_ Travel
[We-publish in this column articles and notes which may help our readers in their plans for travel at home and abrOad.1 They_ will be written by correspondents who have visited the places -described.]
The Palio
(The Polio of Siena is a very ancient annual festival in which a peculiar horse-race is the principal event. It was held on July 2nd, and will again take place on August 16th.) THE race is run in the Campo, the chief square of the city, and all Siena and its province seems to cram itself into that space for the spectacle. Thither we too went, and climbed to precarious seats on a: harrow stand. The scene we looked down on was thrilling in its mingling of lovely colours, its historical setting, and its happy humanity. Siena's Piazza is striking in that no wide streets break its outline, and the many-storied houses shut it in like the walls of an amphi- theatre—a superb stage for display. In the middle of one side is the Palazzo Pubblieo with its famous Torre del Mangia. Just below our stand is the reproduction of the Fonte Gaia, Quercia's fountain.
It was 5.80 p.m. of an August afternoon, and the vast space seemed to have imprisoned even in its shadows some of the warm glow of the day. The harmony of colours was exquisite ; the walls of the old houses cream or creamy brown, rosy or ruddy, gay with the stronger notes of the silken draperies hung from the windows. The light-hearted crowd banked itself against the walls on stands, filled the loggias, clustered on flat ri;ofs and took every foot of standing room in the enclosed space in the centre. The only space prepared for reservation was the racing track which ran round the circum- ference. In some way or other the great assemblage repre- sented an intimate and family occasion, from which the rest of the world was shut out—the family house-walls all around, the grey-blue sky for a roof.
The Patio has a history many centuries old, and the Torre has looked with impartial serenity on fierce fights and friendly contests. The origin of the festival belongs to Siena's hard- fighting days then her youths hardened their courage and disciplined their bodies by combats organized in this square, lances and stones as weapons. Later, games were sometimes milder, when a ball tossed from the top of the• tower Was struggled for by the champions gathered below. There was a time when the warlike cravings of youth were given an outlet in fights with bulls and buffaloes. It was from: these harsher precedents that the present-day pageant' grew. The first horse-races were instituted in 1650; in 1675, the seventeen Contrade, (districts) were mapped out each choosing a banner bearing an animal as a device, this to commemorate the fact that the shelters used in the bull- fights were built in the form of an animal. These brilliant banners are heirlooms, but till one learned their history their emblems were extraordinary—a two-headed eagle or a goose, a giraffe or a snail, a panther or a tortoise, a dragon or a caterpillar.
The Patio of to-day falls in two sections—the " flag- playing " and the horse-race, both having preliminaries to the grand finale in the Campo. In each contrada the group of performers chosen to represent it go to the parish church to be blessed ; with them goes their horse. Led by its jockey it paces sedately into the sacred place and stands to receive the blessing of the priest. The church ceremony is followed by a performance before the Archbishop in the square of the Duomo. Two men from each group "play" their great beautiful banners with marvellous skill, swinging them round their heads, leaping over them, tossing them in the air, a swirling medley of colour.
Then comes the united scene in the Campo. We look down on the elegant mounted police shepherding the public from the track into the enclosure, the Fascisti standing by ready for emergencies. A signal bursts forth, the hum of voices drops low ; the procession of mediaeval splendours emerges from the Palazzo and paces round the track. This is a civic occasion, and in the van must be the black and white ensign of the city and the state trumpeters ; then the palace musicians and the city dignitaries; twelve pages carry wreaths for the victors ; a lofty car hung with the flags of the competing contrade displays the Patio, the banner which is to be the reward of the victor.
Then follow at intervals the groups of the contrade, each consisting of drummer, two flag-players, a knight and his attendants, the jockey on a gorgeously caparisoned steed, and the racehorse led by a groom. Every group has a dress scheme of traditional cut and colour : olive and gold, crimson and gold and white, russet and orange and scarlet, heavy crimson and black, shining silver and black, the azure and white of the sky. Imagine the measured progress of this Procession of colours, each section halting again and again to show, off its flag-play. Place it on the pale CiehrO ofthe race-way, flanked by dense dark _crowds., shut in by lofty rose-tinted walls. It surely held within it every tint of the stained glass of cathedrals, every poignant shade of sunset, every colour of ripe fruit, the purple of grapes, the ruddiness of wine. At last the course is filled from end to end with the moving groups- : the banners are flaunted and flung to the maddening rhythm; of the drums ; it is a climax of passionate colour.
The pageant passed out. The track was swept, the starting place was roped off, the dangerous corner padded with mat- tresses was cleared of people. Silence spread over the crowds. Then floated out the soft and clear-toned voice of the old bell from the old tower—a bell like a benediction.
From the gateway of the Palazzo issued the competitors,! shorn of all gay trappings now, reduced to a very bare racing , rig, minus saddle and stirrups, armed with the long thin whips called nerbi. It is perfectly understood that with these you may not only whip your own mount into frenzy but whip your rival's into a backward frenzy. A small explosion is the signal for starting. Three times round the course they tear at the mattress corner some are pitched against the padded wall ; again the signal breaks out, and the race . is over. Like a torrent the crowd pours round the winner, carabinieri conspicuous, for the citizens of unsuccessful, contrade often treat the losing jockeys with hot Italian rage, whilst the winner may also need protection from his friends, who carry him off in a tumult of triumph. A month later the victors celebrate in full style. Every street in the contrada' is a medley of fantastic lights ; the supper banquet is set forth in the open air • at the head of the table, decked with' the colours which it lore to victory and which are its privileged adornment for life, presides the horse.
M. A. JOHNSTONE.
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