History of Modern Cremation in Romania 1443842222, 9781443842228

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History of Modern Cremation in Romania

History of Modern Cremation in Romania

By

Marius Rotar

History of Modern Cremation in Romania, by Marius Rotar This book first published 2013 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2013 by Marius Rotar All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-4222-2, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-4222-8

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures............................................................................................ vii List of Tables.............................................................................................. ix Preface ......................................................................................................... x Chapter One................................................................................................. 1 Introduction Cremation: An overview Sources and methods in the present study Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 16 Cremation in Romania before the Nineteenth Century Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 22 Arguments For and Against Cremation in Romania during the Later Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries Political and demographic context Pro-cremation arguments and neutral perspectives Against cremation Chapter Four.............................................................................................. 68 The Inter-war Period: Traditionalists versus Cremationists The inter-war period Political context: Population Cremation: The legislative framework The revival of the idea, its implementation, and the establishment of Cenuúa Crematorium (1921–1928) The reaction of the Orthodox Church The crematorium is constructed The first incineration: 25 January 1928 Cremation statistics between 1928 and 1947 December 1934, the publication of Flacăra Sacră Garabet Ibrăileanu, Constantin Stere, Anton Holban, Ionel Fernic, Eugen Lovinescu, Grigore Trancu-Iaúi … and others

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Table of Contents

The evil politics of cremation in Romania: A precedent Cremation in Romania from the Second World War to 1948 Chapter Five ............................................................................................ 273 The Communist Period: Innovations and Tacit Understandings Political and demographic context Cremation statistics The stance of the Romanian Orthodox Church The nationalisation of Cenuúa Crematorium Romanian Communism and the issue of cremation The Mask of the Red Death: The evil politics of cremation in Romania, December 1989 Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 368 Cremation and Crematoria in Romania after 1989 Statistics and their limitations The establishment of Vitan-Bârzeúti Crematorium Employee strike at Vitan-Bârzeúti, 3–10 May 1997 The closure of Cenuúa Crematorium Cremation as a solution to the urban burial space crisis The National Pantheon project Amurg: The Romanian cremation association Crematoria in the Romanian media since 1989: Jokes … and serious things too The Orthodox Church, post-Communist Romania and cremation The cremation war: Oradea and Cluj-Napoca, 2011–2012 Conclusions ............................................................................................. 413 Findings and Future Directions References ............................................................................................... 420 Index........................................................................................................ 466

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 3-1 Iacob Felix PhD., MD (1832–1905) Figure 3-2 Iacob Felix, Tractat de Hygiena Publica (1870) Figure 3-3 Memorial to Istrati and site of his urn burial (1928), Bellu Cemetery, Bucharest Figure 3-4 Istrati’s PhD. thesis Figure 3-5 Plan of the Milan crematorium Figure 3-6 Debate on cremation: Istrati and Scurtescu Figure 3-7 Athanasie Economu: Cremation, or burning the dead, 1876 Figure 3-8 Radu D. Rosetti (1874–1964) Figure 3-9 Pandele Silva, Cremation and Its Benefits. A Medico-Social Study Figure 3-10 Mina Minovici, Putrefaction in Terms of Forensics and Hygiene, 1899 Figure 4-1 Decision in which the city hall supported the building of the human crematorium in Bucharest (1923) Figure 4-2 Cenuúa Society membership application form Figure 4-3 Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban (1878–1949) Figure 4-4 The location where Cenuúa Crematorium was built Figure 4-5 Cenuúa Crematorium in 1927 Figure 4-6 Cenuúa Crematorium in 1931 Figure 4-7 Cenuúa Crematorium Figure 4-8 Main entrance, Cenuúa Crematorium Figure 4-9 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior Figure 4-10 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior Figure 4-11 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior Figure 4-12 Cenuúa Crematorium: the playlist performed at funeral services in the inter-war period Figure 4-13 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior Figure 4-14 Cenuúa Crematorium, main columbarium Figure 4-15 The article in Viitorul newspaper, announcing the first cremation at Cenuúa Crematorium Figure 4-16 An article in Glasul Monahilor announcing and criticising the first cremation in Romania Figure 4-17 The anti-cremation article signed by Priest Marin C. Ionescu in Glasul Monahilor newspaper Figure 4-18 Mihai Popovici – one of the most important inter-war Romanian cremationists Figure 4-19 Niches with urns of the Jewish families incinerated at Cenuúa Crematorium. The main Columbarium of Cenuúa Crematorium Figure 4-20 Flacăra Sacră – no.1, December 1934

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List of Figures

Figure 4-21 Flacăra Sacră magazine Figure 4-22 Flacăra Sacră magazine Figure 4-23 The urn containing Grigore Trancu-Iaúi’s ashes, deposited at Cenuúa Crematorium Figure 5-1 The Bela Brainer corner, Cenuúa crematorium Figure 5-2 Scânteia article on the funeral of Lothar Rădăceanu Figure 5-3 Mausoleum of the Heroes Who Fought for the Freedom of the People and the Fatherland, for Socialism Figure 5-4 Mausoleum of The Heroes Who Fought for the Freedom of the People and the Fatherland, for Socialism (Hemicycle) Figure 5-5 Bela Brainer corner, Cenuúa crematorium Figure 5-6 Cremated Communist activists, Cenuúa crematorium Figure 5-7 Cremated Communist activists, Cenuúa crematorium Figure 5-8 Cremated Communist activists, Cenuúa crematorium Figure 5-9 Obituary announcing the cremation of a Communist activist, published in Scânteia Figure 5-10 Monument to Dumitru Diaconescu, Communist mayor of Bucharest, Cenuúa crematorium Figure 5-11 The marble hall of Cenuúa crematorium’s main columbarium Figure 6-1 Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium – the chapel Figure 6-2 Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium Figure 6-3 Cenuúa crematorium in a state of decline Figure 6-4 Maieri Central Cemetery, Alba Iulia Figure 6-5 Logo of Amurg, the Romanian Cremation Association Figure 6-6 Niche containing the urn of Zoia Ceauúescu, Vitan Bârzeúti crematorium Figure 6-7 The columbarium at Bellu cemetery, Bucharest

LIST OF TABLES

Table 1-1 Cremation worldwide, and as a proportion of disposals (selected countries) in 2010 Table 3-1 Population distribution in the Kingdom of Romania c. 1900 Table 3-2 Illiteracy levels Table 3-3 Religious population Table 3-4 Majority populations in Transylvania Table 3-5 Majority religions in Transylvania Table 4-2 The evolution of Cenuúa Society members and of cremations in Romania between 1928 and 1937 Table 4-3 The number of cremations of Cenuúa Society members in the inter-war period Table 4-4 Total cremations at Cenuúa Crematorium in 1928, month by month Table 4-5 The number of cremations done at Cenuúa Crematorium between 1928 and 1947 Table 4-6 Cremations by month, year Table 4-7 Percentage of deaths being cremated, internationally Table 4-8 Number of cremations done at the request of Bucharest City Hall Table 4-9 Distribution of cremations for the year 1935 Table 4-10 Distribution according to religion and denominations of those incinerated between 1928 and 1934 Table 4-11 Fees for Cenuúa Society members Table 4-12 Cost per one cremation 1934 Table 4-13 Fees for cremation in the case of non-members of Cenuúa Society Table 4-14 Cost per one social cremation (for the city of Bucharest) Table 4-15 Cost for burial (1934) (the cheapest) Table 4-16 Salaries in Romania (1938) Table 4-17 Financial status of the Cenuúa Society, 1923–1933 Table 4-18 The development of cremation in Europe Table 5-1 Number of cremations between 1948 and 1961 Table 5-2 Number of cremations between 1962 and 1972 Table 5-3 Number of cremations between 1973 and 1989 Table 5-4 Communist obituaries published in Scânteia newspaper Table 5-5 Party member obituaries in România Liberă Table 5-6 List of identified people cremated at Cenuúa crematorium on 20 December 1989 Table 6-1 Number of cremations at Cenuúa crematorium, 1990–2002 (Rotar 2011, 490–493) Table 6-2 Number of cremations at Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium, 1994–2010 (Rotar 2011, 490–493)

PREFACE

Dr Marius Rotar is passionate about the study of death. He is enthusiastic about the value of cremation. He proved his commitment to the study of death with his Moartea in Transilvania in Secolul al XIX-Lea (2006). In 2011 he took up the even more radical task, the history of cremation in Romania, published as Eternitate prin Cenuúă. O istorie a crematoriilor úi incinerărilor umane în România secolelor XIX-XXI (Iaúi, Institutul European). This has now been shortened and revised; and translated into English by Ms Monica Losonti and Dr Helen Frisby. Dr Rotar has not only encouraged others with his publications; he has founded a very successful annual conference in his native Alba Iulia where each September for four years scholars from Romania and abroad have come in ever greater numbers. A particular feature of these international conferences is the participation of increasing numbers of younger Romanian scholars. Out of the conference he has also founded an academic society to pursue death scholarship, AsociaĠia Română pentru Studii asupra MorĠii (ARSM). He has founded a new cremation society, Amurg, heir to the inter-war society Cenuúa (1923-1948). Cenuúa was a voluntary society which had opened Bucharest’s first crematorium in 1928 but was closed by the Communist Government in 1948. Marius has followed the practice of other pioneering cremationists, that the best way to promote cremation is to build a crematorium. Working with colleagues in the funeral service industry he has helped to build a first crematorium for Transylvania (Phoenix Crematorium in Oradea). Death, along with birth and marriage, provides a critical lens for the interpretation of human life and society; and their study enlightens the understanding of our human behaviour, individual and communal, intimate and public. In particular, the study of death opens up perspectives on issues of family and kinship structure, gender, occupation, age, social class; and of voluntary societies, party politics, government, nationalism, medicine and health systems, legal systems and religious organisations and beliefs. When individual families face bereavement, the choice they make about the disposal of their dead has been influenced by such key factors. The strength and interplay of these factors reveal national characteristics. In his study of cholera Death in Hamburg Richard Evans wrote, “In the epidemic [of 1892], the workings of state and society, the structures of

History of Modern Cremation in Romania

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social inequality, the variety of values and beliefs, the physical contours of everyday life, the formal ideologies and informal ambitions of political organizations were all thrown into sharp and detailed relief.” Marius’ new book will reveal how funeral rituals and arrangements are a part of the context of continuity and change in modern Romania. In more traditional – and especially pre-industrial – societies, support for people facing death or bereavement came primarily from family, local community and religious practice. In contemporary (industrial and postindustrial) societies, these once-vital networks have been weakened and separated. Opportunities for work and education, greater gender equality, increasing individual sufficiency – all bringing greater social and geographical mobility and a greater awareness of the claims of different religions and of secularism – have weakened traditional social networks and forced us to seek either the adaptation of old or the adoption of entirely new support systems/strategies to confront death. So any book of quality which informs us about how beliefs, attitudes and practices around death are maintained, challenged or changed will empower us to make deeper sense of our own mortality, exercise informed choice about our deaths and funerals, and analyse the complex of specialisms and vested interests behind arrangements around the end of life. This is a book of high quality. Its research question sounds simple, “Why is there only one crematorium in a country of over twenty million people?” Answering this short question takes the author first to the Roman period to establish cremation’s Romanian credentials. Then, in four major chapters, he examines the work of pioneers like Iacob Felix in the nineteenth century; the inter-war period and the first crematorium in Bucharest; the Communist period; and the decades since 1989. He has used a very wide range of archival, literary and material culture sources to tell an extraordinary story. The book is particularly fascinating for the English-speaking world in that it is the first account that discusses the issues about cremation in a society with a dominant Orthodox Church tradition. The Orthodox Church has always buried its dead, with liturgical forms unchanged over the centuries, and with a dynamic understanding of the relationship between the living and the dead. Orthodox Churches have often functioned as a symbol and vehicle for national identity. There is, however, a particularly intriguing issue which the author presents. A Communist government ruled Romania from 1948 to 1989. Now, there is in Europe a close correlation to be observed between the growth of cremation, emergent nationalisms, and governments of the Left. Yet in Romania, the government sided with the church in supporting burial throughout. Marius

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Rotar subjects this paradox to a fascinating analysis which sheds a new light upon recent Romanian history. The modern study of death has proved again and again that it offers a critical lens by which human societies may be analysed and understood. This ground-breaking book will also find a place in the international setting. There is now a growing body of scholarship exploring the origins and growth of cremation in modern society, and this book will play a prominent role in these developments. In the West, there are full-length accounts in English of cremation in Australia, England, the United States and, in preparation, Scotland. There are also full-length vernacular histories for at least Finland, Germany, the Netherlands and Norway. In the East there are cremation histories for, among others, India, Japan and Korea. Romania now takes its place in this list, and in handsome fashion. I highly commend this book both on its own merits as a model of research and as a contribution to the study of cremation and the role of death in society. It is also a great incentive to the work and commitment of future scholars. We are all mortal and this subject requires a line of succession. Revd. Dr. Peter C. Jupp, Department of Divinity, University of Edinburgh, UK Author of From Dust to Ashes: Cremation and the British Way of Death (2006) Chairman of the Council, the Cremation Society of Great Britain, 2001– 2009

CHAPTER ONE 1

INTRODUCTION

Cremation: An overview This is an historical survey of cremation in a predominantly Orthodox country. The qualification is essential since, as is well known, the Orthodox confession strongly rejects cremation. What follows is thus a history of the implementation and development of cremation in Romania over the last two centuries, together with an account of the reactions it has engendered. The starting point for our historical analysis of modern cremation in Romania is the simple fact that present-day Romania still possesses only one functional crematorium for its entire population of approximately 20 million. The historian’s task is therefore to explain how this situation has come about. In recent decades, the increasing worldwide popularity of cremation has prompted a surge of academic interest. Some studies have highlighted, for instance, the historical factors which have favoured the development of cremation (Jupp 2006). Others have emphasised the manifold implications and significance of the expansion of cremation, both collectively and individually (Encyclopaedia 2005). However all discussion of cremation is, ultimately, a discussion about the human body, not only as the culmination of a completed life, but also the body as the focus of ritualised actions and symbols. Therefore the fantasies revolving around the dead body justify the types of treatment for which it works as a support, while it also becomes the object of ritual performances (Thomas 1980, 10).

1

This research was supported by CNCS-UEFISCDI, Romania, PNII-TE project number 54/5.10. 2011, “Historical Dimensions and Contemporary Perspectives upon Cremation in Romania.”

2

Country Japan USA (2009) Switzerland Czech Republic Sweden UK Hungary (2004) Bulgaria (2007) Serbia Romania

Chapter One

No. of crematoria 1,545 2,113 28 27 66 260 12 1 2 1

% of disposals 99.94 40.62 85.18 80.87 76.86 73.15 36.25 5.08 0.33

Table 1-1 Cremation worldwide, and as a proportion of disposals (selected countries) in 2010 (International 2011, 24–38) Within Romanian historiography, the topic of cremation has been relatively neglected. Indeed, very few historical studies have mentioned it at all; with the exception of a small number of articles (Petre, Grancea) and most notably the Romanian edition of this book (Rotar 2011). In other countries the subject has been drawing academic attention for decades, and most especially in recent years. The most obvious explanation for this is, quite simply, the growing popularity of cremation, which in several European countries has now become the predominant means of disposing of the dead. Thus in Britain, the United States, France, Italy, the Czech Republic, Japan, the Netherlands, Australia, Germany and others, there have been articles and even books dedicated to the topic. Since modern cremation is a relatively new practice, dating back no further than a century and a half, it may well be that we are not yet in a position to assess its full meaning and impact. This is of itself a point of some considerable significance. Any discussion of cremation is also highly specific: a particular aspect of the history of death is that every corpse requires disposal, since every deceased person requires attention and treatment (Davies 2005a, 48). In other words, the deceased possess a particular kind of dignity, which is recognised by the living, who act accordingly in relation to the both the body and the memory of the deceased. The historian of death, dying and bereavement therefore carries the very special responsibility of shaping the manner in which the living remember and respect the dead from throughout history (Rotar 2009, 329–349; Baets 2004, 130–152). The historian is in the advantageous position of being able to assess societies objectively and with hindsight, and how “the interpretation they have given to cremation and inhumation” has changed

Introduction

3

and varied over time (Davies 2005a, 48). All these elements can be placed into the equation, together with the expansion of cremation in recent decades and, especially, with predictions as to its future development. However, the changes in cremation over recent decades should not only be viewed quantitatively: they should also – and indeed should mostly – be viewed qualitatively. Key themes include the lessening of opposition to cremation – cremation, in the Western world, is no longer a subversive act but a routine, even a logical alternative to burial (Baudry 1999, 192–195). However, the multi-faceted logic of cremation defies explanation through the narrow lens of any one single academic discipline such as history. Given the indefinite, uncertain position of the dead in contemporary Western society, an interdisciplinary approach is essential; particular cooperation is required between sociologists and historians since, as cremation has increased in popularity, so the funeral ritual has become increasingly separated from the actual disposal of the body. This is in sharp contrast with the past, when the dead were necessarily more visible, since burial was the only available method of disposal, and not merely one option amongst others (Howarth 2008, 229). Another key theme of this study will be the development of cremation: not only in comparison with burial, but internally. There has been a subtle process of transformation, characteristic of all countries where crematoria have been built. Belgium is a relevant parallel in this respect: whereas cremation was initially viewed as an alternative to a Christian funeral, over time it was obliged to borrow, or to create, its own rituals and symbols. This has developed such that today the crematorium should no longer be considered as simply a mechanical space, but one that answers all needs including the social and the symbolic (Vanderdope 2003, 624–625). The Encyclopaedia of Cremation, edited by Douglas J. Davies and Lewis H. Mates, provides probably the most comprehensive coverage of the subject to date. However, their coverage of the Romanian situation, particularly with regard to the present day, is limited to only a few pages written by a non-Romanian researcher (Mates 2005b, 364–367). These pages omit some important items: most significantly, the pro-cremation movement in Romania is not mentioned; cremation during the Communist period is addressed only summarily; and there is no reference at all to current perceptions of cremation in Romania. Instead, the article focuses almost exclusively on the activities of the inter-war Romanian cremationists. Such omissions are perhaps inevitable, for several reasons: firstly, the limited nature of the sources available to Mates (a collection of articles from Flacăra Sacră journal and a series of reports presented at congresses of the European inter-war cremationists). Secondly, the

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Chapter One

encyclopaedia format means that coverage per topic will inevitably be limited. And finally, a non-native author is less likely to be fully conversant with Romanian history, or with the present situation.2 These issues notwithstanding, the Encyclopaedia is exemplary in design, style and for the clarity of its information, standing as the combined efforts of a host of international researchers uniquely arranged in a manner that lends both utility and clarity. Overall, until the 1990s very little had been written on cremation, lending extra importance to Peter C. Jupp’s research in the field (Grainger 2006, 16). One notable exception would be the various references to cremation within the major general histories of death and dying, most of which were published during the 1980s. The works of Philippe Ariès and Michel Vovelle may be cited in this regard, as well as certain American publications: James Farrell, for example, in his work Inventing the American Way of Death (1980), allocated considerable space to the subject, revealing some aspects of the occurrence and effects of cremationist ideas in the United States. According to Farrell, until 1920 the American cremation movement had overestimated the ability and desire of the general public to rationalise death. Hence, although the practice of embalming the corpse as a temporary form of preservation was well established, it was still too early for the idea of cremation: embalming could be regarded as an extension of the older practice of preserving the body prior to burial, while cremation was a sharp departure from tradition. According to Farrell, while Americans prized novelty, genuine innovation was slow to win acceptance. Furthermore the American cremationist movement lacked institutional roots, and also failed to argue persuasively for the economic benefits of cremation. According to Farrell, the appearance of embalming and cremationism in the United States jointly marked the end of the old funerary system: although they represented different processes, with different results, embalming and cremation both brought the post-mortem body under direct human control (Farrell 1980, 164–169). Another, more recent, milestone in the history of cremation in the United States of America is also worthy of particular note: this is the impact of AIDS-related anxieties, which have had a positive impact on the cremation rate, especially within the gay community (Laderman 2003, 143–144, 199). Furthermore, American immigration policy after 1965 favoured the development of cremation, as it enabled easier entry for 2

It is interesting to note that Mates’ work has subsequently been appropriated by Wikipedia under the heading of “cremation in Romania.” This has a certain irony, since countries with a much higher rate of cremation than Romania have not received similar attention.

Introduction

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certain southern and eastern Asians (Laderman 2003, 198). However, the most important research on cremation in the United States is that by Stephen Prothero, as set out in his Purified by Fire: A History of Cremation in America (2001). Sustained academic interest in cremation may be found in Italy, notably under the auspices of the Ariodante Fabretti Foundation, which has published several works on the Italian cremation movement. Four of these are particularly worthy of mention: firstly, La morta laica (Conti, Isastia and Tarozzi 1998), a comprehensive history of cremation in Italy from the second half of the nineteenth century until the inter-war period. The cultural and organisational aspects of cremation are analysed, beginning with the emergence of the hygienic ideal and of secular morality. Mention is made of the early associations of Italian cremationists, in particular the creation of Federazione Italiana Per Cremazione (the Italian Federation for Cremation). Connections with the Italian Freemasons and their role in promoting cremation are also investigated, as are the pioneers of the Italian cremationist movement such as F. Colletti, and a series of reflections are provided on the cremations of public personalities, including the “cremations” of Giuseppe Garibaldi and Giuseppe Mazzoni. Volume two presents a case study of cremation in Turin, between 1880 and 1920 (Comba, Mana and Vigilante 1998). A third work, devoted exclusively to the emergence and activities of the Federazione Italiana per la Cremazione (Novarino and Prestia 2006) covers the origins of the Italian cremationist movement, the campaigns waged by exponents of cremation toward the end of the nineteenth century, the establishment in 1906 of the Federazione and its activities during the fascist period, and further developments with respect to the Vatican, concluding with the Federazione’s activities in recent decades. Finally, we may especially note a particularly useful work dedicated to mortuary and funerary policy during the French Revolution, which chronicles the attempt to implement cremation in revolutionary France – including the attempt to build a crematorium (Sozzi and Porset 1999). Another important perspective is opened up by the articles, historical and otherwise, published in a wide range of international journals and magazines, which help to illuminate various aspects more or less related to cremation; such as Serenella Nonnis Vigilante’s call for a history of cremation in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Italy. Here we should particularly note the interdisciplinary nature of Vigilante’s research since, due to popular distrust of cremation, historians have frequently been obliged to collaborate closely with other disciplines such as sociology, psychology and psychoanalysis. In Vigilante’s opinion, two factors would

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Chapter One

appear to account for popular perceptions of cremation: the abruptness with which the deceased is reduced to ashes, and the lack of ritual during cremation (Vigilante 2004, 88). The great merit of this article is its systematic use of empirical research in order to present the history of cremation within the Italian context. Vigilante takes a similarly empirical approach to his analysis of the status and purpose of cremains in the French health legislation reforms of 2006 (Vigilante 2007, 57–67). Crematoria, and the modern cremation, have also been addressed by the Annales school of historical analysis. Although they did not produce any dedicated studies of the history of cremation, the great works of Michel Vovelle and Philippe Ariès do touch upon the subject, explaining it with reference to shifts in attitudes to death and the treatment of the body over the last two centuries. The topic is also included in the researches of anthropologist Louis-Vincent Thomas, whose research covers a much longer period of time: starting from the basic definition of cremation as the destruction of the corpse by fire, Thomas has emphasised the plurality of symbols engendered by the multifunctional nature of fire; in the context of cremation, and on a purely practical level, fire is destructive, but in the imagination it also possesses the power of purification. In this sense, according to Thomas, fire has a liberating power, which is relevant to an understanding of cremation during certain historical periods, incorporating as it does the idea of rebirth and the promise of regeneration: through fire it becomes possible to achieve a higher level of existence. Particularly significant are the origins of cremation in prehistoric times, which JeanThierry Maertens (Thomas 1980, 82) articulates in three ways: (i) cremation as an expression of nomadism, compared to (ii) burial as an expression of sedentarianism; and (iii) the relationship between cremation and war, where the practice of burning the bodies of warriors was a recognition of heroism – thus cremation was traditionally a rite reserved for men. However Maertens omitted a further, essential point, which archaeologists have covered extensively: the connection between the solar cult and cremation, and the origin of the latter in the former. An excellent interpretation of the emergence of cremation issues in the second half of nineteenth century can be found in the work of Thomas Laqueur. He considers that “there is an isomorphic relationship between cremation on the one hand and changes in other domains on the other: neoclassicism, waste disposal, socialism, spiritualism, occult, heterodox Christianity, sanitary engineering, city planning, medicine, and modernism to name a few – and, more generally, to the work of the dead in the making of culture broadly conceived” (Laqueur 2008, 54). However, as already noted, there are significant differences between

Introduction

7

traditional and modern cremation. For the former, according to the French anthropologist Louis-Vincent Thomas, the ritual burning was typically conducted in the open air, lasted up to ten hours and would have been witnessed as a spectacle; the fire was made of wood, and the combustion was long and imperfect, leaving remains that then became the focus of offerings or other rites. During “modern” Western-style cremation, the body is burned within an austere crematorium building, using a concealed oven and the combustion itself is finished quickly. Moreover, modern cremation is characterised by the omission of preparatory rites and symbolism (Thomas cites the Moscow crematorium as a case in point). In his view, industrialised death has replaced the symbolic power of the traditional cremation ritual: the gas or electric fire replaces wood; the corpse is burned quickly and odourlessly. Furthermore the modern cremation is silent, for the benefit of the deceased’s family. Thomas’s discussion of the functions of cremation begins with the idea that cremation accentuates the solid over the rotten, and is consequently a way of overcoming the fact of putrefaction, although this is interpreted differently by traditional and modern societies. For the former, cremation is a symbolic rite, a sacrament required by the deceased in order to attain immortality, leaving non-perishable remains to his survivors to honour. In the second case, cremation is a necessary technique for the removal of decay, and also a means of preserving the medical, social and psychological comfort of the relatives of the deceased (Thomas 1980, 43). While Thomas’s ideas are useful for an historical analysis, his theories are questionable. Thus, I do not consider the example of the Moscow crematorium to be the most appropriate for verifying certain hypotheses, because the inauguration and usage of cremation in the Soviet Union was prompted by different reasons to those which were operative in Western Europe. Besides, it is inaccurate to say that modern cremation totally excludes ritual and symbol. Moreover, the manner in which the pronouncements of Vatican II have gradually changed the Catholic Church’s position with regard to cremation is another track that challenges Thomas’s radical views. A review of the academic debate on cremation within the French academy is also found in a 1997 article by Paul Pasteur, which highlights the neglect of this topic by French scholars. French historians of death have been largely silent on cremation, the work of Michel Vovelle being illustrative – Vovelle mentions the establishment of the Cremation Society of Great Britain, but does not touch upon the subject in his chapter on death in the present day. Philippe Ariès, too, writes only a few sentences on cremation. Exceptions to this tendency are Daniel Ligou, Jacqueline

8

Chapter One

Laloutte and, to a lesser extent, Edgar Morin and Thomas himself. There is a certain irony here, since France has played a key role in the revival of cremation as a modern practice (Pasteur 1997, 59–61). Jacqueline Laloutte published an article devoted to cremation, but followed a different line of analysis, namely the role of free-thinkers, of the Church, and of cremation as a topic (Laloutte 1997, 81–91). Thus, the actions of the former, who played a key role in spreading the practice, relied not only on the actions of individuals, but also acted collectively through their various associations. Their actions were part of a broader current of new sensitivities about the corpse, in which burial and putrefaction were regarded as a humiliation. Laloutte concluded that the rise of cremation also constituted a moment of rupture with the Catholic Church. The most intense academic interest in cremation, however, appears to have come from Britain. The work of Peter C. Jupp, for example, provides plausible explanations for the growing popularity of cremation after the First World War, as well as for the emergence of Britain as a pioneer in the field (Jupp 2006, 46–124) and the differences between the Protestant and Catholic attitudes to cremation (Jupp 2006, 6–7, 9–20). More recently, Liza Kazmier has also attempted to explain Britain’s predominance in the field of cremation (Kazmier 2009, 557–579). Also worthy of remark in the British context are the works of Hilary Grainger (Grainger 2006) and Brian Parsons (Parsons 2005), as well as Douglas Davies’s indispensable contributions (see for example Davies 1995; 1996, 83–94). The subject of cremation has also been addressed by German researchers. In a relatively recent contribution, Simone Ameskamp (Ameskamp 2008, 93–111; 2006) has analysed cremation within the German Empire and during the Weimar Republic, well prior to Hitler’s seizure of power. However, German historians of cremation have mainly concerned themselves with perceptions of death and disposal after 1945, arising from the country’s traumatic experiences associated with the Nazi regime and the war. As Monica Black has commented, this historical background has long influenced German perceptions of and attitudes toward cremation (Black 2009, 14–19). Cremation has also been addressed in less well known research on Orthodox countries, such as Aleksandra Pavicevic’s study of Serbia (Pavicevic 2006, 251–262), which locates cremation within an urban context. The most significant aspect of this study was its history of cremation in Yugoslavia and Serbia, which suggests a number of similarities between Romania and Serbia, especially in view of the fact that Orthodoxy is the dominant confession in both. The most striking point

Introduction

9

concerns the gap between society coming to support cremation and the zero moment of the opening of crematoria, which is short for Romania and long for Serbia (1923/1928 in Romania; 1904/1964 in Serbia). Also of relevance are the positions adopted by the Serbian Orthodox Church against cremation: a sort of selective permission for the celebration of religious services for the cremated – but only in cases where the family has opted for cremation, not necessarily where the deceased had chosen cremation independently (Pavicevic 2006, 258). Greece must not be omitted from the discussion, for it has been the scene of some of the most heated debates in recent years on the topic of cremation. Worthy of particular mention is the research of Dargentas Magdalini (Dargentas 2005), whose chapter on the history of cremation was included in the Encyclopaedia of Cremation. Thus, we discover that the topic of cremation was first addressed in Greece in 1912 and called into question only in 1941, then for medical reasons; the first legal prohibition was in 1943. A pro-cremation association was formed in 1946, only to be disbanded in 1960, and in 1972 two councils of the Greek Orthodox Church once more condemned the practice. In summer 1987 the subject became prominent once more, due to high mortality and a consequent shortage of burial spaces (Dargentas 2005, 223–225). Dargentas has analysed the debate within the Greek press about this issue over the following thirteen years (Dargentas 2008). The anti-cremation arguments noted by Dargentas include: opposition from religious institutions; the invocation of religious texts against cremation; the suggestion that cremation was motivated primarily by financial concerns; tradition and religious identity; the importance of burial for the soul of the deceased; the importance of inhumation; burial as an important part of Greek identity; the conflict between the Church and its opponents; and the importance of burial for the family of the deceased. Meanwhile, procremation arguments included: the issue of burial space; the relativity of religious positions and practices; the need for freedom of conscience; legislative and democratic dimensions; concerns about hygiene and pollution; and the need to modernise society. Other arguments less commonly used were: the citing of examples of countries already practicing cremation, social necessity; the importance of cremation for the “being” of the deceased; theological arguments; examples of famous people who had been cremated; and the cost of burial. These sets of arguments delimited, respectively, the conservative and liberal attitudes to cremation in Greece. The Greek case will be especially relevant for the present study, as a number of similarities may be identified between it and the Romanian situation, in particular the fact that both countries are

10

Chapter One

dominated by the Orthodox religious tradition. The practice of cremation in South Africa has also been the object of academic analysis, for instance in an investigation of cremation in Johannesburg between 1910 and 1945, which included an account of the emergence of cremationist ideas within the white population around a local Hindu community (Dennie 2003, 179–192). Research on cremation has also been carried out in Australia, thanks to the efforts of Robert Nicol (Nicol 2003), as well as in South Korea, where Chan Won-Park has written a series of very important observations about the topic in this part of the world (Park 2010). In the same category may be included a series of articles on the extent of modern cremation in Mexico and Thailand. But, if in the first case (Mexico) these actions developed under the tutelage of nineteenth century novelty, as both ideology and action (i.e. the propagation of the idea of public health) (Ramos, Ávila, González, and Pérez 2002, 581–586), in the second case (Thailand) the research concerned the analysis of certain traditional practices of cremation (Olson 1992, 279–294). Similarly, there had been discussion of current issues relating to cremation in Japan, a country where the practice is almost universal. It is, for example, the subject of an article published in 2004 which addressed the question of the spreading of ashes, and ways in which to harmonise this with tradition (Kawano 2003, 233, 248). However, perhaps the most significant research into the history of modern cremation in Japan is that of the American Andrew Bernstein (Bernstein 2000, 297–334). The former Soviet Union should also be included in this survey, and the relevance of the Soviet model to the present survey is obvious due to the establishment of communism in Romania. However, there are also some important differences between the Soviet and Romanian experiences, which help explain the current profile of cremation in Romania – thus to talk of a simple takeover of cremation practices would be completely wrong. Whereas in the Soviet Union the practice of the communist state was to cultivate the development of a series of habits, in Romania the route followed was a more natural one: the early appearance of cremationist ideas, the founding of a cremationist society, followed by the building of a crematorium. But for those sections of the Romanian population who resist cremation, the situation is similar to that of the former Soviet Union. As Catherine Merridale has pointed out, in areas where traditional practices hold sway, cremation means a brutal, too-fast destruction of the body. Thus there are psychological factors involved, with the burning of the corpse functioning as a violation of traditional belief and ritual – for example, the belief that the soul of the deceased does

Introduction

11

not leave the body immediately after death, and the effect upon commemorative practices of the total annihilation of the bodily remains. The practice of cremation as propagated by the Bolsheviks was, therefore, a foreign ingraft into Russian society, a deliberate attack upon traditional practices (Merridale 1996, 1–18). A truly comprehensive overview should include comparison of cremation in the second half of the nineteenth century and in the twentieth century. In the first instance, as has been noted by Marina Sozzi, the cremationists justified their support for cremation in terms of anticlericalism, and of scientific and hygienic positivism, seeing their movement as a necessary force for modernisation and secularisation. The early cremationist movements therefore include hygienists and physicians, Masons, freethinkers, atheists, positivists, liberals, socialists and religious minority groups, all of whom shared a common position against the ritual monopoly of the Church (Sozzi 2004, 39). It should be noted that in Romania, doctors were the first to introduce and support cremationist ideas, and it was not until much later that they were joined by other socioprofessional groups. But whatever their professional or ideological background, the Romanian cremationists were always anxious to maintain a distance from Christianity and the Orthodox Church. The fact that the Czech Republic is currently the leading European country in terms of its cremation rate has not entailed academic neglect, and Czech researchers have undertaken important research in this field. They have sought to explain how cremation has developed to a point where it has overtaken burial as the most popular method of disposal (Nešpor 2010, 273–292).

Sources and methods in the present study The sources employed in the present study are quite diverse. They can be schematized in various ways according to their provenance in different forms of media. For example, there are visible lines of development for the medical discourse justifying the practice, especially in the second half of the nineteenth century, and similarly we may also trace the lines of a religious discourse strongly counter to cremation. The problem, however, is that because cremation was not widespread in Romania during the period covered by this study, often these sources appear to focus upon cremation as an exception, and upon the personalities who opted for it. This leads us to another problem with the sources: in order to be truly comprehensive, any historical investigation should encompass the quantitative aspects of its subject. But given that only two crematoria had

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been built in Romania, and that both were located in Bucharest, in this case the value of statistical data is limited; the number of cremations in Romania during the last century arguably tells us little about wider Romanian attitudes to cremation, except that where they existed such establishments were concentrated in Bucharest. Despite these limitations, statistics on cremation in Romania can still be of use, and they are an excellent means of revealing certain aspects of the practice. Looking at things in the round, once notes that the sources are characterised by a certain “fickleness.” This concerns a certain concrete reality, specifically the point at which politics emerges as a direct influence on the wider social landscape: if, up to 1947, the sources on cremation in Romania are found to have a certain tenor and to be concerned with certain specific activities, after this point their profile changes. Thus, the major difficulty in gathering the documents underlying this analysis concerned the communist period; but the source that is perhaps most comprehensive with respect to this analysis, at least for the inter-war period, is the organ of the contemporary Romanian cremationists, Flacăra sacră (The sacred flame). This includes statistics, cremationist propaganda, and articles that countered the criticisms more widely expressed. However, if we consider the great controversy born around the building of the “Cenuúa” crematorium, the expressions of religious discourse also emerge as fundamental sources. Among the most vehement anti-cremation “voices” of the time, and I should mention here Glasul Monahilor (The Monks’ Voice) newspaper, or publications of the official body Biserica Ortodoxă Română (The Romanian Orthodox Church), and works of specific theological analysis, all of which have metamorphosed into important historical sources. Along the same lines can be located the epoch’s press, which, with its role of expanding upon issues of public interest, could not avoid the subject – first because of its exotic potential and later as a “scandal.” Romanians writers generally avoid the topic, given the diversity of attitudes on cremation, and irrespective of the fact that some, for various reasons, do practice it. This emphasizes even more strongly the variety of views that have been expressed within the literary environment on cremation in Romania during the last two centuries. But it is not just writers or literary critics who have turned to the practice: cremation has also become an option for others, such as artists, actors, doctors, professors, and military and political figures (even some ministers and members of Parliament), etc. We have so far identified over 1,400 public figures in Romanian life who have agreed to cremation. One may therefore refer to the existence of considerable sympathy for cremation among the

Introduction

13

Romanian elites. As I will highlight, this can be explained by appeal to various reasons: religious and personal, and by reference to cremation’s aesthetics and ethics. The press has been an excellent source for this book, because cremation as a practice was and still is a subject that sells, given that most people are not familiar with it; while on the other hand the Orthodox press has recorded many reactions to cremation over the years. The documents regarding the Cenuúa crematorium in the archive of the Cemeteries and Human Crematoria Administration in Bucharest, are again an excellent source for details on the internal problems of the cremationist movement in Romania. Unfortunately, these documents are not inventoried. But while we talk only about these categories, we remain at the level of the exception, taking into account only the key personalities and missing the much wider class of ordinary people. This handicap can be mitigated through use of another source: the obituary. Although it may indeed seem somewhat stereotyped, it is able to bring the analysis closer to everyday life and to the common person who chooses cremation. Thus, the obituary has a special relevance, which determines its character and makes it essential for the analysis at hand. It reveals, as Eliecier Crespo Fernandez remarked, humanity’s weakness in front of death, where advertising, information, emotion and an objective eye can all coexist. When we turn to obituaries for their literal content, they lay open the manner in which death is conceptualized, slightly parting the veils which society places between itself and the reality of death (Fernandez 2006, 101–130). But several obstacles still confront the use of the obituary for analysis. For the communist period, there is a prominent discontinuity in the use of the personal column. For example, România Liberă (The free Romania) newspaper only restarts publishing small-scale advertisements, including obituaries announcing cremation, in April 1966. The folklore around cremation has been the subject of an article by Venetia Newall (Newall 1985, 139–155). This paper is important because it demonstrated that, despite the practice’s increasing popularity in the British space, the rumours and anecdotes related to it persisted. The line of analysis represented by Newall’s research can be valuable for the analysis of contemporary perceptions of cremation in Romania. Equally important are the sources of legal regulations on cremation that has been recorded since the inter-war period. They have great significance because they placed cremation on the same level as inhumation – although this was not sufficient to allow the practice to develop in Romania. An analysis of cremation and crematoria in Romania between the nineteenth and the twenty-first centuries cannot omit the use of comparison

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Chapter One

as a fundamental method of investigation. This involves comparing the development of cremation in Romania with neighbouring countries, and also with developments worldwide. This type of comparative approach highlights another key question for our investigation: if Romania was a pioneer in the practice of cremation during the inter-war period – notably by being the first country in the region to acquire a crematorium – how are we to explain its subsequent stagnation – regression, even – relative to its neighbours. Things become clearer if we consider that in Hungary, the first crematorium was inaugurated only in 1951 despite having been built in 1930, or that in Bulgaria the first such establishment was opened only in 2004. Another good example would be a comparison with the situation in the Netherlands: in the inter-war period there was only one crematorium there, opened in 1913, as in Romania, whereas today cremations average over 50% of all deaths. In a broader context, the analysis of cremation is a true delight for the historian (Prothero 2001, 10), involving as it does controversy, vested interests (Prothero 2002, 492–504), and even a kind of special state of conflict within society. The emergence of modern cremation, from the initial concept to its (various) degrees of embodiment, has always triggered debate and controversy. Historically, as Simone Ameskamp has highlighted, the study of cremation includes both its material aspects, and those of the ideas on dying and death, but also other dimensions such as attitudes toward the body or corpse, funerary ritual, and social and legal trends (Amsekamp, 2006, 1). To this list I would also add political history, if we consider cremation as a means of enacting political power – as indeed happened in Romania in 1939 and 1989. Given that until 1994 there was only one crematorium in Romania, any investigation of certain questions – questions which have been the subject of detailed study in other countries – is bound here to be partial: such questions include changes in the architectural style of crematoria, the reasons for their increasing number, and their regional distribution. Studies of this kind are most notably available for Britain (Grainger 2000, 53–73), although they have also been conducted in respect of other European countries (Pursell 2003, 233, 250). **** I wish to thank my friends who have helped me to complete the English edition of this book, as well as those who have supported me since I became interested in the topic of cremation: Corina Rotar, my beloved wife (Romania), Peter C. Jupp (UK), Marina Sozzi (Italy), Roger Arbey (Cremation Society of Great Britain, UK), Hilary Grainger (UK), Helen

Introduction

15

Frisby (UK), Ana Magda (Romania), Victor Tudor Roúu (Romania), Adriana Teodorescu (Romania), Monica LoúonĠi (Romania), Toader Nicoară (Romania), Camelia IoniĠă (Romania), Adela FrecăĠeanu (Romania) and Cosmin Bodrean (Romania). I dedicate this book to my daughter Mălina Rotar, and to all the Romanian cremationists.

CHAPTER TWO CREMATION IN ROMANIA BEFORE THE NINETEENTH CENTURY1

The practice of cremation in the ancient Romanian lands is well documented. While there are of course significant differences between cremation practices in the ancient and early medieval periods and those in more modern times, the purpose of this chapter is simply to emphasise that cremation was practised in Romania long before the nineteenth century. It is known to have been practised by the peoples who inhabited the Romanian Lands during the Bronze Age (Schuster, Comúa and Popa 2001). Indeed, it is known to have been practised even earlier than that: cremain deposits dating from the Neolithic and Eneolithic periods have been found. Although these deposits are not numerous, and are geographically concentrated in north western Romania, they are very similar to examples from the Starcervo Cris and Zau regions (Lazăr and BăcueĠ 2011). Recent studies have shown that cremation was not an isolated phenomenon during prehistoric times, but that it was in fact more widespread than has been previously realised. Remarkably, burial and cremation appear in some cases to have coexisted, their relative significance shifting as new populations arrived or as religious beliefs gradually changed. It may be, as has been suggested by Lazăr and BăcueĠ, that cremation was employed selectively in order to create social differentiation within communities; it may also have been assigned other meanings at different times. It may have been carried out as a symbolic deviation from the usual burial rite or as a traditional custom: for instance, shamans, as spiritual leaders, were required to be cremated as a means of setting them apart from the rest of society. Lazăr and BăcueĠ have used osteological evidence, together with funeral inventories, to show that corpses were carefully and methodically 1

Thanks are due to Cristinel Fântâneanu, from the Unification National Museum of Alba Iulia, and to Cristian I. Popa, from the “1 Decembrie 1918” University of Alba Iulia, both archaeologists, for suggestions and information provided in respect of this chapter.

Cremation in Romania before the Nineteenth Century

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prepared before being cremated. The oldest documented archaeological evidence of cremation is the group at Gura Baciului (Shepherd’s Mouth), which has been dated to the early Neolithic period (c.6600–5500 BC) and consists of seven deposits of cremated remains. Overall, the gradual replacement of burial by cremation during that period indicates that a profound change of spiritual belief was taking place. Furthermore, the Eneolithic period witnessed an interesting synthesis of different types of disposal practices, for example in the Eastern Carpathians, where the raised grave (tumulus) was combined with cremation (Lazăr and BăcueĠ 2011). Unfortunately, despite the efforts of Romanian archaeologists there have been few discoveries to confirm that either burial or cremation was the normal method of disposal during the Roman period. Although there has been a considerable amount of assertion and speculation, very little in the way of conclusive proof has been forthcoming. Even for the early Classical period, both burials and deposits of cremains are relatively few in number. Various hypotheses have been proposed, for example that the Dacians scattered their ashes in rivers or that excarnation was practised. Although both of these are plausible suggestions, the lack of archaeological evidence makes it difficult to state with any degree of certainty how extensive any such practices might have been. What can be said is that from the Bronze Age onwards, cremation became the norm in Romania. It arrived due in part to central European influences, but also as a consequence of internal developments within the indigenous communities. Indo-Europeanisation played a significant role here. The solar cult was highly influential on prehistoric funerary ritual, cremation being a clear and straightforward means of separating the soul from the body and raising it to heaven. According to contemporary belief, this led to an increased sense of direct contact with the divine. Fire thus acquired divine attributes; it was viewed as a means of making direct contact with the divine, and it was a convenient means of conveying the soul to the afterlife, helping to separate it from the body and also fulfilling a purifying role. The prominence of skulls may be explained by the popular belief that the soul was located in the head. Pyres were of several types: those belonging to the community (the largest); to families; or to individuals (these latter two occurring quite rarely). Oils were frequently used to facilitate the cremation process. The link between the solar cult and cremation is clear: academic studies have established that the Dacian religion was centred on this cult, which emerged in the Eneolithic period and replaced the older fertility cult from then onward. These studies have proposed that this new religion included a sun god, whose name could not

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be read. Archaeological excavations in the sacred area of the enclosure at Sarmizegetuza Regia, the Dacian state capital, have uncovered a complex of rectangles and round sanctuaries of the andesite solar disc, which represents the sun, indicating the Uranus-solar character of the Dacian religion. Thus it has been shown that the Dacians, who were important ancestors of the modern Romanian people, practised cremation on a large scale (Criúan 1986). The Dacians were a branch of the Thracian people, who inhabited the lands to the north of the Danube. Therefore between the eighth and seventh centuries AD, cremation was dominant in this region. Burial did not disappear entirely, however, but was reserved especially for royal tombs and also for children. Archaeologists have also identified a series of isolated necropolises where burial dominated; these have been attributed to native populations, such as the Scythians in Transylvania. Within the Dacian lands cremation is characterised by a multitude of forms, which varied not only from region to region, but even within the same region. According to Dumitru Protase, the Dacians had two types of grave for cremated remains: those where the cremation was conducted on the spot (usually a tumulus), and those where the cremation was carried out elsewhere and the ashes transferred to another site for burial (ustrinum) (Protase 1971, 79, 113). A communal pyre, which was often physically located outside the cemetery, was used. The Dacians did not make urns especially for the purpose, but normally used everyday vessels instead. The urns were generally buried, usually at a depth of less than one metre. Sometimes the ashes would be deposited in stone boxes in order to emphasize the wealth and status of the deceased. According to Herodotus, before the cremation took place a funeral banquet would be held and the vessels used were then thrown onto the pyre. Flat tumular graves have also been identified, those of the fourth century BC being reserved for warriors only. In such cases the cremation was performed immediately, with the tumulus then being constructed above the pyre. One of the most impressive examples is that of Cugir in Transylvania, where the deceased was burned on a chariot drawn by two horses, and dressed for battle. The fire was fuelled by fir. Also found deposited in the grave was a large decorated golden fixtures (Protase 1971; Criúan 1984, 112–132). Cremation graves are of two types: either with the urn, or with the ashes directly deposited in the pit. The range of objects found in Dacian cremation graves is generally poor, including jewellery, personal items, clothing and accessories, but rarely gold or silver objects or tools. Unlike those of the Celts, there is no careful, deliberate arrangement of goods within the grave. The absence of cemeteries which feature burial as the

Cremation in Romania before the Nineteenth Century

19

sole method of disposal illustrates the rarity of burial in Roman Dacia. Sometimes evidence of both burial and cremation may be found within a single cemetery, but in such cases cremation clearly dominated. Other characteristic features of the Dacian cremation rite are the use of lid urns, in which were deposited a small number of charred bones carefully chosen from the remnants in the pyre. According to some Classical sources the Dacians practised human sacrifice, which was held for the benefit of certain deities (Salmoxis, for example), or even to mark a husband’s death (the Dacians were polygamous – although according to some researchers this was a very old practice and existed only among the elite). However, human sacrifice was quite rare. Herodotus’ writings on this topic are the most important, but should be considered with caution given that Salmoxis would have been a slave of Pythagoras (Criúan 1984, 370–389). Unfortunately, the evidence for funerary practices between the first century BC and first century AD (the time at which the Dacian state was first formed) is limited, consisting of a small number of royal and other miscellaneous graves. This has prevented Romanian archaeologists from understanding Dacian funerary practices with any degree of certainty. Ion HoraĠiu Criúan has noted, however, that what is known suggests that Dacian funerary practices were similar to those of the Celts in Central and Western Europe at the time. The Roman conquest of Dacia, following the wars of 101–102 and 105–106, led to the incorporation of much of Dacia as a province of the Roman Empire. The Roman domination of Dacia lasted until the reign of Emperor Aurelian (270–275), when, due to incursions by nomadic peoples (the Goths in particular), it was decided to withdraw the Roman administration and its army. However, the population of the former province remained strongly Romanised, eventually becoming the Romanian people. The Romanian people are thereby of Latin origin, speaking a language which to this day still includes around 180 Latin words which have survived directly from the Roman period. Subsequently the population has also absorbed many waves of migrants, including the Goths, Huns, Gaepides, Slavs, the Proto-Bulgarians and the Petchenegs, some of whom settled in the area. In terms of funerary practices during the Roman period, cremation, which was well established throughout the empire, prevailed for a long time. However there are a number of noticeable changes from the Dacian period. Firstly, tumular cremation graves disappear, but most noticeable is a gradual increase in the percentage of burials. Also, the practice of the mite for the deceased emerges, and this custom has continued to this day. Valeriu Sârbu, a prominent Romanian archaeologist, has shown that the percentage of

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disposals by burial increased, from five percent during the third century BC to twenty percent in the second and third centuries AD. Furthermore, human sacrifice is no longer evident in the archaeological record beyond the Roman conquest (Sârbu 1993). It is also significant that no cemetery has been found which functioned continually from the time of the independent Dacian state until the Roman conquest. This may be because the local Dacian population was displaced by the Romans, or it may simply be that the archaeological research is still incomplete. Funeral rites in Roman Dacia exhibit a certain degree of Romanisation. For example, some of the settlers began to construct Roman-style stone funerary monuments, but other aspects of previous local funerary practice were retained despite the radical nature of religious changes following the Roman conquest. Indeed, in some cases it was the Roman settlers, the Illyrians being one example, who adopted local funerary practices such as cremation. The expansion of Christianity within the Roman Empire led to the gradual abandonment of cremation in the Romanian territories, but this was a slow, intermittent process. According to Nelu Zugravu, change was prompted through a combination of Biblical, doctrinal, cultural (Jewish heritage, or the fact that the early Christians were buried), but also anthropological and stereological reasons. Despite this, cremation persisted for some time (Zugravu 1997). Thus, archaeologically, both cremation and burial sites have been identified within the Romanian lands until well into the Middle Ages – at least until the tenth century. The persistence of cremation can be also explained by the successive waves of migrants who swept through the Romanian territories, some of whom, such as the Slavs, practised cremation. However, archaeological research shows that it is difficult to ascribe cremation solely to certain ethnic groups, since it was probably also still being practiced by the (nominally) Christian local population. This theory has been categorically rejected by the prominent Romanian historian Nelu Zugravu, who argues that the clear preponderance of burial is evidence of the penetration of Christianity amongst the general population. Thus, according to Zugravu, cremation was limited to the areas settled by Slavs, or where there were very strong pagan traditions. Zugravu also interpreted the ruling of the Council of Paderborn in 785, by which the forcibly Christianized Saxons were prohibited from practising cremation, not as showing that some Christians still practiced cremation, but as a demonstration that cremation was itself now considered a pagan ritual (Zugravu 1997, 492–494).

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During the later Middle Ages and Early Modern period, cremation was abandoned in Romania under the influence of church teaching. In Transylvania for example, where there existed both a Catholic and a Reformed population, some persons accused of witchcraft were burned; the practice was limited to this particular region, however, and even there only in isolated cases. The practice has also been identified in Oradea in the eighteenth century – but the witchcraft trials reached their climax in the seventeenth century, becoming institutionalised in Transylvania during the reign of Prince Mihai Apafi (1661–1691); compared to the rest of Europe, however, witchcraft trials and resultant burnings were far less common in this region.

CHAPTER THREE ARGUMENTS FOR AND AGAINST CREMATION IN ROMANIA DURING THE LATER NINETEENTH AND EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURIES

The origin of cremationist ideas in Romania may be found in the second half of the nineteenth century. This coincided with very similar developments in Western Europe and North America, yet the Romanian cremation movement did not, for a variety of reasons, match either the strength or the effectiveness of its sister movements in the West. Indeed, even the Western cremation movements were not completely successful during this period, at least in terms of the number of crematoria built and the cremation rate prior to the outbreak of the First World War. In the Romanian context, any analysis of the arguments for and against cremation must recognise the predominantly rural nature of Romanian society and the correspondingly limited extent of urbanisation at the time. Although not the decisive factor in explaining the relative weakness of the Romanian cremation movement, this aspect is nonetheless significant. Nevertheless, cremation in Romania during the second half of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries remained essentially no more than a theoretical possibility. The first Romanian crematorium would not be opened, nor the necessary legislation approved, until the inter-war period.

Political and demographic context The nineteenth century was the pivotal period in the establishment of the modern Romanian state (see Istoria Românilor VII 2003). At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the Romanian provinces were still separate: Moldova in the east, Wallachia in the South, and Transylvania to the northwest. These three provinces were under the guardianship of different empires, Moldavia and Wallachia belonging to the Ottoman Empire and Transylvania to the Habsburgs. All the Romanian provinces enjoyed political autonomy within their respective empires and ethnic

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Romanians formed the majority of the population in all three (with a large Hungarian minority in Transylvania). However, the Romanians in Transylvania did not have political rights, which led to a civil war between the Hungarians and the Romanians in Transylvania, known as the Revolution of 1848. In fact, until 1918 Romanians from Transylvania would make continued efforts to gain political rights, on the basis that they formed the majority population of the province. From 1867, with the establishment of the Austro-Hungarian Dual Monarchy, Transylvania became part of Hungary for political and administrative purposes. Following the Europe-wide revolutions of 1848, the international environment favoured the unification of Moldavia and Wallachia. In 1859, the two provinces were therefore united into one State, under Ottoman suzerainty and ruled by Alexandru Ioan Cuza. Cuza commenced an extensive program aimed at modernising the newly formed state. 1859 therefore stands as a watershed in the establishment of a modern Romanian state. In 1866 a foreign monarchy came to the Romanian throne and, following the Russian–Romanian–Turkish War of 1877–1878, Romania acquired its independence from the Ottoman Empire. Romanian independence from the Ottoman Empire was formally recognised during the 1878 Congress of Berlin. In 1881 Romania became a kingdom, established as a constitutional monarchy according to the Constitution of 1866. At the outbreak of the First World War Romania declared its neutrality, a position maintained until 1916 when it went to war on the Allied side. However, the war unfolded unfavourably for Romania, which, following the Bolshevik Revolution, was forced to conclude a separate peace with the Central Powers in 1917. The subsequent collapse of the AustroHungarian and Russian Empires created an opportunity for Romania. Following decisions by the National Council of Bessarabia (now the Republic of Moldavia) on 27 March 1918, by the National Council of Bukovina (north east Moldavia) on 28 November 1918, and by the Romanian National Council, consisting of the representatives of the Romanians living in Transylvania, at Alba Iulia on 1 December 1918, these provinces decided to create a unified Romania. Thus, for the first time in history, all Romanians now dwelt in a single Greater Romanian state. This new state was recognised by the Treaty of Versailles, which was signed at the Paris Congress in 1919 (see Istoria Românilor VII 2003). Demographically (the following tables are taken from Russu-ùirianu 1904, 168–170), the principal theme for nineteenth century Romania is one of steady population growth. In 1832 the population of Moldova and Wallachia was around 3.2 million, but by the 1900s the combined

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population for the Kingdom of Romania exceeded six million. The great majority of this population lived in the countryside: Urban areas 18.8%

Rural areas 81.2%

Table 3-1 Population distribution in the Kingdom of Romania circa 1900 There was a low level of literacy, much more pronounced amongst women than amongst men: Overall literacy 17.2%

Male literacy 25.9%

Female literacy 8.7%

Table 3-2 Illiteracy levels Most people in the Kingdom of Romania were Orthodox Christian, with Jews the largest religious minority: Orthodox 5,408,743

Jewish 269,015

Roman Catholic and Protestant 168,276

Table 3-3 Religious population As noted above, Romanians were the majority population in Transylvania, and were concentrated in rural areas: Romanians 1,522,733

Hungarians 891,440

Germans 234,513

Table 3-4 Majority populations in Transylvania Transylvania was also multi-confessional. Romanian Transylvanians were divided into two main confessions – Greek Catholic and Orthodox: Greek Catholic 812,440

Orthodox 756,830

Reformed 420,656

Roman Catholic 344,442

Table 3-5 Majority religions in Transylvania

Lutheran 223,332

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The illiteracy rate in Transylvania was among the highest within the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Ion Russu ùirianu’s statistics on Transylvania at the beginning of the nineteenth century indicate a very high degree of illiteracy amongst the Romanian population. Out of 1,000 Transylvanian Romanians, 863 were classified as completely illiterate. Among those who could write and read, the situation was complex: of 1,000 persons, 132 could both read and write (88 men and only 44 women), and 5 could only read (3 men and 2 women). In the case of the other ethnic minorities, the illiteracy rate was lower: only 371 out of 1,000 Germans were illiterate, and 463 out of 1,000 Hungarians. As was also the case in Western Europe and North America, the nineteenth century saw the initial development of a modern healthcare system within the Romanian provinces. This led to the implementation of an extensive sanitation programme in rural areas, both in the Kingdom of Romania and in Transylvania. One reason for these initiatives was the threat of epidemic disease. Other driving factors included the chronic shortage of qualified doctors throughout Romania and an infant mortality rate which was among the highest in Europe. In nineteenth-century Transylvania, for example, the question of cremation was fundamentally alien to the popular rural mentality and would remain highly contentious and a source of considerable anxiety (Hunedoara Archives 1853, 1).1 In such a context it was understandably difficult to persuade the ordinary people to adopt such a new and radical concept as cremation. For the vast majority of the population, representations of death and attitudes toward death, dying and the corpse remained firmly anchored in religious doctrine and tradition. Therefore in nineteenth century Romania, and even well into the inter-war period, the very notion of cremation was largely limited to the educated and to members of the social elite.

Pro-cremation arguments and neutral perspectives The first cremationist ideas appear in Romania at the beginning of the second half of the nineteenth century. As in other countries, these ideas were introduced thanks to the efforts of members of the educational and social elite, mostly physicians. 1857 has been pinpointed as the year in which, for the first time, modern cremation was publicly discussed in 1

The Austro-Hungarian District Office in HaĠeg issued an order on the matter of the cremation of three bodies in GalaĠi, ruling against such excesses and ordering an investigation, the population being advised not to keep such superstitions.

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Romania. In comparison with other countries, this is a remarkably early reference. However it is only from the 1880s onward that we see the first sustained discussion of cremation in Romania.

Iacob Felix (1832–1905) Iacob Felix was one of the most important sanitarian experts in Romania, making some outstanding contributions to the administrative organisation of the nascent Romanian health system during the late nineteenth century. Felix published prolifically on a wide range of subjects, from reports to the authorities to his own original research activities. His abilities were even recognised internationally and in 1879 he became the first Romanian physician elected to the Romanian Academy. In 1867 Felix was among the first Romanian intellectuals to directly address the issue of cremation. The Inter-war cremationists therefore considered him to be the progenitor of their movement. Felix did not positively advocate cremation, but he did highlight it as a utilitarian alternative to burial. His stance on the issue may therefore best be described as neutral. Felix was a proponent of the miasmic theory of disease transmission, a theory which was prevalent amongst nineteenth century cremationists in Romania and worldwide. Thus, according to Popovici, during the epidemics that were raging through Bucharest during the 1860s Felix suggested that the authorities might consider disposing of the corpses by cremation (Popovici 1934, 2–3). However this account is somewhat biased, given that Popovici was a member of the decidedly procremationist Inter-war movement. Felix’s own stance, in contrast, was actually rather more neutral and at times he even leaned towards advocating burial over cremation. In Felix’s own opinion, expressed at the beginning of the twentieth century, it would be too expensive to operate a crematorium in every single rural community (Felix 1904, 243). He pointed out that the forensic scientists had raised objections to cremation and that cremation needed to meet hygiene standards. Felix contended that if only a cemetery were well located and maintained, the decomposition of dead bodies should not endanger the health of the living (Felix 1904, 243).

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Figure 3-1 Iacob Felix PhD., MD (1832–1905)

Felix’s writings on cremation are very much in the spirit of their time, focusing as they do upon the utility of cremation in epidemic situations and on the dangers of the miasmas emanating from decomposing corpses. Miasmic theory had become popular during the eighteenth century and was widely employed by supporters of cremation during the second half of the nineteenth century to inform the public health argument for cremation. Miasmic theory was influential in health reform campaigns in the United States and even in Portugal (Davies 2005c, 318). Felix’s own acceptance of miasmic theory is evident in his public hygiene treaty, which he published in 1870. He addressed the subject in the chapter on cemeteries, discussing it extensively in the first volume of his Treatise on Public Hygiene (Felix 1870). He also raised the question of cremation as a possible option (Felix 1870, 312). However, at the time the physician from Bucharest was expressing his ideas, cremation was still a long way from being a practical reality. Felix firmly expressed his view that complete burning was the safest way to dispose of a dead body. However, he acknowledged that in practice this was still only possible in more technologically advanced countries in the context of war and that moreover, even countries such as England and the United States had as yet been unable to successfully implement cremation as a viable, mainstream alternative to burial. (Felix 1870, 313).

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Figure 3-2 Iacob Felix, Tractat de Hygiena Publica (1870)

Felix’s standing in the field is also evident from the international recognition that his work received. For instance, the Italian physician Gaetano Pini identified him as an important disseminator of public health reform. This was in 1885, when Pini was Secretary of the International Commission of the Committee of the Milanese Cremation Society and of the Italian League of Cremation Societies. Pini was referring to the very particular situation of Romania during the later decades of the nineteenth century, a situation he described as being unfavourable to the development of cremation. According to the Milanese the religiously conservative inclinations of most Romanians, in addition to the considerable physical distances between the towns and the newly built necropolises, would make it extremely difficult to implement any reform. Felix was also an enthusiastic member of the various international congresses dedicated to public hygiene, which frequently discussed cremation. Their reports, which Felix presented to the Romanian Academy, are of interest here. For example, in Felix’s report to the Sixth International Congress on Hygiene and Demography, in Vienna in 1887, the subject of crematoria was alluded to in the section on urban hygiene. However the physician from Bucharest did not discuss it in great detail. In view of the fact that cremation was not, with the exception of Italy, a very widespread practice at this time, he considered it to be of little practical significance (Felix 1888, 34). More details were provided in a report on the Universal Exposition in Paris, in 1889 (Felix 1890, 29–30). The subject of the exhibition was cremation, but

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in his report Felix expressed reservations about it. Given the natural conservatism of human beings and that burial would be a “move” into the ground, Felix considered cremation to be a long way from being a practical reality, despite its obvious benefits for states with large rural populations. Felix challenged the notion that the corpse was a dangerous nuisance which needed to be burnt. In his opinion burial, if properly carried out, was quite capable of removing pathogenic bacteria from the body and thus cremation was not justified. Moreover, Felix considered the economic arguments for cremation to be erroneous. He went on to highlight the slow progress of the cremation movement worldwide, giving France as an example. He also praised the Siemens type incinerators, whose design was based upon the kilns used for manufacturing porcelain, emphasising their use in disposing of animal cadavers. Felix’s conservative stance on cremation is even more clearly evident in a report on pro-cremationist activity in Western Europe and the United States, which he published in 1874 (Felix 1874, 181–185). In the introduction to this (rather short) article, Felix remarked that Romanian society felt no need for such reforms, and that he therefore did not favour the practice. By way of background he referred to the miasmic theory in relation to cemeteries, thus framing the issue as one of public hygiene. Felix made direct reference to the Romanian context, in particular the difficulties of implementing the 1864 Law on Funerals. He noted several important differences between the city centre churchyards and the suburban cemeteries, the latter being located toward the edge of the cities and in districts with a much higher mortality rate. In the former case a dangerous miasma emanated from the graves, especially during winter when the warm air inside allegedly drew contaminated air from the graves, through the floors and thence into the building. According to Felix, cemeteries could also cause drinking water to become infected. Another argument against cemeteries was the fact that they took up valuable land, making them expensive to establish and maintain. Felix also presented a brief history of cremation from Antiquity onward, although his main emphasis was on the major changes during the period from the end of the eighteenth until the mid nineteenth century. He emphasised the key contributions of certain Italians to the field, and the inclusion of cremation at the various medical congresses, as well as the beginnings of media coverage. In this context, Felix went on to describe the debate and its achievements in Germany, England, Switzerland and Austria. However, in conclusion he acknowledged that cremation, as matters presently stood, was still more of a theoretical possibility than a concrete reality and would remain so as long as the costs were too high and the technology inadequate.

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Further reservations included objections voiced by forensic experts, who feared that cremation might be used to conceal cases of violent death and, of course, religious objections, with the observation that the clergy tended to be more inclined to accept the practice in Protestant countries. Interestingly however, Felix asserted that the anthropologists’ fears about cremation lacked substance. Miasmic theory played an extensive role in Felix’s Treatise of 1870. He cited it in relation to crypts, the tight closing of which, Felix alleged, caused an oxygen-free atmosphere saturated with cadaverous miasma to form. For this reason, he warned, new interments should only be made in existing vaults with the greatest of caution. Similarly, Felix wrote of the “cadaverous emanations” produced from wooden coffins and in certain types of soil, hence the necessity of “tamping the ground” over new graves in order to impede the emissions from the corpse below (Felix 1870, 313). In this way Felix attempted to discourage the overcrowding of cemeteries where at all possible. Felix also alerted his readers to the great dangers that he believed were posed by what he called the “corpse wax” (Felix 1870, 313). As will be shown below, this was around the same time that Constantin Istrati was proposing a very similar idea in his PhD thesis. Felix also clearly detailed practical techniques for the construction of new cemeteries and of individual graves and vaults. He also gave advice on building walls to surround the cemetery and, for hygienic reasons, the construction of ditches or grids. In addition, he clearly stated that the public health (or sanitary) police should forbid wells to be dug within 100 metres of any cemetery. Furthermore, burials, and cemeteries in general, should be well organised and records of funerals should be kept (Felix 1870, 320). The issue of cremation in late nineteenth century Romania is inseparable from that of cemeteries; everyone who spoke and wrote about cremation also referred to cemeteries. The central reference point was the Law on Burials of 1864, many of whose provisions are referred to in Felix’s Treatise. The law included many stipulations, for example: that burials should be a minimum of 200 metres distance from inhabited areas, that cemeteries should be built on high places and that trees should be planted. Regulations on the graves themselves included the time interval before a grave might be reopened, the numbering of graves, the necessity of sanitary authorisation for the burial of bodies brought from outside of urban settlements and other specifications. Vasile Bianu’s 1881 doctoral thesis, on the subject of urban hygiene, testifies to the condition of the cemeteries in Bucharest at the time (Bianu 1881). Although it did not make any specific reference to cremation, the

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section on cemeteries in Bucharest proved significant for perceptions of public health. According to Bianu the movement of burials to the outside of the city commenced in 1863, after Atanasie Fetu MD advanced the idea in his broader project for the organisation of the sanitary police. In the years immediately following several, albeit fairly minor, changes took place. Of the 109 cemeteries in within the city of Bucharest, 65 were closed in 1867. By 1870, only 44 cemeteries remained open within the city itself (Bianu 1881, 88). Yet in 1869, half of the dead in Bucharest were still being buried within the city. He noted that insufficient burial space continued to be a problem, at least in Bucharest, exacerbated by the fact that decomposition progressed slowly in the loamy Bucharest soil. He therefore emphasised the importance of vegetation in cemeteries, which had not only a long poetic tradition, but also a useful practical function. Bianu also commented upon the need to build more vaults in cemeteries, noting that at the time of writing only ùerban Vodă cemetery possessed such a thing (Bianu 1881, 95).

Constantin I. Istrati (1850–1918) Constantin I. Istrati MD differs from Felix and Bianu in that he may be positively considered a pioneer of the cremationist movement in Romania. Istrati, who died in Paris on 17 January 1918, positively supported cremation (KireĠescu 1989, 340) and in 1928 his ashes were returned to Romania and deposited in the Bellu cemetery in Bucharest, where they remain to this day. A leading figure in Romanian public life, as President of the Romanian Academy from 1913 to 1916, chemist, physician and also minister, Istrati was, however, less well known as an advocate of cremation. His personality was typical of nineteenth century cremationists: educated and combative. However, his status as an authentic cremationist is open to debate, since his pro-cremation activities ceased following the publication of his doctoral thesis, after which he was preoccupied with research in the field of chemistry. Furthermore, although Istrati held high public and political offices (Jianu and Vasiliu 1964), he did not use this influence to further the cremationist cause. However, before his death Istrati repeatedly expressed a wish to be cremated, a wish which was granted. The fullest expression of Istrati’s adherence to cremationist ideas may be found in his 1877 MD thesis on methods of disposing of corpses. In terms of his personal beliefs, Istrati experienced several stages. He battled agnosticism, was for some time an advocate of atheism and then became a Fideist (GogoneaĠă 1980, 153, 155, 158). He was also familiar with

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Spiritualism, which was fashionable at the time (Haúdeu 2003, 44).

Figure 3-3 Memorial to Istrati and site of his urn burial (1928), Bellu Cemetery, Bucharest

However, this was not Istrati’s first piece of writing on cremation. A year before he had published a long article dedicated to the subject (Istrati 1876, 388–418) and given lectures (Radu Rosetti observed that at Istrati’s first pro-cremation lecture in Bucharest, most of the audience booed (Rosetti 1913a, 1)). The 1876 article raises some additional points, emphasising, for instance, the danger posed by graveyard miasma as an argument in favour of cremation. To support this claim, Istrati cited instances of grave-diggers who had died following the exercise of their profession from inhaling hazardous, disease-bearing germs. Another argument in favour of cremation, which he went on to develop further in his dissertation, was the popular perception of the corpse as invidious to health. According to Istrati the level of decomposition which was achieved in a cemetery over seven years, to reach the point where the menacing odours were neutralised, could be produced by cremation in only a few minutes. He catalogued a series of experiments aimed at proving the validity of miasmic theory. Perhaps the most pertinent evidence he presented was that showing the circulation of gases from atmosphere to corpse and back again. Istrati showed how the danger arose during the

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latter part of this cycle, from the gases generated by decomposition, and from a series of as yet poorly understood microorganisms and he asserted that “small cadaver parts were blown up by the upward current” (Istrati 1876, 390). According to experiments performed by Professor Selmi of Mantua, an organic particle called Septa-pneuma had been discovered in cemeteries, which allegedly caused the fermentation and decomposition of organic matter and gave rise to various harmful germs. Istrati quotes Professor Selmi as reporting that if this solution were injected “under the skin of a corn,” typhoid symptoms would appear a few days later (Istrati 1876, 318). Istrati also supported the argument that cemeteries, including those in Bucharest, were overcrowded. Cemeteries where there was an excess of burials would eventually reach saturation point, which would arrest the decomposition process to a significant degree. The result was a “corpse wax,” which was extremely harmful and had the potential to cause epidemics. In a similar way Istrati explained the process by which drinking water became infected, comparing the current situation to the barbarian practice of anthropophagy (Istrati 1876, 391). Another advantage of introducing cremation was aesthetic, it would prevent cemeteries becoming places of disgust and fear for the relatives of the deceased. Through cremation Istrati believed that all superstitions about ghosts would disappear; all the “fears and dreams” engendered by the phosphine flames which emanated from the decaying bodies in the cemeteries, would be laid to rest. Istrati therefore sought to strengthen the arguments for cremation in the belief that it would prove eminently acceptable to contemporary Romanian sensibilities. In his opinion, although historically burning was restricted to heretics in the cause of faith during the Inquisition, in his own time the burning of corpses should be permitted as the norm. Cremation was but a means of public utility and interest, scientifically validated, rational and, most especially, negated any imputation of ignorance or stupidity (Istrati 1876, 417–418). Istrati considered himself a proponent of cremation, as he openly testified in his dissertation: Through fire, hygiene will make bodies of any kind disappear, of any earthly nature capable of decay and bringing in the evils of putrefaction; [...] the subject is of most utility for everybody. I think I have done my best to do my duty. The reward will be the day when my remains, purified by Cremation, will not be allowed to infect the living! (Istrati 1877, 5).

It is significant that on the cover of his book there is a picture of the crematorium building in Milan, under the heading “temple for cremation.”

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Figure 3-4 Istrati’s PhD. thesis

According to Istrati, openness to cremation was in direct proportion to the amount of culture a person possessed, as such a person would realise the dangers posed by burial. Cremation was closely related to personal morality since, by choosing cremation over burial for deceased loved ones, one was saving them from being desecrated through the latter. Last but not least, Istrati perceived a connection between strong adherence to religious ideas and the rejection of cremation. However, Istrati did not believe that religion and cremation were necessarily antithetical, for not the soul but only the body of the deceased was destroyed through burning, which did not contradict religious dogma in any way. According Istrati, cremation was a Janus with multiple faces, all of them bright, one following another in order to present its benefits in the most diverse and even unexpected ways: scientifically, emotionally, aesthetically and, last but not least, poetically. With this in mind, Istrati was optimistic, especially since the subject was increasingly being discussed in different milieux, from the everyday to the most prominent: family, scientific and academic, local authorities and medical and sanitational congresses. His definition established cremation as benevolent, rational, scientific, moral and, especially, in the spirit of a modern society (Istrati 1877, 124). Since cremation was by then such a topical issue, Istrati’s thesis could hardly avoid it. But as the author himself highlighted, the thesis was also a piece of cremationist propaganda (Istrati 1877, 123). In this respect it is notable that Istrati did indeed pay considerable attention to cremation throughout his work (Istrati 1877, 123–152). The pages dedicated to the burning of the dead were part of his broader theory on the ways that a

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corpse might be managed. Therefore, references to the cremation topic may be found throughout his work from the opening pages, in which the putrefaction of corpses is classified. This section detailed the actual process of decay, in open air, in water, decomposition and usage of the body in industry and putrefaction through burial. However, the process of putrefaction depends on various factors – some of which Istrati was the first Romanian to catalogue – such as the clothes in which the deceased was buried and how these influence decomposition. But the great danger, according to Istrati, was burial in damp clay or loamy soil. This caused cracks which could easily allow, in many cemeteries, direct contact between the corpse and the atmosphere. Similarly important was the depth at which the corpse should be buried. Weather conditions could also facilitate or impede decomposition (Istrati 1877, 54–55). Therefore, in Istrati’s opinion, cremation constituted man’s direct action upon the body. The passages of his dissertation which are dedicated to this idea can be considered the most extensively worked case for cremation in Romania in the second half of the nineteenth century. At the same time Istrati produced an inventory of Romanian pro-cremation literature, which reveals something of their social context. For instance, Istrati clearly stated that up to 1877 several articles on cremation had been published, in various newspapers, with the intention of informing the Romanian public about developments abroad. It was in this context that the particularly early debut of cremationism in Romania was mentioned; Istrati identified 1857 as the starting point, albeit without references or explanatory notes (Istrati 1877, 150). Istrati referred to the Scientific Magazine and the Contemporary Magazine as publications that had popularised the subject, but emphasised that, unfortunately in his view, Romanian medical and scientific journals had hardly yet even begun to discuss cremation. Istrati also emphasised how some of the (few) lectures on cremation which were being delivered at this time had enjoyed great success, referring to the lecture he himself had delivered on 28 March 1877. Istrati declared that it was the duty of the press and of Romanian scientists to keep the public informed about worldwide developments in the field, so that the clergy, the government and all Romanians might be convinced of the utility of cremation and use it themselves when needed.

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Figure 3-5 Plan of the Milan crematorium, as reproduced in Istrati’s PhD. thesis

Istrati’s analysis must be understood in the context of his own opinions on, and investigations into, burial. Thus, his plea in favour of cremation was articulated through an exposure of the evils which he believed resulted from the prevailing custom of burial. In his opinion, the miasma emanating from cadavers was responsible for diseases such as cholera, typhoid fever, plague, diphtheria, dysentery and typhus and he again cited the experiments conducted by Selmi of Mantua (Istrati 1877, 90–91). The examples he presents do not carry the most weight for his argument, since references to conditions specific to Romania at the time were more fundamental. For example, in exposing the danger from cadaverous miasma entering the walls of cemetery buildings, Istrati showed that this problem was also occurring in Bucharest. Moreover, he asserted that the sub-zero temperatures experienced by most of Romania for a large part of the year prevented the decomposition from taking place under optimal conditions, thus encouraging the spread of miasma (Istrati 1877, 99–100). In order to demonstrate the superiority of cremation in this respect, Istrati enjoined his readers to imagine cutting a Bucharest cemetery in a vertical section. Three distinct layers of earth would be observed: a black one, a second of clayey sand and finally a layer composed of clay. According to Istrati the effluvia from the decomposition of corpses within the first two layers affected and penetrated the third level, thus contaminating the underground wells and springs (Istrati 1877, 103). This was extremely

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dangerous, since many of the population were supplied with drinking water from wells which were located near to cemeteries. Istrati particularly cited the work of the English doctor, John Snow, on the spread of cholera through infected drinking water. In a closely related vein are Istrati’s comments concerning the capacity of the cemeteries in Bucharest to absorb the effluvia generated by the putrefaction of the corpses over longer periods of time. Istrati showed that a city such as Bucharest averaged around 5,000 deaths annually which, taking into account the eight years required for complete decomposition, meant a level of contamination associated with 40,000 corpses in a state of putrefaction at any one time. If the proposal to make coffins of cement were to be adopted, the period required for decomposition would be extended to fifteen years, or 75,000 corpses in the process of putrefaction at any one time and the associated contamination of soil and of the water supply (Istrati 1877, 108). Istrati also made reference to the history of cremation, as well as to its occurrence in his own time. He confirmed the existence of the practice from ancient times, dating from the Bronze Age, but more important to his argument was the fact that it had been used by almost all ancient peoples: the Hebrews, Etruscans, Greeks, Romans, Dacians and others. The reference to cremation rites as practiced by the Dacians was especially important. Istrati cited Cezar Bolliac’s research in this respect and also expressed a desire that the Dacian urns be a source of inspiration for his contemporaries. Istrati was careful to distinguish between the practice of cremation in ancient times and in its modern form. In ancient times, the burning of the corpse in the open air left the transformation into ashes incomplete. Moreover, historically cremation had been expensive because of the quantity of firewood required. In Istrati’s opinion, there were two reasons for the disappearance of the practice. The first was that “the wood was dear” (Istrati 1877, 126) – an incoherent argument – and the second was the spread of Christianity. Istrati eloquently opined that human selfishness and entrepreneurship, together with the hope for resurrection, had led man to attempt to preserve his “little bones” in anticipation of resurrection; although in the meantime he surrendered voluntarily to the worms and constituted a menace to public health. Istrati perceived modern cremation as a natural step in human evolution, as utilitarian as burial had once appeared. He underlined the great importance of the ideas advanced by the French Revolution, which had inspired the revival of the practice, notably Assy’s memoir of 1796. He also cited the cremation of the English poet Shelley in 1822 (Istrati 1877, 128). However, his paper clearly emphasised the developments

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which had taken place in the second half of the nineteenth century. He therefore expressed his approval of developments in Italy, which he perceived as an exemplar for modern cremation. In support of this theme he enlisted the main Italian cremationists of the time, beginning with the writings of Professor Coletti, published in 1857 and considered to be the first real Italian cremationist propaganda (Istrati 1877, 129). Istrati also wrote in general terms about the first cremation performed in Italy, even illustrating it with a drawing of the crematorium (Istrati 1877, 144). He also discussed the extent of cremation in Italy, with particular reference to the Milanese Cremation Society, whose objectives he presented as a template for the Romanian cremationists. He also itemised the Society’s other activities: publication of a regular bulletin, attempts to agree cremation guidelines with the Milanese authorities and the organisation of a competition to build the most effective crematorium (Istrati 1877, 147). On a related note, Brunetti’s experiments and equipment, as presented at the Universal Exhibition in Vienna in 1873, were discussed, Istrati’s information being taken from the Scientific Magazine published in France in 1874 (Istrati 1877, 133). In Istrati’s view the Italian model was transferable to Romania, especially since both countries possessed a strong religious and artistic tradition. Cremation-related developments in other countries were also noted, including: England, where the role played by the surgeon Henry Thompson received particular mention; France (here a certain lagging behind was emphasised, but also some achievements – Victor Hugo was presented as a cremationist); Belgium; the Netherlands; Germany; Switzerland; the United States and Austria. The spread of cremation ideas in Tsarist Russia was also mentioned. According to Istrati the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–1871 represented a milestone in the evolution of modern cremation, since the danger posed by large numbers of accumulated corpses as a consequence of military conflict was all too obvious. Istrati’s main argument with regard to the agreement between religion and cremation focused upon the assumption that the only role of Christianity was to uphold popular morality by protecting the dead from profanation. In his opinion, if the main quality of Christianity was that it did not turn the body into a superstitious cult, cremation could perfectly fulfil this purpose. Thus, only by burning the corpses would the remains of the dead be treated responsibly and the risk of turning the cemeteries into markets eliminated. Naively, Istrati expressed his hope that the Romanian clergy would be open to the idea of cremation: I think that the Romanian clergy, who have never parted with the Jewish hydra or the Inquisitional tyranny, who have always been ruling on the

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vital issues of our country, will rise to the challenge and certainly he will agree this time to believe that the urn is a more poetic symbol than the grave and the mausoleum. Religion should be above all a poem. (Istrati 1877, 148)

More important than this rhetoric were Istrati’s concrete proposals. These were intended to further not only the introduction of cremation into the Romanian territories, but its full implementation as a mainstream practice. He therefore believed that cremation was only necessary in the major cities, highlighting the fact that he had designed a number of small furnaces to be built to the right hand side of churches (the left side would use the gas produced in the furnace to light schools and local authority offices). Istrati urged scientists and the people to provide suggestions to the government as to how his idea might be implemented. He did not see cremation as a practical alternative for rural areas, because the cost of building a crematorium would be too high and the relatively low death rate would affect profitability. Cremation was only a solution for rural areas in the exceptional conditions of epidemic disease, when mobile cremation devices, which were cheap to manufacture, would have been appropriate. However this latter was not Istrati’s own original idea, since it was also being circulated in other European counties. Istrati found another argument in support of the dissemination of cremation in Romania while attempting to counter the arguments brought by opponents that it was too costly. After specifying the modern cremation methods proposed by Brunetti and Thompson, he asserted that the price would be lower in Romania than in other countries because oil was cheaper – only 2 or 3 francs, compared to the 6 or 7 francs that it cost abroad (Istrati 1877, 148). Istrati believed that cremation should be a personal choice, with the exception of the corpses of unidentified persons or, as he put it, those whom society has no control over (suicide for instance) and who had not expressed their choice. His other proposals dealt with the retention of ashes in columbaria for a specified number of years. Istrati advanced a proposal for the ashes to be spread in various localities every decade, on which occasion the divine service was to be said, except in cases of complaint. If the family of the deceased wished, the ashes could be kept in an urn at home. Suggestions included cultivating flowers in the urns and even using the ashes to make a bust of the deceased. This solution, although naïve, appeared valid to him, especially since it seemed to him that the remains of the dead would thus be kept with a dignity similar to that of the cemetery (Istrari 1877, 150–151). In order to fully understand Istrati’s perspective on cremation, we

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should also note the wider context of the War of Independence. Realising that the war presented an opportunity to further the cremationist message, he advanced the idea of cremating the bodies of soldiers killed on the front and using their ashes as the foundation of a memorial that would be built in central Bucharest. Istrati considered the clean dignity of cremation, in contrast to the desecrations of putrefaction and rats, a means of repaying the debt of honour to those who had died for their country. Iastri concluded on an optimistic note, confident that in the future cremation would be successfully implemented in Romania: I am convinced that cremation, introduced in our country, will be the most obvious proof of the morality Romanians have and of the high degree of culture they have reached. I cannot believe that this noble people, which has the most liberal institutions in Europe, would not assert, on this occasion as well, its lofty spirit in order to have access to whatever can lead it to a happy future. (Istrati 1877, 152)

Regrettably, Istrati’s absolute confidence in the triumph of the cremationst cause in Romania was, and remains, far from being fulfilled. The end of Istrati’s doctoral thesis contains a surprise consisting of two epigrams on the theme of cremation, the first written by Nicolae Scurtescu and the second being Istrati’s reply. These clearly indicate the negative reaction to the cremationists’ attempts to disseminate their ideas in Romania during the second half of the nineteenth century. Nicolae Scurtescu (1844–1879) was a minor author of the period which followed the 1848 Revolution in Romanian literature (Călinescu 1973, 26–29). He dedicated an epigram entitled The Burning of the Dead to Istrati, in which he put into verse some of the arguments advanced by the opponents of cremation, including its allegedly pagan nature and other objections based on religious grounds: Unlawfully I wish that after death,/ Human bodies are turned to ashes./ As the pagans were doing, Oh, what a sinister fate!/ The king of nature to fly along the wind!/ Let us suppose you have the right to this theory,/ You spread onto the world, you broke inquisitors/ But you forget that one day the world will rise again,/ You forget that humans are all immortal./ When all mankind shall be called by horn their life to be judged/ Then, could any of us/ Find our dust at Doomsday? (Istrati 1877)

Istrati replied quickly, dedicating a poem entitled The Cremation of the Corpses to my friend N. Scurtescu, on 24 July 1876. The Bucharest doctor’s reply did not address Scurtescu in quite the same vehement terms, but instead took another line of argument; that of the fundamental public

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utility of cremation: And when I have prepared a big stove to all / In which as “Inquisitor” to burn the poor people / You came with your verses, that you have dedicated me, and which/ still make me shiver, as of a mortal chill … / Oh, how could I, really, adopt this idea? / To burn the proud humans! … to burn you! … / Thus to destroy the genius’ spark, / And the potent, and those who sleep under a fence! / What a cruel delusion! I feel my hair stand on end! / Hey! That all to perish baked in the same fire! How could I, oh God, believe this nonsense / I ask you forgiveness, Berbers and mice! / And I decided with the spectrum, the potent, not the dwarfs! / To embalm with art, to live for thousands years / And the crowd, you know, the people, the disreputables, as you call them / to be dropped into to the pit! Respect to the rats! / … But brother Nicolae, what a wicked world! / How people are without law and easily creditors / Children, parents, cruelly kidnapped by death from the world / Their followers insist on burning them, for they are cremators! (Istrati 1877)

Istrati’s work found a broad resonance amongst the Romanian elite of this period (Vulcan 1877, 615; Crăiniceanu 1907, 61).

Figure 3-6 Debate on cremation: Istrati and Scurtescu

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Gheorghe Vuia (1850–1902) Vuia had a PhD in medicine from the University of Budapestand was an active campaigner for improving the health and cultural status of the Romanians in Transylvania. As a physician, he made outstanding contributions in the field of balneology. In 1874, he made the most direct stand in support of cremation in Transylvania of the second half of the nineteenth century. His writings, in two successive issues of the Transylvania magazine, were the most in-depth articles on the subject which had been published at that time (Vuia 1874, 254–268). Vuia based his work on the discussions during one of the meetings of the General Assembly of ASTRA (Transylvanian Association for Romanian Literature and Culture) on 28 July 1874, as the minutes of the meeting (Proces 1874, 193) reveal. The proposal for discussion came from him; at that time he was a PhD candidate in medicine in Budapest. The ASTRA Committee requested his dissertation text, and approved both its presentation to the General Assembly and its publication in the Transylvania magazine. Vuia’s survey of the topic was by no means elementary and the result was a highly personal piece which was to become an influential support for cremation. Vuia was well versed in his subject. This is evident not only from his detailed argumentation, but also by quotations from the works of Fernandez Papillon, Fuguier, Wegmann Ercolani, Federico Brunetti, Paolo Gorini and Polli. German and French newspapers were also cited. Vuia also noted the contributions of Siemens engineering and of the famous English cremationist Henry Thompson. A very important aspect of his work lies in its pioneering pro-cremation stance (Vuia 1874), which once again demonstrates that his thinking on this issue accorded with events in the West. Vuia expressed his enthusiasm for the emergence of cremationist ideas, considering them to be nothing less than a spiritual revolution in the civilized world. He contended that the Romanians living in Transylvania should take an active interest in cremation, since at present they had only “an indolent death,” which he considered sat ill with their Latin origins and with the exercise of reason. In his opinion, indifference toward the development of cremation was tantamount to regression (Vuia 1874, 258). Vuia considered multiple practices for the disposal of dead bodies to be a danger to the health of the living (Vuia 1874, 259). He supported cremation for public health reasons, citing miasmic theory supported by examples from Germany and Italy, with reference to the situation in Transylvania and the Austro-Hungarian Empire (Vuia 1874, 260–261). He commented upon the economies of space that would be gained by the

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introduction of cremation (Vuia 1874, 261) and on the moral incentives (Vuia was referring here to deliberate acts of desecration toward corpses and cemeteries – examples were given of the reprehensible deeds of the Paris Commune supporters). References to the use of cremation by the great Ancient peoples such as the Greeks and, especially, the Romans only confirmed its benefits. In the second part of his speech Vuia first tried to reinforce some of the pro-cremation arguments which he had previously presented, on public health, economic and moral grounds. However, he considered Henry Thompson’s proposal of using human ashes as fertiliser to be excessively utilitarian and typical of the British business ethic (Vuia 1874, 265). Vuia also commented in detail upon the religious implications of cremation. He believed that this new practice was perfectly compatible with any religion and that the traditional burial rite could be conducted without any change in cases of cremation. He emphasised that Jesus had not forbidden cremation and that there were indeed several passages in the Bible “in favour of burning” (Vuia 1874, 266). At the same time Vuia also found a correlation between the doctrine of Purgatory and the practice of cremation. Meanwhile the anti-cremation arguments were given short shrift. The religious ones were considered ridiculous, because the claim that cremation made resurrection difficult implied a stronger emphasis on the body over the spirit. As he remarked, in a somewhat ironic tone: “Woe betide that soul which would be forced to bear in the other world the gout in his foot and the rheumatism in his back” (Vuia 1874, 266). Vuia fought equally hard against the anti-cremation arguments of the anthropologists (based on the idea of perfection through which the human body came to be reproduced, in sculpture, engraving, painting, photography, lithography and so forth) and of the criminologists (based on a few, very rare, cases of mistakes in their practice, and also because of their desire to make autopsy compulsory for every deceased) (Vuia 1874, 267). The most significant part of Vuia’s work is his conclusion, in which he referrs to modern cremation and to the Romanians. He listed five advantages which he believed would accrue if Transylvanian Romanians were to accept cremation, the benefits of which he considered to be incalculable. Vuia articulated the advantages in terms of public health, referring to miasmic theory and the dangers thereby that cremation would remove. At this point the Transylvanian physician also discussed the wretched sanitary conditions in which most Romanians lived, conditions which would be improved by adopting cremation. The second important advantage of cremation identified by Viua related to cost, since through

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cremation the luxury and pomp hitherto associated with funerals would necessarily be discontinued. This view was expressed poetically: “there will be room in the ashes only for the coin for Charon” (Vuia 1874, 267). Realising the opposition of the Romanian clergy toward cremation, Vuia proposed adding cemeteries to the parish fund, which, he claimed, would confer a double advantage: “the people would be enlightened through their priests about the necessity and benefits of the reform and the improvement of the priestly status” (Vuia 1874, 267). Thirdly, cremation was considered to promote equality between the social classes. At present the poor peasants of Transylvania were often buried without a coffin, looking “with sorrow” at the manner in which the rich were able to preserve “the integrity of their body and a light dust on it” for a longer period of time by using metallic coffins, crypts and embalming (Vuia 1874, 267). But for Vuia, the greatest advantage of cremation lay in its ability to counter superstition, since “for us Romanians, there is a real cult concerning superstitions” (Vuia 1874, 267). Vuia’s remarks reflected the situation whereby “for the Romanian peasant, the cemetery is a place where evil spirits rule at night and they leave their graves and come to the village to harm the living” (Vuia 1874, 267). In support of this claim he cited a case from the cholera epidemic of 1873 when, in a Transylvanian village, fifteen bodies had been exhumed and their hearts removed and eaten by the villagers and their dogs. This particular case had reached the Transylvanian Curia, and Vuia believed that the urn and the columbarium represented the best hope of combatting these superstitions. The last of Vuia’s arguments referred to what he termed the “national prestige” (Vuia 1874, 268). In his opinion, the adoption of cremation by the Transylvanian Romanians was no less than an obligation to their Latin heritage. If their Roman ancestors had widely practiced cremation then the present-day Romanians, their descendants, must continue it. The necessity of this situation was twofold. Firstly, that the ancient civilisations had recognised cremation as the most rational way of managing corpses. Secondly, the blood relationship with the ancestors: “We, who only forget our daily sorrows when absorbed by the admiration of our ancestors’ roguish deeds, do not feel the shortages that deluge us. We who have still kept the national character, we can thank only the ancient customs. We should be proud to see that the ancient tradition, that we can call ours, is on course to be received by the entire educated world. It must be great for every Romanian to be able to share the same last honours which were shared by Pompey, Augustus, Julius Caesar, Brutus, Pliny, Tacitus” (Vuia 1874, 268).

