Giorgio Emo Capodilista | Venice: I am not making this up

Onward to Phase 2

May 1, 2020 19 Comments

General Giorgio Emo Capodilista is following orders: If you go outside, you must wear a mask. This sort of frivolity would have been unthinkable two months ago, but maybe by now we’re all getting used to living with the virus.

There’s something in the air, and it’s not pollen — it’s the sensation of imminent liberation from lockdown, at least for some.

Even as the brain repeats the refrain put out by radio and newspaper and online news that “This is going to be a gradual process, programmed in stages over the entire month of May, subject to immediate revision or revocation if the numbers of infections begin to increase,” the atmosphere is quivering with anticipation.

It’s also quivering with confusion, because unlike two months ago, when all this began, not everybody seems to be on the same proverbial page. Information is coming from the federal government, the regional government, and the city, in the voice of its somewhat overwrought mayor. After eight weeks of only essential businesses being allowed to stay open, the owners and employees of the less-essential businesses have been driven to the edge. In fact, many small business owners are planning various protests for Sunday (in Mestre and elsewhere on the mainland) and in the Piazza San Marco on Monday, May 4.

The restaurant/bar/cafe’ owners are howling to reopen — at the moment, they must wait till June 1 — even though I don’t quite see how, at least in the Historic Center, they are going to begin to recoup their losses when there are no tourists to fill their seats, tables, and cash registers. And even if and when there are tourists, the new regulations require tables to be positioned two meters (6.5 feet) apart; this obviously will slash the number of customers being served. Hair salons are not to allow anyone in the shop without an appointment (no hanging around leafing through magazines), and stylists and clients will have to wear masks and gloves. Disinfecting the premises — chairs, tables, even floor, for all I know — will be a major daily undertaking.

But more on the business situation later.

Disinfection continues, leaving its mark. Frequent spraying goes on: pavement, campi, railings, and vaporetto docks.

The person in the white suit wields the spray-wand, in this case drawing from a large tank on a nearby boat.

The boat and men were working their way along from stop to stop.

The large white cube contains gallons of disinfectant.

Far from the boat, he carries his little tank with him as he walks his beat, spraying disinfectant on the railings of bridges and canals. I try to stay upwind.

Outside the pharmacy “Al Basilisco” (of Dr. Baldisserotto), just as you find at the entrance to the Coop, a bottle of hand sanitizer is ready for use. “Attention: Before entering, disinfect (hygienize) your gloves.” I’m all for it, but am waiting to see if somebody is going to say it would be advisable to then pull on another pair of gloves over the first pair, and so on….They say there’s no such thing as being too prudent, but we’ll see.

At the entrance to the second pharmacy in via Garibaldi (Dr. Polito) are more instructions that experience has evidently rendered necessary: “No more than two persons/clients inside. Enter the pharmacy equipped with mask and gloves. DO NOT remove the mask when you’re in the pharmacy. Respect the one-meter distancing. No more than 1 or 2 persons inside. Thank you.” Do not remove the mask when you’re inside? Do people still not grasp what the mask is for?

We are all trying to make sense of what we’re going to be allowed to do beginning on Monday, May 4. Here is what we know so far.

In no particular order, we can: Stroll or run or bicycle farther afield than the previous limit of 200 meters from your house, maintaining at least one meter of space between you and anyone else. No more than two adults, “and children” (number unspecified), are allowed to be out together. In other words, no coming out in herds.

You can visit friends or family without having to prove verifiable necessity — that’s quite a change — but the number of participants must remain small. It doesn’t help much that “family” is now defined as including “congiunti“; literally, it means “joined,” but indicates a second level of relative or relation. Your spouse is your spouse, your “congiunto” could be your boyfriend whom you haven’t seen in at least a month. There was an invigorating, if brief, exchange on the radio two days ago in which the speakers attempted to discern the boundaries of the congiunto: “If he’s your new boyfriend, how long will you need to have been together?” “Could somebody you met a week ago qualify?” “Is there a difference if I go to see him, instead of him coming to see me?” And so on. Madness.

Basically, the central concept remains: Groups are hazardous to everyone in them. Avoid them.

You can train or practice your individual sport, even at your club’s center, but no teams. No congregating.

Parks will be reopened, at the discretion of each town’s respective mayors, so children can get out and play. But no groups!

