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.

Along the Corso notice-boards are hung out of balconies to let, but the notices grow mildewed, and the balconies remain untaken.

The carriage-drivers don't pester you, as in former years, to engage them for the Carnival; and the fancy dresses exposed in the shop-windows are shabby and few in number.

There is no appearance of unnecessary excitement; but "still waters run deep;" and in order to restrain any possible exuberance of feeling, on the very night before the Carnival the French general issues a manifesto.