Early Plays - Catiline, the Warrior's Barrow, Olaf Liljekrans Part 22

CATILINE. You, Furia,--you it is! You welcome me?

FURIA. Welcome at last into our common home!

Now we can go--two shades--to Charon's bark.

Yet first--accept the wreath of victory.

[She picks some flowers, which she weaves into a wreath during the following.]

CATILINE. What make you there?

FURIA. Your brow I shall adorn.

But wherefore come you hither all alone?

A chieftain's ghost ten thousand dead should follow.

Then where are all your comrades, Catiline?

CATILINE. They slumber, Furia!

FURIA. Ah, they slumber still?

CATILINE. They slumber still,--and they will slumber long.

They slumber all. Steal softly through the forest, Peer out across the plain,--disturb them not!

There will you find them in extended ranks.

They fell asleep lulled by the clang of steel; They fell asleep,--and wakened not, as I did, When in the distant hills the echoes died.

A shadow now you called me. True, I am A shadow of myself. But do not think Their slumber yonder is so undisturbed And void of dreams. Oh, do not think so!

FURIA. Speak!

What may your comrades dream?

CATILINE. Ah, you shall hear.-- I led the battle with despairing heart, And sought my death beneath the play of swords.

To right and left I saw my comrades fall; Statilius first,--then one by one the rest; My Curius fell trying to shield my breast; All perished there beneath Rome's flaming sword,-- The sword that me alone pa.s.sed by untouched.

Yes, Catiline was spared by the sword of Rome.

Half-stunned I stood there with my broken shield, Aware of nothing as the waves of battle Swept o'er me. I recovered first my senses When all grew still again, and I looked up And saw the struggle seething--far behind me!

How long I stood there? Only this I know,-- I stood alone among my fallen comrades.

But there was life within those misty eyes; The corners of their mouths betrayed a smile; And they addressed their smile and gaze to me, Who stood alone erect among the dead,-- Who had for ages fought for them and Rome,-- Who stood there lonely and disgraced, untouched By Roman sword. Then perished Catiline.

FURIA. False have you read your fallen comrades' dreams; False have you judged the reason of your fall.

Their smiles and glances were but invitations To sleep with them--

CATILINE. Yes, if I only could!

FURIA. Have courage,--spectre of a former hero; Your hour of rest is near. Come, bend your head;-- I shall adorn you with the victor's crown.

[She offers the wreath to him.]

CATILINE. Bah,--what is that? A poppy-wreath--!

FURIA. [With wild glee.] Well, yes; Are not such poppies pretty? They will glow Around your forehead like a fringe of blood.

CATILINE. No, cast the wreath away! I hate this crimson.

FURIA. [Laughs aloud.]

Ah, you prefer the pale and feeble shades?

Good! I shall bring the garland of green rushes That Sylvia carried in her dripping locks, The day she came afloat upon the Tiber?

CATILINE. Alas, what visions--!

FURIA. Shall I bring you rather The th.o.r.n.y brambles from the market-place, With crimson-spots, the stain of civic blood, That flowed at your behest, my Catiline?

CATILINE. Enough!

FURIA. Or would you like a crown of leaves From the old winter oak near mother's home, That withered when a young dishonored woman With piercing cries distraught leaped in the river?

CATILINE. Pour out at once your measures of revenge Upon my head--

FURIA. I am your very eye,-- Your very memory, your very doom.

CATILINE. But wherefore now?

FURIA. His goal at length attained, The traveller spent looks back from whence he came.

CATILINE. Have I then reached my goal? Is this the goal?

I am no longer living,--nor yet buried.

Where lies the goal?

FURIA. In sight,--if you but will.

CATILINE. A will I have no longer; my will perished When all the things I willed once, came to naught.

CATILINE. [Waves his arms.]

Away,--away from me, ye sallow shades!

What claim you here of me, ye men and women?

I cannot give you--! Oh, this mult.i.tude--!

FURIA. To earth your spirit still is closely bound!

These thousand-threaded nets asunder tear!

Come, let me press this wreath upon your locks,-- 'Tis gifted with a strong and soothing virtue; It kills the memory, lulls the soul to rest!

CATILINE. [Huskily.]

It kills the memory? Dare I trust your word?

Then press your poison-wreath upon my forehead.

FURIA. [Puts the wreath on his head.]

Now it is yours! Thus decked you shall appear Before the prince of darkness, Catiline!

CATILINE. Away! away! I yearn to go below;-- I long to pa.s.s into the spirit lands.

Let us together go! What holds me here?

What stays my steps? Behind me here I feel Upon the morning sky a misty star;-- It holds me in the land of living men; It draws me as the moon attracts the sea.

FURIA. Away! Away!