Residents who have a second home elsewhere in the Veneto (we’re allowed now to travel between towns, but it is still prohibited to cross regional borders) will be permitted to go there to check on its condition, just to make sure that the house isn’t about to collapse or rot away before your eyes. No, you can’t take your spouse and kids and dog; in fact, you can’t even stay overnight. No being clever and turning your little inspection trip into your family’s traditional ox-roast, clambake and Highland Games.

As I try to adjust ever so slightly to a normal view of life and the world, however tentative or experimental, I have become obsessed with the company that advertises on the radio every day at noon. It describes their fabulous kitchen redesign capabilities in the most soothing way (I guess they realize we’re all a little on edge), sprinkled with words like “hope” and “dream” that make it sound as if they are able and ready to make your life — they say “kitchen,” but they obviously mean “life” — so gorgeous and so wonderful that you will not believe you’re even still you.

And every time I hear these extravagant claims I ask myself if there is anyone who has time, or money, or desire, to think about their freaking kitchen right now. Apart from the cost, it would seem to me that after two months of being compelled to cook twice a day — no matter how thrilled you must be to have perfected your sourdough bread or Poulet Paul Gauguin Retour de Tahiti — the last place on earth you want to think about now is the kitchen. If I didn’t have Lino as the cook supreme here, I’d already have turned ours into a pinball arcade.

It’s 7:00 AM at Sant’ Elena and a seagull has already bagged at least one seppia. They’re coming in now, and they may be pleasantly surprised not to have to run the usual gantlet of fishermen along the waterfront. This one evidently had an entire winter’s-worth of ink stored up, ready for battle, but all his ammunition wasn’t enough. (How do I know it was a seagull? Because the seppia’s “bone” was lying a few feet away.)

Further up along the Riva dei Sette Martiri, more signs of epic struggle. At least the animals have enemies they can actually see.

So are we beginning to scent the breezes of freedom, comfort and joy? Not so fast. Even on the verge of Phase 2, warnings abound, and if infections begin to increase, back we go into lockdown. This has been made abundantly clear.

Even clearer than the now-world-famed water in the canals. I wish there were something interesting down there, now that we could finally see it.

Occasionally you can see an old tire, but I was dreaming of something more amazing. Anyway, the water’s kind of low this morning, which mitigates the thrill of seeing as far as the bottom.

REVIEW CHAPTER: If you’re not convinced that the risk remains, here is oncologist Dr. Paolo Ascierto speaking to overexcited readers of La Repubblica: “Unfortunately the virus is still circulating, and the levels of infection are identical to those of weeks ago. The numbers have improved only thanks to isolation….it’s clear that every day it’s possible to become infected, above all if you don’t use the mask and don’t maintain social distancing. We’ll be out of the emergency only when we have a vaccine that, however, won’t be here any sooner than a year. We still know very little about the virus. How long will someone who was infected remain immune? We don’t know. The mask doesn’t protect us but the others, so if we all wear it, we’re protected. A concert? Without a vaccine, we’ll watch it from home.”

Here is Dr. Angelo Pan, head of the infectious diseases department of the hospital of Cremona, one of the hardest-hit in the epidemic wave that began in Lombardy on February 21. “This virus is a schifezza (skee-FETS-ah — nastiness, disgustingness, filth) like I’ve never seen and never thought to see,” he told HuffPost (translated by me). “I never call it Covid-19, I call it schifezza…. This isn’t flu we’re facing … We have the sensation that this schifezza triggers new problems. The infection leaves traces that we still have to deal with….” (not only on the lungs, but the heart, liver, kidneys, and brain).

Ranieri Guerra, adjunct director of the WHO, defined it as “a monster.” “He’s right,” Dr. Pan agreed. “It’s a genius of evil, capable of having different faces and causing different problems. Its capacity to ‘put on makeup’ (disguise itself) and adapt itself to its environment makes it the worst we’ve had to deal with in decades. I don’t want this problem to be underestimated elsewhere, because it is still dramatic.”

End of review. Do not say that nobody told you.

On public transport, passengers must use mask and gloves and the maximum number of passengers will be limited to 30 persons on buses and 350 on trains. This rule has already caused excitement in Naples, because when the bus is carrying the maximum permitted, it is required to skip the next stops. But in one case, the driver continued to halt and let more people climb aboard. Other passengers rebelled, yelling at the driver that he isn’t allowed to do this. Astonished commentators could only say “In Naples?”

