Danza macàbra

A weary chronicler writes from Rome in the waning days of 1993, haunted by the sudden emptiness of once‑splendid palazzi that once echoed with the pomp of ancient patrician families. He walks silently through halls stripped of tapestries, marble, and heraldic crests, feeling both reverence for centuries of art and sorrow at their collapse. The narrative frames the downfall of a privileged caste as a natural, if painful, cycle that gives way to newer ideas and a more humane society.

Meanwhile the author, a playwright obsessed with truth, gathers dusty archives and sketches vivid portraits of aristocrats, young opportunists, and scheming merchants, exposing their vanity, ignorance, and desperate clinging to fading glory. He wrestles with theatrical conventions, striving for verismo while confronting the practical constraints of staging such a sprawling tableau. The result promises a sharply observed drama that holds a mirror to both the vanished world of Roman nobility and the restless aspirations of contemporary Italy.