Mercoledi Musicale

I realize I have yet to say much about the music we heard at Salzburg last month. Its been a bit of a struggle to catch up with work which is involves writing most of the day and then to come home and continue writing. However I can safely say that the Liedmatinee on the Monday morning given by Joyce DiDonato was the musical highlight of the weekend.  And the highlight of her programme, devoted to Venice, were five of the six songs by Reynaldo Hahn under the title Venezia, chansons en dialecte vénitien. 

Back in May of 2012 I posted an item about that glorious little song cycle and videos featuring Anna Caterina Antonocchi sing five of them.  For some reason Miss DiDonato omitted La Biondina in gondoleta in her set while Anna Cat didn't give us La primavera.

Of the six the most delightful - and most often performed - is La barcheta (the Little Boat).  Rather than given preference to either lady - both of whom I treasure as artists - I thought I'd post a wonderful performance by the elegant French baritone Gérard Souzay. 

A translation of Pietro Buratti's text by Lara Sarti can be found here.

Hahn was a friend of Winnaretta Singer,  Princesse Edmond de Polignac.  The Princesse was one of the great patrons of the arts and humanities in early 20th century Europe.  It was on one of his visits to the Polignacs in Venice that Hahn composed his song cycle. The programme for the Salzburg recital included the composer's description of the premiere:

Madame de Béarn asked me to sing - just me and a piano - on the 'Piccoli Canale'.  Just a few gondolas - one or two friends hastily gathered together [..] I was in one boat, lit up for the occasion, with my piano and a couple of oarsmen.  The other gondolas were grouped around us.  We found a place where three canals met beneath three charming bridges and I sang all my Venetian songs.  Gradually passers-by gathered on the bridges: and audience of ordinary people, pressing forward to listen.  The Venetian songs surprised and delighted this little crowd, which made me very happy.  "Ancora, anocra", they called from above.  These songs that were both light and melancholy sounded well beneath the starry skies and I felt that emotion which reverberates in the composer's heart when it has truly been shared by those around him.

Reynaldo Hahn - without his piano - photographed in a Piccoli Canale much
like the one where he first performed his Venezia song cycle.

If I had money - that old familiar cry - I would love to recreate that moment: a singer, a few gondolas, one equipped with a piano and a small group of friends.   And on a magical night in a quiet canal listen to these "light and melancholy" melodies floating over the waters of one of the cities I love most in the world.   Well music was meant to make us dream!

July 2 - 1777: Vermont becomes the first American territory to abolish slavery.

Cantrice, Castrati e otre Bestie - Part II

During the years Anton Maria Zanetti welded his pen to capture the entertainment scene in Venice it was one of the great centres of opera in the world.  Unlike Napoli, Milano and other city-states on the Italian peninsula the theatres in La Serinissima had no royal patrons.  Theatres in the Republic were just like any other business - privately owned and run for a profit.  Teatro San Cassiano,  the first commercial theatre built exclusively for opera, had opened during Carnevale season in 1637.  In those days the celebrations went on for a longer period than today beginning just after Christmas and continuing until the first day of Lent.  It was still in operation during Zanetti's lifetime but had been joined by seven or eight major houses mainly those built by the Grimani family who included opera houses amongst their many other business investments.

The Teatro San Giovanni Grisotomo was the site of a great ball in honour of Edward Augustus, Duke of York in June 1767.  The Venetians merchants were recognizing the new importance of England as a trading partner and displayed its finest for the Royal visitor.  Sadly the Duke was unable to report to his brother on the glorious occasion: he died later that summer as he returned from his Italian sojourn.

The most famous of their theatres was the Teatro San Giovanni Grisostomo, known today as the Teatro Malibran.  Opened during carnival in1678 it was the first of the Grimani chain and the most opulent theatre in the city.  The greatest singers of the time appeared there in works written by many of the great composers of the period.  Of course the likes of Scarlatti and Handel played second fiddle to the renowned singers they wrote for; and in the ranks of singers almost everyone played continuo to the (in)famous prime donne and castrati  of the time.   Zanetti was to capture these brilliant stars in their various personages as goddesses, gods, tragic queens and great heros but little, or no time, was spent immortalizing the mere composers of the music given these deities to sing.

Antonio Maria Bernacchi (23 June 1685 – 1 March 1756) 

 

I am giving Bernacchi pride of place because it was the caricature below that first caught my attention at the recent exhibition.  Zanetti's wittily catches the beauty and power of the voice as well as the slightly ludicrous appearance of the highly regarded contralto from Bologna.   Of course it is well known that, given the nature of the operation that gave them their voice, castrati developed differently physically.  Being robbed of the hormones need for normal growth their limbs were frequently disproportionate to the rest of their bodies, they were often overweight or freakishly tall for the period.  As formal portraits would often gloss over these physical difference we are left with Zanetti's impression - which being caricatures may unfairly exaggerate many of those deformities.  I searched for a portrait of Bernacchi but was unable to find anything other than the rather generic engraving at the right.  Most descriptions of him suggest that, though perhaps not quite as large as Zanetti suggests, he was large man and more than one writer of the time commented on it. When he appeared in London Mary Delany, a close friend of Handel, in one of her many correspondence wrote that: Bernacchi has a vast compass, his voice mellow and clear, but not so sweet as Senesino, his manner better; his person not so good, for he is as big as a Spanish friar.

