very nice!!!
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Notturno Veneziano
- Thread starter l'bogo
- Start date
-
- Tags
- dark fantasy mystery
Thanks Bogo - I've edited those into Gabriella's post now as thumbnails in place of the embedded pics,
I think everybody should be able to view them now (they may take a while to open, they're very large MB size I think),
and I've deleted the posts referring to the error message.
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
Thank you very much!
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
If you understand Italian, you can read the story downloading the pdf from:The story continues in a beautifully mysterious way. You have a very good writing style for this story, which comes out even in the translation. I imagine it is even better in the original.
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/notturno-veneziano.6603/post-366220
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/notturno-veneziano.6603/post-382900
Yes it isThe story continues in a beautifully mysterious way. You have a very good writing style for this story, which comes out even in the translation. I imagine it is even better in the original.
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
But the mystery remains, who will be my Romeo? Frau Helga has whispered to me that he is a 'star', a Sicilan - and he has the reputation of being a womaniser.... (sciupafemmine – I think that’s right? It seems it can also mean a wimp, but that sounds less exciting for Gaby!) But when will he arrive? I can’t wait to meet my lover!
It's been a terrible week, six, seven, eight hours of rehearsals, I’ve had to resort to the masseuse's care three times, my muscles were so tense and aching. Infinite repetition of movements, sequences and scenes tried and tried again - but only in this way do you get to perfection, movements that are sweet, not jumpy, as in some classical ballets, where irritation arises from continuous repetition of the endless figures of the dance.
I’ve fallen in love with Madame Chloé! I can’t stand a moment without her, my eyes look for her everywhere, she has bewitched me with her magic art! But the shadow of the mysterious Romeo - not even a shadow – held back from me, I don’t know where or why, I’m beginning to grow impatient...
Saturday and Sunday
Two days of rest. Madame is off to do perform some of her other engagements. Meanwhile, in a free moment on Thursday, I’ve been to the notary, accompanied by my lawyer, to sign the documents for the inheritance. Now I have the keys to the many properties of my dear Vio. And the bank accounts, full to bursting!
I’m taking advantage of the architect, who’s always caring and helpful – hopeful, perhaps - to go to Mestre. I have to cancel the tenancy of my small apartment, pack the few things I possess there in a pair of suitcases. I shall take it all to Vio’s place in Mestre, my driving licence is still suspended, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to get it back.
I open the front door on the street, in the mailbox there’s a couple of bills to pay, for the lighting and the gas, nothing else of significance, just adverts, junk mail that I immediately put in the paper recycling box left there by the caretaker.
With trepidation I open the door of my apartment. I hope there are no surprises - no, there is nothing on the floor. My heart is beating strongly at the thought of the last time I was here, with Vio, of our frugal dinner together, of our night of love, the penultimate one...
I look for the suitcases stowed in the closet. I fold my few clothes and bed-linen, arranging them neatly in the first suitcase. Under the pretext of having the filled-up suitcase put into the car-trunk, I send the architect downstairs, I need this time to recover the hidden envelope with the photographs of that night with Baba...
Fuck! There’s nothing the envelope! Shit! Someone’s been in! And they didn’t rummage through my things, they went straight to them. But how did they know where they were hidden? I look further, in the interior of the chest of drawers, they’re not there, they’ve gone... I’m siezed with panic - what now?
It's been a terrible week, six, seven, eight hours of rehearsals, I’ve had to resort to the masseuse's care three times, my muscles were so tense and aching. Infinite repetition of movements, sequences and scenes tried and tried again - but only in this way do you get to perfection, movements that are sweet, not jumpy, as in some classical ballets, where irritation arises from continuous repetition of the endless figures of the dance.
I’ve fallen in love with Madame Chloé! I can’t stand a moment without her, my eyes look for her everywhere, she has bewitched me with her magic art! But the shadow of the mysterious Romeo - not even a shadow – held back from me, I don’t know where or why, I’m beginning to grow impatient...
Saturday and Sunday
Two days of rest. Madame is off to do perform some of her other engagements. Meanwhile, in a free moment on Thursday, I’ve been to the notary, accompanied by my lawyer, to sign the documents for the inheritance. Now I have the keys to the many properties of my dear Vio. And the bank accounts, full to bursting!
