The Flame

by Gabriele D'Annunzio

"I was Juliet! One Sunday in May, in the immense arena in the amphitheater under the open sky, before an audience that had breathed in the legend of love and death, I was Juliet herself. No thrill from the most responsive audience, no applause, no triumph, ever has had from me the fulness and intoxication of that unique hour. Actually, when I heard Romeo say: 'O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright,' my whole being kindled. With great economy, I had managed to buy a large bunch of roses, and these were my only ornament. I mingled the roses with my words, my gestures, with every attitude. I dropped one at Romeo's feet when we first met; I strewed the petals of another on his head, as I stood on the balcony; and I covered his body with them as he lay in the tomb. The words came with the strangest ease, almost involuntarily, as in delirium, and I could feel the throbbing in my veins accompanying them.

"I could see the great amphitheater, half in sunlight, half in shadow, and in the lighter part a sparkling from thousands of eyes. The day was as calm as this. Not a breath of air disturbed the folds of my robes, or the hair that floated on my uncovered neck. I felt my strength and animation momentarily increasing. How I spoke of the lark and the nightingale! I had heard them both a thousand times in the country. I knew all their songs of the woods, the meadows, and the sky. Every word, as it left my lips, seemed to have been steeped in the warmth of my blood. There was no fiber in me that did not give forth harmonious sound. Ah, the grace, the state of grace! Every time it is given to me to rise to the highest summit of my art I live again in that indescribable abandon. Yes, I was Juliet! I cried out in terror at the approach of dawn. The breeze stirred my hair. I could feel the extraordinary silence on which my lamentation fell. The multitude seemed to have sunk into the ground. I spoke of the terror of the coming day, but already I felt in reality 'the mask of night upon my face.' Romeo had descended. We were already dead; already both had entered the vale of shadows. Do you remember? My eyes sought the fading light of the sky. The people were noisy in the arena; they were impatient for the death scene; they would listen no more to the mother, the nurse, or the friar. The quiver of that impatience quickened my throbbing heart. The tragedy swept on. I recall the odor of the pitch from the funeral torches, and of the roses that covered me, and I remember the sound of far-off bells, and of the sky that was losing its light, little by little, as Juliet was losing her life, and a star, the first star, that swam in my eyes with my tears. When I fell dead on Romeo's body, the cry of the multitude in the shadows was so violent that I was frightened. Some one lifted me and dragged me toward that cry. Some one held the torch close to my tear-stained face, which must have been the color of death.... And thus, Stelio, one night in May, Juliet came to life again, and appeared before the people of Verona."

Again she paused, and closed her eyes as if she were dizzy, but her sorrowful lips still smiled at her friend.

"And then? Then came the need to move, to go no matter where, to traverse space, to breathe in the wind. My mother followed me in silence. We crossed a bridge, walked beside the Adige, and went on and on. My mother asked at times where we were going. I wished to find the Franciscan convent where Juliet's tomb was hidden, since, to my great regret, she was not buried in one of those beautiful tombs behind the great iron gates. But I did not wish to say so, and I could not speak. My voice seemed to have been lost with the last word of the dying Juliet. 'Where are we going?' again asked that indefatigable kindness. Ah, then the last word of Juliet came to me in reply. We were again near the Adige, beside a bridge. I think I began to run, because soon afterward I felt myself seized by my mother's arms, and I stood leaning against the parapet, choking with sobs. 'There let me die!' I wished to say, but could not. The river carried with it the night and all its stars. I felt that the desire to die was not mine alone. Ah, blessed mother!"

She became very pale; her whole heart felt once more the embrace of those arms, the kiss of those lips, those tender tears, the depth of that suffering.

With a mingled feeling of surprise and alarm, Stelio watched the great waves of life that passed over her, the extraordinary expressions, the alternating lights and shadows; but he dared not speak, dared not break in upon the occult workings of that great, unhappy soul. He could only feel confusedly in her words the beauty and sadness of things unexpressed.

"Speak to me still," he said. "Draw nearer to me, sweet soul! No moment since I first loved you has been worth the steps that we have taken together to-day."

Again her first sudden question returned to her mind: "Do you think often of Donatella?"

A short path led to the Fondamenta degli Angeli, whence the lagoon could be seen, smooth and luminous.

"How beautiful that light is!" she said. "It is like that night when my name was still Perdita, Stelio."