Among the amusements of the Carnival, there was one in which I was not in
the least tempted to take part—that of the _bal masqué_, or, as it was
called, the Festino di San Carlo. I ought to remark here, however, that it
was with respect to this amusement, above all, Naples differed from Paris.
There was no resemblance between the _bals masqués_ at San Carlo and those
given at the opera in Paris. No virtuous or even prudent woman, I imagine,
would think of venturing to attend the latter; whereas at San Carlo it was
not only common to find married women of rank, but even young ladies under
their mothers’ protection as at any other ball. They wore their masks
awhile, amusing themselves, if they had the turn, with mystifying their
friends; then, at a certain hour, several rooms having been formed by
uniting a number of boxes, and illuminated, they all laid aside their
masks, and the various coteries, in groups of ten, fifteen, or twenty
persons, took supper together. I certainly do not pretend to deny (my
story itself would forbid it) that the opportunity of profiting by this
disguise, in order to pass the evening in a less inoffensive manner, was
not made use of by more than one of the company. It could not be
otherwise, perhaps, in a place where this kind of folly reigns, even in a
mitigated form. I only wish to describe its general character at that
time.
I had not, however, the least inclination to attend. The very thought of
wearing a mask was repugnant to me, and to see anybody else with one on
caused me a kind of fear. Besides, I never could understand what pleasure
was to be found in a mystery of this kind, which always seemed childish
and trivial, if not culpable and dangerous. I had neither the faculty of
disguising my voice nor of making use of the jargon that constitutes the
spirit of a _bal masqué_. I therefore flatly refused to join a party of
twenty persons who were to attend the _Festino_ on _Jeudi‐Gras_, and,
after participating for awhile in the amusements of the ball‐room, were to
take supper together.
Stella had neither my repugnance nor my incapacity. She knew how to play
the part of another with grace and skill, and had been urged, as well as
I, to join this merry party; but she denied herself the pleasure in order
to attend a family supper with her aged relatives and their friends, and
we decided with mutual accord that our amusement for the day should be
confined to that which awaited us on my aunt’s balcony on the Toledo.
The hour came at last, and found us under arms—that is to say, our faces
protected by a kind of visor of wire netting, and all of us, except my
aunt, dressed in such a way as not to fear the clouds of flour we were to
face, as well as the missiles which, under the name of _confetti_, were
fearful to encounter, and had nothing sweet about them but the name. Some
carried their precaution so far as to prepare a _costume de bataille_
expressly for the occasion. Of this number were Teresina and Mariuccia,
who, at Lando’s suggestion, had provided themselves with dresses of white
cotton ornamented with bows of rose‐colored ribbon, which enabled them to
encounter the showers of missiles, and were so becoming that they looked
like two of Watteau’s shepherdesses. But my aunt disdained this mixture of
elegance and economy. She did not give a thought to what was to take place
in the street; her whole mind was absorbed in what was to occur in her
drawing‐room. Regardless of danger, she put on a dress of yellow silk of
the brightest shade, and set off her _chignon_ and false braids with a cap
adorned with poppies and corn‐flowers, above which was fastened a bow of
red ribbon, which streamed like a flag from the summit of a tower. This
display was intended to do honor to the visitors who merely came for their
own convenience. For the most part, they only entered her house with an
eye to her balcony: but in order to obtain access to it, they were obliged
to pass through the drawing‐room, where Donna Clelia herself was stationed
to arrest the passers‐by and exact a tribute of politeness no one could
refuse, and which, brought to such close terms, every one liberally paid.
Never had she, therefore, in a single day reaped a like harvest of new and
distinguished acquaintances; never had she received at once so great a
number of desirable invitations, for could they do otherwise than requite
hospitality with hospitality? My aunt thus had at the beginning of the day
one hour of happiness without alloy!
