Venice, as drawn by Friedrich Bernhard Werner in 1730. This engraving is part of a large assortment of similar city-views produced by German printers. For the record, these are two conjoined sheets printed in Augsburg by Johann Friedrich Probst in about 1750. Interesting to see that Werner managed to squash some of the more eastern churches into the background on the right-hand edge of the engraving. Inexplicably missing, though, is the church of Sant’ Elena, or rather, its tower, which had been standing there since 1558. Napoleon deconsecrated the church in 1810 and tore down the tower. The regrettable replacement that we see today was built in 1920.
When you think of Venice, you think of canals. I take that as a given. But unless you are a maniac for old maps, you may not have noticed how many towers punctuate the city.
Many (most?) medieval cities in Europe were spikier than a drove of porcupines, and the Venetian skyline in the 1730 engraving can still be discerned. I was all set to blame Napoleon for any that are missing, but he was focused primarily on despoiling churches, not dismantling towers.
The prime destroyer was lightning. It took Venice a surprisingly long time — i.e., more than one disaster — to address the problem of lightning’s propensity to ignite a disastrous fire, but eventually lightning rods were installed on many belltowers. (Along the same lines, gunpowder was originally stored in the Arsenal, and strange to say it took more than one lightning bolt for the administrators to grasp the importance of storing it on neighboring islands. One such island is called San Angelo delle Polvere — Saint Angelo of the Powder. The wisdom of storing gunpowder outside the city was confirmed on August 29, 1689, when lightning struck the island and all 800 barrels exploded.)
Back to towers. There are a few churches whose bells (or budget) didn’t even merit a tower. Exhibit A: The magnificent basilica of SS. Giovanni e Paolo.
Take whatever time you need to locate the bells. Rockstar church, roadie belltower. This certainly never had a chance to feature on the engraving. (Credit: Didier Descouens, own work, CC BY-SA4.0, Wikipedia).True, this is not the same perspective as the engraving above. I put this picture here just because I like it. Someone who had come to Venice specifically to draw the skyline, however, might have had second thoughts on seeing this.On closer inspection, the newcomer would discover that there are plenty of towers, as we see here. It’s just that only a few stick up in any noticeable way. The artist solves that little problem by simply stretching them all skyward, making the city look pricklier than a pincushion.Venice buffs can amuse themselves by identifying the towers. No fair looking at the engraving.
Indulge me as I conduct roll call. I will follow the sequence of church names printed in Latin below the engraving, but I’ll translate them into the common Italian versions we know. The German names, printed above the towers, will be left for you to decipher for whatever weird crossword you may be working that actually asks for this information.
Bear in mind that the image shows three dimensions, so don’t think the churches are all lined up like the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall, meaning no disrespect. To churches or Rockettes.
1. San Biagio and Cataldo nuns (on the Giudecca, if it isn’t clear). The Blessed Catholdus of Eichstatt was a 7th century Benedictine monk. All that remains of the church is a very worn plaque in Latin on the wall of the present church of Santa Eufemia. 2. SantaMarta 3. San Trovaso 4. Santa Maria Maggiore nuns 5. San Nicolo’ (dei Mendicanti, I am supposing by the location) 6. Sant’ Agnese 7. SantaMaria della Carita’. The belltower fell into the Grand Canal on March 27, 1744, crushing two houses and causing such a huge wave that the nearby gondolas were thrown onto the street. The church is now part of the Accademia Gallery. The belltower is nowhere to be seen. 8. Santo Stefano 9. Sant’Angelo 10. La Salute (Salus is Latin for “health”). 11. San Lucius (a 13th-century shepherd and patron saint of cheese-makers. The church no longer exists). 12. San Vidal 13. San Simeone (doesn’t indicate “grande,” which is small, or “piccolo,” which is large) 14. San Sebastiano 15. San Samuele 16. Santa Maria Benigna (I am still seeking information about this lovely-sounding church, but I am not feeling optimistic). 17. San LeonardoFour towers to rest your tired eyes. (L to R): Far left: The tiniest tower, just visible above the trees, belongs to the church of San Cristoforo on the cemetery island of San Michele. Center left: Torre di Porta Nuova, at the eastern water entrance to the Arsenale; built in the early 19th century for masting ships, it fell into disuse not long afterward due to changing naval engineering. It is occasionally open to visitors. The interior has been redesigned for various uses as a cultural center, but a visit is well worth it if only for the view from the top. Center right: The white belltower of San Pietro di Castello. Yes, it is leaning slightly, but please remain calm, everything is under control. Far right: The brick tower of the church of Santi Maria e Donato on Murano.
