The 125 Creches at the Vatican - an updated post on these Christmastime Jewels

 

RST is re-publishing our Rome friend Larry Litman's lovely 2020 post about the presepi (creches) in St. Peter's Square at Christmastime. We'll update it quickly to note this year's 125 creches are from all over Europe as well as from many foreign countries, including the US. The 2024 theme is "Hope does not disappoint," the title of the bull announcing the Jubilee year that begins within a week. Access to the creches is every day 10 a.m. - 7:30 p.m., except to 5:30 p.m. Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve (last entry 15 minutes before closing) through January 6 - no reservations nor fee. See more on this year's presepi, along with a Jubilee Year countdown clock on a Vatican Jubilee site here. 

From 2020: RST is delighted to offer another guest post by our Rome friend Larry Litman, who wrote eloquently in March about being in Rome under one of the first lockdowns. Since we can't be in Rome, we asked Larry for a holiday offering. Here he visits Piazza San Pietro before Christmas and discovers an unusual presepe or crèche (as we called them in our family) as well as a gorgeous display of another 100 presepi.

Larry lived in Hoboken, New Jersey, before moving to Rome in 2007.  In the early 1970s he studied at Loyola University of Chicago's Rome Center, now the John Felice Rome Center on Monte Mario. "That was when I fell in love with the city of Rome," Larry writes, "and then had the dream of making Rome my home."

Larry is a retired teacher librarian at AmBrit International School and is active at St. Paul's Within the Walls (the Episcopal Church on via Nazionale).  He also volunteers at the Non-Catholic Cemetery. He has two adult children and two grandchildren living in New York City.

Visiting Piazza San Pietro before Christmas

A Christmas tradition for many Romans (and tourists) is to visit St. Peter’s Square and view the tree and presepe (crèche). Each year a tree is donated to the Pope from a different country and the crèche each year is by different artists.

When I visited the square on December 15th, there weren’t even two dozen people there. It felt strange to be in a space that is normally teeming with tourists and pilgrims. I also went into St. Peter’s Basilica. There was no line to go through the security screening, and once inside it was also practically empty.

The presepe figures this year have brought a lot of criticism. The life size ceramic figures are from Castelli in the Abruzzo region and were created by students and teachers of the “F.A. Grue” Art Institute. The Nativity scene featured several life-sized ceramic statues in a contemporary art style that “has its roots in the traditional working of Castelli’s ceramics,” said a statement from the Vatican. “The cylindrical ceramic statues surrounding Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus included a bagpiper, a shepherdess holding a jug and even an astronaut, meant to reference the history of ancient art and scientific achievements in the world.” (Source: Catholic News Service-CNS)

A special feature for 2020 is a display of 100 presepi in the Bernini Colonnade. The scenes come from around the world and reflect many different style of recreating the Christmas Story with figurines.

Larry Litman

Below are 7 of the 100 presepi  - traditional, and not so traditional; you can pick your favorite. Photos by Larry Litman.

Piazza Socrate gets a Makeover. Too bad.

Piazza Socrate has been remodeled. Unfortunately

One of Rome's lesser known piazzas, Socrate juts out on the south flank of Monte Mario, at the confluence of via Fedro and via Cornelio Nipote. It has a commanding view of Vatican City. 

Dianne, enjoying the view, 2018

It's always been a scruffy, inelegant place.

Piazza Socrate, as it appeared 6 years ago

But its elevation, and its location in proximity to St. Peter's, made it a place to stop and look. It was also, so we heard and (likely) observed--a hangout for gay men. The large tree at the edge of the piazza, at the edge of a steep embankment, was a meeting place (below). 

St. Peter's, far right. 2018

That tree is now essentially inaccessible, as is the promontory, now situated behind a substantial fence. All that remains of the piazza--a small piece of isolated green space surrounded by something resembling a traffic circle--is both unappealing and highly public. 

The new fence

No one would ever meet in that space. One can imagine a car now and then pulling over to check out the view. But that's about it.