I’m taking advantage of the architect, who’s always caring and helpful – hopeful, perhaps - to go to Mestre. I have to cancel the tenancy of my small apartment, pack the few things I possess there in a pair of suitcases. I shall take it all to Vio’s place in Mestre, my driving licence is still suspended, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to get it back.
I open the front door on the street, in the mailbox there’s a couple of bills to pay, for the lighting and the gas, nothing else of significance, just adverts, junk mail that I immediately put in the paper recycling box left there by the caretaker.
With trepidation I open the door of my apartment. I hope there are no surprises - no, there is nothing on the floor. My heart is beating strongly at the thought of the last time I was here, with Vio, of our frugal dinner together, of our night of love, the penultimate one...
I look for the suitcases stowed in the closet. I fold my few clothes and bed-linen, arranging them neatly in the first suitcase. Under the pretext of having the filled-up suitcase put into the car-trunk, I send the architect downstairs, I need this time to recover the hidden envelope with the photographs of that night with Baba...
Fuck! There’s nothing the envelope! Shit! Someone’s been in! And they didn’t rummage through my things, they went straight to them. But how did they know where they were hidden? I look further, in the interior of the chest of drawers, they’re not there, they’ve gone... I’m siezed with panic - what now?
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
As usual many many thanks to l'bogo and Eulalia, who do all the work!
______________________________________________________________
'Something wrong? You seem a little upset...' asks the architect, who has just come back in.
'No... you know... a little emotion ... memories ... leaving the place where I’ve been living, even if it was a short time... I feel like crying ...'
'I understand.'
(Like fuck you do! You don’t understand anything, you can’t understand... and I can’t tell you anything, I feel like crying, but with anger, someone’s been into my flat, and they didn’t touch anything, except to take away that damned envelope I ought to have burned it straightaway... and I can’t even go to the police to report the theft, what would I say? 'Someone came into my flat, without forcing the lock, they didn’t touch anything... just stole my panties ... no, just an envelope that I’d kept hidden in the back of a chest of drawers. I’d be asked if there were any valuables in it, I could say yes... but I couldn’t say there were pictures of me naked playing sado-maso-lesbo games with a girl I only know by a fantasy name, and in the house of a Countess whose name I don’t know, and I do not know where the house is...’ At the very least, they’d take me for a lunatic or deranged! Shit, shit, shit!)
Pretending to wipe away a tear, I pack the second suitcase. The bell rings - it must be the landlady, I’ve arranged the appointment with her to return the keys. Her pleasantries and condolences are wasted, after a bit of sickly little theatre, I ask the owner if anyone has come looking for me while I’ve been in Venice. She replies that the meter readers had come, to record my usage before cancelling the supply contracts - but the meters aren’t in the apartment, they’re in the backyard, so, apart from the landlady herself, whom I can trust, no-one could have entered the place using the keys.
This apartment seems to me to be cursed, haunted... I lose the car keys that morning, then I knock down the Notary. I return home after the three days spent with the Countess, and an envelope appears with the photos of me naked with Baba. I spend a night here with Vio, and the next day he’s killed by a rogue hit-an-run driver. I come back home, and the blasted envelope is gone - and they knew where it was! If they didn’t come in through the door, they must have come through the wall like ectoplasm!
I can’t wait to leave, and as quick as possible. I return the keys to the landlady as if they were burning my hand. She doesn’t spare us further useless pleasantries.
I just hope nothing happens to this kind architect who’s escorting me. In truth, nothing has happened to me - on the contrary: I’ve a role now that can bring me fame, I’ve a ring that carries me away to look at it, I’ve suddenly become so rich it will take months to work out just how much I’ve got, if I can get my head round it even then... It seems to me as if I’m living the story of Cinderella, with a pleasant variation: Cinderella had to put up with the Prince for the rest of her days, while I am free as the air, I’ve no Princes to endure (usually with Princes you end up wearing the cuckold’s crown!) For me, it doesn’t seem that everything’s going so badly.
'Look well in the rear-view mirror before manoeuvering.'
The architect stares at me, mystified.
______________________________________________________________
'Something wrong? You seem a little upset...' asks the architect, who has just come back in.
