As they continued to walk along the cold stone corridor, they passed the graves of a synagogue archon or administrative official, a scribe, and a nameless, 5-month-old baby boy. The many small loculi indicating the burial places of babies and young children were more numerous than Nicola had expected, and she was surprised to find herself feeling somewhat sobered by their presence. Somehow these particular tombs made her feel the history of the catacomb in a way she hadn't expected, leaving her with an unexplained sense of almost personal loss.
But there was little time for reflection as Fossore now drew their attention to the distinction between the graves of the poor and the more elaborate tombs of their wealthier counterparts. The former made use of ordinary brickwork to wall up the niches, sometimes incorporating leftover scraps of construction materials. Sadly, no individual grave markers distinguished one from the other.
In contrast, the tombs of the rich were embellished with white marble plaques bearing names, as well as dates of birth and death, information about marital status, number of children, and the position of the deceased in the community at large, especially if he or she had been a synagogue official. Many had formulaic epitaphs extolling the virtues of the deceased in Greek, rather than in the expected Latin, since the Jewish community of ancient Rome was Greek-speaking. A large number of them bore Hebrew lettering as well, which Bruno translated for Nicola and Fossore.
“By the way,” Bruno interjected, turning to Nicola, "evidence from tomb inscriptions points to the active role that women played in their communities, including that of mater synagogus, or mother of the synagogue. There's a famous tomb in the catacomb of Monteverde which actually has a thirteen-line poem in dactylic hexameter engraved on the plaque of a Jewish woman named Regina. But that's an exception, rather than the rule.”
By this time, Nicola was starting to feel more enthusiastic about the catacomb as a whole, and she followed Fossore eagerly as they turned left at the end of the long passageway, entering a large crypt with two interconnected pagan rooms, elaborately decorated with multi-colored peacocks, pairs of fish, and brightly painted cherubs against a pale wash of creamy white walls.
“Finally,” Nicola said aloud in amazement as she gazed around her, quickly lowering her voice to an embarrassed whisper as she turned to Bruno and added, “I was afraid we weren't going to see anything that wasn't stylized or monochromatic.”
She quickly added some more sketches to her notebook and then followed Fossore as he ushered them out of the crypt towards an uneven, door-sized opening at the end of a narrow corridor that veered off the main passageway. The uniformity of the fake loculi in the tunnel and the large jagged hole in the wall scarcely prepared her for what she now saw.
“Dio,” she gasped in disbelief over and over again as they entered the disputed hypogeum, a crypt unlike any she had ever seen or scarcely imagined. The light from the oxy-lamps bounced back and forth on the richly frescoed surface of walls whose colors were vivid and bright, untouched by the passage of time and glowing with a burnished intensity that was nearly alive. Mirror-like sections of gold leaf had been applied between the intricate wall paintings, dazzling Nicola's eyes and shocking her into a stunned silence.
Astounded by the incredible beauty of the room—whose frescoes were so complex she couldn't imagine how she would ever be able to analyze them—Nicola stood spellbound, unable to move or speak. It was as if the crypt were somehow pulsating with an energy all its own, with some sort of inscrutable power that had ensnared her, that would not release her from its grasp until she had revealed its secrets and laid bare the mysteries of its existence.
Never before had she felt this thrill of imminent discovery, this sense of barely containable excitement—this certainty that she was about to find herself at the center of a drama whose final act was yet to unfold.
Pulling herself together, she turned to Bruno, who was looking around the crypt in open-mouthed astonishment, and said, “I don't know about you, Bruno, but I want to stay here. Signor Fossore can go home. We can find our way out later on our own.”
Chapter Nine
Bruno and Nicola had now been in the new hypogeum for nearly two hours. Fossore had left them there without argument, handing them a well-marked map of the tunnel network. The promised photographic equipment was there, together with a table full of flat scrapers, brushes, whiskbrooms, tweezers, latex gloves, and various antiscaling agents and solvents. Several collapsible stools and emergency lighting stood nearby.
