Lightning Strikes Venice!

UPDATE: All of the links on this old post are dead, but I am leaving them as-is to remember the atmosphere in Venice during that critical time. 

(Venice, Italy) Wendy Taylor, the Editor of Blogs.com from Six Apart, "a new site that helps readers find great blogs and helps blogs find new readers," asked me to contribute to their Guest Top 10 lists "where bloggers, writers, celebrities and big thinkers pick their 10 favorite blogs on a topic." They have some prestigious guests, such as Chris Andersen of The Long Tail, Marc Andreessen of Ning and Netscape, Stephen Baker of Businessweek, etc., and I readily agreed to do the Top 10 Venice Blogs. 

You can find my list here at Cat Bauer's Top 10 Venice Blogs:

http://www.blogs.com/topten/cat-bauers-top-10-venice-blogs/index.html

Since there are so many blogs about Venice these days, I tried to find blogs that were pretty much up-front and without hidden agendas. (I spend way too much time fending off attacks against my blog feed and other annoyances -- right now Google reports that I have 379 URLS restricted by robots.txt, which, apparently have been attached to all of my labels. If the Internet had been around during Shakespeare's time, he probably would have had robots.txt restrictions attached to The Merchant of Venice! )

In any event, I am happy to see most of you intrepid readers keep finding your way over to Venetian Cat - The Venice Blog. I am free to update my Top 10 list at Blogs.com, so if anyone has stumbled upon any interesting blogs that feature Venice, please drop me a line.

I suppose these shenanigans can only be expected, since Venice is teeming with celebrities these days, and competition is growing fierce. Salma Hayek just had her big second-wedding bash with husband François-Henri Pinault, and we were packed with stars -- even Bono made an appearance (that image you see is by Luigi Costantini). 

Other celebs to arrive in our little Magic Kingdom were actor Woody Harrelson, Ed Norton, French president Jacques Chirac, Olivier Martinez, the designer Philippe Starck, Valeria Golino, Penelope Cruz, Charlize Theron, and, of course, Francois Pinault himself, among many others. 

The rehearsal dinner was at the Punta Della Dogana, which Pinault owns; the wedding was at Palazzo Grassi, which Pinault owns; and there was a big bash last night at La Fenice -- which, last I heard, Pinault does not own:) To read the People article click here:
http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20274683,00.html

I've had a conversation with Francois Pinault, and I was impressed. It was at the opening of Palazzo Grassi, and even though he was surrounded by VIPs clamoring for his attention, he gave me his full attention, made direct eye contact with me, and had a very firm handshake. Someone pulled him away in the middle of our conversation, and he came back within moments to finish it. I found him polite and respectful -- simple human qualities that I greatly appreciate.

Not to be outdone by the French, Prince Charles himself and his wife, Camilla are scheduled to arrive here on Tuesday, up from Rome where The Prince is meeting with The Pope (wouldn't you like to be a fly on that wall?). They, too, are scheduled to visit La Fenice for a tour, and then enjoy an evening concert. 

In the afternoon, Prince Charles is supposed to attend a conference about our Beloved Lagoon, while Camilla heads over to the Guggenheim. I've heard some gossip through the Venetian grapevine that The Prince is thinking about "living like a Venetian" for a time. Now that is ONLY GOSSIP, not fact! Imagine how much the real estate would skyrocket in Venice if the Prince began living like a Venetian! When I lived in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles, Madonna (who I think is cool) moved into the neighborhood and the prices of houses increased by about $200,000 just by her "presence!"

With all this international commotion, I think it's time for a little American anecdote, featuring Benjamin Franklin, my greatest hero, and the man who captured lightning. Having been hit by lightning myself as an infant, I have a bit of an affinity with electricity. (I would credit that image if I could figure out who shot it; I think it's someone in Texas.) 

Ben Franklin wore an old blue suit to sign the French Alliance, the same suit he had worn four years earlier when he had been ridiculed by the British:

On Feb. 6, 1778 he and Silas Deane went over to the French palace to sign the Treaty of Alliance with the King of France. Instead of his usual brown suit, Franklin was wearing a faded blue one, and Deane questioned why he wore old clothes to such an important ceremony. "To give it a little revenge," was the answer. "I wore this suit on the day Wedderburn abused me at Whitehall." The true depth of Franklin's feelings would never have been known if Deane had not asked.

To read more about that fascinating moment in history when Founder Benjamin Franklin was verbally abused and humiliated in England by Alexander Wedderburn on January 29, 1774 -- an event that occurred the month after the original Boston Tea Party on December 16, 1773 -- head on over to Philadelphia Reflections, "The musings of a Philadelphia Physician who has served the community for nearly six decades" and read the article entitled "Poor Richard Plays Hardball With Finesse."

Even more detail is provided by Brian Deming in an entertaining article entitled, "Ben Franklin's Very Bad Day in London" over at Suite 101.com.

The worst day of Benjamin Franklin's life might well have been January 29, 1774. That's the day Franklin stood in an amphitheatre in London's Whitehall Palace and heard an hour-long tirade of abuse against him before the council of King George III, various members of the court, and a packed and sneering gallery.

In this Story-That-Never-Ends, I like to remember another one of my favorite Ben Franklin quotes:

Benjamin Franklin Drawing Electricity from the Sky" by Benjamin West

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing."

