Chapter 6.II.  The Seeker.

It was a bright, oppressive, sultry morning, when a solitary horseman was seen winding that unequalled road, from whose height, amidst figtrees, vines, and 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 thou here to die, stranger?  See, thy brave mantle of triple-pile and golden broidery will not save thee from the gavocciolo. (The tumour that made the fatal symptom.) Ride on, ride on;—­today fit morsel for thy lady’s kiss, tomorrow too foul for the rat and worm!”