satisfaction that for the first time, on a subject which caused him so much emotion, the Count did not possess the least influence over him.  Corinne, at a distance, conjectured what was passing; but the smile of Nelville restored tranquillity to her heart, and this conversation of the Count d’Erfeuil, far from embarrassing Oswald or his fair companion, only inspired them with a temper of mind more in harmony with the scene before them.

The horse-racing was about to begin.  Lord Nelville expected to see races like those of England; but what was his surprise, when informed that only little Barbary horses without riders were to run against each other.  This sight excites the attention of the Romans in a singular manner.  The moment it is about to commence, all the crowd arrange themselves on each side of the way.  The Piazza del Popolo, which was covered with people, is empty in a moment.  Each one ascends the amphitheatres which surround the obelisk, and innumerable multitudes of heads and dark eyes are turned towards the barrier from which the horses are to start.

They arrive without bridle or saddle, with merely a rich cloth thrown over their backs, and led by extremely well-dressed grooms, who take a most passionate interest in their success.  The horses are placed behind the barrier and their ardour to clear it is extreme.  At every moment they are held back; they prance, they neigh, they clatter with their feet, as if they were impatient of a glory which they are about to obtain themselves without the guidance of man.  This impatience of the horses and the shouts of the grooms at the moment when the barrier falls, produce a fine dramatic effect.  The horses start, the grooms cry “Stand back!  Stand back!” with inexpressible transport.  They accompany the horses with their voice and gestures till they are out of sight.  The horses seem inspired with the same emulation as men.  The pavement sparkles beneath their feet; their manes fly in the air, and their desire, thus left to their own efforts, of winning the prize is such, that there have been some who, on arriving at the goal, have died from the swiftness with which they have run.  It is astonishing to see these freed horses thus animated with personal passions; it almost induces a belief that thought exists beneath this animal form.  The crowd break their ranks when the horses are gone by, and follow them in disorder.  They reach the Venetian palace which serves for the goal.  Never was anything like the cries of the grooms whose horses are victors.  He who had gained the first prize, threw himself on his knees before his horse[29], and thanked him, recommending him to the protection of St Anthony, the patron of animals, with an enthusiasm as serious as it was comic to the spectators.