Renaissance Rome

The Pantheon—or to give its official name, the church of Santa Maria ad Martyres- is one of those very old and very unusual buildings that span the gap between faiths, cultures, and centuries. Before I’d seen it, I’d always imagined it to be just another interesting Roman ruin. But it isn’t. Firstly, it’s not a ruin. Secondly, it’s not just a reminder of ancient Rome- it’s also very Renaissance.

The Pantheon is old. Really, really old. Originally a temple to the seven deities of ancient Rome, it was built in about 27 BC by Marcus Agrippa (who, not a modest man, had this achievement etched in large letters across the front of the building, above the portico). Agrippa’s temple survived only till about 80 AD, when it was completely destroyed by fire. In 125 AD, however, the Emperor Hadrian got the monument rebuilt- even going so far in his magnanimity as to get Marcus Agrippa’s pompous inscription etched on it.

Although it’s suffered the ravages of time (and man- marble and bronze were torn off the building to be used elsewhere), Hadrian’s structure is the Pantheon one sees today. In the early years of the 7th century, the Pantheon was gifted by the Byzantine emperor Phocas to the Pope, who consecrated it and made it the church of St Mary and all the Martyr Saints.

We arrived at the Pantheon shortly before sunset and found it brimming with tourists. We spent some time admiring the awesome granite columns of the portico, the obelisk that stands in the piazza outside, and the flattish concrete dome (it was once covered with bronze plates) of the building. By the time we finished, much of the crowd had gone, so in we went, through massive bronze doors that were originally goldplated.

Outside, the Pantheon looks like a typical Roman temple; inside, the ancient Roman style is tinged with touches of the Renaissance. We sat for a while on the chairs that line the walls, and looked around. The circular interior is largely a blend of dark marble, predominantly red, green and brown. Niches along the walls hold Biblical statues, many of them carved by famous Italian sculptors. The tomb of Raphael, for instance, is surmounted by a Madonna carved by one of Raphael’s students.

But most arresting of all is the oculus- the `Great Eye’ of the Pantheon. The oculus is a large circular opening that pierces the centre of the dome, and lets in sunlight (and rain!). We watched the last rays of the setting sun streaming in through the oculus, forming an elongated sphere of light on the floor. We admired the statuary in the niches, marvelled at the sombre beauty of the place, and then, when it got too dark, reluctantly took ourselves off.

Entry to the Pantheon is free. Try to time your visit for when the sun’s high in the sky, so you get the full effect of the oculus. And since this is a church, keep your shoulders and knees covered.

We’d spent about five minutes standing across the road and admiring the façade of Santa Maria Maggiore, and a further five minutes taking photographs, before we walked over to the church and looked about for the entrance. And it took us another couple of minutes to discover that what we’d been admiring was the back of the church.

Which just goes to show how impressive the Church of Saint Mary Major- or Santa Maria Maggiore- is. Bluish grey twin domes rise up on either side above a building of pale golden-beige. An obelisk stands tall in the square behind, and the wide steps leading up to the church are perfect for sitting down and resting a while. The front of the church, also with wide steps, but with the addition of a square church tower and a prettily arched façade, is equally lovely, but more crowded.

We made our way inside, from the dazzling brightness of the afternoon sun and into the soothing gloom of Santa Maria Maggiore. The church is vast (it is, in fact, Rome’s fourth largest church, and the city’s largest church dedicated to Mary), and it’s splendidly decorated.

From the main door, the nave stretches down to a beautiful altar canopy, or baldaquin, designed by a Ferdinand Fugo. Columns stretch down either side of the main pews, separating them from the many chapels along the sides. The ceiling above is divided into squares, each of which is carefully gilded and decorated. Interestingly enough, the gilt used on the ceiling was part of the first consignment of gold to be brought from America.

