Two Stairways in the Heart of Rome

Georgina Masson's The Companion Guide to Rome, first published in 1965, has always been our favorite "serious" guide to Rome the FIRST time, and today's post is all Georgina.  While Dianne is generally the guidebook user, even Bill--indeed, especially Bill--was fascinated with Masson's commentary on two side-by-side stairways, one to the church of S. Maria d'Aracoeli, the other to the Piazza del Campidoglio (the Capitol), both ascending from the curve of the via del Teatro di Marcello. 

Masson writes: 



To S. Maria d'Aracoeli



"....the first soaring upward like the side of a mountain, the second ascending gradually to an elysian world of golden-hued palaces silhouetted against the translucent aquamarine of the twilight sky." 



Michelangelo's staircase to the Campidoglio

 "The difference between the two epochs that produced them is implicit even in this first glimpse of these two staircases; the one hundred and twenty-two steps of the Aracoeli suggesting the medieval concept of life as a weary pilgrimage leading ultimately to heaven, while the cordonata, the gently inclined ramp before the Capitol, is very much of the splendour and glory of this world.  It is understandable that this should be so, as the Aracoeli stairs were built in 1348 as a thanks-offering for Rome's delivery from the black death, while the cordonata was originally designed by Michelangelo in 1536 for the reception of an emperor." 

Vintage Masson.  Complimenti, Georgina.

Bill

On Location: Improving on the Turtle Fountain

"Even in a city of fountains such as Rome, this probably holds the palm for sheer delight; and what other country but Italy could have produced it?" The sentiments are those of Georgina Masson, whose Companion Guide to Rome is one our favored companions, and her subject the Fontana delle Tartarughe/Fountain of the Turtles, in the Jewish ghetto's Piazza Mattei. It owes its charm to age and quality; it was executed in 1581 from a design by Gioacomo della Porta, and the turtles--a lovely afterthought--are of more recent origin (1658), probably by the talented and ubiquitous Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

Despite its charms, the fountain in its natural state was not lovely enough for the film company we observed in May of last year. It seems the Roman sun had dried it off, or up, and the filmmaker wanted it to glisten and shine.
So it was one guy's job to pretty much constantly toss water on the fountain (irony!!) so it would be at its best when the cameras started to roll. He's at work on the left of this photo. And that's how you improve on the sublime.

Bill