Making old bones into new saints

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In the 16th century, jewellery and elaborate costumes could turn ancient Roman remains into 'saints'

Heavenly Bodies: Cult Treasures & Spectacular Saints from the Catacombs by Paul Koudounaris

Paul Koudounaris knows his skeletons. His 2011 book The Empire of Death (reviewed in Cassone, December 2011) was an exhaustive survey of bones and ossuaries, demonstrating the huge variety to be found in the public display of human remains. For Heavenly Bodies he has narrowed his focus down from the entire world to a relatively short period in southern Germany and Switzerland.

In 1578 Roman vineyard workers uncovered the entrance to an underground burial site from the period of the Roman Empire. Investigation showed it to contain thousands of bodies and this number increased when other catacombs came to light. As they had been interred rather than cremated, the usual Imperial Roman practice, the occupants were assumed to be Christians. The discovery of these sites aroused curiosity, unsurprisingly given the mix of Renaissance fascination with ancient Rome and Catholic interest in the early church. But what happened next moves the story away from Rome to the north.

Since the early 1500s Catholic doctrine and practice had been under attack from the new Protestant churches, particularly in Germany and Switzerland. During the Thirty Years War (1618–48) there had been widespread destruction of Catholic property, with relics especially targeted. Catholic clergy mourned their loss, because they had been focal points for embattled communities. Now the Vatican hit upon the unusual idea of restocking German churches with relics taken from the newly discovered catacombs. It commissioned agents to search the sites for corpses bearing signs of martyrdom: memorial inscriptions indicating a holy death, vials of dried blood, martyr’s palms. These hand-picked bodies would then be consecrated and sent over the Alps to churches in need of new saints.

What began as a pseudo-scientific exercise in seeking genuine martyrs rapidly turned into a farcical rummage sale as the profits to be had from selling the bodies soon overtook any serious attempts at identification. Ignoring the fact that some Jews and pagans had also opted for burial all the usable bones possible were removed from the catacombs and prepared for sainthood. The number of bodies baptized ‘St Anonymous’ points to the slide in standards of proof. This enabled some individuals in the Vatican to become very rich. The Swiss Guard were enthusiastic agents, with one Johann Pfyffer being responsible for sending 25 bodies to his homeland.

For the recipients, obtaining their new relic was only half the expense. Before being revealed to the faithful the heilige lieber (the heavenly bodies of the title) had to look the part. They were cleaned, wrapped in fine gauze and arranged in suitable positions, then clad in a dazzling array of costumes and jewellery. In poorer churches these gems were glass; in many others they were real and expensive. Communities of nuns became renowned for their skill in dressing the bones in gold filigree and costly stones; English nuns who had fled to Catholic Europe at the Reformation were recognized as being among the most adroit. Secular goldsmiths also got in on the act, such was the volume of relics requiring decoration. The results were posed on high altars for all to see; Koudounaris’ many excellent photographs show the fantastical get-up in great detail.

Koudounaris estimates that thousands of whole or partial skeletons were sent north between the early 17th and 19th centuries. Over this period even the Vatican came to appreciate that they could not all be authentic martyrs and, while stopping short of denying their status outright, it increased vigilance around the sales. Martyrs or not, visions, weather prophecies and miraculous healing continued to be attributed to the jewelled bones. Smug and confident in their superior taste, Protestant visitors poured scorn on these tales and expressed horror at credulous locals worshipping the gaudy remains. Following the secularization of Prussia’s monasteries after 1803, many relics were hidden away or simply confiscated by local bailiffs looking to get rich. Protestant observers scorned this as well, finding the fervour behind the bones’ removal as ridiculous as the earlier enthusiasm for their acquisition.

Yet many communities were distraught at the loss of their saints, and Koudounaris ends with the touching story of the church in Rottenbuch. On discovering in 1977 that Saints Primus and Felicianus were still intact after being sent to Austria 200 years before, the parishioners were able to raise funds to return the pair to Germany and restore them to the high altar. Most bodies, however, were destroyed. Only a few now remain, some on display, others hidden in parish storerooms, to bear witness to the care once lavished on ancient bones. This is a singular story lovingly told with a wealth of detail. Given the state of some of the relics that Koudounaris considers, his book must be giving them more attention than many have had in two centuries.

Heavenly Bodies: Cult Treasures & Spectacular Saints from the Catacombs by Paul Koudounaris is published by Thames and Hudson 2013. 192 pp. 90 colour and 15 mono illus. ISBN 978-0-500-25195-9