After dinner, the Count was announced. They hadn’t seen him for two days. Signor Pastrini inford them that business had called him to a coastal town. He’d left the previous evening and returned only an hour ago.
The Count was charming. Whether he was monitoring himself or whether by accident he avoided sensitive topics, tonight he seed like everyone else. The man remained an enigma to Franz. The Count must know that Franz recognized him, yet he hadn’t said a single word indicating any previous acquaintance. On his side, though Franz desperately wanted to ntion their earlier encounter, the fear of offending the man who’d shown them such kindness prevented him from bringing it up.
The Count had learned the two friends had tried to secure a theater box and been told all were taken. Consequently, he brought them the key to his own, at least that seed to be the reason for his visit. Franz and Albert protested, worried about depriving him, but the Count explained he was attending a different theater, so his box would be wasted if they didn’t use it. This assurance convinced the friends to accept.
Franz had gradually grown accustod to the Count’s extre paleness, which had so forcefully struck him at their first eting. He couldn’t help admiring the severe beauty of the Count’s features, the only flaw, or rather the defining characteristic, being that pallor. Truly a dramatic hero! Franz couldn’t see him, or even think of him, without imagining his stern face belonging to so legendary character from romantic literature.
His forehead bore the lines that indicate constant bitter thoughts. He had fiery eyes that seed to penetrate the soul, and a haughty, disdainful expression that gave his words a peculiar character, impressing them on the minds of those who heard them. The Count was no longer young, at least forty, yet it was easy to see he was born to command the younger n he now associated with.
To complete his resemblance to fantastic literary heroes, the Count seed to possess a power of fascination. Albert constantly praised their good fortune in eting such a man. Franz was less enthusiastic, but the Count exercised over him the dominance that strong minds always acquire over weaker ones.
Franz thought several tis about the Count’s plan to visit Paris. He had no doubt that with his eccentric character, distinctive appearance, and enormous fortune, he’d create quite an impression there. Yet sohow, Franz didn’t want to be in Paris when the Count arrived.
The evening passed as evenings usually do at theaters, not listening to performances but socializing. The Countess wanted to discuss the Count again, but Franz announced he had sothing far more interesting to tell her. Despite Albert’s false modesty, he inford the Countess of the great event that had preoccupied them for the last three days.
Since similar intrigues weren’t uncommon here, the Countess showed no disbelief but congratulated Albert on his success. They promised to et at the Duke’s ball, to which everyone was invited.
The mysterious woman kept her word, she gave Albert no sign of her existence the next day or the day after.
Finally Tuesday arrived, the last and most chaotic day of carnival. On Tuesday, theaters opened at ten in the morning since the religious season began after eight at night. On Tuesday, everyone who hadn’t attended the carnival due to lack of money, ti, or enthusiasm joined the festivities, adding to the noise and excitent.
From two until five o’clock, Franz and Albert participated in the celebration, exchanging handfuls of confetti with other carriages and pedestrians who crowded among the horses and wheels without a single accident, dispute, or fight. These were true holidays for the people. The author of this account, who lived here for five or six years, couldn’t recall ever seeing a ceremony interrupted by the kind of incidents so common in other countries.
Albert was triumphant in his costu, with rose-colored ribbons falling from his shoulder almost to the ground. To avoid confusion, Franz wore his peasant costu.
As the day progressed, the chaos intensified. There wasn’t a single silent tongue on the pavent, in the carriages, or at the windows, not a single arm that didn’t move. It was a human storm of thunderous cries and a hail of candy, flowers, eggs, oranges, and bouquets.
At three o’clock, the sound of fireworks, barely audible amid the din, announced the races were about to begin. The races, like the candlelight ceremony, were episodes unique to the carnival’s final days.
At the fireworks’ sound, carriages instantly broke ranks and retreated down side streets. These maneuvers were executed with incredible skill and speed without police intervention. Pedestrians pressed against walls as the trampling of horses and clashing of equipnt echoed through the streets.
A cavalry unit, fifteen riders across, galloped down the boulevard to clear it for the horse races. When they reached the plaza, a second volley of fireworks announced the street was clear.
Almost instantly, amid trendous outcry, seven or eight horses excited by three hundred thousand spectators shot past like lightning. Then a castle fired three cannons to indicate the third horse had won.
Imdiately, without any other signal, carriages resud moving, flowing down all streets like pent-up streams returning to the main river. The imnse flow continued between its banks of buildings.
A new source of noise and movent joined the crowd. Sellers of small candles entered the scene. These candles varied in size and gave each participant two serious challenges: first, keeping your own candle lit, and second, extinguishing everyone else’s.
The candle is like life itself, there’s only one way to light it, from another fla. But there are a thousand ways to extinguish it. Who could describe all the thods of putting out these candles? The giant bellows, monstrous snuffers, superhuman fans!
Everyone rushed to buy candles, Franz and Albert among them. Night was rapidly approaching, and already, at the cry of "Candles!" repeated by a thousand vendors, two or three flas began burning in the crowd. It was a signal.
Within ten minutes, fifty thousand lights glittered, descending from one plaza and ascending from another. It seed like a festival of will-o’-the-wisps.
It’s impossible to conceive without seeing it. Imagine all the stars descending from the sky to dance wildly across the earth, accompanied by cries never heard anywhere else in the world. The laborer followed the prince, the commoner the citizen, everyone blowing out, extinguishing, and relighting candles.
This battle of madness and fla continued for two hours. The boulevard was bright as day, you could see the features of spectators on the third and fourth floors.
Every five minutes, Albert checked his watch. Finally it pointed to seven. The two friends were on Via dei Pontefici. Albert jumped out, candle in hand. Two or three masked figures tried to knock his candle away, but Albert, an excellent fighter, sent them rolling into the street one after another and continued toward San Giacomo church.
The steps were crowded with masked figures trying to snatch each other’s candles. Franz followed Albert with his eyes and saw him climb the first step.
Instantly a masked figure wearing the familiar peasant woman costu snatched his candle without resistance. Franz was too far to hear what they said, but nothing hostile must have passed, because he saw Albert disappear arm-in-arm with the peasant woman.
He watched them move through the crowd for so ti but eventually lost sight of them down a side street. Suddenly the bell signaling the carnival’s end sounded, and at that sa instant, all the candles extinguished as if by magic. It seed as though one imnse gust of wind had blown out every single fla.
Franz found himself in complete darkness. The only audible sound was carriages taking masqueraders ho. The only visible lights were a few burning behind windows.
The carnival was over.
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