Bernacchi as Mitradate, Re di Ponte at Teatro San Giovanni Grisostomo in 1723 shows what stuff
he's made of - his trill could scale up one side and down the other of the Campanella.

Bernacchi was born, trained and died in Bologna but his incredible technique took him well beyond the confines of Emilia-Romangna.  He was a student of the great Francesco Pistocchi who later was to despair of the style of singing that his pupil was to espouse.  On hearing the "new style" that Bernacchi had introduced into the opera house - an attempt to emulate the sound of an instrument with trills and roulades - his former master shook his head and cried:  Sadly for me, I taught you to sing, and you want to play (an instrument)!

Enough people were enamoured of his abilities that he became known as Il Re dei cantatori  (the King of Singers) throughout Europe.  As well as being a popular favourite in Venice - 20 operas in the seasons between 1712 and 1724 alone -  he appeared in all of the major opera houses of Italy and became Handel's primo uomo in 1729-30 replacing Senesino, a singer much beloved by the English public.  Though he created major roles in Lotario (1729) and Partenope (1730) and sang in revivals of Giulio Cesare and Tolomeo, Bernacchi was not as highly regarded as the Sienese alto.  His voice was judged to be weak and in many ways defective however he covered these shortcomings with great skill and his singing was more admired by other musicians than by the public.

Bernacchi in Gaetano Maria Schiassi's Demofonte at
Teatro San Giovanni Grisostomo during Carnivale 1735.

He returned to Europe in 1730 and continued to appear on the stages of Italy and was a particular favourite of the Elector of Bavaria.  The one city missing from his later appearances was Napoli.  In the 1728 season he had appeared there along with his younger rival Giovanni Carestini and, as so often happened opinions and loyalties were divided along political as well as musical lines.  When contracts were being signed for the 1729 season Bernacchi demanded that Antonia Margarita Merighi, one of his pupils and possibly his "mistress" have her contract extended also.  And more to the point he would sign provided Carestini was not to be reengaged.  At first the Viceroy agreed but then a pro-Carestini party began to make noise; the Viceroy became weary of the controversy and turned the matter over to the impresario who dithered about it.  The older singer tore up his contract and grandly announce that he was a man sought after not seeking and would not stay in a country where he was not welcome.

It was this episode that made him available to Handel and he, and Merighi, set sail for England.  Merighi was much admired by the British and Handel wrote several roles for her.  Her teacher, and protector, was to return to Europe after that one season whereas she continued to be a great favourite in London in subsequent seasons.

Larger than life and twice as beplummed Antonio Bernacchi.

If London had been less than a success Bernacchi was still highly regarded in Europe and continued to perform in Venice, Milan and on the major stages of Europe.  He retired from the stage in 1738 and returned to his native city a wealthy and respected citizen.  He gave the odd concert and composed a few duets and  churches pieces; but his remaining years were devoted to teaching.  He established a school to impart his techniques to a new generation of singers.  His students included Amadori, Mancini, Guarducci and amongst the last of his pupils was the great tenor Anton Raaf.  Many years later the elderly Raaf would create the title role in Mozart's Idomeno.  Though the tenor had arranged for the commission the young composer was not fond of his "antique" style of singing.  In one of his many letters written in Munich while preparing for the premiere he wrote that "his (Raaf's) style itself, the Bernacchi school, is not to my taste." 

Bernacchi died in 1756 at the age of 71 - many of the castrati lived to a ripe old age - and was buried in his hometown.  His funeral was arranged by and paid for by Farinelli.  His former pupil and rival made sure that all the pomp appropriate to the burial of the "King of Singers" was observed.

February 15 - 1954: Canada and the United States agree to construct the Distant Early Warning Line, a system of radar stations in the Arctic.

Cantrice, Castrati, Amici e Altre Bestie - Part I*

When I went searching for the catalogue Dr Goldfarb had mentioned of the works of Antonio Maria Zanetti it never crossed my mind that there would have been a copy in the North Suburban Library System in Morton Grove, Illinois.  But there it was - a catalogue from an Italian exhibition in 1969 in the familiar (now yellowing) plastic library cover, with the Dewey Decimal numbers handwritten and attached to the spine.  It even had the original price sticker on the inside back cover:  L3,000.

I found this obscure little catalogue thanks to the good graces of Dr Hilliard
Goldfarb and the good people at AbeBooks.  It once graced the shelves of the
North Suburban Library System in Morton Grove, Illinois.

How did it get there?    What or who had brought this little hard covered treasure (from my point of view) from the Fondazione Giorgio Cini on Isola di San Giorgio Maggiore to the NSLS on Dempster St in Morton Grove?  Had one of the librarians been in Venice at the time of the exhibition?  Had some benefactor in the area who had travelled donated it?  Had it been given as a lot of books when someone's home was being cleared of a lifetime of accumulation?  There is no library card envelope on the inside back cover.  I find that a bit odd and it would suggest it never went into circulation.  It would have been fun to know how many times it had been taken off the shelf and checked out - if ever.   The stamp on the frontispiece showed that it had been withdrawn from circulation; it then found its way to a bookseller in Evanston and the AbeBooks website; and finally to my bookshelf.

