On the 3rd of August 1667, Francesco Borromini committed suicide in a manner more reminiscent of a Shakespearian tragedy than of real life; in the culmination of one of the fits of depression that overcame the architect more and more frequently as his life progressed, Borromini literally fell on his own sword. But not even this final act of defiance against a world that never truly accepted his irascible personality or idiosyncratic talent went according to plan. Running yourself through with a sword is far more difficult than Shakespeare or the ancient sources would have you think, and Borromini survived his own mortal blow for some hours, even managing to leave behind a first-hand account of the bloody event. The dark clouds of mental illness that precipitated his desperate suicide swirled above this troubled genius for most of his life, and profoundly affected the course of his professional career.

I am standing at one of Rome’s great crossroads, perched on the crest of a hill that plunges down on all four sides to some of the city’s most recognisable landmarks. To the north the obelisk of Trinità dei Monti rises majestically towards the heavens at the top of the Spanish Steps (hidden from our view behind it is another obelisk, that of Piazza del Popolo, a rather grand way of informing travellers that they have finally arrived in the Eternal City); to the south the hulking form of the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore dominates the distant panorama; to the west towers yet another obelisk, now marking the seat of the Italian presidency at the top of the Quirinal hill, and to the east one can just make out the Porta Pia, the gate designed by Michelangelo in the ancient Aurelian Walls that marked the easternmost extent of the Renaissance city. It is a fascinating encapsulation of the mind-set of the 16^th and 17^th century city-planners who were largely responsible for how the city looks today, but not what has brought me to this spot. For wedged on the corner of this important junction is the tiny church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, one of Borromini’s most enduring contributions to the landscape of the built environment. Trying to get a good look at this façade, however, is a frustrating experience. So narrow are the roads here that there is simply not enough space to take it all in, literally nowhere to stand. From the only vantage point you are allowed by the narrow street, it is impossible to make sense of this building, and impossible to uncover any architectonic logic behind the myriad shapes before you. It is complex and capricious, and precisely because of this a thing of incredible beauty. Forced to remain too close to the church, one’s impression is of a constantly rippling expanse of stone, undulating and shifting like the waves of the sea, or the sands of the desert. Thick, solid stone walls are treated as if they are made of the softest clay. This is a façade that boldly betrays the sensibilities of a sculptor rather than an engineer.

Is it facile to imagine that we can see the inner workings of an architect’s mind in the structures that he creates? Such psycho-biographical analysis has long been out of vogue in serious academic circles, seen as an unwelcome relic of Freud’s pervasive influence on the critical landscape of the twentieth century. We should know better than to be seduced by the romantic fantasy of a troubled genius pouring his psyche out into the fabric of his works like so many pages of his diary. It is, however, extremely difficult to take the intellectual high-ground when confronted with the architectural corpus of this great genius of the Italian baroque.

Entering one of Borromini’s churches is a dizzying experience. Shapes morph into one another. A convex curve suddenly becomes concave, and it is impossible to determine exactly how or when the transformation took place. The entire façade of this tiny church could fit inside a single supporting pier of St. Peter’s enormous dome, in whose decoration the hand of his great rival Bernini is everywhere apparent. And yet, it is perhaps a church more daring, more innovative than anything even Bernini himself had ever attempted. Where Bernini combined painting, sculpture and architecture to create complete and unified artistic ensembles like the theatrical stage-sets of St. Peter’s and Santa Maria della Vittoria (perfectly suited to the populist pedagogical concerns of the Counter-Reformation), Borromini integrated sculpture and architecture through a radically different procedure. It is not an exaggeration to say that he literally sculpted with space, carving fabulous sculptures out of the sheer immanence of thin air. Bernini’s religious zeal ensured his position as the Papacy’s favoured architect for much of his career, but the architectural philosophy of Borromini was no less attuned to the project of glorifying God. Indeed, what could be more spiritual, or closer in the eyes of the faithful, to the creative process of the original divine creator than this?

Borromini’s evocation of a higher power’s virtuous conjuring of the firmament is so subtle and spiritual in its way that one need not share the religious frenzy of that bygone era to appreciate it. This is architecture as affect, a place where architectonics and psychology meet. One’s experience of this building is not objective. Your first thoughts are not of stresses, supports and other such practical matters, but rather how we engage with the space we inhabit, how it impacts us, and the infinite possibilities of space itself.

