A quiet New Year's Eve in Rome: Soaking up the simple beauty

Would you like some Trinità dei Monti with your fairy lights? No, that's all right, the fairy lights are enough for me.

Since moving to Rome over eight years ago, I have come to realize that it is the simple things in this splendid city that fascinate and charm me the most. Of course I adore the Pantheon and Castel Sant’Angelo (and while I may not adore the Colosseum or St. Peter’s Basilica, I recognize what works of incredible human achievement they are), but those monuments are not what thrill my soul, nor what make me sometimes think, “How could I ever leave Rome?” Instead it is the minute details, the curiosities, the simple pleasures, which are often overlooked (even though, I must admit, in Rome even the simple things are extraordinary.)

This afternoon I took a long New Year’s Eve walk with my adorable Maritino through some of the most picturesque neighborhoods in the city. I’m a sucker for the twinkling lights and other decorations that make it even more magical than usual at this time of year. I’ve never been one to make too much of a fuss over New Year’s Eve (although I have always dreamed of going to a big fancy ball à la Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally). My first priority has always been to be among good friends and I usually end up at a cozy house party and maybe going out for post-midnight drink, and generally I am tucked up in bed by 1am or shortly thereafter.

But this year, the Maritino and I decided to ring in the New Year quietly, on our own. It’s after 8pm, and we still haven’t decided if we’ll go out for an informal dinner or stay in with a bottle of champagne and a movie. Either way, it will be simple and quiet.

But we did create a new tradition: a long, leisurely, afternoon walk through the sparkling city, trodding the sanpietrini of some of the loveliest streets and piazzas of the city, from Via dei Coronari to Via dell’Orso, Piazza San Lorenza in Lucina, Via del Campo Marzio, Via Borgognona and many more. And what simple yet enthralling pleasures awaited us at every turn: ogling the priceless antiques in the store windows, stopping to admire a never before seen (by us) curiosity, reminiscing about moments passed together in hidden corners of the city, marveling at the Borromini and da Cortona that seem to follow us around every bend, grabbing a piping hot slice of pizza al taglio, seeing locals and natives greeting each other with boisterous “Buon Anno!”s and “Happy New Year!”s, catching snippets of the song of an unusually talented street performer, and stopping for a pot of tea at Babington’s. The city was so rich and alive. It made me grateful to be alive and to be able to live in this extraordinary place, and to be able to keep on loving it so passionately, day after day, year after year.

Here are just a few photos from our epic five-hour walk. I would have taken more, but I was so busy feeding my pupils with the gorgeousness all around me, I simply forgot most of the time!

What's hiding behind that plant on Via dei Coronari?

Oh, no big deal, just a fragment of an ancient sculpture, plastered right into the wall of a building.

You know when you walk around the corner and run into a massive church you don't remember ever seeing before? (If this were Twitter, the hashtag would be: #onlyinRome) (In case you were wondering, it's San Salvatore in Lauro)

An almond cupcake by the fire at Babington's. Delicious, but can't compare to Christina's!

Tea and cake at Babington's: it costs at least as much as a full meal any decent trattoria, but it is the only place to get proper cup of tea in Rome.

Happy New Year, my darling bloglings! Thank you for reading my humble words in 2012. I promise there will be more, hopefully many more, posts in 2013. I wish you a thrilling New Year’s Eve wherever and however you might be celebrating it. Here’s to drinking in the beauty that is all around us every moment, whether simple or extraordinary, or both!

All photos by author

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Lux in Arcana: The Vatican Secret Archives reveal 100 priceless documents

Those of you who know me well, know that I like to post about a new exhibit if not the day it opens, then at least that same week. As Lux in Arcana: The Vatican Secret Archives revealed at the Capitoline Museums was the most highly anticipated exhibition of the year (century?) for me, it might be surprising that I have waited so long to write about it.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

I have been preparing an article on the exhibit for the Traveller, the Sunday travel magazine of both the Sydney Morning Herald and the Melbourne Age and it has been published this weekend! Here's an excerpt:

Michelangelo's smudged signature, a secret papal messaging code, a 1200-year-old book and myriad blood-red papal seals, excommunication bulls, death warrants of heretics and letters written in desperation by condemned queens - these are some of the most precious documents in the world, kept for the past four centuries in impenetrable vaults in the Vatican. For the first - and perhaps only - time in history, 100 original documents have left the Vatican Secret Archives and been shifted across town for an exhibition that opened a fortnight ago in the Capitoline Museums in central Rome...
read the full article.

