Rienzi [158]
her child. When life is most hopeless, these worms of a day cling to it as if it were the salvation of immortality! But for me alone, death has no horror. Long severed from the world, I have seen my sisterhood perish - the house of God desecrated - its altar overthrown, and I care not to survive, - the last whom the Pestilence leaves at once unperjured and alive."
The nun paused a few moments, and then, looking earnestly at the healthful countenance and unbroken frame of Adrian, sighed heavily - "Stranger, why fly you not?" she said. "Thou mightst as well search the crowded vaults and rotten corruption of the dead, as search the city for one living."
"Sister, and bride of the blessed Redeemer!" returned the Roman, clasping his hands - "one word I implore thee. Thou art, methinks, of the sisterhood of yon dismantled convent; tell me, knowest thou if Irene di Gabrini, (The family name of Rienzi was Gabrini.) - guest of the late Abbess, sister of the fallen Tribune of Rome, - be yet amongst the living?"
"Art thou her brother, then?" said the nun. "Art thou that fallen Sun of the Morning?"
"I am her betrothed," replied Adrian, sadly. "Speak."
"Oh, flesh! flesh! how art thou victor to the last, even amidst the triumphs and in the lazar-house of corruption!" said the nun. "Vain man! Think not of such carnal ties; make thy peace with heaven, for thy days are surely numbered!"
"Woman!" cried Adrian, impatiently - "talk not to me of myself, nor rail against ties whose holiness thou canst not know. I ask thee again, as thou thyself hopest for mercy and for pardon, is Irene living?"
The nun was awed by the energy of the young lover, and after a moment, which seemed to him an age of agonized suspense, she replied -
"The maiden thou speakest of died not with the general death. In the dispersion of the few remaining, she left the convent - I know not whither; but she had friends in Florence - their names I cannot tell thee."
"Now bless thee, holy sister! bless thee! How long since she left the convent?"
"Four days have passed since the robber and the harlot have seized the house of Santa Maria," replied the nun, groaning: "and they were quick successors to the sisterhood."
"Four days! - and thou canst give me no clue?"
"None - yet stay, young man!" - and the nun, approaching, lowered her voice to a hissing whisper - "Ask the Becchini." (According to the usual custom of Florence, the dead were borne to their resting-place on biers, supported by citizens of equal rank; but a new trade was created by the plague, and men of the lowest dregs of the populace, bribed by immense payment, discharged the office of transporting the remains of the victims. These were called Becchini.)
Adrian started aside, crossed himself hastily, and quitted the convent without answer. He returned to his horse, and rode back into the silenced heart of the city. Tavern and hotel there were no more; but the palaces of dead princes were free to the living stranger. He entered one - a spacious and splendid mansion. In the stables he found forage still in the manger; but the horses, at that time in the Italian cities a proof of rank as well as wealth, were gone with the hands that fed them. The highborn Knight assumed the office of groom, took off the heavy harness, fastened his steed to the rack, and as the wearied animal, unconscious of the surrounding horrors, fell eagerly upon its meal, its young lord turned away, and muttered, "Faithful servant, and sole companion! may the pestilence that spareth neither beast nor man, spare thee! and mayst thou bear me hence with a lighter heart!"
A spacious hall, hung with arms and banners - a wide flight of marble stairs, whose walls were painted in the stiff outlines and gorgeous colours of the day, conducted to vast chambers, hung with velvets and cloth of gold, but silent as the tomb. He threw himself upon the cushions which were piled in the centre of the room, for he had ridden far that morning, and for many days before, and he was wearied and exhausted, body
The nun paused a few moments, and then, looking earnestly at the healthful countenance and unbroken frame of Adrian, sighed heavily - "Stranger, why fly you not?" she said. "Thou mightst as well search the crowded vaults and rotten corruption of the dead, as search the city for one living."
"Sister, and bride of the blessed Redeemer!" returned the Roman, clasping his hands - "one word I implore thee. Thou art, methinks, of the sisterhood of yon dismantled convent; tell me, knowest thou if Irene di Gabrini, (The family name of Rienzi was Gabrini.) - guest of the late Abbess, sister of the fallen Tribune of Rome, - be yet amongst the living?"
"Art thou her brother, then?" said the nun. "Art thou that fallen Sun of the Morning?"
"I am her betrothed," replied Adrian, sadly. "Speak."
"Oh, flesh! flesh! how art thou victor to the last, even amidst the triumphs and in the lazar-house of corruption!" said the nun. "Vain man! Think not of such carnal ties; make thy peace with heaven, for thy days are surely numbered!"
"Woman!" cried Adrian, impatiently - "talk not to me of myself, nor rail against ties whose holiness thou canst not know. I ask thee again, as thou thyself hopest for mercy and for pardon, is Irene living?"
The nun was awed by the energy of the young lover, and after a moment, which seemed to him an age of agonized suspense, she replied -
"The maiden thou speakest of died not with the general death. In the dispersion of the few remaining, she left the convent - I know not whither; but she had friends in Florence - their names I cannot tell thee."
"Now bless thee, holy sister! bless thee! How long since she left the convent?"
"Four days have passed since the robber and the harlot have seized the house of Santa Maria," replied the nun, groaning: "and they were quick successors to the sisterhood."
"Four days! - and thou canst give me no clue?"
"None - yet stay, young man!" - and the nun, approaching, lowered her voice to a hissing whisper - "Ask the Becchini." (According to the usual custom of Florence, the dead were borne to their resting-place on biers, supported by citizens of equal rank; but a new trade was created by the plague, and men of the lowest dregs of the populace, bribed by immense payment, discharged the office of transporting the remains of the victims. These were called Becchini.)
Adrian started aside, crossed himself hastily, and quitted the convent without answer. He returned to his horse, and rode back into the silenced heart of the city. Tavern and hotel there were no more; but the palaces of dead princes were free to the living stranger. He entered one - a spacious and splendid mansion. In the stables he found forage still in the manger; but the horses, at that time in the Italian cities a proof of rank as well as wealth, were gone with the hands that fed them. The highborn Knight assumed the office of groom, took off the heavy harness, fastened his steed to the rack, and as the wearied animal, unconscious of the surrounding horrors, fell eagerly upon its meal, its young lord turned away, and muttered, "Faithful servant, and sole companion! may the pestilence that spareth neither beast nor man, spare thee! and mayst thou bear me hence with a lighter heart!"
A spacious hall, hung with arms and banners - a wide flight of marble stairs, whose walls were painted in the stiff outlines and gorgeous colours of the day, conducted to vast chambers, hung with velvets and cloth of gold, but silent as the tomb. He threw himself upon the cushions which were piled in the centre of the room, for he had ridden far that morning, and for many days before, and he was wearied and exhausted, body