In the world of Academia, professors are known

to go on Sabbatical: a sponsored break of sorts

that’s meant as both an opportunity for rest

and to conduct some new research — a way to

let the engine cool off from the exhausting

grind of teaching people all the damn time.

And although I am not a university professor, I am

overworked, so I thought it’d be a lovely idea to

take January of 2021 as my sabbatical. I’d take a

bag full of history books and jet across to Italy,

whereupon I’d spend my days drinking Aperol

Spritz while reading in the piazzas of some of my

favorite cities. AND YET, here I am, conspicuously

Not In Italy, but still deeply tired from the year

we all just had, and evermore-so in need of a

break than I could have conceivably imagined in

the merry days of 2018, when I first planned

that trip. So, here’s what we’re gonna do:

I am going to tell you some fun dumb stories about

Italy, we are going to have a grand old time,

and then I am gonna go take a weeklong nap. Sound

good? Great. Let’s do some low-effort History.

My trip would have started, of course, in

Venice. Aah, good old Vembis, historically

renowned for streets made of water, domes made

of gold, a trans-Mediterranean slave trade,

exploitative mercantile practices, and the one

time in 1204 when they did War Crimes. You know,

it’s awful tough to wind up in possession of so

many treasured Byzantine artifacts by just asking

politely and respecting boundaries; and indeed,

by both thievery and regular old copypasting,

Venice became quite a pretty place — shame it’s

so damp nowadays. Although Venice is, in the grand

scheme of things, still somehow less problematic

than some other famous players, it’s always

good practice to separate the Nice from the Yikes.

Historical faves are all well and fine until we

start seeing them as flawless, or if we shove

our heads so far up our own asses that we pretend

some of those flaws were actually features. All

historical faves have faults — Yes, also that

one… I know they made good art, but we’ve had some
time to reflect, we can do better than them now.

Sorry, that had been simmering for a while and I

needed to get it out. Anyway, when I’m not gushing

about Venice’s uninterrupted 11-century string of

Being a Republic, I like to stop and appreciate

the city’s architecture. As a consequence of how

early Venetians were basically creating a city on

stilts, buildings had to be constructed carefully,

with a strong base of waterproof Istrian marble,

and lightweight brick walls with generous

cutout-space for windows. Since Venetians

were the best glassmakers in Europe, they had

the skills and materials to actually make windows

that big. Venice was also unique in being at the

crossroads of three distinct architectural styles:

Starting as part of the Byzantine empire, they

soon picked up elements of mainland European

Gothic and Mediterranean Islamic design. So

even before the Renaissance was a twinkle in

Titian’s eye, Venice had built itself a gorgeous

mix of three already-baller architecture styles.

And it’s a complete product of circumstance! No

other city on earth had the opportunities and

constraints that would result in a style like

Venetian Gothic.
Which is a polite way to say:

no other city could fall so spectacularly

ass-backwards into artistic success. In

the century after Filippo UltraDiva Brunelleschi

accidentally rediscovered classical architecture

out of spite, Venice was catching onto this whole

white-marble-frilly-column vibe. And, luckily

for the construction industry, Venice was also

constantly catching fire, so there were always

opportunities to build the newest and shiniest

looks. I had written up this whole side-tangent

about how Andrea Palladio essentially codified

the genre of Neoclassicism, [throw paper] buuuut

I cut it because it was long and probably only

interesting to me. So before I start gossiping

about the time Palladio almost won the design

competition for the new Rialto Bridge but then

they gave the commission to this misaligned doofus

instead, let’s just… let’s move on.

Midway

along the journey of my vacation (that’s a Dante

reference for ya) I was set to take a stopover in

Bologna, home to both Europe’s oldest university

and this one really good lasagna place I ate at

like 9 years ago — most tours will focus on the

university but I wanted you to be aware of both.

Bologna is a bit of a geographical anomaly within

Italy, being right at the eastern edge of the

Apennine Mountains and directly in grabbing range

for Milan, Florence, and the Papal States. For

most of the middle ages, Bologna was able to dodge

and weave its way to functional independence,

but from the 1500s it was quite firmly under the

Roman thumb. In 1572 Bologna-native Pope Gregory

13 became uh, Pope. Not quite sure where

that sentence was going. And to celebrate,

they made him a nice fancy bronze statue in

1580. You can see it here, for it is fancy,

and bronze. But curiously, the inscription at the

top says words that very clearly do not include

“Gregory” “13” or “Pope”. So one might ask, what

gives? And I answer, dear viewer: Napoleon gives.

Usually, he is giving Cannon Balls, at speed.

But
before we can connect Boy-Band Bonaparte to this

mismatched inscription, we need to take a second

to appreciate the fact that, throughout history,

no one knows what people look like. Most citizens

would only know their king or queen by the faces
struck on coins, which archaeology informs
us often looked more than a little smushy.

