The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1875-11-06 00:00:00

"LE JOUR DE 3 MORTS."

Writing again on Tuesday, the Correspondent of The
Times, in continuation, remarks :

Yesterday and to-day are occasions on which the
Parisians of all classes pay tribute to the memory of
their departed relatives and friends. To-day is called
".Le Jour des Morts," and a large trade has been done
in mourning wreaths and intmortelles destined to be
placed upon the tombs of Montmartre, Montparnasse,
and Pre-la-Chaise. But of the half a million people
who visit these cemeteries, more than half have no
better impulse than mere curiosity. Nor are these
funeral visits always made in person; footmen are
often despatched in cabs laden with black and yellow
garlands, and these they carefully deposit on the
graves. But still there are real mourners—the father
who misses his child, the son bereft of his parents,
the widow, the brother, the sister, the friend
being their offerings of regret and affection to
the dead who lie in " God's acre." This is,
however much it may b 3 abused, a custom
worthy of all praise. We in England have of late years
in part adopted it, as the floral decorations of many
of our graveyards testify, but we have no Jour des Marts,
no day on which the living testify that they have not
forgotten those with whom they were in communion
on earth. Nor is it to relatives and friends that tribute
is alone paid. • Those whom the nation honoured for
their work while living are honoured still for their
attributes when gone. At Pre-la-Chaise, Musset,
Beranger, and Benjamin Constant have their last
resting-places adorned. So, too, Ledru Rollin, some
of whose funeral wreaths bear the inscription, "Suffrage
Universel." Heloise and Abelard are honoured in a
strange way, each visitor to the tomb religigiously placing
a pebble on the gravestone. At Montmartre the monu-
ments to the unfortunate victims of the Commune,
Clement Thomas and Lecomte, were surrounded by the
crowd, but are still under canvas, being unfinished. Henri
Murger, Madame Emile de Girardin and her little
girl have all friends who miss them. Theophile
Gautier's monument is covered with flowers, and
Ernest Baroche, the hero of St. Bourget, sleeps under-
neath a bed of roses and violets. The shade of
Kardec, the spiritualist, will doubtless thank his
friends in this world for their attention at the next
séance of his disciples. Rachel, the great actress,
is, according to the Jewish custom, covered
with the flowers which she loved so well. Gode-
froy Cavaignac, too, has left many admirers behind
him. At Montparnasse the crowd was less than at
the other cemeteries, but Edgar Quinet's burial
was too recent for his grave not to be remembered.
The four Sergeants of La Rochelle attract many
visitors, principally soldiers. Marius Rude, the
sculptor, the philosopher Jouffroy, and Phres Loriquet
and Ravignan, have all posthumous honours paid
them. There is a pit, covered by a mound, in which
are huddled the bones of some hundreds of victims to
mistaken ideas and to the false teachings of others. It
is surrounded by a few women and children, who
mourn their husbands, fathers, and brothers who
were killed on the barricades when the Versailles
troops entered Paris after the brief reign of the
Commune; and if we cross the Seine and traverse
Paris to the Barrier du Trone we came to another pit,
, to the resting-place of other victimg, to Revolution.
But at Montparnasse lie the breakers of the law, at
Piopus its defenders. Both were exaggerated in their
ideas, and both paid the extreme penalty. Yet
Lafayette and Charles de Mmusat are buried in the
graveyard of Picpus, and they did more for liberty
than the nameless ones who perished in the street

fights of May, 1871. That Lafayette's memory is not
forgotten by Americans is proved by the fact that
nearly all the inuaortelles which deck his tomb to-
day were brought by citizens of the United States.
Even in the vely heart of Paris it is evident that the
day is kept. Oareeiaix has as yet had no monument
raised to his memory; be died only a few weeks back;
but the group of figures which he fashioned for the
facade of the Opera dance to-day upon roses, violets,
and everlastings. And here, in front of the most
striking evidence of the national love for the glitter
and show of things wordly, ohe cannot help wondering
bow a people so light-hearted, and often frivolous can
afford to spare even one day of the year to thinking of
those who have left them for ever.