18. Santa Margherita 19, San Beneto 20. Carmini 21. San Luca 22. San Pantalon 23. San Nicolo’ dei Tolentini 24. Conventual (Frari). 25. San Polo 26. San Moise’ 27. San Bonaventura Riformati (Franciscan Minor friars from S. Francesco del Deserto) 28. Carmelitani Scalzi 29. Sant’ Apollonia 30. Sant’ Alvise nuns 31. San Silvestro 32. San Giacometto 33. San Boldo 34. Sant’ Aponal 35. San Cassian
36. San Stae 37. San Mattia 38. San Salvador 39. Torre di San Marco 40. San Lio 41. church of the Apostoli 42. church of SanMarco 43. Santa Catarina 44. Padri Gesuiti (the Jesuit fathers) 45. San Marino 46. Santi Miracoli 47. San Canciano 48. SantaMaria Formosa 49. San Lorenzo 50. SS. Giovanni e Paolo 51. “Mandicanti” San Lazzaro dei Mendicanti 52. San Zaccaria 53. San ProvoloThis one’s fun because the zoom has tried to confuse things. But intense cross-checking reveals (L to R): The Madonna dell’Orto, the dome of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, the white belltower of San Giorgio dei Greci, San Martino, San Francesco della Vigna.
54. The Capuchin nuns of the church of the Madonna of the Weeping. Napoleon closed it in 1810; in 1814 it was divided into two floors. The upper floor was a little theatre and the ground floor was a factory making pots and pans. Not made up. It was reopened as a church in 1851, but after other vicissitudes, such as the departure of the last nun in 1970, it was definitively closed. You can see its melancholy outlines standing behind SS. Giovanni and Paolo 55. Santa Giustina 56. San Giorgio dei Greci (“Greek church“) 57. San Severo 58. San Francesco della Vigna, the Minor Observant Franciscan friars 59. Celestia. A church and convent dedicated to Santa Maria Assunta in Cielo — St. Mary Taken Up to Heaven, founded in 1119. The usual sequence of events follow, including destruction by a violent fire that began in the nearby Arsenal, rebuilt several times, till 1810, when Napoleon, the Great Suppressor and Closer of Religious Establishments, gave the complex to the navy. Eventually the church was demolished. Many thanks to Herr Werner for leaving us a glimpse of its belltower. 60. Arsenal 61. San Giovanni in Bragora 61. Santa Maria delle Vergini, nuns. Founded in 1224, rebuilt after two fires, the second in 1487. It was given to the Navy in 1806 and used as a prison. Demolished in 1844 and the area dug as a careening basin of the Arsenal. 63. San Daniele, nuns. The buildings have been converted to an apartment complex for Navy officers and their families. Lots of greenery (nice) hosting armies of mosquitoes at summer twilights (not so nice). 64. San Pietro di Castello, patriarchate (at that time the seat of the patriarch, or bishop, of the diocese of Venice). 65. San Domenico. Church and convent gone, demolished by The Little Corporal to make space for the Public Gardens (Giardini). There are some Dominican nuns lodged in a modern building on the earlier land. 66. San Nicolo’ Demolished to leave space for the Giardini. 67. Sant’ Anna As with many convents in Venice, unwilling girls were sent here to remove them from the complications (and cost) of being married off. The 17th-century protofeminist Sister Arcangela Tarabotti minced no words in her famous books The Patriarchal Tyranny and The Monastic Hell. Fun fact: Two of Tintoretto’s daughters were nuns at Sant’ Anna. 68. Sant’ Antonio 69. San BiagioThere used to be a notable quantity of gardens on the Giudecca. Many of them are gone, along with the fabulous boats and ships. Speaking of gardens, not indicated here is the much later women’s prison on the Giudecca. The ladies have been cultivating a vegetable garden since 2001, and also produce a line of natural cosmetics using their flowers and herbs.San Giorgio Maggiore.
