Today Luciano arrived in our favorite Mercedes mini-bus, complete with air conditioning vents in the ceiling. Even though we had a long drive to town, I was really excited to return to Rome. Two years ago, I visited for the first time and forget to throw three coins in the fountain so I'd return some day. Lucky I'm not superstitious.
Visiting that Trevi Fountain was on our list, but a walk down the Via del Condotti and its incredibly expensive designer stores made me think twice about that walk. Already 90 degrees, we waited outside the Keats-Shelley House next to the Spanish Steps until our appointment at 11:00 a.m. I wanted to replicate the famous Audrey Hepburn shot with Gregory Peck from Roman Holiday, but we were told it is illegal to sit on the steps. An ice cream cone would disintegrate before we could snap the shot, but I thought I'd try after the visit to Keats' last home and the room where he died.
The home's air conditioning was turned up full blast, and I climbed numerous stairs to reach the library rooms. Gorgeous. I read every label, every original note and letter, every book title. I stared at the ceiling above the replica twin bed in his actual room, and wondered what Keats thought about for his last few days. Surely his beloved Fanny and "Bright Star" must have crossed his mind. Did his life end in a series of horrible gasps, or did he sink into oblivion? I was surprised at how emotional I felt, and how much I missed my beloved Romantics. Two years studying contemporary poetry at SMC didn't really change my taste for sound effects, rhyme, and meter. Out of fashion, yes, but beloved all the same. "When I have fears that I may cease to be" returned to my mind. I hadn't thought about that sonnet for at least ten years, but I remembered most of it inside Keats' bedroom.
The museum had a Byron exhibit as well and I discovered several small drawings of him I hadn't seen before. My high school English teacher had told me Byron had a receding hairline that he liked to cover up, and here was direct evidence. Some of his early handwritten drafts were on display in a glass case, and several items were touchable. No alarms went off, no docent came running and I enjoyed the texture of the paper. I saw a copy of Shelley's "Ozymandias" and remembered how much my APE Lit. students loved it.
An hour flew by, leaving no time for shopping or the Trevi Fountain or wandering. I didn't care. Now I knew how Keats felt when he wrote "On First Looking into Chapman's Homer." I couldn't leave this space. I took a photo of the Spanish Steps from a small, connected terrace, imagining Keats sitting there with his morning coffee, composing a line or two before the inevitable coughing fits took over. Nobody else from our poetry group remained inside, and I bought a t-shirt and made a donation.
As I walked past the Spanish Steps, I noticed they were empty. Desperate for a photo, despite the fact I was wearing my red-laced hiking boots with a dress, I found James, who snapped this shot for me.
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of Imagination"
-John Keats
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