Whirlwind Tour of St. Peter's

I've mentioned before that my husband and his family, seventh-generation Roman Romans Residing in Rome, have managed to retain their citizenship without having actually seen much of their own hometown.  Any true inhabitant of the Eternal City can tell you how to get to the Borghese Galleries or to Santa Maria Maggiore - he just can't tell you what those places look like inside.  It seems to be sort of a boast for a Roman to be able to list the seven hills of Rome while admitting that he has managed to avoid four of them for his entire life.

I was an enigma to these people; I who had visited the Vatican Museums nine times in one summer; I who, that same summer, used to slip into every church I passed on my route home from my Italian classes, checking them off and marking the dates in my guide book.  During my summer learning Italian, every evening over dinner, they would ask me "Che cosa hai fatto oggi?", "What did you do today?" and they would reply with me in unison: "Sono andata al Vaticano", since the chances were good that I had, indeed, been to the Vatican that day.

So it was a surprise to me, many years later on one of my visits to Rome with my husband, when my mother-in-law announced that she wanted to come with us to St. Peter's Basilica on our annual pilgrimage.  Of course, having been born and raised 10 miles down the Tiber River from the Vatican, this would be her first visit there - the opportunity had never arisen during the previous 55 years, so we arranged to go on a Wednesday morning when the markets were closed and she was free.  The #23 bus takes you straight there from the house - no transfers, no confusion, but we took the smallest car in the household to avoid the hassle of public transportation and were extremely lucky (or were we blessed?) to find a parking spot on the Via della Conciliazione, mere meters away from the dome of St Peter's.

Today there are lines to wait in and metal detectors before you can enter the basilica, but since it was 1985, we strolled in and made an immediate right turn to the first aisle where you find Michelangelo's Pieta'.  The sculpture is massive in size and, even behind protective glass, it is breathtaking and awe-inspiring - truly a wonderful introduction to the treasures that awaited us beyond.  My mother-in-law was duly impressed, but when we about-faced to walk up the north aisle to visit the rest of the basilica, she commented on how big of a place it was and after the long walk from the car, could she rest a little while before we ventured on?  I've never been one to sit down when there are wonders to behold, so it was decided that she would wait on one of the chairs set up near the entrance to the Treasury where my husband and I would pop in to look at the Papal jewels.

Bernini's Altar of the Chair of St. Peter

When we got back, she was, naturally, no longer in or near the chair where we had left her. We assumed that she had gotten tired of waiting for us in the interminable 10 minutes we had spent looking at crowns, rings, and gold-encrusted shepherd's staffs, so we looked in the neighboring chapels since she could not possibly have gone far on those weary feet.  When that proved fruitless, I came up with a plan: "Let's split up - you take the baldacchino, nave, and north aisle, and I'll search the narthex, Bernini's Cathedra Petri,  and the south aisle.  Meet back here in 45 minutes."  My husband glazed over on me, "I'll look outside."

After a half-hour of sifting through every gray-haired, short, support-stockinged elderly European woman, I was frantic.  My husband, well acquainted with his mother's whims, squinted his eyes, bared his teeth, and announced, "I bet she's home."  It took us another half hour to confirm this after a search for a payphone and place to buy the gettoni phone tokens used in place of legal tender for the purpose of aggravating anyone with an actual emergency.

When my mother-in-law answered the phone at home, she was unapologetic.  She was defiant: she had gotten tired of waiting for us and couldn't remember where we had parked the car, so she had exited the premises, cut across the piazza, and hopped on the #23 bus.  I don't think it bothered her in the least that she never actually saw the baldacchino or Bernini's Cathedra Petri - she had seen quite enough.  God rest her wonderful soul.

per Edda, con affetto



Enjoy this tour of the Basilica without leaving your chair