citinotes
Carnival life
“Good morning dear mask!” If you strolled the streets of Venice between the 14th and 18th centuries, this cheerful greeting would likely have welcomed you. The tradition of the Carnival is nearly as ancient as Venice itself: with its first mention dating back to 1094 on a Doge’s Chart. The most renowned celebration in Venice originated from a politically charged event: the precursor ceremony, known as “The Twelve Marys”, commemorated the Venetians’ retaliation against pirates from Trieste who had abducted 12 young ladies under the protection of the Doge. A three-day celebration, from January 31 to February 2, brough together residents from each district (“sestiere” in Italian).
Throughout the 14th century, the military aspect remained intertwined with the Carnival, a time when Venice fiercely contested with the Republic of Genoa for control of sea trade. Military parades, training sessions, and competitions between “sesteri” aimed to boost local morale during challenging times. However, this military rivalry occasionally escalated into violent clashes, such as the popular game of “the reed stems” that transformed into bloody punch-throwing battles between the Castellani of the eastern areas and the Nicolotti of the western districts, near the Rialto bridge.
It was from the 14th century onward that the Carnival started to take its modern form, extending its celebrations from the day after Christmas through the evening of Mardi Gras (Shrove Tuesday). Festivities included extravagant performances on Saint Mark’s Square, sumptuous banquets and balls. The Nicolotti and Castellani, instead of exchanging physical confrontations, now competed in forming the highest human pyramid.
The agenda expanded to include activities like skating and races -wheelbarrows, stilts, water races, the famous regatas where boats and gondolas adorned with lanterns and festoons- presented a spectacular sight for centuries, as George Sand (1804 – 1876) described in her travel notes. Sand stands out as one of the most celebrated writers of the Romantic Movement, leaving a literary legacy that encompasses more than 50 volumes of novels, plays, and essays. Her influential works have left an indelible mark on prominent figures such as Marcel Proust, Virginia Woolf, and Fyodor Dostoevsky. A passionate advocate for women’s rights, Sand actively sought to challenge societal norms. Her penchant for wearing men’s suits and publicly denouncing the prejudices of her era reflected her commitment to breaking down gender barriers. During her time in Venice, Sand embarked on a journey with French author Alfred de Musset on what was intended to be a honeymoon. However, their romantic escapade took a tumultuous turn, culminating in an acrimonious break-up, as Sand chose to part ways with de Musset for a Venetian doctor. In the selected excerpt, Sand shares her astonishment at the opulent decorations that adorned the city during the Feast of the Most Holy Redeemer, describing the spectacular fireworks show that illuminated the Venetian skies.
No one was allowed to celebrate without wearing a mask! Rich and poor, nobles and plebeians were free to mingle under the anonymity of the mask. The “bauta”, the most typical Venetian costume, consisting of a black cape, full-face mask and a tricorn hat, allowed individuals to conceal every sign of the social status. Soon the Venetians found themselves addicted to both parties and masks. Whether the purpose was religious -to celebrate a Saint, a church or a convent-, political -to receive a King, celebrate the naval or glorify the Doge- or military, in the aftermath of a victorious battle, any occasion was good enough to hold spectacular processions, masquerades and feasts.
The Carnival reached its zenith in the 18th century, becoming a refuge for Venetians as the city’s naval and trade power dwindled into nostalgia. In response, the Procurators extended the Carnival to last six months, starting as early as October. Cafés at Saint Mark’s Square were permitted to stay open all night, and magicians and acrobats entertained patrons day and night. Lavish costumes became the center of attention, and masks evolved into intricate works of craftsmanship.
Considerable fortunes were squandered in the proliferation of private casinos that emerged on every corner of the city. In the selected passage, Lorenzo da Ponte (1749 – 1838) vividly recounts his personal struggle with gambling. Renowned as an opera librettist and poet, Da Ponte led a dissolute life from an early age. Despite holding the position of a priest in the Venetian church of San Luca, he engaged in an extramarital affair, resulting in the birth of two children. His transgressions included charges of “public concubinage” and the “abduction of a respectable woman,” with allegations of residing in a brothel. At the age of 32, he was found guilty and faced a 15-year banishment from Venice. This unexpected turn of events presented Da Ponte with a unique opportunity. His relocation to Vienna led to a fateful encounter with Italian composer Antonio Salieri. Through Salieri, Da Ponte found himself introduced to Mozart, for whom he penned the librettos for three of the most celebrated operas in musical history: “The Marriage of Figaro,” “Don Giovanni,” and “Così fan tutte.”
