CURIUS. What,—here, you say? Impossible! A jest!
CATILINE. A jest? Why, yes,—as all my loving is. And yet I was in earnest when I spoke. During the recent games I chanced to see The priestesses in long and pompous train. By accident I cast my roving eye On one of them,—and with a hasty glance She met my gaze. It pierced me to the soul. Ah, the expression in those midnight eyes I never saw before in any woman.
CURIUS. Yes, yes, I know. But speak—what followed then?
CATILINE. A way into the temple I have found, And more than once I've seen and spoken to her. Oh, what a difference between this woman And my Aurelia!
CURIUS. And you love them both At once? No,—that I cannot understand.
CATILINE. Yes, strange, indeed; I scarcely understand myself. And yet—I love them both, as you have said. But oh, how vastly different is this love! The one is kind: Aurelia often lulls With soothing words my soul to peace and rest;— But Furia—. Come, away; some one approaches.
[They hide themselves among the pillars.]
FURIA. [Enters from the opposite side.] Oh, hated walls,—witnesses of my anguish. Home of the torment I must suffer still! My hopes and cherished aspirations languish Within my bosom,—now with feverish chill Pervaded, now with all the heat of passion, More hot and burning than yon vestal fire.
FURIA. Ah, what a fate! And what was my transgression That chained me to this temple-prison dire,— That robbed my life of every youthful pleasure,— In life's warm spring each innocent delight?
FURIA. Yet tears I shall not shed in undue measure; Hatred and vengeance shall my heart excite.