11 Giugno, 2011. Catacombs of St. Callixtus. St. John Lateran. Santa Maria (meridian line).

The Catacombs of St. Callixtus were our first destination this morning. Located just off the famous Appian Way, these catacombs were used by early Christians to bury their dead. This site is gigantic, the galleries covering a total of 12 miles, spread over four levels. The two most notable parts of our tour were the Crypt of the Popes, and the Crypt of St. Cecilia. The Crypt of the Popes is the burial chamber where nine early popes (2^nd-4^th century CE) were interred. St. Cecilia’s Crypt was the location of St. Cecilia’s body until the 9^th century, when it was moved to her basilica in Trastevere (historically, the Jewish district in Rome).

The entire experience seemed to last maybe thirty minutes (it may have been longer, but I guess I expected more). Honestly, the best parts about any catacomb, for me, are the inscriptions, paintings/mosaics/frescoes, and the semiotics contained therein. Unfortunately, the tour didn’t focus nearly enough on these aspects of the catacombs for me. I get why we need a tour guide; they can’t trust just any tourist with ancient artifacts, but I wish we were given more time to explore a bit. Though given the layout of all of the catacombs we’ve seen thus far, I’d be concerned about getting lost (so, I guess that’s another reason for the guide). I know! They could just provide us with a ball of string to use to find our way out again, like Theseus in the Labyrinth. That would likely result in misfortune however, as many people are dumb.

Along with several of my peers and our professors, I opted to visit the Papal Archbasilica of St. John Lateran, as it was on the way back to our dorms. This has got to be the largest single structure (at least the façade gives it that feel) I’ve seen yet. It is gigantic. I had to crane my neck to make out the statues lining the top of it (although backing up several hundred feet would have worked too). Needless to say, I was awestruck. We entered, and I immediately noticed a panel above me and to my left. Or, rather, I should say that I immediately noticed the yawning, tooth-encrusted maw of some mythical beast carved into the rock (above me and to my left). I was entranced. Although I’m still unsure about the scene depicted in the panel, I enthusiastically snapped pictures of it, intent on capturing the beast for later examination.

The next spectacle vying for my attention was a giant statue of St. Bartholomew, or so it was labeled (I certainly wouldn’t have been able to identify him without asking someone or consulting the internet). The first thing that stood out about him (as opposed to the other eleven statues of the apostles) was the human skin he was holding. That’s right. Human skin. Apparently, as one tradition goes, his martyrdom involved his getting skinned alive (though I’m sure he began the skinning process while breathing, I very much doubt that he lasted very long into it). So he’s holding his own skin. Nifty. I actually was reminded of a similar figure in the Sistine Chapel, who was also emulating Buffalo Bill in carrying around a skin suit. Turns out it’s the same guy (I looked it up. Thanks internet!). There were a ton of other things in St. John Lateran that I thought were cool, but… I mean, come on! How do you top the skin-suit guy?

Moving on… Our next short side-trip was to the site of the Diocletian Baths, which is now just several buildings and a piazza with a really large fountain in the middle (though some of the original structure was used in these buildings). The frigidarium of the baths, or the cold-water section, is now the location of Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri, a basilica incorporating the façade of the frigidarium, and our next stop.

The door we entered the church through was particularly striking. I later looked it up, and discovered that it was designed by Igor Mitoraj, and installed in 2006. Inside of Santa Maria etcetera, we found a meridian line, or a large linear sundial. Pope Clement XI commissioned Francesco Bianchini to design it for a few reasons. He wanted to test the accuracy of the Gregorian calendar, as well as use it to predict Easter with greater accuracy. He also wanted Rome to have its own meridian line, as Bologna had gotten one recently and wouldn’t shut up about it. He’d show those obnoxious Bolognese… Anyway, the line works by using the sun’s position in the sky to tell time and all kinds of other neat stuff (if you’re interested, Wikipedia’s article on the church has the details).