By the time this video is posted, I am a married man!
And I could not be more thrilled.
Having gotten engaged to my darling love Cyan in March of 2020, we have had quite the unusual
engagement in a co-ordinated world-wide cosplay of 1300s Florence, but we’re MARRIED NOW!
And to continue the festivities, I wanted to dedicate this video to my WIFE.
AH!
Amazing.
So, I did the most quintessentially me thing imaginable and gave the woman a research project.
It gets cute in a second, I swear.
I told her to she could choose any place or piece or architecture on earth, and I’d
make a video on it.
Now Cyan is no slouch at international travel, and strictly speaking she’s been to more
European countries than I have.
So just counting the places she’s seen herself, there’s a respectable assortment to choose
from.
And yet, her selection caught me entirely off-guard.
See, as part of a family trip a few years back to visit London, Paris, and Rome, they
added a brief little stopover in Venice.
So she got to see the Rialto Bridge, St Mark’s Basilica, and the gates of the Arsenale, but
time was short, and the one that got away was the Doge’s Palace.
And, in a twist I truly never could have seen coming, she asked that I devote this special
wedding video to Venice.
She for-real asked me to do this, unprompted, uncoerced — I know none of you are surprised,
but I sure as hell was.
But, in any case, here we are: a gift to my one love, wherein, I talk about my other love…
her words not mine.
SO, to better appreciate the Doge’s Palace, Let’s Do Some Architecture.
Situated in what might be one of the most historically-and-artistically significant
city blocks in all of Europe, this palace was the nerve-center of a Republic that lasted
for over one thousand straight years, and stretched from the northern Italian mainland
all across the islands of the eastern Mediterranean.
Since the founding of the city in the early medieval period to its conquest by Napoleon
in 1797, Venice has been a special case in world history, both politically and artistically.
I have said much more about that on many other occasions, so I will now exercise saintlike
restraint by focusing on the topic at hand.
Now, at the very beginning of Venice, Venice wasn’t exactly Venice.
The first real city in the lagoon was the island of Torcello, and in the mid-to-late
700s, the Republic’s government was run from the island of Malamocco.
But after the island was nearly captured in a double-invasion by Byzantines and Franks,
long story, the Duke or Doge relocated the government to inside the lagoon on the islands
of Rivo Alto, where he built himself a castle that he dearly hoped would be siege-proof.
Aesthetics were distinctly not a priority here, and this original fortress was similar
in look and feel to a Byzantine Castle: white and pink stone walls, crenelations, big ol’
moat on all 4 sides, sturdy as can be — quite literally good enough for government work
because in addition to being the Doge’s residence, the fortress held public offices,
the courts, prisons, and armories.
‘Cause really, why bother Defending The Republic if you don’t have cool-ass swords?
As centuries passed and Venice became one of the première merchant-republics in the
Mediterranean, the Doges decided it was appropriate to fancy up the place, and turn their Castello
into more of a Palazzo.
So in the 1170s Doge Ziani renovated the palace with new upper-level floors, colonnaded walls,
two fun pointy towers on the waterfront side, and some nice little walkways between the
lagoon and the palace, as well as between the palace and the newly-built St Mark’s
Basilica.
The Doge’s personal apartments were in the east wing by the canal, the courts and library
were on the west side by the piazza, and most of the government offices were in the south
wing facing the waterfront.
The core structure was the same as it had been, and they honestly do look pretty similar,
but these renovations signed a significant change in tone: The first building was a fortress
meant to protect the government from everyone else on earth, while this building was a statement,
heck, it was a taunt.
At a time when fancy Gothic architecture was on churches only and royal castles were for
safety rather than scenery, this was a secular palace dressed up with all the frills, hangin’
out right on the edge of the water in full view of the world, confident in the knowledge
that their enemies couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
In Medieval History, that’s about the closest you can get to declaring yourself immortal.
And as the next several centuries show… yeah, yeah they kinda were.
So naturally, over the next few centuries, Venice made it even prettier!
At the turn of the 1300s, the Great Council cemented its roster to a set list of noble
families, whose adult men could serve in the big assemblies and do all that cool Republic
stuff.
But these reforms meant the Maggior Consiglio gained hundreds of new members in a short
span of time, so in 1340 Doge Gradenigo expanded the south wing to fit a bigger council chamber.
And this is where the palace starts taking a shape we’ll recognize: a double-colonnade
of pointy gothic arches, and the upper half decorated with a fun white and pink marble
pattern.
A century later, Doge Foscari expanded the west wing of the palace with the exact same
style, so it’s got continuity, looks nice.
While he was at it, he built the very gothic Porta Della Carta to lead from the piazza
into the courtyard, and the other end of that tunnel got covered with a fancy triumphal
arch in the 1480s.
Just in time for the entire eastern wing of the palace to burn down in 1483.
This will become something of a trend.
Work soon began on covering the Doge’s surprise open-air bedroom with a replacement east-wing
built in the Renaissance’s hottest new style: Neoclassical.
Up until now, Venetian-Gothic architecture was all about pointed arches, those little
quatrefoil guys, and the brave inclusion of one accent color in addition to white (in
this case, pink).
The pitch for Neoclassical was basically “white marble only, make it look Roman”.
