er this ingenious
feat came another called the "Force of Hercules," given by a band of
youths who, building themselves into a kind of pyramid, shifted their
postures with inexhaustible agility, while bursts of fireworks wove
yellow arches through the midday light. Meanwhile the crowds in the
streets fled this way and that as a throng of uproarious young fellows
drove before them the bulls that were to be baited in the open squares;
and wherever a recessed doorway or the angle of a building afforded
shelter from the rout, some posture-maker or ballad-singer had gathered
a crowd about his carpet.

Ash Wednesday brought about a dramatic transformation. Every travesty
laid aside, every tent and stall swept away, the people again gathered
in the Piazza to receive the ashes of penitence on their heads, the
churches now became the chief centres of interest. Venice was noted for
her sacred music and for the lavish illumination of her favourite
shrines and chapels; and few religious spectacles were more impressive
than the Forty Hours' devotion in the wealthier churches of the city.
All the magic of music, painting and sculpture were combined in the
service of religion, and Odo's sense of the dramatic quality of the
Catholic rites found gratification in the moving scenes where, amid the
imperishable splendours of his own creation, man owned himself but dust.
Never before had he been so alive to the symbolism of the penitential
season, so awed by the beauty and symmetry of that great structure of
the Liturgical Year that leads the soul up, step by step, to the awful
heights of Calvary. The very carelessness of those about him seemed to
deepen the solemnity of the scenes enacted--as though the Church, after
all her centuries of dominion, were still, as in those early days, but a
voice crying in the wilderness.

The Easter bells ushered in the reign of another spirit. If the carnival
folly was spent, the joy of returning life replaced it. After the winter
diversions of cards, concerts and theatres, came the excursions to the
island-gardens of the lagoon and the evening promenade of the fresca on
the Grand Canal. Now the palace-windows were hung with awnings, the
oleanders in the balconies grew rosy against the sea-worn marble, and
yellow snap-dragons blossomed from the crumbling walls. The market-boats
brought early fruits and vegetables from the Brenta and roses and
gilly-flowers from the Paduan gardens; and when the wind set fro