Italian Thoughts
Brilliant orange
and glimmering crimson autumn leaves, steadfast against a relentless wind, greeted
me this morning. Regrettably, the beauty
of spring’s renewal will fall to these persistent gales as nature’s slate
prepares for winter’s cleansing.
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| Autumn Leaves |
Home in the States, unpacked, still sorting through months of mail, our sleep-wake
patterns disrupted from jet lag mixed with Daylight Savings Time, thoughts of
Italy remain. Like the leaves outside our window try their best to hold firm, we cling to Italian memories. As we gradually adjust to new rhythms, our
thoughts leap across the time zones that now separate us from the unfinished
perfection of Italy.
It is
more than, as Maria
Elena likes to relate, an impulse to greet passing strangers here with a buongiorno
or buonasera. Just maybe, like
the physical disruption of our body clocks, there is a psychological reordering
underway. In this case, it would be
nothing approaching PTSD. Instead, on a
more positive note, far removed from anything approaching trauma, we are
experiencing what I’d define as Post Pleasant Existence Adjustment (PPEA). I refer to it as an adjustment, rather than a
disorder because there’s nothing disjoint here, simply an adaptation to new
conditions far less enjoyable in this rushed age. There are many recent memories to go along
with this clinging consciousness. A
night at the opera and Matera by umbrella, readily come to mind.
There were three “seatings” that went along with our
evening at the opera. As with life
aboard a cruise ship, these “seatings” weren’t scheduled times for meals in the
dining room, or as might
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| Pink Palazzo Barbarigo Minotto |
easily be assumed, to different theater performances throughout
the day. Instead, our opera “seatings”
were literally our movement to three venues at discrete intervals aligned with
the opera’s acts presented in separate rooms of an ancient palace – a dining
room, parlor, and finally, a shabby bedroom.
The curtain didn’t close only to open to a new scene. Instead, in a clever twist, the rooms were
the stage sets and we moved into new scenery with bubbly flutes of Prosecco
offered along the way.
In fact, the entire night was one of movement beginning when we departed our B&B. We set off early that evening to give us
enough time to find 15th-century Palazzo Barbarigo Minotto where “Musica a
Palazzo” would host the soiree. All
these unfamiliar places were new to us in a yet alien city with nightfall only
adding to the adventure. Palazzo
Barbarigo Minotto, we were told, was accessed via Fondamenta Duodo, a narrow
street that terminated on the Grand Canal located behind Santa Maria del Giglio
Church.
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| We Found It! |
We found the street and followed
it as it ran along a small canal all the while looking for the spur of an alley,
Sestiere San Marco, about halfway along its length somewhere to the right. It was dark with the walkway covered by a
shed-like roof and just a railing to keep us from falling into an adjacent
canal. The requested evening attire was “elegant
casual” that sounded contradictory in itself. If, however, we’d changed our clothes to the
Venetian style of 500 years earlier, you would have easily thought we’d
traveled through time into a scene from an old master’s painting. On our first attempt, concerned over the
tricky surroundings, we overshot the alley and had to double back. The dimly lit walkways left behind, we eventually
found the entry with the help of a sign announcing “Musica a Palazzo” on the
last door at the end of the alley and entered. Just finding it
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| Maria Elena at the Opera |
had been part of the
experience. As we followed the directions
and climbed the candle-lit wide treads of a marble stairway from the entry hall
to the next level, we were full of anticipation, ready to next experience a
chamber opera performance of Verdi’s “La Traviata”. Unfamiliar with the story, we were eager to
learn what lay behind this title which literally meant, “The Woman Who
Strayed”.
A brief Cliffs
Notes style summary of Verdi’s storyline begins with an August party at the home
of Violetta Valery, a glamorous courtesan, famous in Parisian high society. She is introduced to Alfredo Germont and
learns that he has been a long time silent admirer and had called on her daily
during her recent illness which we’re reminded of in a fainting interlude. She is suffering from tuberculosis. Intrigued, she gives him a flower telling him
to return it when it has faded, in hope that they will meet again. It is not long afterward that Alfredo
declares his love for Violetta, something she has never known.
