While Miriam was gazing silently at the first pale stars, Totila's
impatience soon brought him to the villa of the rich trader, which lay
at about an hour's distance from the Porta Capuana.
The slave who kept the gate told him to go to the old Hortularius,
Valeria's freedman, who had the care of the garden. This freedman had
been admitted to the lovers' confidence, and now took the plants from
the supposed gardener's boy, and led him into his sleeping-room, the
low windows of which opened into the garden. The next day before
sunrise--so taught the mysteries of ancient horticulture--the flowers
must be planted, so that the first sunlight which shone upon them in
the new soil should be that of the fresh morning. The young Goth waited
impatiently in the narrow chamber for the hour at which Valeria would
be able to leave her father after their evening meal.
He drew aside the curtain which covered the window and again and again
looked up at the sky, measuring the flight of time by the rising of the
stars and the progress of the moon. The large garden before him lay
bathed in its peaceful light.
In the distance, the plashing of a fountain could be heard, and the
cicadas chirped in the myrtles. The warm south wind blew sultry through
the night, at times bearing clouds of sweet odour upon its wings; and,
from the blooming grove at the end of the garden, the clear song of the
nightingale filled the air with melody.
At last Totila could wait no longer. He swung himself noiselessly over
the marble sill of the window; the white sand of the narrow path
scarcely grated beneath his rapid footsteps, as, avoiding the stream of
moonlight, he hurried along under the shrubbery.
On past the dark taxus-trees and the thick olive-groves; past the tall
statue of Flora, whose white marble shone ghostly in the moonlight;
past the large basin, where six marble dolphins spouted water high into
the air; into the thick shrubbery of laurels and tamarinds, and,
pressing through the oleanders, he stood before the stalactite grotto,
in which a marble nymph of the spring leaned upon a large dark urn. As
he entered, a white figure glided from behind the statue.
"Valeria, my lovely rose!" cried Totila, ardently embracing her.
"Leave me, leave me, my beloved!" she said, withdrawing from his arms.
"No, sweet one! I will not leave you. How long, how painfully, I have
missed you! Do you hear how sweetly and invitingly the nightingale
calls? Inhale the warm air of the summer night and the intoxicating
scent of the roses. All breathes joy and love! Oh, let us hold fast
these golden hours! My soul cannot contain all its bliss! All thy
beauty; all our youth; and this glowing, blooming summer night. Life
rolls in mighty waves through my heart, and bursts it with delight!"
"Oh, Totila, I would gladly lose myself, like you, in the happiness of
these hours! But I cannot. The intoxicating perfume, the luxurious
warmth of these summer nights are but transient; they breed misfortune.
I cannot believe in the happiness of our love!"
"Thou dear fool, why not?"
"I know not. The unhappy doubt which troubles all my life spreads its
curse even over our love. How gladly would I love and trust like you!
But a warning voice in my heart ever repeats: 'It will not last--thou
shalt not be happy!'"
"Then, even in my arms, you are not happy?"
"Yes, and no! The feeling of concealment from my noble father oppresses
me. See, Totila, what makes me love you most is not your youthful
beauty and strength, nor even your great love for me. It is my pride in
your character, in your frank, unclouded and noble character. I have
accustomed myself to see you walk through this dark world bright and
strong as the God of Light. The noble courage, sure of victory; the
enthusiasm and truth of your being, are my pride. That when you
approach, all that is mean, little, and unholy must vanish from before
you, is my delight. I love you as a mortal loves the Sun-god who
approaches him in the fulness of his glory, and therefore I can endure
nothing secret about you. Not even the delight of these hours--it is
enjoyed by stealth, and that must no longer be----"
"No, Valeria, and shall not! I feel exactly the same. I hate the lie
of this disguise; I can bear it no longer! To-morrow I will throw it
off and speak openly and freely to your father."
"This decision is the best, for----"
"For it saves your life, young man!" suddenly cried a deep voice, and
from the dark background of the grotto a man came forth, in the act of
sheathing his sword.
"My father!" cried Valeria, startled, but with courageous composure.
Totila put one arm round her.
"Away, Valeria! leave the barbarian!" cried Valerius, stretching out
his hand commandingly.
"No, Valerius," cried Totila, pressing Valeria close to his breast;
"henceforward her place is on my bosom!"
"Audacious Goth!"
"Hear me, Valerius, and be not angry with us for this deceit. You
yourself heard that it was to end tomorrow."
"Fortunately for you, I did. Warned by an old friend, I could still
scarcely believe that my daughter--would deceive me. When I was
compelled to believe my eyes, I was resolved that your life should pay
for her fault. Your words saved you. But now go; you will never again
see her face."
Totila would have retorted angrily, but Valeria was beforehand.
"Father," she said quietly, stepping between the two men, "listen to
your child. I will not excuse my love, it needs no apology. It is as
innocent and heavenly as are the stars. My love is the life of my life.
You know me; truth is the air I breathe. By my soul! I will never leave
this man!"
"Nor I her!" cried Totila, and took her right-hand.
The young couple stood erect before the old man in the bright
moonlight, their noble features filled with sacred enthusiasm. They
looked so beautiful that a softened feeling took possession of the
angry father.
"Valeria, my child!"
"Oh, my father! you have led all my childish steps with such untiring
love that till now I have scarcely missed, though I have deeply
regretted, my lost mother. At this moment I miss her for the first
time; for now I feel that I need her advocacy. At least let her memory
plead for me. Let me bring her picture before you, and remind you of
the time when, dying, she called you for the last time to her bedside,
and, as you have often told me, confided to you my happiness as a holy
legacy."
Valerius pressed his right hand to his forehead; his daughter ventured
to take the other; he did not repulse her. Evidently a struggle was
going on in his mind. At last he spoke.
"Valeria, without knowing it, you have pleaded strongly. It would be
unjust to withhold from you a fact upon which you have mysteriously
touched. Your mother's vow, which, however, we had long since annulled,
still oppressed her soul. 'If our child,' she said, 'is not to be the
bride of Heaven, at least swear to me to honour the freedom of her
choice. I know how Roman girls, particularly in our rank of life, are
given in marriage unasked, without love. Such an union is misery on
earth and a sin before God. My Valeria will choose nobly; swear to me
to give her to the husband of her choice, and to no other!'--and I
Swore it. But to give my child to a barbarian, to an enemy of Italy!
no, no!" And he broke from her grasp.
"Perhaps I am not so barbarous, Valerius, as you think," began Totila.
"At least I am the warmest friend of the Romans in all my nation.
Believe me, I do not hate you; those whom I abhor are your worst
enemies as well as ours--the Byzantines!"
It was a happy speech, for in the heart of the old republican the
hatred of Byzantium was the reverse side to his love of freedom and
Italy. He was silent, but his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the youth.
"My father," said Valeria, "your child could love no barbarian. Learn
to know Totila; and if you still call him a barbarian--I will never
become his. I ask nothing of you but this: learn to know him. Decide
for yourself whether my choice be noble. He is beloved by all the
Goths, and all men are friendly to him--surely you alone will not
reject him?"
Again she took her father's hand.
"Oh, learn to know me, Valerius!" begged Totila earnestly, taking his
other hand.
The old man sighed. At length he said: "Come with me to your mother's
grave, Valeria; there it is amongst the cypresses; there stands the urn
containing her heart. Let us think of her--the noblest woman who ever
lived--and appeal to her shade. And if your love prove to be true and
well placed, then I will perform what I have promised."