Gino Moliterno. Encyclopedia of Contemporary Italian Culture

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Harry’s Bar

Opened by Giuseppe Cipriani in 1931 and later managed by his son Arrigo, who was

named after it, Harry’s Bar is a Venetian landmark, an international meeting place and a

bar/restaurant famous for its drinks.

The original Harry was Harry Pickering, a rich young American who advanced

Cipriani the original stake of 40,000 lire to open a bar. Located at the end of the Calle

Vallaresso, beside the gondolas bobbing on the Grand Canal, from the outside it hardly

seems a bar at all. Its frosted-glass windows make it difficult to peer in and there is no

sign advertising its presence. Inside is a smallish, cosy room decorated in art deco style

and an elegant first floor dining room. Harry’s Bar is famous for its carpaccio, its risottos

and its Bellinis, a cocktail invented in the 1930s and made from white peach juice mixed

with prosecco, an Italian version of champagne.

The guest book of Harry’s Bar records such names as Noel Coward, Ernest

Hemingway, Arturo Toscanini, Charlie Chaplin, Orson Welles, Humphrey Bogart and

Lauren Bacall, as well as countless members of European royalty. There have been

attempts to clone Harry’s Bar in other parts of Italy and around the world, but none have

managed to recreate the unique personality of the Venetian original.

LAURENCE SIMMONS

health services

In European surveys, Italians have regularly shown the least satisfaction with their own

health and the greatest discontent with the state services designed to protect it. The two

dissatisfactions are probably related.

Italians go to the doctor more frequently than other Europeans and make more use of

pharmaceuticals. As emigrants and travellers, many Italians have experience of health

care abroad and are well placed to compare their own system with others. Their views are

unequivocal. First, complaints about long waiting times, bureaucratic formalities, hospital

hygiene and uncooperative personnel are voiced by most respondents in all surveys.

Second, since 1980, previously insignificant private health schemes have expanded more

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rapidly in Italy than elsewhere as Italians seek an alternative route to adequate care. The

high levels of dissatisfaction by European standards cannot, however, be directly related

to low levels of health expenditure. Italy spends roughly the same proportion of its GDP

on health as other European societies; specialists and GPs receive comparable salaries;

hospital bed occupancy rates have been much lower than in Germany, France and the

UK; and—until cutbacks in 1994—up to one-third of Italians have been exempted from

rising prescription charges and have used their exemption to consume nine times as many

pharmaceuticals as the non-exempt. Moreover, doctors and nurses complain as

vociferously about the health service as their patients do.

Its basic structure—the National Health System (SSN)—was created in 1978,

replacing about one hundred uncoordinated health insurance funds which protected their

different memberships very unevenly. The new system was intended to reduce social and

regional differences in the quality of health services and to evade the financial crisis of

the funds. Local health boards (USL) were established, managed by committees under the

supervision of the new regional health authorities. The reform’s defects soon appeared.

First, funding was provided at national level, but expenditure was decided locally:

effective monitoring of spending and services became impossible. Second, the USL

management committees were staffed by party political nominees, anxious to use the new

resources for clientelism. Third, doctors’ commitment to the public sector was

discouraged by their right to maintain private practice, and low pay led to a shortage of

paramedical staff: 30,000 extra nurses, about 14 per cent of total nursing employment,

were needed by 1991. Widespread dissatisfaction, unsustainable increases in costs and

revelations of inefficient and corrupt management—prompting the arrest of politicians,

public health officials and doctors in many cities—led to drastic reforms in 1991–4. The

number of USL was reduced by two-thirds, professional managers replaced politically-

appointed committees and consumers were required to pay a larger share of treatment and

pharmaceutical costs. Pressures for an efficient, user-friendly service will continue to be

exerted by the greater determination to increase the substantive content of citizenship and

by the needs of an ageing population.

Further reading

Ferrera, M. (1996) ‘The Partitocracy of Health: Towards a New Welfare Politics in Italy?’, in

M.Donovan (ed.), Italy, vol. II, Aldershot: Ashgate.

Granaglia, E. (1996) ‘The Italian National Health Service and the Challenge of Privatisation’,

Southern European Society and Politics 1 (3): 155–71.

