hereupon the monkey leaped on to the head of a tall woman in
the foreground, dropping his taper by the way, and chattering with
increased emphasis from that eminence. Great was the screaming and
confusion, not a few of the spectators having a vague dread of the
Maestro's monkey, as capable of more hidden mischief than mere teeth and
claws could inflict; and the conjuror himself was in some alarm lest any
harm should happen to his familiar. In the scuffle to seize the
monkey's string, Tito got out of the circle, and, not caring to contend
for his place again, he allowed himself to be gradually pushed towards
the church of the Nunziata, and to enter amongst the worshippers.

The brilliant illumination within seemed to press upon his eyes with
palpable force after the pale scattered lights and broad shadows of the
piazza, and for the first minute or two he could see nothing distinctly.
That yellow splendour was in itself something supernatural and heavenly
to many of the peasant-women, for whom half the sky was hidden by
mountains, and who went to bed in the twilight; and the uninterrupted
chant from the choir was repose to the ear after the hellish hubbub of
the crowd outside. Gradually the scene became clearer, though still
there was a thin yellow haze from incense mingling with the breath of
the multitude. In a chapel on the left-hand of the nave, wreathed with
silver lamps, was seen unveiled the miraculous fresco of the
Annunciation, which, in Tito's oblique view of it from the right-hand
side of the nave, seemed dark with the excess of light around it. The
whole area of the great church was filled with peasant-women, some
kneeling, some standing; the coarse bronzed skins, and the dingy
clothing of the rougher dwellers on the mountains, contrasting with the
softer-lined faces and white or red head-drapery of the well-to-do
dwellers in the valley, who were scattered in irregular groups. And
spreading high and far over the walls and ceiling there was another
multitude, also pressing close against each other, that they might be
nearer the potent Virgin. It was the crowd of votive waxen images, the
effigies of great personages, clothed in their habit as they lived:
Florentines of high name in their black silk lucco, as when they sat in
council; popes, emperors, kings, cardinals, and famous condottieri with
plumed morion seated on their chargers; all notable strangers who passed
through Florence or had aught to do wit