VENICE, Italy — "Dear old Venice has lost her complexion, her figure, her reputation, her self-respect; and yet, with it all, has so puzzlingly not lost a shred of her distinction."
-- Henry James
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VENICE, Italy -- Water has been Venice's source of life, and it could well spell its death.
In a few months, when the rains begin and the tide swells, this magically situated city will once again be under threat from the rising green waters of the Adriatic Sea.
For centuries the hub of a fabled maritime empire that rivaled the leading cities of the world, a diminished Venice today has lost half its population and relies on strangers for survival. For the estimated 12 million tourists who visit annually, a sloshy St. Mark's Square may seem folkloric, part of the fluid city's charm. But for residents and those who want to preserve Venice as a living city, the floods are disastrous.
Venice, it seems, is sinking faster than ever.
Poets and historians have long bemoaned Venice's decline -- its perpetual existential crisis linked to centuries of nature's whims and rhythms, not to mention modernity's contribution: urbanization, industrialization, oil tankers and cruise ships.
But with alarming data that show the tide rising to dangerous levels with increasing frequency -- the year 2002 was the worst on record since the calamitous deluge of 1966 -- controlling the acqua alta has taken on fresh urgency.
Water levels of 31.5 inches or more were marked 111 days last year, frequently submerging St. Mark's and other low-lying landmarks. Between rising sea levels and dropping land levels, the city has lost more ground in the last century than in the previous millennium. Now, a debate over how to save the city once again surges, pitting environmentalists against big business against engineers, with the only agreement being that something must be done, and soon.
The newest scheme to hold back the sea is an ambitious, multibillion-dollar project that will construct 78 movable, underwater gates anchored to the floor of the Venetian lagoon. Like gigantic steel-and-concrete flippers or, perhaps, medieval drawbridges, the gates would rise whenever the Adriatic threatened to swamp the city, which is made up of scores of little islands.
Work began this summer after more than 20 years of planning and controversy.
Rather grandiosely named "Moses" after the biblical prophet who saved his people by parting the Red Sea, the project only recently received the all-important backing of Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi.
Moses, Berlusconi said as he inaugurated the project in May, "is the most important environmental protection measure in the world." Saving Venice, "this patrimony, this marvel, the pride of Italy," is among the government's top priorities, he said.
Environmentalists, however, charge that the Moses project is paddling up the wrong canal. It will further damage Venice's sensitive ecosystem of saltwater marshes and bird-friendly estuaries unique in the Mediterranean, they say, and it fails to address equally serious problems such as erosion and pollution.
"The central lagoon has been absolutely destroyed by erosion," said Paolo Cacciari, the city official in charge of environmental issues. "Venice is in danger, not from high waters but from the erosion. The smaller islands are being swallowed by the sea."
Floating behind the debate are competing visions of what kind of Venice will survive, if the City of Canals survives at all. Will Moses preserve the lagoon ecologically or merely make Venice safe for commerce and tourism?
The ravages of the acqua alta, Italian for "high water," are evident everywhere in this treasure-trove of exquisite architecture and priceless art. Thick, spongy algae covers lower walls facing the canals, concealing weakened foundations of proud Renaissance palaces. Doors often appear shortened because, in fact, the pavement has been raised to help keep the city above water; in other spots the sidewalks are buckled from erosion underneath.
When the moon, winds and barometric pressure align, and high tide is gathering apace, an alert goes out from Venice's Tidal Forecasting and Early Warning Center. Sixteen sirens all over the archipelago wail at regular intervals.
The residents know what to do. Shopkeepers pull merchandise from lower shelves, curators move paintings to higher ground. City teams deploy. Some lay miles of plank-like catwalks on stilts to allow walking above the water; others go to the homes of the elderly or disabled who will need special help.
As routine as some of this seems, it is anything but, residents say. Children can't get to school, adults can't go to work. Appointments are missed, dogs go unwalked, grocery shopping is deferred. If the water rises above a certain level, Venice's sleek, black gondolas and, more important, its fireboats, ambulances and water taxis cannot reach destinations because they can't pass under the bridges that link the city's many islands.