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Simion Stoica (1844–1912) Stoica was a physician, a promoter of medicine and also a subscriber to Darwinism. He spoke of the need for cremation in the context of discussions about the danger of cholera. According to Stoica, the introduction of cremation would have been a salutary measure, being the most appropriate defence against miasmically transmitted infections. Stoica believed that in the future, mankind would actively prefer cremation over burial. Moreover, he emphasised the advantages of cremation, reaching beyond the hygienic arguments to the psychological ones. Consequently, at least in the case of some epidemics, Stoica had openly expressed his view that certain funerary traditions, which allegedly facilitated the spread of disease, must be stopped: the death watch, pompous funerals, almsgiving and bell-ringing. Stoica’s opinion was that, in addition to their obviously morbid nature, participation in these customs weakened the peoples’ resistance to epidemic-causing germs (Stoica 1891, 84–85). Some more neutral attitudes to cremation were also recorded in Tranysylvania. These may be seen from the beginning of the twentieth century, by which time the press had ceased to print the most vehement objections to cremation. However, these new, more objective accounts were limited in number and were predominantly confined to the secular newspapers and magazines. A good example of this type of account may be found in the Cosânzeana magazine, dated 1912 (RM 1912, 632–633). This particular article considered both supporters and opponents of cremation. Pictures of the crematorium and of a corpse before and after cremation were included for added clarity. The representatives of both sides were considered: the priests, on the one side and the physicians and scientists on the other. It was clearly stated that the priests, regardless of denomination, stood against the practice and that they were followed by a veritable army of believers. The author expressed his view that cremation, although attested from antiquity, was not widely established amongst the general population. This explained why the crematorium was not very widespread at that time. It was stated that, for the physicians and scientists who supported cremation, sentiment played a secondary role to utility. The battle between the arguments and counterarguments for and against cremation developed, from this perspective, in many directions: psychological, religious, economic, practical and legal. Consequently, the supporters of cremation evinced a certain approach to the subject, arguing their case in terms of practical utility. It is interesting that, for the author, such ideas did not conflict with the biblical vision; indeed the transformation of the body into ash prevented any microorganism or other

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foreign substance from entering and polluting the dead body – although it was acknowledged that the opponents of cremation rejected this argument. Meanwhile, the economic arguments relating to cremation were, in the author’s opinion, one of the central issues. Thus the arguments brought by the supporters of cremation, such as demographic growth, the critical shortage of burial space and the costs of the burial and transportation of corpses, came up against their opponents, who asserted that these economic arguments for cremation were more propagandistic than actual. However the pro-cremationists produced another argument, referring to the demands of war and therefore resorting to the same utilitarian logic. In conclusion, the author noted the impossibility of reaching a consensus on cremation, although the dispute was already almost half a century old. It was furthermore remarked that the supporters of cremation remained few in number (RM 1912, 632–633). The convergence of Romanian attitudes to cremation with those found more widely in Europe may be also seen in the Greek Catholic Metropolitan Church of Blaj’s acceptance of the 1886 Papal Order prohibiting cremation (Archives Alba 1886, 1). A different opinion on the topic was expressed by the priest O. Murăúanu in two consecutive issues of the journal Our Country in 1912. His articles were an adaptation of a German text on cremation, which comprised a history of cremation in both its ancient and modern forms and a survey of the pros and cons of cremation (Murăúanu 1909, 290–291). In the first section of the article were the legal objections, concerning the impossibility of identifying violent deaths when the corpse had been cremated. Murăúanu pointed out that this fear was groundless, since in practice exhumations were extremely rare (only 1 for approximately every 700,000 deaths). Similarly, Murăúanu exposed the weakness of the religious arguments against cremation because, according to the “ecclesiastical conference in Eisenach” (considered the highest religious authority in Germany), “the burning of the dead is not in conflict with any command of God, nor with any article of the Christian faith” (Murăúanu 1909, 290–291). Murăúanu also rejected the aesthetic arguments against cremation, “because there is no more horrifying sight in this world than a body that has been in the ground, even for only a few weeks” (Murăúanu 1909, 290–291). A pro-cremation argument was the increase in urbanisation, which made cremation a more appropriate solution for the families of the deceased. The second section of Murăúanu’s article emphasised the benefits of cremation, on economic and hygienic grounds. Murăúanu viewed cremation as the only rational way to manage the dead body, especially if crematoria could be established in the city centres,

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rather than at their periphery like the cemeteries. The final part of the article described the cremation technique, adding that at the time of writing there were sixty functional crematoria in Europe, most of them using the “Siemens principle of regenerative gas combustion” (Murăúanu 1909, 291). The notion of cremation as a disgraceful spectacle was also challenged. In conclusion, Murăúanu expressed his opinion that cremation would progress rapidly once it was fully accepted in the major European states, since it was essentially rational. Given that Murăúanu was a priest, this stance is rather surprising, especially since both the Orthodox and Greek Catholic Churches were openly hostile to cremation.

Athanasie Ecomonu In addition to the activities already mentioned, this period saw the staging of a series of conferences organised for the purpose of disseminating pro-cremation ideas in Romania. These conferences would prove to be very important.Two particular examples will be discussed here. The first of these are the conferences that took place in Bucharest during May and June 1876, organised by Athanasie Economu (Economu 1876). At this time, Economu was reading for a PhD in medicine, working in the state hospitals, a member of the medical students’ society and also a Professor at the School of Commerce. As Istrati remarked, both conferences were initially successful but failed to make any long term impact (Istrati 1877, 150). His initial success may perhaps have been attributable more to the novelty of his subject, rather than the beginnings of a movement. In 1876 Economu also commented upon the lack of coverage cremation had so far received within the Romanian press, with none of the few exceptions being in the medical press. Economu considered this lack of coverage a “disaster,” especially since cremation was being openly promoted in many other European countries (Economu 1876, 9). Having documented the historical pedigree of cremation (Economu 1876, 10–21) and outlined the present situation in several other European countries, Economu listed several pro-cremation arguments (Economu 1876, 22–39). Like the other cremationists, he gave most prominence to the hygiene issues, focusing on the dangers arising from decaying corpses (miasma, contamination of soil and water and overcrowded cemeteries) (Ecomonu 1876, 40–55). In this respect Economu’s analysis was very similar to that of Istrati, although Istrati’s arguments for the aesthetic aspects of cremation were noticeably better developed. Economu therefore challenged two arguments which were commonly advanced by opponents

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of cremation at that time. Firstly, the argument that the process itself was repugnant was refuted by emphasising the modernity of the latest cremators. Although they were coal-fired, Economu asserted that the smoke, the smell and the noise thus created did not cause people to reject cremation. Secondly, according to Economu, cremation did not offend the sensibilities of the families who chose it. To counter these claims, he showed images of the decomposition process, including one of worms devouring the eyes and lips of a cadaver. The putrefaction process, he suggested, led ultimately to the depersonalisation of the deceased loved one, but with cremation the quick return of the urn to the family was a means of protecting his memory from desecration and the maltreatments of time.

Figure 3-7 Economu: Cremation, or burning the dead, 1876

According to Economu, the urn could even become a special place for growing flowers, regarded as a superior manifestation of attachment to the deceased. Here Economu merged romantic symbols into the image of the urn, highlighting its usefulness as the supreme means of manifesting romantic love between two people: “married couples will live together, the promises and vows made with sighing voice and tearful eyes will not be easily forgotten, because the cold ashes and the quiet, but very expressive flowers will always speak the language of consciousness” (Ecomonu 1876, 60). Meanwhile, the use of cremation, flowers and ashes in excess could

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not lead to idolatry and, above all, it would have the great advantage of extirpating belief in ghosts, phantoms and spirits. Ecomonu identified the emergence of cremationist ideas in nineteenth century Romania as the beginning of a long process of reform (Ecomonu 1876, 106). Similarly, he presented the case in favour of cremation from religious, economic and legal perspectives, as well as arguments pertaining to individual freedom. He also challenged the objections anthropologists had made to the practice. The significance of Economu’s analysis becomes evident at the end, with the proposal of the creation of a “pro-cremation” society. He identified this as being absolutely necessary in order to provide an organised framework for systematic action, which would enable Romania to follow the modern trend for cremation. Economu evocatively described this as “the banquet of sciences and the concert of muses” (Ecomonu 1876, 108). Economu’s work, like that of Istrati, therefore reveals an essential optimism with regard to the future of the Romanian cremation movement.

Radu D. Rosetti (1874–1964) Our second example dates from the years immediately preceding the First World War, and concerns the poet Radu D. Rosetti. Rosetti was one of the most prominent Romanian lawyers of the inter-war period and was also a writer of poems, epigrams and travel books. Rosetti organised a procremation conference at the Romanian Athenaeum in Bucharest in 1913 (Negru 1913, 1). The inter-war cremationists believed that this conference alone led to the collection of 3,000 signatures in support of the practice (Ziarul 1937, 3). Rossetti reported that in the week following the conference around seven hundred people had written to express their desire to support the introduction of cremation in Romania. Rosetti said that the issue of cremation was first discussed in Romania by an unknown writer in 1857. In his view cremation did not incur objections from a religious perspective, and it was therefore only forensic medicine which expressed reservations about cremation. Shortly after the conference had ended, Rossetti’s pro-cremation stance was harshly criticised in the Universe newspaper (Mestugean 1913, 1). Rosetti replied that cremation was superior to burial from aesthetic, moral and hygienic perspectives, and that religious dogma should not stand in the way (Rosetti 1913a, 1). He also believed that cremation would meet the needs of the poor, who, as he pointed out, could not always afford a grave in the cemetery. Furthermore, it was perfectly possible that the buried remains of their loved ones might

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have to be exhumed because of the shortage of burial space. Rosetti noted that, instead of this indignity, the ashes might be kept in an urn at home, where for some families they might assume the status of relics.

Figure 3-8 Radu D. Rosetti (1874–1964)

Tudor Arghezi (1880–1967) Rosetti’s writings had considerable impact, including upon Tudor Arghezi, one of the greatest Romanian writers and poets (Arghezi 1914, 1). Arghezi’s ironic tone is deserving of mention, as is his criticism of the idealism displayed by Romanian cremationists at the time. Two years previously, however, Arghezi had bemoaned the crass disrespect displayed towards the dead in the urban districts of Romania (Arghezi 1911, 114– 115). This disrespect was manifest in the visits which were made to cemeteries with no intention of paying respect to the dead. Arghezi was critical of his contemporaries’ habit of treating cemeteries as meeting places where, accompanied by corpses and dogs, they smoked and talked trivia. This unhappy picture was completed as the author identified the cemetery as a meeting place for lovers greedy for passionate embraces, a picture from which only ice cream and beer were missing. Arghezi identified those who indulged in such practices, not as literary degenerates or cynical intellectuals attempting to distinguish themselves, but as

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members of the petty bourgeoisie. He linked this shameful situation to another problem, the seriously neglected graves of public figures. Moreover, these were frequently the subject of irresponsible manners, with thrill-seekers peering at the decomposing corpses through the windows in the graves. But this situation, unfitting as it undoubtedly was, still did not prompt Arghezi to become a supporter of cremation. As for cremation, Arghezi watched the struggles of the Romanian cremationists from afar. He characterised them as fighting windmills. But, merely because certain socially eminent individuals happened to support cremation, the subject enjoyed an eminence which was disproportionate to its actual importance. Arghezi included Radu Rosetti in this category, saying that he merely supported the replacement of dust with embers, and of the crypt with the oven. According to Arghezi, Romanian society had its priorities back to front, for, while there was little hope of the principle of universal suffrage finding acceptance, the social elite had been bowled over by cremationist propaganda. Arghezi pertinently identified a certain idealism at work in this respect. He believed that some sections of the Romanian social elite had latched on to the idea of cremation as a mere whim, because they simply wanted to participate in a battle for change. Arghezi thought that this demonstrated an obvious lack of common sense and he reached a perceptive conclusion: that the elite were more interested in telling the Romanian peasantry how to manage their deaths than their lives. According to Arghezi, therefore, if Romanticism had begun with revolution, sacrifice and works of genius, by 1914 it remained only the province of grave diggers. To support this argument Arghezi made a list of the cremationists, whose ranks included members of various liberal professions, two ministers and several priests (Arghezi 1914, 1).

Pandale Silva Silva held a PhD in economics and was a declared cremationist. His book, published in 1914, was another key moment in the history of the Romanian cremation movement (Silva 1914). His ideas were presented at the Seventh Congress of the Romanian Association for the Advancement and Dissemination of Sciences, held on 23 to 26 September 1911 (Silva 1914, 5). Silva presented the issue from a historical perspective, followed by a debate on the utility of cremation and its profile at the beginning of the twentieth century (Silva 1914, 7–28). The book finished with three appendices, all of which lauded the French example in regard to cremation: The Law on the Freedom of Funerals, adopted in 1887, Ministerial Form Letter on 28 May 1890, Regarding the Transport of

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Bodies to be Cremated in Paris, and also an appendix concerning conditions to be met for burning corpses in Paris (Silva 1914, 39–45).

Figure 3-9 Pandele Silva, Cremation and Its Benefits. A Medico-Social Study (Bucharest: Lupta, 1914)

Silva’s case in favour of cremation was simple, based on the idea that a decomposing corpse – especially that of a loved one – was repulsive. Silva also brought a new insight to bear, namely that cremation enabled the deceased to maintain a social presence through the physical proximity of the urn (Silva 1914, 30). He further emphasised that the New Testament did not prescribe how corpses should be managed and that it was the Church which had subsequently prohibited cremation, on the basis of Jewish tradition. Silva played down the Catholic Church’s rejection of cremation, concluding that this should not stand in the way of progress (Silva 1914, 27). His anti-Catholic bias here is obvious, since he deliberately ignored the Papal regulations of 1886. In Silva’s opinion, the Church should not even have a voice on the matter, leaving it to “the people to decide, as they are the only ones entitled to choose how their remains are managed after death” (Silva 1914, 28). Meanwhile Silva’s chapter on the utility of cremation supported cremation for reasons of equality. Each family could keep their urns at home. If the urns became

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too numerous, he advanced the idea that they should either be kept in public necropolises, to be specially constructed, or scattered “in a special family place” (Silva 1914, 129). Silva envisaged that the removal of the ashes to these necropolises, through the careful use of symbolism, could even take on the character of “a national day” (Silva 1914, 31). From a medical perspective, Silva briefly addressedthe need for cremation, again in terms of miasmic theory (Silva 1914, 31–33). It was considered that the adoption of cremation would usher in an entire new era of civilisation (Silva 1914, 35–38). Silva strongly believed that cremation would engender social and cultural superiority, predicting that “very soon, cremation will be practiced by all civilised peoples who are progressing to a higher level” (Silva 1914, 38). Despite his obvious significance in the Romanian history of cremation, Silva’s contribution to the debate is deficient in some key respects. The most significant drawback of his work is that he does not consider at all the possibility of a negative reaction from the Church. Indeed it may be concluded that none of the Romanian cremationists of this period seriously considered the possibility that the Church would react quite so vehemently against their attempts to establish cremation. In this respect they were perhaps somewhat naïve and rather too idealistic. In all probability the successes of their fellow cremationists elsewhere in Europe had made them over-confident and blinded them to the practical realities of the situation in Romania.

Emanoil Reigler (1854–1929) Reigler was prominent on the Romanian medical scene, also becoming a corresponding member of the Romanian Academy. He made only one contribution to the pro-cremation movement, in 1885. This article concentrated on miasmic theory, demonstrating the danger posed to public health by the decomposition of corpses in overcrowded cemeteries. Reigler believed that the problem of overcrowded cemeteries was specific to urban areas, because these problems were not found in the countryside (Reigler 1885, 10–11). His proposed solution, of planting trees in cemeteries so that over time they would become woodland, was remarkably ahead of its time. According to Reigler, a periodic pruning of these woodlands would enable the eventual re-use of the space. Reigler believed that the establishment of woodland cemeteries was a realistic prospect because, “The forest has something majestic, serious, sublime and even religious; all is quiet in it, we can be overcome by the most vivid feelings towards our dead in it.” Therefore Reigler considered that cremation must replace

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burial as the dominant mode of disposal and that cremation was especially suitable in times of epidemic due to its more dignified nature, lower cost, speed and so on (Reigler 1885, 20–21). Reigler therefore viewed cremation as a public utility, noting that the only – in his opinion unfounded – objections might be advanced by forensic scientists (Reigler 1885, 31)

Iuliu Dragomirescu (1880–1949) Dragomirescu was a lawyer by profession, but came to public attention as a poet. He died in 1949 and was cremated at Cenuúa Crematorium. In 1905 he attempted to organise a cremation society in Bucharest, gathering over 200 subscriptions through newspaper advertisements. However, the The Ant (Furnica) satirical magazine made use of an epigram to mock his intentions as idealistic and extravagant (O.D. 1905, 3). Dragomirescu’s fellow cremationist Radu D. Rosetti would later receive a similar treatment from The Ant (Furnica) (Tarascon 1913, 5). Rosetti was criticised because, it was claimed, the large-scale introduction of cremation would be a disaster for poets (the tomb being considered one of the richest sources of poetic inspiration), sculptors (whose livings largely depended on funerary ornaments – notably stone busts), undertakers, grave diggers and florists. Although Rosetti’s merits as an orator were recognised, he was attacked for supporting cremation as both a poet and a sentimentalist. Rosetti responded two weeks later in the same magazine, adopting an ironic tone in order to show that the option to bury the ashes meant that poetic meaning was not necessarily lost and demonstrated that the livelihoods of the sculptors, florists and gravediggers would not suffer if cremation were to be adopted (Rosetti 1913b, 10–11). In the same issue of the magazine Rosetti was ridiculed in a caricature, in which a drunkard asked to join the cremation society (based on the idea that strong drink caused a burning sensation similar to that of cremation) (Un nou 1913, 11). Rosetti’s pro-cremation stance was further ridiculed during the inter-war period in an epigram which linked the practice of cremation to his profession as a lawyer (Crevedia 1928, 328): Mr. Rosetti’s customers Are lately forewarned Are informed that the lawyer Even after death will burn them.

As in Transylvania, Romanian newspapers also included items on the development of cremation worldwide in the News in Brief columns. For instance, in 1885 Free Romania (România Liberă) newspaper informed its

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readers about the crematorium at Milan, including a description of the cremation process. It was reported that the Milanese Crematorium was equipped with a gas incinerator and that the cremation of a corpse took five hours and fifty minutes. In conclusion, it was emphasised that anybody who actually attended a cremation would be so impressed that they would instantly be converted to the practice (CremaĠiunea 1885, 3). The first cremation to take place in London also received a brief mention (CremaĠiunea 1885, 3) and in 1886, the Romanian newspapers also reported the Papal Decree against cremation (România Liberă, volume XX, 3102).

Nicolae and Mina Minovici Brothers Nicolae and Mina Minovici, each of whom held a PhD in medicine, were the founding fathers of forensics in Romania. Both were actively involved in the Romanian cremation movement and were particularly involved in building the Cenuúa crematorium in 1928. Moreover, they took an active role in several of the cremation-related controversies prior to the First World War and during the inter-war period.

Figure 3-10 Mina Minovici, Putrefaction in Terms of Forensics and Hygiene, 1899

Mina Minovici made essential contributions to the cremation debate during the closing years of the nineteenth century. He was a prominent

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personality in Romanian medical circles, founder of the Romanian school of legal medicine and, from 1892, the first Director of the Forensic Institute in Romania. His view of the situation as it stood at the end of the nineteenth century was articulated in a work on medico-legal aspects of the putrefaction of corpses (Minovici 1899). Putrefaction in Terms of Forensics and Hygiene integrated the general debate on the dangers of putrefaction with the subject of cemeteries. In it, Minovici dismantled miasmic theory by showing that microorganisms were not in fact resistant to the effects of the weather. Furthermore, if the flies and other insects which attacked dead bodies were indeed responsible for the spread of certain diseases, putrefaction would be found everywhere and not only in the cemeteries. Minovici showed that the germs that produced diseases were, however, destroyed by the chemical rays of the solar spectrum. Similarly, the purported contamination of the water table by cemetery effluvia was scientifically addressed: Minovici demonstrated that the ground in cemeteries actually absorbed much less water than had previously been believed, due to the numerous impermeable surfaces typically found in such places. He showed that the soluble products of decomposition in fact rarely reached as far down as the water table, because the ground nearly always filtered them out. He also addressed the prevailing theory that the effluvia from decomposition of the corpses infected the water with typhoid fever and cholera and concluded that, because the cholera bacillus was fragile and short-lived, the danger of an outbreak from infected corpses was actually very low. Minovici’s conclusions were clear: the prevailing theory that the ground became contaminated with pathogenic bacteria from decomposing corpses was incorrect, because in fact the groundwater rarely came into contact with dead bodies and, furthermore, the bodies of epidemic victims were only dangerous for a short period of time. Following through on these conclusions Minovici made recommendations on the organisation of cemeteries and the arrangement of burials, aimed at preventing any risk to public health: before a cemetery was even built, a geological survey should be conducted with particular attention to the hydrology of the site; cemeteries should be located on high ground; corpses should be buried at least three metres away from the water table; there should be contact between the corpse and the air in order to facilitate rapid decomposition (burials should preferably be made in dry ground, where the process would be completed in three years); and substances which impeded decomposition, such as sawdust mixed with antiseptics and aromatics, rubber sheets, bituminised cardboard and lead and zinc coffin lids should be avoided.

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Minovici’s section on cremation is short and begins with a summary of the arguments presented by other cremationists, namely the dangers presented by miasma and through contamination of the water supply and the argument that cemeteries occupied too much space (Minovici 1899, 107–108). As we have seen, Minovici rejected all three of these arguments, concluding that there was therefore no justification for a return to the Ancient custom of cremation on the grounds of public health. Minovici did however accept some of the other arguments in favour of cremation, with reference to three particular circumstances: war, epidemic outbreak and the disposal of autopsied and unidentified bodies from the public mortuaries. Additionally, Minovici clearly expressed his opinion that cremation should not be prohibited by State laws, since this would only have the effect of increasing the number of followers. He proposed instead that cremation should remain a personal choice and that the State should adopt measures to prevent abuses; specifically, that all cremations must be preceded by an autopsy and that the internal organs should be preserved. In general Minovici supported the continued practice of burial, because it functioned as the primary focus for the cult of the dead, which in his opinion was fundamental to both private and public morality. Consequently, any significant change in disposal practices – such as the introduction of cremation on a large scale – should only be permitted following a careful, scientific examination of all the factors involved (Minovici 1899, 108). In the preface to a paper by the inter-war journalist Mihail Teodorescu, Nicolae Minovici emphasised his brother’s role as one of the founders of the Cenuúa Society in 1923, which had subsequently contributed to the establishment of the Cenuúa crematory in 1928 (Minovici 1933, 6–7). Despite this, Minovici’s own Will expressed a very clear desire to be buried. This apparent contradiction can be explained through reference to his rationale, as clearly set out in 1899, for building the Cenuúa crematorium: that it was intended only for the cremation of unidentified bodies which had been abandoned in the mortuary and of the remains left over from autopsies. This was the same reason why ùtefan, another of the Minovici brothers, also publicly declared his preference for burial over cremation. Nicolae Minovici, meanwhile, covered (albeit briefly) the development of cremation worldwide in his forensic study published at the beginning of the twentieth century. Prone to exaggeration at times, he opined – incorrectly – that in Italy, France and Germany, cremation was conducted on a large scale. He also emphasised the fact that cremation had only been introduced with some difficulties (Minovici 1904, 613). Nicolae Minovici’s involvement in the pre-1914 Romanian cremation

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movement began with the organisation of a conference at the Romanian Athenaeum in 1908, where he showed his pro-cremation stance. This event received two mentions in The Sacred Flame, the inter-war Romanian cremationists’ journal (Popovici 1934, 2–3), the second article being accompanied by a photograph of Minovici with Nicolae Minovici (Un alt 1936, 5). The advent of cremationist ideas in various levels of Romanian society during the early twentieth century may also be observed through the contemporary medical studies that advocated cremation. The Health Dictionary, published in 1910 by Dr. Vasile Bianu (Bianu 1910), stands out as a particular example. Bianu explained the popular understanding of cremation as it stood at the time: that it involved disposing of the dead by burning; that it was considered to be “post” burial; and that as a practice it had disappeared from civilised nations, being now continued only in the East. Bianu noted that the practice had recently been reintroduced in Europe and recounted a brief history of this development, highlighting the proposals made by the French Revolutionaries, but also changes favourable to the practice that had occurred in Italy, Switzerland, Germany and France. Bianu emphasized that in these countries the spread of cremation had been fuelled by miasmic theories and also by the great wars of the nineteenth century. He expressed the view that the practice of cremation was likely to expand in the future due to its many advantages. The writer Mihai Codreanu from Iasi also took a pro-cremation stance. In a short article published in 1909, he showed the need for a crematorium in Romania (Codreanu 1969, 109–110). His reasons were hygienic and aesthetic and prompted by a nightmarish image he had personally encountered during a walk near a church: a skull had become stuck in the branches of a tree, around which some children had begun a hora (hora is a Romanian word for folk dance). This incident had put him in mind of Shakespeare’s Hamlet and he considered the casual exposure of decomposing corpses as deeply distasteful, a humiliating insult to the dead. To Codreanu, cremation, by contrast, appeared to be a product of the “civilised world,” an appropriate and noble alternative to the “slow mouldering and utter desecration” of human beings through putrefaction. In conclusion, Mihai Codreanu asked why the idea of building a crematorium is not acceptable to us (Codreanu 1969, 110). Codreanu’s firmly pro-cremationist attitude can further be explained by his declared atheism. Also relevant in this connection is the work of Constantin Thiron (1853–1924). Thiron was a Professor in the Faculty of Medicine at Iasi. He was a firm follower of haeckelian monism and also a prominent

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promoter of Free Thought in Romania prior to the First World War (Anthologia 1962, 362). He participated in international conferences, such as the monistic conference in Hamburg, from 8 to 11 September 1911. Here he presented a paper (published in 1911) in which, having first sought to defuse public condemnation of the Romanian freethinkers, he proceeded to suggest, on behalf of the Romanian Free-Thought Association, certain measures intended to promote the secularisation of the Romanian State: the suppression of certain passages in the Constitution concerning state religion; the replacement of the religious oath with one citing merely “honour and conscience”; the formal separation of Church and State; and the abolition of all Faculties of Theology and of other forms of religious education supported by the State. However most importantly of all for purposes of the present study, Thiron proposed the “admission of the cremation of corpses instead of burial” (Thiron 1962, 366–368). Neither did Panait Istrati remain indifferent to the subject of cremation. Istrati was the first great Romanian writer to be published and recognised as a literary figure in France. In a letter from Paris, published in Industrious Romania in 1914 (Istrati 2005, 283–287), Istrati described the Père-Lachaise Crematorium, where he had recently attended the funeral of the socialist Fournière Eugene. This was Istrati’s first experience of a funeral which included cremation and the study was consequently more descriptive than analytical, with particular attention paid to the details of the building. According to Istrati, the Crematorium was owned by the French State, which was actively promoting the practice and where the bodies of patients from the Paris hospitals and of other individuals were being cremated on a daily basis. The building was similar to a church, except that behind it were two chimneys through which the big oven “was breathing” from eight meters underground. Around the building were galleries with memorial plaques, but there was no trace of any Christian rite. Istrati then described the funeral itself, expressing surprise at its simplicity. The ceremony was not at all dark and in fact had been very moving. Istrati was surprised by the short duration of the ceremony and by how smoothly (in comparison with, say, a suitcase) the coffin was transferred to the cremator. However, at the end of the article the Brailaborn writer did confess that the day following the ceremony he had, thanks to one of the stokers, been able to see the actual burning of the corpse, which caused him a “little” shock, comparing it with a “modern hell” and which ended with “a few handfuls of ashes in only 45 minutes” (Istrati 2005, 287).

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Against cremation The cremation debate in pre-war Transylvania must be considered within the Austro-Hungarian context. This is not only because Transylvania was still part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but also because certain Transylvanian reactions to cremation were directly influenced by the debate as it unfolded within the Empire at that time. For example, an article published in Christian Culture (a Greek Catholic journal) expressed a vehemently anti-cremation stance when, in 1912, it was agreed to build the first ever Hungarian crematorium in Budapest (Arderea 1912, 55–56). This incident gave the Transylvanian GreekCatholic Church an opportunity to formally denounce the practice of cremation, as the Roman Catholic Church had already done. This rejection was justified on the grounds that modern cremation was a work of the Freemasons, aimed at weakening faith in God. Hence modern cremation was considered to be an insult to the cult of the dead, given that, it was stated, the cemeteries did not pose any danger to public hygiene. The conclusion of the article was clear: the promotion of cremation and crematoria aimed to fulfil purposes beyond the purely utilitarian (Arderea 1912, 55–56). Nonetheless, the development of cremationist ideas in Hungary was more promising than events in Romania at the time (Mates 2005a, 251–252). Similar attitudes may be found within the Orthodox milieu. A good example is the stance adopted by Nicolae Bălan in his article published in the Theological Magazine in 1909, which gave an Orthodox response to the desire of Romanian (from Năsăud) Field Marshal Leonida Pop, of the Austro-Hungarian Army, to be cremated (Bălan 1909, 36–38). Pop’s wish was fulfilled at the Vienna crematorium, the priest denying him a Roman Catholic funeral service. Bălan argued for the continuation of the Christian tradition of burial, with particular reference to the Romanian population of Transylvania. In order to strengthen his arguments against cremation he brought other evidence, referring to two Orders of the Austrian Ministry of the Interior (1891 and 1892) which specifically forbade the practice. The same arguments may also be seen in Hungarian newspapers from Transylvania during this period (Tárca 1912, 2–3), although more neutral attitudes may also be observed gradually emerging (Hamvasztás 1894, 624). Hostile attitudes toward cremation may also found in the secular Transylvanian newspapers. For instance, an article published by George Trăilă during the 1870s quoted the case being made by the cremationists, namely the sanitary and economic augments (the latter being that the space

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taken up by cemeteries could have been used for agriculture instead of burial) (Trăilă 1874, 479–480). However these two arguments appeared insufficient to Trailă for several reasons. His first reason related to the reluctance of Christians to accept cremation because they viewed the cemetery as a sacred place, a place which established human superiority over the rest of Creation through the possibility of redemption. Alongside this argument, Trailă resorted to a scientific demonstration against cremation. These ideas were mainly taken from the writings of the physician Johann Mohr (1824–1886) although, on closer inspection, they would today be regarded as lacking scientific credibility. Mohr theorised that the cremation of corpses at very high temperatures – necessary in order to avoid releasing dangerous vapours – affected the balance of nature by destroying ammonia. Trailă considered that burying a corpse at a sufficient depth was sufficient to prevent any danger. He gave India as an example of a breeding ground for cholera, although it was the birthplace of cremation. This situation was compared with that of those Romanians who were most at risk of cholera, namely those living near the distillery in the case of the 1873 cholera outbreak in Timiúoara. Trăilă also considered the materialistic attitude of the cremation supporters. A further reason for the lack of efficacy of cremation was that the process of decomposition of the body in the ground was considered the safest way to avoid the emission of hazardous gases (the ground was considered “the most perfect burner” as it facilitated the separation of carbonic acid and ammonia, necessary for the growth of vegetation) (Trăilă 1874, 479–480). Other arguments against cremation included the charge that it facilitated that destruction of evidence in cases of suspicious death; the difficulty in cases of apparent death, since it was not always easy to establish clear signs of death; and, thirdly, the distress that the prospect of cremation would cause to the bereaved. Trăilă concluded that there could therefore be no doubt that cremation was unnatural, expensive but also useless (Trăilă 1874, 479– 480). Similar opposition was to be found in another anti-cremation article, published in 1884 in the Greek Catholic Church Paper (Arderea 1884, 28– 29). The writer gave two reasons in support of the Christian tradition of burial: firstly, that the human body was made of dust and so must remain in the dust until the Resurrection; and secondly, that it followed the example of Jesus Christ’s own burial. Therefore, any attempt to implement cremation was considered an attack upon Christian traditions. The article also listed the arguments brought by cremation supporters, such as the idea of science and progress, hygienic and economic arguments and the legal and aesthetic benefits of cremation. These were considered and discussed

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one by one, and counterarguments presented. The argument for cremation on hygienic grounds lacked substance, it was claimed, since there was no difference in the mortality rate between those who lived near cemeteries and those who did not. The article considered the proposals advanced by cremationists for the use of human remains as natural fertiliser as unrealistic. Further counterarguments against cremation which were listed in the article included the risk of loss of evidence in cases of suspicious death, the increased danger of accidentally cremating living persons who only appeared to be dead and the lack of aesthetic sense in cremation. The Transylvanian Gazette, the most important daily newspaper for Romanians living in Transylvania, rarely mentioned cremation. When it did this was generally in a rather repetitive and neutral fashion in the News in Brief column. Thus, there were short reports on cremation in Paris (Arderea 1886, 3); some of the problems that cremationists were experiencing in Germany (Arderea 1889, 3; Arderea 1890, 287); the opening of the crematorium at Père-Lachaise ( Arderea 1889b, 3); the activities of cremation societies (CremaĠiunea 1888, 3); the passing of legislation in Denmark permitting cremation (in cases of natural death only, and accompanied by a medical certificate) (CremaĠiunea 1892, 3); the acceptance of cremation by the Evangelical clergy at Baden-Baden (ProtestanĠii 1892, 2–3); discussions on a project concerning the cremation of dead bodies by the sanitary council in Budapest (Arderea 1881, 4); the cremation of the Dutch philologist Jacob Moleschott (1822–1893) in Rome (CremaĠiunea 1893, 2) and numerous other cremation-related items. In terms of cremationist literature within the Kingdom of Romania, we may also notice the emergence of certain anti-cremation stances during this period. An example of this is an article published in 1889 in The Light for All educational journal and signed by Eniu D. Bălteanu (Bălteanu 1889, 305–307). According to Bălteanu, contemporary scholars supported the idea of cremation for two reasons: the need to save space and hygienic considerations. Meanwhile, the majority of the population rejected the practice on the basis that it was rude and disrespectful to the dead. However Bălteanu, taking some of his material from the newspapers, declared his support for some of the more fanciful anti-cremation arguments. Thus, according to Bălteanu, cremation brutally disrupted a natural cycle in which the process of decomposition provided nourishment for plants: “with cremation, however, nitrogen, instead of combining with hydrogen to form ammonia, divides, resulting in an isolated gas. And we know that atmospheric nitrogen plays no role in plant nutrition as plants assimilate it only in the state of ammonia. Cremation therefore prevents the formation of a useful gas (ammonia) and forms an inert gas (isolated)”

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(Bălteanu 1889, 306). Alexandru Macedonski (1854–1920), the first great Romanian symbolic poet, also opposed cremation. In a philosophical essay Macendoski started from the idea that substance was infinite and eternal, but of limited form, composing a circle (Macedonski 2007, 98–106). Man, meanwhile, was a material form, with death being considered as a new way to life and substance as a means of recomposing man after death by unknown laws of nature. In this case the “substance could feel,” says Macedonski, giving the example of the cadaver which, in its decay, produces worms (Macedonski 2007, 101). Thus the poet confessed that “I was always against cremation, or burning the dead bodies. Cremation is not in harmony with science. For to burn a corpse is to suppose that substance does not feel, but science cannot deny the life of the substance” (Macedonski 2007, 101).The Romanian Orthodox Church and cremation until the First World War The reaction of the Romanian Orthodox Church to cremation was highly particular to the situation: given that cremation was not a practical reality within Romania until after the First World War, the Church’s efforts during this period were primarily focused upon preventing its implementation. In addition, references to cremation are not numerous. We are dealing, rather, with the subjective views of certain members of the Romanian Orthodox clergy. The first signs of a rejection of cremation within and by the Romanian Orthodox Church appear in the second half of the nineteenth century. These signs were, however, sporadic and generally confined to anticremation articles published in religious newspapers. Somewhat paradoxically, in 1874 The Romanian Telegraph, an Orthodox religious newspaper which also included political, cultural and economic articles, did publish an article by the physician I. Moga, in which he supported cremation on the basis of miasmic theory (Moga 1874, 2–3). Perhaps it was the low profile of cremation in Romania which prompted publication of this article in an Orthodox newspaper. Shortly afterward, The Romanian Telegraph published a translation of a German article which condemned the practice of cremation. In 1886 The Romanian Telegraph published an anti-cremation article, signed by “an Orthodox priest” (Un preot 1886, 58–59). The article was occasioned by the 1885 exhibition in Budapest, at which a cremator was displayed, and asserted that “the Romanian people, young and old, would revolt” if cremation were to be introduced. The article thus became a plea instead for the improvement of Romanian cemeteries in Transylvania, which at the time were considered a national shame. At times five, even up

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to ten bodies were routinely being buried one on top of another. In such cases the gravediggers (most of whom, it was claimed, were drunkards) often came across remains that were not entirely decomposed, which they desecrated. Anti-cremation views within the Romanian Orthodox Church were more clearly expressed after 1900, although the debates on the subject remained sporadic. One example is the study conducted by Badea Cireúeanu, Professor of Doxology, Homiletics and Catechesis at the Faculty of Theology in Bucharest in 1912. Cireúeanu approached the issue from a liturgical point of view, in an extensive study (Cireúeanu 1912, 356–366) which was approved by the Holy Synod of the Orthodox Church at its meeting on 23 October 1909. Cireúeanu considered cremation to be a pagan practice employed mainly by the Romans, giving a very brief description of the coexistence of cremation and burial during the early Christian period. Of greater importance, however, were his opinions on modern cremation. He listed and summarised briefly the main arguments for and against cremation, including all the well-known medical hypotheses: miasmic theory, the contamination of water in cemeteries and so on. Interestingly, Cireúeanu believed that cremation itself caused the multiplication of microbes, making reference in this regard to several medical studies. Cireúeanu considered there to be very many crematoria and he also discussed the establishment of modern cremation, including a statistical survey of European crematoria and the cost of cremation worldwide. Cireúeanu concluded by declaring vehemently his rejection of cremation and enumerated the reasons why he considered it to be such a dreadful prospect. He considered that it would damage ancestral traditions, that it would destroy any sense of respect toward the corpse, and that it would lead to the loss of funerary monuments, which were so rich in national history. Finally, Cireúeanu expressed his joy that the building of crematoria was not permitted in Romania. The second example is an article of considerable proportions, dedicated to the same topic and published by B. Mangâru in the Holy Synod’s quarterly magazine, The Romanian Orthodox Church (Mangâru 1913, 354–361). Mangâru’s article included a history of cremation, followed by a description of the modern version. In his opinion cremation was a primitive practice and there was no reason to revive it, it being rather the product of an imitation of Western developments (Mangâru 1913, 354). Mangâru pinpointed the emergence of cremation in the Neolithic period, developing intermittently and variably during Antiquity: the Jews saw cremation as unclean and the Phoenicians had used it only for sacrificial victims and children, while the Ancient Egyptians did not

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use it all, nor did the Medes, Persians and Babylonians. According to Mangâru the Greeks had discovered cremation during the Homeric Age, much later than previously thought and without altogether replacing burial. Although the Romans had used cremation, they had done so in addition to burial and not instead of it. Meanwhile the Gauls and the first inhabitants of Italy had preferred burial over cremation, as in India. Analysing Oriental attitudes toward cremation, Mangâru reached the rather subjective conclusion that, even though certain hygienic rules should have led to a prevalence of cremation among these peoples, there was always something superior, noble and moral about burial that made it preferable to cremation (Mangâru 1913, 543–549). With regard to Christianity, Mangâru saw the situation as complicated to some extent during the early Christian period, although Judean and Semitic influences and, especially, the model of Jesus Christ’s burial, determined the Church’s rejection of cremation from the very beginning. In the early days sometimes even Christians resorted to cremation, in order to save their bodies from desecration by their opponents. However, according to Mangâru, the catacombs were a clear proof of the Christian loyalty to burial. Furthermore, the incompatibility between Christianity and cremation was also brought about because cremation did not fit with Christian ritual (Mangâru 1913, 550). Mangâru emphasised some of the key moments in the development of modern cremation, in particular the importance of the atheistic French Revolution for its introduction. He also discussed the influence of Freemasonry, especially in Italy, and also the expansion of the phenomenon in other European countries and in the United States (explained by the author as a product of the “Babylon” which existed in US). However, he considered it paradoxical that atheistic France had only three crematoria in the early twentieth century. Mangâru’s explanation was subjective considering that, despite the materialism that indeed characterised France on the surface, there was still a strong underlying opposition to evil and support for truth and tradition (Mangâru 1913, 553). In the third section of his article Mangâru discussed the arguments that the Church had brought against cremation, arranged into groups (Mangâru 1914, 730–732): firstly, the humanist and Christian argument – the sentiments of love, friendship, brotherhood and piety, which would be offended by the brutal burning of the body of a dear one; secondly, the loss of Orthodox rituals and prayers if cremation were to be introduced. Medical and forensic arguments were also addressed, as were sanitary arguments, rejecting miasmic theory (draining the area and banishing of cemeteries outside the localities). Even more important than the content of

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the article was the context which had inspired Mangâru to write it. Although a Romanian cremation society had by that time been established, Mangâru considered it to be merely a pale imitation of contemporary developments in other European counties and in North America. In his opinion, the members of the newly created Romanian cremation society were disunited and furthermore, although some of them held important positions in the State, they failed to realise precisely what they had in fact signed up to. Mangâru ended by expressing his confidence that the Church would successfully pass this test, since it was charged with watching over the preservation of the true faith. The subject of cremation was also known through Romanian translations of various works by other European theologians. For example, the treaty of Church Law written by Bishop Nicodem Milaú and published in Bucharest in 1915 (Milaú 1915) clearly stated that Christian burial was forbidden to those who were not part of the Byzantine Church: unbaptised infants; rebellious sinners who died refusing “to receive the sacraments”; suicides; those killed in duels; and criminals condemned to death (Milaú 1915, 563). It was specified that the “blessing of the corpse was also banned when the dead person had chosen cremation and this should be observed” (Milaú 1915, 564). At the same time, in the period up to 1918, there were several cases of prominent Romanians who opted for cremation. In addition to Field Marshal Popp and, especially, Istrati, notable in this conenction is Dora d’Istria, who was cremated in 1888 in Florence. Under her real name of Elena Ghika, she excelled through intense activity in various areas, and was very popular both at home and abroad. Her death and cremation were reported in the newspapers, her cremation gaining considerable coverage even beyond Romania (Moartea 1888, 551). In conclusion, we may note that during the second half of the nineteenth, and into the early twentieth century, Romania was well connected to the Western debate on cremation. Moreover, through the propaganda of writers such as Constantin Istrati, Athanasie Economu and the poet Radu Rosetti, the notion that cremation should also be implemented in the Romanian territories was being actively promoted. In contrast to Transylvania, the Kingdom of Romania provided the most favourable ground for the development of cremationist ideas. The reason for this regional variation was not so much an essential difference of character between the two territories, but rather a product of their geographical and political contexts, since while the Kingdom of Romania represented the centre, as part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Transylvania sat on the periphery. At the same time, however, the nineteenth century was also

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characterised by the formulation of counter-arguments to cremation, although these did not as yet reach the pitch they would later attain.

CHAPTER FOUR THE INTER-WAR PERIOD: TRADITIONALISTS VERSUS CREMATIONISTS

The inter-war period The inter-war period marks the true establishment of cremation in Romania, a phenomenon rooted in the construction, opening and coming into operation of Cenuúa Crematorium. The moment did not lack its tensions, being characterised by a dispute between the Romanian cremationists and their opponents. Yet this was a tension which pre-dated 1928, the year of first human cremation in Romania. This fact has a simple explanation: building the crematorium involved three years’ work, even after the idea had become public under the impetus of Cenuúa, the Romanian pro-cremation society. In addition, it became clear that the approval of the municipal administration in Bucharest City Hall would be absolutely necessary for the crematorium to be built. From this perspective, then, the analysis of the phenomenon of human cremation and crematoria during the inter-war period in Romania must look beyond either 1928 or 1925. In fact, we can identify several key moments in the establishment of cremation during the inter-war period: 1. the clear statement of the intention to build a crematorium, and its subsequent construction (1923–1928); 2. the inauguration of the crematorium, and the first cremation (26 January, 1928); 3. the reaction of the Romanian Orthodox Church; 4. the publication of the periodical Flacăra Scară: Organ pentru Propagarea cremaĠiunii umane în România (The sacred flame: publication that supports human cremation in Romania), December 1934; 5. the legal recognition of cremation as equal to inhumation (a situation which was only gradually arrived at). However, among these decisive moments, there are others of lesser

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magnitude which concern the inauguration and sustaining of the practice of cremation, and its gradual ingraining into public habit – both in terms of the acceptance and rejection of the practice. From this point of view, perhaps the most significant moment is the first emergence of “the evil politics of cremation,” namely the negative use of the practice for political purposes. Thus it was for the burning of the corpses of the legionnaires who killed Prime Minister Armand Călinescu in 1939. Some of the members of this group were burned alive, and their ashes were recovered a year later and used by certain political groups (in 1940) to invest symbols with heroic character and, especially, to create models.

Political context: Population After the unification of the Romanian provinces in 1918, many problems emerged, consequent upon the need to unify different political, social and cultural systems (see Istoria Românilor VIII 2003). This unification in fact happened in the years that followed 1918. King Ferdinand was crowned the king of all Romanians in Alba Iulia in 1922, and the country adopted a new constitution in 1923 which established it as a constitutional monarchy. Several political parties then succeeded in gaining power, the most important being, initially, the People’s Party, the National Liberal Party and the National Peasant Party. Groups of the radical right also emerged and gained power, specifically the National Christian Defence League and the Iron Guard, of which the latter was the most radical. The Romanian Communist Party was established in 1921, but its pursuit of an anti-national politics under the protection of the Soviet Union led to its being outlawed in 1924. The role played by the Romanian Communist Party was thus minimal in the inter-war period, and its membership remained extremely low (fewer than 1,000 members as of 23 August 1944). The Social Democratic Party was more important, being a left-wing party with democratic orientations. After King Ferninand’s death and the return of his son, Carol II, to the throne in 1930, and in the context of an international crisis, the role of the monarchy increased significantly, leading finally to the establishment of an authoritarian monarchic regime at the end of the 1930s (in 1938 the political structures were dismantled). After the outbreak of World War II, under pressure from the USSR, Germany, Hungary and Bulgaria, Romania was forced to cede several territories to its neighbourings: Bessarabia (now Moldavia) to the USSR, Northern Transylvania to Hungary, and the Quadrilateral area to Bulgaria. This led to the abdication of King Carol II, and power was taken over by Marshal Ion Antonescu, known for his pro-German and anti-Semitic

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politics. Carol II’s son, Michael I, became king, but in name alone. On 22 June 1941, Romania entered the war against the USSR along with Germany, actively participating in the attack to the east. Romania justified its involvement in the conflict by its desire to recover territories lost to the USSR in 1940, but in the process it invited declarations of war from Great Britain and the United States. On 23 August 1944, King Michael I removed Marshal Antonescu as head of state, and Romania turned against Germany. It once more became a democratic regime, but henceforth the importance and the influence of the Communist Party, backed by the Soviet Union, would increase. Northern Transylvania was given back to Romania, but Bessarabia remained within the USSR. The Communists, with Soviet support, had gradually monopolised political power, the last step being the forced abdication of King Michael I on 30 December 1947 and the proclamation of the Republic. Romania became thus a Communist state on the Soviet model, and parts of the Soviet army were stationed in Romania until 1958. The 1930 census records that 80% of the population lived in rural areas during the inter-war period. The country’s largest city was the capital, Bucharest, which had about 640,000 inhabitants. Table 4-1 Religious distribution (1930) Orthodox 72.6%

Greek Catholic 7.9%

Roman Catholic 5.2%

Calvinist 3.9%

Lutheran 2.2%

Mosaic 4.2%

In 1925 the Metropolitan of Bucharest was raised to the rank of Patriarchate. This was due to the fact that the Romanian Orthodox Church had the largest number of worshipers in this part of Europe, and the context after 1918 demanded it. As far as literacy is concerned, 57% of the population were recorded as literate in 1930, with this increasing to 65% in 1940.

Cremation: The legislative framework Together with the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium, the recognition of the legality of cremation in Romania is the most important moment among all those mentioned above. Cremation was thereby put on the same level as inhumation. Moreover, it was at this time that prospects opened regarding the expansion of the practice throughout Romania. Although it was not the first case of legislative recognition, the Criminal Code issued by Carol II in 1936 established the legitimacy of cremation. Article 313 of

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the Code covered the crime of the desecration of the grave, stipulating that the offence covered not only the desecration of graves, but also of urns and cenotaphs. The offence was to be punished with imprisonment lasting from three months to one year, plus a fine of 2,000 to 5,000 lei. This category of offence also included the act of interfering with a funeral convoy or service, or the stopping of a burial or cremation process, either through violence or threat (Codul 1937, 64). In terms of its sources, this article derives from Article 286 of the 1864 Criminal Code, to which are newly added the issues pertaining to cremation, as well as the 1931 Italian Criminal Code, Articles 407–409. Traian Pop provided further clarification of the law in his 1937 commentary on it (Pop 1937, 264–265). Here he observed that the crime’s legal object was the insult thereby brought to the piety and veneration of the dead. Inspired by comments on the Italian penal code, Pop underlined that the protection of the piety of human remains had to be ensured, since such remains represented objects of veneration, respect and general reverence. Piety towards the dead was regarded as “a moral heritage, whose protection is demanded by the essence of civilisation itself; it is the expression of the oldest ideal and moral values” (Pop 1937, 264). Thus, the material object of the offence was the grave, burial place, coffin, or the urn, as well as the monument and accessories (crosses, wreaths, candles, ornaments, epitaphs, pictures, icons – even dirtying the grave could be considered an offence), with the legal protection also extending to the contents, namely the body or the human remains (whether ashes or bones). Article 313 was inserted because it was thought to be a way to protect the moral and the religious sense of the cult of the dead (clearly referring to the prevention of cremation). Implicit references to cremation were also included in Article 314, concerning the crime of desecrating a corpse, which was punishable by imprisonment from six months to two years. Pop’s analysis also included a number of other interesting comments: in particular, he talked about the cadaver as the material object of inhumation, either before or after the burial or cremation, and thus that desecration was a crime that could happen anywhere, not just at the site of the grave. The cadaver was taken to be any human remains that were likely to produce the idea of respect for the deceased. Therefore, from a legal point of view, this was also a reference to the practice of cremation: “the dead body means also the one turned into ashes, namely human ashes” (Pop 1937, 267). The physical act of desecration encompassed the following: hitting, injury, piercing the corpse, moving it to another position, degradation, suppression, stealing the corpse or part of it or the ashes, exhumation, stripping the body or the human remains or the ashes,

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as well as dirtying the body or necrophilia or other possible actions that a court might deem relevant. The first legislative regulation on cremation in Romania was the Transportation Regulation of the Romanian Railways (Regulamentul de transport al Căilor Ferate Române), issued in 1929. This made specific reference to the transportation of urns; such transportation, “containing the ashes of a corpse, if the urn was properly closed in a solid wooden box,” was to be made according to the articles referring to the transportation of goods (Regulamentul 1929, 266–267). The first clear legal reference to cremation in Romanian history dates from 1930. This law, which concerns marital status documents, regulated the legal status of death and was valid for the entire territory of Greater Romania (Regulamentul 1930, 937). Cremation here was considered to be on the same footing as burial, namely as being a matter of personal choice. References to cremation are included in the section dedicated to the funeral permit, focused in particular on the procedure through which, after the official registration of death, the registrar would fill in the statistical bulletin and issue the permit for burial or cremation. This was done according to the information provided by the person announcing the death. In issuing the permit, the registrar had to specify the exact day and time of the inhumation or cremation. The fourth paragraph of Article 171 makes the second reference to cremation. This paragraph is focused on cases in which there are suspicions regarding the cause of death: in such a case, the burial or cremation permit could not be issued except with the consent of the public prosecutor. Article 172 also referred to cremation, dealing with when the burial or cremation permit could be issued, and addressing the circumstances in which inhumation or cremation could take place somewhere other than the place stated on the document. This raised the question of transport, which had to be made in accordance with sanitary regulations. Regarding the dispute between cremationists and traditionalists which characterised the inter-war period, it is the former group in particular which cites the legal regulations on cremation. This is the case, for example, for an article published by the Archimandrite Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu in 1938, referring to the articles of the penal code. ùerboianu expressed his regret that any such regulations should exist, saying that they manifested “human baseness” (ùerboianu 1938a, 1). The equal status of cremation and inhumation was also invoked by the engineer Mihai Popovici at the Prague Cremation Congress in 1936 (Popovici 1936a, 5). He noted that there had previously been no legal regulations regarding the urns: they were the property of the family of the deceased, and could be

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deposited in cemeteries or columbariums, or their contents could be scattered “on the mountains, in the forest, in the sea, in the rivers, from the plane” – as well as in churches or burial vaults (Popovici 1936a, 4). Further legal regulations were inspired by the inter-war ones. For example, Decree 272/1950 of the marital status documents stated that inhumation or cremation could only be carried out subsequent to receipt of confirmation that the death had been registered (Legea 1957, 29). The penal code of 1948, as amended in 1955, had a section on the respect for dead persons. Articles 313 and 314 from this section made similar provisions to the 1936 code, so far as the legal framing is concerned; the two texts differed, however, regarding punishment. The penal code of 1955 included no fine for the desecration of a grave, urn or tomb, but, although these penalties remained unchanged, the new text expanded on the 1936 regulations by adding the crime of refusing the burial of a corpse or the provisions of a sanitary service once the agreed legal deadline had passed: the offence was punishable by imprisonment of between two and six months (Codul 1955, 134). The 1968 Penal Code’s regulations extended the sanction for this sort of crime by including a correctional sentence of between three months and three years. Oliviu Stoica expands on the nature of this crime, and how it was thought to justify the punishment prescribed, in his treatise on the penal law of that period (Stoica 1976, 426–427). The nature of the offence is clear: the rules of social coexistence are violated in case of the desecration of a grave (or monument, dead body or urn). Desecration was considered a culpable “misprision” of human feelings, seriously disturbing the relations between citizens and causing “the mournful families’ bitterness.” Such behaviour had therefore to be punished (Antoniu et al. 1988, 307–308). The current legislation is roughly the same as it was in the inter-war period and as it continued during Communism: Article 319 of the current penal code includes the offence of the desecration by any means of a grave, tomb, funeral urn or cadaver, leading to a sanction of imprisonment from between three months and three years (Codul 2008, 195). Two aspects are to be noted by way of comparative analysis. First, we see the merging of the two articles that determine the sanction pursuant to the offence, leading thereby both to a more flexible juridical formula as well as to an increase in the severity of the sentence. Secondly, an important provision is no longer to be found: this is the one concerning the prevention of a cremation or burial, or the blocking of a funeral convoy. The reason for this is not hard to find: this type of crime has been uncommon in Romania during recent decades. Civil procedures related to cremation in present-day Romania are

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provided for via the Civil Code (a special law adopted by the Romanian Parliament on 16 October 1996) (Legea 2008). The code provides that the registrar shall issue a cremation or burial permit to the person who has announced the death, much as before. There are new provisions, however, adapted to the contemporary context: specific mention is made of cremation or inhumation in cases where a Romanian citizen has died abroad or while travelling in an aircraft or ship; and reference is also made to cases of contravention, such as where parties proceed with burial or cremation or the celebration of the relevant religious ceremonies in the absence of certification (Legea 2008). Fines are established for such offences. Concerning the interpretation of the current penal code’s provisions on cremation, similar issues arise as have been raised in our consideration of earlier periods. One particular legal aspect of cremation must be highlighted, though: namely that cremation and burial have equal status on the Burial/Cremation Permit issued at death. This shows that in theory, although not in practice, the two have equal status. This permit must be given to the priest in order for him to celebrate the religious service for the deceased. However, since the Romanian Orthodox Church rejects cremation, the Orthodox priest simply refuses to perform such a service for those who opt for cremation.

The revival of the idea, its implementation, and the establishment of Cenuúa Crematorium (1921–1928) The establishment of the Cenuúa (Ashes) Society, initially called Nirvana, was the first key moment in the acceptance of human cremation in inter-war Romania. Although the situation was generally favourable for the acceptance of cremationist ideas, this was not entirely due to the efforts of the Romanian cremationists, who were few in number prior to World War I; more significant was the fact that, since 1921, Bucharest City Hall had been entertaining ideas of building a crematorium. In 1921, the Municipal Council of Bucharest, under the leadership of Mayor Gheorghe Gheorghian, had held a public meeting in which they discussed the necessity of building a human crematorium in Bucharest. Despite the pressures of the post-war situation, and the various other priorities with which they were faced, Gheorghian, together with the engineer Jacques Katz and E. Pache Protopopescu, managed to gather an initial fund of about 340,000 lei for the crematorium’s construction. But because of the unfavourable context the fund remained unused for a number of years (Mari 1935, 2). The issue was taken up a year later, under

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the presidency of Gheorghe Corbescu. As this shows, the essential impulse in favour of cremation was already in place in 1923, when the Nirvana Society was established – later becoming the Cenuúa Society for Supporting and Expanding Human Cremation in Romania. Its members included the minister of labour, Grigore Trancu-Iaúi, the physician Mina Minovici, and Radu D. Rosetti. The president of the Cenuúa Society was Ion Costinescu, also a physician, and a key figure in the building of the crematorium and the promotion of the idea of cremation. He had an overwhelming influence due to the positions and offices he held: Costinescu had been the capital’s communal counsellor between 1907 and 1911, and had been promulgating the idea of cremation ever since (Mari 1935, 1); he also became the mayor of Bucharest for two mandates, and was minister of health three times in the 1930s. The opening of Cenuúa Crematorium, in January 1928, took place while he was mayor of Bucharest. Trancu-Iaúi also played a crucial role. The establishment of the Nirvana Society took place in his house, over tea between a group of five persons (Mari 1935, 2). In fact, even in the inter-war years some of the society’s meetings were held at Grigore Trancu Iaúi’s residence (ACCU – a – Domnule 1938, 1). Both Trancu-Iaúi and Gheorghian were elected vicepresidents of the society, and it was Gheorghe Gheorghian who changed the name to Cenuúa (Mari 1935, 2) – although initially the society had been set up without his knowledge, and notwithstanding that Flacăra Sacră expressed the opinion that it was Radu D. Rosetti, and not Gheorgian, who had changed the name. The Nirvana Society received legal status on 19 March 1923. The change in name was due to complaints made by Orthodox circles that the society was promoting a pagan (i.e. Hindu) ideal. At a meeting of the Cenuúa Society in 1934, it was suggested that, in recognition of his merits, the crematorium bear the name of Ion Costinescu; an offer which he modestly refused. Both Grigore Trancu-Iaúi and Gheorghian also refused to hold honorary positions for life within the Society (ACCU – a – Proces 1934, 1). The establishment of the society in 1923 met with sympathy from a section of the Romanian press. For example, on 7 March 1923, Timpul published an article, signed with a pseudonym, which welcomed the initiative and made references to the context of ancient Egypt (Sărmanul Dionis 1934, 2). The article compared the Egyptians, considered to be the only ones who had the dignity to proudly rebel against death by practicing the mummification of the deceased, with the modern cremationists who by their ideas redeem man’s surrender to death. The human body should not

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be left to the ministrations of worms and rats: it had to be destroyed – cremation, like mummification, being an act which preserved human dignity. The article closed with the author expressing support for the cause of building a crematorium in Bucharest, and regretting that he did not have 1,000 lei to become a member of Cenuúa Society. In an article published in 1923, A. Munte described the establishment of the Nirvana Society in similar positive tones (Munte 1934, 3), although the arguments he marshalled in its support were rather more concrete than those of the pseudonymous author in Timpul. Munte enumerated the huge size of the Bucharest cemeteries, as well as the high mortality rate, the miasma theory, and the economic advantages – cremation representing one-tenth of the expense of burial. The article briefly detailed the operation of cremation, as well as the general construction costs, which amounted to approximately one million lei. A subscription fund had been opened whereby people could become members of the society and deposit 1,000 lei; but, the author averred, the Bucharest municipal goverment was also obliged to contribute. The liberal newspaper Viitorul was also supportive of the Cenuúa Society (Petronius 1923, 1), and praised the efforts to build a crematorium in Bucharest – making special mention of the crucial support of Constantin Dissescu, who had donated 100,000 lei. The article also addressed the polemics that surrounded cremation, although without coming down strongly on either side. Cremation was presented primarily as something symbolic, a kind of apotheosis of life. The argument was simple but compelling: the immortality of the soul required that its “coat” – the human body – be purified through fire after death. The article’s author imagined the funerary monument of the planned crematorium to be a park with statues, benches for rest and gates of roses, a kind of replica Paradise. Consequently, it was considered that cremation would represent “leaving life in triumph and not mourning” (Petronius 1923, 1). I. Duscian also expressed praise in an article published in 1923, welcoming the emergence of Cenuúa Society and detailing the crematorium in Dresden, which he had seen some years before. Duscian believed that this could serve as an example for a future crematorium in Bucharest. According to him, cremation helped alleviate the pain and the fear of death (Duscian 1923, 4–5). The way in which the Romanian cremationists of the day were perceived remains highly significant. According to the sources from that period, the overall perception was negative. Constantin Dissescu’s case is significant here: when his vocal cords became paralysed, the “gossipers” linked this to the fact that he was a supporter of cremation, saying that he

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had been affected by the curses of the clergy (Predescu 1990, 59). Interestingly, Dissescu had for some time been the leader of the Romanian cremationists, having made a fundamental contribution towards the construction of Cenuúa Crematorium. But acording to testimony provided a few years later by Radu D. Rosetti, Dissescu betrayed the movement for unworthy reasons, later seeking not only to reconcile himself with the old enemies of the practice but also making a shameful shift to the other side of the barricade. As far as Rosetti was concerned, he himself had remained faithful to the ideas he had adhered to in his youth. Although he is represented in the pages of Flacăra Sacră by only one article, he remained strongly involved in the unfolding of the Romanian cremation movements of the time; and at the end of his life (1964) he opted for cremation, as a fulfilment of his ideas. George Călinescu recalled that Rosetti, feeling that the end was near, used to keep his urn in the “little chamber” where he rested. The urn was inscribed with the text “Radu D. Rosetti, died on … ” (Călinescu 1986, 584). The motivation for this behaviour was simple: the fear that his fervent desire to be incinerated would not be respected. The episode is also mentioned in the memoirs of Dumitru Corbea. After sketching a brief portrait of Rossetti, pointing out his qualities and emphasising his reputation at that time, Corbea recalls that the first thing he was shown during his first visit to Rossetti’s house was a “marble urn, which he kept at sight, on the closet, as a flower vase, as a precious ornament” (Corbea 1982, 232). According to his own testimony, Rosetti was very proud to have been one of the initiators of the Cenuúa Crematorium, and was an admirer of the Brahmin practice in this area (Corbea 1982, 232). Rosetti was also involved in the setting up of the Cenuúa Society. He organised a conference on the issue at the Romanian Athenaeum in October 1923. Presa newspaper (in an article entitled “6000 de persoane adera la cremaĠiune, Presa, 1923,” and quoted in Flacara Sacra, no. 4, 1937 (Ziarul 1937)) provided a report on this conference, which developed the idea of expanding cremation, starting from a series of philosophical discussions on death. Rosetti highlighted the hygienic, economic and social arguments, rejecting the religious counter-arguments and giving as examples a number of European models. Rosetti considered cremation to be the ultimate form of human equality in death. As a result of this conference, the newspaper recorded, 6,000 people affirmed their support for cremation, including many women. According to the same newspaper, 3,000 people had joined the movement at the 1913 conference, which had also been organised by Rosetti. These numbers appear to be exaggerated when compared to the actual number of members

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of the Cenuúa Society in 1923–1925, but such exaggeration was a standard mode of propaganda. Another turning point was the Bucharest Council meeting of 31 October 1923. Here it was decided that public land would be used for the building of the crematorium, and 345,000 lei would be given to the Cenuúa Society to support its work. The reasons cited for this decision were the social need for a crematorium, the fact that cremation had many followers in Romania at that time, and that some of the society’s members were very famous (ACCU– a – 1923).

Figure 4-1 Decision in which the city hall supported the building of the human crematorium in Bucharest (1923)

This financial support from the city hall was insufficient, however, and in 1923 the Cenuúa Society, through its committee, launched a public appeal for subscriptions. The committee then consisted of C. Dissescu (former minister), I. Costinescu (mayor of Bucharest), Gh. Gheorghian (former mayor of Bucharest), Grigore Trancu Iaúi and Mina Minovici (physicians and professors), M. Berceanu (lawyer, first mayor assistant of the mayor of Bucharest), L. Skupiewski (physician, former first mayor assistant of Bucharest), I. Roban (secretary-general of Bucharest City Hall), and Mihai Popovici (engineer). The building of the crematorium was considered to be a work of great social significance and the building

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itself was “to be a work of art, a masterpiece” of Bucharest (ACCU – a – Onorate 1923). Events moved quickly in the years that followed. In the summer of 1925, backed by loans worth eight million lei, the idea progressed beyond the preparation stage to the building of the crematorium proper (Popovici 1936b, 2–3). The evolution of the Cenuúa Society in this period is also interesting. Its membership increased almost continuously, from 14 in 1923, to 210 in 1928, and reaching 892 members in 1936. However, the establishment of the Cenuúa Society represented the adoption of a Western model of cremation, as developed in the second half of the nineteenth century. Romania’s experience in this respect was dissimilar to those of neighbouring and nearby countries, where the societies supporting cremation had been established and had advocated for its legal status long before the practice itself (the construction of a crematorium and the cremation of the first dead body) was actually implemented. Romania was an exception since the building of Cenuúa Crematorium started only five years after the setting up of the Cenuúa Society. By comparison, the first cremation society had existed in Serbia since 1904, but the first crematorium was built in Belgrade only in 1963 and inaugurated in 1964 (Davies and Mates 2005, 84–87). Hungary’s case is relevant, as there was no cremation society in the inter-war period, despite the fact that cremation ideas had been circulating since the late nineteenth century. Hungary’s case is also notable in that first crematorium was built in Debrecen in 1932, but was opened only in 1951 (Davies and Mates 2005, 251–252). An excellent source regarding the profile and activities of the Nirvana Society can be found in its Articles of Association (Anteproiect 1935, 5– 7). These record that the institution was located in Bucharest and was based on the principle of mutual aid among its members. Its remit covered the whole country, and the explicit purpose of the society was to promote human cremation, to conduct propaganda in support of the practice, to participate through mutual aid in paying the cremation costs of its members, and to try to create an insurance system for the members’ descendants. Any person under sixty years of age could become member; those over this age could obtain membership only with the approval of the board of directors; and children could be enrolled as members by their parents or tutors. After becoming a member – achieved by filling in a form – one had to pay fees to become a founder or active member, plus subscription for a year. The members of the society were classified into five categories: founder members (members from 1923), who had contributed the amount of 1,000 lei to the initial fund; active members,

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namely those who paid the registration fee of 200 lei and the annual subscription fee; active-founder members, namely those who had paid the registration fee of 1,000 lei and regularly paid their subscriptions; donor members, who paid a registration fee or made a donation of 5,000 lei; benefactor members, who paid a registration fee or made a donation of 10,000 lei; and honorary members, namely those who were awarded this title by the board of directors. The obligations of the members were detailed in Article 5. The members had to actively support the moral and economic interests of the society, and had to work actively towards its “prosperity, progress and good name.” Registration fees and annual subscriptions were then established. The highest fees were paid by members aged between fifty-six and sixty, and the lowest by those aged between seven and thirty. Contributions were to be paid until death or for twenty years. If the fees were paid, the society was to cover the costs of cremation, coffin, the corpse’s transportation by hearse from the deceased’s home to the chapel of the crematorium, the decorations and lighting in the chapel, the mourning accessories (curtains and carpets), and finally the metallic urn. It was also the responsibility of the society to follow the burial procedures set by the local authorities – that is, the family of the deceased was to announce the death as early as possible. Other funeral ornaments, as well as the religious ceremony, were the responsibility of the families but were provided by the society at a special rate. The cost of zinc coffins was not covered by the society. Members who were not resident in Bucharest only had their transportation costs from the train station to the crematorium covered. The urn was kept for forty days in the columbarium, and if the family was not interested in it, it would be deposited in the common burying grave after that period. Articles 6–10 clarified the procedures to be followed in other cases, including the death of a member without payment of their fee; members who were fulfilling their military service; the possibility of withdrawal from and re-enrolment in the society; cremating persons who were not members (special rates were set by the council; and the same applied for the cremation of corpses for whom Bucharest City Hall or other institutions were paying); the means of paying subscriptions; and various penalty fees for delays. The society’s constituent bodies were the General Assembly, the Board of Directors, and the Auditing Commission (Anteproiect 1935, 5–7). Article 13 specified the composition of the General Assembly – all the members of the society. This met once a year between 1 January and 31 March, or if was requested by 100 members or convoked by the Board of Directors. The assembly was considered quorate if more than half the membership was present. The

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General Assembly had a range of duties, including voting for the two upper bodies, and serving the financial and organisational needs of the society (including the processes of change, such as amending the articles or merging with other societies). The Council was made up of twenty-one members, renewed each year through one-third rotation, so that each member would be replaced within three years. Re-elections were also admitted. The Council had a president, two vice-presidents and a secretary-general, the latter acting as administrator of the society. The Council was the most important body within the society’s structures: it decided on the admission of members aged over sixty, drew up the budget of expenses and income subject to the approval of the General Assembly, decided whether to receive donations, named and dismissed the society’s civil servants, decided on technical works, drew up the crematorium’s regulations, set the rates for the cremation of non-members, set rates for various works, drafted the report and the agenda for annual meetings, and delegated the two persons who, together with the secretary-general, constituted the Management Committee (Anteproiect 1935, 5–7). The Council met when summoned by the president, by one of the vicepresidents, the secretary, or by a request from four of its members. It required the presence of more than half of its members to be quorate, and decisions were made by majority. The members of the Management Committee were remunerated according to the decision of the Council.

Figure 4-2 Cenuúa Society membership application form

The secretary-general played a key role in the society. As a member of the Management Committee he “managed the Society daily” (Anteproiect

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1935, 5–7), albeit with reference to the articles and current decisions. He was ensured that “documents, both legal and auxiliary” were ordered and constantly updated. The secretary-general also managed the administrative and technical staff and workers, drawing up the daily agenda and coordinated works, and discharging any other management and administration tasks for which he was responsible. Meanwhile, the Auditing Commission supervised the society’s documents and records. It checked them every three months, with no advance notice. Balance sheets and accounts were checked monthly. The auditors had a one-year mandate, and the right to sign off financial transactions rested with the president and the secretary-general. When donations of over 10,000 lei were received, the donors’ names were registered “as founders of the building” on marble plaques secured on the walls of the chapel, in the cemetery of urns and in the Society’s Golden Book. Budget surpluses were used for technical improvements, as well as for the landscaping of the cemetery park and for setting up a fund for support and pensions for the employees. The articles specified that the society would dissolve in any of three situations: financial problems, a drop in membership to under 100 persons, or other special situations. In case of dissolution, property would pass entirely to the municipal government, providing that this otherwise complied with the rights of the society’s members. Changes in the articles were possible only with the approval of two thirds of the members, present at the General Assembly. The official status of the articles resulted also from the fact that they became valid only after their publication in the Labour and Social Security Bulletin (Anteproiect 1935, 5–7). Several other features of the articles are worth noting. First, the operation of the society was intended to be based on democratic principles and mechanisms. Second, the link between the institution and the city hall was intended to be very close – something which explains the high level of financial support from the Bucharest local authorities. Despite this, the Cenuúa Society was main body that organised, managed and developed the crematorium which bore its name. This, then, underscores the importance of the moment in 1948 when Cenuúa Crematorium was nationalised and became subordinate to Bucharest City Hall. Yet it would not be wholly true to claim that Bucharest City Hall was the junior partner in the setting up of Cenuúa Society, the building of the crematorium, and its opening in Bucharest. The testimony of the physician Nicolae Minovici is relevant in this regard. The crematorium, he says, was established to serve a single purpose, that of cremating the corpses of unknown persons: “I thought it was better for these [unknown] human remains to be burned, but we ended

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up, against our will, with many calls from many people who asked and left in their will to be cremated” (Minovici 1934, 7). Related to the organisation of the Cenuúa Society, we may note that it failed to establish subsidiaries in cities other than Bucharest. If had succeeded in doing so, this would have been a major step towards the expansion of the practice in Romania. Ideas for expansion were raised in 1936. Mihai Popovici showed that setting up branches in all parts of Romania, under the existing legal facilities, would have been “exempted” from a great deal of expenses and running costs. Five or ten persons could have set up a “daughter-society of the mother-society from Bucharest” (Popovici 1936b, 3). Comparing this situation with similar ones, such as the establishment of societies for moderating vices such as alcoholism, a major difference comes to the fore. Where the church endorsed such societies, they would be set up all over the country; and where this endorsement was not given, there were difficulties. A list of the members of the society’s Board of Directors at the time may be relevant here in order to highlight the high social status of those who managed it. In 1936, the Board of Directors included Ion Costinescu, minister of industry and trade, as president; Gheorghe Gheorghian, former general mayor of Bucharest, and Professor Grigore Trancu-Iaúi, former minister, as vicepresidents; and Mihai Popovici, a director in Bucharest City Hall, as secretary-general. The members were: Radu D. Rosetti, lawyer, president of Ilfov Bar Association; Professor David Emanuel; L. Skupiewski, physician, former mayor of the capital; Alex Aurian, physician; Colonel C. Stănescu; C. Solomonescu, lawyer, vice-president of Ilfov Bar; Zoe Tănase, pharmacist; C. Davidescu, engineer, general inspector of public works; Professor I. Trăiănescu, architect; I. Ionescu Boaca, lawyer; A. Solomonide, trade representative; Sever Herdan, notable industrialist; C. Comănescu, journalist; V. Daschievici, quaestor; N. Vintilescu, physician; and Jacques Rosenberg, merchant. The Auditing Commission comprised C. Catzian, chartered accountant, A. Botez, publicist, and R. Bercovici, merchant (Dare 1936, 3). It is evident that many on the list had high reputations, which ensured the prestige of the society; but the fact that many were Jews is significant. As time passed, various tensions arose within the society due to criticisms of the secretary, Mihai Popovici, and deviations from the rules as set down in the articles may be noted. For example, in 1937, Davidescu withdrew from the Management Committee, which he considered to be paralysed due to Popovici’s activities. These were, he said, diverting the society from its articles; Davidescu made the accusation that the society’s members were all being put into the same category, “as if everyone has the

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same financial means and raises claims for the same pomp.” Davidescu highlighted that such measures were not put into practice for the cremation of non-members. The financial situation was considered the reason why some members refused to pay their subscriptions, and why other supporters of cremation refused to become members (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1937, 4). In a report drafted in 1930, Popovici provided significant information regarding the operation of the Cenuúa Society in its early years (Popovici 1930). According to him, the first headquarters of the society was originally in his house, but Mayor Costinescu allowed him to relocate it to his office in Bucharest City Hall. Popovici also stated that the society was born on 7 March 1923, in his office and on his initiative. Not being a lucrative society, Cenuúa faced financial difficulties from the very beginning, and for a period in 1924 it operated in a room provided by the industrialist Marcu Dattelkremer, in one of his shops. To provide for easy access by the public, Popovici later moved the society’s headquarters back into his office in city hall. The pioneering role assumed by Popovici is prominent in his testimony: he tells us that, due to the financial difficulties, “I used to do everything: I was an engineer, architect, cashier, payer, accountant, secretary, reporter, courier and all that an enterprise with no money needs” (ACCU – a – Popovici 1930). In this report, Popovici also indicates that the opening of the crematorium was the fulfilment of a desire expressed by C. I. Istrati in 1872. In a broader context, it is essential to highlighlight the gap between the establishment of the first cremation society in Romania and other similar movements in the West. Here I am referring particularly to the pioneer states that developed the practice beginning in the second half of the nineteenth century. For example, in 1908 there were about 40,000 members of cremation societies in Germany, with two magazines (Pursell 2009, 235). Broadly speaking, one may infer that the attainment of legal status for cremation in Europe was due to the activities of these societies, through their public campaigning, the influence of their members, and lobbying. These organisations can be seen as the results of cultural innovation, drawing on a spirit of voluntarism and recruiting from diverse social and religious groups (in Germany, Pursell notes the important role played by women, Catholics and renegade Israelites in these societies). We may also reflect that the cremation movement can be seen as civic solidarity in action, contributing to the democratisation of the wider society (Pursell emphasises the significance of this feature in the conservative and militaristic Germany of the early twentieth century) (Pursell 2009, 235).

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The short period of time between the establishment of a cremation society in Romania (1923) and the opening of the crematorium in Bucharest in 1928 can be explained by several factors: 1. the force of the cremation movement in Romania. This is shown not necessarily by the number of the Cenuúa Society’s members (which was rather low), but by their quality; 2. the direct interest which the municipal authorities had in building a crematorium; 3. the model provided by the success of cremation movements at the international level.

The reaction of the Orthodox Church The Romanian Orthodox Church remained vehemently opposed to cremation, especially in the run-up to 1928. The official newspaper Biserica Ortodoxă Română is an ample source of examples in this regard. This virulent response may be noted from the moment of the first signs of the revival of cremation in inter-war Romania. The setting up of the Nirvana Society by no means passed unnoticed in the pages of the newspaper. The fact was reported by the Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban in a column of brief news items (Ce ne 1923, 389). Cremation was considered foreign to Romania, a harmful practice hidden under the mantle of progress. The publication manifested some satisfaction concerning the name adopted by the society, which showed that it was foreign to Christianity. But the principal target of the criticism was the general manager of Christian denominations, ùtefan Brădiúteanu, who, unfortunately for him, had signed off the request to set up the society. This story suggests an important conclusion: the name of the society was changed deliberately by its members, simply to escape these unwanted accusations. Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban continued his crusade by developing a form of rhetoric which combined sounding the alarm with attempts to discourage the development of the practice. His intervention in March 1923, occasioned by the efforts to set up the Nirvana Society, was concerned to express his condemnation of the “manners” of the time. The example upon which he drew was the attempt to introduce the foreign practice of cremation into the Romanian territories. Consequently, the second request advanced by the members of the Cenuúa Society was considered by Scriban to be unwarranted. In his opinion, the idea that inhumation and cremation could exist was unacceptable. Iuliu Scriban identified two engineers, two architects, three physicians, three journalists

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and a former minister (Grigore Trâncu-Iaúi) as members of the Nirvana Society: he saw in this grouping an attempted “reconciliation” of irreconcilable things such as reason and the triumph of madness. He considered this to be characteristic of the post-war context (A.S. 1923, 478).

Figure 4-3 Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban (1878–1949), one of the most vehement opponents of cremation in the inter-war period (source: www.ziarulumina.ro)

The Orthodox Church’s attempts to discourage the cremation movement are manifest in various articles that aim to diminish the efforts of the Romanian cremationists. For example, harsh comment is passed upon various conferences on cremation which were held after the setting up of the Cenuúa Society. Thus the conference held by the physician C. Poenaru-Căplescu at the Romanian Athenaeum in Bucharest, on 28 March 1924, was reported in the Orthodox newspapers to have been a failure (Arderea 1924, 255). Similiarly, Poenaru-Căplescu himself was cast in a negative light by the Orthodox papers, due to his acceptance of the legalisation of abortion. His speech was said to have been poor, to have bored the audience and failed to achieve its purpose, driving the supporters

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of cremation to despair. As regards the latter, the author of the piece in question passed sardonic comment on them (“the ashmen were struck with thunder”) (Arderea 1924, 255). Cremationists were considered naive and short-sighted. One of the principal arguments the advanced in favour of their view – namely the ugliness of the decomposition process – was flatly denied. In fact, the Orthodox counterargument went further, claiming that cremation, too, was possessed of its own ugliness. This was a reference to one of the key myths of the burning process, concerning changes in the body’s position during the process of cremation (Arderea 1924, 255). The anti-cremation attitude within Biserica Ortodoxă Română’s pages grew in intensity. The Motion against the Cremation of Dead, written by Archimandrite I. Scriban for the Congress of the General Association of Priests held between 30 October and 1 November 1923, presented a formal anti-cremation point of view. This motion was adopted in response to what was described as the “measures taken by Bucharest City Hall to build in this capital a furnace for burning the dead, which is to be started to be built in the spring of 1924” (Miúcarea 1924, 111). The motion was spurred by three considerations: the 1923 Constitution, which set down that the dominant religion of the Romanian state was the Orthodox Church; the fact that cremation was a pagan system; and the sense that this was a foreign intervention on Romanian territory, derived from “the wretched spirit of walking the paths of all that is done abroad.” Those who supported the motion wanted to persuade the Holy Synod and Bucharest City Hall to reject the initiative (Miúcarea 1924, 111). Other reactions against cremation are to be found in the publication’s pages, especially in the news column. There were short notes on the topic designed to upset the arguments in favour of cremation, or to correct certain dissident attitudes recorded among some of the Orthodox clergy themselves. An example of the latter is a priest named N. Popescu, writing in 1923, who believed that the Church would not oppose the state in establishing crematoria. Biserica Ortodoxă Română responded in its capacity as the official newspaper, showing that this idea did not comply with religious precepts, and suggesting that the state itself would fight against the establishment of crematoria. This latter idea was based on the thought that the constitution established the Orthodox Church as the state religion, and that between Christians and the practice of cremation there was an impassable gap (Statul 1923, 1078). Biserica also criticised the support for the building of the crematorium manifest in Bucharest City Hall, mentioning various articles in other newspapers that were considered propaganda for cremation (the municipal authorities themselves were

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criticised for providing land for the crematorium, and giving the sum of 345,000 lei to the Nirvana Society) (Primăria 1923, 1078–1079). Such articles were both impulses for the clergy to take action and criticism of the passivity which still characterised a segment of the clergy. The complexities of the situation sometimes led to the contemplation of intriguing hypotheses, such as the possible involvement of priests in support of cremation: “Hopefully priests will not find themselves caught in this current, so that we say: Lest the oven shall be built and one could find a priest there blessing the water for the opening!” (Primăria 1923, 1078– 1079). The most vehement criticism in the pages of Biserica Ortodoxă Română was reserved for the city hall’s direct support for the cremationist movement. The Orthodox newspaper took information from newspapers such as DimineaĠa or Universul on the meetings the Cenuúa Society was holding with local authorities (recalling that the president of the society, Ion Costinescu, was also mayor in this period), or on the number of members and their donations. This demonstrated that city hall was “completely at the service” of the cremationists, despite the fact that the practice of burning corpses was still contrary to Romanian constitutional provisions (the state was not atheist or neutral in matters of religion) (Arderea 1923, 1013). Biserica Ortodoxă Română was quite correct in thinking that Bucharest City Hall had been engaged in the revival of cremation since World War I; yet the Orthodox milieu responded to this in a rather subjective way. For example, a report from Bucharest City Hall on a meeting held by the Cenuúa Society in March 1924 became an opportunity to condemn the practice (Cei cu 1924, 188). Iuliu Scriban recalled that, in December 1923, when Radu D. Rosetti had held a cremation conference in the presence of the mayor, he had taken the floor, condemning the practice and demonstrating that the building of the crematorium was an issue for “private persons” and not for the local authorities of Bucharest. But his speech had no impact. Scriban considered that the reason for this lack of impact was the weak responsiveness to the practices of the Orthodox milieu. Given the clergy’s passivity, Scriban perceived a danger that the crematorium would be built and that the anti-cremation movement would have been too late. Universul was one of the newspapers most widely used by Biserica Ortodoxă Română as a source of information on the activities of the Romanian cremationists. The Orthodox commentators would start out with the information in Universul, and then editorialise. Sometimes the passivity of the Romanian clergy towards cremation was addressed. The

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sums of money given by Bucharest City Hall to build the crematorium were mentioned: according to Universul, one million lei had been given by the city hall after the meeting on 25 November 1924. The magazine passed ironic comment on the lack of activity demonstrated by the Romanian clergy: “all the better, if we do not lift a hand!” (Iar cuptorul 1924, 704) Sometimes, the same publications drew connections with various other activities considered anti-Christian: thus Scriban also reacted against the attempts by the free-thinkers to set themselves up as an organisation. Their activity was considered to be on the same level as that of the cremationists (Alta 1923, 1014). Biserica Ortodoxă Română also implied that the cremationists were associated with freemasons. This was a longstanding allegation, but became better known after 1928. Certainly, there were obvious connections between Freemasonry and cremationism in some European areas (such as Italy); but within the Romanian territories these links were weaker. Nevertheless, the Orthodox anti-cremation movement struggled hard to prove a connection, perceiving that this would be a way to stigmatise cremation and the Romanian cremationists in corpore. A connection was first mooted in the pages of Biserica Ortodoxă Română in September 1927. The relevant passage presents some cremation statistics for Germany 1926, along with the fact that there were two crematoria operating in Austria, both opened after World War I. The notice was brief but probative, with the following comment inserted: “Freemasonry makes propaganda for burning. I wish them to benefit from it!” (Arderea 1927, 561). At the same time, Biserica Ortodoxă Română published articles on cremation, concern the stage of developed it then had attained. Clearly, growing importance was being assigned to it, and this increased as the 1928 moment drew closer. The case of an article signed by a priest named C. Grigorovschi in 1924 is relevant in this regard (Grigorovschi 1924, 707–709). It is notable also because it concerned a priest from FerbinĠi village, Hotin County, not a prominent priest from among the Romanian clergy. On the one hand, this demonstrated that the issue had now penetrated the the second rank of the Orthodox clergy. On the other hand, the fact that a second-rank priest was responding to the cremationists’ propaganda shows that the Orthodox Church had not yet directed its fire against the cremationists. Grigorovschi’s article was occasioned by a specific event: the Ministry of Domestic Affairs, advised by physicians, had drafted a bill on burial which proposed the establishment of new cemeteries and crematoria. Cremation would become an option, for adults over eighteen, in the event that the deceased’s relatives accepted this idea or if the deceased had not left a

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record that he opposed cremation. Hygienic reasons for this were mentioned, but Grigorovschi considered them marginal and avoided discussing them. He was more concerned to analyse the issue from the point of view of “the most important parts, spiritual-moral and Christiantheological” (Grigorovschi 1924, 708). The cremation of the corpse meant insulting the memory of the deceased, casting him more easily into oblivion, and thus was a grave sin against man’s natural feelings. According to Grigorovschi, love and brotherhood ties entailed the perpetuation of a person’s memory, including care for his earthly remains. Moreover, a person’s connection with the earth was, he said, much stronger than it seems. The earth was considered “our nourishing mother,” but also the resting place. The author questioned whether the deceased’s wishes for cremation would even be valid, since they were anti-Christian. From a theological point of view, Grigorovschi brought arguments to bear against the practice of cremation. It was not consistent with the Bible, where only inhumation is mentioned and emphasis is laid on the theory of resurrection; and it neglected the fact that the Christian body has a “certain holiness,” having once been a home for the Holy Spirit. Semantic arguments were also advanced for inhumation (connecting death with being asleep). On these foundations, the author expanded on the idea of the futility of human life and the fulfilment of the Christian’s destiny through death, rest and resurrection, and thus advanced to his final conclusion: that the introduction of cremation, even as an option, would be shattering for worshipers. Since what was at stake was a moral and religious issue, the opinion of the church had to prevail (Grigorovschi 1924, 709). The topicality of the issue is also signalled by another type of article published in the same newspaper, namely those with a more anthropological and expository bent. For example, an article signed by a priest named I. Mihălcescu and published in 1925 provided a comparative analysis of the cult of the deceased among the pagans and the martyrs’ cult in the Christian religion (Mihălcescu 1925, 22–29). In this case, the practice of cremation was considered a purely pagan one, which had disappeared when Christianity became dominant. The engine of this change was the unshakable faith Christians have in the resurrection of the body. According to Mihălcescu, the disappearance of cremation with Christianity also had another explanation, upon which he rested another argument: “a second reason is that it became a habit” (Mihălcescu 1925, 26). He also discusses the issue as it had developed in the present day, making specific reference to the stir it had caused. The author deals with it “superficially,” however, considering it sufficient to say that even the first

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Christians saw cremation as profane. There is a suspicious absence of reference to the cremation of certain Christian martyrs, however: Mihălcescu perhaps avoided the subject in order to avoid being drawn into more intricate explanations. Another article dedicated entirely to the subject and published in the same newspaper was written by a priest named Constantin N. Coman, also a second-rank Orthodox clergyman (Coman 1924, 341–342). The article was occasioned by the decision of the Bucharest City Hall to support the building of the crematorium with a grant of half a million lei. The tone of this article is more vehement: the author does not go into the details of the arguments and counterarguments, but presents an open call to reject the practice and the dangers to which it gives rise. Thus he addresses the mothers, wives and husbands of the “lost ones,” and calls out to all Romanians: “you, all Romanians, who have imbibed our ancestors’ faith along with the milk of your mother, do you tolerate strangers to change your law? Do you tolerate that, for the taste of few lost ones, your cemetery is closed, and the flame of fire is open?” (Coman 1924, 342). The author concludes by urging the cremationists to have patience – since they will receive the true fire of God at the final judgment. One of the most detailed articles written in support of the view that the Orthodox clergy could countenance cremation was by N. Cotos, and was published in several successive editions of Candela in 1925. This article was still being quoted long after it had been published, and was taken over by several Orthodox clergymen in guiding their attitudes on cremation. Cotos’s article can, perhaps, be considered the most significant expression of the Orthodox stance in the period prior to the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium. This is a long article, intended to be broadly elucidative of the topic. In the first part, Cotos sets out what has motivated him to undertake his endeavour: specifically, the intentions of Bucharest City Hall. He then proceeds to give a primarily semantic account of the situation, proposing the word “cindering” as a more faithful translation than “cremation” of the French word “incineration.” He then proposes a definition of “cindering” using technical terms: “the reduction to cinders of man’s earthly remains through fire or hot air” (Cotos 1925, 49). This was then contrasted to inhumation, embalming or other methods of “handling” the corpse (including devouring by animals or keeping it at home until completely decomposed). According to Cotos, this issue cannot be treated lightly, or addressed purely theoretically: opting for cremation could not be a neutral matter, either for an individual or for society. Thus, “handling earthly human remains cannot be regarded as a casual sport, left at anyone’s

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mercy” (Cotos 1925, 50). From this perspective, the emergence of the practice in Romania reflected national vanities about keeping up with Western trends; but at the same time, it was related to the “mania of personal originality.” According to Cotos, these two impulses characterised the psychological motivations of the Romanian cremationists, but neither amounted to a proper defense of the practice. Not only were a number of traditions being questioned, but the Christian religion was coming under direct attack. After this introduction, Cotos then offered a brief historical overview of cremation. Reference was made to ancient times, and to the way in which inhumation had come to prevail over cremation. What had driven this change in the way the corpse was handled was proposed to have been a series of changes in religious ideas, which had in turn affected the image of the after-world. Thus, for ancient Greece and Rome, the focus had been on cremation. The practice was influenced by the cremation of heroes and the fear of the cadaver. Moreover, it was more commonly used for elites than for the mass of the population (a situation also found among the Germanic peoples) (Cotos 1925, 54–55). The role of Christianity in making the practice disappear was again emphasised. As in other cases, the author made no mention of the cremation of Christian martyrs. Turning to modern cremation, Cotos provided a brief overview of how modern cremation ideas had been revived and translated into reality in the second half of the nineteenth century. The practice having been considered anti-Christian, he explained that the French Revolution was what had caused its revival, and that the development of materialistic and atheistic doctrines had favoured its spread. He emphasised the importance of cremation societies and the legalisation of the practice in certain European countries, as well as the development of the burning technology. The cremation statistics which N. Cotos inserted – although without giving references – are also interesting. These statistics referred to the context of cremation up to the outbreak of World War I, and author considered that from that time, until the time he wrote his article, there had been no great changes in the field (Cotos 1925, 58–59). But in this he was mistaken – crematoria had been built and cremations had taken place in various European countries immediately after the war. The fourth and fifth parts of the article dealt with the pros and cons cremation (Cotos 1925, 114–126). Cotos listed six points that were matters of dispute – hygienic, economic, juridical, social, emotional and religious – explaining each in turn, starting from those considered less important by both sides. It is clear that his purpose was to assume a position of neutrality, although this was more an ideal than a reality.

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Cotos considered three arguments in particular to be superficial (Cotos 1925, 114–116). The first referred to claims by the “inhumationists” that the introduction of cremation would produce a series of deep disorders within a population that was accustomed to the practice of burial. He believed that as long as cremation remained an option, people had the ability to reject it. Equally unimportant was the danger of being buried or burned alive: such a situation could easily be avoided by means of modern science. Economic arguments were also irrelevant, in his opinion, since they impacted differently on urban and rural areas. The economic arguments were thus not the cornerstone of the controversy; rather, he stressed that the following reasons were decisive: hygiene, justice and religion. The first of these was rejected based on various scientific sources. Ideas concerning the dangers of inhumation were rejected (miasma theories having been discredited), leading to the conclusion that poor hospitals and uncontrolled epidemics were far more dangerous than cemeteries (Cotos 1925, 122). Of greater relevance were the legal arguments against cremation. Traces of suspicious deaths were removed via cremation, and he also rejected the idea that cremation could be a personal choice, since criminals could take advantage of it (Cotos 1925, 124). The sixth, the seventh and eighth parts of the article then turned to analyse cremation from a religious viewpoint, exaining the stances of different Christian churches (Cotos 1925, 409–418). First, the Roman Catholic Church’s views were presented. The article listed several regulations adopted by that church which prohibited the practice or allowed it in some consequences (a private Mass was permitted for those cremated or burnt without their consent, but without accompanying them to the crematorium; the burial of their ashes was also allowed) (Cotos 1925, 409). As for the Protestants, Cotos stated that their attitude was neither unitary nor constant, something which mirrored Martin Luther’s early views. The part detailing the stance of the Orthodox Church is more important, and here Cotos provides a close examination of its meaning. The fact that there was no practical and theoretical regulation of cremation within the Orthodox Church was due to the few cases of “tumult” caused by the issue in those countries where that confession was present. In the future, the Orthodox Church ought to state its point of view more clearly, in the light of the developments regarding the issue. The principles that should underpin such a stance were to be based on the Orthodox Church’s “apostolic and ecumenic nature.” And as there had been no provision on

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this issue since early Christianity, no reference to it among the apostles, and no regulation in the ecumenical law, Cotos concluded “that the practice of inhumation is based on a tacit arrangement and cindering [cremation] is presented in a tacit way to the church’s worshipers” (Cotos 1925, 413). In the last part of the article, he briefly addresses the matter from a theological point of view. In this regard, he admits that some of the biblical statements are questionable (he comments that the human body is made not only of clay but also of liquid and gaseous elements, and that burning can be considered, up to a point, rapid decay; he considers that the biblical reference to taking care of the body refers mainly to the bodies of living people and not of the dead; and he avers that inhumation seems unnecessary as a guarantee of resurrection, because it was clearly stated that all will be resurrected at the Last Judgment regardless of the fate of the body after death). The final conclusion leaves the door open for cremation: “the Church is competent to abrogate and to modify – making an appeal to its worshipers through their conscience – the inhumation practice valid so far, admitting cremation as well or even replacing inhumation with it – through a simple Church law regulation, in an ecumenical synod or ecumenical confessional, according to the formal conditions of the ecclesiastic enactment procedure” (Cotos 1925, 416).

