As soon as the patrol had passed, the crowd retreated into
the cafes or the back-streets, and in half-an-hour the Corso was as empty
as usual, and was left to the _sbirri_, who passed up and down slowly and
silently. Even in the small side-streets, which lead from the Corso to
the English quarters, I met knots of the Papal police accompanied by
French soldiers, and the suspicious scrutinizing glance they cast upon
you as you passed showed clearly enough they were out on business.
18 February.
The present has been a week of demonstrations, both Papal and anti-Papal.
Last Thursday was the Giovedi Grasso, the great people's day of the
carnival. In other years, from an early hour in the afternoon, there is
a constant stream of carriages and foot-passengers setting from all parts
of Rome towards the Corso. The back-streets and the ordinary promenades
are almost deserted. The delight of the Romans in the carnival is so
notorious, that persons long resident in Rome possessed the strongest
conviction beforehand, that no human power could ever keep the natives
from the Corso upon Thursday. The day, unlike its predecessors, was
brilliantly bright. The Corso was decked out as gaily as hangings and
awnings could make it. The sellers of bouquets and "confetti" were at
their posts. A number of carriages were sent down filled with adherents
of the Government, dressed in carnival attire, to act as decoy-ducks.
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