A very small crowd would fill so small a place, but I think there could hardly have been less than a thousand persons.

Cutlery and hosiery of the rudest kind seemed to be the great articles of commerce.

There were, of course, an office of the Pontifical Lottery, which was always crammed, an itinerant vendor of quack medicines and a few scattered stalls (not a single booth by the way), where shoes and caps and pots and pans and the "wonderful adventures of St Balaam" were sold by hucksters of Jewish physiognomy.
Lean, black-bristled pigs ran at every step between your legs, and young kids, slung across their owners' shoulders with their heads downwards, bleated piteously.

The only sights of a private description were a series of deformed beggars, drawn in go-carts, and wriggling with the most hideous contortions; but the fat woman, and the infant with two heads, and the learned dog, whom I had seen in all parts of Europe, were nowhere to be found.

There was not even an organ boy or a hurdy-gurdy.
Music, alas! like prophecy, has no honour in its own country.