By Christopher Zoukis Image courtesy npr.org
Walking over to section 68 of Pere Lachaise, a subtle change in ambience is noticeable, that is, if one has not sacrificed that receptivity assigned to the more vulgar senses. An association or atmosphere clings to the section: unseen ghosts, dissipated sounds, a suffused glory which doesn’t fade. Probably due to two of the sections’ permanent residents, both of who are composers. Their music pervades the area, because this is where their souls were laid to rest. And music, of course, being God’s mathematics, is a soulish exhalation.
And I suspect that angels, who are drawn to cemeteries, especially those like Pere Lachaise, Gothic with soot and stupendous statues, come and sing to the dead. Whole choirs of angelic beings, like twinkling lights, singing Mozart’s Mass in C Minor. They come because angels do not die. Fascinated by the novelty of death, they study it, croon over it, regale it.
This fascination with death explains why, in particular, the angels visit section 68, specifically. Because of the fiery death scenes in Carmen, and the man who wrote it.