Time moves
forward to the second act. It is now
January
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| Alfredo and Violetta |
and Violetta is living with Alfredo in the Parisian countryside. Their relationship well advanced, Alfredo’s
father visits her privately. He asks her
to break off her relationship with his son. Arguments and counter-arguments ensue until
Violetta relents on learning that Alfredo’s sister’s wedding is in jeopardy
because her fiancé will not accept an alliance with a family, however noble, “in
disgrace”, due to Violetta’s reputation as a courtesan, a prostitute with wealthy, upper-class clients. Realizing that her continued relationship with
Alfredo would compromise his sister’s future, she decides to give up Alfredo
and asks him to promise her that after she dies, he will explain to Alfredo the
real reason why she left him. Much back
and
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| Act III - The Bedroom |
forth ensues when Alfredo confronts Violetta. He is confused from the veil hiding the
untold truth and the fiction of a supposed new suitor. It is February when the final act begins. The scene is of a dimly lit bedroom, the walls
scabby with fragmenting plaster. We
learn that Violetta is in the final stages of her illness with only a few hours
to live when Alfredo arrives. Having
been estranged for some time, he is now aware of her sacrifice from his
father. The drama is much like the final
scene of La Boheme. Reunited,
reconciled, and their love reaffirmed, Violetta dies in Alfredo’s arms.
There are thought to be parallels with La Traviata and the still
popular 1990 movie, Pretty Woman.
The film and the opera have similar characters, a wealthy Richard Gere, very
similar to the nobleman, Alfredo Germont, and a prostitute played by Julia
Roberts who mimics Violetta Valéry’s lifestyle although nowhere near as
sophisticated or wealthy. To draw the comparison
further, there is a point in the movie where Gere takes Julia Roberts to
the opera and wouldn’t you know it, they watch La Traviata.
Such an intimate
performance, set in a
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| Act II - Paolo's Near Audition |
palace with the actors moving about among us made
me feel that I was part of the action, far more a contributor than an observer. In fact, there was a point when I could have
been. Seating was on a first-come, first-serve basis. When we moved to the parlor
scene, I took a seat along a wall beside a credenza. At one point events got close when a
distraught Violetta in a dramatic move heightened further by the music, moved in
my direction and laid her head in her hands on the table only inches from mine. She’d just been told to break off her
relationship with Alfredo and her anguish was palpable. Caught up in the moment it would have been
understandable to touch her hand in comforting solidarity. The thought occurred to me but then I held
back. Luckily, I hadn’t been totally
absorbed into the drama. My hesitation
proved long enough for her to compose herself and move on. Actor union card or no union card, my debut as
an extra, never envisioned by Verdi, who I doubt ever imagined his creation
would be performed in this manner, was at an end before it had begun.
There was no need
for our performer’s fine voices to require amplification. Their Italian diction clear, their volume was
likely loud enough to be heard outside on the Grand Canal by a passing gondola even
over the four-piece orchestra accompaniment that traveled with us room to
room. A mural above our heads in the baroque parlor where Violetta was asked to renounce Alfredo, said it all. This painting is entitled “The Triumph of
Virtue over Ignorance”. Indeed, here was
an example of virtue over ignorance as Violetta chose righteousness and
goodness when the veil of ignorance of the situation was removed. Although abbreviated a bit in detail from a
full-blown La Scala performance, likewise in our haste we’d arrived uninformed
and I must admit, ignorant to the magic of opera. Yet like Violetta, we’d soon become
informed. Certainly, our escape from the
crowds of the city that evening had a different worth for about the same cost as
floating in a gondola. Each has its
moments to cherish. More than a theater
in the round ever could, we’d been drawn into the surrounding action and
absorbed into the play, bathed in the music, mesmerized by our historic
surroundings, the fabulous costumes, and moved by the emotion of the
scenes. Each more than reason enough to
cling to these memories of Italian excellence.
There were many other pleasurable rhythms among our most
recent memories of Italy. Still
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| Matera Chimneys |
on the
move, this one found us in the region of Basilicata, in ancient times called
Lucania, many hours from Venice and almost two hours from home base Calitri. We’d been there before. Each visit revealed another side of Matera
which in 1993 was designated a “World Heritage Site” by the UN. More recently it had been selected as the
“2019 European Capital of Culture”. In
preparation, the city had met the demanding task of planning 50 weeks of
cultural events featuring a pan-European character - their slogan “Matera 2019
Open Future”. Each day of this
celebratory year, there would be exhibits to visit, a live show, and time to wander
natural trails and meet the people of Matera.
