The man was plainly but decently dressed, like a petty tradesman or a
lawyer's clerk, and the night being chill he wore a cloak, and had drawn
his hat-brim over his forehead. He sauntered on, letting the crowd carry
him, with the air of one who has an hour to kill, and whose
holiday-making takes the form of an amused spectatorship. To such an
observer the streets offered ample entertainment. The shrewd air
discouraged lounging and kept the crowd in motion; but the open
platforms built for dancing were thronged with couples, and every
peep-show, wine-shop and astrologer's booth was packed to the doors. The
shrines and street-lamps being all alight, and booths and platforms hung
with countless lanterns, the scene was as bright as day; but in the
ever-shifting medley of peasant-dresses, liveries, monkish cowls and
carnival disguises, a soberly-clad man might easily go unremarked.
Reaching the square before the Cathedral, the solitary observer pushed
his way through the idlers gathered about a dais with a curtain at the
back. Before the curtain stood a Milanese quack, dressed like a noble
gentleman, with sword and plumed hat, and rehearsing his cures in
stentorian tones, while his zany, in the short mask and green-and-white
habit of Brighella, cracked jokes and turned hand-springs for the
diversion of the vulgar.
"Behold," the charlatan was shouting, "the marvellous Egyptian
love-philter distilled from the pearl that the great Emperor Antony
dropped into Queen Cleopatra's cup.
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