Carnevale

When I got back to Rome a few weeks ago, there was a light spray of confetti all over the sidewalks. It was a little puzzling. It was too late for it to have been left over from New Year’s. St. Valentine’s Day is celebrated over here but hardly to the point of confetti (By the way, St. Valentine’s skull is on display in a church down by the Tiber. The skull has a little cloth name tag attached to its forehead as if his mom were concerned he would get it mixed up with all the other kid’s skulls at summer camp.) It seemed way too early for any pre-Lenten celebration but, it turns out, that’s what it was-Carnevale, the Italian run up to Lent.

Carnevale basically means “farewell to meat” and, like Mardi Gras, it’s a period of celebration before the self-denial of Lent. Also like Mardi Gras the official period begins shortly after Christmas (historically Carnevale began on St. Stephen’s Day, Dec. 26) but doesn’t really ramp up until the last few weeks before Ash Wednesday. Actually, in Rome, it doesn’t really ramp up at all. There’s a bit of a blow-out the final Tuesday but it’s mostly celebrated by kids. Weekends find groups of kids in costume (pirates seem particularly popular) running around throwing confetti but it’s pretty low key. If you’re looking for a celebration, you have to go to Venice.
Venice’s Carnevale tradition started back in the 12th century as a by-product of one of those religious vs secular squabbles that Italy used to specialize in. In this particular case, Ulrico of Aguileria was turned over to the Doge (think Duke) and later ransomed for a bull, 12 hogs, and a promise to make a similar gift of livestock for the next 200 years. The meat was used for a grand public feast that eventually migrated to the Tuesday before Lent and the rest is Carnevale.
The tradition survived until the latter part of the 18th century when Venice was absorbed into the Austrian Empire. Carnevale as a public event was basically outlawed as a number of traditions associated with the revelry were banned, particularly the wearing of masks throughout the city. Carnevale continued to be celebrated at private parties until the latter half of the 19th century when a number of regional practices fell by the wayside during Italy’s reunification movement. The tradition was only brought back as recently as 1970.

While the official Carnevale season begins right after Christmas, the real celebration lasts for 10 days (I was there for about 1.) and is inaugurated with the Angel Flight in which some local celebrity is strapped to a harness and slowly sent down a wire that runs from the top of St. Mark’s bell tower to the stage set up on the far end of the square. Now I have a virulent fear of heights so this strikes me as a curious honor but its origins are even more perverse. Originally it was a handful of prisoners who were given the, ahem, opportunity to crawl or walk down a wire strung from the tower to the entrance to the Doge’s palace where they could present a request for clemency. As you can imagine, the spectators weren’t gathering to witness the freeing of these prisoners but more the consequences of the inevitable misstep.
The most common feature of Carnevale is the mask. Masks feature prominently in Venetian history. Once a thriving shipping and merchant city, Venice population was easily divided along social and economic lines. Masks became a great equalizer and anyone, rich or poor, could enjoy anonymity and even equality under a mask. Masks were worn at numerous times of the year and for varying purposes, social occasions as well as activities that warranted some privacy, amorous affairs, of course, but also visiting the hospital bound or those who had sought refuge in convents.
Of course, having a large part of the population walking around in masks presented some problems and there were plenty of laws governing their use. In the first place, masks were only allowed to be worn during around six months of the year (which is still a lot). In addition a number of laws were enacted to control their use. No one wearing a mask could be armed (makes sense. Men could not mask as women and vice versa. (This one is no longer enforced, at least not during Carnevale.)

A number of people sport the traditional masks during Carnevale. Far and away, the most popular is the Bauta, a simple mask, either white or black, with eye holes and a sharply jutting jaw that resembles nothing so much as a locomotive cowcatcher. The mask, usually worn with a black tricorner hat and cloak, both allows the person to eat and drink without removing the mask and serves to disguise the voice. Much less common is the Moretta, a simple black oval that covers the face and is held in place by a stub on its back that is held in the teeth (probably why nobody wears them anymore). The Volta, a basic face fitting white mask is popular as is the mask of the Plague Doctor another white mask but with the a long stork like nose. During the plague, most real doctors opted to treat those a little less infectious and another quasi-medical corps was established . These Plague Doctors wore an early form of hazmat gear consisting of leather breeches, long tightly hooded smocks, a flat brimmed hat and a primitive gas mask of sorts. The long noses were filled with aromatic herbs and were intended to filter the air, capturing what were thought to be airborn plague pathogens.

