Newsletter 17, 2011 (2)
Current study holidays
Three trips in 2011 still have places available, and are definitely running. E-mail or phone me (details at foot of page) if you’d like further information about any of them.
2–5 June: Ferrara
Enjoy a short study weekend, with Emma Rose Barber as tutor, in this quiet and beautiful medieval and Renaissance city. Options at the central four-star hotel run out in mid-April, so please let me know as soon as possible if you’d like to join this group.
Per person, single use of double room: £725
Per person, sharing a double room: £635
17–23 October: The Stones of Rome
This study week offers the opportunity to think specifically about the nature and history of architecture, while visiting some of the most influential buildings in the history of the Western world in the company of our expert guide, Agnes Crawford. Our hotel, popular with participants on former trips to Rome, is a short walk from the Colosseum.
Per person, single room: £1,270
Per person, sharing a double room: £1,065
4–10 November: Milan
This boisterous modern city in northern Italy boasts a remarkable number of museums and galleries filled with works of art of the highest quality, as well as one of the world’s most famous paintings, Leonardo’s Last Supper, still very much worth seeing in spite of its imperfect state. Lecturer on this visit is Alice Foster.
Per person, single use of double room: £1,290
Per person, sharing a double room: £1,095
Holidays in 2012
30 January–5 February: Venice
Ever popular and needing no description, this will be the sixth holiday in Venice with Alice Foster as tutor. Prices remain the same as in 2010.
Per person, single use of double room: £1,320
Per person, sharing a double room: £990
Other possible venues in 2012 include Lucca, Siena, and Udine.
For further information about Learn Italy or any of the available study holidays, please e-mail Martin Gray at firstname.lastname@example.org or phone 01865 860984 and leave a message including your phone number.
History and memory
In her book about books, Howard’s End is on the Landing, the novelist Susan Hill starts a section with the following comment: ‘Memory is like a long dark street, illuminated at intervals in a light so bright that it shows up every detail. And then one plunges into the dark stretch again.’
I am just back from another short reconnaissance trip to Ferrara. I first visited the city in the early 1970s, and in general remembered the looming brick walls of the Castello d’Este; but I had one vivid memory. We were looking for the burial place of Lucrezia Borgia, in a nunnery. Before us in an empty waiting room there was a small revolving window, a kind of dumb waiter, through which the nuns could receive things without being seen. This started to turn, while a voice eerily called from within, chi è? chi è? We explained ourselves, a door opened with a click, and, still without seeing anyone, we found our way into a sort of covered cloister in which there were several large, rectangular raised tombs behind railings – or so I remembered – one of which was that of Lucrezia Borgia.
On this latest trip, I decided to revisit the memory. I rang the bell of the Convent of Corpus Domini, and was admitted to the same waiting room. There was the revolving window, but this time a nun appeared in person, and sent me outside and round the corner to wait by the iron gates of the church; after a few minutes these clicked open, and so did the church doors, and I found myself in a spacious square baroque chapel. Here a nun standing behind a counter in the furthest corner from the entrance pointed to another door, and I made my way into a further chapel which was flanked by wooden seats, obviously the convent chapter house. Where was the covered cloister? Where were the impressive raised tombs with the railings? I waited for further directions. The nun was now observing me through a triple-barred window. She pointed out the tombs; they were flat slabs, flush with the floor. My memory, as sharp and clear as such things can be, turned out to have played a trick on me and was entirely wrong.
This knowledgeable nun proceeded to tell me in great detail about the various Estes that were buried in the chapel, offering much more information than I could retain. Lucrezia Borgia, she explained, was married to Alfonso d’Este, Duke of Ferrara (her third husband), and was generally regarded as a model wife. She had special links with the Poor Clares of this nunnery, even to the point of becoming a tertiary Franciscan. Here was a further knock to my preconceptions – Lucrezia Borgia, byword for the wicked Renaissance femme fatale, murderess of husbands and lovers, her name forever linked with poison, turns out to have been a saintly visitor to this monastery, where her memory is still revered. Two small but effective blows to my presumptions, in less than five minutes.
Of course history itself is rarely a matter of absolute fact, but rather offers interpretations, which themselves overlap, or are contradictory, or shift with the passage of time. Even the most cursory research about Lucrezia reveals that modern historians regard her as the pawn of her wicked father, Pope Alexander VI, and her brother Cesare, and no one knows to what extent she was complicit in the marriages they planned for her, or the murders which they may have perpetrated. Donizetti’s robust operatic portrait of her as an adulterous murderess (Lucrezia Borgia: 1833), is now only found in the gaudiest historic novels, bodice-rippers, which have no regard for truths that are vague, dull and sober. And personal history – memory itself – has to be sorted and adjusted too, not least because even cherished memories, if tested, can prove entirely false.