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Updated: June 28, 2025
I am not the first who has dared to approach you in the Shades; for just after your own death the author of 'Les Dialogues des Morts' gave you Paracelsus as a companion, and the author of 'Le Jugement de Pluton' made the 'mighty warder' decide that 'Moliere should not talk philosophy. These writers, like most of us, feel that, after all, the comedies of the Contemplateur, of the translator of Lucretius, are a philosophy of life in themselves, and that in them we read the lessons of human experience writ small and clear.
In some parts of France, the cure of the parish, on All Souls' day, which is called le jour des morts, says a libera domine for two sols, at every grave in the burying-ground, for the release of the soul whose body is there interred. The artisans of Nice are very lazy, very needy, very aukward, and void of all ingenuity. The price of their labour is very near as high as at London or Paris.
Here sleep many hundred soldiers, "morts sur le champs d'honneur," their képis on the crosses, and their graves adorned by flowers. The Jews and Senegalese had their own separate plots. Sedd-el-Bahr appeared to be but a collection of outer walls and broken pillars, posts and fountains, some of archaic design.
They grew and grew, like Jack's beanstalk prodigiously. I can't think of any other word to express it. They were eight feet high and full of flowers, which we cut for the Jour des Morts. I know you won't believe that, but it is true.
Mais l'homme, qui gatoit tout, en avoit etrangement abuse, puisqu'elle le portoit a sacrificer aux morts. On alloit meme jusqu'a cet exces, de leur sacrifier des hommes vivans; ou tuoit leurs esclaves, et meme leurs femmes, pour les aller servir dans l'autre monde.
Now these Rufflers, the outcasts of serving-men, when begging or craving fails them, they pick and pilfer from other inferior beggars that they meet by the way, as rogues, palliards, morts, and doxes. Yea, if they meet with a woman alone riding to the market, either old man or boy, that he kneweth well will not resist, such they fetch and spoil.
I should be so sorry if it rained to-morrow, just as all the fresh flowers have been put on the graves. November 2nd. "Jour des Morts." We had a beautiful day yesterday and a nice service in our little church. Our "pain bénit" was a thing of beauty and quite distracted the school children.
We reached Lake Puckaway late in the evening of our second day from Butte des Morts. Here lived a white man named Gleason, the same concerning whom, owing to his vast powers of exaggeration, poor Hooe was fond of uttering his little pun, "All is not gold that Gleasons."
'Mon ami, she said, 'let Monseigneur St. Lambert say what he will. He is not God that we should put him above all. There were other saints with other thoughts that came for thee and for me! All this contradiction was over when Agnès and I together took our flowers on the jour des morts to the graves we love. Glimmering among the rest was a new cross which I had not seen before.
In the original, "Font chatoyer les mots." "Et quelquefois les morts," dit Monsieur de Clagny. "Ah! Literally: "And sometimes the dead." "What can he mean?" asked Madame de Clagny, puzzled by this vile pun. "I seem to be walking in the dark," replied the Mayoress. "The jest would be lost in an explanation," remarked Gatien.
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