Limiting the number of passengers will obviously require more buses and vaporettos to be in service. Well, one would assume, unless everyone needs to plan an extra hour for transit in case they have to wait for the next one. (At the moment, the vaporettos run every 20 minutes, as opposed to every 12 minutes for the #1.) We saw a vaporetto pass this morning with about 20 people clustered in the central zone that is the entrance and exit combined. Public transport vehicles are now required to have one door for entering and a different one for exiting. Good luck with that with the vaporettos; I know from experience that there are people who perceive the boarding/disembarkation point as being exactly in front of me. Like on the subway, but somehow worse.

This morning I noticed that the impending easing of restrictions has been misinterpreted by some blithe spirit. No, sir. Don’t let anybody take off your mask until orders arrive to the contrary.

The reckless will undoubtedly continue to push the boundaries. A few weeks ago, a man was stopped at a checkpoint and asked where he was going in his car, and why. “I have to go visit my mother,” was the reply. Who could object to that? Nobody, except that he forgot about that verification process the officers have to conduct. They called the number he would have had to give them, and someone answered: “Who? She’s been dead for a month.”

On we go. A few days ago, a man was promenading along the Fondamenta degli Ormesini in Cannaregio, dressed in snowy-forest camouflage (to conceal yourself in Venice) but without a mask. The vigili (local police) stopped him and conversation ensued, as did a ticket for a 400-euro fine. The man lost his mind, yelling all sorts of abuse at them and repeatedly calling them “Ignorant!” because they fined him for breaking a city ordinance while “People are dying of hunger because they have no work!” There isn’t a discernible link between masks and hunger, but there is a good one between masks and insulting a public official, so in addition to the fine he now has been cited for a penal infraction.

This clip was forwarded to me from a friend via WhatsApp; I don’t know the source, but I think it has been circulating fairly widely.

Meanwhile, over in Milan, a man was driving along till he reached a checkpoint. The Carabiniere on duty asked his reason for being out, and the man replied “I’m a nurse and I’ve just gotten off a 20-hour shift in the hospital.”

The Carabiniere stood back, saluted, and said “Thank you for all that you’re doing.”

It would have been touching except that the man was not a nurse, and drove away giggling. You think that’s dumb? He video’d the whole thing. You think that’s dumb? He put it on his Facebook page. Probably many people saw it, but the most important viewer was a friend with a conscience, who reported the affair to the Carabinieri. See above: Fine and a citation for insulting a public official, which will almost certainly see him in court and, depending on how jauntily the man defends himself, perhaps even in the cooler for a while.

And so we trek onward toward the wonders of Phase 2, armed with four masks offered by the city government. A recorded phone call from the mayor alerted us that they would be on the way, and he took the opportunity to thank us for our cooperation. Two days later the package was in our mailbox. I wonder if a new mask will work the same magic as new shoes. Or kitchen.

The Comune of Venice has acquired 600,000 masks, which they are giving away to residents. This packet of four masks appeared in our mailbox two days ago; we’re already two months into daily mask-wearing, but as the old saying here goes, “I vovi sono boni anca dopo Pasqua” (eggs are also good after Easter). Never let it be said that I looked a gift mask in the mouth. And thank you, Mr. Mayor, for giving us this chance to remember that you are soon going to be running for re-election.

Written in English, stamped in Chinese. Good thing there are pictures.

Venetian History

The Garden of the Forgotten Venetians – Riccardo Selvatico

July 25, 2018 No Comments

The Gardens feel bigger and lusher than they look here, I have to say. But the area must have felt very different indeed when this space was occupied by the church and convent of San Domenico, of San Nicolo di Bari, of the Conception of the Virgin Mary (otherwise known as the Cappuccine), of Sant’ Antonio Abate, and the Old Sailors’ Home. But who needs those when they can have trees?

This arch is the only survivor of all those buildings, recovered from the church of Sant’ Antonio Abate, designed by Michele Sanmicheli (the arch served as the entrance to the Lando chapel). It lay on the ground in pieces for 15 years.

On the less marbley side is a phrase referring to the reconstruction in 1822. I have no information on why this was done or what happened to the rest of the church. Maybe Napoleon wanted something that looked like a triumphal arch. L’Arc de la Devastation.

