There's a new Sheriff in town, and he's on the Spanish Steps

One of Rome's characteristics is the sense of freedom one feels on its streets.  Not much is regulated, or if regulated, not enforced.  Motorists sometimes drive the wrong way down a one-way street. With the possible exception of the Historic Center, parking is a free-for-all, with cars frequently sitting astride pedestrian paths, motor scooters--and cars, too--on the sidewalk. Unlike Seattle, nobody gets ticketed or warned for jaywalking.  The streets are famously strewn with trash, some of it thrown there, with intent.  Restaurants and pizzerias are notorious for taking up all of the sidewalk (and part of the street) with tables, often in violation of the permit they acquired from the city government, and it's not uncommon for residents to build illegal (abusivi) rooms on the roofs of buildings (occasionally, but only occasionally, someone gets caught).  African immigrants sell knock-off goods in places where they have no permits to operate--and must be ready to wrap everything up in a hurry if the police decide to act.  Late night/early morning, noisy public partying--known as the "movida"--takes place in a variety of locations around the city, from Ponte Milvio to Ostiense.  At the beaches in Ostia, a new regulation prohibiting eating in rented "cabins" is flaunted--and not a single fine (multa) is levied.
And so it's unusual when the police take enforcement seriously, and it's especially unusual when the enforcement takes place in a space known, by Romans and tourists, for romance, relaxation, and recuperation. We're talking about the Spanish Steps.

It started, it seems, when tourists couldn't resist sticking a foot in La Fontana Barcaccia---the historic fountain at the foot of the Steps---or, in at least one case last year, taking a chunk out of the fountain with a hammer and screwdriver.

That's intolerable, to be sure.  But the policing of the Steps we noticed recently was only marginally related to the fountain.  The police officer we observed, moving among the hundreds of people on the Steps, was perhaps engaged in a form of  "broken windows" policing, a method based on the idea that preventing minor "crimes" (window-breaking) would send signals that would in turn reduce major crimes (theft, robbery, assault).  The overall goal seems to be the maintenance of "decorum." According to new regulations, among the breaches of decorum will be sitting on the edge of an important fountain, like the one beneath the Steps (possible fine: 160 Euro).  Fine for taking a dip: 450 Euro.

In the few minutes we observed, our Steps policeman:
a) scolded a couple for eating a sandwich while seated on the stairs
b) told a woman who had taken off her shoes to put them back on--all with a finger-wag.

So, if you're thinking of spending some time at the Spanish Steps, don't go into the fountain, don't sit on the edge of the fountain, don't eat on the stairs, and keep your shoes on!  

Bill

"The Monster in the Garden": Luke Morgan Reinterprets Italian Gardens

The "Hellmouth"  - It was also a 16th-century dining room.   Parco dei Mostri, Bomarzo.

The "Hellmouth" of the Parco dei Mostri ("Monster Park") in Bomarzo near Rome seems simply a curious anachronism these days.  But in the 16th century, when the park was created, it projected dread, as well as pleasure.  "Pleasurable dread" or "fear followed by pleasure" is the better way to interpret both the Hellmouth and the other monsters of Italy's once famous early Renaissance parks, according to a new book by Luke Morgan, The Monster in the Garden.

The hellmouth is an ambiguous, hybrid structure, Morgan says.  It was used as an outdoor dining room.  And so, he posits, it's the scene of devouring (nourishment, pleasure) and being devoured (death, dread).  There is, according to this author, a theme of violence in the gardens that has been lost or downplayed by other writers.

Another fine monster in the Parco dei Mostri.

With Morgan's new approach to these parks, you too can re-visit them and enjoy them with fresh insights.  He approaches these "grotesques" or "monsters" as ambivalent or contradictory, rather than the "insipid idea of the garden" that has been the province of modern scholarship.  Morgan essentially reclaims the monster/grotesque as a complex, multi-valent figure, rather than simply "ugliness and horror," as Edmund Wilson described Bomarzo.

Focusing mainly on the "Parco dei Mostri" and Tivoli's Villa d'Este, the book is a trove of ideas for looking at their sculptures.  

Among Italian garden aficionados, it's common knowledge that Tivoli has the Rometta fountain, the personification of Rome, at one end, and Tivoli at the other.  Morgan adds to this interpretation by pointing out it's the metropolis at one end, the spa town at the other, another example of polarities.

The "Rometta fountain."  There are many Rome identifiers, including the Dea Roma (Goddess Rome), top center; the
Lupa with Romulus and Remus, above right; the boat fountain from Piazza di Spagna; and the Obelisk.  Villa d'Este, Tivoli.

