Murietta slept long and well, and arose late. The sun was sifting through the cracks in the closed shutters, and spilling in long bars as bright as gold over the carpets and the red bricks on the further floor.
He swung open the window, and looked out toward and over the Palatine Hill. The levelled old citadel was red with roses and flowers. The ait was filled with odours from the opening buds and blossoms of spring. It was as if summer had come while he slept, and sat down in Rome to remain.
The air was so soft, and rich, and sweet, that you could fairly feed upon it, and be glad and satisfied. The day was perfect as love.
Away to the west some clouds as white as the Alpine top to where they tended were drawing into shore across the sea from Africa, and stretching out in long still columns across the blue untroubled sky as if they were bringing oil and spices across some desert, like merchants of the olden time.
The artist was glad and light of heart in spite of himself. A bird was calling from a cypress tree above his window, and he answered back and then shouted to the boys below, who holloaed in return, and bade him come forth and enjoy the Carnival in Rome.
On the rocky and ugly steps, a little way below, and just underneath the little image of the Madonna with the perpetual lamp at her feet, was a little level spot barely broad enough for two persons to turn around in. Four beautiful brown girls were dancing there, and throwing their arms loose from their loosened robes, and laughing and tossing back their glory of hair, and showing their pearly teeth, as they kept time to the tambourine, which a gallant troubadour in a brigand's hat and feather beat and jingled as he sat on a wall above them, with his sandalled feet dangling down in the sun.
An old woman hobbled by in a mask with a cat on her shoulder; a man shouted out his wares, and rattled a bell, and danced as he did so, and made a very awkard combination of pleasure and business.
It was evident that it was Carnival time in Rome. The spirit of revelry and mirth had reached even these miserable people in this miserable part of the city, and the artist was all curiosity to see what it might now be in the Corso, the great heart vein and artery of the city.
Looking out on the blossoming hills, breathing this soft sweet air that had blown in across the sea from Africa, seeing the mirth and merry-making about him, Murietta could very well understand how that away back on the far dim edge of Time, in the world's beginning, the wild people of the Campagna and the Sabine Hills on this day rose up in a body, and beat drums, and sang, and danced with delight under the cork trees on the sunny hill side, and thus laid the cornerstone for the Carnival of the Christians.
It seemed impossible that any one should be sad, or even be silent, and refuse to give thanks and be. glad in this morning of sudden summer.
The artist hastily drank his coffee, threw his great cloak over one shoulder, as is the custom of Latin countries, and let it swing to the ground. He brushed back his long yellow hair, then went up to the little lookng-glass and arranged his brown moustache in a gallant and becoming twirl. What a wonderful elasticity there is in the air of a full-blown and sudden spring!
The cock that has been careless half a season with his feathers, now mounts his dunghill, and plumes himself in the sun, and challenges the admiration of the world. The wildest beast in the forest at such a time smooths down his hairy coat, and conemplates his visage in the water when he drinks in the sun.
The peasants had been pouring in from the Campagna through the gate of Saint Paul since dawn; many of them had fowls in baskets, fruits in leaves and grass, early vegetables, and dried meats to sell to the multitudes of the old Jew quarter of the city.
Every inch of the streets seemed occupied. And yet you could make your way with but little trouble. On one side of the street the stream poured in one direction, while on the other side it poured in the other, so that you had only to fall in on the proper side, and you would be borne along whether you willed it or no, almost as fast as your legs could follow.
Omnibuses, asses, carriages, footmen, and footwomen; beggars and men in masks; princes coming to see the poor in the Jew quarter, and the poor of the Jew quarter on their way to the Corso to see the princes. What a medley it was, and what a tumult!
Every man laughed and every woman smiled. Women trod on men's corns, and men chucked women under the chin, but no one cried out or complained in the least, for no one is allowed to get angry in Carnival.
Besides that, it is considered a bad omen. The tradition and prophecy among the peasants is to the effect that the man who is angry in Carnival will die before the end of the year, and the woman who is cross shall have no children.
At last, borne along with, and almost on, this strong stream of happy people, the artist reached the Piazza of the Twelve Apostles. It was nearly twelve o'clock by the sundial on the palace of the Colonnas.
At twelve o'clock he had promised to be with the countess. But then he had proised himself last night that he would see her no more. He stopped and began to consider. In the one case he had made a promise to another, to a woman. But then he had made that promise hastily and without reflection. In the other case he had made the promise only to himself. But then this promise he had made with due deliberation, and he even now was certain that it was right and wisely made, and should be manfully kept.
But then, to break a promise with a lady! The long thin shadow on the sundial was drawing sharp and close upon the last minute.
"Let me see," said Murietta, pushing back his hat and pulling at his moustache with the air of a man who is greatly perplexed. "If I go I shall be no better off, but posibly a great deal worse; and besides, I shall have broken a promise with myself. If I do not go I shall at all events have a pleasant day of it, shall be safe and secure, and shall have-" he pulled at his moustache very venomously and as if getting excited "and shall have broken — a — promise — with — a — lady."
