The other great visitor attraction in Venice, apart from the Rialto, is, of course St. Mark’s Square.
One can travel from one to the other in either of two ways: by water (gondola or vaporetta) or elseby foot (left and right). The latter can take between a half an hour and a half a day depending on one’s partiality to being distracted by the infinite delights of this most storied of musical cities.
Yes, indeed, musical.
Is é an radharc mor-le-rá eilei Venezia , taobh amuigh den Rialto, ná, ar ndoigh, Cearnog Mharc Naofa. Is féidir le duine taisteal o R go M (no vice versa) ar dhá bhealach: ar an uisce (gondola no vaporetta) no de shiúl na gcos (clé, deas). Tig leis an dara coras taistil idir leath uair a chloig no leath lae a thogáil, braitheann sé ar an gclaonadh atá sa choisí le bheith curtha ar strae ag gliondair as cuimse na cathrach ceolmhaire seo.
Sea, go deimhin, ceolmhar.
Goethe, the great German sage, once opined:
-Architecture is frozen music.
He might have had St. Mark’s Square in mind: which is a symphony in four solid sides and a fifth wave movement called La Laguna.
Incidentally, another German sage, Thomas Mann, penned a novella titled ‘Death in Venice’. Which may have caused some confusion if Shakesepeare had chosen to call his play (and which he would have been entitled to) ‘Debt in Venice’.
Thug Goethe, an saoi iomráiteach Gearmanach, le fios uair amháin:
-Is ionann an ailtireacht agus ceol reoite
Dála an scéil, scríobh saoi Gearmánach eile, Thomas Mann, úrscéal gairid dar teideal ‘Bás i Venezia’. D’fhéadfadh an teideal sin go leor mearbhaill a chothú dá mba rud é gur ghlaoigh Shakespeare (agus a raibh sé i dteideal a dhéanamh) ar a dhráma ‘Fiacha i Venezia’.
As Shakespeare noted in ‘The Merchant of Venice’
‘The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils. The motions of his spirit are dull as night. And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the musc’.
(That would be Erebus rather than Eirbus).
Mar a thug Shakepeare faoi ndear i ‘Ceannaí Venezia’:
‘An fear nach bhfuil aon cheol ann, no nach bhfuil coraithe ag comhchorda na bhfuaimeanna is binne amuigh, níl in ann do ach tréas, uisce faoi thalamh agus loit. Tá a anam chomh murtallach le meán-oiche. Agus a ghean chomh dorcha le Erebus. Ná cuir do mhuinín ina leithéid de dhuine. Tabhair aire don cheol’.
(Sin Erebus, seachas Eirbus).
Piazza San Marco certainly marks the music. From the Campanile, goodlording it over St. Mark’s Basilica, down to the classy musical combos who facilitate the diners of i ristoranti digest their square meals of spaghetti, lasagne and ravioli with a glassy concord of sweet muisc. Everything local is in their effortless repertoire, from the most celebrated of classical Venetian composers Vivaldi to the more exquisitely suprerficial music from a native of more recent vintage: Mantovani.
(Snaps 1 and 2)
Bi dearfa go dtugann Piazza San Marco aire don cheol. On gCloigtheach a sheasann go hard os cionn Basilica Mharc Naofa sios to dti na grupai snasta ceoil a chabhraionn leis na custaiméirí sna proinntithe oscailte a mbéilí blasta de spaghetti, lasagne agus ravioli a dhíleá le comhchorda gloiniúil de cheol binn. Cloistear gach íi áitiúil ina gclár saothair gan stro on gcumadoir clasaiceach de Venezia is mo iomrá, Vivaldi go dti na foinn atá chomh fíorálainn is atá siad eadomhin o cheoltoir áitiuil eile atá nios comhaimseartha: Mantovani.
(Griangrafanna 1 agus 2).
