Who is Your Good Neighbor?

“Who is your ‘Good Neighbor?’” she asked. 

“Good neighbor?” I repeated, “What do you mean?”

The question was put to me after I’d received my security briefing as well as a jam-packed information session in the customer service center at the U. S. embassy in Rome (sorry folks, no pictures...not allowed).  This next segment was run by Community Liaison Office personnel, who were more than a little excited about having an artist/art historian present.  It seems that there are weekly tours of the embassy compound given by volunteer docents, and the docent roster is a little thin these days.  The buildings are historic and there is a fair amount of art at the compound.  Looks like I might be conscripted.  Stay tuned.

Good neighbor? My knowledge of my neighbors thus far is, in one respect, quite limited.  I hear chairs scraping on tile floors above my apartment, where people study the French language.  There is a German business of some type on the floor below me.   I’ve greeted an employee as she entered the door.  I’ve seen and briefly greeted my across-the-hall neighbor, a fairly non-descript, middle-aged man, once as well.   Our building attendant is Domitilla, but while she is usually visible in the office on the first stairwell landing, she is thus far not the type to come out of said office and chat. 

We are trying to get to know neighboring businesses better.  When we experience good food and/or service at a place, we endeavor to establish with them that we will be back because we’ve just taken up residence here.  We want to build some relationships.

Seafood Still Life with Smiling Spouse

Of course, our first attempt at this was a total failure.  We loved both the food and the service at a place on Via dell’Orso (‘the street of the bear’), and we told the management so.  And once we successfully conveyed our wishes to return and why, they told us that they planned to move locations - across town! – next week. 

Probable 2nd failure at 'neighborly' conduct:  a purported teacher for the French language school, who was loitering just outside the building's front door (which he'd left ajar), having a smoke.  When we walked out and almost completely shut the door behind us, he expressed his dismay:  'je suis un professeur!' and 'je ne possede pas de cle!' he exclaimed with disgust, as he puffed away.  He couldn't prove the former, and thus, we couldn't trust the latter, we explained.  This is a large, international city and we are supposed to be careful.  He sighed heavily, reached up to pull the large door knocker to alert his students that he'd been locked out, and therefore DID pull the door completely shut, truly sealing his fate.  Insert multiple French expletives here. 

I don't think that he'll be inviting us out for coffee any time soon.  

But we remain undaunted in the pursuit of formulating our ‘neighborhood.’ 

Any other neighbors?  Good neighbors? Why yes, there are some, in this rione.  Their names are Caravaggio, Sansovino and Raphael.  (We’ll address Bernini and Borromini later.  They’re like the Baroque-era HOA of the neighborhood – pervasive and heavy-handed on the upkeep of standards).

San Luigi dei Francesi – the French National church of Rome – is behind our building.  (We can hear organ music and choir rehearsal while we’re brushing our teeth in the bathroom.)  Three of the alleged ‘best’ Caravaggio paintings of the artist’s brief career are installed in a chapel located directly behind our apartment.  These scenes from the life of St. Matthew were his first public commissions. They made him famous.

Former students of mine - or of any general art history survey - may remember the story of Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610).  A supremely bright star in the Baroque art world, the painter left an indelible impression on many artists of various nationalities in both his own century and subsequent centuries.  Italian painters who emulated his extreme use of chiaroscuro (sharply contrasting lights and darks, called tenebrism), his sensitivity for dramatic depictions, and the use of ordinary people as models were called ‘Caravaggisti.’ 

While I like to think of him as a ‘good neighbor’ to my present state of living, I’m not so certain that he would have been an actual one in his own day.  The bright star also had a violent temper.  While he was in the height of this career and still young, that temper got the best of him and he murdered someone.  Exiled from Rome for his crime, he wandered, traveled and died before turning 40.

In another church that is one block from this one – Sant’Agostino – is the fourth of the neighborhood’s Caravaggios.  Here, the Madonna greets two worshipful peasants who have called to see the Christ child.  Note the dramatic lighting (the artist himself uses it in the painting, but as is typical in many churches here, electrical, coin-operated lighting is provided).  My Blue Guide (the guidebook ‘for the traveller who desires to understand more fully what he or she sees’ reads the inside cover) suggests that she struggles to hold a child who is larger than usual – foreshadowing her future burden.    

Also in this church is a lesser known Raphael.  (It's impossible to shoot this from the church floor - so enjoy the link). A very Sistine Chapel-like depiction of Isaiah.  Let’s also remember that the artist – another who died very young - is buried in the Pantheon, which is a very short jaunt away.  Raphael would have probably made a good neighbor in his day, as long as you weren't competing with him for girlfriends or commissions. 

How about Sansovino’s Madonna del Parto, the Madonna of Childbirth?  Expectant and/or grateful mothers leave baby-related tokens near the statue. 

Alternatively – and still in the same church - a grim reminder of the brevity of life:

How very…neighborly.

                                                      *****    *****     *****     *****

“Good Neighbor?” I asked.

“Another Tri-Mission community member who lives in your neighborhood was assigned to be your Good Neighbor; a person who can help acquaint you with tips about places to eat, shop, etc. Who is that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said as I shrugged, “I don’t know who that is.  We haven’t received any information about such a person.”

“Hmm,” she said, smiling through a frown. “I know of a person living IN your neighborhood who should have been assigned to you.  I’ll look them up and prompt them to get in touch.  I don’t know how you fell through the cracks.”

Within two days’ time, we heard from our Good Neighbor, who confirmed many things we’d already learned about our neighborhood (yes, those grocery stores are tiny, and yes, the best gelato in Rome is across the street from the best coffee), and gave us a good tip on a lesser known outdoor market even closer to us than Campo dei Fiori.  

The singular vendor’s a cheery sort, who patiently coached me on how to call a peach a peach and not a fish.  

He sold these, among other things.  

Oddly, the pepper is about the size of my head.  

The tomatoes are smaller than eggs, and fantastic in every way.

Good neighbors?  Si.