An engraving of A. M. Zanetti il Vecchio by
A. Faldoni after a miniature by R. Carriera.

However it got there, its here now and I've been thumbing through it with great delight.  Not all of the 350 caricatures catalogued are illustrated but enough to catch my fancy and share with you - along with anything I can find about Zanetti, his work and his subjects.

First a little bit about Zanetti, some caricatures he did of family and friends and a few pokes he took at himself.

Born into a Venetian family of standing in1679, Antonio Maria Zanetti (il Vecchio - the Older) was a renowned artist and art critic of the period.  A talented engraver and collector - his wise investments in maritime insurance gave him the wherewithal to follow his true vocation - he was adviser on collecting to the royal and noble families of France, England and Lichtenstein.  Aristocrats on The Grand Tour sought him out and through him met many of the major artistic figures of the Most Serene Republic.  Zanetti himself did a type of reverse Grand Tour and visited France and England - in London his purchases included three volumes of the etchings of Rembrandt. 

Tintoretto's The Vision of St Peter is one of the ten paintings he did for his parish church of Madonna dell`Orto, it was completed in 1556 along with its companion piece The Decapitation of St Paul.
Over two hundred years later Zanetti created the engraving based on Tintoretto's work. 

He had been trained as a painter by Sebastiano Ricci but limited his activities to drawing and engraving.  Through  his association with the Ricci family - including Sebatiano's nephew Marco -  he became a member of a large artistic circle that included some of the finest painters, miniaturists, writers and musicians of La Serenissima.   Amongst his proteges were Rosalba Carriera, a highly regarded miniaturist and pastel painter of the period, and his nephew Anton Maria il giovane.   The Zanettis' Delle Antiche Statue Greche E Romane§ was one of the first illustrated catalogues of the period and detailed all the Greek and Roman sculptures in Venetian public collections.  

Giove from Delle Antiche Statue Greche e Romane
by Zanetti and his nephew.  It was the first catalogue
of its kind and listed important works in the Venetian
public collection.§§

As an engraver Zanetti perfected the  Chiaroscuro woodcut, producing prints after paintings by many of the great artists of Venice:  Parmigianino, Tintoretto, Castiglione and others.  His prints were popular as souvenirs of that obligatory visit to Venice for the wealthy aristocrat and the starving artist alike.

Zanetti was an avid collector of engraved gems (cameos, intaglio, seals, rings) and greatly enjoyed showing his collection to his many visitors.  He had catalogued his gems and, being Zanetti, captured them in detail with his burin.  The engravings were published in 1750 as Le gemme antiche.  Aemmae Antique - Dactylotheca with a Latin text by his friend Antonio Francesco Gori translated in to "vulgar Italian" by his nephew Girolamo.   Many visitors thought it was meant as an elaborate sales brochure but Zanetti refused all offers for anything from his beloved collection until the Duke of Marlborough convinced him to part with four gems and paid 1200 zecchini (gold coins) for them.  At a recent auction a copy of the Zanetti/Gori catalogue sold for over $30,000 USD.

 If his engravings,  prints, collections, knowledge and erudition made him a known name during his lifetime what little we know of him today, outside of art history circles, are his caricatures of his friends, family and the great entertainers of his day.   As with all good caricatures these pen and ink drawings - dashed off quickly if one of Zanetti's self-portraits is to be believed - capture the essence of people he was (mostly) gently having fun with.  There are three large collections of these "minor" works that that have survived:  Zanetti's own collection from the Fondazione Cini, the Consul Smith collection in the Queen's Royal Collection and the Algarotti collection at the Art Gallery of Ontario. British Consul Joseph Smith and Francesco Algarotti were members of Zanetti's artistic circle.  Zanetti had left his massive collection to the Republic, King George III purchased Smith's drawings in 1762 and I have not been able to find out anything about the fragmentary series in Toronto.

The caption tells us that the masked figure is Zanetti "who is making a caricature of his dear Signora Germana Tesi."  Vittoria Tesi Tramontini was the most famous female contralto of her age and is shown as  she appeared as Diana in Endimione at S. Giovanni Grisostomo during the 1742 season.  She was a favourite subject of the caricaturist.

Often the three collections have overlapping images though those in the Cini and AGO collections have inscriptions/descriptions which the Royal collection lack.  It would appear that Zanetti or one of his studio traced over existing caricatures to make copies - perhaps for distribution to friends or the subjects themselves.

Until his death in 1767 at the age of 88 he remained active and according to friends still "displaying his full intellect".   Zanetti had no children and his vast collection went to his nephews and was soon thereafter dispersed.   By the late 1700s it was already noted with bitterness by an Abbott Lena that much of the marvelous collection had passed over the Alps and across the sea.

Family, Friends and those Around Him

Here are a few of the many quick portraits Zanetti did of the people in his circle or just people he saw in his travels around Venice and Europe.

The Zanetti family all set for a night "in maschera".   The two tall figures have been identified
as Zanetti himself and his niece Maria.  The others are labelled Zanetta, Alessandri
and Nicola - but the note is not in Zanetti's handwriting

According to Zanetti's note his friend and teacher Sebastian Ricci is looking pensive
because he is losing money on the season at the Teatro San Cassiano.  Oddly there is
no mention in any biography of Ricci being involved with the theatre but the financial
troubles of an impressario would well account for his less than happy mien.

