then we heard a tearing noise. All eyes were turned to the great door,
and out rushed the dove emitting a wake of sparks, entered the car
and was out again on its homeward journey before one realized what had
happened. And then the explosions began, and the bells--silent since
Thursday--broke out. How many explosions there were I do not know;
but they seemed to go on for ten minutes.

This is a great moment not only for the spectator but for all Florence,
for in myriad rooms mothers have been waiting, with their babies
on their knees, for the first clang of the belfries, because if a
child's eyes are washed then it is unlikely ever to have weak sight,
while if a baby takes its first steps to this accompaniment its legs
will not be bowed.

At the last explosion the pyrotechnist, now a calm man once more
and a proud one, approached the car, the firemen poured water on
smouldering parts, and the work of clearing up began. Then came
the patient oxen, their horns and hooves gilt, and great masses of
flowers on their heads, and red cloths with the lily of Florence
on it over their backs--much to be regretted since they obliterated
their beautiful white skins--and slowly the car lumbered off, and,
the cocked hats relenting, the crowd poured after it and the Scoppio
del Carro was over.

The Duomo has a little sister in the shape of the Museo di Santa
Maria del Fiore, or the Museo dell' Opera del Duomo, situated in the
Piazza opposite the apse; and we should go there now. This museum,
which is at once the smallest and, with the exception of the Natural
History Museum, the cheapest of the Florentine museums, for it
costs but half a lira, is notable for containing the two cantorie,