A REGATTA.
Venice is especially suited to scenic displays upon the water,—the winding Grand Canal, cutting the city like a mammoth letter S, opening into the Basin of St. Mark, the Ducal Palace on one side, and San Giorgio on the other, the curve of the Riva degli Schiavoni running into the public gardens, all lend themselves to spectacles with perfect fitness.
Of late years, too, the Town Council has generously encouraged the regatta with money and influence. The course of the race is from the stairs of the public gardens to the Station, and back to the Palazzo Foscari. The prizes are money and flags,—red, green, and blue for the first three boats, and a sucking pig and a yellow flag with a pig embroidered on it for the last boat. One would think that after falling behind so much as to surely fail of the first prizes, there would be a contention for the hindmost place.
There is no end to the varieties of the Venetian craft,—gondolas, sandolos, barche, barchette, topos, cavaline, vipere, bissoni, and many more. Before the regatta begins, the Grand Canal is covered with boats of every size. All the palaces are hung with tapestries, rugs, curtains, and any stuffs of a gay color, while flags flutter everywhere. Every balcony and window is full of people and heads, while the roofs are black with those who have no more advantageous outlooks.
Festival Scene, Bridge of the Rialto.
By far the most interesting boats are the bissone and peote, rowed by ten and twelve oars, whose duty it is to keep the race-course clear. These are decorated by the commercial houses of the city, and are symbolical in their designs, the crews being dressed in accordance with the decorations. One may resemble a Chinese junk; another represents the tropics, bearing palms and gorgeous flowers and even tropical birds; another may have a Polar bear on its bows, with its rowers imitating walruses, and sitting on cakes of ice; one is usually decorated with glass from Murano, which sparkles like precious stones in the sunlight. These have each a special color,—blue, gold, pink, silver, green, and, in truth, all the gay colors known; and as, in order to keep the course clear, they must constantly move about, they make a charming effect, and are vastly amusing to those who are waiting and watching for the race.
The gondolas of the nobility are frequently gay, with the livery of the four gondoliers they carry. Many of them are dressed in antique style, with puffed hose, long silk stockings, gay doublets, and plumed hats; and other private boats, especially the large bissone, carry gayly dressed parties, while their crews are in liveries of velvet or silk with lace and costly trimmings.
Suddenly the boom of a cannon hushes all voices. The race has begun. It is rowed in small, light gondolas, and every eye is fixed on the spot where these boats will first be seen. When they are near enough to tell who leads, there are cheers and shouts of encouragement. The race sweeps by and disappears. The excitement becomes intense, and bets are freely made, comments of all sorts are heard, and until the boats again come in sight, on their return, one might well question if Babel were as noisy as Venice at a regatta. As the victor nears the winning post, the silence is breathless. He snatches his flag; his name is shouted by thousands; the regatta is finished; and already the people are talking of the amusements which are still to be enjoyed.