The traffic circle

With its sharp drop-off near the tree, the pizza's old configuration was not the safest, and likely that's why the city spent thousands to reconfigure it. And maybe the neighbors complained about gay men. As we said at the top. Too bad.

Bill 

San Lorenzo: Where Maria Montessori Got Her Start

One of the surprises of the San Lorenzo neighborhood we inhabited this year is its discrete harboring of the birthplace of Maria Montessori's Casa dei bambini ("Children's house"), where she developed and put in practice her early childhood educational theories.

At right, the brightly polished brass door marker for Maria Montessori's first casa dei bambini.

San Lorenzo is an appropriate locale for Montessori's then-experimentation because it was one of the poorest and most degraded areas of Rome, home--at the turn of the last century--to the crowded and woefully underserved Italian working class. As we have noted in other posts, San Lorenzo, sometimes called the "most Roman of neighborhoods" outside the Roman walls, is almost an urban island, hemmed in by an enormous cemetery (Verano), multiple-track trainyards, and those ancient Roman walls. The end of the 19th century saw a building boom in Rome, but it was a boom insufficient to house the thousands of workers pouring into the city from the countryside. There was "deep social distress," explains one of the placards on the walls of the still-standing building that housed Montessori's first casa, resulting from illegal crowding and poverty. 

Left, the unassuming building at via dei Marsi 58, in San Lorenzo, where in 1907 the first casa moderna was built (there would be more than 400 within a couple years), part of an attempt to clear slums and provide "socialization." Today, not even this historical building is free from tags and other graffiti that mark the San Lorenzo area.

A senator and engineer, Edoardo Talamo, was put in charge of the new Istituto Romano dei Beni Stabili (The Roman Institute for Public Buildings might be a decent translation), established in 1904 to produce new buildings, case moderne ("modern houses"). And this unassuming building, at via dei Marsi 58, in San Lorenzo, was one of the first, with plans for it made as early as 1905. Talamo and his colleagues at the Institute wanted more than providing "a roof over the head of the neediest," as one description of the "modern houses" read. Jane Addams-like, they wanted "a social transformation of the inhabitants" through "common spaces with various advantages and facilities in each building." The children's space was a kind of early day-care for working parents (such as I attended in Seattle during the World War II years), with mothers helping to implement the plan. 

Right, an interior wall, with the first casa labeled, now with Maria Montessori's name.

In the early 1900s (after receiving multiple degrees that were highly unusual for women, including a medical doctorate), Montessori was a professor of pedagogy at Rome's La Sapienza university, working on her theories. Talamo engaged her to develop the "children's houses" within the "modern houses." She credits him with "the brilliant idea" (maybe the brilliant idea was hiring her) "of welcoming tenants--young children between 3 and 7--to gather in one room under the direction of a teacher who would live in the same building. Each building would have its own school." The Institute by 1907 owned more than 400 buildings in Rome, and so the project had great potential for development, an ideal incubator for the innovative Montessori.

The courtyard, left, where the children tended their own vegetable garden, one of the Montessori educational tasks. One of our friends recalls attending a Montessori school in the 1950s, but he didn't recall the place, only that "I barfed in the courtyard."

That first casa dei bambini is still there, almost 120 years later, in the building on via dei Marsi. It was turned over to the city of Rome in 1938, operated through World War II (the Fascists no doubt salivated over this ready-made educational plant), then was completely abandoned. It was reopened in 1966 by Associazione opera Montessori (Association of Montessori work). Under various organizations, the basic educational structure, with several schools, continues to this day. The casa dei bambini in San Lorenzo remains as a kind of in-place Montessori museum, that, along with the educational institution, "preserves the initial spirit and methodological tradition theorized" by her.

Dianne

Educational panels in Italian and English inside the building complex explain the casa, Montessori's role, and the specific layout.

Right, the memorial plaque from 2007, commemorating the centennial of the casa. It says (as I would translate it) it's the centenary of her birth, but it isn't. It's the centenary of the birth of her educational system. The plaque loftily states: "here, the first casa dei bambini was created January 6, 1907, initiating the rich and productive work of the great educator in service to infancy for the freedom of man."