I hope you enjoy it! The online version of the article unfortunately has only one photo, so below are some of the best images of the exhibit.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

These red penant seals (tied with red ribbon or "red tape", the origin of that expression) belonged to 81 separate members of the House of Lords. They are attached to a letter from King Henry VIII requesting Pope Clement VII to grant him an annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to enable him to marry his mistress Anne Boleyn.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

Galileo's signature! These are the court proceedings of his trial for heresy following his vocal support for Copernicus' heliocentric theory.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

 A letter from Michelangelo begs the Bishop of Cesena to resume payment of the workers of St. Peter's after the death of Pope Paul III. The builders had remained on site to protect the precious building materials from theivery despite the fact that they were not being paid to do so.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

A letter to the future Pope Celestine V informing him that he had been elected pope after 27 months of conclave at which he wasn't even present. The hermit priest reluctantly accepted, only to abdicate five years later. (During his papacy, he declared it the right of any pope to abdicate.) The letter is dated 11 July 1294.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

This was one of the most exciting and bone-chilling exhibits: a 60 meter scroll of parchment with the depositions of 231 French Templar knights. During the Council of Vienne in 1311 they were forced to betray the order or face execution.

Photo by Giovanni Ciarlo

What I found so thrilling about this exhibit was that many of the documents on display pertain to events that we have all learned about, events that changed history and changed the world. Seeing the documents up close and personal brings history alive in a whole new way. In my eternal quest to travel in time, this was pretty close.


Visit my Exhibits on Now page for all pertinent information and enjoy! This is truly a once-in-a-lifetime event!

All images are provided courtesy of Zètema Press Office and may not be reproduced.

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Antique Italian Maps at the Vittoriano

Le speranze del Bepi pel prossimo cinquantenario, Anonymous, L'Asino. 1911

I warn you now, dearest bloglings, the Pines of Rome is going to get a bit exhibit-heavy in the next few days. There are just so many amazing mostre on right now! One in particular, free of charge and hosted at the Complesso del Vittoriano, took me three weeks to see because of two weekend snowstorms in Rome that saw nearly every site in the city closed all weekend.

Italian Panorama, Anonymous, 1861

I finally had a chance to visit this small but lovely exhibit weekend before last, Antica Cartografia d'Italia. Beautiful detailed maps dating from the 1500s onward are on display, making for a lovely and enjoyable pre-lunch outing. In addition to maps, illustrated cover pages of antique atlases are also on display.

Sexta Europae Tabula, Silvano Bernardo, 1511

This exhibit was a real treat for me due to my life-long love of maps. I inherited this passion from my father, and I can spend hours pouring over them. My favorite are city maps, especially when they allow me to study how that particular city has changed and expanded over time, as well as how they have stayed the same. Alas, very few city maps are to be seen at this exhibit, but the region and country maps are nevertheless absorbing.

Italian Unity, Map of Italy, Pinot and Segaire. ca 1861

By far the most amusing and enlightening maps on view at this exhibit are the comical ones, most of which depict Europe during World War I, although some date back to the late 1800s. We've all seen and laughed over the clever and often spot-on images like the ones below by Yanko Tsvetkov that depict Europe or the world according to specific groups or nationalities.

Europe according to Italians, by Yanko Tsvetkov

Europe according to Americans, by Yanko Tsvetkov

Europe according to the Vatican, by Yanko Tsvetkov

But who knew this type of satirical map dated back at least 150 years? The main difference is that the old Italian ones are even more astute and more artistically rendered. (Please forgive the quality of the next four photos, I took them myself.)