Ciao from Venice,
Cat
Venetian Cat - Venice Blog
http://venetiancat.blogspot.com/

Antonio Vivaldi, Venice Hometown Boy - The Flaming Red Priest

Antonio Vivaldi

 

(Venice, Italy) Antonio Vivaldi's music seems to be Everywhere-All-the-Time in Venice, so it may surprise many of you to learn that he had disappeared from history for about 250 years.

While searching through my archives for another document, I stumbled upon the unpublished article I had written about Vivaldi for the International Herald Tribune - Italy Daily back back in 2001 (the one I had recently mentioned in the Palazzo Mocenigo - The Lives of Spaces post).

I just read the 2001 piece again. Poor Vivaldi! Always being suppressed. I love Vivaldi's music, and that he died on the night of my birthday, July 27th, back in 1741 is another wonderful coincidence. Anyway, I thought I'd share the article with you, slightly edited:

Antonio Vivaldi - The Flaming Red Priest
by Cat Bauer

If ever a hometown boy was inspired by the sounds of his city, it was Antonio Vivaldi, Il Prete Rosso, or the Red Priest, called such either because of his red hair or his fiery temperament – or both.

Vivaldi's haunting music conjures up images of Venice, transporting listeners into the magical city on the strings of a violin. With his concerto, “The Four Seasons,” arguably the most recorded classical work of all time, it’s hard to believe that soon after his death in 1741 the brilliant Venetian composer had faded into obscurity until a fluke discovery brought him roaring back to the forefront.

In 1926, the Salesian monks in San Martino, a small town north of Genoa, needed a new roof for their monastery. For decades, they’d had a stash of old musical manuscripts, which they decided to sell to finance the repairs. The estate of Count Giacomo Durazzo (1717-1794) of Genoa, Austrian Ambassador in Venice and one-time director of the Burgtheater in Vienna (and friend to Casanova) had bequeathed the manuscripts years before. The monks sent their booty to specialists at the National Library in Turin to evaluate their inheritance.

Dr. Alberto Gentili, professor of music history at Turin University, was astounded when he discovered what appeared to be Antonio Vivaldi’s never-before-published personal musical archives. Working secretly, he managed to find a wealthy patron to buy the 140 instrumental works, 29 cantatas, 12 operas, and other works for Turin, thus preventing the works from being scattered at auction, or seized by the Italian government, which would then have the right to choose the institution where they would be housed. Upon closer examination, Dr. Gentili concluded that part of the archive was missing, and guessed correctly that the original collection had been divided between two heirs.

It’s no secret that the estates of many old noble families house many ancient treasures, and the Durazzo family was no exception. The last remaining heir, a gray-haired reclusive bachelor, was found in his palace in Genoa, where he refused to allow anyone to examine his extensive library.

Investigators, disguised as workers, searched his rooms and discovered that he did, indeed, have possession of the rest of the archives. The only person the recluse trusted was his priest, who finally convinced him it was his cultural duty to sell the treasures to the state.

Pietà warning sign Photo: Giovanni Dall'Orto

Ospedale della Pietà was one of four Venetian homes for orphans that specialized in the musical training of its female wards. The orphanages – the Pietà, the Incurabili, the Mendicanti and the Ospedaletto -- provided an education and a dowry for the girls, and those with musical aptitude were assigned to the choir and orchestra. The quality of the education was so extraordinary that a plaque was placed on the south outer wall of the Pietà, threatening excommunication, among other penalties, to any parent who attempted to pass off their legitimate offspring as orphans to gain admission.

Son of a butcher and violinist, Antonio Vivaldi was born on March 4, 1678. Various sources seem unable to agree on how many siblings he had -- he was either the eldest or youngest of 6 or 9 children.

At age 25, Vivaldi was ordained a priest. It was one way to elevate oneself socially and receive an education – by 1766, one out of every 23 Venetian inhabitants was joining the priesthood. He was hired by the Pietà as a violin instructor and purchaser of stringed instruments, and almost immediately gave up celebrating Mass, claiming ill health.

After listening to his music, and viewing his career as a whole -- which included frequent travels abroad in the company of an attractive young singer -- one might conclude that he had decided to focus on what interested him most: composing music.

Documentation does exist, however, attesting to his sickliness even as an infant. At the Church of San Giovanni Battista in Bragora, located in Campo Bandiera e Moro in Castello, the parish priest signed a baptismal document stating Antonio Lucio Vivaldi was brought to the church to receive “the exorcisms and holy oils” when he was only two months old.

Venice in the 18th Century was a city famous for its high quality of art, music and other festivities. People came from all over the world to indulge in its offerings. Carnival lasted up to six months. Masked revelers attended the opera, sometimes on a nightly basis. Far from the heavy hand of Rome, priests enjoyed an amazing amount of freedom, attending parties, appearing on stage as actors or singers – even keeping mistresses.

Vivaldi soon became maestro di concerti at the Pietà, responsible for the composition, rehearsal and performance of the repertoire. He was progressive and daring in his compositions for the girls, as well as in his own violin playing, ensuring fame for both himself and the Pietà.

Frankfurt lawyer, Johann von Uffenbach described a performance: "Vivaldi played a solo accompaniment-- splendid-- to which he appended a cadenza which really frightened me, for such playing has never been nor can be…” 

Although Vivaldi maintained a relationship with the Pietà for much of his professional life, he was soon drawn to the more secular world of opera, eventually becoming the manager of the San Angelo Opera House where he wrote at least 46 operas.