A Day on the Periphery: Torre di Righetti, and the Pleasures of Trullo

There's a plan afoot--it's even been funded--to repristinare (redo, clean up, refurbish) Torre di Righetti, a mid-19th-century tower, constructed for hunting (so we read), and the hill on which it sits: Monte Cucco. We had heard of Monte dei Cocci (another name for Monte Testaccio) and Monte Ciocci (Valle Aurelia, a flank of Monte Mario), but Monte Cucco remained a mystery. We found it on the outskirts of Trullo, one of our favorite near-in towns/suburbs, which is located south of long and winding via Portuense and west of the totally unwalkable viale Isacco Newton. Too far to walk, and not easy to get to.

Transportation Czar Dianne figured it out. Train from Stazione Tiburtina to the Magliana stop. Up the stairs to the bus stop, 719 bus 7 stops to the base of Monte Cucco. Perfect.

A few missteps up the hill, then asked a guy driving out of the only farmhouse (well fenced in) where the "Torre" was, then back down and up the only real "road."

Up the road. Nothing in sight yet. 

And there it was, virtually alone on the barren hilltop. In two years (or never) it will be rebuilt and, so we've read, will host art shows. We'll believe that when we see it. The Monte is to have bike paths and benches. The time to see the torre, and the monte, is now, in its evocative "ruins" state, as it's been for decades.

Dianne refused to enter Torre Righetti (fearing for her safety - crumbling buildings and all) until I mentioned that the hole in the center reminded me of the "light artist" James Turrell. 

To one side, superb views of two of EUR's most prominent buildings: the Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana (aka the Square Coliseum, now owned by Fendi) and the Basilica dei Santi Pietro e Paolo. They look closer than they are in the photo below.

As we learned from a small mural later that day in downtown Trullo, the hilltop was the site of a 1966 film by Pier Paolo Pasolini: "Uccellacci e Uccellini" ("Hawks and Sparrows"), starring Toto and Ninetto Davoli. (All our Roman friends knew the film and the locale, though they hadn't been there.)  A tree depicted in the mural (and presumably in the film) no longer exists. The Basilica appears in the mural.

Monte Cucco is also home to other ruins: a substantial villa/farmhouse, near a clump of trees. These are the ruins of early-19th-century Villa Baccelli, which belonged to  Guido Baccelli, Minister of Education several times in the early years of the State of Italy and, later, his son Alfredo. Higher up the hill we found what appears to have been a facility for animals (maybe feeding troughs). The farmhouse ruins include a long, steep, and deep tunnel (the opening to it freaked out Dianne too). We read the tunnel accesses what are known as Fairy Grottoes (le grotte delle fate), an underground quarry and caves, dating to the 6th century BCE and understood to be the residence of the God Silvanus (for the Latins) and Selvans (for the Etruscans). In the early 20th century the caves were used as an aircraft shelter.  

What's left of Villa Baccelli 

Tunnel to the "Fairy Grottoes," dating to the 6th century BCE 

 

What we thought were feeding troughs in an out-building.

It's just a 10-minute walk from the Torre to downtown Trullo (backtracking on the 719 bus route) and well worth the journey. Trullo is full of exceptional outdoor wall art, often presented with prose and poetry, and much of it on the sides of buildings that compose a 1940-era public housing project, still in decent shape and illustrative of an era when public authorities in the West still built housing for those with modest incomes. Just a sample or two to follow--don't want to spoil the experience. 

At the town's main intersection there's a substantial interior market and a couple of nice bars. That's Dianne enjoying a cafe Americano with a mural behind her.  The barista, who at first greeted us coolly, was very excited and voluble when he found we were not immediately going back to the United States but spent months in Rome.  After initially "overcharging" us, he gave us the locals' price, and free chocolate.

