Francesco Morosini's Prayer Book

Venice is a city which is not easily defined. Any search for the “real” Venice is destined for failure, because there is simply no such thing. Indeed, it seems that Venice never existed as one simple whole. In "Reconsidering Venice," Ambrosini writes, “There are simply too many Venices, too many unknown dimensions. Just when one believes one is beginning to follow the story line, Venice transmogrifies and, both in spite of and because of the richness of its archives and artistic treasures, is again a mystery, an enigma, an indecipherable maze of
interweaving stories, false and true.” They go on to explain the multifaceted Venice of the past, in terms of a myth and a counter myth. Venice could be seen as “an ideal republic, a strong maritime empire, and an independent state in which the Venetian nobles were devoted to the ideals of civic humanism and the commercial virtues of sobriety, hard work, and self-sacrifice. Venice, that is, appeared to be a city like no other… It was the Serenissima, the most serene republic.”
However, as Venice gained power and expanded, it also gained the darker counter myth. “Alongside the view that Venice was an open, just, tolerant, and benevolent republic, a countermyth portrayed Venice as a repressive state, harshly governed by a decadent and secretive oligarchy.” Many thought that “a small circle of aristocrats not only controlled the levers of political power in Venice itself but also sought to place the rest of Italy under its dominion.”
Venice has always been a place of juxtapositions and contradictions. Within the city, one can find a mix of old and new, East and West, sacred and profane. For this reason, when given the task of analyzing an object at the Museo Correr, the object I chose was not a painting or sculpture or other art object, but something a little more unique which, I think, represents Venice nicely. Tucked into the corner of a room displaying weaponry, shields, globes, and other large, noticeable items, there is a display case containing artifacts which belonged to Francesco Morosini, one of the dogi of Venice. Within the case is a small item that would be easy to overlook: a small prayer book. The book itself is not remarkable, but it is not just a book. It is also the case for a small, concealed pistol.

No doubt Morosini was justified in his belief that he needed such a thing for personal defense. He was not the most popular of people, and he is most well-known for blowing up the Parthenon while battling the Ottoman Turks. The Turks were using the building as a powder magazine, and Morosini’s cannons scored a direct hit. Morosini described it as a “fortunate shot” in his report to the Venetian government. Francesco Morosini gained his position not only through family ties but also through military service. He first became prominent as Captain-General during the Seige of Candia. He was forced to surrender that city, but later, in the Morean War, he emerged victorious and won the title “Peloponnesiacus.” He was the first Venetian citizen to have a bronze bust placed in the Grand Hall in his own lifetime, and in 1688 he was elected doge.
A prayer book is certainly an interesting choice for a pistol case. Due to the number and grandeur of churches throughout Venice, most would assume that the Venetians were, in general, very religious. However, in a museum filled with Byzantine, medieval, and Renaissance art, sculpture of all kinds, objects spiritual and beautiful, Morosini’s pistol case embodies the other side of Venice- a powerful state with imperial aspirations, the Venice that looted Constantinople and envisioned itself as the next Rome. Venice has always valued its art objects, certainly, but it has also valued its power and wealth, government and capitalism. The room full of coins in the Museo Correr certainly reflects that as well.
The Venice of today has as many faces as the souvenir shops have opera masks, and none of them could exist without the rest. The Venice most people know is the imagined Venice, an idealized version of Venice, a simulacrum. As I did before visiting the city, most people think of Venice in terms of artwork and architecture, gelato, gondola rides, and souvenirs. The imagined Venice is a romantic destination, the perfect place for a wedding, honeymoon, or other romantic getaway, or perhaps sort of an academic vacation, one centered on art appreciation. Most people wouldn’t dream of bringing their children here. In short, Venice tends to be seen as something other than the real world, a way of escaping it. In fact, Venice is often compared to Disneyland, and, as Baudrillard put it, “Disneyland is a perfect model of… simulacra.” Disneyland is a place of magic and wonder for its visitors, a way to escape the real world. Few consider the employees who run the rides, serve food and drinks, clean up after the crowds, and generally work to keep the place running. So it is with Venice. People live here, work here, go to school here, and yet it’s somehow strange every time one comes upon construction workers repairing the calle outside a souvenir shop.
Speaking of souvenirs, though, it seems that not even the kitschy objects which usually disguise the real Venice can help hinting at the existence of other dimensions. I bought something the other day that reminds me quite a bit of Morosini’s pistol case.
At first glance, it appears to be nothing more than a gondola keychain, hardly worth noticing since there are thousands of tiny representations of gondole, in various forms, to be had in Venice. However, upon close inspection, this particular gondola reveals its true nature and function, that of a switchblade. Like the pistol case in the Museo Correr, it was a strange thing to find in such a romanticized place.