Venetian History | Venice: I am not making this up

Saint Lucy and whipped cream

December 14, 2015 6 Comments

Yesterday was December 13, as you know, and it was also the feast day of Santa Lucia, as you know now.

Not-so-trivia alert: The inescapable but ever-beautiful Neapolitan song, “Santa Lucia,” which is known everywhere as far as the Tadpole Galaxy, does not refer to the lovely Sicilian martyr. It refers to Borgo Santa Lucia, a waterfront neighborhood of Naples which is named for the lovely Sicilian martyr. Words such as “ship,” “sea,” and “Naples” spangling the song kind of give it away, at least if you understand Italian or Neapolitan.

Words may come and go, but someone hit on a melody which is impossible to forget. It even works in Thai. The Italian founder of Silpakorn University in Bangkok, Prof. Corrado Feroci, loved it so much that he used the tune as the setting for the official song of the university.

What does all this have to do with Venice? St. Lucy’s mortal remains lie in state above the high altar of the church of S. Geremia, having been moved from her very own church in 1861 when it was demolished to make room for the railway station. (Which is why the Venice station is subtitled “Santa Lucia.”)

The church of Santa Lucia in Venice, as seen by Canaletto in the mid 1700's. (c) National Galleries of Scotland; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation — The church of Santa Lucia in Venice, as seen by Canaletto in the mid 1700’s. Hint: It’s the one on the left — a few doors down is the fancy facade of the church of the Scalzi, which looks the same today. (c) National Galleries of Scotland; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

The church of Santa Lucia in 1861, shortly before it was demolished to make room for the train station. (photo by Bonaldi)

Saint Lucy is the saint responsible for addressing eye problems. The only time I ever went to services at San Geremia on her feast day I was struck by the huge floral arrangement offered by the Ophthalmologists’ Association of the Veneto, which was extremely gracious, though odd. Wouldn’t she be the one to put them out of business?

In the old days in Venice, people used to link St. Lucy’s day to freezing cold: “Da Santa Lussia, el fredo crussia” (St. Lucy’s Day, the cold is excruciating). Global warming has sent that saying off to follow the dodo. Anyone who utters this phrase nowadays — me, for instance — is indulging in nostalgia.

But St. Lucy maintains her place in another common exchange. Let’s say you run across someone you know, whom you compliment. Example: “Hey, you’re looking good.” Rejoinder: “Thank St. Lucy who’s given you good eyes.” Depending on the tone of voice, the remark allows for plenty of deprecation, implying anything from “Thank St. Lucy, but you should go get your eyes checked” to “Thank St. Lucy, but are you going blind?” Evidently she can control your eyesight at will.

She was blinded before being killed, hence the eyeballs on the plate. In case we were to forget this point.

She was a native of Siracusa, and her body was brought here in 1280. The specific reason was probably the general reason for such events (Venice possessed some A-list relics, such as the remains of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr, and Saint Zachary, father of John the Baptist), to wit, money! Sorry, I meant offerings and gifts from religious pilgrims. Religious tourism was a very big deal in the old days, and everybody wanted to make the most of their saints. Naturally, the people of Siracusa want to have her back. She’s like the Elgin Marbles. But Venice has determined to keep her, though the patriarch did allow her to return home for a while a few years ago. I can’t remember why. Maybe it was her birthday.

Yesterday Lino gave me a startling new bit of Lucy lore. He was geezing about how it used to be one of the biggest feast days celebrated in Venice and now nobody pays the slightest bit of attention to her (except for annual flowers and recurrent badinage). And then he said “And everybody used to eat storti with whipped cream.”

Whipped cream I know, but storti? Literally, it means “crooked,” and I’ve heard an elderly person refer to somebody crafty or cunning as a “storto dal Dolo.” This is a jest, because while “storto” is clearly not high praise (calling someone “crooked” isn’t pretty in English, either), saying that the sneaky person came from Dolo actually refers to a well-known sort of waffle cone made in Dolo, a town on the Brenta river which used to be famous for producing this crunchy little item. Every March Dolo puts on the “Carnival of the Storti.”

Cones and cream, in whatever form, are evidently destined for each other, the Ilsa and Rick of fattening snacks. I didn’t know St. Lucy encouraged people to eat them, but I say any saint’s feast day ought to call for whipped cream.

So I immediately started nagging Lino to take me to somewhere I could eat storti with whipped cream, and although he said you used to be able to get them anywhere in Venice, he remembered a place not far from the church of San Geremia. We went in and asked if they had storti with whipped cream. “Of course,” said the woman behind the bar, in a way that implied that we might have asked if they had electricity.