Da Ponte was not the only one defying ethical rules. The city experienced a collective revelry that defied ethical norms, as the mask’s anonymity allowed individuals to engage in behavior they might otherwise avoid. Prostitution adopted new codes of conduct, and societal norms were bent. Even stealing or cheating, typically settled with violence, became common without fear of repercussions. The mask, initially a symbol of social inclusiveness, ultimately paved the way for widespread moral liberation.
During that era, prostitution underwent a transformation, acquiring an air of prestige through the adoption of new codes of conduct. It became customary for respectable wives and husbands to openly acknowledge their companions. As Hippolyte Taine (1828-1893) noted, “A husband has no problem saying that he is going to dine at his courtesan’s house, and it would be a dishonor for a woman if she was not publicly considered to have a lover.” Taine, driven by an obsession to capture the authenticity of his descriptions, meticulously depicted the libertinism of 19th-century Venice. As a French historian and philosopher, his accounts provide an accurate portrayal of everyday life in bars and cafés, highlighting the liberties nobles afforded themselves. Taine’s observations extend to the impact of this lifestyle on the art of painting, exploring its influence on style, techniques, and the selection of themes. His meticulous documentation paints a vivid picture of Venice’s societal nuances during this libertine period.
When Napoleon’s troops arrived in Venice, they discovered a city immersed in joyful decadence. Their amazement can only be compared to the shock of a famous Venetian playwright, called Carlo Gozzi, when, that same year of the Republic’s fall, he came back from a trip to discover his house invaded by the nobles: they were throwing a party to celebrate the appointment of his neighbor as Patriarch of Venice. Carlo Gozzi (1720 – 1806) is considered to have revived the Commedia dell’Arte, an early form of professional theatre in Italy. His work was praised by Goethe, Hoffmann, Madame de Staël and other intellectuals. The great success of Gozzi’s fairy dramas so irritated Goldoni -another famous Venetian playwright and his rival- that it led to the latter’s self-exile to France.
The Austrians, who occupied Venice for half a century, brought an end to the festivities. No Carnivals were held until 1979, when this joyful tradition was joyfully revived. Venetians not only revived their mask-making craftsmanship but also renewed their love for sumptuous celebrations, evident in the regattas held throughout the year and the grand Feast of the Holy Redeemer in July. Over a millennium later, the Venetian Carnival continues to beckon enthusiasts, inviting us all to visit her in the midst of her cold Februaries days and still have the time of our lives.
Detail of the oil painting “Il Ridotto di Palazzo Dandolo a San Moisè” by Francesco Guardi, 1746. The scene was set in Palazzo Dandolo, a palace which hosted Venice’s first gambling-house in 1638. Guardi’s painting is exhibited in Ca’ Rezzonico, Venice. Source: Google Arts & Culture.
Citinotes
chapter 1
The greedy gambler
During that period in Venice, there existed a renowned gambling establishment by the name of Ridotto. Wealthy nobles enjoyed the exclusive privilege of operating the bank with their own funds, while less affluent nobles relied on borrowed money. Every night, we frequented this establishment, and almost invariably, upon returning home, we found ourselves cursing both the game and its inventors.
The Ridotto was only open during the Carnival season. We lingered there until its final day, having depleted our funds and lacking the means to replenish our pockets. Driven by an irresistible passion and fueled by the hopeful but illusory aspirations common to gamblers, we resorted to selling our last remaining possessions. This effort yielded a mere dozen sequins, and with newfound hope, we hastened back to the Ridotto. In an instant, we lost everything once again. Our return to the gondola moored at the canal was marked by a somber mood. The gondolier recognized me; I had generously tipped him on numerous occasions. Observing our despondency, he intuited our predicament and inquired if I needed financial assistance. Assuming he was jesting, I responded in a similar vein, saying, “Yes, fifty sequins.”
He grinned at me and, without uttering a word, ferried us with his boat, serenading, to the Bridge of Sighs. Stepping ashore, he requested us to wait for a few minutes. Upon his return, he discreetly pressed the fifty sequins into my hand, whispering between his teeth, “Consider this a lesson of the kindness of gondoliers.” I stood there, utterly stunned.
