The backbone of Il Palio are Siena's 17 contrade, which you can liken to city wards or administrative districts. These well-defined neighborhoods were designated in the Middle Ages, basically to aid the many military companies hired to defend Siena's fiercely-earned independence from Florence and other nearby city states. Over the centuries, the contrada has lost its administrative function and become an area held together by its residents' common emotions and devotions. Its role has broadened, so that every important event - baptisms, deaths, marriages, church holidays, victories, even wine or food festivals - was celebrated by, and only by, the contrada. Even today it is not considered a good idea to marry out of the contrada, and if you do, it's probably wise to sleep at your parents' house the night before the race.
Naturally, this loyalty extends to the yearly horse race whose "official" motivation since the 11th century has been to give thanks to the Madonna. The horses that tear around the Piazza del Campo at breakneck speed, with or without jockeys on board, wear the colors and designs of the contrade: Tortoise, Wave, She-Wolf, Goose, Shell, Porcupine, Dragon, Owl, Snail, Panther, Eagle, Caterpillar, Unicorn, Ram, Giraffe, Forest and Tower.
The culminating moment of Il Palio, the actual horse race, is achingly brief: a minute and a half, give or take ten seconds. But so much has happened before the pack of frantic animals finally breaks loose from the ancient rope that marks the starting line!
Anyone familiar with Siena knows that Il Bruco is the smallest and least affluent contrada. Most of its residents are working class people, and it has none of the imposing banks, resplendent churches or opulent municipal buildings present almost everywhere else. It's also off the beaten track, tucked just inside the walls on the Chianti side of town where the Gothic church of San Francesco stands. It hasn't won a Palio since 1956, one of the longest "dry spells" in Sienese history. It speaks volumes about the personalities of the brucolani that they turn this singular stretch of bad luck into a "record" to point to with a kind of perverse pride. They will also make sure you know their neighborhood is one of only three to have received the official designation of contrada nobile. Ironically, the honorary title of "noble" was bestowed in the late 14th century, in recognition of Bruco's leadership and heroic participation in a successful uprising against the local nobility.
Be sure to visit some of the museo della contrada. There are seventeen of these "museums" in Siena, each crammed with mementoes, drawings, paintings, photographs, sacred art objects, locks of horse mane, military uniforms, tiny sets of jockey silks and, most importantly, every single banner (or palio) won by the contrada since they started handing them out. The oldest extent one, dated 1719, is on view at the museum of L'Aquila, The Eagle. Il Bruco has about as few as any, but it boasts a lovely fresco depicting the historic noble uprising.
50 Foot Long TablesIf you ever attend the Palio you'll never forget the excitement of the night before the race. The streets are bathed with soft golden light from hundreds of torches and lanterns. Groups of noisy Geese, Panthers and Tortoises flock by on their way to dinner for thousands: each contrada lays out rows and rows of 50-foot-long tables in its largest square, and local restauranteurs serve up huge bowls of pasta, gigantic platters of meat and legendary sides of vegetables. Approximately 25,000 Sienese will eat in the streets that night - so close and yet so far away from each other.
People will treat you like native Contrada. They will sit you down in the middle of a table and proceed to shout history at you as you munch on your fettuccine. It is a very special kind of history, the history of Il Palio. Everyone has a family anecdote, everyone has their own peculiar version of the facts, and with each ruby red pitcher of Chianti, the "discussion" gets more "animated." You will learn more about the workings of Il Palio than you probably know about the entire Roman Empire.
Won By The Goose In 1969In 1969, the Goose won this palio honoring the moon landing.
The first thing to understand about this race is that there is a very delicate equilibrium between the 17 contrade. They don't all hate each other. Bruco, for instance, has a historical alliance with Snail, Porcupine, Unicorn, Shell and Tower and, rather uniquely (another source of great pride), it has no official enemies. On race day, this patchwork quilt of friends and foes translates to last-minute deals whispered between jockeys as they wait for the canape, or starting rope, to fall.
Il DuceLets not get ahead of ourselves, because the real beginning of Il Palio comes months before the race, when each neighborhood carefully selects its delegates for the coming year. The most illustrious nominee is the Captain, who is actually responsible for managing the contrada's money (more about that later), strategies and welfare in the days leading up to the Palio. Then there's the barbaresco, who takes care of the horse once it's chosen. Other hotly contended nominations are for the comparsa, the pages and costumed characters who represent the neighborhood during the pre-race pageant. The two most important comparsa members are il paggio maggiore, who carries the contrada's official banner, and il duce, who parades in full body armor as he impersonates the military commanders of ancient days. For the next few months all these lucky people will spend every free minute planning, plotting, rehearsing and, in the case of the pages, practicing their flag-tossing skills or (ouch!) their drumming techniques.