We spent some time just sitting in one of the pews, marvelling at the sumptuousness of the cathedral- and gaping at the ceiling till we got a crick in the neck- and then we set off on a circuit of the chapels. High windows near the ceiling let in light enough to illuminate the exquisite paintings and mosaics (some as old as the 5th century) that adorn the chapels. The chapels are, on the whole, a gloriously ornate medley (in some cases just a trifle overdone) of sculpture, paint, mosaic and gilt. In a typical chapel, a gilded statue of the Virgin stands before a frieze of carved white marble; the rest of the chapel consists about equally of gilded and painted Biblical scenes, marble columns, and angels made of stucco.

Among the highlights of Santa Maria Maggiore is a mosaic depicting a local legend- that Mary appeared to Pope Liberius in a dream in 356 AD, and instructed him to build this church for her. Other than that, the church also boasts of five pieces of the manger, enclosed in a silver urn.

It’s pretty obvious that an immense amount of work went into making this church a masterpiece of just about every form of decorative art. Do have a look- entry is free, it isn’t as crowded as San Pietro, and it’s historic.

The best time to visit the Musei Vaticani is in the afternoon, the closer to 1pm (which is lunchtime), the better. We tried it, and were inside the museums, clutching our tickets (€12 per person), within 10 minutes of having joined the queue.

Someone estimated that if you spent 8 hours everyday at the Musei Vaticani, with a minute at each exhibit and one hour off for lunch, it would take you 12 years to complete the circuit. That should give you an idea of how vast this collection is. It exemplifies the grandeur and the wealth of the Vatican, actually, which is mirrored in the Basilica next door.

But for those who can’t afford to spend 12 years seeing the Musei Vaticani, there’s a shorter route through the top attractions of the museums. We followed the crowd, through a series of rooms, and though we almost certainly didn’t see even a hundredth of the exhibits, we were pretty satisfied with what we did see.

We began with a tour of the rooms that house marble statues from ancient Greece and Rome. Among the most stunning (and famous) works here are the Laocoön Group, depicting Laocoön and his two sons battling sea serpents; the Belvedere Torso; and Perseus with the head of Medusa.

From here, we wandered on, past the Room of Raffaelo’s Tapestries (the tapestries were woven in Brussels based on cartoons created by Raphael); the Room of Maps (a long, airy gallery with frescoes of medieval maps); and the Room of Chiaruscuros. This room, in particular, was exceptionally striking. It was decorated with paintings of people in black, white and shades of grey, and each painting had a wonderful three-dimensional effect that almost made it look like relief.

The `quick route’ through the museums took us past a series of rooms, most covered with murals executed by Michelangelo and his students. En route, we also stepped briefly into more modern times- in the Borgia Rooms, which contain Christian art by masters such as Gauguin, Van Gogh and Salvador Dali- there’s a `crucifixion’ by Dali that’s absolutely mesmerising.

Our tour of the Musei Vaticani ended at its most famous section, the Sistina Cappella or the Sistine Chapel. As just about everybody knows, the walls and ceiling of this splendid chapel showcase the genius of Michelangelo: the Creation of Man, the Fall of Man, the Last Judgement, the Temptations of Christ, and many more depictions of Biblical episodes adorn the room. The colours are vivid, the figures perfectly portrayed, the musculature anatomically correct. And although other masters- including Botticelli and Roselli- worked on the chapel, it’s really Michelangelo who made it what it is.

Photography’s allowed in the Musei Vaticani but not in the Sistina Capella. Also note that since it’s a place of worship, you have to be decently clad (no bare shoulders or knees), and you have to keep mum. Ushers at the door constantly hush the crowds flocking into the chapel.

The world’s largest church sprawls in the heart of the world’s smallest country. The Basilica di San Pietro is the pride and joy of the Vatican, and is impressive enough to stun most visitors into an awed silence. The open `arms’ of the church stretch on either side in the form of a colonnade that’s topped with the statues of 140 saints. The central dome soars heavenward; and the piazza in front, paved and vast, is perfect for standing and gaping at the panorama.