In addition to the traditional masks, there are a good number of people wandering around in the fine brocades and powdered wigs of the Hapsburg era. There are also a lot of folks who look like they’re headed towards the nearest fraternity Halloween party. Some of these costumes look elaborate and uncomfortable(shower stalls, washing machines, etc.) but most are throw aways and toss togethers. Afro wigs, jumbo plastic glasses, and easy to attach devil horns are everywhere. The remarkable thing is that all ages are involved. Kids in strollers are getting their faces painted (sometimes none too happily) and senior citizens strut with silver tipped walking sticks. (Kids also seem to get a real kick out of the confetti tossing and the real little ones gleefully can’t seem to get over the fact that they are actually allowed to throw fistfuls of the stuff into the faces of passing grown-ups.)
Throughout the day there is a constant milling of the costumed and the plain clothed. Venice is a labyrinth, a great city in which to wander aimlessly but frustrating if you’re trying to get someplace in particular. (I was, however, given a great tip for getting around Venice-follow the crowds. 90% of the city’s streets are residential and of little interest to anyone other than the people who live on them. The crowded street s are the ones that go to “places” and usually the ones you want.) The Rialto Bridge and St Mark’s Square seem to be the most common gathering areas but Venice is a city of small squares and piazzas and there’s usually some revelry or street entertainment going on in all of them.

At night, St Mark’s Square is the epicenter. I strolled through about 7 PM and it was already throbbing to Duck Sauce’s Barbra Streisand. (And just what is with that song anyway?) It was pretty clear from the outset that none of these masks were being worn for anonymity’s sake. They were intended to draw attention. Banks of tourists follow the more elaborately costumed like paparazzi, and the costumed adopt an air of indulgence with the throngs as if they put up with this every day. When I first came into the square, a large woman garbed in blue and sporting some imposing cleavage was commanding the attention of a stream of photographers until she appeared to tire of the location, parted the crowd with a wave of her hand and wander off. (Later in the evening I ran into the same woman canalside where she was talking with some friends. She had a voice like Harvey Fierstein and I thought she might have been in drag but I couldn’t quite reconcile the décolletage.

Throughout the square the dance of gawker and gawkee continued. Through the window of one bake shop a group in 18th century garb nonchalantly enjoyed their tea. (By the way, Venice has some pretty impressive pastries, a holdover of the marriage of Italian and Austrian kitchen trends) Outside a man sporting a powdered wig running about 4 ft in height made his way down the sidewalk, trailed by his faithful man servant with shaved head and Taras Bulba topknot, carrying a feather duster and what appeared to be a converted shuffleboard, uh, thing to keep the dandy dust free and his wig erect. Elsewhere, a couple of Johnny Depps, one a dead-on Jack Sparrow, the other the Mad Hatter, worked the crowd in unison. All the while, Euro-disco pumped from towers of loud speakers while a rotating crew of the more elaborately dressed shook it on down on the stage. I think it was a contest but I didn’t stick around til the end. (I barely made it past eight.)

All this is actually a little out of character for Venice, a city with the oldest mean population in Italy, if not all of Europe. The city is often described in the same terms one would reserve for an aging dowager, stately in her decline. Reminiscent of the Savannah of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (come to think of it, John Berendt followed up that hit with a book about Venice) or a pre-Katrina New Orleans on a Sunday morning, the city and its residents usually tend to move slowly, the only offered pace given its curious water-based geography. A friend says that most of the Venetians appear vaguely sedated. The population is in steady decline and the city has particular difficulty holding onto the younger citizenry. Jobs not related to tourism are few and the cost of living is high.
Still, you can’t tell any of that from Carnevale season. It’s vibrant, bustling, and capable of switching from charming to brash in the matter of a couple of steps. Some say that the city is just a few decades away from being one big museum. (Travel writer Rick Steves points out that it’s easy to buy glassware and masks in Venice but tough to find basic household supplies.) For that matter, you can probably make a pretty good argument that the return of Carnevale was an attempt to jump start the tourist season a little earlier and that the whole thing is artificial. On the other hand, it’s important to remember that these traditions do have both feet in history and it’s a unique history at that, so I tend to give it some leeway. I’m a sucker like that.