Thursday, June 15, 2006

Tales From the Crypt


I was so brave. I went down into the crypt all by myself, mostly because I was curious as to what it would be like. It is actually pretty scary. They have one section where you can look through the window and actually see a bunch of coffins all covered in dust sort of just lying there (left). What more is there to say about the crypt than that it is just like a cave with dead people in it. On the wall next to the tiny little stair case to get down there is a list of all the Kings of France in order from around 400 AD. It is really interesting to see how many there have been. There are little tiny rooms off the sides of the main room where the coffins of various Kings, mostly with simply their names etched on the sides, or on the floor. The main room has eight large rectangular rocks bearing the nearly illegible names of our Louis and their wives. As you might expect, my picture taking skills in the dark musty crypt were pretty lousy. Here are some pictures of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI's graves. Yes, I know it says Louis XVIII, but Louis XVI is the one above it. I find it a bit ironic that these people, and I'm not simply referring to Marie and Lou, who spent their entire lives enjoying the nicest of things and being upheld as God's gift to the peasant all end up being just a bunch of bones lying in the basement of a church that not many people even know about. I guess in the end everyone is nearly the exact same. It makes a big difference to know that it really isn't like that. Yes, man is dust, and mortal, but we are made up of unique spirits. In this world it is hard to see it like that. Imagine how amazing the resurrection will be when even in death, that individuality will be manifest one again in the flesh. But not only the flesh, a glorified and eternal body. That's a good deal. Hopefully God will let us all eat cake.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

A fun and fitting poem for this entry:

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert ... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
—"Ozymandias," Percy Bysshe Shelley