Читать книгу A Struggle for Rome (Vol. 1-3) - Felix Dahn - Страница 18

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That same day the inhabitants of the villa entered upon their journey to Ravenna.

Cethegus sent a courier forward with a letter from Rusticiana to the Queen-regent. Therein the widow of Boëthius declared, "that by the mediation of the Prefect of Rome, she was now ready to accept the repeated invitation to return to court. She did not accept it as an act of pardon, but of conciliation; as a sign that the heirs of Theodoric wished to make amends for the injustice done to the deceased."

This proud letter was written from Rusticiana's very heart, and Cethegus knew that such a step would do no harm, and would only exclude any suspicious construction that might be laid upon the sudden change in her sentiments.

Half-way the travellers were met by a messenger bearing the Queen's answer, which bade them welcome to her court.

Arrived in Ravenna, they were received by the Queen with all honours, provided with a retinue, and led into the rooms which they had formerly occupied. They were warmly welcomed by all the Romans at court.

But the anger of the Goths--who abhorred Symmachus and Boëthius as ungrateful traitors--was greatly excited by this measure, which seemed to imply an indirect condemnation of Theodoric. The last remaining friends of that great King indignantly left the Italianised court.

Meanwhile, time, the diversions of the journey, and the arrival at Ravenna, had softened Camilla's excitement. Her anger had the more time to abate, as many weeks elapsed before she met Athalaric; for the young King was dangerously ill.

It was said at court, that while on a visit to Aretium, whither he had gone to enjoy the mountain air, the baths, and the chase, he had drank from a rocky spring in the woods of Tifernum while heated with hunting, and had thereby brought on a violent attack of his former malady. The fact was, that his followers had found him lying senseless by the side of the spring where he had met Camilla.

The effect of this story upon Camilla was strange. To the hate she bore to Athalaric was now added a slight feeling of compassion, and even a sort of self-reproach. But on the other side, she thanked Heaven that, by this illness, the meeting was postponed, which, now that she was in Ravenna, she feared no less than she had longed for it while far away in Tifernum.

And as she wandered in the wide-spread grounds of the magnificent palace-gardens, she was repeatedly reminded of the anxious care with which Corbulo's little estate had been fashioned after this model.

Days and weeks passed. Nothing was heard of the patient except that he was convalescent, but forbidden to leave his rooms. The physicians and courtiers who surrounded him often expressed to Camilla their admiration of his patience and strength of mind while suffering the most acute pains, his gratitude for the slightest service, and the noble mildness of his disposition.

But when she caught herself listening with pleasure to these words of praise, she frowned angrily, and the thought arose within her: "And he did not oppose the murder of my father!"

One hot July night, after long and restless wakefulness, Camilla towards daybreak had sunk into an uneasy slumber.

Anxious dreams disturbed her.

It seemed to her as if the ceiling of the room, with all its bas-reliefs, were sinking down upon her. Directly over her head was a beautiful young Hypnos, the gentle God of Sleep, modelled by the hand of a Greek.

She dreamed that the drowsy god assumed the earnest, sorrowful features of his pale brother Thanatos.

Softly and slowly the God of Death bent his countenance above her. He approached nearer and nearer. His features became more and more distinct. She already felt his breath upon her forehead. His beautiful lips almost touched her mouth. Then she recognised with affright the pale features--the dark eyes. It was Athalaric! With a scream she started up.

The silver lamp had long since burnt out. The room was dim.

A red light gleamed faintly through the window of spar-gypsum. She rose and opened it. The cocks were crowing, the first rays of the sun gently stole over the sea, of which, beyond the garden, she had a full view. She could no longer bear to remain in the close chamber.

She threw a mantle over her shoulders and hurried softly out of the still silent palace, down the marble steps, and into the garden; across which the fresh morning wind from the neighbouring sea blew towards her.

She hastened towards the sun and the sea, for, to the east, the high walls of the palace gardens rose directly out of the blue waves of the Adriatic.

