Yesterday, U---- and I came
along the Corso, between one and two o'clock, after a walk, and found all
these symptoms of impending merriment multiplied and intensified; . . . .
rows of chairs, set out along the sidewalks, elevated a foot or two by
means of planks; great baskets, full of confetti, for sale in the nooks
and recesses of the streets; bouquets of all qualities and prices. The
Corso was becoming pretty well thronged with people; but, until two
o'clock, nobody dared to fling as much as a rosebud or a handful of
sugar-plums. There was a sort of holiday expression, however, on almost
everybody's face, such as I have not hitherto seen in Rome, or in any
part of Italy; a smile gleaming out, an aurora of mirth, which probably
will not be very exuberant in its noontide. The day was so sunny and
bright that it made this opening scene far more cheerful than any day of
the last year's carnival. As we threaded our way through the Corso,
U---- kept wishing she could plunge into the fun and uproar as J-----
would, and for my own part, though I pretended to take no interest in the
matter, I could have bandied confetti and nosegays as readily and as
riotously as any urchin there.
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