 

Antonio Vivaldi by François Morellon de la Cave (1725)

When Vivaldi was 48-years-old, he met a 17-year-old singer, Anna Giraud, who soon began playing the lead in his operas. She and her older sister, Paolina, lived at Vivaldi’s house and became his traveling partners, accompanying him on his excursions all over Europe for many years.

In 1737, Vivaldi decided to sink his own money into a performance of one of his operas in Ferrara, which, at that time, belonged to the church state. Cardinal Ruffo, a religious zealot, had authority over Vivaldi, not only as a priest, but over the private theater as well. To reprimand Vivaldi for his unorthodox lifestyle, he forbade the performance at Ferrara, causing Vivaldi to lose most of his money.

No longer young and fashionable, Vivaldi sold some concertos to his steadfast employer, the Ospedale della Pietà, then moved to Vienna at the age of 63, where he died, alone and poor, a few months later of “internal burning” – a scorching end to the Flaming Red Priest.

Ciao from Venice,

Cat Bauer

Venetian Cat - Venice Blog

Happy Birthday, Dear Venezia, Happy New Year to You!

Neptune Offering Gifts to Venice by Giambattista Tiepolo (c.1748)

(Venice, Italy) That image you see, Neptune Offering Gifts to Venice, by Giambattista Tiepolo is my favorite image of Venice, and can be found in the Palazzo Ducale.

That image speaks as much today as it did about 300 years ago. Neptune yearns to buy his way into Venice's secrets. It is not the right approach. Venice holds back the sea Himself with a firm, seductive finger, her arm draped upon a lion's head. She is vulnerable, yet strong. She is sensuous, yet particular. She is not off-limits -- she can be had -- but not simply for a cornucopia full of coins.

Today is Venice's birthday. She was born on March 25, 421 at twelve o'clock noon at Rialto. March 25th was also celebrated as New Years Day in England not that long ago -- up until 1752. It falls very close to the Vernal Equinox, and the first day of spring. It is also marks the Annunciation, the day that Gabriel (the angel) told Mary that she was going to give birth to the Son of God. So, March 25th is a particular kind of day.

From Wikipedia:

In Christianity, the Annunciation (Ancient Greek: Εὐαγγελισμὸς τῆς Θεοτόκου, Euangelismós tēs Theotókou) is the revelation to Mary, the mother of Jesus, by the angel Gabriel that she would conceive a child to be born the Son of God. Some Christian churches celebrate this with the Feast of Annunciation on March 25, which as the Incarnation is nine months before the feast of the Nativity of Jesus, or Christmas. The date of the Annunciation also marked the New Year in many places, including England (where it is called Lady Day).

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday, dear Venice
Buon compleanno a Te.

Ciao from Venice,
Cat
Venetian Cat - Venice Blog
https://venetiancat.blogspot.com/

THE IDES OF MARCH - Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese: Rivals in Renaissance Venice

Venus with a Mirror by Titian (1555)

(Venice, Italy) There was a time, about 500 years ago, when a pack of uber-talented individuals lived and worked in Venice. Here in Europe, the artists Titian (1488-1576), Tintoretto (1518-1594) and Veronese (1528-1588) are household names, but many Americans have never heard of them.

Thanks to Hollywood, most Americans know that Michelangelo (1475-1564) painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City, in addition to sculpting a statue or two like David and La Pietà. Thanks to the Da Vinci Code, we know that Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519) painted the Mona Lisa, now in the Louvre, and The Last Supper in Milano, as well as figuring out the Answer to Life in his spare time. Now, thanks to Frederick Ilchman, assistant curator of European painting at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and Jean Habert and Vincent Delieuvin, curators at the Louvre, these three brilliant artists -- Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese -- who were centered in Venice, have arrived together in America for one spectacular show.

I will confess that I have a little bit of a crush on Frederick Ilchman, and now that he has dropped this magnificient bomb in Boston, my admiration has grown even greater. Opening today, the Ides of March, and running through August 16th is the exhibition Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese: Rivals in Renaissance Venice. I'm sure that Frederick's unique perspective helps to make the show the great success it appears to be. This is from Holland Cotter's May 12, 2009 article Passion of the Moment: A Triptych of Masters from the New York Times:

BOSTON — You can pretty much kiss goodbye, at least for now, the prospect of more exhibitions like “Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese: Rivals in Renaissance Venice,” which opens Sunday at the Museum of Fine Arts here. Transatlantic loans of the kind that make this show the breathtaker it is are a big drain on strapped museum budgets. Boston was lucky to partner with the Louvre on this project, but such masterpiece gatherings are likely to be rare in years to come. Catch them while they’re hot.

Suzannah and the Elders by Tintoretto (1555)

I have often wondered why Venetian history is not taught in the school system in America, yet we learn so much about Rome -- even Florence. I think we need to go back to the Italian Wars -- the League of Cambrai in particular -- to understand a bit about this critical moment in time. From Wikipdedia:

The Italian Wars, often referred to as the Great Italian Wars or the Great Wars of Italy in historical works, were a series of conflicts from 1494 to 1559 that involved, at various times, most of the city-states of Italy, the Papal States, most of the major states of Western Europe (France, Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, England, and Scotland) as well as the Ottoman Empire. Originally arising from dynastic disputes over the Duchy of Milan and the Kingdom of Naples, the wars rapidly became a general struggle for power and territory among their various participants, and were marked with an increasing degree of alliances, counter-alliances, and regular betrayals.

