Palazzo Schifanoia

Stand for a moment on Via Scandiana and look at the long, low front of this building. The brick is warm and plain, a dusty red that turns almost pink in late light. There is no grand staircase and no row of statues. Only a marble doorway, carved with care, breaks the quiet wall. It is easy to walk past. Many people do. But behind that modest face sits one of the strangest painted rooms of the Italian Renaissance.

First, the name. Palazzo Schifanoia is usually explained as coming from the Italian phrase schivar la noia, which means to escape boredom. That tells you what this place was for. It was not a fortress or a seat of government. It was a pleasure house for the Este family, the dukes who ruled Ferrara for centuries. Here they came to rest, to feast, to watch music and dance, and to enjoy the gardens that once spread around the building.

The palace began in the late fourteenth century as a single-storey retreat at the edge of the medieval town. Over the following decades, the Este family added to it. The biggest change came under Borso d'Este in the 1460s. Borso was ambitious and very concerned with his image. He raised the building, gave it a noble upper floor, and planned a great hall that would show the world how he wished to be seen. That hall is the reason most visitors come.

Before you go inside, look closely at the marble portal. It is the most decorated part of the outer wall, and it carries the heraldry of the Este court. Look for the shapes of animals and coats of arms in the carving. The contrast is deliberate. Plain brick everywhere, and then this single framed doorway, as if the building is quietly announcing that something important waits beyond it.

Now climb to the Salone dei Mesi, the Hall of the Months. The room is wide and tall, and the walls are covered in painting from just below the ceiling down toward the floor. At first it can feel like too much. Your eye does not know where to start. The trick is to read each wall section from top to bottom, because every month is organised in three horizontal bands, one above the other.

In the top band, the pagan gods of ancient Rome ride on triumphal carts. Venus, Minerva, Apollo and others appear, each one linked to a month. Their carts are pulled by unusual animals, and around them are scenes of everyday human activity under their protection. Look for the lovers, the weavers, the scholars. It is a mix of classical myth and fifteenth-century fashion, with gods wearing clothes that a Ferrara courtier might have recognised.

The middle band is the most puzzling. Here you see the sign of the zodiac for each month, set against a deep blue background. Beside each sign stand three mysterious figures. For centuries, scholars could not explain them. Then, in 1912, the German art historian Aby Warburg showed that they were the decans, astrological figures that each govern ten days of the month. Their roots reached back through Arabic and Indian star lore to ancient Egypt. A whole forgotten science was hiding in plain sight on these walls.

The lowest band brings you back to earth, and back to Borso. Here the duke appears again and again. He hands out justice, rides out to hunt, jokes with his jester, and greets his courtiers. Peasants work in the fields around him. The message is simple: under the gods and under the stars, Ferrara prospers because of Borso. Look at the faces, the horses, the hunting dogs, and the small details of daily life in the countryside.

The paintings were made around 1470 by artists of what is now called the Ferrarese school. The best known name connected with the hall is Francesco del Cossa, who painted several of the months, and a younger painter, Ercole de' Roberti, is also linked to the work. Other hands, whose names are less certain, completed the rest. Scholars still discuss who painted what. The overall plan is usually credited to Pellegrino Prisciani, a learned man of the court who knew astronomy and classical texts.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. Francesco del Cossa was unhappy with his pay. A letter he wrote to Borso survives. In it, he complains that he was paid at the same rate per area of wall as lesser painters, even though he believed his work was far better. He asked for more. The answer, it seems, was no. Soon afterward, Cossa left Ferrara and went to work in Bologna. Behind this glowing hall stands a very human dispute about money and respect.

Not everything survived. Only some of the twelve months remain in good condition, mostly on the east and north walls. The others faded or were lost. At some point the frescoes were covered with whitewash, and they were rediscovered in the nineteenth century. More recently, the earthquakes that struck this region in 2012 damaged the building, and it closed for long repairs. When you look at the empty or faint sections of wall, you are seeing that long story of loss and care.

The palace today is part of the city's museum of ancient art. Besides the great hall, you can see smaller rooms with collections of objects from Ferrara's past, such as coins, medals, ceramics, and small bronzes. One room has a richly worked ceiling in stucco, a kind of moulded plaster, with gilded details. These rooms are quieter and often less crowded. They help you imagine the palace as a place of objects and comfort, not only of painted walls.

When you leave, walk slowly along Via Scandiana. This was once the edge of the city, close to open land and gardens. Today it is a calm street of brick houses and bicycles. Ferrara is a flat city, and people still move through it mostly on two wheels. Listen for the soft ring of a bicycle bell and the sound of tyres on stone. Take one last look back at that plain brick front. Somewhere behind it, the gods are still riding their carts, the stars are still turning, and Borso is still smiling at his court. Built to escape boredom, this house kept its secrets for centuries. Now, for a little while, they are yours.