Even though it is noted that she is an "amica dell'Autore,
it's hard to imagine that Rosalba Carriera, the famous portrait
painter, was greatly pleased with this caricature.

This "cameriere" of Zanetti's is enjoying his coffee - possibly in
one of the bars in the Piazza?  Plus ça change!

La Principesssa Pia was the wife of the Hapsburg Ambassador to Venice.  He
served first for Charles VI and then for Maria Therese as Queen of Hungary. 
According to Girolamo Zanetti he had to resign his position in April of 1743 as he
did not have the funds to sustain the lifestyle expected of an Ambassador.

Zanetti also captured the Mother of Princepessa Pia - noses
of distinction seem to run in the family.

On a visit to San Artemio di Treviso in the Veneto  Zanneti sketched Maria,
the cook at the Ca' Marchi.  And in it he has captured the spirit of every nonna
or donna who has ever cooked in Italy!

Zanetti notes that when he did this sketch his friend Marco Ricci was
"i dolori" in pain and indeed the painter looks unwell.  There's a good
possibility that this was drawn shortly before his death in 1730.

If his self-caricatures are to be believed Zanetti was a tall and extremely thin man
- in one of his later drawings he appears almost skeletal .

 Over the next few weeks I'm working on posting more of these delightful (to me at least) drawings with some history and anecdotes of the people being sketched, particularly the singers and dancers that Zanetti saw in the many opera houses in Venice.

*Singers, Castrati, Friends and other Beasts

§ I was surprised - and thrilled - to find a complete copy of this remarkable catalogue in PDF format on the University of Heidelberg Library website.  §§The photo used is from the University copy.

February 8 - 1855: The Devil's Footprints mysteriously appear in southern Devon.

A Gondola on Sherbrooke Street

 They gave the city the name Venetia as if to say Veni etiam – Come again!

Francesco Sansovino

Citta Noblisissima et Singolare - 1581

I have a confession to make: in the many times I've been to Venice I have never taken a ride in a gondola. Nope, not even the traghetti that Venetians use (at €1 a ride) to cross from one side of the Canale Grande to the other.  Oh I've watched the gondolas a million times and even taken the odd picture of a Gondolieri or two - just as a cultural observer of course.  But to actually fork out the money - the last price I heard was €80 for a 40 minute ride* - for a tour through the canals: not going to occur during the lifetime of the reigning monarch. But then I said that about going to Venice during Carnivale and look what happened!

One of the scenographic features of the recent exhibition at the Musée des Beaux Arts was a long wall cut by irregularly placed windows.  Through the windows you could see a gondola - not a priceless antique ceremonial gondola but an ordinary 20th century Venetian gondola.  Not that there is really anything ordinary about a gondola:  they are still handmade of 8 different types of wood (fir, oak, cherry, walnut, elm, mahogany, larch and lime) and are composed of 280 pieces. 

 The etymology of its name gondola is uncertain; it may be a portmanteau word -  the verb dondolare (to rock gently) and the Middle Age Greek kondura or short-tailed boat - older gondolas had a less soaring stern than today´s ones.  Or it may come from the Latin cunula or rocking crib.

The design has evolved greatly over the centuries and to govern further changes was codified by the city of Venice in the mid-20th century.   The gondola is still evolving: its sesto, the scalar ratio between the frames in its shape, is frequently updated.  This allows for changes to be made as gondolas fight the rise of the waves caused by motor boats and cruise liners.  Unlike older gondolas a modern gondola is asymmetrical to account for the position of the gondolier at the right on the stern (yes gondolas are right hand drive!). 

The elaborate stern decoration is called a risso or ringlet (that lovely brass decoration in the picture above) and is said to resemble the swirl of water in the wake of the vessel.  The prow decoration (and somehow I didn't get a proper photograph of this one - how the hell did that happen?) is called a dolfin (dolphin) because of the resemblance to a dolphin's muzzle.  The shape of both decorations has changed over the centuries.  The risso has become smaller and the dolfin has become redolent with symbols of Venice: the upper part recalls the Corno del Dose/Capello del doge (Crown of the Doge); the shank the meandering of the Grand Canal;  the arch signifies il ponte di Rialto and il bacino di San Marco; the comb the city´s Sestieri (six districts); the opposite tooth is Giudecca; while the decorated points between the teeth represent the three main Islands of the Lagoon (Torcello, Burano, Murano).  It should be noted that the cemetery island of San Michelle is missing from this symbolic icon - no point in tempting fate.

Though in the 17th and 18th centuries there were between eight to ten thousand gondolas in the Republic an earlier map from the 1500's by Jacopo de'Barbari suggests that batellas, carolinas and galleys were the major modes of transportation.   Many gondolas where privately owned though there were also gondolas for hire.   Today there are approximate 400 gondolas, all of which are used in the tourist trade or for sporting events.