This turnaround follows its long-held negative reputation as a city synonymous
with poverty, its citizens living in caves in conditions of squalor. That squalor is now gone. Its caves have been resurrected as tourist
sites, restaurants, homes, shops, and hotels.
Matera has been inhabited since the Paleolithic
period, better known as the Stone Age, when people made their homes there by
burrowing into the tufa limestone along a river valley. This built-up ravine is today known as the “Sassi”
(Stones). The city was allegedly founded
by the Romans in the 3rd century BC, with the name of Matheola after consul
Lucius Caecilius Metellus. Much later, Matera
and its cave-bound citizens received widespread attention following Italy’s
fascist era. Carlo Levi, a writer,
doctor, and artist, was exiled to a nearby city by Benito Mussolini. From this
experience, he wrote that he had never seen such a picture of poverty. It took until after WWII that a state of
emergency was declared in Matera, then referred to as “a national disgrace”.
Our plan was to stay overnight. We arrived mid-afternoon a little later than
expected because of the route we’d taken from Calitri. Our trusty GPS, Margaret, had me turn east toward
Matera earlier than we knowingly would have.
I realized this miles into it and decided not to turn around. I should have, for the route, which
eventually led north of Matera to Altamura, not only proved longer but was a
trail of snaking switchbacks and rolling terrain. Confusion lingered when we did arrive at what
we thought was Albergo Italia. Pulled
up alongside the curb, however, we were surprised to discover Albergo Roma. Something was amuck. Our desire to stay at Albergo Italia
was because it provided easy access to the Sassi and had a relation to
the making of the Mel Gibson movie, “The Passion of the Christ”. Gibson had stayed there during the filming. A scene had also been recorded from a room’s
balcony with the Sassi, thought to look much like ancient Jerusalem, serving
as backdrop.
While Maria Elena stayed with the car, I went inside
to verify we had a reservation. Sure
enough, we did. Margaret had done her
job and brought us to the programmed address, however unintended. It wasn’t some ephemeral hand that had typed
in the wrong name, but our hand. Human
error, not Margaret, had brought us to Albergo Roma. It seems that “Roma” had come to mind instead
of “Italia” when we’d googled for the hotel’s address. At least we’d been consistent and had arrived
where we’d booked. In the end, it turned
out that our slipup would prove fortunate.
Soon settled in, we were eager to set off. In our conversation with the desk clerk, Giulio
Cappella,
about some of the sites and a restaurant for the evening, it was obvious that
he was an expert in both the geology and history of Matera. We had struck gold, for Giulio was a certified
city guide and we hired him on the spot.
In past visits, we had not taken tours and knew we’d missed a lot. We arranged to meet him the next morning for
a tour of the Sassi on the steps of Banco di Napoli in Piazza Veneto
sharply at 9 a.m.
The rest of that afternoon and on into
evening, we explored on our own. From
the front door of Albergo Roma, it was only a five-minute walk
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| View into the Sassi |
along busy Via Roma to Matera’s social center, Piazza Vittorio Veneto. There we hesitated at Belvedere
Luigi Guerricchio to take in the view across the sprawling Sassi before
us. Elevated above the ravine in the modern
18th century part of the city, the view down and across this
truly ancient, grey vista is staggering, needing to be witnessed to be fully
appreciated.
Our first stop
was a visit to the “Domenico Ridola” National Archaeological
Museum. It was a perfect day to stop by
because on that day, always appreciated, admission was free. In addition to being a physician, Domenico
was an archaeologist who towards the end of the 19th century unearthed villages
of the Neolithic era, an ancient burial ground, in addition to some tombs belonging
to the later Age of Metals. On the basis
of his findings, he put together a fascinating collection of archeological relics.
In 1911, Dr. Ridola donated his
discoveries to the State. Now conserved
in the museum dedicated to his memory, it was the first of its kind in
the Basilicata region. Today, the
museum’s holdings present this collection of prehistoric articles, up until the
3rd century BC, which over the intervening years has been further enriched and
updated.