DAVID MOSS

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historic compromise

The term ‘historic compromise’ was coined by Communist leader Enrico Berlinguer in

1973 to indicate a possible governing coalition between the DC and the PCI. After the

military takeover of Chile in September 1973, Berlinguer proposed collaboration with the

Christian Democrats in order to prevent a similar response from the Italian Right. It thus

began as a defensive policy but soon developed into a grand strategy by which Catholics

and communists could work together. In practical terms—and during a time when

terrorism appeared a real threat—it produced governments of ‘national solidarity’

(summer 1976-spring 1979). By 1978, the PCI was drawing up programmes and voting

with the government. In effect, however, the historic compromise became a policy of co-

optation and neutralization of the PCI by the DC, who appeared the ultimate winner. The

idea was eventually abandoned, partly due to the assassination of its strongest DC

supporters, Aldo Moro, by the Red Brigades in 1977, and partly because many in the

PCI vehemently opposed it.

Further reading

McCarthy, P. (1995) The Crisis of the Italian State: From the Origins of the Cold War to the Fall

of Berlusconi and Beyond, New York: St. Martin’s Press (see ch. 6, ‘Enrico Berlinguer and the

Historic Compromise’).

JAMES WALSTON

historiography

In 1945 the Italian historical profession emerged from the dictatorship in an ambiguous

condition. The regime had given great attention to history—Mussolini himself often

asserted the need to be part of it—but Italian historians had, arguably, not linked their

discipline to fascism in the same servile way that so many German historians had done

with Nazism (see also fascism and neofascism). In particular, Benedetto Croce could be

depicted, and depicted himself, as an anti-fascist who, in his palace in Naples, had clung

to liberalism and to the ideals of the humanities even while fascism was proclaiming its

‘totalitarian’ state. In 1945, Croce rapidly interpreted fascism as a ‘parenthesis’ in the

general progress of united Italy, and implied that the writing of history too was now back

on its naturally liberal course. In this atmosphere of forgive and forget, few Italian

historians, with the exception of Gioacchino Volpe, were purged from their jobs as Italy

was declared a republic.

One of Croce’s most tenacious beliefs was ‘idealism’, that is, the view that ideas are

the chief instruments of historical change and, consequently, that intellectuals are the key

element in any society. This idealism had never been renounced in fascist Italy, and in the

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Republic it remained the strongest implicit notion in all history writing and indeed in

most intellectual life. Croce himself died in 1954. By then, the leader of the historical

profession was Federico Chabod (1901–60). Like Croce, Chabod was a liberal, but from

1943–4 he also became an active partizan, joining the Partito d’Azione and taking on the

fighting name of ‘Lazzaro’ (Lazarus). A cynic might say that Chabod needed to rise from

the dead because, in the 1930s, he had actively served the Fascist regime. His most

celebrated book, Storia della politica estera italiana dal 1870–1896 (History of Italian

Foreign Policy from 1870–1896) (1951)—a pioneering account of the ‘unspoken

assumptions’ which lie behind the words of politicians and diplomatists—had been begun

under the aegis of the fascist Volpe. Despite these equivocations, Chabod was hailed by

the ‘West’ as a great historian and, in demonstration of the return of Italy to

historiographical respectability, in 1955 the Tenth International Congress of Historical

Sciences assembled in Rome with Chabod occupying the presidential chair. Meanwhile,

the great journals of liberal Italian historiography, Rivista Storica Italiana (from 1884),

Rassegna Storica del Risorgimento (from 1914), Nuova Rivista Storica (from 1917), all

of which had been founded before fascism, simply shrugged off their editorial

fellowtravelling with fascism and continued publication.

Another guarantor of Italy’s commitment to a liberal and ‘Western’ approach to

history was the patriotic radical, Gaetano Salvemini (1873–1957), an anti-fascist who had

chosen exile during the regime. He took sanctuary in the United States and taught at

Harvard, where he inspired a generation of American Italianists. The book which best

sums up his school is A.W.Salomone’s Italy in the Giolittian era: Italian Democracy in

the Making, 1900–1914 (1945, revised edn 1960). As the title suggests, Salomone’s

thesis was that Italy was moving inexorably and happily towards a liberal capitalist

democracy before it was hit by the difficulties of the First World War and fascism.

Salomone shared Croce’s belief that, after 1945, progress would once again resume.

Having freed itself in 1860, and having overcome the ‘sickness’ of fascism, Italy would

again become a vehicle for liberty.

