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).
We can intuit victory, but who? Where? Why? And there are also several “when”s to keep track of.
This imposing pillar presides over the entrance to the Giardini, studded with curious protrusions. It’s big, it’s slightly forbidding, and although one can interpret certain components, the whole calls for some explanation. That’s my cue.
Part 1: The monument itself. Part 2: Some context on what it signifies. Be warned, there is a great deal of fascinating (to me) information ahead.
The column we see today is a trophy of the Italian victory in World War 1, installed here to honor the then-Royal Navy. It had been commissioned by the Austro-Hungarian navy in honor of Vice Admiral Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian, and inaugurated on October 29, 1876. The column stood proudly in Pula (formerly Pola) Croatia, Austria’s primary military naval base in the Adriatic from 1853 until 1918, and a mere 84 miles (134 km) from Venice.
Following the defeat of Austria-Hungary on November 4, 1918, Italy occupied the Istrian peninsula, where Pula sits. In the grand tradition of victors, on February 1, 1919 admiral Umberto Cagni offered this bit of booty to someone on his side — specifically, the city of Genova, though this idea seems to have evaporated somehow. So the column was taken down and sent to Venice, a city which in any case had more shared history with Istria than Genova did. It was installed where we see it today, then modified in a few noteworthy ways.
This archival photograph shows how the column appeared in its original setting. Notice the medallion in the base, which carried the profile of Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian. That space now contains the lion of San Marco.Our guy.
As for why the column was designed this way, all the world knows that Pula is extremely famous for its many Roman relics, including one of the largest Roman amphitheatres still extant. Perhaps wishing to imply a connection between imperial Rome and Austria-Hungary, the creators of this monument may well have remembered the impressive column of Gaio Duilio.
This reconstruction of the “Colonna Duilia” of Gaio Duilio is displayed in the Museum of Roman Civilization in Rome. He was the first Roman commander to win a naval victory (over the Carthaginians in 260 B.C.), which established Roman domination of the Mediterranean. The obvious points of similarity with the column in Venice are the nautical symbols in the center and the reproductions of the rostra along the sides.These rostra represent the articles removed as trophies from captured enemy ships. Attaching a bronze spur to the bow of the warship at the waterline — a stroke of genius first attributable to the Greeks — was what gave the term “ramming speed” real meaning.A rostrum recovered from an ancient shipwreck near Messina (Aqualadroni).“Olympias” is a reproduction of a Greek trireme; the bronze rostrum is a copy of one in the Piraeus archaeological museum and weighs 440 pounds (200 kilos).So why do we say that someone giving a lecture is speaking from the rostrum? That was the name of the large platform in the Roman Forum from which orators spoke to the people; it was originally bedecked with the six rostra taken from the enemy ships at the Battle of Antium (Anzio) in 338 B.C. Shown here is a rendering of how the space looked at that time, and today. (researchgate.net)On the left side of the base of the column as you face it is: “Erzherzog Ferdinand Maximilian von Osterreich K.K. ViceAdmiral.” Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian of Austria Imperial and Royal Vice Admiral.On the right side of the base as you face the column is this message: “Questa colonna rostrata, eretta a Pola dalla Marina Austriaca, per onorare Massimiliano Arciduca, la flotta Italiana, vindice di Lissa, porto’ come pegno di vittoria a Venezia. Oggi e’ simbolico dono dei Marinai d’Italia alla Regina dell’Adriatico a ricordo dei compagni caduti per la redenzione del nostro mare. 4 novembre 1918 4 novembre 1929 A.VII.” (Translated by me): “This column with the rostra, erected at Pula by the Austrian Navy to honor Archduke Maximilian, the Italian fleet, avenging Lissa, took as a token of victory to Venice. Today it is a symbolic gift of the Seamen of Italy to the Queen of the Adriatic in memory of their companions fallen for the redemption of our sea. 4 november 1918 – 4 November 1929 Anno VII (Fascist Year VII).” The Battle of Lissa (July 20, 1866) was fought by the Austrian and Italian navies in one of the first great naval battles between steam-powered warships, and the last in which ramming was used. It was also, as you might have gathered, a major Italian defeat. Touches of irony: The Italian flagship was rammed by the Austrian flagship named “Erzherzog Ferdinand Max” (he of the column), and commanded by Admiral Wilhelm von Tegetthoff. “Tegetthoff” was a dreadnought named in his honor (1912) that was assigned to the Italians as spoils of war in 1919, and demolished in 1924. So we’re even?
Victory! It’s an event, obviously, but you might not have known that she was also a goddess, analogous to the Greek Nike. A major difference, however, was that while Nike represented victory and triumph, she did not grant victory, but only confirmed it by placing the laurel wreath on the victor’s head. She was depicted hovering over the winner of an athletic or poetry competition; the obverse of every Olympic medal bears Nike’s figure, with palm frond and laurel wreath. An altar and statue dedicated to Victory was placed in the Roman Senate by Augustus in 29 B.C. to commemorate the defeat of Antony and Cleopatra at the Battle of Actium. Defending this altar was the last great conflict between paganism and Christianity in Rome.
This is the fully-equipped Roman divinity: Wreath of braided laurel, symbolizing wisdom and glory, and olive representing peace and victory. A palm frond (or sometimes a staff) in the left hand, and wings. Over time, Victory became a symbol of victory over death, and was understood to determine who would be successful in war. Over time she came to symbolize political victory, until the time of Augustus when she was seen as the base of the emperor’s military power. The assembled Senate made a sacrifice to her statue of solid gold every morning.
Winged figures representing victory, and referred to as “victories”, were common in Roman official iconography, and represented the spirit of victory rather than the goddess herself. They were depicted on silver coins of varying value, generally called vittoriato. After the Christianization of the Roman Empire they slowly were transformed into Christian angels.
Figure of Nike excavated at Vani, Republic of Georgia. The Kingdom of Colchis, in today’s southwest Georgia, had extensive contacts with Greek culture through trade. Colchis began to be settled in the 8th century B.C.The Berlin Victory Column commemorates the Prussian victory in three wars in the mid-19th century; the gilded bronze figure of Victory was added in 1873.Of course I like ours better.
Part 2 will relate a few of the Italian Navy’s feats in the Adriatic during World War 1, in order to clarify why this monument is somewhat more than just a towering granite cylinder.