For any traveler who wants to chance his arm, or palate, I will reveal that this confection was consumed at the Bar Gelateria Da Nini in the Strada Nova a few steps from the Ponte delle Guglie at number 1306. I am not responsible for your arteries, I’m just fulfilling my journalistic responsibilities.

The whipped cream was slobbed out of a large bucket kept in the fridge under the bar. It's an astonishing amount for a comestible I'd always thought of as garnish. — The whipped cream was slobbed out of a large bucket kept in the fridge under the bar. It’s an astonishing amount for a comestible I’d always thought of as garnish.

The "storto" cleverly acts as a sort of shovel for the cream. Now I understood the spoons, because there was no way to eat all the cream in just three little cones. Undaunted, I finished almost all of it. — The “storto” cleverly acts as a sort of shovel for the cream. The spoons are because there was no way to eat all the cream in just three little cones and they thought Lino might give me a hand, which he did not. Undaunted, I finished almost all of it, although that’s a heck of a lot of cream. Or maybe you’re supposed to spend 45 minutes savoring it, and not just snarfing it down like I did because you’ve got to be somewhere in ten minutes. Bad planning on my part.

Venetian History

The great conspiracy remembered

June 15, 2015 2 Comments

Cesare Peris holds the replica of the banner borne by Tiepolo’s escadrille — it was the man carrying the flag who took the hit from the falling marble mortar. The image on this banner depicting the fatal event is clearly a modern addition.

I have already recounted most of this story elsewhere, but it’s worth recalling because it is one of the milestone episodes of Venetian history. Also because today is the anniversary of the attempted coup, on June 15, 1310, to overthrow the Venetian government.

Not to begin a whole other train of trivia, but while we may be inclined to cheer the defeat of the three conspirators because we like how Venice turned out, it’s worth knowing that in 1310, as John Julius Norwich relates, Doge Pietro Gradenigo was the most detested man in Venice.

Certain typically arrogant actions of his had driven Pope Clement V to excommunicate the entire city-nation, which led Venice to the brink of commercial collapse. An unwinnable war with the aforementioned pope consisted mainly of Venetian defeats, and increasing numbers of the doge’s enemies were convinced that Gradenigo’s policies were bringing disgrace and disaster on everyone. Anger, tension, and fear were seething through the city, and a series of decrees intended to contain the discontent was, paradoxically, bringing the city to the verge of civil war. It was quite evident to several young patricians that it was time for a very big change.

The attempted coup by Bajamonte Tiepolo, Piero and Marco Querini, and Badoero Badoer failed for a number of reasons, one of which (surprising to me, and especially to the plotters) was lack of popular support at the crucial moment. I don’t understand this part very well, but it’s a story well worth reading in more detail, though not here.

In any case, they weren’t merely three young bloods who wanted to try their hand at ruling the world. They were the ones who bubbled up to the top of the political pot as it was in the process of boiling over.

Now it’s June 15 again, 705 years later. And it has come to pass over a certain period of time leading up to today that the Mutual Aid Society of Carpenters and Caulkers (full disclosure: I am a member), under the aegis of Cesare Peris, its “gastaldo,” or president, exhumed the very banner carried by Baiamonte Tiepolo as he was charging through the city toward the Doge’s Palace.

Not only that. This banner, which had been slumbering somewhere in the Museo Correr, needed fixing. With funding from a sponsor, the Caulkers commissioned (A) the restoration of the old silk banner, which by now was not in very sparkly condition, and (B) a replica of the banner, with a few small modifications. And to undertake this work, art restorer Anna Passarella, in Padova, was engaged; she in turn engaged a squad of high school students at the Marco Polo-Liceo Artistico (high school of art) in Venice. Yes, this task was accomplished by 15- and 16-year-olds. If that isn’t sufficiently noteworthy, let me add that one them is a direct descendant, I was told, of the fateful doge Gradenigo. Not made up.

On Side B of the flag are the symbols of the sponsors, including the group that made it.

This morning the banner was unfurled in Campo San Luca, carried in procession along the main route used by Tiepolo and Querini (attacking and then fleeing), with a pause at each important place along the way during which costumed trumpeters fanfared and a costumed crier read the story, step by step. Too bad his voice was never loud enough to be heard over the chaos of the herds of tourists crushing their way through our group, but it was quite nice that he was reading in Venetian, and then in English.

The whole ceremony took about an hour, and then the banner was taken away to safekeeping.

I suppose that thousands of tourists will now go home thinking Venetians carry banners around the city, with trumpet fanfares, every day.

Actually, that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard, but next time we ought to do it at 6:00 AM, before Venice-Mart opens its doors for the day.