Sometimes we get more substantive depictions,

which, in the case of the Byzantines, doesn’t

stop them from still looking identical. But ahah!

Ancient Rome gave us lifelike statues. However,

I wouldn’t say that even these always made for

accurate depictions of historical characters,

because some statues of Julius Caesar don’t look

so hot, where did they hide his cheekbones! And

notably, this equestrian statue of emperor Marcus

Aurelius only survived because it got mistaken

for Constantine. My dudes, Constantine didn’t even

have a beard… We Think. I mean, good work messing

that one up, it’s a baller statue, I’m glad you

didn’t melt it down. I say all this to illustrate

my point that the wool is easily pulled over

one’s eyes when it comes to who is being depicted,

even with a statue.

So in 1796, General Napoleon
and friends were having a grand old time on

campaign in Italy, and came through Bologna. Now,

Napoleon was super not a fan of the Pope, so the

citizens thought the statue was a goner… But if

maybe it wasn’t a statue of the Pope, no big deal,

right? So, a few artisans got to work replacing

the papal tiara with a bishop’s mitre and sculpted

a bishop’s staff to put in his hand, and carved

a new inscription that identified this gentleman

as Saint Petronius, the 5th century bishop of

Bologna and their patron saint. And, far be

it from me to question raw genius at work, it did

the trick. I mean, sure, Bologna got placed under

France’s New Imperial Nonsense — but they kept the

statue! And restored it to original form a century

later. Good thing Napoleon never found out the big

statue of Neptune literally right next door is an

allegory for Pope Pius IV. WHOOPSIES, let’s move

on!
The last and longest leg of my trip would
have been spent in and around Florence, because
ever since I first played Assassin’s Creed 2,

I’ve known what I’m about. And as we have already

taken an appropriately thorough look at the shiny

architecture I love so much — Exhibit A: Dome —

I want to take a second to appreciate the Uffizi

gallery. The museum was originally built as an

office-complex for the Medici Grand-Dukes adjacent

to the Piazza Della Signoria, and it connects

to their palace on the other side of the Arno

river through a wonderfully scenic corridor atop

the Ponte Vecchio. So scenic in fact, that Hitler

categorically refused to bomb it during the Axis

withdrawal from Italy because he loved the view.

All the other bridges got blasted to bits, but not

his dear Vasari Corridor. And so, even for all its

legendary power, Der Übermensch simply could not

escape enslavement to the aesthetic… Shame
As for

the Uffizi itself, the Medici Grand-Dukes had used

part of it to house their private art collections;

open to special guests early on, and opening up to

the public in 1769, nice. And the museum maintains

the feeling of being A Florentine’s Collection

of Florentine Art. It takes you chronologically

through high medieval art and then shows how

the different movements of the Renaissance and

Baroque periods unfolded in Florence, with

some Roman statuary for some nice contrast.

Florence is obviously somewhat rare in its ability

to fill an entire museum with what’s essentially a

neighborhood talent show, but I quite appreciate

that it’s not loaded with ill-gotten treasures

from far off lands. Oh you know, that old trick

where museums rake in loot from the colonies and

such and just pretend like it belongs to them,

resulting in such geographic anomalies as the

Rosetta Stone landing in London, or the curious

case of the Code of Hammurabi in Paris. Big

swerve to say that art belongs to the world and

then get touchy when the world asks for it back.

That all said, the Uffizi’s lack of loot might

not be for lack of trying, because if Mussolini’s

dream of rebuilding the Roman Empire was slightly

less dethatched from reality, maybe Italian

museums would be stuffed with artifacts that

super don’t belong there. But Mussolini boofed it,

thanks to none other than Mussolini, so we get

to enjoy the pretty paintings guilt-free! Or, at

least, we would, if I were … yeah. *Sharp inhale*

ahhhh happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

SO!

This has been my attempt to substitute A Vacation

with Thematically Relevant Work, and I’m honestly

somewhat pleased — albeit a little surprised

I somehow veered onto fascism twice. And while

Memes are no substitute for an authentic Tuscan

meal, I still had fun, so I’m calling it a win.

I know it’s been hard to step back and attempt

to Breathe amid our collective inability to take

a step back to anywhere, but I hope that the work

we do on this channel can be of some assistance,

or just some relief. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m

gonna get back to writing the Venetian Republic

more angry letters about how they built the wrong

bridge.
Thank you for watching! In continuing

to trick my brain into thinking we’re on holiday,

I’m going to go take it easy, watch some episodes

of Rick Steves’ Europe, and bop around in

Assassin’s Creed 2. As always, a special

thanks to all of our patrons for supporting

the work we do, and I’ll see you next time!