The crimson splendour of the
setting sun gleamed through the curtainless windows and mingled with the
noises of the street. Some men were taking down the hangings from the
walls, disclosing a paper with great vulgar flowers, torn here and there
and hanging in strips. Others were engaged in taking up and rolling the
carpets, raising a cloud of dust that glittered in the sunlight. One of
them sang scraps of a lewd song. Dust and tobacco-smoke mingled and rose
to the ceiling.
Andrea fled.
In the Piazza del Quirinale a brass band was playing in front of the
royal palace. Great waves of metallic music spread through the glowing
air. The obelisk, the fountain, the statues looked enormous and seemed
to glow as if impregnated with flame. Rome, immense and dominated by a
battle of clouds, seemed to illumine the sky.
Half-demented, Andrea fled; through the Via del Quirinale, past the
Quattro Fontane and the gates of the Palazzo Barberini with its many
flashing windows and, at last, reached the Cassa Zuccari.
There the porters were just taking his purchases off a cart,
vociferating loudly. Several of them were carrying the cabinet up the
stairs with a good deal of difficulty.
He went in. As the cabinet occupied the whole width of the staircase, he
could not pass. So he had to follow it, slowly, slowly, step by step, up
to his door.
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