Sacred Ground: The Tombs of Pere Lachaise

The tombs of Pere Lachaise are grandiose. Towering. Severe. Many great men and women are buried here. Some, like the ill fated lovers Heloise and Abelard were originally buried elsewhere but brought here from other burial sites. Others, like rock star and poet Jim Morrison and French writer Collette have simple, modern graves rather than the big stone monuments that fill most of the cemetery. As one meanders through the peaceful green hills, cluttered with tombstones and lost tourists clutching maps as they search for their heroes, one cannot help but wonder what makes a man or woman great. What makes a man or woman worthy of being enshrined with such reverence?

One of the most visited tombs in the cemetery is the resting place of Oscar Wilde. His tomb is encased with glass to protect it from the hundreds of lipstick kisses left by visitors swarming around his burial place by the hour.

Oscar Wilde was a playwright, a novelist, and a poet. He also wrote fairy tales but he was most well known as a high society dandy in the nineteenth century and for his relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas at a time in history when homosexuality was punishable by law. In 1895 he was arrested and tried for “sodomy”. As a result of the arrest he was sent to prison for two years of hard labor. After being released from Prison Wilde was reunited with Douglas for a brief period before he was forced to separate from him under the threat of having his meagre funds withdrawn. Apart from a piece about the brutality of prison and some edits to previous works he stopped writing. He died three years after being released of meningitis complicated by an ear injury he got in prison.

Oscar Wilde was a great man. I admire both his literary accomplishments and his bravery in living his life the way he wanted in a culture of suppression. The wit and integrity of emotion in his writing is phenomenal. His works are unfailingly entertaining while maintaining a tongue in cheek satire on society. Some are full of light hearted tomfoolery like the Importance of being Earnest while others, like The Picture of Dorian Gray, explore the darker side of humanity and the desire to create. He had the ability to say things with such succinct clarity that he is hard not to quote. For me, visiting his tomb was truly like standing on sacred ground.

Still, among the great tombs and towering monuments covered in kisses and flowers and letters, there is another kind of grave scattered throughout Pere Lachaise. These tombstones have been knocked over by trees. They have been overrun with moss. The names once engraved with care into stone have eroded and are now indecipherable or gone completely. What forgotten lives rest here? Why were their graves neglected when so many others are celebrated and remembered? Who loved them? Who did they love?

For the religious a graveyard is sacred ground. A place blessed by priests so that the souls laid to rest there can find their way to heaven. Because of his prison sentence Oscar Wilde was only permitted to be buried in such a space because he was buried amongst unbaptized children. I am not religious but I have always found graveyards to be peaceful spaces. Quiet. Mournful perhaps to those who have lost someone but still. Quiet in a way that is almost sacred. A place of rest.

Visiting Oscar Wilde was a sacred experience for me. I love him because of the words he left behind. Because of the brazen way in which he lived his life regardless of what others thought. I love him because I know his story. Because he told it to us with all its vulnerable unflattering bits. I love him because I see pieces of myself in who he was and remembering him makes me feel stronger.

But why do we celebrate some lives and not others after they are gone? Because some lives are worth more than others? Certainly not. But there are a few lives whom we have been privileged to know about. They have left a piece of themselves for us to explore and learn from. A song or a poem or a play. Knowing these lives gives us insight into ourselves,

When we pay homage to another life we are really paying homage to ourselves. To the piece of ourselves we see in that other life. That piece that they have helped us understand more deeply.

It is almost certain that many if not all of the souls lying beneath the tombstones of Pere Lachaise lived vibrant, beautiful lives regardless of whether or not they have scores of tourists stampeding through the hills to visit them. They almost certainly loved as wildly and deeply as Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde and Collette. The only real difference is that we don’t know their story. We don’t know what pieces of them would teach us to understand ourselves more.

What makes a life great? What makes a death worthy of homage? The greatest gift a soul can leave behind is their story no matter what it entails. The story of another life allows others to know themselves more deeply so that they can find beauty and strength in who they are. So that they can pay homage to themselves.

All lives are worth celebrating. Anywhere you live is sacred ground.

Little slab of stone
Solid like a storm
Do you remember the life you were?
The breath you breathed?
The heart you beat?
Where is the homage to the dance you danced?
The music you sang?
The fingers you touched?
Only in silence is your story enshrined
Only in stillness is your monument held

Little slab of stone
Solid like a storm
Where are the stampeding feet of tourists
Incanting your name?
Did your pulse not quicken with the same fears?
Did your mind not melt with the same love?
Is any life so small that it can erode the name of death?
Is any death so great that it can eclipse what has lived?

Little slab of stone
Solid like a storm
Rest deep
Sleep like a king
Inside the same damp groanings of the earth
Your life is your homage
Your own remembrance is your name

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