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| Paleolithic Animal Pen |
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| Early Oven |
In addition to typical glass cases commonly found in museums of
categorized pots, terracotta statues,
colored vases, jewelry, bronze armor, javelins,
and more, along with accompanying descript- ions in many cases in English, it was
fascinating to walk through a life-size physical display of a prehistoric
village. There was a mud and stick hut, an
animal pen, cave wall art, a primitive oven, and implements. Additionally, we walked through a cave, its
walls painted with animal
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| Skeletal Remains |
shapes along with archaic graffiti. What was so special in the cave
were the skeletal remains of a stone-age human still partially entombed in a grave. His, maybe her, skull and teeth could be easily recognized. Though likely a replica of the real thing, I wanted to believe it was the “real McCoy”. This uninterrupted
museum layout, rich in artifacts from prehistory to early history on up to the
historical age, afforded us a unique insight
and a greater understanding of the origins of Matera.
Farther along Via del Corso, past where it morphs into Via Ridolla,
we arrived at the Carlo Levi exhibition. Dr. Carlo
Levi was an anti-fascist activist/politician from Turin in northern Italy who
worked diligently to remedy the centuries-old backwardness of destitute
Basilicata. He became familiar with the
plight of the southern Basilicata region when he was banished to the village of
Aliano in 1935 as a confinato (political prisoner) for his anti-fascist agitation. For a year, he lived among impoverished
peasants and was overwhelmed by the hardships he observed these people endured
daily. The grueling poverty he encountered was on a scale unknown in
his prosperous north. He described life
there as “… that world hedged in by custom and sorrow …” It was during his exile that he spent much of
his time painting, writing, and assisting the townspeople as a doctor.
His legacy as a painter includes a huge narrative painting, "Lucania '61", showcased in the Palazzo Lanfranchi
Museum in Matera. This mural
is a proud spectacle of everyday life in Lucania
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| Levi's Lucania '61" Painting |
depicting life filled with
pain reflected on the faces of the characters, in many cases real
townspeople. The paint long dry, the images forever frozen in time, its chronology,
left to right, first laments a single death. It goes on to depict the life of the deceased
and in so doing mirrors centuries of courageous Lucanian existence. Though we’d seen it before, it had more
meaning to us after we’d watched the movie “Cristo si è Fermato a Eboli” (Christ Stopped at Eboli), based on the
book by the same name that Dr. Levi had published in 1945. The book’s
title is confusing. Its origin is a peasant
expression that requires a familiarity with the region to appreciate. In the local dialect, cristiani primarily means “Christian,”
but can also mean “civilized,” or “decent”. The local expression and subsequent title were
therefore a way of saying that Christ’s civilizing spirit never made it farther
than Eboli (a town farther west of Aliano toward the coast, south of Salerno) due
to their isolation leaving
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| A Panel of the Painting |
them unenlightened, without political voice,
creatures of paganism, and victims of curses and magic. Untouched by both the Greeks and Romans who
preferred the coasts, neither Christ nor time had gone that far. Those who had did not understand and soon left. His book would
eventually spark an outcry over this “national disgrace”, that eventually led
to a relocation of its population out of the caves to the modern part of Matera
you see today. Levi was so moved with
Lucania and Aliano that he is buried there, in effect never leaving, forever
remaining a part of the peasant world he found there, and which had reshaped
many of his earlier convictions.
Besides this graphic depiction recounting Levi’s year of exile in the
abyss of Aliano, it happened
that we were there during a month-long exhibition of a series of political
drawings Levi produced for the L’Italia Socialista daily newspaper
from 1947-48. We were unfamiliar with
the
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| A Levi Cartoon I Particularly Liked |
nature of the political season that accompanied the dissolution of the
monarchy and the founding of Republican Italy about that time. Though we did not fully appreciate what we
can presume were cutting satirical illustrations, history recounts they played
a part in shifting political opinion.
The next morning, we
were out by 8 a.m. for the “breakfast included” repast next door at the L’Orchidea.
