Venice

by Clara Erskine Clement Waters

Then the solemn services begin, one Mass succeeding another, until the vespers and benediction close the day at five o'clock. Meantime the women sit and gaze at the men constantly moving under the great cupola, wherever they can thread the crowd. They are all clean, well shaven, and dressed in their best. The gondoliers, with blue sashes, present "a symphony in shirts;" for in this use of flannel they are able to show their love for color, and most of them are artists enough to know the tint that is most becoming.

The season of the year forbids the open-air festivities which accompany other fêtes; but the wine-shops and restaurants make a rich harvest through the evening and far into the night, and jests and songs are heard in all the streets. In truth, the hour when one may really sleep becomes a doubtful question; for it happens many times that just when one is comfortably dreaming, perhaps for the twentieth time, he hears in musical tones, sometimes singly and again in trios or quartettes, "Viva Italia! Viva il Re!"

FÊTES OF THE PEOPLE.

But perhaps the most interesting of all the Venetian feste, and certainly the most characteristic, are those distinctly of the people, and confined to the contrada, or quarter, in which the event occurs. A quarter is often thrown into the greatest excitement by a challenge to a rowing-match. The qualities of the champions are hotly discussed, bets are made, and the spirit of rivalry recalls that of the ancient Nicolotti and Castellani. Indeed, these very terms are still used on such occasions, though one is puzzled to know in what way one of these poor boatmen can represent the aristocratic Nicolotti of Heraclea. However, since these wear a black cap and sash, and the Castellani wear red, the names and their colors still serve a good purpose.

The street-fights between these parties, the Forze d'Ercole, and other trials of their strength and skill are all things of the past; and it is only on the occasion of a regatta of the people that the question is asked, "Who will win, Castello or San Niccolo?"

The day before these races the two boats are carefully cleaned, everything being scraped off the bottoms. They are then weighed at the Custom House, and tied to the posts of a ferry, where they remain, under the guard of a friend of each of the contestants, during the night. The race is rowed early in the morning; and only those who may most decidedly be called il popolo show any knowledge or interest concerning it. They gather in all sorts of crafts close by the gardens and by San Giorgio. At half-past seven the report of a gun is heard, and in a few minutes the race sweeps past. The red caps are leading; and those in the boats who favor that color are proportionately gay, while the black caps are silent and downcast.

All the boats that have been waiting follow the race for a certain distance; but its speed is too great for them, and near the end of the Giudecca they await the return. The course is usually about twelve miles; and after an hour and a quarter, or perhaps a little less, two white specks are seen far away across the water. These specks grow larger and clearer, and the greatest impatience possesses the watchers until they can discover which color leads. The boats stream out in two lines to meet the racers, who are taking different courses, and are so far apart that no one can yet decide as to the end. But when the first boat reaches the façade of San Giorgio, it is still the red cap that holds the lead. "Bravo, bravo!" is heard from all sides in joyous shouts; but the boats vanish like those in a dissolving view. They have given all the time they can afford, and each must now go to his duty, except a few of the more active spirits, who haste to greet the victor, and arrange a supper in his honor.

This feast usually takes place within the week, and is a gay affair, for after the supper there is dancing, and all are in the best of spirits. The hall in which the tables are laid is always decorated with the portraits of victorious boatmen, and flags and banners won in other races. The ancient custom of having a portrait made of the winner still survives, and it is a matter of great pride to collect these each time a new victory is gained for the red caps or the black.

The supper requires a long time; for three quarters of an hour is allowed to pass in smoking, talking, and singing between the courses. Wine is there in plenty; for if only men are at the supper, it is brought in a forty-litre tub, suspended on poles from the shoulders of two men, and welcomed with huzzas. The room grows warm, and jackets are thrown off, as the merriment increases, exposing the brilliant flannel shirts and sashes, until at last the final course of the orthodox boatmen's supper has been eaten, for the menu is as unalterable as the courses of the stars. And now the tables must be cleared and the dancing begin. And such dancing! Their waltz is slow and long, and they love it to madness. They abandon themselves to its rhythmic movement with delight, and often sing as they dance, as if every possible expression must be given to their perfect happiness. One cannot foretell the hour when it will end. Not so long as the musicians will play,—for when was a dancing gondolier known to be weary? And when the Marcia reale or Garibaldi's Hymn is played, with what impetuosity do the dancers respond!

THE SAGRA, OR PARISH FÊTE.