However, the allure of the money overwhelmed any reflections inspired by my usual gentleness. A single thought dominated my mind: rush to the Ridotto, step into the first salon, approach the banker, and wager half the sum on a card.
I triumphed in the Paroli card game, playing with such fervor that, in less than half an hour, my hands were laden with gold. Together with my companion, we descended the stairs in haste, returned to the obliging gondolier, and repaid the borrowed money, adding a generous gratuity. Instructing him to row us home, we wasted no time. Upon emptying my pockets and displaying the amassed gold on the table, a knock echoed at the door—it was the lady’s brother. At the sight of my treasure, he lunged forward with a joyful howl and inquired, “Did you win this money at cards?” Affirming my positive response, he declared, “Very well, accompany my sister and follow me. I will safeguard the money, and you shall witness the outcome.” Any resistance would have been futile; begrudgingly, I acquiesced and trailed behind him.
Seated, he shuffled the cards, and players quickly surrounded us. It was well past midnight, with all other bankers having retired. We engaged in the game with unbridled intensity. The initial two rounds favored him, accumulating all the gold on the table before his seat. Though we conveyed signals imploring him to desist, he remained steadfast and initiated a third round he couldn’t bring to completion.
Barely half time into the game, his worn-out stroke of luck had turned his back on him and everything was gone. He laid the cards with a marvelous self-assurance, and, seizing his sister’s arm, wished me goodnight.
Describing the tumult in my mind would be an insurmountable task. I retreated to an adjacent room known as the Chamber of Sighs, a space frequented by despondent gamblers and jilted lovers who sought solace in the unrestricted release of their discontent.
Lorenzo da Ponte
Mémoires (1749 – 1838), Henri Jonquères, 1931
The palazzo Ca’ Vendramin Calergi, a magnificent Rennaissance palace hosting Venice’s Casino.
chapter 2
Confetti and banderols
The portal is adorned with a lavish garland of flowers and fruits, creating a festive atmosphere. A “bridge” of boats spans the Giudecca, resembling a floating arm that adds to the enchantment. The entire quay is flanked by pastry shops, coffee tents, and mobile food stations known as “frittole,” where young cooks grumble like grotesque demons amidst flames and smoke rising from boiling grease.
The Austrian government prohibits open-air dances, a restriction that might dampen the festive spirit elsewhere. Fortunately, the Venetians possess an endless reservoir of joy. Their predominant vice is gluttony, marked by a talkative and animated indulgence that bears no resemblance to the ponderous digestion of the English or Germans. The muscat and affordable wines of Istria contribute to a particular kind of intoxication, fostering a conversational and mischievous atmosphere.
All the food shops are adorned with foliage, streamers, and vibrant paper balloons that double as lanterns. The boats, especially those of the affluent, boast rich decorations. The paper lanterns undergo a delightful metamorphosis: here, tassels cascade in luminous festoons around a canopy of colorful fabrics; there, alabaster antique-style vases stand in rows around a canopy of sheer white muslin that delicately envelops the diners. People enjoy their suppers on these boats, and through the gauzy fabric, one can catch glimpses of silverware and glistening candles interspersed with flowers and crystals.
Some young individuals, dressed as females, partially draw back the curtain walls and engage in playful banter with passers-by. At the prow, a large lantern ascends in the form of a tripod, a dragon, or an Etruscan vase. A gondolier, attired in an eccentric manner, tosses a powder into it, causing red flames and blue sparkles to burst forth.
All these boats and lights cast their reflections upon the water, crisscrossing in every direction along the illuminated shoreline, conjuring a magical spectacle.
Even the simplest gondola, where a family of fishermen enjoys a lively supper, becomes beautiful with its four lanterns swaying above animated heads. The lantern at the prow, suspended from a spear higher than the others, drifts and dances in the wind like a golden fruit carried by the waves.
George Sand
Lettres d’un Voyageur, Michel Lévy Frères, 1857
Masks and costumes of extraordinary craftsmanship at Ca’ Del Sol, a real treasure trove in Venice.
chapter 3
Party life
In a manner akin to their counterparts in other regions, the men of this country have resorted to certain means to sustain their decline.
Similar to the sister Republics of Greece, this once-beautiful city eventually succumbed to a pagan indifference and sensuality. In the 17th century, the reckoning arrived.