He said this slowly and in links, as if to hear the full indignity of it.
The dial showed that he stood on the very brink of twelve o'clock.
"If I do not go?" Then suddenly he started, gathered up his cloak, and said, almost as if he had been speaking to the crowd that poured past and around him "What have I been doing? I have been thinking only of myself. I have only been thinking what good or what ill, what pleaure or displeasure will happen to myself if I go or do not go with this beautiful lady who has so kindly offered me a seat at her side to see the Carnival. Well then, what will happen to her if I go? she will probably enjoy the drive and the scene. At all events she will have what she asked and what I promised. And if I do not go? Then she will wait and wait, and be disappointed and displeased, and perhaps not go out at all, and may miss the whole scene which all Rome has been looking forward to with such intense interest and concern."
He did not stand there to finish the senence. The long thin shadow on the high white wall was lying flat and straight on the line of the meridian.
He passed through the people, laid hold of men and women as if pulling his way up a stream, and in a little time he lifted his hat and threw back his cloak before the beautiful countess, who sat, arrayed in pink and rose, awaiting him in her carriage in the court of her palace.
She did not speak. She only smiled, and with a little, lovely hand drew her pink robes closer to her side as Marietta mounted and took his place there without a word.
Little Sunshine, who had been watching the doves that flew and fluttered and cooed about the court as if having a little Carival of their own, now lifted his eyes to his mother's. His mother smiled, he pulled a string which seemed as it might have been one of the heart-strings of the man on the box, and then the man on the box elbowed the great, fat, senatorial looking Roman who held the reins, and the carriage rumbled out and over the stones of Rome, through the Porta Populo toward the Ponte Malo.
What crowds of people! What good natured peasants, and what gallant princes and gentlemen on horseback! What handsome lady like soldiers in gorgeous uniforms, and what manly looking women from the foothills of the Alps, with their brown faces and their braided hair; fit mothers of Romans when Rome was Rome.
How these peasants huddled together and kept in groups by themselves! The Italian seems to fear no one half so much as he does the Italian. Perhaps it is because of their old feuds that went on for ages. Perhaps it is because he knows him best.
Both sides of the turbid, yellow Tiber were lined above the bridge for miles by people, mostly peasants, each party or band from each particular village or district keeping close together, looking eagerly up the river, waiting for the great gold barges with silver oars that were to bear Saturn and King Pasquino down the Tiber to the golden chariot that stood there with its ten white oxen waiting to drive them and their suite to the city of Rome.
By begging the peasants, bantering the maskers and gentlemen, and bribing the policemen, Murietta managed to get the carriage driven to the very keystone of the bridge. Here, drawn to one side, they waited the descent of Saturn, who was to bring from his winter palace of ice in the Alps the authority of the gods to King Pasquino the Second to open the Carnival in Rome.
About two o'clock puffs of smoke were seen to rise from away up the crooked Tiber, and as the barges turned a point and hove in sight, the cannon on the banks of the Tiber boomed, the bands played martial airs, and the people threw their hats in the air and shouted and danced and danced and shouted with wild exciteent and delight.
At first, and when far off, the effect was beautiful. All banners of all nations floated in the summer wind that blew up the Tiber as if to welcome them, and the barges glistened in the sun as if they were sheeted in gold.
As they drew near, however, you began to see that these barges were only ugly old flat boats used for carrying stores and wood down the river, and that the gold was only brass-foil, which was now breakng away and blowing and floating off as they eddied about in the swift stream and struck the sandy shore and attempted in vain to land.
The people shouted and laughed, the canon boomed no more, the musicians threw their instruments up above their heads and screamed with excitement, as Saturn stood there in his tinsel and paper crown, helpless, and half afraid of being overturned and drowned in the Tiber.
At last a rope was reached and made fast to the shore. The great gold barge was tied up, a plank was slipped down the steep bank, and the god, sceptre in hand, attempted to walk to land, but stumbled and fell, and lost his crown in the attempt.
The rabble fumed and hissed again. The musicians broke off in the middle of a triumphal march, and again flashed their bright instruments in the sun above their heads.
Somehow Saturn clambered up again, and his crown was fished out of the river, and soiled and dripping was restored once more to his head; but he seemed to have hurt himself in the fall, for they had to help him to his high place in the centre of the Four Seasons on the top of the great golden car, which was made out of brassoil and wall paper and very weak and rickety timber.
There were four bronze lions set at the comers of this car, and a handsome bodyuard of boys dressed as Amazons kept guard about the sacred person of Saturn as he sat there with his flowing beard and battered paper crown in the centre of the Four Seasons.
This great car was to be followed by King Pasquino the Second; who, in acknowedgment of the authority of Saturn, was to come after him in a less gorgeous, but fortunately more substantial conveyance. The king was drawn by asses.
