Venice – The City of Venus, the City of Virgin: Botticelli and Madonna

“So Venice was the city of Venus. The goddess was born from the sea. She was intimately associated with the sea. It was said that she was created by the white spume that Neptune cast on the islands where the city arose, implying the deep sexuality of the city within the lagoon. (…) It is one of the primal sights of the world. The word Venice conjures up Venus within its syllables. The naked Venus was represented by the city without walls. “Venus and Venice are Great Queens.”

Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus, c. 1484–1486

These days I am reading Peter Ackroyd’s book “Venice: Pure City”, chapter by chapter, enjoying it slowly and conjuring images of the wonderful city in my imagination. What struck me as particularly fascinating, at least up to this point in book, was the connection between Venice and Venus, the Roman goddess of Love, and also the connection of Venice to the Virgin, the Virgin Mary, but also to the whore. Here is a passage from Ackroyd’s book: “In poetry, and drama, Venice was often portrayed as the beloved woman. (…) It has been celebrated for its power to seduce the visitor, to lure him or her into its uterine embrace. The narrow and tortuous streets themselves conjured up images of erotic chase and surprise. The city was invariably represented as a female symbol, whether as the Virgin in majesty or as Venus rising from the sea. It was stated in legend that Venice was founded on 25 March 421, the feast of the Annunciation, and on that same day Venus was in the ascendant. The city was doubly blessed. How could it not be invincible?

So Venice was the city of Venus. The goddess was born from the sea. She was intimately associated with the sea. It was said that she was created by the white spume that Neptune cast on the islands where the city arose, implying the deep sexuality of the city within the lagoon. (…) It is one of the primal sights of the world. The word Venice conjures up Venus within its syllables. The naked Venus was represented by the city without walls. “Venus and Venice are Great Queens,” James Howell wrote in his Survey of the Signorie of Venice, with a further pun on “quean” or prostitute. Venus was queen of Love, and Venice was queen of Policy.”

When I think of Venus the first painting that comes to mind is Sandro Botticelli’s beautiful and well-known, often used and misused, painting “The Birth of Venus”. It was painted around 1484-86 as a decoration for the countryside villa for one of the members of the Medici family. It is hard to believe that this painting is more than five hundred years old because its beauty is so delicate and fresh, like a pink rose which was just plucked from the garden minutes ago and is still covered with drops of dew. The painting doesn’t really show the birth of Venus, as the title suggests, instead Botticelli chose to portray a popular Ancient representation of Venus, popularised again during the Renaissance revival of Paganism, that of “Venus Anadyomene” which shows the arrival of Venus to the shores of the island of Cythera.

The God of Western Wind, Zephyr and his friend the God of Gentle Wind, Aura, are blowing Venus towards the shore where she is being welcomed by one of the Horae, one of the personifications of the seasons and godesses of natural order, who is holding a rosy-salmon coloured robe so that the shy Venus , or “Venus Pudica”, can cover her beautifully curved body. I do love Venus’ long golden hair, flowing in the Zephyr’s breeze, and I love most of all her dreamy gaze, as if she is unaware of it all, as if it is happening to someone else, she seems distant from her very own rising from the sea – oh don’t I know how she feels! The shell upon which Venus is standing has certain connotations, of a similar kind that Ackroyd makes in the book when describing the watery and dark canals of the city of Venice. I also love the roses flying in the air. At various points in the book Ackroyd refers to Venice as the feminine city and it is really easy to see and feel the connections. Botticelli’s beautiful Venus rising from the sea waves and the city of Venice which, seen from afair, looks as if it too is sitting on the sea waves, the hazy contours of its roofs and domes and cathedral spires arising from the sea mist that hangs over the lagoon.

Madonna filming the music video for “Like A Virgin” in Venice, July 1984.

When I think of Venice and the Virgin, I think of Giovanni Bellini and Titian, but I also instantly think of Madonna’s song and video “Like a Virgin” because it was filmed in Venice. In the video Madonna is seen dancing and singing flirtatiously whilst riding on a gondola. Many of the things symbolic of Venice, such as the canals, the gondolas, the lion are all found in the video. Madonna is playfully acting the character of a virgin in the video, and while in some scenes she is dressed in a white wedding gown and has a shy demenour, in other scenes she is dressed in her typical eighties fashion; a neon green crop top and a plethora of cheap plastic jewellery. The way she is dressed, and the way she carried herself, one cannot help but wonder; is she a virgin or a whore? The same can be asked of Venice – a city on one hand addicted to material pleasures; parties, prostitution, gambling, and on the other so madly enthusiastic about the Cult of the Virgin with the Images of Annunciation adorning every corner of the city. The City of Venice is like a courtesan covering herself with a veil and kneeling down in a church, clasping her hands, praying and gazing coyly at the altar, but she is not fooling anyone. Here is what Peter Ackroyd writes about the Cult of the Virgin in this very naughty City of Venice:

“But Venice was also the city of the Virgin. Images of the Annunciation are to be found on the Rialto bridge, on the façade of Saint Mark’s, and on the walls of the ducal palace, as well as diverse other places in the city. The worship of the Virgin entailed, even demanded, the glorification of the state. The endurance of the republic was another proof of its divine origin. (…) The city, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, was being characterised as a whore. It was known for its apparent “decadence” and for its mercantile greed. The Queen of the Sea was transmogrified into “the whore of the Adriatic.” (…) There seems to be something deeply troubling about cities of luxury and of sensation. (…) The city was a decrepit courtesan, sporting its baubles of gold. The futurist, Marinetti, described it at the beginning of the twentieth century as “steeped in exotic lewdness.” The English poet, Rupert Brooke, depicted it in a “tawdry and sensual middle-age.” It was perhaps inevitable. A place that continually asserts that it is a sacred centre, a city of the Virgin Mary, will inevitably incur disgrace and disillusion. (…) Virginity was a Venetian obsession.”

Madonna

“The cult of Mary penetrated every aspect of Venetian society. (…) There were more than three hundred altars, in the fifteenth century, devoted to the worship of the Virgin. In the church of S. Maria Gloriosa there were no less than eight separate altars dedicated to her. The famous nikopeia, a Byzantine icon of the Virgin supposed to have been painted by Saint Luke himself, was carried in state around Saint Mark’s Square on the feast of the Assumption; this relic became the palladium of the republic, its safeguard and defence, and is still to be found in the basilica of Saint Mark’s. Venice was the Virgin, too, because she had never been assaulted. She was inviolate and immaculate, protected by the waves of the sea like a precious girdle. Mary is peace. Peace is stability.

(…) Hers was a popular devotion. There were many shrines on the corners of the calli, with a votive lamp burning before the Virgin; these were maintained by the people of the immediate neighbourhood. There was not a Venetian home, however humble, without its picture of the Virgin. There were artists who did nothing else but execute cheap images of the Madonna known disparagingly as madonnieri. They were, however, only following in the tradition of Bellini. When the bells rang for the enunciation of the prayer “Ave Maria,” the Venetians would fall down on their knees in the streets and squares.“