Something of the man, to be sure, must go into the work. Artistic creation is a too deeply personal endeavour for one to be able to simply separate personality from the fruits of that personality’s labour. Borromini’s troubled life and his excessively melodramatic death cannot fail to stir the imagination of anyone who has had the privilege of marvelling at and puzzling over the awe-inspiring complexity of the corkscrew dome that was his final, radical exclamation point to the church of San Ivo alla Sapienza, or the complex, vertiginous forms of San Carlino. It is, of course, excessively simplistic to imagine that we can understand the unique character of Borromini’s work as a manifestation of his fragile psyche, and does scant justice to his importance as an architect. But it is a natural impulse to try to understand genius, to uncover some unique genetic difference that can account for it. Why else are we so fascinated by the unconventional lives of Michelangelo and Caravaggio? Why else was Freud so obsessed with Leonardo da Vinci?

Whether the contorted, seemingly illogical shapes that force themselves into our field of vision at San Ivo and San Carlino constitute a profound metaphor for the tortured state of the architect’s soul or not, they nonetheless signify with crystalline clarity the mind of a man who thought about the world, and understood his craft, in a manner that was startlingly original, startlingly new. In a single stroke, Borromini subverted the primacy of the architectonic plane, pre-eminent ever since the Greeks first developed and codified a theory of architecture, and ushered in the era of the space between. This dramatic reconceptualization of what architecture could accomplish still underpins our modern idea of the built environment today, nearly 350 years after Borromini’s final, desperate act.

Last week I had the opportunity to travel down to Naples. At Through Eternity we are always on the search for passionate guides to collaborate with in the future. Thanks to one of the guides that I met, he informed me about a fantastic pizzeria that I should check out. I had mentioned to him that I always enjoyed the famous pizzeria Da Michele but complained that many times you have to wait for about 45 minutes to get a table. He suggested that I try a place that was a 5 minute walk from Piazza del Plebiscito, the enormous square at the heart of the city.

The locale was called Pizzeria Pavia - at first glance however it may seem like Rizzeria Pavia, as the initial P has been slightly damaged and now looks like an R. You should be warned that this place is not located in the cleanest or the most pristine area of the city; nonetheless, it is certainly fascinating and it seemed to me like here I could get a glimpse of one aspect of the true heart of Naples, a city which I find to be beautiful and mysterious.

Upon entering Pizzeria Pavia I soon realized that it was a no nonsense place. I was a bit early for lunch and so was quite happy to be seated without having to wait in line. The walls and floors were covered with simple white tiles, and looking closely at the floor I also noticed a copious amount of sawdust. What a dive! As I awaited my Pizza Margherita di Bufala (a simple cheese pizza but made with the most highly regarded and flavorful mozzarella available, made from buffalo milk. I was being a spendthrift because the regular cheese pizza cost €3.50 and this one was a euro extra.), I noticed that from my table I could look across the street and literally through the small front door of an apartment on the other side. Apparently Naples is filled with small homes like this that face out onto the street, and it seemed that there was only one window and door for the whole apartment. Since that was the case, the matriarch of the house often kept her door open to let in some natural light. It was a great opportunity for me to observe someone cleaning and hanging out in their daily life without them really feeling that they were being observed.

Her house was spotless and her furniture, although not to my personal taste, was pretty elegant and certainly in contrast to the working class neighbourhood where she lived. As she went about her business of tidying up or sitting on her stoop for a cigarette, I began to perceive that there was another kind of light source emanating from somewhere within the dining room. It did not seem to be coming from another window and I soon realized that it was coming from a statue of the Virgin Mary that was about three feet tall and standing in the corner of the room. Around Mary’s head was a halo that was illuminated with electric light. The whole thing was a pretty amazing and yet intimate thing to witness. What I began to realize, after she finished her cigarette and coffee break and began to return to vigorously cleaning her residence, was that her place was not merely clean; it was quite simply immaculate.