To read the entire article, click here:

The League of Cambrai itself, in 1509, could be titled The Entire World vs. Venice. This is from John Julius Norwich's superb book, A History of Venice, describing when Pope Julius issued a Bull on April 27, 1509:

Venice, he thundered, had become so puffed up with pride as to molest her neighbours and invade their territories, including those of the Holy See itself; she had given shelter to rebels against the Vicar of Christ; she had flouted the law of the Church and his own specific commands with regard to his bishops and clergy, imprisoning them and sending them into exile according to her whim; finally, at a time when he, the Pope, was striving to unite all Christian peoples against the Infidel, she had deliberately obstructed his efforts for her own profit and advancement. Accordingly he proposed to declare a solemn excommunication and interdict against her, permitting any other state or person to attack or despoil her or any of her subjects, to obstruct her traffic on land or sea and to do her all possible harm and hurt, if within twenty-four days she did not make full restitution.

Venice dealt with the new sentence as she had the last, refusing to accept it, forbidding its publication in her territory, and announcing -- by means of a proclamation nailed by two of her agents to the door of St. Peter's -- her intention of appealing to a Council.

Oh, those enterprising Venetians, always manuevering around the rules. There is confusion about Titian's actual age, but we can assume he would have been in his early 20s about this time. So, during the period these artists were working, there were often military battles being fought in the background releasing all kinds of energy, which many brilliant minds transformed into masterpieces of art, architecture and literature that still exist today.

For example, long before New York City came into existence, Venice was the center of the publishing industry. The deeply respected Aldus Manutius published the mysterious Hypnerotomachia Poliphili in 1499. The writer Pietro Archino (1492-1556), one of Titian's best buddies, caused all sorts of havoc with his erotic works. Architects such as Sansovino (1486-1570) and Palladio (1508-1580) trod the calli; Leonardo da Vinci himself was hired by Venice as a military engineer in 1500, inventing schemes to undermine the Turks. The Rialto Bridge as we know it today was only an idea in 1503, finally brought to fruition in 1591 -- I just walked out on the balcony and took a gander at it -- so, yup, it's still there:)

Plans were offered by famous architects such as Jacopo Sansovino, Palladio and Vignola, but all involved a Classical approach with several arches, which was judged inappropriate to the situation. Even the great Michelangelo was considered as designer of the bridge. The present stone bridge, a single span designed by Antonio da Ponte, was finally completed in 1591.

Okay. Have you got your bearings in Time? 16th-century Venice may seem long, long ago to a country as young as America, but it is just yesterday here in a town where many creations from that point in time still exist today. In today's disposable world, perhaps we can learn something from these wise folks who created masterpieces that are still standing.

More from Holland Cotter:

Venus at her Toilette by Veronese (c.1582)

In a gallery of female nudes with skin so incandescent as to barely need lighting, eroticism floats like a scent. For the first time in European art we see paint itself used as an impassioned material, the instrument of fervid hands and inflamed personalities.

The show is about three such personalities: Tiziano Vecellio, or Titian; Jacopo Robusti, known as Tintoretto; and Paolo Caliari, called Veronese. All three shot off sparks as they reforged painting as a medium. And all three had feverishly competitive overlapping careers.

These masters of 16th-century Venetian painting were no Holy Trinity. They were a discordant ménage-a-trois bound together by envy, talent, circumstances and some strange version of love.

These three artists (and many others in various mediums) consumed the explosive energy surrounding them and spat it out onto the canvas. Unlike today, with so many people moving in a somnambulent stupor, Venice was teeming with life! Instead of crushing the creative spirit and mashing it into one giant void of sameness, the Powers that Be understood that by supporting these unique, eccentric and often difficult personalities, they encouraged the flame of life itself to brighten humanity's view.

Holland Cotter adds in another element as to why this creative explosion took place -- the Venetian's use of oil to paint:

Before the 16th century Italian art was dominated by two cities, Florence and Rome, and by two kinds of painting: fresco and egg tempera — water-based, fast-drying, smooth-surfaced — on wood. Venice lay outside this mainstream. Fresco wasn’t viable in the city’s humid atmosphere; tempera had problems too. Then, at the end of the 15th century, oil painting, still little known in the rest of Italy, was introduced, and Venetian art caught fire.

When I was writing Harley's Ninth, I asked Geoff Leckie, an American artist here in Venice, if I could observe his process, and he generously agreed. I watched in fascination as he ground the pigments with a mortar and pestol, combining minerals and clay such as Lapis lazuli and burnt umber together with linseed oil. The canvas, too, was alive, made from sheets of linen. As he worked, I realized that an oil painting was a living, breathing thing, alive with pigments and natural materials, together with the artist's soul.

Also, oil paint was physically different from other paint. Because it was slow drying, artists could rethink and revise as they went. (The show has a fascinating section on pictures buried under other pictures.) And its controllable density and weight allowed each stroke to leave a distinctive and volatile trace, like the ink line in handwriting.

To read all of Holland Cotter's excellent article, click here:

So, when you go to Boston to visit the exhibition, you will be seeing the actual souls of of Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese there on the canvas. You will see their fervent swirls there in the paint. You will feel the Italian Wars in the background, and the Pope battling with the Doge. You will feel the fiery relationship the artists had with each other, and the passion for life that kept Venice alive while the entire world attempted to destroy her.

You will feel the soul of Venice herself.

