St Mark's Clocktower

Stand still for a moment on the worn grey stone of Piazza San Marco. Around you, pigeons scatter and café bands tune their strings. Now lift your eyes to the north side of the square, just left of the basilica. A tower of pale stone rises above an archway. Near the top, a great clock face glows in deep blue and gold. Higher still, two dark bronze figures stand beside a bell. They have been waiting all morning for one thing: the hour.

This is the Torre dell'Orologio, Saint Mark's Clocktower. It was built in the final years of the fifteenth century, and the clock was set running in 1499. At that time Venice was a sea power. Its ships carried spices, silk and silver between Europe and the East. A clock in the main square was a statement. It told merchants, sailors and visitors that this city kept precise time, and that it kept that time in style.

The design of the building is often credited to the architect Mauro Codussi. Scholars still debate this attribution, so treat it as likely rather than certain. The clock mechanism itself was the work of a father and son, Gian Paolo and Gian Carlo Rainieri, craftsmen from Reggio Emilia in northern Italy. Over the following centuries, side wings and an upper terrace were added. The tower you see today is the result of several generations of builders, not a single plan.

Look at the clock face. It is not a simple dial. The outer ring carries Roman numerals for all twenty-four hours of the day, not twelve. Inside that ring, the signs of the zodiac circle in gold against the blue. A small sphere shows the phases of the moon. For a Venetian sailor, the moon mattered. It shaped the tides, and the tides decided when ships could leave the lagoon.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. The single golden hand does not point with a simple arrow. It ends in the image of a sun. As the sun-tipped hand moves through the zodiac, it shows the season as well as the hour. The whole face is a small model of the sky, built for a city that lived by the stars and the sea.

Above the clock, in a niche, sits a gilded statue of the Virgin and Child. On either side of her are two small windows. One shows the hour in Roman numerals. The other shows the minutes in steps of five. This digital-style display was added in the nineteenth century. So a clock from the age of Columbus also shows the time in a way that feels close to modern.

Higher again, you will see the winged lion of Saint Mark, the symbol of Venice, against a blue field scattered with golden stars. The lion rests a paw on an open book. Venetian lions often carry a Latin greeting to the saint on that book, a message of peace. Look closely at the space in front of the lion. Something seems to be missing. That is because something was removed.

Originally, a figure of the Doge, the elected ruler of Venice, knelt before the lion. In 1797, the Republic of Venice fell to Napoleon's forces. The new authorities removed many symbols of the old government, and the kneeling Doge was taken down. The empty space is still there today. It is a quiet trace of the moment when more than a thousand years of independent rule came to an end.

Now to the very top. The two bronze figures beside the great bell are known locally as the Moors. The name comes from the dark colour the metal has taken on with age, not from their original meaning. They are shepherds, one older with a beard and one younger. Each hour, they swing their hammers and strike the bell. The older one strikes first, then the younger. Some say this marks time passed and time still to come.

Every story about a great machine attracts a legend. Locals tell a tale that the clockmakers were blinded after the work was finished, so they could never build a rival clock for another city. There is no evidence for this. It is folklore, and it says more about Venetian pride than about history. In reality, the clockmakers were paid and their families looked after the mechanism for years.

If you visit during Epiphany in early January, or during Ascension week, you may see something special. Small doors on either side of the Virgin open. An angel with a trumpet leads the three wise men, the Magi, out of one door. The figures pass in front of the Virgin and bow before they disappear through the other door. It is a mechanical procession that has delighted crowds for centuries, and it still draws people to stop and look up.

Now lower your gaze to the archway beneath the tower. This passage is the start of the Mercerie, a chain of narrow shopping streets that winds toward the Rialto Bridge. For centuries, this was the city's main commercial route. The tower stands like a gate between two worlds. On one side is the open square of church and state. On the other side are the crowded lanes of trade, where Venetians bought and sold.

Before you move on, wait for the hour if you can. Listen for the deep ring of the bell above the noise of the square. Watch the two bronze shepherds lean into their work, as they have done for more than five hundred years. Then walk through the arch, into the shade of the Mercerie, and feel the city narrow around you. Behind you, the blue and gold clock keeps counting, just as it always has.