LETTERS FROM...
A story buried under a thin layer of dust. A letter from a lost city
Thousands of poor people were evicted, pushed to the outskirts of the city. Then one day, tall cranes arrived and, in the silence of the abandoned neighbourhood, began to tear down the buildings with a series of heavy thuds. A vast cloud of dust rose from the rubble. Just like the one, fifteen years later, from bombed-out Milan
Overview of Bottonuto (Google Creative Commons)
It is an old map of Milan, left to gather dust in the cellar. The glass is clouded by decades of grime. Out of curiosity, I brush the dust away from the centre of the map, where the Duomo stands. Then I notice, right beneath the cathedral, a dense network of streets that I do not recognise. To the south of the Duomo is Piazza Diaz – what is that sort of beehive-like pattern?
‘Bottonuto’, it says. I have never heard of it, despite being born in Milan. I ask around. ‘Bottonuto’? Nobody has heard of it.
It was a very old working-class neighbourhood, with narrow alleys and backstreets, run-down hotels, small shops and brothels.
It had a terrible reputation: respectable people wouldn’t set foot there. I find black-and-white photos online of the railings, the roofs with their uneven tiles – a realm of cats. The tiny windows through which a sliver of sunlight would only enter in spring. But also, secret courtyards where wisteria burst into bloom in May, like purple clouds.
At Bottonuto, residents made do. Even Mussolini turned up here in 1914 to found Il Popolo d’Italia at 35 Via Paolo da Cannobio. A flag with a skull behind him, a pistol on his desk. He too, as a young man, had wandered these alleyways: drawn, one can imagine, by the calls from the windows of the young women in the brothels.
In 1928, Milan decided it could not tolerate this ‘cesspit’ – to quote a reporter of the time. For the sake of decency, for goodness’ sake. And besides, that area was perfect for building the offices that the growing metropolis needed.
Thousands of impoverished residents were evicted and pushed to the outskirts of the city. Then, one day, tall cranes arrived and, in the silence of the abandoned neighbourhood, began to demolish the buildings with heavy thuds. A vast cloud of dust rose from the rubble—just as it did, fifteen years later, in the bombed-out streets of Milan.
Il Bottonuto was crushed and then buried beneath the marble of Piazza Diaz. Today, now that I’ve noticed it, I can see a gap between the Duomo and Piazza Diaz – as if something were missing.
So many voices and words suspended in the air – if only one could hear them. So much humanity lost. Not even a dormer window remains. Not even a cat to be seen, prowling restlessly across the rooftops on nights of love.