April 26th marks the opening of parade season. Throughout the next four months, each contrada stages a colorful procession to celebrate its patron saint. This whirlwind of activity leads up to the day of the tratta when, in the presence of countless nervewracked Sienese citizens, the horses deemed "suitable" for this unique race are assigned by lot to each of the ten contrade participating in the race. Yes, you read correctly. Only ten horses run each race, because seventeen overwrought equines would be too much even for this larger-than-life event. As a result, the Captains retreat twice each year to decide which three lucky contrade get to run in both races. We probably don't need to explain the ramifications of the above friend/foe aspect during these meetings. Fans of Machiavelli will delight to the possibilities!
Once the barbareschi have led their charges off to the neighborhood to be "inspected," spoiled and evaluated by every single citizen, it is up to each Captain to decide, based on the relative worth of the allotted animal, whether the contrada's strategy should be to win or rather to make the enemy lose. This is all done by carefully moving the neighborhood's financial resources in one direction or another. Rich contrade like Goose or Forest may have as much as half a million dollars to throw around. Those like Bruco with no true enemies will gladly accept "donations" in exchange for sabotaging the enemies of their allies. From this moment on, rumors fly across every piazza and strada, so that when the horses finally do run that 90-second dash, true Sienese - the 50,000 standing in the square and the thousands more comfortably seated in bleachers and at every single window in the Piazza - are just as interested in the politics behind the race as in the race itself. Perhaps that is why they don't seem to mind that it always takes three or four attempts to line up the horses at the rope: they know the jockeys are using that "wasted" time to make last-minute offers of assistance and treachery. Lip-readers are in heavy demand on the day of Il Palio.
Il Bruco's Paggio MaggioreAfter the tratta, all life in Siena is focused on the race. Six trial races are held so that the jockeys (race track professionals who receive astronomical sums from the contrade) can get to know their mounts. Locals say the fifth trial is the most dangerous day of all, because spectators can no longer control their emotions. This harrowing day is followed by a "dress rehearsal" dinner, where all the contrada members can practice the celebration they hope to repeat the following night. People spend the evening listening to complicated analyses of equine withers, the going prices for bribes, the duplicity of jockeys and the way in which all of these elements would combine to end Il Bruco's dry spell the next day.
Vai e Torna Vincitore!The magnificent animals are brought into the churches. The horse snorts, the altar boys fill the air with clouds of incense, the prelate holds a cross above the animal's head and intones a few words in Latin, the onlookers recite a few verses, the priest says "Vai e torna vincitore "(Go and return a winner), and then it is over and you are pushed back out into the streets amid a feeling of mounting tension as harrowing as you'll ever feel. Everyone rushes across town, ignoring the contrada border line now in their hurry to get to their accustomed section in the middle of the Piazza, as close as possible to the finish line.
The roar of the crowd is unforgettable. Anxious faces are everywhere, except in the baby blue waters of the fountain (that comes later). Many of the thousands standing in the square wear scarves and hats with their contrada colors. Now and then a group of spectators burst into a song which is their neighborhood anthem. Friends will smile; foes will whistle and boo. At around 4:30 they seal off the square and that is it: the only way you can get out of there before the race ends is on a stretcher.
The War ChariotThen follows three hours of medieval pageantry. It includes delegations of carts and floats from nearby towns, the Sienese academicians, the trade corporations, a "charge" by a legion of mounted carabinieri officers, the well-rehearsed pages and drummers of the contrade, first those participating and then those not involved this time around, followed by the city authorities, the noble families and, the favorite, the war chariot, drawn by two enormous doe-eyed white bulls and bearing the Palio, the banner to be awarded for that particular race.
Then The Rope FallsIt's a waste of words to describe what happens once the steeds and jockeys arrive on the scene. Utter pandemonium breaks loose. Fans scream, banners wave, whistles blare and cannons are fired as time after time the officials try to line the horses up in the correct order. You keep thinking the mossiere is about to raise his arm to signal the start, but then he nods imperceptibly, the air fills with tens of thousands of groans, and the horses all file out to begin again. You get so used to this rhythm that when the rope finally does fall, you are taken by surprise and have to refocus on the magnificent animals hurtling by at breakneck speed. You must look carefully, because they'll only be back this way once again.
Alas, most people will not receive the miracle they had been hoping for. That bay which had so impressed them in the church turned out to be a brenna (nag) and the jockey? Well, anyone could tell that the jockey was the scum of the earth. People are alternately crestfallen, infuriated, speechless and full of invective, and some of them get into shouting matches with the winners as they hop over the fences to get to the Judges Stands in time to see the Palio being lowered to their Captain. In the wink of an eye they are gone, following their rag to the cathedral to thank God for their victory.
"Published by and reprinted with the kind permission of In Italy Online."
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