It
commenced last Wednesday and finished yesterday. Mr. Saumares, of the
English Embassy, had taken a balcony just opposite the Palazzo Fiano,
where the Queen always goes. He invited us for the whole week, and when
we were not in the fray ourselves, we went there at five o'clock to
take tea and to see the _corso di barbeir_ (the race of the wild
horses). The first day of the carnival we were full of energy and
eagerness. We were all in our shabbiest clothes, as this is the
customary thing. The coachman and the valet also had their worst
clothes on, which is saying a good deal, and the horses were even worse
than usual, which is saying a good deal more. The carriages were filled
to overflowing with flowers, bonbons, and confetti by the bushel. Our
servant, Giuseppe, had been since early morning bargaining for the
things, and after tucking us in the carriage he contemplated us with
pride as we drove off.

We started from the Piazzo del Popolo at three o'clock, and pelted
every one, exhausting our ammunition recklessly. Dirty little
beggar-boys would jump on the step of the carriage and snatch what
flowers they could, even out of our hands, and would then sell them
back to us, scrambling for the soldi which we threw at them; and, what
was worse, they picked the same bouquets up, which by this time had
become mere stems without flowers and covered with mud, and threw them
at us. They wanted their fun, too.

At five o'clock we stood on the balcony to watch the race of the wild
horses. These are brought straight in from the country, quite wild and
untamed. They are covered with all sorts of dangling pointed tin things
and fire-crackers, which not only frighten them dreadfully, but hurt
them. They started at the Piazza del Popolo and were hooted and goaded
on by the excited screams of the populace all the way down the narrow
_Corso_, which is a mile long. It is a wonder that the poor creatures
in their fright did not dart into the howling crowd, but they did not.
They kept straight on their way, stung to desperation by the fireworks
on their backs. At the Piazza di Venezia the street narrows into a very
small passage, which divides the palazzo from its neighbor opposite.
Here sheets (or, rather, sails) were hung across this narrow place,
into which the horses, blinded with terror, puzzled and confused, ran
headlong, and were easily caught. The one who gets there first gets the
prize, and is led back through the streets, tire