This sylvan glade was created by Napoleon when he went through Venice like the Destroying Angel, razing and demolishing scores of churches, convents, scuole and other buildings that were inconsiderately sited where he wanted something else to be, or that happened to contain things he wanted such as gold, jewels and works of art.

Nowadays the Giardini Pubblici (Public Gardens) are best-known for accommodating the original pavilions of the art extravaganza known as the Biennale. Also, being a garden, the area is full of trees and flowers and shrubs, plus an attractive little playground. It even offers a useful amount of space to handle thousands of runners at the finish line of the Venice Marathon.

However, this 13-acre piece of Venice is more than a shrine for art lovers or a bosky dell for the relief of exhausted tourists. It is a garden of remembrance(s) of people and/or events of which hardly anybody remembers anything. That’s a wild guess on my part, based on the general nonchalance with which people wander through. Look at the bronze bust of Giorgio Emo Capodilista; it has “And now the weather report from Oblivion” written all over it. Not to mention Carlo de Ghega, another extremely worthy Venetian whose crumbling memorial plaque is only about 45 seconds away.

We get an extra dollop of wit here, considering the title of the exhibition whose banner is concealing half of the too-high-to-read-and-by-now-disintegrating plaque to Carlo de Ghega. It’s one thing not to be able to read it; it’s another not to be able even to see it. But *sic transit*, dude, you had your moment.

So I’ve decided — SEEING THAT THERE ARE NO HELPFUL EXPLANATORY SIGNS ANYWHERE, THE KIND THAT MANY TOWNS WHOSE CITIZENS AND OFFICIALS FEEL SOME CIVIC PRIDE OFTEN PLACE NEAR WORTHY LANDMARKS — to remedy this oversight. I’m limiting myself to the Gardens at the moment, because I intuit that trying to address the skillions of other personages “remembered” around Venice would be a life’s work. Not a reason not to do it, just a reason to evaluate it carefully.

But the Gardens are calling. May I present Riccardo Selvatico, our first example of departed glory:

This bronze herm by sculptor Pietro Canonica bears the most modest inscription possible (and it’s not “The Thinker”): “A Riccardo Selvatico La Sua Citta’ 1903” — “To Riccardo Selvatico, His City 1903.” The date is two years after his death.

Selvatico was born in Venice in 1849 and died in 1901. Trained as a lawyer, he was mayor of Venice from 1890-95. He was also a poet and writer of comedies (I guess politics could help you with that) written in the Venetian dialect. When he wasn’t scribbling he did a number of important things. For one, he established a fund to finance the construction of healthier housing, replacing swathes of dwellings which were worthy of New York’s Lower East Side or Rio’s favelas; he would have lived through several cholera epidemics, so he didn’t need anybody to explain the problems of slums.

And if that doesn’t seem especially herm-worthy, he was also the person who came up with the idea, approved by a city-council vote in 1894, of holding an international art exposition in Venice every two years. In other words, he invented the Biennale, which now runs for at least six months, and sometimes seven, every year. It brings glory to the participants and boatloads of money to the city — I have no way of knowing which aspect inspired him more. Maybe it was a draw. The opposition party, naturally, stigmatized it as yet another example of his administration’s tendency to waste money on projects of barely discernible utility, in order to favor its friends and clients.

So he wrote a little poem called “Metempsicosi” in which he imagines that if it were true that we can be reincarnated as some animal, he’d like to come back as a pigeon in the Piazza San Marco, watch the people, fly around, and poop on the hats of a couple of individuals he isn’t going to name.

Not your ordinary politician, nor even your average man of letters. If there’s one thing that comes through every word, it’s his love for his city and its people and its life. One critic praised his poetry and comedies as being “ennobled by (his) exquisite Venetianness and refined wit.”

His five years as mayor were busy, of course, partly due to an ongoing battle between his highly eclectic and non-religious government and the opposition party marshaled by Giuseppe Sarto, then patriarch of Venice but later Pope Pius X. In 1895 Sarto’s faction won the election and Selvatico was back on the street. Separation of church and state was not an important principle at the time.

His birthplace also rates a plaque (translated by me): “Here was born on April 15 1849 Riccardo Selvatico poet of the vernacular and mayor of Venice who carried the intimate sense of life into his art and in life transfused the dignity and the measure of art. The city places this 1902.” This house stands at the foot of the bridge of Sant’ Antonio between Campo S. Lio and Calle de la Bissa.