The crematorium is constructed Aside from Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban’s reaction against cremation, first expressed in 1922 (Scriban 1922, 861–862), a speech by Vartolomeu, the Bishop of Râmnic, delivered in 1923, numbers among the most vehement expressions of opposition by the Romanian Orthodox Church. His speech was delivered in the Senate meeting of 5 February 1923, where he drew attention to the issue, asking the Ministry of Agriculture to reserve spaces for cemeteries in each village. His argument was based on the belief that cremation would never be put into practice in Romania (Senatul 1923, 5). Nevertheless, the building of the crematorium started on 8 July 1925 (Rădulescu 1930, 1). The first step in the construction was a request by Bucharest City Hall, addressed to Architect Duiliu Marcu, to draw up a project for a human crematorium, equipped with everything it needed to run (Marcu 1960, 131–141). The place chosen for its construction was ùerban Vodă Avenue, where there was a plateau overlooking the city of Bucharest. The project developed by Marcu demonstrated that he understood the aim and operation of a crematorium. The design would impress by grandeur and

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the many details that it included: the entrance would be through an arrival portal, connected directly to a pavilion for administration and another for ceremonies. In front of this entry, the design included a small square for parking the mortuary cart. From here, one would enter a main alley surrounded by funeral urns on both sides, which led to the crematorium building, in front of which there was a monument dedicated to the most illustrious persons incinerated. Walls with galleries of urns were also included. The remaining land would be a cemetery for urns. The crematorium building was to have a ceremony room measuring eleven metres by eleven metres, and a ground floor atrium. The ceremonies hall was equipped with an axis-altar. In front of the altar there was a trapdoor for lowering the coffin. The height was planned to be fifteen metres. The building was provided with two basements. The first consisted of two furnaces for burning the corpses, two fuel facilities, and two rooms for the stokers. The second basement was the place for various installations (Marcu 1960, 131–134).

Figure 4-4 The location where Cenuúa Crematorium was built (source: Cenuúa Crematorium administration)

The real quality of Marcu’s design was revealed in its attention to detail. The building had an intermediate floor. One climbed upstairs via two large stairways, reaching a gallery which extended on every side of the Ceremony Hall, open towards the central area through five arches, representing two collateral naves. The project also included a room for the priest and the administration offices. As for the chimneys, the architect took care to hide them in two buttresses, because of their anaesthetic

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aspect. A frieze for inscriptions was designed inside the ceremonies hall. It was placed on all the four walls, also to include a group of three stainedglass windows (Marcu 1960, 135–136). The construction materials to be used were stone for the pedestal of the main building, and facing brick for the floor. The building was equipped with a stone cornice supported by corbels and emphasised by the frieze. The roof was made of tiles. This design sought to bring in harmony, to reconcile the crematorium with tradition: the future crematorium was to have a chapel for religious ceremonies, and the project included a niche inside the main building (Marcu 1960, 141). The auction for the crematorium’s construction was held on 10 April 1925, seven bids being received (ACCU – a – Proces 1925, 1–2). Unfortunately, Marcu’s project was not implemented, but another architect executed the crematorium’s building on the basis of his conception. The name of that architect is very well known: C. Popescu (Theodorescu 1934, 27). Marcu had not delivered the detailed project plan on time, although he had received a loan for it. This led to a civil case between him and the society, which the society won. Since the society was now left without detailed plans, it had organised a contest for architects for them to offer solutions for filling out the original plans. Popescu, winning that contest, monumentally amplified the original design. Thus the crematorium’s dome and roofs came to be made of reinforced concrete, unlike Marcu’s plans for a wooden roof without a prominent dome (Rădulescu 1930, 2). The construction costs were 7,583,970 lei, a low sum compared to the costs of certain Orthodox cathedrals built in Bucharest during the same period (for example, Saint Demetrios Cathedral had cost twelve million lei) (Rădulescu 1930, 3). The incinerator, the elevator and the catafalque were fabricated by Mannoscheck Company from Vienna at a cost of 22,323 DM in gold. The contract between Mannoscheck Company and Cenuúa Society made provisions for the work to be done on a credit basis, payable in three years (Rădulescu 1930, 4) – the Cenuúa Society in fact had always used credit as a means of financing its works. However, the initial expectations that all debts would be paid off within two or three years were not fulfilled, and the reimbursement of some loans was extended to up to seven years. The society did not resort to bank loans, however, because “nobody believed that it would last” (Domnule 1934, 1). Significant information about how Cenuúa Crematorium was built is provided by the engineer Davidescu in an explanatory report from March 1938. Here he openly criticises Mihai Popovici, who he said was seeking to cut costs by paying a lower amount to Popescu, and using his plans

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more as a construction guide than as a definitive blueprint (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1938, 4). According to Davidescu, Popovici had made a series of errors and was not competent in certain fields. He had wrongly distributed the crematorium rooms, and made the walls far too thick. This resulted in difficult access into the crematorium (the movement in the building was not one-way). The building thus could not cope with a large public gathering. All these, according to Davidescu, were Popovici’s errors, whose desire to save money had had more negative than beneficial effects; these errors could be corrected only by incurring further very high costs (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1938, 4). In architectural style, Cenuúa Crematorium combined Egyptian, Syrian and Babylonian influences. The shell was complete in 1927, and it was inaugurated a year later. Two years late, the earlier intention of extending the building was implemented. This time the work was done by the architect Ion. D. Trăiănescu, who completed the extension in 1934. In order to add adornment as well as to amplify its symbolic power, it was decided to place certain sculptures at the main entrance. These two basreliefs, called The Pain and The Hope, were created by the sculptor Ion Iordănescu (Oraúul 2009).

Figure 4-5 Cenuúa Crematorium in 1927

The construction of Cenuúa Crematorium proved to be a real challenge for the architects. Since it was not possible to appeal to ancient models of cremation, there were few precedents to be invoked; but this lack of precedent also finds expression in the architectural originality of the eventual design. Its uniqueness is also underscored by the challenges that faced architects in building a crematorium. A strange and unattractive design had to be avoided if people were to be willing to adopt this practice. Architecturally, such buildings had to express the image of a new option and of reform of the funeral tradition (Pursell 2009, 239).

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Throughout 1925, the Romanian cremationists made strenuous attempts to prove that there was no contradiction between the practice of burning dead bodies and Orthodox beliefs. When the works started at Cenuúa Crematorium, they tried to obtain the endorsement of the Orthodox authorities. Thus, in “placing the foundation brick at the Crematorium” in the summer of 1925, the cremationists were determined to invite Orthodox priests from Bucharest to give the appropriate blessing (“consecration”) (Cernăianu 1928, 21). Their aim was clear: if the Orthodox higher authorities endorsed the crematorium, there would be more favourable views on cremation within the wider population. According to the Orthodox priest D. Popescu-Moúoaia, an invitation was extended to I. MusăĠeanu, a priest from the Cărămidarii de Jos Church in Bucharest. MusăĠeanu came to the crematorium along with those who were required for the service, but refused to perform the ceremony. The ceremony was opened by Mayor Ion Costinescu, who spoke about the need for a human crematorium in Bucharest. The second speaker was Radu D. Rosetti, who criticised the Romanian Orthodox Church, and also the patriarch, for having refrained from giving consent for building the crematorium. To counterbalance this statement, Popescu-Moúoaia then spoke, rejecting these accusations. It is highly revealing that PopescuMoúoaia said that he agreed with cremation from an “economic, social, and sanitary point of view,” but rejected it “in terms of spiritual interests,” adding that “as an Orthodox priest and as a Romanian, I cannot admit in my conscience the possibility and the will to be burnt after death” (Cernăianu 1928, 22). The resurrection from the dead, he claimed, was affected by cremation, and fire was seen as an accident in nature, a reference to hell’s punishments. Cremation was also considered harmful to Romanian traditions; a superior expression of tradition, as PopescuMoúoaia perceived it, lay in the burial service and in the commemoration of the dead. He concluded that the activities of the cremationists, whatever their reasons, were contributing to the disappearance of the people’s higher metaphysical goals (Cernăianu 1928, 23). The event was also reported also in Foaie Diecezană, a publication of Orthodox orientation. An article therein said that Bucharest City Hall had asked the Orthodox priest who served in the parish nearby to consecrate the future building, but that the priest had refused. It was also reported that, three days after the event, the Romanian Orthodox Patriarchy had issued a press release stating that cremation conflicted with the spirit of Christianity and that those priests who supported it were to be held responsible for their stance (CremaĠiunea 1925, 5). The construction of Cenuúa Crematorium was halted for a while, due

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to lack of funds. Work was paused in the autumn of 1925, and resumed only in 1927. Even when the first cremation took place at the crematorium, on 26 January 1928, the construction was not finished: the building was unplastered, the scaffolding still on the site, and there were no doors and no windows (Popovici 1937a, 6). This unfavourable picture illustrates an obvious reality: that although the crematorium’s building was indeed carried out with the help of Bucharest City Hall, the efforts made by the society were more important. Had the main actor in the implemenation of cremation in Romania been the Bucharest authorities, the building would have certainly been finished much sooner. A report from 1934 drafted by Mihai Popovici recalls the state of the crematorium in 1931, three years after the inauguration. The building was still at brick stage, both outside and inside; there was no entrance door, but still some boards blocking access; in the chapel one entered on a kind of stairway of boards; there was no toilet, guard room or bathroom; the land around the building was still as it was left after the excavations, the windows were boarded up, and the yard full of refuse (SituaĠia 1933, 1). The final works were caried out at an increasing pace between 1931 and 1934.

Figure 4-6 Cenuúa Crematorium in 1931

The maximum annual number of cremations planned for Cenuúa Crematorium was about 4,000. This was a utopian dream, due both to various technical problems of the cremation system used, and also to the various functional aspects with which the crematorium was originally designed. In 1937, by way of an attempt to overcome these difficulties, engineer M. Davidescu came up with concrete proposals on “the completion of the crematorium, design of the park, the cemetery, the

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administration building and the exploitation” (ACCU – a – Program 1937). Although not decisive in the timely construction of the crematorium, the support of Bucharest City Hall support was manifest in other ways. For example, after Al. G. Donescu was elected mayor of the capital in 1934, he openly supported the landscaping works in the surroundings of Cenuúa Crematorium. For these reasons, Mihai Popovici considered him a benefactor of cremation (Popovici 1935a, 3), a person who understood the economic and sanitary importance of this institution. The landscaping works included embankments around the building, finishing the marginal banks of ùerban Vodă Avenue and their replacement with “aesthetic and refined access slopes,” paving and placing modern sidewalks around the building, providing a “grand width of 42 m” (Popovici 1935a, 3). The park of urns was also completed in this period, under the supervision of the architect Ioan Trăiănescu. This included galleries of superposed urns in six hanging gardens. As a culmination of the whole, a mausoleum, on the model of the Temple of Vesta, was to be located on the higher plateau (SchiĠă 1936, 7). At full size, this park was to be about 60,400 square metres, providing space for about 1,800,000 urns. This meant that the issue of the extension of the nearby cemetery would be solved for more than 300 years. The crematorium’s interior seemed to Romanian cremationists to be unique among similar buildings in Europe at that time. The cremation room was seen as the most elegant and luxurious of any in the world: “cremation rooms look like factory furnaces in almost all foreign crematoria” (Salonul 1936, 4). This was explained by the fact that they took into account the Romanians’ aesthetic sense and the desire to express a feeling of deep piety. At the same time, various rooms were designed for keeping the urns. They were small sized, and the niches were closed with marble or, in some cases, the families used small crystal windows. In the middle, he hall had an electric icon lamp that burnt continuously (Vedere 1936, 11). The most impressive part of Cenuúa Crematorium was the chapel. In designing it, the Romanian cremationists had tried to harmonise the rite of cremation with that of the religious service. Therefore, the catafalque was made of granite brought from Sweden, the walls and columns of Belgian marble, and the floor a mosaic of Roman marble. Two galleries opened to the left and the right of the chapel, and the apse of the altar occupied the eastern part, being made of marble. The dome of the chapel was similar to that of the St. Sophia Cathedral in Constantinople. It was said that both the architecture and the interior design of the chapel were designed in a spirit

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of neutrality, in order to be accepted by all religions (Interiorul 1935, 2). A detailed description of Cenuúa Crematorium, inside and out, can be found in an article by Mihai Popovici published in Flacăra Sacră (Popovici 1935b, 2). In his view, three main aesthetic features characterised the building: the location in the highest place in Bucharest at that time; that it offered a unique view, especially if the project of the park project were to be implemented; and that as a work of monumental architecture the building was unique among other buildings of its type. The building also included, among other features, a large chapel of 200 square metres. The walls were made of plaster, decorated with fine marble brought from Belgium to the height of 1.65 metres all around. The floor was made of marble in seven colours, and two galleries supported by marble columns could be found in the right and left parts of the chapel. The dome was supported by circular arches, with an opening of nine metres and a height of seven metres. The dome was “endowed” with twelve windows that lit the walls evenly. These windows were designed to be yellow in colour, in order to obtain a golden light inside. This evoked feelings of piety and introspection in those who witnessed the ceremonies. The square of the dome, between the four arches, was lit by four other windows, each measuring 3.5 metres in height and 1.5 metres in width.

Figure 4-7 Cenuúa Crematorium

The chapel offered seats for 100 people, but the area of the chapel and the two galleries could host about 600 (Popovici 1935b, 2). On the main portal axis there was the round apse of the altar, which was made of

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marble, with a Byzantine-styled open iconostasis. The catafalque, made of Swedish granite, was at the base of the altar, forty-eight centimetres from the floor and adorned with floor lamps on the four corners. At the opening of the catafalque, the dimensions being 2.4 by 1.1 metres, the table of the hydraulic elevator was inserted. The coffin was put on this table during the funeral service, and the coffin was lowered into the basement with the elevator.

Figure 4-8 Main entrance, Cenuúa Crematorium

The hall in the first basement was exactly the same size as the chapel, lit by ten windows of the same yellow colour. The walls and the floor were covered with black and white majolica, and the ceiling was decorated. The second basement was for staff use only, and did not have a solemn design. The mortuary rooms were designed to occupy the right and left parts of the altar, but separated by two urn rooms. They incorporated three separate cells, the aim being that each family or person would lay flowers in memory of the deceased but be away from prying eyes. This part also included two rooms for forensic research. These rooms were covered in tiles and oil-painted for sanitary reasons (Popovici 1935b, 3). On the right and left of the main entrance were the waiting halls for the family and for the priests who came to perform the funeral service, plus the toilets. The first basement also included the room for the night guard, the staff bathroom, the coffin workshop and the workshop for current repairs to the crematorium. The first floor was originally organised into five urn rooms executed in marble with niches in the galleries. The site could accommodate about 800 niches for 3,000 or even 4,000 urns.

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At first, it was agreed on the location of the two urn rooms from the right and left parts of the altar within the chapel. They were to host the urns belonging to the “solitaries,” being also made of marble. In time, this “destination” was changed. The rooms ended up hosting other urns too, some of them belonging to the Communist illegalists of the inter-war period. There was no columbarium at Cenuúa before 1931. The urns were deposited in the basement and on the first floor (Popovici 1935b, 2). The plans for the main columbarium were drafted that year. It was to be located in front of the main building, the plans being designed by Ion Trăiănescu (ACCU – a – n.d.). Works began only at the end of 1930, and for a while were in full swing. After a pause, construction restarted in 1939, by which time a large part of the debts owed by the society had been paid. The plans included the building of a hall with one floor which would include about 6,000 niches (A XVI-A 1939, 5) – the reason being that all the niches from the inside of the crematorium had been occupied (Noi 1939, 6). The crematorium was equipped with sound systems from 1931 onwards. The gramophone was used for religious services, Romania being one of the first countries in Europe where such a system was used (Popovici 1935b, 2). Up until 1932 the Cenuúa Society had bought its coffins from the market, but starting from 1933 it began to produce them in the workshop located in the first basement of the building. The funeral service was held in the chapel, on a makeshift brick catafalque, without lamps and plants until 1933. Thereafter, the marble catafalque came into use (Popovici 1935b, 2). In 1934, the crematorium was connected to the water and sewerage systems. Certain embankment works were needed to prevent landslides. Reinforced concrete was also used for the construction of the building. The famous architect F. Rebhun also made an important contribution in the design of the landscape of the park surrounding the crematorium (A XIII 1939, 7). The hearse belonging to the Forensic Institute of Bucharest had been used until 1935 for the transportation of corpses. Subsequently, a hearse car was bought, of the most modern type available in Bucharest at that time. Medical waste resulting from the activities of the Forensic Institute was cremated at Cenuúa until 1940, and this represented a secure source of income for the Cenuúa Society (Popovici 1935b, 2). The number of employees at Cenuúa crematorium increased significantly during the inter-war period. Thus, while there were two employees in 1930, the number reached fifteen in 1936. The sums obtained from the cremation of “individual” persons also recorded an increase: from 32,500 lei in 1928 to 725,111 lei in 1935.

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Figure 4-9 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior

Figure 4-10 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior

Initially, the cremations were done using the Topf system, an account of which is provided by the engineer C. Davidescu. A grate incinerator was used, and in the engineer’s opinion this was the reason for the stagnation of cremation in Romania (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1937, 1–9). His arguments were multiple and based on the idea that the incinerator had been selected based neither on how it was used nor its heating system. In the grid system, the resulting ashes are yellowish, and some them remain on the walls of the incinerator. In the hearth type of cremation (the Ludwig Wolkman system) the ash is white. The grid system required a higher

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consumption of fuel for heating and burning (2,000 degrees in the Topf system, compared to 650 degrees in the Ludwig Wolkman system), and moreover the grid system was considered too bulky (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1937, 2–3). Popovici was subsequently accused of having delayed the purchase of the new system, and it was also claimed that he was not up to date with the technical developments related to cremation. By these failings, it was claimed, he had brought prejudices against the Cenuúa Society and thus impeded the development of cremation in Romania. For these reasons, conflict arose between Davidescu and Mihai Popovici.

Figure 4-11 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior

Starting from 1934, Davidescu began insisting that the Topf system be dropped in favour of the Ludwig Volkmann one, which was implemented only after 1945 (ACCU – a – n.d.); by the time of the crematorium’s close in 2002, the furnaces were operating with gaseous fuel, being connected to the gas network. Popovici had responded to these accusations by arguing that the Topf system used at the crematorium was working perfectly, and pointing out that Switzerland and Germany had similar systems that had

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been operating from 1882 (ACCU – a – Popovici n.d., 3). The purchase of a new system was therefore unjustified, given that the cost of the old system had not even been amortised in 1935. Popovici pointed to other priorities that the society had at that time, saying than such an investment would have completely paralysed the crematorium activity from a financial point of view (delaying, for example, the new columbarium). (ACCU – a – Popovici n.d., 3). Davidescu replied that the purchase of the new system would lead to a massive decrease in the total costs of cremations, calculating that the saving would have been 270,000 lei per year over 600 cremations (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1936, 14). But the study drafted by Davidescu made a number of exaggerations, highlighted as comments in pen on the margins of the text itself (probably by Popovici). Specifically, the Topf system did not cost 1,500,000 lei, but 916,000 lei; the Ludwig Wolkman system did not cost 650,000, but 844,500 lei; the Topf system oven warmed in two hours, not in four; cremation did not last for two hours, but just one; the Topf system did not consume 400 kilograms of coke per cremation, but only 300 kilograms, etc. (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1936, 8–12)

Figure 4-12 Cenuúa Crematorium: the playlist performed at funeral services in the inter-war period

Other ideas for the development of the crematorium were those of the administration pavilion and the tower portal. These were ideas that had also been included in the original design by Duiliu Marcu. The tower was to be sixty-five metres high and to have three urn chapels. A large urn chapel was to be part of the entrance tower. In addition to various offices and waiting rooms, the administration building was to host a permanent

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exhibition on the topic of the development of cremation both in Romania and worldwide (Flacăra 1935, 4). The initiative came from the architect Ioan Trăiănescu. According to an article published by V. I. Zorca, the inscription “Learn what life is from here!” was to be carved on the frontispiece of the chapel (Zorca 1935a, 10). In time, the development of Cenuúa crematorium became a source of unabashed pride for the Romanian cremationists. Thus, in 1938, the public was invited to visit Cenuúa Crematorium on any day of the week, from 8– 12 a.m. and 14–19 p.m. (Flacăra 1938c, 8). The invitation was supposedly being extended due to the large volume of inquiries about the crematorium received by phone. The cremationists were making claims such as “with all modesty, Romanian Cenuúa Crematorium is the greatest of its kind on the continent and overseas” (Flacăra 1938c, 8). Foreign visitors’ testimonies were cited, along with the fact that it was very clean inside. Thus, it was considered that not visiting the crematorium was a mistake. To this end, a visitors’ book was established, in which visitors or the people attending a ceremony could share their impressions.

Figure 4-13 Cenuúa Crematorium, interior

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Figure 4-14 Cenuúa Crematorium, main columbarium

An article in Flacăra Sacră from 1940, which makes a proposal for the former suppliers of the Cenuúa Society (Propunere 1940, 6), sets out the companies that built Cenuúa Crematorium. This proposal sought to secure the perpetuation of their memory for their help in building the crematorium, namely through “credit and indulgence of the debt payment.” The Cenuúa Society wanted to set up two bronze frames – listing “the ones that have helped to build the Crematorium” (Propunere 1940, 6) – and display them prominently inside the building. These would cost 90,000 lei (an amount considered insignificant by the companies concerned, but which the Cenuúa Society did not have).

Other developments The onset of the construction works at the crematorium in 1925 did not go unremarked in the press. The liberal newspaper Viitorul again expressed its praise, and the persistence of the rebels against the “horror” of the cemeteries was “cheered.” Cemeteries were considered places of the clearest and most degrading evidence of human weakness, while the crematorium was seen as one of the most innovative institutions of the time: it stood even above the declaration of human rights and universal suffrage as a form of human dignity, because, through it, a giant step was registered toward progress and “light” in people’s consciousnesses. The argument underlying this bold proposition was based on the idea that the institution had begun to free people from “the most overwhelming fear: the respect of the carcass and the fear for … the other world.” Its

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establishment was considered as “spiritual surgical intervention,” and “a formidable beneficial work of moral hygiene,” which did not go against Christian precepts but enhanced the respect for the deified soul and the contempt for the body. A “homage” was paid to the soul, purified by “the fire’s holy miasma,” and the world thereby cleansed itself and become more beautiful (DT 1925, 3). The debate on the topic in this period was not occasioned solely by the establishment of the society or by the building of the crematorium in Bucharest. Also significant here is an article from 1921, signed by the famous physician Professor Gheorghe Marinescu, the founder of the Romanian school of neurology, and a member of the Romanian Academy and of the Medical Academy of Paris (Marinescu 1921, 1–2). His article on cremation is principally concerned to explain the practice from a scientific perspective. Much of this article explains the emergence and evolution of cremation in ancient times, although some of the explanations are no longer valid today. For example, Marinescu states that cremation, as a practice, would have had two main motivations: the danger resulting from the putrefaction of corpses, and “the predominance of the military regime and war” (which led to the burning of corpses of those killed in wars; giving rise to the desire that at least a part of the remains of the deceased be returned to their family). Today it is well known that cremation was introduced in ancient times more for spiritual reasons than for those set out by Marinescu. Equally questionable remains the date he proposed for the complete cessation of the practice of cremation under the influence of Christianity (the fourth century AD). As for modern cremation, Marinescu briefly presents its revival under the influence of the French Revolution and the consequences of the Napoleonic Wars and the Franco–Prussian War. He underlines the importance of those who admired the Ancients in promoting modern cremation, and mentions the various scientific milieus in Italy, Switzerland and Germany. He argues that the primary arguments which cremationists levelled against inhumation – those related to miasma theories, the contamination of water through cemeteries, and the putrefaction of corpses – had no real basis. The only real argument in favour of the practice, for him, was the space saved through cremation as compared to cemeteries. Analysing anti-cremation arguments, Marinescu stresses that the argument that cremation was a sacrilege could not be supported, because the practice was extensive during the Roman Empire, and in no way affected the cult of the dead. More serious, for him, were the arguments concerning the destruction of the traces of suspicious deaths, and they way in which cremation could impede the development of the study of the brain.

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Marinescu comments that perhaps the greatest Romanian cremationist up to that time had been Constantin I. Istrati, who had been incinerated in Paris in 1918 (Marinescu 1921, 2). In conclusion, he stressed that human cremation was necessary in times of war and epidemics, but that it should remain an optional practice. His impartial position on cremation becomes even clearer at the end of the article, where Marinescu states that under no circumstances should anyone prevent the work of the cremationists’ followers, because this would mean a violation of the individual right to decide how their body is managed after death. However, he also stresses that it should never become mandatory. In the daily press the topic was gaining currency, sometimes reaching the front pages. An example is an article published in 1922 by Vintilă Max Popovici in the pages of Viitorul (Popovici 1922, 1–2). It is divided into three equal parts. In the first, the author provides a brief history of cremation and gives a short summary of the process as compared with the ancient world. Here Popovici emphasises Italy’s supremacy in the field and cites the subsequent expansion of cremation in some European countries, mentioning that newspapers played an important role in spreading the idea. The part dedicated to the pros and cons of cremation is much more detailed. The three main areas of dispute on cremation are listed, with each of the sides presented in a balanced way: the miasma theories, the theory of the contamination of water by cemeteries and the putrefaction of corpses, and the issue of the extended area taken up by cemeteries. To these he also adds a number of ideas taken from Marinescu’s article (those related to the importance of the study of the brain and its inconsistency with cremation). But the article’s chief importance lies in the third part, dedicated to conclusions, wherein the author states his own point of view (Popovici 1922, 2). Here Popovici talks about the rapacious power of the force of habit, saying that attempts to change it had no chance of success. He makes a comparison with numerous other attempts to change public habits – for example, the attempt to reduce alcoholism – which proved to have no major effects. With this in mind, it was hard to believe that the population’s attitude could be altered, for they were firmly accumstomed to burying the dead. Popovici was also sceptical about the prospects for cremation worldwide, since its supporters represented a minority, being restricted to the inheritors of those who had militated in favour of burning the corpses of soldiers killed in war or for the introduction of practice due to epidemic threats. Consequently, the effects of the cremation movement would most likely not be expressed through the adoption of the practice worldwide, but rather through improvements in the methods of inhumation. The author

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mentions some of its effects in respect of the dehydration of dead bodies (with the 60% of the water coming off the dead bodies posing the main epidemic danger). Another solution was depositing the deceased in multifloored underground galleries. The dehydrated corpses could be visited without any risk due to the ventilation systems that would be provided. Should such a system be put in place, crematoria would need to be used only in case of wars and the outbreak of epidemics (Popovici 1922, 2). As Popovici was a physician and a lecturer, his article elicited a response. A notice in Biserica Ortodoxă Română denounced him as a follower of cremation and attacked his position as a professor, saying he posed a bad example for his students. Yet it does not take more than a cursory look at his article to establish that it contains no obvious traces of cremation propaganda: the virulence of the reaction is more symptomatic of the Romanian Orthodoxy’s tendency to flare up at any mention of cremation, condemning any voice that did not reject it outright. This tendency would continue to grow in strength, reaching its zenith after the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium in January 1928. A similar situation is presented by the case of articles published in Adevărul in 1923 by Mihai Popovici, Cenuúa Society’s secretary. He too was stigmatised in the pages of Biserica Ortodoxă Română by Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban (Alta acum 1923, 786). He was accused of promoting values that were foreign to the Romanian territory through the cremation movement, and of desiring to change things merely for the sake of change. Scriban characterised the attempt to adapt cremation to the Romanian territory as a “monkey-like imitation,” responsible for many other evils which had befallen the Romanian people. Weighing up cremation’s benefits and damages, Scriban found no gains but only a mass of negative effects – indeed, in his opinion, the practice “was not really paid any attention to” abroad either. Popovici’s arguments in favour of cremation were beneath criticism, according to the Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban, being “the naivety of a simple man, who starts to write about something he is not good at” (Alta acum 1923, 786). The proof of this was that Mihai Popovici held that inhumation was an expression of human inequality. However, this was a serious error, according to the Archimandrite, since the burial of corpses was a practice inherited from the Hebrews and the early Christians. Popovici’s statement that cremation had not met any opposition from the Romanian Orthodox clergy was pilloried: Iuliu Scriban offered himself as evidence for the falseness of this claim, implying that his view was consistent with the attitude of the clergy, and indeed with that of Christians generally. Moreover, the Archimandrite promised that he would respond to future articles on the subject in the very

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newspapers that evinced such pro-cremation attitudes.

The first incineration: 25 January 1928 Regardless of place, time or circumstance, the moment of the first cremation has a special significance for the country which experiences it. It is not simply a technical operation; many things are at stake and deep meanings are touched upon, particularly given that the implementation of cremation as a real choice in a modern society was and is no easy process. A quick overview of the conditions surrounding the first cremation in various areas of the modern world reveals that its specificities were dictated by the area in which it happened. The American case, where the first modern cremation took place nearly eight decades before the opening of the first crematorium, is a good example in this sense (Prothero 2008, 15, 26–28, 31–42). The same was true in the case of Italy (Contin 2007, 7– 26). South Africa is also as a good example (Dennie 2003, 177–180), not to mention the case of England (Jupp 2006, 62–63; Parsons 2009, 117– 118). In Argentina the first cremation took place in a temporary crematorium in 1884 (Mates 2005, 334–335). Most notable, however, is Katherine Dilke’s cremation in Dresden on 9 October 1874, done more by way of an experiment (White 2005, 167–168), which can be considered one of key moments in the development of modern cremation. The first human cremation in Romania was carried out on 25 January/7 February 1928, a date considered historic by the Romanian cremationists.1 It was covered by the main newspapers of the inter-war period, such as DimineaĠa (Dumbravă 1928, 10) and Universul (Prima 1928, 10). There it specified that “it was preferred that the first incinerated be a John Doe, unidentified both from his legal status and his confession point of views.” Some of those present were also mentioned, among which numbered the mayor, the prefect of Bucharest, prosecutors, physicians, senators, and “many ladies.” Further, “the ceremony from the Upper Room” and the corpse’s “burning” at 950–1200 degrees were further described. After an hour and a half, a “white, clean ash” resulted, the article said. The tone of the article clearly indicated its support, a position that was fuelled by the fact that everything was happening in a “clean and hygienic” way. It was noted that some religious groups openly opposed human cremation, although “the Patriarchy has not expressed an official stance” on the 1

According to most the sources the date appears as 25 January 1928; but another date is also sometimes given, namely 7 February 1928. This is no error. It is a consequence of the diverging calendars used in inter-war Romania.

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matter. Thus, it added, “yesterday, while the unidentified body was burning, a group of priests led by former priest Tudor Popescu entered the crematorium hall, with the open intention of organising a demonstration and calling for the population to take part.” (The protesters were met with scientific and religious arguments by Dr. Gheorghiu) (Dumbravă 1928, 10). Several days later, Dumbravă recorded the great demand for cremation on the part of the Forensic Institute in Bucharest, the Faculty of Medicine, and also from families. Thus, out of thirty-two bodies cremated in the week since the inauguration, twenty-four were unidentified persons, and eight were incinerated at the families’ request (“five Christian women, three Mosaic women”) (Dumbravă 1928b, 1). In the same period, Universul exposed the “manoeuvres” of a group of Romanian Orthodox priests who were trying to sabotage the development of cremation, starting all sorts of rumours designed to discourage the possible “clients” of the crematorium (Cum 1928, 6). In general, it seems fair to say that the daily newspapers in Romania approved of the opening of the human crematorium in Bucharest, while trying to adopt a neutral stance. For example, in an article in Viitorul newspaper (Ivelea 1928, 2) the author focuses his story on the description of the operation itself, after a brief sketch of other aspects of the event. He states at the outset that the aim was to experiment with cremation in the new crematorium. Again, the article records that the first cremation was of an unidentified corpse, provided by the Institute of Forensics. We also learn that there was no religious ceremony. As for the public, the article notes the presence of representatives of the local authority, many physicians and intellectuals, and also priests. The article further included data on the cremation technique, details of the coffin, its ascent to the cremation hall, the furnace and the temperature, the specific time of cremation, the resulting remains, the fuel used for burning (200–250 kilograms of coke and 80 kilograms of coal), and that two hours were necessary for heating the oven (Ivelea 1928, 2). Accounts of the event are also found in the pages of the daily newspapers Curentul and Adevărul. The article in Curentul presents a different reaction to those in the mainstream newspapers. This is an editorial signed by Ion Dimitrescu (Dimitrescu 1928, 1), which draws a parallel between the crematorium on the one hand, and the parliament– “the select soul’s crematorium of our public life” – on the other, the parliamentary sessions having just reopened.

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Figure 4-15 The article in Viitorul newspaper, announcing the first cremation at Cenuúa Crematorium

Records of the first public “cindering” in Romania are provided in a document giving technical details of the first cremation at Cenuúa Crematorium. This was written by Mihai Popovici, as a delegate of the city hall and countersigned by Franz Manoschek, the supplier of the incinerator, and by Mayor Costinescu (ACCU – a – Proces 1928, 1–3). The minutes detail that the cremation took place at five o’clock in the evening in the presence of Mayor Costinescu, physician Gheorghian, former mayor Anibal Tedorescu, Chief Prosecutor Claudiu ùtefănescu and the members of the Cenuúa Society Administration. The dates of 21, 22, 23 and 24 of January 1928 are given as the days of “experimental cremations” of six human bodies (Proces 1928, 2–3). The minutes described the technical details of all these cremations. For example, on 21 January the generator began to heat at twelve o’clock and was loaded with 220 kilograms of coke. After two hours and 35 minutes the pyrometer had reached the temperature of 928 degrees, and the generator was loaded with another 70 kilograms of coke. The first body was introduced at three o’clock in the afternoon, weighing 78 kilograms together with the coffin. The coffin was consumed within twelve seconds and the whole body in one hour. The three cremations of 21 January each burnt 192 kilograms of coke. It had taken two people twelve seconds to place the coffin in the incinerator, and there were no releases of fire or smoke. The coffin caught

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fire after twenty seconds (ACCU – a – Proces 1928, 2–3). The great moment was the day of 25 January, considered the “final experience” in the implementation of cremation in Romania. The account of the moment, provided in the above-mentioned record, is worth quoting in full: At 14:30 the cell started to be heated, charging the generator with 200 kilograms of coke; at 16:30 another 65 kilograms were added and the temperature of the room reached 900 degrees. At 17:00 the cindering room, fully heated, was presented to the public. At 17:05 the entire audience attended on the descent of the coffin from the chapel in the first basement, the elevator and the catafalque room working absolutely silently. At 17:10, the coffin was placed in the cell within 8 seconds. The oven did not exude any gas, smoke or flames, while receiving the coffin. After 15 seconds, the coffin was completely consumed; the gases started attacking the body. At 17:50, the cindering room hosted only the spine and the internal organs. At 18:10, the whole body was consumed. The audience noticed that the entire process had been carried out without odour or smoke and without the slightest handling noise. (ACCU – a – Proces 1928, 2–3).

Reactions, attitudes, polemics and scandals Meanwhile, Biserica Ortodoxă Română published vehement articles against the first cremation. The articles took the form of a press campaign openly directed against the practice. They were usually in the news page and frequently bore the signature of Iuliu Scriban. Thus, the news about the first human cremation in Romania is discussed in brief but poisonous terms: “The newspapers brought the news that those craving for the oven of the dead from the City Hall want to try to see if things work with roasting the dead at the pagan idols temple of Bellu. And it is said they burned the first sacrifices.” Human cremation was considered a return to paganism, and its supporters were viewed as “the servants of Baal” (AS 1928, 478; MorĠii 1928, 89–90). According to Scriban, there were more important problems regarding the public health and sanitation in Bucharest than “benefits” offered by Cenuúa Crematorium (AS 1928, 478). The strongest reaction from the Orthodox milieu belonged to the publication Glasul Monahilor, which became recognised as the main Orthodox publication opposed to the practice. The news of the inauguration of Cenuúa Crematorium had been met with various articles opposed to the implementation of cremation in Bucharest, and these articles multiplied in early 1928, beginning with an open dispute between Priest Marin Ionescu and former mayor of Bucharest, Dr. Gheorghian. Gheorghian was considered by Glasul Monahilor to be one of the most

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fervent supporters of cremation in Romania (Crematorii 1928, 2), a group decried as ashmen, jugglers and Freemasons. The article discussed the threats which Gheorghian had levelled against Ionescu and all Romanians who opposed cremation, and the former mayor’s stance was criticised for lacking sensitivity or a spirit of democracy, and alleging that he was carrying on dubious business under the guise of supporting cremation and the building of the crematorium in Bucharest. Invoking the argument of defending the ancestors’ faith, Glasul Monahilor responded to his threats: “if you threaten us with a razor, know that our razor cuts better, when it comes to saying the truth.” Gheorghian, sarcastically entitled “the scholarowner of the Bragadiru brewery,” was warned to stop supporting cremation because his threats would have no effect on the priests and the cause he supported had no chance of success (Crematorii 1928, 2).

Figure 4-16 An article in Glasul Monahilor announcing and criticising the first cremation in Romania

The notice of the first actual cremation at Cenuúa Crematorium elicited a new condemnatory article in the pages of Glasul Monahilor (Trădător 1928, 4). This took the form of describing the unfortunate consequences caused by the Romanian practice of delimiting the spheres of political interest: this system was said be damaging since it worked towards division and tended to stigmatise any contrary view. The priests who did not fit into these areas of interest were among the groups most exposed by this practice. In this context, the article made public the announcement and the headed invitations sent out by the Cenuúa Society. The invitations were

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to attend to the first cremation in Romania, and they were intended for the Christian population and some “brother priests considered as enrolled in certain political groups.” The event was considered an “impure” one, and the societies, religious associations, and especially the Romanian Orthodox Church Synod, were warned to adopt a firm stance of condemnation towards the practice. Archimandrite Scriban also took a firm stance against cremation in Romania in the pages of this newspaper (Scriban 1928a, 2). He strongly condemned the practice, saying that cremation in Romania was a pale and cheap imitation of the West. He drew out comparisons between the two geographical areas, underscoring significant differences ranging from hygiene needs to matters of spirituality. Thus, building the crematorium in Bucharest was just a fad, a façade of civilisation that lacked any depth. He cited an example in defence of this: the local authorities showed no interest in cleaning DâmboviĠa River, which was far more important for the residents of Bucharest than building a space for burning the dead. A comment by Princess Alexandrina Cantacuzino was also inserted here: in a meeting of the Bucharest Council she had argued, “You are but civilised when you give millions for the oven and not for cleaning the streets” (Scriban 1928a, 2). Alexandrina Cantacuzino’s stance was by no means unimportant, since she was among the founders of feminism in Romania (Priteanu 2010; Crematoriul 1928b, 4). To strengthen the anti-cremation argument, Scriban referred to a recent event wherein Bucharest City Hall had levied a series of taxes on the Board of Civil Hospitals. In his opinion, this measure was totally out of place and showed the superficial nature of the pro-civilising rhetoric deployed by the local authorities from Bucharest. The opinions of the journalist Pamfil ùeicaru were also inserted here in favour of Scriban’s conclusion: that the crematorium was no way to support progress and civilisation. In the same issue of Glasul Monahilor, the priest Marin C. Ionescu welcomed Mihail Berceanu’s withdrawal from Cenuúa Society (Ionescu 1928a, 2). Berceanu was an important and influential politician, and the event became a new opportunity to criticise cremation and to question the implications of the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium: What was to be done for those Christians who, out of poverty and misery, ended up at the morgue, not claimed by anyone, and so in danger of being cremated? The author sounded a warning concerning the perverse tactics which cremationists used to obtain permission for the religious service from the Council of the Romanian Orthodox Church. This had wider implications, according to Ionescu, as it could be a weapon used by atheists to disguise their their choice of cremation. Ionescu proposed the urgent establishment

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of a Christian society called Sacra (The Sacred) to handle the burial of the poor. The description of the first cremation is given in two “successive stages” in Glasul Monahilor. The paper’s first article on the cremation comes from 5 February 1928 (Ionescu 1928b, 4). It includes a brief description of the event written by priest Marin C. Ionescu. The practice is characterised as barbaric, and as a manifestation of the religious coercion which the cremationists had inflicted on the Romanians. Ionescu addresses the creationists as “the apes of our modernism.” It was underlined that “Jewish” journalists had minimised the impact of the priests’ protest, which had been led by the author of the article. Subsequently, Glasul Monahilor announced that two members of Cenuúa Society, the monks Stancu Brădiúteanu and Mihail Negru, had withdrawn from the society (InformaĠiuni 1928, 4). The first cremation was also treated as a continuous source of humour: “There was a quarrel between the greengrocers and the fruit merchants. Some want to ask for the ashes of the dead to fertilise the cabbage, peppers, etc., and the others want to make the crematorium the place where they dry fruits. We will investigate the issue and we will get back to you” (InformaĠiuni 1928, 4). More detailed news on the first cremation was provided in the edition of Glasul Monahilor from 12 February 1928. This was also written by Ionescu and consisted in a vehement criticism of the practice and its supporters (Ionescu 1928c, 2). Cremation was considered a pagan practice, developed on behalf of science and free thinking, and an expression of atheism. The direct support given by Bucharest City Hall to the crematorium was criticised. In this way, “the religious thinking of a whole nation” was suffocated, and with the blessing of the mayor. The opening of Cenuúa Crematorium was seen as the greatest shame of the century thus far, and the most fraudulent use of the budget of the municipal authorities, by “the pious owls of our time, settled in the People’s Athenaeums, from which they falsely ascended above the people” (Ionescu 1928c, 2). The crematorium was a maze of heathendom, located, in defiance of ancestral faith, near the parliament building. And when he turned to discuss the passivity of the priests and the church scholars, Ionescu’s tone ascended the peaks of rhetoric. It was this that explained why, at the opening of the crematorium, the author had arrived along with twenty-five students to display their objections. Once “the scientific celebrities of this Babylon” had hastily “vanished,” the only cremationist who had essayed a response to their protest was Dr. Gheorghian. The author also criticised Colonel Gheorghe Poenaru, one of the leading figures of this “market,” who “stands on a parapet and shouts at us in front of all the attendees, as the

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rooster on the fence, the following sentence of an academician: ‘If you the priests are not going to read to the burned ones, it will also work without your service. As if it is a big deal. You only say Our Father once and an Eternal Memory!’” (Ionescu 1928c, 2). A speech as inflammatory as this could not pass without a response from Ionescu, who considered Poenaru’s gesture to have dishonoured the Romanian Army. Ionescu called for Poenaru’s removal from active service in the Romanian army, saying that his remarks were totally incompatible with the public position he held. A man of the colonel’s status should have set an example for his subordinates, not “poison” them with cremationist ideas and oblige them to join the Cenuúa Society. Ionescu also picked up on a clash between the colonel’s ideas on cremation and that fact that he had a tomb in Bellu Cemetery. Poenaru’s remark at the opening of the Crematorium – “the people do what they are commanded to do, not what Your Holiness wants!” – was seen as the expression of a fusty military mind-set according to which the country was a barracks “and the people, an unconscious herd, which only obey the scourge.” (This was true for Soviet Russia, said the priest, a country to which he “invited” the colonel to move.) In addition, Poenaru was accused of having economic interests in supporting cremation, as he had invested his entire wealth in the society. The article also includes the famous accusation which priest Marin C. Ionescu levelled at the mortician Dr. Nicolae Minovici, who conditioned certain services of the institution he managed (the morgue) on the payment of fees, and of whom it was said (falsely) that in case of refusal, he warned the families that he might send the corpses to the crematorium. This accusation led to a trial between Ionescu and Minovici, which was widely followed in the newspapers and by the Romanian society of the day. The author’s accusation was expressed in the same sardonic tones as used elsewhere, with Minovici unfairly described as having been a selfenthroned “leader of corpses for over thirty years” (Ionescu 1928c, 2). In conclusion, Marin C. Ionescu decried the fact that “all authorities gave an unlimited and unfair support to this cursed Crematorium.” The reason for this was that Romania was then ruled by political groups which had forgotten the people’s religious needs; that the traditional blood aristocracy had been replaced with a bureaucratic one; and, worse, that even the church had been afflicted by a “political decay” which had bred habits of silence and passivity, something very harmful to the nation. The front page of this issue of Glasul Monahilor also included an article dedicated to the crematorium and signed by Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu (ùerboianu 1928, 1–2). In fact, this was not a proper article, but a republication of an article in Gazeta ğăranilor published in 1910, which

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here took the form of a letter that ùerboianu had sent from Paris, where he was hierodeacon at the Orthodox parish. This text is extremely important for the history of cremation in Romania, because only a few years later ùerboianu would become one of the most fervent supporters of cremation in Romania, officiating at Cenuúa Crematorium in his capacity as priest. He would go on to publish numerous articles in Flacăra Sacră, supporting the practice, and without detecting any discrepancy between cremation and Christianity. A close look at this article, then, provides a rare insight into someone who changed his party affiliation and the tenor of his attitudes over time. In this case the change proves to be radical indeed, for, in this article for Glasul Monahilor, ùerboianu condemns cremation and the crematorium in terms similar to those of his Orthodox counterparts. His letter criticises cremation, starting from a general characterisation of Paris in the early twentieth century. The city was a place of great inventiveness and progress, but also one marked by negative trends (the state’s secularisation, the emergence of atheistic socialism, and the refusal of religious service in the case of death). In this context, ùerboianu uses his article to describe a description of a visit to the Parisian cemetery Pere Lachaise, comparing it to the Romanian cemeteries. The cemetery, he says, is a sublime space where man transcends his own condition, containing his vices and regenerating as a true Christian. The cemeteries from “home” seemed to him much gentler and human compared with the Parisian cemetery, which looked like a small town. The crematorium, of course, fares ever worse. He then describes cremation, giving technical details, and naming those who support it – the Socialists; he rejects the practice as anti-Christian and as contrary to human nature. But the most important part of this article is where he says bluntly “that the time will come for Romanians as well to see and hear such wanderings” (ùerboianu 1928, 1). The reason for this was to be found in the tendency for imitation, in view of the behaviour of certain Romanians living in France upon returning home – and given that some Socialist ideas had thereby even reached rural Romania. The same issue of Glasul Monahilor contains three other articles which addressed the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium. They sought to respond to a number of reactions expressed in Romanian society and reiterated by newspapers, and to demonstrate the contrary attitudes of the Romanian Orthodox clergy. In the first of these, the same Marin C. Ionescu gives an extensive account of the ways in which the newspapers had described the protest that he had led at Cenuúa Crematorium (Ionescu 1928d, 3). As we have already seen, he believed that the media had downplayed the action and had acted maliciously in identifying the Tudor Popescu as being the

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leader and initiator. In fact, Tudor Popescu had broken with the anticremation demonstrators, publicly stating that he had not even intended to attend such a demonstration. His act was denounced as crass cowardice, explained by the fact that he had been defrocked and that he was a Protestant. Ionescu criticised the Romanian politicians who had supported the establishment of the crematorium, seeing this as of a piece with a long series of acts by the Romanian politicians aimed at dislodging the Orthodox Church by changing the calendar, the Law of the Cults and the Concordat with the Vatican. All these actions had led to a grim reality: “Now we can boast that we are also the first Orthodox people who build crematoria, while churches, historical monuments, are torn down right in the centre of the capital” (Ionescu 1928d, 3). This fact was in turn connected with the broader context, and specifically the permissive stance of the Roman Catholic Church regarding cremation. Ionescu cited the acceptance of the Catholic Church’s calendar in support of his views, something which was contrary to the conservatism and traditionalism of the Orthodox Church. The establishment of the crematorium in Bucharest, he concluded, was an expression of the infection of the modern spirit among the Romanian Orthodoxy, was in fact a more dangerous issue than even the Concordat with the Vatican – a demonic innovation and a political narcotic. The second article was a kind of conversation-interview granted by Marin C. Ionescu to DimineaĠa newspaper (Ionescu 1928d, 3). The starting point for this interview was the visit that the Orthodox priest had made to the newspaper in order to correct their claim that Tudor Popescu had initiated the demonstration at Cenuúa Crematorium. The interlocutor was a self-declared free-thinker and a member of the Cenuúa Society, who had expressed his admiration for the protest at the crematorium, given that Romanians were generally characterised by passivity. He commented, nevertheless, that the action started by Marin C. Ionescu had had no chance of success. The Orthodox priest’s answer was not long in coming. He based his article on his belief that the establishment of the crematorium in Bucharest showed a true disregard for the Romanians’ religious traditions. On the other hand, as Ionescu pointed out, Teodorescu had shown that the opening of the crematorium was officiated by the city hall, and that some of its employees were also members of the Cenuúa Society. This appeared to be a violation of the freedom of religious thought. But the journalist was of the opinion that the cremationist movement had no chance of success, since it was impossible to spread it into the homes of all the faithful Christians. Such a situation led Ionescu to meditate bitterly on the secularisation of the Romanian state and on the impossibility of

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promulgating the Holy Book in Romania. Teodorescu’s comments received a positive response from priest Marin Ionescu. He was considered him an “honest opponent of religion” and not one of the “impostors of insincerity, who make religious propaganda to strike people’s ancestral beliefs.” The end of the article was more stirring, as the prose metamorphosed into a warning addressed to the entire Romanian society: Romanian brothers and good Christians! We must rise united and write well in the registry of memories this Crematorium’s paganism and wickedness, in order to know in the future who we choose as mayors of the capital. Let us guard against liars and greedy and to choose godly people as worthy parents for the capital. Let us no longer choose with our eyes closed like other times! (Ionescu 1928, 4).

Teodorescu had been one of the most famous journalists of the time, and a steadfast supporter of socialism. He died on 28 September 1931, and was cremated (Teodorescu and Sadoveanu 1980, 27). Given Teodorescu’s choice of cremation, it does seem that priest Marin C. Ionescu was right to categorise him as a free-thinker. This is also the conclusion with which one is left from an analysis of journalist writings. For example, in an article published in Adevărul in 1926, Teodorescu reported how his view of God was defined in childhood: his disbelief had stemmed from a tiny, unhappy event from that phase of his life. He later confessed: I continued to be like this all my life, not a real atheist, not a fighter against divinity and religion, but indifferent in this matter, being even closely interested in it when the opportunity arose, but as for a purely human product. I know the Bible just as I know the Odyssey or Dante’s Inferno, but as a profane writing, as any work of human spirit, worthy of being known. (Teodorescu and Sadoveanu 1970, 41)

The third article dedicated to cremation in the above-mentioned issue of Glasul Monahilor was a report about another type of reaction on the part of the Orthodox clergy and worshipers towards the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium. This was related to a meeting of the “Patriarch Miron” Christian Association, held on 29 January 1928 (Impozanta 1928, 4). The meeting was meant to be an anti-cremation demonstration, chaired once again by Ionescu. He delivered a speech entitled “Protect our dead!” which moved some of the participants to tears. The content of this speech did not differ, in attitude, from the rest of its ilk: Bucharest City Hall was equated with the Cenuúa Society, and cremation was seen as a direct expression of the atheism of the authorities. Yet was considered that, unfortunately, the

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opportunity to take practical action against cremation and its supporters was limited, especially as a priest could not urge “rebellion.” Ionescu, however, came up with a concrete proposal aimed to prevent the further expansion of cremation. Since a significant percentage of those who were to be cremated were unidentified persons unclaimed by relatives or other acquaintances, he suggested the setting up of a society called “The Potter’s Field.” His proposal was to be supported by direct contribution, a donation of 1,000 lei to the fund of this organisation, and by four designated graves in Ghencea Cemetery. The idea had received support from Al. N. Constantinescu and Gheorghe Lungulescu (spokesmen at the city hall), and the latter had praised the initiative as a fulfilment of the priestly mission, urged them to pray and show Christian solidarity. Lungulescu had also offered to take responsibility for raising funds for this society, and it had been decided that this society would be part of the “Patriarch Miron” Association. But the climax of the meeting was a speech by the priest Teofil Ionescu, “which squeezed tears from the audience.” He suggested that a religious ceremony be held for the first person cremated at Cenuúa Crematorium “by the cannibals leading Bucharest City Hall” (Impozanta 1928, 4). Reference was to be introduced during the litanies to those cremated against their will and as a symbol that the Orthodox Church had not abandoned its worshipers. The twenty-ninth of January was suggested as the day of a memorial service for those cremated against their will. We may say that this type of reaction, coming as it did from a group of the Romanian clergy, made rather exaggeratedly apocalyptic claims regarding the event that had just happened. These reactions can perhaps be explained by reference to the Orthodox dogmatic and liturgical commandments; but from a historical point of view, it can fairly be said that both the members of the Cenuúa Society and the staff of city hall had tried, wherever possible, to avoid polemics and scandal. But such a stance became impossible due to the vehement rejectionist tone adopted by most Romanian clergy. An analysis of the work of the ğarina Olarului Society can be provided with the help of the magazine Cuvânt Bun, published by the “Patriarch Miron” Christian Orthodox Association. Appeals for support were published in this magazine, the first being recorded in May 1928. This appeal deserves to be quoted in full, since what it shows about the actors’ state of mind is highly pertinent. Moreover, it highlights the main means for achieving the purposes of this society, namely the activities of the priests who focused attitudes within it:

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The call for contributions was repeated in the next issue of the magazine, but in a less extended formula: “Remember the wretched who die in hospitals and on the roads, unknown and unclaimed by anyone. Save them from the crematorium by your contribution” (ùtiri 1928b, 46). The call was effective, and the first donations were subsequently received. A list of thirty-three people had donated money, the amounts being between 100 and 900 lei. Donations had been collected in “the money box,” through the collections in Crângaúi parish, or directly at the “Patriarch Miron” Association. Most of those who had donated were women, according to the first list published in the magazine (twenty-three women and nine men, plus an anonymous donation of 500 lei). The first mention of this campaign is to be found in the debut edition of Cuvânt Bun, from March 1928. Here it occupied the first three entries in the news section (ùtiri 1928c, 16). One entry listed the names of the first donors: fifty names, starting with the priests Marin C. Ionescu (a donation of 1,000 lei) and Teofil Ionescu. This list shows, again, that many of the philanthropists were female (thirty-one women versus nineteen men); five of them were clerks, two military personnel, and many donations were made by the various wives of priests, or even whole families. The second news entry provided information about some of burial places donated for the benefit of the society: Marin C. Ionescu was listed as having provided five burial places in Ghencea Cemetery, and N. Stoicescu, complying with the agreement with the parishioners and the parish council, had offered fifty places in Progresul-Bellu Cemetery. The last of the news items on the activities of the ğarina Olarului Society referred to the first burial performed by the “Patriarch Miron” Association to avoid the cremation imposed by the authorities. This was of a woman named Zoia Manu, whose religious service had been performed by Priest Teofil Ionescu. The activity of the society was also reported in subsequent issues of Cuvânt Bun. Sometimes notices were published on the successes of the society in burying a dead person and so avoiding cremation (the case of a worker in Putna County is cited, who died after an accident but was buried). There are also references to the activity of various members of the

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association: for example, the active involvement in fundraising of various women aged over sixty; they were called “sisters” and “bees” as a token of appreciation (ùtiri 1928d, 93). This was not the only form in which Cuvânt Bun provided information on the subject. Sometimes it took the form of theoretical debates. Such is the case for an article published in July 1928, signed by the priest C. Moise (Moise 1928, 65–67), which aimed to explain the meaning of the cemetery within the Christian faith. Thus, the cemetery was seen as a city of the dead; a place of equalisation and communion with nature; and as bearing the function of resting, through sleep, until the Resurrection. The fundamental symbolism concened the futility of human life; but the cemetery could be also a place of hope, beyond the crumbling of any dreams and human aspirations. Its specific symbols are the cross and the candle; through them, contact with eternity was established. The cross, in the author’s opinion, represented the resurrection, bearing as a guarantee Jesus Christ’s sacrifice; while the candle was the sign of hope that one would hear the voice of God on the road to Resurrection. Both symbols were also means of communication between the living and the dead. Within this context, direct reference was made to the practice of cremation and to the crematorium. The author considered the promoters of cremation to be hopeless cases, deprived of any connection with the symbols of the cross and the candle, and so automatically deprived of God’s gifts (Moise 1928, 67). Another item of news on the topic within the same publication referred to the violation of certain canonical precepts or of other attitudes which the priests should follow. For example, Cuvântal Bun (The Good Word) upheld criticisms made in August 1928 in Cuvântul against a group of priests who had performed the inhumation of the ashes of an incinerated person, an “alleged Christian,” and demanded that they be sanctioned (ùtiri 1928, 109). The same criticism was directed against some priests, called “imbecilic” and “unconscious,” who not only had performed the funeral service for a person who had wanted cremation, but also performed a religious service for the burial of his ashes (ùtiri 1928f, 128). On the other hand, priests were criticised not only for wrong conduct, but also for following the rules of conduct established by the decisions of the Romanian Orthodox Church Synod in 1928. The story of the cremation of a woman from ReúiĠa, published in April 1929, is a case in point. Her cremation took place in Zurich, and the priest refused to bury the urn in the cemetery at ReúiĠa. This event served as an occasion to refer to the failures of the cremation movement in Romania (ùtiri 1929a, 63). The critics did not spare the upper circles of the Romanian Orthodox

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Church. For example, the Romanian Patriarchy was criticised for allowing the burial of ashes of the aviator George Gh. Fernic, who had died in a plane crash in the United States and subsequently been cremated; similar comment was passed in the case of worshipers who had died after a fire in a church, given that the Synod had decided to not give any religious assistance to those who were cremated. The decision concerning Fernic was justified by the reputation he had had in North America, and because of the impact of his death in Romania – the order of “Aeronautical Virtue” was established at this time, meant to reward those with outstanding achievements in aviation (the first person to be decorated post-mortem with this order was Fernic himself (Petrescu 2009)). But, in general, such decisions were thought to affect the activities of the association, undermining its efforts. The great anti-cremation “masterpiece” of the “Patriarch Miron” Association was the activity of “The Potter’s Field” Society. The most significant information we have about this society is represented by several balance sheets inserted in Cuvânt Bun. One of these was published in September 1928, in the context of the anti-cremation decisions of the Council of the Romanian Orthodox Church (ùtiri 1928g, 109). This stressed that priest Dionisie Lungu’s assessments concerning the activity of the society and of Glasul Monahilor, published in Curentul, were not isolated, but formed part of a general anti-cremation movement. It was considered that “the struggle for life against the crematorium” had taken place within the meetings of the “Patriarch Miron” Association, through various conferences and through the involvement of its members. All the more important was the transition from the “combative” phase to the “practical” one, represented by the establishment of “The Potter’s Field” fund, for which over 80,000 lei had so far been collected. The council’s decision on human cremation represented “a tacit recognition” of the merits of the association. The activity reports from the association are also relevant. The 1928 report highlighted that actions against the pagan practice of cremation in Romania were conducted on both the theoretical and practical levels, the latter having resulting in the establishment of “The Potter’s Field” fund, at that point totalling 52,739 lei. Consequently, the bankruptcy of the idea of cremation in Romania had been “established” (Activitatea 1929, 13). Another activity report noted that due to “The Potter’s Field” fund, many citizens had been “saved” from cremation (Activitatea 1930a: 71). The report of 1929 showed that the association had spent 20,000 lei through this fund in the fight against cremation, succeeding in accomplishing significant Samaritan work (Activitatea 1930b: 124). Its actions also

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included the distribution of food to the poor. It was noted that the association wanted to purchase a hearse for inhumations (ùtiri 1929b, 95). The scandals on the topic had not been forgotten, as is illustrated by the case of Dr. Mina Minovici. The reference to the famous coroner was made in the context of complaints by various Orthodox clerical groups, that he was one of the main supporters of cremation in Romania (ùtiri 1929c, 127). He was considered part of the group that sought, openly, to destroy the traditions and the religious meanings of the Romanian people. This group of traitors would be struck not only by God’s punishment, but also by “bitter” paradoxical and ironic events, as an atonement for their wrong-headed ideas. Thus, we learn that Dr. Minovici had been forced to “deny,” in public, a series of ideas, because the acceptance of cremation in some cases had been wrong. This statement referred to alleged cases of the cremation of suspected cases of suicide, which were in fact cases of murder. According to Cuvânt Bun, the Ministry of Justice had therefore decided that the cremation of corpses should be permitted only after an autopsy performed by two physicians. A warning thus was sounded that such errors could be extended to “disguising” certain cases of abortion, poisoning or homicide, where an autopsy was necessary. It was specified that, in the future, guidelines for cremation were to be drafted by a commission charged with this task by the Ministry of Justice. But Cuvânt Bun was of the opinion that in such cases what was needed was priests, not secular authorities. The news of the first cremation is recorded in brief notices within the newspapers with smaller circulation. Such is the case for the Societatea de Mâine magazine, which in the February 1928 issue announced to the public that the first human crematorium had opened (Crematoriul 1928c, 31). Although it was a brief news item, it was clear that the author supported cremation, describing it as “an obvious sign of civilisation.” He also announced that an anti-cremation campaign was imminent on the part of certain confessions, but that would not meet with success (Crematoriul 1928c, 31). The first human cremation was harshly criticised in Cultura Poporului newspaper. The author, N. C. Munteanu, talked about the pain of the nation and about the fact that the burial of the unidentified person’s corpse was the duty of the Romanian Orthodox Church. The author emphasised that Romanian law did not mention cremation, and that no religion in the country practiced the burning of the corpse. Munteanu focused on the idea of the symbiosis between the nation/state and the Romanian Orthodox Church: “The crematorium tried to fight our venerable Church, which is the State Church. The one who disregards the laws of the Church,

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disregards the Romanian State as … the soul of the Romanian state is the Orthodox Church” (Munteanu 1928, 1). Munteanu urged the people to protest, urgently calling for the demolition of the crematorium, as it had been built on “Christian land that took shape” from the heroes’ blood, and urged priests of all religions to refuse religious assistance for those who were cremated. With the support of the Romanian Orthodox Church, the attack on cremation continued intensively through the issues of Glasul Monahilor. The weeks leading up to the first cremation are particularly ardent in terms of the dispute. In a sign of how seriously the Orthodox clerics took this practice to be, for those two weeks the publication focused almost exclusively on the subject. Orthodox groups also took action in other ways: an example being the letter sent by Marin C. Ionescu to Mayor of Ion Costinescu (Ionescu 1928f, 1), issuing a public call for the Bucharest authorities to stop cremation. The familiar anti-cremation arguments were again deployed, Ionesco claiming to speak in the name of a great number of priests. Inspired by the idea that he was defending tradition against the faddish depredations of modernity, he argued that the power of decision was only temporarily in our hands and that it originally came from God. He reminded the mayor of the need to respect the “people’s” Orthodox Church, and said that the patriotic spirit stood was above economic interests (“hoping that you will not leave yourself entirely to be prisoner of the material gains obtained through Cenuúa Society, of which you are an important member”). The strident tones were set off by the use of polite formulas, emphasising more clearly the public nature of the appeal: we dare to ask You, Mr. Mayor, as a public grievance, to permit us to bury ourselves, with our sacrifices, the Christian bodies unclaimed by anyone, from the Morgue of the capital. We ended up, Mr. Mayor, begging Your forgiveness and the sparing of the Christian Orthodox bodies. (Ionescu 1928f, 1)

According to Ionescu, this was unacceptable in a country where the Orthodox religion was dominant. He brought in other comparisons in support of his stance, citing the aid granted by the municipality to certain Hebrew societies, to the detriment of those of Orthodox priests. The author warned that, if they continued to be denied, he and all the priests were ready to continue their protest regardless of persecutions, slanders, or intrigues. He announced extensive protest actions, which would also involve parishioners, using as supreme argument the symbol of Judas. The letter ends by addressing the Romanian cremationists in accusatory tones:

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The dead do not forgive, but they take revenge for their pagan cindering, and therefore we would consider ourselves all the more guilty of assisting indifferently to the functioning of a Crematorium, which would have no other higher purpose than the economic prosperity of a society whose members are thirsty for blood gains. (Ionescu 1928f, 1)

Figure 4-17 The anti-cremation article signed by Priest Marin C. Ionescu in Glasul Monahilor newspaper

Ashmen An analysis of how the events of 25 January 1928 were reported in the newspapers of that time is essential for an in-depth understanding of the stance which Glasul Monahilor adopted. It is the sole topic of an article written by Archimandrite Scriban (Scriban 1928b, 1–2), the first part of which is a conceptual analysis of a new word in Romanian which gained currency due to the first cremation: ashmen. Whereas originally this word had been used simply to mock the Romanian cremationists, it became much more widely used after the crematorium came into operation. The second part of the article analyses how the theme of cremation had been reported in the newspapers and issues a harsh indictment. Scriban considered that from the very beginning, Romanian newspapers had approved and encouraged cremation ideas. Behind this attitude laid a belief, shared by the majority of the inter-war journalists, that adopting such ideas would be a positive social development, and would follow a model for hygiene and utility already validated in the West. The main

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newspapers listed by Iuliu Scriban as having this attitude were Viitorul, Universul and DimineaĠa. He described how, five or six months before the first cremation, the rumours of the opening of the crematorium had begun to circulate. This had led to another series of articles detailing the specifics of the process of human cremation, in positive tones. The archimandrite accepted than in some cases – from his point of view, very few – newspapers had tried to learn the opinions of those who opposed the practice (criticism of cremation by Don Jose had been printed in Universul). On this basis, Scriban drew a distinction between two types of Romanian journalist: the “doctrinaires,” namely the journalists who “govern the way of thinking and attitude of the newspaper” (Scriban 1928b, 2), and those who were in charge of inserting reports of events and trends within the publications. The latter were the journalists who had supported the Romanian cremation ideas. He then identified a further category, of those who had not stated their views on the issue or who had criticised it. Don Jose of Universul and Lucrezzia Kar were members of this group. The latter, although not a journalist, had declared herself against cremation in an article entitled “Plant or Ash,” published in DimineaĠa, on 2 February. She considered cremation to be inappropriate both for the Romanian people and with respect to natural phenomena. Closing his article in Glasul Monahilor, Scriban turned to an article published by Nae Ionescu in Cuvântul, which had been written on the occasion of the opening of the crematorium. Scriban rejected Ionescu’s fatalist conclusion, that the demonstrations of the Orthodox community would be unable to turn back the course of development of cremation in Romania. The same issue Glasul Monahilor also published an article on the first cremation in Romania. It was signed by a PhD candidate in medicine named Nicu Ionescu, and represented a new and fierce line of rejection of the practice (N. Ionescu 1928, 3). After developing anti-cremation arguments along familiar themes (the artificiality of the practice and the violation of the Romanian soul; the involvement of city hall in the building of the crematorium when it should have been solving other problems), the article turns its focus to a new fact considered to be of extreme gravity: the presence of Rabbi Heinrich Alperin at the opening of the crematorium, representing the Mosaic cult (and here we may note, again, that the Cenuúa Society had sent invitations to all religions to attend). This situation was said to exceptionable due to the conservatism of the Jews, who vehemently rejected the autopsy and hated all who were not Semites. The only explanation that the author could see for the rabbi’s participation was related to the support that the Jews had given to the

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Freemasons in implementing cremation in Romania. The wider social and political context in Europe certainly bears on the character of the anticremation rhetoric as expressed in Romania, although the anti-Semitic side would not in future be as striking as its anti-Masonic dimension. Rabbi Alperin’s presence at the opening of the crematorium was discussed and criticised in a meeting of rabbis in Bucharest a few days later (InformaĠiuni 1928, 4). Criticism was also directed towards Dr. Stancu Brădiúteanu, a medical doctor who supported the practice (Brădiúteanu 1928, 3). He was pilloried for having a doctorate in theology, being the son of an Orthodox priest, a former lecturer at the Faculty of Theology and holding the position of general director in the Ministry of Cults; while at the same time he was a member both of the Cenuúa Society and of one of the lodges of Romanian Freemasonry. These positions were incompatible, according to Glasul Monahilor, which tried to persuade the Council of the Romanian Orthodox Church to take a view on his case. Glasul Monahilor would return to Stancu Brădiúteanu in January 1930, when he published a letter in response to his critics, denying his support for the cremation movement and saying that both he and his family had burial places in “Sf. Vineri” Cemetery in Bucharest. Brădiúteanu said that he was only a member of the Romanian Freemasons, something which he justified by reference to the services Freemasonry had rendered to the nation and the Christian qualities of its members (Brădiúteanu 1928, 1). A response to his letter was printed on the very same page of Glasul Monahilor, signed by Archimandrite Emilian (Emilian 1930, 1–2). He considered Freemasonry to be a work of Satan and rejected Brădiúteanu’s ideas. His dissociating himself from the cremation movement was considered a crass lie. Emilian published a photo of the first management board of the Cenuúa Society (he refers to it as “the Masonic Cenuúa Society”), in which Brădiúteanu could be seen, claiming that this showed his vanity. Invoking Article 19 of the society’s articles of association, which stated that its members had to know and endorse the aims of the society, Emilian ridiculed Brădiúteanu’s claim that he was not a follower of the movement. Moreover, there was a deep discrepancy between all these facts and Brădiúteanu’s position as theologian. According to the author, this raised serious doubts about his true stance. The article ends in a ringing denunciation: Why, sir Brădiúteanu, have you forgotten these godlike dialects? Why have you forgotten the comforts given your whole life by the Brădeúti-Doljiu little church, until you got rich and you strayed towards Masonry, at the lodges, with locked doors and super-doors, which open miraculously, only

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Other activities of the cremationists also came in for criticism. One such was the cremationists’ urging of Bucharest citizens to buy shares in the Cenuúa Society (Guinea 1928, 4). Here, the pseudonymous critic focused on Bucharest City Hall’s support for the fundraising initiative. The article was turned into a pamphlet which deployed a wide range of sarcastic formulas: the entire population was invited to “enjoy” this new means of enrichment by burning their relatives’ meat; the cremationists’ offer was considered as evidence of their generosity and an expression of support on the part of representatives of the “dominant nation.” References were made to exotic places like Abyssinia, which would want to follow Romania’s example in building the crematorium, as a sign of progress. The article also noted that there was a danger that city residents had been forced to accept this situation in exchange for the continuance of various essential services from the municipal authorities, thus becoming shareholders to “ashes, smoke and … tobacco.” But the most colourful part of the article came at the end. Here, the author imagined an extreme scenario, exceptional both in its humour and its tones of bitterness. It was a “call” addressed to male citizens to “restrain” their wives’ language, and prevent them from uttering the well-known curse “to end in smoke!” – which could be construed as an excuse for Mayor Costinescu to recruit new members into the Cenuúa Society. The relation between the crematorium theme and women in particular was discussed in another article in the newspaper. This was written from the anti-cremationist standpoint of Princess Alexandrina Cantacuzino, who we have already mentioned. During a meeting of the city council it had been decided to grant the sum of one and a half million lei toward building the crematorium. The passivity of the priests who were members of the municipal councillors was criticised, since they had made the building of the crematorium possible precisely because they had remained neutral (only Cantacuzino and the priest Gheorghe Paunescu-Cărămidar had voted against). The article ended with an emotional appeal for people to reject the practice: Let us get out of uncertainty! Let’s struggle with the paganism that revives in our country and requires its idolatrous rights more brutally still unprescribed by the ages that have elapsed since its decapitation! Shoulder to shoulder, Romanians! Keep up your courage, Christian brethren! (Guinea 1928, 4)

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However, many women also supported or sympathised with the cremation movement. An example of this is an article by Alice Gabrielescu, published in Adevărul Literar úi Artistic in 1928, which supported the crematorium. Glasul Monahilor reacted harshly, expressing shock that a woman with gentle soul, meant to be mother of children, a cultivated person, should have revealed her “dryness of thought of a male soul” (Cenuúarii 1928, 3). Gabrielescu found herself accused of ignorance, a lack of delicacy and discretion and an absence of sincerity.

Lawsuits against Ionescu Subsequent to the first cremation, some notable Romanian writers came forward to reject the practice, expressing their ideas in Glasul Monahilor. Such is the case for Cezar Petrescu, the author of an article published on the front page of that newspaper, in the context of the other polemics and scandals surrounding cremation (Petrescu 1928, 1). There is an evident difference between his style of writing, which shows his literary talent, and the others who commented on the issue in the magazine. Petrescu issues a harsh indictment of cremation, citing the primitive nature of the practice, specific to times long gone and barbaric. Cremation was understood as being characteristic of nomadic peoples who have passed out of history without leaving a trace, which “emerged from the wind, passed with the wind and disappeared into the wind” (Petrescu 1928, 1). They aimed, with “animal unconsciousness” at satisfying immediate needs determined by hunger and desire; by contrast, the emergence of inhumation was, in his opinion, a true revolution. It encoded the sacred nature of the long-lasting relationship with the land, and led to the development of traditions and a new configuration between the living and the dead. Man, as included in such an equation, represented a link in a chain and some came to have a different perspective on the past, present and future. Faced with these profound considerations, cremationist ideas seemed childish, “spineless and hollow sophistications,” and expressions of nihilism. The result of corpse burning would be the disappearance of the mystery of death, reduced to a handful of ashes gathered in an urn, as an expression of man’s contempt for the laws of nature. According to Petrescu, cremationists were a pitiful category and should not be condemned: they were hopeless individuals who had reached the final stage of denial of death and life. The symbol of the tomb – the house of rest, of meditation and reassessment, of the hope of the continuation of existence after death – was presented by way of a conclusion, revealing another aspect of the miracle of human destiny, enriched by every life and

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death (Petrescu 1928, 1). The lawsuits brought against Marin C. Ionescu were also detailed in Glasul Monahilor. Information on this issue began to appear in early February 1928, when it was rumoured that the ashmen had threatened some editors with court (InformaĠiuni 1928, 4). The situation became complicated during the weeks that followed, when two lawsuits were filed against Ionescu. The first was the work of a mayor from one of the Bucharest sectors who had been offended by the priest’s statements. Glasul Monahilor ridiculed the suit, saying that it hid the real cause: Ionescu’s strong stance against the crematorium. In this context, N. Batzaria urged the Romanian Orthodox Church’s high authorities to take action. It was not just Ionescu’s fate that was at stake – since he was well able to defend and support his cause himself – but also the Orthodox tradition which asserted the superiority of Christianity (Batzaria 1928, 1). The involvement of the Romanian Orthodox Church was felt to be compulsory, given that the Christian world was threatened by such dangers. According to the author, such dangers included both the crematoria and the activities of the evangelical sects, which the author considered to be devilish temptations in the face of which the church could not remain passive. The second suit filed against Ionescu had stronger reverberations. This was brought by Dr. Mina Minovici, the director of the Bucharest morgue. The suit lasted almost two years and was widely covered in the daily secular and religious newspapers, especially Glasul Monahilor. The latter saw the trial as being filed not against a lone priest, but rather against the entire Romanian Orthodox Church (Procesul 1928a, 3). Nichifor Crainic took an unequivocal stance on the matter in Curentul (Crainic 1928, 1). After an incident in which Dionisie Lungu was “sent” by the Bucharest Archdiocese to the monastery while accompanied by gendarmes, Crainic wrote an article in which he perceived this both as a humiliation but also as an honour, since the monk was fighting for justice. The real cause of this incident, according to Crainic, was the press campaign triggered by Dionisie Lungu against the ashmen. Crainic was of the opinion that the proper target of this campaign was in fact city hall, which, instead of producing bread ovens for the public, had built, with the aid of the ashmen, “ovens for leavening the dead.” Ionescu was considered another victim of the political situation, being Lungu’s newspaper colleague and now the subject of the suit by Mina Minovici. Crainic criticised the attitude of Bucharest Archbishopric, which had abandoned those two while sending Stancu Brădiúteanu to Paris as a priest – he being the person who had inaugurated the crematorium. Crainic ended by

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“admonishing” Dionisie Lungu for his work: “Who has made you, Blessed Dionisie, to do such comedies? Could you not stay peaceful in the monastery? You should have grown lice for yourself and some eggs, cheese, crayfish, fish and others for your Superiors. What a nice monk you would have been!” (Crainic 1928, 1). The first court appearance in the trial between Ionescu and Minovici was on 9 March 1928, and was summarised by Glasul Monahilor. The newspaper mentioned a procedural flaw, in that the case had been sent to the Court of Assizes, although the Justice of the Peace should have dealt with it first. The most important aspect of this article seems to me to be its reference to the large crowd gathered around the building where the trial took place. “The defence was intimidated by the crowds, who were surrounded by endless cordons of gendarmes” (Crematoriul 1928a, 4). Faced with this pressure, and thanks to the pleas of Ionescu’s lawyers, it was decided to postpone the trial and move it to the court. However, the article complained that the mainstream newspapers had paid too little attention to this event, even though Christians had been involved. The process of “ultra-stigmatisation” of the cremationists also impinged on Dr. Minovici. He was flagellated, not through open criticism, but in less direct references made in the newspapers. An article written by Tudor Arghezi, published in Bilete de Papagal, is relevant in this respect. In the article, Minovici was invited to resign from the management of the Bucharest morgue because of his bad practices regarding the burning of the unclaimed dead. The article also referred to another piece of information, although no source is mentioned. According to this, a citizen from Răduleúti commune had had to retrieve his dead son from the morgue, for the sum of 3,800 lei, to avoid him being cremated. The author, who used a pseudonym, said he was avoiding making any open comments for fear that he could end up in “the madhouse, the morgue or the crematorium!” (Mirmillo 1928, 3). The new court appearance was set for 4 May 1928. Again, the event was tense. Glasul Monahilor had been calling on the population to support the anti-cremation cause: “You those who love the Church and the Faith, take part, … as many as possible!” (InformaĠiuni 1928b, 4). Its article on the new stage of the trial excoriated the ashmen who had arrested monk Lungu, the latter having received a subpoena to be a witness in the trial. This action was declared to be the greatest assault on freedom of conscience and on individual freedom, ideas which were dilated on at length by the audience in the press as well as by Ionescu’s lawyers. As a consequence, the court decided to limit the public access inside the Palace of Justice, and to enforce this via the gendarmes. This measure was

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comparable, for Glasul Monahilor, with the acts of the Spanish Inquisition. In order to calm the assembled crowd, the court again decided to postpone the trial, this time to 22 November 1928 (Biserica 1928b, 4). In the same issue, strong disapproval was also expressed of the Bucharest Archbishopric’s decision to send Lungu from the police cellars to Căldăruúani Monastery. The Archbishopric had not taken such measures in other cases (Tragedia 1928, 4). A sinful collaboration between the Archdiocese, the prosecutor’s office and the police was perceived by the newspapers, and bitter conclusions were then drawn concerning the future of all Romanian Orthodox believers. The newspaper announced that Archimandrite Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu had been “sent” to Căldăruúani Monastery together with Lungu. This information is highly relevant, given that ùerboianu would cross to the other side not many years later. Tudor Arghezi, writing in Bilete de Papagal, did not remain indifferent to this story. His stance, however, was different from that presented in Glasul Monahilor (Arghezi 1928a, 2–3). At the beginning of his article on this topic he detailed the case, briefly pointing out Lungu’s and Calinic ùerboianu’s efforts in service of the publication. According to Arghezi, the newspaper “did not offend anyone” and had the merit of spreading the word of God, which had been forgotten by the lay members, priests and bishops (the latter being mentioned in ironic tones). Next he turned to the fight which this newspaper had waged against cremation. Cremation was described as the option of those who prefer the ashes to the worms. Mina Minovici was described as a promoter of cremation, and Arghezi commented that Ionescu had slandered Minovici, but “had forgotten his arguments at home and was fighting an imaginary scientist” (Arghezi 1928a, 2). Arghezi had no intention of defending the two men, since their claims seemed insignificant, and therefore harmless. Dionisie Lungu also considered himself a journalist, Arghezi remarked, although he was not a master of that profession and his print run was insignificant. In addition, Archimandrite Lungu’s actions were contradictory. Through his magazine, he was seeking to correct a state of affairs within the clerical milieu, but at the same time not to offend his superiors. Moreover, he was living in Bucharest, where “a man can grow cheeky” (Arghezi 1928a, 3). Much more serious and reprehensible, according to Arghezi, was the attitude of the Metropolitan Church. It was no longer able to communicate with its priests, and thus resorted to the help of the prosecutor’s office and the police to deal with hierarchic deviation. Since communication between the Metropolitan Church and the people no longer existed, this was new evidence that institution had become but a shadow. The details of the court session of 4 May 1928 also revealed that Dr.

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Minovici’s lawyer was the cremationist poet Radu D. Rosetti. According to Glasul Monahilor, he would have lied to the court to save his client, despite the testimony of a witness named Maria Armeanu. (She was accused of perjury by some “Freemason” newspapers; and in fact, Radu D. Rosetti did in fact achieve her prosecution for perjury). This event, plus the new delay, proved that the process of justice could not be relied upon and that cremationists wanted to undermine it by continual delay (Biserica 1928, 2). The same issue of Glasul Monahilor detailed Crainic’s stance as expressed in Curentul as well as Racoveanu’s from Cuvântul. They expressed their support for the anti-cremation cause and the campaign led by that publication. Glasul Monahilor reacted to these comments with satisfaction, condemning as malicious any claims that the publication was isolated, and saying that the intellectual elite of the country was filled with “the pagan heresies” represented by cremation (N-a murit 1928, 3). The next court appearance, set for 22 November 1928, did not bring anything new in the development of the process, but saw another postponement to 11 February 1929 – again despite the fact that the court room and the entrance hall were crowded with people, according to Glasul Monahilor. The newspaper expressed confidence that whatever the reasons for the successive postponements, divine justice would prevail (Procesul 1928b, 1). As the February court date drew near, Glasul Monahilor again issued calls for the population to support the anti-cremation cause. The tone was now more impetuous, and new scenarios were dreamed up as issuing from the scandal, so as to better mobilise the population. There appeal deserves to be quoted in full, since conveys the “drive” towards the stigmatisation of cremation in particularly clear terms: Christians, on Monday, February 11th this year the Court of Assizes will rule on the trial of the Church with the Crematorium! You are asked to come, as many as possible, if not to defend your sacred rights, at least to see the ANTICHRISTS of the CENTURY the Gospel speaks about, who desire to burn your beloved fathers and sons at any cost! (Glasul 1929, 1)

It is significant that, from the very beginning, this trial had evoked wide generalisations in the articles of this newspaper. This is perhaps not surprising, given the anti-cremation stance adopted by the Romanian Orthodox Church Synod in the spring of 1928. But the trial itself concerned two individuals – not two institutions, nor even two newspapers. This shows the extent to which Glasul Monahilor was the main and indeed the only anti-cremation voice in Romania. In such circumstances, the role of

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speaking for the entire group was easily adopted. In fact, the decision by the Romanian Orthodox Church in 1928 was the result of a campaign prosecuted by the newspaper, as is proved by the following quote: The official Church begins to discover the mysterious and sly decisions on the corpses’ burning, being only prompted by our gazette ‘Glasul Monahilor’, the only ecclesiastic newspaper that openly fought in this direction. This is why it received all the calumnies and persecutions of the ashmen involved. (Biserica 1928, 2)

But this type of “narcissism” revealed itself in another way as well. At one point in the midst of the anti-cremation dispute caused by the building of Cenuúa Crematorium, Glasul Monahilor announced that it was ready to give up the campaign it had itself begun. The newspaper considered itself to be the only paper that had fought against the ashmen, often without the support of the higher Orthodox authorities, and despite the passivity of many priests. Mentioning Curentul, Cuvântul, Aurora and Cultura Poporului, Glasul Monahilor stated that it was prepared to give up the action against cremation if only the other Romanian newspapers would have carried on the campaign against the burning of dead bodies. The announcement was largely rhetorical, in view of the fact that the pace of articles condemning cremation did not slacken in the ensuring period. Universul newspaper was singled out for harsh criticism and ridiculed for having not paid any special attention to the topic; Glasul Monahilor now asked rhetorically whether the editors of those newspapers had not themselves been “cremated” (Glasul 1929b, 3). The court session on 11 February 1929 led again to a delay – the fifth – with the new date set for 15 May 1929. Glasul Monahilor said that this had to be the last postponement, since it was clear that the ashmens’ tactic was to prolong the process indefinitely. The paper also expressed the hope that the new mayor of Bucharest, Dem. Dobrescu, would refuse to support Cenuúa Crematorium, given that it was not a priority for the municipal authority – adding that in 1928 the ashmen had received one and a half million lei from city hall, but that nothing had been allocated for the care of war orphans (Cenuúarii 1929, 4). For electoral purposes, Mayor Dobrescu had tried to calm the agitated spirits, as Mihai Popovici at one point had confessed: “Mr. Mayor Dobrescu himself told not only me but also Mr. I. Tedorescu from Adevărul to back down on the crematorium, for the elections, due to politics” (Popovici 1930, 8). Despite the lawsuits brought against him, Ionescu continued his activities, particularly through his articles. For example, in an piece published in 1928 (Ionescu 1928e, 2–3) in Glasul Monahilor he attacked

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not only the ashmen, but also Bucharest City Hall, again describing it as an accomplice. Although setting out at the beginning of the article with declared intentions of adopting an objective stance by bringing to bear relevant arguments and counterarguments, the priest is unable to refrain from direct attacks and dwelling on unrealistic scenarios. The main fault of Cenuúa Society, according to Ionescu, was that it built the crematorium, with the help of the municipal authorities, without previously consulting the Romanian Orthodox Church. The priest cites a number of approximately 4,000 ashmen, an estimation which seems unrealistic if compared with the one published by Flacăra Sacră. But although exaggerated, the priest still took the number to reveal the major discrepancy between these few supporters of the practice and the rest of the Bucharest population (which he puts at around two million). The financial support of almost one and a half million lei granted by the local administration to the cremationists, to put the crematorium in place, thus assumes the character of the tyranny of a minority over the many. Ionescu then calls into question what he considered the pro-cremation arguments – the hygienic and economic claims – but does not offer a scientific analysis, but limits himself to accusations and fanciful solutions, suggesting that “science” embalm the corpses but not cremate them. Considered in the round, his article can also be seen to reveal another dimension of the anti-cremationist rhetoric as was practiced by some clerical representatives; that is, the anti-cremationist rhetoric as, up to a point, also generally anti-science: Science can be international in test tube and laboratory! In its practical achievements it is not allowed to trample on the people’s conception of life, cosmic environment, religious and moral environment, but to prepare leisurely conditions of social symbiosis. (Ionescu 1928e, 2)

The crematorium was seen as “the overthrow” of the Romanian Orthodox Church. No less than five arguments were brought against it: the dogmatic-scriptural argument, the argument of secular traditionalism, the psychological argument, the historical argument, and the practical argument. The first of these was crucial, especially since it perfectly fitted the Apostle Paul’s teachings. Ionescu considered Paul’s ideas to be anticremationist, citing the major difference between the human body and the animal body – the human body being the temple of the Holy Spirit. In this regard, Ionescu spoke about the boldness of science in touching on the sacred. He also emphasised the differences between the Orthodox and the Protestant doctrines. He was concerned about the fate of the relics in respect of cremation. Drawing on St. Paul’s arguments, other meanings of

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cremation were put forward: the Christian body was the “earnest” reflection of Jesus Christ’s holiness; the hygienic arguments of cremation were as naught compared to the model of resurrection as expressed in the parable of Lazarus; and the need to keep open the possibility of “nondecay” through resurrection. In this context, Ionescu valued the spaces of the cemeteries and of the graves, where life was not extinguished but only suspended until the Resurrection. These places became sacred, whether they were or inside or outside human settlements, due to the holiness of the bodies that was given also to the land. In conclusion, again, he stigmatised cremation as being a satanic temptation. The articles of association of the Cenuúa Society were also the object of a close analysis, undertaken in the middle of the anti-cremation campaign and supported by Glasul Monahilor. The author of the article in question, Z. S. Mirmillo, confessed that he was stunned by them, and by way of example quoted the third provision, according to which any person between seven and sixty years of age could become a member of the society, provided they were introduced by two other members and were mentally and physically healthy (Mirmillo 1928b, 2). Additional membership conditions were: filling in a form, writing an application, and being aware of the provisions in the articles. These provisions were harshly criticised for implying that seven-year-olds would be accepted as members if they knew the statute. The tendency towards generalisation may also be discerned in this article, given that it claimed with no real textual basis that provisions 2–10 from the articles required that members seek to expand the cremation practice all over Romania. The illustrations in the articles also came in for criticism. The first was the image of a well-known cemetery in Bucharest in an advanced state of decay; those photos that followed showed various crematoria endowed with chapels, obviously for propaganda purposes; the author considered them shameful for church and country. The articles also included photos of the management committee members, twenty-six in number, “one graver than the other.” The author took this photo to demonstrate that “the enemies, libellers and scoffers of the country and Church” were not foreigners, but belonged to the mioritical space.2 The second part of the article returned to the theme of criticising the Bucharest municipal authorities. Mirmillo rhetorically wondered why God was putting up with these unconscious and evil people. The first image in 2

Adjective describing a bucolic countryside which became synonymous with the Romanian territory. It comes from “MioriĠa” (The Little Ewe), an old Romanian pastoral ballad which is considered one of the most important pieces of Romanian folklore.

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the articles of the Cenuúa Society was again commented upon. The author claimed that it was impossible that a cemetery in Bucharest could ever look like that, namely with only two crosses and filled with garbage and thistles; but if the image was real, it could do little more than cast the Bucharest municipal authority itself in a bad light, since it was their duty to take care of these spaces. In the author’s opinion, the ashmen, demagogues par excellence, were guilty of defaming the image of the country and the church, and should have been imprisoned. The article concluded in the usual tradition of Glasul Monahilor, with a call to the Christian population of the country to reject the practice and to judge the facts in a balanced way. (Incidentally, it is also mentioned that Glasul Monahilor had offended only one ashman, while they had offended a whole country and no punitive measure had been taken.)

The role of the Synod Another case extensively discussed in Glasul Monahilor was the cremation of Mrs. Davidescu, a former member of the Romanian Ladies Orthodox Society, in early April 1928 (Mirmillo 1928c, 3). The case itself is a simple one: a religious ceremony was performed at her funeral, after which her corpse was cremated. The four priests who had performed the funeral service were harshly criticised: although they said they did not know anything about the family’s intentions, they had accepted their fee, protested unconvincingly, and then “quiet, each went on his way.” The suggestion that they did not know about the cremation was dismissed, since when they found out they did not indignantly throw away the “wicked” money. (The archetype of Judas Iscariot was again mentioned.) For this reason, Mirmillo demanded their harsh punishment by the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church, something which would also show the concrete ways in which such deviations by the clergy could be avoided: by curse, excommunication, or by barring the priests from celebrating any religious service, all of which could based on the sacred canons and church regulations (Mirmillo 1928c, 3). The case of Mrs. Davidescu drew the attention of the Bucharest Orthodox Archdiocese. Through an order of 3 May 1928, it reported the incident, stating that following the Synod’s judgement, the performance of any religious service was prohibited for an incinerated corpse (Arhiepiscopia 1928, 2). That order applied to all priests, who were thereby advised that before holding the funeral service they should ask the family for “the burial permit” in order to know where the burial would take place. The priests who did not comply with this decision would be

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considered guilty. The decision was enacted by the Synod’s decision of 13 May 1927, which forbade burial services for those incinerated, and declared it an offence against Christian doctrine. The decision pleased Glasul Monahilor, which thought that in this way the ashmen would not able to use various tricks to implement their plans. The significance of the moment was capitalised upon, and, in stirring tones, the author launched a appeal for a “fight” against cremation: It’s the hour when we, who are here, have the right to breathe and show the entire world the justice of our cause and to cry to all our oppressors seen and unseen: Enough with oppression! Enough with the threats! Enough with the frame up! Enough with the gains and business organised around death! Enough with religious dictatorship! (Mirmillo 1928c, 3)

Glasul Monahilor also included a letter from the incinerated woman’s husband, the engineer Davidescu, in which he motivated his deed and tried to exculpate the priests involved (Davidescu 1928, 2). This letter is extremely important as it expresses the state of mind of the first people who opted for their deceased relatives’ cremation, immediately after the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium. Davidescu’s letter was meant by way of a right of reply, to be published by Glasul Monahilor after its article on the case. According to Davidescu, his letter was warranted in view of the accusations the publication had made in three consecutive issues, and in accordance with the law of the press. Davidescu affirmed that the priests who had performed the religious services had known nothing about his intentions for cremation, and that therefore they were not guilty. But Davidescu did not consider himself guilty of anything either, and presented four arguments in favour of his decision. The first was that he did not know anything about a conflict between a part of the Romanian clergy and the Cenuúa Society. The second was that he did not know at that time of any decision of the Orthodox Synod regarding cremation (in his opinion, this argument was valid for all those who took part in the funeral ceremony). The third reason was that he had studied abroad, and in those places there were other Christian denominations, Catholic and Protestant, which allowed religious services for an incinerated corpse. Finally, he cited the prestige of some members of the Cenuúa Society, which was a guarantee of the “legality” of the action. No doubt all four of Davidescu’s reasons demand closer scrutiny, but the third one should be corrected at the outset, as the Catholic world also rejected cremation at that time. As for the priests, Davidescu confessed that he had disclosed his intention for cremation only at the end

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of the ceremony. Out of the four, only one agreed to receive the fee. In closing his letter Davidescu expressed his respect for the institution of the church and asked to be presented with proof that he was in error. This was a significant step: Davidescu explicitly requested that Glasul Monahilor publish the evidence from Christian doctrine according to which cremation was prohibited, without circumlocution or prevarication. In passing, he condemned Glasul Monahilor’s reactions, saying that the newspaper was no guide in this matter and, moreover, had brought discredit on the cultural and moral prestige of the Orthodox clergy. In short order a response emerged from Archimandrite Scriban (Scriban 1928c, 1). He considered the letter a joke and warned the engineer that his exculpatory reasons were unfounded, since the dispute between the ashmen and the clergy was well known. In addition, according to Scriban, the religious text of the funeral was itself proof of the rejection of cremation by the Romanian Orthodox Church. He challenged the engineer to justify his lack of response to this situation, something which had been virtually impossible for him to miss. According to the archimandrite, Davidescu’s letter was a “toy,” a frivolous “summons” intended only to produce “naggings” (Scriban 1928c, 1). The Synod’s decision in forbidding any memorial service for those incinerated, included in the pages of the publication, now became a new point of reference in Davidescu’s case. Davidescu was asked to accept once and for all that it was not just a part of the Orthodox clergy which was in conflict with the Cenuúa Society, but the entire Romanian Orthodox Church, headed by its Synod. Subsequent to this decision, the “lost” priests were warned to repudiate their pro-cremation stances. What is most remarkable here is the triumphant tone adopted by Glasul Monahilor. The moment was considered a total victory, towering above all the threats and lawsuits (Biserica 1928, 3). A case in Buzau was also covered in Glasul Monahilor, which had taken the information from Cuvântul Bun (PreoĠii 1928, 1). Here, the focus of criticism was the priestly milieu which had not complied with the decisions on cremation by the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church. The case concerned the burial of the ashes of a Romanian man who had died abroad. Although he had been a man of honour, he had not been a Christian; the burial ceremony had been attended by a group of priests and the ceremony took place in an episcopal see. The event was related to other circumstances which seemed to the author to reveal the existence of a canonical anarchy in the Romanian Orthodox Church, including divorces and marriages without compliance with religious commandments. The author anticipated that Bishop Ghenadie would issue a firm reaction to this case.

