On Rome and the Roman ethos

“Fornicator I ever was,” the fellow told the prison guards, “heretic, never.” The fellow was Andries Wouters, a parish priest in Gorkum (in the western part of The Netherlands), and a pretty rotten one. He led a scandalous and dissolute life until right before the end of it.

The Calvinist rebels who took it upon themselves to round up Catholic clerics and religious in Gorkum after they captured the city didn’t even bother to look for Wouters—that’s how bad he was—but when Wouters heard of the trouble that the Calvinists were making for folks in Orders, he turned himself in and eventually received the crown of martyrdom with the others.

There were nineteen Martyrs of Gorkum, all told, canonized on the Solemnity of Sts. Peter and Paul in 1867, part of celebrations to mark the 1800^th anniversary of the martyrdom of those holy Apostles.

It happens that Pope Clement X—born Emilio Altieri—beatified the Martyrs of Gorkum in 1675. I’m surprised and a little ashamed to say I only just learned this little tidbit of history a short while ago, and almost by accident.

I was preparing some notes for family relations who are travelling to Italy earlier this summer and were interested, among other things, in the Palazzo Altieri, which sits right across from the Gesù – the Jesuit mother church–and currently houses the Italian Banking Association.

We’ve never quite been able to nail down a direct connection to Emilio or the illustrious Roman family, but having the Altieri surname didn’t hurt me when I lived in the city, which I did for twenty-four years. The short version of a nearly quarter-century-long story is I went in the mid-’90s to do grad work and I met a girl.

Folks assume I was in formation for the priesthood, but I wasn’t. How I got to Rome and why I went there are part of another story. Perhaps I’ll tell it, someday. Perhaps I’ll tell of the girl, too, but not this time, except to say she’s the only living human whose judgment I fear. And did I mention her looks could stop traffic and to this day I’m amazed she ever even talked to me?

Anyway, while double-checking Emilio’s dates, I stumbled on the particular of his involvement with the Martyrs of Gorkum.

Their story is a great one. It is one of those messy, hilarious, tragic Catholic stories that aren’t less tragic this side of celestial Jerusalem because they end happily in eternity. Catholic history is full of ’em, but we can hear any one of them a thousand times and laugh or ugly cry or both. It’s good to remember that, every so often, especially when you’re in this line of work.

There’s so much fun in it—in being Catholic, I mean—how we ever became known for anything else is amazing to me, until I remember how much human nature is mixed up in the business.

A couple of months ago, a friend sent a bunch of photos from Santa Dorotea in Trastevere, which was holding its annual procession to honor St. Anthony of Padua. If you’re wondering why a church dedicated to St. Dorothy (martyred in Cappadocian Caesarea—modern-day Turkey—at the tail end of the persecution begun by Diocletian) holds a procession for St. Anthony, well, it’s because the Conventual Franciscans have been in charge of the church since the 18^th century.

Roman processions really are great entertainment, moments of civility and community in which the veil between worlds almost disappears, and this one culminates in benediction with the relic of the fellow venerated as the Vanquisher of Demons and Hammer of Heretics, who will also happily help you find your car keys when you misplace them.

“Rome is a wonderful place to live,” I’ve told countless people who’ve asked, “so long as you don’t have to do anything.” Il dolce far niente—literally “The sweet to do nothing”—really does capture and express the Roman ethos.

Romans are not work-shy, mind—there’s nothing lazy about the Romans—but the city thinks in centuries and its denizens are used to getting along by muddling through.

The A1 most important thing about visiting Rome is to resist the temptation to do too much.

You cannot see it all and, anyway, the city is not an open-air museum. Its charm is in being a real city in which people live. Enjoy that when you go. Do one or two things in the morning, then take a long lunch and walk. While away the time. Catch the city’s rhythms and groove to them.

The city is dirty and grimy and the traffic is awful and there are pickpockets about, especially on the busses, which rarely run on time and occasionally catch fire.

That’s Rome for you, and Romans.

I love them both, very much.