The city contracted within diminished boundaries, reminiscent of another Athens or Corinth, pressed against formidable military neighbors, either neglected or tolerated. Consequently, its nobility shifted their focus solely to amusement, as war and politics, much like their city, retreated into the background. Venice assumed a gallant and worldly demeanor. The grand era of painting waned: contours softened and adopted a more rounded form. […]
The taste evolved into something more refined yet paler, more alluring but also more restricted: this “evening” of the fallen city bore the softness and brilliance reminiscent of a Venetian sunset.
Amidst the recklessness, an abundance of cheerfulness prevailed. The memoirs of writers overflow with accounts of public and private celebrations, as do the paintings of that era. One artwork portrays a ceremonial banquet within a splendid room featuring a gold scalloped ceiling, towering gleaming windows, and pale crimson curtains. Another depicts the doge in a long silk gown dining alongside magistrates clad in purple robes. Yet another showcases visitors gracefully gliding over the floors in masks—nothing surpasses the elegance of the exquisite aristocracy with their petite feet, delicate collars, tiny three-cornered hats, and crumpled skirts of yellow or pearl grey silk.
In another painting, a gondola regatta unfolds, with the colossal Bucentaure boat floating between Saint Mark and San Giorgio Maggiore like a Leviathan adorned with golden scales. Around it, squadrons of gondolas part the waters with steel beaks. A charming group of people in domino dresses flits across the paving stones.
The Carnival, lasting six months, involves everyone donning masks—from children to market-goers, capuchin guardians, and even priests. Processions of people in various disguises parade by, dressed as Frenchmen, lawyers, gondoliers, Calabrians, Spanish soldiers, accompanied by dances and musical instruments. Spectators follow, either applauding or whistling. A strong sense of freedom pervades: whether prince or artisan, all are equal. Men form human pyramids while harlequins engage in card games on the square.
Hippolyte Taine
À Venise – Voyage en Italie, Hachette, 1866
Caffè Florian, located in the Procuratie Nuove of Piazza San Marco, calls for a mandatory stop for a glass of Spritz under the sounds of violins. It was established in 1720 and is the oldest coffee house in continuous operation in Italy, and one of the oldests in the world. The café was frequented by famous writers such as Goldoni, Goethe, Proust, Dickens, as well as Casanova and Lord Byron who were most likely attracted by the fact that Florian was the only café allowing women on its premises.
chapter 4
Libertinism and nonchalance
In Venice, there are twice as many courtesans as in Paris, all possessing a charming gentleness. During the carnival, under the arcades of the Procuracies, there are as many reclining women as those standing. Even a Procurator, attired in a bathrobe, publicly exchanges playful and cheerful banter at his window with a well-known courtesan residing opposite him.
In households, husbands don’t hesitate to mention that they are dining at their courtesan’s residence, and their wives willingly send whatever is ordered there.
Conversely, a married woman is pardoned for any indiscretions. It would be considered a sort of dishonor if a woman were not publicly acknowledged to have a lover. Her husband never accompanies her—doing so would make him appear ridiculous. Instead, he accepts a surrogate escort to take his place. Sometimes this substitute companion is chosen through a contractual arrangement. In the morning, he arrives to share breakfast with the lady, helps her dress, chauffeurs her around, and attends to her needs. At church, especially if she is of noble stature, she might have five or six escorts, creating a most curious spectacle: one man holding her arm, another her handkerchief, yet another her gloves, and additional escorts managing her cloak.
Even nuns have their escorts. Most of them have been involuntarily cloistered and aspire to live like worldly women. They can socialize freely, send sweets or bouquets to their friends, and maintain connections as they wish.
Marriage is viewed as “a pure civil ceremony that doesn’t bind the conscience.” In a family with several brothers, only one—the least prudent among them—shall marry and assume the family responsibilities. The others will serve as escorts for his wife, and all will reside under the same roof. […]
Parents lavish their children with opulent attire as soon as they can walk. Infants of five or six years are seen adorned in black gowns embellished with lace, gold, and silver. They are excessively spoiled, and their father dares not scold them. By seventeen or eighteen, arrangements are made to find a mistress for them. […]
The laxity extends from manners to attire, with people attending Mass or public squares in slippers and dressing gowns beneath their black coats. Numerous destitute nobles lead parasitic lives at the expense of coffee shop owners, who consider them a scourge. […] Music transitions from the church to theatrical halls. At the Opera, Gozzi’s melodies weave a diaphanous fabric of gilded daydreams amid all this hardship. Even in decay, noble races retain their beauty…
Hippolyte Taine
À Venise – Voyage en Italie, Hachette, 1866
chapter 5
Throwing gold out of windows
As soon as I disembarked from my gondola, a porter took charge of my trunk, and my servant hoisted my other suitcases. Wrapped in my coats, I made my way towards my tranquil abode, eagerly anticipating the comfort of my warm bed.