'No... you know... a little emotion ... memories ... leaving the place where I’ve been living, even if it was a short time... I feel like crying ...'
'I understand.'
(Like fuck you do! You don’t understand anything, you can’t understand... and I can’t tell you anything, I feel like crying, but with anger, someone’s been into my flat, and they didn’t touch anything, except to take away that damned envelope I ought to have burned it straightaway... and I can’t even go to the police to report the theft, what would I say? 'Someone came into my flat, without forcing the lock, they didn’t touch anything... just stole my panties ... no, just an envelope that I’d kept hidden in the back of a chest of drawers. I’d be asked if there were any valuables in it, I could say yes... but I couldn’t say there were pictures of me naked playing sado-maso-lesbo games with a girl I only know by a fantasy name, and in the house of a Countess whose name I don’t know, and I do not know where the house is...’ At the very least, they’d take me for a lunatic or deranged! Shit, shit, shit!)
Pretending to wipe away a tear, I pack the second suitcase. The bell rings - it must be the landlady, I’ve arranged the appointment with her to return the keys. Her pleasantries and condolences are wasted, after a bit of sickly little theatre, I ask the owner if anyone has come looking for me while I’ve been in Venice. She replies that the meter readers had come, to record my usage before cancelling the supply contracts - but the meters aren’t in the apartment, they’re in the backyard, so, apart from the landlady herself, whom I can trust, no-one could have entered the place using the keys.
This apartment seems to me to be cursed, haunted... I lose the car keys that morning, then I knock down the Notary. I return home after the three days spent with the Countess, and an envelope appears with the photos of me naked with Baba. I spend a night here with Vio, and the next day he’s killed by a rogue hit-an-run driver. I come back home, and the blasted envelope is gone - and they knew where it was! If they didn’t come in through the door, they must have come through the wall like ectoplasm!
I can’t wait to leave, and as quick as possible. I return the keys to the landlady as if they were burning my hand. She doesn’t spare us further useless pleasantries.
I just hope nothing happens to this kind architect who’s escorting me. In truth, nothing has happened to me - on the contrary: I’ve a role now that can bring me fame, I’ve a ring that carries me away to look at it, I’ve suddenly become so rich it will take months to work out just how much I’ve got, if I can get my head round it even then... It seems to me as if I’m living the story of Cinderella, with a pleasant variation: Cinderella had to put up with the Prince for the rest of her days, while I am free as the air, I’ve no Princes to endure (usually with Princes you end up wearing the cuckold’s crown!) For me, it doesn’t seem that everything’s going so badly.
'Look well in the rear-view mirror before manoeuvering.'
The architect stares at me, mystified.
Last edited by a moderator:
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Many many thanks and compliments to l'bogo and Eulalia, who do all the work!
________________________________________________________________
Vio’s place is on the opposite side of Mestre. I climb the stairs with trepidation, the memories come back to me of that dreadful night when I went to recover the suit to dress my love for his final journey. Everything is in good order, with a nice clean smell. The maid who has been to tidy up the apartment has left the suitcases in the cupboard., I go down immediately, closing the door.
It takes only ten minutes by car to get to the Piazzale Roma. I glimpse before me images of that last trip with Vio. I look for the grey heron probing the muddy bottom with his long beak in search of shellfish, he too is gone. I’m trying to dispel my fears. I need now somebody close, an arm around my shoulders to protect me.
We must make haste, the water is already lapping the stones on the quays, it will soon rise, for this evening and tomorrow high water is expected, exceptionally high tides, almost half the city will be flooded. They will be magical evenings, when, from a Piazza San Marco invaded by the waters of the Lagoon, the illuminated Basilica will emerge, and will be reflected on the liquid surface as in a mirror, creating a surreal world, enchanted, magical as in a fairy tale. We decide to dine together at the GastrOsteria del Gambero Rosso, which overlooks the Calle Larga dell'Ascensione behind the building of the Correr Museum, near the passage between Piazza San Marco and the Bocca di Piazza.
