Intermezzo

This morning I found the Palazzo Barbeiri to discover it is closed on Monday.  I'm not sure I'll have time to visit it on Tuesday.  We'll see.

But I took off again towards the Moses Fountain and the Piazza della Repubblica, but I'll talk about that later because I also wanted to get to a small church I found on my way home last night.

The church is inauspicious, tucked next to an imposing museum.  People who want to visit San Vitale must walk down stairs.  Once on the porch, the visitor is welcomed by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, which is a bit disturbing.  Once inside the church, however, the Four Horsemen are easily forgotten.

I suspect the church is dark and brooding even on brighter days as there are few windows and they are small and up high: three on either side of the church and two smaller and higher on each side of the apse.  The colors of the church interior are dark.  And the ceiling--yes, look up!--is dark, rich wood.  The work there looks like inlay.

I spent a little time there thinking about churches; about prayer; about what drives us or motivates us to be meditative, worshipful.  The door of the church squeaks when it is opened and just for a moment the sound of the traffic on Via Nazionale rushes in.  Hushed voices.  Slow, quiet steps.  Perhaps more so because this church is so small.  The steps stop.  The door squeaks again.  Silence again.  Repose.

Except for the tacky frantic lights on the Christmas tree.