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A similar case was the cremation of Miss Sidonia Gregorian, wherein some “unconscious” priests, having performed the funeral ceremony and in order to hide their “imbecility,” had advised the deceased’s family to bury the urn of ashes (Încenuúarea 1928, 2). All these cases carried great importance for the Synod of the Orthodox Church in formulating an official stance on cremation. Certainly, some of the cases reported by the newspapers occurred after this decision of the Synod, which shows that it was not fully observed. The fact that the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church reconsidered the issue in 1933 only confirms this conclusion. The emphasis the Synod put on the decision related to cremation was driven by a specific case – namely, the aforementioned aviator George Gh. Fernic, who had died in the US and whose ashes had been returned to Romania for burial. The topic was debated in a new Synod on 20 February 1933 (Partea 1934, 561–562), and raised in the communications of Bishop Tit Târgoviúteanu. He brought to the attention of the Synod that priests did not know what to do in the case of cremated people for whom the families were requesting religious services. It was specified that although the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church had adopted a resolution on this issue in June 1928, prohibiting any religious service for those incinerated, it had not been made known to the Church leaders and priests, by the order of Metropolitan Pimen of Moldavia, at that time President of the Synod. Târgoviúteanu suggested that they either maintain the 1928 decision, communicate it to the priests, or reconsider the issue (Partea 1934, 561). Subsequent to this communication the issue was declared urgent, and it was discussed once more. Three speeches were then made. The first was from the Patriarch, who indicated that there were some cremations which he called “involuntary,” such as the death of Romanians overseas, for whom, since it was impossible to bring their bodies back home, he could allow exceptions (such as in the case of Fernic). The second speech was delivered by Metropolitan Pimen of Moldavia, who suggested that the Synod deal with the issue in a balanced way, since the practice was gaining more and more adherents. The last speech was delivered by Bishop Cosma, from the Lower Danube, who supported the no-exception stance for those incinerated. Following these speeches, the Synod decided to solve the problem in two ways: first, the 15 June 1928 decision on cremations would be communicated to all priests and the Church leaders; second, the issue would be sent to the commission on religious doctrine and life for study. The commission would decide whether in situations of forced cremation and without the believer’s desire, the religious ceremony would be allowed (Partea 1934, 562).

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Chronologically speaking, the decision adopted on May 1928 is decisive. It was then that the decision was taken that the religious funeral service would take place only once the priest had been presented with “the burial permit,” which indicated whether the body would be cremated or buried. Moreover, the decision of 15 June 1928 sets out the primary code of conduct for the Romanian Orthodox Church regarding cremation, which is complied with, at least theoretically, even today. It is worth reproducing it in full: The Metropolitan Church sent to all priests a harsh command, by the archbishops, in the following: all priests are informed that: a) The Holy Synod’s decision regarding the incinerated is this: Christian burial cannot be performed to the incinerated because cremation of the dead is in contradiction with the doctrine of the Holy Church. b) Before beginning the funeral service for various cases, the pious priests should ask the family for the ‘Burial Permit’ that details the place of burial. They should perform the burial only after they are convinced that they are taking him to the grave, not to the crematorium. Anyone who will not comply with these provisions, violating the Holy Synod’s canons and decision, will be prosecuted accordingly. (Nu merge 1928, 476).

The decisions of the Romanian Orthodox Church regarding human cremation prompted a new reaction from Tudor Arghezi (Arghezi 1928b, 2–3), but this time he supported the cremationists, considering the Patriarchy’s decision to be an error. His pro-cremationist representation made memorable use of one of the standard arguments invoked for human cremation, namely the human being’s degradation by rotting; cremation, he said, does not mean the loss of divine grace simply “because they have not deigned to pass first through the drooling of the worm and the stench of putrefaction” (Arghezi 1928b, 2–3). Cremation was an act of reducing the human creature to the form from which God created it. The example of Jesus Christ in proving that the practice was responsive to some modern needs was brought now in support of the cremationists, recalling the critical parable of the lepers. According to Arghezi, the mystery of death was unfathomable, and thus it did not matter how the corpse was managed, fire being as holy as the worm. Consequently, Arghezi publicly demanded that the dead who were to be incinerated should benefit from religious services. Recalling Arghezi’s stance as expressed in 1913, occasioned by the cremation conference held by Radu D. Rosetti at the Romanian Athenaeum, as well as the one from the novel The Annunciation Cemetery, one may conclude that Arghezi managed to take a neutral stance on the pros and cons of the cremation debate. This attitude can be explained by his critical

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stance towards the Romanian clerics, on the one hand; whereas, on the other hand, where Arghezi criticized the practice, this can be understood as showing that he disliked the process of cremating corpses, primarily due to the specifics of the modern technical details. Regarding the cremations carried out at Cenuúa Crematorium, a story related by Mihai Popovici from 1935 seems significant (Popovici 1935c, 5). He recalled the situation of 1931, when the construction was still in progress but cremations were already being carried out. Then the crematorium had no doors, no windows, the walls were unplastered, and various scaffoldings stood around the building. In this context, in the “socalled chapel,” the religious service was performed of a four-year-old child who was to be cremated. According to Popovici, the rays of the sun were illuminating the chapel, and, at a certain time, a flock of swallows flew in, something that managed to tame the parents’ sorrow. The presence of the birds did not bother anyone. Popovici explained this by saying that the flock of swallows had come to “accompany the baby’s soul to heaven” (Popovici 1935c, 5).

Cremation expands Regarding the early years of cremation in Romania, the year 1931 seems to me to be key in the expansion of the practice. It was in that year that cremations of leading figures in Romanian public life took place – the minister G. Derussi, the painter Toma Stelian and the journalist Ion Teodoreanu. The setting up of the crematorium led to a tendency to compare the Romanian situation with those in other areas of the world. Although until then the parallels were drawn mainly with the West, and only sometimes with the East where the practice was prevalent, after the building of the crematorium comparisons with new geographical areas were made, including with the Soviet Union. In April 1928, Adevărul Literar úi Artistic published an article on this subject, which was reproduced in Glasul Monahilor (Scriban 1928d, 2). The article highlighted the Soviet government’s intention to extend the practice in Moscow and then all over the USSR. But this wish, it said, had remained only an ideal, as people had not given their support to the new practice of burning the bodies. Only twenty-three cadavers had been burned at the crematorium in Moscow in the space of a year, excluding those incinerated early on who were unclaimed by relatives or acquaintances. The true cause of this was the high cost of cremation, which made it difficult to burn the corpses of homeless and poor people. The Soviet newspapers, however, had

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explained the situation in an “original” way, citing the anti-cremation propaganda supported by all denominations and religions, and especially the lack of a model that would help the practice become embedded – none of the Communist leaders or their family members had expressed a desire to be cremated. It seemed that the Communists preferred embalming, or inhumation in the luxurious tombs of the former Tsarist elite. The mausoleums of Lenin, General Frunză and Derjinski were enumerated by way of example. Consequently, the Central Crematorium in Moscow was considered non-functional because “it did not have anyone to burn,” although 100 people died daily in Moscow. Archimandrite Scriban made some comments on this news, although not in his usual strident manner (Scriban 1928d, 2). He considered that the Soviet Union had introduced cremation precisely in order to undermine the position occupied by the church, and openly declared his satisfaction that this action had been a failure. He attributed this to the fact that, from the point of view of the Soviet people, cremation had been intended for the great mass of people, and not for the Bolsheviks and the powerful leaders. Nevertheless, some elements of the claims made in these articles remain questionable, especially since Lenin had not expressed the wish to be embalmed; that decision was taken by the Soviet leaders who followed him to power. Such reference to cremation in the Soviet Union in the Romanian newspapers, in the context of the polemics that followed the opening of the crematorium, was certainly no accident. Other similar references are also made about the development of cremation ideas in Poland and Germany. In Poland there had been similar initiatives to build crematoria as in Romania, whereas in Germany cremation had been operating for decades. The relevance of these examples lays in the fact that Romania could now be located within a history of cremation, past, present and future. Archimandrite Iuliu Scriban also responded to these cases. In respect of Poland, Scriban showed that the Romanians and the Polish had had a close connection, based on their common reaction to cremation (Scriban 1929a, 1–2). The issue seemed especially relevant to him since the countries were of different religious denominations. Another common denominator was that in both countries cremation functioned as a symbol of so-called progress. While in Romania, the Bucharest municipal authorities had supported the practice, in Poland cremation received support from the Ministry of Cults and Education, which had advanced the funds for the building of a crematorium. But, in this case, the Polish clergy, regardless of denomination, fought alongside each other, and so

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brought about the failure of the initiative. Scriban thus described the Polish case as a model to be followed, calling on the population to fight: every priest and every Christian should oppose cremation. Scriban’s comments on the second case, regarding cremation in Germany, has a similar tone (Scriban 1930, 1–2). Whereas until that time human cremation had been allowed to develop freely, now, in the third decade of the twentieth century, an anti-cremation movement was emerging. The widespread fascination with the precision of the German model worked in this case as anti-cremation rhetoric. The argument was that if such a movement could emerge even in Germany, then there was cause for optimism on the part of anti-cremation Romanians. Evidence in favour was provided and developed in two directions: the emergence of the German anti-cremation magazine, Mormântul Creútin; and on the other hand, the statistical argument that even though Germany at that time had the highest number of crematoria (eighty-one), inhumation still prevailed as a funerary practice (Scriban 1930, 1). The data drawn from the magazine he was quoting also showed the higher cost of cremation compared to inhumation, although one may fairly have reservations about the reliability of the sources here. Nevertheless, the article then goes on to draw conclusions pertaining to Romania. If inhumation was cheaper than cremation in Germany, where the land was expensive, this must be even more true on the banks of DâmboviĠa. As the archimandrite considered the data real, he now launched a new attack against the ashmen. They were accused of lying (“people heated from burning who feed other people with empty promises” (Scriban 1930, 1)), of arrogance, of usurping the mask of the precision of science, and of impertinence, since they were equating innovation and prosperity. The news on cremation abroad was published in various newspapers of that time, and sometimes mocked in Glasul Monahilor. Such is the case with the information from Universul, a newspaper that supported anticremation propaganda. In July 1929 this newspaper reported the appearance of the image of Jesus Christ on the wall of an American crematorium, this having been certified by about 5,000 people (Minunea 1929, 3). The paper noted the lack of credibility of the source (who was an employee of the crematorium), and then duly turned to brow-beat the Romanian supporters of cremation. Having “burnt” themselves, in economic terms, by building the crematorium, they were now resorting to “miracles” in order to win new adherents. Glasul Monahilor advanced the hypothesis that if this event had really happened, then either it was a devilish illusion, or a real appearance by Christ designed to discredit the practice of cremation; one wondered why a newspaper like Universul

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published such “silly things” (Minunea 1929, 3). But the ashmen’s “impertinence” went even further, according to Glasul Monahilor, and these “villains” had resorted to extreme gestures directed towards the church. Thus, in ConstanĠa, a Freemason had brought a deceased’s urn into the diocese and put it on the table where candles were sold. This revolted the editors of the publication, who considered the gesture a new challenge to church authority (Minunea 1929, 3). The pages of Flacăra Sacră record a new wave of information regarding international cremation after 1934. Here, though, the emphasis is the reverse – that is, it focuses on the significant expansion recorded almost everywhere in the world regarding the practice. Nae Ionescu did not remain insensitive to the translation into reality of the idea of human cremation in Romania. Thus, in two articles published in the inter-war newspapers, the scientist expressed his views, coming down on the traditionalists’ side. The first of these articles was published immediately after the opening of the crematorium (Ionescu 2003, 347– 348) and it addressed the “scientific” supporters of the crematorium. Thus, cremation was contrary to Romanian tradition and religion and was a “brutal intervention in the natural course of certain things and events that we do not know,” which led, according to Ionescu, to a feeling of timidity towards death (Ionescu 2003, 347). The issue of cremation was a “very complex” one, as it contributed to the breakdown of tradition. The crematorium itself was a symbol of snobbery, and a cover for nakedly economic interests. Also, since it was cheaper than inhumation, cremation represented a “threat to Christian burial.” Although all the priests would reject it, the practice might nevertheless develop in the future simply on monetary considerations (Ionescu 2003, 348). His second article was focused on the specific case of the burial of the urn of an important citizen from Buzău who had died abroad (Ionescu 2003, 356–357). This gesture was considered non-Christian, although that citizen had been a good man. Ionescu was reacting to the fact that the deceased’s urn had been placed in one of the churches in Buzău, and a group of priests was to bury him. Their agreement to perform the funeral service was, in Ionescu’s opinion, “the evidence of a serious soul disorder in the priests,” which surpassed his understanding. The church should have not have allowed “a new violation of the fundamental truths, precisely by its complicity.” Thus, the fact of incineration was a new additional sin, “related to the soul,” which evidenced the “canonical anarchy” extant in the Romanian Orthodox Church. Ionescu urged that the Synod’s decision on the prohibition of funeral services for the cremated be complied with; where this ruling was transgressed, the bishops’ interventions would be

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necessary (Ionescu 2003, 356–357). The stance on cremation adopted by Nae Ionescu was the topic of an extended article signed by Scriban in the pages of Glasul Monahilor (Scriban 1928e, 3). The text invoked Ionescu’s personality as a guarantee of his credibility. The professor was seen as a true opinion-maker, compared with whom the majority of journalists were just imitators. Ionescu’s article in Cuvântul was broken into five segments. The first of these laid down the professor’s general ideas about the practice: cremation being an insult to the natural course of things, a monkey-like imitation which perhaps hid the desires of certain influential Bucharest personalitites to achieve monetary gain. Scriban also identified what he saw as weaknesses in Ionescu’s article, rejecting the claim that, once built, the crematorium could not be removed except by “chasing its clients out.” Scriban considered that the building had to be closed, and not be left to “die out” by itself due to lack of customers. Secondly, he rejected Ionescu’s scenario in which the refusal of the religious service for those that were to be cremated would lead a process of de-Christianisation. Archimandrite Scriban considered de-Christianisation an illusion: true Christians would not be affected by these developments, only those already condemned by their ideas. Finally, Ionescu’s view on the belated reaction of the Romanian Orthodoxy towards the practice was declared unfounded. According to Scriban, there was a worldwide movement towards rejecting cremation that would also be an impulse for the Romanian church and society to take action, rather than adopt a merely passive attitude. Finally, Scriban expressed his satisfaction with the anticremation campaign so far, expressing his confidence in its success, but adding that the Jews were “lined up” in favour of the practice. Glasul Monahilor also aimed to include as many reactions against cremation as possible, and from a wide variety of backgrounds. Thus, they sought opinions not only of the clerical milieu, but also secular ones. The goal was quite simple: to show that there was a general trend against cremation. For example, they inserted an article written by Dumitru Dumitrescu, a trader by profession (Dumitrescu 1928, 3). Generally speaking, in terms of anti-cremation arguments this article did not bring anything new. It said that cremation was a pagan system, a foreign implant into the Romanian context; that it defied both the Orthodox Church and the traditions of the Romanian people; that the human being is not a waste product to be burned; and that the burning of the bodies of the deceased unclaimed by families or acquaintances was a truly phantasmagorical notion. He motivated this idea by reference to the fraternal feeling that united all Romanians in a single large family, which would have not

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accepted such a thing. Maybe those unknown incinerated had been the heroes of Mărăúeúti, Mărăúti or Oituz, who had made “their chest and limbs, the granite rock against which all the invading enemy hordes were smashed.” Another type of hero was also brought forward in defence of the anti-cremation cause, namely the one represented by the sacrifice of Constantin Brâncoveanu and his curse on those who killed him. The last part of the article briefly presented the “hellish furnace” (Dumitrescu 1928, 3), as the author called the crematorium. Reference to the biblical pattern was again evident, the supporters of cremation again being stigmatised. The author analysed the existence of certain death rituals for burial (the priest, the prayer for the soul, the presence of the relatives, friends and their tears at the deceased’s grave) and their absence in the case of cremation (the loneliness produced by the urn and the related mess). The model of the glorious past was contrasted with that of the fallen present. Dumitrescu thus issued a call to the members of Cenuúa Society, whom, in the Christian spirit, he called brothers, urging them to abandon the practice and to acquire land for cemeteries and provide free funerals for the needy. He also envisaged a new function for the Cenuúa Crematorium which, owing to the force of circumstance, would be transformed into a building that was really useful for the community (a glass or metal factory). Dionisie Dragomirescu’s origin in the monastic milieu, as a hierodeacon and hermit monk, lead him to develop arguments in a specific direction (Dragomirescu 1928, 2). In this case, his anti-cremation considerations developed from the phrase Nihil Sine Deo. He asked a specific question: How could God allow such human activities as cremation? His explanation expanded on the idea of free will as being a divine gift which man was bound to learn how to manage. Consequently, the accumulation of bad deeds, and the most serious form of this gift, namely free-thinking, led to the damnation of the souls of those who chose such a path. The reference was to the ashmen who, in Dragomirescu’s opinion, already had dead souls and were to be burned in the eternal flame. The proof for this was “the earnest” desire they expressed for cremation. Therefore, according to him, God allowed the existence of the cremationists and the crematorium precisely to show everybody the separation that will take place after death according to the deeds of each individual. But what was most striking and paradoxical here, compared to the other reactions in Glasul Monahilor, was monk Dragomirescu’s belief that the Orthodox Church should allow this practice precisely for the above stated reason: “Let run free what God does not stop! Those dead in soul must burn in the crematorium and the ones that have both body and soul dead have agreed

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to the burning!” (Dragomirescu 1928, 2).

The key cremationists The expansion of the campaign against cremation, which was fought in Glasul Monahilor, conceived extreme interpretations of various events. Thus, the death of Mihai Popovici’s wife was interpreted as a divine punishment for the engineer because of his adherence to the cremation movement. But concerning Mihai Popovici, one of the leading supporters of the Romanian cremationists, a great paradox must be highlighted. He was one of the founders of the Cenuúa Society, its secretary, the most important figure in Flacăra Sacră, and was challenged and pilloried by the anti-cremation supporters; but he was not cremated after death. On his death, in the autumn of 1968, Mihai Popovici was buried by his family and relatives in the Bălăneanu Cemetery in Bucharest, according to the obituary from România Liberă (MP. 1968, 4). By contrast, Colonel Comănescu died that same year but was incinerated, his urn placed in one of the columbariums of Cenuúa Crematorium. The colonel’s involvement in the cremation movement was emphasised: “Member of the Board of Administration of Cenuúa Society.” But this did not minimise Popovici’s rule in the development of the cremation movement. His involvement in the campaign was an early one, and he had had the first serious contact with the subject in 1911, when he participated in the Hygiene Exhibition in Dresden (in fact, a cremation congress), being appointed as a delegate from Bucharest City Hall, for “studying” and “figuring” how cremation could really be implemented in Bucharest (Popovici 1935d, 6). In September 1926, Popovici participated in the Seventh International Congress on Cremation in Düsseldorf (Popovici 1936a, 1). Mina Minovici was a focus of anti-cremation attacks and, up to a point, the main subject of the attacks led by Glasul Monahilor due to his trial with Marin C. Ionescu; so his stance on cremation should also be detailed. His stance certainly drew on scientific support, as is shown by a forensic treatise he published in two volumes in 1930 (Minovici 1929–1930). In this work, Minovici dealt with the theme by detailing the course of the body after death (Minovici 1930, 980–987). Meanwhile, as a general framework for discussion, Minovici portrayed cremation as an artificial destruction of the corpse. Thus it was defined in the chapter dedicated to putrefaction (Minovici 1930, 873).

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Figure 4-18 Mihai Popovici – one of the most important inter-war Romanian cremationists

In this respect, his scientific claims centred on the themes of burial and cremation, while also considering other aspects of the problem: autopsy, embalming, mummification and the transportation of bodies. The latter was directly connected with the issue of cremation. In this context, Minovici specified five elements that applied on the preventive and hygienic side: the corpse’s transportation from home to the cemetery (in order to delay putrefaction, he advised that a layer of sawdust with phenol be put on the bottom of the coffin); its transportation within a county (for longer distances it needed a decision by the local authorities); its transportation from one county to another (a special passport was needed for this); a cadaver’s transport outside the country and from outside the country (the bodies had to be embalmed and the coffins tightly sealed); the coffin (he advised that the coffins be closed and nailed, and disinfected especially with phenol, the use of zinc or tin coffins or of double ones in the event of the body travelling to or from abroad); the vehicle transporting the dead body (hearse or special carriages; he banned wagons, carts, trucks, carriages, taxis or buses) (Minovici 1930, 980–987). However, handling the corpse, including cremation, within thirty-six hours of death was prohibited by law. He highlighted the historical and contemporary differences regarding this provision (Minovici 1930, 980– 987).

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As for inhumation, Minovici dealt with the methods of compliance with the hygiene regulations regarding the burial pit and cemeteries. The most striking part of his approach focused on whether cemeteries were pest holes. This idea, he noted, continued to be one of the cremationists’ central arguments, and was related to miasma theories. But Minovici considered these to be only sporadic accidents, due to the emanations of carbonic acid and hydrogen sulphide which were possible only if the pit had been dug to an inadequate depth (less than 1.5 metres). He also discussed the hypothesis of the coming to the surface of pathogenic germs from the bodies. The theory was rejected, since very few such microbes can live in the open air and sunlight. The theme of water contamination, caused by the putrefaction of the corpses in cemeteries, was dealt with similarly. The organic matter was in the final stage of decomposition, namely as nitrates, when it reached the water table (the earth played the role of an internal combustion engine, “more perfect than the living one,” as it oxidises nitrogen). Mina Minovici even rejected the theory of contamination by bodies that were buried in the immediate vicinity of wells; the water was drinkable in this case also. His conclusions were developed in four directions: disease was due to a specific phenomenon, namely a micro-organism specific to each epidemic, which could not result from decayed substances; aerobic microbes destroy organic matter through carbonic acid and nitrates, and when the action of light is added to this it increases oxidation rate and soil temperature; the danger existed only for certain agents of epidemics like cholera or typhoid fever; and some putrefaction agents stop the action of pathogens or the role of saprophytes. On the other hand, Minovici also challenged the validity of the belief that a soil saturated with organic matter would be a detrimental factor in the process of putrefaction, which was another argument advanced by cremationists. He showed that the process depended on the quality of the soil, but was irreversible. In addition, he highlighted the importance of keeping the corpse away from sawdust, cotton, antiseptic cloths, rubber sheets, bituminous cardboard, and sheets of zinc or lead, which delayed the development of aerobic germs and stopped putrefaction (Minovici 1930, 980–987). Cremation, as a procedure for managing the corpse, was nevertheless little dealt with in his treatise (Minovici 1930, 986–987). He addressed the operation from a legal perspective, pointing out that before its regulation by civil status documents, it existed as an exception in the case of epidemics and wars. Mina Minovici showed that, starting with the new law, cremation was on an equal footing with inhumation. He also

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emphasised again that, “fundamentally” speaking, there could be no opposition to cremation, as it embodied the best possible approach from a hygiene perspective, and, especially, because it was an expression of freedom through individual choice over the body. In this sense, he spoke of the “guarantees” of cremation (Minovici 1930, 987), confessing that he did not only see the issue scientifically. Consequently, Mina Minovici accepted cremation only on condition that “the justice system creates the guarantee frame.” He showed that in 1930, cremation was enacted only in theory. In other words, in his opinion there were no provisions to implement the procedure that would avoid the destruction of evidence in those deaths considered suspicious. Therefore, he considered the forensic examination of the body before cremation to be an absolute necessity and also a compulsory act (it included an autopsy, histological and bacteriological examination and chemical analysis, or retention of certain organs). In addition to the required forensic examination, Minovici accepted cremation only if three conditions were met: banning the cremation of an unidentified corpse; double medical expertise (that of the attending physician or of a physician designated by the Ministry of Justice, combined with that of the physician certifying the death); and that cremation was only to be undertaken conditional on the outcome of the forensic report. A last point dealt with by the physician was that of “the search” for poison traces in the ashes (Minovici 1930, 987). This situation was also raised by cremationists, as the signs of poisoning could be identified in the chemical analysis of the cremation waste. Minovici rejected this view, arguing that there are poisons that leave traces (arsenic, phosphorus, mercury salts) but that finding evidence of poison in the ashes of the deceased was insignificant, offering only a qualitative benchmark, not also quantitative. Minovici proved that the theory according to which some substances would resist chemical degradation by fire up to an upper limit of combustion temperature was not valid, because the cremation process was over that limit. The stance on cremation adopted by Dr. Minovici shows his objectivity and his scientific motivations. However, if we compare this stance with the accusations and attacks he faced from the Orthodox clergy through priest Marin C. Ionescu, it is clear that there was no real reason to stigmatise the Bucharest physician, and especially not to proclaim him the promoter of cremation in Romania. Thus, I conclude that the campaign against Minovici was meant as a way of finding points on which to attack cremationist ideas in Romania. Moreover, Mina Minovici’s balanced stance on cremation, presented above, could only confirm Arghezi’s

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reaction, when he accused Ionescu for engaging Minovici with fanciful weapons rather than scientific ones. Despite this, Glasul Monahilor’s attention to Minovici did not decrease. Probably one of the most significant news items in this regard was the one identifying the progress of cremation in Romania with the actions of the physician. For example, the decision issued by the Ministry of Justice in 1929, related to additional measures to be taken as safety measures for cremation, was directly related to the famous coroner. Thus, in a short article Scriban perceived the event as a crucial one for the failure of human cremation in Romania (Scriban 1929b, 4). He talked about stopping the cremations for a while by order of the Ministry of Justice, at Minovici’s request. The reason for this request was the insufficient clarity regarding the procedure in the case of certain deaths considered to have been suspicious. Scriban interpreted this as a denial on the part of the physician regarding cremationist ideas. He considered that Minovici had positioned himself against them for good reason, since in some situations “the cindering hurt his job.” The archimandrite considered the event to be one of the strongest blows received by cremationists, and as one in which one of its former supporters switched sides. Another example would be Minovici’s initiatives unrelated to cremation, which were also detailed in the newspaper. Whenever the Bucharest physician was mentioned, it was in connection with the ashmen, which showed his stigmatisation. Thus, in 1929, when Mina Minovici took the initiative to encourage horse meat consumption (I.D.I. 1929, 3), Glasul Monahilor again invoked tradition in order to reject such an idea, subtly implying senility due to the physician’s advanced age. Sarcastically, the newpaper commented that if the physician were to be criticised, they would expect a new trial. The author of the article then dilated on other extreme scenarios in which, in the future, there would be arguments in favour of eating frog and cat meat, and even preparing aspic of human bones. The article concluded with a direct appeal addressed to the Bucharest physician to give up this proposal, because, just as cremation had been a fiasco since there were places enough in the cemeteries, so there was also “enough cattle and poultry, blessed by the Church,” for the people’s meat consumption. But Glasul Monahilor’s most significant reaction to Minovici, after the direct conflict between him and Ionescu had been “extinguished,” was registered in 1933. The event that caused this reaction was the physician’s death (Matache 1935, 4). The author of the piece in question, ùtefan N. Matache, commented that science in Romania had suffered a great loss, and noted that Minovici had explicitly expressed his desire to be buried,

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the funeral service to be performed by a single priest, without speeches and other types of “parade.” This situation seemed to Matache to be proof of his retreat regarding the support he had given to cremation. Minovici had expressed this last wish in a letter written a year before his death, when the scientist was in full command of his physical and mental forces. Consequently, Matache talked about a death blow having been given to the ashmen, who thus had another opportunity to repent. But the generalisations did not stop here, because, according to the author, the scientist’s gesture necessitated the abolition of the crematorium. Adopting a triumphal tone, he considered that the building was too costly to be simply demolished; therefore, he suggested future uses for it: it could be used only for the cremation of suicides, or corpses of dead animals and of garbage. The motivation for perceiving the crematorium as a suicides’ “resting” area drew on the extreme nature of both practices, damned with the same vehemence, in the eyes of the Romanian Orthodox Church. But for Matache, burning only the suicides at the crematorium had a special significance, since it was a way in which they could receive earthly punishment for their deeds prior to eternity: “before the eternal hell, there would be the earthly hell which is the crematorium” (Matache 1835, 4). Mina Minovici’s death was not the only case of the death of a supporter of cremation to be written about in Glasul Monahilor. Ion Teodorescu, a journalist at Adevărul who died in 1931, is included in this category (Din ghiarele 1931, 2). A short article of his was reproduced, one that was published in November 1928, in which he openly showed his commitment to cremation. The article was accompanied by a brief editorial comment. Teodorescu’s article was intended to reveal his dreams about the nature of death. He did not intended to be poetical; rather, his main aim was to mock Archimandrite Lungu. The journalist thus imagined a nightmare in which he saw himself dead at the “bottom of the pit,” faced with an image of Dionisie Lungu who was openly expressing his satisfaction for what had happened. In opposition, Teodorescu showed that he realised that his end was not there in the pit, but in the crematorium’s chimney, from where he would be raised free to the sky under the sun’s rays. The comment on this article was, although belated, in the journalist’s opinion richly deserved. Although it was mentioned that only good things are to be said at someone’s death, the publication enjoyed this opportunity to assail cremation in a new way. Consequently, while the journalist’s dream had been fulfilled by being incinerated, he had still ended up in the pit, but the pit not of the tomb but of hell, as a feast for “the unsleeping worms.” At the same time, the attitudes of Constantin Stere and Grigore Trancu-Iaúi on his death were strongly criticised. The first one had stated

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that the journalist had gone to heaven, and the latter, considered a Freemason, showed that his cremation was a blessing. The reason for this was that Ioan Teodorescu’s smoke upon being burned had continued to alleviate the sufferings of the unhappy ones. (Both views were mocked, on the grounds that an incinerated was not one of the righteous, and that it was considered that Grigore Trancu-Iaúi had a congested nose, for he did not feel that the smoke was “stinking.”) The comment ends: “Beware, Christian brethren, of the Freemasons and their filthy oven” (Din ghiarele 1931, 2). A triumphal anti-cremationist rhetoric was amplified in the second half of 1929, under the special conditions of the new safety measures regarding cremation taken by the authorities. This prompted Glasul Monahilor to delare the failure of the practice, only a year after the first cremation. Thus, the failure to fulfil the playwright Alexandru Davila’s desire to be cremated (Lungu 1929, 3) was used as an argument – strikingly lacking in any grounds – regarding the failure of the cremation movement. It was further developed in an analysis provided by the publication regarding an article published by the journalist Sandu Voinea in 1929. Invoking his lines seemed especially relevant to Hieromonk Lungu, as Voinea, although supportive of the practice, had acknowledged the failure of the cremation movement in Romania. This state of affairs was due, in his opinion, to the fact that many of the movement’s followers had gradually relinquished their support, it being preferred only by the poor. Lungu noted the journalist’s bitterness towards this state of affairs and ascribed it to the money he had invested in the construction of the building. A number of false statements upheld by Voinea concerning the practice of burning bodies were also emphasised: that the only difference between inhumation and cremation was the way in which the corpse was managed, since the religious service was performed in both cases; that the Soviet Bolsheviks had not begun to practice cremation; that he had not undertaken counterpropaganda at the attacks against the cremation movement. Under these circumstances, Lungu brought a series of “corrections”: the ashmen had built the crematorium in order to use it for the needy, and not for themselves, as they preferred pompous inhumations, vaults and embalming for their memories to be perpetuated. A counterargument to this claim concerned the fate of relics, which were not subject to decay. In this context, the case of the playwright Alexandru Davila was mentioned. He died on 19 October 1929, and had expressed his perference for cremation. In Lungu’s opinion, the reason for this option was an objective one; the family had tried to put his desires into effect but had been met with a refusal to perform the religious service. As

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such, considering more important “the church’s service [rather] than the urn of ashes,” the playwright’s family chose burial (Lungu 1929, 3).

The Freemasons, and the second crematorium Discussion of the connection between the cremationist movement and Freemasonry were very prominent in Glasul Monahilor. They continued to grow in intensity in the years 1929–1931, developing in many directions. For example, the news that the municipal authorities in Iaúi intended to build a crematorium, shortly after the building of Cenuúa Crematorium, was considered the work of the Freemasons. Equally, the intention of the Cenuúa Society to obtain new funds from the city hall for the completion of Cenuúa Crematorium was included in the same category (Francmasonii 1929, 4). The intention of the Iaúi municipal authorities to build a crematorium, following the Bucharest model, led to a focus on the connection between cremationists and Freemasons. Wild claims were once again cast about, with this being considered the ashmen’s response to the failure of their movement in Bucharest. The explanation then led on to further attacks: the devout Moldavian spirit was considered to be totally against burning the dead, but might not have the force to stop the implementation of the plan; and the passivity of some priests from Iaúi, marked by careerist ambitions and desirous to set up a faculty of theology in Iaúi, could “help” build such an establishment. The assumed relations of Metropolitan Pimen of Moldavia with the Freemasons were also mentioned, especially in that, according to Glasul Monahilor, he had not passed on the Patriarchy’s orders regarding the denial of religious assistance to those incinerated (Iaúii 1928, 4). The last claim, which would have been of extreme gravity if found to be true, had circulated a few weeks before, but as a rumour, and Glasul Monahilor had treated it as such (Biserica 1928, 4). Again we find Archimandrite Emilian discussing the connection between Freemasonry and cremation, now expressing vehement criticism of a certain article, as well as of the journalist M. Negru (Emilian 1930, 1– 2). This did not concern an article signed by the journalist wherein he had made propaganda for the movement, but another one where he condemned the Orthodox clergy and laymen, reproaching them for having established a glacial wall, where “on one side of the wall, there is an awkward static atmosphere that smells like mould, while beyond there is the dynamism of life” (Emilian 1930, 2). Faced with these accusations, Emilian informed the public that the journalist was a member of the Management Committee of the Cenuúa Society. Although in the past, it was stated, M. Negru had

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provided some services for Glasul Monahilor, these were insufficient to avoid the harsh attack now mounted against him by the publication. This case shows clearly that any follower, supporter or sympathiser of the cremation movement in Romania at that time, regardless of his fame, was considered an enemy of Christianity, of the Romanian Orthodox Church, and of the Romanian people. The project of building a human crematorium in Iaúi was also considered within Biserica Ortodoxă Română. Taking a news item from Universul of 17 August 1928, it was shown that Mayor RacoviĠă had talked to engineer Kern regarding his intention (Asta 1928, 860). The conclusion was a bitter one: “Do the people from Iaúi not have anything else to spend their money on?” But the claims regarding a proposed second crematorium in Romania were accurate. Thus, according to Flacăra Sacră magazine in 1935, the great industrialist Jean Juster had donated the sum of one million lei for this purpose (Diverse 1935, 5). Similar information was offered in an article signed by Dionisie Lungu in June 1930 (Lungu 1930, 3). The issue was a direct accusation against Universul, considered to be subordinate to Freemasonry and supportive of cremation. The attack focussed on an article in Universul according to which a school teacher named Theodor Iliescu had expressed his dying wish to be cremated and, in spite of that, was given religious assistance. The attack was also pursued at a different level, namely the personal. Because of his choice, Theodor Iliescu was denigrated and considered “abnormal”: the school teacher had been dismissed from work, his wife had left him and did not attend his funeral, and his desire to be burned after death had been made in agony during his stay in hospital. On the other hand, the hospital priest denied that he had buried him, adding that if he had done it he would have presumed himself innocent, as there was “no order from the superiors” by which he was forbidden to do this. Under these circumstances, Dionisie Lungu called for an examination of the case by the Patriarchy. He also included in his article the decision taken by the Romanian Orthodox Church Synod of 15 June 1928 related to cremation. The attitude of Universul newspaper was stigmatised, being accused of making propaganda “for the grill not to rust” for burning the dead (Lungu 1930, 3). The publication of the obituaries announcing cremations at Cenuúa Crematorium, published mainly in Universul, led to criticism by Glasul Monahilor (Popescu 1931, 1–2). In fact, these obituaries were themselves considered an act of cremationist propaganda and were criticised vehemently. Freemasonry’s support was again emphasised as controlling such actions, and these obituaries were considered not as advertisements

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but rather as weekly reports by the Romanian cremationists (Smith 1931, 2). Emilian Popescu considered it to be a paradox that, despite the cremationist propaganda they carried out, the Freemasons did not prefer cremation for themselves. Those who were cremated came from the morgue of the Institute of Forensic Medicine or from hospitals in Bucharest. Popescu warned that only those who had expressed the option for cremation during their life should receive it, and not other categories of people. The author again called the crematorium “the devilish oven,” where the bodies of the unfortunates who had no relatives or acquaintances were burned like garbage. Articles on cremation also involved dealing with other related topics such as those pertaining to cemeteries (Gh. C 1931, 1–2). For example, an article criticising the fact that municipalities were the owners of the urban cemeteries showed that, at a certain time, there had been an attempt to establish Cenuúa Crematorium inside Bellu Cemetery. The project had failed because of the Orthodox worshipers’ protests. In this context, the cemeteries where the Christian Orthodox were buried were claimed for the church. The danger was that some municipalities would come to be ruled by communists, and so could impose new rules on the burial places. Romania was then was deplored for becoming transformed into a secular state where municipalities controlled both the affairs of the living and of the deceased – where the latter, in truth, had to belong to the church.

Currents within Orthodox circles Despite the measures taken by the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church in June 1928, Glasul Monahilor never ceased to publish criticism of the policies on cremation adopted by the higher authorities of Romanian Orthodoxy. Even if they were unfounded, they found expression in the context of the time and in the anti-cremation campaign triggered by the publication. This was the case of an article published in July 1931 which expressed such a stance against the Romanian Patriarchy (Patriarhia 1931, 1). A direct connection was made between two facts that otherwise might have seemed unrelated. The first was an official letter from the UngroWallachia Metropolitan Church to the Bucharest Police, by which they ware “invited” to take action against Glasul Monahilor because the publication violated public order and safety through its actions against the amendment of the church calendar and the defamation of the church higher authorities. The second was a statement by the Cenuúa Society in which it informed the public that it had resumed its activity, and that Cenuúa Crematorium also offered services to people who were not

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members. The public was informed about the burning of six bodies in the last week and the affiliation of two new members. According to Glasul Monahilor the two events were not a coincidence, demonstrating that the Romanian Patriarchy decisively supported the achievement of the Cenuúa Society’s goals. The allegation was made on the grounds that the Patriarchy had in fact tried to eliminate Glasul Monahilor because it was the only publication that acted effectively against cremationists. The direct support of Bucharest City Hall was also mentioned in the building of the crematorium. City hall, the paper claimed, was interested mainly in financial gain, and the practice of burning corpses was considered to be of an economic nature, both atheistic and promoted by Freemasons, and an activity that, under the guise of progress, mocked tradition and church alike. It was considered that if during the first stage of cremation in Romania, the Romanian Orthodox higher authorities had indirectly supported the practice through their passivity, now their support was overt, as seen in their attempt to suppress the publication. In its criticism, Glasul Monahilor identified the Patriarchate’s “petty officials,” and not the Patriarch himself, as culpable, and it was the former to whom it addressed its warning: His Holiness, the Patriarch, should know all these before, as we do not believe him to be involved in our suppression. He should be aware that Glasul Monahilor is to be destroyed, the furnace burning the dead will be installed in the Metropolitan Hill, and will start the frying first with Metropolitan Church servants. (Patriarhia 1931, 1)

As we have already established, 1928 was a decisive moment in the stigmatisation of the cremationists by the Romanian Orthodox Church. They were considered one of the most “dangerous” “enemies of Christianity.” Along with the pagans, the atheists, the artists (representatives of painting, dance, decorative art, cinema, graphic art), and certain politicians, the ashmen were identified as external enemies of the church. They turned up “on the scene of our ancestral faith in the name of civilisation, of land economy and of hygiene” (Verúescu 1928, 416–417). According to various Orthodox priests, the best way to combat them was “meetings for deliberation and decision of our Church’s stance in the establishment of a movement, hostile to those that invent customs” (Verúescu 1928, 531). Cremation was gradually becoming a reality in Romanian society. This is reflected by the publication of articles on the theme in various publications. Radio úi Radiofonia is a good example, which, in 1931, published an article devoted to the topic under a pseudonym (A.B. 1931).

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In this case, modernism was the watchword: while the body was on the bronze catafalque-trapdoor, from where, via an elevator, it would pass into the oven, the religious service was to be performed through an electromagnetic system – the reason being the priests’ refusal to perform a religious service (which, according to the author, had no real motivation, since the ashes would get into the ground as well). Therefore, the priest and the other accoutrements of the religious funeral (choir and organ) were replaced with gramophone records. The solemnity and artistic level of this “mechanical service” was considered to surpass the divine service as performed in any church. The author also confessed that he had witnessed such a ceremony, whose progress had moved him to such an extent that he decided to become a member of the Cenuúa Society (it was mentioned, for example, that no witness to this “show” had had any idea that it was a mechanical service and he expressed the deep emotion felt during The Funeral March, composed by Frederic Chopin, when the coffin went down to the furnace). In such a context, the practice of inhumation was considered barbaric, while cremation was seen as human and uplifting, albeit a little mechanical. This presentation of the crematorium did not go unnoticed by Glasul Monahilor (Popescu 1932, 1–2). From the beginning, the publication had equated cremationists with Freemasons, servants of Satan, pathetic imitators and “confused” persons bedazzled by imitations from abroad. They had built their crematorium with money from the taxpayer and helped by Bucharest City Hall. The publication strongly opposed them, as did the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church, which had forbidden any religious assistance. These articles from Universul, DimineaĠa and Radio úi Radiofonia magazine were proof, then, that the evil had not been entirely expunged. Despite this, it should be emphasised that it was accepted that some individuals would opt for cremation. This eloquently expresses that even the “tough” core of the Romanian Orthodox clergy had become acclimatised to cremation (“we understand to leave alone the baffled people who express the crazy desire to be burned, when still alive (if they want, let them be burned even alive)”) (Popescu 1932, 2). Although their attitude seemed incomprehensible and, according to Emilian Popescu, bordered on pathology, they were few in number, and many Freemasons and cremationists indeed preferred burial instead of cremation for themselves. In these conditions, the criticism was more directed towards the use of the practice for unclaimed bodies and those who died in hospitals or at the morgue; in this respect, Emilian Popescu issued a new call to the Patriarchy to do everything to stop this barbarity. Meanwhile, the article in Radio úi Radiofonia was simply rejected, starting

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with the idea that the use of the gramophone for celebrating the funeral ceremony was a lesson received by the Freemason-cremationists from their real father, namely the devil, who had completely “ankylosed” their minds. Based on the biblical teachings, Popescu showed that the religious service was valid only when celebrated by a priest. Such a situation had only become possible, according to Archimandrite Emilian, through the Freemasons’ and ashmen’s infiltration into the National Church Council. The article thus presented itself as a call for increased vigilance among priests in order to avoid such events. Putting into practice the idea of cremation made some older supporters of the movement write new articles on the topic in newspapers. Vintilă Max Popovici, who had published an overview of cremation in 1922, now wrote again on the topic, which made him a target of Glasul Monahilor (De ce 1933, 3). This publication discussed not only issues related to cremation as considered by Vintilă Popovici, but also his status as a teacher, which was once more derided as incompatible with that of someone supporting cremation. The familiar allegations of Freemasonry and ignorance of religious issues were also included. A reply by I. Andreescu to two pro-cremation articles published in Ordinea and Universul, referred to the crematorium as to hell’s mouth brought to earth. The articles had invoked the teachings of the Apostle Paul in support for the practice; but the best basis on which to reject corpse burning was the cremation itself: the corpse’s struggle against the fire, its squirming, the lifting of the limbs, were, thus, an “act of reprimand” for an act which was a pagan defilement of the body, if not downright crazy. The author explained why watching the burning of the body through the glass window of the furnace was banned, claiming that this should be allowed in order to convince people of the harmfulness of the practice. Another argument against cremation was the lack of tradition or religious service for the deceased. There was instead an embarrassing exchange of the “handful of ashes” which resulted from the burning. Andreescu called the crematorium “Satan’s oven,” intended for sinners on earth, and said that if he had kept silent, he would feel he was an accomplice to this abberant idea. Romanian clerics from the upper hierarchy also appeared at this stage. The case of Ion Mihălcescu, Dean of the Faculty of Orthodox Theology in Bucharest, is relevant here. His stance on the topic was included in religious newspapers. Mihălcescu published articles both in Glasul Monahilor and in the official newspaper of the Romanian Orthodox Church. I find it very relevant that, in the former article (Mihălcescu 1933, 1–2), he acknowledged the progress of cremation in Romania, independent

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of his criticisms. This progress was noted at the beginning of the article, when he stated that the number of those cremated was continuously growing. One of the elements that founded this claim was information from Universul newspaper. Mihălcescu had noticed in its pages that there people from outside Bucharest who preferred cremation, with their dead bodies being brought to Bucharest. The information is worth quoting in full, since it acknowledges the reality of cremation: This means that, without question, the idea for crematorium catches on, that there are enough earthlings who require to their descendants hard financial sacrifices, in order to comply with their expensive idea of being fried on the crematorium grill. (Mihălcescu 1933, 1)

This characterisation of cremation as a growing phenomenon is highly relevant. It was defined by the Romanian theologian as being one of the many psychoses incurred after the First World War, a spiritual epidemic and a whimsical and macabre fad. Despite this, Mihălcescu believed that the practice would be transient. Being a trend, and especially in that it did not have any reasonable, scientific or hygienic grounds, it would never definitively replace inhumation. He drew comparisons between cremation and suicide or the fashion for short dresses, and urged the public and the Christians to be patient: cremation, like any disease, would reach its peak and then fade away. Mihălcescu said this scenario had a “mathematical certainty,” quoting examples from the ancient world. Thus, he believed that although the progress of cremation should not be a cause for concern, the Romanian Orthodox Church should not ignore the phenomenon, despite the regulations adopted by its Synod on this process which was “absurd, inhuman, worthy of savages and barbarians.” The cremationists’ “perverse” strategies to develop the practice were considered, and said to have been achieved through incoherent advertising: using the gramophone as a religious service or spreading in the newspapers the rumour that the Patriarchy had allowed priests to perform funeral ceremonies inside the crematorium. In the former case, Mihălcescu expressed his doubts concerning its success, especially since the attempt to oppose the broadcasting of religious services on radio had also proved to be a failure. His advice in the end of the article was that the Romanian Orthodox Church should combat by all means such tendencies, and also confront specific situations (reference was made to a “vagabond” monk – namely ùerboianu – who had dared to perform funeral ceremonies at the crematorium). All these were happening and would happen because the Church was a conservative institution. Perhaps the most significant stance within the Orthodox milieu of that

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time was expressed by I. Popescu-Mălăieúti, Professor at the Faculty of Orthodox Theology in Bucharest. He dedicated an entire work to explaining and rejecting the practice (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931). The foreword of the work (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 4–5) is a statement of the issue to be analysed. Popescu-Mălăieúti confessed that from the moment agitation had begun on the issue, he had expected a serious study to emerge from the Romanian clerical circles; but this had not happened, the issue being considered only in small articles in newspapers without much importance. By contrast, his own work is said to be the result of thorough research and analysis. Popescu-Mălăieúti thought that the theme of the fate of the corpses was, essentially, one that concerned the living, since for the deceased the management of the corpse did not matter; still, for the living inhumation was not the same as cremation. Although this was an expression of a certain acceptance of cremation, it did not entail a reduction of the vehemence with which the practice was then to be rejected; still, the author said that he did not intend to reprimand those who opted for cremation. In this way, he based his intention on one of the central ideas of the Romanian Orthodox Church, the freedom of conscience. In this sense, Popescu-Mălăieúti contradicts himself when talking about this possibility of freedom of conscience, as there were cases wherein non-believers were excluded for their ideas from the Christian milieu. In the first part of his work, he presents a brief history of the means of management of corpses, sometimes addressing the particularities registered by the use of cremation or its relations with inhumation or other ritual practices. Consequently, the relevance of the discussion was based on the correlation between the care given to the deceased and the emergence of the practice in history. According to him, this feature also afforded a framework for understanding the degree of culture possessed by the living, and of the value of the religious beliefs which animated them. Of the four ways of managing the corpse after death, only cremation was considered an action that did not involve the intervention of nature (the other three were the exposure to air, throwing into water, and inhumation). Looking at things from a broader perspective, one notes that Popescu-Mălăieúti introduced a new contradiction when analysing the ancient period. In the context of describing the four ways, he stressed the inaccuracy of the data and the impossibility of knowing for certain which came first. However, a few pages later he says that he believes that inhumation prevailed, despite the existence of the other three ways at the same time. He then maintains this perspective, talking not only about the coexistence of the four, but also about a union of these methods of managing the corpse. For example,

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according to Popescu-Mălăieúi, the burial of the urns attested that “cremation was united with burial” (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 8). At the same time, the corpse’s cremation in a pit was another argument, in his opinion, which supported this idea. An interesting hypothesis, albeit wrong, was related to the fact that cremation had been imposed as practice, given the difficulties of making a hole and the high costs of bronze or iron shovels in some parts of the world. Next, he provided an overview of the ways the body was managed in ancient times, although not for the Dacians. In the case of the Greeks, inhumation had prevailed prior to the Homeric age, for cremation was more expensive and so used only in the event of epidemics and wars (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 15). The main distinction which PopescuMălăieúti saw between ancient and modern times was that there was no social meaning given to the idea of dignity and the moral sense related to the human body – although this has been proved to be a misconception, as many studies have shown, given that the social meaning of death and the corpse is well developed even among primitive peoples. Also, according to the author, any means of managing the corpse were additional to inhumation. Popescu-Mălăieúti did not offer an explanation for this, but such an idea did not need to be supported given the author’s subjective point of view: he considered that it was merely necessary to state the idea for it to be accepted. The book continued with a discussion of the theme of the Christian teachings and that of cremation, and how the latter is reflected in the Old and New Testaments. It was shown that corpse burning was used only as punishment, although it was not prohibited. After the emergence of Christianity, inhumation continued to dominate due to the Jewish heritage. But Popescu-Mălăieúti emphasised that throughout the New Testament, cremation was neither stopped nor permitted. Cremation does not contradict the dogma of the resurrection of the dead, nor does burial represent its foundation. Yet cremation “cannot be a symbol of resurrection, because what is burned does not germinate, it cannot arise anymore. Only what is buried can rise. And the burial in the ground, says the Saviour, is a prerequisite for germination and rising (John 12, 24)” (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 24). The model of Jesus Christ’s burial was invoked, as well as the Jewish heritage. The habit was retained also in the first centuries of Christianity. Consequently, according Popescu-Mălăieúti, respect for one’s body determined the liability of punishment in the case of cremation, although it was of no help in salvation for the deceased. In addition, the situation was made legal everywhere with the arrival of Christianity, which was evident in various decisions of the Church and of

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Carol the Great’s Order of 785. The idea of cremation was revived along with the Renaissance, when certain pagan ideas were valued again, as well as in the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, “full of ideas rival to religion,” but did not take root. It was in the nineteenth century, under the guise of progress and science, that the cremationists proper emerged. They argued for the practice in five ways (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 28–31) – arguments that here are rebutted by Popescu-Mălăieúti. These were as follows: (1) The crisis in burial places – an argument eliminated by the author due to its age and ubiquity, which showed that it had to be unfounded (the author cited as an example the city of Carthage which in ancient times reported the same issue). In another sense, the author linked this crisis to human greed, militating for simple graves as a symbol of culture. (2) The hygienic argument – here rebutted by bringing in scientific references; it is significant that Popescu-Mălăieúti showed that cremation was not a solution in the case of either war or epidemic, both because of the scarcity of ovens and their price, but also because various contagious diseases could be spread through them (by reason of the corpses’ transportation to the furnace and the slow process of combustion). (3) The idea that the danger of violating the memory of the deceased would disappear through cremation was considered “childishness” – this was because an urn could be more easily stolen. Another solution would be not to put expensive things in the coffin with the deceased. The latter could be made into a custom. (4) The argument of apparent death – rejected by reference to the idea that no one can rise in the oven. (5) The economic reasons – rejected on the grounds that the maintenance of the urns was an expensive activity. To balance the above, Popescu-Mălăieúti brings forward four arguments in favour of inhumation (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 32–39): (1) Its antiquity, demonstrated also by archaeological research. (2) The legal reasons – suspicious deaths could be hidden through cremation. Here Popescu-Mălăieúti considered that, from this point of view, a person’s express desire to be cremated did not have any weight, because these desires could be “forced.” A related issue was the fact that the urns of ashes could be easily mixed up. (3) The pedagogical aesthetic reason – the differences between the cemetery, as the garden of memories and sensitivity, and the crematorium, as an impersonal “factory hall” were considered, along with the differences between the actual operation of cremation, which accentuated the feelings of pity, fear and pain through the barbaric nature of the practice and the lack of piety (“How can a father see precisely his child’s lifeless body perishing like that on fire?”) (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 36) – an image employed by the author as a

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finale of the description of cremation. Even the urns in the columbarium give “the impression of pharmacy cabinets, full of strong poisons, and with a script that indicates the type of each poison” (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 36). In the cemetery, the decomposition process was not visible. The predominance of memory was emphasised, as was the fact that it did not represent an area of trauma, being a teaching tool for a restrained life. (4) The argument that the respect for the body and the neighbour’s body would gradually and finally disappear through cremation. Through burning, the human body become similar to that of animals. At the end of the work, Popescu-Mălăieúti expressed the hope that the topic would be presented more in detail in the future by other young scholars. He called for further studies to show, by virtue of faith, “the bodily and mental damage” (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1931, 40) represented by the practice of burning. He urged the church representatives, together with the secular authorities, to militate to impose conditions on those who opted for cremation, on the model of some European countries. Analysing the work as a whole, some conclusions may be drawn. This is a study by a foremost Romanian clergyman of the time in rejection of the practice of burning. But we do not see here the same vehemence as in the articles published in Biserica Ortodoxă Română or in Glasul Monahilor. The reason for this is that Popescu-Mălăieúti’s stance was here being expressed a few years after the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium. The Orthodox milieu had had time to get used to the existence of the crematorium, although this did not mean in any way that they accepted it. On the other hand, Popescu-Mălăieúti was conveying new ideas and counter-arguments to cremation, as compared to the ones with which we have become familiar over the course of this chapter. Further, the research shows rather few direct references to the practice of cremation in contemporary Romania. This is explained by the actual purpose of the work: it was meant to provide a popular basis in which to reject cremation. The bibliography of the work was not extensive one, limited to only seven titles. Most were in German and none expressed a different point of view to the one pursued by the author. The stigmatisation of cremation continued in the pages of Glasul Monahilor before the emergence of Flacăra Sacră in 1934. It also included articles written by other leading scholars of the Romanian Orthodox Church. One of these was Haralambie RovenĠa, professor at the Faculty of Theology in Bucharest with specialisations in English, French and Greek. RovenĠa published an article denouncing cremation in January 1934. It rejected cremation based on Orthodox teaching, perceiving the crematorium once again as Satan’s oven (RovenĠa 1934, 1–2). Although a

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number of decisions had been adopted by the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church, and numerous condemnatory opinions had been expressed, the practice continued to grow. Consequently, rejecting cremation as a “hideous innovation” was a duty for all Christians. Thus RovenĠa dealt with the theme from the religious point of view, without bringing any new arguments: he does, however, have the merit of presenting these arguments with clarity. He explains that inhumation is a link in the process of the dead’s resurrection, on the model of the Saviour’s burial, and that the human body is the home of the divine spirit, while the human body participates mystically with Christ’s. The dead’s burning represented an attack on the “vital node” of Christianity, being an atheist and pagan practice, and furthermore a heresy. RovenĠa drew a distinction between those who burned their bodies voluntarily and those who were victims of accidents, wars, drowning, or were Christian martyrs. For the latter, resurrection was possible due to the Creator’s absolute power. For the former, this was not possible because their gesture was a crime against their neighbour, and akin to suicide. According to RovenĠa, suicide and cremation designated the same mortal sin, although the former was a little milder: “it would be better for the suicide if he would put a millstone around his neck and plunge like this into the sea” (RovenĠa 1934, 2). In this context, he expounded on the identification between the crematorium and Satan’s oven, saying that not only the body but also the soul is burnt in such a place, thus eliminating salvation. Consequently, the crematorium was to be used only for burning animal carcasses and waste, not people. Several weeks later RovenĠa returned to the topic, developing it from other points of view (RovenĠa 1934b, 1). This time, he rejected cremation on a number of points: the building the crematorium was not a priority in a city like Bucharest, where 20,000 children were illiterate; the crematorium was an “encouragement to crime” by removing the traces of certain homicides; and the establishment of the crematorium endangered an essential means of educating the masses represented by the cemetery, where the living and the dead were maintaining a special bond. But the most significant part in this respect was the implicit correlation between history and graves, exemplified by the pyramids of the Valley of the Kings and a number of Romanian monasteries. Reference was made to the model represented by the heroes’ graves as opposed to the model of cremation (“what do our ashmen say about the crowds’ pilgrimages, looking at the glorious graves for eternal models to follow?”) (RovenĠa 1934b, 1). The crematorium meant barbarism, due to primitivism of the practice, not valid even for animals and especially not for people; cremation was not a practical alternative, because there were other priorities in cities, and

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represented a “wild greed” for gain. In any case, cremation was not cheaper than burial. The last argument put forward was based on the idea that all religions had reached a consensus against this means of managing corpses, thereby certifying its rejection. Around the time that Flacăra Sacră was first published, other stances concerning cremation were also being expressed, some of them as replies to a series of statements by Stelian Popescu, the director of Universul newspaper. In the past, he, as an active member of the Diocesan Assembly of Ungro-Wallachia, had declared himself against the priests’ involvement in politics. That initiative, although praised in Glasul Monahilor, did not exempt him from vehement criticism for the support he was considered to have given to cremationists and over which he had in fact not expressed any stance (Pentru 1934, 3). To illustrate this, a story from Universul was referred to, according to which on Ascension Day in 1934 a religious service was to be performed for those incinerated, along with the dedication of the columbarium (tendentiously called the “the urns hall” in Glasul Monahilor). It this came to be believed that the newspaper managed by Stelian Popescu was advertising the practice, similar to what was happening in DimineaĠa and Adevărul. This was criticised in particular because Stelian Popescu was son of a priest. Dionisie Lungu also discussed a number of statements by Popescu at the Priests’ Congress in June 1934 (Lungu 1934, 4). Having praised his supportive initiatives, Lungu instructed Popescu to watch the Freemasons’ actions more carefully, since they were evident even in Universul and were perverting the population through various aberrations. Among the mentioned “aberrations” there was cremation, along with the radio broadcast of the liturgy, the legalisation of abortion and allowing political meetings to be organised during religious services. Explicit anti-cremation rhetoric may be found in the pages of Apostolul. An editorial published in 1931 (Referent 1931, 253–254) provided an overview of the arguments rejecting the practice in terms of Orthodox teaching. Orthodox teachings were equated with the Romanian spirit as existent in the national folklore. Consequently, cremation was considered “a violation – be it conscious or unconscious, it does not matter – of the unity of the Romanian soul, already weakened and disoriented after so many anarchic movements emerged in the after-war years” (Referent 1931, 254). This situation could not have originated from “the Romanian soul,” but came from “morally bad transfers, brought from distant places, without any resemblance with the aim our lives have.” The supporters of cremation were seen as blinded by ephemeral ideas born from “nights of insomnia” and not from “the firm and living laboratory of

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so many generations” (Referent 1931, 254). Thus, the burning of corpses was characterised as the most abject decadence, against which a unique form of struggle was necessary. The same newspaper welcomed the publication of Popescu-Mălăieúti’s work, which was considered to have filled a scientific gap in the anticremation argument (CărĠi 1931, 103–104). The study was a tool for convincing people “that not burning, but burial corresponds to human dignity” (CărĠi 1931, 104).

The Catholic perspective Nor did the Romanian Greek Catholic milieu remain indifferent to the implementation of cremation ideas in Romania, although the reactions from this religious milieu were far fewer than those from the Orthodox one. The reason for this was geographical: as the crematorium had been built in Bucharest, not in Transylvania, where the overwhelming majority of Orthodox believers lived, the reactions of the Greek Catholics were muted. But the lower level of reactions from the Greek Catholics did not mean that they had a tendency to relax their objections. For example, during the summer of 1929, when, for a short period of time, Cenuúa Crematorium interrupted its activities, Unirea, a Greek Catholic newspaper (În chestia 1929, 3), reported that the anti-cremation legal arguments had found “a splendid confirmation” due to an event which happened at the crematorium. A girl, suspected of having committed suicide, had been cremated at her family’s wish. Later, though, there were suspicions of murder, which caused the family to contact the Prosecutor’s Office. It was the impossibility of investigating this situation due to the burning of the corpse that had caused the Prosecutor’s Office to submit an application to the Ministry of Justice, by which it asked for all human cremations to be suspended pending the establishment of a clear regulation regarding the performance of cremations. Unirea expressed its appreciation for this action, emphasising the satisfaction of the anti-cremation groups. The Manual for Special Dogmatic Theology, written by Dr. Vasile Suciu, and published in Blaj in 1928, paid special attention to the topic (Suciu 1928, 650). It was dealt with in a special note in the part entitled The Dead’s Resurrection. Here he stated that cremation was, at least indirectly, a violation of the axis mundi represented by the belief in the resurrection of the body. In his opinion, cremation was not contrary to the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead, for God, by his omnipotence, could easily raise a body transformed into ashes by cremation. The major problems related to cremation, in his opinion, were its origin and assigned

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purposes. The barbaric roots of cremation were invoked, as well as the decisive contributions which materialism and Freemasonry had had in the modern revival of the practice (Freemasonry having promoted the burning of corpses precisely in order to hit back at Christianity and Catholicism; he invoked the example of Italy to substantiate this claim). The three arguments considered fundamental for cremationists, namely the hygienic, economic and humanitarian arguments, were also briefly mentioned and rejected. Concerning the context of cremation in Romania at that time, he specified only that the first crematorium had been established in the summer of 1925 (Suciu 1928, 650). (This was a confusion: he was taking the initiation of building works at Cenuúa Crematorium to be the date on which it opened, and thus was three years too early.) Finally, Canon 1203 of the Code of Canon Law of the Catholic Church was mentioned, which rejected the practice. Cultura Creútină, a Greek Catholic magazine of Blaj, published a short note on cremation in 1926 (Arderea 1926, 180). This mentioned that on 19 June 1926, the Congregation of the Holy Order had issued a form letter to all bishops, warning them of the danger that cremation should become “a rule to be followed,” although the practice was not an absolutely bad one in exceptional circumstances (where it served “the public good”). Canon 1203 was again invoked to show that cremation of one’s own free will entailed the absence of the religious service and the deposit of the ashes in another place, and not in a “sacred” cemetery.

The Jewish perspective Representatives of the Mosaic faith also expressed their anticremationist views. Rabbi Samuil Taubes, for example, published a very long article on the relationship between burial and cremation in Foaie Diecezană, an Orthodox newspaper. His point of departure is that since Scripture does not mention anything about either burial or cremation, the first should be considered the default biblical prescription, while the latter is only a barbaric desecration and demeaning of the dead in denial of God’s will (Taubes 1928, 2). Taubes continued by showing that cremation was a sign of divine punishment. Christianity’s Jewish heritage, as well as the example of Jesus, caused Christianity to reject cremation (Taubes 1928b, 3). Rabbi Taubes’s article did not go unnoticed, being harshly criticised in the anti-Semitic, far-right newspapers of that time. It was not the anti-cremationist stance adopted by the Rabbi that was criticised, however, but the very fact of the presence of his article in the pages of an Orthodox Christian publication. Taubes was derided as a Pharisee who

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sowed hatred among Christians, and as a son of the devil (Foaia 1928, 12).

Other responses Arghezi came to consider the topic again in an article from 1933 (Arghezi 1933, 1). Here he sought to restore his neutral stance. The article was a reply to a letter from a “lady” who accused him of being part of the anti-cremationist camp. Arghezi foresaw the increasing of cremations at Cenuúa Crematorium, quoting in this regard the reports published periodically in the newspapers by the Cenuúa Society. Arghezi poetically called the crematorium an athenaeum of the dead and “a temple of the purifying smoke,” and critically compared this with the “accessories” of inhumation: after the burial, the hearse was stopped in front of a pub, each being then in their rightful place – the dead under the ground, the discouraged family at home, the priest at the bench he guided, the doctor in Cluj, and the undertaker chalking up the new turnover. This cast cremation in a more positive light: “the flame spiritualises the carcass and raises it in the light of heavens, blessed by the poplars, while the cemeteries are in their interior some frightful mud deposits” (Arghezi 1933, 1). But this positive attitude was immediately counterposed against the meanings of the tomb: Arghezi sees it as establishing a special type of relation with posterity, as the graves and the cemeteries are traces of past human existence by which the descendants of the deceased feel less lonely and estranged, having a role in linking past and future. Among the most significant contributions in this period is the publication in 1933 of a special work dedicated to cremation and human crematoria by the journalist Mihail A. Theodorescu. This book attempted to provide an objective view on the matter. In 1934, a second edition was published, justified by the author by reference to two elements: the good reception of the first edition on the part of the newspapers and readers, and new research on the topic. Theodorescu emphasised that his work was not of a scientific or literary nature, just as it was not a means of propaganda for or against human cremation (Theodorescu 1934, 9). It benefited from an introduction signed by the scholar Nicolae Minovici, and the author inserted in the second edition some of the reactions which newspapers had published on the first edition of the book. After a brief introduction, where he dealt with a short definition of and reflection on death (10–12), Theodorescu begins his analysis of the theme, from the outset naming the crematorium the facade of “modern hell.” But the label was not intended to stigmatise the building. Rather, the description was developed in accordance with an image of the means of modern time management as

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applied to dead bodies, where burning was instantaneous, but the deceased’s souls were to wait for the last judgment. It was specified that the building of the crematorium was still unfinished, and the book described the outside and inside of the building, the ceremonies hall, the cremation room and “the divine service” relayed through gramophone records. The description of the process of cremation was, according to Theodorescu, a real “horror and poetry show” (Theodorescu 1934, 19). He considered the process of burning similar to the view that can sometimes be seen at sunset on the seashore, when “the horizon appears to redden and the last rays of fire are reflected in the restless water.” The show was identified as happening at over 850 degrees, when the burning of the corpse really took place: “fat substances of the dead body flow slowly on the grill and during their burning, blue flames are mixed with the dark clouds of smoke and the red fire tongues” (Theodorescu 1934, 19). The shell of the head cracked, and the gelatinous brain flows slowly and is consumed in blue flickers. The abdomen yielded under the pressure of the gases developed from the boiling process of the liquefied internal organs’ and by the crack produced, it allows for the ribs to be seen, for hands had already been burnt, nothing is left of them or the feet, nothing but bare bones, like hot coals, glowing gold lumps. (Theodorescu 1934, 20)

Presenting cremation from the point of view of science, religion and tradition, Theodorescu warned that it was more important to deal with the topic in collective and scientific terms than in individual and religious ones. The explanation for his choice was the fact that there was a varying degree of culture and faith in each individual. In the author’s view, choosing such a solution was one of the most comfortable ways of assuming analytical balance and personal distance from the issue. Therefore, according to Theodorescu, from the “collective” point of view, cremation presented the great advantage of saving the land necessary for inhumations (it was explained that in Bucharest at that time there were about ten cemeteries, occupying an area of sixty hectares), along with other hygienic and rationalaesthetic advantages (quoting an article published in Flacăra Sacră). On the other hand, scientifically speaking, Theodorescu shows that cremation cannot be seen as a shortening of the final process, because the decomposition of bodies depends on many factors, and not all corpses rot. The chapter dedicated to the cult of the dead has a particular focus on this issue. It starts with a major difference identified at that time, namely that between the rural and urban worlds, the latter being characterised by an alienation from traditions. In the rural world, the financial costs and sacrifices

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imposed by a funeral plus the related customs (memorials at different times, for which, according to the author, the peasant was ready to sacrifice even his cattle because there was no greater shame than not performing one’s duty in this respect) were a demonstration, for Theodorescu, of the extraordinary roots of the cult of the dead (Theodorescu 1934, 33). He then expressed intense criticism of the emergence, especially in urban areas, of the “beneficiaries of death,” seeking material gains by all means, and inventing new customs at death. They operated in close collaboration with the morgue staff and imposed prohibitive prices for their services. Those who benefited from others’ deaths were considered to be the morticians and undertakers who had established a monopoly over the field in certain cities (a story was told in which there had been a morticians’ “pirates’ association”; the morgue staff and undertakers were said not to know what compassion, pain and humanity really were) (Theodorescu 1934, 34–35). Priests’ fees were added to the above, and were often exaggerated. Consequently, according to Theodorescu, “it is no wonder that if in time many will run to the Crematorium. At least there is no bargaining there, of much trouble and of the undertakers’ corporation” (Theodorescu 1934, 35). The comparative analysis of the emotional significance of inhumation and cremation left one in favour of the first alternative, because, according to the author, the tombs were real institutions of humanity, with multiple meanings and roles in a human community. For cremation, all these disappeared, directly affecting the feeling of consolation after death. On the other hand, the decomposition was happening in a grave, obviously hidden from sight. This unawareness was considered necessary for avoiding the injuries caused by death and maintaining faith and hope. Instead, “cremation ruined even the last bit of faith that remained in man” (Teodorescu 1934, 36). Mihail Theodorescu next describes cremation in terms of tradition, without bringing in any new information apart from that provided by his predecessors. The author allocates only one page to the subject of the theme in the holy books, and does not give many details, nor does he mention the modern dispute between traditionalists and cremationists. He approves of the safety measures on cremation proposed by Minovici, considering them an appropriate security step. The final part of the publication highlighted a number of statistical aspects of the issue, taken from the reports of the Cenuúa Society (Theodorescu 1934, 43–44). Thus, it was stated that in ten years of functioning and in the five years since the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium, around 2,044 cremations had been undertaken, of which 1,786 had been

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Orthodox, 122 Mosaic, 78 Catholic, 36 Lutheran, 16 Reformed, and 6 Muslim. These comprised 1,148 men, 717 women, and 179 children, between the ages of two and 122 years old. The figures given by him also contain a distribution according to professions. As for the relationship between cremation and inhumation, Mihail Theodorescu shows that in the last two months before writing his paper, about 107 cremations had been registered in Bucharest, compared to 2,000 inhumations.

Cremation statistics between 1928 and 1947 The implementation of cremation ideas after 1928 introduces a new dimension, namely the statistical one. This allows various analyses to be performed; although we must note that they do not speak to the question of whether there was actual adherence to cremation by Romanians at that time – this being simply because there was only one crematorium in the capital. Nevertheless, cremation’s annual progress in Romania can be monitored, as, up to a point, can its distribution according to various criteria (sex, place of residence of the cremated, marital status, ethnicity, religion or the distribution per seasons or months). Table 4-2 The evolution of Cenuúa Society members and of cremations in Romania between 1928 and 1937 1923 1924 1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 14

44

92

120

180

210

190

170 386

428

520

620

800

822

911

By 1939, Cenuúa Society’s members had reached 1,054, a figure considered low in relation to international developments in the field (Popovici 1940a, 2). It reached 1,124 in 1940. Table 4-3 The number of cremations of Cenuúa Society members in the inter-war period 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 5 4 2 7 18 8 13 13 20 23 19 14 27

The first cremation of a member of the Cenuúa Society occurred on 15 April 1928, almost three months after the opening of the crematorium. In 1928, five members of the Society were cremated, and the number gradually increased (Popovici 1940a, 2). I do not have any information about the fate of the members who died before 26 January 1928. The

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development of cremation after the opening of the crematorium is more relevant (Tablou 1934, 8). Table 4-4 Total cremations at Cenuúa Crematorium in 1928, month by month Year Jan. Feb. Mar. Apr. May. Jun. Jul. Aug. Sep. Oct. Nov. Dec. Total 1928 0 83 23 16 17 8 18 41 13 11 14 17 262

Table 4-5 The number of cremations done at Cenuúa Crematorium between 1928 and 19473 Year

Number

1928

262

1929

266

1930

297

1931

332

1932

470

1933

602

1934

580

1935

480

1936

364

1937

581

1938

230

1939

216

1940

243

1941

198

1942

221

1943

213

1944

440

1945

504

1946

Unknown

1947

552

3 The figures in this and the following tables are reproduced from Flacăra Sacră; arithmetical errors are in the original sources.

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Table 4-6 Cremations by month, year Year

1928

1929

1930

1931

1932

1933

1934

1935

1936

1937

Jan.

22

15

20

25

20

41

13

16

11

37

Feb.

27

11

16

13

29

11

50

74

36

26

Mar.

14

13

11

15

22

48

78

37

47

89

Apr.

11

38

50

33

62

64

34

60

46

44

May

35

38

32

38

55

78

79

49

31

90

Jun.

17

56

56

40

47

95

54

20

47

86

Jul.

28

42

39

32

40

35

62

37

32

67

Aug.

22

15

7

23

54

60

27

9

22

49

Sep.

35

6

17

27

62

45

22

33

12

25

Oct.

14

11

20

25

16

26

71

59

28

14

Nov.

29

6

17

27

62

45

22

33

12

33

Dec.

8

15

11

32

8

43

11

12

31

31

Total

262

266

297

332

470

602

580

468

369

581

M

151

188

183

208

282

393

369

285

230

376

F

111

78

114

124

188

209

211

183

139

205

Total

262

266

297

332

470

602

580

468

369

581

4

31

35

38

132

22

112

99

212

Obs.

The international cremation:inhumation ratio (Progresele 1937, 5) shows clear dominance of the former in Romania between 1932 and 1936. The reason for this is not necessarily the lack of adherence to the practice, but, as just mentioned, the fact that there was only one crematorium in Romania.

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Table 4-7 Percentage of deaths being cremated, internationally -

1932

1933

1934

1935

1936

Japan

48.29

49.76

51.61

-

-

Switzerland

12.08

13

13.08

12.75

13.73

Germany

8.62

8.7

8.68

8.91

9.5

Denmark

6.35

7.01

7.73

8.09

8.45

Norway

5.19

5.54

5.97

6.4

6.59

Sweden

2.17

2.74

3.3

3.95

4.52

Austria

4.24

4.33

3.59

3.38

3.37

Czechoslovakia

2.55

2.58

2.64

2.8

2.9

Great Britain The Netherlands

1.14

1.33

1.54

1.77

2

0.86

0.88

0.95

1.01

1.07

Finland

0.61

0.6

0.6

0.66

-

Luxemburg

0.4

0.56

0.62

0.64

0.75

France

0.18

0.19

0.19

0.2

0.19

Romania

0.11

0.17

0.19

0.19

-

Belgium

-

-

0.04

0.07

0.07

Statistically, most cremations seem to have been held on behalf of the local authorities rather than for private persons, which again shows the connection between the Cenuúa Society and Bucharest City Hall. Table 4-8 Number of cremations done at the request of Bucharest City Hall Years 1923 1924 1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 No. 0 0 0 0 0 248 251 273 274 359 478 449 331

Table 4-9 Distribution of cremations for the year 1935 Requested by city hall

Individuals

Society’s members

Free

331

142

13

2

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The cremations on behalf of Bucharest City Hall were held for bodies belonging to people from the margins of society or for “families with no means of support,” being “absolutely free” (Zoica 1939, 2). According to cremation record books, unbaptised children were cremated at Cenuúa Crematorium. A report from around 1934 on the costs represented by a cremation performed on behalf of the city hall showed that there were a minimum of sixteen cremations done daily, each coffin containing two bodies, and two coffins (four bodies) being put together in the incinerator. These bodies were from the Faculty of Medicine. The costs of cremations done on behalf of city hall were minimal – costing 400 lei, while in other cases it cost 4,641 lei (in 1934). The amount charged was different for the members of the society compared with non-members. Except for Zurich, where cremations and inhumations were performed out of community money, and for which a special tax was paid, the lowest cremation costs in Europe at that time were at the crematorium in Bucharest (Calculul 1934, 1–3). In order to understand the relative value of this amount, it should be mentioned that in 1937 Romania, the monthly salary of a minister was 54,000 lei, 23,000 lei to a colonel, 17,000 lei to a professor, 10,000 lei to a hospital physician, 5,500 lei to a priest, and 4,100 lei to a teacher (Scurtu 2003, 154). The prices for cremations had been a constant concern for the members of the Cenuúa Society, as these ensured its proper functioning from a financial point of view. Sometimes they resorted to lowering the cremation prices to attract new members and increase the number of cremations. Yet it was noted that this measure did not lead to a significant increase in the number of cremations. The cause was identified in a memorandum to the Board of Directors of the Cenuúa Society drafted around 1935: The Cenuúa Society cannot work with the motto of much and cheap, since we sell neither calico, nor meat or brick, we fight for an idea. The idea is not popularised enough and even if cremation would be made free for the people, yet one would resort to it only if one believes in it. So it is not the fees that prohibit the evolution of the society, but simply being stuck in archaic forms and religious traditions. (Domnule n.d., 1)

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Table 4-10 Distribution according to religion and denominations of those incinerated between 1928 and 1934 Year

1928

1929

1930

1931

1932

1933

1934

Total

Orthodox

238

242

275

271

374

520

467

2,387

Catholic

15

14

8

15

36

29

31

148

Evangelical

1

3

0

1

6

2

9

22

GreekCatholic

0

0

1

0

4

7

0

12

Protestant

0

0

3

2

2

2

2

11

Reformed

0

0

1

4

0

0

0

5

Different religions

1

0

2

0

3

0

6

12

Freethinkers

2

0

0

0

0

0

1

3

Lutheran

0

0

2

2

8

3

8

23

Mosaic

5

7

5

36

36

39

56

184

Muslim

0

0

1

1

0

0

0

2

262

266

297

332

470

602

580

2,809

Total

Analysing the statistics, one notes the dominance of Orthodox believers in choosing cremation, at 84.94%, followed by Mosaic with 6.54%, Catholics with 5.27% and Lutherans with 0.89%. But these percentages should not be taken as absolute values because they do not express the real adherence to cremation of the believers of a certain religion. A large number of the bodies burned at Cenuúa were on behalf of Bucharest City Hall, and thus it is possible that those people incinerated had not expressed a preference for the practice. According to Flacăra Sacră, 75% of those incinerated between 1928 and 1934 benefited from religious services (Tabloul 1935, 8), a claim that should be treated with reservation because the source is a subjective one, being an organ of propaganda. The popularity that cremation enjoyed among the Israelite population led, at a certain point, “the cantor” Emil Borenski to “minister” for them at Cenuúa Crematorium, together with Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu, who was

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performing the religious services for the Orthodox. In addition, in the balance sheet of the Cenuúa Society of 1934 there was the “Iancu Lazăr” Donation Account, representing “an inalienable fund, from the amount gathered free cremations for poor Mosaic are to be made” (Lămuriri 1935, 6). In 1938, it was stated that in case of the religious services for Evangelicals, Anglicans or Reformed, the priests of the respective communities would perform their specific religious services (A XIV-a 1937, 5). The Decree-Law on the legal status of Romanians issued on 8 August 1940 is relevant with respect to the link between Jews and cremation. The law defined the Jews as a religious cult and not as a national minority (Stoenescu 1998, 191). The last sub-category of the Jews was that of the atheistic Jews. While this overlapped the category of Communist Jews to some extent, it was not a total overlap. A part of the Israelite population’s adherence to cremation at that time can be explained by their atheism, although it seems doubtful that all the Jews incinerated were part of this category.

Figure 4-19 Niches with urns of the Jewish families incinerated at Cenuúa Crematorium. The main Columbarium of Cenuúa Crematorium

As for atheists and their possible connection with cremation, it is relevant that the tables of the cremations at Cenuúa Crematorium, published in Flacăra Sacră, do not mention such a category. This is despite the fact that censuses from that period reported a number of 6,604 people who had declared themselves freethinkers (Istoria 2005, 34). Another significant element of the statistics on cremations at Cenuúa Crematorium concerned the cremation of foreigners. Thus, according to

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Popovici, out of the 3,000 cremations done before the summer of 1935, 210 “were of some foreign figures, whom fate had killed in Bucharest.” However, as the urns of ashes were sent to families in their home countries, Popovici concluded that these were “the message of the Romanian civilisation” (Popovici 1939a, 3). Taken as a whole, one notes that the vast majority of the cremations carried out at Cenuúa during the inter-war period were of Romanian citizens; still, the list of those incinerated at Cenuúa Crematorium published in Flacăra Sacră seems in some measure to contradict Mihai Popovici. On the other hand, in the case of the cremation of foreigners, the urns were also sent by post (A XV-a 1938, 5). In 1932, the increase in the number of cremations caused a rumour that a second incinerator would be installed at Cenuúa Crematorium; but this was postponed due to arguments over the type of incinerator to be purchased. The main characters in this dispute were Popovici and Davidescu. The latter accused Popovici of having betrayed the interests of Cenuúa Society by having delayed the issue, proving him to be both ignorant and acting in bad faith (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1938, 10). Some interesting details regarding the financial aspects of cremation during the inter-war period in Romania now follow. Table 4-11 Fees for Cenuúa Society members Members Founders (1923) Active members Active founders Donors Benefactors Honorary members

Fees 1,000 200 1,000 5,000 10,000 Title provided

Age 7–30 31–40 41–50 51–55 56–60

Contribution/Fees 150 180 210 248 345

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185

Table 4-12 Cost per one cremation 1934 Music The burial chamber per 2 days Firing woods Coke 300 kg Transport of the body Coffin Ornaments Transport of the coffin Candles Electricity Personnel Administrative staff Amortisation Repairs - oven Fee for City Hall Administration Total

100 200 50 750 500 450 240 70 175 250 400 100 550 100 500 248 4,683 lei

Table 4-13 Fees for cremation in the case of non-members of Cenuúa Society Normal cremation 6,500 lei

Cremation + Extra services 10,000 lei

Table 4-14 Cost per one social cremation (for the city of Bucharest) 225 kg coke (300 kg coke) Amortisation – general Repairs Staff Firing woods Water, electricity Administrative 5% disinfection Amortisation – building Total

563 250 100 100 10 30 47 50 100 1,300

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Table 4-15 Cost for burial (1934) (the cheapest) Burial place - for 10 years Coffin Transportation Digging the burial place Chapel fee per 2 days Other Total Sources (ACCU – a – n.d.)

1,800 900 2,500 300 500 1500 7,500 lei

Table 4-16 Salaries in Romania (1938) Profession Minister Colonel Professor in university Priest Teacher Source: Scurtu 2003, 154

Salary 54,000 23,000 17,000 5,500 4,100

A statistical breakdown of the employees of the Cenuúa Society is pertinent (ACCU – a – Raport 1934): by 1934 the Society had thirteen employees, of whom nine were full-time and four were day labourers. The organisational chart included an administrator, Mihai Popovici, remunerated with 6,000 lei per month; an accountant, Vasile Zorca, paid 5,000 lei per month; a clerk; two stokers; a supervisor; a mason; a gardener; and a carpenter. The report also shows that the first employee of the Cenuúa Crematorium was Zorca, the accountant, and that Popovici was employed from 1 January 1932. Another report, probably dated 1933 (ACCU – a – Raport 1933), clearly shows the extent of the subsidies received by the Cenuúa Society from Bucharest City Hall, along with other significant data on its financial status.

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Table 4-17 Financial status of the Cenuúa Society, 1923–19334 Year Subsidies Affiliation fees Subscription fees Private incinerations fees Municipality incineration fees Coffins sale Music fees Niches sale Total Year Subsidies Affiliation fees Subscription Fees Private incinerations fees Municipality incineration fees Coffins sale Music fees Niches sale Total

1923–1924

1925

1926

1927

1928

500,000

1,658,000

241,217

2,886,450

2,642,178

28,700

4,400

1,200

6,800

21,200

5,869

2,695

2,062

24,788

35,480

0

0

0

0

32,500

0

0

0

0

0

0 0 0 599,649

0 0 0 1,725,095

0 0 0 293,003

0 0 0 2,919,116

0 0 0 3,084,461

1929

1930–1931

1932

1933

Total

1,667,112

0

0

0

9,644,957

219,000

37,700

41,600

35,700

199,200

40,870

79,508

80,196

91,714

363,173

49,745

283,500

434,045

552,105

1,351,945

0

573,875

580,547

438,650

1,593,072

0 0 0 1,998,689

0 0 0 1,039,434

28,800 13,200 278,000 1,659,748

97,200 18,750 501,600 1,933,382

31,950

Thus it can be seen that Bucharest City Hall afforded the society a general subsidy until 1930, but from then on it paid only for “social” cremations. Comparison of the society’s income before and after the withdrawal of the city hall subsidies reveals that its income decreased significantly after 1930, affecting its financial stability and therefore its ability to carry out new works. For example, improvements to the 4

The information in this split table is taken from the Administration of Cemetaries and Crematoria Archive in Bucharest. Arithmetical errors are in original source.

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crematorium building, carried out by the marbling company E. Tomat, had to be financed by loans. The work was carried out between 1931 and 1932, and was paid for in 45 instalments over seven years (ACCU – a – Legea 1937). Financial difficulties forced the society to resort to some creative methods of payment on occasion: for instance, in 1936 it leased the fees for social cremations to the Tomat company in lieu of the debt owed (ACCU – a – Onor 1936). Davidescu was critical of the fact that it was impractical for chapels to carry out three services: the storage of urns, the provision of burial vaults and the place where the actual ceremony was held. He complained that there were no separate spaces in the crematorium for each of these three activities, thereby constituting a danger to the public in times of epidemic (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1936, 1–2). In 1934 Popovici made a list of items required by the society, in order of priority (ACCU – a – Popovici n.d.). The most urgent need was for paving of the square and the paths around the crematorium, which were presently unusable in heavy rain. Purchase of a second cremator was identified as being only the third most urgent priority. Most importantly for our purposes, however, Popovici stated that he anticipated that the society’s profits for 1934 would be around 2,000,000, against a total debt of 800,000 lei.

December 1934, the publication of Flacăra Sacră The publication of Flacăra Sacră, subtitled the Publication for the Propagation of Human Cremation in Romania, can be considered the second milestone in the evolution of the Romanian cremation movement after the opening of Cenuúa Crematorium in January 1928. Flacăra Sacră, as an organ of the Cenuúa Society, was published up until the Second World War (1942), when, given the unfavourable context, the society was forced to call a halt (International 1948, 38). The plan to restart publication after the war was never achieved. The publication meant a step was made towards open propaganda in favour of human cremation. Globally speaking, this was no novelty, as pro-cremation journals in the Western world were already nearly half a century old – examples can be drawn from Germany, Die Flamme (Mates 2005, 219); Austria, Phoenix (Mates 2005, 74); England and the USA, The Urn (New York), The Columbarium (Philadelphia), and Modern Crematist (Pennsylvania) (Prothero 2006, 10); France, La Flamme Purificatrice (Belhassen 2002, 61); and Italy. Alongside the publication of Pharos magazine in 1934, and the official journal of the Cremation Society of

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Great Britain, the publication of the International Cremation Federation constituted a further milestone in the international propaganda for cremation (Mates 2005, 336). However, in some cases these publications preceded the implementation of cremation itself in those countries.

Figure 4-20 Flacăra Sacră – no.1, December 1934

The foreword (Cuvânt Înainte 1934, 1–2) from the first issue of Flacăra Sacră, published in December 1934, explained the aims and the novelty represented by the publication. The practical side and the need for cremation in the Romanian territory were emphasised: The publication of the first issue of Flacăra Sacră marks the beginning of a new ideological action in our country, of what cremation is, of getting to know its goals and the reasons that make it the most perfect means of dissolution of dead human matter, without any involvement or any influence on religious beliefs. (Cuvânt Înainte 1934, 1)

The publication was also intended as a forum to debate the practice of cremation. The support given to the practice was based on six reasons, summarising older and newer ideas: 1. the idea of cremation and its implementation has supporters from all social strata and categories, without distinction; 2. it better reconciles the superior man’s ethical and aesthetic sense; 3. it enhances the grandeur of the cult of the dead; 4. it raises the level of religious mysticism, drawing the earthlings’ attention to the inward and spiritual life, definitively showing that

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the body is nothing but a handful of ashes and only the soul is the survivor; 5. because it satisfies in an ideal way the “must do” requirements of hygiene; 6. it occasions great economic and social advantage. (Cuvânt Înainte 1934, 2) A particular feature of the cremation movement was also highlighted, namely that “the existence of cremation and its evolution is independent of religious or political trends, having no connection with any religion or political party.” The ultimate goal highlighted the path of future struggle, in the face of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s opposition: the publishers aimed for “cremation to be considered equal, in utility and purpose, to inhumation, to enjoy without restriction the performance of the entire religious ceremony” (Cuvânt Înainte 1934, 2). The inter-war Romanian cremationists and those who wrote articles in Flacăra Sacră thought of themselves as reformers, seeking to educate the masses and reduce the differences within them. They felt themselves to be fulfilling a mission – indeed, a similar self-image could have been found in most of the pro-cremation texts of the second half of the nineteenth century (Prothero 2006, 20–21). Five years after the magazine’s first issue, Popovici, the general secretary of the Cenuúa Society, sought to draw some general conclusions (Popovici 1939a, 1–3). After expressing his satisfaction that the publication was holding steady in the inter-war publishing environment despite pessimistic forecasts from the beginning (“In 1934, when the first issue of our newspaper was published, the majority looked at it with scepticism, and I’ve heard not a few persons clearly stating that after 2–3 issues it will disappear”), the author recalled the financial support received from the Cenuúa Society, as well as from the internal and external collaborators. As for the print run of the magazine, it amounted to about 3,000 issues in 1936, but Popovici stated that in the future, due to the “new request for cremation from the country and from abroad,” the number was expected to triple (Popovici 1936c, 2). The report on the activity of the magazine provided by Popovici offers a clear view of its profile (Popovici 1939b, 7–10). In its eight pages, the magazine included a thematically diverse range of articles: 1. propaganda articles for cremation; 2. articles detailing the cremation process and what a crematorium was (Stănescu 1935b, 1–2; Carozea 1939, 4); 3. articles on the evolution of cremation practices worldwide, many of them being translations from the newspapers and literature

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supporting cremation; articles following the futility of certain attacks against cremation which were to be found in the newspapers and wider society (Zorca, Stănescu and Deculeanu 1935, 1–2; Deculeanu 1937, 4; Zorca 1935b, 6–7; Deculeanu 1939, 1–3); 5. various articles dealing with human condition, life and death (Comănescu 1935a, 8; Comănescu 1937a, 4; Comănescu 1936a, 7; Comănescu 1936b, 7–8) 6. reports of the Cenuúa Society. Of these, the largest and the most important articles are those from the first category, due to the negative publicity the practice was continuously faced with (Newall 1985, 139–155). The other categories are not to be neglected, since they provide an overall perspective on the situation – for example, the reports of the society provide details on quantitative aspects related to cremation, starting with the technical aspects of its development and ending with the publication of the lists of those burned annually. However, all the six themes mentioned served the fundamental purpose of Flacăra Sacră, namely pro-cremation propaganda. The publication of this magazine thus made the struggle between cremationists and traditionalists even sharper. This happened especially because, from that moment, the cremationists now had a platform from where they could speak. It is difficult to explain why it took more than a decade for the cremation society’s supporters to publish a magazine. But I can venture to enumerate a series of factors that may turn out to be relevant: 1. the poor adherance to cremation ideas; 2. the strong support the authorities gave in building Cenuúa Crematorium, making the Romanian cremationists feel secure regarding the implementation of the idea; 3. the reaction of the Romanian Orthodox Church, which could had led to a certain reticence in taking positive action in favour of cremation. Beyond these conjectures, I am certain of one thing: a new peak in the cremation debates is recorded with the establishment of Flacăra Sacră, although the virulence of the Orthodox attacks had reached another peak with the opening of the crematorium in 1928. After 1934, polemics escalated in what Stephen Prothero has called the fight of the metaphors. It was an epoch of polemics on both sides of the conflict. There was a special sense to this fight: realising the importance of the moment, both sides show themselves to be aware that the issue of the management of corpses had become too important to be resolved only through rational and utility-related arguments (Prothero 2006, 93). 4.

