Yesterday we, (videtur and I), paid a visit to some of humanity's great minds who are buried in the Pere Lachaise. To Oscar Wilde we gave a great pot of cadaver-purple crysanthemums. The others received, one by one, all of our white chysanthemums... A old lady, who adressed us as "bizarre", asked us why we had the affrontery to dress in this manner in the cemetary on the 1st of November. "We're in mourning...?" I said. "Fumer un cigare au cimitiere, ca ne se fait pas!" she cried. Ah well...
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900?).
Auguste Villiers de l'Isle-Adam (1834-1889).
Marcel Proust (1871-1922). This is the kind of tomb you get when you have the unluckiness to die in the 1920s.