THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. 227 



are to run without riders, guided by themselves alone ; and well they 

 know it. See ! that brown pony, covered with tinsel, has got half 

 under the rope in his struggles to be off; and the black one, painted 

 with white stars, has his fore-legs over it ; and the bay, with lighted 

 crackers on his back, is kicking most furiously. They will be gone 

 before they can take their stations fairly. Yes, it is so ! The trum- 

 pet sounds the rope drops the grooms let go and off they scamper 

 like the winds let loose. For one moment we see them rushing into 

 the distance, but the crowd closes in they are gone they disappear. 



Another day let us go to the Piazza di Venezia and see the ter- 

 mination of the race. The nearer we can be to the end of the course, 

 the better ; for those two sail-cloths stretched across the street are 

 the goal which decide the victory. The Roman Senate, resembling 

 their predecessors in name and title* only, take their station here ; 

 and their gilded carriages and gaudy liveries will serve to amuse us 

 while we are waiting. But in the midst of these laces, and furbelows, 

 and cocked hats, and bag-wigs, do not overlook those fine wild-look- 

 ing fellows, with nothing to distinguish them from the other peasants 

 but a scarlet cap, with a gold tassel. They look more serious and de- 

 termined than the rest. They had need be so ; for each is here to 

 catch his horse at the end of the race, and he well knows that, unless 

 he do it boldly and skilfully, his life may pay for it. But the cannons 

 have fired for the third time, and there is a movement in the crowd. 

 Something must be coming. Yes, they open it is they ! the 

 horses ! But, ah ! they do not come in so quick as they started ; and 

 at the head of the body there are three abreast. It is near the end, 

 and which will win ? Yes, one has sprung forward he is first he 

 bounds to the cloth, which he can scarcely see, touches it, starts back, 

 rears, and falls. But he wins, and he is not hurt, for his master has 

 caught him, and is leading him away. 



And now for the rest, that come charging in a herd. With what 

 precision each groom darts into the body as they sweep by, and seizes 

 his horse ! One fails, and is trampled under foot, but his friends lift 

 him up again ; he may, perhaps, be unhurt. 



Is it all over? No, I think not yet, for a sound of laughing, curs- 

 ing, and yelling arises : and, at last, like hunted wild-beasts, two 

 horses, that had been long, long behind, come in, pursued with ex- 

 ecrations (the mob hates a failure), and they say that two others, 

 frightened by the throng, have bolted from the Corso, and escaped. 



So, now that the race is over, let us go home. 



* * * * * * 



The prize which has excited all this contention is two-fold. One 

 of the strips of cloth which had been paraded about the town, and a 

 sum of money. And the history of these banners, like that of almost 

 every thing else in Rome, is characteristic and memorable. During 

 the more intolerant days of the papal church, when she had survived 

 persecution, but had not learned mercy, the Jews were compelled in 

 person to run the same races in the Corso, for the satisfaction of their 



* S. P. Q. II. is painted on the panels of the state carriages of the executive go- 

 vernment. 



