A Relished Retreat

September 8, 2006
Today began early with an alarm and a cup of caffe latte. One look into the refrigerator confirmed that it was the end of the week--scant leavings required a little experimentation; Jenne made a pesto sandwich, and I made a pear and parmesan sandwich. Prepared and caffinated, we headed out to catch the bus to the Monasteries.

The double decker bus provided an excellent view of the city and time to play cards and catch up on journaling. When we finally arrived at the first Monastery, of San Benedicto, of the Sacred Cave, the hillside view was astonishing. Our first glimpses of trees and forests for quite a while since entering Rome were studded with weaving roads and red-tile roofs. Stepping into the shaded cavern, we veiwed the Medieval frescos and read the story of Saint Benedict in the same way illiterate church-goers would have: without printed Italian. We then visited the cave which, as the tourguide tells, is where Saint Benedict lived and prayed for three years to avoid distratction, until he was found by the shepards who became his disciples. After a quick stop at the gift store, where we perused the monk-made products, honey and wine, and I purchsed the Rose Honey, as a souvenir of San Benedicto (Saint Benedict once rolled himself in roses to distract himself from impure thoughts, giving himself a reputation for purity and a symbolic connection to roses).

The next stop was the Monastery dedicated to Saint Benedict's twin sister, Scholastica, a pituresque mishmash of different architectural styles, from Roman to Renaissance, to Baroque. We were rushed out of the monastery so the monks could complete their pre-lunch prayer, and we could visit the biblioteca, library. Saint Benedict's Order required the study/maintainence or books in order to enhance understanding of religion and the Bible and in line with this policy two German printers, expelled from Germany due to their radical and dangerous printing ideas, were invited to the Monastery, which still houses the first printed books.

The collection we saw was filled with illuminated letters and gold leaf, with several folio-sized works about an inch and a half thick. You could actually see the six attachments in most of the books (signatures to spine), and the beginnings of tears where centuries of display and use had begun their inevitable work on the collection. However, unlike the books of today, the binding was hidden within folds of thick-weight textured material, and the leather covers looked much newer than the Special Collection leather that I have seen in the Mendary, which is from 1880 at the oldest, and suggests either better leather and leathercare or some preservation/restoration work. The display even had a minature printing press above the books and what might have been glue vats in one corner, though by the time I got to them it was time to leave. I suppose being the continent or country doesn't matter, I always seem to be the last one out of the library.

On the way back, we refueled (ourselves) with the ex-pear-imental sandwiches and some gelato and ice cream bars, before proceeding to Villa d' Este. There, we frolicked in the fountains (not quite, but very tempting) and enjoyed the same shade and gravity-powered sprays of water that the grandchildren of Pope Alessandro did.





Once back 'home,' following the plot hatched on the bus, Shannon, Teresa, Julia, and I retired to my apartment and made mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, salad, and hard-boiled eggs. By some entirely inexplicable phemnomenon, we all were missing the home-cooked food that we never ate at home, but which were quintessentially American. After dinner, we accompanied Julia to the Pantheon for a juggling session, where she made a record amount of money. As we walked back, feasting on the spoils of her labor, Gioletti Gelato, we noticed music just floating serenely out of an empty courtyard, a welcome change from the business of the tourist district. The white marble and music combined in an almost heavenly peaceful ambiance, and a little later, our walk brought us to the white marble face of a church, with a nearly-full moon shining silver and framed by the white-gray fluffs of clouds.

Laura Eiford