At length the battle began in earnest. To those who have taken part in
such combats it is useless to describe the enthusiasm and madness which
every one ends by manifesting; to those who have not had the experience it
is equally useless to try to give an idea of it. It must be acknowledged,
however, that the first volley of _confetti_ is by no means very amusing
to the recipient, and he is tempted to withdraw ill‐humoredly from what
seems at first mere rough, childish sport. Then he endeavors to defend
himself by retaliating. By degrees the ardor of combat is awakened; he
yields to it, he grows furious, and for hours sometimes he persists in
returning volley for volley, unmindful of fatigue, and regardless of the
blows he receives. One thing is hurled after another—hard _confetti_,
fragile eggs, flour, sugar‐plums, flowers, and immense bouquets.... If the
ammunition fails, he throws out of the window whatever comes to hand. He
would rather throw himself out than give up the contest!
This sport had been going on for an hour, and we were still in full glee,
when the Venetian gondola made its appearance in the street. It was
welcomed with shouts and cries of applause from the crowd. In fact,
nothing so splendid of this kind had ever been seen before. It came slowly
along, stopping under every balcony. When it arrived before ours, it
remained a long time, and a furious combat took place. Notwithstanding the
visor that concealed Lorenzo’s face, I easily recognized him by his
slender, stately form. Lando and Mario looked very well also, but Lorenzo
surpassed them all by the grace and ease with which he wore his costume,
as well as the skill with which he threw his bouquets to the precise spot
he aimed at. He soon recognized me likewise, and threw me a bunch of
roses!...
Alas! those withered roses. I preserved them a long time in memory of a
day that was to end in so strange a manner!...
After the gondola had gone entirely out of sight, I concluded to leave the
balcony, in order to take some rest while awaiting the return of the
brilliant masquerade. This would not be till nightfall, when the gondola
was to be illuminated throughout. I had therefore nearly an hour before me
in which to repair my strength. But when I entered the drawing‐room, I was
frightened at the sight which met my eyes. My poor aunt’s brilliant toilet
had undergone the most disastrous consequences possible to imagine, and I
found her so covered with flour and blood that I scarcely recognized her!
In this kind of war, as in all others, nothing is more dangerous than to
attract the attention of the enemy. A hat, a ribbon, any dress whatever
the least remarkable in its color, instantly becomes the object of
universal aim. It seems Donna Clelia, after welcoming her company in the
drawing‐room, was tempted to go and see in her turn what was taking place
on the battle‐field; but no sooner had she stepped her foot on the
balcony, no sooner were her poppies visible, and her red ribbons began to
wave in the air, than from every balcony, every window, in the
neighborhood, there fell on her head such a hail‐storm of missiles of all
kinds that, in a second, not only had her flowers, ribbons, and _chignon_
disappeared under a thick layer of flour, but, having neglected to provide
herself with a visor, she had been struck in the very middle of the face
by some of the _confetti_ I have spoken of, which are merely hard balls of
plaster in the centre. No one perceived this in the ardor of the combat,
no one left the _mélée_ to go to her assistance, and she was still in the
arm‐chair where she had thrown herself, stunned by the violence of the
attack!...
I sprang towards her, and hastened to bathe her face with cold water. I
then saw it was only her nose (a somewhat prominent feature in her face)
that had suffered a slight contusion, though sufficient to inundate her
laces and yellow dress with blood, so that the damage they sustained, as
well as her head‐dress, was irreparable!...
But in the midst of all this my aunt remained cool and courageous. Like a
general wounded on the day of victory, she smiled at the result of her
rashness, and, while I was ministering to her wants, she exclaimed:
“It is nothing; no matter! Thanks, Ginevrina mia! _Che bel divertimento!_
I never passed such a day in my life!... Do you know, the Duchessa di L——
has invited me to play _la pignata_(81) at her house a week from Sunday.
And then the gentleman with H.R.H., the Count of Syracuse, has promised to
get me an invitation to one of the amateur comedies. And the gondola—what
do you say to that? Didn’t your husband look handsome enough for you?...
How _simpatico_ that Lorenzo is!... Ah! _figlia mia_, the Madonna has done
well for you!... I hope she will think of us some day!...”
My aunt rambled on in this way while I was trying to repair her disordered
attire, after dressing her wounds. This took some time; but I still
hesitated about leaving her, though she begged me to return to the balcony
and not trouble myself any more about her. I obeyed her at last; but this
interruption had put an end to my enthusiastic gayety, and, when I
returned to my place, I no longer felt any disposition to resume the sport
I found so amusing only a short time before. Besides, it was growing dusk
and the combat was slackening, though the noise and confusion in the
street increased as the time approached for the return of the gondola.
