Hm! (_Silence. He takes her hands._) Call me not Sire and call me not King.... Knowest thou not my name?
Not for that, Sire! Since I knew that I was to serve thee as thy wife, I have often named thee by day and in the night. Only I never said it aloud....
And before thou knewest it, what was then thy thought?
Sire, when I heard of thy bloody commands, and the others feared thee--then I often thought: How unhappy must he be that the destiny of the Goths compelleth him to such deeds!
That hast thou thought?--That hast thou----?
Sire, was it wrong that I should think it?
Thou hadst never seen my face, and thou didst understand me? And they who were around me, the wise men and tried soldiers, they understood me not!... Who art thou, woman? Who hath taught thee to read my heart? Thee, thee alone of all?
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_).
(_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.