A divinity seemed to guide our steps from the very moment we got off the Metro and headed for the Basilica, for we reached at about 11.45 and joined the long queue of people lining up to enter the Basilica. 11.45, as we realised, was the perfect time to visit, because we managed to get a free (and extremely informative and well-organised) tour of the Basilica. A young woman kept urging people in the queue to head for a "man holding a blue file- you’ll find him near the entrance". We were initially hesitant, but then decided we probably didn’t have anything to lose.

Our decision turned out to be a good one. Douglas Schefer, bright blue plastic file in hand, is a student of history and works for an organisation called Icon. Icon organises one-hour guided tours (in English) of the Basilica di San Pietro and the adjoining Musei Vaticani. The tour of the Basilica is free; by then, the tour guide has generally impressed you so much that you’re willing to pay a nominal amount for the museum tour.

Douglas began by leading us (along with about fifteen other people) past an entrance guarded by a Swiss guard clad in the delightfully quaint red, blue and yellow uniforms that Michelangelo had once designed. We walked on, past the ornately the Holy Door, which is built into the wall next to the main door of the Basilica. The Holy Door is covered with ornate bronzework, and is opened with great ceremony by the Pope himself once every 25 years. It’s believed that if you’re present at the time the door is opened, all your sins will be washed away. An interesting aside: earlier, the Holy Door used to be opened once in 50 years; the interval’s been halved only fairly recently. A sign of the times?!

Moving beyond the Holy Door, we entered the Basilica itself- and quite literally stopped in our tracks, awestruck by the utter massiveness of the church.

The Basilica di San Pietro accommodates 95,000 people (a further 70,000 can fit into the piazza in front), and is the size of two football fields. But what’s amazing is the deceptive compactness of the Basilica: every thing's in such perfect proportion that nothing overwhelms you with its sheer size. Douglas gave us a few interesting examples of this. A statue of a saint and a cherub, for instance, was pointed out- and we were told that the cherub, which definitely looked diminutive, was all of six feet tall. At the far end of the church, beyond the bronze baldaquin, is an oval window made of strips of golden-hued alabaster, with the image of a flying dove in the centre. The dove has a wingspan of 6 feet- something you’d never guess looking at it. The baldaquin itself is massive- it’s made from 137 tonnes of bronze, much of the metal gouged out of ancient Roman temples such as the Pantheon.

"Take a look at the letters along the top of the walls," Douglas said, indicating the Latin inscribed near the ceiling in deep blue letters. "Guess how tall those letters are." 2 feet, said some; 3 said others. No, the answer was 7 feet. Taller than any of us- a good bit taller. And these words, like the 11 feet high letters at the base of the dome, are inlaid all the way with lapis lazuli.

The floor of the Basilica is decorated with coloured marble and marked along the centre with the names of the major churches of the world. Along the sides are altars, chapels, and statues of saints. There’s also a chapel where you can, if you so wish it, get married- a priest of the Vatican will perform the ceremony. The only hitch is that you have to send in a request 2 years in advance; the Vatican obviously doesn’t belong to the `Marry in haste’ school of the thought.

As we stood looking towards the far end of the Basilica, Douglas drew our attention to the ornate gilded ceiling of the church. A portion of the ceiling has a thick white line built into it, cutting right across and curving from one wall to the other. The Basilica had originally been built in the shape of a Greek cross (with four arms of equal length); when Michelangelo was hired to finish the building, he decided to extend it and make it a Latin cross, with one arm longer than the rest. The white line across the ceiling marks the boundary beyond which Michelangelo extended the Basilica.