Ciao from Venice,
Cat
Venetian Cat - Venice Blog

(The three images of the ladies gazing into the mirror you see are Top: Titian's Venus with a Mirror, Center: Tintoretto's Suzannah and the Elders, Bottom: Veronese's Venus at her Toilette.)
To visit the exhibit's official website at the Museum of Fine Art, click here:

http://www.mfa.org/venice/

Vampires in Venice

Friday, March 6, 2009

Vampires in Venice

(Venice, Italy) I have been threatening to write a book called Vampires in Venice for a long time now -- in fact, I just read the first Stephenie Meyer Twilight book to prepare. Vampires are very big in my genre; it seems like every YA writer has climbed on the vampire bandwagon. Whenever another vampire book arrives on the scene, I think, HHmmph. You guys don't know nothin.' We got real vampires over here, baby, not some weeny American vampires. Our vampires are thousands of years old. They are professionals, and do not seek the spotlight like the Hollywood vampires do. Our vampires are distinguished, love to listen to classical music and have learned how to drink red wine instead of blood.

Now, today, after 500 years, we finally have some proof:

(ANSA) - Rome, March 6 - The remains of a 'vampire' have been found in a grave in Venice lagoon, an Italian forensic anthropologist has claimed.

That image you see is an ANSA photo depicting the proper way one must impale a vampire -- through the mouth with a brick, not through the heart with a stake as they do in America. Because, of course, the point is to get them to stop sucking blood, which is difficult to do with a brick in one's mouth.

It was thought that these vampires, who were buried next to the bodies of plague victims, fed on their dead neighbours until they felt strong enough to rise from the grave and begin feeding on the living, perpetuating the cycle of contamination.

Gravediggers were therefore responsible for identifying possible vampire women among the dead by signs of shroud-chewing around the mouth and impaling them with a brick to stop them feeding, according to Borrini.

The woman's skeleton was found in mass grave of victims of the Venetian plague of 1576 - in which the artist Titian also died - on the small island of Lazzaretto Nuovo. Venice authorities had designated the island a quarantine hospital in 1468 following an earlier plague epidemic.

Click here to read the entire article:

http://www.ansa.it/site/notizie/awnplus/english/news/2009-03-06_106329688.html

In the article, you will notice that the plague was blamed on the female vampires, not on the males. That is an outright Venetian myth designed to confuse you. It is an old Venetian trick to say one thing, but do exactly the opposite. In fact, it's perfectly legal to behave in such a fashion, and if you can get away with such behavior, you get extra bonus points. Believe me, there are just as many male vampires as there are female vampires. In fact, I would say males outnumber the females 3 to 1.

[UPDATE APRIL 3, 2017 - That link no longer works, nor do many others on this dusty post. However, there is an update to the story on the National Geographic site.]

The Plague of 1576 is the plague that inspired one of Venice's most beloved holidays and famous churches -- Redentore. From the Comune's website:

The plague In the three years between 1575 and 1577 the Serenissima was tormented by the plague: aided by the high density of the population, the disease spread through the city, causing terrible losses. Almost 50,000 died, which was more than a third of the city's inhabitants.

That image you see of the man with a hat and a beak and a wand is a plague doctor. The beak was stuffed with medicinal herbs, etc. to keep the doctor from catching the plague.

The vow On September 4, 1576, the Senate decided that the Doge should announce the vow to erect a church dedicated to the Redentore (Redeemer), in return for help in ending the plague.

The end of the plague On July 13, 1577, the plague was declared definitively over and it was decided that the city's liberation from the terrible disease should be celebrated on the third Sunday in July.

Ah, those were the days! When doctors ran around dressed as birds with long beaks, and gravediggers smashed bricks into the mouths of female vampires to stop them from munching on dead plague victims. Just think: we still celebrate the Redentore holiday today!

You regular readers will remember we had a little discussion about the Church of Redentore before, which was designed by Palladio. The blog was entitled (by strange coincidence): "Where's the Blood?"

http://venetiancat.blogspot.com/2008/10/wheres-blood-palladio-redux-venice.html

The vampire depicted in the top photo was discovered out on the island of Lazzaretto Nuovo. You must take Vaporetto 13 to get there, and if you think I am joking about the number, I am not. You can wander out there and visit the island, which is, in reality, full of precious archaeological discoveries.

Guided tours to Lazzaretto Nuovo, which enable the visitor to trace the historical and archaeological route of the boundary wall, and to enjoy the natural beauty of the site along the “barena”, the typical venetian sandbank, take place from April to October on Saturdays and Sundays at 9.45 am and 4.00 pm (corrispondence with Actv line 13, from Venezia – Fondamente Nuove at 9.00am and 3.30 pm; from Treporti at 9.07 am and 3.22 pm).

You can even take an archaeological vacation. It sounds so fascinating, I think I'll head out there some day soon and report back. Here's their website:

And don't worry. Venetian vampires do not drink the blood of the average tourist. After consuming too much McDonald's and other fast food, humanity's diet has gotten so tasteless their blood is almost undrinkable for our poor vampires.

Venetian vampires prefer to snack on your soul.

