#venetian_carnival

[murshili-ii]

Carnival Special: Mask Night

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Our fourth Spring Vignettes piece is in celebration of Carnival, which begins on February 15th by most reckoning, and concludes with Fat Tuesday (in French, Mardi Gras) on February 21st.

In my opinion, Carnival is an under-appreciated holiday, and should be given more attention outside of the Romance-speaking world.

Before you read what the piece means to me, I’d love to hear what it means to _you_. I’m just the artist; you’re the beholder.

Leave a comment.

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Carnival is a period of festive celebration that precedes Lent, a time of solemn penance and prayer for many Christians. It’s necessary to get all of your sinning, indulgence, and hedonism out of the way before Lent begins.

One popular etymology supposes a relation between the word “Carnival” and the word “carne”, which means “meat” in French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Aragonese, Sardinian, Corsican, Galician, Romanian, and Aromanian, deriving from Latin “carō” (oblique stem “carn-”); the rationale being that since it is forbidden to eat meat during Lent, Carnival is the time when all meat, fat, and other forbidden food presently in stock must be hastily consumed so as not to waste it.

This may also be the origin of terms for the particularly raucous final day of Carnival, called “Fat Tuesday” in English, and “Mardi Gras” in French.

Carnival is celebrated in many Latin countries and regions under Latin influence, with famous Carnival festivities in Brazil and New Orleans; but perhaps the world’s best-known Carnival celebrations happen in the majestic city of Venice, once the heart of a mercantile empire, where a long tradition of masquerading has gained fame.

I thought the perfect addition to this Italian masquerade would be the beloved stock characters from Commedia dell’Arte, a genre of traditional Italian stage-comedy with its roots unmistakably planted in ancient Roman comedy of the likes of Pseudolus.

Its cast of distinctive masked characters are recognizable at a glance, and need no introduction. There’s Pantalone, the greedy miser in his red suit and hat; il Dottore, in his scholar’s clothes, an educated fool who thinks he knows everything; el Capitano, in his green suit with sword always at his side, a vainglorious coward who boasts of bravery until danger comes near; patchwork-clothed Arlecchino (or Harlequin), variously a devious trickster or a fool with a heart of gold; his savvy love Colombina; and the wicked Brighella, in his white suit, who loves nothing more than the suffering of others. But no Commedia act would be complete without gli Innamorati, the young lovers whose thwarted romance almost always drives the plot of the story.

The mysterious figure against the corner in the foreground is changing between two traditional Venetian masks; the angular bauta, traditionally worn with a tricorn hat; and the full-face volto, decorated with feathered frills. In all the clamor and confusion of a Carnival Night, one can never know how faces will change. It’s a perfect night for intrigue.

And with so much going on, why wouldn’t there be a sword fight in the background? One never knows what old enemies might chance to meet, or think they've met, or what drunken honor-quarrels will erupt.

I hope the Venetians in the audience will forgive me for adulterating this piece with Florentine elements, and I hope the Florentines in the audience will forgive me for adulterating it with Venetian elements.