Tracing Armenian Heritage in Venice

The Armenian Center

Since starting Armenian studies, a whole Brave New World of academic events has opened up to me. Among them is the annual conference of the Italian Association for the Study of Central Asia and the Caucasus (ASIAC), held each December in Italy. Who wouldn’t want to visit Italy in the peaceful lull of low tourist season, supported by a research grant? A perfect example of academic tourism. In 2024, the conference was held in Venice.

As I explored the neighborhood around my accommodation on Google Maps in preparation for the trip, I accidentally stumbled upon the Armenian Culture Studies and Documentation Center. With barely any information available online, the challenge of finding a way in was accepted.

After the first session of the conference, I approached the chair of ASIAC, who happened to be an Armenian Studies scholar. He sighed and gave me the most cryptic answer about the Center’s activities. However, he was gracious enough to provide me with the personal number of the director. “I have no idea when they work—or if they work,” he said. “Tough chance reaching them by mail. Here is the phone number of the director. Call him, tell him you got the number from me…”

“Only personal connections, as usual,” I thought to myself. The proverbial KhTsB [ԽԾԲ]—in-laws, acquaintances, relatives—which stands for the use of all social contacts available to solve problems and get things done, from stronger ties (relatives) to weaker ones (acquaintances). The unfailing magic of KhTsBworked; the director and I agreed to meet the next day. I wandered through Venice’s enchanting narrow streets and passages, crossed bridges over canals, and admired the city’s unique blend of grandeur and decay until I reached a tiny, deserted square surrounded by water on one side and a tall green nontransparent fence on the other. Behind the fence was the Center, a stately white mansion with columns. I rang the bell several times but received no answer. The director was running late. As I waited, I listened to music and observed the reflections on the water, thinking about the inaccessibility of knowledge and culture. This fortressed Armenian chamber, hidden in the heart of Venice, seemed to embody a secret world, one that could only be entered by invitation, like a vampiric threshold waiting for permission to come in.

Finally, I saw an elegant, personable older man approaching. It was just the two of us in the square, so there was no mistaking him for the Center’s director. He showed me around the mansion, and we settled in a room bathed in the soft glow of dim light, a beautiful ceiling with layers of peeling pale paint, and bookshelves filled to capacity. Our conversation flowed from the history of the Center to the broader perception of Armenian culture, where we shared a very similar perspective.

There is, of course, undeniable value in ancient and medieval tangible and intangible heritage, yet this often comes at the expense of appreciating the more recent past and present. It’s as if, when the Sanahin and Hakhpat monasteries were built, the trees were taller and the sky bluer. This bias is reflected in academia, where Armenian studies worldwide are heavily concentrated on medieval history, culture, and grabar [գրաբար], i.e., classical Armenian. The same bias was evident in the Center’s library, filled with books on Armenian architecture and culture, predominantly medieval. Despite the director’s admirable desire to redefine this perception, there remains a long and difficult road ahead.

Although I found no relevant literature or sources for my own study of (post-) Soviet Armenia, I took away something precious: the memory of an evening spent in delightful conversation and a new addition to my Venice itinerary—the island of San Lazzaro degli Armeni, about which I learned that very evening.

The Armenian Island

San Lazzaro degli Armeni is a small island in the Venetian lagoon, inhabited by around 20 monks. It is widely known in narrow circles as one of the most important centers of Armenian culture, home to the Mekhitarist Order—a congregation of Benedictine monks of the Armenian Catholic Church.

In the early 18th century, a group of Armenian monks established the Armenian Catholic Order with Mekhitar as its abbot. Initially located in Modone, in the Peloponnese, the Order fled to Venice due to Turkish-Venetian military conflicts and was granted the right to settle on San Lazzaro island by the Republic of Venice. Thanks to Mekhitar, the monastery became a cultural and scientific center with its own library and publishing house, preserving and promoting Armenian culture across generations. When Napoleon Bonaparte suspended the activities of all religious communities in the Empire, he made an exception for the Mekhitarists, recognizing them as a scientific organization—the “Armenian Academy.”

The island is accessible by boat from the piers near Piazza San Marco, a journey of around 15 minutes. Excursions around the monastery grounds are offered daily but must be booked in advance. At the pier, I was greeted by the familiar hum of Armenian conversation. Joining me on board were three Armenian couples and several elderly Italians. That day, tours were offered in Italian and Armenian. Upon reaching the island and crossing the small garden, we gathered in the monastery’s inner courtyard. From there, we proceeded to the dimly lit art gallery, which features works by painters such as Martiros Saryan and Hovhannes Ayvazyan (Ivan Aivazovsky), whose brother Gabriel Ayvazyan —an Armenian Catholic archbishop—was educated on San Lazzaro.

The tour continued through Lord Byron’s studio into the library and archives, which house around 170,000 volumes, including over 4,000 ancient and priceless manuscripts, and one of the first printed bibles in the Armenian language. The peaceful hideaway seemed frozen in time, infused with the tangy scent of old paper—guardians of layers of knowledge awaiting discovery. During his stay in Venice, Lord Byron was transported daily by gondola to San Lazzaro, where he studied Armenian with Father Pasquale Aucher. In a letter to his friend Mr. Moore on December 5, 1816, Byron wrote:

I am studying daily, at an Armenian monastery, the Armenian language. I found that my mind wanted something craggy to break upon; and this—as the most difficult thing I could discover here for an amusement—I have chosen, to torture me into attention. It is a rich language, however, and would amply repay anyone the trouble of learning it. I try, and shall go on…

I imagined myself in his place, strolling through Venice, breathing the sea air, then settling into a chair of dark, intricately carved wood to study a new language—purely for the joy of it. A perfect indulgence in procrastination. This is the spirit of San Lazzaro: tranquil and philosophical, a stark contrast to the whirlpool of contemporary capitalist productivity and attention economy, where every day is another step toward building one’s personal brand.

The tour ended as the sun set. Sitting on the pier waiting for the boat and smoking a cigarette offered by the local guard with whom we communicated in a sort of sign language, I watched the sky darken from vibrant reddish hues to deepening blues. I gazed at the girls rowing by, savoring the gift of San Lazzaro: time for doing nothing (productive).

P.S. I must confess that there was one occasion while abroad when I sought out a site connected to Russian history—though, as I see it now, it is tied to Armenian history as well. It was the grave of my favorite Russian writer and diplomat, Alexander Griboyedov. Renowned for his play Woe from Wit (1825), his work is so sharp and enduring that it has been distilled into countless quotes. As a politician, he played a pivotal role in the ratification of the Treaty of Turkmenchay (1828). After marrying Princess Nino Chavchavadze, he was sent to serve as Russian Imperial ambassador to Tehran. There, Griboyedov was brutally murdered in the course of an uprising because he had given refuge to Armenians who had escaped from the harems of the Persian shah. Alexander Griboyedov was buried at Mount Mtatsminda (aka Mtatsminda Pantheon) in Tbilisi beside his wife who mourned him until her own death. The grave features an epigraph, a sign of eternal love in yet another place where time seemingly came to a halt: “Your spirit and achievements will be remembered forever. Why still does my love outlive you?”