Walking on, we came to what is regarded as one of the miracles of the Basilica di San Pietro. The Basilica was built over a period of 120 years (beginning in 1506), and nobody knew at the time that it was built right on top of the grave of the man to whom it is dedicated- the first of the Popes, St Peter. Only in the 20th century was the grave discovered below the heavy bronze baldaquin that stands right below the dome of the Basilica. Radiocarbon dating proved that the man interred below the baldaquin had died, aged approximately 70 (which was Peter’s age when he was crucified), somewhere around 67 AD, which also coincides with Peter’s death. Equally interesting is the fact that the skeleton’s feet had been chopped off, as would have been done to remove a body hung upside down on a cross. A miracle? Even if you aren’t a devout Catholic, it makes you think a bit.

Even more miraculous is the tale of the Pietà, the immensely famous and poignant statue of Mary cradling her son’s crucified body in her arms. Carved from a single block of marble by Michelangelo, the Pietà has the distinction of being the only signed work of art in the Basilica. The Basilica is replete with statues and paintings created by some of Italy’s most accomplished masters, but since the glory of God was the sole purpose of this work, the artists were not permitted to sign their creations. Michelangelo initially complied, but the story goes that one night, having overheard someone ascribing the Pietà to another sculptor, he crept into the Basilica and carved, in unmistakably clear letters across Mary’s marble sash, the words Michaelangelus Bonarotus Florentinus Faciebat (Michelangelo Buonarotti, Florentine, made this).

The Pietà now stands behind bulletproof glass and a rope that stops people from getting closer than ten feet of the famous statue. The glass and rope haven’t been around for too long; till the 1970’s, you could walk right up to the Pietà. In the 70’s, however, a demented artist attacked the statue with a hammer, screeching "She’s too perfect!" He managed to break off part of Mary’s face and her forearm before he could be stopped, but by then the damage had been done. Worst of all was the fact that Mary’s forearm fell to the floor and the fingers shattered into fragments that were swiftly gathered up by tourists from across the world. In the weeks that followed, the Vatican issued announcements requesting everybody who’d bagged a piece of the Pietà to return it, on the condition that they wouldn’t be charged with stealing it in the first place. Another miracle happened: every single piece came back.

But that is really all part of the spell that the Basilica can work on people. You don’t need to be Catholic- or even a Christian, for that matter; you’ll almost certainly find yourself marvelling at it anyway.

Entry to the Basilica di San Pietro is free. Do note that there’s a very strict dress code in place: you must be modestly attired, which means that shoulders and knees must also be covered. You’ll be turned back and politely asked to go cover up if you aren’t suitably dressed.

When I first began thinking over what I’d write in my journals on Rome, I’d decided I just had to write an article in praise of Piazzas—of which Rome has plenty. Cool, vast, lovely piazzas; small, comfortable, comforting piazzas; piazzas with statues, piazzas with fountains—Rome is replete with them. And then came another thought: that the piazzas, or at least many of them, share something else in common: they invariably showcase the genius of a man who left his mark all across Rome, Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

Born in Naples to a Florentine family (his father, Pietro Bernini, was a fine sculptor in his own right), Gian Lorenzo came to Rome when he was just seven years old. He was already a child prodigy; and soon came to the notice of Pope Paul V, who began patronising him. Initially influenced by Greek sculpture, Bernini swiftly established himself as a sculptor who was amazingly prolific in works both religious and secular. Under the patronage of the papal family- especially that of Cardinal Scipione Borghese- Bernini started churning out works that today can be found all across the churches, piazzas and museums of Rome. The Abduction of Proserpine, David, Apollo and Daphne, and The Ecstasy of St Theresa are some of Bernini’s best-known statues. An interesting blend of staunch Catholicism and Greek mythology, but all equally vivid and impressive.

We saw a lot of Bernini’s work in our wanderings through Rome. The sculptor was prolific, and besides doing a lot of carving with his own hands, he also designed a vast number of statues and architectural elements that were eventually executed by others. They adorn just about every conceivable form of architecture in Rome—from the awesome Basilica di San Pietro in the Vatican City, to the quiet little Piazza della Minerva. There’s a lot of Bernini around.

