s filled with astonishment. The long
narrow street again stretched before him as far as the white dazzling
Piazza del Popolo, the only difference being that the right-hand houses
were now steeped in sunshine, whilst those on the left were black with
shadow. What! was that the Corso then, that semi-obscure trench, close
pressed by high and heavy house-fronts, that mean roadway where three
vehicles could scarcely pass abreast, and which serried shops lined with
gaudy displays? There was neither space, nor far horizon, nor refreshing
greenery such as the fashionable drives of Paris could boast! Nothing but
jostling, crowding, and stifling on the little footways under the narrow
strip of sky. And although Dario named the pompous and historical
palaces, Bonaparte, Doria, Odescalchi, Sciarra, and Chigi; although he
pointed out the column of Marcus Aurelius on the Piazza Colonna, the most
lively square of the whole city with its everlasting throng of lounging,
gazing, chattering people; although, all the way to the Piazza del
Popolo, he never ceased calling attention to churches, houses, and
side-streets, notably the Via dei Condotti, at the far end of which the
Trinity de' Monti, all golden in the glory of the sinking sun, appeared
above that famous flight of steps, the triumphal Scala di Spagna--Pierre
still and ever retained the impression of disillusion which the narrow,
airless thoroughfare had conveyed to him: the "palaces" looked to him
like mournful hospitals or barracks, the Piazza Colonna suffered terribly
from a lack of trees, and the Trinity de' Monti alone took his fancy by
its distant radiance of fairyland.

But it was necessary to come back from the Piazza del Popolo to the
Piazza di Venezia, then return to the former square, and come back yet
again, following the entire Corso three and four times without wearying.
The delighted Dario showed himself and looked about him, exchanging
salutations. On either footway was a compact crowd of promenaders whose
eyes roamed over the equipages and whose hands could have shaken those of
the carriage folks. So great at last became the number of vehicles that
both lines were absolutely unbroken, crowded to such a point that the
coachmen could do no more than walk their horses. Perpetually going up
and coming down the Corso, people scrutinised and jostled one another. It
was open-air promiscuity, all Rome gathered together in the smallest
possible space, the folks who knew one