Italy’s process of unification in the nineteenth century soon became the epicentre of

historiographical debate for both liberals and their critics, not least because between 1948

and 1961 a series of centenaries of the Risorgimento fell due. Under Togliatti’s

leadership, the Communist Party (PCI) was itself a rather idealist body in the Crocean

sense, and it remained interested in finding itself a culture, indeed a national culture.

Until the collapse of the USSR, Italian historiography therefore became a battleground of

‘Marxists’—often the definition of this term was decidedly loose—and anti-Marxists in

much the same way that its politics were fought out between ‘anti-fascists’ and anti-

communists (see anti-fascism). The great symbol of a humane and ‘national popular’

Marxist reading of the Italian past was Antonio Gramsci (1891–1937). A martyr to

fascism, Gramsci was a highly saleable product for the PCI, defined sardonically by the

American Jackson Lears as, ‘the Marxist you can take home to mother’.

Gramsci’s interpretation of the Risorgimento became the starting point of a Marxist

metanarrative running from past to future. In his wonderfully wide-ranging Prison

Notebooks, Gramsci had reflected on the process of national unification which he

assessed as a rivoluzione mancata (a missed revolution). In his eyes, the forging of the

Italian nation state had occasioned a political but not a social revolution. The consequent

task of Italian politicians and of Italian culture generally was to bring the people in, as it

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were, from the cold, to create a national polity of sufficient social justice to embrace both

the southern peasantry and the working-class North.

Gramsci’s splendid breadth of intellectual interests and his insistent emphasis both on

history in general and on national Italian history in particular gave inspiration and

justification to a generation of Marxist scholars. It was appropriate that the most orthodox

of PCI historical journals, Studi storici, should from 1959 be published by the Istituto

Gramsci in Rome. In turn the events of 1968, both in Italy and in the rest of Europe, gave

impulse to fresh ideas and an enhanced sense of self-importance among the so-called

‘New Left’. The historiographical result was that other Marxist and Gramsci-influenced

historical journals commenced publication, retailing a critical view of the Italian past

which challenged liberal complacency about the inevitability of national progress.

Especially notable were the Rivista di Storia contemporanea (first issue, 1972) and

Passato e presente (from 1982). Also important was the journal Quaderni storici,

modelled to some extent on the French Annales, which became a special place of

publication for ‘structural’ histories, whether of recent times or the remote past.

The most extreme of the New Left histories was Renzo Del Carria’s Proletari senza

rivoluzione (Proletarians Without Revolution) (2 volumes, 1970). More scholarly was the

work of such varied leftist historians as Guido Quazza, Claudio Pavone and Nicola

Tranfaglia. Probably the most internationally celebrated modern historian from this

background, however, was Luisa Passerini (b. 1941), whose history of ‘passive dissent’

in Turin has been translated into English as Fascism in Popular Memory (1987).

Passerini also wrote a fascinating personal account in Autoritratto di gruppo (Group Self-

Portrait) (1988), there speaking with three Voices’: one as a historian of her generation,

the second as autobiographer and, last, as herself under psychoanalysis. In this and other

works, Passerini helped to import into Italian historiography crucial ideas from French

theory.

Ironically, however, the most influential, critical, historical account of Italy’s past,

published in the Republic after 1946, was written by a foreigner, the Oxbridgean

gentleman-radical Denis Mack Smith. In 1959, Mack Smith brought out the first edition

of Italy: A Modern History. The book was swiftly translated by Laterza and made

available in a cheap paperback edition. Though there is no strong evidence that Mack

Smith had read Gramsci, the theses of his book matched a Gramscian comprehension of

the past. In Mack Smith’s account, fascism became the ‘revelation’ of a continuity in

national history, which ran from the sins of the Risorgimento to the greater evil of

Mussolini’s regime.

The book gave Mack Smith lasting fame which he would renew in the 1970s with a

study of Fascist foreign policy (Mussolini’s Roman Empire) (1976) and a biography of

Mussolini (1981). Then and thereafter he was regularly summoned by the Italian media to

comment on Italian historiographical disputes. His career is a reminder that much Italian

history at the time was being written outside Italy, in France and Germany and especially

in the Anglo-Saxon world. There, a number of British historians were likely to review the

Italian past in critical vein. In the United States, by contrast, perhaps because many

Italianists came from emigrant families, the critique tended to be more muted. Readers

who wish to pursue this matter might contrast Paul Ginsborg’s A History of

Contemporary Italy (1990) or Roger Absalom’s Italy Since 1800 (1995) with the Italo-

American Spencer Di Scala’s Italy: From Revolution to Republic (1995).

