But should a kindly seacoast smile on him,
With groves all green along the rolling billows,
Hope then awakens in his heart again, —
He struggles inward, toward the silvery willows.
There reigns a quiet peace; ‘tis beautiful;
There roll the waves, in silence, without number;
His heated brow sweet evening breezes cool,
As weary-limbed he rests himself in slumber;
Each sorrow-laden cloud they drive away;
A restful calm his weary mind assuages; —
There he finds shelter and prolongs his stay
And soon forgets the sorry by-gone ages.
The distant echo of the world’s unrest
Alone can reach his dwelling unfrequented.
It does not break the calm within his breast; —
It makes his soul more happy and contented;
It calls to mind the by-gone time of strife,
Its shattered hopes and its unbridled pleasures;
He finds twice beautiful this quiet life —
And would not change it for the greatest treasures.

 

CATILINE. You speak the truth; and in this very hour
From strife and tumult I could go with you.
But can you name me some such quiet spot,
Where we can live in shelter and in peace?

 

AURELIA. [Joyful.] You will go, Catiline? What happiness, —
Oh, richer than my bosom can contain!
Let it be so, then! Come! This very night
We’ll go away —

 

CATILINE. But whither shall we go?
Name me the spot where I may dare to rest
My head in homely peace!

 

AURELIA. How can you ask?
Have you forgot our villa in the country,
Wherein I passed my childhood days, where since,
Enraptured during love’s first happy dawn,
We two spent many a blithesome summer day?
Where was the grass indeed so green as there?
Where else the groves so shady and sweet-smelling?
The snow-white villa from its wooded lair
Peeps forth and bids us there to make our dwelling.
There let us flee and dedicate our life
To rural duties and to sweet contentment; —
You will find comfort in a loving wife,
And through her kisses banish all resentment.

 

[Smiling.]

 

AURELIA. And when with all the flowers of the land
You come to me, your sovereign, in my bowers,
Then shall I crown you with the laurel band,
And cry, All hail to you, my king of flowers! —
But why do you grow pale? Wildly you press
My hand, — and strangely now your eyes are glowing —

 

CATILINE. Aurelia, alas, past is your happiness; —
There we can never, never think of going.
There we can never go!

 

AURELIA. You frighten me!
Yet, surely, — you are jesting, Catiline?

 

CATILINE. I jest! Would only that it were a jest!
Each word you speak, like the avenging dart
Of Nemesis, pierces my heavy heart,
Which fate will never grant a moment’s rest.

 

AURELIA. O gods! speak, speak! What do you mean?

 

CATILINE. See here!
Here is your villa, — here your future joys!

 

[He draws out a purse filled with gold and throws it on the table.]

 

AURELIA. Oh, you have sold — ?

 

CATILINE. Yes, — all I sold today; —
And to what end? In order to corrupt —

 

AURELIA. O Catiline, no more! Let us not think
On this affair; sorrow is all it brings.

 

CATILINE. Your quiet-patience wounds me tenfold more
Than would a cry of anguish from your lips!

 

[An old SOLDIER enters and approaches CATILINE.]

 

THE SOLDIER. Forgive me, master, that thus unannounced
I enter your abode at this late hour.
Ah, be not wroth —

 

CATILINE. What is your errand here?

 

THE SOLDIER. My errand here is but a humble prayer,
Which you will hear. I am a needy man,
One who has sacrificed his strength for Rome.
Now I am feeble, can no longer serve;
Unused my weapons rust away at home.
The hope of my old age was in a son,
Who labored hard and was my one support.
Alas, — in prison now he’s held for debt.
And not a ray of hope — . Oh, help me, master!

 

[Kneeling.]

 

THE SOLDIER. If but a penny! I have gone on foot
From house to house; each door is long since closed.
I know not what to do —

 

CATILINE. The paltry knaves!
A picture this is of the many’s want.
Thus they reward the old brave company.
No longer gratitude is found in Rome!
Time was I might have wished in righteous wrath
To punish them with sword and crimson flames;
But tender words have just been spoken here;
My soul is moved; I do not wish to punish; —
To ease misfortune likewise is a deed. —
Take this, old warrior; — clear with this your debt.

 

[He hands him the purse with the gold.]

 

THE SOLDIER. [Rising.]
O gracious lord, — dare I believe your words?

 

CATILINE. Yes; but be quick, old man; go free your son.

 

[The SOLDIER goes hurriedly out.]

 

CATILINE. A better use, — not so, Aurelia dear? —
Than bribery and purchasing of votes?
Noble it is to crush the tyrant’s might;
Yet quiet solace too has its reward.

 

AURELIA. [Throws herself in his arms.]
Oh, rich and noble is your spirit still.
Yes, — now I know my Catiline again.

 

[An underground tomb with a freshly walled-in passage high on the rear wall. A lamp burns faintly.]

 

[FURIA, in long black robes, is standing in the tomb as if listening.]

 

FURIA. A hollow sound. ‘Tis thunder rolls above.
I hear its rumble even in the tomb.
Yet is the tomb itself so still — so still!
Am I forever damned to drowsy rest?
Never again am I to wander forth
By winding paths, as ever was my wish?

 

FURIA.