Everyone knows that 33 days ago (June 2, for the record) a cruise ship named the MSC “Opera” ran into the dock at San Basilio and delivered a glancing blow to a smaller ship moored there, and a mighty thwack to the dock itself. The video of the event created quite the sensation, though probably nothing near the sensation experienced by crew and passengers.
Not an accepted position for mooring in Venice. (Photo: ANSA)
Many people were horrified but, as you might imagine, the “No Big Ships” contingent was ecstatic. Whatever your emotions, for those few seconds it appeared that the end of the world had come. Abundant photos and a video are to be found here.
Technicians swarmed the ship, examining every valve and screw; statements were taken, legal documents were launched, apologies and reimbursements rained down upon the passengers. The proximate cause of the incident was the breaking of the bow tugboat’s line to the ship as it struggled to slow the ship’s speed. But it seems that something was amiss with the engine; an official of a tugboat company explained to France 24 that “The engine was blocked, but with its thrust on, because the speed was increasing.”
According to Mr. James Walker, a Miami-based maritime lawyer and cruise safety advocate, “Cruise ships typically have redundant power systems; however, it is not possible for a secondary power source to immediately or instantaneously activate in time to avert an accident like this,” noting there was nothing the captain could have done to avoid the collision.
One factor that I haven’t seen mentioned anywhere amid all the technical details of the ship was the tide. Anyone who was near — or especially on – the water could confirm that there was a very powerful incoming tide that morning; obviously it would have added significantly to the ship’s forward momentum. The next ship in line to enter Venice waited for at least an hour, immobile, in front of Sant’ Elena, while the rear-facing tugboat attached to its stern kept its engines roaring at full-speed-ahead (i.e., pulling the ship backward), straining to resist the power of the current.
To return to the wayward ship: After a week or so the MSC “Opera” was back at work. I saw it go.
So things are back to normal. I can say that because I noticed other signs.
For example, last Saturday (June 29), as we were crossing the causeway to Venice, I counted nine (9) cruise ships in port. I interpret that to mean that the cruise industry has not labeled Venice a hazardous-duty post.
Also: Passing San Basilio in the vaporetto, I could see the damage to the dock. Frankly, our bathroom is in worse shape than this.
The fondamenta after the collision. More detailed photos are visible on tg24/sky. The wounds don’t look good, but neither do they appear apocalyptic. I’m happy to know that the fondamente are so strong.
Perhaps most important, last Sunday morning around 9:00 AM I saw a majestic ship bearing the MSC emblem approaching Venice. According to the port schedule, this would have been the MSC “Magnifica,” but the “Opera” was right behind it an hour later. It was being accompanied (not literally towed, as you can always see that the ship is proceeding under its own power) by two monster tugboats in place of the previous single, more modest tug.
One can almost imagine the faint melody of a ceremonial march — this is quite the escort.The captain stated that the line attaching the tugboat to his ship’s bow had broken, so now two more robust tugs will accompany ships above a certain tonnage. This arrangement seems to me to be the most effective defense against any possible repetition. A successful resolution of a problem is one that doesn’t create new problems, and this is simpler, cheaper, and less damaging to the lagoon than digging new channels to send the ships to the mainland shore, or offshore, or whatever the shore-du-jour may be in the endless struggle to find a way to banish the ships from the bacino of San Marco.
For those who object to the ships on aesthetic grounds — big, out of proportion, ugly passing Venice, none of which is debatable, though I think we should, as a general rule, resist correlating beauty and safety — one should keep in mind that smaller boats are often involved in similar accidents, with worse results than a banged-up fondamenta. Four days before this event, a river-cruise boat collided with a sightseeing vessel on the Danube at Budapest, leaving seven dead and 21 missing. Neither ship was big.
When a solution is reached to which all parties can agree, something will change. Meanwhile, the monster tugs are on the job.
I pick up the story of the column where I left it some while back, because there is one more bronze plaque to decipher.
