The unveiling of a mask reveals the magic of Venice and the duality of memory that we carry with us
I had only a few days to marvel at Venice. That incredible city of memory and antiquity, of romance, poetry, art, decadence and love, with the Grand Canal at its decayed heart and its hundreds of palaces and villas with their riot of exotic porticos, archways and filigreed balconies.
If the magnificence of Venice exists on the open water; the vastness of its mysteries are concealed in the thousands of streets and smaller canals that hide – and then suddenly reveal – its treasures without warning. To understand Venice, you must walk through the Piazza San Marco, past the Byzantine splendour of St Mark’s Basilica, the Doge’s Palace.
As I wandered, a thin sliver of moon rose over the canals. The gondolas were tied up for the night, curved and dark against the city lights. I thought of Goethe, overjoyed by Venice, who said of them that their “prows and black cages greeted me like old friends.” Goethe, like me, had waited all his life to see Venice and he revelled in it.
Above me was the wistful Bridge of Sighs that connects the Doge’s Palace to its dungeons, where the screams of tortured souls must have once drifted across the shimmering, limpid waters. Evanescent beauty and the memory of cruelty, the light and dark of Venice. I wondered if perhaps it was here that he first glimpsed the agonised soul of Faust and his doomed lust for both knowledge and power.
The next morning I had to leave, but that evening there was so much I still had not seen, so much still to hope for. I roamed through the maze of streets where most of the shops were closed, but I came across one glass door glowing bright in the gloomy mediaeval alleyway. It was selling carnival masks, rows of them lined up on shelves brightly coloured and richly ornamented, their eyeholes dark, shadowed ovals.
The young woman working behind the counter looked up as I walked in through the glass door.
“I’m closing soon,” she told me in accented English. “But you’re welcome to look for now.”
A brunette with olive skin and dark hair cut in a short bob, she was beautiful in an unconventional way. She bustled around behind the counter for a while as I looked through the masks, wondering if I should spend my money on such a fragile, expensive souvenir.
“I’ve got a bus to catch,” she said finally. “I have to close now.”
Then, in a gesture of flirting spontaneity, she picked up one of the masks off the counter and held it up to her face. Suddenly, she was gone, lost behind a facade of iridescent artificial gold, rubies and ivory, transformed from tired shop assistant to mysterious ingenue.
hamilton wende
Hamilton Wende is an author, journalist and TV producer. He has worked all over the world, covering historical events and some 17 different wars and conflicts. He is based in Johannesburg and travels from there. He has worked for a number of international networks including BBC, CNN, and Al Jazeera. He has also reported on events in South Africa for the last three decades. He has published many articles in newspapers, magazines and websites around the world. He is the author of 9 books. House of War, Only the Dead and The King’s Shilling are thrillers based on his travels around the world as a journalist. His latest book Red Air is based on his experiences filming with the US Marines in Afghanistan. He has a master’s degree in Creative Writing from Wits University.
He is also the author of the popular children’s books: Arabella, the Moon and the Magic Mongongo Nut and Arabella the Secret King and the Amulet from Timbuktu which are set in Johannesburg and Knysna. He is working on the third volume in the series.
