The day had already passed its prime and yet we decided to set out for a destination none of us wanted to miss.  Although the dreary clouds and apathetic mist that once set the mood for the bleak communist city of Prague was beginning to roll in despite the 1989 revolution, we headed east.  There was no doubt where we were headed and the excitement seemed inhumane but natural.  As night over took us and our headlights seemed to suspend the moisture in the air we came closer and closer to the Sedlec Ossuary or as we all knew it at the time “the bone church”.

Passing through the medieval town of Kutna Hora the anticipation mounted. We knew we had started out too late and the 40 min drive had taken us over an hour on the poorly paved roads we ignorantly had driven. Heading this way by car again I would be foolish not to take the 333 to the 2 out from the center of Prague all the way to Kutna Hora and follow the signs up Masarykova rd to Kostnice. Still, a simple train ride and short walk from Prague’s train station, Hlavni Nadrazi would save gas and effort.

As we entered the city a November chill seemed to have driven any town-folk indoors and had the yellow glow of outdated bulbs in Czech street lamps not been on, the assurance of life in the area would have been fancied.  Still we made our way around a small unkempt roundabout and parked directly across from our destination.  The ossuary, built in 1400, was dark save one visible light shinning through the pointed arched window above a wooden door. Hurriedly we approached the entrance only to find an older man wearing a black wool length coat closing the door and turning the cast iron key that must have been in use for at least half as many decades as he had.

With the full moon now hanging in the sky and shinning through the sluggish clouds the church’s two spires held the skull and crossbones insignia silhouetted in the night.   We understood the ossuary had already been closed for the night but we pleaded to be let in with sincerity and ardor.  Between us we could fumble through German, French and of course English but without Czech or Russian our communication with the attendant was difficult.  Able to convey our desire to be let in the elderly caretaker turned the key once more and with a slipping click of the latch the door was pushed open.

Inside the lighting flashed on with a flick of a couple switches that was unexpected in the small countryside town. Before us stood a wide stair case leading down into the lower level of the ossuary just past the small attendants desk where we paid the 50 CZK (the current Czech currency equaling about 3 US dollars).  Immediately apparent on the walls were the human skulls aligned in a single row appearing like an impressionists version of an elongated spinal column; bones in any case were the theme. Large vase like structures made entirely of human bones cowered in shallow recesses in the wall and above our heads an array of various osseous matter hung purposefully arranged on stone walls and ceilings that matched the bleached hue of bone.

Just beyond the last step the room opens into a macabre foyer of sorts where four elongated marble pyramids are adorned with skulls which almost seem to be figuratively chewing off their own legs to escape. Atop these pyramids rest one small cherub each, blowing upon their trumpets as if to herald in the spectacle that hangs from the center of the ceiling like a chandelier of death.  Reportedly constructed from at least one of every human bone the candelabrum becomes the focal point of the entire ossuary and one finds oneself admiring its intricacy and forgetting the medium used for such art.

Knowing that we had been let in after hours and our sympathetic host was eager to get home on this could night we moved about the building quicker than our intrigue  would have liked.  On every wall hung some sort of ornament of bone and vast stacks of human remains were piled high in smaller chambers barred by fence. The collection of these bones was begun in 1511 by a Cistercian monk reputed to be half blind but non-the-less bequeathed the task of making room in the surrounding grave yard for new arrivals. Following the popularity of the still existent cemetery which resulted from its consecration as holy land through the sprinkling of dust carried back from Golgotha in Jerusalem, the human contributions of the black plague and the Hussite wars the burial grounds became much too overcrowded. In 1870 Frantisek Rink was commissioned to turn the collection into a work of art by the noble Schwartzenberg family. The huge “man-made” coat of arms which adorns one of the walls is in-fact a replica of that which belongs to this clan of nobility. It was only later after returning back to Prague in contemplative silence, that we became aware that the remains we were mesmerized by belonged to over 40,000 departed souls.

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