Hark! Hark! The dogs do bark! Johnson, Riddle and Co. 1914

The map above depicts Europe at the onset of World War One with the various countries depicted in canine form while Russia literally steam-rolls in. Germany and Austria are tethered together as Britain releases his mighty fleet of ships. Spain is still bullfighting and Italy is a pistol-weilding carabiniere.

Europe in 1914, B. Crité, 1914.

The map above is dominated by the Tsar of Russia. I love that nothing is going on in Finland except a few bears prowling around, while Sweden and Norway look on calmly and the Austro-Hungarian Empire is already a graveyard (literally).

Kill that Eagle, Anonymous, European Revue, 1914

Kill that Eagle shows a female but nevertheless fierce France attempting to pierce the German eagle, with Britain rolling up his sleeves to join the fight. Austria, depicted as a clown, is torn between Germany and Yugoslavia and looks in terror as the Russia literally bears down upon him. Spain and Scandinavia are nothing but idle spectators while Italy appears to be either singing or reciting poetry. Typical.

John Bull and his friends, Fred W. Rose, 1900

In the map above dated 1900, Russia is a menacing octopus strangling Poland and Siberia with tentacles reaching from Finland to China. France, Spain and Ireland are depicted as women while the rest of Europe, a choatic mess, are weapon bearing military leaders. The cleverest detail is the red Salwar pants that illustrate Turkey, who is literally leaning on Greece.

But this one below is by far my favorite. It sums up perfectly the Unification of Italy with triumphant Giuseppe Garibaldi ousting Pope Pius IX (Sardinia) and his Papal Tiara (Corsica).

Italy, Harvey Williams, 1869

This exhibit ends 4 March, so don't tarry! Find practical information at my Exhibits on now page.

Photo sources: 5, 6, 7 by Yanko Tsvetkov
8, 9, 10, 11 by author
All other images provided courtesy of Comunicare Organizzando press office.

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The Streets of Rome: Via dei Giubbonari

For those of you that have been following this blog, you know by now that one of my personal obsessions is toponomastica (toponymy), the study of place names (one of the first words I ever learned in Italian before English!)

On Wendesdays I like to post about particular streets and squares in Rome and how they got their names. So far I have discussed Via del Mascherone, Via del Piè di Marmo, Via del Babuino, Vicolo dell'Atleta, Piazza della Pigna, Via dell'Arco della Ciambella, and Vicolo della Spada d'Orlando. All of these street names have one thing in common: they were named after an ancient artifact that was either found there, or still exists there today. I'm sure there are many more streets in Rome named in this way, (I haven't even scratched the surface), but it is certainly not the only way.

One of the most common ways to name a street in Rome in centuries past was after the artisans or workers who had shops in that area. This is particularly true of the originally working-class area near the Tiber. The first one that comes to mind is Via dei Giubbonari. This narrow but bustling street leads from the ever-popular Campo de' Fiori to Piazza Benedetto Cairoli and Via Arenula.

Via dei Guibbonari means, quite literally, Jacket Makers' Street. (On a side note I love that in Italy there exist such specific mestieri: not a tailor or a seamstress, no, a jacket maker. Not to be confused with a shirt maker or a dress maker.) I also love that this street, while no longer the location of any workshops devoted to the lost art of jacket-making, still retains, at least partially, its original purpose as it is now a relatively important shopping street. Boasting shops like Ethic, Vic Matie, Empresa, Dada, Lei lei lei, Angelo di Nepi and Pink, it is probably the most visited shopping street in the Campo de' Fiori area.

Photo source

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19th century Italian Rebuses!

Do any of you out there like solving rebuses? You know what I'm talking about, right, those pictogram puzzles? I'm the only one? Okay...

I know Sudoku is all the rage, but since I am generally interested in what was popular in the last decade, if not the last century, I must admit to my preference for this particular type of brain-teaser. So imagine my delight when I stumbled upon these rebuses from the 1800s, engraved by Stefano della Bella.

