Over the years I had written about some of the museums’ activities, and on several occasions had met with the director, the art historian Barbara Jatta. I HAD COME OFTEN to the Vatican Museums ever since a first visit when I was in grade school. The key in the vault was the key to the Sistine Chapel. If Lewis Carroll had invented a nuclear-launch protocol for the Holy See, this might have been it. I opened the vault and found another key. He handed the key to me, gesturing to a tiny, unmarked vault in the wall of the bunker. He had picked up the key that morning from a command post at the Porta Sant’Anna, one of the Vatican gateways, and would return it shortly before midnight.
The flap, now torn, bore his signature and had been stamped with the papal coat of arms. He kept a larger set of keys for himself, so that he and I could make our way anywhere.īefore leaving the bunker, Crea had taken a key from an envelope. On this night, when the last of the visitors had gone, Crea piled a tangle of keys on the counter of the security station, then handed out key rings to his staff.
The screen gives the enclosure a quiet glow.Įach sector of the museum has its own large key ring, the kind carried by a jailer. Behind the glass, alongside a crucifix and a photograph of Pope Francis, a flatscreen presents live images from security cameras. At the glassed-in security station in the Atrium of the Four Gates, departing guards punch time cards.
Behind them, here and there, lights begin to dim. Over the next two hours, until the exit doors are also closed, the last visitors proceed through the hallways. The heavy bronze doors at the museums’ main entrance are pulled shut every afternoon at 4 p.m. Check out more from this issue and find your next story to read.
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