by Martina B. Priviero

Venice is ancient and enjoys a millennia-old, pure, and “Serenissima” (serene) life. However, behind this evident history lies an intricate web of legends and mysteries: it is the hidden Venice. Thus, the city conceals its secrets even in the facades and in the most exposed palace on the island, the Doge’s Palace. By walking around, one inadvertently overlooks the asymmetry of a column, misaligned with the others, which the distracted gaze fails to notice amidst the beauty of the square.

The Doge’s Palace, the ancient seat of the Doge and the Venetian magistracies, with its Byzantine architecture, is made unique by the aesthetic antinomy created between the massive bulk of the central structure and the columns supporting it, which appear slender and delicate. Similarly, the monolithic jurisdiction of the Serenissima, with its grave and statuesque magistracies, assumes to lighten and soften itself with a clause that directly involves the same colonnade. Analogous to its architecture, the legislation creates a margin of tenderness, albeit deceptive: it is the “Column of Grace.” The fourth column, starting from the corner of the little square, slightly larger than the others, is the column of the final chance. It is said that in the times of the Serenissima, the condemned to death saw a glimmer of hope for freedom here: by leaning against the column and walking along the circumference, from the outside of the colonnade, one could not help but fall from the step that separates it from the shore. Those who succeeded, were instantly released without any possibility of appeal. It seems simple, but no one ever managed to do it.

That step, now worn out by countless attempts, still holds something intriguing: it is the thrill of a hope that is only a few centimetres thick. It is the cynical crack of a city that tolerates neither offenders nor political dissidents. It is the sadistic smirk of an uneven challenge—Venice has no rivals.