Even if you aren't Catholic II

From the Sistine Chapel we were led to the Basilica of St. Peter.  For which there are almost no words.  It is absolutely stupendous.  Huge and gorgeous, and of course, crowded with tourists, so that getting a picture without heads or shoulders or whole bodies was a challenge.

We got the little talk that I’m sure every tour group gets about the Holy Door, which is to the right of the main door leading from the portico into the church. (The portico, or front porch, has a beautiful, high, arched ceiling, and from here you can look out and see St. Peter’s Square spread before you, just as the Pope no doubt does before he walks down the steps for this, that or the other ceremony/occasion.)  Anyway, the Holy Door is kept sealed except for Jubilee years -- usually every 25 years -- when there’s an elaborate opening by the Pope.  Formerly masons would loosen the sealant, so that the Pope could just tap the door with a silver hammer for it to open.  But after some loose masonry fell on Pope Paul VI, they made a point of getting rid of all the sealant, so that the Pope would be able to just push on the door with his hands, without a shower of concrete falling on his head. 

They’re not even sure how this tradition originated, but like most traditions, it’s taken on a life of its own.

Inside, after giving us a brief moment to gasp at how huge and splendid the church was, we were led by to the right, where Michelangelo’s famous Pieta can be viewed behind the glass wall that was installed after some deranged geologist (!) took a geologist’s hammer to it, while declaring “I am Jesus Christ!"  It is, indeed, a beautiful sculpture, just as the artist’s David is.  No question, the guy was good.  But it is frustrating to be kept at such a distance, so different from the up-close-and-personal view you are able to have of David.  You simply are not able to see the fine detail.

Then we were led around by our guide to look at this statue and that picture (and, interestingly, none of the pictures you see in the church are paintings, but rather mosaics, that look like paintings), and eventually I did my usual wandering off on my own.  You’re drawn ineluctably toward the colossal dark bronze canopy that looms over the main alter, directly under the dome.  In a way, the canopy doesn’t seem to go with the rest of the décor, which is heavy on the white marble, the gold, the classical paintings (i.e. mosaics), the colored marble on the floor, in the niches that contain all those statues.  To me the canopy looks positively oriental, like a Chinese pagoda.

Like the inner domes of the Duomo in Florence, and the one in Siena, this one is beautiful, with panels of painted saints and other religious folk curving up the dome, separated by narrow stripes of gold stars against a dark blue background.  I’d learned by this time that the “stars of heaven” are a favorite theme of church ceilings.  And of course, as always, there’s the cupola at the top of the dome, with a hole giving you a view into “heaven” beyond.

Here again, as at the basilica in Siena, I got separated from the group, discovered all of a sudden that I could not hear the guide over my headset.  Minor panic set in, as it had in Siena, because I didn’t know where the group was going next, and with the crowds of people, and amount of space to be covered in any search…how was I to find them?  And then, suddenly, there was ever-dependable Gianni, waving his hand at me.  Where would I have been without Gianni!

When we went outside, we found that the area directly in front of the basilica was full of chairs, for some event.  We had to follow a narrow, roped-off path around the center area.  And of course, we were led directly by our guide to the inevitable gift shop, where people got busy buying souvenirs and Vatican guide books. 

And alas, wouldn’t you know that in the one picture I took of the exterior of the church, the dome is hidden by an outdoor lighting fixture!   

But there is no question: the Vatican is not to be missed on a trip to Rome, whether you are Catholic, or as much of an agnostic as some people I could name.

Even if you aren't Catholic...

Monday morning, our last full day in Rome, was given over to the Vatican City.  At the Vatican, which from the street looks like a huge fortress with very tall walls, there was the usual parking of the bus, some way away -- you can never park close to any of these places -- the walk up the street, past all the poor souls who had to wait in the very long line to get tickets, and the satisfaction that comes from knowing that as part of a tour group you won’t have to wait long at all.

You enter the Vatican museums through a very LARGE stone gate that interrupts those high, blank walls.  It’s topped by sculptures of Michelangelo and Raphael.  Inside, you’re surprised to find yourself in a very modern setting: a tall escalator ahead of you, above, a multipaned skylight; at the top of the escalator a wide expanse of empty grey floor, surrounded by bare, charcoal grey walls, modern lighting, and a decidedly functional-looking gift shop, or rather, collection of gift counters.  You pass through security turn-stiles, walk across more floor, though glass doors -- it’s all rather like being in a big, modern train station.  But then, at last, with thousands of other people, you move up the ramp that takes you into the museums proper.

