9 June--Monterosso

In Monterosso there are two sections of the city: Old and New, divided by a short tunnel. Next to the tunnel is a statue of Saint Francis, along with a castle and a German bunker from World War II (very minimalist and utilitarian). We ate gelato (“Una nocciola, s’il vous plait—er, per favore) and walked around. At the beach in New City I picked up some rocks. The water is very clear, and at the beach I saw that it's because they don't have any sand--only very small pebbles worn very smooth.
The Old City was beautiful. There was a creepy church covered in scaffolding and dedicated to something like “mortis e oratorio,” and a “societas [di?] morti” or something along those lines. Signs hung in English and other languages saying that it needed restoration very badly so please donate one euro. There were collapsing, dusty crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and an immense and terrifying crucifix at the front (Christ seemed to be in even more pain than usual) and, most hair-raising of all, in the reliefs on the arches, skeletons stretched out their arms right next to the cherubs and blue flowers. The room was circular, and at the top of the ceiling a cupola painted a bright blue, the only thing completely lit. There was a banner on a stand that said something like “society of death” and that strange word, “oratorium.” The dust was pasty thick on everything. On the left in a tall glass case stood a statue of (presumably) Mary, clothed in thick tapestry cloth, with wide eyes and a faintly disturbing smile—disturbing, I suppose, because it looked like a doll rather than a carving. Her hands were raised with the palms out; the gesture, rather than evoking a sense of motherly benediction, brought to mind a prisoner with their hands and face against the glass. I thought, “Poor woman, but I don’t really want you to come out, now that they’ve kept you in there for so long.”
On the ceiling were four circles with odd portraits, of (after some guess-work translating) Matthew, Mark, John, and Luke (I think). There were some other saint names that I was not familiar with—they sounded almost Greek, or something more Byzantine than Italian.
Another thing that made this so strange was that the chapel, on the whole, was not exactly somber. The chandeliers had small gems and many crystals; the portraits had delicate, intricate borders; the walls were white peeling plaster, not stone; many of the borders of things were pale blue; and over the door on the inside were painted ropes of pink flowers and bows. But over the door from the outside, too, were the words similar to “mortis” and “oratorio” and a skull and crossbones, almost like a pirate’s.
{It turns out what I stumbled upon was the “mortis et orationis” oratory, seat of the Confraternita dei Neri. “Mortis” means death, and “orationis” means prayer. See this site for info on the Purgatorian Archonfraternity, and this place (scroll down half way) for the Archonfraternity of Death and Prayer.}