Recovering from their initial shock at the opulence of the crypt, they were soon able to differentiate between distinct sections of the walls, where artistic theme and color varied with the elements depicted in the frescoes. Unlike the burial chambers elsewhere in the Vigna Randanini, this hypogeum had used every available inch of space for its decorations, including the ceiling, which had an apparently random pattern of gold stars set against a deep cerulean sky.
Closer examination of the walls revealed precious artifacts—some large, some small—that were cemented into the spaces between a group of sealed loculi, all but camouflaged by the intricate frescoes. Two large, unusually ornate sarcophagi occupied adjacent niches, surrounded by wall paintings whose intense hues distracted the eye from the stone coffins themselves.
For most of the two hours, Nicola and Bruno had simply walked slowly around the chamber, marveling at what they saw and taking copious notes on the general implications of the iconography and its possible significance. Only after a second visit would they attempt to begin piecing together some actual working theories about its provenance.
Many of the elements in the crypt were typical of the usual mix of Christian and pagan motifs found in other catacombs in Rome and its environs. These included doves, peacocks, and the legendary phoenix, along with palm trees interspersed with crowns, as well as anchors symbolizing man's ultimate arrival at the port of the afterlife following the dark and uncertain journey of death.
On one of the walls there was a large painting of a golden fish, or ichthus in Greek, forming an acrostic that translated as “Jesus Christ.” Beside it there was a monogram comprised of an intertwined Chi, or X, and a Rho, or P, signifying the Greek word Christos. Trompe l’oeil marble architectural elements were interlaced with generic floral motifs typical of Jewish catacombs, representing the Garden of Eden.
Both Nicola and Bruno noted that there was no evidence of a cruciform layout to the room, so it seemed clear that this particular hypogeum had not been intended, at least when it was initially quarried, to serve as an underground chapel for the worship of saints or martyrs.
“Score one for the Marchesa,” Nicola commented dryly, glancing at Bruno for confirmation.
On the wall near one of the two sarcophagi was a richly painted fresco of a woman, seated near what appeared to be a large box, shaped like a sarcophagus. The box was adorned by a pair of cherubs, and a seven-branched candelabrum rested on it. A white marble plaque above the niche bore the letters M and R, with the word virgininun below it in elegant calligraphy, meaning pure and virginal, a term generally used on Jewish tombs to indicate an unmarried woman. There were no dates, no epitaph, nothing to indicate the precise identity or possible occupation of the deceased.
Nicola and Bruno now turned their attention to the adjacent tomb, which had no accompanying plaque. It was surrounded, however, by an elaborate fresco that, on closer examination, included a crucifix intertwined with a Star of David and two other interlocking, right-angled triangular shapes at its center.
“What do you suppose that could be?” Bruno asked, pointing to the strange triangles. “It seems to mimic the geometry of the Star of David, but other than that, I’m not sure I see a connection.”
“I know,” Nicola said. “Doesn’t it remind you of a papal miter? You know, the tall double peaked headdress worn by popes throughout the centuries? And look at what’s been painted nearby—a square with two open doors, topped by another triangle, with two circles etched in the ce
nter. What do you think that could be?”
“That’s easy enough,” Bruno replied. “That represents the Holy Ark found in ancient synagogues. The two circles are meant to symbolize the Torah scrolls.”
“I see,” she said slowly, as she considered this suggestion. “I guess it's a good thing that both of us are here, given our different religious backgrounds. You have to admit that this is really strange,” she added, her brows knitted together in puzzlement as she looked at him. “It’s almost as if there’s a deliberate mix of Christian and Jewish iconography. I wonder if the people buried here were converts—either to Judaism or to Christianity.”
“You know, you might be right. That’s an intriguing possibility,” Bruno replied thoughtfully. “Though I’m not sure how we can figure out which religion they might have converted from and then to. No wonder the catacomb ownership is being contested. I’ve never seen this kind of unique combination of Jewish and Christian elements before.”
