A GARDEN IN VENICE 



ance wished to see me. It was my Padre of the 

 Giudecca. He was carrying a sack half full of 

 white beans with which to make the soup so 

 freely given in the winter to the Venetian poor, 

 and asked my help to fill it from our farm pro- 

 duce. 



On the Saturday, the eve of the Redentore festa, 

 all Venice, poor and rich, gentle and simple, 

 spend their night abroad. From dark to dawn the 

 Giudecca quays, called Fondamente, are crowded 

 with sightseers and pleasure-wooers of every age 

 and size and sex. Among them the Furlani have 

 a ready sale for their fruit. For there are few 

 on bank or boat who do not eat that night of 

 mulberries. 



On the canal thousands of boats pass up and 

 down the water, most, if not all, decked with 

 awnings or shelters built of green boughs and 

 flowers, hung with lanterns of every shape, device, 

 and colour, laden with suppers of all degrees of 

 merit, and crowded with families, or parties, of 

 quality as varied. The girls and boys, the women 

 and the men seem, and do, I believe, eat all night; 

 48 



