*CHAPTER II*
*MEMORIES*
Otto found himself in a state chamber, whose gloomy vastness waslighted, or rather darkened by one single taper. Through the high ovalwindows in the deep recess of the wall peered an errant ray ofmoonlight, which illumined the quaint monastic paintings on the walls,and crossing the yellow candle-light, imbued them with a strange ghostlyglare.
When his host had ministered to his comfort and served him with thefrugal fare of the cloister, Otto hinted his desire for sleep, and histrusty Saxons entered on their watch before their sovereign's chamber.
At last, left alone, Otto listened with a heavy heart to the monotonoustread of the sentries. It seemed to him as if he could now take asurvey of the events of his life, and pass sentence upon it with theimpartiality of the future chronicler. Recollection roused uprecollection; and as in a panorama, the scenes of his short, buteventful career passed in review before his inner eye. He thought ofwhat he was, contrasting it painfully with all he might have been. Theimage of the one being, for whom his soul yearned in its desolation,with the blinding hunger of man for woman and woman's love, rose upbefore his eyes, and for the first time he thought of death,--death,--inits full and ghastly actuality.
What was it, this death? Was it a sleep? Merely the absence, not theprivation of those powers and senses, called life? What sort of passagemust the thinking particle pass through, whatever it may be,--ere itstood naked of its clay? The breaking of the eyes in darkness,--whatthen succeeded? Would the thinking atom survive,--would it become thenothing that it was?
The aspect of the chamber was not one to dispel the gloomy visions thathaunted him. It was scantily furnished in the crude style of the tenthcentury, with massive tables and chairs. A curious tapestry of easternorigin, representing some legend of the martyrs, divided it from anadjoining cabinet serving at once as an oratory and sleeping apartment.A low fire, burning in the chimney to dispel the miasmas of the marshes,shed a crimson glow over the chamber and its lonely inmate.
For a long time those who watched before his door heard him walkrestlessly up and down. At last weariness came over him and he threwhimself exhausted into a chair. Then the haunting memory of Stephaniaconjured up before his half-dreaming senses an alluring, shimmering FataMorgana--a castle on one of those far-away Apulian head-lands, withtheir purpling hills in the background and the scent of strange flowersin the air. On many a summer morning they should walk hand in handthrough the Laburnum groves, and find their love anew. But the ambersheen of the landscape faded into the violet of night. The vision fadedinto nothingness. A peal of thunder reverberated through theheavens,--Otto started with a moan, rose, and staggered to his couch.
"The haunting memories of Stephania."]
He closed his eyes; but sleep would not come.
Where was she now? Where was Stephania? Weeks had passed, since theyhad last met. It seemed an eternity indeed! He should have remained inRome, till he was assured of her fate! She had left him with words ofhatred, of scorn, bitter and cruel. And yet! How gladly he would havesaved the man, his mortal enemy, forsooth, had it lain in his power.Gladly?--No! The man who had thrice forsworn, thrice broken his faith,deserved his doom. Now he was dead. But Rome was lost. What matteredit? There was but one devouring thought in Otto's mind. Where wasStephania? The mad longing for her became more intense with everymoment. Now that the worst had come to pass, now that the stunning blowhad fallen, he must rouse himself, he must rally. He must combat thisfever, which was slowly consuming him; he must find her, see her oncemore on earth, if but to tell her how he loved her, her and no otherwoman. Would the pale phantom of Crescentius still stand betweenthem,--still part them as of yore? Not if their loves were equal. Hishands were stainless of that blood. On the morrow he would despatchHaco to Rome. Surely some one would have seen her; surely some one knewwhere the wife of the Senator of Rome was hiding her sorrow,--her grief.
The dim light of the ceremonial lamp, which burned with a dull, veiledflame before an image of the crucified Christ, flickered, as if fannedby a passing breath.
There was deep silence in the king's bed-chamber, and the drawn tapestryshut out every sound from without.
Noiselessly a secret panel in the wall opened behind Otto's couch.Noiselessly it closed in the gray stone. Then an exquisite white handand arm were thrust through the draperies and the lovely face ofStephania beamed on the sleeping youth. She was pale as death, but thetransparency of her skin and the absolute perfection of her form andfeatures made her the image of an Olympian Goddess. Her dark hair,bound by a fillet of gold, enhanced the marble pallor of the exquisiteface.
Never had the wonderful eyes of Stephania seemed so full of fire and oflife. Stooping over the sleeper, she softly encircled his head with hersnowy arms and pressed a long kiss on the dry, fevered lips.
With a moan Otto opened his eyes. For a moment he stared as if he facedan apparition from dream-land.--His breath stopped, then he uttered achoked outcry of delirious joy, while his arms tightly encircled thehead which bent over him.
"At last! At last! At last! Oh, how I have longed, how I have pinedfor you! Stephania--my darling--my love--tell me that you do not hateme--but is it you indeed,--is it you? How did you come here--theguards,--Eckhardt,--"
He paused with a terrible fear in his heart, ever and ever caressing thedark head, the beloved face, whose eyes held his own with their magneticspell. She suffered his kisses and caresses while stroking his dampbrow with soothing hand. Then with a grave look she enjoined silence andcaution, crept to the door of the adjoining room and locked it fromwithin.
"They guard you so well, not a ghost could enter," she said with thesweet smile of by-gone days.
He arose and drew the curtains closer. Then he sat down by her side.
"How came you here, Stephania?" he whispered with renewed fear anddread. "If you are discovered,--God have mercy on you,--and me!"
She shook her head.
