Museo Delle Anime Dei Defunti (o Purgatorio) by Lucy Hopkins

If I were to think of one European city that embodies, embraces and epitomises ‘life’ more than any other, I would think of Rome.

Roman culture emphasises religion, life-giving food, nightlife, social life, family life and simply worships new life i.e. children and procreation. Romans live for the moment and, without doing it deliberately, risk their lives. They smoke, they drive their motorini as though they were kamikaze pilots and they cross roads in the most gregarious of fashions, but the life they lead is one big celebration. They procrastinate going to bed at night as though sleep is a ‘minor death’, and they wake ‘au crack-sparrow’ (their day-life sustained by the reviving, afternoon siesta which is disguised as an aid to the digestion of nutrients, hence life-enhancing, process). Death is not dwelt upon nor feared; reliance on fresh, healthy food and unsaturated fats such as olive oil and fish relieve them of coronary worries. Even The Pope must stay ‘in office’ until his end - Jean Paul II is the ultimate death-defying symbol.

Unsurprisingly, this Roman love of life and religion surpasses death, and there is a vivid fervour for the ‘life after death’ market. In light of this, it seems appropriate to pay a free visit to Il Museo delle Anime dei Defunti (o Purgatorio) - The Museum of the Souls of the Deceased (or of Purgatory) on the western bank of the Tevere, described as "veramente unica nel suo genere", of a unique nature. ‘Hope’ and ‘afterlife’ is its Dante-esque theme. It centres on the ‘interventions’ of the dead and, although the subject matter is excruciatingly morbid, it urges even the most closed of minds to consider the possibility of ‘una vita ultraterrena’, of another world, usually described as ‘l’aldilà’.

Started over a hundred years ago, the museum’s spectacles are a ‘macabre assortment’, ‘una piccola e bizzarra raccolta’ (a small, bizarre collection); relics and artefacts believed to bear traces or prints left by the spirits to prove their ‘extraterrestrial’ existence to the temporal world. The theory behind it is that these markings’ agenda is to remind the living to go to Mass and pray that their Purgatorial souls soon be admitted to Heaven...hmmm. I am Signorina Sceptical and it will take a lot more than a grubby old fingerprint to make me believe in no ghosts.

We are dealing with Religion, history and theology on a totally different level from what is explored in the more tourist-frequented Vatican Museums not far away. This is more ‘spooky’ than ‘spiritual’, more ‘disconcerting’ than ‘deifying’. Hidden away and rarely found in guidebooks, the place is ‘praticamente ignorato, strafamose’ (basically ignored and far from famous). It is a potentially scary slant on Christianity, almost ‘new age’, which survives through the apprehensive curiosity of a numbered few.

As a spot of background, there was a fire in the beautiful church in September 1897 and the congregation sought refuge in one of the outer chambers, now the ‘museum chamber’. Remarkably, the altar of Our Lady of the Rosary remained untarnished and, apparently, a vision of a soul from Purgatory appeared to the refugees, including Father Jouet, founder of the collection, who subsequently travelled around Europe gathering evidence of similar phenomenon indicative of literal ‘spiritual’ occurrences.

For anyone that has ever been to the Louvre in Paris, or the V&A in London, this is not just a ‘small’ museum. In fact it is about the size of one of the bathrooms found in the museums above and you will probably be the only ‘living being’ there. The exhibition is unadvertised, but directions are simple; head through the peaceful, dusty church and turn right into the anti-chamber. The twinkling Priest/Custodian grins gratefully, insisting that such ‘interesting’ supernatural evidence has done nothing to alter his faith, it has just ‘made him think’.

On the wall is a cabinet of ten artefacts. Some, quite frankly, are ludicrous and surely any true spirit, or any true fraudster for that matter, could have done better; number 3 is a nightcap with a hole in it. I have a hole in my pyjamas, but I do not feel the need to place them in a cabinet and claim that it is a sign that my great-great-grandmother wants me to go to church to pray for her ascent into Heaven more often. Signorina Sceptical speaks out. The hole supposedly represents the wish of Luisa Le Sénèchal to her husband in 1875 that he pray for her.

There are no dead bodies, there is not too much tea-stain and I cannot see a computer graphic achievement in sight. One of my favourites is a prayer book with three ‘fingerprint burns’ on the cover, made by the late Palmira Rastelli from Rimini who died in 1870 and decided to graffiti her brother’s book in order that he pray for her more at Mass. Some of the relics are framed photocopies of the original, such as the burning handprints on a strip of linen of a nun’s apron, said to have been left by a dead choir sister of the same order in Germany, who died of the plague in 1696. Most of the articles are finger burns on various garments and on wooden tables, appointed to various stories, mostly the acts of deceased nuns who, having died for illness, have found their souls waiting in Purgatory in order to be expiated for their lack of patience in accepting God’s will at their time of death.

I cannot say that I am converted but I certainly found the minute exhibit, of Turin-shroud genre, as ‘interesting’ as its guardian. Were it not for the Italian exuberance for anything promoting life in any form I doubt the collection would be tolerated. Go to this rarity, juxtaposed with the glorious, continuous organ recitals in the church, and you will be one of the informed few so to do. It may incite your childhood passion for harmless, chilling ghost stories, and, if it does not, the riverside, sunny, breezy, bars and cafés outside along the Lungotevere Prati are waiting to reward you for your patience.