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MISTAKING MOLIERE
A Walk at the Père Lachaise Cemetery
by Tara Kolden
The Cimetière du Père Lachaise
is a city within a city, a necropolis teeming with Paris's most
celebrated dead, and with the living visitors who stop there to pay
their respects. A scattering of cellophane around the tomb of Abelard
and Heloise betrays the roses that have been threaded through the iron
fence surrounding the lovers' effigies. On Chopin's grave, one may
encounter a single leaf of blank sheet music held in place by a candle.
And the art deco monument marking Oscar Wilde's resting place is dotted
with the imprint of a hundred pairs of lips, the legacy of countless
adoring fans who have kissed the writer's tomb.
Somewhat less accessible is the sarcophagus
of Molière, France 's famed playwright, who lies interred beside
the writer La Fontaine. Or does he? The two graves
stand—Molière's raised atop small columns, La Fontaine's
on a plinth—within a fenced enclosure that discourages
trespassers. Nevertheless, flowers and other small offerings still find
their way to the two stone sarcophagi, left by well-wishers and
patrons. But Molière himself is not there. Nor is La Fontaine.
The circumstances surrounding
Molière's burial are shrouded by time and ill-kept records, but
most sources agree that he was interred in a churchyard in the parish
of St. Eustache. How the current occupant of Molière's
tomb—whoever he may be—came to be buried at Père
Lachaise is a matter of mistaken identity, as well as shrewd
salesmanship on the part of Nicolas Frochot, founder of Père
Lachaise. After Molière's remains had lain undisturbed for more
than a century, it was decided to move his body from the churchyard to
a section of Paris recently renamed in honor of Molière and La
Fontaine. When records of Molière's precise location proved
impossible to find, two anonymous corpses were exhumed, renamed for the
authors, and dispatched in their place. The fame of the false
Molière and his equally dubious companion reached such a height
that it eventually caught the attention of Frochot, who opened his vast
cemetery in 1804 and was looking for impressive tenants to fill it, the
better to tempt wealthy Parisians into purchasing burial plots. Frochot
acquired both sets of remains in 1817, and since that time they have
stood as a monument—albeit a misleading one—to two of
France 's celebrated writers.
The perfidy of the two stone sarcophagi has
not diminished their popularity with visitors to the cemetery, nor has
it harmed the memory of the men there celebrated. Molière has
entertained many generations with his theatrical wit, and perhaps this,
a final joke, is not entirely unsuited to the character of the comedic
playwright.
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