Upon reaching my calle (street), however, we encountered an impassable crowd of masks and children reveling in unbridled joy.
-“What on earth is happening?” I inquired a passerby.
– “Today,” he informed me, “the patrician Bragadin, whose palace is at the end of this street, was appointed patriarch of Venice. His designation is being celebrated with grand bonfires, and festivities are planned for three days. The city is distributing generous portions of bread, wine, and ducat coins.”
Contemplating a detour via Saint-Eustache and a nearby bridge, I hoped to reach the door of my house. Grumbling to ourselves, we embarked on a lengthy route and eventually arrived at my residence. To my astonishment, the windows were wide open, the house adorned with chandeliers, and candles illuminated the space—it resembled the Doge’s Palace on a day of grand ceremony.
I stood there, gaping, my eyes filled with astonishment. It took me a good quarter of an hour to regain my senses. Finally, with my escort, we approached my door, and I knocked earnestly.
The door swung open, revealing two city guards who presented their arms, shouting at me in a resolute tone:
– Back away, peasants! Do not enter this house.
– “Excuse me?” I said, half stunned, half scared. “Is that so?”
– “No entry. Go put on your mask and come to the front door of the Bragadin Palace. There, you may be let in to take part in the event.”
I had regained my usual composure.
– “Suppose I own this house and come back from a trip, dead tired and cold. I would have every right to go to my bed, wouldn’t I?”
– “Ah!… You claim to be the owner? Wait here until we verify the information.” And with that, they closed the door in my face.
I exchanged bewildered glances with my servant and porter, and they looked back at me equally astonished.
After a minute or two, my house’s door opened again, and a butler appeared, adorned with gold trim. He showered me with compliments and invited me to enter. And so I did, still feeling quite amazed.
At the top of the staircase, I inquired of the courteous man about the “magician” who had the courtesy of occupying my house.
– “Could it be that you don’t know?” he replied.
“My master, the patrician Bragadin, anticipating the appointment of his brother and facing a shortage of space in his own palace for hosting a grand feast, connected his residence to yours with a hastily constructed wooden bridge. Thus, with ample space at his disposal, he arranged the catering in your house. All this was done with the consent of the appropriate authorities. It is through your windows that bread and ducat coins are thrown. However, rest assured, we took the precaution of securing your room. If you care to follow me, I’ll take you there.”
Hearing about a consent that I had in no way given was yet another shock for me. However, not wanting to argue with a master of ceremonies, I simply followed him into a living room adorned with candles, a throng of masks shouting and reveling, and a considerable number of valets bustling about in all directions.
I trailed the commotion emanating from the kitchen. Inside, an enormous fire roared, cauldrons and pots boiled, and turkeys, veal quarters, and various meats turned majestically on a colossal spit.
Finally, my guide ushered me into my bedroom, which was indeed locked.
– “Can I ask you at what time this tumult will come to an end?”
– “In fact, it will continue until dawn…for three full days.”
– “I am honored to have been pleased the Bragadin family. Please convey my respects to Their Excellencies. That said, I am going to seek accommodation for these three days of celebration, because I need rest and my sleep is light.”
– “Please no!” cried out the butler. “You are at home, and, as you have seen, care has been taken to lock your room. You must sleep in your bed.”
– “You’re too good. Nevertheless, I’ll go to the nearest inn.”
And off we went again, my porter, my servant, I and my entire luggage, in search of a lodge where I could find some peace. […]
Anyway, following that curious incident which led me to spend three days and three nights in a Venetian inn -even though I own a few houses in the city- I entered into very friendly relations with the Bragadin family.
Carlo Gozzi
Memorie inutili, Palese, 1797
Teatro “La Fenice”, Venice’s opera house is one of the most renowned landmarks in the history of opera. La Fenice hosted performances by all of the major bel canto era composers, including Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti and Verdi.
Venice for playful spirits
Discover our favorite stores and museums to feel the playful, Carnival vibes of Venice.