"Fountain of Nature" - and what are all those spouts?
Villa d'Este, Tivoli.

A closer look at the...what?
animals? on the Fountain of
Nature.

He also identifies the range of bodily fluids fountains can represent: vomit, sweat, tears. He claims the Villa d'Este's Fountain of Nature - that we've always thought of as the many-breasted woman -  may not have breasts at all.  He says the idea that the fountain's many spouts are breasts may have developed only in the late Renaissance. Whatever she has - nipples, testicles, animals - there are too many, she's excessive, and so she is abnormal, he concludes. 

And he posits, maybe these are not breasts.

The leaning house in Bomarzo: the point between
good and bad.

In Bomarzo, Morgan also has an interesting take on the basic layout of the park.  He says no one is even sure where the entrance was, and so we don't know what the basic walking motif should have been: is it showing a false paradise (the little temple or 'tempietto') leading down into hell, or does the path end at this temple of divine love?  The tempietto in either case, he says, is a state of grace; the house that is distorted and leaning is a turning point between good and bad.  

Bringing up an old example of fake news, Morgan discusses the "false book of antiquities" that argued Viterbo was the cradle of an Etruscan civilization founded by a race of noble giants, surpassing Rome. He notes the park's fake Etruscan tomb that he calls a "deliberate ruin or 'folly' that even has a picturesque (fake) fracture."  In other words, this is a simulated ruin.

A fake Etruscan tomb - this one in Ariccia's Parco Chigi.

Looking for all the concepts Morgan discusses in his book could take one weeks.  Checking out just a few as one visits or re-visits these parks is intriguing, delightful, and good old-fashioned fun.  He has points to make about statuary in Rome as well, such as Bocca della Verita' ("participatory grotesque") and Bernini's Four Rivers Fountain in Piazza Navona (half-invented creatures).  And while he concentrates on Bomarzo and Tivoli, he also references Villa Aldobrandini in Frascati, Villa Lante in Bagnaia and Villa Farnese in Caprarola, both in northern Lazio; Sovana in southern Tuscany; and Florence's Medici Sculpture Gardens.

A threatening (and large-spouted) hybrid female in Villa d'Este.

I recommend Morgan's book for the sheer number of concepts he addresses.  In addition to the few mentioned above, others are: grotesqueness and monstrosity; the world as a giant human body (citing Leonardo); the giant or colossal mode; hybrids (usually female, reflecting male anxieties about the sexuality of women); Renaissance representation of more than one time at once; the role of the Fascist reinterpretation of the Italian garden (to privilege man, the rational, and the male).

Another Villa d'Este hybrid;
this one not so threatening.

A hybrid in Villa Sciarra, Rome (think she's a force for good?
 note the skull).  Once you start looking for these creatures,
they seem to be everywhere.

The full title of Morgan's work is The Monster in the Garden:The Grotesque and the Gigantic in Renaissance Landscape Design.  I saved writing it out until now because I didn't want to scare away lay people from the book.  Morgan also is deeply steeped in lit-crit and other theories. So you have to wade through references to Debord, Bakhtin, Benjamin, Foucault.  But is it worth it?  In a word, yes.

Another Hellmouth - this one in Villa Aldobrandini, Frascati.

And a fine small restaurant
after viewing all those
 monsters l'Ape 50, in Tivoli.

Luke Morgan, The Monster in the Garden: The Grotesque and the Gigantic in Renaissance Landscape Design, U. Penn. Press, 2016.

Dianne

Tourists enjoying the many spouts.  Villa d'Este.

Required shot of one of the gorgeous Villa d'Este vistas - sans monsters.

Colle Oppio: In the Shadow of the Coliseum

So you've "done" the Coliseum.  It's not yet lunchtime [1-3 in Rome outside the tourist areas], you've given the fenced-in Arch of Constantine its due, and you're tired of being surrounded by tourists and badgered by folks wanting to sell you stuff. Where do you go?  What's next?

You wouldn't know it, but you're just due passi--literally two steps, but generally meaning "nearby"--from Colle Oppio [Oppio Hill], a fascinating, compact, Roman park, filled with attractions from the historic to the funky.  You can get onto, or into, the Colle Oppio through the gate, and then the path, that runs roughly north from the Coliseum, paralleling via Labicana. This is one of Rome's famous seven hills, and some say one of the most inspiring in Rome, with the Coliseum as its backdrop.

