Carnival costumes were there of satin, silk and tinsel; chaplets and garlands of false flowers; locks and wigs of artificial hair, masks painted and gilt; necklets, bracelets and brocade shoes, girdles, ribbons and playing cards; chess-men in ivory, silver and ebony; fans in feathers dyed bright colours; books of profane poems with pictures tinted and gilt; lutes, viols and pipes painted and carved; boxes, bottles and caskets of cosmetics, powders, philtres and charms; statues and busts of pagan gods and goddesses, white marble, veined marble, and time-stained alabaster; mirrors set in copper, gold and silver; toy daggers for ladies with handles of jade, sardonyx and emerald; watches of crystal, of filigree, of enamel; caskets of perfumes; paintings of wanton figures, of beautiful women, of heathen scenes; velvet purses embroidered with armorial bearings; gauntlets stitched thickly with silver thread and pearl; mantles edged with vair and sable; sword-hilts fringed with knotted silk and gold; pins for the hair set with rubies and sapphires; false faces and gaudy finery for the carnival; statues in bronze, in gilt, in silver; enamel cups and drinking-horns bound with a rim of precious stones; cushions of brocade and down; boxes of ointment, of unguents; phials of rare perfumes; caskets of sweetmeats, bags of confetti, dice, parti-coloured playing balls, and many trifling things composed the pile. And with the glimmer of the gems, the shining of the gold and silver, the soft gleam of the rich stuffs, the flash of glass and crystal, the strange fantastic look of mask and carnival garment, it seemed as if the ransom of some monarch of the east, a pasha of Turkey or some potentate of Rhodes or Candy Isle was gathered there. Now an excited and trembling silence of expectancy fell upon the crowd; four of the soldiers of the Signori stepped forward with flaming torches that showed pale and smoky in the daylight, and as Frà Girolamo raised his hand they lit the four corners of the pile, the interior of which was filled with combustibles. As the flames hesitated, crouched, then seized hold and caught their prey, the trumpeters of Florence blew a blast of triumph, the bells broke out from the palace and the people gave free vent to their wild enthusiasm. The Friar did not move nor even lift his eyes to the opulent sacrifice; the thick soft smoke spread sideways in a sudden little gust of wind and half obscured his figure. The people burst out of their ordered ranks; they laughed, shouted, sang their spiritual lauds and crowded about the huge costly bonfire in a press of delirious pleasure; the Piangoni stood near and by the aid of long poles thrust the vanities deeper into the flames and cast back any that had slipped, chanting the while the hymns of Girolamo Benivieni.