given the ladies a considerable sense of security, for I find that in 1756 the noble dame Pisani Grimani, who owned the theatre of San Benedetto, was forbidden by the Inquisitors of State to stand at the door of her box in a costume which might ‘produce grave disorder.’
In 1776 the government made an effort to limit such extreme views of comfort in warm weather, and an edict was issued commanding ladies to wear modest dresses, with domino and hood, at the theatre. The noble ladies Maria Bon Toderini and Elisabetta Labia Priuli were put under arrest in their own houses in the following year for having, in their boxes, thrown back their hoods and allowed them to slip down upon their shoulders.
The musicians’ desks were lighted with candles of Spanish wax, from Segovia in Castile. The stage was illuminated by lamps fed with olive oil. In the dim house there seems to have been a good deal of rough play, and the patricians in the boxes occasionally threw ‘projectiles’—possibly hard sweet-meats are meant—at the people in the pit. The lights were put out as soon as the curtain fell on the last act, and the spectators groped their way out in the dark as they could, helped by the big brass lanterns which the gondoliers brought to the door when they came to wait for their masters.
Plays were not advertised at all. A small bill giving the name of the play and the names of the authors was pasted up in the Piazzetta, and another was to be seen at the Rialto, but that was all. It was the business of the State to provide foreign ambassadors and ministers with boxes, and a vast deal of care was bestowed on this matter, which was full of difficulties; for the boxes were generally the property of private families that did not at all like to give them up. But the government always reserved the right to take any boxes it chose for the use of the Diplomatic Corps. In Venice, the smallest affairs were always conducted according to a prescribed method, and there was a regular rule by which the boxes were distributed. The document has been found by Signor Molmenti in the Archives of the Inquisitors of State, docketed and labelled: ‘Theatres. Foreign Ambassadors. Boxes.’ Here it is:—
The Ambassadors present themselves with a formal request (memoriale) to the Most Excellent Council. By the latter, through a Secretary of the Senate, His Serenity is requested to draw the lots for the boxes of each. He puts into the ballotbox the numbers of all the boxes on that row which corresponds to the rank of the Minister who applies, and he draws one number. The proscenium boxes are excepted, and the balcony, the boxes occupied by other Ministers, and the one that belonged to the Minister who last went away. Afterwards, by the method explained hereinafter, notice (of the number drawn) is sent to the Minister, the owner (of the box), and the Council.
When the Minister does not like the box drawn for him, he lays before the Council his request that it may be changed, and by the same method His Serenity is requested to draw again. In that case he only puts in the numbers of the boxes opposite which are free, he draws again and sends the notices to that effect, informing the owner of the second box that he may use the one first drawn.
When the box was at last drawn and had been accepted by the Minister, the owner of it received a notice in the following form:—
This day ... (date). By order of the Most Excellent Savi (literally, ‘Wise Men’) notice is given to Your Excellency the Noble Sir, etc., etc.... (or Noble Dame, or Your Illustrious Worship, or other proper title), that His Serenity has drawn Box No.... Row ... in the ... theatre belonging to Your Excellency (or other title) for His Excellency the Ambassador (or Minister) of ..., and this notice is sent you for your guidance.
The feelings of the box-owner, dispossessed by this formal nonsense, may be guessed, for the indemnity paid by the ambassadors was very small.