When my daughter Anna-Sophie asked me if I would like to travel with her to Venice, I immediately jumped at it. Not only did I want to spend time with my daughter, but I also wanted to finally see the triptych of St. Wilgefortis, the subject of my master’s thesis.
It was 25 years ago that I had heard about this saint when studying art history at Arizona State University. I travelled twice to Venice to see the triptych and each time, I failed. It seemed perfect to go on a pilgrimage during the pandemic, when Venice was nearly empty.
I booked a sleeping compartment from Vienna to Venice in order to travel safely. This safety was an illusion. We were robbed during the night. Somebody with an universal key sneaked into our cabin and took our purses. Luckily, my handbag was found in one of the bathrooms with all my documents, but no money. My daughter’s purse was never found. She lost her diary with her notes about her hike of the Pacific Trail in California. This loss was hard for her.
After checking into our lovely Airbnb apartment, we took a vaporetto (motor boat used as bus) to the Gallerie dell’ Accademia, where we met my niece and her daughter. They also wanted to see the painting of Wilgefortis by Hieronymus Bosch.
Canale Grande
Canale Grande on the way to the Gallerie dell’ Academia
The story of Wilgefortis was created in Flanders in the 15th century. She supposedly was a Portuguese princess resisting her father’s demand to marry a prince from Sicily, who was not Christian. God responded to her prayers and let her grow a beard. Her father was so infuriated that he ordered her to be crucified like Christ. On the cross, she turned into the image of Christ. This saint, who never existed, was venerated all over Europe.
Center piece of the tryptich of Wilgefortis (sorry about the reflection)
The man in the foreground is probably her father. He points with his right hand to his crucified daughter and with his pointing finger of his left hand towards the ground – expressions of condemnation.
Figures on the left side of the cross often cover the head, close their eyes or do not look at St. Wilgefortis – expressions of ignorance and shame.
Wilgefortis (the strong virgin), is totally untouched by the emotions expressed on earth. She is in another realm – in a place of total openness. As she places every emotion in boundless and limitless space, nothing can touch her anymore. She is crowned by her suffering, which she left behind – no wonder, that one of her names is Liberata.
We spent a long time in front of the painting, connected with it and wrote down our thoughts and feelings on a piece of paper. At the end, we shared our experiences.
We also read a poem written by Rainer Maria Rilke about this saint. Each of us read it aloud to the group. My daughter Susanne had translated it for my thesis into English. I would like to share it with you.
Overflowing heavens of squandered stars
are gleaming above sorrow. Instead of into pillows
cry up. Here, at the already crying
at the fading face
reaching around itself, starts the all engulfing universe.
Who disrupts, when you strive towards there,
the flow. No one, unless
you suddenly struggle with the overpowering direction
those constellations have toward you.
Breath.
Breath into the dark of this earth and again
look up! Again. Easily and featureless
depths leans towards you from above. The freed
night embracing face is making room for yours.
Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Susanne Wild)
The rest of the day until evening, we just walked through empty streets along quiet canals with hardly any boats moving on it, crossed bridges, passed closed hotels and empty restaurants. A melancholic mood full of immense beauty covered the city and we felt it.
Restaurant waiting for costumers
The image of a migrant child signalling for help by the British street artist Bansky on a crumbling wall beside one of the Venice canals.
At the end of the day, we met again for a 100 minute kayak experience through the canals of Cannaregio, the former Jewish Ghetto.
Sunset at the lagoon
