gaze at the decree and pass
on, shrugging their shoulders listlessly. 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. It is the Roman
harvest-time, when the poor gather in their gleanings. Flower-sellers,
vendors of confetti, hawkers of papers, letters-out of chairs and
benches, itinerant minstrels, perambulating cigar-merchants, pedlars,
beggars, errand-boys, and a hundred other obscure traders, pick up,
heaven knows how! enough in Carnival time to tide them over the dead
summer-season. So both necessity and pleasure, want and luxury, will
combine to swell the crowd; and the pageant will be gay enough for the
Vatican to say that its faithful subjects are loyal and satisfied.

The day opens drearily, chilly, and damp and raw, with a feeble sun
breaking through the lowering clouds; soon after noon the streets begin
to fill with soldiers. Till this year the Corso used to be guarded, and
the files of carriages kept in order, by the Italian pontifical dragoons,
the most warlike-looking of parade regiments I have ever seen. Last
spring, however, when the war broke out, these bold dragoons grew ashamed
of their police dutie