All Saints and All Souls

Amalfi's cemetery on the hillside.

Hallowe'en in Amalfi was rather a low key affair as far as trick-or-treat or ghoulish decorations go. In fact, I saw not one cobweb or carved pumpkin, and only two or three 'witch' and 'devil' children out looking for goodies - they were very sensibly targeting only the business establishments - the pasticcerias and the fancy hotels.

However, on the hillside above Amalfi the town cemetery was aglow, all of the 21 arches along its long portico illuminated, with lights above as well, and its big cross glowing. The cemetery in Amalfi sits high on the hillside above the town - heaven alone knows how they get the coffins up there - the route is through steep little medieval alleys only wide enough for single-file walking. The cemetery was once a monastery, in competition, presumably, with the Capuchin one on the opposite hill (now a fancy hotel).

The reason for all this lighting, and the influx of locals come home to their village for the weekend, is the advent of All Saints' Day, the 1st of November, followed by All Souls' Day on 2nd. This is the time of year for visiting your dearly departed in the cemeteries. It's a celebration both personal and communal.

Wiki tells us:

The origin of the festival of All Saints celebrated in the West dates to 13 May 609 or 610, when Pope Boniface IV consecrated the Pantheon at Rome to the Blessed Virgin and all the martyrs; the feast of the dedicatio Sanctae Mariae ad Martyres has been celebrated at Rome ever since... The origin of All Saints' Day cannot be traced with certainty, and it has been observed on various days in different places. However, there are some who maintain the belief that it has origins in the pagan observation of 13 May, the Feast of the Lemures, in which the malevolent and restless spirits of the dead were propitiated....

In all the shops (source)

Wiki again:

In Western Christianity, All Souls' Day, also known as the Commemoration of All Faithful Departed, is observed principally in the Catholic Church, although some churches of Anglican Communion and the Old Catholic Churches also celebrate it; the observance is the third day of Hallowmas and annually occurs on November 2...The official name of the celebration in the Roman Rite liturgy of the Roman Catholic Church is "The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed". Another popular name in English is Feast of All Souls. In some other languages the celebration, not necessarily on the same date, is known as Day of the Dead...Many of these European traditions reflect the dogma of purgatory. For example, ringing bells for the dead was believed to comfort them in their cleansing there, while the sharing of soul cakes with the poor helped to buy the dead a bit of respite from the suffering of purgatory. In the same way, lighting candles was meant to kindle a light for the dead souls languishing in the darkness. Out of this grew the traditions of "going souling" and the baking of special types of bread or cakes. 

All Saints Day coffee

I haven't noticed any special bread baking for the occasion, but Friday 1 November is a pubic holiday in Italy, and there's a little air of festivity about the place. This morning the pasticceria served a generous portion of the local pastry speciality, sfogliatelli, with my caffé. And many of the shops are displaying extra bunches of flowers, particularly chrysanthemums, potted plants, and those all-weather candles that people take to graves.

Totò

In special recognition of the occasion, I was referred to a poem written by the popular Italian comic actor Totò (Antonio De Curtis, 1898 - 1967), entitled 'La Livella' ('A Livella' in its original Neapolitan) - a poem about a visitor to the cemetery on il due novembre who witnesses two ghosts rise up from their graves and have an argument - a nobleman, and a humble street sweeper. The nobleman complains that the poor man should not be buried next to him, to which the poor man replies -

mia moglie è stata a fare questa fesseria,
io che potevo fare se ero morto?

...which basically means it was my wife's doing -- what could I do? I was dead!

But the poor man goes on to make the point that everyone is equal after death.


You can read the whole poem on this site in Neapolitan (good luck!) and in Italian. Oh OK, here's a link to the poem in English too.

Ogni anno, il due novembre, c'è l'usanza
per i defunti andare al Cimitero.
Ognuno deve fare questa gentilezza;
ognuno deve avere questo pensiero....

Every year on the 2nd of November,
it is usual for the dead care, to go to the Cemetery.
Everyone should do this present;
Everyone should have this thought...