All of this observation took about 5 minutes and then the pizza arrived, bringing me straight into pizza paradiso. The flavor was exactly what was promised - true pizza from Naples, home to some of the best pizza in the world. You can see from the photo that it is so saucy that you really need the puffy cloud like crust to soak up the remains of the sinful and decadent sauce that remains on the plate even after the rest of the pizza is long gone. I happily finished my meal and went back to my task of interviewing new guides.

If you would like to find out about where to find Pizzeria Pavia and go on a great Neapolitan adventure, become a fan of Through Eternity on Facebook and write to us, and we will be more than happy to give you directions. Great pizza and no waiting in line, what could be better than that?

- Written by Rob Allyn, President of Through Eternity Tours

Quod non fecerunt barbari fecerunt Barberini – “What the Barbarians did not, the Barberinis did.” This famous line was a “pasquinata”, which accused the Barberini family of appropriating, and even destroying, classical works of art in Rome in order to embellish their own self-eulogizing monuments. It was the complaint of an anonymous writer pinned to the bottom of a statue known as Pasquino, situated only a stone’s throw south of Piazza Navona.

The “pasquinate,” as these barbed verses came to be known, became a very popular way for Roman citizens to express in a sarcastic and ironic way their displeasure with the papal government which ruled over the city, and were a fixture of Roman life from the Renaissance to the latter half of the 19^th century.

This marble torso, whose arms have long been lost to history, is located in Via di Pasquino, in the neighborhood of Parione. It was in 1501, whilst Bramante was making some exploratory excavations in that area for Cardinal Oliviero Carafa, that the statue was found, already in its dismembered state. Carafa, a great admirer of Graeco-Roman art, was overjoyed by the discovery and asked for the statue to be placed at the corner of his palace facing the little square of Parione, where it still stands today. Numerous hypotheses as to the identity of the statue were advanced; some believed it to represent Hercules, whilst other scholars guessed it was Alexander, or even Ajax. Michelangelo, later echoed by Bernini, saw in it a connection to the story of Menelaus, and believed that the statue portrayed the Mycenaean king holding the dead body of Patroclus as recounted by Homer in the Iliad. Perhaps the most plausible hypothesis indeed identifies it as a statue of Menelaus from the third century B.C. which formerly decorated the ancient stadium of Domitian, originally located under what is now Piazza Navona.

The statue of Menelaus was renamed Pasquino, and quickly came to be identified by the Roman people as an influential voice raised in protest against the inept government of the Church leaders in the Renaissance. Countless tales concerning the statue’s renaming as Pasquino swirl through the city’s oral history and lead variously to an innkeeper, a tailor and a barber, amongst others. However, the most commonly accepted explanation of that name leads us to a teacher, whose name was indeed Pasquino; in what was to become an immortal homage, his students applied their teacher’s name to the statue. Since then, for all of Rome’s inhabitants down the centuries he is Pasquino, the outspoken statue.

The neighborhood where Cardinal Carafa placed the statue was the most crowded quarter of Rome during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It was where the most famous, noble, and wealthy Roman families had their residences, and it was well connected to the Vatican, where the new home of the Papacy next to Saint Peter’s Basilica was under construction. The area’s aristocratic leanings made it the perfect location to house the dissident, anti-establishment statue. The famous irony and sarcasm of Roman folkloric culture had found its mouthpiece. By night anonymous writers hung epigrammatic messages on the statue’s neck, or at its feet, recounting the news of the day or rebuking some new abuse perpetrated by the pope and his court. Although this marble herald of the people was always under threat of being thrown into the River Tiber, it was spared such an ignominious fate by the illustriousness of its owners, and by the popularity it had gained in the city as a popular icon. When Oliviero Carafa (whom we recall was its first owner) died, numerous influential figures lined up to protect Pasquino from harm; amongst them was the English archbishop Christopher Bainbridge and the poet Pietro Aretino, who was a close friend of the current Medici Pope Leo X (himself son of the immortal Lorenzo the Magnificent).

Humorous satirical rhymes soon appeared stuck to the marble. The very first one in August 1501 was dedicated to the Borgia pope Alexander VI, whose shameful antics were legendary. On the Borgia family’s heraldic crest is an ox, a reference to their Spanish origins, and so a nameless writer punned with the words: “Praedixi tibi, papa bos quod esses.” The concise wit of the joke is somewhat lost in translation, but depending on the place of the comma the meaning of that sentence could be translated as any of the following:

      I foretold you to be an oxen-pope. 