The trumpet corps waiting for their cue. Members of the Mutual Aid Society of Carpenteres and Caulkers, dressed in white polo shirts, are also awaiting developments. — The trumpet corps waiting for their cue. Members of the Mutual Aid Society of Carpenters and Caulkers, dressed in white polo shirts, are also awaiting developments.

The trumpets sound, and we're ready to start the walk of shame. — The trumpets sound, and we’re ready to start the walk.

The audience was very enthusiastic, but we hadn't gotten to the bottlenecks yet. — The audience was very enthusiastic, but we hadn’t gotten to the bottlenecks yet, hence we were all still friends.

The Long Trek begins. — The Great Trek begins.

We pause on the bridge for another fanfare and another chapter in the tale.

This is the Mercerie, where things began to get interesting for them, and, in a less life-threatening way, also for us.

The apex of the experience was here, just before passing under the Clock Tower at San Marco, at the point below the “old lady”‘s house from which her marble mortar fell and turned the tide of history. No one knows to this day if she did it on purpose or if it was an accident.

Her name was Lucia (or Giustina) Rossi, and I'm convinced her daughters had nagged her for years to bring that mortar inside before she killed somebody. — Her name was Lucia (or Giustina) Rossi, and I’m convinced her daughters had nagged her for years to bring that damn mortar inside before she killed somebody.

Then Cesare Peris (left) and a colleague set the flag outside the windows of what had been the old woman's apartment. I wish you could have heard everyone singing here: The trumpets played the Hymn to San Marco, which everyone sang with great fervor. Then Cesare cried "Par tera e par mar!" (by land and by sea) and everyone bellowed "SAN MARCO!!" We repeated this three times. It was totally thrilling. — Then Cesare Peris (left) and a colleague set the flag outside the windows of what had been the old woman’s apartment. I wish you could have heard everyone singing here: The trumpets played the Hymn of San Marco, which everyone sang with great fervor. Then Cesare cried “Par tera e par mar!” (by land and by sea) and everyone bellowed “SAN MARCO!!” We repeated this three times. It was totally thrilling.

Halfway across the Piazza San Marco, turn right, and we stopped on the Ponte dei Dai, across which Querini and his conspirators fled toward the Rialto Bridge. There were crowds then, there are crowds now. At least it wasn't raining today, like it was back then. — Halfway across the Piazza San Marco, turn right, and we stopped on the Ponte dei Dai, across which Querini and his conspirators fled toward the Rialto Bridge. There were crowds then, there are crowds now. At least it wasn’t raining today, like it was back then.

We stopped atop the Rialto Bridge, which, being wooden, was easy for Querini to burn on his race back to his palace. Because of vast restoration work on the bridge, the traffic has become even more crushing. This is the best I could do for a photo. Naturally nobody could hear anything that was being said. — We stopped atop the Rialto Bridge, which in 1310, being wooden, was easy for Querini to burn on his race back to his palace. Because of vast restoration work on the bridge now, the traffic has become even more crushing. This is the best I could do for a photo. Naturally nobody could hear anything that was being said.

Down the Rialto Bridge and back to Campo San Luca. Oh yes, I love Venice in the summer. Only for Querini and Tiepolo would I ever have come to this part of the city today.

As the gonfalone of San Marco was raised at the end of tne ceremony, the standard of the Carpenters and Caulkers came to the fore. If you didn't like the color red, you'd have had to stay home today. — As the gonfalone of San Marco was raised at the end of the ceremony, the standard of the Carpenters and Caulkers (Carpentieri e Calafati) came to the fore. If you don’t like the color red, you’d have had to stay home today.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, a gonfalone of San Marco was raised in Campo San Luca. Lack of wind left it in a somewhat woebegone state. But we sang and shouted again, and I, for one, went away happy. — An unfortunate absence of wind left the gonfalone in a somewhat woebegone state. But we sang and shouted again, and I, for one, went away happy.

The cimiero, or crest, which crowns the standard of the Mutual Aid Society of the Carpenters and Caulkers. If Querini or Tiepolo had had a handful of these tools, the story might have ended differently. Just a theory.

Venetian Events, Venetian History

70 years free

April 25, 2015 2 Comments

Every year the city places laurel wreaths at the most important patriotic monuments. The most elaborate one, with an aureole of palm, is placed at the tomb of Daniele Manin.

April 25, as I have reported on other occasions, is a double holiday in Venice: The anniversary of the liberation of Italy after World War II (this year marking the 70th milestone), and the feast day of San Marco, the city’s patron saint.

