A Carnival story

Io ch'armato sin hor d'un duro gelo
degli assalti d'amor potei difendermi
ne l'infocato suo pungente telo
puote l'alma passar o'l petto offendermi
Hor che il tutto si cangia al novo cielo
a due begli occhi ancor non dovea a rendermi
si si disarma il solito rigore
arda dunque d'amor
arda il mio core.

I who am armoured now in hard ice
From the assaults of Love will be able to defend myself.
Not even his fiery, stabbing arrow
Can pass into my soul or wound my breast.
Now that all things are changed under a new sky
To two beautiful eyes I must not again surrender.
If this same rigour should disarm itself
It burns then with love
It burns, my heart.

Seen through the eyes of a mask, all men are lords, all women beauties.

Men know this. It is why they come in flocks to Venice in the winter. I think it is also why our city’s law allows the wearing of masks in public from October until the beginning of Lent. Certainly we do not go masked for anonymity: in a city this small, no one is anonymous. We who once oversaw a trading empire that stretched from Asia to the Adriatic now have nothing to do but gossip. The cut of your clothes, the rhythm of your step, the way you hold a fan or climb out of a gondola will give you away, mask or no. Masks are useless for disguise. I think we Venetians simply could not bear to look at each other’s bare faces all year round.
( Read on... )

A Carnival story

Io ch'armato sin hor d'un duro gelo
degli assalti d'amor potei difendermi
ne l'infocato suo pungente telo
puote l'alma passar o'l petto offendermi
Hor che il tutto si cangia al novo cielo
a due begli occhi ancor non dovea a rendermi
si si disarma il solito rigore
arda dunque d'amor
arda il mio core.

I who am armoured now in hard ice
From the assaults of Love will be able to defend myself.
Not even his fiery, stabbing arrow
Can pass into my soul or wound my breast.
Now that all things are changed under a new sky
To two beautiful eyes I must not again surrender.
If this same rigour should disarm itself
It burns then with love
It burns, my heart.

Seen through the eyes of a mask, all men are lords, all women beauties.

Men know this. It is why they come in flocks to Venice in the winter. I think it is also why our city’s law allows the wearing of masks in public from October until the beginning of Lent. Certainly we do not go masked for anonymity: in a city this small, no one is anonymous. We who once oversaw a trading empire that stretched from Asia to the Adriatic now have nothing to do but gossip. The cut of your clothes, the rhythm of your step, the way you hold a fan or climb out of a gondola will give you away, mask or no. Masks are useless for disguise. I think we Venetians simply could not bear to look at each other’s bare faces all year round.
( Read on... )