Or -- you can listen to Totò himself recite it on YouTube.
Happy All Saints and Souls Days.

Villa Rufolo

A tragic site?

A tragedy in 1283

At the end of June in the year 1283, things were not going well for a certain rich family from Ravello. Lorenzo Rufolo was beheaded at the Castel dell-Ovo in Naples, on the order of the Angevin prince Charles II. His father Matteo Rufolo was  in prison, the family riches were confiscated, and several other members of the family sentenced to death. The charges against them - some say trumped up, and never proven - included extortion, treason, exporting wheat to the detriment of the king, and extending favours to the Aragonese in the  war of the Sicilian vespers.

In truth, the problem for the Rufolo family was that it was very rich and powerful, and had backed the loser in the battle at Benevento that saw Charles d’Anjou, ally of Pope Martin IV, defeat and kill Manfred, son of the popular Norman-Swabian ruler Frederico II, in 1266.

Villa Rufolo: a hidden corner.

In the following years the Rufolo family tried their best to switch sides to the victor. They swore allegiance to the new king, and altered their coat-of-arms to add three lilies, the symbol of the Anjous. But the matriarch of the family, Sigilgaida, was of Norman descent - she was from the equally powerful della Marra family. She married Nicòla Rufolo - they were the parents of Matteo and the grandparents of the unfortunate Lorenzo. 

The della Marra family had followed the Norman kings south, settling in 1076 in Ravello on the Amalfi Coast. By this time, the strength of the Amalfi Maritime Republic was beginning to wane. The Norman family built a stronghold high on the ridge in Ravello, part fortress to keep an eye on the Amalfitani, part noblemen’s home. The della Marras also spread to Puglia, to the towns of Barletta and Trani, where the Swabian kings held sway. 

Between them, the Rufolo and della Marra families controlled customs and castles, and had real power, both economic and military. They were responsible for the accountancy of the kingdom as well as for strongholds in Ravello, Maranon, Puglia and Calabria. At one point, in 1275, Matteo Rufolo, along with seven other Ravello families who had loaned money to king Charles I d’Anjou, was entrusted with the Royal Crown as a pledge for the debt. They were, it seems, too powerful to last.

Torre Maggiore

Villa Rufolo

One of the pieces of property that fell from the grasp of the Rufolo family when their dynasty was struck down was the enigmatic Villa Rufolo in Ravello. It was to the east of the Cathedral and Bishop’s Palace in Ravello, and the della Marra fortress stood to the south west. 

Villa Rufolo continues to stand today, almost one thousand years old, changed, rebuilt and adapted through the many hands which have held it since Lorenzo’s day. The original building was a synthesis of Arabic, Sicilian and Norman architecture. In the 18th century cloisters were added, in the 19th century Romantic gardens that charmed Richard Wagner. Today it’s the home of the famous Ravello Music Festival and of the Centro Universitario Europeo per i Beni Culturali.

Art and architecture

Villa Rufolo is probably the last example of secular Norman Islamic architecture in Southern Italy. It’s covered with Islamic artistic symbols, decorated with arabesques. It bears many resemblances to the Norman churches in Palermo in Sicily. A local historian, Alessio Amato, points out that Sigilgaida Rufolo’s Norman heritage lived on through the years of Angevin rule through subtle architectural and artistic displays in Ravello, despite the Rufolo pledge of allegiance to the new kings. 

Il Chiostro in Villa Rufolo.

Not only is there the Norman Islamic architecture of the Villa. In 1272 Nicòla and Sigilgaida donated a pulpit to the Ravello Cathedral - it’s still there. It’s a fusion of Byzantine and Islamic techniques, Puglian and Campanian artistry, tastes deriving from the Norman-Swabian king Frederico II. The artist employed by the Rufolos to make the pulpit was Nicola da Foggia, an artist of the Frederican school with ties through his father to Frederico II. 

