English fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Italy -- History -- 476-774 -- Fiction
To this he paid little heed; it might have significance, it might have
none. If the morning sustained his hope, he would be able to resist the
temptation of the afternoon. So he cherished Silvia's letter, and flung
Heliodora's contemptuously aside.
Reaching Gordian's house next morning a little before the appointed
hour, he found the members of the family and one or two guests
assembled in a circular room, with a dome pierced to admit light:
marble seats, covered with cushions, rose amphitheatre-wise on one half
of the circle, and opposite was a chair for the reader. In this hall
Sidonius Apollinaris had declaimed his panegyric on the Emperor Avitus;
here the noble Boethius had been heard, and, in earlier days, the poet
Claudian. Beside Silvia stood her husband's two sisters, Tarsilla and
Aemiliana, both of whom, it had begun to be rumoured, though still in
the flower of their youth, desired to enter the monastic life. At the
younger, who was beautiful, Basil glanced diffidently, remembering that
she might have been his wife; but Aemiliana knew nothing of the thought
her brother had entertained, and her eyes were calm as those of a
little child. When other guests appeared, Basil drew aside, for most of
the persons who entered were strangers to him. Ecclesiastics grew
numerous; among them might be distinguished a tall, meagre, bald-headed
man, the sub-deacon Arator, who held in his hand the manuscript from
which he was to read. Among the latest to arrive was a lady, stricken
in years and bowed with much grief, upon whom all eyes were
respectfully bent as Gordian conducted her to a place of honour. This
was Rusticiana, the daughter of Symmachus, the widow of Boethius. When
Basil looked at her, and thought of the anguish through which her life
had passed in that gloomy evening of the reign of Theodoric, he felt
himself for a moment at one with those who rejected and scorned the
Gothic dominion. A great unhappiness flooded his heart and mind; he
forgot what was passing about him, and only returned to himself when
there sounded the voice of the reader.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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