CHAPTER XII
WHEN THE END COMES
Though life is held very cheaply in Corsica, mourning and burials are attended with a great deal of ceremony. It is a fairly general rule throughout the world that, as a race becomes more and more civilized, the ceremonies connected with death and burial become simpler and simpler. In many respects Corsica is not a civilized country, and its inhabitants mourn for their dead much after the fashion that Jacob mourned for the death of Joseph, or David for the deaths of Saul and Jonathan.
When it is thought that a man is about to die, a candle is lit, and the sign of the cross is made with it over the body. Then the relatives wait in solemn silence until life has passed away. But at the very moment when the last breath has been drawn the women come close to the bedside, burst into sobs, and utter loud cries of sorrow. The men remain perfectly still and quiet, and it would be difficult to tell from any change in their manner that they are at all affected by their loss. Sometimes the women lose all control of themselves, roll upon the floor, and even beat and bruise their own bodies.
While the corpse is still warm the eyes are closed, and a handkerchief is passed under the chin and tied above the head to close the mouth. It is dressed in its best clothes and laid upon a funeral couch.
In former times the funeral couch was an ordinary table, because in the poor houses of the village there was never any unnecessary furniture. Nowadays the body is placed, when possible, upon a couch or sofa in one of the living-rooms of the house.
If a person dies in the evening, after sunset, the noise of the wailing soon ceases. During the night prayers are said around the body. Only the women enter the chamber; the men remain silent and serious in a neighbouring room. Towards midnight, or about one o’clock in the morning, a light meal is served which varies in different districts. At Ajaccio it consists of anchovies in vinegar, bread, wine, cheese, and a cup of coffee. In certain villages it consists of cakes of a kind of sweet cheese called broccia, which is made from the milk of goats.
As soon as the dawn comes, loud cries are heard, and dirges are chanted without ceasing until the body is taken away. These funeral songs are called voceri or ballata. They are composed on the spot by women members of the family who possess the gift. If there is no relative of the dead who is able to do this, a friend or neighbour is asked to undertake the duty. In the songs questions are addressed to the dead man just as though he were alive; all the chief incidents in his life are recounted; his features and his virtues are described; and if he has been murdered the relatives are incited to take vengeance.
The appearance of the singer is mournful in the extreme. Her eyes are red with tears, and her face is convulsed with grief. She tears her hair violently, stoops down over the body, kisses it, calls it by name, and sways from side to side, all the time shrieking at the top of her voice. Other mourners arrive, all in black. On the threshold of the chamber they stop, raise their hands towards the heavens, and cry three times with all their might the name of the dead. Then they go forward, bathed in tears. When they reach the bed, they stoop to kiss the body and the relatives, and do their best in broken tones to mutter words of sympathy and consolation. They take their places in the circle of figures upon the floor, and the penetrating shrieks and cries are heard once more. All this time the voceratrice is chanting the praises of the dead. When she is exhausted, she sinks upon a chair, and calls one of the mourners by name to take her place and continue the lamentations. So it goes on for hours, one after the other chanting the songs of misery and woe.
People passing by the house hear, but give little heed to all this clamour. They are used to it. Barry says: “One fine day when I was strolling about, and nearing a place where the washerwomen wash, I heard a succession of piercing shrieks, and, turning my steps in the direction of the sounds, perceived the clothes and figure of a female rolling about in the dust of the road. The said female, who was respectably dressed, and who seemed to be a girl of about sixteen or seventeen, would from time to time rise from the ground, walk a few steps in the direction of the town, and then again throw herself down, casting handfuls of dirt over her head, tearing out her hair, which was perfectly dishevelled, and frantically screaming all the while, though none of the washerwomen took the least notice, ‘My sister is dead! My sister is dead!’”
It can easily be imagined that when a man has been assassinated the wailing and the chanting are more violent than usual. In 1896 a celebrated bandit was killed. In the night, his wife, his sister, and his cousins went to the village where his body was publicly exposed. They howled like tigresses in the silence of the night, and their cries were so piercing and so full of sorrow that all the people of the town were awakened in great fright, and shivered with terror.
On the morning of the funeral, when the bearers come to take the body away, the noise is terrible; the women huddle together at the windows, tear their hair, scratch their faces, and hurl violent adieus after the hearse. The funeral is arranged to take place at an hour when as many people as possible can see it, and, for the same reason, the longest way to the cemetery is chosen. In a big town the bells will play a merry tune; a band will deafen the spectators with its not too solemn music; and a long procession of choir-boys and clergymen in white, and of bands of men with white cowls and scarlet tippets, walks rather joyfully behind the bier. The procession does not always continue as far as the cemetery. When the spectators along the road-side thin out, the procession breaks up, and its members come back to feast. Even the clergy return with hurried footsteps, as if anxious not to miss any of the good things that are provided on these occasions. There is little solemnity and sometimes little decency about the whole of the proceedings. Members of the procession will smoke cigars both going and coming, and there is always a bit of a scramble for a ride home again in the vacant hearse.
On the return from the cemetery, a funeral banquet is served, which often causes the expenditure of a large sum of money, for everyone who attends the funeral expects to share in the feast. It is a matter of family pride that the feast shall be as grand as possible, and poor people will kill their last few cows and sheep in order that they shall not be accused of being mean and stingy at such a time. Rich men will not only provide a feast, but give presents as well. At Ajaccio the custom of the funeral banquet has almost disappeared, but gourds of wine, biscuits and cigars, are placed in the hearse and are carried to the cemetery, where they are consumed and enjoyed by the poor.
It is considered a matter of great importance that one should be buried in the proper clothes, and when a man is supposed to be in danger, the family at once begin to make his shroud, and even carry on their work in the room where the sick person lies.
Black is worn as a sign of mourning, as in other European countries. As murders are so common, it can safely be said that in almost any town or village in Corsica you can see more people in black than in any other town or village of the same size in Europe. The period of mourning for a near relative is, amongst the women, from four to five years. After a second bereavement they never wear coloured clothes again. Even the children are oftener dressed in black than in any other colour, so that to a land which Nature has decked with every beautiful tint and hue, man has added nothing but a sombre and distressing black.