I am curious to try the fruits of the metamorphosis of this restaurant into a ‘gastrosteria’, claiming to offer a superior gastronomy that, in a moment of crisis, has been refreshed and renewed by encountering the new and intriguing philosophy of 'bistronomie', born in neighbouring France. The two cultures merge together in the person-centred, holistic approach of ‘GastrOsteria’, which brings with it a well-crafted blend of a welcoming atmosphere, a relaxed ambience, creative seasonal cuisine and, not least, suiting everyone’s pocket.
A secluded table for two, a graceful candlebra gently illuminates the quietest corner of the restaurant.
Today they are offering 'La Cucina del Senza', a ‘free-from’ menu without fat, salt or sugar:
Antipasti
Warm carpaccio of lamb (thinly sliced, raw), fresh chicory and coffee caramel
- Franciacorta Noble Rosé
Primo piatto
Wholewheat flour tortelli stuffed with cream of ricotta, spinach and hazelnuts
- Chardonnay Trevigiano 2016
Secondo piatto
Salmon, lightly seared, on a fondue of crunchy endive, robiola cheese and minced anchovies
- Grillo Bianco 2014
Dessert
To begin with, black and white chocolate, then raspberries and cereal in a delicate mint jelly
- Bianco di Quistello “Dolce del Vicariato”
The wines are served by the glass, without having to buy whole bottles, a brilliant way to savour regional specialties without causing damage to one’s purse.
The clientele is refined, couples no longer newly-wed, needing to strengthening ties that have worn a little loose. La proprietaria, who is also a chef, pampers us with her courteous, amicable greeting, proclaiming to us the merits of her delights, waiting patiently for our judgment on every bite and every sip, suggesting food for thought. We are in no hurry, the night is all for us. And so is tomorrow.
Good prospects for spending a peaceful night's sleep disappear when darkness comes. During the day a thousand creative activities make the hours flow smoothly, there is never enough time, always something to be done that is still in the air... but then, with the darkness, all my confidence crumbles...
I become more and more restless as the hands of the clock edge forward and the fateful time of night approaches. Fear of falling asleep, and of losing my ability to control the situation, fear of not being able to escape from the fear, of not being able to defend myself, I'm so young... my gloom is turning into pain...
The reassurance of those around me, trying to convince me that my fears are just imaginary, is no help, neither hugs nor caresses nor kisses can lift me from the state of deep depression into which I’m plunged all the time. Each time I close my eyes, the terror leaps powerfully upon me, and then my tears fall unbidden, first silently and then gradually in a crescendo that leads to uninterrupted crying, with shuddering and sobbing. This is how my insomnia begins. I'm a girl scared of life...
Only the first light of dawn can bring a little warmth into my chilly night. My wide-open eyes catch a glimpse of that light, and hope is reborn. I can do nothing but let the night-fears grow - that fear seems to me to be well-founded - I should never have fallen asleep, I should never have believed the promises, I should never have trusted them. I closed my eyes and now I'll have to deal with my insomnia forever...
I always wake up at dawn, it's still dark outside, the street lamps faintly illuminate the deserted streets, outside is silence, everything seems quiet. Every time day dawns, I look for my pillow to hug to my chest, to stifle my sobbing.
Today it's the start of spring, but the trees have flowers of ice, as if the climate has decided to change its course. Even in me, a metamorphosis is ever more apparent: like from a chrysalis to a butterfly, not just in my outer shell, but deep within. I’m pregnant with my character, Giulietta is being born in me, it’s as if Madame Chloé had impregnated me – but really, Giulietta is taking over my body and my soul, overwhelmingly, bringing a transfiguration. Madame Chloé has explained to me that Giulietta was not an innocent maiden but an intense and passionate woman, and that in her desire for Romeo there was nothing adolescent. For me it is epoch-making, they call it an axial era, when the alignment of the universe and of history bends, it cracks, both inside and outside us.
________________________________________________________________
Vio’s place is on the opposite side of Mestre. I climb the stairs with trepidation, the memories come back to me of that dreadful night when I went to recover the suit to dress my love for his final journey. Everything is in good order, with a nice clean smell. The maid who has been to tidy up the apartment has left the suitcases in the cupboard., I go down immediately, closing the door.
It takes only ten minutes by car to get to the Piazzale Roma. I glimpse before me images of that last trip with Vio. I look for the grey heron probing the muddy bottom with his long beak in search of shellfish, he too is gone. I’m trying to dispel my fears. I need now somebody close, an arm around my shoulders to protect me.
