A great change came over society in Venice early in the latter half of the nineteenth century. The people were dull, and sullen, and poor. They resented their political position bitterly. The feeling with which they were possessed was their great hatred of the Austrians. They did not hate the Austrians individually; but they did politically, and therefore socially. If you wanted to know the Austrians, you could not know the Venetians: if you were friendly with either, you must cold-shoulder the others. Society in Venice was divided into two distinct sections. Once gone over to a side, you had no withdrawal. If a girl intermarried she was cut off for life from her family. Whatever the Venetian can or cannot do, he can certainly hate, and that well. He may be dull and dispirited; but he is fiercely patriotic, and his hatred of the Austrian was very strong. Most of the nobility were exiled. The rest kept severely to themselves. They never attended popular festivities, and even among the poorer classes of Venetians very few old customs were kept up. The people felt keenly the contrast of what had been and what was. A bridge of boats was still built over the water to the church of the Redentore; but it was very little used. The carnival, which was wont to last for six weeks, was kept up but a single night; and then it was a farcical show. Only a few dressed-up beggars tore through the streets, singing songs at the cafés for drinks, and they were looked upon by the crowd with melancholy scorn. Venetian people of good family seldom went to the play or to the opera. Austrian bands played there. The places of entertainment were mostly kept up by foreigners, and were consequently not what they might have been. To find good Italian opera one had to go to London or to Paris. Still, the Venetians love music. It is born in them: they have a passion for the art which nothing can subdue. Even the veriest street urchin sings his gutter song with a fervour such as we do not know of in the north. Despite the ban from which they suffered, the theatres were not uninteresting. Scarcely any Italian can act badly. Practically in every case he has the dramatic instinct. But there was no gay buzz in the audience, no flitting from box to box. The theatres were filled with Austrians, who took their pleasure quietly. The artisans and other poor Venetians, who saved up their money to go to the play, certainly did enjoy it. They cheered and hissed with vehemence, and between the acts drank aniseed and water, and ate candied fruits on sticks fashioned at the ends into toothpicks. [Illustration: A CAMPIELLO]