The times and democrat. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, 1883-12-20
CHRISTMAS IN VENICE.
Holiday Scenes and incidents i'm an
Italian Oitye

italian City
And now the blessed Christmas-eve
has come. A hush settles upon the city
with the twilight. The toiling fathers
and mothers stroll, with the children In
their arms, along the passages between
the gay booths, and laugh and shout and
chatter with the bronzed peasant, whose
faces stand out in relief behind the far
ing brass lamps. The bridges lie white
and calm in the dusk, with shadows
gathered in the water under the arches.
Along the canals the reflections OF the
house fronts lie black against the dusk OF
the mirrored sky. Here and there the
street light falls on On angel gazing down
with outstretched hands and widespread
wings. A holy peace is on the beautiful
stone face, and the uouths are parted
with mute hosannas.
Along the lagoon groups are strollinig
toward the piazza, for their is service in
St. Marks. There are sailor lads dressed
afresh for the fiesta night; peasant sol
diers who are thinking Of the little homes
among the Southern olive hills; young
girls with faces shining with holy
thoughts. In the upper sky fingers the
pale twilight green that the old Vene-
tians dwelt upon so lovingly. The tower
of San Giorgio rises, stately shaft,
against the darkening sky, with the gold
en- angel standing in relief against the
clear space the early moon has left in its
wake. At the angels feet glows the
great, bright steadfast evening star:
The lagoon is red with the reflected
after-glow. Great black shadows Lie
athwart it from the hulks of the anchored
vessels. The network of masts and cor
dage that stands black against the ruddy
sky is reproduced in the pale water.
The domes of the city rise black
against the late twilight sky, and along
the water's edge CLEAN rows of golden
lights. Old converts that long echoed
with the Christmas merriment of monks
frown upon the joyful people, white and
ghostly in their age.
In the wine shops the gondoliers are
singing noisy Christmas ballads. In the
larger cafe officers in spurs and floating
cloaks are grouped about the little
tables, playing chess and drinking coffee.
Old men are knitting their bIows over
the newspapers, forgetful of Christmas
eve. Young men are whispering to-
gether and laughing over their stories,
unmindful of the old blind man who is
singing some quaint Christmas carol at
the door to the sound of his worn guitar.
Sometimes young girls-fresh, pretty
things stand with their mothers in the
recking Cigar smoke, and wall Christmas
careis to plaintive violin accompani-
1 ment, that makes them stop and listen un-
til tears come into their eyes at the
thought Of Christmas hopes dead long
ago.
At the Molo the gondole crouch dark
against the riva, with stakes rising
among them, crowned now and then
with a little Gothic tabernacle that has a
lamp Pickering before coarse print OF
the Virgin. The gondoliers lounge,
wrapped in their heavy cloaks, about the
landing On the pedestals of the
columns, with the white-eyed lion glar-
ing upon them, and St. Theodore gazing
scornfully upon their plebeian shapes,
---cower groups of woman and children ana
old men. Some instinct of alteration has
driven them out under the open sky to
wait for the mystical coming.
I Through the dusk CLEAN the white re-
clining figures on the arches of the Zecca.
She statutes stand dark against the sky
under the great black shaft of the Cam
panile. The moonlight glitters on the
arched window of the ducal palace and
under the dusk of the balcony curves,
forcing the white shafts to strong relief.
i Across the piazza, forming back.
ground for the figures of the passers-by,
streams the light from the brilliant win
dows under the Procuratic and the long,
bright street beyond the clock tower.
The giants that strike the bell stand out
among the chimncys, and below them,
against the black front above the arch,
glow the golden numbers of the hour.
On the side of the church, where the
mosaic virgin sits high in her niche, with
gold and cleaning marbles and quaint
carving and smiling monsters about her,
burn two tlickering points of flame. They
have shone there for centuries-the re-
public's peace offering to q soul whose
body was put to death between the fata
columns. At the door of the basilica
weary mothers and children crouch
among the porphyry columns and the
grinning monsters.
At the prayer desks and on the pale
mosaickcd floor kneel dark yelled figures,
like statues, against the charcel flame
The people stand with faces raised te
the throne above the altar glory, where
the great pale Christ sits with His hands
uplifted in blessing. The symbols of the
evangelists stand about Him-mighty
) monsters praising God for the many
Chrisimas-eves they have known since
the old Greek workers called them into
life. A peace not of earth lies upor
their grotesque features, and on tht
faces Of the worshipers standing with
hushcd alteration about the shadowy
columns. There are old men whose guns
hang by the side of the brown Madonna
in token of gratitude for their preserva
ton in the time Of the revolution; young
girls with rapt faces; young men with
dark, brave eyes; mothers with thcil
babes crying out for joy at the bright
ness. The glory of immortality ha:
dawned upon their earth-laden hearts,