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Equally important is an analysis of the authors of Flacăra Sacră, based on a report of 1939. There we find important names from among the Romanian cremationists: Mihai Popovici, I. Zorca, Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu, etc. Even the poet Radu D. Rosetti is represented by an article, and Grigore Trancu-Iaúi was the author of two. In total, during the five years of publication of Flacăra Sacră, there are about forty-nine authors. Some of them signed using a pseudonym or initials. Constantin I. Istrati and Haralamb Lecca are also present as authors, although their articles were only reproduced. Foreign authors are also included, via the articles taken from the international cremation newspapers. The majority of the articles are signed by V. I. Zorca (forty-nine), followed by Mihai Popovici (thirty-nine) and C. Comănescu (thirty-six). In fact, these three were simultaneously the owners and formed the editorial board of the publication. Apart from them, the most prolific authors were Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu (fourteen), Silviu Carozea (eleven), Professor Alexandru Deculeanu (eight), Colonel C. Stănescu (seven) and C. C. Piteúteanu (four). Flacăra Sacră’s role as the main body of cremation propaganda in Romania was evident also from the fact that the Serbian publication Oganj, which had a similar profile although issued in Belgrade (Pavicevic 2006, 289–303), published some of its articles in translation. This was the case for three articles signed by Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu (“Cremation and Christian Religion”), Colonel Stănescu (“How I Became a Supporter of Cremation”) and Radu D. Rosetti (“Orthodox Jesuitism”). The significance of the publication was detailed by V. I. Zorca in May 1937 (Zorca 1937, 2–3). This article is important because it incorporated references to similar foreign publications which had similar purposes. The emergence of Flacăra Sacră, it said, was justified by the distortions which had been spread by its detractors. They considered cremation to be Freemasonry, anti-religious and anti-Christian, and were seeking to provoke the open aversion of the public. Flacăra Sacră was thus a response to these direct attacks, searching in a tone that was “academic and not generating polemics” to spread this “elevated and modern means” of managing the dead. Similar intiatives were mentioned in Czechoslovakia, Switzerland, Germany, England and Sweden. It was mentioned that in some states where there were no crematoria, such as Yugoslavia, cremation publications had been issued with the goal of preparing public opinion to accept the implementation of cremation. Also, it was shown that in various other European countries, where such means of propaganda were no longer active due to nationalisation and the disinterest of the cremationists, a decrease in the number of cremations was registered (the example of Italy, France and Belgium was given). All these factors

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justified the existence of Flacăra Sacră, which, according to Zorca, had reached a print run of 2,000–3,000 issues per month, with a future increase being planned (Zorca 1937, 2–3). A fundamental tool in the propaganda issued by the magazine concerned the sharing of personal views regarding the process by which an individual became a supporter of the practice. Colonel Stănescu shared his experience with the readers (Stănescu 1935, 3–4), as did Zorca, albeit in a different way (Comănescu 1935b, 4). The News in Brief column was essential for understanding what was happening with the Romanian cremation movement, the various aspects of the practice itself, and its development around the world. This also included some short responses to the attacks from cremation’s detractors. Located on the last two pages, it complements the inner tableau of the movement during the epoch. An article signed by Radu D. Rosetti shortly after the first issue of Flacăra Sacră was, in fact, a letter sent by him to Mihai Popovici (Rosetti 1935, 1–2). It was occasioned by the fact that Popovici had mentioned Rosetti in an article. Rosetti confessed his adherence to the cremation movement, showing that it was born from the concern many people had regarding death as an aspect that distinguishes the human being from animals. Thus, the idea of building a crematorium in Romania had emerged, and according to Rosetti this had become a reality due to Ion Costinescu’s and Mihai Popovici’s endeavours. Rosetti showed that the fight had to continue because of the opposition of religious officials, although “some educated and brave priests fight it.” But he also stressed what he called “hypocrisy and a Jesuit spiritual exercise, by transactions” – this concerned the fact that the Patriarchy allowed the funeral service “after an assessment of the case.” If the person had died abroad and had opted for cremation, the religious service was accepted, while they refused any religious assistance to those who died in the country. According to Rosetti, the explanation offered by the Patriarchy was that they were not authorised to control what is inside the coffins containing the urn of ashes. The author’s conclusion showed the serious discrepancy between the Patriarchy various orders. It did not respect its own decisions, and was thus being inconsistent. Offering evidence of this, Flacăra Sacră had inserted a photograph of the funeral convoy at the inhumation of the urn belonging to aviator Dumitrescu. It was specified that the Patriarchy had accepted the religious service, with the condition that the urn was placed in a small coffin (Rosetti 1935, 2). The photograph facilitated the identification of the Orthodox priests who had ministered the religious service (Mihail 1935, 4). The propagandistic character was also revealed through the calls to all

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persons supporting cremation to express and explain their adherence to the practice. They were considered “enlightened” people, because they helped popularise the idea, advancing “a progress of thought” towards the wider public and thereby demonstrating the “courage to express their thoughts” (Diverse 1935d, 8). The relation between the development of Bucharest and the topic of cremation was considered by Mihai Popovici (Popovici 1936b, 2–4). He identified the reason for this development in the birth of Greater Romania, a historical event which overlapped with other discoveries (navigation, broadcasting and other inventions) leading to the abandonment of some archaic forms of life. Modernisation had become the watchword and had to happen in all branches of human activity, healthcare being a priority field. Consequently, a city like Bucharest, which had turned into a metropolis, was confronted with specific problems such as mortality sometimes amounting to seventy deaths daily, cremation being a necessity in terms of public health. So the role of burning the corpses or burying them represented, in the author’s opinion, “a social attribute” of the Ministry of Health. City halls were the ones to decide on the issue of the management of the dead, not the church. Popovici noted a significant issue: the fate of the cemeteries (they had been exiled to the suburbs) could also be that of the crematoriums. In this case, neither the Church nor tradition had been offended, because there was unanimity concerning issues of hygiene. In his article, Popovici presented the history of modern human cremation, considering its emergence, development and implementation within the Romanian territories. He explained the local adherence to cremation as being rooted in the fact that, legally, it was in a position of equality with inhumation. This was because “there was no religious prohibition” (Popovici 1936b, 2) over it, and thus removing the human corpse was a reality that concerned only the secular authorities. In a report on the Romanian cremation movement, Popovici concluded that in 1936 cremations were to increase five-fold compared to 1928. Despite this, he considered that the ten years of work in this field had had the value of only one, considering the paucity of achievement. In this respect, he gave as an example the failure to complete the building of the crematorium. Cremation had also won many adherents due to the fact that inhumation was outdated, as well as for aesthetic reasons. Some of the supporters had been opponents at the outset, but became convinced of its necessity and superiority after a single visit to the crematorium. Popovici laid claim to the importance of cremation for supporting the community, stating that it was not a work of Freemasonry nor of the freethinkers, being based only on ethical, aesthetic and economic considerations.

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Therefore, he stressed that in the future, because of “Bucharest’s tendency to become the Orient’s metropolis, with millions of people” (Popovici 1936b, 3), city hall ought to openly support the development of the practice, by exempting those who opted for it from taxes, and providing open support to the Cenuúa Society. Another argument was that if the practice developed, space would be saved, as the growth of the city required new constructions. According to Popovici, the huge size of the cemeteries was leading to increased land prices. The solution for this crisis was the total abolition of the existent cemeteries inside the city and a prohibition from opening new ones. Consequently, he suggested that in Bellu, Sfânta Vineri, Reînvierea and Filantropia cemeteries, inhumations were no longer to be allowed, but only the deposition of urns. For the Bucharest people who preferred inhumation, Popovici proposed establishing new cemeteries outside the city. In order to give more substance to these ideas, the engineer resorted to calculation: organising and designing the landscape of the Bucharest cemeteries as urn parks would have meant a reduction to one-sixth of the area occupied by them then: from 400 hectares occupied by the thirty-two cemeteries in Bucharest, it would fall to about 60–65 hectares. Therefore, for “at least 1,000 years, the need for cemeteries is completely extinct, and for Bucharest City Hall that would definitely mean an increase of assets of two billion lei” (Popovici 1936b, 4). The 330 hectares saved would be assigned special purposes: construction of houses, institutions, parks, schools, etc. As with other cremationists, Popovici lets himself get caught up in his own arguments, and sketches rather fanciful scenarios: he predicted that, given the increasing number of cremations and the number of members of the Cenuúa Society, and provided the municipal authorities understood the significance of cremation, in twenty years “for sure, cremation will develop greatly and at least 70% of the deceased will end their existence at the crematorium” (Popovici 1936b, 4). V. I. Zorca seemed more realistic. In early 1936, he set out a possible scenario of the actions that were to be carried out by the magazine (Zorca 1936, 6). Work was the watchword, as he was aware of the major challenges to the development of cremation. Concepts like “fight” and “sacrifice” became synonymous with work – the fight against certain abstract forces, difficult to remove due to their deep rootedness in the collective mentality, which are tradition and the lack of a soul-related education, and whereby the great masses are trained to think about death and its consequences on the spirit and, especially, on matter.

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Zorca considered that the activity of the publication in 1936 had to be concentrated around the relationship between religion and cremation, complemented by continuous explanation to the public. The realism of his proposal was expressed when he admitted that such a goal could not be fulfilled in a single year, but meant “who knows how many years of toil.” But Zorca maintained his optimism. Besides, his attitude on cremation in Romania at that time caused him to believe that there was a difference between Flacăra Sacră and the other foreign magazines in the field. The latter were mostly informative, whereas Flacăra Sacră was tasked with focusing on “effective advocacy” towards cremation, and to dispel attitudes distorted by ill-will and ignorance.

Figure 4-21 Flacăra Sacră magazine

Of the articles published in Flacăra Sacră, the most relevant here are the responses to articles from other newspapers of the time which were opposed to the practice, or those which criticised the Romanian Orthodox Church’s decisions on cremation. For example, V. I. Zorca wrote an article openly accusing the Romanian Orthodox Patriarchy of inconsistency (Zorca 1935c, 1–3). The event that had generated the author’s reaction was the Patriarchy’s decision to allow the inhumation of aviator Dumitrescu’s

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remains,5 whereas the same institution had rejected a similar case occasioned by the death of a lawyer named Toncescu, also incinerated abroad. The difference in the treatment of the two cases proved the superficiality of the Orthodox arguments against cremation and the arbitrary nature of the decisions. This article, then, was one of the most vehement pro-cremation pieces of the inter-war period, directed against the traditional stance supported by the higher echelons of the Romanian Orthodox Church and some of its clerics. If a dead man is judged in heaven by God for his deeds and actions committed during life, what about the attitude of certain clerics who, investing themselves with the power of gods on earth, adjudicate on whether a deceased had the right to be received by the deity’s representatives? How can a dead individual, a life-long practicing Orthodox Christian, a model of religious devotion, be denied the religious ceremony simply because he had chosen cremation instead of inhumation? At this point, Zorca seizes the ground normally claimed by the traditionalists: cremation is an act of dignity, while putrefaction is for animals. The Orthodox attitude on cremation was considered a moral crime, committed not against the deceased, who was already before God, but against his survivors, for the religious funeral service was meant to comfort the deceased families. Zorca accused the Orthodox priests of cruelty, and of making a stupid decision which was leading naturally to many Christian families moving away from God. The author pressed the point of the Orthodox priests’ inconsistency: the vast majority of priests ministered for suicides and criminals, despite the religious prohibitions, while refusing to do so for those who opted for cremation (Zorca 1935c, 2). The church was also wrong because it deepened the pain of death for families who had not encouraged and did not adhere to cremation ideas, but were only fulfilling the will of a dear one. According to Zorca, this was a dangerous and erroneous substitution of some Orthodox priests for the deity without leaving to God the exclusive right to judge. Because, in fact, this right cannot be rescinded by the judgement and, possibly, the punishment of the Christians’ acts. Christians cannot but believe that at the separation from the body, only the soul survives, and the body turns into ASH and DUST. (Zorca 1935c, 2)

5

Vasile Dumitrescu was also the bobsleigh world champion. The accident occurred after an attempted flight on the Bucharest–Sydney route, at Buhl. See http://www.aviatori.ro/dict_pers.php?sel=F.

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The analysis of the situation that provoked his article represents clearer evidence of inconsistency within the Romanian Orthodox Church. The fact that it had accepted the religious ceremony for aviator Dumitrescu, provided that his urn was placed in a coffin, showed that the Orthodox Church’s position was untenable: there were no real obstacles for it to refuse cremation, simply ill-will. Zorca’s rhetorical questions explicitly highlighted the lack of rationality in the decision: the use of the coffin in order to deceive God and delude the participants at the ceremony, the simulation of a tradition, and the lack of equal treatment for all the Romanian Orthodox Church worshipers (Zorca 1935c, 2). The author made an appeal to the Romanian Patriarchy to allow the funeral ceremony in case of cremation, in the “name of the thousands of people belonging to the families of the incinerated ones, who are and remain faithful” (Zorca 1935c, 3). Invoking a speech by King Charles II, he said that cremation was a voluntary practice and only violated a tradition which “is not part of the essence of religion” (Zorca 1935c, 3). Thus Zorca’s speech was not an anti-religious one, but anticlerical, ranged against the Romanian Orthodox Church’s anti-cremation position. The articles published in Flacăra Sacră reveal the multitude of ways in which cremation was perceived. An article from January 1935 written by the same V. I. Zorca against the anti-cremation stances taken by the theatre critic Ioan Massof (Zorca 1935d, 6–7) shows the popularity of the topic. Massoff recalled that the issue had become a subject of satire for a Bucharest theatre (Teatrul Cărăbuú (Beetle Theatre)) in an interpretation by Constantin Tănase: A few years ago I saw at the theatre an admirable sketch, which rose to the level of social satire. Tănase appeared, dressed in deep mourning, holding a jar in his hands and grieving. “Who are you mourning?” asked one, in mood for talk, who accompanied him. “Lina, my wife, I have just burned her and look at her, the poor thing, how she ended up in the jar.” And Tănase started to mourn again. After he drank with his friend, who tried to console him, the man, filled with pain, exclaimed: “Let’s toast with Lina too, poor thing, for she also liked to have a glass.” The friends clink with the jar, but the jar was dropped. “Mate, pick up poor Lina!” Tănase desperately yelled. And as Lina proved difficult to gather together, the same character consoled himself: “At least it’s good that the jar did not break.” (Zorca 1935d, 6)

The literary critic’s article had been occasioned by an article which evoked the second anniversary of the death of the great actor Peter Sturdza, who wanted to be incinerated. Since Massoff’s article was an attack on cremation, Zorca reproduced it in full. According to Massoff, the

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atheist and barbaric act of burning consigned death more rapidly to oblivion. In this context, the actor’s choice of cremation was considered an expression of the snobbery of death. Cremation supporters worldwide were considered sly, since they took advantage of this snobbism. Romanian cremationists were seen as a parody, as was the crematorium they had built, because according to Massoff, at Cenuúa there was not enough fuel for combustion, and so other tools were also used to transform the body into dust (such as the pickaxe). Cremation was thus the destruction of the mystery of death and of the cult of the dead, which was synonymous with tradition. Consequently, Sturdza’s memory would have been more alive,“if at his head – as God left it – a stone would have stood, on which his name would have been written, which meant something to the Romanian theatre” (Zorca 1935d, 6). Zorca’s reaction to this article was vehement, considering it a succession of false statements. Thus it afforded cremationists the opportunity to express their point of view, and to explain to the general public the ways in which reality was being distorted. The article and its author were accused of a lack of seriousness, Zorca commenting acidly that, two years after the death, praise should be dominating the discourse, and not slander about the method of disposal of the corpse. Cremation was not a barbaric act, but the apotheosis of science, the gathering in an urn “the physical synthesis of the disappeared.” Cremation was not an atheistic activity; it was unrestricted by any religious dogma, but only by a stupid tradition. Nor does cremation does not lead to a faster forgetting of the dead, since this depends entirely on the prior actions of the deceased. And finally, cremation was not an act of snobbery because it was characteristic of a higher understanding, not of the common one. Zorca laid particular emphasis on one of Massoff’s statements – that the incinerator from the crematorium did not have sufficient resources to perform a complete combustion – indicating that the temperature inside was of 1,100–1,200 degrees, and the heat generator of about 1,800 degrees. The idea of the destruction of the cult of the dead through cremation was also countered. It was argued that this would increase by cremation, because after inhumation there might still be an illusion of physical existence, while by the burning of the corpse the mystery and mysticism of death were increased. The author responded to the insertion of the comedic skit involving Constantin Tănase, considering this the ultimate form of frivolity. It was also stated that the actor’s urn of ashes was taken home by his family. In the end, the possibility of keeping the urns in the columbarium was presented, inserting a picture of a niche (Zorca 1935d, 6). Curentul newspaper had published criticisms of the practice, and these

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were often replied to in Flacăra Sacră, either in the form of short comments or extended articles. A notable case of this comes from November 1939 (Zorca 1939b, 3–4), notable chiefly because the objections had not been expressed in offensive tones, but “in a more elegant, more urbane way” – in short, a style to which Romanian cremationists were not accustomed. Nevertheless, Zorca systematically opposed the charges that had been levelled. The first objection had been that the cremationists were wrong to invoke the Hindu example as a model for Romanian society. Zorca answered to this by explaining that Flacăra Sacră had published only one article, by Mihai Popovici, about the Hindu practice of cremation. Cremationists were believed to want to store urns, and so they had published photographs of the urn cemetery in Munich in their magazine, said Curentul. The reponse came that cremation does not exclude the idea of cemeteries, but these places for urns are much smaller than the space occupied by the classic cemeteries, being much more aesthetic and “establishing a special cult of memory of the dead” (Zorca 1939b, 3). Curentul had also stated that the option for cremation was an act of selfishness, because the one who resorts to this practice is uninterested in his family’s suffering regarding the burning and does not leave them a suitable place to honour his memory. Zorca developed his answer in three ways. First, it could not be selfishness, considering the fact that cremation in Romania at that time was handled by the Cenuúa Society. This institution took over all the funeral expenses, providing a service for the family, in return for a small fee, periodically paid. Second, the family was more affected emotionally by an inhumation than by a cremation. And third, the respect for the memory of the dead was carried out by using the crematorium columbarium or by the choice of the family to take the deceased’s urn of ashes home (Zorca 1939b, 4). The extended response to an article written against the practice by Nichifor Crainic is remarkable. The occasion was provided by General Butunoiu (Carozea 1938, 2–4), and much of the article is reproduced in Flacăra Sacră. For Crainic, the choice for cremation was based on financial grounds, being cheaper than inhumation, and the great offence it levelled at Romanian society was the violation of the national feeling: This issue of cremation also has another nationally extremely important side. When we say military spirit, we say a mystique of the homeland. The homeland is the land with our fathers dead and buried in it. Buried, not incinerated. The army lives in this cult of homeland and prepares itself for the blood sacrifice to defend it, to defend its land and graves. Precisely these tombs form a mystical connection between our ancestry and its estate, which is ancient as it contains the bones of the ancestors. The cult of

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the homeland is mostly the cult of the graves. This is where the sublime moral sense of the sacrifices for defending one’s land comes from. What is cremation in this sense? Cremation is precisely the negation of this cult of the homeland! Since it seeks the abolition of the tombs, in reality it seeks the destruction of the mystical connection between the living and the land of the country. Here is the anti-national sense of cremation: a nation’s spiritual uprooting, its detachment from the ancestral land. By the disappearance of the tombs, the sacred is destroyed, a concrete element which stimulates national feeling. (Carozea 1938, 2)

Crainic’s arguments are systematically rejected by Dr. Silviu Carozea. The description of cremation as an atheistic act was categorically denied; there no longer existed any relationship of interconnection between the dead body and the soul that had been separated from it. The idea that the human body was only a handful of ashes appeared as the best formula for understanding the human being’s nothingness and God’s omnipotence, only the soul being immortal. Consequently, cremation did not cast anything away, but brought its followers together in the mystical and religious spirit. The only element it left out was not a tradition, but merely a bad habit. Cremation, according to Carozea, could not be ostracised in the name of this habit, for it was an option, not an obligation. Moreover, even in England, the most traditionalist state, the church accepted it: “Why would we be more clairvoyant than them, seeking to be more royalist than the King” (Carozea 1938, 3). But Carozea’s main aim was to reject Crainic’s idea, according to which cremation was an anti-national practice. The association between the cult of the homeland and graves (or the practice of inhumation) was, he thought, artificial: the only link between them was the greatness of the deceased’s deeds and this was expressed by the veneration of their memory. Carozea made a clear distinction between the cult of the homeland and the cult of the inhumated dead, completely rejecting Crainic’s statements: The cult of the homeland cult is a natural law of the universal good, it is the love for the nation, the spirit of national solidarity that can end up in disregarding yourself for the nation, when it comes to be sacrificed for protecting national heritage. This is not represented by tombs, but by a holy inheritance, obtained by the sacrifice made during life, by those who today no longer exist, by heroes. The connection we have with the grave of someone who was close to us has a personal subjective character and it is called the cult of the dead; while the cult of homeland has an objective and general character, precisely eliminating whatever is personal, the identification being made with the personality. (Carozea 1938, 3)

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One of the favourite tactics of anti-cremation rhetoric was the characterisation of the practice as pagan, and thus as anti-Christian. Colonel Stănescu replied to such claims in an article published in 1937 (Stănescu 1937, 2). This characterisation was rejected on several points: (1) the ash still reached the ground; (2) Jesus Christ made no reference to the destination of the body, because it does not affect the afterlife; (3) the major difference between the ancient cremation (pagan) and the modern one (both scientific and hygienic); (4) the presence of some pagan practices even at inhumation, for example the putting of money in the coffin, the wailing women, the women’s exaggerated mourning dresses, the washing of hands after returning from the cemetery. These habits had been tolerated by the Christian church, including them in the burial ceremony. Stănescu thought that if the issue had been solved before Constantine the Great it would not be topical now. He considered that Jesus Christ’s burial in a vault and not in the ground was a custom of the time, not the expression of his will. The idea that Resurrection was conditioned by inhumation was also rejected, since God can easily bring to life all the dead. Overall, Stănescu’s intervention was full of triumphalism: he believed that justice was on the side of the cremation movement, and he sensed – naively – that the cremation of corpses would soon be accepted by the Romanian Orthodox Church. V. I. Zorca behaved similarly a year later, when debating the subject of the correspondence between cremation and the future spiritual life (Zorca 1938, 1–2). The cremationists’ self-depiction and of those who opted for this practice as possessed of a superior spirit is found again in this article. “The educated man,” realising what happened in the decomposition process and understanding the danger of this habit for public health, resorted to cremation. So, according to Zorca, cremation “was just a correction brought to the disappearance of the dead matter by the burial that occurs in aesthetic, hygienic, dignified, ethical and even economic conditions, which leave a lot to be desired for the higher spirits” (Zorca 1938, 2). Therefore, if the body is only a temporary garment for the soul, then it can have no influence on the future spiritual life. As in the previous case, Zorca believed that religion should remain indifferent to the possible means of management of a dead body. The most important of the articles written along these lines, however, was one published by Zorca in the first issue of Flacăra Sacră. He rejected the idea that cremation was a religious movement (Zorca 1934, 4). In fact, cremation was not even a dogma, but a practical and scientific way of taking action on corpses. Consequently, all that was done by way of regligious services for inhumation was possible also with cremation. The

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author stressed the special symbolism of the fire, symbolising the transformation of matter, the divine power and the emphasising of moods: By incineration, the fire that gives light is the symbol of life. It marks a new stage, of the purely spiritual being; it consumes a dead body, making it reborn to another new life. But it does not highlight the forms of a new religion, but by the unrelenting destruction of the matter, it relentlessly shows us that the soul is the only one eternal, this fluid of life, perceptible only through itself. (Zorca 1934, 4)

Cremation, as the last act of human dignity, was also the subject of an analysis suggested by Comănescu, wherein he asserted that intellectuals were better equipped to undersand cremation (Comănescu 1935c, 4–5). The supposed motivation behind this claim was their superior ability to rise above stereotypes. Aesthetic, ethical and hygienic arguments and a deep knowledge of natural law was what led this category of people to use the practice. The propagandist nature of the article is clear: those who resorted to cremation were to be considered part of the elite. Crainic’s criticisms of the practice were not the only reaction of this type in Porunca Vremii. The far-right orientation of the publication also explains the other particularities of their editorial line. For example, there is a hint of a connection between Romanian and Jewish cremationists in the news-in-brief column, clearly manifesting Porunca Vremii’s antiSemitic nature (Dojane 1937, 2). Drawing on Flacăra Sacră’s 1937 list of incinerated persons, Porunca Vremii showed that the vast majority were Jewish: “Apart from a few former Masons, we find in the list names like Matilda Sarossi, Bela Emanoil, Ghiyela Pinca, Etty Rosenstein, all of them freethinkers” (Dojane 1937, 2). The situation was transformed into a critique of the claimed fact that the Romanian cremationists had struggled hard to prove “the Orthodoxy of cremation.” According to Porunca Vremii, the image of the crematorium had satanic meanings, being compared to Moloch’s womb. Archimandrite Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu’s involvement in the cremation movement stands out clearly in Flacăra Sacră. He published a number of articles in its pages, his study on cremation from the religious point of view being particularly remarkable. This study is divided between nearly twenty issues of Flacăra Sacră. It is one of the best argued pro-cremation studies in inter-war Romania, and its exceptional character is rooted in the fact that it deals with the theme from very sensible points of view. Thus, ùerboianu deals with issues related to fire in the Holy Scripture in the eleventh part of his study (ùerboianu 1935a, 2–4). This was one of the accusations brought against cremation, and by which its pagan character

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was demonstrated based on the Scripture (fire being used by pagans for burning babies that were sacrificed to gods). After a biblical excursion, analysing this notion in Genesis, Exodus, Isaiah, Samuel and Jeremiah, ùerboianu claimed that the Jewish people had indeed had these follies. This was because they were influenced by pagan and idolatrous peoples. But everywhere, regardless of the negative nature of these practices, fire had a purifying role, not one of punishment. At the same time, some of these elements had survived in the Christian religion, being attested to even in Romania: the presentation of fire on the second and third day after St. Eliajah Day, and also at the spring equinox. In such a dynamic, the archimandrite intended to eliminate once and for all the claim that burning was a devilish thing, rejected by the Creator. He raised a biblical example, referring to the sacrifice of Isaac (ùerboianu 1936a, 2–4). The conclusion reached was that God loved fire, considering it the only purifying element and worthy of His greatness. Where fire is found as a punishment in Scripture, this should be interpreted as expressing the limits of human understanding, for in God’s view it only represented a lesson, necessary to humanity. Therefore, the fear of fire was unjustified, provided there had been no such fear during life. At the same time, care for the dead body was unfounded, if during life such care had existed neither for the body nor for the soul. ùerboianu condemned as “dependent on interest and necessity,” and as totally unreal, the accusations issued by certain clerics according to whom the crematorium in Bucharest was the work of Freemasons who had established a special religious funeral cult for atheists and freethinkers. In order to demonstrate this, he brought into consideration the issue of the change of the calendar to the new style, following a decision of the Synod. The archimandrite’s charge was directed not necessarily towards the change itself, but towards the speed of the decision and the rapidity of its implementation. This had produced confusion among the worshipers and, according to him, those who had not adhered to the decision were seen as enemies of Orthodoxy and as foreigners to Romania. Such a situation seemed completely inopportune, and recalled the Christian persecution of antiquity. Although freedom of conscience and of religion was guaranteed, they were being “strangled by a few venal and corrupted people.” (Among those persecuted he included Evangelicals, cremationists and those who had not yet accommodated the “new style” calendar.) In conclusion, the archimandrite asked rhetorically how it could be that, if the supporters of cremation were atheists, freethinkers and freemasons, they called on priests to bless them when they were dying (ùerboianu 1936a, 3). One of ùerboianu’s most pertinent contributions to the cremation

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debate was his exposition of the biblical text “for dust you are and unto dust you shall return” (ùerboianu 1935d, 2–4). ùerboianu asserted that this text was commonly cited by the Orthodox clergy as a justification for burial, and that it was always presented to, and accepted by, the faithful as an anti-cremation apologetic. ùerboianu, however, interpreted the passage as having another meaning than that allowed by the Orthodox clergy, remarking that “God punished the first man by sending him to work the land from which he had been taken and certainly not to be buried in it” (ùerboianu 1935d, 2–4). Therefore it was fire, rather than the land, which had the purifying role. ùerboianu also pointed out that the Bible did not specify that Adam had been buried, and suggested that ashes could be considered as a form of earth, and thus as a constituent part of man, created by God and then purified and transformed by fire (ùerboianu 1935d, 4). ùerboianu had drawn up the plan for this study as early as the third issue of Flacăra Sacră, dealing with cremation and religion in a clarificatory manner, while clearly supporting cremation (ùerboianu 1935a, 3). His analysis began with a retrospective on human evolution, emphasising the mutations since the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (respectively: social, political and religious purification; and the development of positive sciences which then became a problem for Christianity). When the representatives of science had unchained themselves in the nineteenth century, converting the impossible into the possible, this had led Christian churches to perceive them as enemies. But from a certain point of view, by perceiving and indeed accepting their importance, the churches had accepted that between science and religion there was no disagreement. The consequence of this situation led the church to cede vast territories to science, albeit sometimes with regret. This shift was, according to ùerboianu, a revolution in the Christian churches as well, stirring them to life by provoking them to respond to all kinds of abstract questions. Cremation was one such problem, together with others like the sex of angels, the pre-existence of the soul, the status of women, the use of electric power, God’s greatness, etc. But there had been misinterpretations, and thus the rejection of cremation had arisen within various denominations of the Christian religion. The situation was contrary to the early Christian church, who, being “sincere followers of the Messiah’s words” considered that “the soul was more valuable, while the body, dead or alive, had no value” (ùerboianu 1935a, 3). ùerboianu proposed a hierarchy of Christian denominations, considering that the Protestant Church was the church most involved in social movements, the Roman Catholic Church least so, while the

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Orthodox Church was somewhere in the middle. It swayed between spirituality and realism, a characteristic tendency of the twentieth century, when Christian churches, realising the mutations that had emerged, were trying to transform their position in the living organism (i.e. society). Another part of this study was dedicated to the relationship between cremation and tradition, as the anti-cremationists claimed that cremation infringed tradition (ùerboianu 1936b, 4–5). A lot of biblical references were employed here, although these are less relevant for the present paper than the accusations made by the archimandrite against some ultratraditionalist Romanian clerics. He referred to their rejections of various innovations in society which had gone on to prove their validity through the ages. As an example, the Apostle Paul and Jesus Christ are mentioned. The emphasis was on the fact that traditionalism was the greatest obstacle in the way of progress. In his conception, the history of each idea had been marked by the opposition of the church, which was thus on the side of the ignorant, “confusing them with quotations from the Holy Scripture, misinterpreting ones, putting them in gentle Jesus’ shelter, who was dealing only with spiritual matters, and not with our human concerns” (ùerboianu 1936b, 4–5). Therefore, the priests who invoked Christ’s model and teachings rejected the truth, as they did not follow the Saviour’s pattern. ùerboianu gave some examples: Jesus’ poverty in opposition to the luxury and abundance of the Romanian clerics of the time; that Jesus preached by walking, while the Romanian clergy took planes, trains, automobiles (which they had initially considered devilish inventions); that Christ was refortified through prayer, while the Romanian clerics rested by taking part in political disputes and smoking (also a practice initially condemned); that Jesus undertook a huge work of catechesis, while the Romanian clerics conceived encyclicals and form letters from their comfortable “stalls,” which were too far from reality. As a result of his work, he was declared an honorary member of the Oganj Association from Serbia. But his work was not reflected only in this manner. For example, there was also a reference to an article in Universul of 1935, where the public was informed through an unsigned article that the priests officiating religious services at the crematorium had been defrocked, something denounced in Flacăra Sacră – although only the general aspects of the problem were specified, and nothing mentioned about the Synod’s decisions, which obviously reflected their own perspective on the situation (Flacăra Sacră 1935d, 2). Their particular editorial line also dominated a memo from 1936 which stated that after ùerboianu’s endeavours, which had proved that the cremation of the corpse did not have an anti-religious character, priests had begun to

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perform religious services for the incinerated (Diverse 1936, 8). Such information was erroneous: the Romanian Orthodox Church had not moderated its opposition to cremation. ùerboianu acknowledged the anti-cremation attitude which he once had shown, as published in an article from 1910 (ùerboianu 1935b, 3–4). But now he repudiated it, explaining his earlier gesture by reference to the orientation the newspaper had, its print run and the profiles of its readers. Thus, at that time he had believed he was doing a service to the Romanian peasant as the keeper of traditions and national spirit. But ùerboianu now said that, after deep reflection, he had come to change his view, realising that things had to be changed in the manner that the treatment of a patient had to be adjusted as their condition progressed. In his opinion, the people were always right, no matter what the situation, because the voice of the people was the voice of God. But to achieve prosperity good guidance was needed, including new experiments meant to identify the optimal solutions to emerging problems. ùerboianu thus issued a criticism of the higher authorities of the Romanian Orthodox Church. His tone was rhetorical, comprising a series of interrogations, both incriminating and persuasive: Who was the atheist, Freemason or free-thinker? The one who prohibits or the one who gives the religious blessing? And why did the Romanian Orthodox Church reject cremation while tolerating such deviant practices as smoking, the display of the night clothes stained with virgin’s blood after the wedding night, the re-baptising of epileptics, and belief in witches and ghosts? ùerboianu criticised the Synod for manifesting bias in its judgements, and unjustifiably prohibiting the religious service for the incinerated. This criticism was based on two considerations: the persecution of the priests serving at the crematorium, and the indulgence of those parish priests who performed the burial and memorial services for those who had opted for burning the body. On the other hand, the guilty priests and monks were left at the bishop’s mercy, in the end becoming “on the brink of starvation” due to their lack of a job. According to ùerboianu, the superior Orthodox fora were not necessary guilty for this situation; the fault lay more with a number of clerics who were “interested and at feud with theological culture.” They were not aware of the social reality, and were transforming such problems as cremation into a neurosis. They were accused by the archimandrite of keeping the people in ignorance, exemplifying in simplistic literature the need for “mercy for the human carcass” (ùerboianu 1935b, 4). According to ùerboianu, these actions were doomed to failure because they could only delay, but not prevent, the acceptance of great ideas by the people.

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Figure 4-22 Flacăra Sacră magazine

Attacks against ùerboianu can also be found towards the end of the inter-war period. Iuliu Scriban, a vehement anti-cremationist who we have already had cause to meet, published an article in 1938 in which he said ùerboianu “beats the drum” too much (Deculeanu 1938, 4). The cremationists’ reaction was represented by an article published in Flacăra Sacră by Professor Deculeanu (Deculeanu 1938, 4–6). He offered a grimly ironic portrait of the “all-pious” Scriban, presenting him as a person who unjustifiably considered himself indispensable, who was overly concerned by his public appearance. Deculeanu accused the archimandrite of amnesia, of contradicting his statements about the setting up of the Cenuúa Society in 1923, as well as Radu D. Rosetti’s conference from 1923, which Scriban had considered failures (Deculeanu 1938, 6). Physician Mareú Cahane expressed a special view on cremation. He considered inhumation and cremation in relation to the psychological trauma each one caused (Cahane 1935, 6). His stance was a subjective one, as was evident from the beginning of his paper, when he asked rhetorically how long the cemeteries would last as backward cultish forms. In his opinion, if the cemeteries were closed, places for inhumation would no longer exist, and regardless of what cares were taken everything would fall into neglect within a few decades. Even in the cemeteries that were functional, there were “rotten crosses, damaged tombs,” a depressing landscape that amplified the grief of those who visited them. Cahane’s

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article expanded on the shock felt in the event of death, with those closest to the deceased being the most affected. As a neuro-psychiatrist, he stated that the climax of the suffering caused by death was registered at burial, a situation that could cause trauma which endangered the mental equilibrium. Thus, although to some extent the practice of burial was considered useful, it was exaggerated, deliberately emphasising the suffering of death, by “prejudices and prehistoric ceremonies” (Cahane 1935, 6). Cahane advocated that separation from the loved ones be achieved at a superior spiritual level, in a philosophical manner able “to calm the emotional state.” This new manner was cremation, because, in his opinion, it eliminated the group of “intermediaries” that exaggerated the family’s pain and the religious ceremony was thereby cleansed, “the paganisms being excluded” (Cahane 1935, 6). The main rationale for this proposal was that “emotion became rational, thus losing its intensity” (Cahane 1935, 6). Although he did not consider this to be true universally, it was sufficient to identify inhumation as a pagan and prehistoric practice, and cremation as an act of humanisation and philosophical meditation. Cahane’s slant is evident in the fact that he does not mention that the crude reality of the cremation act – wherein a loved one is reduced to a handful of ashes – could also have negative psychic effects. The theme was also dealt with by Zorca. He drew a comparison, based on sentimental grounds, between inhumation and cremation (Zorca 1938a, 1–2). If the pain felt by individuals is the key issue in the event of death, its peak is reached with the disappearance of the physical body, either by inhumation or cremation. Zorca stated that the intensity of this emotion for each practice cannot be surpassed. Accordingly, he resorted to a reverse demonstration, using the arguments of the detractors of cremation to pull them apart. Thus, he used many quotations from Popescu-Mălăieúti’s work. The latter was accused of an obvious lack of objectivity regarding the topic: the tomb, the rest house, according to the Bucharest professor, was not a place of horror but of recollections, perfectly preserving the image and the memory of the deceased. By comparison, cremation would completely destroy such a state. Zorca reacted against this statement, arguing that such a representation only captures the sentiments of an uneducated person, since an intellectual would realise what was really happening in the grave. Thus, the cemetery was not a place where the person disappears “like a flower that fades away,” but rigidly follows the laws of nature. In this context one knows that a certain phase is characterised by the formation of “the formless and hideous cadaverous mass, putrid and gelatinous, which is affected by that slow phenomenon of decomposition of the dead body operated with a lugubrious greed” (Zorca

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1938a, 1). In order to give more strength to his ideas, Zorca appealed to tendentious accounts of worms and rats feasting on the dead meat within the tomb. Unlike this traumatic “show,” cremation generated a feeling of dignity, determined by man’s possibility to choose how to disappear physically, and not, like an animal, be subject to decay. Thus, “the symphony of lights” and “the grandiose incandescence,” in which a human being disappeared physically through cremation, engendered resignation and relief, with the soul attaining eternity. Therefore, if hideous pictures are possible before the tomb, the urn, as the physical synthesis of the dead person, can only cause feelings of gratitude for his memory. In conclusion, the feeling that cremation generated was one of approaching God, realising the futility of life, the fear of the Divine, and that, beyond the passions, man is only a handful of ashes (Zorca 1938a, 2). The articles on the detailed operation of cremation were very important as a means of dissipating misconceptions about it. Probably one of the most persistent of these was and continues to be that of the changes in position the corpse was said to undergo in the incinerator. Flacăra Sacră sought to shoot down such ideas and two articles are relevant in this respect. The first was signed by Colonel Stănescu (Stănescu 1935b, 1–2). He considered that people knew extremely few things about cremation and the crematorium in Bucharest, and they based their knowledge more on “legends” than on reality. Among the legends that circulated there was the one concerning the movement of the body in the incinerator. This was a fundamental mistake, according to Stănescu, because that could occur neither theoretically nor in practice. Given that temperatures of 1,000 degrees were reached in the incinerator, the body being “attacked” by the flames with great intensity, and evenly from all sides, any movement was impossible. For further clarification of this issue, the author explained that this phenomenon was not similar to that “of a piece of meat placed on a hot hob of a cooker” (Stănescu 1935b, 2). In such a case, the meat was attacked by heat only from one side, which led to its changing shape. Conversely, in practice, the body in the incinerator remains in its original position even after the coffin in which it was put disappears. And even if these movements could occur, they would happen in the first stage of cremation and so be invisible, because at that time the body is in the coffin. Another rumour which generated various myths was related to the noise produced when inserting the body in the incinerator. Stănescu confessed that for five or ten minutes a noise like the burning of wood chips could be heard. This was due to the burning of the coffin and not to the process of the cremation of the corpse itself. The coffin was usually

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made of dry fir tree wood. He proved that those rumours had no basis because the noise should be heard throughout the whole operation (fortyfive minutes) and not just for several minutes at its beginning. The last distortion of cremation that was analysed concerned the ashes. The idea that the remnants resulting from the procedure of cremation could be mixed up was also rejected. Stănescu showed that each coffin placed in the incinerator had a serial number – noting, in passing, that many people were surprised to learn that a dead person was cremated dressed in a coffin. He also claimed that it was unjustified because the crematorium was equipped with a ventilation system, meaning that the accessories, burned first, were absorbed and completely separated from the ashes of the dead (Stănescu 1935b, 2). The second article was signed by Silvian Carozea, and was as clear in its explanations as the previous one. The author certified the lack of movement of bodies in the incinerator on the grounds that he had witnessed many cremations via the “eye slit used by the operator in charge of handling the incinerator” (Carozea 1938, 4). Carozea explained that this rumour was not extant only in Romania, but was a common one related to cremation. In this respect, he quoted a petition by the French Cremation Societies sent to the Minister of Public Health. But the most eloquent proof of the rumours related to the crematorium which were abroad at the time was a comment from Archimandrite ùerboianu (ùerboianu 1937a, 3). As a “priest at the Crematorium,” he had been asked by believers during confessions whether it was true that the bodies of some participants in strikes, killed by police, were taken at night to be burned; if the bodies of the living were bought to be cremated; if the fat of those burnt was used for making vaseline, stockings or makeup; if in the incinerator the dead “scream, squirm, as a sign of protest, stand up and curse their fate”; if the building is haunted by ghosts; or whether the ashes of the dead were sent for use in sugar factories (ùerboianu 1937a, 5). But beyond all these rumours, the archimandrite was surprised by an irritating question that had been posed to at least ten priests regarding the practice: How could a man resurrect after the final judgment if he had been cremated? In the archimandrite’s view, such a question was the expression both of theological ignorance and of a lack of faith. The situation was especially dangerous since it was generated by clerics. Consequently, ùerboianu engaged in a vehement criticism of the state of understanding among the clergy and among the Romanian Orthodox Church. He blamed them thus for perpetuation of ignorance and superstition among the population, of hiding the truth and not permitting the crowd to improve their spiritual condition. His vehemence was

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evidence of his total involvement in the Romanian cremation movement: Why do you, priest, find excuses and free from sin the wizards; the star readers; those who dig the burned spit in the martyrs’ hearts, the presumed ghosts by the ignorant world; those who are married twice, despite the Gospel and Canons and you easily condemn those who are incinerated, who do nothing but purify this sinful body, to which Christ the Saviour did not give any value, as He was valuing only the soul? Why so many legends, so many foolish inventions, made public to believers under your sincere (!) guardianship. Why is this done in the name of God, whom you yourselves upset and move away from you, at all time, by your actions? As long as a church does not serve “The Truth,” that church is a body born dead and everything it will carry will be smoke and shadow. (ùerboianu 1937a, 5)

Consequently, according to ùerboianu, the “official” church in Romania was deliberately hiding the truth from his flock, which was an unforgivable crime in the eyes of both God and the people. The crowd kept in ignorance by those in charge with their spiritual training and education was compared by the author to sheep, good only for milking and shearing. ùerboianu also showed the discrepancy between asserting from the pulpit that God created everything from nothing, and not believing that the Creator would resurrect burned people after death (ùerboianu 1937a, 5). On the occasion of certain religious holidays such as Easter, Flacăra Sacră published special editorials dedicated to the festival. The author was Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu, and their purpose can be easily discerned: namely, to prove the lack of contradiction between Christianity and cremation. An example is the editorial published in the easter of 1936 (Serboianu 1936c, 1). Although it did not contain any reference to cremation, it was focused on the symbol of resurrection, the importance of the soul and the model of Jesus Christ. As a corollary, it referred to the meaning of the symbol of fire both for inanimate matter and for the world of ideas and feelings. A year later, during the same holiday, ùerboianu returned to the topic, with much more self-assurance, and the references became more direct: God was seen as the consuming fire, the eternal immortality, and the unsetting sun. The tone was more radical, referring subtly to the detractors of cremation: you must be trembling, hypocrite scribes and blind adversaries, who, through your writing art, tickle people’s senses and ears, closing for them, through unhealthy teachings, the divine kingdom where not even you will

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go, you must be trembling, you who overturn faith and righteous social settlements. (ùerboianu 1937b, 1)

The final part of the editorial was a direct call addressed to the Romanian people: Wake up, my Romanian nation, to the higher call of Christ’s Light. Shake from your head all the unrighteousness, the falsehood, the prejudice, the delusive legends and fantasies. Clean up your consciousness from the cinders of traditions that narrow your development in this life, defend your Romanian language and your ancient native land. This is where will rest forever the ashes of your body, along with that of your predecessors, who sacrificed themselves to give us a better life. Love your earthly King and bow to him; believe in God, but beware of the wolves dressed in sheep skins, which come in his name to deceive you. (ùerboianu 1937b, 2)

The easter holiday in 1938 occasioned a new article from Popp ùerboianu (ùerboianu 1938b, 1–3). This time he focused on resurrection, clearly showing that at the end of time, both the buried and the incinerated would come to life. The end of the editorial referred to a group, which ùerboianu claimed be part of, which underlined the lack of contradiction between Christian teaching and cremation: Those from “Flacăra Sacră” confidently continue their activities of explanation. They want to make clear that what they do is not against the Saviour’s teaching and not at enmity with our Holy Church. On the occasion of the Lord Jesus’ Holy Resurrection, I am sending to all readers the triumphal ancestral and Christian greeting, Christ is Risen. (ùerboianu 1938b, 3)

Certain concrete actions undertaken by Cenuúa Crematorium were included in the same group of articles countering rumours related to cremation. In April 1937, the public was informed in an advertisement about four safety measures at the Crematorium: the family was asked to make a list of precious objects which were returned after the completion of cremation; the possibility for two family members to assist in the placing of the corpse in the incinerator; the family’s statement on their desire as to whether or not to place the deceased’s precious objects in the urn; and the sealing of the urn in the presence of the family or its representatives (Diverse 1937b, 8). Just as in the case of the Orthodox publications that rejected the practice, readers or inferior-rank society members periodically published their stances in Flacăra Sacră. In the anti-cremation magazines, these articles were inserted to show the breadth of the stance against the

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practice. In like manner, an architect named Anton Vârnav sent an article to the editorial office of Flacăra Sacră in April 1937 (Vârnav 1937, 1–2). Vârnav said that the magazine had become “food for the soul” for him. His article was divided into two parts: the first was focused on the equality in front of death, as a reality that any existence must pass through. The author spoke of the equilateral triangle of death, which lay between life and death: the type of death, the place of death and the time of death. The triangle’s equilaterality was given by the fact that despite the differences, the event of death remains the same. In his opinion, from this truism another was born: the use of a single universal ceremony of the management of the corpse, namely cremation, which had to be loved and preferred. His arguments were then developed in succession, and along familiar lines: the ashes are still dust; cremation was a faster and cleaner process of the disappearance of the body; and that this was the age of cremation, given the fact that there was nothing in religion that was contrary to it. In his opinion, inhumation was just a habit, and thus was subject to the idea that “habit cures habit.” Cremation was a work of spiritual and bodily purification, received from Divinity (Vârnav 1937, 1– 2). Vârnav was a famous architect, among whose achievements was the design of the Palace of Justice in GalaĠi before the First World War (and which now houses the headquarters of the Lower Danube University of GalaĠi). He was cremated after death, as he had requested in his will. A similar letter had been published two months earlier, and is relevant here because it came from Professor Ioan Dimitriu-Mihail of Iaúi, showing that Flacăra Sacră was known outside Bucharest. Here, cremation was described as being a “saviour” for the soul (Diverse 1937c, 6). This was a bold idea, and the philosophical nature of the article was duly noted. Divinity was considered the immutable creative source of spirituality, and as standing in relation to all of creation; life in divinity meant “the consciousness of the energy from divinity in permanent work and justice,” manifested through steady laws; human life was manifest in every human being by virtue and social justice; the soul was an intermediate state between spirituality and materiality, that could progress to immortality or to destruction, by means of the second; death was a happiness for living souls, namely for those who spiritualised their soul, and agony for the dead souls, namely the opposites of the first; at death, the soul of the living goes to heaven and happiness, and in the event of death, the materialised soul remains closed in the body; in burial, the soul is condemned to suffering through the long and grinding process of decomposition, but through cremation the soul is saved, immaterialising and being restored to the primal state of creation (Diverse 1937c, 6).

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The appeal of cremation is clearly manifest in these letters. Another example is a letter published in the magazine from a lady from Hotin. Not having children or relatives to finance her grave, and delighted by the concern and the piety shown toward the deceased manifest at the crematorium, as well as by the cleanliness and the orderly spirit reigning there, the lady requested to know the conditions the society would set down for her to become a member. She also asked for information about the necessary costs for her transportation and cremation after death, and for adequate care of her urn (XX 1937, 7). The issue of the last wish was of paramount importance among the topics dealt with by Flacăra Sacră. The presence of the topic can be explained by reference to the need to establish a model for the undecided or to succeed in overcoming the family’s possible rejection of their desire for cremation. The introduction of the theme in the publication had a propagandistic role. The intention to use cremation was often not respected. According to Flacăra Sacră, a person’s wish for cremation could be secured in two ways: joining the Cenuúa Society, or preparing one’s will to that effect. As there was also the possibility of expressing this intention verbally, “the followers of human cremation” were advised to prepare written wills (O dorinĠă 1937, 2). Wills drafted for this purpose were published. The most relevant were those of persons who had expressed their will to be incinerated who were not from Bucharest. Such a will, belonging to a lieutenant colonel whose name was not given, was published in October 1937 (Testamentul 1937, 5–6). Due to its content, the editorial office of the publication had not added any comment, besides emphasising the idea of the social role played by the Cenuúa Society, and which is evident in this case. The will had fifteen entries, expressing very precisely the desired “activities” after death: not announcing the death to any family member or friend, but only to an Orthodox priest; no sign of mourning at home; no speeches, choir, funeral wheat porridge, flowers, music or military parade; the corpse to be dressed lightly (in nightgown, without socks, clothes or jewellery); the coffin to be of the cheapest wood and lined with white tin, according to sanitary laws; the transportation of the corpse to Cenuúa Crematorium and the expenses for the funeral to be covered by the pension of the past three months, which was transferred into the account of the Cenuúa Society; the clothes to be donated to the poor; any “pagan” memorial services to be refused (a request addressed to his wife); and a short note to be published in Universul newspaper. But the most important provision of this will was item number 13, indicating the person’s belief that he was not being inconsistent with the Orthodox religion:

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The most relevant article on this matter was one written by ùerboianu. He published an article dealing with “the last wish” as expressed “at the deathbed” (ùerboianu 1939, 3–5). The article explained the issue from the cremationist viewpoint. After highlighting the crucial importance of “the last wish,” a product of the will with mandatory character for the surviving family (sometimes sealed by a curse), ùerboianu wondered whether this last wish had to be carried out exactly. The answer depended on the nature of the request: if it did not contravene moral laws, social order or common sense, and if it was really possible to be achieve it, its granting was considered a tribute of piety, love and gratitude to the deceased. According to ùerboianu, the wish to be cremated had to be fulfilled because it was legally permitted in Romania at that time, albeit a novelty. Given that the Romanian Orthodox Church rejected the practice, ùerboianu emphasised that the priest still had to perform the religious service for the deceased who had chosen the practice, because it meant carrying out his mission of returning the lost ones back to “faith’s womb.” Thus, the responsibility fell on the priest, and any penalties had to be levied on him, and not on the family of the deceased. To reinforce this idea, ùerboianu imagined a situation in which a soldier had to take action against the enemy in a way that contravened the senior officers’ action plans. The idea of the communication between the living and the dead was another argument for this idea, seen as a case where not fulfilling the desire of the dead person would cause anguish to his family. Consequently, ùerboianu’s article was a plea for cremation as the fulfilling of someone’s wishes. That last wish did not belong to the living but was the property of the dead, and the failure to grant it would create difficulties (ùerboianu 1939, 5). Another idea expressed in the magazine was that of cremation as an expression of democracy. Alexandru Botez briefly developed this idea (Botez 1937, 1), making references to the ancient Greek and Roman models. Modern cremation was thereby considered to be a tool for restoring a lost ethical balance, thus glorifying its followers. This plea in favour of cremation, expressed in a series of letters published by Flacăra Sacră, is also exemplified by an article written by Mihail Drăgănescu from Craiova, in 1940. He, as a prosecutor, had

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witnessed many autopsies, describing in the magazine the macabre spectacle of the worms devouring the corpse. His aesthetic sense had led to Drăgănescu becoming a fan of cremation, and he appealed to reason in favour of the practice: If we believe in the survival of a disincarnated spirit, which still has a relationship with the earth for about seven years until complete putrefaction, will it be glad, from the higher spheres, to look upon the disgusting fate of its former body, now prey to worms and to stench? (Drăgănescu 1940, 2)

It should be noted that the author rejected the practice of embalming, as well as that of the rapid cremation, because thereby the spirit could not rebuild itself in corpore after separation from the body. In the end of the article Drăgănescu explained his choice of cremation, now seen as a lofty mark of dignity and education: instead of making myself prey to worms or to the grave diggers’ impiety and brutality, I would rather make myself prey to the purifying fire. I want my ashes to be deposited in a niche at the crematorium for a long, long time or kept with reverence and piety by my descendants. If it is a burden, the ashes could be scattered on the waves of clear, flowing water or at the root of a rose. Perhaps my soul will rejoice that the remains of its former temple will not be mocked and mistreated by the impious world … . We endure enough brutal blows in the battle of life, therefore we crave for post-mortem respect, at least for our inoffensive remnants … . (Drăgănescu 1940, 3)

But the pro-cremation argumentation was sometimes extreme, mixing pro-cremation ideas with Romanian traditions. Such is the case for an article signed by M. Popovici in 1940. After explaining the deep significance of fire, the author tries to explain the Romanians’ supposed need for cremation over burial in terms of their Dacian-Roman ancestors. The conclusion of the article is presented without comment, turning it into a plea: We, Romanians, have achieved the desired goal without worries and sterile struggles, but our Dacian-Latin superior intelligence showed us that cremation is a social need and we have accepted it with deep understanding, as a few millennia ago our ancestors also practiced it. We, the Romanians, have to get there, to be told as the Romans were told too, that they are the classic country for cremation. The Romanian should be a dignified and brave follower of the Dacian-Romans, in language, culture and customs. (Popovici 1940b, 2)

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This article is significant due to the fact that it argues for cremation by direct reference to certain ancient (and barbaric) practices, something totally rejected in anti-cremation rhetoric. Reprinting pro-cremation texts published in other newspapers of that time was common practice. A first example is an article published in 1937 by Mircea H. Cornea (Cornea 1937, 3–4). The article is written in a personal, confessional style, and it shows the change in the author’s perception of cremation after a visit to Cenuúa. The author had refused a friend’s invitation to attend a cremation, motivating his gesture by reference to the pagan character of the practice, but, tormented by the name of the building (a human crematorium), he decided to visit it, and subsequently was deeply impressed by its aesthetics and utility. His guide during the visit was the Mosaic cantor of the crematorium, Em. Borinsky. Finally, acknowledging his original ignorance, Cornea cries out: Forgive me, my dear brother Ion-Ion! Forgive the offence that I have brought unconsciously to you – , it was not on purpose. I did not want to offend you. It was only an opinion expressed, but a chronicler of the daily events is not allowed to manifest it uncontrollably. (Cornea 1937, 4)

Such a stance is not unique, and is sometimes found in other forms in Flacăra Sacră. For example, a friend of Mihai Popovici had reported the personal history of several deaths in the family, by way of distinguishing between the ugliness of inhumation and the beauty of cremation. He notes many details of a pro-cremation character: the unkempt cemeteries, the superficiality of the inhumation religious service, the psychological and physical trauma produced by the event; and, conversely, the high degree of piety and closeness to God expressed through cremation (Popovici 1935e, 4). The conclusion reveals something about the author’s particular position. What I told above is the cause that made me, since my mother’s cremation, the most convinced member of the cremation society in my city. I will seek to show everyone the great superiority of cremation, because indeed only cremation is a solemn act gives the earth what belongs to the earth, and to God what is right. (Popovici 1935e, 4)

The use of the phrase “the cremation society in my city” is questionable and leads one to doubt the truthfulness of the confession, given that, except for Bucharest, there were no subsidiaries of the Cenuúa Society anywhere else in Romania. As Flacăra Sacră was a publication of the Cenuúa Society, it often included references to its activities; but they were not always presented in

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a positive way. Thus, in an issue from 1940, Zorca openly expresses his regret concerning criticisms made during a board meeting against those who were managing Flacăra Sacră. Unfortunately, Zorca does not detail these criticisms; he only says they were unfair. Still, the aid which came directly from the Cenuúa Society for the publication of Flacăra Sacră was emphasised, being 20,000 lei in 1940. According to Zorca, this sum covered only half of the necessary costs; despite this, he did not feel discouraged, and claimed that the main reward for the work and activity of the publication in “the land where cremation was spread” came from the readers. Besides, it seems that this incident did not cause any lasting disgruntlement, but was only a stimulus for continuing the activity of the publication (Zorca 1936b, 2).

Tensions in the Cenuúa Society As already mentioned, the waters within the Cenuúa Society were by no means peaceful. There were well-known conflicts between Mihai Popovici, the secretary of the society, on the one hand, and Davidescu, Comănescu, Poenaru and Niculescu on the other. The accusations levelled at Popovici, accused of subjecting the society to his own whims, led to the organisation of many investigation committees. Popovici tried to exculpate himself, showing that there were no financial irregularities, and that any possible shortcomings in the running of the society were due to external factors. The most exotic charge that was brought to him was that he had deposited a part of the society’s money with the lottery (ACCU – a – Davidescu, Poenaru and Comănescu n.d., 2). Popovici acknowledged this fact, but excused himself, adding that he had done so with the consent of the president of the society – noting in particular that at that time the society had a debt of over five million lei. Furthermore, he said that the amount invested in the ticket had been won back, and so had not led to any damage (ACCU – a – Popovici n.d., 9). At the end of the inter-war period, Davidescu drafted a plan for the development of the Cenuúa Society and for cremation in Romania (ACCU – a – Davidescu n.d., 1–6). Firstly, he suggested a reduction of the duties performed by the secretary, who was no longer to be a member of the Board of Administration of the society, and the position was to be made temporary. The target was obviously Mihai Popovici. Davidescu also proposed that future propaganda by the society had to be made through agents and not by publishing brochures and other publications. Further, he called for the urgent commencement of works on the area around the crematorium in order to transform it in a park. The strong impression left

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on visitors would be the best advertisement for the development of cremation. Davidescu also stressed that the crematorium itself had to be modernised by building a room where families could receive the urns. This would be called the “room of life,” and would “be decorated with the most beautiful and perfect examples of arts, sculpture and poetry that human genius has produced, along with powerful thoughts in music and architecture” (ACCU – a – Davidescu n.d., 4). But Davidescu’s most interesting proposal was that the Cenuúa Society should advocate the transfer of burial arrangements to the municipal authority. This meant that city residents would pay an annual contribution to Bucharest City Hall, depending on their income, and then, at death, on account of this contribution, city hall would be in charge of their funeral. Davidescu believed that, in this way, city hall would provide an annual grant for the Cenuúa Society (which would ensure the incineration of about 10,000 dead persons annually) (ACCU – a – Davidescu n.d., 6). The greatest tensions within the society were between Mihai Popovici, Gheorghe Poenaru and Captain I. Niculescu. It is remarkable that the latter two did not publish any articles in Flacăra Sacră, although they were committed cremationists. Perhaps it was the conflict with Popovici that caused them to adopt such a stance. These tensions had led to mutual insults and legal actions (ACCU – a – Niculescu n.d., 1), and on several occasions those involved were only a hair’s-breadth away from physical violence (ACCU – a – Popovici n.d., 1–2). Popovici’s detractors resorted to anonymous letters sent to other members, in which they accused him of illegal businesses and for having enriched himself from the money from city hall and the society (X 1935, 1–2). The two drew attention, and rightly so, to the fact that at a certain time the minutes of the Board of Directors had no legal standing, being only in draft form. Another charge was that Popovici had the tendency to inflate the prices of works. They asked that Popovici be removed from the management of the society until all these things had been clarified (ACCU – a – Poenaru; Niculescu 1934, 1–2). Popovici in turn accused his detractors of lacking the moral standing to criticise him, because they had not been active in the cremation movement during the difficult early years (ACCU – a – Popovici n.d., 3). Popovici’s systematic refusal to consider the Ludwig Wolkman cremation system suggested by Davidescu caused permanent dissent between them. A report regarding Popovici’s work drafted by Davidescu and sent to the society in 1935 is relevant here (ACCU – a – Davidescu 1935, 1–5). Popovici was charged that although new cremation fees had been voted for, he was still using the old ones. Moreover he had not considered that further price reductions for burning bodies would not be the best pro-cremation

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argument. Other complaints were Popovici’s lack of attendance at the crematorium when certain ceremonies were held, the arbitrary character of the payment of debts, the inflated prices (which were in his own interest), and his lack of real knowledge regarding cremation, where the latter had led to the incorrect dimensions of the chapel in the crematorium and the associated halls. Popovici was also accused of having committed basic mistakes such as selling certain niches in the columbarium twice. This affected the prestige of the society. He was also accused of not keeping a proper list of the active members of the society (Davidescu showed that, in 1933, there were fictitious names present on the list, and that the number of 520 persons cited as members was in reality only 300; Davidescu also signalled that he had joined the society as a member in 1928 but was recorded only in 1929, and that Popovici had arbitrarily adopted certain supporters of cremation as members). In reaction to these scandals, several attempts were made to pour oil on troubled waters within the meetings of the Board of Directors: Mr. Ionescu Boancă, a lawyer, says it is unfortunate that while we have so many cremation enemies, there are members who seek to produce misunderstandings and insinuations found also within the Council. This puts at stake the very good name and reliability of the institution itself. (ACCU – a – Proces 1934, 2)

It is relevant that these scandals are not represented at all within Flacăra Sacră. Certainly this was part of the strategy of the cremation movement in Romania not to make its internal problems public, a matter that would have affected its credibility. The calls made by Cenuúa to include new members were published in Flacăra Sacră. Such a call was published, for example, in February 1937, and its propagandistic message is evident. The idea emphasised was that as a member of the society, one would avoid the worries related to burial. The amount of money to be paid by the members was insignificant. The members of the society were urged to convince their relatives and families of its benefits. Since it was a propagandistic message, the tone was bombastic, emphasising the lofty goals of the society. The economic argument was decisive: it is the only Romanian organisation, which for a minimum price and easily payable, takes away all the family’s concerns in need. So, he who wants to save his family’s expenses for a dignified and pious cremation, should immediately seek his and his family’s subscription in Cenuúa Society. (De la 1937, 7)

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The Cenuúa Society’s call was also important in that it gave clarifications regarding the criteria for becoming a member. Its tactics of persuasion are not subtle: If someone wants to join this society, this does not mean he wants to die or that he foresees death. Death comes without being called when the time has come. It means that he is a superior man, who looks reality in the face and is aware and does not want that out of animal selfishness he should leave to his family, in addition to the pain of the disappearance, also the concern for the multiple expenses a burial involves. Therefore, one defends the family after death, from the needs and concerns, by joining the Cenuúa Society. (De la 1937, 7)

The call for new members is completed by the inclusion of a section of the Articles of Association of the Cenuúa Society. The fragment included the categories of members, the subscriptions based on age and what these amounts covered in the case of death (Extras 1937, 7). It was stated that the Cenuúa Society was not a religious or political association, and that it had not been established for the benefit of individuals, but was an institution of public utility that made no confessional distinctions, due to the equality of all individuals facing death. Some of the articles published put this call into practice. C. Comănescu, for example, dealt with the subject in May 1937. As a starting point, he took statements regarding the inevitability of death and the debts that “the survivors” had towards the dead (Comănescu 1937b, 4–5). But this duty was to be addressed with caution, due to the expenses expected, and the unknown time of death. The author’s own position emerged when he commented that these problems were solved through the Cenuúa Society and the existence of the human crematorium in Bucharest. Cremation was free for the members of the society, thus any inconvenience disappeared. All these had proved their validity by the fact that there were no religious “reasons” prohibiting the practice and that the elite of the time was supportive of it. According to Comănescu, the difference between inhumation and cremation consisted also in small things. Thus, in the latter case, the honour of the dead could not be violated (the example of inhumations was invoked, when the participants trampled on the graves or, when raining, the pits were transformed into mud). Other advantages were those of almsgiving, which could be organised inside the crematorium for those cremated there, and the superior care of the remnants of the dead deposited in the columbarium. In the case of the “rest” in the graves, these were abandoned over time. The crisis in the cemeteries in Bucharest and the fact that the Cenuúa Society

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was conveniently solving the problems related to the transportation of the corpses, with its own hearse, were presented as other pro-cremation arguments. The increase in the number of its members determined the society to try to expand its range of activities. At a certain point, the suggestion was raised that the monthly fees be increased. In this way, the sums would not only cover the costs of cremation, but also all the costs assumed by the event of death: paying for the doctor, medicines, hospitalisation, mourning clothes and other various expenses. The Cenuúa Society thus sought to turn itself into a mutual aid society in case of death. To implement this idea a plebiscite of society members was organised (Este 1936, 6), and the suggestion, as an idea to be implemented for trial, was raised by Grigore Trancu-Iaúiat the general meeting of the Cenuúa Society in 1938. TrancuIaúiat believed that to extend the range of activities of the society, it was also necessary to provide cash aid for the families of Cenuúa Society members in case of death. This was between 5,000 and 20,000 lei (A XV-a 1938, 5). The proposal was accepted, and was to be regulated by the Board. Another initiative was proposed by another Cenuúa member from Roman, who suggested an increase in the annual fee so that it could cover the hearse transportation costs to Bucharest, for those who came from the country to be cremated in Bucharest (Adunarea 1938, 5). Despite the fact that the magazine and the cremationists both denied that they had any connection with politics, there were reactions to certain public events in the pages of Flacăra Sacră. For example, the territorial concessions to which Romania was subjected in 1940 elicited a reaction from the cremationists. This is the case for an editorial published by Zorca in July 1940 (Zorca 1940, 1–2). The tone adopted is expository, as the author tried to explain what had happened. A profile of a soul in pain was provided – a soul that had been hardened by the many trials it had undergone throughout history. Despite the tolerance that Zorca attributed to the Romanians, heroism and the heroic death were another feature they possessed. The changes to the Romanian territories without a fight were explained by Charles II’s balanced thinking. He did not overlook the enemy inside the country, which was far more dangerous than the external one, and the article claimed that the formula of heroic death could always be activated if the fatherland required it. Secondly, it is worth mentioning that nowhere in this article was cremation mentioned; the message was meant to be a consolation for the blow that had been struck against the Romanian people. Another event that was dealt with by the magazine, without explicit political connotations, was the death of Queen Mary. The specific message

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which the magazine tried to convey is not relevant here, but another issue is important. The hearse of the Cenuúa Society was used to transport the queen’s body, and the memorial article published in Flacăra Sacră included a photo of this vehicle – quite a propaganda coup (Regina 1938, 1–2). Popp ùerboianu’s article from June 1937 may be regarded in a similar way. The article glorified the unknown soldier, considered an archangel of the Romanian nation and the embodiment of all the country’s inhabitants and ideals (ùerboianu 1937c, 1–2). The lower costs of cremation compared with burial were invoked in a 1939 article by Zorca (Zorca 1939, 2). A first class cremation would cost 10,500 lei; a second class one 7,100 lei; and a third class one (for needy families) 5,100. The fees for inhumation charged by the undertakers were far higher: first class between 26,625 and 36,625 lei; second class 14,125– 20,125 lei; third class 7,125–8,125 lei. Moreover, the profit from inhumation was entirely the undertakers’, while in the case of cremation the profit was reinvested by the Cenuúa Society (Zorca 1939, 2).

Overseas cooperation The participation of Romanian cremationists in overseas congresses was also a theme dealt with by Flacăra Sacră. It was natural that this should happen, because such participations assured the transparency of the movement in Romania, both internationally and nationally. However, as Lewis Mates has noticed, Romanian cremationists were perceived at the 1936 Congress in Prague as pioneers of the practice in south-eastern Europe (Mates 2005, 364). This was because none of the neighbouring countries, except the Soviet Union, had crematoria, even though in some cases, such as Yugoslavia, cremation societies had been established much earlier than in Romania. A summary of the report presented by Mihai Popovici at this congress can found in the analysis provided by the British scholar. According to him, Popovici had emphasised the difficulties the practice had met with in Romania and reported the misconceptions by which it was surrounded. The rumours had had a negative impact, and had included the idea that the Cenuúa Society was buying dead bodies for cremation or that it was performing cremation for free in order to win new supporters. Popovici highlighted the low number of members of the Cenuúa Society, and said that he could not find a reasonable explanation for this fact. In those circumstances, according to Mates, Popovici felt frustrated, although he sincerely believed in the development of the practice in Romania (Mates 2005, 365). Reading between the lines of Popovici’s speech, Mates suggests that the support given by Bucharest

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City Hall in building the crematorium had been minimal. Although city hall had avoided the subject, Popovici believed that it was its moral duty to support the practice in the future. The conclusion Mates drew from this report was that, in general, the Romanian cremationists had acted more on their own, compared to what had happened in Hungary, and later in Yugoslavia. This statement should be accepted only with qualifications, as the involvement of the municipal authorities in implementing cremation in Romania had in fact been decisive – four of the former mayors of the city had supported this idea. City hall had also supported the building of the crematorium financially, although most of the funds had been provided through the efforts of the Cenuúa Society. Further, if we consider the whole Orthodox opposition to cremation at that time, it is unlikely that the Cenuúa Society would have been able to turn this into reality without direct support from Bucharest City Hall. The Bucharest administration had an immediate interest in the building of the crematorium, but this cannot be considered decisive in implementing cremation. This last issue was used by Mencel, the Czech delegate at the Congress, to reproach the Romanian cremationists; but in response Popovici argued that such “administrative cremations” were vital for the survival of the building and the practice in Romania at that time (Mates 2005, 367). The participants at the congress decided to meet in 1937, in London (Davies, Kent and Keizer 2005, xxvi–xxvii), but Romania could not be present at this event. The fact was announced in Flacăra Sacră, and the absence explained – the lack of funds. Popovici’s speech was delivered by post and discussed in absentia, and the Cenuúa Society sent a telegram on the occasion of the opening of the congress, wishing it success “for the progress of the noble idea of cremation, the universal work of brotherhood.” According to Flacăra Sacră, the absence of the delegate representing the Romanian cremation movement, who had attended all the other congresses, produced unanimous regret (Diverse 1937, 5). In terms of the evolution of the cremation movement worldwide, the congress held between 24 September and 2 October 1937 had a special significance, because International Cremation Federation was founded, having as its first president the Czech representative Fr. Mencel. The objectives of the federation were also set out on this occasion: (1) the spread of the idea of the superiority of cremation over inhumation, from hygienic, aesthetic, economic and ethical points of view; (2) the removal of the barriers for the transportation of corpses from one state to another for cremation; (3) sharing the experience of good techniques of cremation; (4) better development of the relations between cremationists; (5)

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supporting all the members, either individually or collectively; (6) encouraging the publication of cremation-related literature; (7) holding international congresses, and organising an office for the secretariat of the federation (Davies, Kent and Keizer 2005, xxvi–xxvii). Romania did not become a member of the Federation at the congress but only later, probably due to Mihai Popovici’s absence from London. The speech he would have delivered was published in Flacăra Sacră in the issue of August 1937 (Popovici 1937b, 2–3). His speech also emphasised the idea of an International Cremation Federation, which he called the “Universal Cooperation of Cremation.” Its aim was the development of cremationist ideas within those Orthodox and Catholic countries which still rejected the idea. Popovici called into question the idea that cremationists were Freemasons, citing by way of example the Cenuúa Society, which included diverse religious confessions. But the fundamental role of this federation was, in his view, to be a creative one, given that in many states of the world, crematoria were practically and aesthetically incomplete, and that this more easily allowed them to be identified as anti-Christian establishments. On the other hand, the federation had to coordinate the cremation movement by facilitating the construction and functioning of crematoria according to the same set of unitary norms, called by Popovici “the unitary laws for cremation” (Popovici 1937b, 3). Popovici showed that the existence of an international forum for cremation should permit the avoidance of unfortunate situations such as those that had occurred in Debrecen and in Luxembourg. The example of the Romanian cremationists was again invoked. They had begun their action in 1923, he said, with £6.25, and after fifteen years’ work have “a monumental crematorium, with a temple’s architecture, where a solemn and religious act is practiced” (Popovici 1937b, 3). Popovici’s observations regarding the future financial balance of the federation are very significant. Each member state of the federation had to pay a subscription corresponding to the number of members the cremation societies from those countries had. The money should be sent twice a year, in January and in July. The federation had to capitalise twenty percent of its revenue, in order to create a loan fund for the construction of new crematoria. In Popovici’s opinion, this federation had to be “a living organism, an animating guide for the victorious course of universal cremation” (Popovici 1937b, 3). Its management would include the pioneers of cremation from that time. Popovici concluded his article in an idealistic mode, dreaming of an international federation of cremation as a universal union of all world states. Such an organisation would pursue

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only the public interest, achieved by “raising” the level of public hygiene and achieving cremation’s “harmonisation” with traditions and with religious, political and social requirements. The beneficial results of the London Congress were published by Popovici in Flacăra Sacră, taking as a preamble the speech of the Lord Bishop of Birmingham (Popovici 1938a, 3–5). In Popovici’s opinion, what had been achieved in London was the climax of the ideas previously expressed especially at the Düsseldorf Congress (1926) and in Prague in 1936. Popovici also took part in smaller-scale cremation congresses such as that in Gotha in 1937, occasioned by the anniversary of the Grossdeutschen Verband der Feuerbestattungsvereine, to which the Cenuúa Society had been invited (Popovici 1937a, 6). His speech there was a greeting addressed to the congress and a brief overview of the development of the cremation movement in Romania. Three issues seem essential in this speech. The first of these concerns the fact that the greeting Popovici addressed to the congress was made not only on his own behalf (in passing, we learn that the engineer had studied in Germany, thirty years earlier), but also on behalf of the Ministry of Health, led by Ion Costinescu, who was also the chairman of the Cenuúa Society as well as the General Mayor of Bucharest. The second remarkable aspect of the speech was the insertion of the idea of cremation as a means of twinning the peoples of the world. This was exemplified by Popovici through the cases of the urns from Cenuúa which were sent to families of the deceased from other countries, and through the burning of the corpses belonging to all denominations. In this connection, Popovici praised the activities of the German cremationists. Such normal etiquette takes on a different cast, and highlights the third important aspect of Popovici’s speech at Gotha, when one recalls the identity of the German political leaders of the time – referred to in laudatory terms – namely the Nazis, led by Adolf Hitler: “Let us hail together: long live the modern Germany and its leader!” (Popovici 1937a, 6). The worldwide cremation movement occupied a significant space in Flacăra Sacră. It appeared either in independent articles or in the news in brief column. The theme was important, as it was a demonstration of the success the movement had worldwide, which in turn entailed greater support for the Romanian cremationists’ activity. From this perspective, it should not be surprising that an article signed by the future first president of the International Cremation Federation, the Czech engineer Fr. Mencel, was published in the magazine. An overview of cremation in Europe was

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provided in April 1935 by Popovici (Popovici 1935f, 6–7), and here he indicates the sources used in his article – a work by Mencel published in Phoenix magazine. The table reproduced by Popovici on the development of cremation in Europe provides essential information. Popovici provided supplementary information at the end of the article, showing that 2,809 corpses had been burnt at Cenuúa up until 1934, when 1,200 “remnants from dissection from the Faculty of Medicine” were added (Popovici 1935f, 7). Although the USSR had a negative image in inter-war Romanian newspapers, the cremation activity carried out by the Soviet Union often appeared in positive terms, since it afforded further opportunity for procremation propaganda. This is the case for at least two laudatory articles from Flacăra Sacră on the activity of the Moscow crematorium. But the most significant account of the Soviet case and its relation with cremation can be found in the writings of Alexandru Sahia. In the Soviet Union reports book of 1935, the subject is addressed in the description of a funeral which Sahia had witnessed. The event happened in Moscow, where he had noticed a funeral procession seeing off a young dead person to the cemetery. The group consisted of seven people, including the deceased’s parents. The convoy was led by a six-year-old girl holding a small icon. Sahia’s curiosity was stirred by the fact that the priest was missing, and yet the procession was using a Christian symbol. After describing the convoy in detail, the author emphasises what he calls “the fight between two generations” (Sahia 1960, 197): two priests came out from the church on the way to the cemetery, having prepared all the necessary things for the funeral ceremony, but kept their distance from the convoy, “waiting to be called.” After the parents of the deceased called the priests, one of his brothers exclaimed: –Citizens, my brother was a Communist and will be buried without a priest. –No, Vasia is my son, I gave birth to him, I raised him and I bury him as it should. –Yes, only that Vasia asked to be burned and you have brought him here. –Citizens, speaks another young man addressing the priests, I thought things had been clear. The dead had to be incinerated, but this was not done because of the parents’ opposition. We decided for him to be buried in the cemetery, but without a priest. Please! (Sahia 1960, 200– 201)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Austria Great Britain Belgium Czechoslovakia Denmark Switzerland France Finland Germany Italy Norway Holland Romania Sweden Hungary USSR

Country

1918 1885 1933 1918 1893 1889 1889 1926 1878 1876 1907 1914 1928 1887 1932 1927

First crematorium Reichenberg Woking Brussels Reichenberg Copenhagen Zurich Paris Helringfars Gotha Milan Gergen Velscu Bucharest Stockholm Debrecen Moscow

Location

Table 4-18 The development of cremation in Europe

5 24 1 11 11 20 6 1 109 36 5 1 1 10 1 1

5 25 1 12 12 20 6 1 111 36 5 1 1 10 1 1

3,849 7,480 29 5,293 2,072 6,135 1,276 292 66,148 300 1,610 636 580 1,916 0 9056

# crem. # crem. # cremations 1933 1934 1933

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770 312 29 481 246 307 213 292 607 28 322 636 580 191 0 9056

Crematoria average

Inhabitants per no. cremations 1,344,500 1,965,600 8,060,000 1,227,000 295,000 200,400 6,973,000 3,634,000 584,600 1,143,000 561,900 7,832,000 18,791,637 612,000 8,684,000 114,801,000

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Sahia showed that the priests had served at this funeral, at the request of the parents, and despite the contempt expressed by the younger generation. But the main force of this description came from the connection Sahia evoked between the “world’s” model of death and burial, and that of the “new man” imposed by the Bolshevik paradigm. The author drew a line between the Orthodox and the Communist burial styles. The latter had another type of funeral meaning: a big truck, decorated in red, is with a coffin, also dressed in red. It advances quickly, with workmen and workwomen on it or suspended on the stairs. Behind, the factory fellows arranged in a marching column, with military music in front. This image with the red flag over the truck, with the workers near the coffin in blue shirts and standing up, no longer refers to the sinister idea of death. It seems to be a world which, full of confidence, leaves to fight with life. (Sahia 1960, 203)

This is a model that is also to be found in the early Communist period in Romania.

Czechoslovakia Out of all the European countries, Czechoslovakia receives the greatest degree of appreciation for its cremation activities in Flacăra Sacră magazine. It was held up as a model for Romanian practice. In Czechoslovakia the practice was implemented despite the Roman Catholic Church’s opposition. Twelve crematoria were functioning there in 1935, and figures for cremation increased between 1934 to 1935 by approximately 8% (from 5,276 cremations in 1934 to 5,692 in 1935) (Desfăúurarea 1936, 4). In 1936 a further increase of 3.3% was registered (5,881 in 1936). But the main information was that in a small town of this country, Semily, with only 3,500 inhabitants, the construction of the thirteenth Czechoslovakian crematorium had begun. The report said that six of the crematoria were using coke, five coal gas, one oil, and the one in Semily was to be electric (Desfăúurarea 1937, 3).

Other international contributions The attention paid to the inter-war cremation movement in Flacăra Sacră caused the insertion of descriptions of the state of affairs in other countries. Special attention was given to France (Zorca 1936c, 4–6), and it should not come as a surprise that some of interventions of Gustav Barrier, the greatest French cremationist of that time (Mates 2005, 89), were

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published in the magazine (Barrier 1935a, 6–7; 1935b, 4–5). The largest number of articles signed by a foreign cremationist in the magazine belonged to the engineer Quido Bartel. These referred to cremation issues in the USSR, and also to the operation of the incinerators already running (Bartel 1935, 2–4; 1935b, 4–5; 1935c, 5–7). The magazine also dealt with the situations in Germany (Popovici 1937c, 2–4; 1938b, 5), Austria (Jordan 1939, 3–4), Switzerland (Zorca 1937b, 5–6), Sweden (Ovden 1939, 3–4), England (Popovici 1937d, 5), and in even more exotic locations such as Luxembourg (Daubenfeld 1939, 1–2), Japan (Popovici 1936d, 3–7) or China (Wu 1937, 5). The evolution of the cremation movement in Yugoslavia was also the subject of particularly extensive articles in the magazine. This fact is explained by its geographical proximity, but also by the similarities of the situation from a religious viewpoint (i.e. the struggle with Orthodoxy). Popovici saw in the activity of the Oganj Society a “heroic struggle” faced with the Orthodox attitude against cremation, which he confessed to find incomprehensible (Popovici 1936e, 6). Some of the articles written by Romanian cremationists were published by the Oganj Society, and vice versa. This showed that they had a good collaboration, and they called themselves “brothers of bright ideas” (Gjorgjecivi 1935, 1–2; Vidojhovici 1936, 3–5). Information about Greece was also included in the same category, although it was less prominent than in the Yugoslavian case. For example, the Synod of the Orthodox Church in Greece was criticised for rejecting cremation, although it had won many adherents. The criticism centred on the idea of the gap between this decision and the reality of cremation (“we would have no objection to the Holy Synod of the Greek church, if it did this before, around 1872, when the first crematorium in Milan was established”) (Deculeanu 1938, 6). It is, however, surprising that references to Italy are almost totally missing in the context of discussions of the evolution of cremation in Europe. This can be explained by the situation then existing in the peninsula. In this context, we may note information included in the news in brief section of a 1938 edition of the magazine, stating that 500 bodies had been incinerated in Italian crematoria in 1936 (Diverse 1938b, 6). This was a small number, and rather surprising given the wealth of references to the peninsular area presented in Romania in the second half of the nineteenth century, when Italy had played the role of model. Information about the evolution of cremation in other areas, not only European, was also present. According to the Romanian cremationists, this confirmed the triumphal progress of the practice globally (Zorca 1938b, 4–

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5). Moreover, various cremation propagandist activities from that time were presented, and were the subject of articles in several issues of the publication in 1938 (Zorca 1938c, 4–5, 5–6). The collaboration between Romanian cremationists and European ones was also achieved by appointing some of the leading figures of the interwar cremation movement as honorary members of the Cenuúa Society. This was the case for Oskar Siedek (Comemorarea 1936, 6–7), chairman of the Flamma Society in Austria (De la 1935, 8), and Gustav Schylter, one of the most important Swedish cremationists (Popovici 1935d, 6–7). The evolution of cremation worldwide was the theme of every special issue dedicated to the reports of the Cenuúa Society, and the information presented in these articles facilitates the contextualisation of the movement in Romania. Various statistics were presented in order to encourage the efforts of the Romanian cremationists. Generally, the data was taken from the French cremationists’ magazines and from the British publication Pharos. This collaboration with European cremationist magazines led to the shaping of a common “battlefront.” This can be seen clearly with respect to the actions of the Austrian magazine Phoenix regarding the overt denigration of the practice in Romania. The criticism had been published in a newspaper from Linz in 1936. Accusations were made against a forensic doctor from Chiúinău named Petre Mihailovici, and the crematorium there: Mihailovici was accused of having sold corpses for cremation to students, physicians and the Institute of Anatomy in Iaúi. The claim was categorically denied in Flacăra Sacră. The magazine explained that there was no crematorium in Chiúinău, that the transport costs to Bucharest were too high, and that Mihailovici did not run any institution where the dead are burned. Phoenix was thanked for reporting the article (Popovici 1937e, 4–5), and it was noted that newspapers in Austria, Switzerland and Czechoslovakia had passed on the news, “to disturb as little as possible the glorious evolution of cremation” (Popovici 1936f, 7). The case of Paul RomaniĠeanu from 1937 can also be included in the category of denying certain statements related to cremation (Diverse 1938, 6). Thus, on the front page of Capitala de Seară newspaper of 25 July 1937, it was reported that a man’s will had been forged in which he requested cremation. The family had informed the Prosecutor’s Office and opted for burial, depositing the corpse at the crematorium. The institution had opposed this move, thus causing a scandal. Flacăra Sacră claimed that the story was a distortion plotted by “the enemies of the Cenuúa Society, jealous of its deserved evolution,” and said that the deceased’s family had not even been to the crematorium. Furthermore, the Cenuúa

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Society had itself transported the corpse to the cemetery, with its own hearse (Diverse 1938, 6). The same institution opened a competition for a five word inscription to be placed on the front of Cenuúa Crematorium. The advertisement for the contest was published in May 1937. The aim was that everything happening at the crematorium should respect ethical and religious traditions, synthesising the philosophical images of both life and death (Flacăra 1937, 5). According to Flacăra Sacră, the competition was very popular, and its closing date was put back two months from that which had been scheduled. The most significant proposals included in the publication were: Purified by fire in eternity; The Fire: The origin and end of existence; Death equalises what life divides; On the way to you, Lord!; Here ends any pain; Beyond life through the grandeur of fire; and The soul flies and the matter disappears (Concursul 1937, 5). The Cenuúa Society’s Golden Book was also a source of propaganda, and passages from it were published periodically. It is interesting to note the names of some of those who signed it, expressing their admiration for cremation and for the crematorium in Bucharest: Professor Ion Voineúti, the journalist Ygrec, the sculptor Mac Constantinescu, the journalist Clarnet, Nicolae Minovici, the journalist Emil Ciuceanu (Din Cartea 1938a, 4–5), Hagiu, and the priest Ion ùerboianu (father of Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu) (Din Cartea 1938b, 8). The cremation propaganda from Flacăra Sacră also took on poetic forms. Thus, in 1936 Tristana published a poem entitled To the Crematorium. The literary value of this poem is low; but it is significant due to its message – cremation as the gate for passing into another world and towards divinity. The crematorium calls me With “its austere fire” To descend as hurriedly, In a world of mystery! The burning flame! And my ashes … in the wind! Will it set me free from the prison Of the very sinister grave … From this futile world Turning back in Nirvana, I will start a new life … More beautiful, more serene … Air, Space and Light; Plants, fragrant flowers; Not in the grave’s mud

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Following a decision of the Cenuúa Society’s Board of Directors, it was decided to pay the authors of the articles published in Flacăra Sacră. This was meant as a direct stimulus both for the impact of the magazine, and of its followers and supporters. Sometimes the calls to the society’s members were even more direct than this: for example, in 1938 the members were encouraged to promote their cremation ideas in their homes and social environments. More specifically, if each member brought another, thus fulfilling an assumed duty of honour, in a short time the society would exceed 10,000 members, acting under the motto “all for one and one for all” (Flacăra 1938, 8). Such calls became more radical towards the end of the inter-war period. Thus, in 1939 Flacăra Sacră published a request to all society members, to cremation’s followers and “to all those who want progress, civilisation and piety” (De la 1939a, 7). Emphasising the merits of the society during its seventeen years of existence, which had led to the accumulation “of over 30 million lei” (including the crematorium building, the land and facilities), help was now sought with respect to extending and improving the entire compound. In order to build “a monumental urn hall” (De la 1939, 7), plus the park, a loan was requested from those interested in the development of cremation. It was very clearly explained that the works would amount to about 5 million lei, but the Society had only 1.1 million. In the event of a loan, interest of 6% was to be paid, and the amount was to be refunded to the family in the case that the person lending the money to the society should die. It was specified that the amount loaned could not be less than 2,000 lei and that it was to be returned in the shortest time. The call was published for the first time in the June 1939 issue of the magazine, with the first persons to lend money to the society being Mihai Popovici and the journalist V. MehedinĠeanu (De la 1938, 7).

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The call was presented also in the following issues of the magazine, with the number of those who had lent to the society increasing to fourteen by November 1939. The last of them was Popp ùerboianu, with a loan of 10,000 lei (De la 1939b, 7). The publication of obituaries of persons who had been cremated had begun early in Flacăra Sacră. Without this being a constant rule, the obituaries generally included information that was helpful for the expansion of the practice. Most of the time they stated that the cremation had been preceded by a religious ceremony, and sometimes the name of the one who had performed the religious funeral service was mentioned: “The Cenuúa Society announces the death of one of its oldest members, Dimitrie Iamandi. The religious service was performed by Archimandrite C[alinic] I. P[opp] ùerboianu and the cremation took place in the Crematorium chapel, on February 26th, 1935” (Flacăra 1935a, 8). But these obituaries were not published only in the case of death and cremation of Cenuúa Society members. They could be published in honour of any incinerated person, as was the case for Dr. ùtefan Cerkez, whose cremation, followed by a religious service performed by “the Armenian priest and the priest from the crematorium,” was announced by the family (Flacăra 1935a, 8). In fact, these obituaries were also a means of propaganda, because inserting the episode in which the deceased had been religiously “assisted” (Flacăra 1935b, 8) was a means of influencing the public. In this context, it is significant that the annual commemorations held in the crematorium chapel were mentioned, along with the memorial services organised every Saturday. They were celebrated by Popp ùerboianu (A XV 1938, 4). Besides the memorial services covered by the families, the magazine also emphasised that the Cenuúa Society organised a common requiem, annually on All Souls’ Day (Comănescu 1939, 4). The presence in the newspaper of articles dealing with life, death and the human condition was not accidental, but was in fact closely related to the core themes of Flacăra Sacră. Thus it tried to develop a rhetoric emphasising the pedagogy of death. The subject was dealt with by V. I. Zorca (Zorca 1935d, 2–3), who presented the benefits of reflection upon death, which raised the individual to a higher level of understanding. According to him, reflecting on death – “a logical and natural event” – could cause an alleviation of pain. The result would naturally be “the formation of a brave and realist spiritual concept.” The paper also published several articles written by C. Comănescu which openly dealt with suicide (Comănescu 1935d, 5–6). He analysed this in a lucid fashion, establishing a typology of cases: as an incomprehensible mystery, a situation in which “life could no longer be

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lived in all its depth and dignity” (Comănescu 1935d, 5–6), or based on selfish reasons. According to Comănescu, this act could be performed for unselfish reasons, the Japanese case being invoked in this respect. Thus, suicide could be accepted if it was done to assert a higher purpose or “to give a greater strength to the despised, but permanent interests of mankind.” The suicides “accepted” were those determined by insanity or incurable diseases, but the suicides of youth were condemned as being caused by a “passing trouble” (Comănescu 1935d, 5–6). The persuasive tone he adopted also derives from the attempt to create a certain state of mind which was able to accept the realities of cremation. Thus, in addition to the articles mentioned, sometimes others were published dealing with the behaviour. Cremation, as a practice, was not even mentioned in these latter articles. For example, honesty was the subject of an article by the same C. Comănescu (Comănescu 1935e, 7–8). Without coming up with any original ideas on the topic, the article was a plea for honesty, considered a force, an opening of the heart, even if it also included a bit of selfishness. Comănescu urged his readers to open their souls to those who deserved it, with care and love. Present unnamed in the background is again the idea of cremation, also as an expression of honesty. Reflection on the world and life, here with direct reference to the subject of cremation, was also developed on the pretext of some articles dealing with the end of the world or with the nothingness of existence. In the former case the logic was simple: if the world were to be destroyed by fire, the cremationists saw themselves, through their power of thinking, as responding to the predestination rooted in divine omnipotence (Zorca 1936c, 4). In the latter case, the article developed the idea of infinity as the mirror of God, and of the lack of significance of a particular human life, adding that in front of such truths, rejecting cremation was nonsense (Comănescu 1936c, 5). The publication of Flacăra Sacră did not trigger, as might have been expected, a new and furious campaign by the Orthodox newspapers against it and its followers. Although it did not pass unnoticed, the attacks from Glasul Monahilor did not reach the same pitch as that which attended the opening of the crematorium. Of course, as we shall see, the vehement rejection of the practice was sustained in Glasul Monahilor and other such publications. But the fact that we do not see a new avalanche of articles, as in 1928, calls for explanation. I do not think that the Romanian Orthodox milieu was characterised by a spirit of compromise. More pertinent is the concrete fact that there were no decisions by the higher Orthodox authorities to amend the provisions of 1928 or 1933, with one exception.

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This exception is a regional decision taken in 1943, when Veniamin, the Orthodox bishop of Caransebeú, sent an “official notice” to all his subordinate parishes drawing attention to the fact that a Bucharest priest had been defrocked for having performed religious services at the Crematorium. It was specified that those who accept the burning at the crematorium have to realise that defrocked priests, namely simple laymen, will minister for them. We also remind them that our Orthodox Church refuses even the memorial services asked eventually by their relatives to those burned in a pagan way. (Veniamin 1943, 8)

In my view, this quotation highlights two things. The first concerns what we have already identified as existing in potential before the first publication of Flacăra Sacră – that the Orthodox milieu would get used to the practice of cremation. Although it did not go as far as accepting the practice, it adopted a stance in which its existence was accepted, though challenged. The second issue concerns certain sense of resignation dictated by the conditions outlined above. The issue was especially relevant since, beginning with December 1934, the Orthodox milieu rejecting the practice would theoretically have had an opponent which used the same weapon in the fight. But all these elements did not entail that the waters had become still, because, as we shall see as we go through Flacăra Sacră, “the reserve forces” of cremation’s detractors in Romania were still active and noisily manifesting. The first issue of Flacăra Sacră was received in Glasul Monahilor by an informative note in the issue of 9 December 1934 (InformaĠiuni 1934, 4). Again, the cremationists were stigmatised, with the supposed failure of the crematorium said to have led to the search for another solution for spreading human cremation in Romania, thus to be carried out by Flacăra Sacră. It was called a new “devilish” work. The logo of the publication was ridiculed. It was considered proof of the cremationists’ hallucinations that on the frontispiece they had placed a dove on fire, instead of the devil! But Glasul Monahilor’s criticism of the first issue of Flacăra Sacră was really directed against Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu, who in the meantime had changed sides. The reaction against him in Glasul Monahilor would be very harsh. He was considered a “poor unfortunate” who had changed sides for “dosh.” He was “a poor unfortunate servant of Satan.” In order to expose him, two of his texts were presented in parallel: an anti-cremation text from 1910, resumed in 1928, and a pro-cremation one published in the first issue of Flacăra Sacră. The latter dealt with the relationship between cremation and religion (Pe două 1934, 4).

