e archway garden across the road, on which was planted a group of
tall pine-trees, rising in gigantic relief against the transparent sky;
the brilliant light streaming across the pavement from Vetranio's
gaily-curtained windows, immediately opposed by the tranquil moonlight
which lit the more distant view--formed altogether a prospect in which
the natural and the artificial were mingled together in the most
exquisite proportions--a prospect whose ineffable poetry and beauty
might, on any other night, have charmed the most careless eye and
exalted the most frivolous mind. But now, overspread as it was by
groups of people gaunt with famine and hideous with disease; startled
as it was, at gloomy intervals, by contending cries of supplication,
defiance, and despair--its brightest beauties of Nature and Art
appeared but to shine with an aspect of bitter mockery around the human
misery which their splendour disclosed.

Upwards of a hundred people--mostly of the lowest orders--were
congregated before the senator's devoted dwelling. Some few among them
passed slowly to and fro in the street, their figures gliding shadowy
and solemn through the light around them; but the greater number lay on
the pavement before the wall of Numerian's dwelling and the doorways of
the lofty houses by its side. Illuminated by the full glare of the
light from the palace windows, these groups, huddled together in the
distorted attitudes of suffering and despair, assumed a fearful and
unearthly appearance. Their shrivelled faces, their tattered clothing,
their wan forms, here prostrate, there half-raised, were bathed in a
steady red glow. High above them, at the windows of the tall houses,
now tenanted in every floor by the dead, appeared a few figures (the
mercenary guardians of the dying within) bending forward to look out
upon the palace opposite--their haggard faces showing pale in the clear
moonlight. Sometimes their voices were heard calling in mockery to the
mass of people below to break down the strong steel gates of the
palace, and tear the full wine-cup from its master's lips. Sometimes
those beneath replied with execrations, which rose wildly mingled with
the wailing of women and children, the moans of the plague-stricken,
and the supplications of the famished to the slaves passing backwards
and forwards behind the palace railings for charity and help.

In the intervals, when the tumult of weak voices was partially lulled,
there wa