70. Le Prigioni 71. Palazzo Ducale 72. Procuratie Nuove 73. La Zecca (the Mint). The first mint, in the 9th century C.E. was at the Riva di Ferro (Embankment of Iron) near the Rialto Bridge. The name refers to its iron coins. The mint was transferred to San Marco in 1277, to make it easier for the Great Council to oversee its work. This mint continued under the Austrians, and was closed only in 1870, shortly after Venice joined the new Republic of Italy. 74. La Sanita’ 75. La Dogana 76. Spirito Santo 77. Le Convertite 78. San Cosmo eDamiano friars 79. Santa Eufemia 80. San Giacomo Serviti 81. Redentore Capuchin friars 82. La Croce nuns 83. Zitelle more nuns 84. San Giovanni Battista 85. San Giorgio Maggiore Benedictine monks 86. Gulf of Venice. The “Gulf of Venice” more typically referred to the Adriatic sea, but Herr Werner had to save space and opted to use the bacino of San Marco as a symbolic stand-in. It is somewhat justifiable to call the lagoon part of the Adriatic, but seems a little forced.The more I look around, the more I admire Herr Werner’s ability to list them all, not to mention fit them onto two small pieces of paper.Of course it’s merely an obelisk, but it certainly looks towerish. The obelisks seen atop important palaces indicate that one of the family’s sons had been elevated to the rank of capitano generale da mar. He was the supreme commander of the Venetian fleet in times of war. Chatting aimlessly with a little Venetian boy years ago, I asked if he would like to become a capitano da mar one day and he didn’t hesitate even one second. “No,” he said, quite firmly, as if it didn’t even need thinking about. And why not? He was ready for that one too. “Troppo faticoso,” he stated. Too tiring.Chimneys evidently want to be towers, so I said fine. Upside down? Also fine.The Molino Stucky, imposing even as it is dissolving.San Pietro di Castello. Summer dusk and festival lighting are perfectly happy together.San Marcuola: It’s a bell, it’s up in the air. They threw in a clock, too. Who needs to add a stack of bricks?Santi Apostoli.San Giorgio dei Greci, with SS. Giovanni e Paolo in the background. Forget the towers — this is the battle of the domes. San Giorgio wins, having placed a dome atop the tower.
The worse the weather, the better the belltower at Torcello appears. This view is looking from Burano during the last Venetian-rowing race of the official season. I realize that Herr Werner didn’t range far afield from Venice, but I think we need to add this.One of the Arsenal watchtowers, now standing guard over the drying laundry. Also a worthy occupation.Obviously not a tower. It’s a work of art, created by somebody for the Biennale a few years ago to represent something. Not what you think, but something ethereal and conceptual. Belltowers are beautiful and useful, while this is neither. It does take courage to install something that you present as beautiful or meaningful in Venice, which is already so full of creations that are both, so I suppose this artist gets a few points for that.I take my towers where I find them.It’s easy to remember the central church’s name — San Simeon Piccolo — simply because it is so big. (Irony alert: “Piccolo” means “small.”) The dramatic disproportion between the building’s elements is its main claim to fame. Napoleon, on seeing it for the first time, is reported to have quipped “I’ve seen plenty of churches with a dome, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen a dome with a church.”Come back, Herr Werner. The towers are waiting for you.
Outside a gelateria in calle de le Rasse. It says it all.
Italy, like many other parts of Europe, has been pounded by intense heat the past month or so. Maybe more. It all begins to blur.
So to the usual end-of-summer entropy we add debilitating temperatures. Outraged articles in the press, here and abroad, have focused largely on the usual tourist scourge, but I feel more than usually sorry for them, especially their little children. If the little ones aren’t at the beach, they shouldn’t be here at all, wandering the sweltering, exhausting, meaningless streets with no end in sight. But I digress.
I have seen an assortment of diverting little moments and things, so here are some of them. They contain no meaning or significance of any sort except that I like them. If that counts as significance.