A gilded lattice-gate, and, beyond it, ten broad steps of white Hymettus marble, led to the little garden-harbour, in which rocked the light-oared gondolas with their lateen sails of purple linen-cloth, fastened with silver chains to the ornamental rams'-heads fixed right and left upon the marble quay.

At the side of the lattice-gate towards the garden, the grounds ended in a spacious rotunda, which was surrounded with broad and shady pines. The ground was laid out with carefully-tended grassplots, intersected by neat paths, and diversified by gay beds of sweet-scented flowers. A spring, ornamentally enclosed, ran down the declivity into the sea. In the centre of this place was a small and antique Temple of Venus, overtopped by a single palm-tree, while burning-red saxifrage grew in the now empty niches of its outer walls. At the right of its long-closed door stood a bronze statue of Æneas. The Julius Cæsar to the left had fallen centuries ago. Theodoric had placed upon its pedestal a bronze statue of Amala, the mythic forefather of his house.

Between these statues, from the steps of the little fane, was a splendid view through the lattice-gate over the sea, with its woody lagoon-islands, and a group of jagged rocks, called "the Needles of the Amphitrites."

This had been a favourite resort of Camilla's childhood. And it was hither that she now bent her steps, lightly brushing the plentiful dew from the high grass as, with slightly-lifted garments, she hastened along the narrow pathway. She wished to behold the sun rise glowing from the sea.

She advanced from behind the temple, passed to the estrade on the left, and had just set her foot upon the first step which led from the front of the temple to the lattice-gate, when she caught sight of a white figure reclining on the second step, with the head leaning against the balustrade and the face turned towards the sea.

She recognised the black and silky hair; it was the young King.

The meeting was so unexpected that there was no possibility of avoiding it. As if rooted to the ground, she stood still upon the first step.

Athalaric sprang up and quickly turned. His pallid face was illumined by a vivid flush. But he was the first to recover himself, and said:

"Forgive, Camilla. I could not expect you to come here at this hour. I will go; and leave you alone with the rising sun."

And he flung his white mantle over his shoulder.

"Remain, King of the Goths. I have no right to scare you away--and no intention," she added.

Athalaric came a step nearer.

"I thank you. And I beg one favour," he added, smiling. "Do not betray me to my physicians nor to my mother. All day long they shut me up so carefully, that I am obliged to escape before sunrise. For the fresh air, the sea-breeze, does me good; I feel that it cools me. You will not betray me?"

He spoke so quietly. He looked so unembarrassed. This freedom from embarrassment confused Camilla. She would have felt more courageous if he had been more moved. She observed his coolness with pain, but not because she really cared for the Prefect's plans. So, in answer, she only shook her head in silence, and cast down her eyes.

At that moment the rays of the sun reached the spot on which the pair were standing.

The old temple and the bronze of the statues shone in the rosy light; and from the east a broad path of trembling gold was laid upon the smooth flood.

"See, how beautiful!" cried Athalaric, carried away by his admiration. "Look at that bridge of light and glory!"

She joined in his admiration, and looked out over the sea.

"Do you remember, Camilla," he continued slowly, as if lost in recollection, and not looking at her, "do you remember how we played here when we were children? How we dreamed? We said that the golden path painted on the waters by the sun, led to the Islands of the Blessed."

"To the Islands of the Blessed!" repeated Camilla. In secret she was wondering at the delicacy and ease with which, avoiding every allusion to their last meeting, he conversed with her in a manner, which completely disarmed her.

"And look, how the statues glitter, that wonderful pair, Æneas and--Amala! Listen, Camilla, I have something to beg pardon for."

Her heart beat rapidly. He was going to speak of the rebuilding of the Villa and the fountain. The blood rose to her cheeks. She remained silent in painful expectation.

