The title says “ahead” but in fact I’m going to take you back a few years, well within living memory, to the epoch when you traveled by train and the train traveled by coal. I mean steam.
Venice’s fascinating past isn’t limited to Carnival and Casanova; there are plenty of people (Lino, for example) who still vividly remember when the mighty steam locomotives ruled the rails, and the Santa Lucia terminal was at work, day and night, with the coming and going of these behemoths. (Spoiler alert: Lino’s father was a macchinista, or train driver, so I am relying on Lino for some information.)
My curiosity awoke some time ago, when we were passing through Castelfranco Veneto on the train and Lino casually pointed out this rusty derelict beside the station tracks.
“See that?” he asked. “That was what they used to fill the steam trains’ tanks with water.” A monster faucet, in other words.Compared to Castelfranco, the city of Feltre has a much keener appreciation of its old train relics.Like animals, the locomotives needed food (coal) and water. These were often, though not always, carried in a tender, the vehicle attached to the engine. “Acqua” is water and “carbone” is coal. Excuse me if you figured that out. The water was topped up at important stops along the way by means of the trackside apparatus shown above. One source states that a roundtrip (distance not specified!) locomotive in the Thirties consumed 771 pounds/350 kilos of coal and 528 gallons/2000 liters of water, transporting a maximum of 80 passengers.
Let’s say trains don’t interest you much. But you might be surprised to see how many traces remain around the area of the station, if you know what you’re looking at.
First, a bit of background.
This is the church of Santa Lucia; it stood for centuries on the Grand Canal until it was inconveniently in the way of the structure that was needed by the trains. It was demolished between 1861-1863. The church of the Scalzi is still in place, a few steps further on. (Francesco Guardi, c. 1780).Perhaps not the most memorable facade of the many Venetian churches, but it was fine until it wasn’t. But at least the name “Santa Lucia” was preserved in the name of the station.The train station looked like this from the 1860s to the 1940’s. After the Second World War the project was to build today’s station. When he was a boy Lino knew the area as one big construction site as this station came down and the new one emerged.Now we have this. Although today’s station was designed in the Thirties (this is evident), it was built in 1952.
So much for setting the scene. Back to the trains themselves.
Let’s imagine we’re in the Venice station on any ordinary day back in the first half of the 20th century. It was full of colossi like these. In fact, for several generations there wasn’t anything else.
I am not a train connoisseur, but I know massive when I see it. This locomotive steamed into the Santa Lucia station the night of October 29, 2021, as the “Train of Memory,” retracing the route of the coffin of the Unknown Soldier to Rome a century earlier.This wouldn’t have impressed anybody back in the day. It was normal. And really noisy, too, between blasts of steam and assorted screeching whistles. And let’s not forget the mayhem of the crowds when the families were leaving for their summer holiday in the mountains. The trains were so full that sometimes people were passing their kids into the carriages by the windows. Not made up. My source was one of those kids.Steam trains were still normal in Venice in 1973, here arriving at Santa Lucia (Wikipedia, not credited). The last steam locomotive in Italy was decommissioned in 1976. It operated a daily passenger service and some freight services on the Udine-Cervignano route (in Friuli). Since 2008 some steam locomotives are back in service, but only for historical trains on special occasions.This was the engine that Lino’s father drove (that is him in the photo.) His usual route was up the Valsugana, from Venice to Trento and, obviously, back again. But he could also work the shifts required to reposition the locomotives and/or carriages into the configurations needed for the next day’s trains. That went on all night; his shift went from 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. Note that this train didn’t use a tender for the water and coal, which went into the black box just in front of him. (Do not ask for details; I don’t have them.) The first passenger carriage is clearly right behind him.
So where did all this maneuvering of the rolling stock take place? As close to the station as the water allowed.
