ROME V

March 10, 2011

Strange passage last night. When I left the hotel, the crescent moon was high and icy-white. I first spotted it at the end of the Borso Pio. I decided to see it in as many memorable positions as possible, so I moved around the city, catching angles of the moon above the dome of St. Peter’s, above Tevere and his bridges, beside the archangel n the roof of the Castle St. Angelo. At one point a handsome man in a silver car began honking at me. I waved friendly and went on my way, thinking it was a case of mistaken identity which he would notice when he saw me full-on. I got a good enough look to know I didn’t know him, which would have been a long shot anyway. But he followed, honking, and, when I turned to look, gestured for me to come to him. The wheels of choice moved heavily, slowly, but at last I turned down a street when it would be difficult for him to follow. I think at another time–certainly any other time before this– I would have gone to him. The chances that it was something disappointing or dangerous outweighed the chances that it would be something wonderful many times over, but in the past that wouldn’t have mattered. I tell myself I wasn’t feeling well–which was the truth. I hope he comes again tonight. I am feeling quite well. Maybe I would make the same choice again, in which case I would know a phase of my life is over.

Arrived at the Galleria Borghese at opening. Let me say of the house alone, THAT is the way to live. Greater elegance cannot be imagined, though greater vulgarity from a similar intention can– for example, the Biltmore House. The gallery rivaled the Vatican for famous pieces, and here they were accessible without hurry and press. I suppose that’s why only so many people can get in in a day, which turns out to be a lovely idea, if you’re one of those who get in. Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne has to be the most remarkable achievement in Western Sculpture; it denies the very existence of the stone of which it’s made; it is alive. Michelangelo has been on my mind, for it seemed to me his paintings in the Sistine Chapel were not so good–as paintings– as those lower on the wall, even though now I forget who the painters were. Likewise, Bernini seems to me much the better sculptor, if not quite the better artist. But this is like comparing a zephyr to a rushing storm, for Michelangelo’s power is Homeric, unequaled, a wild forest beside the perfect gardens of his rivals. Some artists seem to capture popular imagination, while the shades of the equals- sometimes their betters– drift in the shadow and murmur Che?

Arranged to come down again along the Piazza de Spana, which pleased me again as it had done before.

Changed the plans I had and hung out around the Piazza Novolo through most of the day. I am just now–when its almost time to leave–easing over from monument-hunting to people-watching. Given a few more days, my experience of Rome would be ripe.