And gentlemen must acquire a long-stemmed red rose (the "bocolo," in Venetian) to bestow on their lady love(s). Here, gondolier Marco Farnea buys two -- one for his wife, the other for his gondola. It's an extra-festive occasion, too, considering it's his name-day. — And gentlemen must acquire a long-stemmed red rose (the “bocolo,” in Venetian) to bestow on their lady love(s). Here, gondolier Marco Farnea buys two — one for his wife, the other for his gondola. It’s an extra-festive occasion, too, because it’s his name-day.

Either of those facts deserves reams, and reams are ready and waiting, thanks to phalanxes of historians.

I simply want to keep the world apprised — yes, I modestly claim to keep the WORLD apprised — of a date that deserves remembering. And here, it’s remembered twice.

First, the roses:

Marco pushes off with the next boatload of clients, the two roses lying at his feet.

A quartet of firemen leaving the ceremony of the flag-raising in the Piazza -- one is already armed with his rose. — A quartet of firemen leaving the ceremony of the flag-raising in the Piazza — one is already armed with his rose.

The Red Cross sells the roses at a booth in the Piazza (as well as sending volunteers around). All for a good cause.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES — Independent rose sellers are all over our neighborhood all day. They sell mimosa on International Woman’s Day and umbrellas when it’s raining.

Yes, National Liberation Day is important, but this Venetian store makes it clear that tomorrow it will be closed because it's San Marco's day. — Yes, National Liberation Day is important, but this Venetian store makes it clear that tomorrow it will be closed because it’s San Marco’s day. Any other reason is just extra.

Someone placed a bocolo on St. Paul's altar in the basilica of San Marco. I'm baffled, but I'm still glad to see it there. And no, you're not supposed to take pictures in the basilica. I'll never do it again. — Someone placed a bocolo on St. Paul’s altar in the basilica of San Marco. I’m baffled, but I’m still glad to see it there. And no, you’re not supposed to take pictures in the basilica. I’ll never do it again.

And second, the liberation itself, as seen in Venice.

The arrival of the American troops in Piazzale Roma on April 29, 1945. Lino remembers running there with his friends, everyone was saying "The Americans are here." He asked for chewing gum, like all the other children, and he got it, too. — The arrival of the Allied troops in Piazzale Roma on April 29, 1945. Lino remembers that everyone was saying “The Americans are here!” He ran with his friends to see them, and they all asked for chewing gum, and they got it, too.

Venetian History

March 22, much more than the second day of spring

March 22, 2015 5 Comments

The Wide Street of March 22nd. Just another cryptic date by now.

After the doges were let go in 1797 by the new management team of Napoleon and Satan, there was a very unhappy lull in Venetian history. It was an unhappy lull even while it was happening, before it became history.

And it wasn’t what I’d really call a lull, either, unless you call being put to bed with dengue fever a lull.

This interval of tyranny and anguish was abruptly cut short on March 22, 1848, when the Venetians revolted against Austria, which had acquired Venice from France in a diplomatic trade-off immortalized in the Treaty of Campo Formio (October 18, 1797). Cleverly, Napoleon effected this trade only after he had disemboweled the former Queen of the Seas, carrying off wagonloads of treasure and razing palaces, churches, convents and scuole (thereby making more treasure available for his waiting wagons).

The man who led the uprising and the brief establishment of the Republic of San Marco was a Venetian lawyer named Daniele Manin. I’ve outlined the story in another post, so I won’t go over it again. I would just appreciate your pausing for a moment to consider the magnificence of this doomed attempt and the people who put everything into it.

And just think: Only twelve years later, the Austrians were gone. I’m not capable of determining to what extent 1848 led to 1861, but I still want to give my own puny recognition of a huge event which everyone by now just takes for granted, I guess.

This plaque is on a wall of the Arsenal: " — This plaque is on a wall of the Arsenal: “By the unanimous virtue of the people the foreign dominion fell XXII March 1848 To eternal memory the municipality places this.”

The tomb of Daniele Manin, against the wall of the basilica of San Marco by the Piazzetta dei Leoncini.

The figure of Venice on the monument to Vittorio Emanuele II on the Riva degli Schiavoni bears a reverent inscription on the hem of her garment.

Near Campo San Bartolomio masses pass every day without noticing the street sign: — Near Campo San Bartolomio hordes pass every day without noticing the street sign: “Little Street of Dry Goods 2 April.” On April 2, 1849, the governing assembly of the Republic of San Marco voted to resist Austria at all costs. “All costs” was not a problem for the Austrians, and on August 22, 1849, Venice signed its surrender.

Bust of Daniele Manin by Emilio Marsili (1898). (Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti). After the death of the infant republic, Manin was sent into exile, and spent the rest of his life in Paris giving Italian lessons. He died on September 22, 1857. What was up with the 22nd of all these months?

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