One of the first things you see, on your left, is a statue to Alfredo Oriani [1852-1909].  On the side it says A Roma Madre Ravenna.  It's a creation of the Fascist era--XIII, the 13th year of the Fascist regime, or 1935.  A novelist, poet, and social critic, Oriani's work received little attention until the end of the Great War, when it was discovered by the Fascist regime and, with Mussolini as editor, republished in 30 volumes.  Oddly, Oriani was also appreciated by leftist and anti-Fascist Antonio Gramsci, who wrote about him in his prison notebooks.  When we saw the statue, it had been lightly defaced with a right-wing symbol.







Shortly after the statue, turn up to the left.  Ahead is a large pool/fountain--another, somewhat earlier Fascist-era monument.














Perhaps its outstanding feature is the amphorae that decorate it--symbols of ancient Rome, when clay vessels of this kind were used to transport oil and other commodities.  The smaller fountains at the sides of the larger ones are of interest as well.  Above each of them is the letter "A" [for Anno, year] and the number VI [the sixth year of Fascism, or 1928].









Beyond the fountain, on a wall to the right, is some intriguing and, we assume, relatively permanent graffiti: Omnia Vincit Amore [sounds to us, who have never studied Latin, like Love Conquers All/Colle Oppio, and in the center a symbol we haven't seen before.  And just ahead, the remains of a substantial and once-elegant complex of ancient Roman baths.  These are what remains of the magnificent, 10,000 square meter Baths of Trajan (Emperor 98-117 AD), designed by the brilliant architect Apollodorus of Damascusa in 109 AD above Nero's famous - or infamous - Golden House (closed/open/closed - we think now truly closed - the conservationists can't seem to prevent its collapse.  Luckily we saw it in its brief open period a few years ago). [See Marco's update in the first comment below - there may be hope here.]  There's another piece to your left and back--we'll get there in a moment.






This park has another aspect, one that you may--or may not--appreciate.  It's a gathering and resting place for black immigrants, some of them the itinerant merchants who are ubiquitous in Rome's tourist areas, others, perhaps, unemployed or underemployed.  When we visited in May, the field next to the baths was dotted with sleeping young men.





As you move more or less back toward the fountain, and somewhat to the right, you'll find a second set of
ancient bath ruins.  These are more of the Baths of Trajan.  When we last were there, the city had put up some informative placards near the various ruin sites.  Since the baths covered 10,000 square meters and had gyms, saunas, hot and cold rooms, etc., you will find ruins dotting Colle Oppio, which has been called an archaeologist's dream.  No crowds here.

Next to this piece of the baths is another treasure, from the 1930s: a stone fountain in the modernist style, once elegant but now broken and defaced.  The marble bowl is beautiful, nonetheless.  And the fasces on the side of the fountain are remarkably well preserved.












Two more sights to see.  One is a modest, 2-story building of unknown origins--it could be hundreds of years old, or only a century--fenced in and circled by bushes and trees.  As the sign says, it's the property of the Comune di Roma--the city government--and houses the Centro Anziani "Colle Oppio": a social center for the neighborhood's population of older, retired people--of which Italy has plenty.




Our last stop is a small athletic field, in sight of the Coliseum, where we began our journey.  On our visit it wasn't being used for soccer or any other sport, but rather as a meeting place for the the area's itinerant merchants.  They often carry their wares in blue plastic bags.  On this day, these merchants also hoped to sell umbrellas.  A broader view of the field is at the end of this post.

Bill  

Rome's most "used" Fountains

Among Rome's great pleasures are its fountains--about 1,000 of them, according to one authority--and not just because they're beautiful or stylish, or because they testify to Rome's abundant supply of fresh water. As any thirsty traveler will tell you, most of them are also useful, even essential, especially in the summer months, when the city swelters in the heat.


RST has identified two fountains that are especially busy, crowded with tourists, locals, and the faithful slaking a thirst.  Each, predictably, is located in the heart of a tourist area, and each has a certain style--even if that style is sometimes mediated by a plastic bottle or the crush of the needy.

The first, below, can be found in Piazza San Marco, that little rectangle of semi-sanity adjacent to Piazza Venezia and across the street from the Altare della Patria.

The second is just to the north of Piazza San Pietro [the right side, as one faces the basilica] - note the fountain's shape - Pope's hats and St. Peter's keys to the church.

Drink up, Rome.
Bill

Elegant but Not Ostentatious: A Favorite Fountain

Rome has hundreds of fountains, and every visitor has a favorite, or a few favorites.   One of mine is this gem of a drinking fountain (the water running continuously, ala romana).  It's part of the University of Rome--the main campus, La Sapienza, the one built by the Mussolini regime in the late 1930s.  The entrance to the campus, a combination of rationalist and monumental modernism, is located on via d. Scienze, just a few blocks from the Termini train station.  You can see the entrance (from inside the campus) in the photograph, behind the fountain. 