To review: The granite column made for an Austrian admiral before World War I, when the Austro-Hungarian Empire was at the peak of its pride, was transported to Venice as spoils of war to commemorate the Italian victory in World War I. But, you may ask, what part did the Italian Navy play in said victory? The plaque shown below, which covers the front of the base, tells part of the story — the stately, official part. But the rockstar exploits, the ones that played an outsized role in the whole affair, have been omitted. I will now correct that oversight.
Beneath the disk which once contained the profile of Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian (and now vaunts the lion of San Marco), is this impressive screed. I know it’s annoyingly long (it’s an official document, so no mercy is shown), but please read it because otherwise the rest of this post won’t mean much.
“ALL’ ARMATA NAVALE (ORDINE DEL GIORNO DEL XXII MARZO MCMXIX) LA FLOTTA NEMICA, EVITANDO COSTANTAMENTE LA BATTAGLIA, HA RICONOSCIUTO NEL MODO PIU’ COMPLETO ED EVIDENTE L’EFFICIENZA DELL’ARMATA E DEI REPARTI ALLEATI CHE MANTENNERO IL DOMINIO DELL’ADRIATICO. / IL NEMICO HA POTUTO EVITARE IL COMBATTIMENTO MA NON LA RESA ED IL DISARMO DELLA SUA FLOTTA. / ABBIAMO COSI’ OTTENUTO LA VITTORIA PIU’ DECISIVA CHE MAI FOSSE POSSIBILE CONSEGUIRE, E LA IMPORTANZA DI QUESTA NON E’ PER NULLA MENOMATA DALLA CIRCOSTANZA DI NON AVERLA RIPORTATA COMBATTENDO. / UNA PARTE DI QUELLA FLOTTA CHE PER QUARANTA MESI ATTENDEMMO INVANO IN MARE APERTO GIUNGE OGGI A VENEZIA E NELLA STORICA CITTA’, LA GLORIA DELLA MARINA CHE ARGINO’ LE BARBARIE MUSULMANA, SI ACCOMUNA ALLA GLORIA DELLA SUA NATURALE EREDE – LA MARINA DELLA NUOVA ITALIA – CHE NELLO STESSO MARE HA ARGINATA LA MINACCIA DI ALTRA BARBARIE. / ALL’OPERA DELLA QUALE LA NAZIONE VEDE ORA IL TANGIBILE RISULTATO. AMMIRAGLI, COMANDANTI, UFFICIALI, ED EQUIPAGGI HANNO PORTATO ALTISSIMO CONTRIBUTO MANTENENDO LA FLOTTA SEMPRE PRONTA AD ENTRARE IN AZIONE. CONSERVANDO INTATTO PER QUARANTA MESI DI ASSILLANTE ATTESA L’ARDORE COMBATTIVO ED IL SENTIMENTO DI DISCIPLINA CHE LI ANIMAVA IL GIORNO DELLA DICHIARAZIONE DI GUERRA. E PER QUESTO ABBIAMO VINTO. THAON DE REVEL
(Translated by me): To the fleet (Order 22 March 918) The enemy fleet, constantly avoiding battle, has recognized in the most complete and evident way the efficiency of the (Italian) fleet and of the Allied units which maintained control of the Adriatic. / The enemy was able to evade combat but not the surrender and the disarming of his fleet. / We have thus obtained the most decisive victory that could ever have been accomplished, and the importance of this is in no way damaged by the circumstance of not having achieved it in battle. / A part of that fleet that for 40 months waited in vain on the open sea today reaches Venice and in the historic city the glory of the navy which checked the Muslim barbarities joins the glory of her natural heir — the navy of the New Italy — that on the same sea checked the threat of other barbarities. / In the doing of which the nation now sees the tangible result. Admirals, commanders, officials, and crews have made the highest contribution maintaining the fleet always ready to enter in action. Conserving intact for 40 months of irritating waiting the combative ardor and the sentiment of discipline that stirred them on the day of the declaration of war. And it is for this that we have won. (signed Duke Paolo Camillo) THAON DE REVEL (admiral and commander of the Italian Royal Navy).
