in fact, terrified at the prospect. He says nothing to the mother, who
had moved the gods of the world above no less than those of the world
below by the violence of her grief and the importunity of her prayers,
but at once sends for a sorcerer. As soon as he arrives, the sorcerer is
taken to the family tomb, which has its place in the city of the dead
that stretches along the highway from the town gate. The magic spell is
wound about the grave, and the urn is finally sealed with the dread
words, until at last the hapless boy has become, in very truth, a
lifeless shade. Finally, we are told, the sorcerer threw himself upon
the urn itself and breathed his spells into the very bones and ashes.
This at least he admitted, as he looked up: "The spirit resists. Spells
are not enough. We must close the grave completely and bind the stones
together with iron." His suggestions are carried out, and at last he
declares that all has been accomplished successfully. "Now he is really
dead. He cannot appear or come out. This night will prove the truth of
my words." The boy never afterwards appeared, either to his mother or to
anyone else.

The mother is beside herself with grief. Her son's spirit, which had
successfully baffled the gods of the lower world in its desire to visit
her, is now, thanks to these foreign spells, dashing itself against the
top of the grave, unable to understand the weight that has been placed
upon it to keep it from escaping. Not only do the spells shut the boy
in--he might possibly have broken through these--but the iron bands and
solid fastenings have once again brought him face to face with death.
This very realistic, if rather material, picture of a human soul mewed
up for ever in the grave gives us a clear idea of the popular belief in
Rome about the future life, and enables us to realize the full meaning
of the inscription, "Sit tibi terra levis" (May the earth press lightly
upon thee), which is so common upon Roman tombs as often to be