We must make haste, the water is already lapping the stones on the quays, it will soon rise, for this evening and tomorrow high water is expected, exceptionally high tides, almost half the city will be flooded. They will be magical evenings, when, from a Piazza San Marco invaded by the waters of the Lagoon, the illuminated Basilica will emerge, and will be reflected on the liquid surface as in a mirror, creating a surreal world, enchanted, magical as in a fairy tale. We decide to dine together at the GastrOsteria del Gambero Rosso, which overlooks the Calle Larga dell'Ascensione behind the building of the Correr Museum, near the passage between Piazza San Marco and the Bocca di Piazza.
I am curious to try the fruits of the metamorphosis of this restaurant into a ‘gastrosteria’, claiming to offer a superior gastronomy that, in a moment of crisis, has been refreshed and renewed by encountering the new and intriguing philosophy of 'bistronomie', born in neighbouring France. The two cultures merge together in the person-centred, holistic approach of ‘GastrOsteria’, which brings with it a well-crafted blend of a welcoming atmosphere, a relaxed ambience, creative seasonal cuisine and, not least, suiting everyone’s pocket.
A secluded table for two, a graceful candlebra gently illuminates the quietest corner of the restaurant.
Today they are offering 'La Cucina del Senza', a ‘free-from’ menu without fat, salt or sugar:
Antipasti
Warm carpaccio of lamb (thinly sliced, raw), fresh chicory and coffee caramel
- Franciacorta Noble Rosé
Primo piatto
Wholewheat flour tortelli stuffed with cream of ricotta, spinach and hazelnuts
- Chardonnay Trevigiano 2016
Secondo piatto
Salmon, lightly seared, on a fondue of crunchy endive, robiola cheese and minced anchovies
- Grillo Bianco 2014
Dessert
To begin with, black and white chocolate, then raspberries and cereal in a delicate mint jelly
- Bianco di Quistello “Dolce del Vicariato”
The wines are served by the glass, without having to buy whole bottles, a brilliant way to savour regional specialties without causing damage to one’s purse.
The clientele is refined, couples no longer newly-wed, needing to strengthening ties that have worn a little loose. La proprietaria, who is also a chef, pampers us with her courteous, amicable greeting, proclaiming to us the merits of her delights, waiting patiently for our judgment on every bite and every sip, suggesting food for thought. We are in no hurry, the night is all for us. And so is tomorrow.
Good prospects for spending a peaceful night's sleep disappear when darkness comes. During the day a thousand creative activities make the hours flow smoothly, there is never enough time, always something to be done that is still in the air... but then, with the darkness, all my confidence crumbles...
I become more and more restless as the hands of the clock edge forward and the fateful time of night approaches. Fear of falling asleep, and of losing my ability to control the situation, fear of not being able to escape from the fear, of not being able to defend myself, I'm so young... my gloom is turning into pain...
The reassurance of those around me, trying to convince me that my fears are just imaginary, is no help, neither hugs nor caresses nor kisses can lift me from the state of deep depression into which I’m plunged all the time. Each time I close my eyes, the terror leaps powerfully upon me, and then my tears fall unbidden, first silently and then gradually in a crescendo that leads to uninterrupted crying, with shuddering and sobbing. This is how my insomnia begins. I'm a girl scared of life...
Only the first light of dawn can bring a little warmth into my chilly night. My wide-open eyes catch a glimpse of that light, and hope is reborn. I can do nothing but let the night-fears grow - that fear seems to me to be well-founded - I should never have fallen asleep, I should never have believed the promises, I should never have trusted them. I closed my eyes and now I'll have to deal with my insomnia forever...
I always wake up at dawn, it's still dark outside, the street lamps faintly illuminate the deserted streets, outside is silence, everything seems quiet. Every time day dawns, I look for my pillow to hug to my chest, to stifle my sobbing.
