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28
See Venice and
In the incredible
city of Venice, the
Hotel Danieli is a
destination in its own
right. Heidi King
finds herself kneedeep
in one of the
world’s most
fabulous hotels
Dawn breaks over bobbing gondolas
From his smart green jacket resplendent
with gilt buttons, down to his waders,
the porter at the Hotel Danieli is the
height of Venetian elegance. Waders? ‘It’s
not a problem,’ he smoothly assures worriedfrom-Japan.
‘Three or four times a year we
have a high tide.’
The waters from the lagoon lap gently
through the doors and across the marble floor
of the reception; staff quietly lift antique rugs
and put 18-inch high duckboards in place for
customers to walk on, so no-one gets wet
feet. When the tide turns, the waters return
to the lagoon, the duckboards disappear just
as discreetly, the marble floor dries (with no
tide mark), and the rugs appear. It’s rather
fun but, as the porter says, no problem.
Otherwise, how could such splendour
have survived from the 14th century? Three
or four high tides a year for half a dozen
centuries could wreak havoc, but the
marbled, gilded Danieli looks breathtaking,
as magnificent, still, as when it was built by
the noble Venetian family of Dandolo which,
over the years, contributed four Doges to the
Venice story. Even in their time they
used the palace as a lodging,
welcoming visiting princes, cardinals
and ambassadors.
The most famous of the Dandolo Doges
was Enrico, who made history when he
conquered Constantinople – present-day
Istanbul. Part of his loot were the four
bronze horses of Byzantium, over 2,000 years
old, which drew the chariot of the Sun God
and became the emblem of the Byzantine
Empire. Enrico nabbed them in 1204,
Napoleon did the same in 1797 and in 1815
they were returned from Paris to Venice.
Replicas of these magnificent sculptures
draw their imaginary chariot before the
domes of the Basilica di San Marco, way
above the awestruck crowds and squabbling
pigeons of Piazza San Marco. It’s hard to get
into cathedral mood among the frenzied
milling crowd so I quickly pay my entrance
fee and climb the steep stone stairway to the
Basilica di San Marco museum amid its halflit
world of railed balconies and soothing
silence. More importantly, here are the
original horses. Hats off to the unknown
(probably Greek or Roman) sculptor who
gave such life, vitality and power to
metal, and made it glorious. No
wonder they were stolen, and stolen
again. And I had them to myself for
thirty quiet minutes, my special
memory of Venice.