Attila, My Attila!

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: ACT III Scene?The library of the royal palace at Byzantium. Several steps lead up to a central apse, surrounded by windows that command the walls, and beyond that, a view of the Scythian tents. Towards the centre of the room there is a table on which rolls of parchment and colours used for illuminating are...
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: ACT III Scene?The library of the royal palace at Byzantium. Several steps lead up to a central apse, surrounded by windows that command the walls, and beyond that, a view of the Scythian tents. Towards the centre of the room there is a table on which rolls of parchment and colours used for illuminating are laid. Pulcheria, dressed as a nun, and Satyrus. Pulcheria You know I am intensely fond of her. Satyrus I do believe you love her. Pulcheria As my life. Satyrus Yet all these bitter years what have I seen, What have I had to see ? A little figure, Thin, mournful?eyes in which the light was glazed, And fingers busy with the broidery-frame They loathed the touch of. She is not a creature To thrive on barley-cakes and cold commands: So, I beseech you, pardon her at once What was her crime ? She talked with Maximin One day when he returned from embassy To Attila, beyond the gates: and, think How natural that she should thirst for news Of this strange conqueror she used to worship As if the land of fairy gave him birth. It is a week since you imprisoned her: If she should die .... Pulcheria I tell you, Satyrus, That there is nothing with a blessing in it I would not pluck down on her head, no flower, Or starry wreath, or secret, favouring air. Die ?do you think that I could let her die, Who is the one live creature in our midst, Who might become what I shall never be, A saint, a power with God; so rich a nature, Such Roman courage, and a power to light Whole empires as the sun If you speak truth, If I indeed have killed her? Satyrus No; take heart Lies are enough to bring one to despair, They so perplex the mind; but truth has always A kind of comfort in it: you have time To save my little mistress. Give her freedom To eat and sleep and play j...