THE LAST DAY OF THE CARNIVAL
Tuesday, 21st.
What a sad scene was that we witnessed to-day at the procession of the masks! It ended well; but it might have resulted in a great misfortune.
In the San Carlo Square, all decorated with red, white, and yellow festoons, a vast multitude had assembled; masks of every hue were flitting about; cars, gilded and adorned, in the shape of pavilions; little theatres, barks filled with clowns, warriors, cooks, sailors, and shepherdesses. There was such a confusion that one knew not where to look: a tremendous clash of trumpets, horns, and cymbals tore the ears; and the masks on the chariots drank and sang, as they addressed the people in the streets and at the windows, who retorted at the top of their lungs, and hurled oranges and sugar-plums at each other vigorously. Above the chariots and the throng, as far as the eye could reach, one could see banners fluttering, helmets gleaming, plumes waving, gigantic pasteboard heads moving, huge head-dresses, enormous trumpets, fantastic arms, little drums, castanets, red caps, and bottles;—all the world seemed to have gone mad.
When our carriage entered the square, a magnificent chariot was driving in front of us, drawn by four horses covered with trappings embroidered in gold, and wreathed in artificial roses, upon which there were fourteen or fifteen gentlemen masquerading as noblemen at the court of France, each aglitter with silk, with a huge, white wig, a plumed hat, a small-sword