        I foretold you, oh pope, to be an ox.

I foretold you, ox, to be a pope.

Pasquino, or the statue of Menelaus, disseminated eloquent indictments of the Church’s leaders, their abuses, and the entire political landscape of Rome. It was a dissidents’ magazine before the age of mass-media. It was an ingenious way to publicize complaints against the authorities, through the medium of an inert marble torso. No one could identify the writers who, openly and freely, and in spite of often draconian restrictions against free-speech, used their ink to unveil the corruption and abuses of the most powerful Roman families. The pasquinate served as a meaningful and lyrical description of everyday Roman life, with all its gripes, grudges and poetry, for over 350 years.

During the reign of Pope Pius IX, the pope who fought against the unification of Italy, Pasquino spoke his last epigram, dedicated to the moment on September 20^th 1870 when Rome was conquered by the forces of Unification. Nonetheless, even today, someone walking by Pasquino might see a little note left at its feet.

Written by R. Corrado Primavera.

There are 3-4 million of them, small and quick in flight. It’s difficult to see them up close, but anyone who has ever lifted his eyes to the sky at dusk in winter has seen them. Against the stern background of domes, roofs and antennas of Rome you may notice a greyish patina, tapered shadows moving quickly, forming transparent figures. It’s as if a child were playing with trickling raindrops against a windowpane or were peeling layers off the sky sheet by sheet.

They are starlings. At sunset they crowd the skies of Rome in giant flocks to reach their roosts for the night: the plane trees along the Tiber and the pines of Villa Doria Pamphili and other large parks in Rome. Before descending to the trees, they wind through the air like rivers, creating a bizarre squabble of shapes that a writer loves to watch. I like that birds so small can become so numerous as to move the sky and make me dream. And when I can, I go up to the hills to see them painting on the lens of the sunset with their strokes.

Romans, to tell the truth, barely notice them. They are too entangled in the bustle of the city to raise their eyes to the open sky. They known them well, however, and often they detest them. They often stumble upon what these uncivil little birds drop everywhere (although less often than they say). It is true: they go everywhere, without any regard for the ancient temples, the noble piazzas, or the statues of the greats with their uncovered heads. It must be said that, as far as a sense of history and love for art go, they are in bad shape. And what’s worse is, they have many things to discover, given that they are not native to Rome but come from far off lands to the North and East to winter in our cities.

They aren’t just a problem in Rome, but also in Florence, Bologna, Siena, Naples, and many other Italian and European cities. The most indignant citizens of all might be the shopkeepers that find their elegant shop windows badly dirtied by the birds’ droppings and the car owners that find their vehicles covered. Each city has armed itself in different ways against these pesky birds. There are those that bombard them, putting poison in their sleeping places, and those (including Rome) that try to drive them away with unpleasant sounds, calls of predators and unsettling outlines of swooping birds of prey on the eaves of the buildings. All of this to protect the welfare of our sidewalks and cars. Because there is no doubt - they are a problem to be solved.

My question remains: how is it possible that no one speaks of the involuntary act of poetry that these little birds unfurl every day in our skies? Can it really be that no one notices? Do we look at the sky so little that we have no eyes for the invisible spectacle staged every day above the terraces of Rome?

If I could, I would ask Michelangelo or Raphael or the great Leonardo da Vinci, someone that would have loved them madly, what these birds meant to them. However, I cannot, and they wouldn’t have answered anyway. In their time there were no starlings in Rome. They arrived in 1924-1925 and, finding both food and favorable temperatures here, they slowly began to multiply. Their uncontrolled proliferation, however, occurred starting just after World War II, hand in hand with the explosion of wealth in Italy and the increasing abundance of edible remnants scattered around our cities.

The coincidence makes me smile: in the exact years that the starlings arrived, Fascism was tightening its grip by tying the freedom of Italians to a nail. Against the rigidity of the dictatorship, the starlings indulged themselves in the sky above.

I continue to watch them, thinking of Leonardo.

Written by Rosario Gorgone, Artistic Director, Through Eternity Tours

Christmas in Rome

Christmastime in Rome is one of the most magical holiday visits you can experience.  From the bustling streets to the beautiful Nativity decorations, Christmas in Rome has a little something for everyone and we have compiled a list of our top 5 favorite activities to do around Christmas. 

