Volume VII - Modernist Magazines Project

242 Bread and the Circus1.30 p.m.—" The parade's better than the show. The show'sright enough, you know ; but the parade's Ai," LieutenantGeorge had declared.The band, in red coats and firemen's helmets, led the way,packed in a car all gilt and glittering glass, drawn by ten plumedpiebald horses. Next, on prancing, plum-coloured steeds, eighteenladies, sumptuously attired in plush and satin and heavy brocade.Then the thoroughbreds, and the ten trick ponies, tight-reined,arching their necks and tossing their silky manes, led by footgroomsin scarlet livery. Behind these, the four monumentalgilded cars — allegorical representations of England, Scotland,Ireland, and Wales—each drawn by eight white horses, andcarrying on its pinnacle a golden-haired girl reclining in appropriateattitudes. Behind them followed the team of elephants(with the coons dressed in tiger-skins sitting in scarlet howdahson their backs), dragging the lions' cage with Lieutenant Georgein full uniform, inside amongst the beasts, smoking and twirlinghis freshly waxed moustache. Next, escorted by a cavalcade oftent-men, dressed as Turkish grandees, the six tableaux—monsterpaintings relating the appearance of the show before Her GraciousMajesty the Queen in the midst of a tropical forest. And lastlythe tigers, the camels, the dromedary, and the three painted paywaggons.Every window was packed with faces: the streets were swarmingwith people. I rode through the town, perched on the boxof the gilded band-car (I had been ordered there in case of difficultieswith the local police), bowing to the crowd from side toside, and feeling like an Eastern potentate at the head of histriumphal progress.*8.30 p.m.—The afternoon show had done fair business; but inthe