Night of masks and masquerades in Venice
I took a taxi from the airport and crossed the lagoon. The air, cold and salty, displaces the remains of mist. In a dense light, domes and bell towers began to emerge between the barges of Venice . I breathed.
Fleeing the crowds of San Marcos, she had booked a room at Ca Sagredo . The view on the Great channel and the giants falling on the steps brightened my mood. Leaving the hotel, I took the traghetto gondola that crosses the Pescheria and I entered the alleys of Dorsoduro.
He vaguely remembered how to get to the School of San Rocco . Behind the Renaissance façade, scattered tourists watched the Tintoretto cycles Led by the audio guides from him. I stopped in front of an image of María Magdalena, immersed in reading in a twilight landscape. I envied her calm.
"Il Ridotto", ca. 1750s
On leaving I looked for distraction in the mask shops . The glitter of costumes that invaded the city had accentuated my tendency to monochrome. I discarded the characters of the commedia dell'arte and, remembering the paintings by Longhi , I opted for a red silk coat trimmed in gold, a peaked hat, a velvet cape and a black bauta with marked eyebrows and a prominent chin . To disguise oneself it is necessary to wish to be another , and I didn't feel like transubstantiating myself. The courtly option allowed me not to be myself without ceasing to be.
The night caught up with me walking. I went back to the hotel to change . At the appointed time, a motorboat took me to the pier of the Palazzo Contarini . I showed my code to a footman and climbed the gothic staircase. The hall, covered with frescoes, stuccoes and large Murano lamps, opened onto the canal in semicircular arches.
Palazzo Contarini
I looked for my cousin Enrico, but I didn't find him. Chiaroscuro favored the theatricality of the masks. A countertenor was singing an aria in the gallery. Most of the scattered guests had opted for classic costumes. Harlequins, Pantaleons, Pulcinellas and Columbians They flickered in the dim light of the candles. The duplication of characters was alleviated by the waiters, dressed in red leggings and doublets in the style of the Carpaccio's works.
I texted my cousin, grabbed a drink and looked him up. It couldn't be too hard to locate him; he was the host. He was greeting an acquaintance when he was approached by a Scaramouche in black, with a short cape, leggings and a ruff. He was young. His name was Tadzio . His pale eyes shone under his mask; It wasn't hard to imagine his face. With the brusque gesture of someone trying to prove something, he ordered two martinis from a waiter while he traced his relationship to my cousin.
I nodded with an invisible smile. "You know what this is about, don't you?" , I asked for. Enrico's parties had not become famous for his family connections.
"Actually, the guest was my uncle Stefano, but he didn't come and I sneaked in." Tadzio looked at my glass. “Your martini is finished. I ask for another."
While he waited, I went into an adjoining room. A projection of the lagoon grew slowly in the darkness. The sound of water swayed as a reddish sun rose over the Salute. To the other side, under the mist, the line of the Lido was distinguished on the horizon.
The guests drew their shadows on the mirage. Tadzio came in with two glasses. He was not a martini. Its taste was bitter. As I drank, I felt the sound of his breathing rise up my neck. He kissed my false face . All around us, bodices and leggings tumbled onto divans.
not yet i thought . I retrieved our hats, took his arm, and we put the confusion behind us. We passed through halls where the golden cups had already fallen and descended towards the door. I asked to be taken to the hotel, but Tadzio interrupted me. The taxi dropped us off at a dock in front of **San Michele**. Behind a wall, the breeze made the trees in a garden sound in the dark.
The Casino degli Spiriti of Venice
“It is a Dominican convent. An aunt of mine made vows there.” She scaled the wall with agility and pointed out to me where she should put her feet. After the descent, I found myself in a moonlit hedge maze . She motioned for me to follow her.
At one end of the garden stood an ancient playing pavilion. The building served as a retreat for guests with an occasional vocation. Tadzio lit the fireplace. The flames illuminated unlit paintings. The furniture was sparse. A mat covered the terrace. It was cold. The masks fell. We hug.
Eternal Venice