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.”
POLLY TO A. D.
Baden Baden,
July.
“I love you just as much as ever, dearest A. D.—Do you love me? Will you be mine?” Checkers is dictating, so don’t be alarmed!
What a terrible fire that was! I am sure you were the hero of the occasion. Thank heaven you were not injured!