He also gets a campiello named after him. Next time you’re voyaging between Campo S. Bartolomio and Campo of the Santi Apostoli, tip your hat. All these memorials are impressive, especially as nobody now remembers who he was. If the city fathers hadn’t made all these efforts, even I might not have heard of him (apart from the fact that Lino has a copy of “I Recini di Festa” and other works of Selvatico from which he reads poetry to me).

Selvatico clearly accomplished more than your usual assortment of Bepis and Tonis (“Bepi”and “Toni” are the immemorial nicknames of the quintessential pair of Venetian friends, up to and including today). I’m glad his efforts were appreciated, though the encomiums came after his death, as usual.

This portrait must have been made toward the end of his life; he was only 52 when he died, and his somewhat wary expression might be one effect of life in City Hall. Or maybe he’s imagining himself as a pigeon.

I Recini da Festa (“The best earrings”) is a comedy in two acts set in Venice, first performed in Venice to great success at the Teatro Goldoni on April 4, 1876 (14 years before he became mayor, so people knew what they were getting into, so to speak, when they elected him). One critic calls this comedy as “light and intricate as a piece of Burano lace,” still a stellar example of the best of the theatre in Venetian dialect of the time. Then as now, everybody spoke Venetian, so it wasn’t necessarily seen as a quaint way of talking, or even typical of a particular social class.

A poverty-stricken young married couple — also, she’s pregnant — is living with her parents because the husband has been rejected by his rich father who was opposed to the wedding. This opposition is based on an old quarrel between the two fathers-in-law dating from their youth, about which the newlyweds know nothing. Her father can’t support them all, so his wife breaks the piggybank in which the money for the crib was being kept.

But the baby MUST have a crib so that the father can at least put up a good appearance, therefore the daughter (soon to be mother) decides to pawn her best earrings. The person who resolves all the twists is the big-hearted and astute midwife, who’s ready to make any sacrifice to settle the matter. In the end the two old enemies make peace, and the rich father himself gives the earrings back to his daughter-in-law. Happy ending for everybody!

One critic calls this little confection “fresh, simple, full of domestic intimacy, which even today one hears willingly.”

Regata Storica, 2013, only a minute to the finish line.

Perhaps even better-known (among Venetians) is his poem “Brindisi” (toast), written in honor of the Regata Storica of 1893, and read by Selvatico at the then-traditional dinner given for all the racers the Thursday evening before the big event on Sunday.

That year the festivities were grand — nine new gondolinos had been constructed, and six bissone were bedecked at a cost of 3000 lire ($15,678 adjusted value). The rockstar pair of rowers, the Zanellato brothers, weren’t competing, and that left three crews which were virtually equal. Emotions were high even before the wine began to flow.

Like most poetry, it’s infinitely better spoken than read in silence, and I can only imagine the exultation that greeted the last few verses. I will translate, knowing that things like this come out in translation as if they’d been soaked in bleach. The original is below.

There are some who tremble/Looking around/And seeing that the world/Keeps going along every day

It seems that Venice/Once so beautiful/A little at a time/She too has changed

Mincioni/Let me say it/Venice doesn’t change/No matter how much people shout (terms in italics explained below)

The calle de l’Oca/has gone to hell/But the Grand Canal/For Lord’s sake, who would touch it?

They’ve gone to hell/parties and gambling houses/Dances, country festivals/

The Forze di Ercole/the puppet shows

So fine– but there is always/our Regata/There is always the festa/That nothing can affect (literally “impact”)

Cape, wig/ hat shaped like a raviolo/They’re dead and buried/But there is still the boatman!

And as long as this breed/Of arms and lungs/Of men who are tressi/sbragioni but good

As long as this breed/I repeat, is like this/Venice doesn’t change/Venice is beautiful!

————————————————————-

Mincioni: Refers to the male member; I’ve tried and can’t confidently give an English equivalent in the sense intended here, which summarizes all the great qualities of men’s men, in a good sense, even while using a word which usually implies the opposite.

Forze di Ercole: These “strengths of Hercules” were complicated human pyramids, spectacular exhibitions of endurance and equilibrium put on during festive occasions such as Carnival.

The men appear to be supported by barrels, but don’t be impressed. Sometimes they would construct their tower with the two outer men standing on boats. The group shown above was seen in Salizzada San Pantalon in 1769.

