A Little Later The Bell Of The
Small Chapel Opposite To My Window Rings Furiously For A Quarter Of An
Hour, And Then I Hear Mass Chanted In A Deep Strong Nasal Tone.
As the day
advances, the English, in white hats and white pantaloons, come out of
their lodgings, accompanied sometimes by their hale and square-built
spouses, and saunter stiffly along the Arno, or take their way to the
public galleries and museums.
Their massive, clean, and brightly-polished
carriages also begin to rattle through the streets, setting out on
excursions to some part of the environs of Florence - to Fiesole, to the
Pratolino, to the Bello Sguardo, to the Poggio Imperiale. Sights of a
different kind now present themselves. Sometimes it is a troop of stout
Franciscan friars, in sandals and brown robes, each carrying his staff and
wearing a brown broad-brimmed hat with a hemispherical crown. Sometimes it
is a band of young theological students, in purple cassocks with red
collars and cuffs, let out on a holiday, attended by their clerical
instructors, to ramble in the Cascine. There is a priest coming over the
bridge, a man of venerable age and great reputation for sanctity - the
common people crowd around him to kiss his hand, and obtain a kind word
from him as he passes. But what is that procession of men in black gowns,
black gaiters, and black masks, moving swiftly along, and bearing on their
shoulders a litter covered with black cloth?
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 26 of 396
Words from 6918 to 7167
of 107287