But the youth continued quietly:

"You know how often--you the Roman, and I the Goth--vied with each other here in praises of the glory and fame and manners of our people. Then you stood under the statue of Æneas, and told me of Brutus and Camillus, of Marcellus and the Scipios. And I, leaning against the shield of my ancestor Amala, praised Ermanaric and Alaric and Theodoric. But you spoke more eloquently than I. And often, when the glory of your heroes threatened to outshine mine, I laughed at your dead greatness, and cried, 'The living present and the glowing future belong to my people!'"

"Well, and now?"

"I speak so no more. You have won, Camilla!"

But even while he spoke thus, he looked prouder than ever.

And this expression of superiority revolted the Roman girl. Besides that, she was irritated by the unapproachable coolness with which the King, upon whose passion for her such plans were being founded, stood before her. She did not understand this tranquillity. She had hated him because he had dared to show her his love, and now her hate revived because he was able to conceal it. With the intention to hurt his feelings she slowly said:

"So you acknowledge, King of the Goths, that your barbarians are inferior to the civilised nations?"

"Yes, Camilla," he answered quietly; "but only in one thing: in good luck. In the favours of Fate as well as of Nature. Look at that group of fishermen, who are hanging up their nets on the olive-trees upon the strand. How beautiful are their forms! In motion and repose, in spite of their rags, they are complete statues! Look at that girl with the amphora on her head. And there, at that old woman, who, leaning her head on her arm, lies upon the sand and gazes out dreamily over the sea. Each beggar amongst them looks like a dethroned king. How beautiful they are! At one with themselves and happy! The glory of uninterrupted happiness lies upon them, as it does upon children, or upon noble animals! This is wanting to us barbarians!"

"Is that alone wanting to you?"

"No, Fate is not gracious to us--my poor, glorious people! We have been carried away into a strange world, in which we do not flourish. We resemble the flower of the high Alps, the Edelweiss, which has been carried by the stormy wind to the hot sands of the low-levels. We cannot take root here. We fade and die." And overcome with noble sadness, he turned away and looked over the blue waves.

But Camilla was not in the humour to reflect upon these prophetic words spoken by a king of his people.

"Why did you overstep the mountains which God set as an eternal boundary between your people and ours?" she asked. "Say, why?"

"Do you know," answered Athalaric, without looking at her, almost as if thinking aloud, "do you know why the dark moth flies to the bright flame? Again and again! Warned by no pain, until it is devoured by the beautiful but dangerous element? From what motive? From a sweet madness! And it is just such a sweet madness that has enticed my fellow-Goths away from the fir and the oak to the laurel and the olive. They will burn their wings, the foolish heroes, and will not cease to do so. Who can blame them for it? Look around you! How deeply blue the sky! How deeply blue the sea! And in it are reflected the summits of the pines and the white glitter of the marble temples! And away in the distance arise blue mountains; and out in the waters swim green islands, where the vine clings to the elm. And, above all, the soft, warm and caressing air that illumines the whole with a magic light. What wonders of form and colour does the eye drink, and what sweetness do the delighted senses breathe! This is the magic charm which will for ever entice and undo us!"

The deep emotion of the young King did not fail to make an impression upon Camilla. The tragic force of his words affected her; but she would not be moved. She defended herself against the increasing softness of her feelings. She said coldly:

"A whole nation enchanted by this magic, in spite of reason and judgment?" and she looked at him incredulously.

But she was startled; for like lightning flashed the eyes of the youth, and his long-withheld passion broke out suddenly without restraint.

"Yes, I tell thee, maiden! a whole people can nourish a foolish passion, a sweet destructive madness, a deadly longing, as well as--as well as a single man! Yes, Camilla, there is a power in the heart, which, stronger than reason and will, forcibly draws us with open eyes to destruction. But thou knowest it not, and mayst thou never experience it. Never! Farewell!"

He quickly turned away and entered a bowery walk of climbing vines to the right of the temple, which immediately hid him from Camilla, as well as from the windows of the palace. The girl remained standing in deep reflection. His last words echoed strangely in her ears. For a long time she looked out dreamily over the open sea, and at last returned to the palace, filled with strangely conflicting feelings, and in an altered mood.