A Childhood Memory (Theory of Settlements)

Few memories remain from one's childhood that, when remembered, bring back the same emotions that one felt when they were there. One of those places for me is the Sedlec Ossuary, a small Roman Catholic chapel, located beneath the Cemetery Church of All Saints in Sedlec, a suburb of Kutna Hora in the Czech Republic. I've been there just once but the image and adrenaline rush remain, even after 10 years.  Why adrenaline, you ask? Well, it was a church filled with human bones, as decorations and furniture or just heaped in the corners (not making it any better). 

The history behind the cemetery in Sedlec is that in 1278 when an abbot sprinkled ‘holy’ earth in the cemetery, which he had brought from Palestine, it became a desirable burial site throughout Central Europe . During the Black Death in the mid-14th century, and after the Hussite Wars in the early 15th century, thousands of people were buried there and the cemetery became over-crowded.

Around 1400 a Gothic church was built in the centre of the cemetery which led to the unearthing of many graves, a few of which were demolished all together, to also make room for new burials. According to legend, after 1511 a half-blind monk of the order was given the task of exhuming skeletons and stacking their bones in the chapel. Later, the bones were used to adorn the interiors of the church, which still remain to this day.

My family and I took the metro, but still had to walk a few blocks, en route of which, I ran in front of a moving car, which skidded to a stop. Sadly, the irony of that situation was lost on me then. On reaching the premises of the church, I didn’t really see anything special, but I did feel a chill, whether it was self-fabricated or just the place, I’m still not sure. It was a modest church from the outside. It was in a gated compound, surrounded by graves, and had the usual spires and large, arched windows.

On entering the chapel, the first thing I observed was the dim lighting. There was also this stench, like that of a damp place, which, accompanied by the silence, made my heart beat faster.  In the antechamber, I noticed the two large goblets, made of skulls and bones, in the niches in the wall. I remember thinking, at that time, how minuscule I felt compared to the giant goblets and that I thought the skulls were ‘looking at me’. I walked a couple of steps down to the main chamber. Here the silence was broken by the occasional gasp or murmur by the visitors. The most startling image I have of the chapel is that of the chandelier, hanging in the middle of the chamber. I stood under it looking at it for some time, wondering how they stuck all those bones together and half expecting something, just something, to happen.  Someone there told me that each of the 40,000- 70,000 skeletons there contributed a single bone in making the chandelier.

In each of the four corners of the room were four heaps of bones and a bunch of skulls kept together. Near the top of each heap were holes that seemed like tunnels that, I imagined, led to a dark and dangerous haven. Stories unfolded in my head and I felt the slow rise of the hair on the back of my neck.

I probably was there for just under an hour, but that place excited and scared me at the same time. It kept me in a constant daze, thinking of what could (never) be. I was overwhelmed at how the church glorified death in such a way. I couldn’t understand it and actually thought it was quite anti theistic.  Now, despite the fact that I did enjoy the place, I don’t want to go back, as I fear the memory of the experience would be tarnished by my opinion, as an adult.