1. Piazza Navona Christmas Market - This market is one of the more famous ones in Rome. It is filled with Christmas sweets, toys, nativity figures, decorations, and gifts. There is also a carousel and games for the whole family to enjoy and it is a perfect last stop on Through Eternity’s Twilight tour. 

2. Saint Peter’s Square Nativity Scene and Christmas Tree - Each year a huge Christmas tree is erected in Saint Peter’s Square and a life-size nativity scene is also set up but usually not unveiled until Christmas Eve. It will be a wonderful way to end your Through Eternity Vatican Museum tour!

3. Ice Skating and Christmas Market at Castel Sant’Angelo - At the beginning of December an outdoor ice skating rink is opened in front of Castel Sant’Angelo. It is open daily from 10:00 to midnight (with earlier closing on the actual holidays). There’s also a small Christmas market. Through Eternity’s Love and Death tour finishes at Castel Sant’Angelo and should you have some extra time, we recommend taking a walk around the Christmas market.

4. Christmas Mass - Every church in Rome has Christmas Mass on December 24th but the most famous one would have to be at St. Peter’s Square. Thousands of visitors flock to Saint Peter’s Square when the Pope says midnight mass on Christmas Eve inside Saint Peter’s Basilica (in the square it’s shown on big screen TVs) and delivers his Christmas message at noon on Christmas Day from the window of his apartment above the square. A must-see if you’re in Rome on Christmas. 

If you are interested in something a little less busy, we recommend mass at any of the smaller churches around however the Pantheon is my preferred choice. 

5. Take a tour with Through Eternity - A holiday in Rome would not be complete without tours covering the must see-sights. For first time visitors we recommend the City of the Caesars: Colosseum and Roman Forum, The Vatican Museums and St. Peter’s Basilica and the Twilight tour. For returning visitors, we recommend the Underground tour, Love and Death: 2700 Years of Scandals and Red Caravaggio: The art and blood of a genius in turbulent Baroque Rome. 

On top of the Gianicolo hill, there is a magnificent fountain from the 1600s that Romans simply call Il Fontanone. This masterpiece marks the end of the Acqua Paola aqueduct. If you keep walking downhill, past a war memorial of the battle of 1849, you will end up in a quiet square with a church dominating the view. Here, in ancient times, non-Roman citizens and slaves convicted of murder were crucified. Several early Christian authors describe this corner of Rome as the true location of St. Peter’s crucifixion. In fact, the presence of the church San Pietro in Montorio in the square is due to this martyrological tradition. Although very ancient, the church was restored in the 1400s, and Raphael’s Transfiguration could be admired on the Main Altar from 1523 until it was transferred to the Vatican Museums. Several secret jewels can be discovered here, such as The Flagellation  by Sebastiano del Piombo and, in the nearby convent, Bramante’s Tempietto.

However, the fourth chapel on the right nave holds a very particular story. For a long time a grave with no inscription was here. A grave which, according to tradition, was that of a young girl named Beatrice Cenci. For centuries, the Cenci case inspired artists such as Guido Reni and Caravaggio, but also writers like Herman Melville, Stendhal, Hawthorne, Shelley and Dickens. The violence-soaked details of the circumstances which led 22-year old Beatrice to kill her father aroused the morbid curiosity of generations of artists, writers, travellers, and poets. In the mental imagery of foreign visitors, the figure of Beatrice Cenci became a symbol of scandal and incest that stood out against an enchanting Roman scenario made of glorious sunsets between ruins and stone pines, afternoons spent in gloomy art galleries, night fevers at the Colosseum, a skyline studded with domes. The sweet face of young Beatrice, which we know from a portrait conserved at the Barberini gallery, inspired in such observers a mix of pity and forbidden attraction towards violence and passion sometimes present in crime stories.

