CHAPTER III.

Everywhere the grave declares its victory--in beautiful Madeira as elsewhere. An old servant, whose business it was to cut up fire-wood and carry it into the house, has performed his last earthly duty and finished life's journey. He dwelt with his mother and sister in a cottage at the extremity of the garden; and I was only apprised of the circumstances of his death by hearing loud cries coming up from the shady walks, and the exclamations: "Alas, my son, my son!" and "Oh, my brother!" repeated over and over in accents of uncontrollable grief.

It is customary, as soon as a death occurs in the family of one of the peasant class, for all the survivors to rush forth into the open air, and, with cries and lamentations, to call on the dead by every endearing epithet and implore of them to return once more. The neighbors being thus made acquainted with what has occurred, gather round the mourners, and try to steal away the bitterness of their grief by reminding them that all living shall share the same fate, and that one by one each shall depart in his turn to make his bed in the silent chamber of the grave. By such simple consolations--untaught nature's promptings--they induce the bereaved ones to re-enter the house and prepare the body for interment.

The heat of the climate renders hasty burial necessary in Madeira, and the authorities are strict in enforcing it. From ten to twelve hours is the longest period allowed by law between death and the grave, and the very poor seldom permit even so much time to elapse; they merely wait to ascertain to a certainty that the hand of death has released the imprisoned {272} soul before they wrap up the body and carry it with hurrying feet to "breathless darkness and the narrow house."

In such instances coffins are rarely used, and when they are, they are hired by the hour. The usual way is to roll the body up tightly in a sere cloth, then place it in a "death hammock" (which resembles an unbleached linen sheet, tied at the ends to an iron pole); and hurry with it to an unhonored grave.

A few days subsequent to the death of the old servant, the remains of a little girl were borne past; the sight was so singular I think it worth describing.

Moving slowly and solemnly along the street were a number of men, habited in deep blue home-made cloth, the two foremost of whom carried a light iron bier, on which lay the body of a little girl, whose brief period of life numbered not more than five summers. A robe of soft, clear, snowy muslin enveloped the motionless form like a cloud; on the tiny feet, crossed in rest at last, were white silk stockings and white shoes; and her little hands, which must so lately have found gleeful employment in scattering the fragments of broken toys, were now meekly folded on her bosom over a bouquet of orange blossoms. A heavy wreath of the same flowers, mingled with a few leaves of the allegro campo, encircled her young brow, which, as may be supposed, wore that lovely, calm expression described by poets as the impress of "heaven's signet-ring."

In almost every one of the varied scenes of life orange blossoms are made use of in Madeira, either as types or emblems. Wreaths of them grace the bride's young head, as being emblematical of the beauty and purity of her character; as typical of a grief which shall be ever fresh, chaplets of them crown the pale brows of the dead. On the anniversary of a birth-day they are presented to the aged as an embodiment of the truth that they shall again renew their youth; while the proud triumphal arch is adorned with their snowy bells, as an assurance that the occasion for which it was erected shall be held in ever-enduring remembrance.

The little child on the rude bier, who looked as fair in her death-sleep as these fairest of flowers, was being carried to the cemetery belonging to the resident Roman Catholics, and known as Laranjeira. There a priest was awaiting its arrival. He was standing by the open grave, and when the body was laid at his feet he read over it in Latin a short burial service, placed some grains of dust on the pulseless bosom, and departed. Being carefully wrapped in a sere doth, it was then placed in a shallow grave (according to custom) and lightly covered with three or four inches of earth.

Laranjeira is situated on the west of the town. Passing up the Augustias Hill the stranger sees a large, handsome gate near the empress's hospital; this is the entrance to the graveyard. Inside is a small flower-garden, tastefully laid out and neatly kept, through which you pass to the broad stone steps leading to the fine gravel walk running quite through the cemetery. Another walk, also of considerable width, leads round it, while several narrower ones, shaded by hedges of geraniums, roses, and lavender, are cut through it in different directions. Inclosing the whole is a high wall, studded with monumental tablets, on some of which praise and grief are charactered in deep, newly-cut letters, while from many others time has either obliterated every trace of writing, or the pains and the heat have washed and bleached them into meaningless, cloudy white slabs. There are but few monuments or even tombstones of any pretension, though many of the latter bear English inscriptions. Rows of cypress trees border the centre walk, and almost every grave in the inclosure is overshadowed by a weeping willow.

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