Stelio Effrena had asked of the widow of Richard Wagner that the two young Italian men that had carried the unconscious hero from the vessel to the shore that night in November, with four of their friends, might have granted to them the honor of bearing the coffin from the death-chamber to the boat and from the boat to the hearse. This request was granted.
It was the sixteenth of February, at one o'clock in the afternoon. Stelio Effrena, Daniele Glauro, Francesco de Lizo, Baldassare Stampa, Fabio Molza, and Antimo della Bella waited in the hall of the palace. The latter had come from Rome, bringing with him the artisans engaged in the building of the Theater of Apollo, that they might bear at the funeral ceremony bunches of laurel gathered on the Janiculum.
They waited in silence, without even looking at one another, each overcome by the throbbing of his own heart. Nothing was heard save a faint dropping of water on the steps before the great door, where, on the candelabra at the doorposts appeared the two words: DOMUS PACIS.
The boatman, who had been dear to the hero, came to call them. In that rough yet faithful face, the eyes showed that the lids were burned by weeping.
Stelio Effrena advanced first, followed by his companions. After ascending the stairs, they entered a low-studded, darkened room, filled with the melancholy odor of flowers and fluids. They paused there a few minutes. A door opened. They passed through the doorway one by one into the next room. Each turned pale as he entered.
The body was there, enclosed in its crystal coffin, and beside it stood the woman with the face of snowy pallor. The second coffin, of polished metal, stood shining on the floor.
The six bearers ranged themselves about the coffin, awaiting a sign. The silence was profound, and no one moved; but an impetuous sadness shook each soul like a tempest of wind.
Each gazed on the elect of Life and of Death. An infinite smile illumined the face of the hero lying there—infinite and distant as the glint of a glacier, as the sparkle of the sea, as the halo of the star. Their eyes could not bear to look long at it, but their hearts, with an awe-struck fear that made them religious, felt as if they had the revelation of a divine secret.
The woman with the snow-white face made a slight movement, yet preserved the same attitude, rigid as a statue.
Then the six friends approached the body, extended their arms, summoned up their strength. Stelio Effrena took his place at the head and Daniele Glauro took his at the feet, as on that day in November. The young men lifted their burden with one movement, at a low-spoken word from the leader. The eyes of each were dazzled, as if a sudden ray of sunlight had pierced the crystal. Baldassare Stampa broke into sobs. The same knot was in each throat. The coffin swayed, then it was lowered into its metal covering, which enveloped it like a suit of armor.