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Pantheon - Judy |
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written
by jwang3 / 10.24.2005 |
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Part 1: |
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Visiting the Pantheon in the middle of the day is one of the worst experiences I’ve had in Rome. After enduring the scorching heat in order to get there, I dodge the pigeons aiming for my head, climb over the gelato-eating tourists sitting on the Pantheon steps, and then push my way past sweaty and sticky people. Once inside, I feel as if I am being led around a circle, with people on all sides of me walking about 2 feet per minute, taking pictures left and right. It’s hot. The air is thick. Flash photography is being unnecessarily used. I’m annoyed.
Going back to the Pantheon right before closing isn’t much different. The lights illuminating the ceiling have turned on, whereas the light from the oculus has disappeared – just the oculus itself is glowing now. The people, however, are not gone. Everyone is still there, milling around, stepping on each others’ toes. The sounds of the afternoon remain, tour guides talking about Rafael’s tomb and rounding up their groups, the incessant clicking of cameras, and tourists trying to convince me that the oculus is covered by glass.
Fortunately for me, my final visit to the Pantheon is in the morning, immediately after its opening. The building feels completely different. There are no flocks of birds and no signs of a crowd – only a homeless man sleeping outside and two confused-looking tourists wandering the interior of the Pantheon. I have never heard the Pantheon this quiet; I can hear the pitter-patter of the raindrops on the marble floor, the soft taps of feet walking across the room, and even the unzipping and zipping of bags. At one point, a garbage truck empties last night’s trash; even the sound of bottles breaking is lessened in its harshness. I’m thankful that this will be my final memory of the Pantheon, beautiful in and of itself, minus all the distractions of the outside world.
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Part 2: |
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The space within the Pantheon is clearly delineated. There are walls, floors – a clear alter straight ahead of me as I walk in. Despite these obvious points of interest, my eyes are curiously drawn upward. I follow the curve of the walls, past the statues and paintings, towards the grooves and etchings within the ceiling, and watch them as they decrease in scale until they end at the oculus in the center of the roof.
The acoustics in the room are amazing. In this visit, I have come with the intention of watching raindrops fall through the oculus. As I wish for the rain to fall harder, everyone else in the room awaits its end. Spontaneously, a group of people breaks into song. I hear a two-part harmony, a blend of sopranos, altos, and basses; combined, it is one of the most enchanting sounds I have heard in my life. Although the group is standing across the room, I feel as though the sound is coming from all around me. It seems as if it bounces back and forth between the walls until it is finally absorbed by me. The singers are not particularly talented and I have no idea what language they are singing in – but I feel as though I have been transported to a world containing only me, the Pantheon, and the music. The lively hum of mid-afternoon in the Pantheon comes to a halt as each person in the room is silenced in awe of this music; even the crowds cannot ruin this moment for me.
I didn’t get the rain I wanted, but my disappointment fades when I realize what just happened. I have received one of those rare opportunities in life where spontaneity brings one of the most memorable experiences of life. My delight in hearing the sudden wave of melody, the instant silence of the crowd, and the feeling of being carried away into my own world – this is how I want to remember the Pantheon.
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