When the ceremony was held, I felt a panic and a premonition of the future. I couldn't stand it. Finally, the body was put into the coffin and nailed. Then the undertaker put the coffin on the hearse and set off. I only walked with him for a block. When he got there, the driver suddenly drove the car away, and the old man ran with the hearse-crying loudly, but the running action always made the crying tremble, and. On and off. Later, his hat fell off and the poor old man didn't stop to pick it up. Although the rain hit his head and the wind blew again, the rain and snow kept stinging and hitting his face. He ran from one side of the hearse to the other, as if he didn't understand this cruel thing-the sides of his old coat were blown like wings by the wind. Every pocket of his clothes is bulging with books, with a big book under his arm and tightly held to his chest. Passers-by took off their hats and crossed their chests when the funeral procession passed by. Some passers-by stood there and stared at the poor old man in surprise. The book slipped out of his pocket from time to time and fell into the mud. Therefore, someone stopped him and told him to pay attention to his book. He stopped to pick it up, or ran to follow the hearse. At a corner of the street, an old woman in rags followed him closely until the hearse turned the corner and I finally disappeared. ([Russia] Dostoevsky: The Poor >; & gt page 64-65)
Carla's wife can't leave her husband alone in the grave. Besides, this unfortunate woman doesn't want to live alone herself. This is a custom and an obligation. This kind of martyrdom is common in the history of New Zealand. Clara's wife appeared. She is still very young. Her hair hung over her shoulders, and she howled and choked, crying loudly. While crying, she complained, blurring the sound of the lake, lingering whining and intermittent sentences praising the morality of the dead. When she was extremely sad, she lay at the foot of the mound and rolled her head on the ground. At this time, the bone-gnawing demon came to her. Suddenly, the poor victim tried to stand up again, but the chief danced "Rem"-a terrible sledgehammer-and immediately knocked the ground down. She can't breathe. ([France] Verne: Captain Grant's Children, p. 664)
He glanced at the crowd standing around the grave. They are all policemen, all dressed in casual clothes, the same raincoats, the same straight black hats, and holding umbrellas like swords. These strange vigils blew them from nowhere, and their loyalty seemed unreal. Behind them, the city government band lined up in an echelon, dressed in black and red uniforms, and was urgently called. They all desperately protected the golden instruments under their coats. They just surrounded the coffin, which was lying flat over there, a wooden box, without wreaths and flowers, but it was the only warmth, buried in endless raindrops, which splashed on the ground monotonously, consistently and endlessly. The priest has finished reading it. Nobody noticed. There is only rain here, and people only hear the sound of rain. The priest coughed a few times first, and then coughed a few times. So the bass horn, trombone, French horn, cornet and bass flute played together, arrogant and majestic, and the musical instrument shone golden in the rain curtain, but it also sank, dissipated and stopped. Everything retreated under umbrellas and raincoats. It's been raining. The shoes sank into the mud, and the rain merged into a river and flowed into the empty grave. ([Swiss] da Lematte: The Judge and His Executioner, p. 45)
Everything is ready for the funeral. The elders put the hearse beside the cremated woodpile. Valeria went up and closed the eyelids of the deceased. According to the custom at that time, she stuffed a copper coin into the mouth of the deceased and asked him to pay Xinglong for the boat crossing the rushing Akron River. Then, the widow kissed the dead man's lips and said loudly according to the custom, "Goodbye! We will follow you in the order arranged by God. " Musicians began to play funeral music, and the devotees slaughtered many animals designated as sacrifices in the music, mixed their blood with milk, honey and wine, and then sprinkled them around the cremation pyre. After all this, undertaker began to pour sesame oil on the woodpile, sprinkle all kinds of spices, and pile countless laurels and garlands. The wreath is multipolar, not only covering the whole woodpile, but also stacked thickly around it. Thunderous applause resounded through Mars Square, responding to the young triumphalist and the marshal who conquered Africa's respect for the dead. A flame appeared and disappeared, and then spread rapidly. Finally, the whole woodpile gave off countless winding flames and was shrouded in clouds of fragrant smoke. ([Italy] Giovanni Orly's Spartacus, p. 246)
Tagore Das Mukherjee's wife died after seven days of high fever. Old Mr Mukherjee made a fortune in the grain business. His four sons, three daughters, grandson, son-in-law, relatives and friends, and servants all arrived, as if it were a big festival. People from the village also flocked to visit this grand and decent funeral. The daughters cried and put a thick layer of rouge on their mother's feet and feet, and put a cinnabar in the middle of her hair. Daughters-in-law put sandalwood cream on her mother-in-law's forehead, wrapped precious sari, adjusted her clothes, pulled her shawl low and gave her mother-in-law a final touch. Colorful flowers, green leaves, rich sandalwood, garlands of various colors, and a' noise' make people unable to smell sadness-it seems that a rich housewife who has been away for 50 years has set off for her husband's family again as a bride. Mr. Mukherjee calmly said his last farewell to his wife, secretly wiped away two tears and began to comfort his crying daughter and daughter-in-law. "That's great! Julie! " The muffled thunder-like praise shocked the clear sky, and the whole village set off with the funeral procession ... The crematorium was on the beach by the river outside the village. Wood, sandalwood chips, ghee, honey, rosin and dill resin, all of which are needed to burn the body there, are ready. ..... When the body was burned on a huge and gorgeous woodpile ... Everyone shouted the holy name of "Great Interests" in unison, and the son took the torch purified by the curse of the Brahman priest and lit the burial fire ... It is really difficult for me to talk about the fire in the son's hand. Sister-in-law J's husband, son, daughter, grandson, relatives and friends, servants-everything in the world. ([Indian] chatterjee: Opaji's Paradise, Collection of Foreign Short Stories, pp. 462-463)