Ciao from Venice,

Cat

Venetian Cat - Venice Blog

http://venetiancat.blogspot.com/

#VeniceBooks: Palazzo Mocenigo - The Lives of Spaces (Lucia in the Age of Napoleon by Andrea di Robilant)

Palazzo Mocenigo by Carlo Naya

(Venice, Italy) I nominate Andrea di Robilant for American Ambassador to Italy, or Italian Ambassador to the United States, whichever position becomes available first. He is an international treasure and should be paid a pot of gold and a rainbow to bridge the gap between the cultures. Son of an American mother and an Italian father, Andrea's ancestors also include two of the most ancient noble families in Venice, the Memmos and the Mocenigos. Most importantly, he has a tri-cultural sense of humor.

That image you see is of Palazzo Mocenigo, and was shot by Carlo Naya back in the mid-1800s when photography was in its infancy. "The Lives of Spaces" was the name of Ireland’s participation at the 11th International Architecture Exhibition at La Biennale last year, and inspired my thought that Palazzo Mocenigo -- the space itself -- is a fertile backdrop for many Venetian stories right up until the present day. There's a whole lotta ghosts running around over there.

Last Monday, I heard Andrea speak in English over at UNESCO about his latest book, Lucia in the Age of Napoleon. (Sitting next to me at the lecture were the current tenants of Palazzo Mocenigo, which made it even more surreal, though I do believe they were human beings, not ghosts:) This past Monday evening I caught the end of Andrea's talk in Italian, Lucia nel tempo di Napoleone, over at Ateneto Veneto. The first talk was so entertaining, I immediately read the book (in English). Andrea had some fascinating ancestors who also happened to be clever writers.

This is from the Prologue:

When I was growing up I sometimes heard my grandfather mention Lucia Mocenigo, my Venetian great-great-great-great-grandmother, who was known in the family as Lucietta. Her name usually came up in connection with Lord Byron, to whom she rented the piano nobile of her palazzo during his scandalous time in Venice. I learnt more about her many years later, while doing research on her father, Andrea Memmo, whose epic love story with the beautiful Giustiniana Wynne in the 1750s was the subject of my last book, A Venetian Affair.

You regular readers might remember hearing about Andrea Memmo and Giustiniana Wynne (another fab female writer) in the Venetian Cat Views on Venice blog. Perhaps you might want to have a look at that blog again so you can get a sense of just how small this town is, not only in space, but in time. In fact, you might want to get yourselves a pencil right now and keep a score card:)

If you've read Andrea's first book, A Venetian Affair, the second, Lucia, about Memmo's daughter, is even better. Andrea began his talk, and his book, Lucia in the Age of Napoleon, wondering why the enormous statue of Napoleon is inside the entrance of Palazzo Mocenigo.

And that is everyone's first reaction: what in tarnation is that thing doing there? Then you sort of don't notice it anymore, the way you wouldn't notice a pink elephant if it were always there.

Here is Andrea's description:

The statue, wedged into a corner, faces a damp wall in the androne (water-level entrance) of Palazzo Mocenigo, the venerable old palazzo on the Grand Canal which once belonged to my family. The emperor is clad in a Roman toga. His left arm is extended forward, as if he were pointing to a luminous future, though in fact he stares vacuously at the peeling wall in front of him. A mantle of dark grey soot has settled on to his shoulders, and a slab of roughly hewn marble links the raised arm to the head, giving the statue an unfinished look. It is hard to imagine a more incongruous presence than the one of a youthful Napoleon standing sentinel in that humid hallway to the sound of brackish water slapping and sloshing in the nearby canal

Back in 2001, when I was writing for the IHT-Italy Daily, I saw the statue for the first time. I had just submitted a piece about Vivaldi, and was on vacation in Croatia, splashing sweetly in the sea by Rovinj, when my editor in Milano called. He said my editor in NYC was not happy with the piece, and could I please rewrite it? Vivaldi was too old, too dusty; he wanted something more contemporary. "Oh, sure. No problem," I said, and tossed my cell phone to a baby shark.

Seriously, I think I had two days when I got back to Venice to tweak the piece, and I decided to write about composers in Venice in general (subtitled: The Music of Vivaldi and Many Modern Composers Attest to the Serenissima's Rich Musical Tradition -- and no, I did not write that!).

A friend said he knew a Spanish pianist who lived in Lord Byron's former apartment. Enrique Pérez de Guzmàn graciously granted me an interview inside the very rooms you see there. I mixed the story into the previous Vivaldi piece, tossed and served. My slave-driving editor in NYC, Claudio Gatti, was pleased.

This is from the IHT-Italy Daily September 7, 2001:

"I was bitten by Venice," said Pérez de Guzmán. "I fell in love with the city. You establish a rapport -- it gives you a peaceful feeling so that you can create. You absorb all the beauty and peace that Venice gives you, and incorporate it into your own work, then give it back to the world. To create your own music, to find peace of mind in order to create a new repertoire or to get ready for the season, Venice is ideal.

For centuries, artists and musicians have come to Venice for inspiration. Wagner composed the second act of 'Tristan und Isolde' here for many of the same reasons, I imagine. Tchaikowsky was here, Mozart, Goethe, Ezra Pound and John Ruskin. Lord Byron wrote the first two cantos of his masterpiece 'Don Juan' right here in these rooms. Benjamin Britten and Arthur Rubinstein have played the piano in my drawing room. Some of the greatest talents in the world have held private concerts in this palazzo."

A few years later I had a regatta party at my house -- it could have been for the Vogalonga because I vaguely remember Enrique wearing something stripey inspired by that theme. Pierre Higonnet, who then owned the Galleria del Leone over on Giudecca, brought Andrea di Robilant as his guest. And that, folks, is how Andrea di Robilant met Enrique Pérez de Guzmàn, who was living inside Andrea's family's former home (which included Lord Byron's apartment in Palazzo Mocenigo) and that is how I met Andrea.