While I was thus standing motionless in the obscurity of one corner of the
balcony where we were assembled, I suddenly heard some words from the
adjoining balcony of the next house that attracted my attention:
“Valenzano must be fabulously rich, but he is going to ruin at full speed,
the dear duke.”
“In the first place, he is really very wealthy,” was the reply; “and when
he gains his lawsuit in Sicily, he will be the richest man in this part of
Italy. I do not consider his entertaining company, however distinguished
it may be, or giving his pretty wife a new set of ornaments now and then,
or throwing away a few hundred dollars as he has done to‐day, as an
extravagance that will ruin a man of his means.”
“No, of course not, if that were all.”
“What else is there?... He used to play high, but they say he never
touches a card now.”
The other speaker burst into a loud laugh, and, after a moment’s silence,
resumed in a lower tone:
“He no longer plays in company, but I assure you _Qui a bu boira_ and _Qui
a joué jouera_. I should be satisfied with an income equal to what he
spends in one evening at _lansquenet_ or _baccara_ since he stopped
playing whist and _écarté_ in the drawing‐rooms to which he accompanies
the duchess.”
Their voices grew still lower, and the few words I heard were so
indistinct that I only caught the following:
“But as there is no doubt as to the result of the lawsuit in Sicily, there
is no danger of a catastrophe.”
At that moment the uproar in the street became deafening. Shouts and wild
applause announced the approach of the gondola, and redoubled in
proportion to its nearness. It really presented a fairy‐like appearance.
It was lit up with a thousand lamps of all colors, and from time to time
brilliant rockets were sent up, casting a momentary gleam over the crowd,
and then vanishing, leaving everything in obscurity except the dazzling
gondola, which proceeded slowly along without stopping this time beneath
the balconies. No _confetti_ or flowers were thrown; the combat was over.
It was now merely a magnificent picturesque spectacle. I saw Lorenzo
again, and more distinctly than before, for he had taken off his visor;
but he could not see me in the obscurity of our balcony. He was standing
in a group on the deck of the gondola as it went by. They were all dressed
in Venetian costumes, which produced an extremely picturesque effect. It
was like a living representation of one of Paul Veronese’s paintings. I
could not take my eyes off so brilliant and extraordinary a spectacle, and
the gondola had gone some distance when I suddenly saw Lorenzo (it was
really he; I should have known him, even if his face had not at that
moment been turned towards the bright light) rapidly ascend the light
staging at one end of the gondola, holding in his hand a small bunch of
jasmine tied with a white ribbon, which, when he arrived at the top, he
threw towards a window in which gleamed a little light. ... It reached its
destination. The window immediately closed, the light disappeared, and
Lorenzo descended and was lost in the crowd that thronged the gondola. All
this took place so quickly that I could hardly account for the attention
with which I watched this little evolution and the degree of vexation it
caused me. Lorenzo, in the course of the day, had thrown more than a
hundred bouquets of the same kind. Why was I more curious to know the
destination of this one than I had been of the rest? But fatigue and the
deafening noise rendered me incapable of reflecting any length of time on
what I had just witnessed and what I had heard on the balcony. There was
almost immediately a general confusion, for the return of the gondola was
the signal for dispersing. I remained till the last to ascertain the
condition of my aunt after her accident, and did not leave her till she
had promised to go to bed and let the baroness, who willingly accepted the
charge, accompany her daughters to the _Festino_ at midnight.
Having returned home, I likewise returned to my room, where I threw myself
on a sofa, exhausted with fatigue. Lorenzo returned at a later hour. He
came up to my room, spoke affectionately, advised me to take some repose,
and inquired if I had absolutely decided not to go to San Carlo. I replied
that, even if I had intended going, I should be obliged to give it up now.
He did not insist, and my eyes were already beginning to close when he
embraced me, as he was going away, and said: “Till to‐morrow, Ginevra; for
the _Festino_ will not be over till daylight, you know.”