I Found In Overwhelming Majority The
Numbered Victorias, Which Pass For Cabs In Rome, Full Of Decent
Tourists, Together With A Great Variety Of People On Foot, But Not Much
Fashion And No Swells That My Snobbish Soul Could Be Sure Of.
There was,
indeed, one fine moment when, at a retired point of the drive, I saw two
private carriages
Drawn up side by side in their encounter, with two
stout old ladies, whom I decided to be dowager countesses at the least,
partially projected from their opposing windows and lost in a delightful
exchange, as I hoped, of scandal. But the only other impressive
personality was that of an elderly, obviously American gentleman, in the
solitary silk hat and long frock-coat of the scene. There were other
Americans, but none so formal; the English were in all degrees of
informality down to tan shoes and at least one travelling-cap. The
women's dress, whether they were on foot or in cabs, was not striking,
though more than half of them were foreigners and could easily have
afforded to outdress the Italians, especially the work people, though
these were there in their best.
There was a band-stand in the space first reached by the promenaders,
and there ought clearly to have been a band, but I was convinced that
there was to be none by a brief colloquy between one of the cab-drivers
(doubtless goaded to it by his fair freight) and the gentlest of Roman
policemen, whose response was given in accents of hopeful compassion:
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