ich they are about to
obtain themselves without the guidance of man. This impatience of the
horses and the shouts of the grooms at the moment when the barrier
falls, produce a fine dramatic effect. The horses start, the grooms cry
"Stand back! Stand back!" with inexpressible transport. They accompany
the horses with their voice and gestures till they are out of sight. The
horses seem inspired with the same emulation as men. The pavement
sparkles beneath their feet; their manes fly in the air, and their
desire, thus left to their own efforts, of winning the prize is such,
that there have been some who, on arriving at the goal, have died from
the swiftness with which they have run. It is astonishing to see these
freed horses thus animated with personal passions; it almost induces a
belief that thought exists beneath this animal form. The crowd break
their ranks when the horses are gone by, and follow them in disorder.
They reach the Venetian palace which serves for the goal. Never was
anything like the cries of the grooms whose horses are victors. He who
had gained the first prize, threw himself on his knees before his
horse[29], and thanked him, recommending him to the protection of St
Anthony, the patron of animals, with an enthusiasm as serious as it was
comic to the spectators.

It is generally the close of day when the races finish. Then commences
another kind of amusement, much less picturesque, but also very noisy.
The windows are illuminated. The guards abandon their post to mix in the
general joy[30]. Each one then takes a little torch called a _moccolo_,
and they seek mutually to extinguish each other's light, repeating the
word _ammazzare_ (kill) with a formidable vivacity. _Che la Bella
Principessa sia ammazata! Che il signore abbate sia ammazata!_ (Let the
fair princess be killed, let the abbot be killed!) is shouted from one
end of the street to the other. The crowd, become emboldened, because at
this hour horses and carriages are forbidden, hurl themselves in all
directions. At length there is no other pleasure than that of tumult and
disorder. In the meantime night advances, the noise ceases by degrees--a
profound silence succeeds, and there only remains of this evening the
confused idea of a dream, in which the people had forgotten for a moment
their labour, the learned their studies, and the nobility their
idleness.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] I asked a little Tuscan girl which was the handsomer, she or her
si