Our rulers were, it seems, equally afraid of having a
carnival and not having it; and with their wonted wisdom decided on the
middle course, of having a carnival which was not a carnival at all. One
week before the first of the eight fete-days, the long-delayed edict was
posted on the walls; the festival was to be celebrated as usual, except
that no masks were to be allowed; false beards and moustaches, or any
attempt to disguise the features, were strictly forbidden. Political
allusions, or cries of any kind, were placed under the same ban; crowds
were to disperse at a moment's notice, and prompt obedience was to be
rendered to any injunction of the police. Subject to these slight
restraints, the wild revel and the joyous licence of the Carnival was to
rule unbridled. In the words of a Papal writer in the government gazette
of Venice: "The festival is to be celebrated in full vigour, except that
no masks are allowed, as the fashion for them has lately gone out. There
will be, however, disguises and fancy dresses, confetti, bouquets, races,
moccoletti, public and private balls, and, in short, every amusement of
the Carnival time." What more could be required by a happy and contented
people? Somehow, the news does not seem to be received with any
extraordinary rejoicing; a group of idlers gaze at the decree and pass
on, shrugging their shoulders listlessly.
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