/https://tf-cmsv2-smithsonianmag-media.s3.amazonaws.com/filer_public/38/d8/38d8e605-c0e6-47e9-8fa1-7b8e9ad5f0db/tif-183.jpg "Decorated With 4,000 Skeletons, This Roman Church Will Have You Pondering Your Own Mortality")
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Death is staring at me. He has no eyes, just hollow eye sockets, but I know he can see me. With no more than ten feet between us, Death stands immobile, garbed in a dirty, dusty cloak with a hood. Beneath the hood, I can make out a skull, grinning.
It’s early December, and on this crisp morning in Rome I’m walking on Via Veneto, one of the poshest streets in the city. Back in the 1950s and ’60s, this was the nerve center of la dolce vita, which Italian filmmaker Federico Fellini brought to the screen in his iconic masterpiece of the same name. But I’m not here to get a taste of the sweet life. If this were a film, the title would be La Dolce Morte. The sweet death.
At 27 Via Veneto sits the Chiesa di Santa Maria Immacolata, or the Church of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception. Rome is home to more churches than New York City has Starbucks, but this isn’t just any church. It’s a historic church of the Capuchins, a Catholic order established in the 16th century. Its friars are devout in their dedication to living the Gospel. They dress solely in brown tunics and take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
Beneath the church lies a crypt where almost 4,000 friars have been laid to rest. They’re not neatly buried under tombstones. Instead, their skeletons adorn the walls and ceilings, like 3D paintings. Even the ornate chandeliers are made out of bones. According to Esmeralda Shahinas, the museum’s head of operations, entry fees to the museum and crypt help fund the Capuchins’ different missions around the world. She explains that “a great part of the earnings goes to them and also to maintain the artworks in the church.”