And, up a broad stair, what once was the city hall, now covered, in rather spectacular fashion, by leftist graffiti, wall art, and prose. For some years the building was occupied by leftist organizations, but at the moment it appears to be empty and closed. Enjoy the exterior before it, too, is "repristinatoed." 

A painting--and a poem--on the facade of what once was Trullo's city hall. Some of the writing here celebrates 30 years of "occupation" of the building (1987-2017), and the graffiti "spray artist" is writing "I hate prison. I love liberty."

As you walk around you may (or may not) see giant electrical towers. One by one they're being removed; those that remain are no longer functioning. 

To return to Rome: follow the main road (via del Trullo - not too pedestrian friendly, but walkable) south (retracing the bus route), then west to the frequent train at the Magliana stop, below.

Bill 

Dreaming--ala Romana

 

Sognare: to dream. Sogno: a dream

Everyone dreams. But it's also possible that cultures dream differently, or think differently about what it means to "dream." More concretely--and based only on a few weeks of walking Rome's streets and reading the newspapers--it seems to us that the word "dream," and variations on it, is used more frequently in Rome than it would be in an American city and, arguably, that it's used differently.

One Sunday morning this year, looking for an open newsstand in the neighborhood of San Lorenzo, we came upon this piece of shutter art. "Who is keeping us from dreaming," it asks, as if the act of dreaming was somehow being frustrated, by someone, or some entity, or some condition.

In nearby Piazza dei Sanniti, where Pier Paolo Pasolini ate his last meal, the words "Balla, Sogna, Lotta"--Dance, Dream, Struggle--beneath an artwork by Sten and Lex, suggest something similar: not only the need to dream, but the difficulty of doing so in a world--and a society--that challenges the dream.

In this case, the dream is particularly intense because the message is affixed to one of San Lorenzo's most contested structures, a building that is a symbol of community, creativity, and social commitment and, during covid, a place where one could find food. Once the home of a movie theater, it was occupied by progressives in 2011, to prevent it from becoming a casino. A decade later, the authorities kicked everyone out. In this case, to "dream" means to hold onto the idea of what the building once was--maybe even hold onto the building--while opposing the plans of developers. A photo of the buildings in Piazza dei Sanniti is at the end of this post. 

"Dance, dream, struggle. Even now, in the cold. Look at us. I love flowers"

This last-minute addition, by way of "The King," was found in Ostiense: "Follow the dream, wherever it may take you."

The newspapers present different varieties of dreaming. A travel article describes the beaches of the Marche region as "un mare da sogno"--a sea to dream about. The Roma soccer club, having tied a crucial match only to lose on an "own goal," earns the headline: "Paredes fa sognare la Roma, poi la beffa" (Paredes [who had two goals, both on penalty kicks] allows Rome to dream, then the mockery)--again, the dream as frustration. 

And the "sogno" of having 24-hour Metro service in Rome, as cities in the United States do:

Just days before that Sunday morning, some 1400 people signed up to take the exam to fill 439 positions driving a bus. Among the applicants were women and many young people with Bachelor's degrees. "Molti sognano," reads the newspaper account, "di fare l'autista di bus" (many dream of being a bus driver). Maybe ironic--and maybe not. 

This window advertisement by BNL Bank appears to use a Bassett Hound [could be a Dachshund] (and a pun involving the word Bassotta [a combination of two words meaning low: basso and sotto]) to announce "low" rates that will help you achieve your Roman dreams:

And this bit of graffiti, on the wall of a prominent San Lorenzo park, fronting on via Tiburtina: "Solo sognare ci terra' svegli." Our Roman friend M., a skilled translator, helped us with this one: "Only dreaming will keep us awake." "The apparent contradiction" (between dreaming and waking), he noted, "makes me think of the necessity and constant effort of keeping dreams alive. And I guess here the writer was thinking of the great dreams of humankind, such as love, peace, and equality." 

Thanks so much, M., for your translation and thoughtful elaboration. Perfect.

Bill 

Nuovo Cinema Palazzo is at left. The restaurant frequented by Pasolini is at right.