But who was Beatrice Cenci? On 9 September 1598, her father, the Roman nobleman Francesco Cenci, was found dead, with his head smashed and pierced by an elderberry cane in the garden of the family’s residence in Rocca Petrella, Abruzzi. No one believed the version given by the family, which was that of an accidental fall. A man called Marzio Catalano confessed his involvement in Cenci’s murder, which had been decided by his family in order to put an end to Francesco’s violence and obsessive control over his wife and children, especially his daughter Beatrice. During the trial that followed, Beatrice emerged as a key player in her father’s murder and even the evidence given in her favour, revealing the incest imposed by Francesco on his daughter, did not produce sufficient support for her acquittal. Beatrice was depicted as the one who convinced all the members of her family one by one, as well as her supposed lover, Olimpio Calvetti, to hit Francesco with a hammer and then throw him out of his bedroom window, into the garden.

No one in Rome was surprised about what had happened. Francesco Cenci was known for his illicit fortune, his debts, his violent and brutal nature, and his non-existent affection for the family. However, the fact that his young daughter became the protagonist of a mysterious, deadly plot deeply startled the Roman society of the time. Small, helpless Beatrice had managed to kill the fire breathing dragon. David had killed Goliath, once again. On September 11, 1599 Beatrice Cenci was beheaded, together with her family, in the square of Castel Sant’Angelo. Her sentence included the confiscation of all the Cencis’ property. According to the legend, her body received burial honours from the people and was carried in procession through Via Giulia, Ponte Sisto, and the Gianicolo up to the church of S. Pietro in Montorio.

In 1798, the painter Vincenzo Camuccini reported that, while restoring Raphael’s Transfiguration, he saw French occupants under General Berthier enter the church and violate Beatrice’s tomb for plundering. For centuries, Romans saw the ghost of Beatrice Cenci at midnight on the anniversary of her death, in the square of Castel Sant’Angelo, carrying her head around. 

Written by Caterina Panetta, art historian and guide for Through Eternity Tours

 Among the piazze, fountains, pizzerie, museums and churches, Rome is home to many universities. Most visitors to the city are not aware that the University of Rome “La Sapienza” (meaning “Wisdom”) is actually the largest in Europe, with 150,000 students. In addition to La Sapienza and other state-run universities, the city also has many pontifical universities, called such because they are accredited directly by the Vatican. Perhaps the most famous of the pontifical universities is the Gregorian (Pontificia Università Gregoriana), often referred to by Anglophone professors and students simply as “The Greg.”

            The Greg is the oldest Jesuit university in the world, founded by St Ignatius Loyola in 1556. It has an impressive list of alumni, including seventeen popes and seventy-two saints and beati (those officially beatified by the Catholic Church, but not yet canonized as saints). Many famous astronomers and mathematicians have also studied and taught at the Greg, including Christopher Clavius (who in the 16^th century established the Gregorian calendar we still use to this day), Athanasius Kircher (“the last Renaissance man”), Paul Guldin, Niccolò Zucchi, and many others. Additionally, due to its reputation as having one of the most prestigious Theology departments in the world, about one-third of the current College of Cardinals graduated from the Greg, and more than 900 bishops in the world today once studied there.

            As one walks the streets of Rome, it is impossible not to notice the many priests, nuns, and seminarians from all over the world who live in the city and move about its streets every day. Many of them are in Rome temporarily, precisely to study at places like the Greg, before returning to their home countries.

            The Greg is located down the street from the Trevi Fountain. On Through Eternity’s “Twilight Tour” we often pass by it, and sometimes pay a quick visit to this historic institution.

Written by Gabriel Radle, art historian and guide of Through Eternity Tours

Getting lost in the alleys behind Trajan’s markets, where Trajan’s Forum connects with the ancient Subura, you might end up on a street named Salita del Grillo. A medieval tower stands out against the Roman sky. An arch connects the tower with an elegant palace in Rococò style, which tradition considers to be the residence of one of the most bizarre noblemen that have ever lived in the Eternal City. To the present day, Romans still remember the figure of Marquis Onofrio del Grillo (1714 – 1787). According to the papal yearbook 1783, the Marquis was a bearer of the Papal chair, one of the pope’s advisers for “cloak and dagger” as well as a member of the Noble Guard. However, such honorary positions are not exactly what he is famous for. His eccentric personality has become legendary and represents an icon of what today is called the “Vanished Rome”.