Unclear whether those looks would play nice or not.
Internal debate on aesthetics got sidelined in 1498 when lead architect Antonio Rizzo
was found guilty of embezzling funds from the construction budget, and ran away.
With the building not even half done, Pietro Lombardo was appointed to reassess the project.
He had the good manners to not commit budget fraud, but his updated design was far more
expensive than Rizzo’s original proposal.
So as far as the Republic’s finance office was concerned… eh, they broke even!
Construction on the neoclassical wing finally wrapped at the turn of the 1600s with the
infamous Bridge of Sighs, where prisoners would cross from holding cells in the palace
and take their last look at Venice before moving across the canal to the surprisingly
spiffy-looking prison.
Soon after, the other 2-and-a-half facades of the courtyard were partly-redone to match
the look of the big fancy neoclassical side, with a comparatively understated but incredibly
elegant 2-story colonnade.
And it might not look like much but this is actually pretty galaxy-brained: they take
the idea of the Classical Orders, where columns start simple and get fancier as they go up,
and they apply that to arches.
So the ground level has fully-rounded arches, Classic-Rome-style, but the second floor has
pointed arches, Venetian-Gothic-style.
And it’s so simple but it’s genius: taking the very-classical idea of go higher get fancier
and applying it to arches, while honoring the city’s gothic roots by putting the pointy-bits
on top.
Even when Venice was going full-Neoclassical, it was still Venetian-Gothic.
I find that very cool in an abstract sense, but it also looks so nice: the pale marble
plays with the shadows in the arches, and that contrast of black-and-white is clean.
The shapes are strong, the details blend in, it’s not any more complicated than it needs
to be — this right here is my favorite part of the whole damn palace.
Now, between crime-boy Rizzo, fancy-man Lombardo, and colonnade-extender Bartolomeo Manopola,
it’s unclear who exactly had this bright idea; but after staring at the walls for a
good couple hours and trudging through an Italian-only Wikipedia page for Manopola I
had to translate myself, I’m inclined to say that Lombardo had the vision and Manopola
saw it through.
That’s not relevant to the history, but the question was Really bothering me so I
needed you to know.
The last changes to the exterior came after a fire in the south and east wings in 1577,
and famed neoclassical architect Andrea Palladio suggested they tear down the entire thing
and re-do it.
Now this is the only time you’ll hear me say this: Thank God nobody listened to Palladio.
They re-did it as it was, instead indulging their extravagant whims with the inside of
the palace.
As a result of distressingly frequent fires, the interior is made of work from the 15 and
1600s, when Blindingly-Golden Baroque was the trend du jour.
It’s shiny, splendid, and way too complicated.
With so much going on, the rooms quickly become disorienting, but, if you zoom into individual
works, the interior of the Doge’s palace contains some of the best art you’ll find
anywhere in Europe, with masterpieces from the most celebrated artists in Venetian history.
And subtlety was not their goal: when you hang a 22x7 meter Tintoretto painting called
Paradiso on the back wall of the Grand Council room right below a depiction of Venice becoming
a literal God, the point is abundantly clear.
And all this Fance had a political dimension too, wowing foreign diplomats who came to
do business with Venice.
The Doge’s apartments are an extraordinary showcase of power and wealth, leading visitors
up a gold staircase and through a shield hall, a map room, and my personal favorite: the
Scarlet Room, which is not painted scarlet but is apparently called that because the
Doge’s councilors wore scarlet robes when they hung out in there.
This alone makes this the best palace in the world because, to my knowledge, it is the
only palace with a room purpose built for matching pajama parties.
Ahem, His Highness the King of England requests an audience with the Doge, but first wishes
for a cup of hot cocoa and your most ginormous pillow, that his highness may take up arms
against the King of France, to bap him in his annoying face and mess up his prissy-boy
hair.”
— an encounter I would imagine has happened at least twice.
In addition to the Doge’s Apartments, the palace housed every conceivable function of
the state: the Great Council, the Senate, the Council of 10, the Doge’s cabinet, the
Voting Hall, the courts, foreign affairs offices, navy command centers — it was the entire
governing machinery of the Republic.
Sure it’s called the Doge’s Palace because he lived there, but in function, this was
the Palace of the Republic, another beautiful twist of Venetian history that is a contradiction
but also makes total sense.
And I just love this place it’s so completely Venetian in every aspect of its character.
The building’s history is intrinsically bound to the story of the Republic as a whole,
politically, artistically, and, by conspicuous omission, militarily.
AND, one of the most famous churches in world history, St Mark’s Basilica, is right there.
I’ve only mentioned it twice, this whole time, and it’s in the background of half
the pictures I’ve been showing you.
It might as well be the North-Wing of the palace!
So, all of that, to say: happy wedding to my darling wife Cyan, I cannot wait to take
you here one day.
Thank you so much for watching!
Now you see, my genius and dastardly strategy is that if I keep coming up with new series
ideas, I have valid and justifiable reasons to go back and talk about Venice and Florence
again.
I mean, strictly speaking, I haven’t made a video that’s just about the duomo, but
NOW the door’s wide open.
So we’ll see where we go from here, and I’ll see you in the next video.