Along the Corso notice-boards
are hung out of balconies to let, but the notices grow mildewed, and the
balconies remain untaken. The carriage-drivers don't pester you, as in
former years, to engage them for the Carnival; and the fancy dresses
exposed in the shop-windows are shabby and few in number. There is no
appearance of unnecessary excitement; but "still waters run deep;" and in
order to restrain any possible exuberance of feeling, on the very night
before the Carnival the French general issues a manifesto. "To prevent
painful occurrences," so run General Guyon's orders, "the officer
commanding each detachment of troops which may have to act against a
crowd, shall himself, or through a police-officer, make it a summons to
disperse. After this warning the crowd must disperse instantly, without
noise or cries, if it does not wish to see force employed." Still no
doubts are entertained of the brilliancy of the Carnival; the Romans (so
at least their rulers say, and who should know them better?) will enjoy
themselves notwithstanding; the Carnival is their great holiday, the one
week of pleasure counted on the long, dull year through, and no power on
earth, still less no abstract consideration, will keep them from the
Corso revels. From old time, all that they have ever cared for are the
_panem et circenses_; and the Carnival gives them both.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141