3.V.9.6. THE GRASS COVERS AND THE RAIN EFFACES
IN the cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, in the vicinity of the
common grave, far from the elegant quarter of that city of
sepulchres, far from all the tombs of fancy which display in
the presence of eternity all the hideous fashions of death, in
a deserted corner, beside an old wall, beneath a great yew
tree over which climbs the wild convolvulus, amid dandelions
and mosses, there lies a stone. That stone is no more
exempt than others from the leprosy of time, of dampness, of
the lichens and from the defilement of the birds. The water
turns it green, the air blackens it. It is not near any path,
and people are not fond of walking in that direction, because
the grass is high and their feet are immediately wet. When
there is a little sunshine, the lizards come thither. All around
there is a quivering of weeds. In the spring, linnets warble
in the trees.
This stone is perfectly plain. In cutting it the only
thought
was the requirements of the tomb, and no other care was
taken than to make the stone long enough and narrow enough
to cover a man.
No name is to be read there.
Only, many years ago, a hand wrote upon it in pencil these
four lines, which have become gradually illegible beneath the
rain and the dust, and which are, to-day, probably effaced:
Il dort. Quoique le sort fut pour lui bien etrange,
Il vivait. Il mourut quand il n'eut plus son ange.
La chose simplement d'elle-meme arriva,
Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le jour s'en va.