But If The Scene Be Bright, And Gay, And Crowded, On The Last Day
But One, It Attains, On The Concluding Day, To Such A Height Of
Glittering Colour, Swarming Life, And Frolicsome Uproar, That The
Bare Recollection Of It Makes Me Giddy At This Moment.
The same
diversions, greatly heightened and intensified in the ardour with
which they are pursued, go on until the same hour.
The race is
repeated; the cannon are fired; the shouting and clapping of hands
are renewed; the cannon are fired again; the race is over; and the
prizes are won. But the carriages: ankle-deep with sugar-plums
within, and so be-flowered and dusty without, as to be hardly
recognisable for the same vehicles that they were, three hours ago:
instead of scampering off in all directions, throng into the Corso,
where they are soon wedged together in a scarcely moving mass. For
the diversion of the Moccoletti, the last gay madness of the
Carnival, is now at hand; and sellers of little tapers like what
are called Christmas candles in England, are shouting lustily on
every side, 'Moccoli, Moccoli! Ecco Moccoli!'--a new item in the
tumult; quite abolishing that other item of ' Ecco Fiori! Ecco
Fior-r-r!' which has been making itself audible over all the rest,
at intervals, the whole day through.
As the bright hangings and dresses are all fading into one dull,
heavy, uniform colour in the decline of the day, lights begin
flashing, here and there:
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