If you like rebuses (come on, I can't be the only one!) and you speak Italian, give it a go! Try not to look at the answers at the bottom of the first image. The second has no solution, so I'd like to hear what you come up with!

Rebus of Love

Images provided courtesy of the Press Office of the Ministero per i Beni Culturali, and were part of an exhibition entitled, "Ah, che rebus!" presented at Palazzo Poli last winter.

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The Streets of Rome - Vicolo della Spada d'Orlando

When I first found this tiny street, it got me so excited that I had to admit once and for all what a huge dork I am. Vicolo della Spada d’Orlando: Orlando’s Sword Alley. Now, if there isn’t a good story behind this street, then I don’t know my Rome!

Orlando, or Roland in English, is both an historical figure and later legendary character. A Frankish military leader and trusted side-kick of Charlemagne, he was later immortalized in medieval and Renaissance literature, perhaps most famously in the 11^th century French epic poem, Chanson de Roland and later in Orlando Innamorato and Orlando Furioso by Matteo Maria Boiardo and Ludovico Ariosto respectively. He even makes an appearance in Dante’s Divine Comedy.

Detail of train station in Metz, France.

According to these poetic sources, Orlando possessed a mystical sword called Darundel, a horn called Oliphaunt and a horse called Veillantif. The tiny alleyway that bears his name can be found between Piazza Capranica and Via dei Pastini in Rione Colonna, just around the corner from Piazza della Pietra. The unusual name comes from the base of an ancient column that sits along the tiny street, pierced by a deep gash. But what does this have to do with Orlando? We’ve got two possible explanations:

First, during Orlando’s many travels, he found himself at Rome at some point, and upon being set upon by Roman soldiers (not very likely in the 8^th century, but let’s suspend our disbelief for the moment), he defended himself with his trusty sword which fell upon this truncated column, leaving the mark that can still be seen. Even less believable is the more commonly accepted story that tells us how, moments before his defeat, to avoid allowing the sword to fall into the hands of the Moors, brave Orlando attempted to destroy it by smashing it into a column. Never mind that this last event took place during the Battle of Roncesvalles in the Pyrenees Mountains. The column, it can be explained, was transported to Rome at a later date. Never mind that the base of said column is a fragment of the Temple of Matidia, built on this spot in 119 AD by Emperor Hadrian in honor of his deified mother-in-law. Let’s not let history and archeology get in the way of a good story!

Which street names have we discussed so far?

Via del Mascherone

Via del Piè di Marmo

Via del Babuino

Vicolo dell'Atleta

Piazza della Pigna

Via dell'Arco della Ciambella

Photo sources: 1, 2

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The Streets of Rome: Via dell'Arco della Ciambella

Doughnut Arch Street

Right. This one requires a bit of explanation. But first, I discovered yesterday the precise terminology of something that gets me rather excited: toponymy, the study of place names. My particular strain of toponymyphilia (ok, that word I completely made up) is focused on, but not limited to, street names (as you may have already noticed). But back to the subject at hand:

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The Streets of Rome - Piazza della Pigna

Turns out not only did Rome's streets get their names for very particular reasons, but their piazzas do too. Today something made me think of the tiny piazza hidden somewhere between the Pantheon and Largo Argentina:

Piazza della Pigna, or Pinecone Square, named for a very famous pinecone found there. The pinecone in question is a massive first century orginal Roman bronze (created by one Publius Cinsius Salvius), dating back to the 1st century AD. It was a fountain at the baths of Agrippa, which were, not surprisingly, located in the exact same area. Imagine the odds!

 

Once water gushed out of the top of the pinecone, as well as from little spouts all around the base. A few of these spouts still exist. Since the Pigna was discovered in the 8th century, the darkest of the dark ages, it would have been at risk of being melted down and used for weaponry, a fate that most ancient Roman bronzes suffered. But the pinecone, being a very spiritual symbol in Christianity, was revered, and so the sculpture was preserved.

