archbishop, very sumptuous. All having disappeared into the Baptistery,
through Ghiberti's second gates, which I never saw opened before, the
dove's wire was stretched and fastened, a matter needing much care;
and the crowds began to surge. The cocked hats and officers had the
space all to themselves, with the car, the firemen, the pyrotechnist
and the few privileged and very self-conscious civilians who were
allowed inside.

A curious incident, which many years ago might have been magnified
into a portent, occurred while the ecclesiastics were in the Artistry.
Some one either bought and liberated several air balloons, or the
string holding them was surreptitiously cut; but however it happened,
the balls escaped and suddenly the crowd sent up a triumphant yell. At
first I could see no reason for it, the Baptistery intervening,
but then the balls swam into our ken and steadily floated over
the cathedral out of sight amid tremendous satisfaction. And the
portent? Well, as they moved against the blue sky they formed
themselves into precisely the pattern of the palle on the Medici
escutcheon. That is all. But think what that would have meant in the
fifteenth century; the nods and frowns it would have occasioned; the
dispersal of the Medici, the loss of power, and all the rest of it,
that it would have presaged!

At about twenty to twelve the ecclesiastics returned and were
swallowed up by the Duomo, and then excitement began to be acute. The
pyrotechnist was not free from it; he fussed about nervously; he tested
everything again and again; he crawled under the car and out of it;
he talked to officials; he inspected and re-inspected. Photographers
began to adjust their distances; the detached men in bowlers looked
at their watches; the cocked hats drew nearer to the Duomo door. And