All being ready, and the monarchs being seated with their crowns firmly fixed, the cannon boomed again, the musicians began their march, and the ten white oxen, each led by a Roman in the old days of the first CaBsar, began to move, and the procession of a dozen cars, each bearing some imporant personage supposed to be connected with the opening of the Carnival, was on its way to the walls of Rome.
The Four Seasons scattered flowers and fruit and bread and nuts to the thousands who stood on either side the long dusty road that reached to the gate of the city.
The king Pasquino had announced that the good guardian angel who stood at the back of his throne, on his high car, would scatter money in vast quantities to the people who followed his car and his fortunes on the triumphal march to the city.
But the good guardian angel seemed to get sea-sick as the rickety car rocked from side to side and threatened to upset, and after a few seconds she sat down quite out of sight, and a man in the crowd shouted out that she was putting the money up her sleeve.
The good-natured officers of the day asisted the carriages to turn and fall in line behind the slow and ludicrous procession, headed by the ten white oxen; and Murietta and the countess in pink and rose were on their way back to Rome.
All day she had been silent: perhaps she had not said ten words. There was a sort of audacity and indifference in this that puzzled him; yet it pleased him above everything else. Nothing would have interested him so much as this. Had she talked with the wit of a clown or the wisdom of a sage he had grown weary of her: as it was, he was more interested than ever. She had promised revelations; but now that she had an opportunity to reveal, she was as silent as if she had been marble.
The procession moved but slowly. The Carnival was growing monotonous. At last one of the bronze lions at the corner of Saturn's car fell to the ground. The dreadul beast had only been made of hair and plaster, and as this had not yet been thoroughly dried, he could not stand on his feet for all the day, and so broke quite down and tumbled off to the ground and was broken in bits as he fell.
This stopped the procession for a time, and carriages were allowed to pass on.
Our little party availed itself of this opportunity, and shot by and took up posiion among the tens of thousands who stood in the great plaza of the people just inside the walls of Rome, waiting for the great procession.
The fountains played and sparkled in the sun. Banners floated from a thousand house tops and towers, and all the Corso was one perfect flower-bank of flags and scarfs and ensigns and banners brought from every land, and now let loose to float and flutter from the windows and balconies of those who had been fortunate enough to secure places in this one favoured street of Rome.
At last the procession came to the gates, demanded the keys, received them, and atempted to enter. But alas! for the calculations of the Italian architect who had constructed the car! The flagstaff of Saturn struck against the lofty arch of the great gate, and stuck there and stopped the procession just when it began to assume an air of solemnity and importance.
At this critical period, one of the Four Seasons somehow got hold of an axe, and, climbing up, cut down the flagstaff and lowered the banner, and let the procession pass on, as she resumed her seat, and began solemnly to scatter roasted chestnuts to the ragged children about the wheels of the car.
Here the procession formed anew, and redoubled its force and importance. A great pasteboard elephant — representing the one division of the world — led off after the car of Saturn and the king, and this was folowed by an enormous hump backed camel, made also of pasteboard for this occasion only, and drawn on wheels, with a Turk or Arab in a turban sitting on his back, leisurely smoking his pipe. Europe came next as an ox, and America fell in line in the form of a buffalo.
How happy were the people of Rome! — this race of children! Old men were merry as boys in a hayfield; and old women made eyes at men as if they were young again, and were once more belles and queens of the Corso in the good old times when the kings came to masquerade and take part in the Carnivals of the Holy Father.
The procession had wound like a long serpent from the broad square, and down its length through the Corso. The king had proclaimed the Carnival begun in Rome; and the people were running by on foot and in crowds throwing confetti and riding by on horses with bags of the vile stuff at their sides and saddle-bows; and parties in carriages behind with masks, with basketsful before them, were driving by like mad. and throwing confetti right and left on every one in reach.
The countess endured this for some time, and little Sunshine laughed at this strange diversion of this childish people.
At last she said, "We will drive home." and drove up by the way of the Pincian Hill to escape the crowd and confetti.
"And you do not like the Carnival?" said Murietta, looking inquiringly at her.
"Not this throwing of dirt! Mercy! That people should find diversion in throwng dirt!"
"But," laughed Murietta"there are people who spend their time in throwing dirt. Perhaps this is an open illustration of life."
"Well, I do not like it, whatever it may mean. I see but two parties here: one to throw the dirt, the other to receive it. If this is one of the good things that the old popes brought in use for Italy, why then I pity Italy and am ashamed for the popes."
The sun was setting behind St. Peter's, and the air was falling damp and chill as they climbed the hill amid a stream of carriages pouring up and down, and Muietta did not answer, but gathered his cloak about him and began to look at the fair as they flew past.
Suddenly a carriage, with two black men on the box, having two ladies, came dashng down the hill and passed our party.
Murietta threw up his hands to his face, pushed back his hat, and almost rose from his seat. It was Annette, the One Fair Woman.
Start reading Chapter 25 ofThe One Fair Lady