olives, the traveller beholds gradually break upon
his gaze the enchanting valley of the Arno, and the spires and domes of
Florence. But not with the traveller's customary eye of admiration and
delight passed that solitary horseman, and not upon the usual activity,
and mirth, and animation of the Tuscan life, broke that noon-day sun.
All was silent, void, and hushed; and even in the light of heaven there
seemed a sicklied and ghastly glare. The cottages by the road-side were
some shut up and closed, some open, but seemingly inmateless. The plough
stood still, the distaff plied not: horse and man had a dreary holiday.
There was a darker curse upon the land than the curse of Cain! Now
and then a single figure, usually clad in the gloomy robe of a friar,
crossed the road, lifting towards the traveller a livid and amazed
stare, and then hurried on, and vanished beneath some roof, whence
issued a faint and dying moan, which but for the exceeding stillness
around could scarcely have pierced the threshold. As the traveller
neared the city, the scene became less solitary, yet more dread. There
might be seen carts and litters, thick awnings wrapped closely round
them, containing those who sought safety in flight, forgetful that the
Plague was everywhere! And while these gloomy vehicles, conducted by
horses, gaunt, shadowy skeletons, crawling heavily along, passed by,
like hearses of the dead, sometimes a cry burst the silence in which
they moved, and the traveller's steed started aside, as some wretch, on
whom the disease had broke forth, was dropped from the vehicle by the
selfish inhumanity of his comrades, and left to perish by the way.
Hard by the gate a waggon paused, and a man with a mask threw out its
contents in a green slimy ditch that bordered the road. These were
garments and robes of all kind and value; the broidered mantle of the
gallant, the hood and veil of my lady, and the rags of the peasant.
While glancing at the labour of the masker, the cavalier beheld a herd
of swine, gaunt and half famished, run to the spot in the hopes of
food, and the traveller shuddered to think what food they might have
anticipated! But ere he reached the gate, those of the animals that had
been busiest rooting at the infectious heap, dropped down dead amongst
their fellows. (The same spectacle greeted, and is recorded by,
Boccaccio.)

"Ho, ho," said the masker, and his hollow voice sounded yet more hollow
through his vizard,--"comest t