Vivaldi was of course an ordained priest of the Roman Catholic faith: in 1702, the German Protestant composer, Ernst Ludwig Gerber wrote of the aged Vivaldi that ‘the rosary never left his hand except when he picked up the pen to write an opera’. He became known as ‘il prete Rosso’ on account of his red hair. Indeed, not only was Fr. Antonio Vivaldi the original Soggart Aroon but he also genetically contrived, into the bargain to be the original Soggart Aroon Rua !
Ba shagart Caitliceach Romhánach e Vivaldi, ar ndoigh, agus i 1702 scríobh an cumadoir Protastúnach on Ghearmáin, Ernst Ludwig Gerber faoi Vivaldi a bhi scothaosta ag an am: ‘níor fhág an paidrín a lámh taobh amuigh de na hamanta gur phioc sé aníos a pheann le ceoldráma a chumadh’.
Thus, does Vivaldi present a nigh insurmountable obstacle to visitiing (if any) of the those nay-sayers to Nationalism , the Tut-Tutters of the Free Southern Stateen who devoutly subscribe to the rank and rancid sectarianism of DUPlin (where the cash registers of Aldi rather than Vivaldi are the soundtrack) and where, Phoebe dear, the only two ‘fashionable Phobes’ allowable, are:
-Romophobia and Gaelphobia.
Both of these are faddishly adjudged to be the polar opposite to (genuflect) PRIDE.
Cruthaíonn Vivaldi, mar sin, ina bhac dodhreapaithe, mar sin, doibh siúd (más ann doibh) de na Tut-Tutters sa Saor-Státín o Dheas a chleachtann an seicteachas lofa cois Life BAC, (mar a mbíonn scipéid chláriathe Aldi ina fuaimrian seachas cumadoirieacht Vivaldi ) agus mar nach bhfuil ach dhá ‘dha Fhoibe fhaiseanta cheadaite’, Phoebe,
-Romafoibe agus Gaelfhoibe.
Glactar go faiseanta leis san da fhoibe seo mar an mhalairt de BHROD.
One almost expected to find Finchley Fintan, the less than coy guest preacher of faction in the (gulp) pulpit of St. Patrick’s C o I Cathedral, DUPlin, standing in front of the bottom of the Campanile Bell-towerr protesting the Bong, Bong, Boing of the Angelus Bell, like his martyred mentor and guru in all matters GB, in days of Yore in the years of Yune, Congo Crisis O Brain. Mark Finchley Fintan of the Campanile High Q: for he is the only known human bean-counter in captivity who (gasp) actually knowsthe words to the humming chorus of Madame Butterfly
Díol iontais dom dáríre, nár chasadh Finchley Fintan, an aoi-sheanmoirí cúthaileach i bpuilpid Ard Eaglais Phadraig Naofa, DUPlin cois na Life lofa, i mbun máirseáil go tuathalach le fogra ina ghlaic mar is dual do os comhair Cloigtheach mar agoid in aghaidh Bong, Bong, Boing Theachtaireacht an Aingil, dála a ghúrú i gcúrsaí GB, Congo Crisis O Brain. Tabhair aire do Finchely Fintan leis an SI atá chomh hard leis an Cloigtheach gurb é an t-aon duine faoi ghlas (!) a bhfuil na lirici do curfá dordain Bhean Féileacáin.
The key phrases in his note on the man without music, is, indubitably:
–Treason, stragatems and spoils.
Btw, one thing the Venetians are neither blind nor deaf about is the lady who has the beauty of a cold and lonely, lovely work of art does not preclude her having the voice of a raucuus cwow.
(see Snap 3)
Take a pair of sparkling eyes,
Hidden, ever and anon,
Take my counsel, happy man:
Act upon it if you can !
Rud amháin nach bhfuil muintir Venezia dall no bodhar air no faoi ná gur féidir go bhfuil glor chomh piachánach le préachán le bean atá chomh fuar, uaigneach agus álainn le saothar ealaíne.
Tog péire súl beoga
Faoi cheilt, de shíor
Tog mo chomhairle,
a dhuine sona
Déan dá réir, má thig leat !
That consistently superb satirical lyricist of The Gondoliers, William Schwenck Gilbert (another perennial favourite of the recently exterminated Christian Brothers) might well have had Mona Lisa in mind as well.
