CHAPTER X.
ROME.—THE BALLO PAPAYANI.
The party had been in Rome three weeks, they had all thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and Georgie Haggard had made no objection whatever to her husband's putting in an appearance at the Ballo Papayani. The great Carnival ball had been for years one of the sights of Rome. Although the red English guide-book merely discreetly remarked that "the scene at Papayani's at Carnival time should on no account be missed," Baedeker and the other foreign mentors devoted whole pages to glowing descriptions of these more than Olympian revels.
An Italian, as a rule, in Carnival time is like an English boy on the fifth of November—he is not happy unless he dresses up. In this country, we are apt to think when any one dresses himself up, that he is disguising a fool. In Italy, on the contrary, all the world is continually occupied in masquerading in some way or other. Costume balls, in all classes of society, are favourite entertainments. Historical masques, though not got up with the elaborate attention to minute detail which is bestowed upon them by the thoughtful beer-drinking and sausage-devouring German, are yet of very frequent occurrence. Every city, every town, nay every hamlet, in Italy, has its long and glorious history, often written in letters of blood, always deeply engraven on the hearts of the people. The mementoes of a bygone time are cherished by the Italians. Consequently, dressing up in Italy is universal, and even the man who dines upon a penny roll and a quarter of a melon, can afford five centessimi, or one halfpenny, for a paper nose, and it costs him nothing to flour his face and hair.
Let us take an instance. Ivrea is a little place, a small garrison town, celebrated for its coolness and its cheapness; thither the Piedmontese flock in crowds when the heat of the city is no longer bearable. There is nothing remarkable about the place; it has its opera house, at which ambitious young ladies, principally English and Americans, pupils of the Conservatorio at Milan, make their débuts. Happy garrison, happy sojourners in the little Italian town; they are provided with a succession of interesting, though perhaps undeveloped, prima donnas, who make their little successes or their tiny fiascoes at this nursery of Art. But Ivrea, like all the other Italian towns, has its history, its glorious legend, which is never allowed to die, and the Carnival of Ivrea is the time chosen for representing the story and commemorating the tragic history of the local heroine. In the Middle Ages, Ivrea had its feudal lord. The Count Arduino, as may be fancied from his name, was a bold, bad man; he possessed the terrible Droit de Seigneur, which he rigorously exacted. The belle of the village was a miller's daughter:
"We never see such maidens now,
Such mill-wheels turn not round."
She was married. No sooner was the ceremony over than the wicked count ordered her to present herself at the castle. The command of the feudal lord could not be disobeyed. Bride and bridegroom, accompanied by the weeping crowd, proceeded to the castle gate. Count Arduino advanced to meet her with a smile, unarmed and unattended. He was but claiming his rights. As he stepped forward to salute her, she presented her cheek to him, and suddenly stabbed him dead at her feet. The mob of relatives and friends wrecked and burned the castle, massacring the retainers to a man. The brave young bride was safely escorted home, where the wedding feast was triumphantly celebrated, and the miller's daughter lived to be the happy mother of many children, and died at a good old age. From that day the Droit de Seigneur ceased to exist in Ivrea.
This is the origin of the yearly ceremony at the little Italian town. A pretty boy of seven or eight years of age is chosen by each parish. The boys are dressed in fancy costumes and mounted on horses, escorted by the general of the Carnival, who wears a black uniform, and accompanied by his officers, who are clothed in scarlet. During the Carnival the town is under the rule of the general and his officers. The party are received in state by the mayor, the bishop, and the personages of Ivrea. A poetical address is given at each notable's house. On the second day, the children, some eight or ten in number (they are called Abba), on horseback, and escorted by the general and his officers, head a procession, which passes through the town, and which is joined by all the carriages of the place, filled with ladies in gala costume and men in fancy dresses. Everybody dresses up. Then are thrown from windows and balconies, oranges, flowers, and real confetti, not the chalk coriandoli of Milan, but good eatable sugar-plums. In the evening the little theatre is illuminated regardless of expense, a fabulous sum being expended on extra lamps. Between the acts the Carnival hymn is sung by the whole strength of the company, the Abba children, the general and his officers, who appear upon the stage; and it is a sine quâ non that every one should wear the republican red cap, even the Abba children and the lady artists. The more enthusiastic among the audience, male and female, also sport the red cap of liberty. Secreted in the omnibus box has been seated the prettiest girl in the town. The Mugnaia, as she is called, is carefully arrayed in the costume of the bygone time when the tragedy took place, and now she is escorted by the general of the Carnival to the footlights, a drum and fife band preceding her, the Carnival hymn is sung, vociferously encored and joined in by the audience. The Mugnaia now returns to the box in which she sits in royal state, the observed of all observers. Of course, she is got up regardless of expense. She, too, wears the little red cap, and, as has been said, has been chosen for her good looks. The opera is concluded, a masked ball follows.
Next day, at seven a.m., in every parish the bride who was last married proceeds in procession to the Piazza of that parish, and with a mallet she indicates the place for the annual scarlo, or bonfire. She is accompanied by her husband. The object of these scarli is to manifest the popular exultation at the annihilation of feudal tyranny. The pair now return home, preceded by a drum and fife band, and escorted by an enthusiastic crowd singing songs of liberty at the full pitch of their voices.