Almost a month in Paris. Goodness how time flies!
I have discovered to my chagrin, whilst doing some study this evening, that I am now getting used to the French AZERTY keyboard (case in point – I just nearly typed “keyboqrd”). You also need to press “shift” or “Caps Lock” if you want numbers and some punctuation, like a full stop. The exclamation mark doesn’t need that, and it is located on entirely the wrong end of the keyboard to a British one. There also is no number pad, and “Alt Gr + <vowel>” doesn’t produce said vowel with an acute accent. Thus I can’t type in Spanish on a French keyboard, which ironically I could on a British one.
Also, can we congratulate me for the fact that today may just be the first day off here where I have eaten all three meals, exercised, not spent the entire morning in pjs, AND, which is more, done some uni work. I also did some housework. I am very pleased with myself. I am getting out of the slump!
So, today is La Toussaint, which is French All Saints Day. The spooky season comprises of Hallowe’en (31st October), All Saints Day (1 November), and finally All Souls Day (2nd November). These very Christian sounding holidays do, in fact, have their roots in Celtic paganism. It was a festival called Samhain, which marked the end of the harvest and the start of winter. Dressing up (guising) is a very old practice, as is trick-or-treating (souling). In the pagan festival, as in the Christian one, it was a time to remember the dead. The French still go to cemeteries to lay flowers (notably chrysanthemums) on Toussaint every year. Père Lachaise is supposed to look amazing. Alas, I didn’t go, say I, sounding like a goth tourist. My walk today was to the local cemetery, though, with the thought that, if I don’t see this now, I don’t know when I will.
So I set off to Coeuilly Cemetery, as one does, late in the afternoon, the air crisp, silent, and smoky, and reminiscent in its qualities to that of the Oxford air on a frosty day. It was eerily beautiful.
My first sight of the cemetery were the fresh flowers over the walls. My second sight was a florist’s stall outside the gates. I went through the gates, hoping neither the quick nor the dead would reproach me for trespassing on a matter of cultural interest.
Before I continue, I will give a trigger warning to readers to say that I am, like the poet/emo/person-with-gothic-tendencies that I am, going to talk about death in the next two paragraphs.
The cemetery was sad, aesthetically. It was very organised. It comprised of rows and rows of graves, all different, all marble or granite, all modern, stacked together like books on a shelf, or plates in a dishwasher. Even in death we must be as efficient as sardines. There is no dignity when the fragility of existence becomes exposed. There is no peace, no freedom-from-worry, in a higgledy-piggledy corner as one would please. There is anxious, concerted effort, and lying oh-so-straight in ones coffin until Judgement Day, if it ever come. There was a sign to the back of the cemetery, “Crematorium”. There is no peace in death here.
But, for my analysis, which is strictly my own point of view (when I die, bury me in a punt by the the Thames riverbank, beneath a willow), and maybe influenced by listening to too much Hozier today, I sensed that the souls here were at peace (or had made their peace with the place) and I could see that their relatives were taking good care of the tombs. Where it wasn’t stone, it was blooms and verdure. There were a few visitors. I turned around to go back, and saw there were baskets with shovels and miniature brooms next to the gatehouse. I quietly thanked the space for having me, and left.
For a few resources on the history of All Hallowmass, and other festivals that celebrate the dead, here are some articles I liked:
Samhain : quelle est donc cette fête celte à l’origine d’Halloween ?
The History of Halloween: Exploring the Age-Old Origins of the Enchanting Holiday
L’étrange histoire du chrysanthème, fleur d’or des cimetières
Saturday Bakes & Cakes: All Soul’s Day and a Traditional Soul-Cakes Recipe
Festivals of the Dead Around the World
And beyond this, guys, I am going to tell you that the day went really well. Quietly, yes, but actually, productively well.
I will leave you with a music recommendation:
Check out Alana Henderson. I linked her duet with Hozier for In A Week earlier in this post. She is a fantastic songwriter – beautifully rich in her imagery and use of references. Rhetorically stunning. Her style is very eclectic, and I mean that genuinely – we have jazz mixed with classical cello mixed with folk mixed with… A million facets putting the Orloff and Tiffany Diamonds combined to shame. And, for her voice, if someone were to tell me she were an angel, I would not be in the least bit surprised. Were the world a church, her song would still echo past any other, fly to the door, and rise to the sky.
At Least Afloat 