To summarize: “During 40 interminable, maddening months of constant patrol, our ships never got to fight because those pusillanimous Austrians didn’t come out and face us like men. But no matter! Our hardy seamen and equipment were always ready to take them on, and that’s a great thing and the reason why we won.” (This proclamation is a participation prize awarded by the admiral to console everybody for having missed out on combat.)
Don’t think, though, that the Italians were doing nothing but steaming back and forth across the Adriatic, scanning the horizon in vain. Four legendary feats proved that you don’t always need a big scary battleship to seriously damage your enemy; brains, skill, luck, and nerve — or as the saying here goes, “square balls” (coglioni quadrati) — can also get the job done. History shows that Venetian seamen and commanders often matched that description, and their Italian confreres weren’t far behind.
The master of all those qualities and protagonist of three of these deeds was Luigi Rizzo, born in Milazzo, Sicily, who became the most-decorated man in the history of the Italian Navy not only for his military talent but for his seeming inability to realize that he could ever get hurt. He and a few hardy colleagues dealt some very heavy blows to the ships, plans, and pride of the Austro-Hungarian navy. Their secret weapon, apart from their cog. quad., was their vessel, a type of small torpedo boat acronymed “MAS.”
First Exploit: On the night of December 9/10, 1917, Rizzo sank the battleship SMS Wien (pronounced VEEN, the Austrian name for Vienna) while it was at anchor near Trieste.
A typical MAS (Motoscafo Armato Silurante, or armed torpedo boat). Originally built by the Naval Automobile Society of Venice, they typically carried ten men, two torpedoes, machine guns, and sometimes a light gun of unspecified character. I add this photo to give some idea of the relative scale of the watercraft involved in the deeds to be recounted here.
SMS Wien in 1898. Looking good, carrying 426 men and 27 cannon. That was more than enough for a normal battle, but Rizzo took the abnormal approach.
The Wien, with its sister ship Budapest, was in the Gulf of Trieste on November 16 to bombard Italian coastal defenses. Budapest and Wien opened fire at 10:35 AM and knocked out most of the Italian guns after about a half-hour. Efforts to counterattack by air or by torpedo boat were unsuccessful; the two ships then moved a few miles down the coast from Trieste to the Bay of Muggia, where they anchored and, I suppose, their crews drew deep breaths of satisfaction along with the smoke from freshly lit cigarettes. Not only were their ships big and strong, they were protected by seven steel chains strung at various depths across the harbor, so let’s not bother closing the watertight doors below. All was peace and tranquility; Rizzo had yet to be introduced.
As darkness fell on December 9, the two Italian MAS were towed into the bay of Trieste; towlines removed, the men started their silent electric engines and spent the next two hours cutting all the steel chains. Still undetected, at 2:32 AM they fired their torpedoes at Wien and Budapest. Budapest was unscathed, but Wien was hit: Rizzo’s two torpedoes blew a hole 10.5 meters (34 ft) wide abreast the boiler rooms, killing 46 men. Because all the watertight doors were open, the Wien capsized and sank in five minutes.
Both MAS were gone before being detected and Rizzo was awarded the Gold Medal of Military Valor. But this was no “star is born” moment — he had just received his third Silver Star for his actions at Grado during the Retreat from Caporetto (a mere month earlier), performing with what evidently was his hallmark attitude — “calm, serene, and scornful of danger.”
Luigi Rizzo returns to Venice aboard his MAS 9 after the sinking of the Wien.
Wien was buried in the mud of the harbor bottom at a depth of 16.5 meters (54 ft); salvage of the ship was ordered on December 14, but soon abandoned. The immediate court-martial convicted Vice Admiral Alfred Freiherr von Koudelka, commander of the naval district, the captains of both ships, and the commander of the naval defenses of Trieste of failing to ensure that all possible precautions had been taken. “What — me worry?” is not a recommended military philosophy, especially if there’s a war going on.
