Suddenly, a group of wandering musicians show themselves on the Piazza. One plays the violin, another blows a trumpet, while a third, in a broken top-hat and a rusty overcoat, sings _canzonettas_, and dances. Immediately, a crowd collects. At all the open windows appear signoras with black eyes and raven tresses, pushing away with their hands the rags hung out to dry. They are all laughing and screaming and chattering, they are all happy. This is still the same pleasure-loving ancient-Roman crowd, living more in the street than at home, and revelling in anything in the nature of a pageant. Arrange a gladiator’s fight to-morrow in the Colosseum, and they will all rush to the spot, and applaud the victor as passionately as ever did their ancestors.
Sometimes these Piazzas are the scenes of antiquarian markets. Light wooden booths are erected for the sale of old cassocks and other priestly vestments, pieces of material, embroideries, lace, old brooches, bracelets, fans, candlesticks in the shape of antique lamps, books printed on faded yellow parchment, pictures, and statuettes. All this is bought up fast and feverishly by Englishwomen and Americans, whom the wily Romans deceive in the most ungodly manner.
On one such occasion, Irene, to her cost, asked the price of a piece of lace. The vendor, having asked a hundred lire, followed her twice round the Piazza, lowering his price at each step, and setting out in detail all the tragic circumstances that were forcing him to part with such a treasure. He had received the lace as a present from the Marquise Abrakadabra-Abrakadabrini. This highly aristocratic name was undoubtedly familiar to the signora? His “mamma” had been the wet-nurse of the young Marchesina, so that he, Beppo, was her foster-brother. He had hoped to mend his fortunes for life by selling this priceless lace, but poverty (he spoke with great pathos, tragically smiting his chest)—poverty, signora, was obliging him to act hurriedly, and to abandon his last hope. At least, he had the one consolation of knowing that this family treasure was falling into the hands of such a sympathetic signora—“_Look out!_” he screamed suddenly, clutching hold of the shafts of a cab that threatened to run them over. He was only too happy to have been able to render the signora two services: first, that of saving her life, since, but for his intervention, the _vetturino_ would undoubtedly have run over her; and second, that of selling her, for a song, a priceless piece of lace, in which the signora would look as beautiful as a queen.