The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1894-01-16
VENICE OF TO-DAY.
MODERN LIFE IN THE FAMOUS CITY
OF THE DoGES.

MODERN LIFE IN THE FAMOUS CITY
OF THE DoGEs.
Costumes Now and 200 Years Ago-A Con-
slant Fete In the Streets All Day Long.
Market Men Discusses Politics Across the
street-Not All Poetry and Romance.
The Venetians themselves do not seem
greatly to have changed their character,
or their clothes, or their customs Of life,
from those of old paintings and plays
and histories.
In the matter of clothes l refer of
course only to the working people. Our
seignorial selves have changed from the
courtly garments of the Mocenigos and
the Foscari sadly for the worse. There
was a new play the other night at the
Rossini, a clever dramatic scene of the
period of the last of the doges, by
Count Zugana, local author and play
wright. 1t was played by the Venetian
comedy company of Zago and Privata,
we'll known in Italy. The costuming
was extraordinarily good for Italy, good
for any country. The details were his
torically accurate, many councillors
gorgeous gowns and ladies robes being
actually family relics. The inevitable
afterpiece of Italian theaters was a
farce comedy of today. The same actors
and actresses appeared in modern
pants and dresses, according to the
IL 10 &c ~
was painfully striking.
So much for clothes. For types and
characters in Venice today you have
only to read Goldoni of nearly 200
years ago, or even earlier writers of
comedy, to know them we'll. The dia-
lect itself is but little changed. Col
doni's comedies are being played nightly
in the peoples theaters of Venice, as
though the author were alive and
writing satires upon the present gen
Grafton of Venetians.
In the narrow streets, the dark little
shops, which hug each other closely,
side by side, are the same queer, open
air sort of bazaars and boutiques of
hand workers, unchanged since the first
days of the republic. Cheesenongers,
cobblers, iron workers at their forge,
silversmiths, heaters of brass and cop
per, money changers and surgeon bar
bers are all plying their different trades
in their windowless shops, almost as
though they were in the street itself.
Intermingled fruit, flower and veg
etable stalls give gorgeous bits of color
to the somber background of the narrow
Gale, and there is always strip of
heavenly blue, with perhaps piece of
a white cloud, up there between the
roofs, to help compose the picture,
like Paul Veronese's joyous canvases.
There is a constant fete going on in the
streets all day long. The sound of hui
man voices, scraps of song, the clicking
of wooden pattens and the musical
tapping Of metals furnish perpetual
accompaniment to all of your business
and bargaining. The cheeseman dis
cusses politics with the iron worker
across the street, all the while he is
serving you, and uses his knife to ac-
centuate the gestures of his argument.
The price of capon induces quar-
ter of an hours discussion, which
includes family news, the latest gossip
of the parish, much good humored BAN
tering and final compromise on the
fowl.
Babies and cats play in the middle
of the street and lock at you with
wondering eyes when you step over
them Pretty women pass you, with
black shawls over their heads and red
stockings beneath their short skirts,
and show you graceful heels and insteps
at every lift of the foot from their
loose pattens. They have word and
a laugh, as they pass, for every shop
keeper and worker. Gondoliers swing
by, their hands in their pockets, their
hats tilted to one side, their coats
thrown gracefully over one shoulder
and a rose or Il cigarette stuck behind
the ear. They cannot help their uncon-
scious grace any more than the dirty
brown sails of fishing boat their pic
turesque beauty. Every one is laugh
ing, Joking, bantering and bargaining.
Life is sad enough, and has trouble
enough. God knows Most are poor,
and many are suffering. But that is
only a greater reason why they should
make all the pleasure they can out OF it.
The small details of everyday life in
Venice retain all their charm of color
and romantic association, after you
have ceased being a tourist and become
a partially settled resident. Your first
impressions do not seem to fade, or
become spoiled, through familiarity.
The most commonplace things you do
are tinged with an element of the pic
turesque and the poetical. The man
from whom / buy small wood and Goals
has a shop which would delight the
heart of Dutch master for a subject.
He himself, in it, with his blouse, red
waistband, faded brown trousers and
his silver white hair, accompanied by
his big yellow Syrian cat, would fur
nish the best figures for the picture
without choosing. And his garrulous
talk over bargain is as full of wit as
a dialogue in play.
l do not mean that you live in con-
slant ecstatic state of poetry and ro-
nance. A cook, whose name is Ange-
lima, will sometimes make an omelet
too hard, even in an old fifteenth CEN
tury palace. And even Lorenzo or
an Antonio of gondolier, with all the
picturesqueness of his name and call
ing, can drink too much new wine on
the very day your friends are to arrive.
The everyday doings differ in no great
measure from those of modern mortals
at home. There is the same business
to attend to, and affairs to look after,
that there would be at home. House
hold duties are the same and the pleas
ures of life are composed of the same
ingredients. You go for afternoon
promenades, to O'Clock teas, dinners,
theaters, much the same as you would
at home. But the surroundings and at
tendant circumstances of these func-
tions are what make the color in the |
modern life of Venice. Boston Herald.
SENATOR BATES CIGARS.
why He Never Lights the Costly Weede |
He Always Uses.
William B. Bate. twice elected senator /