STRANGE TOMBS

Hokitika Guardian, 14 October 1932, Page 8

STRANGE TOMBS

MONUMENT OVER/ GRAVES

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In walking through the Carnpo Santo of Genoa I have always wondered (writes) E. V. Lucas in the “Sunday Times”) to what extent the pompous and florid mansions of the dead, for which the cemetery is famous, were the work of those who occupy them. Were there family conclaves at the bedside., of the , dying man—such as one of the most elaborate groups .suggests—where the details of the last resting-place were under consideration.;' or while still in the vigour of life, did the deceased send for architect end sculptor and discuSß designs with them; or was it all an affair of the sorrowing survivors? 1 Remembering Browning’s Bishop and Michael Angelo’s Pope Julia.., who were both Italians, we may be sure, that the living do occasional I j take a hand in their posthumous cm kbration and I can conceive that when all hope has gone and philosophical surrender (if ever) sets in, some a'lev i. ation from the dread fact might result from consultation as to the form one’s memorial should take, the artist to be employed, and even the probable cost just as a frequent change of codicils is said to have lightened the last hemrs cf many a dying capitalist, or for that matter, pauper; except that the pauper would not have the additional be guilement of harassing a legal ndvi.-v ENGLISH EXAMPLES. Although the pretentious or magnificent tomb is more to the taste of the Latins than to the English as one can see not only at Genoa but at Pere La Chaise, there are not a 4 ew examples of splendid or eccentric mortuary work in England. Everyone must remember one or two, such as the imposing vaults in classical styles that arej to be found in the churchyards of villages which enjoy the patronage of villages which ilv. There also comes to mind the tomb of the first Lord and Lady Esher, at Esher, where the., recum v-nt figures of the old jurist and' his wife were carved! and in position for some years before the /time came for their originals to be placed for ever beneath them; and there is the pyramidal tomb of John Fuller of Rose Hill in Sussex,, which you may see in Brightling churchyard, where, according to legend, the body of the arrogant squire was buried seated ip. a favourite armchair. This, an undistinguished version of Canova’a beautiful pyramid in tne church of the Frari in Venice, was, I am sure, made to Fuller’s own specification. 1 ... “THE NONPAREIL.”

"'Aiia' 1 then’in' Highgate' Cemetery; London, which I used to visit very often when, many years ago, I lived on the top of Dick Whittington’s hill, but without the solace or encouragement'of a cat, there is the grave of ‘‘The Nonpareil.” This imposing memorial must have been undreamed of by the straightforward uncomplicated cricketer who lies beneath it, the first of the Lillywhites: Frederck Wiliam, 1792-1854, better known as William: “One who did his duty,” as part of the lengthy inscription states, “in that state of life in which it had pleased God to call him” : who taught, “both by piecept and example a sport in which the blessings of youthful strength and spirits may be most innocently enjoyed, to the exercise r* the mind, the disciplne of the temper, and the general improvement of the man.” Little can the first- great proficient of round arm, the simple Sussex professional who said: “Me bowling, Pilch batting, and Box keeping wicket; that’s cricket”—little can he have foreseen this marmoreal testimony to his long, service. SIR. RICHARD BURTON.

And I am doubtful if tliati great adventurer, traveller, explorer, linguist, soldier and scholar, who lies within the most unusual mausoleum that I have ever seen in Engand—the Arab tent of marble in the Roman Catholic cemetery at Mortlake —had anf foreknowledge of the strange yet fitting environment which his remains, brought hither from Austria, were to enjoy. I refer to the tomb of Sir Richard Burton, who succeeded in disguising his occidentalism so well that he penetrated to tlie sacred city of Mecca, and who gave us the fullest translate,, of the “Arabian Nights.” Seep from a distance, rising above the ordinary graves, the mausoleum is as much a tent as, any on Salisbury Plain. Only on near apj)roach does one detect the artifice

East and West mingle here as they did in Burton’s life: the tent is Arabian in form: there is a frieze of the crescent and the cross around it, and over the entrance is a crucifix. Two stars surmount it, one serving as a vane. Within is an altar, and side by side are the coffins of Burton and his devoted widow, to whom, I imagine we owe, the tomb, although she, poor lady, was in no position to pay for it. Indeed, the inscription says that it was erected “by hi? loving countrymen.” At the entrance is a marble book open at the page .where Justin Huntly MacCartliy’s sonnet may be read:—

“Fareweir, dear friend, dead hero! The great life Is ended, the great perils, the great joys, - And he to whom adventures were as toys, \Vlio seemed to hear a charm ’gainst snear or .knife, , r Or bullet, now lies silent from all > 'strife...,”

FEVERISH CAREER, Let us hope that after life’s fitful fever .Eiurton sleeps well, for seldom can there have been more fitfulness, more fever, in a ny career, but noticeably in the career of one who was intended for the Church. That fate Burton evaded, when at Oxford, by deliberately performing .acts wind) .would lead to liis rustication, and once his escape was accomplished, he joined the Army, where his heart had always been. Perhaps the greatest contrast to his- career is not that of the parson, for parsonk- have not seldom been militant, but of that other son of a university, his contemporary, to whom also we are indebted for unlocking to us an Oriental masterpiece; Edward Fitz-Gerald, who shrank from every form of interference.

The two men had, however, one thin» in common: they each wrote a mvstical poem marked by wistfulnes and inquiry ; and I remember Resketh- ■ Prichard, the traveller, cricketer, and novelist, one telling me that- he though Burton’s “Kasidah” a finer achievement than the Suffolk recluse s version of Omar Khayyam. •