Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 -- Travel -- Italy; Italy -- Description and travel; Novelists, English -- 19th century -- Biography
But if the scene be bright, and gay, and crowded, on the last day but
one, it attains, on the concluding day, to such a height of glittering
colour, swarming life, and frolicsome uproar, that the bare recollection
of it makes me giddy at this moment. The same diversions, greatly
heightened and intensified in the ardour with which they are pursued, go
on until the same hour. The race is repeated; the cannon are fired; the
shouting and clapping of hands are renewed; the cannon are fired again;
the race is over; and the prizes are won. But the carriages: ankle-deep
with sugar-plums within, and so be-flowered and dusty without, as to be
hardly recognisable for the same vehicles that they were, three hours
ago: instead of scampering off in all directions, throng into the Corso,
where they are soon wedged together in a scarcely moving mass. For the
diversion of the Moccoletti, the last gay madness of the Carnival, is now
at hand; and sellers of little tapers like what are called Christmas
candles in England, are shouting lustily on every side, ‘Moccoli,
Moccoli! Ecco Moccoli!’—a new item in the tumult; quite abolishing that
other item of ‘Ecco Fióri! Ecco Fior-r-r!’ which has been making itself
audible over all the rest, at intervals, the whole day through.
As the bright hangings and dresses are all fading into one dull, heavy,
uniform colour in the decline of the day, lights begin flashing, here and
there: in the windows, on the housetops, in the balconies, in the
carriages, in the hands of the foot-passengers: little by little:
gradually, gradually: more and more: until the whole long street is one
great glare and blaze of fire. Then, everybody present has but one
engrossing object; that is, to extinguish other people’s candles, and to
keep his own alight; and everybody: man, woman, or child, gentleman or
lady, prince or peasant, native or foreigner: yells and screams, and
roars incessantly, as a taunt to the subdued, ‘Senza Moccolo, Senza
Moccolo!’ (Without a light! Without a light!) until nothing is heard
but a gigantic chorus of those two words, mingled with peals of laughter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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