Rivista mensile / Monthly magazine
The Belvedere with Klimt. The Bruegels of the Kunsthistorisches Museum. The cafés in the historical city center. We all know these are the must-see for anyone who passes through Vienna.
Whether driven by literary ambitions or the lockdowns that have forced us to get to know our homes better over the last two years, emptying drawers and dusting off old photographs, many people are now showing an interest in retracing their family history and family tree.
I have known Roberto Calasso for at least thirty-five years, so forgive me if I have no cause to use the past tense. The palazzo of Adelphi in via San Giovanni sul Muro 14 in Milan opens onto a nineteenth-century courtyard, something that I would call normal in Verdi’s day but which is even more archaic as I climb the steps of Lombard stone embellished with a wrought-iron staircase. I rang the bell and step into a large bourgeois apartment of the other century, with rather shabby walls and fixtures, painted with weary paint, and shelves of books.
An editorial title in Latin. Yikes. If in some now unreachable «old style» journalism, both combative and measured, like that of Leo Longanesi, Giovanni Ansaldo and Piero Buscaroli, this would never have been a problem capable of calling a «stop press».
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