The red lines are bridges, yellow are where tracks were or bits still are; green is where the trains were reshuffled. Ignore Tronchetto, for the purposes of this discussion; it wasn’t built until the 1960’s.A military photograph c. 1915 shows the area marked in green above when it was full of trains. The station is on the right side of the frame, and the bridge to the mainland is in the upper right. Those long lines that look like perforations are trains-in-waiting. The central area was used for the locomotives. (Available from Il Cantuccio del Collezionista https://ilcantucciodelcollezionista.it/index.html)A detail of the photograph, just to make those little dots clearer. I repeat: Each of those is a train carriage. Perhaps not as impressive as Milan or Rome, but frankly they made better use of their limited space here in Venice than I’ve ever been able to do at home.This is the deposito, or train-sorting area, today. We discovered this morning that the tracks strewn around for years, if not ages, are being removed. I imagine it will create more parking space.A better view of the tracks on the left (drawn in yellow on the map) leading toward the Marittima.Leftover tracks that were easier to just pave over than remove.This bridge connected the station area to the right with the train yard. Fun fact: Decades ago the rectangular space just to the right of the bridge was used as a pool by the Rari Nantes swimming club. There was a similar setup along the Zattere for swimming in the Giudecca Canal. Not made up.The same bridge seen in real life. The Santa Lucia station (with red train) is just on the other side of the Grand Canal.One of the perks of working for the railway was the allotment of coal you were given for your own use, and it was distributed in the area on the right side of the bridge. The railway workers would come in their (or someone’s) boat — rowed, no motors — and tie up five or six deep parallel to the embankment when they went to collect it. One reason for doing it there may have been because the station where the freight trains were handled was on that side.This was the building where the organizing of the freight train maneuvering was done.Freight trains carrying fruit and vegetables would slide onto the special tracks along the waterfront facing Piazzale Roma.The trains stopped along the edge of the embankment and off-loaded the fruit/veg onto boats (again, not motorboats, but big boats such as caorlinas or battellos that were rowed) that took the produce to the neighborhood vendors. The building served as a warehouse for whatever had not been taken away that day.The railway bridge connecting the station to the deposito seen from the water.That’s a serious underbelly. It would have to look like this if it was going to support countless tons of iron machinery 24 hours a day.
Let’s shift our attention to the tracks that carried the freight trains to and from the waterfront at the Marittima area (Santa Marta and San Basilio).
This bridge enabled the freight trains to cross from the yard down to the Marittima.Here is a look at the bridge indicated on the map just above. We’re heading toward Santa Marta. The top bridge carries the little “People Mover” train that connects Piazzale Roma on the left to the parking area at Tronchetto (and until just a few years ago, to the cruise-ship Venice Passenger Terminal, now empty and useless). The middle bridge is a simple footbridge for the people going from their parked cars to the city. And the third bridge carried the freight trains to San Basilio.A closer look at the ex-railway bridge, as we proceed toward Santa Marta. The flat roofs are part of the Venice Passenger Terminal complex at Tronchetto.The same bridge as seen when going toward Piazzale Roma.A general view of the Santa Marta waterfront, where the tracks used to be. A group of the houses to the left of the University IUAV were built expressly for the families of the train workers. The only catch was that when the worker died, the family had to move out. Logical! And awful!Flanking the Scomenzera canal, the tracks are just behind that transparent wall.That zone behind the wall is something of a railway graveyard.But when the trains were working, the tracks just snaked their way around the church of Santa Marta.This was Santa Marta when the trains and the port were working at full capacity (c. 1930).
The warehouses and offices at San Basilio are now almost entirely dedicated to non-maritime pursuits.Lino’s father’s official train-driver’s watch is still running. The plastic case was crucial protection from the coal dust blowing everywhere.This is the watch in its natural state.The caption says this scene was at the station, but Lino says it was in the deposito area where the trains were assembled. The process of electrification has begun, as the cables show. I’m not romanticizing anything. Just saying that the trains were a huge part of Venetian life.
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.
Another great lion of San Marco, this time painted by Donato Bragadin, also known as Donato Veneziano, in 1459.
