was sunset time worst. When the sun shone with its last rays the hills To the west the horizon and the slow and agonizing turned Tindersticks album, then think of the Roma who had left and that now he was sure, would not have ever seen; and in his mind and reliving the wonderful memories as he first appeared twenty years earlier. It was just a boy then, a lot of good talent and ideals. Throughout his childhood had been soaked and Julius Caesar, the consuls and heroes, and when, after the Porta Ostiense, he realized they lived just where the big ones, two tears down his face. And sailed him two hours, but for the nostalgia. Lost, lost forever.
It was a great time that, and it was not difficult for an enterprising young man managed to climb up. He became prefect, wrote poetry, he published something. But then, one day, came the tragic news: the barbarians in Gaul had passed and had ransacked his lands. The 400 had already passed, and dark periods before us.
Rutilio But it was not a defeatist. Quarrel with those who mettendogli una mano sulla spalla, gli dicevano «A Ruti', datte 'na carmata». S'infervorava, allora «Calmarmi? Ma come? Come potrei? Ora che la Patria è in pericolo! Devo partire! Subito! Devo ritornare presso i miei Lari. E' giunta l'ora di ricostruire, di sanare la Madre ferita!». «A Ruti', ma 'ndo vai? Ma nun te sei reso conto che è finita?». Al che Rutilio alzava gli occhi al cielo, si portava una mano al petto e, con voce ispirata «Mai. Roma è eterna e immortale». «Poraccio».
E partì. Da Ostia, costeggiando, arrivò fino a Marsiglia e durante il viaggio scrisse pure un poemetto sul Ritorno. Sbarcò a Marsiglia e si rese subito conto che il tempo era passato: una processione di cristiani percorreva salmodiando le vie del porto annunciando, tanto per cambiare, la fine dei tempi. «O Dei, anche qui!».
E questo perché Rutilio era tanto idealista da essere rimasto uno dei pochi che ancora sacrificava ad Apollo e agli dei dell'Olimpo. I cristiani non gli piacevano. O meglio, non li capiva: non riusciva a capacitarsi del fatto che dovessero sacrificare, al riposo, un giorno a settimana, un settimo della loro breve vita. E perché? Perché il loro Dio il settimo giorno era stanco e voleva riposarsi. «Non avete un Dio molto resistente...» cercò di ironizzare una volta con un giovane patrizio da poco convertito. Ma quello gli mise un tal broncio e si offese così tanto che a Rutilio passò la voglia di scherzare su queste cose. «E non hanno nemmeno il senso dell'umorismo...» si lamentava tra sé e sé.
E ora se li trovava persino nella Narbonese. Qualche suo amico d'infanzia s'era convertito, nel frattempo, e ora godeva di alta stima e considerazione. Come Aulo, per esempio. «Ma come - gli diceva Rutilio - e Voltaire? E Lucrezio? E tutti gli autori che leggevamo da giovani? Non ricordi? Virgilio, Marx, Ovidio.... ». «Cose da ragazzi» gli rispondeva l'amico scacciando oltre le spalle un lontano ricordo. «Aulo, non ti riconosco più...». «E io invece sì. Sei sempre il solito, Rutilio Namaziano. Non sei cambiato di uno iota. Idealista, romantico... Still the same. But you do not realize that the time of Catullus and Leopardi is gone forever? - Then Aulus came and, pulling his arm - Listen, Rutilio: you do not agree, neither you nor your family. Take my advice: converts to be baptized, go to revere the bishop and go back to your farms. Do you think Zeus take offense to this? If you have not been able to stop a Jewish carpenter, what do you think you? ". But Rutilio rose among the angry and embarrassed. "I can not - retorted, his face purple - I still have ideals, I '.
But now, when the sun was setting, looked back to Rome. At its white marble, the temples, the capitals of gold, at the spa. All looked sublime and the Tindersticks album sent him a lot of sad sweetness. It 's rare, in fact, run into a disc so moving. Seventy minutes of beautiful songs, slow and agonizing. A nice low voice, the timbre of the unmatchable Leonard Cohen, and continuous arpeggios, and a string section that, when it occurs, gives a majesty to the songs and a rare solemnity. And I thought of Rutilio Rubria, recalled walking with him in the arcades of the Campus Martius, trips on the Alban hills, where the summer sun burning the city and, having sacrificed two doves of Diana the huntress, goes into the thick of the woods to celebrate the rites secluded sweet and dear to Aphrodite. It was the Tindersticks album, which, like the arrows of Cupid, pierced his heart and his memory. Imagine, is a disk capable of moving a hippo and you want him to not produce those effects? Are widely praised the Tindersticks, British group reached the second disc. Are known and videant lectores not miss them the support they deserve.
And how many times he had promised that he would reach Narbonne in Gaul? That would make her queen of his land and his men? How many before the Fates decide to cut the fragile thread that allowed Phoebus to fall in love his smile? Oh, but maybe it was better that way. How could his eyes endure the collapse of Rubria? The ruined temples, baths arid theaters closed in Aeschylus and Euripides to prevent the false gods that are celebrated. On the other hand new developments, awkward and heavy, dark and shaky, that not even stand up if it were not for stealing the columns in those temples that the ingenuity of the architects of Rome was built. And the weariness of the console in there God is better, much better, that is no longer Rubria.
What would say if he had attended the first meeting of the Senate who had attended City after his return? He had prepared a great speech, rhetorical and vehement as it was agreed, but had not even started with "Citizens," which, from the front, a big burp interrupted him. "Say," asked the barbaric Rutilio covered with goatskin to quaff beer by the horn. "Stop it" ordered that satyr. And it was a great leader, it seemed. And he was eager to enter his land and his house to the master.
"Go by the Bishop - advised him to Aulus - invokes her protection. Of 'you are willing to repent of all your sins and that, gladly, to bestow a tenth of the crops to maiorem Dei gloriam. These barbarians are superstitious, listen to what the bishop says to them. " But Rutilio refused. "Never. I was faithful to the ideals of my youth, I '.
And now, while already down in the evening, he realized that not only had never seen Rome, but even the sun. Regretted non averlo salutato come si conveniva, di non averlo ringraziato per tutte le volte che aveva illuminato il viso di Rubria. Si alzò dalla veranda posando il bicchiere di whisky. Anche quello, forse, era l'ultimo. In un angolo del giardino sorgeva un tempietto dedicato ad Apollo. Bruciò sull'altarino un po' d'incenso, ripensando a quanto Rubria amava il sole, la primavera. Le ombre cominciavano a calare e dal villaggio si poteva distinguere una processione di fiaccole che si avvicinava. Entrò in casa e si recò dai Penati. Quattrocento anni prima un suo avo si stabilì in quel luogo: era il premio per aver servito sotto Giulio Cesare. E i suoi avi avevano costruito quella città, l'avevano adornata di preziosi monumenti, quelli stessi ora reduced to quarries and marble columns. Even the ancestors burned incense and gathered in prayer. It was worthy of them and Rome? He cherished the memory of their teachings? Li was honored as was agreed? The torch had arrived by now. Led the procession of hooded who cried out against the false gods, and behind them, the barbarian full of beer with their eyes already weighed the value of the house. And a glitter of knives, sticks a bared. Aulus also was part of the parade. Rutile was only the servants had fled since the afternoon, and came forward, wrapped up in her best gown, right on the porch. Here he stopped and, looking at the dozens before him, "Welcome, guests - welcomed them - welcome to the house of Rutilio Namaziano. And were his last words.