(Think of it like this: you grow up in your grandparent's home. Things change. People die. Other people now live in your home. Now you live somewhere else on the planet. But you still yearn for those old familiar childhood memories. Many years later, you visit your hometown. You go to a party. You meet someone, and they are now living in your old home. Venice is like that.)

Andrea writes about Lucia Mocenigo's most famous tenant, Lord Byron:

Lucia and Byron parted on very unfriendly terms, yet in a way the poet never really left Palazzo Mocenigo, or Venice for that matter, and still today his spirit hovers over the city he helped to resurrect. Venice was dead when he arrived in 1816, and the Austrians had no intention of spending money or effort to revive it... It was Byron, a stranger to Lucia's Venetian world, who gave the city a new life by turning those sinking ruins into an existential landscape -- an island of the soul...

What Lord Byron wrote upon exiting Palazzo Mocenigo:

I have replenished three times over and made good by the equivalent of the doors and canal posts any little damage to her pottery. If any articles were taken by mistake, they shall be restored or replaced; but I will submit to no exorbitant charge nor imposition. What she may do I neither know nor care; if they like the law they shall have it for years to come, and if they gain, what then? They will find it difficult to 'shear the wolf' no longer in Venice. They are a damned, infamous set... a nest of whores and scoundrels.

Even today, palaces and aristocracy hold a great fascination for travelers to Venice, as does the Age of Napoleon. During Carnival, guests plop down hundreds -- if not thousands -- of euro to dress up as aristocrats and reinact the balls, a curious phenomenon to American eyes, since it is not part of our system. Gilbert von Studnitz, a German nobleman, begins his precise explanation of European aristocracy with this sentence: The German system of nobility, as indeed the European system in general, is quite different from the English system with which most Americans are familiar.

I will confess as to being completely confused myself, since there seem to be all sorts of creatures running around Venice with titles at any given moment, behaving in the strangest fashion.

This is where Lucia in the Age of Napoleon comes in handy. Not only was Lucia a Memmo herself, descended from one of the oldest families in Venice, she had married a Mocenigo, a family who had produced a whopping seven Doges for the Venetian Republic, plus she had lived through the Venetian Republic's collapse, through Napoleon, through the Austrian Empire -- all the way through to Lord Byron -- and she kept notes!

For example, after she became lady-in-waiting to Empress Josephine's daughter-in-law, Princess Augusta, this is what she wrote in a letter to her sister, Paolina:

I lead the dullest existence, rushing from my apartment to Court and from Court to my apartment. What does one do at Court? Well, the evenings in which we have Grand cercel (Large Circle) we tend to sit around for about an hour before moving to the gaming room. When the card-playing is over the Princess rises, says a few nice words to us and I run back home as fast as I can. When we have Petit cercle ( Small Circle) only those attached to the Court are invited. The evening usually begins with a session of baby-watching: we crowd around ten-month-old Josephine, Princess of Bologna, as she plays in her pen. Very interesting...

It was educational to read how the family routinely switched loyalties and languages between France and Austria, depending on which was more prudent. Even more enlightening was how intelligent, enterprising and educated Lucia was. In general, Lucia led a lonely existence, since her husband, Alvise, left her alone for long periods of time. She had several miscarriages before they finally produced an heir, a son, Alvisetto, who also died young.

But then, Lucia did something extraordinary -- she fell in love with a dashing, daring Irish-Austrian Colonel with the Hollywood name of Baron Maximilian Plunkett. They began a secret love affair, which produced a secret son! Maximilian died gloriously in a rain of French bullets two days after his son was christened.

Lucia's husband, Alvise, didn't find out for four years; of course, he was furious when he did. But, ultimately, he was pragmatic. Being without an heir himself, he decided to change the boy's name (which was Massimiliano) to Alvise, or Alvisetto (I guess we can call him Alvisetto Due), and turn his wife's lover's son into a Mocenigo. Oh, those wacky aristocrats!

This is from an interview that Andrea did with Robert Murphy for W Magazine:

Most stunningly, perhaps, di Robilant's book blows the cover off a two-hundred-year-old family secret. While examining archives in Venice, he discovered that Lucia's only son to survive infancy, theretofore presumed legitimate, was actually the fruit of an illicit union with an alluring Irish-Austrian officer. "For a long while I wondered why my father had red sideburns," said di Robilant. "Everything that brings out the truth is good. It puts into perspective all this crap about blood and legitimacy. Who would have figured that I was part Irish?"

(That gorgeous image you see of Andrea di Robilant was taken by Pamela Berry.)

UPDATE: November 3, 2020 - During the lockdown, I created #VeniceBooks, an online bookstore on Bookshop.org, a platform which was designed to challenge Amazon's monopoly on book sales and promote independent bookstores. If you buy a book from my bookshop, independent bookstores, Bookshop.org and I receive a percentage of the sale.

 

Ciao from Venice,
#VeniceBooks

Cat Bauer

Venetian Cat - Venice Blog

Goldoni at the Malibran - Now THAT'S Carnival!

