L'Italo-Americano

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 2019 www.italoamericano.org 16 L'Italo-Americano HERITAGE HISTORY IDENTITY TRADITIONS A fter the cacio e pepe at Tre Scalini and the Pinelli prints at Cas- cianelli, the old writer and his protégé debate where to have coffee. Since they must return to La Sapienza for a lecture on Pasolini, the protégé sug- gests an internet café in San Lorenzo. The old writer shakes his head. Convinced that the young man—a promising poet, despite the Woody Woodpecker haircut, thick mascara, and green fingernails— needs more culture, he insists on Antico Caffé Greco, a fifteen minute walk from Piazza Navona. Located on Via Condotti near the Spanish Steps, Caffé Greco is Rome's oldest coffeehouse and perhaps its last refuge for intelli- gent conversation. Past a buzzing outer room, where cells ring con- stantly, customers slurp espresso and wolf hors d'oeuvres standing up, shop girls from Fendi elbow for room at the bar, and Japanese tourists post snapshots of the Fontana della Baraccia on Insta- gram, is a hushed inner sanctum: a procession of dimly lit crimson and golden salons, furnished with small, marble-topped tables, ban- quettes, antiques, paintings, etch- ings, lithographs, and framed me- mentos. The Greco is named after Nicola di Maddalena, a Levantine Greek who founded the café in 1760 at a time when the area was full of hotels and pensioni. From the first day, it became the favorite gathering place for Rome's colony of eminent visitors, then a haven for local artists and writers. Casanova and Goldoni, Shelley and Keats, Goethe and Leopardi were habitués. This popularity alarmed authorities. On March 24, 1824, Leo XII, to discourage dis- sidents from patronizing the café, declared that any citizen entering the Greco would be thrown into prison for three months. The owner retaliated by serving cus- tomers through a window. The Greco's colorful history and legendary clientele have pro- tected it from being demolished or modernized. As evident from the paintings and photographs on the wall, the café looks exactly as it did during the Belle Époque, when Gabriele D'Annunzio, decadent poet and arbiter of style, scandal- ized management by allowing his borzoi to steal another customer's meringue. To atone, D'Annunzio signed a soiled napkin, removed his bow tie, and pinned the auto- graph to it. Aging waiters in black tails greet the old writer, a regular ever since he moved to Rome from Vasto fifty years ago and pub- lished his first novel, an autobio- graphical coming-of-age story later adapted into a popular film. The book was nominated for but failed to win the Viareggio Prize. Nevertheless, its fleeting success was enough to earn its author a professorship at La Sapienza, a studio apartment in Monti, and this corner table in the Greco's Sala Rosa. Admiring the red damask and gilt mirrors, the old writer orders two cappuccino and nods at the other patrons. Some are retired ed- itors and agents; others fading ec- centrics and poseurs. All are seated advertisements for the Greco, but none know as many lit- erary anecdote about the café. "Gogol wrote most of Dead Souls here," the old writer says, "drinking cups of caffé con panna. The whipped cream hung from the tip of his huge nose." The protégé is too absorbed in his iPad to respond. Facebook will replace the Greco, the old man muses, just as Amazon will re- place Feltrinelli. Before turning twenty, his protégé self-published five poetry collections, promoted them on Twitter, and posted mul- tiple readings on YouTube. Four years later, he won several awards and a full scholarship to graduate school. The old writer admires his talent but resents his smugness. When their order arrives, he asks the young man if he has read Virgil's Seventh Eclogue. Two Arcadian shepherds, Thyrsis and Cordyon, hold a poetry contest. Corydon doesn't exactly win, but Thyrsis definitely loses. And his defeat leaves Cordyon the victory almost by default. One way writers succeed is not to OD, go nuts, or get murdered on a beach at Ostia. The young poet shrugs. What's the big mystery? Celebrity has less to do with talent and effort than with luck. And luck is based on publicity and endurance. It's like those fancy boutiques on Via Con- dotti. If you make a fuss and stand in line long enough, they'll give you a door prize. "You think so caro mio?" purrs the old writer, stirring his coffee and thinking of his own career. He sips and looks daggers at the young man. "If you stand in line long enough, they'll close the goddamn door!" Then, as if savoring his ve- hemence, he sprinkles cinnamon on his protégé's cappuccino and smiles. "Whom the gods wish to destroy," he says, "they first make promising." Pasquino's secretary is An- thony Di Renzo, professor of writ- ing at Ithaca College. You may reach him at direnzo@ithaca.edu. Waiters at Caffé Greco, in Rome (© Dreamstime) Caffé Greco in Rome was a favored spot by many artists, including Gabriele D'Annunzio and Gogol (© Dreamstime) The back rooms at Caffé Greco, where artists liked — and like — to meet up (© Dreamstime) ANTHONY DI RENZO Caffé Greco Pasquino treats two literati

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