He now took a detailed series of photographs of the two frescoes, some from a distance, some as close-ups, while Nicola sketched them in laborious detail, in case there was a problem with the camera equipment. “I’m a big believer in Murphy’s Law,” she remarked.
Embedded in the wall bearing the two main tombs with their mysterious frescoes were several glass and ceramic containers, as well as dolls, statuettes, and coins. The most beautiful artifacts, however, were two very fine specimens of gold glass bases, cemented symmetrically in between the loculi in which the two stone coffins rested.
Gold glasses were a luxury item to be found only in the households of the wealthiest families in Rome. They had a circular base made of etched gold, which was sandwiched between protective layers of glass and divided into two semicircular fields, each with its own pictorial design. The glasses were used primarily for decorative purposes and only occasionally as actual drinking vessels. But as grave markers, the bases were regarded as protective icons, meant to guard the dead from evil spirits.
“Bruno,” Nicola called out excitedly, tapping him on the shoulder, “look at this. I’ve never seen this type of design on a gold glass before, and believe me, I’ve examined scores of these on my visits to Rome."
He turned towards her and looked carefully. One of the etchings on the base of the first glass portrayed a large, elaborately columned building, while the other depicted a candelabrum and a crucifix. The second glass bore a completely different, but equally mystifying design. One half of the base seemed to portray long rows of marching figures, dressed in simple short togas, while the other half bore engravings of trumpets and lyres, with what appeared to be a Star of David at their center, intertwined with a fish.
“You're right. This is very peculiar,” Bruno commented after a moment. “I’ve never come across anything like it before. It seems to repeat the Judaeo-Christian motifs, or at least the startling combination that we’re finding in the frescoes.”
He paused and then suggested tentatively, “You know, the truth is, that for someone with a Jewish background, maybe it’s really not that difficult to decipher some of these symbols.”
“What do you mean?” Nicola asked.
“Well, look,” Bruno began to explain. “The candelabrum or Menorah is a ceremonial object dating back to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. It had seven branches and was lit on a daily basis as part of the priestly ritual. Later, after the miracle of Hanukkah”—and here he looked at her inquiringly—“you remember, when one small cruse of oil lasted for eight days, after the Maccabees purified the Temple—it was changed into an eight-branched icon, symbolizing the eight days of the holiday, with an added receptacle from which the others were lit, for a total of nine branches.
“What’s interesting in this etching,” he said, pointing to the gold glass, “is that the candelabrum has seven branches, not nine, which leads me to suspect that it’s supposed to represent the original Menorah in the Temple, and not the one that was used on Hanukkah. And by the way, the candelabrum in the fresco over there is identical. It also has only seven branches.”
“Okay,” Nicola replied, “but what about the crucifix that appears alongside it? What connection could there possibly be? And what do you make of the building with all those columns on the other side of the base? Could it be a palace or a pagan temple of some sort? I mean, could we have a mixture of pagan, Christian, and Jewish elements? After all, the original catacombs here at the Vigna Randanini started out as a pagan underground cemetery before they were converted into a Jewish crypt.”
“Truthfully, I’m not sure,” Bruno answered. “We need to think about it. And we haven’t even begun to address the issue of the second gold glass base. The marching figures, the musical instruments, the Star of David, the fish. The star is clearly Jewish, and the fish obviously represents Christ. But as for the rest . . . I have some ideas, but I want to mull them over and check some references at home.
“In the meantime, let’s take a closer look at the two sarcophagi,” he said.
Unlike the other graves in this particular crypt, these were the only two coffins resting in the niches of the wall. All the other recesses had been bricked up, covered by simple marble plaques bearing only vague clues attesting to the identity of those long gone sleepers in the dust. Both sarcophagi had apparently been made of polished marble, which had become slightly pitted with the passage of time, though their strigilated, decoratively etched surfaces still bore the markings of the craftsman’s skill.