In fact, the pinecone is a revered symbol in many religions. For Christians it represents eternal life, but it can also be seen in Egyptian, Mithraic, and other pagan art. Some scholars have suggested that because of this shared significance, the pinecone also represented the temporary peace reached between pagans and Christians in Rome when the latter changed their holy day from Saturday (Sabbath) to Sunday, to coincide with the Pagans' holy day in 321 AD. But now I'm getting way off topic...

Shortly after its discovery in the 8th century, the Pigna was given a place of honor in the center of the courtyard of Constantine's Basilica of St. Peter. There it stayed until the basilica was demolished to make way for the new St. Peter's, 500 years ago, and since then it has resided in an enormous niche in the monumental Belvedere Courtyard at the Vatican, now called the Pinecone Courtyard.

This sculpture has indeed had many things named for it. The courtyard, the piazza, the piazza's modest church San Giovanni della Pigna, the nearby Via della Pigna, and in fact, the whole neighborhood. Pigna is one of the Rome's 22 Rioni (neighborhoods). Rione Pigna is medium-sized, and streches from the Pantheon to Via del Corso, from Piazza Venezia to Largo Argentina, and its symbol is, you guessed it, a pinecone.

Photo sources: 1, 2

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The Streets of Rome - Vicolo dell'Atleta

One of the many things that delights me about this city is its street names. Every street, road and alleyway in this town was christened for a very specific reason.

The one on my mind today is Vicolo dell'Atleta. Athlete's Alley.

Tucked away amongst the narrow backstreets on the quiet side of Trastevere, this picturesque vine-covered alley slightly inclines, adding to its charm. But why the name?

At the beginning of the tiny street, just around the corner from Via Genovese, the façade of an extraordinary building can be found. This was the site of a tenth century synagogue in what was once the heart of Rome’s Jewish Quarter, (before it moved across the river to its current location).

Sadly, only a shell of the synagogue survives today, but the thousand-year-old facade, with its columned archways, that probably once sheltered a loggia, along with its pointed arch detailing gives us a glimmer of the medieval soul of this city. An even more significant detail is the faint but unmistakable sight of Hebrew letters etched onto the columns.


But where does the Athlete come in? The doorway on the lower left is the backdoor of Spirito diVino, a fantastic restaurant whose main entrance is on Via Genovese. We've eaten here a few times, and the food and wine are superb, but the true wonder is underground. Although the restaurant itself lives on the second floor of what remains of the medieval Synagogue--you would never guess with the stark modern interior--downstairs, if you ask, you will be led into their wine cellar, an ancient room which, the owners boast, "predates the Colosseum!" The wine cellar in fact dates back to the 1st century AD, and what is even more astounding is what was found there. Why yes, an athlete.

Apoxyomenos, to be precise. But more on him another day.

Photo sources: 1, 2

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Trick of the Eye

After nearly a year’s absence, I am happily returning to my much-neglected blog. Following what has been quite surely the busiest, craziest and most overwhelming 12 months of my life (which culminated in my own unforgettable nozze), I have at last the time to devote myself once again to the simple pleasures all around me here in my often maddening and always delightful adopted city.

To ease myself back into this blogging thing, today I’ll post an article I wrote for WHERE Rome magazine, published in January. It’s brief over-view of the Eternal City’s many optical illusions. Each one thrills and fascinates me and deserves much more than a paragraph, but alas, with a limited word-count of a tourist magazine, one is forced to be succinct. I intend to expand upon this theme and write more thorough and in-depth descriptions of each one of these glorious sites in the weeks to come. In the mean time…

Just when you think you’ve seen everything in Rome, something right around the corner surprises you. Hidden alleyways, forgotten works of art, unexpected vistas waiting to amaze you at every turn. But nothing is more confounding than the Eternal City’s many optical illusions. Mischievously tricking your eye, these beguiling phenomena have mystified and delighted viewers for centuries. Go in search of them, and you won’t be the first –or the last– to be deceived.

Perhaps the largest –and most famous– optical illusion can be found in St. Peter’s Square. Gianlorenzo Bernini’s ingenious elliptical design is bordered on both sides by four rows of daunting travertine columns, 284 in all. But stand in a particular spot in the square and the outer three rows disappear from view and only the first row can be seen.