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However, the article in Glasul Monahilor in fact mentioned two monks, “two vagabonds who abandoned their monasticism to replace the gramophone of the furnace from Bellu hill” (Pe două 1934, 4). The second was Archimandrite Nifon Ianculescu. This situation was the subject of an article in Cronica Românilor, reprinted by Glasul Monahilor (Despre 1935, 4). It was mentioned that after the large subsidies that the Cenuúa Society had received from Bucharest City Hall for building the crematorium, as emphasised in Flacăra Sacră, the crematorium now housed a chapel “for religious services, of all denominations, held in neutral character.” Both ùerboianu and Nifon Ianculescu performed religious services in this chapel, both of them “unrestrained” by the higher bodies of the Romanian Orthodox Church, although by their gestures they turned into “heroes of the ecclesiastic anarchy” (Despre 1935, 4). A concise portrait of Archimandrite Ianculescu was included. He had distinguished himself when he was a priest in the diocese of Bogdana Monastery as he had introduced smoking, the phonograph, hunting and “a special way of satisfying the gypsy women of the Trotuú Valley” (Despre 1935, 4), deeds for which he had been investigated. The conclusion of the article adopted an ironic tone, calling on the superior forums of the Orthodox Church to hand Archimandrite Ianculescu’s file to the Cenuúa Society. In this way, they would understand who was giving them blessing for the journey to the other world. ùerboianu was also reconsidered, through a re-publication of the entirety of his article from 1910. The fact that he had performed religious services at the crematorium despite the Romanian Orthodox Church Synod’s decisions only proved his ignorance, and he had become a dangerous propagandist in the service of Satan (InconútienĠă 1935, 1–2). According to Glasul Monahilor, both ùerboianu and Ianculescu had been performing funeral services at Cenuúa even before the publication of Flacăra Sacră. Glasul Monahilor even included jokes at the two’s expense. This was presented as an imaginary dialogue between Popovici and Dionisie Lungu: Mr. Popovici: Hello, father Lungu. –Hello, Mr. Popovici, how are the two wicked monks, there is no longer news on them? –They are at the crematorium, and we actually have five in total. –As one can see, at the crematorium you host all that’s bad and stinky, both with the living, and with the dead. (InformaĠiuni 1934, 2)

Articles written by less important clerics and dedicated to the topic were not lacking in Glasul Monahilor once the publication of Flacăra Sacră had got underway. This was a continuation of the previous period

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and a demonstration of the broad support that still existed for the anticremation camp. Such was the case of a priest named C. BecuĠ, who lead the parish of Ciorogârla and was vehemently protesting against the fact that some priests had celebrated the religious funeral service for persons cremated who had belonged to his parish (giving as an example the cremation of a young lady) (BecuĠ 1936, 3). Open damnation was expressed. The priests were considered as weeds in wheat, traitors to the Mother Church and as sold to the evil spirit. Hell was their next destination: The ashmen say that fire purifies them and provides their salvation from evil, but instead the truth is that their souls will go into the fire. For they wanted fire since they were living, they gave their bodies to fire after death, and fire and burning they shall obtain in the eternal life. (BecuĠ 1936, 3)

From this perspective, I emphasise again that Glasul Monahilor was the main tribune which traditionalism had in its fight against cremationists. The fight against cremationists was a priority for Glasul Monahilor, along with defending the monasteries, action to establish the theological seminary of Cernica, the exposure of the Army of God, the fight against the radio broadcasting of the Liturgy, the campaigns over abortion or the battle to stop the construction of a swimming pool near Pasăre monastery (De la 1936, 7). One of the most relevant portraits of Dionisie Lungu, from a cremation perspective, is to be found in an article by Professor Al. Deculeanu in 1937 (Deculeanu 1937, 4). His article was a response to a series of new criticisms which Dionisie Lungu had made in Glasul Monahilor. He was accused of bad faith on the topic: His Holiness, as usual, blindfolds himself; shuts his ears well, not to hear anything; sends his reason for a walk by trams and hardens his heart, not to feel anything of what happens in this world. (Deculeanu 1937, 4)

To these faults is added ignorance, manifest in this case by “the drunkenness given by the legends and stories passed from mouth to mouth.” Thus Lungu does not even read what is written by the cremationists, he just disagrees with them sight unseen. In Deculeanu’s opinion, the priest was a “Werther of the Orthodox Church” (Deculeanu 1937, 4). It was once again specified that the crematorium was not a religious association, “but a settlement of hygiene and public sanitation, which has nothing to do with one’s religion or belief” (Deculeanu 1937, 4). The end of the article emphasised again the lack of realism of Lungu’s

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attitudes to cremation, and that his dream of being buried like Jesus Christ was an illusion. Very simple reasons were given in support of this: a tombstone would be necessary and, on the other hand, his body had to be embalmed and wrapped in shroud, a habit that had not existed in the Christian tradition for many years. Another criticism of Lungu can be found in an article signed by Mihai Popovici. Here he criticises him on the grounds that only a part of his reply had been published in Glasul Monahilor, thus distorting its meaning. Lungu was also accused of flagrantly violating the Ten Commandments, his faith in God being dirty, full of hatred and deceit (Popovici 1937f, 2). Anti-cremation reactions are recorded also in the Greek Catholic milieu at this stage, although they are very few in number. One of the longest of these articles was written by the Greek Catholic Nicolae Brânzeu and was published in an issue of Cultura Creútină magazine (Brânzeu 1937, 416–427). It is perhaps the clearest expression of an anticremation stance by the Greek Catholic milieu in the inter-war period. In terms of information and arguing of the pros and cons of cremation, the article did not bring anything new. A history of the topic was provided (divided into the history of burial from the beginning, cremation, cremation with Greeks and Romans, the Jews, the Barbarian peoples, neocremationism), as were the criticisms of cremation (Aesthetics, Economy, Hygiene), the stance of forensics on the topic, and some conclusions. The article emphasised the snobbery of the practice, manifest especially among the elite and the fact that, “ironically,” a religious service had been performed by Orthodox priests led by an archimandrite without a church. The stance in rejection of the practice both by the Romanian Orthodox Church and by the Catholic one was expressed. The emphasis was on a brief explanation of the Catholic stance concerning the matter. It was demonstrated that although there was no divine commandment that was infringed by cremation, it could not be accepted due to its dogmatic moral significance. The provisions of the Codex Juris Canonici were inserted, which condemned the practice: Canon 1203, which did not allow burning and provided for sanctions against any person who expressed in a will the desire for his body to be burned; Canon 1240, prohibiting inhumation of the ashes plus the penalty of defrocking for priests who performed religious services. It was thus pointed out that “the Church of Rome was the tireless and relentless guardian of the holy tradition” and was intransigent with all those who, by false pretences, sought “to deceive the naive in the name of progress and science” (Brânzeu 1937, 427). The same Greek Catholic priest had held a lecture, under the aegis of ASTRA, dedicated to the relationship between cremation and the Christian church

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in Lugoj, in 1932 (ConferinĠe 1933, 128). Sometimes, references to the topic appeared in the Greek-Catholic newspapers as short notices, which also expressed a stance. Such a case was recorded in April 1936 (Cenuúarii 1936, 247), which showed that about 3,277 corpses had been burned at Cenuúa up to then. There was a consistency between the stances in rejection of the practice adopted by the Greek Catholics and the Orthodox. This was evident throughout the whole inter-war period. Thus, in 1944, the same newspaper, Cultura Creútină, welcomed the stance expressed by the Romanian Orthodox Church on this matter (Măsură 1944, 108). Although Romania was a Christian country, some institutions, such as the crematorium in Bucharest, were acting against this fact, “under the state’s protection” (Măsură 1944, 108). Thus it was shown that, in general, the Romanian elites of the time supported this institution. In this context, the Romanian Orthodox Patriarchate’s decision was welcomed, and it had issued a press release reminding everyone of the decision to refuse religious assistance to those who preferred cremation. Thus, the Orthodox priest who performed the religious service was exposing himself to defrocking. This note was strengthened by an example: the Central Church Council of the Romanian Orthodox Church had decided that priest Stelian Vasilescu from Bucharest be removed from the Orthodox clergy as he had “served” at the Bucharest crematorium. Criticism of cremation also appears in the magazine upon the death of the Czech-Moravian Church’s Patriarch, Gustav Aldof Prochasza (Moartea 1942, 171). But criticism of the conduct regarding cremation within the Orthodox milieu was also present. There is a direct reference to it in an article included in Vestitorul from 1940, centred on Crainic’s vehement criticisms. He had held a conference in Oradea regarding The Orthodox Outlook on Culture (Sincer 1940, 26–29), and Crainic’s arguments as presented there were shot down. Is it right that former monks print horrible wooden icons and scandalous abbesses’ elections? To have “ashmen” priests and archimandrites perform funeral services also at the crematorium for money, against the canons? To have teachers at the faculties of theology guilty of Bolshevik Communism? Or, as the initiated say, even bishops and metropolitans in the Masonic lodges? (Sincer 1940, 26)

However, the danger faced by those who chose cremation was also mentioned in the newspaper of the Greek Catholic Diocese of Cluj, Curierul Creútin, in 1944 (saying that the deceased does not benefit from religious services) (Silviu 1944, 27). The smaller-scale Orthodox magazines

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also published notes on the topic. For example, Biserica úi ùcoala commented on the practice in April 1938 (Incinerarea 1938, 151), on the occasion of the celebration of the religious service during the cremation of Professor Aurel Anghelescu, although the Romanian Orthodox Church’s Synod had condemned this habit, considered pagan, and had threatened to take harsh measures against the priests who performed any service or memorial in such cases. The development of the practice at that time as well as the fact that people had got used to its existence is revealed by the frequent presence of incinerated people’s obituaries in the newspapers of that time. Universul newspaper recorded these cases in 1936, with nearly twenty such obituaries in total during the first three months of that year. But the obituaries also started a new tradition, which would be upheld for several decades: namely, specifying in the obituary the fact that the act of cremation was the dead person’s express desire: “The cremation will take place, according to the deceased’s choice, at Cenuúa Crematorium on 23rd of February, 3 p.m.” (Universul 1936, 15). Thus, the period until the onset of the Second World War seemed to have “tamed” something of the traditionalists’ vehement reaction towards cremation, and we see a decrease in the number of condemnatory articles compared to the previous period. But during a meeting of the Cabinet Council of 8 October 1940, Professor Traian Brăileanu, Minister of National Education, Religion and Arts, suggested the shutting down of Cenuúa Crematorium, as it was an institution directed “against the Church” (ùedinta 1940, 143). Marshal Ion Antonescu, the state’s head, opposed the proposal, arguing that whenever cremation took place he had been informed, with the first who did it being Grigore Trancu-Iaúi. The marshal stated that he had required receipts to be issued for each cremation and that an investigation was necessary “to see who has paid for the burnings that had been made there” (ùedinta 1940, 143). In response to this observation, however Brăileanu continued to insist on closing the crematorium, at which point Antonescu decided the matter, rejecting Brăileanu’s proposal: “It exists in all countries. Humanity goes towards progress and cemeteries should disappear with time” (ùedinta 1940, 143).

Garabet Ibrăileanu, Constantin Stere, Anton Holban, Ionel Fernic, Eugen Lovinescu, Grigore Trancu-Iaúi … and others This section presents another novelty, in a different way: that of the cremation of some Romanian public figures in accordance with their

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preference to be burned. This was an advantage in the development of cremation in Romania, since it concerned various personalities of Romanian society whose cremations could not go unnoticed. Garabet Ibrăileanu’s cremation can be considered a good example of this. A pillar of Romanian culture, during his lifetime Ibrăileanu expressed the desire for his body to be burned after death. Ibrăileanu was not a cremationist, though. This was true of other public personalities of the inter-war period as well, however there were exceptions, such as the politician Grigore Trancu-Iaúi. Ibrăileanu’s decision to be cremated can be explained by three factors. Firstly, his relationship with religion and God had generated a particular type of existentialism that can be understood as a form of atheism. Also, Ibrăileanu manifested a chronic fear of germs and disease, which could again explain his decision. In fact, throughout his entire life he was microphobic, so the instructions he left prior to his cremation could be explained by this phobia. This fear had strongly manifested through habits such as washing his hands with alcohol after shaking someone’s hand or touching a doorknob, or walking to avoid taking the tram. Thirdly, Ibrăileanu’s existence was characterised by fire, his house having been burned several times, as was the editorial office of ViaĠa Românească in Iaúi, and finally, he himself was to be the guest of flames. Having been sick as early as 1934, Ibrăileanu had anticipated his end following surgery, a circumstance which left him determined to thoroughly prepare his exit from political life. He expressed the wish that no one should approach his body, which was to be wrapped in several sheets, immediately placed in the coffin and incinerated as soon as possible. He did not want funeral speeches, flowers or wreaths. This may be linked to one of his ideas: Senility is old meat, is an anaesthetic, and is impure. It’s a shame because it is the rest of a body defeated by nature. Disease, when it is not acute and transient, is the same damage, the same shame, a premature old age. And death, the final victory of nature over man, is the ultimate shame! (Ibrăileanu 1972 113)

He also stated that the image of death gives the sense of a feeling of inferiority like no other: Imagination and intelligence are sources of fear. And as the great problem of life is death, intelligent persons are inferior also regarding this crucial problem of our existence. (Ibrăileanu 1972, 120)

Early February of 1936 brought the agonising terminal phase of his

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illness. He spoke about his life continuously for twenty-four hours, prompting a nurse who had taken care of him in his last moments to announce his death in this novel way: “Finally, the professor is silent!” (Sevastos 1976, I 225). He died during the night of 10–11 March 1936. Next morning he was wrapped in sheets, placed in the coffin and displayed in the lobby of the hospital where he had died. According to Sevastos, though he was an atheist, Ibrăileanu asked on his deathbed for an Armenian priest. This gesture cannot be considered as the writer’s lastminute return to religion, but rather as a tribute to his love for the past and to the fact that the same service had been celebrated for his father before his death (Sevastos 1974, I 226). This statement is supported by Ibrăileanu’s idea that: If you believe in no God, then what keeps you from holding as dear the beliefs and rituals which have comforted your father and your mother and have eased their difficult time of death? (Ibrăileanu 1972, 100)

The cremation ceremony was held on 12 March 1936 at Cenuúa Crematorium. The Sixth Pastoral Symphony by Ludwig van Beethoven was played for a quarter of an hour, and the ceremony ended to the strains of Frederic Chopin’s Funeral March. The newspapers of the time reported the event, confirming the echoes it produced. Of the comments it generated, perhaps the most significant came from George Călinescu, particularly since he refers directly to Ibrăileanu’s option to be cremated: In order to cover the ultimate shame of death, Ibrăileanu decided to undergo the flames and to creep from our eyes into ashes. (Călinescu 1936, 1–2)

I consider significant the reaction to Ibrăileanu’s cremation of Lucian Mircea. He published a poem in his memory, explicitly defining the way in which the great writer had chosen to step into eternity (Mircea 1936, 1). His urn has been deposited at the Eternitatea Cemetery in Iaúi. Cezar Petrescu did not shy away from the truth that Ibrăileanu had chosen to be cremated. He said that between Marcel Proust and Garabet Ibrăileanu there had been a similarity of destinies. One of the reasons behind this statement was that both of them had lived much of their lives defending themselves from germs and disease. Petrescu’s conclusion described cremation by way of a metaphor, placing a symbolic value on the deceased’s ashes: Teocrit taught us to mourn death in elegies that transform death in literature. It is hard to write empty pages about a man who burned his

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whole life in a long inner debate. The feeling is easier and more severe for such a man, turned into lost ashes by his last will; but still alive, still present among us, till our turn will come to scatter in the dimensionless world. (Petrescu 1936, 77)

Constantin Stere’s cremation was another example of the implementation of the practice for public figures. However, in this case, the situation differed from that of Ibrăileanu. Stere had been opposed by some of the Romanian politicians of the time, and this was reflected in the way in which his death was perceived. Stere was an atheist, which did not stop him from having a dignified attitude in the face of death. He realised that the fatal moment was approaching because of his many health complications and thus, to avoid inconvenience, he dictated his obituary to his friend, the lawyer C. Cucu. He expressed his desire to be incinerated, writing in chemical pencil on a piece of paper: “For friends. Please no speeches and no panegyric obituaries to cremation in the press. Greetings to everyone, Stere” (Ornea 1991, 606). He asked to see all his children before his death. Drawing his inspiration from Plato, he advised them to make their own conscience their only judge upon life. According to Mihai Sevastos, his death, like his life, was a struggle, and it came on 26 June 1936. He suffered much agony, and his body was embalmed the day after his death. He was deposited in the chapel of the Cenuúa Crematorium, where among “torches and flowers” he lay with a smile in the corners of his mouth. This was a mystery to Sevastos, who did not know what it expressed: irony, forgiveness or tenderness? The cremation took place on Sunday, 29 June 1936 at 5.30pm. A storm began around that hour, a natural phenomenon clearly influencing public participation. Choral songs were sung by the choir from the crematorium, and the ceremony concluded with the Lord’s Prayer (Ornea 1991, 611). This situation was paradoxical given that Stere was an atheist. The moment when Stere’s body was last seen by those present is significant. This is remarkably portrayed by Sevastos: Suddenly, from somewhere, from the back, I saw the shrubs and the flowers around the catafalque moving. It seemed like death’s storm was passing through them. I approached the place where the coffin had lain. There were only two closed iron lids. Stere had gone down – finally, calm – into another world. (Sevastos 1966, 409–411)

The different circumstances of Anton Holban’s death compared to those of Garabet Ibrăileanu and Constantin Stere encouraged a different type of reflection among his contemporaries. Holban died at a relatively early age compared to his illustrious predecessors. He was thirty-seven

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years old and died of untreated appendicitis, the surgery coming too late. A complete description of the events of Holban’s death and cremation was given by Valeriu Anania. According to Anania, he was an atheist professor who had not kept his atheism secret, “un-programmatic and lacking ostentation.” In the main, he was tolerated by headmasters and barely “perceived” by the students. This did not prevent him from becoming a professor within three theological seminaries (Anania 1983, 93–113). Anania showed that he was obsessed with death, with a devastating fear of nothingness. He was not afraid of saying this to the students: I’m scared of death, that’s it, I have a terrible fear of it. If it is absurd to be born, it is completely absurd to die … And to think that nobody and nothing can save you, not even the God you believe in. (Anania 1983, 111)

This attitude meant that Holban lived with the presentiment of his close death. The news of his death made some of the seminar students cry. Anania described how his detractors were spreading, both out loud and covertly, the news that the atheist professor was to be cremated. The explanation of the motivation for these actions was, on the one hand, the deceased’s wishes, and on the other hand, according to some more “merciful” students, that one of his uncles wanted to keep his urn of ashes close. Perhaps the latter might be the correct explanation, given that his uncle was Eugen Lovinescu and the urn with Holban’s ashes was to be deposited in the family tomb. Anania confessed that he had attended the writer’s funeral. He could only remember the funeral march to which the coffin with the writer’s corpse was going down to the crematorium, through a hydraulic jack. The clergyman witnessed not only the funeral at Cenuúa Crematorium, but also the cremation itself. He was allowed to do so by a family member, who was aware that he was a friend of the writer. He explained: It was not my curiosity which stuck me against one of the glasses, but the desire to follow my teacher till the end (a privilege that burial cannot provide you). (Anania 1983, 112)

At the sight of the cremation, when the body twisted “like a pigskin on the embers,” he fainted, and the following night was a sleepless one. Around this time, the project of writing a novel called Skull on Flames was abandoned after the first half page (Anania 1983, 113). Anton Holban’s cremation was also recorded by Mircea Eliade. His account of February 26 1937 to Nicolae Argintescu shows that he had taken part in the writer’s funeral ceremony at Cenuúa Crematorium. The

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way in which Eliade portrayed the cremation was significant: I went to Holban’s funeral. I was disappointed by the frivolity, the lack of solemnity and significance the cremation had. A rusty gramophone was playing Bach. The people were sitting, feeling embarrassed, not sad, waiting for something, as in a dentist’s waiting room. Holban, persecuted by the pit, the ritual, the decomposition in the ground, had chosen such a route. (Holban 1978, 285)

Despite Eliade identifying the lack of significance of cremation, that did not stop him later opting for this method of disposing of his own body. The urn with Holban’s ashes was deposited several months later in Fălticeni, in the Lovinescu family tomb. Another Romanian public figure who chose to be cremated at that time was Eugen Lovinescu. This case looks different from the three cases above. The profile of Lovinescu’s funeral was different. However, the most significant image of his death and cremation comes from his daughter Monica, who was twenty years old at the time. According to Monica Lovinescu’s testimony, Eugen Lovinescu was an agnostic, but in his will he had requested a short funeral service. The reason for this was that “baptism must be matched in the world order” (Lovinescu 1999, 19). The service was held by an unfrocked monk. Monica Lovinescu did not write anything in her diary in the two weeks after Eugen Lovinescu’s cremation, as she was overwhelmed with grief. The explanation was that it seemed to her that her handwriting was like her dead father’s. Then Monica made a fundamental confession: she interpreted this fact as “a sign from beyond, although I share with my father the same taste for ashes, the same certainty of nothingness” (Lovinescu 1999, 18). Shocked, she told her dead father that she intended to commit suicide, citing his intolerable absence and the fear that she would be unworthy of his name. For a while the funeral urn was kept at home, on the bookcase next to the burial mask, then it was taken and placed in a niche at Cenuúa Crematorium. In April 1990, during her first visit following her exile in France, Monica tried to track down the urn, in vain because the crematorium’s “sinister” building was almost always closed. It was not until September 1992 that she managed to find it in Fălticeni, where it had been transported to be deposited. This was down to luck: the director of the museum in Fălticeni had managed to identify it at Cenuúa Crematorium. This was not without great difficulty as Eugen Lovinescu had been registered under a different name in the register of cremations performed in 1943. But, relating these events, Monica ended up disclosing her own relationship to Lovinescu with the cemeteries. This was influenced by the odyssey of her father’s urn

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of ashes, and by her mother’s burial in a common pit. As far as Monica Lovinescu was concerned, this story turned any corner of Romanian land into a possible grave (Lovinescu 1999, 20). In contrast with the funeral ceremonies held at Cenuúa Crematorium for Garabet Ibrăileanu, and Constantin Stere, speeches were delivered for Eugen Lovinescu. One of these was from Ion Petrovici, Minister of Education at the time. Details of Lovinescu’s death and cremation were also given by ùerban Cioculescu in an article in 1971. He reports that Lovinescu had felt his death, which was registered on 15 July 1943, citing as proof a conversation with the maid of the house. Lovinescu asked her what time it was: –It’s half past 9, master. –How come half past 9? Can’t you see it’s dark? There was a blinding light outside, but death’s veil began to fall over the eyes of the one who, up until the day before, had read and had held the pen in his hand, faithful to the rule nulla dies sine linea. (Cioculescu 1979, 58)

A painless agony preceded death, which, according to Cioculescu, was more merciful to him than life had been. In accordance with his last wishes, he was cremated to the strains of Beethoven’s Eroica. But the most suggestive image of Lovinescu’s choice of cremation comes from Tudor Arghezi. Just few weeks after the death, Arghezi attempted to understand the meanings of and reasons for Lovinescu’s decision (Arghezi 1943, 1). For Arghezi there was something uglier than death, namely the funeral, an event he understood as a “sinister trade-like ceremony. It is daily repeated and accepted with disgust, being like an hour of all the pains gathered in man.” From this point of view, Lovinescu’s decision to be cremated was surprising, because it meant that his friends and admirers would no longer have somewhere to go and visit him. In these circumstances, the writer’s decision to be cremated was interpreted as a lucid decision that he had made to break the last ties with his contemporaries. Arghezi understood this to be punishment for them and, moreover, a symbol of Lovinescu’s alienation (Arghezi 1943, 1). Arghezi tried to unravel other elements behind Lovinescu’s decision to be cremated, and suggested the excess of graves. There the dead were crowded together like passengers in a bus, with corpses from the morgue and the hospital. This might have disgusted Lovinescu. Arghezi presented the monk’s funeral as a counter-model to this scenario. He expanded the discussion by introducing the possibility of a “choice between inhumation and cremation, which was valid for man since he could not end like a flower or bird” (Arghezi 1943, 1). Arghezi noted ironically that the chances of avoiding rotting quickly in the tomb were high due to the

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embalming technique, with “the tie and the shirtfront” rotting first, and the moustache and the stick resisting longer. Some of the trends of the time were criticised, namely the cases in which a number of his contemporaries had solved the problem “by building in cemeteries large villas for entertainment with wide crystal verandas,” where “the fashion of statues” was “a sad marble caricature”; and the disappearance of sentimental epitaphs. In the end, Coco, his parrot muse was questioned about its choice: “You have not answered yet, Coco. Which do you prefer: the cemetery’s horror or the operetta’s abomination, organised in the oven?” (Arghezi 1943, 1). As a preliminary conclusion it is noted that in all four cases we are dealing with atheists or agnostics, a consideration that justifies their choice of cremation. As for the imagery of cremation, it is noted that the most evocative picture was that of the trapdoor, mostly seen as a metaphor, depending on the status of the person being cremated. Ionel Fernic’s cremation is dealt with differently, and the circumstances of his death raise a new issue. Best known as a composer, Fernic was also an aviator. He died in a tragic plane crash on 22 July 1938, three months after his thirty-seventh birthday, in Negrileasa Forest, Suceava County. Ironically, he had bought a last-minute flight ticket from a Polish company. It has been speculated that the accident had something to do with the presence on board of the Japanese military attaché in Warsaw, but this is a hypothesis not supported by many. In fact, Ionel Fernic chose to travel by plane because he was in a hurry to attend the funeral of Queen Mary of Romania. Here we are concerned with Fernic’s cremation, and this fact had no significance to the many people who took part in the funeral. As homage, some of his own songs were sung and a demonstration flight was performed by way of a final farewell from the pilots. The capital’s official orchestra performed his music throughout the ceremony. Universul reported some of the details of Fernic’s cremation, accompanied by a photograph of the ceremony at Cenuúa Crematorium. On the previous day, the same newspaper had covered the story of the composer’s body being transported to Bucharest and taken to Cenuúa Crematorium (Aducerea 1938, 7). Grigore Trancu-Iaúi was among those who received the body at the railway station (Trancu-Iaúi 1938, 9). At the cremation ceremony, the presence of the Minister of Air and Marine was emphasised, a religious service was performed by Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu and two funeral speeches were delivered (Incinerarea 1938, 9). It is also significant that the family held a memorial service for Ionel Fernic forty days after his death at the Batiútei church, despite the prohibitions of the higher Orthodox authorities.

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The five cases presented above are certainly not unusual in the interwar period. Other Romanian public figures of the time also opted for cremation, and these were recorded in contemporary media. In some cases, the religious service for the incinerated was held at their homes to avoid various problems. This practice is recorded in the inter-war period and, as we shall see, it also present in the Communist period according to the obituaries in România Liberă. The case of Gheorghe Ulisses Negropontes, a famous landowner of the time, who died in 1945, is significant to the period prior to 1948. Negropontes was for a time mayor of Mărăúeúti. He donated both money and land for the building of the mausoleum dedicated to the heroes of the First World War. As reported in the obituary section of Universul, his religious service was celebrated at his home on 9 January 1945. The cremation then took place at Cenuúa Crematorium (Diverse 1945, 5). Regarding the reasons why people chose cremation, Victor Costin’s case seems relevant. He was a professor in Iaúi and the initiator of projective geometry in Romanian mathematics. Shortly before his death, he sent a letter to Flacăra Sacră, where he briefly discussed the cult of the dead (Costin 1935, 5). He built his argument from the ugliness of the decomposition of a corpse. He considered the customs that accompanied it barbaric: washing the body, shaving the corpse and dressing it. For reasons of hygiene, he distinguished between the respect due to the deceased’s memory and the so-called duties toward the corpse. Costin came up with some concrete proposals to be imposed by provision of law: local authorities were to be responsible for funerals; after death the body was to belong to the municipality and not to the family; and it was to be burned in the crematorium. Nobody was to accompany the body to the crematorium or to attend the cremation. At the end of his letter, Costin included his final wishes regarding his own funeral: I ask that my remains to be incinerated (or buried) in the state in which death surprised them, without being washed, or shaved, or combed, or dressed. I do not wish for the slightest unnecessary expense to be made for my burial ceremony. No coffin, no flowers, no wreaths, no mourning. Any wagon can carry my body to the resting place. No luxury, no formalities, no speeches, no music. I prohibit all those close to me from wearing mourning clothes for me, but I do not protest to a priest performing, if my family asks that. (Costin 1935, 5)

Consequently, according to some people who opted for cremation, the practice was considered evidence of modesty, facilitating a dignified exit from the life stage. This is suggested by the following obituaries published

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in Universul: For the cremation of Cezar A. Popovici, former inspector, who died in 1945 at the age of 58: “The cremation will be held on Tuesday 11 September at 11am. He wished not to receive flowers or wreaths.” (MP 1945, 3) For the cremation of the physician Milan Vintilescu: “According to his wish, the body will be incinerated at Cenuúa Crematorium on Sunday 28 October at 11am. No flowers or speeches will be received.” (MP 1945, 5)

It should be noted that in some cases the family refused to honour the deceased’s wish to be incinerated. The most noteworthy example seems to bew that of Maximilian Costin, the managing director of the Romanian Opera. A member of the Cenuúa Society and a confirmed advocate of cremation, he had expressed the desire to be cremated after death. This was overridden by his family’s prejudices. The editorial dedicated to him in the pages of Flacăra Sacră criticised the family’s attitude and glorified the deceased as a genuis superior to his relatives. In addition, the paper explicitly expresses the grief that Costin must have felt in the dark realms of nothingness. This case is significant for another reason: to demonstrate his beliefs about cremation, some excerpts from his writings on the theme of adherence to cremation practices were included (Costin 1938, 3–4). The year 1941 brought two major losses of inter-war Romanian cremationists with the deaths of Professor David Emmanuel and Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu (Flacăra 1941, 1). The former was a prominent figure in the Romanian scientific community and a member of the Romanian Academy. According to Flacăra Sacră magazine, Emmanuel had been a member of the Cenuúa Society since its inception in 1923. The professor, “a tiny man,” had walked five kilometres through snow in bad weather “in order to bring his contribution and to contribute to one of the most pious social settlements, human cremation” (Flacăra 1941, 1). According to the same source, he was the first to contribute financially to the building of the columbarium. His cremation was perceived by Romanian cremationists as the fulfilment of the “dream of his life. His intellectual power has risen into the eternal aether, from which it had been created” (Flacăra 1941, 1). ùerboianu had been “an educated and fearless priest,” who had supported cremation until his death. His main merit was his demonstration of the compatibility of cremation with “the sacred texts.” According to Bezviconi, ùerboianu was originally buried in the Bellu Cemetery, and in 1948 he was exhumed and his remains incinerated at Cenuúa Crematorium (Bezviconi and Colesnic 2003, 64).

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Cremation in literature As some of the figures mentioned belong to the circles of Romanian literature, the theme of cremation in literature should be mentioned. Certainly, this is insignificant in comparison to the cemetery as a source of inspiration and literary creation. There are few references to the crematorium or to the cremation procedure in Romanian literature. I do not think there is a complex explanation for this; it is just that modern human cremation does not have the philosophical importance that inhumation and cemeteries have. Despite this, references to the practice can be found in the Romanian literature of the time. But some of them are found in the genre of poetry, where it is not the practice itself, but a symbol representing it, that is presented. The evidence that the practice was not endorsed was presented indirectly, or rather, the poet took pleasure in giving life to an idea through a lyrical voice. For example, one of Lucian Blaga’s most famous poems, Beautiful Hands, is developed in this way, although during his life the author did not express any views on cremation and he did not opt for it for himself: I sense: beautiful hands, how you embrace today with your warmth the dreamful head, so you will hold one day the urn with my ashes. I dream: beautiful hands, when the warm lips will blow the ashes in the wind, which you will hold in your hands like a cup, you will be like flowers from which the breeze spreads – the pollen. And I cry: you will be so young then, beautiful hands (Blaga 1983, 16)

In this case, the practice is referred to in lyrical mode, expressing the anticipation of death and the greatness of love. But perhaps the most powerful image is the correlation between pollen and ash. Beautiful Hands is not Blaga’s only poem referring to the issue. The Beauty is also extremely suggestive. In the end, it introduces a surprising, but very evocative representation:

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All beauty is like an urn sight is caught by its thigh. You see the shape and are surprised. And you suffer, thinking about the ash it holds (Blaga 1983, 175)

But the novel Annunciation Cemetery by Tudor Arghezi, published in 1936, stands above all others. Its importance lies not only in an evocative image of the crematorium, but in the very detailed presentation of the dead’s space: the relationship between the living and the dead, the imagery of death, the space of the cemetery, the afterlife and the resurrection of the dead. As for the theme of the crematorium, it can be seen in detail in Chapter 46 (Arghezi 2005, 178–182). Looking at it as a whole, I realise that this chapter could have been published quite simply as a pamphlet in a newspaper of the time, as there are correlations and obvious similarities to be drawn between it and Arghezi’s stance on the topic. But the essence of the part of the book dedicated to the topic lies in its integration into a longer study carried out on death through Arghezi’s poem. He enumerates several aspects of cremation, such as the snobbery surrounding the practice at the time. Cremation was seen as a break from tradition, but not as a reform, as it was in classical times, because the ashes were not spread on Ceahlău Mountain, but were kept in a “dish.” Consequently, the cremationists were perceived in the novel in two ways: “reformers who, no longer having anything to reform, convert the most docile and subordinate thing, the corpse” and “the free-thinking boyars” who “do not want to rot when dead” (Arghezi 2005, 178). Arghezi presents in his novel a critical and fluid picture of the crematorium. He describes the building as “a temple without religion,” which had taken the aesthetics from railway stations, lanterns, oil depositories, a little from the kettle and a little from the vinegar bottle, imitating, with his vestals, urns and garlands, oxidised and gilded, the showcase of a universal store branch. (Arghezi 2005, 179)

His irony was quite obvious, considering that the building could be removed and reinstalled, piece by piece, in a different location. Therefore the crematorium was “anonymous, international, scientific and modern,” with the value of a monument of “hybrid pedantry” (Arghezi 2005, 179). It is easy to see that that the novel was inspired by reality. Arghezi showed that of the services provided by the crematorium, the priest had been replaced with a gramophone and the hymns came from an electronic

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dispenser, which was true in real life: you spin the crank and you put whatever you want beneath a needle point; the experts are admirably removed and substituted. (Arghezi 2005, 179)

The remarkable description of the funeral ceremony at the crematorium continues in the same vein: The atmosphere of a telegram counter on the eve of a holiday. A lot of people crowded together. A continuous silence, broken only by the movement of a wreath, sounding like the short noise of a nib on a receipt. A stick suspended in the hands of a tabetic assistant falls with its gum peak on the floor, like the blow of a stamp. No voice, from nowhere; the crying itself is artificial: the deceased’s family regrets that it has experienced something and that of the father and the husband nothing will be left. People have no beginning and no ending any more. The gramophone disc gives the ticket counter atmosphere a sinister theatricality and an offensive certainty. A burst of laughter on vulcanised rubber lacks. It seems that a bad act is done with the dumb collusion of some she-assistants and heassistants from the world of snails. Unable to think, the trained fool applies his arrogant faculties to remnants and believes himself emancipated and master, for between baldness and the sky he opened an umbrella and he saved his leg from the ground by interposing a foot. To die thinking and to be buried intellectually. (Arghezi 2005, 180)

Arghezi shows that the incinerated person had been a member of the elite and chose this as a protest, as the last action belonging to the intellect. The author feels free to criticise again, in a particular way: He did not want posterity to profane him, as being forced to take the usual path of the dead, who go down into the ground. No. His special position required special treatment. The corpse has been a five-hundred-thousanddollars-a-month employed individual: he cannot stand side by side with lower-paid dead bodies in the prison of the neighbourhood cemetery. (Arghezi 2005, 181)

The last part includes the description of the process of burning. The presentation of this scene gives a feeling of bitter realism: below, in a hot cellar, the forced decomposition occurs, while the air fills with the smell of nausea. There, the corpse belongs to the servants and it is industrially handled. The violence and the cursing are the last prayers, which the priest did not read, as they are kept for the cremation flayers. The burning is primitive and wild, as if the family would take the dead by its legs and would push him into the fire hearth. (Arghezi 2005, 181)

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When considering Arghezi’s descriptions in relation to reality we note the same common ideas and even prejudices on cremation; for example, the corpse’s movements during its burning: The eyes burst at once, the skin inflates and breaks like a too-tight waistcoat, the physiological fats burn with high flame. I went down into this kitchen where the body, before blowing up, stood as seated. (Arghezi 2005, 181)

In the novel, the corpse’s final fate is a culmination of the whole concept of cremation. Arghezi talks bluntly about the topic, the irony combined with black humour reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe if we consider its force and energy: Only three-quarters carbonised, the dead resists at its bones. The ankle bones, the arms and the spine did not want to burn. To facilitate combustion and to reveal the last fat, the marrows, the priests of the ash rite had brought the iron bars, the crowbars, attacking the bones with them, to crush them. A cursed battle had started between the levers and the unfortunate skeleton, which was to give its hot ashes before the second body would be taken down, the body of a free thinker. (Arghezi 2005, 181)

If we follow closely the first part of the presentation of cremation in the novel and its end, the feeling is that of a circle closing: the act of burning the corpse, the expression of the snobbery of that time, the deceased being incinerated representing “with the authority of a pair of heavy buttocks, a governor’s chair” and “a quarter of a ton of woven bacon” (Arghezi 2005, 182). The presentation could only be concluded with a part that remained outside the operation, in the proper meaning of the word, which is given symbolic meaning in the novel: A long piece of metal jumped from the bone shards. The flayers’ chief was invested with dictatorial powers. Leave it aside to cool, he ordered his men, who would have wanted to hide it. The deceased had suffered, in full glory, a significant surgery and a piece of prosthesis had been inserted into his bones. A family member had officially asked for this “silver rib.” (Arghezi 2005, 182)

Romanian cremationists did not avoid humour in their work. On the contrary, the situation they were in, plus the interests they pursued, led to the emergence of columns of “cremation humour” in their publication. Some of them were translations from cremation-related newspapers of that time (După 1939, 4–5). Others were personal inventions. A short story was published in Flacăra Sacră’s January 1937 issue (Picon 1937, 6–7). It was

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focused on two ladies from Ploieúti who came to the crematorium asking for the cremation of the husband of one of them. He was a 120 kilogram butcher, who was in dispute with his concubine’s husband. They wanted to cremate him because of the rumour that the crematorium in Bucharest bought dead bodies to make medicines. After speaking with the director and agreeing on the fee, the ladies are told, as a joke, that the butcher should be burned alive. If not, the amount was to decrease, because there was no guarantee that his weight would remain the same after death. Once the joke was explained and the director reproofed, one of the ladies concluded: You have dishonoured us in front of these people and when my Vasilică finds out that I wanted to burn him alive, he will burn me with a red iron, so that I will have had enough of the “Crematorium” and of other tens of thousands of lei. (Picon 1937, 7)

H. Bonciu ended his novel Luggage (1934) by imagining the cremation of his character, in this case an avant-garde writer. The representation of cremation which ends the novel seems the inevitable outcome of the plot. The author explicitly uses the term “oven” for incinerator, intending to create a realistic image. The incinerator’s comparison to a “hell of fire” is more relevant. The incinerator is meant to destroy the body totally. However, this presentation of the cremation process is, in my opinion, inferior to Arghezi’s. It lacks any trace of humour: Soon I will be taken, however, in the black van to the oven. They will push me into the oven where I am to enter on my belly, so that when the tendons shorten because of the heat, I will have to get up. I want my body to sit again on all fours and my head, without support, suddenly twisted around the neck to one hundred eighty degrees, to stop, with my eyes snapped, nailed down ahead to the vault of the oven. Then I will urge once again, until the whole bucket of my body will fall forever on the fine dust of my entrails turned into ashes. (Bonciu 1984, 110)

Bonciu compared the corpse’s burning with roasting. The intervention of the crematorium staff in the process of transforming the corpse into ashes is presented just as brutally: The man with the iron bar will then open the cover of the fire hell to smash the blackened bones, insufficiently carbonised. To pound the bones with the iron bar. Let him end in smoke! (Bonciu 1984, 110).

Nicolae Balotă’s images are also remarkable. To Balotă, the crematorium meant a factory of nothingness. When he was asked to deliver a funeral

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speech at a writer’s cremation, ‘the mechanical opening of the trapdoor and the slow sliding of the coffin downwards” reminded him of the emptiness and the anxiety caused by the earthquake of 1977 (Balotă 1994, 88). According to the same writer, “the thick smoke that rises from the Crematorium’s furnaces,” along with the basements of the Parisian Pantheon, are the most appropriate symbols of the cult of “great men” (Balotă 1994, 88). Victor Papilian reveals his attitude toward cremation in a short story published in 1938 (Papilian 1938, 514–524). Suggestively entitled Unburied, the story focuses on the hatred the main character, Secarea, had for a general called Mitrofan, an old rival of his father’s. Hearing about the general’s death in Bucharest, Secarea decides to go to the capital and finds that Mitrofan has been burned at the crematorium. The description of the crematorium and of the practice becomes suggestive. In his opinion, cremation is a desecration, “a human product,” the funeral urn is “an indecent exhibition” and the burning itself, “more noisy than a mortuary parade.” By comparison, the tomb was “a natural demand of life” and “a window through which the soul looks straight into the great mystery” (Papilian 1938, 521). All these factors leave Secarea determined to overcome his hatred and find a formula to reconcile with his old enemy, paying for a burial place for a “Christian burial” for him (Papilian 1938, 523). But one of the best representations of attitudes to cremation comes from Alexandru Hodoú and dates from 1924 (Gorun 1924, 201–203). Its relevance consists not in the “ratings” given to cremation, but in the indecision expressed when deciding on which option is better. Hodoú identifies the core of the cremationist/traditionalist dispute, expressed in terms of care of the body after death, citing the intuition of immortality and the vague suspicion of life after death. The author believed that those Christians who rejected cremation on the grounds that it affects the possibility of resurrection were wrong, because putrefaction was just another form of combustion, “much slower and less clean.” On the day of resurrection, a handful of ashes would be on the “bottom” of the grave (Gorun 1924, 201). His reason for speaking is relevant: I was listening with a distracted ear to a conversation near me: “What are they burning now?” I suddenly heard: “See! the corpses are burning!” “It seems that we have resolved all issues and this is the only one left ... ” A grimace, a scornful gesture, and here I am thinking and beginning to burn myself for the corpses’ burning. (Gorun 1924, 203)

Mihai Beniuc did not avoid the subject in his poems. The poem On a

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Funeral Urn is full of irony: When they had put my ashes in the urn, I entered my night phase After a tumultuous life, Of which what I am left with Is that which I have often burned myself But never like this time … (Beniuc 1973, 91)

But one of the finest poems focused on the theme of crematoria comes from Agatha Grigorescu-Bacovia in a creation entitled Crematorium. Here we are dealing with the overlap of the multiple meanings of cremation with the state of mind of death: I am the black smoke Twisted into the abyss. With it, it had burned What hurt me most. By the smoke That silvers in the sun Now it burns Everything that does not hurt me In a faint ring Of golden steam, It is still fuming And the unthinkable thought. Another gust Pink, Of no light The last pulse, Freed from clay (Grigorescu Bacovia 1969, 48–49)

The evil politics of cremation in Romania: A precedent One of the most famous events involving Cenuúa Crematorium was the cremation of the bodies of some revolutionaries. This happened after the 1989 crackdown in Timiúoara. The exceptional nature of this event sparked reactions and polemics, scandals and frustrations, dissimulations, direct accusations and avoidances to hide the truth. But the practice of using the crematorium as a way to eliminate the evidence of political opponents was not new in December 1989. A key precedent was set in 1939 with the burning of the bodies of the legionnaires responsible for

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Armand Călinescu’s assassination. Known as the Avengers and led by Miti Dumitrescu, they were cremated at Cenuúa Crematorium in the autumn of 1939. Călinescu’s assassination was thus integrated into a longer series of political murders involving the legionnaires, whether committed by or against them. This episode was not the only one that year. The legionnaires’ newspapers did not miss the opportunity to celebrate and glorify these figures in the publication Buna Vestire (Grozăviile 1940, 2; Pioasa 1940, 1). The ceremony of transporting the urns containing the legionnaires’ ashes was reported in a pathetic tone, designed to invoke emotions on the part of the reader. Thus, not only was the ceremony itself reported (i.e., the transportation of the urns with a cortege consisting of thirty-five “legionary” train carriages taken exclusively from the Bucharest Garrison), but so were the circumstances that led to their cremation. The names of more than twenty legionnaires burned at Cenuúa Crematorium in 1939 were included. Some of them had been cremated alive. Some of the legionnaires could not be identified following the burning and, moreover, it was shown that two bodies from Dumitrescu’s team had been cremated at the same time, and that all the ashes were collected and buried together. Dumitrescu and the others had been tortured before death. The group leader had had both his arms broken and his tongue was pulled out of his mouth with a hook. The other eight members of the group had been tortured for about eight hours. Their bodies were displayed at the scene of the attack despite scorching heat in Bucharest at the time, and stands were erected for the public. Some members of the government even attended, with Petru Andrei spitting on the corpses. Groups of students were brought to see the bodies, which had been on display for three days. Three legionnaires had been executed without trial in any county. It is worth noting that Dumitrescu had been a lawyer in Prahova. He was not defined as a legionnaire, but he become an iconic legionary figure after Călinescu’s assassination (Buzatu, Ciucanu and Sandache 1996, 96). The details above are important because they outline the general context of the use of the crematorium as a political tool in 1939. If we analyse comparatively the ways in which the legionnaires’ bodies were “managed” by displaying them as widely as possible for public condemnation, the fact that these bodies were meant to be cremated at Cenuúa Crematorium suggests a continuation. However, there is a big difference between the evil politics of cremation that applied in Romania in 1939 and the situation in 1989. In 1939, the crematorium as a final destination of political opponents was the last, though secret, stage in a process that was preceded by a display of revenge by the political power

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that was designed to influence public opinion. However, the situation in December 1989 was different. This involved not a known group but victims, killed at random in a manner that was kept as secret as possible. Therefore, although they fall into the same category, there is a series of differences between the two events. The legionnaires did not view the crematorium positively. They associated it with Freemasonry: We go down into the basement of the crematorium where the ashes of our comrades are. This Masonic basement is now lit with Christian candles, and the cross keeps vigil from all over, protected by the faith of the green shirts. The basement has in its corners and nooks and on the shelves full of urns a lot of icons brought by the comrades. The families of those killed and burned by the masonry creep on the stairs with humble steps to embrace, with a last look of eternal devotion, the handful of ashes that was once their and the country’s hope. (Loretti 1940, 1–2)

The incident was reported by Horia Sima, who presented the information briefly but without losing its sense of greatness, locating it in time (the night of 26/27 October 1940). Thus, the convoy accompanying the urns of the legionnaires burned at Cenuúa Crematorium was made up of 2,000 legionnaires from the capital. After a short religious service at the crematorium, the funeral procession headed toward Gara de Nord to go to Predeal (more carriages with legionnaires were added to the train in Ploieúti). Legionary newspapers reported the significant details. Once the convoy was formed at Cenuúa Crematorium, a memorial service performed by twenty monks was held. When the convoy started to head toward Gara de Nord in Bucharest, it consisted of eleven sequences of rows: the families of the burned legionnaires; the legionnaires group carrying a huge wreath with Nicoleta Nicolescu’s urn of ashes; the legionary choir; the priests; the group carrying the urns of the cremated legionnaires; the carts with the wreaths; the blood brotherhoods; a group of legionary students; a “scattered” group; a group of civilian workers and the other people present. The ceremonies in Predeal coincided with the meeting of “two mourning manifestations” (one from Vaslui and the procession from the crematorium), ending with the reburial of the ashes (Sima 1995, 184). Buna Vestire glorifies the moment by giving it mythical dimensions: As in the early days of Christianity, the Legion also grows and rises only through continuous sacrifice. As long as the Romanian nation will survive, sacrifice will come in the end. We have no other choice besides sacrifice. The Romanian nation was created in this way; it has lived in the same way, so it will succeed in asserting its purposes in the history of this world.

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When the power of sacrifice drains, the people will be lost, it will fall in the anonymity of a population decomposed by all sins. (Stamatu 1940, 1)

The moment gained the profile of a public ceremony by virtue of the presence of some political figures and the participation of a large audience. The aim was clear: to achieve cohesion under the auspices of the Legion in order to remain imprinted in the collective memory. The aim was to establish a promise for the future through the perpetuation of martyrdom as a reference for and judgment of the living (Ben Amos 2000, 6). The Legionary Cemetery of Predeal was to be a new source of strength for members of the legionary movement. It included some of the earthly remains (including the ashes) of the 252 legionnaires killed in September 1939. It is significant that Flacăra Sacră made no reference to this event. The explanation for this lies on the one hand in the political importance of the situation. On the other hand, the event was a negative one that could reflect badly on the practice and on the place where it took place, the crematorium. Interestingly, it was at this moment when cases of cremating the living at Cenuúa Crematorium were registered. There are two such cases mentioned by the legionary newspapers: those of Victor Dragomirescu, burned alive in the Crematorium on 22 September 1939, and Nicoleta Nicolescu, a legionary commander who was raped, tortured and burned alive in the Crematorium on 10 July 1939 (Buna 1940, 4; Buzatu, Ciucanu and Sandache 1996, 97; Sima 1995, 21). In the former case, the testimony of the driver who transported Dragomirescu from the Văcăreúti prison to Cenuúa Crematorium is relevant (Dragomirescu 2007). Dragomirescu was in a medically unstable condition after an accident in the aircraft in which he had attempted to flee to Poland. He was taken from the cell by two senior officers under the pretext of being transferred to Jilava prison. On the way, he underwent interrogation and realised that he was being led to his death. He was strangled in the car. According to the driver’s testimony, the forensic experts did not record the death and the official cremation papers were prepared several days later. Dragomirescu’s body was deposited in a hastily assembled coffin, and while the nails were being driven into its lid, a voice was said to have been heard: “Hey folks, you are burning me alive!” (Dragomirescu 2007). The two senior officers denied this. Nicoleta Nicolescu’s case was very similar: she was already in agony when she arrived at the crematorium. Consequently, it was clear that cremation was being used as a political “instrument,” as was the case later, in 1989. This is the difference between “pathological” and “rational” criminality (Baudry 1999, 34), the effect being the denial of the status of deceased to those dead and incinerated (Grama 2008). As a general

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observation, it should be noted that among those executed by the legionnaires at Jilava prison on the night of 26–27 November 1940, as well as generals, judges, ex-ministers and Mihail Moruzov, the initiator and head of the Romanian Army Secret Service, there were also some agents of the Police Prefecture of Bucharest. They had been responsible for the rapid detection and murder of the legionnaires during their persecution. Some of them had been burned at the crematorium. But the events of 1939 was not the legionnaires’ only connection with the crematorium. The anti-Semitic pogrom occasioned by the legionary rebellion of 21–23 January 1941 killed about 120 victims in Bucharest. Of those, four have remained unidentified, and three corpses of unknown Jews were incinerated at Cenuúa Crematorium (Rosen and Benjamin 1993, 171). In this situation cremation was not being used to erase evidence of political actions. It was a matter of practicalities: the cremation of the corpses of unidentified persons. Another episode was that of the cremation of the corpses of Jewish people deported to Transnistria during the war. Although the topic of the Holocaust had roused spirits in Romania not long before, this incident did not entirely overlap with the concept of the politics of cremation as evil. The Romanian case was still different to that of the Nazi camps. It was not a crematorium that was used in Transnistria, but the corpses were burned openly. In the report on the Holocaust in Romania presented by President Ion Iliescu in 2004, it was stated that Romanians, generally, avoided mentioning the bodies’ burning and executions en mass, in the documents sent to the Germans. There are comments and instructions referring to burning and to the corpses thrown in the fields in the letters, reports and telegrams. (Holocaust 2005, 63)

The most relevant incident remains that of the burning of the bodies of those killed in the Bogdanovka camp, when about 48,000 Jews were killed between 21 December 1941 and 8 January 1942. Measures were taken for the burning of the bodies. This survivor’s testimony is relevant: We were piling the corpses for burning. We placed about four people on a layer of straw. The height of the pile was more than that of a man; the length was ten metres. We put firewood on the sides and in between, and then again a layer of people and one of straw with firewood; we were lighting a pile as we prepared another pile, so it took two months for us to turn our brothers into ashes. During big frosts we used the hot ashes to warm ourselves. (Holocaust 2005, 50)

Often, given the large number of Jews killed, the corpses were burned to avoid the danger of epidemics.

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Cremation in Romania from the Second World War to 1948 During the Second World War a series of air raids caused considerable damage to the crematorium, and the problems were exacerbated by existing financial difficulties. The last groups of German soldiers who tried to fight back after 23 August 1944 were killed near Cenuúa Crematorium (Constantiniu and Ionescu 1984, 74). But this did not affect the running of the crematorium and the damages recorded were minimal. As Universul newspaper reported, some of the victims were even cremated at the Crematorium shortly after 23 August 1944. This was the case with the poet and composer Alfred Pagoni, who was killed in the bombing and incinerated at Cenuúa on 29 August 1944 (MP 1944, 3). An obituary announcing his cremation was published in Universul on 3 September 1944 (MP 1944b, 5), which again shows the normal rate of the burnings at Cenuúa. Although the number of cremations decreased for a time, it began to rise again at the end of the war (there were 244 cremations in 1944 and 600 in 1945). In 1946, the Romanian cremationists established contact with the International Cremation Federation. Connections with the European cremationists were broken after this time. Similar situations existed in Poland, the USSR and the GDR (Mates 2005, 366). The reasons for this were the political changes that occurred in Romania involving the nationalisation of the Cenuúa Crematorium and the fact that the municipal authorities were to administer it from then on. A new incinerator was ordered, but because of the war, it could not be delivered, and problems arose several years later. As far as cremation is concerned, it is to be noted that the religious services at the crematorium continued to be performed after the death of Calinic I Popp ùerboianu. This is attested to by the obituaries in Universul, which clearly mentioned that “the religious service will be performed at Cenuúa Crematorium.” Disputes between traditionalists and cremationists continued, albeit to a lesser extent, although these were no longer a priority due to the onset of the war and also to the decrease in religious opposition. A series of articles in the religious newspapers and the views expressed on the cremation of public figures kept the dispute between the two sides alive. Glasul Monahilor continued to publish opinions against the practice periodically. The long-term anti-cremation fighters were writing articles. Scriban published an article in December 1940 restating the total failure of cremations in Romania (Scriban 1940, 1). The article was occasioned by the fact that “the layman governance came to the Priests’ Assembly with a question, namely whether we ought

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to have in our country the custom of grilling the dead” (Scriban 1940, 1). In Scriban’s opinion, the situation had been facilitated by the development of cremation in Romania despite the criticisms against it. Moreover, the author attributed the practice to the elite who preferred it precisely as a way of expressing their superiority. The Synod’s stand on this issue was for the archimandrite a response to the problem. He waited anxiously for the imminent closure of the Cenuúa Crematorium by the secular authorities. Scriban provided an overview of the significance of the crematorium in Romania at that time. He believed that the building was a symbol of national shame, because Romania had been the first Orthodox country in the world to agree to implement cremation. His tone was one of outrage, invoking the model of Constantin Brâncoveanu as an example of the greatness of the past, in contrast to the crematorium as the shame of the present. Those who had introduced cremation in Romania were considered to be pagans alienated from Romanian traditions and spirit. Scriban assumed, on behalf of everyone, that allowing the construction of the building was a mistake. He regretted the lack of a rapid response to the problem: “the serpent’s head should have been crushed in time, so as not to advance the desecration of our faith” (Scriban 1940, 1). A highly critical article published by Dionisie Lungu clarifies the problem. It concerns the Orthodox Church Synod held in the autumn of 1940, when the Minister of Cults, Traian Brăileanu, asked the Synod for confirmation on whether the building was to be to be demolished or not (Lungu 1940, 4). Notification was given, but things did not progress further. The journalist Lorin Popescu came in for criticism in hieromonk Lungu’s article. Popescu was an opponent of cremationists, as we have seen. He adopted a balanced stance this time, and Lungu reproduced this in its entirety. He considered that if taking the measure of demolishing the crematorium was to satisfy the church, it could not be implemented without asking the other denominations as well. Such a consensus seemed fundamentally important to the hieromonk, since if some denominations were to allow cremation, it was certain that Orthodox worshipers would hurry “to roast their bodies on the grill of the crematorium” (Lungu 1940, 4). Although Popescu was a declared opponent of cremation (an aspect that also emerges in his article), calling the crematorium a place of preparation for cremation, this did not save him from the hieromonk’s ruthless criticism. Lungu believed that the journalist was wrong, since worshipers of other denominations were strangers and no-one had the right to interfere in the government’s decisions, able as it was to handle its citizens’ problems. Popescu was criticised because he knew that the “perdition building” had been built with the help of the city hall using “the

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widows’ and the poor’s money.” Lungu said that in Romania at that time there was enough land for the burial of all citizens regardless of religion and he “invited” supporters of cremation to satisfy their “desires” abroad. The Romanian Orthodox Church also emphasised, with great satisfaction, the common attitude of rejecting the practice of cremation throughout the entire European Orthodoxy (DIB 1941, 89).

Figure 4-23 The urn containing Grigore Trancu-Iaúi’s ashes, deposited at Cenuúa Crematorium

An event that caused agitation in Romanian society at that the time was the cremation of Grigore Trancu-Iaúi, who died in Bucharest on 7 January 1940. A professor, former minister, lawyer and writer, Trancu-Iaúi was also one of the most prominent Romanian cremationists. His death produced remarkable agitation, which attested to his popularity. It was reported that the deceased’s home had become a real place of pilgrimage. The body was taken from his home to the Academy of High Commercial Studies. Here it was placed on a catafalque. The students formed a watch guard, even throughout the night. A religious service was performed at the academy on 9 January 1940 by Archimandrite Popp ùerboianu. It was followed by a series of speeches, then the body was transported in a funeral procession to

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Cenuúa Crematorium. Here another religious service was celebrated, and the Radio Orchestra performed an excerpt from ‘Siegfried’ by Wagner. The ceremony continued with two speeches from the The Club of the Iaúi People and the Association of Accountants, followed by the cremation, scheduled for 4pm. Flags were flown at half mast at the Ministry of Labour and Social Care and at the Romanian Athenaeum. The vice president of the Romanian Athenaeum also delivered a speech (Diverse 1940, 5). His option for cremation, in accordance with the ideas he had adhered to, prompted a critical attitude among the Orthodox newspapers. The economist Gh. Comana vehemently disapproved of and criticised the gesture made by the politician of Armenian origin from Iaúi (Comana 1940, 1), saying that cremation could be considered “a misconduct and a confrontation to nationalism” of that time. As in this case, nationalism was associated with the traditionalist outlook rejecting the burning of corpses. Comana praised Trancu-Iaúi, talking about his clever mind and his determined, enlightened personality and describing him as full of talent, a trustee of the church and probably the man with the highest number of godchildren in Romania at that time. Although Trancu was a Freemason, Comana criticised Trancu-Iaúi’s choice to be cremated. His decision to be cremated makes it clear that the politician had never been part of the bosom of the Mother Church, neither in body nor in soul. The gesture signifies a separation from the Christian church and religion and from popular tradition. This was despite the fact that perpetually, in the positions he held, he claimed to represent the people. Therefore, his funeral enjoyed great popularity with everyone except the church. This situation led Comana to identify a gap between the intellectual set and the Romanian Orthodox Church. But there was also a gap in terms of popular tradition. Trancu-Iaúi’s gesture was generalised to include intellectuals who “no longer had anything in common with the people they belonged to” (Comana 1940, 1). Comana ends his article by emphasising the role of the Orthodox priests in maintaining the nation’s true identity against imposters and representatives of false cultures. They had on their side not only justice and the consent of the population, but also the support of educated men. The stance that Comana adopted against Trancu-Iaúi’s cremation was part of a series of four articles that he wrote. The first of these was occasioned by the death of a general, Gheorghe Moruzzi, who had opted for cremation (Comana 1940b, 1), the second by Trancu-Iaúi’s gesture and the last two dealt with the topic in general terms, attempting to be a Christian’s guide to cremation. The penultimate article (Comana 1940c, 1) questioned the idea that nobody should be entitled to ask the

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relatives or friends to burn a body after death, if they did not share their belief system with the deceased. It claimed that a person should not be forced to carry out the deceased’s desire to be incinerated. To refuse to do so should not constitute a sin: on the contrary, to fulfil the deceased’s wish would be a sacrilege. The last of the articles dealt with another sensitive issue regarding conduct occasioned by cremation: What was a Christian to do if he was expected to go to a cremation? (Comana 1940d, 1–2) The question was raised by Comana and related to participation in a funeral service performed by a defrocked priest or his replacement by a gramophone. A reference was made to Trancu-Iaúi’s case. According to Comana, a Christian should not attend such an event. He was to listen to his inner voice and his heart, and be aware of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s views in this regard. Besides, cremation was an “apishness of foreigners,” twisting the path of Christian life, impoverishing the soul and without the approval of any Orthodox people. His position as a priest would stop him from taking part in such an event, because people had a tendency to generalise and would interpret the gesture as the church’s consent to cremation. A second generalisation referred to many Christians having been in a similar situation. The example was given of a wife who fulfilled her husband’s wishes concerning cremation, as he was “indifferent regarding faith.” Later she began to be haunted by nightmares of his body burning: “she saw how he was swelling and his eyes emerged from their place” (Comana 1940d, 2). At the end of the article, a letter was included from a worshiper, a friend of Trancu-Iaúi who, learning of his decision to be cremated, completely refused to participate in the funeral ceremony at the crematorium. Comana also mentioned another letter, one containing threats from cremationists. These warned the priests who opposed cremation that “their beards will be burnt.” At the end, Comana made a call to worshipers and priests, urging them to remain in the way of true faith, to be united and to deny ideas foreign to the Romanian people, embedding the image of salvation as a symbolic representation. The Romanian cremationists’ response took the form of an article published in Flacăra Sacră. It was written by Silvian Carozea (Carozea 1940, 1–2). He openly accused Cuvântul Bun of lack of piety and disrespect for people who meant something in Romanian public life. It was also emphasised that inhumation, cremation and even religious belief had nothing to do with patriotism, and that the latter was an attribute of the soul. Accusing someone of not having it was a serious charge, especially when the accused was no longer among the living. Carozea emphasised the hideous labels attached to Trancu-Iaúi’s and General Moruzzi’s choice

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of cremation. Speaking on behalf of the Romanian cremationists, the author showed that they admitted and honoured every opinion, even those against the practice, as long as it was based on argument and excluded any reference to persons. In conclusion, the article in Cuvântul Bun was considered to be the expression of some reprehensible acts, coming from an environment, namely the clerical one, where expectations were utterly and completely different to those of the people. The most significant speech delivered at Trancu-Iaúi’s cremation was that of Radu D. Rosetti (Câteva 1940, 5–6). Its relevance lies in the fact that Rosetti was speaking on behalf of the Romanian cremationists. Trancu-Iaúi was identified as the most important Romanian cremationist. Moreover, the Romanian cremationists’ conception of death was revealed: We of the Cenuúa Society, are not afraid of death. We defy it even in its ugly side. And instead of giving the body to be prey to worms – we arrange in advance to get to eternity through the purifying fire. (Câteva 1940, 5)

The end of the speech reveals Rosetti’s poetical force. It is also a conclusion summarising who Trancu-Iaúi was: and when you get into the street and you see the white smoke going up from the chimney of the crematorium – a symbol of human nothingness – imagine that it is the soul of Grigore Trancu-Iaúi, a soul that no flame can destroy, a soul that ascends to heaven … . (Câteva 1940, 5–6)

Trancu-Iaúi’s cremation was an occasion for Dumitru Stăniloae to adopt a categorical anti-cremation stance in an article published in 1940 (Stăniloae 1940, 1–2). After praising the attitude of King Carol II regarding the respect paid to ancestral customs and beliefs, Stăniloae placed in counterbalance the cremation of the former minister from Iaúi, to whom military honours were given due to his position. It was believed that Trancu-Iaúi’s cremation would have negative effects on a large scale: How many more naive souls, impressed by such words and such honours, had decided to follow in death the example of such ‘personalities’? (Stăniloae 1940, 1)

Thus: to let yourself be incinerated when the church condemns this and when it does not grant you, through its rightful priests, its support and prayers, is equal to a disregard of the church and thus of Christianity.

Stăniloae admitted that there was no condemnation of cremation in the

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sacred texts, but claimed that despite this, cremation was incompatible with the Christian way of perceiving the body: “the body is the soul’s image and it is created by God through an act of special attention.” From this premise, he built an argument for the multiple importance of the body to the Christian. At the end of the article, he asked the state authorities to close Cenuúa Crematorium due to its incompatibility with the Romanian and Orthodox characteristic (Stăniloae 1940, 2). On the other hand, one can see that even before the war, a relatively short time after the opening of the crematorium, cremation began to be practiced by Romanian Communists and by Romanians of Jewish ethnicity. Well-known personalities of the tiny Communist Party in Romania were incinerated during the war. Two of these are figures who were to be transformed into myths during the Romanian Communist era, although it is true that there were differences between them. These two examples are of Bela Brainer, who died and was cremated in 1940, and Constantin David, who was shot dead by legionnaires and incinerated in January 1941. Both were to become heroes during the Communist period. Brainer enjoyed special attention in the early years of Romanian Communism. An area bearing his name and dedicated to Romanian Communists who had been incinerated was established inside Cenuúa Crematorium. Brainer’s heroic status during the Communist period found its fulfilment in a memorial article published in 1970 (Maria 1970, 111– 114). I am not interested in the form adopted in the article, but simply in the occasion of Brainer’s cremation. It was reported that he was cremated on 13 March 1940 and that the building was “besieged.” It was emphasised that despite these measures, the workers’ delegates came to the crematorium to bring a final tribute to the deceased, and some workers succeeded in entering the courtyard (Maria 1970, 114). This account should be considered with caution, as it can be understood as an attempt at heroising, a theme that runs through the entire article. Another incident involving Cenuúa Crematorium after the Second World War was the burning the of the corpses of Marshal Ion Antonescu and his collaborators, sentenced to death by the People’s Court and executed in Jilava Prison on 1 June 1946. After their deaths were confirmed following their executions, their bodies were left unmoved for one hour under the supervision of a guard consisting of a chief and eight men. After that, Gheorghe Săndulescu, the Assistant Prosecutor, made arrangements for their transportation to the crematorium for incineration. The urns could either be given to the families of the executed or not. It was mentioned that the families had submitted through their lawyer a petition requesting that the urns of ashes or bodies be returned to them (Proces

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2003a, 435–439). In the case of Marshal Antonescu, the claim was made by his mother. She asked that in case of execution, the body be given to her for burial in the family vault. The same plea was made for the funeral urn in the case of cremation (Cerere 2003, 433). The minutes of the burning of four provides additional details. The bodies were transported by emergency ambulance to the crematorium where, at 9:15pm, the burning of the corpses began. They were burned separately, the remains being deposited in special urns, each of them bearing the name of the deceased (Proces 2003b, 442). The urns of ashes of the four were given to the commissioner on duty at the Police Prefecture in Bucharest, to be held pending a future decision on whom to give them to (Proces 2003, 443). A few weeks later, informative notes were released to the Ministry of the Interior, detailing the forty-day memorial services for Marshal Antonescu and his collaborators, and also revealing the fate of the ashes. The service took place at the Poor Church in Bucharest, where the priest mentioned their names in the presence of a large audience consisting mainly of former friends of those executed. The most significant aspect of this event was the informative note about the fate of their ashes. They were to be sold by the holder of the urns to the families. The amount to be paid proved to be significant, as it was to be paid “only in gold.” The note asked for preventive measures to be taken in order to stop the “transaction,” or to allow it in order to catch the perpetrator (Inspectorarul 2003, 452–453). The case of the cremation of Marshal Antonescu and his collaborators has primary significance for the ways in which political leaders’ bodies were dealt with. They were executed, stigmatised and identified as dangerous to the political power that succeeded them. In such cases, their ashes or bodies were also to be neutralised. This is called post-mortem punishment. It was applied to some political leaders identified as dictators. From this point of view, Marshal Antonescu is part of a large group including the Nazis executed after the Nuremberg Trials in 1946, Adolf Eichmann and Marshal Tojo. Cremation was not the only solution to the management of the corpses of dictators. Other examples of the postmortem handling of dictators’ bodies included deposition in an unmarked grave, as was the case with Nicolae and Elena Ceauúescu, and the odyssey of Benito Mussolini’s corpse. In fact, there is a long tradition of this as a political practice, going back, with some exceptions, to the handling of Oliver Cromwell’s earthly remains (Matus 2006, 25–28). But the most significant cremation after 1945 was that of the physician Dumitru Bagdasar in July 1946, when he was the Minister of Health. The newspapers allocated significant space to that event. Universul portrayed

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what happened: the deceased was deposited in the hall of the Faculty of Medicine in Bucharest. The funeral ceremony was held there on 19 July 1946. A group of priests performed the funeral service at 5pm; at 5:45 the first series of speeches were delivered and at 6:45 the funeral procession began. This consisted of motorcyclists to clear the road; the car with the crucifix and the funeral wheat porridge; the car with the priest; two trucks draped in black with flowers and wreaths; the funeral car; the family; members of the government; the professor’s body; the Minister of Health; officials; democratic political organisations; the Union of Sanitary Syndicates; members of the public etc. At 8pm, the cremation took place at Cenuúa Crematorium (Cum 1946, 3). The changes regarding cremation in Western Europe affected certain Romanians. This was the case with the linguist Grigore Nandriú, who became Professor of Slavic Studies at Oxford, having remained in the British Isles since being forced to flee there in 1940. In his diary, Nandriú mentions an episode from 1944 when the Archbishop of Canterbury, William Temple, became the first prelate of his rank to be cremated. Nandriú identified this action as “a brave attitude toward tradition,” emphasising “the philosophy of the church man, which was stronger in him than the ecclesiastical culture” (Nandriú 1999, 208–209). Nandriú engaged in painting a picture of Christianity and the church at that time. He saw Christianity as a “need of commercialised and industrialised society” for it expressed “the comfortable arrangement of humans with each other.” He said the church had “one moral for the worshipers and one for itself,” an issue that led to “the loss of the adhesion of the crowd” (Nandriú 1999, 208–209). It is interesting that Nandriú, too, opted for cremation. In the testament written a year before his death, he asked that his urn be brought back to the country: My wish was for my ashes to be cast on the plain of my native place, with no parade, with no ceremony. I would ask that the urn with my ashes is taken to RădăuĠi and placed on the land of Bukovina, at a time when transportation is possible. (Nandriú 1999, 10)

On the other hand, the information according to which a new crematorium was planned to be opened in Braúov (International 1948, 38) is of particular importance. It shows that the efforts of Romanian cremationists to expand the practice had been resumed after 1944. In the report of the Cremationists’ Congress of 1948, the situation regarding cremation in Romania at that time was clearly described: cremation was legal, with the same status as inhumation, despite Orthodox opposition; and there was only one crematorium in Bucharest which, though damaged

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by bombing during the war, was functional. In Romania, there was a cremation organisation affiliated to the International Cremation Federation along with other such organizations established in sixteen countries worldwide (International 1948, 8). It is noted that the Cenuúa Society, as a member of the International Cremation Federation, had not contributed financially by paying a subscription (International 1948, 9).

CHAPTER FIVE THE COMMUNIST PERIOD: INNOVATIONS AND TACIT UNDERSTANDINGS

Due to shifts in the nature of the sources, analysis of the history of cremation during the Communist period is probably the most challenging section of this study. Not only did the Romanian cremationists cease publishing their own materials, but there were also significant changes in the Romanian media. Several publications which had previously had a high circulation disappeared, to be replaced by other titles that were more or less obscure but were sympathetic towards the Communists. New titles also emerged. At the same time, the very terms of the debate itself were being rewritten, as the attempt to implement particular models in a totalitarian society supplanted the polemical debate between cremationists and traditionalists which had characterised the inter-war period. Indeed the entire cremation debate was reframed by the received truths that were imposed by the Romanian Communists, together with the image they promulgated of a society in the full swing of a fundamental reconstruction. In another sense the Soviet model, which required innovation and a complete new social dynamic, is key to the reading of certain developments in post-war Romania. At least in terms of cremation and crematoria, the Soviet model confronted Romanians with innovative elements within their overall way of death. Thus, for instance, the opening of the Moscow crematorium in October 1927 was deliberately driven by the Communist regime in order to establish a new model. This new model was intended to be anti-religious par excellence, with the crematorium building deliberately located near to the cemetery of the disused Donskoi monastery (Stites 1991, 304–305). (This was not the first crematorium to be opened during this period: one had previously been opened in St. Petersburg in December 1920. However it proved to be a failure, and was closed very shortly afterward. (Merridale 2000, 170–172)). However even the notion of a “Soviet model” is open to question, since, despite state support for cremation, it developed only slowly during the 1920s, before accelerating in the mid-1930s and gaining further ground during the

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premierships of Nikita Khrushchev and Leonid Brezhnev (Binns 2005, 370–371). Meanwhile, in the post-war Romanian context, both innovation and continuity may be identified in regard to cremation, with both the attitude of the Romanian Orthodox Church and the legal status of cremation as equal to burial, which had been established since the interwar period, remaining unchanged.

Political and demographic context Following the end of the the Second World War, Soviet influence within Romania grew considerably, enabling the Romanian Communist Party to play an increasingly important role in the political arena, and making it only a matter of time before the Communists took power. This was done gradually: from the elimination of the traditional parties, until the forced abdication of King Mihai I on 30 December 1947. Romania thus became a democratic republic in the Soviet pattern, with the Communists taking total control of numerous aspects of public life. Through a Stalinist-inspired terror regime, much of the Romanian elite was exterminated, with the state security services remaining extremely active right up to the fall of Communism in 1989. In terms of religion, the Greek Catholic Church, which had a large number of followers in Transylvania, was disbanded, leaving Romanian Orthodoxy as the majority confession of ethnic Romanians. The main leader of the Communist era was Gheorghe Gheorghiu who, following Stalin’s death in 1953, commenced a policy of partial independence from the Soviet Union. On Gheorghiu’s death in 1965, Nicolae Ceauúescu became general secretary of the Romanian Communist Party. Externally, Ceauúescu was noted for a series of actions which appeared to characterise him as a dissident amongst the Communist states of Europe. For example, he refused to permit the Romanian army to participate in the invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, and such actions earned him the admiration and sometimes the support of the West. In reality, however, Ceauúescu was running a dictatorship within Romania, which increased in strength as he aged. At the same time his personal cult, along with that of his wife Elena, gradually became very strong in Romania. Ceauúescu’s apparent distance from the Soviet Union also engendered the development of a particular brand of nationalistic Communism in Romania. In 1974 Ceauúescu became President of the Socialist Republic of Romania, but as time progressed, food shortages and the increasingly flagrant violations of human rights led to the erosion of his authority. Ceauúescu also pioneered a vigorous urban planning programme in Romania. The regime’s failure to

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respond to an international climate that was increasingly hostile due to the new policies inaugurated by Mikhail Gorbachev, and because of the successive ousting of the other Communist regimes in Central and SouthEastern Europe, led to a popular revolt in Romania; Ceauúescu was arrested, put on trial, sentenced to death and executed with his wife in December 1989. Ceauúescu campaigned strongly for a forced population increase in Romania, for instance banning abortion on demand. Romania therefore experienced a sharp population increase during the Communist era: whereas in 1948 the Romanian population had been somewhat greater than 15 million, by 1989 it was approaching 23 million. Given also the regime’s policy of strategic industrialisation, much of this population increase was in the urban areas.

Cremation statistics Cremation statistics for the period between 1948 and 1989 reveal some intriguing trends. It is tempting to assume that establishment of Communism in Romania, and with this the attempt to implement a new type of man, would naturally have led to an increase in the number of cremations, encouraged by Communist ideology. However the data contradicts this, since during the early years of Communism in Romania, the number of cremations actually fell below the inter-war level. Quantitatively, cremations performed at Cenuúa crematorium between 1948 and 1989 can be divided into three major periods: 1948–1961, 1962– 1972 and 1973–1989 (see tables 5-1, 5-2 and 5-3). This chronological scheme enables us to make comparisons with the number of cremations performed between 1928 and 1947. Thus, we may note that the number of cremations from the pre-War period would not be equalled again until nearly a decade after the establishment of Communism in Romania. The 1980s witnessed a significant increase in the number of cremations which, interestingly, coincided with an acute population crisis. This decade also saw a peak in the publication of obituaries in newspapers. Also noteworthy for this period are the three years when the number cremations of females noticeably exceeded those of males, cremations otherwise generally being equal across the genders. Moreover, the 1977 earthquake did not lead to an overall increase in the number of cremations, despite the fact that some of the victims’ bodies were cremated at Cenuúa. Meanwhile, as before the war, the “social” cremations of unidentified bodies, and of the poor, continued to be funded by the city hall.

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Year

Cremations

1948

385

1949

300

1950

286

1951

282

1952

270

1953

266

1954

301

1955

274

1956

268

1957

277

1958

272

1959

312

1960

307

1961

353

Table 5-1 Number of cremations between 1948 and 1961 Year

Cremations

1962

453

1963

421

1964

417

1965

483

1966

473

1967

569

1968

614

1969

679

1970

697

1971

887

Table 5-2 Number of cremations between 1962 and 1972

The Communist Period: Innovations and Tacit Understandings

Year

Cremations

1973

1049

1974

1034

1975

1081

1976

1086

1977

1180

1978

1182

1979

1234

1980

1275

1981

1255

1982

1283

1983

1346

1984

1482

1985

1692

1986

1602

1987

1836

1988

1674

1989

1698

277

Table 5-3 Number of cremations between 1973 and 1989

The stance of the Romanian Orthodox Church The Romanian Orthodox Church continued to reject cremation during the Communist period, carrying on the tradition it had developed during the inter-war period. This is most obviously manifest in the lack of mention that cremation receives in the contemporary theological literature, and in the rather superficial nature – as opposed to systematic analysis – of such Romanian Orthodox commentary on cremation as did appear during this period. There are, however, a few exceptions, notably the articles published in Revista Teologica and Studii Teologice by the theologian Vladimir Prelipcean during the 1960s. In Teaching of Christian Orthodox Faith (1962) Prelipcean had covered the topic to a limited degree, using the

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catechistic device of question-and-answer (ÎnvăĠătură 1952, 324–325). This was part of a wider discussion regarding proper Christian conduct in the face of death, and the meaning of the various components of the funerary rite from the Romanian Orthodox perspective. Since the intended readership was the faithful general public, the question was simply phrased: “What should we think about those who give their bodies to the crematorium to be burned?” (ÎnvăĠătură 1962, 324–325). Prelipcean’s answer was in accord with the decisions of the 1928 and 1933 Synods, which had rejected the practice of cremation. The destruction of the body through cremation was an act of disbelief, because it was typical of an atheist: “That is why they burn their bodies after death, those who imagine that everything ends with death and that, after death, there is nothing else” (ÎnvăĠătură 1962, 324–325). Why the concept of atheism was not explicitly referred to in this passage is an obvious question; it would perhaps have been annoying, since atheism was the foundation of Romanian Communist discourse. The directive force of Prelipcean’s stance came from the fact that cremation stood in direct opposition to the doctrine of the Final Judgment, at which it was believed the bodies of the dead would be resurrected, and reunited with the soul in order to be rewarded for their achievements during life. The body was considered to be the temple of God, the home of the soul and the Holy Spirit, and should thus be cared for and honoured after its separation from the soul, “and not burned as a wicked thing” (ÎnvăĠătură 1962, 324–325). Prelipcean’s two articles on cremation can be considered as unique for their time, being focused exclusively on the issue. They are also directly related to one another, since the first article, published in 1962, generated a series of controversies within the Orthodox milieu, the consequence of which was the publication of his second article in 1967. The fact of these reactions is particularly significant, because it demonstrates the continued sensitivity of Romanian Orthodoxy to the issue, which was made manifest regardless of the nature and actions of the political regime. The 1962 Studii Teologice article (Prelipceanu 1962, 414–428) was published a year before the Second Vatican Council. The first issue relating to this article which requires attention is the reason for its publication: why did Prelipcean take on the subject of cremation? The answer to this is found in the introduction, where Prelipcean indicated clearly that, despite major differences between burial and cremation in terms of certain views on man and his dignity, along with other legal, medical and administrative considerations, cremation of the dead was becoming a more viable alternative to burial. This reality of this was becoming evident “more and more in the big cities, where connurbations

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have grown up” (Prelipceanu 1962, 414). However there was also another, more subtle motivation for the article: “in this way, the question will be better explained for a fair solution on the part of the Orthodox Church regarding the issue of cremation or burial, which is gaining more and more ground not only abroad, but also in our Capital” (Prelipceanu 1962, 415). This statement reveals two points: first, the expansion of cremation in Romania, especially in Bucharest, during the 1960s, and second, that the Orthodox Church was feeling under pressure to engage with the issue again, and on another level. Prelipcean’s article built on two previous studies, one by Nicolae Cotos, and dating from 1925, and the other by Ion Popescu Mălăieúi in 1930. His material on the history of cremation from Ancient times, the emergence and development of modern cremation, and the pros and cons of cremation, is largely taken from these two sources. Based on the articles by Cotos and Mălăieúi, Prelipcean felt that certain traditions and customs could be altered, provided that any innovations were introduced patiently and incrementally over time. In the case of cremation, he believed that were it to remain optional, this would avoid dispute and popular agitation, pointing out that “the introduction of the Bucharest crematorium did not produce any disorder” (Prelipcean 1962, 418). This statement was completely inaccurate, and Prelipcean would correct his error a few years later. When considering cremation in terms of Christian doctrine, and based on Cotos and Mălăeúti’s conclusion that the preference for burial was explained by its higher symbolic value, since it was not a dogma of the Church, Prelipcean committed his second serious error, stating: “As we know, the Romanian Orthodox Church has not officially declared its stance on the issue of cremation. In the Orthodox Church, every believer is free to decide as he thinks fit on how his body is managed after death” (Prelipceanu 1962, 424). Since the 1928 and 1933 Synods had unequivocally stated their rejection of cremation, it is difficult to explain how this statement could have come about; again, Prelipceanu would correct the error in the 1967 article. In the spirit of his time, Prelipcean showed that cremation was especially preferred by non-believers, but he did not call them atheists. However it was noted that, for personal reasons, many Orthodox Christians also preferred cremation over burial, expressing this in their wills, but at the same time clearly stating that they desired a religious funeral service. Prelipcean then made a point which is revealing of actual practice during this period: “Without any formal provision in this respect, Orthodox priests usually hold the funeral service at the request of close

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relatives, in the presence of the deceased, at home before transporting the deceased to the crematorium. Following a kind of tacit consensus, priests are not present during the cremation rite” (Prelipceanu 1962, 425). Meanwhile a leading Romanian cleric attested to the fact that, in practice, religious assistance was generally given to those who opted for cremation, despite the official prohibition. As we shall see, this practice was also affirmed later on, showing that in practice the Orthodox clergy were permissive toward cremation. However this permissiveness was (and remains) tacit in nature, with the issue complicated by the fact that the funeral ceremony was not performed inside the crematorium. Another issue also arises: if the Romanian press had continued in the vein of the inter-war period, for example, this situation would certainly have caused controversy and scandal. Prelipcean returned to the cause of the situation, namely the growing industrial conurbations, adding that in the face of circumstances “the Orthodox Church cannot remain indifferent to this new state of things, created by force of circumstance, as many believers are also followers of this practice” (425). Examples of the concerns of Orthodox forums in this respect included the conference of Rhodes in autumn 1961, and the forthcoming pan-Orthodox ecumenical council, because, despite the widespread tradition of burial, “the conditions of modern life” ushered in new problems, “unknown in the past and which are absolutely necessary” (425). Prelipcean expressed his hope that the next pan-Orthodox ecumenical council would debate the subject in detail. Prelipcean believed that although burial would remain most important to the Orthodox Church, this “will not prevent the practice of cremation, leaving it to the discretion of believers” how the dead body should be managed. The Church was therefore obliged to make a decision on what religious assistance should be given to believers who opted for cremation. According to Prelipcean, it was thus necessary to make the tacit practice official: “In this case, we think it is appropriate to perform the funeral service at the residence of the deceased, before being transported to the crematorium, a practice tacitly practiced before and without too much ado, as it was said” (Prelipcean 1962, 426). At the end of his article Prelipcean stated that until a unified decision, valid for all Churches, was taken, each Church should decide on its own stance towards cremation. In 1967 Prelipcean returned to the issue, for the reason that his earlier article “gave rise to certain interpretations and misunderstandings,” and thus “the author finds it necessary to return with some clarifications, additional information and corrections” (Prelipceanu 1967, 1189). These corrections began with a stronger emphasis on the prevalence of burial over cremation in antiquity, and emphasising even more that cremation

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was a practice of the pagan peoples. The article referred to the area of Dacia, where it had been practiced by the Gepids. Here Prelipcean purposely committed another omission, because in fact it was not only the migratory peoples who settled in Dacia who practiced cremation, but also the Dacians themselves. This was a deliberate omission, intended to avoid making any concession to cremation; admitting that the Dacians had practiced it would certainly not have been concordant with his aims in publishing the article. Firstly, Prelipcean reached the conclusion that on the basis of the scriptural, patristic, historical and archaeological evidence, “nobody can doubt that within the Christian Church, from the beginning until today, the only approach to the earthly remains was the practice of burial” (Prelipcean 1967, 1190). Following the Great Schism of 1054, and until the emergence of modern cremation, the Ecumenical Christian Church and the Orthodox Church had not formulated any written regulation against it, quite simply because it was not needed. Thus, burial had been practiced in a continuous manner. In his 1967 article, Prelipcean precisely detailed the stance of the Roman Catholic Church on cremation, referring not only to its decisions during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to reject the practice, but also to Canons 1203, section 2, and 1204, 1, section 5 in the same vein. Of course he could not omit the decisions of the Second Vatican Council, at which the Roman Catholic Church had decided to cease applying quite so rigorously the provisions of the Canons relating to cremation. However, his description of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s attitude towards religious assistance for those who were cremated was even more detailed (Prelipceanu 1967, 1191–1193). In this case, given that the Orthodox Church was based on a committed traditional arrangement, cremation was explicitly forbidden to its worshippers. In order to illustrate this, Prelipcean turned his attention to the controversy which had arisen from the building and inauguration of Cenuúa crematorium, even though he had previously stated that the event produced no reaction. His analysis was undoubtedly inconsistent in this regard. Prelipcean mentioned how the believers and the Church had united against cremation during the inter-war period: “Everywhere, men of the Church, priests, believers, laymen, theologians, in the newspapers, in the magazines, they spoke up, without reserve, for the old Christian practice of burial, so happily interwoven with the tradition of our religious life, regarding the respect to be paid to the dead” (1191). In order to bolster this argument, he enlisted the successive decisions of the 1928 and 1933 Romanian Orthodox Synods to reject cremation, referring also to other, subsequent provisions. He reminded

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readers that the Council decision of 15 June 1928 had been sent to all dioceses as circular letter no. 369–386, dated 4 March 1933; and that the same order had also been sent to the Archdiocese of Bucharest with the number 369, registered on 6 March 1933 with the number 2146 and distributed to the archdeaconries on 11 March 1933. Furthermore, Prelipceanu clearly specified that the decision of June 1928 had also been published in the Apostolul magazine of the Archdiocese of Bucharest, and in the Official Bulletin of the dioceses in the country. Finally, he showed that: After a case of misconduct – on the basis of no. 10294 of September 18th, 1933 - the Archdeaconries and Monasteries were given the opportunity to renew the circular letter, warning the priests that for any deviation from the Holy Synod’s decision, concerning the doctrine and the practice of our Holy Orthodox Christian Church’s practice, that priest will be prevented from all priestly ministry and prosecuted by the Diocesan Spiritual Consistory, with a harsh sanction. (Prelipceanu 1967, 1192–1193)

In conclusion, Prelipcean corrected his 1962 article, asserting that the position of the Romanian Orthodox Church as rejecting the practice of cremation was clearly stated. Orthodox priests must urge, advise and enlighten their worshippers for them to follow the tradition of burial, “preserved from ancient times and legitimated by the Church from its beginning” (Prelipceanu 1967, 1192–1193). As is well known, in a totalitarian regime such as the Communist regime in Romania special attention is always paid to the preservation of an appearance of freedom and democracy. This may be observed in the penultimate sentence of Prelipcean’s article, when he asserts that in Romania, “as citizens, the believers enjoy freedom of conscience and religious freedom (Article 84 of the Constitution) and as such they can opt for one or another practice related to the care of their bodies after death” (Prelipcean 1967, 1193). However this implied that, theoretically, believers might also reject cremation or burial, too. To leave no room for interpretation, Prelipcean showed clearly that due to “their status as believers of the Church, they have a moral and conscientious duty to obey the precepts of the Church and its provisions, in order to be eligible for the Church’s assistance and its prayers” (Prelipcean 1967, 1193). There thus arises the question of why Prelipcean underwent such a change of opinion on the subject. This question is especially pertinent since Prelipcean was a prominent theologian, and a professor at the University Theological Institute of Bucharest (P. 2009). And it becomes even more pressing, considering that the Roman Catholic Church had

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changed its attitude toward the practice following the Second Vatican Council, which makes Prelipcean’s switch to an anti-cremation stance appear even more paradoxical, and out of step with the position of the Romanian Orthodox Church as it stood by 1967. Furthermore, Prelipcean’s standing as a professor and the prestige he enjoyed in the academic world make it very hard indeed to understand the glaring errors in the 1962 paper. For example, it is difficult to believe that, writing in 1962, Prelipcean would not have known of the 1928 and 1933 Councils of the Romanian Orthodox Church and their pronouncements on cremation, nor that he would have been unaware of the battles fought between traditionalists and cremationists during the inter-war period. Born in 1903, Prelipcean was a student at the Faculty of Theology in CernăuĠi from 1925 to 1929, obtaining his PhD in theology in 1931 (P 2009). He had therefore been contemporary with these events, leading to the conclusion that his errors and omissions must have been intentional, rather than due to poor information. Unfortunately Prelipcean himself left no clue as to how the misinterpretations and misunderstandings in his 1962 article had come about or, especially, whence they had come. However, his intervention of 1967 was clearly a response to the 1962 version, leading to the revision of some previous claims and demonstrating the strength of the traditionalist core within Romanian Orthodoxy at this time. It is important to note how the Roman Catholics implemented changes in their approach to cremation following the Second Vatican Council. Contemporary Romanian Orthodox newspapers and journals hardly acknowledged the change, and there is not even any report of the adoption of the Codex Juris Canonici on 25 January 1983. This is paradoxical, given that some articles devoted to the adoption of the new Codex signalled the changes, giving details of the Canons without mentioning anything about cremation. For example, an article signed by Ioan Dură PhD very briefly mentioned the New Code of Canon Law of the Roman Catholic Church, giving a list of its Canons (Dură 1986, 159–160). Dură’s article expressed some frustration at the description of the Orthodox Church as Oriental, although some other changes relating to icons and ecumenical openness received praise. As for the Catholics’ acceptance of cremation, nothing at all was mentioned. The only mention of this particular change within the Catholic world to be found in the Orthodox newspapers of the time comes from a regional rather than a national magazine, Mitropolia Banatului, in 1964 (Vaticanul 1964, 614–615). Its information was taken from the weekly Flacăra and was contained in the general section of the magazine entitled Cronică Bisericească. According to this, Catholics who expressed their wish to be cremated after death

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could now benefit from the religious funeral service, a change to “the decree adopted in 1866” (Vatican 1964, 614–615). It was stated that the change had been made due to the spread of cremation throughout most countries, and also applied to the Roman Catholics of Communist Romania. In a liturgical textbook published in 1986 the Roman Catholic theologian Claudiu Dumea, of the Institute of University Degree of Iaúi, gives a clear statement of the Vatican’s new position on cremation (Dumea 1986, 172). Dumea cited the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office’s 1963 Order on the cremation of corpses, which had asserted that cremated remains might receive Christian burial provided that it could be established that the cremation was not an anti-Christian act. While the preference of the Roman Catholic Church for burial was emphasised, it was stated that religious services might be conducted inside the crematorium building, and even in the cremation room itself if no other place were available. As for legislative provisions for cremation during the Communist period, these are to be found in the Criminal Code of 1955 and subsequently, and also within civil law. Also relevant in this connection is a Ministry of Health order from 1982, on the subject of cemeteries and crematoria: Standard Regulations for the Administration of Cemeteries and Crematoria in Settlements (Regulament tip pentru administrarea cimitirelor úi crematoriilor localităĠilor) (Regulament 2007). Articles 27–32 focused specifically on the subject of crematoria. This order remains the basis, with some modifications, for the current ACCU Regulations. The standard regulations considered the case of the poor and needy, who were cremated at the expense of their local authorities. However the most significant aspect of the standard regulations was that they theoretically permitted crematoria to be built in cities other than Bucharest: “Article 27. Besides the administration of cemeteries, crematoria may also be established, dealing with the cremation of the dead and the associated prior operations, providing storage and preservation for the urns, and also the execution of other operations related to cremation” (Regulament 1983). Several references to cremation are also contained in Resolution 2290 of 1969, regarding the establishment of contraventions on the regime of civil status papers (Hotărârea 1969).