Hat like a raviolo: Tricorn

Tressi: A person who is a “tresso” (here he is using the plural to characterize boatmen in general) is big, strong, burly, muscular. I can imagine this inspiring an enormous burst of laughter, table- and friend-pounding, general uproar. What’s even better is that “tresso” is also the piece of wood which strengthens and unites two things that without it would collapse — for example, the legs of a chair (technically known in English as the “stretcher”). Calling somebody a tresso suddenly seems like a great thing.

Sbragioni: People called “sbragioni” are those who tend to yell when talking, especially with the belief that yelling will make the shouter win the argument. More laughter.

So far we have literary, bronze, geographic, and economic memorials to Selvatico. But his earthly remains? They can be found in the extreme southeast corner of the cemetery on the island of San Michele. But first you have to circumnavigate an enormous raised tomb in the center of the walkway.

The three arches are facing the water and are currently blocked by a chain-link fence. Which is so easy to get around it might as well not be there. Selvatico’s is the plaque on the right.

He has been joined by the famous actor Cesco Baseggio, who died in 1971. Baseggio, born up the road in Treviso, was famous for his performances in Venetian dialect.

The epitaph is the same phrase incised on the plaque at his birthplace. When you’ve perfected something, just leave it alone, though accenting the letters with gold leaf seems appropriate.

This is only the first personage to be rediscovered in the Garden of the Forgotten Venetians. Next chapter coming soon.

“Brindisi” for the Regata Storica by Riccardo Selvatico 1893

Gh’è certi che trema
Vardandose a torno,
E visto ch’el mondo
Camina ogni zorno,

Ghe par che Venezia
Un dì cussì bela,
Un poco a la volta
Se cambia anca ela.

Mincioni, mincioni,
Lassè che lo diga;
Venezia no cambia
Per quanto che i ziga.

Xe andada in malora
La cale de l’Oca;
Ma el so Canalazzo,
Perdio, chi lo toca?

Xe andai in so malora
Festini e ridoti,
I salti, le sagre,
Le forze, i casoti:

Va ben, ma gh’è sempre
La nostra Regata,
Gh’è sempre la festa
Che gnente ghe impata.

Velada, paruca,
Capelo a rafiol
Xe morti e sepolti;
Ma gh’è el barcariol!

E fin che sta razza
De brazzi e polmoni,
De omeni tressi,
Sbragioni ma boni,

In fin che sta razza,
Ripeto, xe quela,
Venezia no cambia,
Venezia xe bela!

History

A hero of World War I lost and found

November 4, 2015 1 Comment

Here he is, rain and shine, as if he'd never existed. — Here he is, rain and shine, just sitting here almost as if he’d never existed. He’s not much easier to make out in the flesh, so to speak, than he is in this photograph.

November 4 is a landmark date, the anniversary of the signing of the peace treaty between Italy and Austria in 1918 that ended the First World War. I have drawn attention to this event more than once.

For many reasons, World War I maintains an unusually lively presence in my thoughts here. A new reason, recently discovered, is Giorgio Emo Capodilista, one of Italy’s more heroic commanders in a war which, as far as I can tell, was fabulously deficient in even merely competent commanders. I discovered him posing quietly in the Giardini Pubblici behind some shrubs and lashed to the pedestal by a few stalwart cobwebs. I realize that once-famous people are forgotten every day, but neglect is depressing.

Cast in bronze — and only a third of him, at that — he looks imposing. The moustache is excellent. But one has to picture this man in action: Cavalry. Swords. The infamous Retreat from Caporetto. And a strength of purpose for which bronze is a poor substitute.

The inscription, now barely legible, refers in shorthand to an exploit worthy of his comrades of the Light Brigade:

PATRIZIO VENETO GENERALE COMANDANTE LA II BRIGATA DI CAVALLERIA REGGIMENTI GENOVA E NOVARA DEGNO FIGLIO DELLA STIRPE SUI CAMPI DI POZZUOLO DEL FRIULI OPPOSE IL VALORE SUO E DEI PRODI AL NEMICO INVASORE PERMETTENDO SALVEZZA DELLA III ARMATA E SBARRANDO LA VIA DI VENEZIA 29-30 OTTOBRE 1917 GIUGNO 1960

Veneto patrician General Commandant of the II Brigade of the Cavalry Regiments of Genoa and Novara Worthy son of the lineage On the fields of Pozzuolo del Friuli opposed his and his courageous ones’ valor to the enemy invader Permitting the deliverance of the III Army and barring the way to Venice 29-30 October 1917 June 1960.

