=17. Clamor and Thronging in the Streets.=--As the sun rises, every instant the street becomes more crowded. A great din is rising from a forge just inside an alley; a second noise from a carpenter shop. As if determined to be heard above everything else, from a second story comes a voice bawling out some kind of a declamation--it is a rhetoric school getting into action, and an ambitious youth is denouncing the dead tyrant Phalaris at the top of his lungs. By yonder wall, almost completely blocking the sidewalk, a nondescript barber has set down a stool and is clipping a victim with huge scissors. Close by him stands a cook’s boy guarding two braziers, on one of which are boiled peas, on the other small sausages that are kept smoking hot. Early as the hour may be, workmen and others who have an active day before them are standing around and laying in a hearty breakfast. Almost upsetting this throng comes a countryman flogging a donkey whose huge paniers laden with garden truck project dangerously to either side. The noise increases continually. From another lane there comes more shouting. An auctioneer is knocking down the furniture of a poor bankrupt, and the bidding is growing violent. All the shopkeepers are bawling their wares to each prospective purchaser. Now there is a clang and jangling; pushing the crowd aside march ten soldiers, five abreast, with insolent strides, their _optio_ (sub-centurion) stalking before them. Their gilded armor and helmets and the scarlet kilts peeping under their cuirasses, proclaim them to be “Praetorians,” proud members of the imperial guard. Gilded shields clatter on their backs; they warn the slaves and hucksters away with their spear butts while their officer’s red plume nods arrogantly. Hardly are they gone before there comes the crash of some barbaric music; one hears castanets, trumpets, drums, and sistra (a kind of glorified bronze rattle), and unmelodious singing. Tossing their arms, waving blunted swords or pounding them on light shields, along comes a troupe of the priests and priestesses of Cybele, the uncouth Asiatic goddess; the women, dark-skinned Syrians, whirling in wild dances with hair aflying, the priests puff-cheeked, smooth-faced creatures, busily pounding with their noise-making instruments. They are headed for their temple to spend a day of orgy.