I visited the Palazzo Spinola today. Genova was ruled by 4-5 main families over the past few centuries. In the 17th-18th century, or thereabouts, they all built large homes for themselves in the parts of Genova they controlled. The Spinola family was one of these (the Doria family, as in Andrea Doria, was another). The Spinola palazzo has several rooms that have been kept more or less as they were, and also displays the family’s collection of porcelain, furniture, and some clothing.
Several people have told me: “Devi visitare Palazzo Spinola!” Perche? “Che
So I go. It’s only a 1-2 minute walk from my apartment. It could hardly be closer. The standard entry hall, with a 4 euro fee, is the first thing you see. You must put your backpack in the guardarobe. The attendant helps me put it in #11. Can I take pictures? Yes, but without flash. So I pull my camera out of the backpack before locking it.
Can I go up now? Yes, someone who is a double for Quasimodo has appeared and grunts with a nod of his head toward the (ever present) stairs upward. Upward! Stretch winter wool hat pulled down over his ears, long fingernails, old sports coat over a winter sweater, non-descript trousers and even more non-descript shoes, Quasimodo leads upward! No language beyond gestures and primitive noises, Quasi (as I’ve come to think of him) indicates the 1st floor.
The first floor shows off some of the public rooms. I’m the only person viewing the Palazzo at this time and there are no guards in the rooms; Quasi is my watchdog. The first room is faded beauty. This is a reception room with very high ceilings edged with fanciful moldings and gilt and painted with frescoes. A rug covered the floor with an elaborate table in the center. You could almost see the family head welcoming the gentry in this room. Quasi lurks about waiting for me to proceed and sneaking surreptious glances to see if I’m doing anything I shouldn’t. I snap a picture. Suddenly Quasi moves and speaks: “Niente fotografia!” No photography! I wonder who’s right the attendant downstairs, or Quasi? Oh well, I’m not going to argue with Quasi about it.
Quasi is back to lurking. His presence encourages haste—he obviously wants to resume the occupation of his chair in the entry hall. I ignore this and leisurely view the various rooms on the first level. He lurks and often emits guttural noises—hurry along, he seems to say. I want to sit. Hasten!
The second floor contains more public rooms: a ball room, dining rooms, etc., and the kitchen, which seems to have survived intact with great marble basins with sloping cutting areas for butchering and cleaning food.
Above the second floor, there has been renovation. The rooms are modern and structured to display books, art and porcelain and historic clothing. On the fifth floor (or so, I lost count), there is a spiral staircase leading up, which I take, even though Quasi doesn’t suggest it. As I start to climb, Quasi lurches over to a desk to get something. At the top of the stairs, automatic doors slide aside, revealing a locked iron gate. Ah, Quasi unlocks the door and opens the gate, glaring at me for inconveniencing him. The gate opens on a medium sized rooftop garden with a marble fountain on the other end, now off. It’s cold, but I stay to inspect the fountain and some of the trees growing there. Mostly to aggravate Quasi. Why not? I paid the entry fee, I want to see it all.
Finally I go back in and Quasi locks the gate. Meanwhile I’ve gone down the spiral stairs and have started down the interior stairs. Quasi grunts and I look up to see him at the top of the stairs, pointing a different way. Have I missed something? No, we go down the elevator (why down and not up?).
Finally Quasi is at home in his familiar chair. I retrieve my backpack and step into the lowering night to leave Palazzo Spinola to Quasi and his stationary habits. Che brutto!
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