Bissula. English

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  It is useless to conceal it from myself any longer, and what I admit tomyself must also be confessed to you, my Paulus, my second self, at thesame moment. Alas, I fear you read it long ago from these words inprose and verse.

  I beseech you not to shake your cool, cautious head as usual over your"too youthful" Ausonius: I hope my heart will throb warmly till itceases to beat.

  I know all you will say--of course against it. For you would speak infavor only if you had seen her. Yet I rejoice that you are not here: Ihave no desire to be warned.

  True, it is one thing to toy with the sweet illusion within my ownbreast and to the friend who will keep my secret; and quite another totransfer it to practical reality.

  My thoughts are contradictory. I am fifty--ah no; fifty-two years old!But what happiness it will be for the young girl to share not only mywealth but the whole Latin civilization with me! She is a pagan. Pshaw!The baptismal water will no more wash away her charm than it has driventhe pagan Muses from me. She can believe after baptism precisely whatshe believed before. And she shall offer sacrifices to golden Aphroditeand to Hymen!

  I hesitate. She is very fond of me, but I often find her dreaming,gazing out with yearning eyes beyond the walls of the camp: strangelyenough, it is not eastward in the direction of her home, but alwaystoward the northwest. At that point the wall rises almost to the heightof her huge pine tree, whose branches reach the ground: I again foundher hidden among them yesterday. She climbs so far up among the boughsthat she can look over the wall to the distant hills, and hides amongthe dense foliage like a martin.

  I discovered her with much difficulty,--twilight was gathering,--andwhen at my call she slipped down I thought I saw tears in her eyes. Butthe crimson glow of sunset had probably dazzled me; I did not see themwhen she stood on the ground by my side, though she looked graver thanusual.

  "What do you want?" I asked.

  "Liberty," was her swift answer.

  Perhaps I looked perplexed or angry, for she went on hastily: "Forgiveme! I was foolish. I know that if you set me free now, before the closeof the war, I might fall into the hands of other Romans before reachingmy people. And I am not ungrateful. How kind you are to me! Yet I oftenfeel so homesick--for--for--oh, I don't know myself!"

  Then I said in jest,--for never before, and even now not seriously, hadthe idea entered my mind,--"For a lover?"

  She started back like a little red serpent. I have never seen her soangry, though the hot temper of the little creature boils over oftenenough. She stamped her tiny foot, the blood crimsoned her cheeks, andshe vehemently exclaimed:

  "A lover? The 'red biting cat'? I have no heart! How should _I_ love?"

  Then turning her back on me defiantly she ran off to her tent and didnot appear again that evening. But I am glad to learn from her own lipsthat no bond of affection will hold her fast in this Barbarian land, ifI really decide to take her with me to Burdigala.

  This possible obstacle to my wishes entered my thoughts rather late,you will tell me. But it was because I considered her a child so long.Later I daily felt in my own heart the feeling within growing stronger.No, no, this girl is a child no longer, but a maiden ready for herbridal.

  The sweet wish--I scarcely repress it--is rapidly maturing. And withthis dear girl I shall be sure of one thing: she will not marry me formy wealth, which I anxiously fear from our Gallic maidens. As to thewidows, I feel gripes in my stomach whenever I think of them.

  I will be cautious not to startle the timid child; for how can theBarbarian maiden dream of such an honor as even being invited as myguest to Burdigala? It is inconceivable that she should refuse: nowthat she has grown to womanhood. If she does, then--But no, surely itwill not be necessary. And when she has once tasted the rich, beautifullife there, she will no longer desire to return to this wilderness.Then ere long I can read aloud to her these verses which now I dareentrust only to my friend:

  "Bissula, fair maid born and reared in the cold land beyond the Rhine, Bissula, who bloomed so near the source of the Danube: Captive of war, thou hast, when released from bondage, made captive Thy conqueror: his heart became the prisoner's booty. Of a mother's care bereft, ne'er hast thou suffered a mistress: When thou a captive wast made, a mistress thou didst become, Though thou by Roman favor, O German, wast thus transformed. Still hast thou thine eyes' deep azure, still hast thou thy hair's red gold. Dual thou seemest now, and with dual charms adorn Latium's tongue thy mind, and Suabia's grace thy form."

  How do you like them, my dear friend? I hope they are not bad. At leastthey please _me_ extremely, and you know I am not vain.

  Now imagine how these melodious lines must gratify her--her who istheir inspiration.