The wreck was salvaged by the Italians in the 1920s; part of its stern is displayed in the Museo Storico Navale in Venice.There are plenty of official portraits of the indomitable Luigi Rizzo, but to me this undated image shows him at his best. The casual pose is completely offset by the look on his face. I realize he was probably staring into the sun, but still. This is a man who rode a bike to his wedding while the town was being bombed. (photo Friuli Vimado).
Second Exploit: On February 10, 1918, a mere two months after Wien went to the bottom, Rizzo joined what became the legendary raid on the Austrian ships in the bay of Buccari (now Bakar, Croatia), an adventure that almost immediately became known as the Beffa di Buccari (“the prank of Bakar”).
The basic idea would have been characterized as crazy, which was a huge advantage. As the town (and then-Austrian naval outpost for military as well as mercantile ships) lies at the end of a sheltered waterway 80 km (50 miles) long, it was commonly assumed that it was beyond attack. So naturally off we go.
Three MAS were organized under the overall command of Costanzo Ciano: #94 commanded by Andrea Ferrarini, #95 by Odoardo De Santis, and #96 commanded by Rizzo, which also carried poet and Air Force Major Gabriele D’Annunzio, the brain behind the whole affair.
Quite a flotilla departed Venice at 10:45 AM on February 10: Three groups of destroyers and Scout cruisers were assigned to tow and then support the nimble little MAS, just in case Austrian opposition was greater than anticipated.
Group 1 (one Scout ship and five destroyers) were positioned at Porto Levante on the Italian coast slightly south of Venice, ready to intervene if ordered to do so by central command in Venice.
Group 2 comprised three destroyers, each of which was to tow a MAS to within 20 miles west of the island of Susak, where each ship passed the tow line to a torpedo boat (torpediniere) and then moved to a spot 50 miles off Ancona to be on call for assistance to the MAS on their return.
Group 3 consisted of three torpedo boats, each of which towed a MAS to a mile from the entrance to the bay of Bakar.
There were also two submarines standing by, one 15 miles west of Pola, and another 15 miles south of Cape Kamenjak, guarding the escape route. What once appeared to me to have been just a batch of high jinks indulged in by a small group of bring-it-on guys was actually a mission running major risks which the Italian Navy intended to be ready to resolve. The assumption, based on aerial reconnaissance, was that there were military ships in the bay of Bakar.
As the convoy moved nearer the Croatian coast, Austrian sentinels ought to have given some kind of challenge. But once again, all was peace and quiet. If any lookout noticed the Italian ships in the winter darkness, he would have assumed they were Austrian, because how could they be anything else?
At night, in the winter, three MAS traveled 231 km/ 148 miles across the Adriatic and into the gullet of enemy territory. The red line indicates the first leg of the journey; the yellow is roughly the route taken by the smaller detachment to almost the mouth of the bay of Bakar. All of the territory on the right side of the image belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire.And in they went.A view of Bakar looking out toward the Adriatic — that is, toward three enemy boats which nobody had even imagined. (photo: YouTube)
Still unrecognized by the Austrian coastal gun batteries, the three MAS continued until, a mile from the bay, they switched on their noiseless electric motors.
At 12:35 AM they reached the mouth of the bay of Bakar and saw their objectives — not warships, as they’d been informed, but three cargo steamships and one passenger ship. Never mind! MAS 96 (commanded by Rizzo) was assigned to attack ship #1, MAS 94 was given two, and MAS 95 headed for the fourth ship. At 1:20 AM the three boats launched their torpedoes.
I’ll skip the minute details. Of the six torpedoes fired, only one exploded (Rizzo’s, as it happened), which revealed that the ships were protected by anti-torpedo nets. As the alarms immediately began to blare, the MAS commenced to flee the bay past bewildered Austrian lookouts who even under the blinding floodlights didn’t shoot because they still couldn’t believe that the enemy had penetrated their harbor.
The lookouts at the entrance to the bay at Prestenizze managed to fire their rifles, to which the Italians replied, not with their machine guns, but with wisecracks; they even sarcastically slowed down.
