Dem Bones – notes from Caesar’s tomb

Rome is best known for its sunny piazzas, chic restaurants, and some of the world’s most recognized tourist sights. But there are two places in the Eternal City, off the beaten path, which I won’t soon forget.

The tomb of Caesar Augustus is located in the center of Rome, in a mausoleum where six other Roman emperors are buried. In their day, the Caesars were thought to be on a par with the gods. Accordingly, when conquering Roman generals were treated to grand processions into the city, they needed to be kept in their place. A slave would stand behind the general in his golden chariot, holding a crown over the conqueror’s head. Above the cheers of the adoring crowd, the slave would whisper, “Remember, you are just a man.”

In Rome’s glory days, I’m guessing Caesar Augustus’ tomb must have been equivalent to Britain’s Westminster Abby - hallowed ground honoring the Empire’s departed monarchs. But one would hardly know it was the tomb of emperors by looking at it today.

The Caesars’ once glorious tomb is a dull, crumbling mound of weather worn brick, perched on the top of a knoll overrun with weeds and uncut grass. Beneath the mound there is a park, which is roughly ten feet beneath modern street level. The park grounds are strewn with broken liquor bottles, discarded cigarette boxes and other rubbish. It served as a makeshift restroom for at least two passersby I observed, and I imagined the drug and prostitution trades thrive quite well there under the cover of darkness.

Apparently few people bother to pay their respects to Caesar Augustus at his final resting-place. I was fascinated to learn, however, that what does draw a steady stream of visitors is a small church across town – a more modest if macabre tomb of sorts.

The church of Santa Maria Immacolata della Concezione, or Saint Mary of the Immaculate Conception, is not Rome’s grandest church, nor is it the most impressive in terms of its structure or art collection. What distinguishes the small church is the Capuchin monks who greet visitors. The monks stand silently in their brown friar’s robes, some bearing crucifixes in their bony fingers. Others bear hourglasses. On the whole, the monks really don’t look bad - for men over two centuries old.

The holy men are skeletons – 4,000 of them, interred in six crypts. Most of the bodies are dismembered, their bones lovingly arranged to decorate the cool underground chambers. Intricate designs of human vertebrae cover the ceilings and walls of the tomb, while some altars are constructed of several hundred human skulls. Ghoulish chandeliers hang from the ceiling, constructed of ribs and shoulder blades.

In the sixth and final crypt, the monks are fixed in a standing position, their heads bowed. There is a sign before them written in many languages: “What you are now, we used to be; what we are now, you will be.”

The bizarre monument was created in 1764, when monks who served at the church consented to have their bodies dismembered and displayed for eternity as a testament to some powerful messages:

The world as we know it is passing. Death is swallowed up in victory through Christ. We must perform works of justice and mercy while there is still time.

The Eternal City has all but forgotten Caesar Augustus, who, like the gods Jupiter and Mars, was supposed to be revered for the ages. Instead, the jewel of the Roman Empire now bears scores of monuments to a humble carpenter from Nazareth.

Maybe the carpenter’s message was strikingly similar to that which the slaves whispered to the conquering Roman generals: The things of this world shall pass away. No matter your title or the fortunes you may accumulate, or however many monuments are erected in your honor, in the end, you are human. Technology may give man the illusion of being god-like – of being capable of anything. Roman emperors must have thought as much in their day. The monks knew better.

Written by Andy McDonald - BereaOnline.com Contributing Editor