To view St. Peter’s from a different angle, hop in a cab on Via Piccolomini, high on Vatican hill, where the dome can be seen in all its glory. The trees that line the street create a kind of frame for the basilica, and as you drive toward it, the frame widens, and the dome appears to shrink on the horizon.

Illusions involving Michelangelo’s masterpiece don’t end there. Across town, on the Aventine Hill, at the villa of the infamous Knights of Malta, take a peek through the keyhole and the magnificent cupola can be viewed. Although it is miles away, it appears to be just on the other side of the door, nestled amongst the greenery in the villa’s garden.

Inside the basilica, surely the most prized work of art is Michelangelo’s first masterpiece, the moving and graceful Pietà, carved when he was only 23. The master’s grasp of human anatomy was fiercely accurate; nevertheless, if the figures of Mary and Christ were to stand side by side, she would tower over him, at least two feet taller. This can be explained both by Michelangelo’s decision to use a triangular shape for the composition, thereby necessitating Mary’s overly large lower body, as well as his choice to accent Christ’s weakened and vulnerable state in death, appearing small in his mother’s arms.

Illusions continue to abound inside the Vatican Museums, most particularly in the Gallery of Tapestries. The Resurrection of Christ, an early 16th-century Flemish tapestry based on designs of the school of Raphael, was woven using the technique of shifting perspective. View it from the left, and you will see Christ’s head turned toward you and his eyes making contact with yours. Slowly walk toward the right and not only will his eyes follow you, but his head and body turn as well, as does the rectangular stone he is stepping on. The illusion was achieved by double stitching: miniscule overlapping stitches that disappear behind one another depending on where you stand. Entranced by this effect, you might not notice yet another illusion on the vaulted ceiling of the same gallery. Using the tromp l’œuil technique of painting shadows, what appears to be an intricately carved ceiling of bas-reliefs and moldings is in reality entirely two-dimensional.

Haven’t had enough? The nave of Sant’Ignazio di Loyola near the Pantheon possesses a dramatically frescoed vault with what seem to be dizzyingly tall columns and hundreds of figures ascending straight into the heavens. More stunning still is the make-believe dome, in fact just a round canvas stretching across the church’s crossing, which –from a vantage spot marked by a marble star on the floor– appears to be a lofty, ribbed and coffered dome. Both were frescoed by master illusionist Andrea Pozzo.

Perhaps most mystifying of all is Baroque architect Francesco Borromini’s baffling perspective at the Galleria Spada near Campo de’ Fiori. Stand in the courtyard and you will see a long portico of columns that leads to a small garden and a whimsical statue. As you walk down the portico, the floor inclines upward, the columns shorten, the path narrows and the vaulted ceiling declines. The garden is just a few square feet and what seemed like a life-sized sculpture is not even as tall as your hip. You have been tricked again!

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Rome is in the Details

Apologies for the week-long silence. Finding a new apartment in the eternal city is a full-time job. I will try to get back on track even though the apartment-hunt is far from over. Woe is me.

Yesterday, as I was biking through town running various errands in the sun, I was struck yet again by the sheer beauty and uniqueness of this city. I'm working on a project for a friend that involves photographing building numbers, so as I whizzed up and down narrow cobbled back streets, I scanned the sides of the buildings. It's amazing the details that you notice when doing this that otherwise perhaps would be missed.

Someone once said, "Rome is in the details" and although Rome is certainly also in the monuments, "Um, Pantheon, anyone?" the former is also overwhelmingly true.

Here are a few of my humble photos from a walk around my favorite piazza.

All photos by author

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Pasquino and the Talking Statues

On Wednesday I introduced the topic of Talking Statues, some of my favorite curiosities of Rome.

Six in all, these ancient marble social commentators gave average citizens the opportunity to criticize the government and the pope in a time when freedom of press was a distant dream.

