_Rome,
July._
This evening the Girandola came off--or rather, went off, for it was
all fireworks, and very fine. The tribunes in the Piazza del Popolo
were crowded, and two bands of music played in the thronged square. It
was an astonishing sight when unexpectedly a powerful searchlight was
turned on, illuminating a sea of upturned faces.
As we sat waiting, a rocket went up over the sky from the Quirinal
Palace as a signal that the Royal Party had started. In a little while
another told that they were approaching; in a moment more Their
Majesties arrived in the royal box, the band played, bombs exploded
in a salute, and a thousand Roman candles shot up in the black night
and burst into a million stars. Soon there was a fizzing, and
gradually the gleaming outline of a huge cathedral, which they say can
be seen far out on the Campagna, was revealed. This is a design
retained from Papal days. All sorts of serpents and wheels and golden
rains followed. Then suddenly a fiery dart went hissing above the
heads of the people and smashed against a great column in the centre
of the square, flying into a dozen pieces, each of which ran on wires
to a corner of the piazza, and set off the Bengal lights.
And so the celebration ended in the midst of a great red glow. The
crowds went away in their thousands, down the Babuino, the Corso, the
Ripetta, and the huge searchlights were directed along each of these
streets, making them bright as day while the people moved along. But
Polly, perhaps like Mr. Dooley you think that “th’ doings iv a king
ain’t anny more interestin’ than th’ doings iv a plumber or a baseball
player.”
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