Marquis Onofrio del Grillo spent his life in Rome, and he is known for the tremendous jokes he played on beggars, shoemakers, cabinet-makers, doctors, notaries, merchants, priests and even on the Pope himself. Collective imagery represents him as extremely rich and bored to death because, as he always said “in Rome there was nothing to do”. The jokes were a way for the Marquis to keep himself entertained. Especially when staying in one of his castles in the countryside, where daily routine could not be compared with the pace of city life. One of this dozy afternoons, a curate paid a courtesy visit to the Lord of the manor. Enjoying the breeze that was blowing in the garden loggia, the Marquis saw him arrive from the top of the hill, riding a donkey mare. Marquis del Grillo welcomed the minister warmly and invited him for dinner as well as to stay at the castle overnight. The curate accepted willingly, but kept repeating far too many times that the mare should be treated well. The Marquis’ efforts to please his guest were beyond expectation. After having enjoyed an excellent dinner and conversation with the Marquis, the curate went finally to sleep. However, he was utterly surprised by what he found in his bed. Sleeping on silky and hand-embroidered sheets, there was no other than the mare itself!

Another time, boredom induced the Marquis to purge two unfortunate merchants, who had been invited at the palace for business. During such visit the merchants were asked to stay for dinner and spend the night at the palace, under the threat of causing offence to the Marquis by refusing his kind invitation. At dinner, which as usual was sumptuous, the nobleman ordered his servants to put laxative into the wine, which of course he did not touch. At night, the merchants woke up with cramps, desperately looking for candles and matches. They reached out to the night table but found nothing. So they tried to get out of their bed and all of a sudden, precipitated to the ground. Their beds were floating in the air! Terrified, the merchants screamed as loud as they could. Needless to say, the fatal cocktail of panic and laxative had caused a catastrophe. As soon as the Marquis and the servants had rushed to the room of the merchants to see what had happened, some mysterious hand had put the beds back in the original position. Of course the merchants were too happy to see somebody arrive to help them out, so they failed to notice that little, insignificant detail. So did not the Marquis. He called them donkeys for having caused alarm for no reason and pigs for  having reduced the room in such disastrous conditions. Humiliated, the merchants did not know what to say. The beds were back in their original position and looked like they had never been moved. Moreover, they were dirty and confused and did not know why.

There is also a story about one day in which the Marquis del Grillo felt like organizing a ball. He invited the bourgeois families in town among which the doctor, the apothecary, the governor and the notary. The ball turned to be magnificent and went on all night. The best wines of the region were served, as well as mountains of fettuccine, roasted meat, abbacchio and fried artichokes. At some point, the Marquis wished everyone a good night and retired into his own apartment. The guests left as well and went home. However, after a while they all found themselves in the piazza of the town, since no one had been able to find the house door. That was because the town itself  no longer looked as it had always had. Vox populi stated this was the work of Satan, witches and the Forces of the Evil on the whole. More simply, once again the Marquis had found a way to have a good laugh. A team of masons and house painters had been hired to brick up and re-paint all house doors in town, while the Marquis’ guests were busy enjoying the party. He probably observed the scene from a balcony, drinking a toast to his desperate guests.

However, the best of all jokes is certainly when all the church bells of Rome tolled at once, one day at sunrise. Everything started with a shoemaker. Marquis del Grillo had commissioned to such shoemaker an enormous amount of boots, which he had then refused to pay. Hence, the shoemaker took him to court but the Marquis did not turn a hair. He consulted the best lawyers, corrupted the judges and won the case. The shoemaker was condemned to pay attorney fees. The next morning, all the church bells in Rome were tolling the death knell. Romans started thinking the Pope had died. But soon they found out it was the work of the Marquis, who had commissioned a mass to all the Roman churches since Madame the Justice had been murdered!

In the Roman popular tradition, the figure of Marquis Onofrio del Grillo gathers deeds related to various characters, such as the Duke Giuliano Cesarini who lived in the 1600s as well as several members of the aristocratic family del Grillo. Still today, Marquis Onofrio del Grillo embodies the sardonic vein of Roman humour. In 1981, a memorable interpretation of this character has been given by the actor Alberto Sordi in one of the most beloved movies of Italian cinematography. 

Written by Caterina Panetta, art historian and guide of Through Eternity Tours

In 1420, Pope Martin V, a member of the Colonna family (one of Rome’s most important families), returned triumphantly to Rome. In doing so, he restored the political and administrative structures of the pontifical state to Rome after the papacy had been in Avignon for nearly seventy years. For another forty, popes elected in Avignon had opposed those elected in Rome.