Legend has it that a tailor named Pasquino was the first to post a witty comment on the pedestal of an ancient marble statue near Piazza Navona. The battered remnants of the sculpture of Menelaus with the body of Patroclus--or so it is believed to be--was moved to its present position from the site of Domitian's Stadium (now Piazza Navona) in 1501. Shortly thereafter, it became a magnet for any well-worded jab at the powers that be, and whether or not this tailor was indeed the one to start the trend, the statue eventually took the name Pasquino, as did the triangular piazza where it still sits today. Five other talking statues are dotted around the city, including my favorite, Il Babuino.

 

In addition, Abate Luigi, a late Roman statue of a man in a toga, was discovered near the ruins of the Theatre of Pompey, and now resides in Piazza Vidoni. Besides serving as a posting board for political satires, the unfortunate senator has had his head removed several times by pranksters.

Madama Lucrezia, in actuality a fragmant from an ancient colossal statue of Isis that can be found today in Piazza San Marco, not only "talked" but went so far as to converse with fellow talking statue, the hunky Marforio. Given her options, I don't blame her for chosing him. Easily recognizable as a river god by his position, he was found in the Forum of Augustus, also called the Forum of Mars, hence the name Marforio. Today he can be found in the courtyard of the Capitoline museums.

The final talking statue, Il Facchino, is not an ancient sculpture, but rather part of a 16th century fountain representing a water porter. It is hidden away on the little Via Lata, and very easy to miss.

Only Pasquino has maintained his purpose as a bulletin board for social and political criticism. Posts come and go frequently, and the names Berlusconi and Ratzinger are among the most commonly seen, although it is difficult for me, as a foreigner, to grasp the meaning of many of the satires as they are often written in dialect. Some do seem senseless however, for example several years ago I saw the lyrics to Micheal Jackson's Billy Jean posted in block letters for no apparent reason. The most famous of all pasquinades was written in Latin on the occation of Pope Urban VIII Barberini's decision to remove and melt down the bronze of the Pantheon in order to complete his Baldacchino for St. Peter's:

Quod non fecerunt barbari, fecerunt Barberini!

What the barbarians didn't do, the Barberini did!

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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Le Vie di Roma - Via del Babuino

Baboon Street? Can it possibly be?

One of the most prestigious streets in Rome, stretching from Piazza di Spagna to Piazza del Popolo, home to Tiffany & Co., named after a large monkey?

Well, not exactly.

About halfway down Via del Babuino, on the left as you walk to Piazza del Popolo, you will find a simple fountain boasting an odd mossy statue, Il Babuino.

The body of Il Babuino is an ancient sculpture of a Silenus, a Roman mythological creature half man, half goat. The head has clearly been replaced, but from where I have yet to discover. The statue was moved here by Patrizio Grandi to be incorporated into the fountain outside his home on what was formerly Via Paolina. The statue became referred to as "the baboon" because of its unpleasant appearance, and the name stuck. So much so that eventually the street was officially renamed for it.

Eventually, Il Babuino became one of the six Talking Statues of Rome, called as such because, beginning in the 16th century, they were used by the people to post complaints and commentary, generally about the church or the state. Often written in Roman dialect or rhyme, or both, the "Pasquinades" as they were called (named after the most famous talking statue, Pasquino) were (and still are) clever and entertaining ways for people to voice their opinions anonymously.

Il Babuino's most famous Pasquinade was posted as Napoleon's troops plundered Rome, carrying off countless artistic treasures, many of which have yet to be returned. It read: "I francesi sono tutti ladri? No, non tutti... ma BuonaParte!"

("Are all Frenchmen thieves? No, not all... but most of them!")

More on the Talking Statues tomorrow...

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The Tower of Winds and the Gregorian Calendar

While strolling down the Gallery of Maps in the Vatican Museums, a seemingly interminable corridor displaying frescoed maps of the Italian landscape, it is easy to feel disoriented. Dizzy, even. The gallery is 395 feet long, over the length of a US football field, and contains forty brightly painted topographical maps of the regions of Italy, each one embellished with intricate details such as compasses, sea creatures and ships. The ceiling is no less spectacular, a barrel vault decorated with stucco, gold leaf, grotesques, and frescoes depicting stories from the lives of the saints. Windows to the right afford breathtaking views of the Vatican Gardens. It is almost too much for the eye to take in.

