The Omens

Signs are meant to guide us, and give us a taste of what may come. On the afternoon of the 26^th I ignored all these crucial signals and entered into one of the creepiest situations of my life. As I stated in my previous post Mary and I planned to spend our free day going to major sites from the movie Angels and Demons, however there was one stop we wanted to make that had no association with the film: The Boxer Museum. This is not the official title of the museum but it known for housing The Boxer (a bronze sculpture of a older man who is bloodied and scared from his fights.) To see The Boxer was 100% on my Rome bucket list, as I have spent the last semester studying Greek art – including this piece. While our hopes were high and our demeanors optimistic, fate had something much darker in mind.

            The first sign that warned us about the museum were the closed gates; we had some difficulty even discovering the entrance. The second sign came to us when we went on line to buy our tickets – The Boxer (the statue I have thought about for MONTHS) was on loan to another museum. A wave of sadness washed over me, but this was a museum, right? There had to be loads of other fascinating artifacts that would distract me from the loss of The Boxer. The final, and most important sign in my opinion came before we fully entered the exhibit. The ticket that I had purchased not two minutes prior would not scan, and thus the machine would not let me through. Even when the attendant tried to help my ticket denied me access. She ultimately gave up and used her overriding pass to let me through. These were my omens, my warnings to keep away, but did I listen? No.

            The tone of the museum was somber and eerie. The first hallway, and all the ones to follow, had rows upon rows of marble heads. While some were full busts most were just heads that had broken off from larger statues. When we finished walking down the hallway we had to pass through heavy black curtains, which led to a more menacing part of the museum. All the walls were red and there were no overhanging lights, the only sources of illumination were small spotlights that were arranged around the artifacts. There were also random mirrors placed on certain walls. Discovering your reflection when you are not looking for it can be greatly unnerving. The only sounds in this room were the whispers of other people and an irregular beeping. When the beeping finally ended, a dark compilation of music began. A flute and organ were two instruments that continually penetrated and filled the rooms with a sense of intensity and terror. Arguably, the strangest aspects of the first floor gallery were the numerous couples that seemed to be feeding off this dark atmosphere like an aphrodisiac. Their intimate whispers and movements were more disturbing then the heads.

            Mary and I decided to be brave and venture to the upper floors – a courageous decision. It is fair to say the atmosphere did not improve. While there was full lighting again the numerous marble statues continued to give off an air of intimidation, probably due to the haunting music. The worst segment of this floor was a pitch-black room with only two minute lights. One light was directed at a ghostly mask and the other at a case of marble hands and fingers. We did not linger long.

            The architects of this museum seriously wanted to confuse their future visitors. All of the hallways were a dark gray color and many of them led to a dead end. More than once Mary and I found ourselves trapped in a twisted corner. After an hour of this maze I began to feel like a mouse with a scientist constantly watching me as I navigated my way out of this enclosure. We decided to grab our things and leave without visiting the basement floor for obvious reasons. As we collected our bags and began speed walking towards the exit we had a true moment of panic. The bright outside world was suddenly being closed off to us; the once open doors were attempting to shut us back into the sinister world that is The Boxer museum. At the last second we jumped through the closing portal and regained our freedom. I felt as if I had just escaped the Roman version of Hotel California. We turned away from this ominous realm and did not look back.