Three or four days passed away at the castle of Justinian, in which
Nicæus used his utmost exertions to divert the anxiety of Iduna. One
day was spent in examining the castle, on another he amused her with a
hawking party, on a third he carried her to the neighbouring ruins of a
temple, and read his favourite Æschylus to her amid its lone and
elegant columns. It was impossible for any one to be more amiable and
entertaining, and Iduna could not resist recognising his many virtues
and accomplishments. The courier had not yet returned from Croia,
which Nicæus accounted for by many satisfactory reasons. The suspense,
however, at length became so painful to Iduna, that she proposed to the
Prince of Athens that they should, without further delay, proceed to
that city. As usual, Nicæus was not wanting in many plausible arguments
in favour of their remaining at the castle, but Iduna was resolute.
“Indeed, dear Nicæus,” she said, “my anxiety to see my father, or hear
from him, is so great, that there is scarcely any danger which I would
not encounter to gratify my wish. I feel that I have already taxed your
endurance too much. But we are no longer in a hostile land, and guards
and guides are to be engaged. Let me then depart alone!”
“Iduna!” exclaimed Nicæus, reproachfully. “Alas! Iduna, you are cruel,
but I did not expect this!”
“Dear Nicæus!” she answered, “you always misinterpret me! It would
infinitely delight me to be restored to Hunniades by yourself, but these
are no common times, and you are no common person. You forget that there
is one that has greater claims upon you even than a forlorn maiden, your
country. And whether Iskander be at Croia or not, Greece requires the
presence and exertions of the Prince of Athens.”
“I have no country,” replied Nicæus, mournfully, “and no object for
which to exert myself.”
“Nicæus! Is this the poetic patriot who was yesterday envying
Themistocles?”
“Alas! Iduna, yesterday you were my muse. I do not wonder you are
wearied of this castle!” continued the prince in a melancholy tone.
“This spot contains nothing to interest you; but for me, it holds all
that is dear, and, O! gentle maiden, one smile from you, one smile of
inspiration, and I would not envy Themistocles, and might perhaps rival
him.”
They were walking together in the hall of the castle; Iduna stepped
aside and affected to examine a curious buckler, Nicæus followed her,
and placing his arm gently in hers, led her away.
“Dearest Iduna,” he said, “pardon me, but men struggle for their fate.
Mine is in your power. It is a contest between misery and happiness,
glory and perhaps infamy. Do not then wonder that I will not yield my
chance of the brighter fortune without an effort. Once more I appeal to
your pity, if not to your love. Were Iduna mine, were she to hold out
but the possibility of her being mine, there is no career, solemnly I
avow what solemnly I feel, there is no career of which I could not be
capable, and no condition to which I would not willingly subscribe. But
this certainty, or this contingency, I must have: I cannot exist without
the alternative. And now upon my knees, I implore her to grant it to
me!”
“Nicæus,” said Iduna, “this continued recurrence to a forbidden subject
is most ungenerous.”
“Alas! Iduna, my life depends upon a word, which you will not speak, and
you talk of generosity. No! Iduna, it is not I that I am ungenerous.”
“Let me say then unreasonable, Prince Nicæus.”
“Say what you like, Iduna, provided you say that you are mine.”
“Pardon me, sir, I am free.”
“Free! You have ever underrated me, Iduna. To whom do you owe this
boasted freedom?”
“This is not the first time,” remarked Iduna, “that you have reminded
me of an obligation, the memory of which is indelibly impressed upon my
heart, and for which even the present conversation cannot make me
feel less grateful. I can never forget that I owe all that is dear to
yourself and your companion.”
“My companion!” replied the Prince of Athens, pale and passionate. “My
companion! Am I ever to be reminded of my companion?”
“Nicæus!” said Iduna; “if you forget what is due to me, at least
endeavour to remember what is due to yourself?”