Also installed in the Cathedral was a sculpted bust of Sigilgaida herself, crowned with a royal diadem, which (until a 1973 restoration moved it) used to be positioned over the door leading to the pulpit - so the bishop had to pass under this vision of Sigilgaida before reading the Scriptures. As Allession Amato says in his small booklet “Secrets of Villa Rufolo”:

“Art has always expressed thought and, above all, in antiquity, in periods of great battles, of political, economic and social upheavals, certainly was depicted in tangible artifacts. Families would demonstrate their identity and political allegiances through art and decorations.”

Shadows of the past. Villa Rufolo.

A tour of the Villa

Today, you might choose to visit Villa Rufolo for a concert on the outdoor belvedere in the summer; or to walk through the 19th century Romantic-style gardens established by the Scotsman Neville Reid who rescued the Villa in the 19th century.

You would begin by walking from the piazza in front of the Ravello Cathedral through the Torre d’Ingresso, a crumbling stone structure that dominates the east side of the piazza. It has always been purely decorative, with a ribbed dome and arabesques in polychrome stones and terracotta. 

A stroll down a long avenue of cyprus and lime trees brings you to il Chiostro, the cloister, self-evidently Moorish in style -- twin columns, pointed arches, friezes and arabesques. Turning into the courtyard on your left you’ll find it dominated by the Torre Maggiore, three stories high and the oldest extant part of the Villa. 

19th century gardens.

Beyond the tower the 19th century gardens begin, studied informality, flower beds, pergolas, walks and hidden seats, fountains and vines. Here, Richard Wagner (visiting in May 1880) is said to have found the inspiration to complete the second act of his last opera, ‘Parsifal’, exclaiming that he’d found ‘the magical garden of Klingsor.’ This has to be the most-repeated off-hand comment in history. The whole of the Ravello Music Festival has, since the 1950s, been based on this moment of inspiration - the Festival is dedicated to Wagner and always features a concert of his music.

In the corner of the garden is one of my favourite structure on the site - the so-called Sala dei Cavalieri, or Hall of the Knights. It’s a round pavilion, walls decorated in arabesques, and its roof long since collapsed. No-one has any idea what it was really used for - the name was bestowed much later.

Beyond the gardens is the famous Ravello panorama - difficult to beat. The concert platform, the belvedere, juts out into space over the terraces of Ravello falling away to the sea and the distant mountains. It’s put up each summer, and taken down for the winter. Under the belvedere, you may explore some very ancient parts of the Villa, including an Arabic Bathhouse - a hammam of sorts - the Bagno Turco; the cellars; and a space known as the Sala da Pranza, or dining room, with a cross-vaulted roof and columns supported by odd groups of pillars. 

La Sala dei Cavalieri.

It's dome long since gone...

Visitors

Richard Wagner was not the first artist to be inspired by the Villa Rufolo. In 1327 Giovanni Boccaccio was a guest of the Angevins in Naples and apparently heard the story of Lorenzo Rufolo. The fourth of his famous set of ten stories, ‘The Decameron’, concerns a character named Landolfo Rufolo, and is thought to be loosely based on the real-life tragedy. 

La Sala da Pranza.

In March 1713 an earthquake caused much damage to the Villa, and it probably would be no longer standing in any form if it were not discovered and rescued by Francis Neville Reid, a Scotsman living in Naples in 1851. He was a botanist, a Freemason and a scholar, and is responsible for much of what we see today at Villa Rufolo - along with the master-builder he employed to revive the buildings: Michele Ruggiero, chief foreman of the excavations at Pompeii. Ruggiero also later restored the pulpit in the Ravello Cathedral. 

Since Wagner’s day, the Villa has been visited by the likes of D H Lawrence, Jacqueline Kennedy, Hillary Clinton, and Gore Vidal (who lived in Ravello for many years). 

And me. I can recommend it. As you’re strolling in the cloister or the Sala Dei Cavaliere, don’t forget to spare a thought for Lorenzo Rufolo and his fate in 1283.

And then you can stop for refreshments at 'Bar Klingsor' on the piazza. 

Ravello.