The nationalisation of Cenuúa Crematorium The nationalisation of Cenuúa crematorium was a milestone in the transformation of Romania, and represented another step by the Communist Party toward total control over Romanian society. The law of

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11 June 1948, known as the nationalisation law, stipulated that all subsoil and soil resources henceforth become state property, in addition to private companies of all types: industrial, mining, insurance, telecommunications, transportation and so forth. Therefore, if the motive for the nationalisation of Cenuúa crematorium were questioned, it could be said that it was simply one amongst many. In fact, the nationalisation law also explicitly stipulated the passage into state ownership of companies of any sort, and the Cenuúa Society was no exception to this. Since the society had built Cenuúa crematorium and was its owner, the building, under the new law, was now owned by Bucharest City Hall. Of course, there had been a clear relationship between local government and the Cenuúa Society during the inter-war period, with the city hall providing material and sometimes even moral support; however, until 1948, it cannot be said that the society was altogether eliminated from the provision of cremation in Romania. Nevertheless, things happened over time. Thus, Article 3 of the Nationalisation Law specified that “societies of any kind that have multiple units are fully nationalised, if any of the units is subject to the present law” (Lege 1948). Since the Cenuúa Society owned the eponymous crematorium, the building therefore became state property. Besides, given that during the inter-war period most of the cremations held at the crematorium had been made on behalf of the city hall, and not the individual, the crematorium was already a legitimate subject of public interest. This may explain the 1948 amendment. The change to state ownership was further prompted by the Cenuúa Society’s wish to improve the facilities at the crematorium by purchasing a new cremation unit, which had been released onto the market back in 1935. The purchase was delayed by the outbreak of the Second World War, until after the Communist regime had become installed in Romania. An anonymous letter sent to the minister for foreign trade in 1950, by a director of the Administrative Service of Bucharest, stated: We have the honour to let you know the following: Cenuúa Society of Mutual Help was municipalised on 24 December 1948, under Decision no. 86850. The Society’s first cremation furnace was first brought into service on 7 February 1928, so it has now been operating for 22 years and has performed over 10,000 cremations. (Primăria 1935, 7)

The reason for this letter was that in 1935, the Cenuúa Society had selected the best quote for a new cremator from the H.R. Heinicke company of Chemnitz, Germany. Due to material shortages, approval had been postponed until 1942, and the total value of the order was around 10,400 Reichsmarks. The society had paid 3120 Reichsmarks, 30 percent

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of the value, to H.R. Heinicke House, on 12 January 1943, followed by a second payment of the same amount on 3 March 1944. The company had already sent the first wagon of refractory materials, on 8 March 1944, Cenuúa Society having requested various necessary items (“iron armature, air compressors, injectors”) in letters dated 1935 and 1942 (Primăria 1935, 7). The 1950 letter to the minister for foreign trade was prompted by the immense delay in fulfilling this order: “Since the functioning of the current cremator unit is threatened due to its operation for over 22 years, we are forced to insist in all ways, so that we can immediately have the new furnace able to function” (Primăria 1935, 7). The minister for foreign trade was asked to negotiate a solution to the situation, and demanded that the remaining materials to be sent to Bucharest immediately, accompanied by a German specialist to install the cremator. The authors of this letter expressed their willingness to send a delegate to Chemnitz for details. The German reply clearly indicated that “Comrade Jicol and Comrade Popovici, Engineer” (Primăria 1935, 7) needed to discuss the problem immediately, “Comrade Popovici” being the same Mihai Popovici, the former secretary of Cenuúa Society who had survived the post-war political changes. The issue clearly remained unresolved, because it was mentioned again in another two letters which were sent to H.R. Heinicke. The first of these letters, dated 26 July 1950, was the reply to the letter which had been received from the German company on 3 January 1947. It detailed the changes which were occurring in Romania, including the nationalisation of Cenuúa crematorium: In response to your letter of 3 January 1947 we communicate to you that, in the meantime, Cenuúa crematorium has been taken over by the Bucharest People’s Council. Thanks to this new situation we have not been able to continue the links established between yourselves and Cenuúa crematorium. Since then, Bucharest People’s Council has now all rights and duties, and we wish to solve once and for all the issue of order no. 4904. (Primăria 1935, 12)

The other letter resumed the issue, specifying the orders placed by Cenuúa Society to H.R. Heinicke, based on its offers in 1935 and an additional one in 1942, and specifying the “Volckman” model of cremator, (Primăria 1935, 6) for which 60 percent had been paid in advance. It was confirmed that the German company had sent the refractory material in January 1944, which by the time of the letter was in Bucharest – still sealed. Both the first and the second letter clearly stated that transportation

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difficulties, the war and then the post-war situation had delayed the fulfilment of the order. The German company’s letter of 2 January 1947 stated that it had no means of transporting the remaining order to Bucharest, and emphasised the necessity of urgent resolution: “Now that the international situation has improved, we believe that the expedition of the remaining material is possible, so please hurry the expedition and the installation that we absolutely need” (Primăria 1935, 6). In order to expedite this process, the case files, including the original order from 1935 and the other documents relating to the situation, were sent to the Bucharest Provisional Committee, Local Industries Department, and Production Office, which were now responsible for cemeteries and crematoria, on 13 October 1950 (Primaria 1935, 14). A further aspect of this situation is also worthy of mention. At the time that Cenuúa Society first placed its order, the H.R. Heinicke Company was one of best known companies in the field. Founded in 1883, it was originally in charge of building chimneys, later expanding its operations into the field of cremation to the extent of opening a branch in the United States (Heinicke 2008). Moreover, the company had at one point been in competition with the J.A. Topla und Söhne ompany, which had supplied the Nazi camps with ovens. In fact approximately 40 cremators, based on the patented Ludwig-Volckmann design, had been installed in Germany between 1935 and 1940, although this model did not predominate (Mattogno 2000, 373–412). The case file reveals that in 1935 engineer Mihai Popovici, through the Romanian General Electric Company of Bucharest, had negotiated H.R. Heinicke’s quote for a cremator (Primăria 1935, 111). The file includes the offers received from engineer Otto R. Jacker (Primăria 1935, 105–110) and the receipt for the goods which had already shipped from Germany (21–24). Up to a point, the issue was the responsibility of the Ministry of Industry, Trade and Mines, as it had focused on the delivery of the materials needed to build the second cremator at Cenuúa. A letter sent by the Cenuúa Society to the ministry on 17 March 1944 requested the approval of an occasional import licence, as “the first shipment of 10,050 kilograms of ground refractory materials in the customs warehouses,” worth 450 Reichsmarks, had arrived (Primăria 1935, 24). Until 1950, Cenuúa crematorium functioned as an independent service in the People’s Council of Bucharest, after which it was merged with the cemeteries to form the Administration of the Cemeteries and Crematoria (Raport 2010, 4). The Communist takeover of the state and of Cenuúa crematorium had further crucial significance for the history of cremation in Romania during

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the nineteenth to twenty-first centuries. This was the break in relations between the Romanian cremationists and the International Cremation Federation, a matter which also affected the other countries which adopted Communism following the Second World War (Mates 2005, 366). However, this is a minor concern when compared to the interruption of relations between Romania and other major international bodies such as the World Health Organisation (Republica 1950, 3).

Romanian Communism and the issue of cremation A full discussion of cremation in the context of Romanian Communism takes place at two levels. First, there is the theoretical aspect, which takes into account the entire ideological stock of Romanian Communism on the phenomenon of death and the event of dying and its explanations. Second, there is the practical level, concerning the implementation of Communist ideology within society, in particular the means (burial or cremation) of managing dead bodies. These questions are explored separately in the following section.

An outline of death in Romanian Communist ideology: Between the earthly heaven and the death taboo Our first level of analysis comprises a discussion of death within Communist ideology, since this is essential for an understanding of what then transpired in practice. Since death can carry a plurality of meanings, the difficulty of this task is implicit. Broadly, within Communist ideology death was always a locus of morality, and thus cliches and truisms were employed: death was regarded as a simple reflection of life, so a simple life devoted to the proletarian cause therefore engendered an easy death. The ideal Communist life was one of militant asceticism, with death as a sacrifice (Bernard 1986, 38). Thus, the exemplary dimension imposed at the ideological level made each individual death a part of the Party’s great being. Therefore, the Communist death is a collective and community affair, through which commitment to the ideology is demonstrated. In this respect, the ideal Communist death had something in common with the Christian tradition of sacrifice and martyrdom (Bernard 1986, 39). This made the funerary ritual repetitive and cumulative in the representations conveyed, starting from the funeral notice, the tributes paid at the catafalque, and ending with a description of the burial or cremation ceremony, including quotes from the funeral speeches and reminders of the deceased (Bernard 1986, 42–43).

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Death was also regarded as a necessity, part of the nature of any form of existence, a means of perpetuating society and part of the broader process of social evolution. The good Communist death was also democratic, a practical opportunity to both strengthen and legitimise the ideals of fraternity and equality. However the Communist death is also problematic, since in the atheistic Communist discourse it is also the definitive end of existence. But this difficulty could be overcome, since the deceased was believed to survive in perpetuity through his deeds and his memory amongst the living. An issue which requires consideration here is the nature of the Soviet model which was invoked, and there is an entire academic literature on this subject. Soviet atheism itself experienced particular modifications and developments, as dictated by the spirit of the time and by the concrete actions of the political powers. This is an essential point for the present analysis, because Romanian Communism overlapped with a specific stage in the evolution of Soviet atheism, namely the scientific stage. The phenomenon of Russian atheism was analysed by James Thrower, who provides significant information in this respect (1983, 135–169). Thrower identifies 1954 as the beginning of scientific atheism, although there had been some earlier signals. Until then, atheism had been more an everyday practice than an ideological position, although Marx, Engels and Lenin had completely rejected not only Christianity but also the very idea of religion itself, a rejection which was tenaciously continued by the Soviet Communist Party (Thrower 1983, 136–139). Whether by means of practical or militant atheism, Thrower identifies the Leninist legacy at work in the establishment of schools for atheist propaganda, the elimination of clergy from administrative positions, the establishment of atheist museums, and in the continual actions against believers. Thus, education was the main tool employed in order to eliminate religious belief and practices. Such atheistic propaganda decreased notably in intensity during the Second World War, due to the moral condition of the population and its confidence in victory. The key impetus for the establishment of scientific atheism in the Soviet Union came from the two decrees issued by the CPSU Central Committee in 1954 (Thrower 1983, 142). These show how the atheistic movement had become passive, while religion was gaining ground, and it was decided that an increase in propaganda at all levels would remedy this situation. However, this propaganda was obliged to rely more and more on scientific knowledge as the future rational basis of society (Thrower 1983, 142–143). Some clarification is required in this respect. The atheistic side of

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Romanian Communism had already begun to be manifested, being at that time still in its infancy, and it coincided with these changes in the Soviet Union. But there are two issues here: firstly, that this model was subject to the particularities of the Romanian context, and secondly that it affected, at least theoretically, an entire way of death, and might even influence the practical aspects relating to the management of the body after death. But this fact, which should have caused a major paradigm shift, with crematoria expanding throughout the country by way of undermining traditional structures and building the new modern man, did not transpire, and the reasons for this will be addressed later. In support of this claim, there is the publication of numerous works under the auspices of the Society for Dissemination of Science and Culture, which commenced its publishing activities around 1956–1958. In Romania, two aspects of the atheistic literature may be distinguished, although both were ultimately different sides of the same coin. On the one hand, there was a literature which popularised the movement, while the other, slightly more sophisticated, was aimed at the more intellectual section of society. Besides these two dedicated sub-genres, atheism was also incorporated into other contemporary academic discourse, such as the Romanian Marxists’ dogged rejection of existentialism. Since the question of death is fundamental to existentialism, the Romanian Marxist critique obviously could not avoid the subject. It would therefore be an over-generalisation to claim that the Romanian Communists’ use of cremation blindly followed a Sovietinspired, strictly atheistic model. It is very difficult to establish the quantitative dimension of atheism in Communist Romania. This difficulty is due not only to the lack of data, but also to the fact that such data as is available comes from the Communist propaganda of the time. Nevertheless, even if it is distorted, the quantitative data obtained in this way needs to be mentioned, because if nothing else it reveals the subjectivism of the Communist approach. For example, in 1989 Septimiu Chelcea published the results of a survey he had conducted on a sample of over 2,800 people, which he considered to be representative in 1988 (Chelcea 1989). Thus, according to Chelcea, at that time only 10 to 15 percent of the total population aged over 15 years could be considered to be believers, a figure of about 1.8 to 2.2 million people. Within this, women and those over 60 years old were most likely to be believers. Most of the population, 63 percent (from 10.6 to 11.2 million people), was indifferent in terms of religion. About 25 percent of the country’s population (about 3.9 to 4.5 million) were atheists (Chelcea 1989). This included members of the Romanian Communist Party and the

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Young Communist League, but also people with no political orientation. Analysis of this data reveals not only clear subjectivity, but also almost certain exaggeration. This in turn exposes a political system which was capable of employing any means necessary in order to furnish society with a new profile. In terms of the Soviet model, the Romanian version of the famous Atheist’s Guide represents an appropriate source, which was published under the title Călăuza ateistului in 1962, just a year after the publication of the Russian version in Moscow. The section on “Christian Rites and Holidays” covers the subject of death in some detail (Călăuza 1962, 331– 333). The starting point was the belief in the soul, which was considered to be the basis of the notion of life after death and of religious faith itself, but which was extremely dangerous for the new man. This fitted perfectly with the Marxist separation of society into the exploited and the exploiting classes, in which the clergy acted as exploiters, so that “the oppressed working people hope for a better life just in the hereafter” (Călăuza 1962, 332). In order to increase its power over believers, the Church imposed upon them the strict observance of rites, with the threat that acting otherwise carried the risk of failing to achieve full happiness after death. The counter to this model was the civil funeral of the Socialist countries. This sought to dismantle the clerical narrative, according to which unbelievers were indifferent towards the way a human being was buried: “remembering the dead is holy even for the atheists. Although they have no doubt that the deceased does not feel anything, the atheists give importance to everything that gives the burial ceremony a solemn, mourning character, corresponding to the feelings experienced by the relatives and close friends of the deceased” (Călăuza 1962, 332). Given the lack of heaven and hell, the promise of full happiness in heaven as the remedy for all earthly deficiencies had no real basis in fact: “working people do not need such immortality. Man can create a happy, wealthy and joyful life on earth as well. That’s how the Communists understand immortality” (Călăuza 1962, 332). Reference was made to the Communist masterminds, as the best exemplars of this: Marx, Lenin and Engels might have died, but they lived on through the actions of the Marxist-Leninist parties, which brought their ideas to everyday life, and thus they were alive in the memories, thoughts and struggles of millions of people (Călăuza 1962, 333). These ideas were intrinsically valid for the Romanian Communists. The same argument is evident in an opinion expressed by Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej in the 1950s: It is known that in order to keep the workers and the peasants in yoke, the

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Numerous variations on this theme are to be found in Romania at this time. The works of N. Zaharia and Octav Munteanu are essential examples. In 1960, the first of these, a senior lecturer, published a work devoted mainly to the theme of death, the soul and belief in immortality (Zaharia 1961, 3–14). The scientific basis, constantly invoked by the author, was intended as the most convincing means of demonstrating his ideas: that death is a biological process consisting of several successive stages; that the event of death does not occur instantaneously, but is a long process involving various organs of the body, tissues and cells; and that science proves the belief that life is due to the presence of a soul, and that death occurs when this soul leaves the body, to be completely wrong. Thus two views were drawn of life and death: the idealistic view, versus the materialistic one that there is nothing but matter and its motion, life being due to the exclusive way of existence of living matter. Death, rather than being the denial of life, is simply the cessation of metabolism (Zaharia 1961, 15). Zaharia considered the notions of the immortality of the body and the soul to be naive, as was any belief in heaven or hell, because even there the soul had a kind of bodily existence. At this point, Zaharia launched into a critique of the church: According to religious belief, the afterlife of the soul in heaven compensates for all the bodily sufferings and torments of those who are afflicted and exploited on earth. In all social orders based on exploitation of man by man, the church has taught the exploited to undergo oppression and exploitation. To suffer resignedly on earth, because their soul will enjoy happiness in heaven. Thus, we understand why the church became one of the main tools used by the ruling classes to keep the working classes under tight rein and to rob them of their material goods. (Zaharia 1961, 25)

If every living thing is mortal, and death is present in life, then any belief in fate was considered to be empty. But, according to Zaharia, this belief was extremely dangerous because it led to fatalism, pushing man with all force into inactivity and resignation towards nature (Zaharia 1961, 36). If death was dependent on living conditions, it could be concluded that human longevity was closely related to social environment. Starting from here, it was shown that the most important factor “that hastens

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peoples’ deaths is man’s exploitation by man” (Zaharia 1961, 41). Death therefore became a means of critiquing the capitalist world and glorifying the Communist “heaven,” exemplified by the extremely high rate of infant mortality in “bourgeois-landlord” Romania, the increase in life expectancy in the Soviet Union (from 32 years during the Tsarist regime, to 68 in 1959) and in Romania (from 42 years in 1930 to 63 in 1958), and the disastrous situation in the colonial countries. (This was biased, given that nothing was presented regarding life expectancy in the Western countries and the United States. In the United States, average life expectancy was 69 to 70, which exceeded the Soviet average; there was therefore clearly a strong element of propaganda at work here.) Any belief in fate or destiny was seen only as a means of halting improvement and extension to human life. In conclusion, Zaharia showed that the only heaven that exists is the earthly one, and although death is inevitable, the creative work of human progress ensured the survival of the individual after death (Zaharia 1961, 46). Some years later Zaharia resumed the propagandistic theme of life expectancy in the Communist paradise, in the same form of a populist work (Zaharia 1963). The data provided were somewhat more extensive, but equally subjective (Zaharia 1963, 48–56). However, the rhetoric on death in Communist ideology during the Stalinist period addressed other items as well. Life in the capitalist world was painted as the shadow side of the Communist heaven, a theme developed, for instance, in articles on the rising suicide rate in the West caused by poverty (Sinucideri 1953, 3), racial discrimination in the United States, which extended even into the cemetery (Discriminare 1953, 4), and the British allocation of less money for the pensions of war veterans than for cemetery maintenance in 1953 (Faptele 1953, 3). Within the Romanian Communist discourse on atheism, death received relatively little attention, in terms either of content or of its significance. Haralamb Culea (1975), for example, dedicated a few lines to the subject in a similar vein to those already described above. In his view atheism constituted an affirmation of freedom and an assertion of individual and collective responsibility, and to be an atheist meant a desire to live fully with others rather than in relation to “God” (Culea 1975, 68). Such a model set “the optimistic belief in the earthly immortality of humanity,” driven by a real sense of progress instead of a naive and fantastic belief in otherwordly immortality, and it anticipated the multi-talented flourishing of the human personality (Culea 1975, 70). Communism, through its material and social prerequisites, was thus the perfect realisation of Marxist humanism, but in order to achieve this level of existence one

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condition must be fulfilled: the construction of a Promethean human type on a large scale, to be based on “creative dedication,” and considered as a “unique response to the problem of death.” This was a reversal of the model offered by religion, and replaced religious reflection on death with a full understanding of the active and creative life, and with a strategy centred solely on life. Culea’s conclusion placed death at the centre of the atheistic Communist ideology: “Atheism, which perhaps appeared from a long ‘logical analysis’ of the absurdity of death, makes this statement under the following terms: the only dignified and real alternative to death, the only lucid and possible answer to the problem of death is the demiurgic life” (Culea 1975, 71). Culea went on to make another, essential point: that the success or failure of atheism would be measured, and ultimately determined, by its ability to find a concrete, not merely a hypothetical solution to the problem of death. Comparison of the concept of happiness within atheism and religion was a separate issue, which was addressed by the work of Simion Asandei (1980, 243–246), who attempted to explain the persistence of religiosity in Communist Romania (291–295). Amongst a variety of reasons, such as social and economic factors, and the exploitation of natural phenomena hostile to man, Asandei also identified the power of tradition and of the obligations thus transmitted to the individual, the family and the wider community. In relation to death in particular, Asandei cited the commandeering by the church of such events for mystical propaganda and the perpetuation of the religious spirit. The religious service performed by priests was an occasion for them “to remind people, in a psycho-emotional context, of the Biblical precepts and dogmas of life and death, trying thus to frighten and to mystically impress those present” (Asandei 1980, 293). According to Asandei the clergy thus sought to take advantage of death, wasting “arguments.” The most significant works of this type are Talking to Believers (De Vorbă 1960), published in 1963, and the three-volume Questions and Answers on the Atheistic Education of Youths (Berar et al. 1975). Their significance was due to the fact that they would become a direct instrument of action, focused, as indicated by their titles, on two key sections of the population: believers and the young. When comparing the scientific basis of these two studies, however, the superiority of the latter work, which was intended as a comprehensive account of atheism as expressed through Communist ideology and praxis, is evident. Both papers are pertinent to our analysis because they include references to the custom of cremation. However these references were brief, and were integrated into a broader discussion. De Vorbă’s paper

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contained only one reference to cremation, within the debate on the religious burial rite. A detailed analysis of this reference reveals the same explanations of death and critique of religion and the church: the pain occasioned for the living by the death of someone close, causing “a very strong feeling of emptiness, used to send the individual into a particular state, bordering on disease.” Bereavement rendered people vulnerable, manifested in a lack of judgment and will, which facilitated the manipulation of the people by the clergy: “this was known in advance by the ministers of religion; that is why the event of death is the most exploited” (De Vorbă 1960, 88). The disposal of the corpse, whether by cremation or burial, offered rich opportunity for such manipulation: “upon the burial or cremation of the deceased, which should be as simple as possible, religion creates one of its most demanding, irrational and unnatural rituals” (88–89). De Vorbă believed that while some funeral customs were attendant upon the mystery of death itself, others were created by the clergy and thus “burials and cremations have contributed a lot to the spreading of religion amongst the people” (89). De Vorbă also described how, in some cases, burial customs with ancient origins had been appropriated by Christianity. He highlighted the fundamental significance of the idea of the afterlife, and how this had engendered a stronger development of the cult of the dead. To counter this, De Vorbă presented scientific arguments against the existence of an eternal soul or of the afterlife, positing that in reality the soul was a product of the brain and nervous system, and arguing in favour of death as a natural event (93). In conclusion the concept of a heaven on earth was again introduced, as the only real alternative to the naiveties induced by religious faith: “Therefore, it is necessary to take care not for the afterlife, but for the only life you live honestly, with dignity, to be useful to society and social progress, accomplishing thus your own happiness here on earth” (93). The three volumes of Questions and Answers of the Atheistic Education of Youths include significant contributions on the subject of death, in the form of a “catechism.” However the responses thus provided may only be fully understood within the general framework of Romanian atheism. Atheism was considered to be the ideology of human freedom, a philosophy that regarded man as being of value and was thus a humanistic act that allowed the spiritual release of the person and implicitly recognised religion as a mutilation of man (Întrebări 1975, 70–71). The introduction of atheism was a long-term enterprise, a protracted struggle between the old and the new, since religion had effectively nourished a whole range of fears: of wars, the psychosis of atomic conflict, external

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ideological propaganda, and also of personal events and emotions – “the deaths of loved ones, personal disappointments and dissatisfaction, chronic diseases, etc.” (Întrebări 1975, 169–170). The difference between religious and Communist morality was that the former was individualistic, while the latter, have been founded for very different purposes, cultivated human solidarity; while religion sought union with God and a life of penitence and humiliation, Communism was seeking man himself (Întrebări 1975, 149–153). As for the theme of death, this was developed in the first volume, in an explication of the significance of heaven, hell and purgatory, as present in all the major world religions. This was seen as a fundamental subject, because it was most clearly observed that religion was only a distorted reflection of the real conditions of existence. The price of these beliefs was the loss of real happiness, the happiness of life. Hell had been formulated as a tool for social exploitation, and as an eternal extension of a life of suffering, while paradise was an illusion which led to passivity. Within this general framework, in the second volume of his work Octavian CheĠan introduced a debate which focused on the dilemma between cremation and burial (1979, 87–93). Analysing the issues in general, this debate can be categorised as the most relevant theoretical contribution within contemporary Communist discourse. CheĠan highlighted the dispute between the traditionalists and cremationists. For the latter, cremating the dead was related to the summation of the religious tradition of burial, while cremation was labelled by traditionalists “as an unusual funerary practice, an invention of the modern era, which omits the regard due to the ancestors” (87). CheĠan showed that this latter claim was untrue, for the Greeks and the Romans had practiced cremation. The ritual nature of purification by fire was demonstrated, a feature which was also evident within the Christian discourse. CheĠan established a connection between the ritual aspects of fire as purification, and early conceptions of the impurity of the corpse. In his opinion the historians of religion had committed a vital error, because these rituals were not “just a spontaneous reaction to an unknown and unsettling event, but the conscious avoidance of the spreading of epidemics” (91). Such an interpretation was perfectly suited to a new criticism of Christianity by the atheists, for the rejection of cremation by Christianity could be portrayed as an abandonment of the Jewish rites of purification, “the act of cleansing becoming an obligation for the salvation of the dying, and not for the living” (92). The consequence of this state of affairs was disastrous: “With Christianity, care for the forgiveness of sins committed during life becomes more important than the need to avoid

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contamination of the healthy” (92). The primary example of this was the burial of Jesus Christ. The birth of modern cremation was considered a result of the dispute between the supporters of burial and those of cremation, the latter using the arguments of free thought and science. The consequence was the legitimisation of cremation, beginning in France at the end of the nineteenth century, was the outcome of the spread of rationalism and the scientific spirit, rather than being the product of any religious dispute. CheĠan also noted the vehement rejection of cremation by the Catholics and by Pope Leo XIII, and the amendment of the Second Vatican Council in 1963. However, he saw this change as resulting “not from a philanthropic impulse, widely humanitarian, but under the stronger and stronger pressure of the secularisation of contemporary modern society, of the movement of the popular masses away from the ideological and moral guardianship of Christian religion” (CheĠan 1979, 93). According to CheĠan the practice of cremation was gaining followers, and was now becoming a common practice throughout Europe, although not predominant, “at least for now.” Of the cremationists’ arguments, CheĠan cited three: the medical case (which he considered similar to the purification of longtime partisans by fire), the environmental argument, and the demands of urban planning. In conclusion, according to CheĠan, “society will, probably, be gradually forced to accept cremation as a solution” because “this view was gaining more and more adherence” (CheĠan 1979, 93). CheĠan’s work did not contain any reference to the Orthodox Church’s stance on cremation. This omission can only be explained through an overview of his three-volume work: references to the Romanian Orthodox Church were only sporadic throughout, with the authors preferring to attack religion in general rather than any particular confession (with the exception of Catholicism, because it was Western). The paradox remains intact despite this situation, and it extends to all the Romanian Communists’ actions with regard to cremation: had they really wanted to destroy existing structures and practices and traditional institutions, and to truly recreate man, crematoria would have been built in Romania. But this did not happen. The subjectivity of CheĠan’s perspective on the topic is also evident from his failure to even mention the economic arguments in favour of cremation. Had he done so, however, this would have been out of step with his assertion that the increasing cremation rate was a purely Western phenomenon. Moreover, in bringing up this argument other two issues would have been directly raised. First, it would have constituted an implicit admission that the cost of burial in Romania was too high.

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Secondly, such an argument would have once again been clearly discordant with the Romanian Orthodox Church’s stance on the matter, which would in turn have been the best means of pro-cremation propaganda. The most elevated level of philosophical speculation on death in the Romanian Communist ideology is represented by two intersections, mainly in the realms of philosophy and medicine, on the subject of cremation. The first of these was existentialism, which stood in opposition to the Marxist philosophy which proliferated in Romania at the time; and, since the theme of death is such a fundamental tenet of existentialism, it could not be neglected. The opposition to existentialism is evident in Romanian philosophy from the early years of the Communist era onward. For example, in his article published in 1961, Petru Beraru saw existentialism as an ideological diversion, because he began by criticising capitalist society as a means of resisting popular capitalism (Beraru 1961, 93–106). According to Beraru, the existentialist revolt was not against capitalist society, thus its proponents were approved by the bourgeois, since, according to this philosophy, human misery lies not “in his social humiliation, which is based on the regime of man’s exploitation by man; unhappiness is the foundation of the Universe.” In the face of such a situation, resignation was the only course open to an individual. Beraru’s conclusion was eloquent in itself: “Thus, in their philosophy, the significance that some give to death is not accidental.” He also quoted Heidegger (Beraru 1961, 105). Ludwig Grunberg reached similar conclusions, discussing The AntiHumanism of the Contemporary Bourgeois Philosophy from the Marxist perspective (Grunberg 1962, 76–86). Existentialism was presented as a bourgeois philosophical current that gave up any humanity. At the same time, these aspects fitted the ideal of the little man. Grunberg reached the pertinant conclusion that it was symptomatic that, from a philosophical persective, death was increasingly important as a subject of reflection in the West; as appropriate to the reactionary character of the bourgeoisie. As a social class, the bourgeoisie had definitively abandoned the struggle for progress. Grunberg therefore emphasised an idea which is also seen in Beraru’s work: what was specific to the capitalist class was wrongly assigned to human nature, and what was specific to the capitalist stage of development was assigned to human society. The claim according to which “only in front of death did man conquer his own existence, heading towards himself and turning his face away from reality” represented some contradictions specific to the capitalist world, which were extended to

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general contradictions of life, and “these could only be surpassed in another existence, beyond life” (Grunberg 1962, 83). For Grunberg this then became the pretext for a critical discourse on certain aspects of Romanian history: the writings and actions of the extreme right, for example, and of the Romanian nihilists (84). In conclusion, according to Grunberg, the anti-humanism of the bourgeois philosophy emerged from a blend of the eulogy of death with that of imperialism: “the eulogy of death mediates the eulogy of imperialism, and the eulogy of imperialism is a eulogy of death.” Some useful discussion is also included in a work by Silvia Cernichevici, on the issue of education and existentialism (Cernichevici 1970). The author devoted a critical subchapter to the subject of education on death, as disseminated by the proponents of existentialism. This was due to one of the characteristics specific to the discourse advanced by its proponents, namely that of giving directions (Cernichevici 1970, 148). Cernichevici believed that the proliferation of education on death was in opposition to the existing pedagogical direction, that of education for life and happiness. In elucidation of this theme, she summarised the attempts by exponents of existential philosophy and pedagogy to explain death: Soren Kierkegaard, Karl Jasper, Gabriel Marcel, Martin Heiddeger, Jean Paul Sartre, Albert Camus and J.S. Brubacher. She emphasised that although there were certain variations in each writer’s interpretion of the subject, they all ultimately reached the same conclusions outlined in the atheistic literature. Existentialism, in its philosophical-pedagogical form, was understood as a manifestation of the contradictions of Western intellectuals and society, which might well eventually lead to its complete collapse. Coversely, Marxist philosophy did not deny anxiety in the face of death, nor the existence of pain, but nor did it interpret death as ruin or inevitable failure: However, by its ability of being the demiurge of certain material or spiritual values, man is able to go beyond his physical death, in a certain way. His contribution to the progress and the prosperity of a society to which he belongs does not cease once he is dead, materialising in the fruits of his work, in the fruits created. (Cernichevici 1970, 155)

However, it was Dumitru Ghiúe who offered a big picture of the clear separation which operated between Marxism and existentialism. According to him, the opposition between the two trends was radical, because an authentic existential being was based on a return inward toward the self, while for Marxism, authenticity meant turning towards life, “by inserting the action in history in order to transform it, so that

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historical circumstances become human themselves” (Ghiúe 1967, 152). Such a representation can also be found around that time in areas unsaturated by an ideological discourse (not directly inspired by the militant communist ideology). Marcel Breazu’s study remarked that, of all possible definitions of man, “homo conservans” seems to be the most appropriate, since no creature except man has the ability to preserve a state of mind in a material object: “only the creator man does not die completely” (Breazu 1986, 296–299). Immortality thus came to life as a realistic concept. Here, therefore, there was also a correlation of the consciousness of physical death with the desire not to die completely. The emergence of death studies in the 1970s came to the attention of contemporary discourse, and became infused with both apparent and real Communist meanings. For instance, the emergence the new academic discipline of thanatology was highlighted by Constantin SchifirneĠ (SchifirneĠ 1976, 4), whose analysis took as its starting point the considerable increase in studies, research and mass-media interest in and about death at the time. SchifirneĠ showed that this type of literature quite simply invaded Western libraries, following mass advertising of the subject. With this in mind, SchifirneĠ reviewed the main historical, sociological, anthropological and philosophical papers focused on the analysis of death (Michel Vovelle, Gaby Vovelle, Philippe Ariès, LouisVincent Thomas, Edgar Morin, Jean Ziegler and Vladimir Jankelevitch), and also highlighted the increase in the number of articles devoted to the topic in Le Monde and in Great Britain, Germany and the United States. His explanation for this phenomenon referred to the specific condition of the capitalist societies, a condition recognised even by the Western authors: the increasing interest in death represented the demise of a culture defeated by the unprecedented proliferation of objects, unable to adjust its future; submissive, when it considered itself master; impoverished, when it thought itself opulent (SchifirneĠ 1976, 4). Thanatology analysed death in two ways: the first was philosophical, while the other was specific to the situation of the Western world. The existential dialectic was correctly highlighted, since it ended up by underlining the uncertain nature of death. For the Western man, such a direction was a divergence from and a manipulation of the real existential problems, artificially breaking the reality of life from the event of death, and favouring the emergence of mysticism. In support of this claim, SchifirneĠ considered the critique of the thanatological literature conducted by J.M. Domenech, who believed that the evolution of the Western world was a kind of de-creation. By depicting the emergence of thanatology in terms of a crisis of the Western world, SchifirneĠ opened up a new line of discussion: the inequality that

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existed in that part of the globe as exemplified by the bald figures of mortality. This situation was confronted with the emergence of thanatology, but to little effect. SchifirneĠ judged that the study of death was not making any practical contribution to improving the lives of the majority of people, and gave as an example a series of thanatological works that he considered completely ineffective and irrelevant. Within such a dynamic, the aim of the new science was merely to cause diversions and to focus attention towards concerns other than those which really mattered. The development of crime literature in the West was noted and judged harmful, causing anxiety and resignation, and its development from a constant source of violence was emphasised. In such manner, SchifirneĠ drew a generalised portrait of the West and contrasted it to the Communist model, drawing from an earlier article in the same publication: In such a society, life and death are conceived in terms of strategy, not morality, friendships respond to tactics and not to the warm beats of the heart. The respective literature describes a social jungle of ambiguities and contradictions. This world is characterised by uncertainty. And, perhaps, that is why the outbreak of brutality and violence in this literature indicates not so much a state of aggression, but rather a state of anxiety. The Western man sleeps badly, with the gun under the pillow. The corpses haunt his nights, the explosions and the shootings perturb his rest, an unhealthy fancy shakes his dreams. The violence of literature is just the reflection of fear, of nightmares, of anguish. (Pintilie 1974, 4)

The Romanian Communists and the practice of cremation Prior to the arrival of Communism in Romania a model had become established which would, over time, acquire the status of tradition for the Romanian Communists. This model was one of cremation after death. Prominent on the roll-call of cremated Communists is Bela Brainer, not simply because of his role in the general history of the Romanian Communist Party, but most especially because his cremation would become a landmark for them. Scânteia newspaper noted that the “Bela Brainer Corner” was inaugurated at Cenuúa crematorium on 11 March 1949, reporting that representatives of the National Federation of the Former Antifascist Political Prisoners and Deportees had been present at the ceremony. One of these representatives delivered a speech. Other people present included delegations of the Bucharest workers, together with friends and comrades of the deceased, and wreaths and garlands of flowers were laid (Inaugurarea 1949, 3). The significance of this event is notable from two persectives. Firstly, it shows how the Romanian

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Communists were practising cremation before the onset of Communism in Romania, and secondly it demonstrates their attempt to transform Cenuúa crematorium into a memorial place for their own dead. The urns of Herman Baruch and Nicolae Bucur, who had also been Communist activists during the inter-war period, were deposited alongside Brainer’s urn in the “Red Corner” in 1949. However Scânteia, which at the time was the official Romanian Communist newspaper, mentioned only Brainer, along with a photograph of the corner. Meanwhile Universul included the names of all the Communists who had been cremated there, although it called them “anti-fascist fighters” (Dezvelirea 1949, 3). The official biography of Herman Baruch and Nicolae Bucur gives only limited information on their choice of commemoration, as those who had instituted the Bela Brainer corner. In the case of Baruch (Petriúor 1973, 193–195), it is possible that his efforts were decisive in transforming the Socialist Party into a Communist Party. Baruch was also a member of the Central Committee Office of the Red Aid (Matichescu 1965, 125–242) and participated in the Third Communist International (Comintern). He was a faithful client of the prisons at Văcăreúti, Craiova, Doftana, Jilava, and also of the camps at Miercurea Ciuc and Caracal, where he became seriously ill. Left without medical assistance after being transferred to Bucharest, he died on 13 February 1941 (Petriúor 1973, 193–195). As for Bucur, he died at the age of thirty-two, following a path not too different from that of Baruch (Pintean 1972, 154–156).

Figure 5-1 The Bela Brainer corner, Cenuúa crematorium

The establishment of the Brainer corner at the crematorium was not the only way in which Brainer’s name was used to signal the start of new

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times after 1947: a street in Bucharest also received his name, as well as three other industrial works (Industrializarea 2010). For a while, the following inscription sat above the Bela Brainer corner: “Eternal Glory to the martyrs who sacrificed in the struggle against the capitalist exploitation, as war instigator. For the Peace, Freedom and Welfare of the Working Man!” (CâlĠan 1997, 1). As we shall see, not all the leading Romanian Communists of that time preferred this means of managing their body after death. Nevertheless, Mihaela Grancea commenced her study of depictions of death in Communist Romania with a statement attributing the practice of cremation to all prominent Romanian Communists: “The Party’s most prestigious leaders, convinced atheists (at least in the official discourse) during the Stalinist era, were cremated, while the second-level Party and local activists were buried instead” (Grancea 2008, 12). In an explanatory note, Grancea listed Bela Brainer, Alecu Constantinescu, relatives of the poet A. Toma, Ana Pauker and her family, and Bellu Zilber, amongst others. Regrettably, however, systematic investigation does not bear her claims out. Whilst the practice of cremation was indeed widespread amongst Romanian Communists, it did not apply to the majority of those in high positions. Thus, none of the prime ministers of Communist Romania chose cremation, nor did all prominent party leaders (although there were some exceptions). Instead, it was very popular among the well-known illegal members of the Party (members during the inter-war period, when the party was considered illegal), even if these had not held leading positions in the Communist hierarchy. At this point, a distinction should be made between those Romanian Communist leaders who died and were cremated whilst in power, and those who chose cremation when they were no longer leaders. This distinction is important, since the length and detail of the accounts of their funerals in the Communist newspapers were in direct proportion to the position and status occupied by the deceased. For the period up to 1960 three deaths are especially notable in this connection, all of which were covered on the front page of Scânteia and in all of which cremation was chosen; these were the deaths of Iosif RangheĠ in 1952, of Lothar Rădăceanu in 1955 and of Theodor Iordăchescu in 1958. Of these, the greatest press coverage was granted to Lothar Rădăceanu, although at the time of his death he no longer actually exercised power, but rather was tolerated by the Communist hierarchy, having been discredited following the elimination of the Ana Pauker–Vasile Luca– Teohari Georgescu triangle in 1952. In order to ameliorate the charges against him, it was found that it was no longer suitable for Rădăceanu to be a member of the Political Committee and of the Romanian Labour

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Party Secretariate. Death overtook him in August 1955, while he was at a meeting in Helsinki. His obituary appeared in Scânteia, signed by the Central Committee of the Romanian Labour Party and the Council of Ministers of the Romanian Popular Republic. It gave an account of his merits within the labour movement, along with a summary of his life and work: he was born in 1889, received a PhD in Philosophy in 1925; he was a member of the Social Democratic Party from 1919, (later becoming secretary general), of the Anti-Hitlerist Patriotic Front, and of the Unique Labour Front; he was a key mover in the Unification Congress (the Romanian Labour Party Congress of 1948), and a member of the Romanian Labour Party Central Committee’s political office, becoming secretary, labour minister, and then minister of social provision; he was a member of the Great National Assembly of 1946, a member of the Romanian Academy in 1955, a member of the World Council of Peace, etc. (Rădăceanu 1955, 1). By highlighting his merits in this way the writers sought only to glorify him by emphasising the great loss to the Party and the people, citing his perpetual memory “in the hearts of the working people.” This was purposely followed by mention of the deceased’s family, a common feature in view of the collective nature of the good Communist death. It was stated that Rădăceanu’s coffin had been deposited at the Trade Union Civic Hall in Bucharest, along with the schedule for public access to present condolences (Corpul 1955, 8). The influence of the Soviet funerary model may be seen not only in the organisation and conduct of the funeral, but also in the reproduction of the actual death certificate in the newspapers. This death certificate specified the date, place and cause of death, and had been signed by a Finnish doctor (Certificatul 1955, 3). Another key feature of the Communist funeral was the expression of condolences and the saying of farewells at the catafalque in the days leading up to the burial or cremation, and this too was the practice at Rădăceanu’s funeral. It is striking that the family of the deceased does not receive any mention in the reports, with the thousands of working people, those who stood on duty around the catafalque, the mournful red flags, the funeral music, the funeral flower garlands and the unending queue of those who wished to pay their final tributes being reported instead (La catafalcul 1955, 3). The fact that the deceased had opted for cremation was included in the announcement made by the Commission for the Organisation of Funerals, following the details of the funeral procession route (Din partea 1955, 3). However, the climax of the report was the account of the funeral cremony itself. In Rădăceanu’s case, the funeral was covered on the first two pages of Scânteia (Funeraliile 1955a, 1–2), accompanied by two

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Figure 5-2 Scânteia article on the funeral of Lothar Rădăceanu

photographs showing the removal of the coffin by Communist leaders from the first room and the funeral procession on the streets of Bucharest. The funeral commenced with a vigil around the catafalque, kept by the most important Communist leaders of the time. The coffin was then removed and laid onto the mortuary carriage, draped in red and black and given a military salute, and the funeral march was sung as the cortege set off. The funeral procession commenced with the deceased’s orders and medals, and then the hearse, which was followed by Central Committee members from the Romanian Labour Party, members of the government, other Communist dignitaries, family members, the guard of honour and the working people. The mourning rally was held at Cenuúa crematorium. The funeral ceremony culminated in speeches to glorify the deceased, five of which were delivered by officials from the political office of the Central Committee of the Romanian Labour Party, from the Academy, from the People’s Council of Bucharest, and from the National Committee for the Defence of Peace. These speeches were formulaic in nature and did not go beyond the announcement of Rădăceanu’s death: they evoked the life and work of the deceased, his merits in the labour movement, the great loss which had been suffered due to his death and the commitment to preserve his memory and to imitate his actions. The end of the speeches marked the end of the mourning rally, and was followed by a rendition of the InternaĠionala and a salute from the guard of honour. The coffin was then lowered from the hearse and deposited inside the crematorium, a military salute was fired, and the state hymn was sung. With only one exception

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(Oamenii 1955, 1), almost exactly the same presentational formula was used in România Liberă’s coverage of Rădăceanu’s death and funeral (Rădăceanu 1955b, 1; Funeraliile 1955b, 1–2). The death and cremation of Iosif RangheĠ occurred during the penultimate year of Stalin’s life, and the formulae employed by Scânteia are therefore heavily imbued with references to Stalinism. Having chronicled the life of the deceased, his activities, his contributions within the labour movement and the various positions he had occupied (deputy member of the political office of the Romanian Labour Party), the obituary concluded with an acknowledgment to the Soviet leader (RangheĠ 1952, 2). RangheĠ’s body was laid in the Athenaeum Hall in Bucharest, where various Communist officials and political activists paid their final tributes in front of the catafalque. However, Scânteia emphasised the immense presence of various delegations and of “thousands and thousands of working people,” mentioning twelve Bucharest works which, amongst many others, laid wreaths alongside those of the Central Committee of the Romanian Labour Party, various ministries, the Academy of the Romanian Popular Republic, and so on (La catafalcul 1955, 2). It is noteworthy that the guard around the catafalque was changed every ten minutes, even after the public access had been closed. The actual funeral was conducted in a very similar manner to that which would be organised three years later at Rădăceanu’s death: the formation of a vigil around the catafalque by the most important members of the Romanian Labour Party; the removal of the coffin by pall-bearers from inside the Athenaeum to the hearse; the draping of the hearse with mournful red flags; the presentation of military honours; the funeral march announcing the start of the cortege; the deceased’s medals and orders symbolically laid on red cushions, followed by the family, members of the Central Committee of the Romanian Labour Party, the guard of honour, a military band and the great mass of participants (Funeraliile 1952, 2). The funeral rally was held at Cenuúa crematorium, where three funeral speeches were delivered. All three of these speeches emphasised the devotion of the deceased to the LeninistStalinist cause, and his contribution to the activities of the Romanian Communists before and after “the liberation of the country by the glorious Soviet Army,” against the enemies of the people and for the establishment of popular democracy. According to Scânteia, the cremation of Teodor Iordăchescu did not deviate from the structure of the above funerals. A former minister of construction, former undersecretary in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and member of the Great National Assembly from 1946 until his death in 1958, according to the obituary published in Scânteia by the Central

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Committee of the Romanian Labour Party (Iordăchescu 1958, 1), Iordăchescu does not seem to have possessed quite the same greatness of personality as Rădăceanu. Nonetheless, his death and funeral, as represented in the Communist press, were conducted in a similar manner (Din partea 1958, 1). As with RangheĠ, Iordăchescu’s body was publicly laid out, in this case at the Trade Union Civic Hall in Bucharest. The funeral followed the same general pattern as the previous two examples (Funeraliile 1958, 1–2). However, there were also some minor differences. Gheorghe Apostol, in his praise of the deceased, made a brief additional comment indicating that the Romanian Labour Party had successfully achieved its aim of increasing the material and cultural living standards of the working people. He also characterised the international situation as a test of the peace and security of the people, at a time when the Romanian Labour Party was acting firmly against American and British imperialism in the Middle East, but asserted his unbounded confidence in the victory of the “people’s willing for freedom and peace, united with the nations of the great socialist family led by the Soviet Union” in the fight against “the black forces of aggressive imperialism” (Funeraliile 1958, 1–2). Meanwhile, the funeral speech by Ion Pas includes two new elements in comparison to our earlier examples. Firstly, he referred to his personal relationship with the deceased, describing him as a teacher of Socialism. Pas then ended his speech by encouraging Iordăchescu’s family to find comfort in the final tribute that thousands of working people had paid to him (Funeraliile 1958, 1–2). However these new elements do not change the essence of the Communist funeral: for the Romanian Communists, death was a collective rather than a personal matter, an event subsumed into the great being and into the purposes of the Party. This type of civil funeral did not become widespread in Romanian society, but normally remained confined to Romanian Communist Party members, most of these being activists. While it is correct to state that this type of public, civil funeral requires the elimination of the private, feminine element, replacing Christian burial customs in this respect, such claims must be adopted with caution, since during the Communist period cremation was never systematically promoted for the whole of Romania at the expense of burial. It should also be remembered that the concept of the civic funeral can be subject to differing interpretations, as well as a straight historical account (Ben Amos 2000, 110–137). However, as a counter to the traditional, religious funeral, the development of cremation as a means of managing the corpse in the case of certain Romanian Communist Party members during the Communist era makes this model of the civil funeral significant for its time. It also explains, to some extent, the

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persistence amongst certain sections of present-day Romanian society in viewing cremation as a component of the civic funeral, as regarded as a Communist or purely pagan phenomenon (Ben Amos 2000, 117–118). Other important leaders of the Romanian Communist Party who were cremated and integrated into the same schema include Alecu Constantinescu, Barbu Solomon, Mihail Macavei, Simion Stoilow, and others. These are important because some of their urns were deposited at the Mausoleum of The Heroes Who Fought for the Freedom of the People and the Fatherland, for Socialism, which opened on 30 December 1963. In the case of Constantinescu, who died in 1949, Huscariu specifies that his urn was placed in one of the wings of the mausoleum, alongside those of “other comrades in the fight for the great socialist ideal” (Huscariu 1970, 95). Huscariu’s paper included a photograph of the page from Scânteia of 31 March 1949 that announced Constantinescu’s cremation, preceded by a brief account of the cremation ceremony (Huscariu 1970, 90–93, 94).

Figure 5-3 Mausoleum of the Heroes Who Fought for the Freedom of the People and the Fatherland, for Socialism

In terms of a history of cremation in Romania, the building of the Mausoleum of Heroes contributed to the shaping of a certain type of commemoration on Communist foundations. It was also significant in terms of cremation. From the start, the mausoleum was provided with a

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hemicycle on its right-hand side where the funeral urns of certain activists and Romanian Communist Party leaders were to be deposited. In order to establish a tradition, the urns of some Communist activists and other sympathisers who had been cremated during the inter-war period were brought from the columbarium at Cenuúa crematorium. The urns belonging to some Communist leaders cremated after 1948 were also brought to the mausoleum. It was therefore intended to be a place of remembrance, but also implicitly a place where Communist energies could be reinvigorated. According to some sources from after 1989, around 1,800 urns containing the ashes of certain Romanian Communists were to be deposited within the mausoleum, in the polished white granite hemicycle. But according to an article published in 1997, only about 10– 15 urns were actually deposited there, the rest of the places having remained empty since the start (La monumentul 1997, 9). According to another article published in 1999, the mausoleum had cost about 90 million lei and was designed to include “four classes of immortals”: the first reserved solely for Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej; secondly, “fourteen crypts in the same enclosure, reserved for the leaders almost equal in rank with the Boss”; thirdly, seventy graves in the open air around the main building; then finally, “the back hemicycle, providing niches for 1,800 urns of ashes” (Burileanu 1999, 7). These classes were also differentiated by the materials which were used: the first three were made of black and red marble from Norway and Sweden, while white marble from RuúchiĠa was chosen for the last one (Burileanu 1999, 7). The mausoluem shares a number of similarities with the Munkásmozgalmi Pantheon at the Kerepesi cemetery in Budapest (Rev 2005, 119), notably that the niches provided for urns have never been fully used in the Hungarian pantheon either (only seventy-five out of 365 had been occupied up to 1988). But the area occupied by the two is different. Data from Cenuúa crematorium reveals the actual extent of the mausoleum issue: in reality, thirty-four urns had been deposited at the mausoleum (ACCU, n.d.) The mausoleum would eventually undergo a change of purpose, becoming the final resting place of the Unknown Soldier, which in turn led to the removal of the Communist urns which had previously been housed there.

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Figure 5-4 Mausoleum of The Heroes Who Fought for the Freedom of the People and the Fatherland, for Socialism (Hemicycle)

The actual funerals that ended with the urn being deposited at the mausoleum were very similar in format to those listed above, for example in the case of Nicolae Goldberger (Funeraliile 1970, 7). As for the urns placed in the hemicycle of the mausoleum, several other issues require consideration: who were the actual inhabitants, and how did they come to be accommodated in the mausoleum? What selection mechanism did the leading authorities in the Romanian Communist Party employ? It is notable that a significant proportion of the urns deposited in the hemicycle contained the ashes of activists who had died during either the inter-war period or the Second World War: Gheorghe Vasilescu Vasia (1929), Haia LifúiĠ (1929), Janos Fonagy (1929), Gheorghe Crosneff (1937), Nicolae Bucur (1938), Bela Baruch (1941), Bela Brainer (1940), Constantin Popovici (1940), Constantin David (1941), Ada Marinescu (1942), ùtefan PlăvăĠ (1944), Panait Muúoiu (1944), and so on. On the other hand, in some cases cremation was considered inferior to burial, a pattern which came to be repeated in the cases of several Romanian Communist Party figures who died during the Communist period. Of these, the most interesting cases are those of Janos Fonagy, Haia Lisfit and Gheorghe Vasilescu Vasia, the treatment of the bodily remains of Janos Fonagy being by far the most spectacular demonstration of the manner in which Communist historiography distorted certain realities. According to his official biography, Fonagy (Ion Fonaghi in Romanian) was depicted as a “revolutionary young man” who “joined the noble ideal of Communism with his whole being, and even gave his life for it.” After

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listing the key moments of his work, the biography noted that in 1926 he had been sentenced to five years’ imprisonment at Doftana. Due to the inhumane conditions and to the fact that the penitentiary directorate was too late in answering his need for hospital treatment, Fonagy died on 1 April 1929 at the hospital in Câmpina. The biography stated that the Romanian Communist Party had decided that the burial would take place in Timiúoara, where he was known, but that the large influx of workers for the event caused the political authorities to forbid a public burial (which was provided, as specified, by two platoons of gendarmes, a company of soldiers and sixty policemen) (Cutiúteanu 1972, 134–137). According to the Marxist historiography, Fonagy had died in Doftana prison as a result of hunger strike and of the torture to which he had been subjected. Before he died, Fonagy had expressed the desire to be laid out on a catafalque at the Workers Hall of Timiúoara, which was done. The workers’ refusal to return the corpse to the authorities led to violence, resulting in injuries, arrests and trials. The direct consequence of this was the abolition of the Communist Trade Unions by the National Peasants’ Party (Bunta 1973, 350). The newspapers of that time gave another version of events: a congress of trade unions was being held in Timiúoara, in early April 1929, and in order to increase the profile of the event, it was suggested that a corpse should be used in a public memorial ceremony. It was decided that Fonagy’s body would therefore be brought from Câmpina and buried in Timiúoara. However, Timiúoara’s chief physician, realising the danger, had forbidden the organisation of any public ceremony, which led to confrontations. From this perspective it is unsurprising that several years later Fonagy’s body was exhumed, the remains cremated, and the urn containing his ashes deposited at the mausoleum in Carol Park. Particularly striking is the age of some of these Romanian Communists whose remains were exhumed and cremated, and whose urns were then placed in the mausoleum. Fonagy died at the age of twenty-nine, LifúiĠ at twenty-six, David at thirty-one, etc. After being arrested in Arad in 1928, Haia LifúiĠ was transferred to Cluj and imprisoned in police cells, where he became ill and was sentenced to ten years in prison. After a forty-three day hunger strike, LifúiĠ died at the age of twenty-six, and was buried in Cluj. As in Fonagy’s case, the authorities restricted participation at the funeral, allowing only his family to be present (IoniĠă 1969, 179–181). Gheorghe Vasilescu Vasia received the same treatment: he was buried before his remains were later exhumed, cremated, and deposited in an urn in the hemicycle of the mausoleum. However it is his deathbed, on 18 March 1929, which is especially significant. Both the portrait outlined in the Annals of History (Stănescu 1966, 205–210), and a commemorative

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study (Stănescu 1968), clearly state the extensive public dimensions of his burial ceremony. But before discussing this, it is worth noting the events on his actual deathbed, as reported by his wife: During his last night, the 17th to 18th of March 1929, although he knew he was dying, the desire for life dominated him and, at a certain point, he said to me: “If only I were to get till tomorrow morning ...” Around two thirty he rose from the bed asking me: “aren’t we on the 18th of March? If I die, it is to be noted that I died on the day of the Paris Commune.” (Stănescu 1968, 114)

Vasia’s funeral is significant not only because of the immense public participation, as reported by the Marxist historiography, which was obviously exaggerated in order to make a hero of the deceased. It is also significant because the funeral ceremony adhered fully to the post-1947 Communist civic model: after the death had taken place, the body was publicly laid out, and obituaries were published in the newspapers praising the heroic life and death of the deceased “for the liberation of the working people in towns and villages from bourgeois slavery” (Stănescu 1968, 117). The catafalque was decorated in red, and comrades formed a guard of honour around it. The greetings with a clenched fist, the changing of the guard every five to ten minutes, the delivery of speeches and singing of the InternaĠionala as the cortege formed with red flags and banners, the singing again of the InternaĠionala as a funeral march, the arrival at Reînvierea cemetery where further speeches were delivered, and then the final moment when, “to the uplifting sounds of the InternaĠionala” (Stănescu 1968, 123), the body was lowered into its resting place. The explanation given by Vasia’s official biographer for the attempted suppression of the immense popular participation at the funeral – which, according to him, totalled 3,000 participants – was that workers were marching with red flags on the streets of Bucharest for the first time since the 1920 general strike. As Vasia was proclaimed a hero, his urn was deposited in the hemicycle of the mausoleum in Carol Park. A similar mechanism appears to have been at work in the case of Constantin David. David’s official biography identified him as a true hero of the labour movement (Topalu 1966, 126–131). From an early age, he was involved in the activities of UTC (The Young Communist League), and was arrested no less than twenty-four times between 1924 and 1940. This set a tone which culminated in his death: “Constantin David, a great activist of the Communist Party, a labourer raised and toughened in the school of revolutionary struggle against exploitation and oppression, against the most terrible enemy of the country’s independence and

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sovereignty – fascism” (Topalu 1966, 128), was caught one night in January 1941 by a “gang of Legionaries,” detained, tortured and “villainously murdered.” Later, “his lifeless body, mutilated, with his left arm torn from the shoulder, was found after four weeks, on a hidden path of Pantelimon Forest, by a peasant who was passing on the road” (131). For the Second World War period, the case of ùtefan PlăvăĠ is particularly significant. PlăvăĠ had organised an anti-fascist resistance group, and was killed during a confrontation in June 1944 following his betrayal (Covaci 1969, 143–154). PlăvăĠ’s urn was placed in the mausoleum hemicycle because he embodied the ideal of the Communist wartime hero – the Yugoslavian Communist model of partisanship. Ironically, Bela Brainer’s urn was retained at the mausoleum for some time, despite the existance of the “Red Corner” bearing his name at the crematorium. Although the keeping of Brainer’s urn at the mausoleum can be explained by the retention of the ashes of several inter-war and post1947 Communist leaders, it is harder to explain the presence of the urns belonging to less exalted Communist figues such as the activist Ada Marinescu. Marinescu was executed in 1942, along with three other Jewish intellectuals, for her activities against the state (Goldberger and Zaharia 1965, 229). Perhaps she was included in the mausoleum due to the heroic nature of her death. If it is somehow possible to explain the presence of Marinescu’s urn at the mausoleum, the same cannot be said about that of Smaranda Florescu, in whose case the present author has been unable to determine any reason why it should have been retained there. Conversely, there are other urns whose presence in the mausoleum hemicycle can clearly be justified; these include the urns of Aurel Vijoli, finance minister; Constantin Agiu, president of the Great National Assembly; Paul Bujor, professor of zoology and honorary member of the Romanian Academy, and an ardent Communist supporter; Barbu Lăzăreanu, literary historian and member of the Romanian Academy (Felea 1969, 158–162); Ion Călugăru, writer; Teodor Iordăchescu, minister of construction (Felea 1969, 168–173); Mihail Macavei, ambassador for Communist Romania in London (Buzdun 1966, 147–150); Constantin Trandafirescu, veteran of the Communist movement (Mihăileanu 1971, 202–204), and so on. Another important point is that no further urns were deposited at the mausoleum during the last decade and a half of the Romanian Communist regime. This is despite the fact that some Communist officials were buried inside the mausoleum during that time, and that veterans of the Communist movement in Romania were continuing to die off, as demonstrated by the obituaries in România Liberă, their urns being deposited at the Bela

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Brainer corner instead. We may note that the typical Communist whose urn was deposited in the mausoleum hemicycle had to fulfil certain key criteria: he or she was either a hero of the working class who died at a relatively young age and under sufficiently tragic conditions; or, alternatively, was a veteran of the Romanian Communist movement. This supports the assessment that, in general, it was the second level of the Romanian Communist Party membership, along with veterans of the Communist movement, who tended to choose cremation. Another question arises in these circumstances, although due to lack of sources it only possible to give a counterfactual answer: why were some of the urns from Bela Brainer corner not taken to be deposited in the mausoleum hemicycle? If this had been done, over 10 to 15 percent of the places in the hemicycle would have certainly been occupied. The answer to this question should be sought in the broader context of the evolution of Communism in Romania, since once the Communists were established in power they probably did not require a new symbolic niche. In brief summary, Bela Brainer corner held around ninety to one hundred urns belonging to Communist Party members. The chapel of Cenuúa crematorium also contains the urns of other members of the Romanian Communist Party. Meanwhile other urns are to be found in the main columbarium at the crematorium. The majority of these are located within the chapel, which confirms Zoe Petre’s claim that the appearence of Bela Brainer corner signifies the expulsion of the former tenants to make way for newer heroes (Petre 1998, 272–275). Overall, it appears that no more than 200 to 250 urns of Romanian Communist Party members are kept at the crematorium. At first glance, this number is small compared to the total number of cremations performed there during the Communist period. However the situation acquires a different significance, when it is recalled that the majority of those cremated were longtime Communist activists. When we consider the low level of Romanian Communist Party membership until 23 August 1944, at only around 1,000 members, it can be concluded that about 15 to 25 percent of those preferred cremation. The urns of the Romanian Communist Party members are also themselves a source of evidence. Although of standardised appearance (made of white marble and often including a photograph of the deceased), each urn gives information about the individual whose ashes it contains. Within the epitaphs a symbolic vocabulary of Communist membership was employed, starting with the depiction of a hammer and sickle or a red star on the urn, and ending with quotations from the appropriate texts. These urns are clearly secular in nature, being totally in opposition to any religious template.

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Figure 5-5 Bela Brainer corner, Cenuúa crematorium

Amongst these texts can be identified formulae such as “longtime labour-movement activist,” “old Communist Party activist,” “longtime fighters for the working-class cause,” “devoted adherent to the Communist cause,” “devoted fighter for the Communist cause,” “longtime anti-fascist fighter,” “Romanian Communist Party member since...” (long membership conferred prestige), “keen fighter for the working-class cause,” etc. However the most significant case described in these texts seems to me to be that of Stelian and Alexiana Hermione NiĠulescu, upon whose urn was written: “united by the ideology of the labour movement.” Stelian NiĠulescu is by no means an obscure figure in the history of the Communist Party. According to his obituary on 4 August 1985 in România Liberă, he had been “an underground Party member and Honorary President of the Association of Jurists of Romania.” NiĠulescu was also minister of justice between 1949 and 1953. Meanwhile, the following text is engraved to the front left of Gabrielescu Iordan’s urn: “And you must do so in this world that each one has a right, an equal part.” According to Petre, forty-nine of the texts engraved on the urns specifiy that the deceased had been a labour militant, and twenty-one of these are identified as Communist activists (Petre 1998, 275). What seems paradoxical is the manner in which, after 1989, when a commemorative plaque was erected for the people from Timiúoara who had been cremated at Cenuúa crematorium, in an odd twist, the Communist tenants of Bela Brainer corner became neighbours with their future victims. Another paradox is that some of the urns belonging to Communists and deposited in the crematorium include Christian symbolism, which sits awkwardly

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with the ideology that theoretically informed them. There are two possible explanations for this: either not all of the deceased fully susbscribed to the atheistic aspects of the Communist discourse, or it may have been their families who had Christian symbols placed on the urns.

Figure 5-6 Cremated Communist activists, Cenuúa crematorium

Figure 5-7 Cremated Communist activists, Cenuúa crematorium

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Figure 5-8 Cremated Communist activists, Cenuúa crematorium

Instructive in the case of Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej is the manner in which, in circulars, the Communist Party political office considered the possibility of cremation, along with mummification, with a preference for burial at the mausoleum in Carol Park. The cremation of several prominent Romanian scientific and cultural figures, who were either close to or members of the Labour or Communist Parties, benefitted from similar treatment in Scânteia. The cases of Barbu Lăzăreanu and Simion Stoilow, both of whom opted for cremation, are worth a mention as examples of the link between cremation and Communism, for two reasons: the funeral ceremonies, including the speeches, were held at Cenuúa crematorium; and in both cases, the end of the rally was marked by the singing of the InternaĠionala, the highest symbol of adherence to the Communist cause (Funeraliile 1957, 3; Funeraliile 1961, 3). The deaths of Mihail Macavei and Barbu Solomon attracted particular attention at the time, due to their positions within the Communist hierarchy. Both had been prominent activists, holding a variety of positions after 1944; for example, Macavei had been Communist Romania’s ambassador to London between 1948 and 1950 (Macavei 1965, 2). This explains the presence of a last guard at the catafalque, along with the formation of the funeral procession with mourning flags, the three funeral speeches and the singing of the InternaĠionala as the end of the ceremony (Funeraliile 1965a, 3). Solomon, meanwhile, had been Romanian ambassador to Norway, vice president of the Supreme Court and a member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. At his death, in August 1965, he was honoured with the usual Communist pomp: deposition of the body at a public institution, the military guard, the funeral procession, the mourning rally at Cenuúa crematorium (Solomon 1965, 3), the last guard

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composed of Communist officials, the three funeral speeches, and then the end of the ceremony to a military salute, the Republican state anthem, and finally the InternaĠionala (Funeraliile 1965b, 3). The specific nature of the Communist death can be observed in two other cases. Firstly, there were similarities in the depiction of the deaths and funerals – ending in cremation – of some of the leading women of Romanian Communism. The death in 1972 of the activist Zina Brâncu, who had at one point been joint head of the ùtefan Gheorghiu Academy (Brâncu 1972, 5), and her commemorative funeral ceremony at Cenuúa crematorium, were handled along similar lines to those mentioned above (Funeraliile 1972, 5). Secondly, it can be concluded that there was no other model for the process and representation of the death and burial of Romanian Communists during that era. Certainly, even in the case of cremation, the impact of each of these deaths was proportional to the degree of greatness the deceased had achieved, and the position he or she had reached. Mihai Roller, one of the most famous Romanian historians, also benefitted from cremation. Although the circumstances of his death remain unclear to this day, with suicide being one of the most plausible theories, Roller’s official obituary in Scânteia held that he had died from a prolonged illness, working right up until the last moment of his life, when he was suddenly taken by death (Roller 1958, 6). The obituary was signed by “a group of comrades,” while the Romanian Academy, of which he had been a member, also published its own obituary in Scânteia. In the latter it was announced that his body had been deposited at the Romanian Athenaeum, where final tributes might be paid. The obituary ended with the announcement that “comrade Mihai Roller’s cremation will take place at Cenuúa crematorium.” The funeral, which ended with the InternaĠionala, was also briefly described in Scânteia (Roller 1958, 3). Another interesting example is that of the death, and cremation at Cenuúa, of Iakov Petrovici Simonenko, who died on 17 March 1951. At that time, Simonenko was the director of the Sovrommetal plant in ReúiĠa. Born in 1904 and having graduated from the Steel Institute of Dnepropetrovsk, Simonenko came to Romania in 1948, being appointed general manager of the Plant in ReúiĠa. In the obituary in Scânteia, it was emphasised that he had been representative of the solid link between “the great Soviet people” and the Romanian people. He was seen as an example of the Soviet aid given to Romania at that time in building Socialism (Simonenko 1951, 3). His funeral was attended by all the Romanian Communist leaders of that time, as well as the Soviet ambassador and other Soviet officials in Bucharest. The large number of funeral speeches

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delivered clearly shows his importance. Chivu Stoica and Vasile Luca spoke on behalf of the Romanian Communist officials. Their speeches highlighted the contribution the deceased had made to the “rehabilitation” of Socialist Romania, following the Soviet model: “I. P. Simonenko’s figure will always remain in the memory of the working people of Our Country. The Romanian people will honour the memory, further strengthening the friendship that binds our people to the Soviet Union, fighting with even more force for the building of socialism in our country” (Funeraliile 1951, 3). Furthermore, Simonenko’s last guard of honour was in fact a joint Romanian–Soviet one. The earthly remains of LucreĠiu Pătrăúcanu were to take a very interesting route. Following his execution, Pătrăúcanu’s corpse was buried in a common grave in the cemetery of Jilava prison, together with that of Remus Koffer. In 1968 the site was identified, although it had not been marked. After exhumation and cremation, the ashes were deposited in the mausoleum in Bucharest, where he rested, ironically, with the remains of his great opponent, Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej. In 1991 his former wife, Elena Pătrăúcanu, took the urn back to their home in Snagov (Tănase 2009, 393). According to Ianis Veakis, Elena’s second husband, the two urns have rested on the bottom of the Snagov Lake since 31 October 1991, having been thrown there by him in order that they might find one another again (Betea 2008). As is well known, it was Pătrăúcanu’s rehabilitation in 1968 which determined the removal of his urn to rest for a while at the mausoleum. As for the Romanian Communist Party Central Committee’s decision on this matter, the text makes exact reference to the destination of the former Communist leader’s remains: “as a sign of appreciation of LucreĠiu Pătrăúcanu’s revolutionary activity and to honour his memory, his remains will be moved to the mausoleum (in the hemicycle)” (Hotărârile 1968, 3). However, in the case of ùtefan Foriú, the location was mentioned without specifying the hemicycle. At the other end of the scale, there stood the deaths and cremations of certain former Communist leaders who had meanwhile fallen into disfavour with the regime. Three examples can be mentioned here: Ana Pauker, Bellu Zilber and Teohari Georgescu. These three enjoyed discreet funerals, and only the last of them had an obituary published in Scânteia. In the case of Pauker, who died in 1960 from a heart attack whilst also suffering from cancer, the cremation was carried out quietly, Gheorghe Cristescu being the only Communist present, along with four other family members. A representative of the Organisation of Former Antifascist Fighters expressed his intention to give a speech, but the family opposed this. The family also refused to sing the InternaĠionala at the end of the

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ceremony, preferring instead the march of Ludwig Van Beethoven’s Third Symphony, a remarkable indication of the stigmatisation they felt (Lez 2002, 192). Later, however, a family member expressed regret about this refusal, as it symbolised the alienation from Communism not of Ana Pauker herself, but that of her family. As for Bellu Zilber, cremated in 1978, his funeral urn was taken to Ciúmigiu Park and the ashes scattered “under a bush near the bust of Gheorghe Panu” amongst some magnolias, which had been the deceased’s favourite flowers (Brătescu 2003, 355). Another notable fact about the deaths of those stigmatised by the Communist powers is that the obituaries published in România Liberă were written by their families, and not by the Party executives or by the Association of the Longtime Fighters and Activists of the Communist Movement (for example, Bellu Zilber (MP 1978, 4)). The conclusion that can therefore be drawn in the case of stigmatised Communists is that they followed a logical path: their exclusion from the Party led to their return to the womb, in the form of the family. An evocative picture of the ceremony held at Cenuúa crematorium for Bellu Zilber’s cremation was offered by the writer Constantin ğoiu. This poetic description appeared both in the novel Galeria cu viĠă sălbatică (The Gallery with Wild Vine), and later, in 2000, in another testimony made by the same writer (ğoiu 2000). ğoiu was struck by the austerity of the ceremony at the crematorium, as nothing was in excess: Chopin’s music was sung, there were no speeches, no tears, no memories or relatives, but just some close friends of the deceased, many of them old Party activists wearing red armbands. ğoiu’s discussion encompassed the moment of cremation itself, which he considered to be a sacrilege, with particular reference to the movement of the corpse under the action of the fire. A special case is the cremation of Florica Bagdasar, in December 1978. The first woman minister in Romanian history (at the Health Ministry between 1946 and 1948), who subsequently fell into disfavour with the regime of that time, Bagdasar died on 19 December 1978 and was later cremated. The first noteworthy aspect is that her husband Dumitru Bagdasar, also minister of health, had also been cremated in 1946. But even more important is that the occasion of Florica Bagdasar’s cremation is portrayed in the novel The Dean’s December, written in 1982 by the American author Saul Bellow and published in Romanian, under the title Iarna Decanului, in 1992. This novel is based largely on the actual events of December 1978, when Bellow, married to Alexandra – daughter of the Bagdasars – visited Romania and witnessed the cremation. The novel develops this subject and can, up to a point, be considered an accurate

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picture of how cremations were conducted in Romania at the time (Bellow 1992, 178–202, 217–225). Bellow highlighted the difficulties that Bagdasar’s daughter experienced giving an obituary in the newspapers. Bellow’s image of the speeches delivered in the memory of the deceased at the crematorium is also apposite. Here, the author confessed his surprise at the style adopted for this context, considering it to have “lame rhythm” and being generally strange to Western ears. It was also remarkable that at the end of the ceremony, Beethoven’s Third Symphony, was sung, rather than the InternaĠionala. A careful analysis carried out on Scânteia for the period 1950–1981 reveals surprising data on the adherence of the Romanian Communists to the practice of cremation: Year

Number of Communist obituaries

1950

4

1951

0

1852

1

1953

0

1954

1

1955

2

1956

3

1957

2

1958

3

1959

0

1960

2

1961

1

1962

5

1963

3

1964

3

1965

2

1966

3

1967

1

1968

3

1969

3

1970

6

1971

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322 1972

3

1973

4

1974

1

1975

2

1976

0

1977

1

1978

0

1979

0

1980

0

1981

1

Table 5-4 Communist obituaries published in Scânteia newspaper

Figure 5-9 Obituary announcing the cremation of a Communist activist, published in Scânteia

Thus, within three decades, about sixty-four obituaries of certain activists, Communist Party members and officials had appeared in Scânteia, showing in numerical terms the preference of some of them for cremation. Of course the actual figures are higher, because during some years of this range, for example 1975–1981, only a small number of obituaries specifying cremation at Cenuúa crematorium appear. The case

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of Teohari Georgescu, for whom an obituary was published but without indicating the location of the funeral, is indicative in this regard. Furthermore the figures are incomplete, because analysis of the România Liberă obituaries announcing cremation between 1969 and 1987 reveals that these also include information about the cremations of other Romanian Communist Party members, or of activists of less importance, who did not merit the honour of an obituary in Scânteia. The table below shows the distribution of obituaries in România Liberă announcing the cremation of some Party members and activists between 1969 and 1987. 1969 1971 1972 1974 1976 1977 1978 1979 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 1987

1 1 2 4 2 5 10 3 5 5 4 6 6 9 5

Table 5-5 Party member obituaries in România Liberă This sample comprises sixy-eight obituaries, twenty-three women and twenty-nine men. The quantitative increase during the 1980s is explained by the ageing of this group, who began to reach the biological age of death. Out of the fify-two obituaries, forty-six announce the cremation of activists or longtime members of the Romanian Communist Party. However, of these fify-two obituaries, no less than twenty-three announce the cremation of Romanian Communists who were of Jewish origin, which shows that the connection between Romanian Judaism and the custom of cremation was even stronger if the deceased were also members of the Romanian Communist Party. From this point of view, the following obituary can be given as an example: We express our deep sorrow about the loss of Frank Bela, fellow fighter

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Chapter Five who since his early youth participated in the labour movement, joining the Romanian Communist Party in 1923. Being repeatedly arrested and tortured by the bourgeois SiguranĠa, he was convicted and imprisoned in various prisons and camps, yet without defeating his courage and devotion to the just cause of the Party and people. Although in poor health after the years of oppression, after the 23rd of August, 1944, Frank Bela fulfilled the tasks with which the Party had entrusted him, being decorated with orders and medals. The deceased’s body is deposited in the Marble Hall of the human crematorium; cremation will take place on Tuesday, August 2nd, 1977, at ten o’clock. A group of comrades who knew him and with whom he fought together. (MP 1977, 4)

In the case of this obituary, which is typical of its kind, two features are particularly noteworthy. Firstly, we can observe that the deceased is described as a hero, a characteristic strategy of its time – especially in reference to the death of a longtime Communist activist. Secondly, the language is impersonal in tone, and the obituary is anonymous: it was signed not by Bela’s family, but by a “group of comrades” alongside whom he had fought. The usage of this apparently anonymous formula was another characteristic technique of this discourse. Another situation worth highlighting is that the tradition of cremation became established in some families of longtime Communist activists, even when one of the spouses had died many years before without benefitting from cremation. The case of Eugeniei Rădăceanu and Liuba Chiúinevschi is applicable in this respect. Rădăceanu seems to be the most representative example, dying in 1974 and opting for cremation. The newspaper informed readers that “the urn with the ashes of the deceased will be deposited in the hemicycle of Mausoleum of the Heroes that Fought for the Freedom of the People and the Fatherland, for Socialism” (Rădăceanu, 197, 3). Obituaries published in România Liberă to mark the cremations of certain Romanian Communists fill the gap in regard to second-ranking Party members, those who did not receive an obituary in Scânteia. This contradicts the assertion that the Romanian Communist leaders preferred cremation as the natural end of a Communist life. However it is my belief that, given their influence on the population and thus their sensitivity to traditions, burial was preferable for the top leaders, while cremation was an option for the second-rank Communists. This trend was strongly manifested within the group of longtime Party members, who can be assumed to have a total adherence to Communist beliefs. For example Chiúinevschi, who died in 1981: although she was an important figure amongst Romanian Communists, her obituary in Scânteia does not announce her choice of cremation, a detail that is instead found in the ordinary obituaries section of România Liberă (MP 1981, 4).

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An account of the cremation ceremony of a Romanian Communist Party member can also be found for the death of Florica ùemlaru in 1982 (Buzilă 1999, 121–123). Since the deceased had been an activist, a fourperson guard, wearing black and red striped bands on their arms, was organised. The guards were selected for their roles in the revolutionary past. The ceremony lasted less than fifteen minutes and ended with the singing of the InternaĠionala (Buzilă 2005, 123). The description of Mihail Macavei’s cremation is also significant. Macavei had been president of the Institute for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries, in which position he had met Constantin Mateescu, who subsequently wrote the account of Macavei’s cremation. Mateescu was among those assigned to take charge of the funeral arrangements by the director of the institute, who told him: “One can only enter with a special invitation. And I would ask you to dress decently, meaning you get some good clothes” (Mateescu 2008, 19). The ceremony took place in the hall of Cenuúa crematorium with a broad participation, the coffin dressed in red. The guard of honour comprised four soldiers, and there was the moderate sadness typical of funerals of the old. Mateescu compared the ceremony with that of a mafia leader, both characterised by a large attendance, and by a fear of possible future changes in the organisational power structures. After the initial strains of “Egmont” had played, the ceremony ended with the singing of InternaĠionala whilst the coffin was slowly lowered into the cremation furnace. Immediately afterward, probably bored of “the macabre performance,” the audience began to talk about other, more or less significant issues (the ladies, for example, about the fashion trends in Athens). The next day Ion Eclemeea confessed to Mateescu that he had witnessed the cremation, driven by a curiosity to see what happened in “hell”: the illustrious deceased was undressed by three of the crematorium’s “dark and overweight” employees, who threw him “like a stub into the greedy mouth of the oven.” Here, “the body spun, squirmed a little,” giving the impression of rising in a desire to escape, after which the employees closed the incinerator viewfinder and greedily divided “the boyar’s robes and decorations” (Mateescu 2008, 19). It should be mentioned that the burial ceremonies for members of the Romanian Communist Party were not very different. For example the burial ceremony organised for Aneta Victoria Cristescu, wife of Gheorghe Cristescu Plăpămaru, was similar to the cremation ceremony (Buzilă 1999, 121–124). Unique to this particular ceremony, however, was that it was led by the husband of the deceased, who concluded the funeral speeches in the form of a dialogue with his wife. Devotion to the Party cause was the key theme of this speech: “‘I thank the Party!’ (Pause.) ‘I thank the

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Government!’ (The audience is impassive.) ‘I thank comrade Nicolae Ceauúescu!’ (Animation, satisfaction among listeners.) ‘I thank comrade Voitec, and comrade Stoica!’ (The audience is annoyed, hisses of impatience are heard.)” (Buzilă 1999, 123). The singing of the InternaĠionala was the solemn moment of the ceremony. Therefore, the adherance of some Romanian Communists to the practice of cremation was explained by their atheism, manifested also by their choice of cremation as a final act of contempt toward religion and tradition. Besides, this choice meshed perfectly with the value system and worldview that they had caused to proliferate. But apart from these few exceptions, all the major Communist leaders of this period chose burial as the means of managing their bodies after death. Even after the building of the mausoleum in December 1963, and although this had a special memorial section dedicated to the urns of the Communists, burial still prevailed. This occurred even in cases where Communist leaders and other figures in Romania did not receive any religious service, preferring instead a personalised funeral ceremony and laying-out of the corpse. As for the Bela Brainer corner, in terms of the adherence of some Romanian Communists to cremation, this corresponds to what was mentioned above, and this can also be seen in the epitaphs on some of the urns. The establishment of the Bela Brainer corner belongs to the category of specific forms of Communist commemoration; it is about the creation of a class memory, since the working class was too historically recent to possess a memory of its own. This memory formation rapidly took on militant forms, employing the strategy of heorification, and was often socio-economic in nature (drawing on the evolution of technology and the struggles of the working class) (Verret 1984, 413–427). Beyond the examples already given, the case of Romulus Zăroni is worth mentioning. Born a peasant, and with a minimal education, he ended up as minister of agriculture, which sometimes made him the subject of jokes referring to the stereotypical image of the Communist as ignorant and incompetent. Zăroni’s desire for cremation fitted well with the humorous manner used by his contemporaries when speaking of him; for instance, Zăroni supposedly said: “Comrades, when I die, cremate me, and put the ashes under my head!” (BeĠoiu 2000, 82).

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Figure 5-10 Monument to Dumitru Diaconescu, Communist mayor of Bucharest, Cenuúa crematorium

During the Stalinist years Scânteia found another means of praising the Soviet Union, by reporting on the deaths of Soviet Communist Party and Red Army leaders. These were considered important events, and special pages were devoted to them. The cremation ceremonies, and the deposit of the funerary urns in the Kremlin Wall of the Red Square in Moscow, were reported with great prominence. The story of the funeral organised for Andrei Ianuarevici Vîúinski in 1954 is remarkable (Funeralii 1954b, 3). The cremation took place the night before the funeral, and the urn was then placed on a pedestal in the Columns Hall of the Trade Union Hall in Moscow. The urn was covered with flowers and Vîúinski’s portrait was placed behind it, along with his decorations, placed on a red velvet cushion. For four hours, in the presence of a revolving guard of honour around the catafalque, many people filed past the urn in order to say goodbye. At two thirty, the urn was removed from the room, and to the strains of the funeral march, the procession made its way toward Red Square. At three o’clock it reached Red Square, where the urn was placed in front of the Mausoleum of Lenin and Stalin, and the funeral rally commenced. Three funeral speeches were delivered, and then the urn was placed in a niche in the Kremlin Wall. The niche was then covered with a

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marble plaque which bore the name of the deceased engraved in golden letters. There were three artillery salutes, the Soviet state anthem was sung, and the ceremony ended with a military parade. A similar pattern is evident in the reports on the funerals of Lev Zaharovici Mehlis (Funeraliile 1953, 3), Matvei Feodorovici ùkiriatov (Funeraliile 1954c, 4), and Marshall F.I. Tolbuhin (PopulaĠia 1949, 4). However it is significant that these practices were not actually emulated in Communist Romania, even when this would have been a realistic possibility. The best opportunity for doing so would have been at the unveiling of the mausoleum in Carol Park, but this was not done, probably due to the sheer strength of the burial tradition, of which even the Romanian Communists were aware. Over time Scânteia’s practice of reporting the deaths of prominent Soviet figures gradually disappeared, becoming limited only to the greatest dignitaries or the most exceptional individuals. One who did fall into this category, and whose death was amongst the very last to attract Scânteia’s interest, was Iuri Gagarin (Funeraliile 1968, 6). Not only did Scânteia report on Soviet public figures who chose cremation, it also reported on other Communist leaders who chose to be cremated, such as certain Communist Party leaders from the German Democratic Republic. Among these was Wilhelm Pieck, president of the German Democratic Republic, who was cremated in September 1960. In a comradely spirit, Romania also held commemorative events for Pieck, in the form of a mourning rally in the Palace Hall of Bucharest. There, four speeches were delivered by representatives of the Romanian elite and working class (Pieck 1960, 1, 4). However, even more important is Petre Stăncescu’s report from Berlin on Pieck’s funeral (Stăncescu 1960, 4). Stăncescu reported that Ion Gheorghe Maurer, Petre Borilă and Ion Dalea had represented Communist Romania at the funeral. Scânteia’s account of Pieck’s funeral demonstrates a fundamental issue: while, due to the common Soviet model, there were similarities between German and Romanian Communist funerals, it is notable that the German version considerably exceeded the Romanian in grandeur, even in the same context of the cremation of certain Communist leaders. In East Germany, the coffin containing the body of the deceased was placed on a gun carriage within the funeral procession, and the procession then travelled a distance of twenty kilometres to the crematorium, while the route was lined by flames in large bronze cups guarded by Communist activists. Of course, such an event had not taken place in Communist Romania because none of the country’s leaders had been cremated. However, the practice of depositing the coffin on a carriage within the funeral procession is also noted at the funeral of Petru Groza in 1958 (“Dr. Groza Petru” 1958, 1).

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Another East German leader who was cremated was Otto Grotewohl, prime minister from 1949 until 1964. Grotewohl’s funeral was conducted in identical fashion to that of Pieck, the cremation taking place at the Baumschulenweg. Romanian television broadcasted live images of the funeral, while from two to five o’clock the main public institutions in Bucharest flew their flags at half mast, and the radio broadcasted funereal music (Funeraliile 1964, 5). The adherence of the Romanian Communists to cremation, especially that of the longtime campaigners, can also be assessed in another way, for those who died after 1989 would have the same option of cremation. At least four examples are worthy of mention. The first of these is Alexandru Nikolschi, one of the leading torturers of the Stalinist years, who died in his sleep on 16 April 1992. He was cremated at Cenuúa crematorium (Oprea 2008). The second example is Gheorghe (Gogu) Rădulescu, former member of the Romanian Communist Party (1969–1989), friend of some Trotskyist writers and protector of others, and a member of the Romanian Communist Party since 1933. He died on 27 May 1991, in a Jewish asylum in Bucharest, and was also cremated at Cenuúa. However, several versions of events circulated on his death, fuelling the popular imagination (Mihail 2007). The third case is that of Leonte Răutu, a Communist Party member since 1931. He occupied various positions, including member and secretary of the Romanian Communist Party Central Committee, member of the Executive Political Committee, vice-president of the Council of Ministers, and chancellor of ùtefan Gheorghiu Academy. He died in 1993 and was cremated at Cenuúa. The funeral rally at the crematorium ended with the singing of the InternaĠionala, which is extremely surprising for its time (Tismăneanu 2010). The last of our examples is that of Alexandru Drăghici. Drăghici had joined the Romanian Communist Party in 1930, afterwards occupying some elevated positions within the Communist power structure (president of the Great National Assembly, vice-prime minister, and minister of state security) before falling into the regime’s disfavour and being expelled from the Party. After 1989, in order to avoid prosecution, he fled with his wife to Hungary, Romanian requests for his extradition being denied. He died on 12 December 1993, in Budapest, and was cremated. In an interview in 2004, Drăghici’s daughter testified that he had been an atheist, and she spoke of the practical difficulties of returning his urn to Romania. The urn was brought in without being declared to customs, under his daughter’s car seat, and then the priests refused it burial in the Catholic Bellu cemetery, so that the container was eventually buried in another cemetery, his wife not knowing which one this was (Am adus 2004).

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A further similarity in patterns of cremation between the Communist countries of Central and Eastern Europe should be noted: the subsequent cremation of Communist leaders who had originally been buried in various mausoleums. The most famous case is that of Stalin, who was embalmed and deposited in the Lenin Mausoleum, and then exhumed and cremated in 1961 (Russia 2005, 370). Another example of this kind is that of the Bulgarian Communist leader, Georgi Dimitrov, embalmed in 1949 in his mausoleum in Sofia. In 1991, he was exhumed and cremated (Rev 2005, 130). A similar process was employed for the remains of the vice-president of Czechoslovakia, Klemet Gottwald. His body was cremated in 1962, because it was decomposing. This model was also applied to some of the Romanian Communists who were resting in their dedictaed mausoleum in Carol Park, in Bucharest. Their bodies were exhumed during 1990–1991, some being reburied in cemeteries outside Bucharest, and others cremated. One of the Romanian Communist leaders to benefit from this procedure was ùtefan Voitec, his body being burned at Cenuúa crematorium, where his urn is still to be found today (Eroii 2003,2). It was not only the urns of Communist activists kept at the mausoleum that suffered interference after 1989, but also those from Bela Brainer corner at Cenuúa crematorium. Around 1996, because the general columbaria at Cenuúa crematorium were full, the Communists’ urns were given to their families for burial (CâlĠan 1997, 3). Considering all the aspects mentioned so far, a key question arises on the practice of cremation in Romania during the Communist era: why were no other crematoria built during this time, especially since cremation would seem to have been the closest fit with the ideology and the new type of man proposed by Communism? The answer to this question comprises four factors: 1. The high costs that the construction of crematorium buildings would have incurred, an explanation which is plausible at least for the early period of Communism in Romania. 2. The rural, traditionalist worldview which remained deeply entrenched even amongst top leaders of the Romanian Communist Party. This is evidenced by the fact that the most important leaders of Communist Romania preferred burial over cremation. Moreover, in cases such as that of Petru Groza, a religious service was even held. Groza’s very famous case is even more pertinent because it occurred during the early years of the Communist regime, with the religious service (at which Patriarch Justinian officiated) being broadcast on the radio and reported in the newspapers (Marele 1958, 1). A short religious service was

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also held before Groza’s burial in Ghencea cemetery (Marele 1958, 3). Even more interesting is the fact that Petru Groza was himself the son of an Orthodox priest. During the later Communist period, the parents of Nicolae Ceauúescu were buried by a priest. 3. The persistent influence of the traditionalist rejection of cremation, as adopted by the Romanian Orthodox Church. 4. The tacit understanding between the Romanian Orthodox Church and the Romanian Communists on their respective fields of social interest and action. Each of these four possible explanations gives a specific rationale which helps to build an understanding of the context of cremation in Communist Romania. However, they are also mutually complementary. Thus, the first two can be considered valid up to a certain chronological point, but they are significant because they were probably influential in the temporary halt to the implementation of cremation in Romania; even an act of God, such as the 1977 earthquake, did nothing to force the issue. For this reason, I think that the last two explanations are especially significant because they offer a comprehensive, satisfactory explanation. A tacit agreement can be identified, reached between the Romanian Communist regime and the Romanian Orthodox Church, which allowed two distinct spheres of action. This tacit agreement has also been identified by Gail Kligman, as follows: while the problems of this world were the concern of the Party, the problems of the afterlife, including all their associated practices, belonged to the church (Kligman 1998, 109). Therefore, within such a mutual understanding, the issue of cremation should not be seen as the engine of this agreement, but rather as its consequence. The Soviet model did not work in this respect because, rather than simply imitating it, the Romanian Communist Party instead elected to manipulate and subdue the church, not to destroy it. In the specific case of the Romanian Orthodox Church, the 1923 Constitution had officially recognised the Orthodox confession as dominant in the state, and the Romanian Communists used this situation as a means of enslaving the church. This situation was also convenient for the church (Deletant 2001, 76–78). Therefore, the Communist state did not use propaganda to mount an ideological challenge to the Romanian Orthodox Church as an institution, but instead realised the advantages of employing religious doctrine through a subjugated church. Meanwhile, the Romanian Orthodox Church recognised the opportunity to preserve its status as the national church, dominated yet also encouraged by the state (Gillet 2001, 74). Thus, the Communist authorities attempted to discourage religious

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beliefs without overtly banning religion, for example through the prohibition, for a while, of baptisms and religious weddings, the permanent ban on public celebrations of Christmas and Easter, and by discouraging certain professional categories (Party members, soldiers, officers and magistrates) from attending church (Deletant 2001, 78). This pact, which Olivier Gillet dicusses, between church and state, institutions that were not separated in any Communist constitution (Gillet 2001, 55– 57), was of mutual benefit: the state ensured the observance of the freedom of religion, and the church ensured the observance of the state laws by its worshippers. In terms of the religious practices endorsed by the Romanian Orthodox Church, this pact worked with very few exceptions. If, therefore, the common denominator between the Romanian Orthodox Church and the Romanian Communists was, up to a point, their shared anti-Occidentalism (Gillet 2001, 55–57), it can be seen that the Romanian Communist Party had no particular reason to build new crematoria. Given the church’s declared opposition to the practice, and the mutual understanding between the two institutions, but advocating the same unique sense desired by the Communists, the total displacement of some practices and the implementation of completely new ones would not have been to the benefit of the Communist powers. In other words, so long as the Romanian Orthodox Church remained submissive and easily manipulated, there was no reason for the Romanian Communists to make radical changes. This despite the fact that, ideologically speaking, the Communists considered death itself to be irrational and anti-progressive, and the solution of the new man, aspired toward in theory and practice, implied a series of radical changes. In this respect, the inheritance of such a situation after 1989 is significant. In the specific case of cremation, as a public necessity in Romania due to the real crisis of urban burial space, the legacy of this situation also explains the lack of any serious public debate on the matter after 1989. The Hungarian case demonstrates how such a practice can emerge independently of the orders and interests of Communism and, moreover, it shows that Hungary kept pace with developments in the Catholic – and therefore the Western – world. On the other hand, it is worth noting that neither Romanians at the time, nor those of today, have expressed any extensive interest in cremation, either as a subject or as a practical option. This is linked to two issues, influenced and strengthened by the Orthodox stance on the subject. In Romania, it is about the re-unification of the sacred from the profane, to use Mircea Eliade’s terminology, in the same shape and at the same pace as in the West. On the other hand it is also due to the structure of the burial ritual, which is much more uniform and therefore harder to dislocate than

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baptism or marriage rituals. As we have seen, this was also highlighted by the atheistic propaganda of Communist Romania. The particular development of cremation in Romania, when compared with its neighbours, during the Communist period has also been noted by Douglas J. Davies (Davies 2002, 33).