The Basilica di San Pietro, easily the most impressive example of religious architecture in Rome, is generally regarded as Michelangelo’s domain and rightly so. But Bernini had a hand in it, too. If you stand in the piazza facing the Basilica, you’ll see the two vast curving colonnades stretching out on either side of the basilica- and those colonnades are topped with the statues of one hundred and forty saints. An impressive number, and all designed by Bernini. One of the two fountains in the piazza itself is also by Bernini.

Inside the Basilica, too, Bernini showed off his skills. The large bronze baldaquin that towers over the tomb of St Peter was made by Bernini. With its spiralling columns and its rich ornamentation, the baldaquin is very well-suited to the massive Basilica.

Not too far from the Basilica di San Pietro, the Ponte Sant Angelo straddles the Tiber river- and acts as yet another showcase of Bernini’s work. Twelve angels, each in a different pose, stand along the bridge, which leads to the Castel Sant Angelo. Six angels to a side, tall and impressive.

But my favourite Berninis are the ones that adorn the piazzas of Rome- the distinctly pagan statues, of tritons and sea horses and other mythical beings.

There is, for example, Piazza Navona, where we spent an idyllic evening watching crowds of tourists and locals wander about. Local artists sold watercolours of Rome as souvenirs; an old gentleman walked a large, fluffy white dog around; flowers in a dozen shades of red and pink bloomed in the balconies. And three fountains- the central one a Bernini- played in this large oval piazza. And it’s this central fountain, the famous `Fountain of the Four Rivers’ (Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi) that dominates Piazza Navona. Dating back to 1651, it depicts, in a series of muscular male figures, animals, plants and fish, the four main rivers of the Old World- the Nile, the Danube, the Ganges, and the Rio de la Plata. The political and symbolic allegories built into the statuary are many, and tourist guides are famous for adding fiction to fact when expounding on the fountain.

Of the two other fountains in Piazza Navona, one- the `Fountain of the Moor’ (Fontana del Moro)- is also a Bernini, though just in part. Bernini carved the huge triton riding a dolphin that stands in the middle of the fountain; Giacomo della Porta carved the surrounding figures.

Much smaller and less imposing is the `Fountain of the Triton’ (Fontana del Tritone) in Piazza Barberini. It’s older than the Fountain of the Four Rivers- this one was completed in 1643- and it has a certain beauty about it that enchanted me. The triton- a sea god, depicted here as a merman- sits atop a base of four classical dolphins. Muscular shoulders and arms bared, shaggy head titled up, he blows into a conch shell, from which springs up a stream of water. Piazza Barberini itself is fairly small and uncrowded, so we often found ourselves alone here.

Incidentally, the Fontana del Tritone isn’t the only Bernini fountain in Piazza Barberini- tucked away in an unobtrusive corner next to Via Veneto is another fountain, the `Fountain of the Bees’ (Fontana delle Api). It’s relatively small and simple, a large open shell on which sit bees, a symbol derived from the Barberini family’s coat of arms.

Even smaller than Piazza Barberini is the tiny Piazza della Minerva, behind the Pantheon. The centrepiece at Piazza della Minerva is also a Bernini, but this isn’t a fountain: it’s a statue. A delightful statue of a richly caparisoned elephant with- believe it or not- a smile on its face. The elephant stands beneath an Egyptian obelisk, its tail twisted cheekily towards the Dominican monastery that stands nearby- a symbolic blow aimed at the Dominican Father Paglia, a rival of Bernini’s. The elephant, by the way, was merely designed by Bernini; the actual carving was done by a student of his.

And yes, if you want to see yet another Bernini, there’s the `Fountain of the Leaking Boat’ (Fontana della Barcaccia) below the famous Spagna, the Spanish Steps. Only this isn’t a fountain by Gian Lorenzo Bernini- it’s by his father, Pietro. It offers an interesting insight into where the son got his talent- which it’s obvious he honed considerably.