Acknowledgement: Much of this information comes from Alessio Amato's small booklet, "Secrets of Villa Rufolo"

Sydney Writers' Festival: one more time...

Sydney Writers' Festival

Being in Sydney in May, as winter approaches, is not all bad, no not at all. The weather is bright and mild, the sea sparkles, and it's that time of year again...a festival of books, ideas and conversation that fills five days of invigorating talk at the Sydney Writers' Festival. Do check out the link -- several of the talks and panel discussions are up there to listen to, in case you missed the bright cold days on the Harbour.

Not bad at all. 

This year there were deck chairs in the old pier for late comers (or the lazy) who missed out on seats at a favourite session. There was the usual characterful ambience of the Walsh Bay wharf district, a new 'Cafe at the End fo the Wharf' where coffee and the papers, and a panel of journalists and visiting authors could help you kick start you day, as you checked through the program for your sessions of choice.

There were politicians, journalists, poets, creative new writers and venerable established writers. There were speeches, quirky presentations, panels, discussions, and plenty of audience questions. Many were the deep and meaningful questions of live and literature debated around the cafe tables, many the cups of coffee sipped and glasses of wine quaffed. Many the books bought and authors with signing cramp. Many the famous names and the new discoveries.

Now which ones are unmissable?

Literary enthusiasts at the Wharf

Check out some podcasts from the 2013 festival here. A couple of my favourites:

IS RHETORIC DEAD IN THE AGE OF THE SOUNDBITE' AT SYDNEY WRITERS' FESTIVAL, SUNDAY 26 MAY 2013

Last year the Prime Minister electrified the world with her misogyny speech. But this was a rare exception, and few modern political speeches capture the imagination in this way. Has our political discourse been reduced to slogans? And what does this mean for our democracy? Executive Director of the Lowy Institute Michael Fullilove discussed this and more  at Sydney Writers' Festival with author and ex-speechwriter for Kevin Rudd, James Button, Federal Member for Wentworth Malcolm Turnbull, political journalist and social commentator Annabel Crabb and Executive Director of the Plain English Foundation Neil James. SYDNEY WRITERS' FESTIVAL 2013 CLOSING ADDRESS BY CLAIRE MESSUD In his essay, ‘Imaginary Homelands’, Salman Rushdie addresses the alienation of the displaced: ‘if we do look back . . we will not be capable of reclaiming precisely the thing that was lost . . . we will, in short, create fictions, not actual cities or villages, but invisible ones, imaginary homelands’. In this year’s Closing Address at Sydney Writers’ Festival, Claire Messud, who juggles American, Canadian and French identities and who spent her formative childhood years in Sydney, spoke about a writer’s rootlessness in the global era, and the underpinning importance of ‘imaginary homelands’ – including this one – in her storytelling.

Waiting on the speaker, Sydney Theatre

Ticket haul

Walsh Bay, Sydney: SWF has the best venue in the world.

Next year's SWF? 19-25 May 2014  Diary. Now. 

Czech Science-Fiction: The Makropulos Case

Karita Mattila as Emilia Marty

Karel Čapek (1890 - 1938) was an influential Czech dramatist who was a pioneer of the science fiction genre. His play “R.U.R.” (1924) gave us the word “robot”, which was originally a Czech agricultural term for a peasant forced-labour system. Now there’s an interesting factoid for you to remember for the next trivia night. But we’re concerned today with his play “Věc Makropulos” (1922) which means literally “The Makropulos Thing”, though this doesn’t convey the real cryptic meaning of the Czech; so it is most usually translated as “The Makropulos Case” or sometimes “The Makropulos Affair”.

Čapek’s play may or may not have come to international attention on its own, but it has certainly done so since his countryman Leoš Janáček transformed it into an opera. The libretto of the opera closely follows the original play; and it is testament to Janáček’s skills that it is beautifully musical despite large chunks of it consisting of explanations of a complicated one-hundred year old legal case. 

