But soon
the time will come for the potion to lose its force. And Fenice,
who hears his grief, struggles and strives for strength to
comfort him by word or glance. Her heart almost bursts because
of the sorrow which he shows. "Ah Death!" he says, "how mean
thou art, to spare and reprieve all things despicable and vile--to
let them live on and endure. Death! art thou beside thyself
or drunk, who hast killed my lady without me? This is a
marvellous thing I see: my lady is dead, and I still live on!
Ah, precious one, why does your lover live to see you dead? One
now could rightly say that you have died in my service, and that
it is I who have killed and murdered you. Sweetheart, then I am
the death that has smitten you. Is not that wrong? For it is my
own life I have lost in you, and have preserved your life in me.
For did not your health and life belong to me. sweet one? And
did not mine belong to you? For I loved nothing excepting you,
and our double existence was as one. So now I have done what was
right in keeping your soul in my body while mine has escaped from
your body, and one ought to go to seek the company of the other,
wherever it may be, and nothing ought to separate them." At this
she heaves a gentle sigh and whispers faintly: "Lover mine, I am
not altogether dead, but very near it.
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