“Beautiful being!” said the prince, advancing and passionately seizing
her hand; “pardon me! pardon me! I am not master of my reason; I am
nothing, I am nothing while Iduna hesitates!”
“She does not hesitate, Nicæus. I desire, I require, that this
conversation shall cease; shall never, never be renewed.”
“And I tell thee, haughty woman,” said the Prince of Athens, grinding
his teeth, and speaking with violent action, “that I will no longer be
despised with impunity. Iduna is mine, or is no one else’s.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed the daughter of Hunniades. “Is it, indeed,
come to this? But why am I surprised! I have long known Nicæus. I quit
this castle instantly.”
“You are a prisoner,” replied the prince very calmly, and leaning with
folded arms against the wall.
“A prisoner!” exclaimed Iduna, a little alarmed. “A prisoner! I defy
you, sir. You are only a guest like myself. I will appeal to the
Seneschal in the absence of his lord. He will never permit the honour
of his master’s flag to be violated by the irrational caprice of a
passionate boy.”
“What lord?” inquired Nicæus.
“Your friend, the Lord Justinian,” answered Iduna. “He could little
anticipate such an abuse of his hospitality.”
“My friend, the Lord Justinian!” replied Nicæus, with a malignant smile.
“I am surprised that a personage of the Lady Iduna’s deep discrimination
should so easily be deceived by ‘a passionate boy!’ Is it possible that
you could have supposed for a moment that there was any other lord of
this castle, save your devoted slave?”
“What!” exclaimed Iduna, really frightened.
“I have, indeed, the honour of finding the Lady Iduna my guest,”
continued Nicæus, in a tone of bitter raillery. “This castle of
Kallista, the fairest in all Epirus, I inherit from my mother. Of late
I have seldom visited it; but, indeed, it will become a favourite
residence of mine, if it be, as I anticipate, the scene of my nuptial
ceremony.”
Iduna looked around her with astonishment, then threw herself upon a
couch, and burst into tears. The Prince of Athens walked up and down the
hall with an air of determined coolness.
“Perfidious!” exclaimed Iduna between her sobs.
“Lady Iduna,” said the prince; and he seated himself by her side. “I
will not attempt to palliate a deception which your charms could
alone inspire and can alone justify. Hear me, Lady Iduna, hear me
with calmness. I love you; I love you with a passion which has been
as constant as it is strong. My birth, my rank, my fortunes, do not
disqualify me for an union with the daughter of the great Hunniades.
If my personal claims may sink in comparison with her surpassing
excellence, I am yet to learn that any other prince in Christendom can
urge a more effective plea. I am young; the ladies of the court have
called me handsome; by your great father’s side I have broken some
lances in your honour; and even Iduna once confessed she thought me
clever. Come, come, be merciful! Let my beautiful Athens receive a
fitting mistress! A holy father is in readiness dear maiden. Come now,
one smile! In a few days we shall reach your father’s camp, and then we
will kneel, as I do now, and beg a blessing on our happy union.” As he
spoke, he dropped upon his knee, and stealing her hand, looked into her
face. It was sorrowful and gloomy.
“It is in vain, Nicæus,” said Iduna, “to appeal to your generosity;
it is useless to talk of the past; it is idle to reproach you for
the present. I am a woman, alone and persecuted, where I could least
anticipate persecution. Nicæus, I never can be yours; and now I deliver
myself to the mercy of Almighty God.”
“‘Tis well,” said Nicæus. “From the tower of the castle you may behold
the waves of the Ionian Sea. You will remain here a close prisoner,
until one of my galleys arrive from Piræus to bear us to Italy. Mine you
must be, Iduna. It remains for you to decide under what circumstances.
Continue in your obstinacy, and you may bid farewell for ever to your
country and to your father. Be reasonable, and a destiny awaits you,
which offers everything that has hitherto been considered the source or
cause of happiness.” Thus speaking, the prince retired, leaving the Lady
Iduna to her own unhappy thoughts.