It sounds very neat and contained, the way these things do on inscriptions. One needs context.

The 12th Battle of the Isonzo, better-known as the Battle of Caporetto, was fought from October 24-November 19, 1917 between the Italian and the Austro-Hungarian armies. To fight the preceding eleven battles in the same area had occupied more than two solid years.

The dimensions of the Italian defeat are still difficult to grasp. According to John Farina (“Caporetto: A Fresh Look,” La Grande Guerra):

“Italian casualties totaled 40,000 dead and wounded, over 280,000 prisoners and 3,150 artillery pieces captured. The Italian army was reduced in size by one half, from 65 infantry divisions to 33.

A message carrier, Attilio Frescura, described what he saw at the bridge across the Isonzo at Caporetto:

‘At one end of the bridge a Lt. Col. was screaming that they had to advance across the bridge. At the other end a Captain, with pistol in hand, was ordering everyone “Back! Back!”. Wagons had been dumped in the river in an attempt to clear the bridge. In the meantime, engineers started planting explosives and preparing to blow the bridge before the eyes of thousands of soldiers from the 46th division that were trying to escape across it.’

Frescura delivered his message to Lt. Col Trezzani who “…ordered me and several others to stop the wave of runaways that was flooding the area and sweeping everyone away with them. We blocked them on the roads and stopped those that had their weapons. Those that had no weapons were allowed to continue to not jam things up. But then many of the armed soldiers saw what we were doing and threw away their rifles…

“…the battle had moved to the roads, but the battle was lost. I found an officer from my unit. He yelled at me:

Go or they’ll get us!

I asked:

But what about the others?

Go! Go! Everyone go! Run!

We hopped on the running board of our staff car in which I saw some of the officers of my unit. All around the car was a cowardly mass of humanity grabbing onto the car screaming wildly “Go! Go!”

Even our honor – gone.”

The astonishingly rapid advance of the Austrian forces made it imperative to protect the retreating army. By the evening of the next day (October 25), the entire Italian 3rd Army and what was left of the 2nd Army were at risk of being surrounded. The Italian forces were ordered to retreat to the Tagliamento River, a distance ever so roughly, as the vulture flies, of 56 km/38 miles. The order affected the vast majority of the Italian Army: 700 out of a total of 850 Italian battalions, or about 113,400 men, were ordered to retreat. Almost all of the Italian losses occurred during this hideous interlude, between the Isonzo and the Tagliamento.

General Giorgio Emo Capodilista, son of two combined noble families, his father from Venice and his mother from Padova. He made his moustache curve upward because I assume he had lost any desire to ever smile again.

This is where Giorgio Emo Capodilista comes in.

On October 29 he and the II cavalry brigade were ordered to reach Pozzuolo del Friuli and defend it at all costs for at least 24 hours in order to to gain the time necessary for the retreating divisions to reach and cross the Tagliamento.

Emo Capodilista knew, as did his commanding officer, that even though this action was essentially a suicide mission, it was absolutely necessary.

Trying to move forward, his brigades, together with the Bergamo Infantry Brigade, were blocked by the retreating troops (note above the character of this phase — chaos, panic, pandemonium), an appalling spectacle which one writer observed had a “negative influence on the morale of the cavalry.” That’s probably an understatement, because the “difficult psychological atmosphere” created a high risk that the dragoons, on their way to fight Austrians, would stop to fight their own countrymen instead.

Having reached Pozzuolo del Friuli, the II Brigade found a situation even worse than it had expected. Emo Capodilista and his men obeyed their orders to resist the advancing Austrians at any cost, battling non-stop for 24 hours in the streets and piazzas of the small mountain town, and on October 30 the troops of the 3rd Army crossed the Tagliamento. Mission accomplished. Mission of near-total immolation also accomplished. In protecting the retreating army, he lost more than two-thirds of his men.

“I was always embarrassed by the words sacred, glorious, and sacrifice, ” wrote Ernest Hemingway. “I had seen nothing sacred, and the things that were glorious had no glory and the sacrifices were like the stockyards at Chicago if nothing was done with the meat except to bury it…Abstract words such as glory, honor, courage…were obscene beside the concrete names of villages… the names of rivers, the numbers of regiments and the dates.”