Carriages Coming Slowly By, With Everybody
Standing On The Seats Or On The Box, Holding Up Their Lights At
Arms'
Length, for greater safety; some in paper shades; some with a
bunch of undefended little tapers, kindled altogether; some with
Blazing torches; some with feeble little candles; men on foot,
creeping along, among the wheels, watching their opportunity, to
make a spring at some particular light, and dash it out; other
people climbing up into carriages, to get hold of them by main
force; others, chasing some unlucky wanderer, round and round his
own coach, to blow out the light he has begged or stolen somewhere,
before he can ascend to his own company, and enable them to light
their extinguished tapers; others, with their hats off, at a
carriage-door, humbly beseeching some kind-hearted lady to oblige
them with a light for a cigar, and when she is in the fulness of
doubt whether to comply or no, blowing out the candle she is
guarding so tenderly with her little hand; other people at the
windows, fishing for candles with lines and hooks, or letting down
long willow-wands with handkerchiefs at the end, and flapping them
out, dexterously, when the bearer is at the height of his triumph,
others, biding their time in corners, with immense extinguishers
like halberds, and suddenly coming down upon glorious torches;
others, gathered round one coach, and sticking to it; others,
raining oranges and nosegays at an obdurate little lantern, or
regularly storming a pyramid of men, holding up one man among them,
who carries one feeble little wick above his head, with which he
defies them all! Senza Moccolo! Senza Moccolo! Beautiful women,
standing up in coaches, pointing in derision at extinguished
lights, and clapping their hands, as they pass on, crying, 'Senza
Moccolo! Senza Moccolo!'; low balconies full of lovely faces and
gay dresses, struggling with assailants in the streets; some
repressing them as they climb up, some bending down, some leaning
over, some shrinking back--delicate arms and bosoms--graceful
figures--glowing lights, fluttering dresses, Senza Moccolo, Senza
Moccoli, Senza Moc-co-lo-o-o-o!--when in the wildest enthusiasm of
the cry, and fullest ecstasy of the sport, the Ave Maria rings from
the church steeples, and the Carnival is over in an instant--put
out like a taper, with a breath!
There was a masquerade at the theatre at night, as dull and
senseless as a London one, and only remarkable for the summary way
in which the house was cleared at eleven o'clock: which was done
by a line of soldiers forming along the wall, at the back of the
stage, and sweeping the whole company out before them, like a broad
broom. The game of the Moccoletti (the word, in the singular,
Moccoletto, is the diminutive of Moccolo, and means a little lamp
or candlesnuff) is supposed by some to be a ceremony of burlesque
mourning for the death of the Carnival: candles being
indispensable to Catholic grief.
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