The opera is set in Prague in 1913. The first scene is a lawyer’s office - the current production at The Met includes a proscenium-high wall of filing draws *sigh* - and the second scene is an opera stage. The heroine of the story, Emilia Marty, is a famous diva. The final scene is a hotel bedroom...but I don’t want to give away the whole plot.

Wait...yes I do. Because I want to explain the science-fiction aspect of the story. Emilia Marty is also Ellian Macgregor. And Eugenia Montez. And a variety of other women with the initials “E.M.”. And - finally - is revealed as Elina Makropulos, born 337 years ago. She has retained her youthful beauty and allure, plus a wonderful singing voice, and has left a trail of lovers, children and destruction behind her. She is a bit of a bitch, but then who wouldn’t be in her circumstances? Her father was a chemist who developed the potion for Rudolf II, and was then forced to test it on Elina, his 16 year ld daughter. The potion only lasts 300 years or so, so Elina needs another dose soon. 

The fast-moving plot revolves around her efforts to secure the formula, which is amongst the papers of an old lover (long since dead), whose estate is the subject of the long court case. Various intrigues occur, there’s a tragedy, and Emilia/Elina reveals all. She also decides that she doesn’t want the potion any more, and so she shrivels up, decomposes and dies. Now imagine that you’re a theatrical director and you need to portray that moment on stage. I’ve seen it done with a stand-in ‘ancient crone’ actress supplanting the soprano (who needs to keep singing all the while, remember). At The Met, the Elijah Moshinsky production goes for symbolism, with a huge portrait of Emilia Marty going up in flames - along with the formula.

As you might imagine from this description, the role of Emilia Marty is one of opera’s more demanding ones for the ‘dramatic soprano’. At The Met this season we’re privileged to see the Finnish soprano Karita Mattila in the role - she is acknowledged as one of the great “singing actors”, as the phrase goes. She does indeed prove herself one great actress; but her singing too is wonderful. As is Janáček’s lovely music. 

So would you like to live for 300 years? It was thought, though he denied it, that Čapek’s play was a response to George Bernard Shaw’s “Back to Methuselah” (1921) where a 300-year life span is a good thing, raising humanity to a higher spiritual level. Čapek’s plays were written in the shadow of WWI where chemical weapons were used for the first time, and he seems to have developed a technophobe view of “progress”. As the program notes put it:

...a formula with seemingly utopian possibilities produces dreadful results and is eventually burnt by an idealistic young woman.

Information from The Met program

Images from:

http://www.metoperafamily.org/metopera/index.aspx

http://operalovers-ri.blogspot.com/

Rain, writing and revolution

Another damp day in Pairs. As Marilyn says, Paris has worse weather than London, just better PR people. Undaunted, we began our day with café au lait et croissants, just like the locals, and then set off with a list of sights to see. First was Shakespeare & Co., Shakespeare and Company the famous old English bookshop on the left bank. In the 1920s the shop was a writers’ meeting place, with names such as Ezra Pound, Ernest Hemingway and James Joyce being nurtured there. We arrived as they were opening up. There was a hand written sign in the window inviting us to a book reading tomorrow night, with a possible glimpse at the author’s work in progress, and a wine tasting afterwards. *sigh* My kind of bookshop. 

We walked on to Sainte Chapelle – I had insisted that Evan should see this, not describing why, because I wanted him to have the shock of surprise and amazement that must greet everyone who first sets eyes on this 13^th century Gothic chapel. However, this was not to be, the shock of surprise and amazement being instead encountered at the length of the queue standing in the rain at the entrance. But this was a mere nothing compared to the queue waiting to enter the Louvre: it seems that entry is free on the first Sunday of the month, and today was the first Sunday of the month. We estimated the queue as at least half a kilometre in length, maybe more. It snaked the length of several courtyards of the massive Louvre buildings. In the rain, remember.

Thinking to return later, we looked on the bright side and set off cheerfully towards the Opera district and the Galeries Lafayette department store, for a little indoor warmth and Parisienne shopping. Alas, once again we underestimated the French. No shopping on Sundays. All was closed, and all we could do was view the rather tacky Christmas windows that the department store has installed (think Abba and dancing penguins). Now nearing a kind of squishy desperation, we descended into the Metro. You know things are bad up on top when the metro is a better alternative.