But wait! Looking back, the Italian commanders couldn’t see the third MAS. THEY TURNED BACK, passing Prestenizze again. The search was fruitless — the missing craft had escaped on its own — so they turned around and passed the lookout point a FOURTH time, tossing three bottles into their wake as they made for Ancona. The three MAS reached the port at 7:45 that morning, uninjured though possibly somewhat disappointed.
But only “somewhat,” because the intrepid crews had fulfilled part of their mission. They had left a message in those three floating bottles sealed with the red, green and white of the Italian flag. It was D’Annunzio at his most taunting, giving what today would be called a very sick burn.
“To the dishonor of the extremely cautious Austrian fleet engaged in endlessly hiding in safe ports the so-called glory of Lissa” — a defeat that Italy still couldn’t swallow — “they have come with iron and fire to shake prudence in its most comfortable refuge the seamen of Italy, who laugh at every kind of net and barrier, always ready to dare the undareable. And a good companion (referring to himself), well-known — the paramount enemy, of all enemies the enemy-est, he of Pola and Cattaro — has come with them to make a joke of the price on his head. 10-11 February 1918 Gabriele d’Annunzio.” In this and a number of other deeds of daring, especially the Flight over Vienna, D’Annunzio the poet transformed warfare into a kind of performance art.The three commanders on their return from Bakar (L to R)l Luigi Rizzo, Gabriele D’Annunzio, Costanzo Ciano (father of Galeazzo Ciano, who married Mussolini’s daughter, Edda). Scribbled above them was a Latin phrase coined by D’Annunzio which gave a new meaning to the acronym MAS: “Memento Audere Semper.” Remember always to dare.Gabriele D’Annunzio. Excogitating some new adventure beyond the limits of rationality? I wouldn’t bet against him.
Unexploded torpedoes faded into insignificance in the face of this fabulous feat. Brief as it was, making fun of the Austrians in their own harbor had a tremendous psychological effect on the Austrians (humiliation) and even more on the Italians (invigoration) after the profound demoralization that followed the disaster of Caporetto. D’Annunzio became a national hero.
Venice decided to honor all the participants, not just D’Annunzio, listing them on the base of the flag in front of the church of the Redentore on the Giudecca. The three intrepid crews set out from here that fateful February day in 1917.The names of Equipaggio (crew) I surmounted by a bas-relief of the Bay of Buccari, all picked out with gold leaf.This helpful label in gold leaf identifies the bay of, as written, “Buccari.”“I TRENTA DELLA BEFFA DI BUCCARI SALPARONO DA QUESTA RIVA IL X FEBBRAIO MCMXVIII CATALOGO DEI TRENTA COSTANZO CIANO LUIGI RIZZO”… “The thirty of the Beffa di Buccari weighed anchor from this embankment on 10 February 1918 List of the thirty…”Gabriele D’Annunzio is next to last.The names of Equipaggio II.
Equipaggio III.
A certain Giacomo Scotti, in his book “Disertori in Adriatico,” has cast doubt on the glory of this event, pointing out that the ships in the harbor weren’t military, and accusing D’Annunzio of having cleverly managed to transform a failure into a resounding success (which he totally did). I have now shared Mr. Scotti’s opinion, and move on, because the one incontrovertible fact is that whatever D’Annunzio and his Thirty did on that freezing February night — danced a hornpipe in kilts, sang barbershop quartets, threw Slinkies at each other — they got through the Austrian defenses (if one can call them that) and made it home, thereby giving such a shot to Italian morale that eight months later Italy drove the Austrians out of the country once and for all.
Most of the streets on the island of Sant’ Elena bear names recalling important people, places, or events from World War 1. Or, in this case, all three.
Rizzo was awarded a bronze star (changed to a silver star at the end of the war) for his part in this adventure. Then he got back to work with his MAS and his torpedoes — details to come.
Luigi Rizzo as he was working his way up to admiral, one sunk ship at a time.
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.
