Teja.
All shuddered and muttering hid themselves from me in corners--and saw
not the way, the only way which haply might still have saved them. When
the butcher's knife was already at their throat, they still told
themselves some tale of compromise. And then came the crafty Greeks,
measured themselves with them, and killed them one by one. Thus
perished the hundred thousand. And I wrapped myself in grief and
anger--I cast hope away from me like a bloody rag, I sprang into the
breach with scornful laughter. I sowed horrors about me, when my own
heart was convulsed with horror of myself. I have not once been drunk
with all the blood. I have killed, killed, and still knew all the
while: it is in vain! (_He sinks to his seat overcome with anguish, and
stares straight before him_.)
Balthilda (_with a shy attempt at a caress_).
My poor dear King! Dear Teja!
Teja.
(_Raises his head and looks confusedly around him_.) My God, what do I
here?... Why do I tell all this to thee? Thou must not despise me
because I am such a babbler.... Nor must thou believe that it is aught
of remorse that compels me to this confession.... Perhaps I feel pity
for the victims, but my conscience stands high above all that!... Far
higher than my poor Gothic throne.... Look not upon me so.... There is
in thy eye something that compels me to reveal my inmost thought to
thee.... Who hath endued thee with this power over me?... Begone!...
Nay, stay ... Stay! I wish to tell thee yet something, quite in secret,
before thou goest.... Besides, I should not cry out so, otherwise the
watch may hear.... Incline thine ear to me. Never yet have I confessed
it to any man, nor have I held it possible that I should ever confess
it.... I bear an envy within me which devoureth my heart, whenever I
think--knowest thou toward whom?... Toward Totilas.... Yea, toward
Totilas in his grave.... They called him the "shining" Totilas and
their affection still cleaveth to him to-day.... Their eyes still flash
when they even think of him.
Balthilda.
Ah, Sire, how thou dost fret thyself!
Teja (_anxiously_).
Didst thou ever see him?
Balthilda.
Never.
Teja.
God be thanked! For hadst thou ever seen him as I saw him on the
morning of the battle in which he fell ... arrayed in golden armour ...
and the white steed pranced beneath him, and his yellow locks streamed
like sunlight about him. And he laughed the foe in the face.... Laughed
like a child!... Ah, laughing to die like him!
Balthilda.
His lot was easy, Sire! He went from hence, but left to thee as an
inheritance the half-destroyed kingdom.... How shouldst thou then have
laughed?
Teja (_eagerly_).
Is it not so?--Is it not so?--How ... Ah, that doeth good! (_Stretching
himself_.) Ah, thou doest me good!
Balthilda.
How proud thou makest me, Sire!
Teja.
But hadst thou seen him and compared him to me, thou wouldst spit upon
me!
Balthilda (_fervently_).