While most sarcophagi were purchased ready-made from a local stonemason, with additional engravings or carvings custom ordered, these two were particularly remarkable in the richness of their ornamentation. Their lids were embellished with identical medallions, or a clipeus, at the center, displaying an elaborately intertwined crucifix and Star of David, with the Hebrew word Shalom—שלום— etched underneath.
Hesitating only briefly, Nicola turned to Bruno and asked, “I know this might sound kind of creepy, but do you think we should try to move the lids of the sarcophagi? I know they’re very heavy, but maybe there’s something important inside. I mean, besides the bones. Maybe something hidden with the bodies that will help us identify who’s buried here.”
Bruno looked at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Nicola. Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Come on, Bruno,” she tried to insist. “By now there should be nothing left inside but dry bones. Even if the bodies were embalmed all those years ago, it’s not as if we’re going to find a mummy or anything.”
“Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll help you look inside. But not today. And not before lunch, which by the way, is long overdue,” he added, glancing at the luminous dial of his watch and noting that it was already three o’clock in the afternoon.
“All right,” she conceded with a rueful smile. “I wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite. But can we at least have a closer look at the iconography on the plaques outside the crypt before we leave? Please?” she begged. “Maybe there’s something there that’s been overlooked. Something that might indicate some sort of corroborative symbology. Or maybe something pointing to another carefully concealed chamber behind the loculi.”
“Okay, I suppose that would be a good idea,” he agreed somewhat reluctantly. “We’re already down here, so we might as well begin now. I guess lunch can wait.”
As they paced the corridor leading away from the crypt, flashlights and magnifying glasses in hand, they examined its roughly textured walls with meticulous care, one small section at a time, to see if anything might require treatment with an antiscaling agent to remove salt crystals and other degradation products on the surface.
“I’m going back inside to get the barium peroxide and ammonium carbonate,” Nicola said. “I’d like to try to clean the surface of the tufa near the entrance to the chamber. Maybe you can dry brush some of the areas first, so the solvents will work more quickly.”
After half an hour of painstaking effort, Nicola thought she saw a
glint of silvery-looking metal between two of the bricks, several feet away from the entrance to the hypogeum. Covered in layers of crumbling mortar, centuries of dust, and chemical deposits, it was barely noticeable.
“Look, Bruno,” she called out. “There seems to be something buried in the wall, over here, next to one of the fake loculi.”
Carefully they brushed the surface again and slowly abraded the margin of the bricks to reveal something wedged inside that looked like a small hand on a long sculpted stick.
“I wonder what that could be,” Nicola said. “Do you think it might be a toy? Like a rattle? Maybe something that was cemented into the wrong place, by accident? After all, we’ve seen quite a few children’s graves along the way that are decorated with dolls.”
Gingerly, Bruno pulled out the object with a pair of flat tweezers. He turned it over in the palm of his own hand and shone the flashlight on it.
“It appears to be made of silver,” he observed as he examined it more closely. “And the handle has filigree detail around the base. I’m not sure why it didn’t tarnish completely. I guess it was protected from oxidization by the mortar and dust that covered it. In any event, it’s definitely not a toy. It looks like a yad, the pointer used for reading from the Torah scroll on the Sabbath.
“But what I don’t understand is, what it’s doing here. The yad as ritual object dates from several centuries after the provenance of this catacomb.” He held it closer to the flashlight. “Look at this, Nicola,” he said in puzzlement. “If I’m not mistaken, there seems to be something written on it in Hebrew letters.”
He polished the surface gently with a soft microfiber cloth and read the inscription to her, “Hey, reish, nun, bet—ה, ר, נ, ב. It doesn’t spell an actual Hebrew word, or at least not any word that I’m familiar with. I wonder what it could be.” He turned it over again, examining it from several angles, determined to figure out what it could possibly mean.
The Lost Catacomb Page 5