Last week one of the neighbours died suddenly of an embolism. I hadn't spoken to him, just waved bonjour. Anglo-neighbour had said he was grumpy and didn't talk, though I think he was friendly enough with those he knew. La Concierge came to tell me the news, and that the interment would be the day after. She asked if it's true that in England the funeral is held a long time after the death - it is true, of course, but at the moment even more than usual, as there is a three week wait for cremations in some towns. She said it wasn't necessary to attend, but I could (I checked because in some places strangers wouldn't be welcome, and in some other places, such as Orkney, women don't go to burials).
Arriving at the church and seeing so many strangers, I felt very out-of-place but determined to take some part in such an important event in village life. I got inside with some help from Madame who lives at the corner of the road (in the next hamlet, all of two houses) and found a place at the side and out of the way, where I could admire the model of a fishing smack hung from the ceiling. It was still a few minutes early, so I watched the funeral director and his minions setting up. They wore a uniform of grey suits. I'd wondered about correct dress, but as most of my clothes are black it wasn't a big worry; clearly ordinary clothes are the custom. There was someone who looked in charge of things, wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie. Now that was a surprise. He's the priest.
Like most old churches, this one is beautiful. The local stone is always lovely, in here it has been shaped into blocks to build an.interior of vaults and arches; old and calm, at least for most of its length: up at the front, all changes. There are of course brightly painted plaster saints and a madonna, 3/4 life-size, and a set of 1930s-style Stations of the Cross, but it's the area around the altar that holds the attention. Real red-brown marble fake pillars flank a tryptych of bright paintings, which I couldn't see clearly partly because I was at the back of the church, and partly because of the lights: a double row of light-bulbs framing the the arches of the paintings, which looked like a star's dressing-mirror until the recording of organ music started up and brought a vivid image of the whole thing beginning to turn like a merry-go-round.
The church was almost full. The local population is about 750, and most of them must have been there, apart from the 50 or so Anglos who live here full-time. I think I was the only one.
During the recorded organ music, the coffin was carried in. Strange how small coffins look compared to the size of the living person. The priest and a group of people up at the front who were holding pieces of paper produced something like a psalm; we had a couple of stand-up prayers and then the main part of the event - a long dissertation. My mind wandered a bit, I have to confess, but I caught some of the descriptions of his life and mentions of his family. Occasionally there was another prayer or psalm. The priest has a reasonable tenor and was near a microphone. I don't know if the other people were choir or family: they didn't seem sure of what they were doing.
After about an hour, people stood up and began to process to the front. I couldn't quite see what they were doing, but it seemed that each one, as they moved to the foot of the coffin, shook a stick or whisk over the coffin so I guess they were sprinkling water on it. Then there was a chinking noise as coins were dropped into something (presumably not the coffin). I decided against trying to get Chariot up the aisle in two rows of people, so I missed this part of the ceremony. Then there were more words and finally, after almost two hours, everyone went out either to follow the coffin to the cemetery next to the church or to go back to work. I waited for the church to empty, quietly singing along with the recordings of the Gounod Ave Maria (very florid tenor) and the Mozart Ave Verum, and then went home, greeting La Concierge's husband and being introduced to his cousin on the way.
It seems to have been the right thing to do.
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