And the gorgeousness begins.  It isn’t just that there are all these exquisitely beautiful works of art everywhere you look, but that every inch of space -- walls, floors, great arched ceilings, staircases, archways, windows, nooks, crannies -- are also exquisitely beautiful, covered with inlaid marble, colored tiles, mosaics, paintings, gilt, etc., etc.  And it isn’t like you’re in museum at all, but rather a very sumptuous palace, that belongs to, maybe, the Sun King.

One of my favorite galleries -- and these are often like wide hallways, rather than rooms --was the tapestry gallery.  Huge things, gorgeous, essentially gold with some color thrown in, and full of story-telling.  This was one of so many times on our tour when I longed to be accompanied by a private guide, who would be able to answer my questions, and give me time to look.  I was also frustrated by not being able to see the tapestries as clearly as I wanted, due, if fear, to a glasses prescription that could stand updating.  But also, the gallery -- like so many of them -- is not brightly lit, no doubt to preserve the tapestries.  And because of the crowds it is difficult to get close enough to take in the details.  So there I was, dazzled, but frustrated. 

The giant pigna (pine cone) in its niche

At one point we were led out into the large Pigna Courtyard, which is named for the giant bronze pine cone that stands at one end, and dates from the Middle Ages.  Why a giant pine cone?  Our guide may have told us (my guidebook doesn’t), but I was busy investigating the much more interesting sculpture in the center of the courtyard.  At first I thought it was a globe of the earth, but it’s actually a gold-and-black sphere within a gold sphere,  Parts of the outer globe are cut away, revealing the dark interior with the second sphere, which put me in mind of a very large ball bearing.  It’s so intriguing that most people take a picture of it, usually with a family member standing in front of it.  But it isn’t old like most of what you see at the Vatican: it was done in 1990 by Arnaldo Pomodoro.

The Golden Sphere, relatively new (1822) gallery in background

We spent far too much time out there in that open, windy courtyard.  Some of us walked briskly off looking for a bathroom.  This exodus was led by Theresa, who was one of the three women traveling alone.  She was chunky, very fair-skinned with short dark hair, and looked to be somewhere in her late 20s.  Everyone was astounded when it became common knowledge that she was all of 42.  Theresa was the most consistently disgruntled member of the group.  I thought it was so unfortunate that she was unable to appreciate and enjoy what we encountered, without complaining about this lack or that inconvenience.

Even when we returned, we still had to wait to go in for our next stop, which was -- ta-dah! -- the Sistine Chapel.  Later I realized that we were “held prisoner” outside for so long because the powers that be will let only a certain number of people into the Chapel at a time, and we had to wait until a group our size could be accommodated (or, perhaps, was scheduled).  However, I also wondered later why they didn't take us to see more galleries while we were waiting!

So at last we’re there, in what is surely the most famous “chapel” in the world.  And I find myself tearing up, simply because I am actually there, looking up at all those paintings I’ve seen in so many art books.  I feel a kind of speechless awe to be looking at “the real thing,” even though I can’t see the real thing very well.  I don’t know how much of this can be blamed on the out-of-date prescription, but there is no question that this was the most dimly-lit of all the dimly-lit sites we visited.  I strained and strained to see things clearly.  It was very crowded, and the only places to sit down -- benches along the two long walls -- were usually full; if you saw someone get up, you grabbed his or her place.  For it was much easier to look up from a sitting, rather than a standing, position.

Because the place is a “holy chapel” you aren’t supposed to talk.  Our guide had given us his little talk before we entered, because of this rule, but some guides would try to stage-whisper their explanations to their groups, only to be shushed by the guards.  For once I did not feel rushed, because once I was able to nab a seat, I had plenty of time to peer all around.  Everything is either high up on the walls, or on the ceiling, so there is not the usual trial of trying to get close enough to see.  Interestingly, the famous picture of God reaching out to give the touch of life to Adam is almost lost in a ceiling of dozens of pictures.  Besides those running down the middle of the ceiling (the God/Adam picture is in the center of those), there are painted columns topped by nude figures separating these pictures, as well as pictures inside triangles just below the curve of the ceiling, with paintings of individuals in the space between each triangle.  The intricacy of it all is stupefying. 

And there is no question that Michelangelo was glorifying the male body.