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Radical readings of the history of the Italian nation were also countered within Italy

itself. Technically the most impressive conservative historian was Rosario Romeo (1924–

87), the biographer of Cavour. Already in the 1950s Romeo led those determined to rebut

the Gramscian interpretation of the Risorgimento and he remained a consistent foe of

Mack Smith. Romeo argued that a unification ‘from above’ had been ‘necessary’ for

industrialization and modernity to reach Italy. He avoided much discussion of Fascism,

but regretted what he viewed as the absence of a proper national spirit in the Republic.

More renowned than Romeo was his friend Renzo De Felice (b. 1929), the biographer

of Mussolini. Indeed, by the time of his death in 1996, De Felice seemed to many to be

Italy’s leading modern historian. A dedicated researcher, De Felice kept close to the

archives, too close as far as his critics were concerned. After the 1970s, when his cause

was taken up by anti-Communist academics in the USA, De Felice developed a

neoRankean approach to the past. Fascism, he argued, should be investigated on its own

terms and without any ‘journalistic’ propensity to moralizing. In any case, he increasingly

implied, Mussolini’s regime was neither worse nor better than any other. It should,

however, be clearly distinguished from Nazism. Fascism was not responsible for

‘Auschwitz’. Its defeat in the Second World War was as much the result of the madness

of Hitler and the lack of national spirit of too many Italians as it was the fault of fascism,

while the period of ‘Resistance’ from 1943 to 1945 was best defined as one of civil war.

These decidedly contentious theses were treated by De Felice as self-evident truths.

He and his followers, especially in their journal, Storia contemporanea (from 1970),

preached a party line that was at least as intolerant of their critics as vulgar Marxists had

been before them. De Felice and his intellectual heir, Emilio Gentile, both professors at

Rome University and each elevated to the editorial board of the important American

Journal of Contemporary History, constructed an account of Italy’s travails in the

twentieth century which well fitted the nation’s conservative turn after 1978 and the

general international ‘end of history’ as Fukuyama has called it. By the 1990s new

conservatives, though not unchallenged, were the dominant influence in Italian history

writing.

Just as much modern Italian history was composed outside Italy, so quite a lot of the

research and writing of history under the Italian Republic has focused on periods before

the invention of the nation state. The Renaissance remains of considerable

historiographical interest and both Italian and international writing on that subject has

flourished mightily, with a special emphasis, over the last two or three decades, on social

history. If one book had to be selected to represent the historiography of the Republic it

would, however, be Carlo Ginzburg’s The Cheese and the Worms: The Cosmos of a

Sixteenth Century Miller (Italian edition, 1976; English, 1980). In his microcosmic

account of the Friulian miller Menocchio, Ginzburg recounts the stubborn survival of

humanist values in an unlikely person, at a difficult time, and in the cruel circumstances

of the Inquisition. Doubtless Menocchio’s tale was originally a parable for the 1970s, but

its lessons remained pertinent for later times.

Further reading

Bosworth, R.J.B. (1993) Explaining Auschwitz and Hiroshima: History Writing and the Second

World War 1945–1990, London: Routledge (an attempt to place Italian history writing in a

comparative perspective).

Ginzburg, C. (1980) The Cheese and the Worms: The Cosmos of a Sixteenth-Century Miller, trans.

J. Tedeschi and A.Tedeschi, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul (the most brilliant example of

postwar Italian history writing).

R.J.B.BOSWORTH

HIV/AIDS

Italy’s first AIDS case was diagnosed in June 1982, and the first instance of HIV was

later traced to Milan in 1979. By the mid-1990s the cumulative Italian total of 30,447

reported cases showed one of the highest levels of infection in Europe. HIV/ AIDS has

remained largely concentrated in the major urban areas of north and central Italy,

especially Milan, Rome and Bologna, where higher standards of treatment and care

attract viruscarriers from other regions.

