Spring in Venice doesn’t usually come wafting across the lagoon in warm breezes to caress your newly-bare arms. Judging by the riotous amount of flowering trees to be seen the past few days, which all suddenly seem to be in a race toward something, spring has come more or less all at once. The chilly nights and rambunctious windy days and the unreliable sun don’t appear to add up to what I’d imagine that a flowering tree would call “spring,” but that statement just proves I’m not a tree.
So in honor of today, feast your eyes on some of the splendor to be seen here in merely mid-March. If you ever thought you might want to celebrate spring in Venice in May, all the best parts will be long over by then. So I will share some of them now (I’m sure there are many, many more which I haven’t discovered, and tomorrow may well be too late). Let the vernals begin!
The more resplendent trees seem to be found on streets which have no other redeeming characteristic. I wonder if they’re there because somebody else noticed that.These small but intrepid trees are another example of wonderful contrast to one of the most nondescript pockets in deepest Castello.I discovered them for the first time as I was coming around the corner from the other side of the grassy campo. It was quite the little surprise.This tree, on the other hand, is a faithful harbinger which I watch for every year about this time. Too bad you have to go into the hospital to see it, but it certainly gladdens the atmosphere there. I’m sorry its delicate pinkness doesn’t come through as well as I’d have wanted, but that’s just the way it is with ephemeral things. And with my cell phone camera.As my eyes were gorging on the flowers, Lino immediately noticed the bird. He called it a type of pigeon (white-collared, in translation), but it looks more like a dove to me, with a broad band of white around its neck. Any ornithological experts, please make yourselves heard.
I’ve walked countless times through this odd little stretch of structures behind the closed-up church of Sant’ Anna, so I was well acquainted with the jauntiest graffito lion in the city (the little wing is the best). But the tree was just a tree until yesterday, when it became a sort of botanical fountain-firework. I was in no way prepared for it!
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.
They’re only hints, mind you, but they brighten my outlook considerably.
You might not notice them if you weren’t looking for them, but I was. Violets are one of the earliest, rashest signs of spring. They ask no questions about long-term commitment from the first rays of warmth, they just bloom.Leaves on the trees at Sant’ Elena are equally irrepressible, thank heaven.At this fleeting stage they seem more like flowers than leaves, though of course I know that’s totally wrong, botanically speaking. But they aren’t going to be outdone by any mere blossoms.Peach blossoms. They’re not from around here, but they are just as dependable a sign of primavera as some of the fish in the nearby market.Ditto the pussy willows (Salix cinerea). The silvery sheath on each bud is at least as beautiful as sterling. When they bloom, these flowers — which don’t even look like flowers — are rock-star providers of nectar. And to think I always treated them as a curiosity that was just fun to play with.An old German card shows the pussy-willow tradition at Easter and/or Palm Sunday in northern and eastern Europe, as well as Ukraine, Russia, and among the Ruthenian and Kashubian Catholics (I just threw that in.) Here in the sunny Mediterranean the pussy willows are long gone by Easter, but it’s a lovely thought.This year the ever-faithful and -predictable forsythia has just been replaced in my pantheon by this bewitching shrub at the entrance to the Morosini Naval School. Its perfume captured me before I had even noticed its flowers.If any reader can identify this marvel, I’d be grateful. Otherwise I’m just going to have to invent a name for it myself, and it will probably be a long one, like a champion dog. (The pink buds are just on their way to opening into cream-colored flowers, a magical moment which will undoubtedly occur tonight when nobody’s looking.)I imagine it happening not long after sunset, which shades into night much too quickly. Tomorrow will almost certainly reveal some new wonder.
Today is Martedi’ Grasso (Mardi Gras) and Carnival is wrapping up. It wrapped up a few days ago in via Garibaldi, not with a bang, not with anything. On Giovedi’ Grasso, the stage, inflatable slide and trampolines were going full tilt, overrun by swarms of unchained children. The day after, nothing. Everything was just … gone.
There are still frittelle and galani on sale and the streets are still speckled with confetti, yet the revelers are nowhere to be seen. I think whoever’s still around has migrated to the Piazza San Marco, where the big closing events take place. I won’t be there. I’ll be sitting at home in the dark, like some addict, secretly eating the last of the galani.
Galani, the last batch. They are doomed and so am I.Frittelle veneziane are somewhat difficult to find; lately everybody seems to want them filled with pastry cream or zabaglione. I stick with the traditional solid balls of fried dough. I bought this one not because I’m so crazy about frittelle, but because I couldn’t resist the chance to break off all those little stick-out bits. I’m so easy to entertain.“Today there are mammaluchi.” Readers may remember that the Pasticceria Targa near the Rialto market is the only place I’ve found that offers a special Carnival sweet called “mammaluchi.” Not the knightly military caste drawn from the ranks of slave warriors (thanks, Wikipedia), but an equally dangerous pastry.The Mamluks had a special sword, but I think this could have be just as effective in your average skirmish. It would just take a little longer for your adversary to collapse. The filling is dough, but of a moisture and density that make you take them seriously. Two is actually too many, but I didn’t let that stop me.I receive absolutely no compensation for this mention, they don’t even know who I am. Just that wild-eyed foreigner who comes in every year asking if the mammaluchi are ready yet.I didn’t go on a hunt for costumes to photograph, mainly because so many of them are so trite. I don’t judge, I know the people concealed within are having a wonderful time. I just feel embarrassed taking pictures that everybody else is taking, especially of something so unimaginative. Here, a group of massive costumes was disembarking from the #1 vaporetto.I kind of liked these dudes, even if they had rented the garb. I was fascinated by the fact that all of them had 12 white dots. I have no idea how you play a game of dominos if all the tiles have the same number of dots, but at least they were being whimsical. I award points for whimsy.And speaking of whimsy, this was the scene in via Garibaldi on Fat Thursday. The munchkins from the local nursery school are dressed up as either little pigs (the girls) or wolves (boys). The masks were handmade of the ever-reliable construction paper.The pigs were especially adorable, not only because they were scarfing up frittelle and fruit juice but because they had to move their masks aside to make way for the food. The mask itself is a small masterpiece, held on by a circlet of pink construction paper.This was an exceptional minimalist costume. The mask was a small cardboard carton just sitting on his shoulders, and he must have had fun making a sword that wants to be a Mamluk bread knife.Seen at the Rialto market: A couple wearing chef’s toques, the father carrying their little girl on his back, disguised as a ….…lobster. That’s what I always say, never leave home without a clean handkerchief and a lobster.Yes, I know you want to stay out past dark, but it’s time to go home. Pack it up till next year.