Gondolas were brightly, at time garishly, painted and laden with gold or silver ornaments and silk draperies and trappings.  In reaction to the extravagant nature of many of the private gondolas the Senate issued a sumptuary law in 1609 that all gondolas were to be painted black.  This did not stop people from adding elaborate  parecio or removable metal ornaments that served no real purpose other than decoration.  Elaborate metal-work (gold, silver, iron or brass), draperies and carvings often graced the felze or cabins that were a feature on gondolas up until the late 1940s.  However these enclosures that served as a source of protection from the sun, rain or prying eyes were removed after complaints from tourists that it blocked their view. 

The rèmo, or oar, is specially made by the rèmer (oarmaker), who exclusively builds oars and fórcola or oarlocks. The wood used for the rèmo is split beech, well-matured and without knots. It is carefully crafted to have a tapered blade at the end; the thickness of the oar gradually diminishes, which allows the oarsmen to row more with greater ease and agility.   A gondola is rowed not punted and the design of the boat and the oar mean that the effort required to paddle one with two people on board is equivalent to what a person would expend walking at the same speed.

The fórcola or oar lock is a highly personalized feature of any gondola.  It is a basic form that is adapted to the height of the gondolier, his arm length and rowing technique.  Its complex design allows for eight rowing positions the chief being a slow forward row, a powerful forward row, turning, slowing down, a backward row and stopping.  The process of creating this deceptively simply looking piece of wood takes several years and the knowledge of a craft and tools that are centuries old. While searching for information about this unique oar lock I came across an interesting site created for Saverio Pastor a master rèmer of Venice who creates oars and oarlocks.   A click through the various pages of Maitre Pastor's site give visual life to the creation of the fórcola, its use, history and construction.

In the 17th century there were several thousand gondoliers and often they were run as a small private collective - three gondoliers and one dispatcher.  History suggests that they were the "secret holders" of the city:  conversations, assignations, plots and family (monkey) business were all overheard by the "family" or "taxi" driver.   Today the profession is controlled by a guild, which issues a limited number of licenses (425 regular - 175 fill-in) after 400 hours of training, a period of apprenticeship and a comprehensive exam of knowledge of Venetian history and geography, foreign languages and, of course, safe and efficient navigation of the gondola.  Few secrets or intrigues are overheard today other than mutterings about the price of a Bellini at Harry's.  Prior to the Second World War the standard uniform for gondolieri was a black outfit however in modern times the more colourful blue and white or red and white stripped blouse has become the norm. 

It was not until 2010 that male dominance on the profession was challenged by Giorgia Boscolo who became a licensed gondolier (I'm not sure there is a feminine ending for the title) in August of 2010.   She was one of three female students that year - unfortunately the other two did not pass.  Her father, a retired gondolier, had some reservations and was quoted as saying:  I still think being a gondolier is a man’s job, but I am sure that with experience Giorgia will be able to do it easily.  Giorgia's response was a typical Venetian shrug and the observation that "Childbirth is much more difficult." 

Back to the exhibition that started me on the Veniza nostalgia trip:  so how do you get a slender (1.4m/4ft 6in) but long (11m/36ft) boat up to the third floor exhibition rooms of the Desmarais Pavilion?  Why the way you get anything into an upper story in most cities in Italy:  through an upstairs window!

While going through the many posts, articles and webpages available about gondolas and gondolieri I came across this rather fun quiz:  How Stuff Works - Gondola Quiz.   The first time I've ever put a "check for understanding" on a post.


*To be fair that is per gondola not per person and is the tariff set by the city of Venice. A gondola holds up to six people so the cost per person depends on the number in the group.  The routes are set and agreed upon prior to leaving the statzione.  And the gondolier does not - repeat - does not sing!

January 28 -1958: The last episode of the British radio comedy programme The Goon Show is broadcast.

Splendours of Venice

They gave the city the name Venetia as if to say Veni etiam – Come again!

Francesco Sansovino

Citta Noblisissima et Singolare - 1581

Just before Christmas I received an e-mail via a French arts website from my friend Sybil in Geneva.  The link provided was for an exhibition at Musée des Beaux Arts de Montréal:  Splendore a Venezia.  I had to admit ignorance of the event but it contained that magic word: Venezia! I am sure I've made it apparent on at the least one occasion here that Venice is a city I adore and the offer of a multidisciplinary exhibition so close to home that combined the art and the music of Venice from the Renaissance to the Baroque - well what more could a Venitiaphile (is that a word?) ask for?

The rich silk, linen and lead robes and stole of a Procurator and a Corno Ducale (Doge's crown) were the first, but far from the last,  splendours that greeted the viewer.  Not visible in this photo but behind the ducal finery was Titan's portrait of a sickly Doge Francesco Venier weighed down by the elaborate robes of state.

On Boxing Day we celebrated Linda and Yves' recent marriage with a celebratory champagne lunch at the Sofitel.  Afterwards it was a short walk over to the Beaux-Arts to take in the Venetian splendors - and splendors there were.  Even though it was late afternoon the crowds were still fairly heavy but we were able to take in a goodly portion of this marvelous show.  Paintings, clothing, musical instruments, incunabula, manuscripts, bronzes and artifacts trace 300 years of the musical and cultural history of the great Republic  Sixty-one collections from nine countries were combed for remarkable - and in many cases seldom seen - examples of the magnificence that was La Serenissima until its dissolution by that evil little Corsican Napoleon in 1797.   The exhibition was the work of Dr Hilliard Goldfarb, Associate Chief Curator and Curator of Old Masters at the Musée and reflected both his passion for and deep knowledge of the music and art of the period.