D’fhéadfadh Mona Lisa féin bheith ina spreagadh ag an lirici aorúil, aerach sin de Na Gondaloirí William Schwenck Gilbet Agus a raibh meas chomh buan sin ag na Bráithre Críostaí air, an tOrd a deineadh a chreimeadh san am nach bhfuil fos stairiúil.
(amaharc, Griangraf 3)
But, to return to ‘TSaS’
TSaS is text of course for Treasons, Strategems and Spoils
By a funny peculiar fluke it also serves as text in the Free Southern Stateen for:
-Taoiseach and Tánaiste.
Ach le filleadh ar ‘TsaS’.
Ar ndoigh, is é ‘TsaS’ an téacs ar Tréas, Uisce faoi thalamh agus Loit.
De thaisme aisteach feidhmíonn sé freisin mar théacs san Saor Stáitín o Dheas.
-Taoiseach agus Tánaiste.
This confusing text refers specifically to an idiocroncratic, once off and wholy contemporary notice box who suffers from, nay, but who suffers the rest of us to witness, on a Dail-y baiis, his own unique conflict of identity: one who imagtines he is both T and T (no tuts from T.UT. on T.a.T.) at the same time. Even while participaiting in Lanigan’s Ball he is simultaneously bawling in the Dail-td Variant. Which bawling invariably takes the verbal form of compulsory Sinn Kicking.
Ergo fan tuti, the reason why the Shinners wear compulsory pads, hence their nickname by the Sinn Guards, as ‘Pads’, which is short for Paddies. Of course, there have been Cowboy Variants of TSaS down the sorrowful decades (too much of a wrench to mench) but there has only ever been one Dr. Leo Varadkar (for it is uniquely he ! he who is more in his comfrot zone with Aldi than with Vivaldi).
Tagrann an téacs mearbhaill go speisialta don féinmháineach a chuireann iachall ar an gcuid eile againn, ar bhonn Dáil-td, a ghéarcheim, phearsanta fhéiniúlachta atá iontach sainiúil a fhulaingt: an té a shamhlaionn gurb é féin an T agus T (ni chloistear aon tututanan o TUT faoi TaT) go comhuaineach. Mar sin, fiú nuair a bhíonn sé páirteach sa Damhsa Dáileach sin, Bál Ui Lonagáin, ag an am gcéanna bíonn sé mbun babhta béice a chlaochlaíonn de shíor go babhta éigeantach ciceála i gcnamha lorga na Shinners.
Ergo fan tuti, an chúis go gcaitheann na Shinners pillíní cosanta sainordaitheacha, nach leagan gairid ‘pillíní ‘ de ‘phoilíní’. Ar ndoigh, bhí Leagan an Bhuachala Bo den TSaS le fáil thar na mblianta dolásacha (srac atá ro-phianmhar le lua) ach ní raibh riamh go dtí seo, ach an t-aon Dr. Leo Varadkar (mar is é go sainiúil atá ann ! é fein a mhothaíonn nios chompodai le Aldi seachas le Vivaldi, agus gan ach sin a rá).
His Romophobia was not backward coming forward last week when he blithely (hail to thee, Big Bird!) dismissed one of the two Martins , the Archbishop in Armagh, nonchalantly on the trivial matter of RC child-centred sacraments with a limp wave of his hand and with the nonchalant tossing off of a few throw-away words.
Ni raibh a Romofoibe ag lorg a chúil, ag dul ar aghaidh, an tseachtain seo caite nuair a rinne sé beag is fiú go neamhairdiúil do cheann den bherit Martin, an tArdeaspag in Ardmhaca, ar ábhar gan tábhacht a bhain le saicriminti paistelárnach le lagiarraht a dheanamh lena lámh a chroitheadh agus le cúpla focal tarcaisenach ar ala na huaire..