Although the first Italians with AIDS were gay, they were soon rapidly outnumbered

by injecting drug users, who accounted for about 75 per cent of cases by 1990. This

unusual early dominance of heterosexual drug users had three consequences. First,

women and infants made up an especially significant minority (about 20 per cent) of

people infected. Second, the recriminalization of drug use in 1990 ensured exceptionally

high rates of infection in prison populations; approximately one-third of all prisoners

were seropositive by the mid-1990s. Fierce but inconclusive conflicts therefore raged

over whether testing should be imposed on all new prisoners and whether prisoners with

HIV/AIDS should be housed in special sections or given non-custodial sentences. Third,

since drug users are not easily organized on their own behalf to demand action from

others, pressure for policy initiatives was weak; needle exchange programmes, for

example, were rarely even a topic for public debate. Policy making on HIV/AIDS

therefore remained under the control of politicians, health bureaucracies and the medical

scientific establishment, and none of the public controversies in other societies—testing,

patient confidentiality, public funding—occurred in Italy.

When the virus first appeared, homosexual acts and the possession of drugs and

syringes were legal, although widely disapproved. Relieved from difficult debates about

the urgency of decriminalizing high-risk activities, the government limited itself mainly

to providing guidelines on infection control. Active intervention was left to regional

health authorities who responded, where they responded at all, to uneven local pressures.

The most significant practical initiatives in sex education, support and care for HIV-

carriers fell to the private sector, including gay organizations (ARCI Gay in Bologna, the

Circolo Mario Mieli in Rome, and the Associazione Solidarietà Aids in Milan), treatment

centres for drug users, and welfare work by the Church. Between 1987 and 1990,

however, central direction was established. A national advisory committee (CNLA) and

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research centre (COA) were set up, blood donation and transfusion were more strictly

regulated, the first mass education campaign was launched and all forms of

discrimination, including clandestine or testing without consent, were outlawed by law

135/90. Sex education in schools remained very poor, however, and the crucial

coordination of policy making for AIDS and illicit drugs was no better than in other areas

of the health services.

Further reading

Moss, D. (1990) ‘AIDS in Italy: Emergency in Slow Motion’, in B.A.Misztal and D.Moss (eds),

Action on AIDS: National Policies in Comparative Perspective, New York: Greenwood.

Steffen, M. (1996) The Fight Against AIDS, Grenoble: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble

(comparison of policy responses in Italy, France, Britain and Germany).

DAVID MOSS

housing policy

The Second World War left many of Italy’s cities devastated: 1.2 million homes had been

destroyed in the big cities, and in Naples alone 200,000 people were homeless. Inhabited

shacks were still to be found in Milan and Turin in the late 1950s, while the

institutionalized borgate (shanty towns) still housed a fifth of Rome’s population in the

1970s. The immediate needs of the Reconstruction period were therefore to build as

many houses as possible in a short time.

The most important public programme was that of the INA-Casa (Istituto Nazionale

Abitazioni, National Institute for Housing) launched by Fanfani in 1949. This provided

funds for largescale public housing on the urban peripheries. For many of the first

occupants of these houses, the prospect of space, light, electricity and hot water was a

miracle. Of course, as in all European countries, the clearing of the slums and shanty

towns also implied a destruction of whole communities, although this process was never

as straight-forward and negative as it has been painted. Many of the early

neighbourhoods built under the INA-Casa scheme were notable examples of collective

planning by architects, urbanists and politicians. The celebrated Tiburtino district in

Rome remains the most important example. Ten years after its construction, the architect

Lodovico Quaroni subjected his own work at Tiburtino to a savage self-critique in the

pages of Casabella: ‘In the push towards the “city”’, he wrote, ‘we stopped at the

“village”’ (Quaroni, 1957:24).

Other important neighbourhoods were constructed at Matera—to house those who had

lived in caves—the Sassi—under the influence of Adriano Olivetti—and at Milan (for

example, the Comasina quarter). Many of these quarters were mixed developments,

intended to be ‘self-sufficient’ and to create (artificially) public communities. In reality,

although the situation on these estates varied greatly and there were important internal

Encyclopedia of contemporary italian culture 388

divisions between single housing blocks, selfsufficiency proved to be a chimera. The

phrase ‘dormitory quarter’ was quickly and rightly applied although it is important to

understand that many people chose to ‘retreat’ within the home, as values such as privacy

became more important than ‘sociability’. Pasolini captured some of the aspects both of

the ‘old borgata’ and of the new neighbourhoods in his Una vita violenta (A Violent

Life) (1959) and his films Accattone (1961) and Mamma Roma (1962).

