In the evenings, the chapel would grow quiet again. The light long gone, the paintings shimmered in the shadows. At that time, the chapel was emptied of people, and I could stand silently in front of Signorelli's haunting Pieta, which is painted into a niche in the western wall. I overheard a few of the guides mention that Signorelli painted the pieta just after losing his son to sickness. After hearing that, I could hardly keep back the tears when I stood in front of it.
When closing time would come, just after six, the guards couldn’t seem to bring themselves to tell me I had to go and would point at their watches and ask me when I would be leaving. I nodded and took my leave resolved to stand there again the next day.
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