Hello, again, Blogonauts!

Friday was my chance to dip my tongue ... er ... toe ... into Venetian history, which contains much that is attractive and quite a bit that is distasteful. (Perhaps I meant tongue after all.)

I'll begin with the enormous (and frequently waterlogged) Piazza San Marco.

Three structures dominate the Piazza’s southeastern corner: The Campanile (The Bell Tower, which also has served as a light house for shipping), the Basilica of Saint Mark, and the Palace of the Doge. Beginning soon after the fall of the Roman Empire and stretching until Napoleon ransacked most of Europe, Venice’s central government and cultural heart lay in this 2-acre quadrangle. And these three structures symbolize Venice’s interlocking foundation of business, religion, and politics.

The Doge’s Palace is a pink filigreed structure that is literally linked to both the church and the city’s old prison. "Doge" is linguistically connected to our English word “duke,” but they evolved separately from the Latin term “dux,” meaning “leader.” European monarchies largely believed that kings ruled by divine decree. But a few Italian city-states restored the old Roman tradition of a (somewhat) democratically-elected senate that in turn elected a leader (Doge) for a specific term. Only the heads of long-established families could vote in Venice, but this self-government was a far cry from absolute monarchy. Thus Venice idyllically (and inaptly) took the name, The Most Serene Republic of Venice.

This was not a perfect set up, but it helped to keep the idea of self-government without monarchy alive for a thousand years. But it would have crumbled without the support of both business and religion. And so the doge and the council often kowtowed to the ruthless business interests of the towns wealthy citizens or gave in to moralistic crackdowns to placate the religious right of their day. There was a reason why the prison was located next door to the palace, connected by the Bridge of Sighs.

Next door to the Doge’s palace sits the Basilica of Saint Mark. There, the Doge had his own pulpit from which to speak to the assembled.

This is not a randomly named church. According to tradition (feebly supported by dismally documented “history”), the body Saint Mark (author of eponymous gospel) lies beneath its altar. Medieval Europe was obsessed with relics, i.e., bone fragments or things touched by the various saints or, reputedly, Jesus himself. Legendarily Mark, a Jewish writer, died in Alexandria, Egypt. Once Muslims took control of northern Egypt, two 9th century Venetian merchants determined to spirit Mark’s bones back into Christian-held territory. Thus the remains were smuggled from Alexandria to Venice in a pork barrel.

Possibly these merchants truly believed that disinterring Saint Mark was the will of God. However, the fact that this heist helped secure Venice's place as a religious powerhouse did not harm their business, either.

The Doge decreed that a church should be built to house the saint’s sacred sarcophagus (I assume they dumped the pork barrel), and St. Mark’s Basilica is the result.

And a mixed salad architectural montage it is! The exterior alone sports rows and rows of multicolored Greek columns, Roman arches filled with gold mosaics, French gothic spires atop, and Byzantine onion domes. There are so many cacophonous details to absorb a viewer’s attention, the effect is genuinely hypnotic.

Each of the four gospel writers is represented by a symbol, and Mark’s symbol is a lion. For this reason, lions (often winged) are depicted all over Venice. But they are particularly numerous in this square, in the Doge’s Palace, and in the city’s churches.

But lions are not the only sculptural fauna to grace the Basilica. Atop the church’s central entrance stand four larger-than-life bronze horses. And they, like Mark’s desiccated bones, arrived in Venice via subterfuge. The pilfered ponies are trophies carried off from Constantinople in the 13th century.

The horses that are seen from the square now are copies, but the originals are on display in the Basilica museum. Their exact origin is unknown, but they probably date from the 2nd century B.C.E. What is certain is that these horses have come to represent Venetian power in its heyday. Napoleon swiped them, and when he was deposed, they were returned NOT to Constantinople, but back again to Venice and St. Mark's. On man's war booty is another man's civic emblem.

Which brings me at last to Venetian business. The Campanile helped to guide ships into Venice’s bustling harbor. Venice became one of the most powerful countries in Europe by investing heavily in trade. The city is exquisitely located midway between the east and the western Mediterranean, and situated in a broad, shallow, protective lagoon. The city was built and ruled by its residents, not via a dynastic, divine-right monarchy. In many ways, the Venetians were the Ferengi of their age, and they thus were often motivated by profit. This helped to make Venice cosmopolitan, because trading partners cross national, cultural, and religious borders.

(Check out my photos from the Palace and the links to other photos, St. Mark’s, and the Plaza.)

Aside from these attractions on the Piazza, earlier in the day I had toured the Accademia Gallery, which contains the best collection anywhere of Venetian Renaissance art. The gallery highlights the specialties of the Venetian Renaissance: Cosmopolitan flair (incorporating Western, Byzantine and Arabic styles), more vibrant colors, and themes that highlight the importance of human experience.

And to close my day, I attended a Baroque chamber music concert centering on the compositions of Antonio Vivaldi. This delightful performance (including 3 encores) took place at the Church of San Vidal, which lies practically around the corner from my hotel.

Whew! Quite a day! More tomorrow about the most famous Venetian artists of the Italian Renaissance.