A roller in the Place des Vosges. Don't know
what is was doing there, but it looked
tres elegant.

However, turning a negative into a positive, we used our time wisely and taught ourselves show to use le metro. It was all happening down there: throngs of people (presumably all going to the Louvre); a woman busking on the train with an amplifier and American pop songs. Negotiating several changes and three different lines, we arrived in le Marais, in the 3^rd arrondissement. I eventually led Evan to Place des Vosges which I assured him would be the place to be since it is (a) very beautiful, and (b) is blessed with colonnaded walkways (i.e. dry). I was shown to be correct on both counts. We squeezed into an overflowing bistro for some (rather disappointing) food and some French people-watching.

The bistro was called ‘Bistro Hugo’ and I wondered if Victor Hugo might be the reason – yes! He lived around the corner, and his house is now a museum. We toured la maison de Victor Hugo with audio guides, and learnt various disconnected factoids about the great French writer – such as that he lived in exile on Guernsey and Jersey for many years, that most of his children died before he did, that he had a long term mistress who loved the rather tasteless furniture he designed for her (Madame Hugo couldn’t stand the stuff), and that he wrote standing up. His standing-up writing desk is in the museum. The very desk on which ‘Les misérables’ may have been written!

Victor Hugo in maison de Victor Hugo

Emerging onto the streets – which remain narrow and crooked and interesting, having escaped the hand of Baron Haussmann  the civic planner who rebuilt swathes of Paris in the 19^th century – we found lots of little boutiques: open for business! We also found a substitute museum without a queue, the Musee Carnavalet (entry free today too). In this pair of Marais townhouses is an historical museum that thinks at times that it is an art gallery. It houses scads of paintings and interior design articles, including whole rooms saved from buildings now vanished, arranged to give a history of Paris. “They sure have a lot of stuff here”, remarked Evan. Checking the brochure, I see that this is very true: 600,000 exhibits spread over more than 100 rooms. *phew!*

In a (somewhat futile) attempt to avoid museum-overload we concentrated on the exhibition relating to the French Revolution, and very fascinating it was too. The museum has little models of the dreaded guillotine, and paintings and artefacts about the terrible fate of small King Louis XVII, who died at ten years old after having been wrenched from the arms of his mother, Marie Antoinette, at eight years old and imprisoned. They have a lock of his hair. The displays are very extensive, and although mostly in French, Evan and I learnt a lot, from the storming of the Bastille to the Déclaration des droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen.

The storming of the Bastille 14th July 1789

La pyramide du Louvre

I am pleased to also report that we did eventually make it into the Louvre the Louvre , a couple of hours before closing. Of course we inspected the I. M. Pie pyramid, the once controversial modern entrance solution placed in the courtyard of the massive old palace (I like it). We also, like all good tourists, found Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa behind her bullet-proof glass. The crowds are kept so far away that it is not really possible to appreciate anything about the painting which could not be better appreciated from a good reproduction, but still. Then, continuing the de rigueur trail, we also found the Venus de Milo, otherwise known as the Aphrodite of Milos. She stands in a massive collection of marble people all snaffled from the ancient world. We also came across the bits of the Parthenon that the French nicked, including the head of one of the goddesses from the East Pediment whose body is in the British Museum. They are lovely things, but the thought of the 19^th century colonialists squabbling over who could snaffle the best bits is, well, unedifying.

"The Mona Lisa" in her splendid isolation

The 'Venus de Milo' - Aphrodite who lost her
arms during her abduction from Milos

Thus ended our rainy day in Paris, and I must say that we were content with what we managed to achieve despite the weather gods being unhelpful. Our walk back to the left bank in the evening was rain-free and delightful, crossing the bridges across the Seine as the lights of Paris were illuminated. Très belle.

The Seine at night

Autumn in Paris

Image from:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Revolution