Splendore a Venezia:  Exhibition curator Dr Hillaird T. Goldfarb with a few of the wonderful treasures tracing the connections between music and art from the Renaissance to the Baroque in La Serenissima.  A right click on each of the paintings will give you a closer look at each one.

A few days later I wrote him to both congratulate him and his team on a magnificent show and to ask a few questions.  In return I received two very kind e-mails answering my questions and mentioning how it had taken five years to bring this exhibition together - something you don't think about as you wander through a gallery.  He also gave me information about several of the caricatures by Anton Maria Zanetti that were on display including the existence of a catalogue from an show at the Fondazione Giorgio Cini in 1969.  (I found a copy at AbeBooks and have it in hand now!)  As part of the preparation for exhibiting the Zanetti caricatures the conservators at the Musée did much needed restoration and preservation work as well as remounting.  They are the sort of tiny glories that I always find fascinating amongst the great works.

Anton Maria Zanetti's caricature of Antonio Maria Bernacchi
captures the good and the bad of the great male soprano. 
His voice had incredible power and beauty but Mary Grenville
observed: his person not so good, for he is as big as a Spanish friar.

Like Bernacchi Giustina Turcotti was known for her incredible vocal power and her ample girth. 
It is recorded that La Turcotti had trouble moving on stage and Zanetti's nude female figure
appears to be a less that flattering portrait of the Florentine diva.

In this caricature Zanetti suggests that the great mezzo Caffarelli (Gaetano
Majorano) single-handedly carried the fortunes of Teatro San Grisotomomo
on his shoulders.  The vain, pugnacious and arrogant singer probably
would not have challenged him to a duel on that view.

Dr Goldfarb also suggested that if I visited the show again that  he would be pleased to say hello.  So visit it again I did.  My neighbour Cathy and I headed down to Montreal on the morning train last Thursday.  Having forgotten how icy that wind can be as it comes cutting down from the mountain I decided to walk over to the Museum from Central Station.  You'd think five years of living at Peel and Sherbrooke would have taught me better!  I arrived at the Musée frozen but the appearance of my dear Christine, who I hadn't seen since we left Roma, soon warmed me up.  That and a glass of pinot grigio at our reunion celebration lunch - are we seeing a theme here?   The food at the Café des Beaux Arts is remarkably good, varied - I haven't seen, not that I would order it, Blood Pudding on any other menu - and the service very friendly.

Dale Chihuly's The Sun was part of a larger exhibition
earlier this year but is now in the Musée's permanent
collection. It was purchased through public donations.

I thought that on a day mid-week there would be less people but the exhibit proved to be as popular as it had been on December 26th.  Dr Goldfarb greeted us and apologized that the two large gilt galley lanterns were missing as they were being photographed before being shipped to the Portland Art Gallery.  Strangely it is the only other venue for the exhibition.  I would have thought other museums would have jumped at the opportunity of sharing this remarkable collection; however given the budget cuts that have affected most museums these days it is not all that surprising.

As a sidebar it was interesting to see that through individual donations and public subscription the Musée has acquired Dale Chihuly's The Sun, which had been featured in a major exhibition of his work earlier this year.

Fortunately I was able to spend a bit more time than previously taking in the whole exhibition and particularly the collection of instruments on display:  an archlute in kingwood, ivory and ebony made in 1654; a beautiful theorbo in ivory and ebony from the late 1600s; a military drum bearing St Mark's lion along with Turkish instruments captured a war booty but put into ceremonial use; and a sinuous, strange-looking bass cornetto or serpent that certainly lived up to its name.  The craftsmanship in the stringed instruments was remarkable - elaborately carved sound holes, detailed scrimshaw and delicate inlay. 

This theorbo was crafted in Venice somewhere between
1630-1640.  The ivory scrimshaw and intricately carved
sound hole make it as beautiful to look at as it is to hear. 

This bass cornett or serpent is curved so the finger
holes were within reach of the player.  It dates
from the 16th c. and is leather covered wood.

This archlute is a stunning mixture of kingwood,
ivory, spruce, willow and ebony.  Created by
Christoph Koch in 1654, the extended pegboard gives
it a wider bass range than the regular lute.

The spruce and animal skin drum on the left was used in the 1600s to rally the brave fighting men of the Most Serene Republic in their military endeavours.  The Naqqarah (kettle drum) and Zil (finger cymbals) were trophies of their victories over their Ottoman foes but were often used in the parades and processions that were part of the rituals of state.

And of course no exhibition on the glory that was Venice would be complete without the works of Giovanni Antonio Canal ditto Canaletto.  He is well represented in both paintings and drawings.  Particularly delightful is the pen and ink drawing that is annotated:  I Gian Antonio Canal made this drawing of musicians singing at the ducal church of San Marco in Venice at the age of sixty-eight without eyeglasses, in the year 1766.

The Feast of San Rocco: once again Canaletto captures a Venice filled with life.  August 16 was a major holiday in Venice and the Doge paid a state visit to hear mass at the Church and venerated the Saint's relics.  He was entertained at the Scuolo and viewed the only fixed art exhibition in the city.  And like today's visitors he marvelled at the Tintoretto murals and ceiling.

