggetto era il Giudizio di Paride.

15. Georgica 3. 24:

Come volte le fronti a un tratto muti

Nel teatro la scena ed i Britanni
Tolgan gli auléi purpurei, in cui ritratti
Appajon essi.

Lo che significa che sui scenarj fossero tessute le vittorie, tra cui quelle
singolarmente di Giulio Cesare nella Britannia, da cui i diversi schiavi o
mancipi venuti di colà erano stati applicati a’ teatrali uffici.

16. C. IV. v. 1186.

17. Lib. V. c. 3 e 5. De Theatri vasis.

18. «Turbato dallo schiamazzo che nel mezzo della notte facevano coloro
che avevano ad occupare nel Circo i posti gratuiti.»

19.

Non assediin gli schiavi i posti ond’essi

Per i liberi sien, a men che ognuno
Paghi un asse per testa e, ove non l’abbia,
Ritorni a casa.

Così nel prologo della commedia.

20. «Sorgon in luogo eletto i tre teatri.»

21.

Sovente assisi sulla molle erbetta,

Lungo il margin d’un rivo e al rezzo amico
D’un’arbore frondosa, allegramente
Senza dispendi avean essi riposo,