It was really a gelateria by day
but that early in the morning substituted as a quick-stop coffee bar. “Breakfast included” consisted of a coffee of
choice and a cornetto. Any further
variety came with your choice of filling - cream, marmalade, chocolate, or
plain. Sitting there in a recess in the
wall, no bigger than a cubbyhole,
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| The Coffee Crew at L'Orchidea |
it was interesting to watch the activity of
the baristas and those of their boss overseer. He appeared to be an exacting taskmaster, a stranger
to a smile, to me reminiscent of a feudal master dealing with underlings that in
past eras had been so much a part of long-ago Matera. It got me thinking of the past again, where
in Matera as we’d seen in the museum, “past” went back to before the beginning
of recorded time.
We arrived
at the bank rendezvous point early and sat
on the steps to await Giulio’s arrival.
He’d said 9 a.m. and like a magician, poof, he appeared exactly at the
stroke of 9. This was one on-time Italian!
Rain was in the forecast and the sky was
heavy with it. No sooner had we moved
off toward a ramp leading down into the Sassi that the rain began. We’d “umbrellaed-up” in anticipation of a
lousy day, weather-wise. Still, we were
upbeat and looked forward to a great tour as Giulio immediately began to recount
the history of Matera.
As we meandered narrow lanes of continuously connected houses
reminiscent of Calitri, through small squares, and noble palaces, one
particularly impressive stop, in the medieval zone
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| Matera's Saint Peter and Paul Cathedral |
referred to as “Civita”, was
at the Chiesa di Saini Pietro e Paolo.
Better known as San Pietro Caveoso, it dominates Duomo Square
high atop a plateau in a well preserved 15th-century district. Referred to as the Cathedral of Matera, it
connects to the palace of the archbishop.
Besides the grandeur of the church exterior with its sixteen-ray rose
window and front, ornate with statues surmounted by Michael the Archangel,
there are marvels inside. One I found
especially interesting was a mural, maybe ten feet on a side. Looking up at it, it was hard to believe it had
survived. Sections of it were missing.
It was definitely a victim of the mayhem inflicted by time and
decay. I wouldn’t describe medieval times
as PC but … here I go again creating acronyms … I’d wager that in those
days they were absolutely Religiously Correct (RC). In such a religious time, intolerant of any
affront to the church’s authority, I found it hard to believe this mural depiction
would have been tolerated. Not a
painting, but a fresco, the presentation was a symbolic expression of Hell and
Purgatory dating to the 14th-century. The painting picks up following the Final Judgement
where devil-like creatures prod the condemned with pitchforks. Surprisingly, at the pointy end of a
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| On the Way to Hell After the Last Judgment |
pitchfork, a group of nobles is depicted besieged by dogs and slithering snakes. The common people of the time most likely
couldn’t read the accompanying descriptive tags, neither could I, but the
message was clear. Death, that great
equalizer, will see rich and poor alike judged equally. From the imagery of affluent robes, regal
crowns, and pious miters, these were clearly noblemen, some among them priests,
others royalty. I find it unlikely this was
some unnoticed error or God-forbid, deliberate humor slipped-in on the part of
the artist. If it was intentional, was
it a visual reminder to powerful aristocrats to repent while there was still
time, similar to the message conveyed in the later-day motion picture “Scrooge”? Possibly. Or could it be a controlling reminder to the
peasantry, one they often heard, that although they suffered daily, by continuing
to endure their hellish existence, unlike those depicted, they’d find reward and
see justice bestowed in the final judgment? I wondered.
We drove home later that day “the correct way” toward
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| Back Home in Calitri |
Potenza to
arrive in Calitri late in the afternoon.
Our day ended on a high, dry note.
The weather had cleared. I made
spaghetti sauce, Maria Elena cooked sausage and toasted bread topped with
ricotta and fried peppers, in addition to salad and wine. As we enjoyed our dinner, images of distant Venetian
voices and thoughts of ancient stone-bound Matera, practically a study in
contrast, percolated in our heads. Each in
its own way was memorable for the lasting impressions it made.
“Regrettably”, I said earlier, “the
beauty of spring’s renewal will fall to these persistent gales as
nature’s slate prepares for winter’s cleansing.” Like leaves blown away by the wind, some
memories fade, others disappear entirely.
To insure against that, our renewal of Italian memories that fill our past and
the formation of new recollections, like the advent of new leaves in springtime,
will hopefully occur in 2020 when on touchdown we hear the announcement “Benvenuto
in Italia”.
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| Calitri Morning View Looking Off Toward Matera |
From That Rogue Tourist
Paolo