This lion is holding a book, as usual, but the message is not the traditional “Pax tibi Marce Evangelista Meus,” etc. It reads: “Legibus quibus immoderatahominum frenatur cupiditas quenpiam parere cogatis.” “Compel everyone to obey the laws by which one restrains the immoderate greed of men.”
What great ideas! Make everybody obey the laws! And put the brakes on greed! Looking at the lion’s expression, however, one intuits that he knows this is a battle that he’s not only losing, but lost. I’ve made an effort to discover what was significant about the year 1459 to inspire this painting, but haven’t found anything out of the ordinary, which is a disheartening realization: The “ordinary” is exactly the situation that the statement was referring to and it has been valid every year since the Cambrian Explosion. To review: Need for brakes, need for laws that will apply brakes, need to force people to obey the laws. Find me one person (or lion) who would disagree with that.
The Sala dell’Avogaria is fairly small, especially compared to the magnitude of the tasks the three avogadori had to deal with. The room is decorated not only with pithy sayings, but with portraits of the trio of avogadori, decked in Venetian scarlet and ready to mete out justice and pump the brakes. (Pere Garcia, on Wikipedia)
The painting was originally placed in the Sala dell’Avogaria in the Palazzo Ducale. The Avogaria de Comùn was an ancient magistrature composed of three members elected from the Great Council who were responsible for the maintenance of constitutional justice. Hence the paintings in the room were intended to reinforce the principles of good government.
So our rainbow-winged lion above is flanked by two Doctors of the Church: St. Jerome on the left of the image, and St. Augustine on the right. St. Jerome holds a white banner that says “nihili quempiam irati statuatis,” or “Do not sentence anyone for anything when you’re angry.” St. Augustine, complete with bishop’s mitre and crozier, displays this thought: “hominum uero plectentes errata illa non tam magnitudine peccati quam uestra clementia et mansuetudine metiamini,” or “In reality, in punishing the errors of men (you must) measure not so much the size of their sins as of your clemency and goodness.”
There was a marble plaque in the Sala dell’ Avogaria incised with the following reminders: “‘First of all, investigate always with diligence, sentence with justice and charity, and do not condemn anyone without having first held a fair and truthful judgment, do not judge anything on the basis of arbitrary suspicions; instead, first test and only afterward utter a sentence inspired by charity; THAT WHICH YOU WOULDN’T WANT DONE TO YOU, REFUSE TO DO TO OTHERS.’
Essentially the same simple dicta that have been expressed over the centuries and that are often inscribed in courtrooms and City Halls and anywhere else that people and the law are destined to meet.
But the lion says it best: Hit the brakes already.
“Venezia in veste di Giustizia” — Venice attired as Justice, a role she often played in decoration as well as life. The sword and the scales held in her hand are fine on their own, but she is often buttressed by lions. To keep order in the court? (by Jacobello del Fiore).
This will be quick: On March 25, Venice will begin what is planned to be a year-long celebration of its 1,600th birthday. (March 25, 421 AD was the beginning of Year One, according to later calculations. In any case, it was the laying of the first stone of the church of San Giacometo at Rialto.)
Strictly limited by pandemic restrictions, the festivities will begin at 11:00 AM on March 25 with a solemn mass in the basilica of San Marco celebrated by the Patriarch of Venice. My source says that you can watch this on the network Antenna 3 or on the Facebook page of Gente Veneta, a diocesan magazine.
That afternoon at 4:00 PM, all of the 130 churches in Venice will be ringing their bells. I don’t know if that will be broadcast. I’ll be outside with fingers in my ears.
In the evening at 6:30 PM on Rai 2 streaming, will be a concert from La Fenice entitled “Venezia 421-2021.”
I haven’t studied any further details, but for those who’d like to try to watch these two events, happy streaming. Note that until Saturday night, Venice is 5 hours ahead of U.S. Eastern Daylight time (thus, 11:00 AM here is 6:00 AM in Bat Cave, North Carolina).