The survival instinct seen in its simplest and purest form. The shadows aren’t trees, but tall furled umbrellas at the nearby trattoria. It’s not even 8:00 AM but the dog isn’t flustered, even with fur.It’s perfect that he’s the same color as the pavement. Safe from any predators that might be roaming the veldt, and cooler than me, by any standard.I may have shown this before, but it remains one of my favorite fragments. I have no idea what inspired this lapidary Venetian comment on life, but it’s hard to dispute: “When I speak, nobody listens. When they listen, they don’t understand. When they understand, they forget.” (Note to lovers of Italian: “co” in Venetian isn’t always short for “con,” but sometimes for “quando.” Don’t blame me, I just got here.)Saturday, August 26. Balloons mean party, and white means matrimony. Happy news for everybody except maybe a few guests, who would otherwise at this point in the summer have been far away, taking their vacation in Croatia or Cortina.Confirmation on the balloons: Evviva gli sposi! Long live the newlyweds!
Sunday, August 27: The sposi, as celebrated by their friends. We heard the bells ringing yesterday and they sounded joyous despite the 90+-degree (F.) weather. This document was taped to the metal fence along the canal.This is the derelict church of Sant’ Ana (not the church where Piero and Carlotta were married). They got hitched at the nearby famous and important church of San Pietro di Castello, while this once-important entity has long since just been left by the roadside, so to speak. The four rectangles of earth in the forecourt have been as forlorn and neglected as the church. But as you see, plants are returning!This view shows the four very sad, once-briefly-verdant, patches of beaten earth in front of the church. These rectangles were somebody’s acknowledgment that even a small bit of green could mitigate the melancholy, but whoever it was didn’t remember that people would actually be walking here. I can attest that it just feels silly to keep to the walkways when I need to go diagonally, and you can see that everybody else has felt the same way. As water naturally runs downhill, people naturally walk in the straightest line between points A and B. Result: bare earth where many feet have trod, barely discernible here beneath the shadow.Look at the upper right-hand corner of the photo, which is also the upper right rectangle of land. Tell me honestly that you would have made two consecutive 90-degree turns in order to stay on the pavement while heading for the small passageway. If you would, you amaze me, and you would probably be happier living in Norway.But look! Things can change (we knew that) for the better (we certainly didn’t know that). This unruly plot is at the zenith of its garden-ness, the result of being an “aiuola adottata.” Could mean flowerbed, could mean greensward, could mean any remnant of land that could support roots and leaves. And it has been adopted! This is not yet a productive market garden and it certainly isn’t Kew Gardens, but my hat is off to anybody who has done anything to redeem the desolation of this little patch of Venice.You’ve heard of rescue animals, this is rescue ground. The fine print reveals that the program is under the aegis of the city of Venice, and the ancient and esteemed local association Societa’ di Mutuo Soccorso Carpentieri e Calafati http://www.smscc.it/. (Full disclosure: I am a member.) Not to forget the volunteers of the “green spaces” section of a group called We Are Here Venice https://www.weareherevenice.org/.The zucchine and beans may not flourish yet, or ever, but this is perfect.
I will have to let you know whatever improvement is made on the ill-fated footpath rectangle. I think it would be excellent for them accept that people want to cross there, and to install one of those wooden walkways that you see in swamps. Maybe plant the rest of the area with (finish this sentence please).
It would be nice if somehow the nizioleto here, that once said Campo S. Ana, could be repaired along with the terrain. The plight of the city’s battered nizioleti is the concern of the Nizioleti e Masegni group of volunteers (full disclosure….) https://www.masegni.org/. But periodic cleanup is easier than convincing the city to reconstruct street signs that have been reduced to the point of being utterly useless.I love you too, Luca of the fruit and vegetable barge. As for Muro, I could love them for having created this insouciant little greeting.Muro is the name of two restaurants, one at the Frari and the other at San Stae. This isn’t a plug for the places themselves, where I have never gone, but it’s a huge high-five for whoever thought up this T-shirt. https://www.murovenezia.com/en/As I was saying, dogs just seem to know what to do in the heat. First thing: Find shadow. Second: Lie still. They all do it so well.
Tourists want beautiful glass, so this shopowner sometimes has to dust everything, or wash it with Windex, or whatever she’s doing. The visitors I’m talking about aren’t interested in glass, though.
The story about making money off tourists has taken a few turns since my recent post. It would probably be more accurate to call the following characters “short-term visitors” rather than tourists, because their purpose in being here does not resemble in any way whatever the typical tourists are seeking.