Little wonder, then, that visitors rarely are aware of the marvel that is right above their heads. At the north side of the gallery rises the little-known Tower of the Winds, one of the highest points in Vatican City. It was erected between 1578 and 1580 by Ottaviano Mascherino, the Bolognese architect who also designed the Gallery of Maps, built at the same time. The Tower of the Winds takes its name from the anemoscope it possesses, an instrument that gauges the direction of the wind, designed by Ignazio Danti, the papal cosmographer. However, despite its name, Pope Gregory XIII commissioned the tower for the sole purpose of determining the extent of the inaccuracy of the Julian Calendar that had first come to light during the Council of Trent in 1563.

Since the First Council of Nicaea in 325, Easter has been celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox (that is, March 21st, when day and night are exactly the same length). At the height of the Counter Reformation, one of many reaffirmations made during the Council of Trent was the necessity of celebrating Easter on the correct date, at risk of ex-communication. This was primarily done to further separate the Catholic Church from the Orthodox Church, which had a different process of determining the date of Easter. But when it became clear that the calendar was incorrect, the Pope himself became essentially guilty of a crime punishable by ex-communication.

In order to address this issue, the Tower of Winds was built, complete with a floor meridian, also the work of Danti, to correctly identify the spring equinox. The interior of the two storey tower is lavishly frescoed by landscape painters Paul and Matthijs Bril, brothers from Antwerp, and Nicolò Circignani, also known as “Pomarancio”. On the lower of the two levels, the windowless Meridian Room, a small hole in the south wall allows a ray of sunlight to project onto the marble meridian on the floor. At noon on the spring equinox, the ray should fall in a specific line. When it was tested for the first time, in 1582, it occurred on March 11th instead of March 21st. The calendar was ten days off.

The cause of this inaccuracy was a tiny miscalculation. According to the Julian calendar, which was in use from the time of Julius Caesar until 1582, leap year was observed every year divisible by four, except for centurial years (1300, 1400, etc.) Under this system, each year was, on average, roughly two hours too long. After nearly sixteen hundred years, these extra hours added up to ten days. Pope Gregory adjusted the calendar to observe leap year also in any centurial year divisible by 400 (1600, 2000, etc). To make the change complete, of course, those excess ten days had to be eliminated. This was done in October of 1582, when October 4th was followed by October 15th.

A century later, the Tower of Winds became the temporary residence of Queen Christina of Sweden, who gave up her throne to convert to Catholicism and was welcomed to live in the Vatican by Pope Alexander VII. Another two hundred years later, it became the first seat of the Specola Vaticana (Vatican Observatory) under Pope Leo XIII, at which time the roof was turned into a terrace to facilitate astronomical observations.

Although today the Tower of Winds is no longer in use, nor open to the public, I was fortunate enough to visit it in 2008, thanks to the kindness of a Vatican guard who is very dear to my heart. It was an incredible experience, especially knowing that so few people have ever had a chance to see it. No less thrilling was a completely new view of the Cortile della Pigna.

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3

Photo 4 by Claudio Ianniello

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Le Vie di Roma - Via del Piè di Marmo

As promised, Wednesdays will be devoted to Roman streets with interesting names, and this week's street is a foot fetishist's dream.

Via del Piè di Marmo, or Marble Foot Street, is little more than a alley, an tiny back street that is often not even marked on maps. But there is a rather large and ancient artifact that lives there.

The marble foot in question, about the size of a Fiat 500, once belonged to to a colossal statue of the Egyptian goddess Isis. On the site of the nearby Collegio Romano, an ancient temple built by Emperor Domition and dedicated to the gods Isis and Serapis, once stood. The only known remnant of this temple is the goddess' foot, which was moved to its present location because it was holding up funeral processions that passed through Piazza del Collegio Romano.

Photo sources: 1, 2

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