 Romans flocked to celebrate the pope, shouting “Long live Pope Martin, long live Pope Martin,” hoping that the pope would finally take care of the streets and the aqueducts, bring an end to the frequent attacks of bandits, and breathe new life into the city’s economy, which was in a state of grave abandon in many aspects.

 Pope Martin V, just as every newly-elected pope, passed through the streets and squares in the center of Rome that led from St. Peter’s Basilica to the Basilica of St. John in Lateran. He traveled in procession on his white horse, surrounded by cardinals dressed in purple-red. They followed the famous Via Papalis, the street of the Pope, where our “Love and Death” itinerary begins.

 Pope Martin V, however, added something essential to this tradition: he reinforced his power with the right to luxury. On his head was a miter (the elongated headpiece worn by the pope) carved entirely of gold by the Florentine artist Lorenzo Ghiberti. Ghiberti was the creator of the golden doors of the Baptistery of Florence (on this topic, refer to another of our tours, Florence of Lorenzo the Magnificent). The golden headdress surrounded him with a divine spark and lifted him upwards from the earth.

 The earthly splendor of the Church of Rome processed through her streets. Already at the dawn of the Renaissance, power and luxury had forged an unbreakable bond.

Written by Rosario Gorgone, Through Eternity Artistic Director

Nestled away in the heart of Rome there is a place which poets have regaled as the most beautiful place in Rome. Some poets have fallen so deeply in love with this place that they had themselves interred there, a world away from the family and friends they left behind when they travelled to Italy.  The most famous figures buried there include Percy Shelley, and John Keats. It is said that when Oscar Wilde visited the grave of Keats to pay homage to the poet, he fell to the ground, overcome with emotions. When he rose to his feet he declared “this is the holiest site in Rome.” Shelley also visited Keats grave before he himself passed away and said “it would make one in love with death to be buried in so beautiful a place.”

Little known to Romans and even lesser known to tourists, the Protestant Cemetery certainly lives up to the reputation it has cultivated among its visitors over the years.  Following the walls which originate from the Pyramid to the right, visitors will come upon a gate to this cemetery. There are no entrance fees here, however if you wish to make a donation there is a box for that. Funds collected will be redirected into the maintenance of the site.

As you walk through the gates, you will be met by a sight unlike any you have seen.  The cemetery is tightly packed with beautiful monuments and headstones, and (especially in the springtime), is overflowing with an abundance of flowers.  The hundreds of colors bursting forth from these plants seems to contrast with the stark white marble monuments of Rome’s non-Catholic ancestors.

Besides the stunning visual beauty of this site, many visitors remark that it is also one of the most tranquil places they have been to.  Those who have already visited the Eternal City will surely remember how loud it can be in the center of the city. However once you are behind the walls of the Protestant Cemetery, the only sounds you will hear are the chirping of birds and the wind blowing through the leaves on a tree.

If you have a free afternoon, or even an hour to spend, make sure you visit this place, it is a breathtaking site that you will be glad you saw.

The Protestant Cemetery is easily accessible from the metro stop Pyramide (off the B line).  To find it simply look for the Pyramid and follow the walls to the right until you come to a gate.

One of the greatest benefits to visiting Italy is, let’s face it, the delectable cuisine offered throughout the entire country, and Rome is no exception to this rule. The Italian culture is fueled by food not only as a means of nourishment, but also a way to gather families, friends and communities together to share moments as well as delicious dishes. Traditional Roman fare has a simple yet unique appeal to it- dishes here have been perfected over the course of thousands of years and are still as widely enjoyed as they were when the Empire was at its peak, if not more. 

During “Restaurant Week” in Rome, high class dining becomes available to the masses. From Monday the 4th till Sunday the 10th of April participating restaurants will prepare a 3-course dinner for only 25€ per person. Should the restaurant have the honor of holding a 75 or more points/rating, as listed in the “Gambero Rosso” guide, a 10€ surcharge will be added.

For all information regarding Rome’s Restaurant Week please visit:
www.restaurantweek.it/lang/en/cities/rome/restaurants