. The sorceress of Rome. e smile of acorpse, the monk Cyprianus repUed with strangely jarringvoice. And yet you fear I will lose my wager? sneered theChamberlain. The monk shrugged his shoulders. They have a proverb in Ferrara: He who may not eata peach, may not smell at it. And you were not revealed to him, you, for whom he hasscoured the very slime of the Tiber? Benilo queried, ignoringthe monks facetiousness. Tis sad to think, what changes time has wrought,replied the latter with downcast eyes. Truly it behoovesus to think of the end, — the end of time! And without another word the mopk pas
. The sorceress of Rome. e smile of acorpse, the monk Cyprianus repUed with strangely jarringvoice. And yet you fear I will lose my wager? sneered theChamberlain. The monk shrugged his shoulders. They have a proverb in Ferrara: He who may not eata peach, may not smell at it. And you were not revealed to him, you, for whom he hasscoured the very slime of the Tiber? Benilo queried, ignoringthe monks facetiousness. Tis sad to think, what changes time has wrought,replied the latter with downcast eyes. Truly it behoovesus to think of the end, — the end of time! And without another word the mopk passed down theaisles and his tall form was swallowed in the gloom of theChurch of the Hermits. The end! Benilo muttered to himself as he thoughtfullygazed after the monk. Croak thou thine own doom, Cy-prianus ! One soul weighs as much as another in the devilsbalance! With these words Benilo passed through the portals of thechurch and was soon lost to sight among the ruins of theAventine. 90 CHAPTER VIII CASTEL SAN ANGELO. IGHT had spread her pinionsover the ancient capital of theCaesars and deepest silence hadsucceeded the thousand criesand noises of the day. Fewbelated strollers still lingered inthe deserted squares. Under theshadows of the Borgo Vecchioslow moving figures could beseen flitting noiselessly as phan-toms through the marble ruins of antiquity, pausing fora moment under the high unlighted arches, talking in under-tones and vanishing in the night, while the remote swellof monkish chants, monotonous and droning, died on theevanescent breezes. Roimd Castel San Angelo, rising, a giant Mausoleum, vastand sombre out of the solitudes of the Flaminian Way, nightwove a more poetic air of mystery and quiet, and but for thetread of the ever wakeful sentinels on its ramparts, the colossaltomb of the emperor Hadrian would have appeared a desertedMemento Mori of Imperial Rome, the possession of which noone cared to dispute with the shades of the Caesars or theghosts of the mang
Size: 1647px × 1518px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauth, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidcu31924021991967