First, there are what journalist Elisio Trevisan, in his report for the Gazzettino, calls “beggar-commuters.” We are now learning that an increasing number come to Venice from various Eastern European points on what you might call, not a vacation, really, but a sort of brief work-abroad project. They come on the cheap Flixbus (which is great, by the way), set themselves up as beggars, eat at the community soup-kitchens, sleep in doorways, and can make as much as 100 euros per day. They manage to wash up at some public source of water before the return trip (the bus driver won’t let them board otherwise) and go home to their families with enough to live on till the next trip becomes necessary.
Then there are the regular thieves. They too are coming from elsewhere; they also are not exactly tourists, but tastes on vacations vary. Some people take a break and go surfing, or look at the Mona Lisa, or run with a batch of bulls, while these intrepid pilferers come to Venice to steal for a while. According to Carlo Mion writing in La Nuova Venezia, they come over from Lombardy, the region next door, and are usually organized by family or clan.
This egret, who seems to have adopted our riva, is also on the hunt, but not for money. He’s looking for anguele (ang-WEY), the Mediterranean sand smelt (Atherinus hepterus). I imagine that anguela mothers are warning their spawn about him the same way I’m warning you, though I suppose their main advice would be “Dive! Dive!”
The Carabinieri have been studying them and their systems. They are basically from the Balkans and eastward (Romania, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria, and also a contingent of Roma). They dress in a credible way; the women wear panama hats and big scarves (to cover their faces from surveillance cameras), daypack hoisted on their chests and with a city map in hand (to cover their busy hands). Also, they look very touristy this way. Favorite targets: Americans, Koreans, Japanese. During one brief shining period there were also cash-laden Russians. In any case, a clever faux-tourist can gather as much as 300 euros in a day.
In one recent case, it was 700 euros. Two Bulgarian women lifted the wallet (that also included her documents such as passport, I assume, and perhaps also credit cards) of an 80-year-old American woman. The victim wasn’t aware of anything amiss, so I don’t know who raised the hue and cry. In any case, the filchers were taken away by whichever uniformed officer was on duty. The hearing is scheduled for the end of July — “in theory.” That doesn’t sound encouraging. In any case, whatever happens, they will be back. Or their friends and relatives.
Years ago there was a spate of street gamblers playing the shell game around the city, especially on the Accademia Bridge. (This sort of thief has not reappeared so far.) I read in the newspaper that one day lightning-fingers managed to milk a gullible player of $5,000. It’s not funny in any way, but I have to admit that, at least in this case, that the victim, as well as his trickster, must have become a LEGEND in that Serbian family. Every couple of months somebody will want to hear uncle tell the story again of that time in Venice he peeled the money off the tourist and that’s how come they’re living in such a nice house, with a garden and two cars. A boisterous toast to uncle and tourist.
I hope this is the last time I’ll be droning on about the situation. So just take every precaution, and then take some more.
Venice: Worth seeing. Your valuables: Worth keeping.
The finish line of the Vogalonga may well be the only crowded place in Venice where your money isn’t at risk of being stolen. Please admire the black caorlina and, more to the point, its crew of Franciscan friars from the monastery at the Redentore on the Giudecca.
More advice on protecting yourself from pickpockets (other than staying at home, under the bed).
Where else is your wallet at risk? At the automated vaporetto-ticket machines. By the time you’ve finished deciphering and following the instructions, your worldly goods may well have moved on. If not yet, the pickpockets have seen where you put your wallet. Getting through the turnstiles is sufficiently distracting that you won’t notice that they are right behind you as you pass through.
“In very crowded areas,” my friend explained, “they get so close to you, you don’t even know they’ve opened your bag.”
Another thing: “Crossing crowded bridges is another way to get your bag opened up,” etc. etc. etc.
I have no doubt that all this information and advice is valid also in Florence, Rome, Milan, and any other city that attracts lots of people. They don’t have to all be tourists, there just have to be lots of them and the thieves have their cover.
Tour guides have been stolen from — one German guide was pickpocketed inside the basilica of San Marco. The spouses of tour guides have been ditto ditto. On especially busy days (for example, from now till October) there are hundreds of these incidents a day.
Don’t bother pining for the good old days under the doge and the Council of Ten. As Lino occasionally remarks, “They used to cut the thief’s hand off. He kept stealing anyway.”