The economic miracle blew the cosy world of the INA-Casa (replaced by GESCAL

in 1963) wide open. Millions of immigrants arrived in the cities, especially Milan and

Turin. A real building boom occurred: three times as many houses were built in 1961 as

in 1951. Cities became virtual building sites. Most of these houses were not for the new

arrivals to live in, but to work on. At Milan, many immigrants constructed their own

rudimentary homes in the extreme urban periphery. These micro-neighbourhoods—built

without any rational criteria and completely lacking in basic services—became known as

coree. At Turin, the immigrants were housed either in the city centre, in attics or cellars

or squalid hotels, or in new out-of-town developments. The latter were classic ghettos,

almost entirely inhabited by southerners and built to very low specifications and

standards. The situation was no better around Rome or Naples, where innovative plans

were ruined by corrupt politicians, builders and the mafia. Speculators continued to build

millions of homes (450,000 houses in 1964) largely outside of planning regulations, and

the attempts to rectify the situation were blocked by political campaigns (such as that

against the 1962 Sullo laws) or criminal influence. One extreme example will suffice

here: the peripheral neighbourhoods at Palermo. Gregotti’s designs for housing based on

African villages have been criticized as Utopian, but the whole saga of the infamous ZEN

neighbourhood, which has never been finished, remains the supreme example of urban

mismanagement in Italy. The failure to rehouse those who lost their homes in the Belice

earthquake in 1968 is even more tragic. Thousands were still living in prefabricated huts

in the 1980s.

The 1970s and 1980s saw housing hit the centre of the political debate. Italy was one

of the first and only countries to see a general strike in favour of cheaper housing (in

November 1969). Better housing was a key demand in 1968 and afterwards, and

occupied houses became a common sight in Italian cities. In Milan, an occupied hotel in

the city centre became one of the symbols of the student movement, and the slogan ‘let

us retake the city’ was a potent one. Many occupations were collective, and the

authorities were often powerless to intervene. Other forms of struggle included rent

strikes and, later, ‘auto-reduction’. This pressure forced the governments to pass a law in

favour of public housing in 1971 and another enforcing extremely strict rent controls in

1978—the equo canone—which linked rent to wages and made eviction extremely

difficult. A ten-year plan for residential housing was presented in the same year. The

effects of this legislation have been contradictory. On the one hand, many poor tenants

have been given security in the face of the threat of eviction and are able to meet rent

payments. However, the rent market dried up in the major cities—with flats only

available to ‘foreigners’, for ‘businesses’ or through illegal contracts. This situation

encourages young people to stay at home for much longer than in other European

countries, and has helped diminish labour mobility, in contrast with the 1950s and 1960s.

The relaxation of this law in 1992–3 helped to relaunch a dead rental market. In the

South, the problem of illegal house-building is endemic and by now is a permanent

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feature of the landscape; 2.7 million illegal houses are estimated to have been built

between 1971 and 1984. Politicians appear powerless to halt this open lawlessness, and a

series of amnesties have only made the problem worse.

By 1992, an astonishing 70 per cent of Italians owned their own homes. Many were

weighed down by bank mortgages (Italy has very few building societies, although there

are important co-operatives, especially in central Italy). In addition, more Italians owned

a second home than in any other European country (there were 1.26 dwellings per person

in 1991). The market was as static as it has ever been, but prices continue to rise in the

major cities, with calculations being done by the square metre. The contrast between

these trends and the thousands of immigrants who were sleeping in disused factories and

under bridges in Milan, Turin and Rome in the 1990s only underlines the urban problems

faced by a society with high living standards but poor levels of civic pride and public

services.

See also: architecture and design magazines; urban planning

Further reading

Ginsborg, P. (1990) A History of Contemporary Italy, London: Penguin.

Padovani, L. (1996) ‘Italy’, in P.Balchin (ed.), Housing Policy in Europe, London: Routledge, 188–

209.

Quaroni, L. (1957) ‘Il paese dei Barocchi’, Casabella 215 (April-May).

Rochat, G., Sateriale, G. and Spano, L. (eds) (1980) La casa in Italia (Housing in Italy), Bologna:

Zanichelli (a good general anthology.)

JOHN FOOT

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