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Marville, a Cold War Baby Blues: Part Three

by Patrick Bernauw on 07/08/10 at 12:24 pm

"High on a hill, dominating the magnificent village of Marville, you’ll find Saint Hilaire’s Cemetery," the old lady said. "There was a church built in the 12th century on the site of this old Roman temple, dedicated to Mars, the Radiating God of Nuclear Wars. And it was he who gave me this Cold War Baby Blues."

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There was a parish church built high on the hill that was dominating Magnificent Marville. Unique sculptures in both Gothic and Renaissance style still reveal the rich history of the area. And then the Marvillians decided it was a hell of a long walk to the cemetery, and they constructed a new church within their midst.

“But the graveyard remained in use,” the Lady of the Cemetery said. “You will find here headstones dating from the 15th to the 18th century. This cozy little place of peace and contemplation was declared a National Historic Site in 1931, the year that I was born.”

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“On a cold, cold stone you can find a 16th century Christ here, bound for glory – but he didn’t give me this blues that will never end.”

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Some 15th century stones are showing eleven apostles. Judas is missing.

“They are in front of a 14th century Pieta, dedicated to all suffering lepers. In medieval times there was a colony nearby, at the entrance of my cemetery you’ll still find a crucifix called Christ of the Lepers.”

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I did hear the Lady of the Cemetery pray: “Christ of the Lepers, pray for me.” – I truly did.

I did hear her pray: “Christ of the Lepers, pray for me… ‘cause I have this never ending Cold War Baby Blues.”

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The problem with Saint Hilaire was, that due to its position high on the hill above Magnificent Marville, the graveyard could not be expanded. Now in the old days it was the custom to gather the bones of the deceased into an ossuary. So in 1890 the Keeper of the Cemetery – Constant Motsch was his name – decided that the easiest way to create more space was to recover the bones from the older graves without a perpetual concession.

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The Lady of the Cemetery told me how one day he said to her that he gathered up the skeletons.

“I gathered them all up,” he said. “But I only kept the skulls and the longer bones.”

And Constant Motsch told the Lady of the Cemetery how he organized them. How he categorized them.

“Because I didn’t want to mix the remains of lords and notables with commoners,” he said, “I placed their skulls in boxes marked with the details of the owner. They still serve as a reminder how Death treats us all equal, the rich and the poor… you see?”

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Nearly 30 skulls of men and women who all died between 1780 and 1860 are now in boxes looking at us, like the faces on a clock, telling us that they were like us, showing us that we all will become like them.

“But they don’t give me this Cold War Baby Blues,” the Lady of the Cemetery said. “They don’t do this to me. They forty-one Canadians that are buried at Saint Hilaire, they do. The 26 of them who are newborn babies and the 12 of them who lived from a few months to a few years, they do…”