David Whitley tracks down the ghosts of doges, Marco Polo’s wife and madmen whilst walking alongside the canals at night
Venice by night
Loneliness can sometimes be a good thing. Granted, this outlook wouldn’t usually apply to walking around the back streets of a cold, strange city in the early hours of the morning, but Venice always has been a little bit different.
In many cities, things start to get going after midnight. Stroll around and you’ll be surrounded by sound; the music, the chatter, the laughter, the staggering footsteps of those spilling in and out of bars. Not so in Venice, a city with a notorious lack of nightlife. At one or two in the morning, you have only the ghosts for company. And, boy, are there plenty of ghosts.
Ghosthunting
Tracking them down is the pretext for this amble through the dimly lit passageways of Canareggio and Castello, two of the sestiere (or districts) that make up the city.
And it’s the perfect night for it. A dead Wednesday, the hordes safely tucked away in their hotel beds, the lagoon having whipped up a mist so thick that the shoes making those soft clack-thuds are little more than a hazy apparition.
Dodgy Doges
The Campo de SS Giovanni e Paolo somehow manages to combine the look of a wide open space with an intense feeling of claustrophobia. Dominated by the huge church that gives the square its name, a chilling howl blows across on the bleakest of nights.
It may simply be the wind, but it could also be one of the three Doges (old Venetian head honchos) that supposedly haunt the area. There’s the treacherous ruler who aimed to betray the Serene Republic, and now walks with his severed head between his legs.
There’s also the spectre of Enrico Dandolo, who roams the night with burning coals in his eyes as punishment for the atrocities he committed in the Crusades.
Finally there is Tommaso Mocenigo, the silent Doge who walks round with a stream of paper saying: “Veritas” cascading from his mouth, still aggrieved that no-one would listen to his prophecies of Venice’s downfall.
All three have been ‘seen’ on their desperate searches of the square, looking for each other, though with a fog that thick, it’s no wonder that the hunt still goes on.
Scuola di San Marco
Next to the church is the Scuola di San Marco, a perfect spot in which to sit on the steps and take in the occasionally-interrupted stillness. Look carefully by the entrance, and you can see the faint etching of a man carrying a beating heart in his hand.
Legend has it that this was scratched in by a homeless man sheltering under the porch, who watched a crazed man, having just stabbed his mother and ripped out her heart, throw himself in the canal. The canal is more restless than most, although whether the constant rippling is due to tortured supernatural forces is open to debate.
Walking the waterways
It’s worth watching the canals at this time of night, though, as they’re something else when there’s no-one else around. The barely-there lighting only allows for flickers of reflection. Ambling past tethered gondolas, their polished shine reduced to a glimmer, is a magical experience.
And, more to the point, it’s your magical experience. With the streets deserted, it is possible to have one of the world’s most touristy cities entirely to yourself. Ghosts or no ghosts, that’s a fairly compelling reason to take on the night shift.
The cloak of darkness somehow reveals more of the city’s colour – the delicate shades, rather than the bright, alluring dazzle. Remember that point where you started to taste the flavours of a good wine, rather than just guzzling it down? Well, it’s along those lines.
Teatro Malibran
The next stop on the ghost safari is the Teatro Malibran, reached through one of those mazes of covered passageways that characterise Venice. The front isn’t all that spectacular – it looks far too spruced up and modern for the city, and the 24-hour reception of the square’s hotel ruins the quiet atmospherics – but the interest lies round the back anyway.
Past the poster promoting upcoming Britten, Rossini and Beethoven recitals is an unobtrusive plaque. It says that the building once belonged to legendary explorer Marco Polo.
It was also home to Marco Polo’s bride, a Chinese princess who became a virtual prisoner. Looked down upon for not being Christian, Hao Dong resigned herself to staying at home in a bid to not cause trouble.
One day it all got too much; she set fire to herself and plunged from a top story window into the canal below. The eerie whispering sound breaking the peace is supposedly the princess singing.
The first ghetto
The haunting is of a different, more resonant kind when padding through the puddles of Canareggio. In the 16th century, the city’s Jews were forced to all live in the same area, an idea that had spread from Spain.
The name of that area was The Ghetto, and the Venice has the ignominious honour of giving that name to the world as a result.
One look at the shop windows is all you need to know that there is still a huge Jewish presence here, but when the shutters are down and raindrops are plopping onto scaffolding and boat tarpaulins, the area feels like it has been transplanted from an old-school detective novel. Moody doesn’t even come close to describing it.
Close by is the Fondamenta dei Mori, a lengthy canalside track. The main reason that most come here is to see the house of revered Venetian artist Tintoretto, but slightly further down is a rather interesting statue.
Sior Rioba
Its nose clearly hasn’t stood the test of time, but its story has. By the head, you can clearly see ‘Sior Rioba’, and that’s the name of the swindling merchant immortalised in stone.
That he has a grimace on his face comes a no surprise, as (should you believe the story) he was turned into a statue by Saint Magdalen, a punishment for his unscrupulous ways. Supposedly he still lives inside his stone tomb, and can be seen crying on particularly cold nights.
The old story goes that the pure of spirit can hear his heart beat if they touch his chest. Some of us will never know; after all, such purity isn’t usually associated with those on a hunt at three in the morning.
Spooky Spots: Other mysterious places in Venice
The Church of the Fava: The façade of the church, in Castello, has two empty niches. These were originally inhabited by the statues of a couple, the female of which came back to life to be with her true love. However, both statues mysteriously vanished shortly after the icon of the Madonna they were linked to was stolen.
Punta Della Dogana: Right at the Eastern end of the Dorsoduro sestiera, under this bridge is where the Venetian equivalent of the Loch Ness Monster allegedly dwells.
Ca’Dario: On campiello Barbaro in Dorsoduro, this building is known as the cursed palace. Throughout the ages its various owners have been struck with terrible misfortunes and grizzly deaths.
The Grand Canal: By Campiello del Remer, not far from the Rialto bridge, there have been sightings of a man emerging from the water, carrying the decapitated head of his murdered wife.
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