A Disquieting Apathy Amid Rome’s Ruins

During my recent trip to Rome, I stopped beside a massive tuff-stone and brick ruin incorporated into a building on Via Giosuè Carducci. While chatting with a man who worked there, I asked him about it. I expected a story, or at least a hint of pride. Instead, he shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said.

I assumed he must be new to the area or the job. But no—he told me he’d worked there for over thirteen years.

“In all that time,” I asked, “you never once wondered what it was?”

“No,” he replied flatly. “And I have no interest.”

Perplexed, I turned back to the ruin—an austere fragment of some forgotten glory—and noticed a small placard beside it. I pointed it out and invited him to come read it with me.

“No,” he repeated, sterner this time. “I have no interest.”

I thanked him for his time, wished him a good day, and went to explore the ruin alone. According to the placard, it was a section of the Servian Walls on the Quirinal Hill, dating from the late period of the Kings (578–535 B.C.).

We Americans often lament our ignorance of our own heritage—and rightly so—but this encounter startled me. I never expected such indifference in the Eternal City itself. It was eye-opening, and one of the few disappointments in an otherwise overwhelmingly joyful trip.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, November 18th, Feast of the Dedication of the Basilicas of the Apostles Peter and Paul