Even with a second viewing when I look over the beautifully illustrated catalogue I realize that there were things that, like the city itself, deserved a third, fourth even a fifth viewing.  And of course looking at all those splendours only made me long even more to experience them in my beloved Serenissima once more.

January 17:  1893: The Citizen's Committee of Public Safety, led by Lorrin A. Thurston, overthrows the government of Queen Liliuokalani of the Kingdom of Hawaii.

Mercoledi Musicale

Though not quite as famous as its counter-part in Vienna, the Concerto Capodanno at La Fenice in Venezia is a popular New Year's Day celebration in Italy. And its presented in one of the loveliest opera houses in the world (second in my humble opinion only to San Carlo in Napoli). I've posted several times about  the senseless torching of La Fenice in1996 and its subsequent rise from the burnt out shell I recall seeing that same year.  Though there was much discussion - to the point of fisticuffs - about rebuilding to slavishly replicate the destroyed house the traditionalists won and the theatre was rebuilt in 19th-century style on the basis of a design by architect Aldo Rossi and using still photographs from the opening scenes of Luchino Visconti's 1954 film Senso, which was filmed in the house, in order to obtain details of its design.  I must admit that on my one visit there I tended to lean towards the side of the critics who complained that the colours were too bright - but perhaps with the passing of time and the neglect that is known in maintaining Italian opera houses it will acquire a dulling patina.  But even with its slightly faux air it is a lovely venue to celebrate the New Year.

This year's concert left no doubt who's bicentennial birth was being celebrated in 2013 - there was a bit of Rossini, a Tchaikovsky symphony but the main works were all Verdi - all the time.  This year the conductor was Sir John Eliot Gardner and the featured soloists Desiree Rancatore and Saimir Pirgu.  And during the Brindisi from La Traviata which traditionally brings every Concerto Capodanno to a close Italy's premier danseur and poster boy that we all love Roberto Bolle strutted his stuff.

I'm not sure where the dance sequence was staged it - Laurent seems to think it is one of the grand hotels along the Lido. This year's concert was peppered with dance numbers staged at various locales; though they gave us an opportunity to see some stunning interiors and an opening that showed our Roberto is as fit as a fiddle and ready for whatever they did seem a bit extraneous.

At last year's concert under Diego Matheuz with Jessica Pratt and Walter Fraccaro toasting the New Year the dance sequences were filmed within La Fenice itself. There are some great shots of the main staircase and assembly rooms and that final shot on the Grand Canal gets me every time!

 A belated "Auguri" to my darling friends in Italy - I still miss you all very much.  Bacissimi e dopo!

02 January - 1976: The Gale of January 1976 begins, which results in coastal flooding around the southern North Sea coasts,

Veni Etiam*

*They gave the city the name Venetia as if to say Veni etiam – Come again!

Francesco Sansovino

Citta Noblisissima et Singolare - 1581

Painted between 1580 and 1585 the fresco maps in the Gallery of the Maps in the Vatican represent the Papal States and other regions of Italy during the papacy of Gregory XIII (1572-1585).  Venice was, of course, an independent Republic and often at odds with Rome and more than once under papal interdict.

I was chatting with my friend Marco the Napoletano a month or so ago and mentioning to him that over the past while I’ve been seized by a longing for Venice.  The French have “envie” and the Italians “brama” both of which have a depth of meaning but for English I didn't really couldn't come up with one word that adequately expressed what I have been feeling other than longing.  Craving? Hankering? Desire?  Lust?  Hmm not sure if all of those don’t in some way apply.  Though I had been travelling in Europe since 1967,  except for one brief stopover in Milan on my way from Aix-en-Provence to Salzburg in 1978, Italy was a country that just didn’t enter on my travel map until 18 years later.  In 1996 a trip to Venice was my serious introduction to Italy; though of course Venice is no more Italy than Rome, Palmero, Napoli, Milan or Trento is Italy.

I was no stranger to the Venice of novels, operas, plays, movies and travel books – this was the place of music, art, warfare, debauchery and intrigue.  It was the place of Monteverdi, Casanova, canals, gondole, La Fenice, the Lido and San Marco.  It was a place I had visited time and time again as an armchair voyager but now I was going to confront the reality of all those images and impressions.  I  flew in from Ottawa via London to meet Laurent who was coming in from Amman and as I looked out the aircraft window there in the bright sunlight was the lagoon and its many islands dominated by that great winding inverted S curve of the Grand Canal and what I immediately recognized as the Campanella in Piazza San Marco.  As with all things dreamt about there was a certain sense of apprehension; I remember thinking, well I'm either going to love or hate this place.

As I struggled with my suitcase over the cobblestone and narrow bridges from the dock at the Giardinetti Reali to our hotel beside the burnt out shell of La Fenice - despite fatigue (I had been on the road for over 20 hours at that point), hunger and jet lag - I felt that somehow this place would not disappoint.  Within a few hours I had succumbed to the pull La Serenissima has exerted on travellers for over a thousand years.  And four more visits over the next 16 years has done nothing to lessen that pull.