(Venice, Italy) Carlo Goldoni was one of Venice's most famous playwrights, and to see a contemporary version of his play, The Impresario from Smyrna, directed by Luca De Fusco at the Malibran Theatre, was a real delight. (The image you see is Eros Pagni and Alvia Reale.) In 1737, Goldoni himself was in charge of the Malibran Theatre (then known as the San Giovanni Grisostomo), where many of his works were performed.

From Wikipedia:

Designed by Thomas Bezzi for the Grimani family, the theatre was inaugurated during the 1678 carnival with Vespasiano by Carlo Pallavicino. It became the biggest, most luxurious and extravagant stage in Venice, known for its sumptuous productions and high quality singers such as Margherita Durastanti, prima donna between 1709 and 1712.

I attended the show with a real, live Venetian:), who was thrilled to watch the ancient words come to life in the ancient venue during Carnevale. The theater itself was packed with many locals; everyone seemed to be having a great time. It was a glorious Venetian oasis, safe from the rowdy crowds out on the streets.

There is a strange phenomenon in Venice this Carnival, and I am not the only one who has noticed it. It is as if there are many different currents flowing through the town, and if you wade into the right stream, it is possible to catch a whiff of genuine Carnevale.

You won't find it around my house, close to Rialto. Over here, there seems to be nothing but loud rock and roll, and masses of drunken youths wandering aimlessly through the calli. Not that I'm against drunken youths -- they are electric when properly confined in arenas:) -- but, to me, it's not what Carnival in Venice is about.

In any event, back to the good folks who brought us such an enjoyable evening. We do have some creative entities in town like La Biennale, The Goldoni Theater, and La Fenice. It was nearly impossible to bring these different organizations together to put on a show, but because of some inspirational leadership, it did happen. At the press conference, we were asked not to forget to mention the money folks at Fondazione Antonveneta, and I have absolutely no problem doing so. The talent was top-rate, and Maurizio Millenotti's costumes and Antonio Fiorentino's sets -- a vivid assortment of different "reds" -- were spectacular. There were even live musicians from La Fenice!

The Antonveneta Foundation is active in cultural, social welfare and scientific research and supports projects initiated by individuals who operate without a profit. http://www.antonveneta.it/media/fondazione-.aspx

I had a little difficulty with the opening because of the rapid Italian exposition and inside Venetian jokes. (My Venetian friend had no problems at all, and laughed throughout the whole show.) The story slowly started coming into focus, however, and soon I realized it included one of my favorite themes, which is: Sneaky Female Tricks and How Otherwise Intelligent Men Succumb to Them. I continue to be astounded by how many smart guys fall for Girly Machinations 101.

An impresario is someone who produces an event; Smyrna is an ancient town in Turkey, and the rivalry between the Turks and Venetians colors the play. I pondered if tourists visiting Venice at Carnival would have enjoyed the show, and have decided yes, because more than that, the show was about: who is the prima donna and are these chicks gonna rip each other's hair out -- a topic always good for a laugh.
Here is an accurate Wikipedia definition:
Originally used in opera companies, "prima donna" is Italian for "first lady". The term was used to designate the leading female singer in the opera company, the person to whom the prime roles would be given. The prima donna was normally, but not necessarily, a soprano. Legendarily, these "prima donnas" (prime donne in Italian) were often regarded as egotistical, unreasonable and irritable, with a rather high opinion of themselves not shared by others. Although whether they are truly more vain or more hot-tempered than other singers (or than any other people in the opera houses) is not substantiated, the term often describes a vain, obnoxious and temperamental person who, although irritating, cannot be done without.[2]
The brilliance of the play was that the prima donna appeared to be a sweet, innocent girl from a good family. While her competitors were more obvious about their machinations, the outstanding Gaia Aprea, who played Lucrezia, took another tact and pretended to be virginal before taking off her mask and ending up in bed with the Count, played by Max Malatesta. The other two competitors, Anita Bartolucci as Tognina and Alvia Reale as Annina, used Gossip, the All-Venetian Weapon, to destroy her. One of the best moments was when Eros Pagni, who played Alì, the Turk who was financing the whole production, said simply, "I'm confused..." It was a classic Venetian scheme, and required watching for any outsider thinking of doing business in town. Even though L'impresario delle Smirne was first produced in Venice in 1761, it still holds up today.
Ciao from Venice, Cat http://venetiancat.blogspot.com/
Teatro Malibran
Saturday February 21 at 8:30 p.m.and from February 22 to March 1
L’impresario delle Smirne [world premiere]
by Carlo Goldoni
directed by Luca De Fusco
original music Nino Rotaadapted by Luca De Fusco, Antonio Di Poficast Eros Pagni (Alì), Alberto Fasoli (Beltrame), Max Malatesta (Conte Lasca) , Paolo Serra (Carluccio), Gaia Aprea (Lucrezia), Enzo Turrin (Nibbio), Anita Bartolucci (Tognina), Piergiorgio Fasolo (Pasqualino), Giovanna Mangiù (Maccario), Alvia Reale (Annina), Matteo Mauri (a servant) clarinet Giorgio Lavorato, viola Marco Albano, piano Antonio Di Poficonductor Antonio Di Pofi
lighting design Emidio Benezzi
sets Antonio Fiorentino
costumes Maurizio Millenotti
production Teatro Stabile del Veneto, Teatro Stabile di Catania, Fondazione Antonveneta
with the support of La Biennale di Venezia
in collaboration with the Fondazione Teatro La Fenice
http://www.labiennale.org/en/theatre/program/2009/en/80539.html