Today it's the start of spring, but the trees have flowers of ice, as if the climate has decided to change its course. Even in me, a metamorphosis is ever more apparent: like from a chrysalis to a butterfly, not just in my outer shell, but deep within. I’m pregnant with my character, Giulietta is being born in me, it’s as if Madame Chloé had impregnated me – but really, Giulietta is taking over my body and my soul, overwhelmingly, bringing a transfiguration. Madame Chloé has explained to me that Giulietta was not an innocent maiden but an intense and passionate woman, and that in her desire for Romeo there was nothing adolescent. For me it is epoch-making, they call it an axial era, when the alignment of the universe and of history bends, it cracks, both inside and outside us.
Attachments
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Sunday morning.
From the locked case, the old leather briefacse that the Notary handed me, I draw out and read the list of properties that I have inherited from Vio. Today I want to look at them from the outside, before I visit them with the accountant and the engineer who takes care of their maintenance. I copy the names and addresses:
Palazzo Zane, sestiere di San Polo, rio de San Zan Degola,
Casino Zane, sestiere di San Polo, rio de San Giacomo da l'Orio,
Ca' Zane, sestiere di San Polo, Canal Grande.
These will do for now, the others are further out, in the sestieri of Cannaregio and Santa Croce, and certainly less important.
I take the phone and call my knight. Last night I found an excuse not to sleep with him. I still do not want to betray Vio.
'Hello, architect! You promised me a ride on the Grand Canal, you know all the buildings of Venice as if the place were all yours. If you’ll come and get me we can go today, now that this pale sun has come out ... '
'How much time do you give me to get to you?'
'At once Be here in two shakes!'
‘I’m coming!'
I see him approaching behind the window-shutters, I will make him wait, but not for long...
‘Have you woken up well?'
'I could have slept all day.'
‘Off we go then!'
Like a pair of tourists, fresh honeymooners, hand in hand, we walk towards the Piazza San Marco. We pause for a quick breakfast at 'Caffetteria dei Mori', a hot croissant and cappuccino, then a good espresso to give the necessary boost of energy. At the vaporetto landing-stage on the Riva degli Schiavoni, we buy tickets for the round trip, San Marco - Santa Lucia. The vaporetto is almost empty, the tourists who arrive in Venice do the route the other way around, from the station to the Basilica.
We sit on the left, the buildings are in full sunlight on the canalside that we shall see, passing meanwhile on the right the Palazzo Ducale, the Piazzetta del Molo di San Marco, the Palazzo della Zecca, and the Giardini Reali. The entrance to the Grand Canal is marked by the Punta della Dogana, to our left.
My guide seems to be one of those devices, like old cell phones, that they give you when you visit museums: press a button, see the picture and listen, it says everything, the name of the building, the year it was built, the name of the architect, changes over time, the history of the owners, illustrious guests who have stayed there, important events that occurred within its walls, furniture, paintings ... after five minutes you’d like to switch off and just be enchanted by the wonderful architecture, dreaming of how it would have been in the past, as in the paintings of Canaletto, the boats of the time, the people in their ordinary clothes, the life of the docks and the markets, the rich men and ladies with their colorful clothes, their feathered hats, the lives of the lords and their servants behind those windows ... only my architect cannot turn off, there is no button marked 'off' – so, patience, I shall learn bit... And now,the Church of the Madonna della Salute, the Palazzo Genovese, the Palazzo Salviati, the Cà Dario - the cursed house – the Palazzo Venier that houses the Guggenheim Collection, the Palazzo da Mula Morosini, the Palazzo Barbarigo, the Campo San Vio – Vio, you were already a saint before you died, my poor love! The Palazzo Loredan, ... Accademia Bridge, ... Palazzo Contarini, ... Cà Rezzonico, ... Palazzo Giustinian, Cà Foscari, ... Palazzo Balbi, ... Palazzo Tiepolo, Palazzo Pisani Moretta, .. Palazzo Grimani Marcello, ... Palazzo Bernardo ...
'No! Wait, you missed one! Which palazzo is that one, with all the windows shuttered?’
'Oh, yeah - that's Cà Zane! It's closed now, the owner has died.’
'Let's get off! I want to look at it closely.’
'Why are you interested?'
'I can’t explain it to you now, but we'll get off at the next vaporetto stop.'
'It will stop over there at San Silvestro.'
'How do we get there?'
'From the landing stage we take the Calle Sbianchesini, left into Calle de Mezo, across the bridge, then along the Calle dei Meloni to the Sotoportego de la Madoneta, then we carry on, turning left into Calle de la Madonna.’