Now Marco being from Napoli has a natural aversion to much that is above the Great Apennine Tunnel (and even that may be pushing boundaries) so it came as no surprise to find out last summer that an impending vacation would be the first time he had been to Venice in his life.   On his return he told me how much he – I think to his surprise – loved La Serinisima; and as he said in our chat “it is such a romantic city” and he is right, particularly when you are seeing it, as he did, with someone you care about. That is not to say that Venice cannot be enjoyed on your own, just that perhaps it is a place best shared with others  - lovers and friends.  And if you can't share it in person then some of its magic can still be captured in pictures and words.  And so many pictures have been painted or been taken and countless words written in an effort to capture "Venetia".

So why this sudden "longing" to once again see Venice and to compulsion to revisit old photos and memories?  Blame it on those words!  In late April as I was trying to put some semblance of order into my books and discovered that I probably have more books about Venice - travel, anecdotal, historical and fiction than any other place on the plant.  I started rereading The Stones Revisited,  Sarah Quills' distillation of John Ruskin's The Stones of Venice: an exhaustive three volume study of the architecture of the Republic as Ruskin found it on his frequent visits in the early 1800s.  He wanted to record in drawings and words the many buildings he feared would be destroyed by the occupying Austrian the way that he felt the artists of the Renaissance had destroyed the majesty of the Gothic island Republic - physically, spiritually and morally.  Putting aside the Christian outrage he felt, his details are incredible - both graphically and verbal.  And despite his fears most of what he records still stands today - often the only changes being those created by the natural element that both gives Venice its glory and its despair - the Adriatic and the man-made element that give its citizens mostly despair - the local government!

Then  I came across Jane Turner Hyland's Venetian Stories - a series of interconnected short stories that caused a bit of a stir in Venice when it was first released - apparently realty was often thinly veiled as fiction and tales were being told.  It was also suggested that perhaps Hyland, who has lived in Venice for many years, had a few scores to settle and had decided to do it in non-libel fiction.  I had intended to pick up her second book, Across the Bridge of Sighs when it was first published but just never got around to.   However it was easily enough found on Kindle (I finally gave in and started reading e-books, not quite the same as holding a real book in your hand but easier for those bus rides in the morning).  Hyland continued the stories of many of the people she introduced in Venetian Stories - though I was sad to see that one of her more intriguing characters,  the aging gondelieri Volpon, had died at the hands of an inept Italian medical system.   In the first book Hyland's pen dripped a fair bit of acid but time has diluted some of the vitriol that had coloured her first book.  Though she does a fair job on several of the more objectionable parvenus her stories could have done with a bit more of that acid and some pruning from a less indulgent editor.  But I was happy to see that Contesssa Panfili had, in one of the more touching episodes, made peace with a Venice that was no longer the place of her youth.  Strangely much like Ruskin, Hyland and her characters often seem to be celebrating and mourning a Venice that has been changed by another element that is both its boon and bane  - the constant flux of tourists clogging its streets as they pour money into its coffers.

And often in Donna Leon's mysteries the constant parade of day-trippers - hotels are so expensive these days in Venice that it is cheaper, though very inconvenient, to stay in Mestre and bus or train it over - are often as much of  a source of irritation to Inspector Guido Brunetti, his family, friends and colleagues as the murders that seem to happen with alarming frequency in their home town.  I had gone off Leon for a while, her writing had become a bit too dark and at times almost preachy.  But I now realize that much of her disdain and despair for what was happening in Venice in particular and Italy in general was justified.  These are attitudes shared by many Italians and people, like myself, who love Italy.  Her two most recent novels - is it possible numbers 20 and 21 in the series? - still deal in murder, corruption, a crippling bureaucracy and a Venice beset by problems of bad government, a declining populations and increasing numbers of tourists but with a less heavy hand than the previous three or four.
Drawing Conclusions and Beastly Things include her cast of familiar regulars - Guido, his wife Paola, the enigmatic (though less cold with each story) Signora Elettra, his colleague Vianello and even, dare I say it, the pompous and much-despised Vice-Questore Patta have all grown into fully-realized people since Death at La Fenice back in 1992.  And that is what makes Leon so readable - her characters, even the murder victims, have a life of their own.  Not that she has given up on the social issues that beset Italy - and indeed much of the Western World.  Drawing Conclusions centres on the problems of care for the elderly in a world where the social net has been strained or is broken and Beastly Things begins with a short episode that brings the horror of dealing with a much loved spouse dead before their time with Alzheimer's tragically to life.  But along with the tragic we get the joyful and the quietly thoughtful - Brunetti's relationship with his family, his musings as he wanders the rias of Venice, the strange, unspoken and often strained bonds between colleagues and in Beastly Things one of the most devastatingly bittersweet conclusions to any novel that I've read in a long time.  I'm back on a Leon kick and will be more than happy when she produces number 22 and I can revisit Venice through the good Inspector's eyes.

In the meantime, until I can return to Venice to wander the campi, stop off at della Madonna for polenta with sepe and take an overpriced late night drink in front of the glorious stage set that is San Marco, I will have to settle down with one of the many other books that line my shelves.  The word for the moment will have to do - until it can be made flesh.  Though I'm not at all sure that "longing" can be truly satisfied until I have that coupe of pistachio gelato at Cafe San Stefano sitting in front of me.

02 September - 1666: The Great Fire of London breaks out and burns for three days, destroying 10,000 buildings including St Paul's Cathedral.