"I have followed you hither from Rome,--I passed you on the night ofyour flight. Count Tammus, the commander of Paterno, at one time thefriend of the Senator of Rome, has offered me the hospitality of thecastelio. No one knows of my presence here, save an old monk, whobelieves me some itinerant pilgrim, in search of the End of Time," shewhispered with her far-away look. "The End of Time."
"They say it is close at hand," Otto replied, holding her hands tightlyin his. "Oh, Stephania, how beautiful you are! That which has broken myspirit, seems not to have touched your life!"
"My life is dead," she replied. "What remains,--remains through you.Therefore time has lacked power. But that which has been and is nomore, stands immovable before my soul."
He gazed at her with large fear-struck eyes.
"Then--your heart is no longer mine?"
The grasp of the hands in his own tightened.
"Would I be here, silly dreamer? I love you--my heart knows no change.It loved but once--and you!"
All the happiness, slumbering in the deep eyes of the son of Theophano,burst forth as in a glorious aureole of light.
"Then you have never--"
She raised her hand forbiddingly.
"I could not give to him who is gone that which I gave to you! When wefirst met I was your foe. I hated you with all the hate which a Romanhas for the despoiler of his lands. When I gave you my love,--which,alas, was not mine to give, I did so, a powerless instrument of Fate.Side by side have we trod life's narrow path,--neither of us could turnto right or left without standing accounted to the other. It was notours to say love this one or that other. We were brought together bythat same mysterious force, to which it is vain to cry halt. Weknew,--I knew,--that it must, sooner or later, carry us to doom anddeath; but resistlessly the whirlwind had taken us up in its glisteningcloud: Thus are we lost;--you and I!"
He listened to her with a great fear in his soul.
"How cold yo
ur hands are, my love," he whispered. "Cold as if the flowof blood had ceased. Can you feel how it rushes through my veins,--sohot--so boiling hot?"
"You have the fever! Therefore my hands appear cold to you. But,--youspoke truly,--in my hand is death,--and death is cold! Life I havenone,--you have taken it from me!"
"Stephania!"
It sounded like the last outcry of a broken heart.
"Why recall that which could not be averted? Were it mine to change it,oh, that I could!"
"Do you really wish it?"
"I wish but your happiness. Can you doubt?"
"I do not doubt. I love you!"
"Stephania--my darling,--my all!"
And he kissed her eyes, her lips, her hair, and she suffered hiscaresses as one wrapt in a blissful dream.
"I learned you were stricken with the fever,--the last defence left tous by nature against our foes. I have come, to watch over you, to carefor you,--to nurse you back to health,--to life--"
"And you braved the dangers that beset your path on every turn?"
"How should I fear,--with such love in my heart for you!"
"Then you--will remain?" he whispered, his very life in his eyes.
"For a time," she answered, in a halting tone, which passed notunremarked.
"And then?" he queried.
Her head sank.
"I know not!"
"Then I will tell you, my own love! We will return to Rome together,you and I; Stephania, the empress of the West,--would not that reconcileyour Romans,--appease their hate?"
Stephania gazed for a moment thoughtfully at Otto, then she shook herhead.
"I fear," she replied after a pause, "we shall nevermore return toRome."
As she spoke, her soft fingers stroked caressingly the youth's head,which rested on her bosom, while her right hand remained tightly claspedin his.
"I do not understand you," he said with a pained look.
"Do not let us speak of it now," she replied. "You are ill;--the feverburns in your blood. It likes you well, this Roman fever,--and yet youpersist in returning hither ever and ever,--as to your destiny--"
"You are my destiny, Stephania! I cannot live without you! Had you notcome, I should have died! God, you cannot know how I love you, how Iworship you, how I worship the very air you breathe. Stephania! Onthat terrible, never-to-be-forgotten day, when your words planted deathin my heart, he, who of all my Saxons hates you with a hatred strong andenduring as death, warned me of you! 'Must you love a Roman,' he saidto me--'and of all Romans, Stephania, the wife of the Senator? Once inthe toils of the Sorceress, you are lost! Nothing can save you.'--Can Isay to my heart, you shall love this one,--or you shall not love thisone? Shall I say to my soul, you shall harbour the image of this one,but that other shall be to you even as a barred Eden, guarded by theangel with the flaming sword? I have seen the maidens of my nativeland; I have seen the women of Rome;--but my heart was never toucheduntil we met. My soul leaped forth to meet your own, when first westood face to face in the chapel of the Confessor. Stephania,--my lovefor you is so great that I fear you."
"And why should you fear me? Were I here, did I not love you?"
"My life has been a wondrous one," he spoke after a pause. "Fromdazzling sun-kissed heights I have been hurled into the blackest abyssof despair. And what is my crime? Wherein have I sinned? I have loveda woman,--a woman wondrous fair,--Stephania!"
"You have loved the wife of the Senator of Rome!"
His eyes drooped. For a time neither spoke.
"Thrice have I crossed the Alps, to see, to rule this fabled land,--andnow I want but rest,--peace,--Stephania--" he said with a heart-breakingsmile.
"You are tired, my love," replied the beautiful Roman. "From this hour,I shall be your leech,--I shall be with you, to share your solitude,--towatch over you till the dread fever is broken. And then--"
"And then?" he repeated with anxious look.
"But will you not weary of me?" she said, avoiding the question.
He drew her close to him.
"My sweetheart---my own--"
"And you will not fear, you will trust and obey me?"
"Were you to give me poison with your own hands, I would drain thegoblet without fear or doubt."
Stephania had arisen. She was pale as death.
"If love were all!" she muttered. "If love were all!"
Then she drew the curtains closer and extinguished the light.