'It doesn’t seem too complicated.'
'No, we’ll arrive at the side entrance, between Cà Zane and Palazzo Bernardo.'
From the locked case, the old leather briefacse that the Notary handed me, I draw out and read the list of properties that I have inherited from Vio. Today I want to look at them from the outside, before I visit them with the accountant and the engineer who takes care of their maintenance. I copy the names and addresses:
Palazzo Zane, sestiere di San Polo, rio de San Zan Degola,
Casino Zane, sestiere di San Polo, rio de San Giacomo da l'Orio,
Ca' Zane, sestiere di San Polo, Canal Grande.
These will do for now, the others are further out, in the sestieri of Cannaregio and Santa Croce, and certainly less important.
I take the phone and call my knight. Last night I found an excuse not to sleep with him. I still do not want to betray Vio.
'Hello, architect! You promised me a ride on the Grand Canal, you know all the buildings of Venice as if the place were all yours. If you’ll come and get me we can go today, now that this pale sun has come out ... '
'How much time do you give me to get to you?'
'At once Be here in two shakes!'
‘I’m coming!'
I see him approaching behind the window-shutters, I will make him wait, but not for long...
‘Have you woken up well?'
'I could have slept all day.'
‘Off we go then!'
Like a pair of tourists, fresh honeymooners, hand in hand, we walk towards the Piazza San Marco. We pause for a quick breakfast at 'Caffetteria dei Mori', a hot croissant and cappuccino, then a good espresso to give the necessary boost of energy. At the vaporetto landing-stage on the Riva degli Schiavoni, we buy tickets for the round trip, San Marco - Santa Lucia. The vaporetto is almost empty, the tourists who arrive in Venice do the route the other way around, from the station to the Basilica.
We sit on the left, the buildings are in full sunlight on the canalside that we shall see, passing meanwhile on the right the Palazzo Ducale, the Piazzetta del Molo di San Marco, the Palazzo della Zecca, and the Giardini Reali. The entrance to the Grand Canal is marked by the Punta della Dogana, to our left.
My guide seems to be one of those devices, like old cell phones, that they give you when you visit museums: press a button, see the picture and listen, it says everything, the name of the building, the year it was built, the name of the architect, changes over time, the history of the owners, illustrious guests who have stayed there, important events that occurred within its walls, furniture, paintings ... after five minutes you’d like to switch off and just be enchanted by the wonderful architecture, dreaming of how it would have been in the past, as in the paintings of Canaletto, the boats of the time, the people in their ordinary clothes, the life of the docks and the markets, the rich men and ladies with their colorful clothes, their feathered hats, the lives of the lords and their servants behind those windows ... only my architect cannot turn off, there is no button marked 'off' – so, patience, I shall learn bit... And now,the Church of the Madonna della Salute, the Palazzo Genovese, the Palazzo Salviati, the Cà Dario - the cursed house – the Palazzo Venier that houses the Guggenheim Collection, the Palazzo da Mula Morosini, the Palazzo Barbarigo, the Campo San Vio – Vio, you were already a saint before you died, my poor love! The Palazzo Loredan, ... Accademia Bridge, ... Palazzo Contarini, ... Cà Rezzonico, ... Palazzo Giustinian, Cà Foscari, ... Palazzo Balbi, ... Palazzo Tiepolo, Palazzo Pisani Moretta, .. Palazzo Grimani Marcello, ... Palazzo Bernardo ...
'No! Wait, you missed one! Which palazzo is that one, with all the windows shuttered?’
'Oh, yeah - that's Cà Zane! It's closed now, the owner has died.’
'Let's get off! I want to look at it closely.’
'Why are you interested?'
'I can’t explain it to you now, but we'll get off at the next vaporetto stop.'
'It will stop over there at San Silvestro.'
'How do we get there?'
'From the landing stage we take the Calle Sbianchesini, left into Calle de Mezo, across the bridge, then along the Calle dei Meloni to the Sotoportego de la Madoneta, then we carry on, turning left into Calle de la Madonna.’
'It doesn’t seem too complicated.'
'No, we’ll arrive at the side entrance, between Cà Zane and Palazzo Bernardo.'