The bowl of the fountain is set into a three-footed base, subtly and elegantly decorated on each side with those graceful, gently waving parallel lines that at once reinforce the vertical and blend it with a different sort of energy, one, perhaps, with its roots in nature rather than man, as if the water were flowing not from a pipe, but from a spring.  Whatever it is, it works.   Bill

Water, Water, Everywhere? Rome's "Dry" Fountains

RST is pleased to welcome Romaphile Joan Schmelzle as guest blogger for this report on some of Rome's most curious fountains--those that don't have any water.  Joan is a graduate of Northern Illinois University and taught English in the region for many years.  She is currently active in the Center for Learning in Retirement in Rockford, Illinois.  In November, she'll experience the wonders of Rome not for the 2nd time, but the 13th. 

Having traveled to Rome several times over the last 50 years, I knew that Rome was a city of fountains and a city proud of its fountains and its wonderful water supply.  What I wasn’t ready for on my last trip was the many dry fountains that I ran into during my “fountain hunt.” 

Sad Eagle

 I found these lifeless fountains in many different parts of the city, and often there didn’t seem to be much reason for them.  I was especially surprised to see several in the Vatican Gardens during my tour.  I did see several men working in one or two different areas, but none on the fountains.  Of course, all the big show fountains were burbling away, but a couple were especially noticeable.  First was a somewhat sad looking eagle.  Judging from what looked like spouts on the top, water should have been pouring over him.   

Still thirsty

Another was a sea creature that seemed to be trying for a drink from a shell.  I fear he stayed thirsty.

Waterless Borghese Rocks

 Wandering through the Villa Borghese, I found a small area of rocks that  appeared to have once been swept by a wide flow of water and now seemed lifeless without it.   

Headless satyr (center)

I believe the saddest dry fountain in the Villa was the Fountain of the Satyrs, also called by the author H. V. Morton [see link to Morton's fountain book at the end of this post] the Fountain of Joy.  And I’m sure it once was a joyful sight.  But when I saw not only was it dry, but the smallest satyr, who was being bounced on the extended arms of the other two, was headless. This is one I would like to see being joyful again when I return to Rome.

A Dry Neptune

Across from the Pincio Hill end of Villa Borghese is one of the two huge fountains placed there by Valadier, who designed the Piazza del Popolo as we now see it.  Unfortunately, a huge statue of Neptune had no water for him to rule over.  

Monti

In another lively area of Rome, Monti, there is a fountain that I have seen running very happily with water and surrounded by people out enjoying their neighborhood.  On this trip, the fountain was dry, but it was decorated with several colorful balloons.  It seemed like the neighborhood wanted to add some life to its gathering place.

Dry wrestling

In the large park-like Piazza Vittorio, I found what at first looked like a series of twisted arms and legs but finally seemed to be at least two men wrestling with a large sea creature.

Nearby was what I took to be a tall ruin of a building, but on more research was found to be the ruins of a fountain that was once part of the ancient Trophies of Marius.

Marforio

Famous old Marforio, one of Rome’s talking statues, sits alone and dry in the entry of the Palazzo Nuovo on the Capitoline Hill.  He and his “friends” often exchanged criticisms of the government, the church, or whatever person or group that they felt deserved it. 

 Also dry this trip was Babuino, one of Marforio’s “friends,” after whom Via Babuino was named.   On my next trip I expect to see him with his trough filled; he was being restored last I saw him.

Apollo

 The garden of Palazzo Barberini, one of Rome’s top galleries, has been restored.  However, the water had not yet been sent to its fountains.  A restored Apollo with his lyre waited at the top of the hill for the water to make music for him.  Elsewhere in the garden were some rocks that looked like they should be fountains and which had water in the basins around them, but it looked more like rain water, and nothing was coming out of the spouts.

Pig and a Plaque

I conclude with one of my favorites—technically, no longer a fountain.  A small plaque with a pig atop tells the story.  With a little help from my Italian dictionary, it says: “On this site was placed the fountain which was in the way of the corner of Via dei Portughesi in the year 1874.”  I know that I won’t find water if I return to this little pig, but I certainly hope that some of my other dry finds will again be lively with good Roman water.

 A presto, Roma

Joan Schmelzle

PS from Dianne - Joan cites one of our favorite books - Morton's "Fountains of Rome."  See the end of our earlier post on the "fontanone" for info on the book; if you're a Romaphhile - get it.