Let not there be, however stones of condemnation flung in his direction. The Doc is, after all, a (yawn) predictable product of King’s Hospital School , DUPlin 20 (a quare name but great stuff, as schools go in a, erm, Republc). No, not Queen’s Hospital School, for whatever reason. Possibly because it is forever Myred in the Post-Colonial future.
Ná déantar clocha cáinteacha a chaitheamh ina threo. Níl sa Doch, faoi dheireadh ach (meánfach) alumnus intuartha den Scoil Ospideél an Ri , DUPlin 20 (ainm aisteach ach fíor-éifeachtach i bPoblacht). Ní hea, ní Scoil Ospidéal na Banríona, cibé fáth atá leis no leí. Seans, b’fhéidir, go bhfuil an scoil ar maos sa Fáistineach Foirfe Iar-Choilíneach.
(See, Photo 4).
Venice is also known widely as ‘The City of Masks’ as masks have been a central feature of the Venice Carnival, which is celebrated in high style before coming to an abrupt but high end on Shrove Tuesday or Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras itself. No matter which time of the year one visits Venice one does not need to ask for directions for a shop whose task it is to trade in masks. This all means that the wearing of masks comes as second nature to the native Venetians.
Tugtar ‘Cathair na Mascanna’ no ‘Cathair na nAghaidheanna Fidil’ ar an gcathair cheolmhar seo de bhri gur cuid lárnach de Charnabhal Venezia iad na mascanna céanna, a dhéantar a cheiliúradh roimh an Carghas agus a thagann chun criche go tobann Máirt na hInide no an Mháirt Reamhar. Is cuma éen tráth den bhliain a thugtar cuairt ar Venezia bíonn na siopai iomadiúla a dhéanann an haghaidheann fidil a reic ar oscailt. Ciallaíonn seo go dtagann caitheamh na mascanna go nádúrtha le dúchasaigh na catharach.
The mask most commonly seen (on sale in the shops devoted to pre-Covid masks ) is the one known as ‘Il Medico della Peste’ and certaintly the one which makes the most vivid impact.
This distinctive bird-like mask has a long beak. It dates back to the time of Shakespeare (!) when Venice was paticularly prey to the Black Plague in 1600. (Oddly enough, I did not see any mask shop called ‘Black Plague Matters’) . When the mask acted as a kind of primitive gas mask filled with spices. The idea was to keep away bad smells, as they were thought to be the main cause of the disease. And of course, because birds did not seem to be affected by the plague this conferred a certain immunity on the mask wearer – hopefully !
Is é an masc is coitiainta a fheictear (ar díol sna siopaí ud tugtha do na mascanna réamh-Corona) is ea an ceann ar a dtugtar ‘Il Medico della Peste – Dochtúir na Plá. Is dearfa gurb é seo an masc is mo a théann i bhfeidhm ar fhiosracht an chuairteora.
Ta gob fada sainiuil ag an masc éanúil seo. ( Teann stair an mhaisc siar go haimsir Shakespere féin nuair a fuair An Phlá Dhubh an ceann is fearr ar Venezia i 1600. D’fheidhmigh an masc mar cineál gasmhaisc o na cianaoiseanna. Agus is é a speag an nua-sheanfhocal: Is faide gob na gé ná gob an ghandail.
-Pwaw ! What is that ghastly smell?
-Mehole fartin’, sir !
-Shaddap you face, you down at the bottom of the class !
Cad é an boladh uafásach sin?
-De Taoiseach, boy.
Druid do bheal, tusa thios ag bun an ranga !)
(see Snap 5 )
While passing the Palace beside the Basilica one found oneself involuntarily humming to oneself in this most musical of cities:
– How much is that window in the Doges?
Agus mé ag gabháil thar an Palás taobh leis an Basilica fuaireas féin ag cronán dom féin sa chathair cheolmhar seo:
–Cé mhéid ata ar an bhfuinneog sin sa Doges?
Little wonder the Bridge of Sighs, which is located on the other side of the Palace, lived up to its name.
Ní cúis iontais gur chruthaigh Droichead na nOsnaí atá suite ar an dtaobh thall den Phálás, go raibh a ainm tuillte go maith aige.
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