Dear Readers, yesterday my friend A asked if I’d thought of personifying my broken leg (which is doing most excellently by the way). I hadn’t thought of doing that, but it struck me as an excellent idea, and I had no hesitation in saying that I would name my leg after Galla Placidia(392-450), a most robust and resilient Roman woman who, in the course of her lifetime, was kidnapped by the Visigoths (and married off to one of them), managed to place her son on the throne of the Western Roman Empire, and survived a whole variety of court machinations. She was a fervent Christian and patron of the arts, and amongst her many achievements was the finding of the sandal of John the Baptist. Relics could raise huge amounts of money for a church which owned one, and in the relief above Galla can be seen prostrate before St John the Baptist, who appears to be dropping the sandal on her head. Such was life in the fourth century.

Coin showing Galla Placidia

So, it was with some excitement that we headed off to the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, built between 425 and 450. As you might have guessed from the fact that it was built before Galla Placidia’s death, she isn’t actually buried here (she’s probably buried in Rome alongside her brother Honorius). The building was probably originally dedicated to St Lawrence, and the mosaics inside give a good idea of why this might be the case.

St Lawrence was said to have been martyred by being roasted on a gridiron. In fact, he’s said to have quipped ‘turn me over, I’m done on this side’ part way through his martyrdom, which might explain why he’s the patron saint of cooks, chefs and comedians. In this mosaic he is positively skipping towards the gridiron, his clothing flapping around him.

In the corner of the mosaic is a book ‘case’ containing the gospels – the books are stored flat, not on their ends.

Other mosaics show scenes of paradise, with deer coming to drink, but they were clearly not by the same mosaicist. Have a look at the pond in the mosaic below…

…and then the detail of the pond in the mosaic that faces it.

Our guide explained that mosaic-making was a seasonal art – the plaster that the tesserae (the ‘stones’ that make up a mosaic) was embedded into wouldn’t set if it was too cold and wet. So it was possible that the mosaicist who had made the first image wasn’t available the next year, and so the subsequent artist came up with his own interpretation. It was a fascinating insight into how the best laid plans of emperors and bishops still have to contend with project-management issues, differing views of how something should be done, and staff shortages.

As you leave the mausoleum there’s this lovely, gentle image.

Jesus was often shown clean-shaven at this time, and he often looks very young. The long-staffed cross is also very typical of this period. But I love the gesture of him feeding the sheep.

I can imagine how the mausoleum would have looked in the candlelight, and how comforting this final image would have been. As I found out in other churches, things were often a lot more martial.