Unbreakable silence

After the tumult of the Vatican I wandered the streets of Rome, more or less at random, and wound up in Santa Maria sopra Minerva, a Dominican church built on the remains of an ancient temple (thought originally to have been a temple of Minerva, hence the church's name, but now believed to be dedicated to Isis).

Relatively speaking it was much quieter. The baroque phantasia here was more muted, crowd size more manageable, noise levels lower. I've come across a lot of American tourists in the big Italian cities, almost all of whom are polite, friendly, thoughtful and engaged with the magnificent history of the places they visit. But here at Santa Maria a New Jersey couple (it's a very distinct accent) were doing everything they could to re-establish the stereotype of the clumsy, boorish Yanks, arguing loudly at top volume about everything, despite repeated requests from the stewards to respect the silenzio. My favourite moment? When, without any sense of irony, the husband stalked off to find more things to photograph, had a thought, turned around and shouted down the nave, "Yeah, well, Marjorie, that's because this isn't an art gallery, it's a church."

But, try as they might, they couldn't kill the atmosphere of this wonderful church. The art was tremendous, the prayer even better. Despite the ludicrous bickering, the ancient silence somehow survived.

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