The cremation rate in Communist Romania Cremation during the Communist period may also be considered at other levels, in terms of its perception as a practical possibility, and its implementation by the population or by other entities. The first of these refers to the reports and features on cremation which are to be found in contemporary newspapers, besides those already considered. It is obvious that such references are few, as indeed they are for burial, a dearth which is explained by the death taboo that existed within the Communist ideology. Despite this the topic is present, and it can be found in newspapers, but only sporadically. For example, in the 1970s Flacăra drew attention to the speculation on burial space in Bucharest. As we shall see, this situation has received wide coverage in the newspapers since 1989, coverage which has been intended primarily to expose the cemetery mafia. The Flacăra article revealed how a fictional donation had been used in order to circumvent the law (Stoian 1973, 15). Ion I. Goia employed a highly provocative stance in his critique of the Western funeral industry, a study published in Flacăra (Goia 1981, 23). In order to maximise the impact of the article on his readers, he employed some bitter ironies about the profitability of such a business as death. The prohibitive prices applied by the Western funeral industry were criticised, since, according to the author, one did not need a “qualification diploma or certificate” in order to work in the industry (a false statement). Moreover, those employed in it very often took advantage of the vulnerability of the families hit by the disaster of death. Goia also showed that monopolies had emerged in the field, and were exercised by some funeral companies in the United States and Western Europe. Added to all this was the extremely high cost of funeral services. Examples were given from an article in Le Figaro, which Goia used to emphasise that dying had these days become a luxury in Paris, where cremation and deposit of the urn in a columbarium were more expensive than a regular burial. But more important was the inclusion of some brief statistics on the cremation rate in some parts of the world (0.8 percent in France; 50 percent in Anglo-Saxon countries; 90 percent in Japan). Goia reported unfair practices on the part of Western funeral companies, for instance that they used bribes to obtain primacy in

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the desperate hunt to attract custom. In comparison with the Romanian situation in this respect after 1989, some common points may be observed, which leads me to accept Goia’s conclusion that “the scandalous practices to which death merchants are nowadays devoted are embarrassing the profession of old Charon. If he could come and see how his epigones work, he would immediately get them into the boat and would cross Acheron with them. For free!” (Goia 1981, 23). Meanwhile, Communist newspapers mocked some of the Western initiatives to address the burial space crisis, considering their proposed solutions – such as the Nashville undertaker who wanted to build cemeteries vertically – to be farcical (Cosaúu 1971, 29). Communist Romania also witnessed the emergence of memoirs and other literature exposing “the evil politics of cremation” as employed in Nazi Germany. Since this concerned the main ideological enemy of Communism, this genre served the Communist cause perfectly. The memoirs of Nazi concentration camp survivors were published, some of which were all the more to the purpose since they were composed by Romanian Jews, for example the works of Oliver Lustig, a survivor of Auschwitz-Birkenau. In their recollections, the Nazi crematoria took on a special importance as the locus of action by the Fascist death professionals (Lustig 1979, 12). During the 1970s, Communist newspapers in Romania reported on Western neo-Nazism, linking it to past instances of the “evil politics of cremation.” In an article on American neo-Nazi groups, published in 1977, it was stated that these groups were glorifying the model of Germany under Hitler, and of concentration camps, under the guise of Western freedom (PriviĠi 1977, 6). For example, a photograph of a young American neo-Nazi, wearing a T-shirt printed with the slogan “there is nothing more enjoyable than to burn a living Jew to death,” was published. This was described as “a plea for the ovens that burn people,” and as an extreme expression of the freedom within Western democracies, a freedom misunderstood and assumed. Secondly, for the Communist era as for the inter-war period, we can also note the cremation of famous persons from that time, whether politically active or not. Academics, poets and writers resorted to the practice, which again suggests a particular affinity between sections of the Romanian elite and cremation. Among those who opted for cremation were: Gheorghe Spacu (1955); Simion Iagnov (1958); Simion Stoilow (1961); George Oprescu (1969); Martin Bercovici (1971); the academics Iser (1958) and Lucian Grigorescu; the poet Alexander Thomas (1954); Octav Pancu-Iasi; the sculptor Constantin Baraschi (1966); and others. Of

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course each of these is a special case, and their choices can be analysed in detail as being dictated, in some instances, by necessity. Such is the case of Doina Badea, who died together with her entire family in the earthquake that struck Bucharest on 4 March 1977, and was cremated. Her urn was later buried at a cemetery in Craiova. Sources which help us to reconstruct perceptions of the crematorium during this time can be collected from other areas. For example, Nicolae Steinhardt created a highly negative image, by way of offering advice. His description dates from 1970: Bucharest, November 1970, Cremation at the horrible crematorium: that Freemason style hall, Iorga would have said synagogue style, and the gramophone disc grating and creaking for over three quarters of an hour now, with long fading sounds due to ageing, the ones present feeling even more embarrassed. It seems that here one feels how lonely one is more than in the cemetery. (Steinhardt 1992, 24)

In support of his argument, cremation was juxtaposed unfavourably with the ancient and traditional model of death: All standing on both sides of a catafalque covered in cloth. With Indians and Romans, the bush was cremation, it was a show, and people participated. In the countryside, there is the land, the mourners, the priests, nature. Here is but waiting, boredom with the sound of raucous and pompous music, everybody’s void and loneliness. A kind of official meeting: I wish it ended. (Steinhardt 1992, 24)

Alexandru Toma’s funeral and cremation were also artfully reported in the newspapers. Toma was an important poet (Boia 1998, 72–84); according to the obituary published in Scânteia, he was considered one of the greatest poets of his time. The Communists’ appreciation of Alexandru Toma can be seen in a decision of the Council of Ministers, which named a street in Bucharest after him, as well as a school in Ploieúti where he had served as a teacher. Furthermore, his widow was granted a pension for life. Toma’s body was laid out at the Romanian Academy, and the funeral was held at Cenuúa crematorium (Toma 1954, 4). The funeral service was divided into two parts: the first part was held at the Academy, the second at Cenuúa crematorium. Uniquely, there was a funeral procession from the Romanian Academy to Cenuúa crematorium, which was attended by “a lot of working people” (Funeraliile 1954a, 3). The poet’s widow Sidy Toma, a former editor at Scânteia, was cremated in June 1976 (MP 1976, 4). The couples’ urns are now kept in a columbarium in Cenuúa crematorium, and their epitaph, which proclaims their Communist membership, has been

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covered in white, probably by some of their descendants. Two former mayors of Bucharest from the inter-war period were also cremated. These were Lucian Skupiewski and General Victor Dombrovowski, both of whom died after 1947. The private aspects of cremation can be recreated from the obituaries, which are excellent sources for this period. Although the stereotype of this source is obvious, given the lack of other documents, the obituary is nonetheless a reliable barometer of cremation in Communist Romania. Certainly in terms of quantity, its utility is reduced by the subjectivity and selectivity which typically charcaterises this kind of evidence. Despite this, the obituary can be a tool for verifying assumptions about the number of cremations in Communist Romania. From the beginnings of Communism until 1953, Universul published obituaries. By the end of the 1970s, the obituaries sections no longer existed in the mainstream Romanian newspapers. This makes it more difficult to establish the cremation rate in Romania from then on, in terms of both general trends in cremation, and with regard to particular public figures who were cremated during this period. It is true that obituaries continued to be published both in România Liberă and in Scânteia, but these referred either to the deaths of leading figures in Romanian public life, or to those of key Romanian Communist Party members. The fact that România Liberă continued to publish obituaries is striking, and is explained by the fact that this newspaper was a special kind of advertising newspaper during the Communist period, which allowed and charged for a variety of advertisements, including obituaries. The issues published during the 1970s are proof of this, with constant publication of the charges for various types of advertisement in the classified section. This escalated over time to such an extent that it was even said that the classified section was the most interesting part of the newspapers, in contrast to the other pages which were only concerned with continuously glorifying Nicolae and Elena Ceauúescu. Nevertheless, the presence of obituaries in România Liberă was not constant. This type of advertisement appeared only in the late 1960s and steadily increased in volume, reaching a climax during the 1980s. At that time, most of the classified column of the newspaper was dominated by death and memorial services. But the significance of this type of source, taken together, is very special since it reveals the daily numbers of deaths and cremations. The following figures show the distribution of obituaries announcing cremation which were published in România Liberă between 1969 and 1987:

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1969 1971 1972 1974 1976 1977 1978 1979 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1986 1987 139 193 221 268 307 291 335 332 310 330 324 275 345 296 267

Around 4,233 cremations were performed at Cenuúa crematorium during this period, a rate of 282.2 cremation obituaries per year or approximately twenty-three per month. During this period there was an increase in the number of obituaries in România Liberă which refer to cremation. However this does not necessarily imply an increase in the cremation rate during that time, because if in the 1970s there were about forty to fifty obituaries per day, during the next decade their number increased to between 100 and 120. Statistically, obituaries announcing cremation cover only the quantitative aspect of the practice. The obituary, as a practice, refers to the death of a population segment considered at that time more representative than others. As for the ratio of obituaries specifying burial to those specifying cremation, this was 4:1 in România Liberă during the 1980s. Considering the socio-professional categories, according to the România Liberă obituaries which specified the occupation of the deceased, those who opted for cremation had an above average level of education. A comparative analysis at three time intervals shows the occupational distribution to be as follows:

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(1) 1972; of 221 cremation obituaries, 86 stated the occupation of the deceased: Engineer

14

Superior Officer

11

Lawyer, magistrate

11

Doctor

9

Professor

10

Pharmacist

4

Worker

3

Accountant

2

CFR, PTTR pensioner

4

Geologist

2

Painter

2

State employee

2

Student

1

Dentist

1

Sculptor

2

Operator

1

Biologist

2

Architect

1

Journalist

2

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(2) 1982; of 330 cremation obituaries, 130 stated the occupation of the deceased: Engineer

20

Professor

22

Officer

18

Doctor

16

Journalist

19

Architect

6

Actor

1

Writer

2

Bishop

1

Publicist

1

Pharmacist

2

Clerk

2

CEC pensioner

1

CFR pensioner

2

Hotelier

1

Economist

5

Worker

4

Toolman

3

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(3) 1979; of 332 cremation obituaries, 138 stated the occupation of the deceased: Engineer

21

Officer

28

Lawyer

20

Professor

19

Doctor

15

Economist

7

Actor

4

Worker

3

Railway worker

5

Researcher

2

Journalist

3

Chemist

1

Architect

2

Pharmacist

2

Graphologist

1

ITB

1

Dentist

2

Chanterr

1

Technician

1

One essential point should be emphasised: although some Romanian Communists chose cremation, this model was not put in practice by those who the Communists theoretically represented, namely the working class. Of course not all obituaries announcing cremation specified the socioprofessional category of the deceased, but even allowing for this cannot account for the fact that such a remarkably high proportion of the professional classes opted for cremation. The number of engineers who chose cremation is especially striking. In theory, this corresponds perfectly to the profile of that time. There seems to have been a particular

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preference for cremation, and for publicising it through obituaries, in the case of certain occupational categories: engineers, teachers, persons working in the field of justice (from lawyers to judges), senior officers, doctors, economists, architects, etc. From the qualitative angle, there are some other aspects of these obituaries which require mention. Firstly, they included every possible error in regard to cremation, which surely suggests that the population was unaccustomed to the practice. Some of these errors are basic, such as saying that a person was buried at the crematorium or that cremation took place in a cemetery. For example: “The burial ceremony will be held on Wednesday, October 7th, 1981, at eleven o’clock, at Cenuúa crematorium” (MP 1981b, 4); “cremation will take place at the Izvorul Nou cemetery” (MP 1974, 4); “the cremation at the crematorium of CuĠitul de Argint Street” (MP 1986, 4); “cremation will take place at the Pantelimon cemetery” (MP 1979, 4); “cremation will take place at Catholic Bellu cemetery” (MP 1987, 4): “cremation takes place in Buftea” (MP 1981c, 4). Some other key aspects of the practice should also be emphasised: (1) Sometimes, the funeral ceremony took place in the ceremony hall of the crematorium, and sometimes at the home of the deceased. Given Prelipcean’s statements, it can be assumed that the religious service was celebrated in such a situation. There were cases when the body was laid out inside the crematorium and subsequently buried (MP 1971, 4). The religious service was also performed at memorial services for those who had been cremated. The majority of the newspaper notices of memorial services for those who had been cremated reveal that those memorial services which were not held at the columbarium within the crematorium were held at various churches in Bucharest and throughout the country, and involved the participation of priests (MP 1983, 4). Another aspect of the performance of religious services at memorial services is the burial of urns in the cemetery after some time had elapsed, for example at the memorial service forty days after death. This leads to the conclusion that religious services were celebrated on these occasions. Even the memorial services held at the crematorium followed the intervals specified by the Orthodox tradition, which again supports the idea that cremation was widely practiced among Romanian Orthodox believers at this time. We may therefore conclude that despite the prohibitions of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s prohibition during this period, religious services were celebrated in a significant number of cases for those who were to be or had been cremated. However it was customary to keep up appearances at most times by not conducting religious services inside the crematorium itself.

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Despite this the Orthodox authorities did not intervene, instead tacitly tolerating them. Since these obituaries were public, it is hard to believe that the Orthodox authorities were unaware of their existence; but their tacit acceptance may be the only reason for the presence of the obituaries within the pages of România Liberă. (2) The phenomenon of people coming from throughout Romania to be cremated. This phenomenon was not specific to the Communist period, but is also to be found during the inter-war period. It raises general issues, and its relevance is twofold. On the one hand, there is the matter of the distance between the place of death and the city of Bucharest: in some cases, obituaries show that the deceased were brought from a considerable distances. On the other hand, the choice of cremation related to the deceased’s place of origin and socio-professional background, the overwhelming majority coming from urban districts and belonging to the professional classes. In 1981, out of 310 obituaries announcing cremation and published in România Liberă, just thirteen were for people who came from the countryside. Even if not all these obituaries specified the socioprofessional category of the deceased, of those which do we find that they were physicians (two), academics, engineers, teachers (two), professors and senior officers. Furthermore, the two examples of cremation of professional people from rural areas, a teacher and an engineer, confirm the theory. (3) Mention of the burial of the ashes, again implying a religious service (MP 1978, 5). (4) Further evidence of the lack of development of cremation is the fact that it only took place at the express will of the deceased, demonstrated in the sense of detachment exhibited by relatives in the wording of obituaries. This can be seen in the use of the newspaper notice as a public declaration that the will of the deceased was being fulfilled. By so blatently seeking to justify their actions, the family increased its safety margin. This situation was to continue after 1989. There are times when the obituaries from România Liberă openly acknowledge the Romanian Orthodox Church’s toleration of cremation, by use of the following formula: “Physician Constantin Belciu and his relatives warmly thank friends and acquaintances who attended the sad religious ceremony in Călăraúi and the cremation at Bucharest crematorium of their beloved” (MP 1969a, 4). Even more definitive proof of this tolerance is evident in another obituary published in 1969, in the

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pages of the same newspaper, which referred to the cremation of an employee of the Romanian Patriarchy: “The family thanks the employees and management of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s Pension Fund and the Patriarchal Administration, colleagues and friends and all acquaintances who took part in the cremation of…” (MP 1969b, 5).

Figure 5-11 The marble hall of Cenuúa crematorium’s main columbarium

However, a careful analysis of this type of source reveals that the celebration of the religious service is rarely mentioned even in the case of burial, and, in general, reporting on the celebration of religious services declined from the 1980s onward. But that should not give the misleading impression that the religious service was not performed, simply that it was no longer mentioned. This is related to the fact that classified advertisements and obituaries were not published at all on the Ceauúescus’ birthdays. Nor were obituaries or other classifieds published on other significant days in the Romanian Communist calendar during the 1980s, such as 1 May and 23 August, since on these days the entire newspaper was taken up with praises and congratulations of the great achievements of Ceauúescu’s “Golden Age.” Meanwhile, as during the inter-war period, there were cases when a person’s desire to be cremated was not fulfilled. An example of this would be the case of the poet Mihai Beniuc, who died in 1988. Beniuc can also be mentioned in another respect, for in 1978 one of his wives, Emma Beniuc, died, having committed suicide because she was suffering from cancer. She was cremated and buried in the Evangelical Cemetery of Bucharest, where the poet too would rest later. The obituary published in România Liberă embodies a remakable syncretism between Communist ideology and Christian doctrine:

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The earthquake that struck Bucharest and the surrounding towns on 4 March 1977 resulted in numerous casualties and considerable material damage. There were 1,570 dead, 11,300 injured, 32,900 houses damaged and 35,000 people made homeless (Expunerea 1977, 1). Analysis of the obituaries on cremation shows that some of the victims were cremated at Cenuúa. It appears that an initial batch of cremations was carried out on 9 March 1977, followed by a second on 12 March. Of a total of fifty-seven cremation obituaries published during this period, around ten refer to vitims of the earthquake. This can be read in two ways. On the one hand, it allowed the crematorium to prove its utility in the event of natural disasters or accident. This was repeated eighteen years later when the remains of some of the passengers and crew of Tarom flight 371 were cremated, following the crash of their Airbus A310 in Baloteúti (Jurnalul 2009).1 On the other hand, although the natural disaster of 1977 emphasised the importance of the crematorium, Ceauúescu was not prompted to open a second crematorium in Bucharest or anywhere else in the country. The plans for building Vitan Bârzeúti crematorium were implemented only a decade after the earthquake, and it is hard to believe that if the leaders of that time had planned it earlier, it would not have been done then. However, it is relevant that the events of 1977 created an unprecedented situation in Communist Romania. The large number of deaths from the earthquake led to a series of measures on the part of the authorities: the establishment of Domneúti cemetery in Bucharest, and a generally more fluent process of burial in cemeteries throughout Romania. One rather precipitate account reports that the structural problems during the final years of the Ceauúescu regime also affected the development of cremation and crematoria in Romania, with particular reference to the chronic shortage of gas, which was believed to have caused difficulty in completing the cremation process. It was therefore said that relatives would take the ashes of the incompletely burnt corpse 1

After the crash victims had been identified, there remained 168 bags of human remains. These were cremated at Vitan Bârzeúti crematorium, and the ashes were deposited at the memorial monument built at the crash scene.

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and bury it in secret, along with the rest of the remains. However, some proposals for the establishment of new crematoria in other Romanian cities were doomed to failure – for instance the project in Iasi, which was abandoned after 1989 (Mates 2005, 366). These claims, made by Lewis Mates in the Encyclopaedia of Cremation, do not withstand close scrutiny. According to Mates, the gas shortages which dogged the last years of the Ceauúescu regime affected the operation of Cenuúa crematorium, and it was claimed that a number of bodies had not been completely burned. Mates does not indicate the source on which this claim is based, but if we consider the sheer number of România Liberă obituaries announcing cremation during the last years of Ceauúescu’s regime, Mates’s hypothesis would seem to lack support. It is hard to believe that if incomplete cremation had taken place at the Bucharest crematoria at that time, they would have gone unreported in the newspapers. Even the decrease in the number of obituaries during the final years of Ceauúescu’s regime does not indicate this situation. For example, the 242 obituaries specifying cremation that were published in 1989 indicate that cremation was by no means in decline. Indeed there would perhaps have been even more obituaries that year, if we consider that no advertisements were published for more than a week, on the occasion of the fourteenth Communist Party Congress. The same also happened in April and December 1989, when various Romanian Communist Party plenary sessions or meetings of the Great National Assembly filled the classified section. The classified section was also, as mentioned above, cancelled on the Ceauúescus’ birthdays. But otherwise the cremation statistics from Cenuúa crematorium, as presented at the beginning of this chapter, are representative of the final years of the Communist regime, and thus strongly challenge Mates’s claims. The notion that Cenuúa crematorium was affected by the gas crisis therefore belongs to urban folklore rather than to the realm of fact. It may be contextualised within the general sense of crisis which pervaded the final years of Communism in Romania, and it gained further popularity after 1989. For example, in 2003 Aurora Cornu published a story based on this theme (Cornu 2003, 236–238). The story is set in 1980s Romania, and begins when an old lady named Agatha dies of cold in her apartment. Agatha’s relatives decide to cremate her. After a series of interventions, because there is a long waiting list at the crematorium due to gas shortages, their wish is partially fulfilled: “do not worry, comrade, we do not have enough gas to burn them. We store them until spring comes and then we finish them. It is better for the families. Do not tell them” (Cornu 2003, 238). The delay prompts Norel, a relative of Agatha’s, to enquire

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what has happened to her ashes, and crematorium staff resolve this problem by filling the urn with the ash obtained from the half of the cremation they have already done, in order to reassure the family. In Romania there is, however, very little direct testimony from the subjects themselves which might reveal their motives for being cremated. A problematic relationship with the Orthodox religion would be an obvious explanation for a desire to be cremated – but there is hardly any evidence for the thoughts of those who do not fit this category, namely those who were not atheists or agnostics, or free-thinkers, but people who nonetheless chose cremation despite religious feelings. An excellent example of this is the actress and director Marioara Voiculescu (1889– 1976). According to her own testimony Voiculescu wanted to be cremated despite her strong belief in God: “I am deeply filled with the power of God and I believe and have believed in Him, humbly and gratefully trying, as much as I could, to be good and generous with the oppressed and poor.” In this context Voiculescu clearly expressed her wish to be cremated, but upon the condition that her son, Paul, also wished to be cremated: “I want to be cremated, but only if my son wants it for himself too. I do not want to be separated from him in eternity – as I was not during life. But if the years pass and his desire for cremation will change – then let them buy me a nice place at Bellu ... and ... sunny” (Voiculescu 2003, 283). The preference for cremation on the part of some public figures was often linked to a desire for a simple funeral ceremony, as in the case of Professor Iacob Iacobovici, founder of the Romanian school of surgery in Transylvania. Iacobovici stated in his will: “I want to be cremated, to have a simple funeral, not to be laid out at the faculty, but to be moved directly to the crematorium and no speech to be given” (ChiricuĠă 1979, 57). Voiculescu’s explanation of her choice displays her awareness of the various misconceptions which existed in relation to cremation: Do not think that the fact that I want cremation shows a lack of religiosity. It would be a great sin and I ask you all to understand that: only the horror of being locked, sealed forever in the bottom of a black hole, makes me choose cremation. My soul will have been led to God long before that moment, and the body – it is the only one that will receive purification. (Voiculescu 2003, 283)

Voiculescu believed the matter to be a personal one, requesting for her funeral “a great religious service, a beautiful and not too sad choir.” She was aware, however, that this might not be possible due to her choice “in the case of cremation, if this religious act is not permitted there, then to be held at my home.” She also required that her body be hosted by any

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Romanian theatre for one night; otherwise, she did not want to be taken to the cemetery chapel and have to pass the night alone there, but to be laid out in her own home, her face to be covered with a veil so that no one would see her “ugly and disfigured,” with a single flower and an icon, received once as a gift from her son, to be placed in her hands (Voiculescu 2003, 283). The cremation in 1979 of Aurel Baranga is a milestone not only for popular perceptions of the practice of cremation, but also for what would refer to the integration of death into the pattern of that time. According to Mircea Zaciu, Baranga’s life ended “as a macabre farce”: a stomach cancer patient, he was operated on in Paris, but unsuccessfully, dying at Caritas hospital where his brother-in-law was a physician. In accordance with Baranga’s own wish, he was “anonymously” cremated, without speeches, ceremony or assistance. It seems that not even his wife, the actress Marcela Rusu, attended the cremation. Zaciu considers it also most relevant it was not until several days afterward that the authorities learned of Baranga’s cremation. This created considerable agitation: “how could he die and disturb things so, without their knowledge and permission.” The Romanian Writers’ Union was accused because it had not informed the Romanian Communist Party, which led Zaciu to enquire rhetorically why the security services had not informed the Party’s higher authorities of Baranga’s death. The most significant result of this episode was about to come, although the evidence is rather anecdotal in nature. Orders were given to organise, as soon as possible, “a funeral rally with speeches at the crematorium.” A catafalque was therefore prepared, upon which an urn was placed, “not his, because his own ashes were not yet prepared, but an urn of someone, or of no-one.” Moreover the Party sent a wreath to the ceremony – the Writers’ Union being thus obliged to take care not to send a bigger wreath. “The Council called the Writers’ Union to remind them not to have a wreath bigger than one metre, so as not to exceed the Presidential one, nor those sent by the “forums.” The Union therefore had to call the florist to ask them to make a smaller wreath” (Zaciu 1993, 62– 63). Mircea Eliade’s cremation in 1986 should not be excluded from this analysis. It is significant that Eliade’s choice of cremation came as a surprise amongst some Romanian circles, who labelled it as an unChristian act. This perception remained strong after 1990, culminating in the last interview given by Alexandru Paleologu prior to his death in 2005. In Paleologu’s opinion, Eliade was not a believer as long as he opted for cremation. Paleologu explained this with the assertion that in his view, in Eliade there had “persisted a juvenile stupidity,” and he publicly expressed

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his own disapproval of cremation: I know people close to me in the family, fortunately, they were buried in a Christian way, because they came to their senses, in the end. They were enrolled, subscribed at the crematorium ... they had subscribed thinking that it was more hygienic to burn instead of rot. This is the ultimate stupidity, for putrefaction does not occur in full view, it occurs in the ground. (Anton 2007)

Representations of crematoria within Romanian Communist literature are rare, but they do exist. The best example is the novel Lunaticii (Lunatics) written by Ion Vinea in 1965. This contains a very brief reference to cremation, which over two pages presents the pro- and anticremation positions, in the form of a dialogue in which the character Lucu Silion is questioned about the dismantling of a Bucharest crematorium by one of his “professors” and his collaborator, on behalf of an investigative campaign initiated by a newspaper. Thus, on the one hand, the crematorium was seen as a scandal, “a crime against tradition and faith,” and therefore, as a heresy. Obviously confused by the newspaper’s initiative, Silion brings logic to bear against this argument, woven into a fine irony: “I suppose you know that bodies are burned at the crematorium. Are the living corpses also burned?” (Vinea 1997, 241) According to Silion, regardless of the method by which a corpse is managed, the deceased always eventually return to the ground. This polemic is based upon the premise that the notion of burial as a necessary condition of resurrection is fundamentally illogical: “Since there is the crematorium, our dead begin not to come back to the ground. It is a heresy.” “I think you are wrong. Our dead, whether we bury them or we cremate them, return to the ground.” “But only in part! What about the smoke? How do you bury the smoke? See?! Our view is that cremation is contrary to our authentic tradition. Our parents, our ancestors have not cremated themselves – they were buried. To await resurrection in the tomb!” “But why would they not expect it in a small urn? I do not see the difficulty.” “Because it breaks the order.” “What order?” “The pious and traditional order that requires the dead to rest according to a certain ritual law: the head towards East, hands on the chest!” “But why must the dead necessarily rest only in this way?” “For the beyond day to find them in the traditional position. When the archangel will sound the trumpet, the dead shall rise from their graves.

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How will a dead person jump out of the urn?” “Nothing more simple than that, since you admit the miracle!” (Vinea 1997, 241–242).

The dispute ends by disregarding the main character’s interlocutors, “literate boys” who “think and talk like old women. Certainly, they are impostors or fools who have not yet been caught” (Vinea 1997, 241). Brief references to cremation are also to be found in the novel Ieúirea la Mare (To the sea), written by Paul Anghel in 1988. They are expressed through the character Major Nae Maican’s choice of cremation. Maican dies in a hotel in Bucharest, without a candle at his head. The story then unfolds as four distinct moments corresponding to the cremation of the deceased and the dispersion of his ashes. Three of his friends decide to fulfil his desire, but are faced with the refusal of the authorities. General Cernat, replying on behalf of the minister of the army, calls this act nonChristian “craziness.” One of the Major’s friends tries to explain to Cernat that cremation was practiced by the ancestors of the Romanians, eliciting a condemnatory reaction from the general: Cernat physically felt the burning, he could hear his flesh sizzling on the embers and he shivered. He could never accept something like this and he told the three friends: “And don’t you want your friends to be resurrected when all the dead are resurrected? You pagans!” (Anghel 1988, 319)

The General argues that even suicides are buried, and he proposes a post-mortem promotion of the Major instead of cremation. In order to resolve the problem, he sends the Major’s friends to the atheist “Mayor of Blue” (primăria de albastru” (Anghel 1988, 319). The Mayor, although “free-thinker, Democrat from top to toe, friend of the Socialists from the Faculty of Medicine,” is not, however, easily convinced. He considers cremation to be a defiance of tradition and “forcing public opinion,” and he expresses his concern that Major’s choice could influence others (324). It will also upset the undertakers’ group from Bucharest and Vienna, as “in death also there was a rule.” He thinks that the priests would protest, and war heroes would turn in their graves. However, the Mayor permits the cremation to be held in an open place on the outskirts of the capital, with a limited attendance. The third cremation-related episode in the novel includes the actual cremation, and reveals a new dimension: the religious assistance given to the deceased. The solution found by the Major’s friends is a defrocked priest, who used to be hired to officiate “by the hour” to suicides (346). Even as a defrocked priest, he is puzzled as to the deceased’s will:

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Chapter Five But now I ask: where does he go? For the dead return to the ground, as it is written in the Holy Book: Dust you are and to dust you shall return. And bewildered: where is your man returning?! What should I say when I get to that point in the service? (347).

A “liturgical scandal” follows, culminating in the defrocked priest’s remark: “For the dead return to the ground, he, in this case, returns to fire ... Is fire the world’s foundation?” (347). The deceased’s wish to have his ashes thrown into the sea represents further defiance of the Canons. It increases the amount paid to the defrocked priest, who asks the key question: “Tell me, gentlemen, why did he want to give himself to the fire?” “He was afraid of the dark!” “Gentlemen,” he babbled, “but this Nae of yours did he not believe in resurrection? Even the suicides do, you bring great trouble onto me. Don’t you think that not only he, but also you will burn in Hell’s pit?” (348).

Although he does not attend the cremation itself, the defrocked priest does eventually yield and performs the religious funeral service. From this perspective, probably the most pertinent aspect of the defrocked priest’s response to the pressure from the Major’s friends is his identification of cremation as an assault upon the natural order of things: “Something in the sacred scaffolding of the world would be about to break down” (347). Finally, there is the scattering of the ashes of the deceased into the sea, which provides further opportunities to expound on cremation. At a certain point in the narrative the friends of the deceased confess to a woman, who is washing clothes in the Danube, that they are carrying a man’s ashes. She says: “Woe unto him! Why did they give him to fire? For man’s aim is another. This one, if he were a man, he would have had a woman. Tell me, I beg you, who is mourning him?” (452). Paradoxically, the one who seems to be most at peace with the cremation seems to be the Abbot of the Cocoú Monastery. He permits the urn to rest in the monastery for one night before being thrown into the sea. The explanation for his gesture lays in the “special situation the dead have in Dobruja,” since Christians and pagan Romans were both accepted. The abbot is asked to perform a religious service for the Major’s memorial. Therefore, according to the abbot, the deceased Major belongs to “two eras, the pagan era and the Christian one” (455–456).

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The Mask of the Red Death: The evil politics of cremation in Romania, December 1989 The second incident, however, is more significant due to its symbolic content. Although Edgar Allan Poe’s 1842 short story The Mask of the Red Death was set at the time of the great plague, in the Romanian context it would also be a highly apt reference to the events of December 1989. During the night of 18–19 December, forty-three bodies were stolen from the morgue of the district hospital of Timiúoara and forcibly cremated at Cenuúa crematorium. Initially known as Operation Rose and then as Operation Customs, this episode is significant in a multitude of ways. It should be mentioned that this was not the first time in the history of Romanian Communism that the crematorium had been employed as a means of erasing all traces of opposition. At least three other similar episodes can be listed. The first of these was the first significant antiCommunist demonstration in Romania, which took place in Bucharest on 8 November 1945, and where brutal police intervention resulted in eleven deaths. While six of the victims were given state funerals by the Romanian Communist Party, the other five have been ignored by subsequent Romanian Communist discourse. According to further research, the actual number of victims is unknown. In 2005, Dan Horea Buzatu emphasised the significance of this episode in a speech to Parliament (Buzatu 2005). Further evidence is presented in Cicerone IoniĠoiu’s extensive work dedicated to Victimele terorii comuniste (The Victims of the Communist Terror), in which we find the names of some those who had “benefitted” from the services of the crematorium following the demonstration. Amongst these was, for example, Fischer Holg from Bucharest, killed by machine-gun fire in front of the Ministry of Interior. According to IoniĠoiu, “his body was taken and burned at the crematorium” (IoniĠoiu 2003, 57). Teodor Panas from Zimnicea was also cremated at Cenuúa following the same incident (IoniĠoiu 2004, 31). During its first decade in power the Romanian Communist Party ushered in an era of increased repression, with the intention of eliminating any hostile elements. In this context, the use of the crematorium as a tool for the concealment of crimes by the state is by no means new. I refer here to the case of Nicolae Al. Macovei (IoniĠoiu 2004, 16), who was born in 1902, graduated from the faculty of law and then became a security employee. Macovei joined the partisans led by Major Nicolae Dabija in 1948. After their camp was found, the Dabija group was attacked by Securitate forces, but Macovei managed to escape. It is said that he hid in Bucharest for a period of time. He was finally caught by the Securitate,

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and was killed with his four-year-old daughter in his arms. According to IoniĠoiu, the two bodies were burned at Cenuúa crematorium. The case of engineer and dissident poet Gheorghe Ursu had a similar finality. Denounced for his diary by an office colleague, Ursu was arrested by the Securitate and died under torture. His family was not notified of his death until two days later, and was consistently refused concrete information on what exactly had happened. According to the coroner’s verdict his death was not due to violent causes, although his family noticed signs of violence on the body. In an attempt to cover up the crime, Ursu’s family was obliged to accept the cremation of his body at Cenuúa crematorium. It was also ordered that none of the engineer’s work colleagues were to attend the cremation (Ursu 2008). However, the disclosures of 1990 denied this latter version (Pavel 1990, 10–12). According to Dan Pavel, none of Ursu’s colleagues did in fact attend the cremation, and Cătană Florin, Ursu’s faculty and work colleague, but also his friend for over thirty years, confirmed that this was down to cynicism, stupidity or cowardice: “No one went, for that cremation was during working hours” (12). Therefore, Ursu’s death “came as a relief to the tired minds of his work colleagues” (12). Ursu’s case is particularly important for the present study of cremation, because of the journal he kept. His journal has experienced a long journey into the public realm, having been classified and thus not released until very recently indeed. Some sections of it have however now been published, one of which refers directly to the opening of the second crematorium in Bucharest – Vitan Bârzeúti. In this passage, Ursu launches into what can only be described as a fantastical explanation for the building of this crematorium, which he related to the dictators rather than to its utility: Until he called the Head of Healthcare and suddenly he had an idea. He knew that Cenuúa crematorium had had evil designs on him for a long time. The Boss, and the Lady, they are right opposite to the Palace of Sports and of Culture. If a bandit gets on a chimney, with a machine gun … if we demolish this one too, the human crematorium, we make along with the morgue a brand new factory for corpses. (Ursu 2007, 399)

Although each of these cases ostensibly appear to be of little individual importance, they are in fact highly significant because they demonstrate the pattern of association between the repressive Communist system in Romania and the evil politics of cremation. Thus, the events of December 1989 should not be perceived as an absolute novelty, but were in fact preceded by several similar events. It should also be emphasised that at times, even the Romanian

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Communists themselves have acknowledged the truth of events – when it suited their purposes to do so. This was the case following the events of 16 February 1933, when workers from the GriviĠa Workshops went on strike. The demonstrators were fired upon, with three victims killed at the scene, and another four dying later from their injuries (Cristoiu 2010). Subsequent Marxist historiography has sought to capitalise on the symbolism of this moment, creating an entire mythology around the events. Thus hundreds of dead were claimed, and it was insisted that the fearless heroes of the working class had been killed by the oppressive regime of that time. The Communists used the crematorium as a means of erasing the traces of the demonstration, a choice which, made as it was during the Stalinist years, should not come as a surprise. The idea of cremation being used as a solution by the authorities can be found in several studies of the events of February 1933. One of these relates that during the night following the demonstration, the police collected the bodies of the workers who had been killed and took them to Cenuúa crematorium. Another idea found is that immediately afterward, in protest against the bloody repression, workers marched in columns in front of GriviĠa Workshops and “in front of the crematorium, where the corpses of those who had been killed had been secretly cremated” (Studii 1954, 16). However it is difficult to establish the veracity of these sources, given the manner in which these events were mythologised. Strictly speaking, December 1989 takes us beyond the period of the Communist regime in Romania, but I will address it in this chapter for two interconnected reasons: firstly, the nature of these events as totalitarian practice (of Communist origin in this case, although elsewhere I have also pointed out its existence on the far right of politics); and secondly, due to its ongoing impact upon Romanian society after 1989, and to the continuation of some structures, important people and attitudes which derive from Communism. The sequence of events is relatively simple. The Romanian revolution commenced on 15 December 1989, when a group of Hungarian believers challenged the eviction of their pastor László TĘkés from the city. Gradually, and also because of some other reasons, some Romanians also joined in, generating a sizeable protest which provoked a forceful response from the Communist authorities. The authorities attempted to restrict the peoples’ movements by calling in the army. Consequently, on 17 December 1989, the authorities opened fire on the people, causing fifty-six civilians to be shot or bayoneted. At the time, Nicolae Ceauúescu was on a state visit to Iran. At the suggestion of Elena Ceauúescu and two other key figures, Tudor Postelnicu, the minister of internal affairs, and Emil Bobu,

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the secretary of the Romanian Communist Party, it was decided to remove the victims’ bodies from the morgue of the district hospital in Timiúoara. It was planned to take them to Cenuúa crematorium, where they were to be cremated. This clandestine operation was codenamed Operation Rose. It was carried out by the Securitate, and its purpose, as explained by România Liberă in 1990, was straightforward: This base action, of erasing all traces of the crime committed, was motivated by the fact that, in the case that the bodies had been returned to their families, it would have led to more serious problems in Timiúoara; also, upon his return from Iran the odious tyrant could be told that there had been no victims. (Intrebare 1990, 5)

The use of the crematorium – for the second time in Romanian history – to erase all traces of political enemies demonstrates yet another feature of the totalitarian regime: the manner in which it attempted to control information and communication at any cost, if necessary even to erase memory (Todorov 1999). Once the decision had been taken in Bucharest, all that remained was for it to be put into practice. The “heroes” assigned the task included Emil Macri, Popescu Ioan, Ghircoias Nicoale, Veverca Iosif and Preda LaurenĠiu, amongst others. They were joined by two ACCU employees, in the persons of Ganciu Gheorghe, ACCU director, and Emilian Zamfir, at the time head of the crematorium (Teodorescu 1992). All these “heroes” were later tried publicly at Timiúoara, starting on 2 March 1990. They were accused of genocide, a charge previously applied in the case of Nicolae and Elena Ceauúescu, who had been executed on 25 December 1989. Following a meeting on the evening of 17 December 1989, called by General Nuta, clear tasks were set: Colonel Ghircoias was to select which bodies were to be removed, since he was familiar with the situation of the dead and wounded, having consulted the records at the Timiúoara district hospital. Deheleanu Ion was to organise the transportation of the bodies. The preparations were made and carefully devised during 18 December 1989. The process was perfectly executed, taking account of the smallest details. The bodies, of which only four had been identified, the others bearing the label “unknown,” were selected from the morgue of Timiúoara hospital. Of the forty-three bodies selected for cremation, thirty-nine have now been identified, with four remaining unidentified to this day. The Timiúoara hospital manager gave his approval, and from eleven thirty at night, the movement of doctors and other staff was stopped. A patrol squad was placed in the hospital courtyard. At one o’clock in the morning of 19

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December, all the lights in the hospital went off and the operation of loading the bodies into an isotherm trailer began, ending about two hours later. Then, accompanied by a Dacia car, the group departed for Bucharest. Thirty-six kilometres along the Bucharest–Piteúti highway, a team from the Bucharest branch of the Securitate took over the transport, changed the registration plates of the isotherm trailer, and continued towards the capital. This was where Operation Rose became Operation Customs, reflecting the explanation that the Communist regime was going to give the families of the cremated: that they had fraudulently crossed the border of the country. Around five o’clock in the evening of 19 December the transport reached the crematorium, where the bodies were unloaded and cremated. The cremations finished at ten o’clock the following morning, and the ashes were then loaded into four containers and taken to PopestiLeordeni where they were dumped into a pit. Stefan Andrei, the minister of foreign affairs during December 1989, has since provided important information about this episode. In his opinion, Ceausescu was lied to before his departure from Iran on the 18 December, and the truth about the people killed in Timiúoara was hidden from him. Thus Elena Ceausescu bears the entire responsibility for the Cenuúa episode. Nicolae Ceausescu therefore did not discover the real situation until just after his return from Iran on 20 December (Roncea 2008, 1–2). The Cenuúa episode also constituted a foundation for rhetoric of political action concerning the image of the enemy, that was extremely quickly adopted. This supports what Todorov has identified as a characteristic of totalitarian states: in order to survive, such a regime requires enemies, and if such enemies do not exist then they must be invented (Todorov 1995, 120–132). From the perspective of the Ceauúescu regime, the people shot in Timiúoara were nothing but enemies who were attempting to undermine the political order, and thus any trace of them had to be eliminated. On the other side of events, however – that of the (ultimately triumphant) post-1989 regime, and most especially in the eyes of the Romanian public – it was the former regime which would come to be identified as the enemy. The first big trial of those who had led the retaliations of 1989 started on 2 March 1990 at Timiúoara. At the trial, one of the main accusations was the enforced cremation of the bodies at Cenuúa. In the historical discourse, however, the explanation of this episode becomes more profound: “the dead were effectively refused the quality of dead, and they were refused the funeral rites through which they would have been confirmed as deceased, to whom one usually owes a last sign of respect” (Grama 2007). This says much not only about the violence

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of the 1989 Revolution, but also about the nature of the later Communist period in Romania. It is important to consider the moment when news of the cremation of the bodies became public, in January 1990. The significance of this goes deeper than is initially apparent, since it was one of the main accusations brought at the Timiúoara group trial. Following a public campaign for the truth, which was spearheaded by România Liberă, the enforced cremation of the dead of Timiúoara was “officially” announced on 12 January 1990 by the prosecutor general of Romania, Gheorghe Robu (Intrebare 1990), Robu’s uncertainty as to the exact number of victims reflected the general climate of uncertainty at that time. The key question is, to what extent did this episode influence the wider state of affairs? The influence of this episode, particularly the uncertainty in establishing the number of victims of Timiúoara, also had its roots in the existing representations of cremation in Romania. And, since cremation was unpopular in Romania in 1989 (as it still is), this aspect is doubled by the context in which it happened, and the weight of this moment in the entire mythology of doubt becomes more easily explained. It obviously had an impact on the entire perception of the impossibility of finding out the truth about the events of December 1989. This is evident in the speeches commemorating the Revolution, which were delivered in 1991. By this time Romanian public opinion was convinced that there were many hidden truths about the Revolution. România Liberă acted as the voice of the opposition against Iliescu, whereby the Timiúoara episode acquired a new significance: Because [he] encouraged confusion and lies. Because in order to become president, he actually forged the truth. These are the reasons why Mr. Iliescu is not going to Timiúoara. Because he knows he is guilty. Guilty of allowing the dead of Timiúoara to be forgotten. (Brumariu 1991, 1)

A commemoration can also be a means of drawing a line under that which is being commemorated, a point emphasised in Tia Serbanescu’s editorial of December 1991. Serbanescu expressed regret that the investigation of the “enigmatic murders of December 1989 and January 1990” had made little progress. By this time, the period symbolised by the enforced cremation of the Timiúoara victims, and the discovery of the place where the ashes had been disposed of stood as a victory on a long and convoluted path towards the truth: The great accomplishment after two years, is that of finding out – exactly on the day when the parents of those of Timiúoara came to Bucharest – the

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place where the ashes had been scattered. So that the painful road of the mourning relatives would lead them there and they don’t head towards places where the leaders didn’t have time to raise high protective walls. (Serbanescu 1991, 1)

The end of Serbanescu’s editorial emphasised the deception, the illusory image cleverly inserted: “Instead of guilty people and clear answers to pains that cannot be healed, the leaders can only offer this country what it had been accustomed to: medals, crowns, notifications. It’s all they know” (Serbanescu 1991, 1). It was only in December 1991, through România Liberă, that it became public knowledge that the families of the cremated Timiúoara victims were aware of the place where the ashes had been scattered, although the location itself had been known since January 1990. Two years after the event this was a significant moment, and a step, however small, on the road toward the truth: We have received the radio call from the Association 17 Decembrie 1989 of Timiúoara, in which they ask for help in identifying the place where the ashes of the forty bodies had been placed. As all those involved in this “special cremation” are free, there is no risk anymore and we are able now to offer conclusive information to the people of Timiúoara. (Munteanu 1991)

The identification of the place of disposal served to emphasise the news: On 12 January 1990, Colonel Dan Voinea was led to the scene by Captain Dorel Nitu. At a point called Castaform at the edge of Popesti Leordeni village, there is a pit. Here, the ashes taken from the crematorium on 20 December 1989 were spilled out of the containers. (Munteanu 1991)

This reinforced the notion of the truth as a dawning horizon for an entire group. The trial at Timiúoara must be regarded separately, as it is directly connected to the cremation episode. Most of Operation Rose was revealed, despite attempts by the accused to prevent this. However some of the events remained secret, and, when subsequently revealed to the press, would cause political scandals. Yet the trial and its wake in the period after December cannot be fully understood without reference to the atmosphere which surrounded it, the considerable level of mystery and uncertainty regarding the number of people who had died during the Revolution, a subject which inspired much speculation. At any rate, in the initial weeks following the Revolution, the number of people killed had

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appeared higher than it actually was, which exacerbated the confusion. This confusion was arguably part of a more general climate of uncertainty connected to the establishment of the new post-Communist power structures, and also a sense of danger born of the possibility of further conflict. A comparative analysis of some of the most representative newspapers in Romania at the time, Adevărul and România Liberă, reveals some of this. In the case of România Liberă there was a heartfelt campaign to discover the truth, which started on 7 January 1990 with an article signed by Emil Munteanu. The title of this article would become a slogan for Romania after December: “Where are the dead of Timiúoara?” Although the answer to this question was provided in the official communiqué of 12 January 1990, which made the Cenuúa episode public, this question remained at the heart of further articles in the months leading up to the trial. For example, in an article published on 7 February 1990, the Cenuúa episode was described in detail, and in an accusatory tone. The tone of this discourse was highly rhetorical, driven by the need for truth: “The question of where are the dead of Timiúoara still torments this martyred city on the banks of the river Bega. The sad truth is that not everything has been found out about those who disappeared on 17–18 December.” Consequently the Cenuúa episode was regarded as “a real sample of cruelty,” the discourse imparting a pathetic tone intended to underline the lack of any explanation for the events: Not to know where they were buried. Not to have a Christian cross at the head! Not to be brought flowers at the cemetery! Not to be mourned at a clean grave, since they were almost all children, adolescents, who never got their chance to enjoy life. (Medoia 1990a, 1)

The abnormality of the episode was remarked upon: “a healthy mind refuses to grasp such a mean action.” The accusation becomes amplified at the end of the article, with the fate of the ashes described with exclamations and bitter bewilderment: The resulting ash was gathered in four metallic containers. But some were afraid of the ash itself. Some square heads then ordered that the ash be thrown on a site where the extra earth excavated from the subway was taken. Only that day there was no one taking earth from the underground to the site. (Medoia 1990a, 1)

The act of carrying the ashes and unloading them into the pit at Popesti Leordeni was described as “one of the most odious of the history of the Revolution and maybe even of the history of the Romanian people”

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(Medoia 1990a, 1) The uncertainty which characterised the first two months following the Revolution was reflected in the pages of România Liberă, in a series of articles which repeatedly asked the same question: Where are the dead of Timiúoara? These articles frequently referred to the Cenuúa episode, with readers being reminded of the continued state of uncertainty regarding both the number of victims, and the vested interest of the post-1989 regime in hiding the truth. Munteanu’s articles were especially pertinent, raising a series of questions which are significant because they revealing the popular mentality at the time: “Are there really more victims than the ones officially declared? Why don’t the families announce the missing persons?” The answers to these questions demonstrate a belief that the public was being manipulated: “there is an interest in hiding the real number of victims” (Munteanu 1990a). All these aspects of the situation were further highlighted by a series of contradictory articles relating to the number of dead. The series culminated in the article of 28 January 1990, in which Munteanu articulated the continuing popular discontent and the torments which existed amongst the people of Timiúoara, where “whenever people come out in the streets they shout slogans such as: We want the truth about our dead! Where are the dead of Timiúoara”? (Munteanu 1990b). Munteanu went on to announce the establishment of a far-reaching investigation, advising the population to overcome their fear in order for the truth to be revealed. Fear, seen as a state of mind, was the keyword: The beginning was made. It was hard, as a lot of people involved in the mysterious disappearances have an interest in hiding the real number of the victims and especially the place where they were hidden. People were afraid of exactly the ones they should have addressed for their grief! They received threatening phone calls or found notes in the post box. We tend to believe that they came from those who had been arrested in the early days following the victory, but released soon after for lack of evidence. Securitate officers, influential people placed in high positions by the old regime. (Munteanu 1990b)

Munteanu launched a call to the people of Timiúoara to help discover the truth, for this appealed to two, overlaid images: that of the hero, and that of the Cenuúa episode. The tone was imperative, and intended to inspire courage: “People of Timiúoara, the time to face your fear is now!” There was a clear notion of obligation towards the heroes: “The heroes of the Revolution must find their rest in the place that history set for them” (Munteanu 1990b). The focal point was the image of a relative of one of the dead, forcibly cremated and even the ashes missing, pathetically

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addressing readers: Listen to the prayer of the father of three who now miss their maternal warmth. The youngest, who is but three years old, is sitting on Ion Banciu’s knee. They both have tears in their eyes: “Help me find my wife. I want her to have a grave, where I can go with my children to plant a flower. Oh, God, why did you leave my children orphans at only seven, why did you let them kill my wife?” (Munteanu 1990b)

This shows how the justification of the right to a funeral is part of an entire set of obligations on the part of the living toward the dead: “I want to go there to that common pit or to where they placed her ashes. It is my right by nature. It is the right of all bereaved families whose dead have been stolen!” (Munteanu 1990b). This gathers more significance when connected to the weak tradition of cremation in Romania at the time, and to the almost universal custom amongst the Romanians of burying their dead. It is very possible that popular perceptions of the Cenuúa episode were influenced by the authorities’ calculated rejection of traditional Romanian funerary practice. Moreover, the issue was exacerbated threefold, in terms of experience, perception and frustration, by the background of the events of December 1989. In my opinion frustration at the lack of information, especially information about the fates of loved ones who had disappeared, was the key, because in the Romanian way of death, respect toward the body is coterminous with burial. Before the start of the trial, the Cenuúa episode is closely linked to the uncertainty about the number of victims of December 1989. As the trial proceeded, however, another issue would emerge: that of whether the new, post-Revolution authorities were hiding the truth about the Revolution. In this context, the initiative by students in Timiúoara to establish the number of the deceased is understandable. The students made a direct reference to the Cenuúa episode: “It is a long time now since the question has been persistently asked: Where are the dead of Timiúoara? Common pits have been found, things have been found about those bodies, yet the question lingers.” (Vasilescu 1990, 2). This background explains the street demonstrations that began in Timiúoara on 18 January 1990, with the purpose of finding out the number of people killed the month before. The Timiúoara trials centred on the Cenuúa episode, as this was one of the accusations brought against the majority of those charged. Initially announced as the trial of the century (Medoia 1990b, 1, 3), it was to last for several years, and would gradually lose the force it had at the beginning, and the interest of the public. The Cenuúa episode required the circle of the accused to be widened, as explained by the prosecutor

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general, Gheorghe Robu: “the incrimination extends up to those who took over the bodies at Bucharest, including a former controller from the crematorium centre, as well as the former crematorium manager” (Andon 1990, 1, 3). The participants in Operation Rose were grouped into two categories: the first accused of organising the removal of the bodies from the morgue; the others of assisting the genocide, “the attempt to erase the signs of the bloody reprisals” (InculpaĠii 1990, 3). However, there is another key dimension to the group trial at Timiúoara: the defendants’ justification of their actions by arguing that they did not know the purpose of the transportation of the bodies to Bucharest and, on the other hand, that the orders had been given in such a manner as to exclude the possibility of refusal. Both arguments were repudiated during the trial in direct statements and by making it clear that their actions were illegal, even in such an exceptional situation. Three other circumstances highlight these aspects of the problem: 1. The situation in which the accused tried to hide their actions. When the families of the victims asked for their dead in order to bury them, the actions of the accused took on a conspiratorial character: the bodies had only been loaded into the isotherm after the lights in the hospital had been turned off, and blankets placed over the hospital windows. Despite these efforts to camouflage the removal of the bodies, the next day the entire city knew that the dead had been stolen. And, in the context of the events of Timiúoara, these events are crucial as they intersect with the popular contempt towards the communist authorities and the continuation of the protest. Futhermore, the actions of the accused were clearly improper, bearing in mind the importance of the relationship between the dead and their relatives. 2. The official explanation that would later be given by the regime. The destruction of the files, along with the lack of papers at the Timiúoara and Bucharest morgues, was intended to substantiate the claim that the cremated had fraudulently passed the border of Communist Romania. It is worth mentioning here the name of the former Securitate Colonel Ghircoias who, at the order of General Nuta, deliberately destroyed the twelve files located at the district hospital of Timiúoara – but not until after 22 December (Ivan 2007). 3. A similar treatment was intended for the bodies of those in Bucharest who had been killed in the night of 21–22 December – an argument supported by the statement that an autopsy of the

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bodies at the Institute of Legal Medicine in Bucharest had not been permitted, and the identification papers of the deceased had been taken. Moreover, a number of bodies had been placed there in plastic bags which, according to forensic scientists at the Coltea hospital, were also to be cremated (Tudorica and Surcea 2004). Strong evidence was revealed by witnesses during the trial, unveiling an operation which, it was clear, had been minutely planned by professionals: “Here, in Timiúoara, were the best. Not government bogies but professional criminals, in reprisals, highly dangerous people” (Munteanu 1990c). The trials of the “obituary trio,” made up of Baciu, Ganciu and Zamfir, reconstructed in mid-March what had actually happened at the crematorium through the depositions of the seven workers involved (Munteanu 1990d). The press noted the defendants’ tendency to collude in order to save themselves: “Travelling together by plane, sharing the same apartment in prison, the obituary trio had had plenty of time to agree on their story” (Munteanu 1990d). Of the workers’ testimonies, the most relevant was that of Mititelu Mihai, a stoker at the crematorium: “My boss was puzzled by the fact that he was not to tell anyone, not even his kids. The same civilian handed him 2,000 lei, saying, ‘Work gets paid’.” The civilian, Colonel Baciu disguised as a doctor, did not stay in the car as he stated but supervised the whole operation. Mihai had time to properly appreciate everybody’s role in this: I was already exhausted and tense when, without noticing, the doctor slid his hand in the pocket of my jacket. I started, but he told me to be quiet as I was working more than the others and deserved an extra 1,000 lei. A tip. As at the hairdresser’s! (Munteanu 1990d)

This testimony evidenced the efforts of the former Colonel Baciu to conceal the entire operation, and firmly established his guilt. The disgusted tone of the press when describing the Colonel is therefore not at all surprising: The Colonel proved to be not only a man of low manners, but also someone who is close to the workers. As it was dark, he lit their way to the ovens, and gave each of them a story regarding the deceased. That they came from a catastrophe in Clinceni, that they were military who had come to invade the country, that they were a state secret and had to be cremated! (Munteanu 1990d)

The workers’ testimonies also revealed the way in which the episode at Cenuúa had become public knowledge, despite this requirement for

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secrecy. The narrative particularly emphasised Baciu’s hesitations, by means of which he intended to secure as comfortable a position as possible within the incoming regime. When leaving, Colonel Baciu told everyone: “We’ll meet again!” And indeed they did meet: the first to see the unknown civilian, on television on the 5th of January, was witness Campean who, when he saw Baciu’s military rank, made the connection to the cremation of the bodies. Another witness, Bocioaca, found out about the disappearance of the dead of Timiúoara from the newspapers, and proposed to Zamfir that they reveal all, but the chief told him it was better to keep it a secret. But he didn’t, and the story got to somebody at FSN. Which you imagine was not appreciated by the colonel, who had hurried, after the success of the Revolution, to place himself in its service. Some lousy workers, rewarded and bribed, probably interrupted a bright advancement in the new Police. (Munteanu 1990d)

The other accused were not to be spared at all, as in the case of Gheorghe Ganciu of the Cemeteries Department (Munteanu 1990e). It was revealed that Ganciu had been a colonel in the Securitate, a reservist since 1978 because of a niece who had chosen exile against the “golden Romanian era.” Meanwhile Zamfir claimed that he had been acting under duress, since he was being persecuted by the Communist regime. However, if either Zamfir or Gancui really were being persecuted, their positions would have been incompatible with the situation, and they would surely have behaved completely differently during the trial, rejecting or at least disapproving of Operation Customs. As a result, the trial painted an image of a society over which the Communist authorities held complete control. This effect even extended to the dead: “Our brave Securitate did not care only for the living. The dead had to be theirs too” (Munteanu 1990d). This is how Munteanu explained the positions held by Ganciu and Zamfir in December 1989, coming to the bitter conclusion, “so that the Party boys were sure that the dead minded their own business and they did not interfere with internal Romanian politics. (Munteanu 1990e) Adevărul gave the episode prominent coverage, pointing out attempts to prove that the accused were not guilty, for instance in the case of Ion Deheleanu. Deheleanu considered that he never had “but the role of an occasional spectator” in the events of December 1989. Although he admitted to having been directly involved in the removal of the bodies, Deheleanu was trying to defend himself in a “pathetic” manner: “he was convinced of the absolute legality of the action” (Horomnea 1990, 1). After several months the Trial of Timiúoara was moved to Bucharest, and it ended in 1996 with a series of acquittals and sentences which were

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entirely unsatisfactory for the Romanian people. Yet again, the impression that the authorities were hiding the truth about the events of December 1989 and the direct complicity of those who had taken power after Ceauúescu’s flight was reinforced in the popular mind. In a different way, the events of December 1989 are significant due to the multiple narratives which subsequently came to be built around them. These find their origin in the conditions that fed an entire scenario that would explain the causes, development and consequences of the revolution: it is known how a revolution starts, but not how it ends and to whose advantage. There are two points in this connection. The first refers to the mystery of the forty-three bodies, and the entire mythology which has come to be constructed around this episode. The second deals with the implications of the event at the time, in the form of political attacks and scandals. The first point highlights one of the “greatest enigmas” of the revolution: that nobody claimed the forty-three dead who were cremated at Bucharest (Mioc 2007). First proposed by a former Securitate member named Gheorghe Olbojan in an article in Zig-Zag in April 1990, entitled “The Dead in the Ice Truck – DIA Officers?” the thesis attracted interest and was later developed by others: Radu Portocala referred to the dead as USLA agents (Portocală 1991), while Ion Baicu claimed that they had been KGB or Hungarian secret agents (Mioc 2002). But Olbojan’s article must be understood in the context in which it was written, and we should underline its double significance, whereby the unfolding of the trial at Timiúoara, and the apparent tone against Iliescu, are key to an understanding of its meaning (Hall 2002, 1–28). The list of those who had been cremated was almost entirely recreated, with the help of their relatives, and offers an impression of the age and socio-professional profile which explodes the “mystery”:

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Table 5-6 List of identified people cremated at Cenuúa crematorium on 20 December 1989 Name Andrei Maria Apro Mihai Balmuú Vasile Balogh Pavel Bărbat Lepa Bânciu Leontina Belehuz Ioan Belici Radian Caceu Margareta Carpîn DănuĠ ChĘrĘsi Alexandru Ciobanu Constantin Cruceru Gheorghe Csizmarik Ladislau Ewinger Slobodanca Fecioru LorenĠ Florian Tiberiu Ferkel-ùuteu Alexandru Gîrjoabă Constantin HaĠegan Petru Iosub Constantin Lăcătuú Nicolae Luca Rodica Mardare Adrian Miron Ioan Motohon Silviu Munteanu Nicolae Nagy Eugen Opre Gogu Osman Dumitru OteliĠă Aurel Radu Constantin Sava Elena Sporer Herman Stanciu Ioan Wittman Petru Zăbulică Constantin Ianoú Paris

Age 25 31 26 69 43 39 41 25 40 29 24 43 25 55 21 38 20 43 24 47 17 28 30 20 58 35 25 17 30 24 34 33 25 33 42 30 18

Occupation housekeeper locksmith worker retired accountant worker railway official fire-fighter clerk floor dresser worker worker worker teacher worker worker student welder electrician electrician student worker clerk worker retired foreman student student electrician barman worker locksmith worker painter chemist unemployed worker unemployed

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In the second connection, the debate was even more sensitive because it directly implicated some prominent personalities in post-1989 Romanian political life, which caused political scandal. One notable case was that of the former chief of the General Police Inspectorate Dumitru Sorescu, a participant in Operation Rose and at the time a major. Sorescu was accused of having directly participated in the operation and a major press campaign was consequently unleashed against him, resulting in his resignation in 2005 (Belciuganu 2005). Whatever the truth of the allegations, the general had at any rate been involved in other corrupt activities, although the real reason behind his resignation was a restructuring of the Institution (Lica 2006; Vasilcoiu 2005). Sorescu was also subjected to questioning in the Romanian parliament about his involvement in the Cenuúa episode. Senator Nicolae Iorga questioned the former minister of the interior in a Senate meeting: I am asking if the general of the brigade Sorescu is the same person as the major, having the same name, who, on the night of the 18th to the 19th of December 1989 took over the isotherm trailer containing the bodies of the victims of Timiúoara, from kilometre 36 of the Bucharest-Pitesti highway, and transported them to be cremated? (Dezbateri 2002a)

The answer to this question, given by State Secretary Pavel Abraham on behalf of the minister, was evasive, and clearly intended to obscure the truth: After studying documents in his personal file, it resulted that, at the mentioned date, General Sorescu had the rank of major and was employed at the Economic Department of the General Police Inspectorate. From the analysis of the data that exist at the Ministry of the Interior we do not know the nature of the missions that the officer had on the night of the 18th to the 19th December 1989, or any other guilt regarding the events that took place at the time. We would like to mention that Military Prosecution has conducted research into the point you are questioning, these being the institutions that have information regarding the officers involved and their guilt. (Dezbateri 2002b)

It is also significant that attempts have been made to venerate the ashes of the deceased. The relatives of the cremated have tried many times to build a church at Popesti-Leordeni, which is evidence of direct action by the living to fulfil their ritual obligations toward the dead (Apostol 2010). Tzvetan Todorov, discussing the ways in which memories of events are constructed, has distinguished two possible patterns: either an event may be interpreted literally – kept as it is, and imbued with no wider significance;

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or on the other hand, the same event may be seen as an exemplar and integrated into a much more general category in order to understand new situations and actors. In the first case it becomes impossible to move beyond the immediate event, eventually reaching a point where it places the present under the shadows of the past. In the second case, however, the past is actively used to interpret the present, the lessons from injustices suffered in the past being applied in the fight against those of today (Todorov 1999, 9–10). Applying this scheme to the Cenuúa episode, the events of December 1989 and their aftermath must be regarded as a negative example of outdated political practices, and as a warning that none of this should ever happen again. In conclusion, it can be said that these two episodes are particularly negative examples of the use of the crematorium by the political powers in Romania, with the purpose of erasing any trace of their opponents. In contrast to the positive view of cremation as a utilitarian process, this reveal an anti-progressive dimension to the practice, which characterises totalitarian regimes. Of the two episodes which have been discussed here, the events of 1989 seem most relevant, judging by their effect at the time. In the short term, they revealed issues around the nature of the Communist regime in Romania and the direct way in which political power was administered. Therefore, regardless of the details, the Cenuúa episode of 1989 is seen as an atypical, unjustified event. In the longer term, the episode reveals manipulations, distortions of meaning, and direct appropriation in accusations and political discourse. It also reveals the existence of a system of complicity and repercussion in post-1989 Romania, which even now continues to shape the collective memory of events, and to provoke Romanians into a feeling of annoyance whenever those events are the subject of discussion.

CHAPTER SIX CREMATION AND CREMATORIA IN ROMANIA AFTER 1989

After 1990 the situation becomes complicated due to the new spirit which infused Romania following the collapse of the Communist regime in 1989. Several key moments may be identified for the period 1990– 2012: the consequences of Operation Rose/Customs for Romanian society after 1989; the construction and opening of Romania’s second crematorium, the Vitan-Bârzeúti, in Bucharest in July 1994; industrial action at the Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium from 3–10 February 1997; the closure of Cenuúa crematorium in May 2002; cremation as an alternative response to the burial space crisis in present-day urban Romania; the launch of the National Pantheon project; the founding of Amurg, the Romanian Cremation Association; and the failure of private initiatives to build crematoria in Transylvania in 2011.

Statistics and their limitations Unfortunately statistical data on cremation in Romania is very limited, for the simple reason that there is presently only the one crematorium for a country of 22 million inhabitants, and this only in the capital. Any explanation of Romanian attitudes to cremation based solely on the quantitative data can therefore only ever be at best partial in nature. A comparable situation exists in Bulgaria, where there is also only the one crematorium, opened in Sofia in 2001. Here more than 5,000 cremations per year were performed in 2005 and 2006 (International 2011, 27). This differs considerably from the position in Hungary, where there are thirteen crematoria and over 36 percent of the deceased are cremated (Mates 2005a, 250–258), and, in particular, from that in the Czech Republic, which until 2008 had the highest cremation rate in Europe, with almost 80 percent of the deceased being cremated at no fewer than twenty-seven crematoria (Nesperova 2010, 50–67). Meanwhile the cremation figures from Cenuúa and Vitan-Bârzeúti provide us with some insight into the

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Romanian situation post-1989. 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 1410 1667 1500 1496

932 1397

416

489

570

599

696

430

89

Table 6-1 Number of cremations at Cenuúa crematorium, 1990–2002 (Rotar 2011, 490–493) 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 517 1021 1005

864

636

585

435

731

998 1003

887

822

864

797

2008

2009

2010

778 (1100)

787 (967)

602

Table 6-2 Number of cremations at Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium, 1994–2010 (Rotar 2011, 490–493) According to the records from these two crematoria, some 52,390 cremations were performed at Cenuúa between 1990 and 2011, with 13,256 at Vitan-Bârzeúti between 1994 and 2011. Added to the pre-1990 figures, this gives a total of 66,546 cremations performed in Romania between 1928 and 2010, with an average of 811 cremations in each of the eighty-two years since cremation has become a practical possibility in Romania. The highest number of cremations, 2,402, was registered in 1995, one of the years when both Bucharest crematoria were functional. In terms of general trends, the 1980s saw a rise in the number of cremations, which continued after 1989. Since 2000, however, the trend has been downward. The significant increase in the cremation rate which followed the opening of Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium was therefore not sustained beyond the first few years. More recently the number of cremations has stabilised, albeit at a lower level than in the last Communist decade, and is certainly higher than during the immediate post-1989 period. However, although these statistics can give us some indication of the trends where cremation has been available, the fact of there only being the two crematoria in Romania means that these figures tell us very little indeed about attitudes toward cremation amongst the wider population.

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The establishment of Vitan-Bârzeúti Crematorium The opening of Romania’s second crematorium was very different to the opening of Cenuúa in 1928; this time no scandal broke, and there was no controversy. The first person to be cremated was Vasile Perianu, at eleven o’clock on 11 July 1994. According to the Administration of Cemeteries and Human Crematoria (ACCU) cremations register, VitanBârzeúti carried out four cremations on its first day of operation. The opening aroused little comment in the Romanian press, being reported as a novelty rather than a cause for debate, with for instance the obituaries section of România Liberă describing it as “the new crematorium.” VitanBârzeúti continued to advertise in the newspapers for several years after its opening, which sugegsts that people were not yet accustomed to the existence of such a place – or perhaps that cremation as a practice lacked popularity. Had Vitan-Bârzeúti been built by cremationists, and not by the local authorities, things would have certainly been different. Work to design the crematorium had begun as far back as 1987. Strangely, its opening does not appear to have prompted any reaction from the Romanian Orthodox Church. Moreover, until the end of 2002 it functioned alongside the Cenuúa crematorium, although ambiguous situations sometimes occurred. Technologically, Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium has three Siemens furnaces, and cremations are fuelled using methane gas. In terms of location, it is part of the complex of buildings which also houses the ACCU in Bucharest, situated behind the Mina Minovici Institute of Legal Medicine. The crematorium is therefore geographically well positioned within the urban economy of Bucharest. Architecturally the building is modernist in style, with Christian iconography present both at the main entrance and in the chapel. The presence of Christian symbols plays an important role in domesticating cremation, not only within the collective imagination, but also within the building where it becomes a physical reality. The chapel contains a variety of icons representing saints and apostles, next to biblical scenes. There is also a modern columbarium, organised over several levels inside the ACCU buildings and with an interior courtyard. The columbarium has a capacity of 14,000 urns, with an estimated rate of less than 2 percent occupancy including both the inner and outer courts of the enclosure. The crematorium has recently been fitted with new filters in order to prevent pollution, following criticism in the popular press. These were purchased at auction in 2010. Recently, a tender was issued for landscaping and for the enclosure of the columbarium courtyard (LicitaĠii 2010). Since the crematorium is operated by the local

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authority, anomalous situations occur on a daily basis: as with almost all public institutions in Romania, the crematorium is often closed on certain weekdays, for example (Dima 2010). Furthermore, no more than four cremations may be performed daily, with only one of the three cremators allowed to be used at any one time.

Figure 6-1 Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium – the chapel

Figure 6-2 Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium

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Employee strike at Vitan-Bârzeúti, 3–10 May 1997 Vitan-Bârzeúti received more media attention in 1997, when crematorium employees undertook industrial action. The mere fact that the employees went on strike, even after 1990, suggests that Romanian society at this time was either profoundly disordered, or was highly corrupt. Each of the parties involved in the dispute gave its own version of events: Ionel Gheorghe, the crematorium manager, asserted that he and his fourteen staff had walked out in protest against the cemetery mafia, which at the time was known to be headed by ACCU director Cristian ùtefănescu. ùtefănescu acted as administrator of all the cemeteries and crematoria in Bucharest and together with Alexandru Malliu, then the deputy mayor of Bucharest, was engaged in the illegal sale of burial plots. ùtefănescu and Malliu are also suspected of having illegally approved various works in cemeteries, for which they demanded bribes (Toader 1997, 3; Manoliu 1997a, 12). Meanwhile, Gheorghe was himself being accused of moonlighting as the manager and stock-keeper of a shop within Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium, even though this was forbidden by law. He was also accused of acting irresponsibly by instigating a strike to the detriment of the citizens of Bucharest, who were thus forced to haul their dead across Bucharest. Gheorghe was further criticised for being unable to prove his allegations against ùtefănescu and Malliu, and for amassing excessive personal wealth. ùtefănescu meanwhile identified the cemetery mafia with the Tamango, the Gypsy mafia governed by ùtefan Londrariu, the chief gravedigger at Ghencea cemetery (Manoliu 1997b, 12; Benezic 1997, 2). In reply, Tamango alleged that ùtefănescu was in fact head of the cemetery mafia, and furthermore complained that he was indifferent to the harsh conditions under which the gravediggers were forced to work. Tamango concluded melodramatically that: “God forbid that the gravediggers strike! The cholera will automatically get into the country” (Manoliu 1997c, 3). The crematorium employees’ strike ended after a week with nobody being dismissed (Activitatea 1997, 3; Manoliu 1997c, 3), but the whole episode is well summarised by Marius NiĠu’s editorial in Adevărul on 9 February 1997: “As death is in extremis, one last fact of life and our whole life is in transition, in the end death itself has also begun a transition” (NiĠu 1997, 9). The strike had highlighted the irregularities present in the system, and in particular the stranglehold that the Gypsy mafia held over the cemeteries; this sometimes reached absurd proportions with, according to ùtefănescu, 300 examples over three Bucharest cemeteries of cases where a single burial plot had been sold no fewer than five times over (Bezenic 1997b, 2).

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The closure of Cenuúa Crematorium The fourth key moment for cremation in post-1990 Romania is the closure of the Cenuúa crematorium in 2002 (Muzeul 2003, 5), which during its lifetime had conducted some 52,390 cremations (Onofrei 2003, 3). The official explanation given for the closure was that the lack of filters created unacceptably high levels of pollution. However in practice there were other factors at work, in particular the desire of Radu Dumitru, the director of ACCU (and an Orthodox priest), together with Ionel Gheorghe, to create a monopoly with all the financial rewards which would then accrue from the cremation fees. Camelia IoniĠă, then the administrator of Cenuúa crematorium, termed the closure of Cenuúa a conspiracy (Munteanu and Albescu 2002). This episode, which was comprehensively reported by Gardianul newspaper, reveals the workings of several illegal businesses, and the lack of strong objective arguments, from a certain perspective, for the closure of the crematorium. In an official letter from Dumitru in his capacity as director of ACCU, the management of Cenuúa crematorium was informed that cremations there would cease from 13 May 2002, and that the crematorium building was to be mothballed. However, IoniĠă shows that according to expert technical advice, cremations could have continued as long as the building was suitably maintained. Dumitru’s actions were consequently considered an abuse of his position, especially since Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium also did not possess anti-pollution filters at the time. In response, Gheorghe acknowledged IoniĠă’s concern that once Cenuúa was closed, the entire cremation market would be directed towards Vitan-Bârzeúti. Gheorghe admitted that he received additional money for cremation services, besides the municipal subsidy, citing two arguments in his own defence: “everybody is doing it! There is no person refusing it!” and: “It is a matter of how much one wants to give you” (Munteanu and Albescu 2002). The article therefore concludes that the real crux of the scandal was the undeclared (and therefore untaxed) bribes that the crematorium administrators had been receiving from undertakers, in addition to the normal cremation fees. Records from Cenuúa crematorium show that the last cremation there took place on 9 May 2002. The significant decrease in activity during its last few years – in 2002, the number of cremations performed at Cenuúa dropped below 100 – is relevant because it would seem to confirm the objective case for closure. After the building had been closed down, it began to deteriorate. Cenuúa now functions only as a columbarium, throughout its several premises; and according to IoniĠă, who remains as the administrator there, even the income from maintenance of the niches is

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now steadily decreasing. This due to several factors: the small number of niches, the fact that Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium also has a columbarium, and also the current economic crisis.

Figure 6-3 Cenuúa crematorium in a state of decline

Unless vital investments are made soon, the Cenuúa crematorium building will continue to disintegrate, and it is hard to believe that the authorities will have sufficient funds in the future, since the total cost for the necessary renovations already amounts to several million euros. This is particularly regrettable given that the building is listed as a national heritage monument, being architecturally unique in the world. The issue has been strongly emphasised by the media, in occasionally whimsical tones. For instance in 2008, it was reported that tomato, cucumber and squash seedlings had appeared around the grounds of the former crematorium, most probably planted by some of the employees or guards (David 2008). When contacted by telephone, George Georgescu, then director of ACCU, confirmed that he was aware of the situation but that he did not know who was responsible. In a 2007 article, CanCan newspaper emphasised the unlikelihood that Cenuúa crematorium would ever be reopened, despite various proposals for renovation projects. Meanwhile, CanCan reported, the building itself was guarded like a military installation, the taking of photographs was prohibited and the public were prevented from going within 150–200 metres of the buildings, although the latter claim was clearly an exaggeration, since there is still public access to the columbarium (Fiastru 2007). Despite the closure of Cenuúa on allegedly environmental grounds, Vitan-Bârzeúti still does not possess such safeguards either: in 2007,

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ProTV television revealed that the crematorium had been fined 50,000 lei for failing to fit filters in its chimneys – a decision the management then challenged in court (Singurul 2008; Bucureúteni 2007). In response Georgescu claimed that the cost of installing the filters amounted to around 500,000 euros, and that the city hall had committed to provide the money. However in 2008, Jurnalul NaĠional again raised the issue of black smoke and odour pollution, with Georgescu again explaining the problem as the consequence of a lack of investment (Munteanu 2008). The situation was also reported by the Antena 3 television channel, in which local residents compared living near the crematorium to living near a Nazi internment camp (Antena 2008). More recently the ACCU has proposed a substantial refurbishment of the Cenuúa building, to be carried out in cooperation with the city hall, but the General Council of Bucharest unfortunately rejected the proposed project, the cost of which amounted to one million euros (Adevărul 2010). This triggered a protest from Amurg, the Romanian Cremation Association, both on its website and in the newspapers (Rotar 2011b), one of the few positively pro-cremation stances in Romania in recent years. The association’s main argument was the symbolic value of the building as a listed national heritage landmark, and also the fact that the columbarium within the crematorium is still functional. The restoration project for Cenuúa crematorium was finally approved by a meeting of the General Council of Bucharest at the end of February 2011, and stands as a true gesture of moral repair (Realitatea 2011).

Cremation as a solution to the urban burial space crisis Arguably, however, the most important issue in the field is the current burial space crisis, and the general subject of crematoria in Romania post1990. This problem is not limited to Bucharest (Lazăr 2001, 3), but is found in almost all urban areas in present-day Romania. In the case of the capital, in 2005 Adevărul newspaper reported that there were 5,000 remaining burial spaces, in only two of the seventeen cemeteries which were open under ACCU administration, against a waiting list of over 10,000. This situation was labelled as a disaster waiting to happen, which would ruthlessly expose the true extent of the burial space shortage in Bucharest (Criza 2005). The 5,000 available places had to cover 15,000 requests, which at the time were waiting to be solved. Additionally, the ACCU director warned that even the gravediggers were claiming extortionate sums of money for their services, promising that flyers and billboards would be produced in order to give the public accurate

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information about the true prices of funeral services (Edilii 2005). An analysis of provincial newspaper reports reveals a similar situation in cities such as Iaúi, BistriĠa, GalaĠi (9,500 demands for 2,000 plots per year), Ploieúti, Oneúti, Piteúti, Botoúani, Arad, ConstanĠa, Deva, ReúiĠa, Paúcani, Focúani, and Cluj-Napoca (La Cluj 2001, 1). This highlights the intense competition for burial spaces (the most expensive place in Romania being Bellu cemetery), the fact that the cost of a burial space can equate to the value of a pension, and the likening of the burial space crisis to the acute shortage of housing for the living. The Romanian press has also detailed the origins and activities of the cemetery mafia, the large, tax-free profits being generated for cemetery owners (Afaceri 2007), and the unacceptable overcrowding in certain cemeteries. However, despite this state of affairs, few Romanian newspaper articles have adopted a procremation stance. When cremation does receive mention as an alternative, the coverage often emphasises its lack of historical pedigree in Romania, the costs, and the obstacles presented by church opposition and by the popular Romanian mentality. Particularly remarkable is the account in Observatorul Arădeanis, dated 11 August 2008, of the project to build a crematorium in the town of Piteúti as a means of solving the burial space shortage there (Cantea 2008). This account shows how local authorities have adopted sometimes ludicrous measures in response to the burial space crisis in urban Romania. For instance in early 2007, the municipal authorities in Piteúti decided that burial plots would only be leased to those who could prove that they were dying. Priority was given to leukaemia patients, although the mayor gave assurances that nobody would remain unburied (Locurile 2008). Meanwhile, the shortage of burial spaces in Focúani prompted the local authorities there to transform a gas station into a cemetery (L.M. 2007). In Ploieúti, the elderly required a medical certificate in order to obtain a lease on a burial plot and again, the seriously ill were given priority over other applicants. Despite this, the cemetery manager refused to recognise the shortage of burial space in Ploieúti. However, as the author of the article pointed out, the inhabitants of this town also had cremation as an option, due to the short distance between Ploieúti and Bucharest (Nica 2008). The same problem was also evident at Târgu Jiu, where, at the beginning of 2009, the municipal cemetery had only 200 burial spaces available. Here the local council decided that only those over seventy-five years old and those suffering from incurable illnesses were to receive burial spaces (Ion 2009). The situation in Moldavia is also significant, and is described by Evenimentul newspaper, in an article published in 2008. According to Vasile Astărăstoae, director of the Forensic Institute in Iaúi, between them

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the secretary of the institute and the Public Health Authority were receiving around 100 requests per year for information about cremation (Asis 2008). Of the 70–100 people who were cremated monthly at VitanBârzeúti, one came from this area. Another issue therefore emerges, that although the headline price of cremation is lower than that of burial, the difference is often cancelled out by the cost of transporting the deceased from the provinces to Bucharest. Although there is a severe shortage of burial spaces in Botoúani, the director of the Public Health Authority there considered cremation to be a taboo, and that one cremator in Romania was therefore sufficient for covering the demand in this respect. When asked for his opinion, Ion Vicovan, vice-dean of the Faculty of Orthodox Theology in Iaúi, firmly rejected cremation: “cremation does nothing else but give the impression that life ends definitively, without having any continuity after death” (Asis 2008). These issues have been reported for several years, with the general conclusion being that cremation is a luxury for the people of Moldavia, given the costs involved in transporting the body to Bucharest and other related expenses. Consequently, when Moldavians wish to be cremated this can sometimes seen as burdensome by their families (MP 2001). It is important to know that before 1989, there was in fact a proposal to build a crematorium in Iaúi, but the idea was abandoned after the revolution due to lack of funds (Coroiu 2006). The shortage of burial spaces appears to be particularly acute in Botoúani, where in early 2007 the authorities announced that only six months’ worth of burial spaces remained in the local cemeteries. A variety of solutions were sought, including the possibility of burying citizens in the cemeteries in neighbouring villages (Sauciuc 2008). Another potential solution was to build an ossuary in the Eternitatea cemetery, where the exhumed bones from burials more than twelve years old and where the lease was not renewed, and also in cases where relatives could not be identified, might be deposited. However this proposal was abandoned. Even under these circumstances the Urban Serv SA representatives, who administer the cemeteries in Botoúani, rejected the idea of building a crematorium, for two reasons: firstly, that the costs involved would be too high, and secondly that it would be too controversial. Another city in Moldavia facing a severe shortage of burial space is Paúcani. With only the one cemetery the situation here has become desperate, with the cemetery administrators begging the citizens to bury their dead in neighbouring villages instead. The present mayor, Grigore Crăciunescu, won his election with a promise to resolve the problem. The greatest obstacle to the expansion of the cemetery lies in the fact that the surrounding landowners

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have heavily inflated their claims for expropriation of the necessary land (Coca 2009). This issue has also arisen in the case of Târgu-Mureú (Corduneanu 2008). Here, according to Ovidiu Butuc, director of the emergency hospital, there has been no demand from the citizens for cremation, although Hecser Laszlo, head of the Forensic Institute, has disputed this claim. When questioned on the subject, the Archpriest Nicolae ùincan stated that the Orthodox Church was advising its congregation to choose burial instead of cremation, although it did not go so far as to explicitly oppose the latter. The burial space crisis in Oradea has led the local authorities to consider building a crematorium in the town. Since the central cemetery of the town would have become full in only a few years, a plan to build a crematorium was drawn up in 2005. Although this plan has been submitted to the city council, a decision has never been made, because of “the fears of the Orthodox Church.” Although rejected by the Orthodox Church, the idea of cremation as a solution to the burial space problem has been accepted by the Greek Catholics, with the proviso that those who opt for cremation must not be doing so as an anti-Christian gesture and should have led a pious life (MorĠii 2008). Proposals to build a crematorium are also under discussion in ConstanĠa, which has a similarly acute shortage of burial spaces. Attempts to establish private cemeteries have meanwhile proved unsuccessful, many of these initiatives going bankrupt due to pricing themselves out of the market (Singurul 2009). The most prominent case is that of a private cemetery in Cluj-Napoca, which, to the despair of its owners, four years after it opened had acquired only one leaseholder plus a concession for a double grave. This was the first private cemetery to be established in Romania (Eduard and Mureúan 1995, 1). Occasionally, however, cemetery businesses have proved profitable. This is the case for the Odihnă Veúnică private cemetery, which is located ten kilometres from Bucharest. The thirty-year-old owner charges 1,600 RON for a single burial plot and 7,000 lei for a family crypt. By 2009 almost 10 percent of its total capacity was occupied (Arsenie 2009). However it was not until December 2010 that a new private cemetery was opened in Cluj-Napoca, due to the multiple problems concerning burial space in this city (Pârvu 2010). All in all, it has proved very difficult to find original solutions to the critical shortage of burial space, and this has had some negative consequences. For instance, according to Evenimentul Zilei in 1996, an inspection by the Office of Consumer Protection in Bucharest discovered

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that burial spaces had even been leased out on the cemetery alleys and access paths. The inspectors also found that the minimum distance of 50 metres between cemeteries and the neighbouring areas was not being complied with, and that the graves were smaller than the stipulated fifty centimetres long and two hundred centimetres wide. The inspectors also made checks of the undertaking firms, and found that 30 percent of them did not possess a sanitary operating permit at all, while a further 45 percent were found to be holding expired permits, and 60 percent were not authorised to transport corpses (GuĠă 1996, 1). In Craiova, the shortage of burial spaces has led to the establishment of the so-called “agro-cemetery,” whereby the residents near a cemetery have found it more profitable to sell their farmland, to make “agriculture with crosses.” These transactions have been made illegally, which has angered the local authorities (Voinea 2002, 2). Facing an unprecedented situation, the local authorities in Focúani have proposed some other unusual solutions to the burial space crisis (Grigorescu 2004). For instance, they have attempted to extend two cemeteries which were almost full by exchanging lands. Meanwhile the following was proposed in order to maximise use of the existing sites, through the re-use of graves: “removing the bones from the grave, if the relatives had not extended the lease, and burning them in a niche dug at the base of the grave, and then the use of the tomb for another tenant.” Despite the extremity of the situation, nothing has been mentioned about the possibility of building a crematorium, perhaps because Focúani is only a medium-sized town. Post-revolution, the Romanian press has regularly reported on mafia activity in relation to the urban cemeteries, with the police seeking to intervene early in order to address the situation (Cilibeanu 1993, 1). The first full disclosure of this problem was made in 1993 by the România Liberă newspaper (Petreanu 1993, 7). In so doing, the media has sometimes advanced cremation as an alternative to the high cost of burial in Romania. Cremation is thus portrayed as the poor Romanian’s gateway to heaven: according to Ionel Gheorghe, then the administrator of VitanBârzeúti crematorium, cremation was ten times cheaper than a traditional burial (Anghel 2002). In the same connection, in 2001 Cronica Română pointed out that when all the expenses (coffin, transport, grave, gravedigger, priest, burial accessories and so forth, the precise amounts varying from one cemetery to another) had been taken into account, the cost of burial exceeded the average wage by almost 50 percent. Cremation might therefore be the solution when death became a financial burden, given especially that nobody was prepared to challenge the dominance of

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the cemetery mafia (Lazăr 2001, 7). In 2006 Cronica Română reported again on the subject, starting with the axiom, well-known after 1989, that “in Romania it is more expensive to die than to live!” The total amount for a decent burial was calculated at 60,900,000 lei. By comparison, the cost of a cremation amounted to 520,000 lei for a child and 984,000 lei for adults, with an additional 150,000 lei for the indefinite lease of a niche plus 60,000 lei for its maintenance. Under these circumstances, the priests and the gravediggers were considered the dread of the relatives of the dead (Stolerul 2006). However it should be noted that the prices quoted were for Bucharest, so were not necessarily representative of the entire country. Meanwhile, it is impossible to overlook the irregularities at VitanBârzeúti crematorium, as already alluded to above in relation to the 1997 strike and the closure of Cenuúa crematorium. According to Gardianul newspaper in 2002, it was necessary to pay a bribe of 50,000–100,000 lei to the porter who conveyed the body to the cremator, 100,000–200,000 lei to the attendant who removed the deceased from the coffin, arranged their clothes and put on “the last blush” before the cremation, and 2,000,000– 3,000,000 lei to the crematorium management, for them to reduce the undertaker’s invoice and thus the tax payable (ùpaga 2002). The list of prices for burial and cremation services charged by ACCU, which can be found online, supports this claim (ACCU 2012). Transylvania, meanwhile, stands out due to the emergence of another phenomenon: that of having the deceased cremated over the border in Hungary, then burying the ashes in the cemetery back in the deceased’s home town. Hunedoreanul newspaper reported this practice, although the hygienic arguments it gave in support were heavily outdated (Matieú 2009). A similar phenomenon has arisen in Timiúoara, where the demand of some citizens for cremation is met by funeral companies from the Hungarian city of Bega, using the crematoria at Szeged and Macco. Opinia Timiúoreană has analysed this phenomenon (Mărgeanu 2009), linking it to the shortage of burial space in the area. However, the article begins with a glaring error, asserting that “The Romanian Orthodox Church has not so far expressed its opinion on cremation through any declaration of Holy Synod” (Mărgeanu 2009). Presently undertakers in Timiúoara each receive three to four applications for cremation per year, and Nicolae Cacuci, head of the administration of Timiúoara cemeteries, estimates that there are around fifty applications every year in total. Romania’s accession to the European Union has caused a change in this respect: whereas until then, the people of Timiúoara could only cremate their dead at Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium in faraway Bucharest, from 2007

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the process moved to Hungary, since this was now much cheaper. Thus, the price of a cremation dropped from 3,000 lei to a little over 500 euros, because transport was not expensive, Szeged being much closer to Timiúoara than Bucharest. Furthermore, on the return journey the urn containing the ashes could enter Romania much more easily than before. Another advantage of using the Hungarian crematoria was the fact that Hungary allowed customers to use metal coffins, whereas Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium required non-returnable wooden coffins to be used. Asked about the prospects of building a crematorium in Timiúoara, Nicolae Cacuci believed that it was not necessary, although some cemeteries in the city do provide a special place for urn niches.

Figure 6-4 Maieri Central Cemetery, Alba Iulia

The local media has itself been instrumental in prompting local authorities to consider solutions to the burial space crisis, GalaĠi being a case in point: here, the local authorities have considered cremation as one such solution, to the extent of holding talks with two potential Dutch investors. However, the high building costs led to the abandonment of this proposed project (Criza 2010). The phenomenon of so-called “funerary tourism,” often motivated by the prospect of lower costs, is not however a Romanian invention. Funerary tourism has also been widely recorded in Germany, where the lower prices have attracted some German families to have their loved ones cremated in the neighbouring Czech Republic. This situation has prompted protests from some of those involved in the German funeral industry (DW 2010). The existence of only a single crematorium in Romania, and the

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consequent need for the people of Sibiu to convey their dead to Bucharest for cremation, has also been highlighted in the local press. However this reporting has sometimes been erroneous; for example in 2008 an article claimed that the citizens of Sibiu were obliged to walk their dead to VitanBârzeúti crematorium (Mocanu 2008). Even Sibiu has not escaped the acute shortage of burial space. Consequently, the Regulations for the Organisation and Operation of the Municipal Cemetery in Sibiu, approved by the local council, explicitly state the need for solutions, including crematoria, to the problem. The shortage of burial space in Cluj and the high costs of burial, with all the related issues involved, were the subject of a piece in Foaia Transilvană published in Cluj, which noted that of the four cemeteries managed by Cluj City Hall, only Mănăútur had spaces available (DuĠu 2007). However, death must still be a profitable business in Cluj, since there are no fewer than thirteen funeral companies operating there. Cremation was also mentioned as a possible solution, being considered much cheaper than burial. The number of published articles on the burial space crisis increased sharply in 1990, since when numerous items have been published on this subject. An early example is an article published at the end of the 1990, which drew attention to the severity of the situation and to that fact that cemeteries and burial places were likely to become a problematic issue for Bucharest in the near future (T.Z. 1990, 2). The writer proceeded to an inventory of burial places, identifying forty-one cemeteries in the capital, out of which sixteen belonged to the city hall, fifteen to the Orthodox Church, and ten to other religious denominations, plus a crematorium of “60,000 capacity.” However it was shown that despite the number of cemeteries, actual burial spaces were few and far between indeed in Bucharest, with “more than 10,000 applicants expecting to be leased an area of three square metres” (T.Z. 1990, 2). To some extent this situation may be viewed as a legacy of the period prior to 1989, and probably explains why the plans for building the second crematorium in Bucharest had begun in 1987. Despite the gravity of the situation, the article did not mention one word about cremation as a potential solution to the problem of burial space, proposing instead that eight new cemeteries be established on the banks of the DâmboviĠa together with extensions to the existing cemeteries (T.Z. 1990, 2). ACCU’s management of the Bucharest cemeteries been criticised since the 1990s; for example, the introduction of fees for the maintenance of graves was challenged by the owners, who considered this to be a waste of money since no actual work was carried out. One of the opponents went so

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far as to state that the introduction of these fees represented the greatest scam of the century. In response, the ACCU director justified the fees on the grounds that the administration of the cemeteries was entirely dependent on internally generated income. However his concluding comments rather smacked of cynical self-interest: “If as many as possible do not die, we will die of hunger” (Eduard 1993, 5). The situation has also generated commentary of a more satirical nature, which has often had the unfortunate effect of accentuating the negative aspects of cremation – as exemplified by Viorel Chifu’s ironic piece in Gardianul newspaper in 2003. Referring to the fact that the preference for cremation is primarily an urban trend, Chifu remarks that: It is no wonder that urban folklore invented a saying that came to be fashionable: “Take me to cremation and throw the ashes into the sea.” It is ecological, it saves space and, ultimately, it is an irresistibly Romantic prospect: you and the sea, as one person. Anyhow, the family will figure out where to put the urn, somewhere in the attic because, in the end, what does it matter? The question of what to do with the ashes is a difficult one. So, we hurry to Cenuúa crematorium. But, as Uncle Iancu1 said, “What a fatality!”, because you find there chaos, a crowd, yelling that you do not roast whenever you want. As almost everyone got to the damnation bowwows, to have yourself cremated is no longer a sign of poverty, but rather a sign of distinction, of gentility, with obvious Oriental influences and even Tibetan ones. Knock on wood, God forbid we become like the authentic Tibetans, because they used to leave their dead to be pecked by the holy vultures, then deliberately broke the bones with a stone and threw the dust into the water. That was a true gas economy, not like in Romania, where they throw you on the grill at the crematorium and burn you for all your money [...] Look how the city hall makes me footle, like the lunatics. You see, that is what I do not understand: indeed, the people they elected – because if they were ours, we would have burial places also – no longer have any bit of poetry in those little souls, politicians’ souls? They no longer want, like any man, a place with trees and fir tree where the head can lie? Are they not tired of garbage all lifelong? I guess they are not. What days we are living in! One cannot even bury oneself! (Chifu 2003)

Satire was also evident in 2010, when the ACCU set new prices for funeral services. Writing of the Prima Casă (First House) governmental programme, Oprea describes the strategy adopted by the finance minister 1

Translator’s note: this is a reference to I.L. Caragiale, a Romanian playwright and short story writer who uses this word in one of his short stories in a comic and ironic manner, since the situation was one of bad luck rather than a real catastrophe.

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Adriean Videanu and implemented by the former director of ACCU, Viorel Popa (who had since become director of the Ministry of Economy’s programme, which happened to be entitled “The Last House”). In this position, Popa was to teach the Finance Minister some lessons about death. Consequently, Oprea remarked wryly, “the Boc-Băsescu governmental slogan could be ‘As at the crematorium, the same way at the Treasury’” (C. Oprea 2010). The specification of cremation tariffs down to the last decimal point was also mocked: 462.84 lei for an adult and 300.69 lei for children. Oprea’s satire reaches its apogee in his direct reference to a wellknown Romanian joke: “Making fun of death, those who have insufficient money can do as in Bulă’s joke2: ask the crematorium stoker to scorch the dead for as much as you have in your pockets” (Oprea 2010). The urban burial space crisis has also impacted on other aspects of funerary provision, such as the heroes’ cemeteries, in which people have been buried who are not properly entitled to such privileges, a confusion exacerbated by the lack of distinction between the military and heroes’ cemeteries. Even clerical attempts to resolve the burial space crisis have been received negatively. For instance, an initiative at the CuĠitul de Argint church in Bucharest in 1993, which was surrounded by a parochial cemetery, was derided as a “hen with golden eggs” (B.C.B. 1993, 2). The crypts in this cemetery, which were located over three levels, were derided for their lack of aesthetic sense, being painted in dull colours and with burials squeezed up against the fence which separated the cemetery from Carol Park; however the most severe criticism related to the fact that such establishments were effectively ecclesiastical businesses. The article concluded by emphasising the dangers of such initiatives: It is all about remaining connected to church issues, if some parish administrators would like to follow this example. Because otherwise we could find ourselves, God forbid, that one day those more into prejudices, with church funds coming from bars and video libraries. (BCB 1993, 2)

The most interesting case of this latter kind was that of the priest Andrei Sicoe from Braúov. In 1995 Sicoe became involved in a scandal, the ultimate consequence of which was a lifetime suspension from clerical service imposed by the Consistory Court of the Transylvanian Metropolitan Church (IoniĠă 1995, 9). After arriving in the railway workers’ district of Braúov in 1990, an area without a hospital, cemetery or market, Sicoe established a parish there. By means of a donation from the Romanian 2

Translator’s note: a fictional, humorous character of Romanian jokes.

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railway, he established a cemetery, taking advantage both of the lack of cemeteries in the area and of the general shortage of burial spaces. The income obtained from the sale of burial spaces enabled Sicoe to build a large church. The scandal came about when four other priests from Braúov subsequently bought plots of land a few kilometres away from Sicoe’s cemetery. Sicoe then led several of his parishioners in a guerrilla-style operation, in which two coffins were exhumed from one of the cemeteries owned by the newcomers. This operation was carried out without any authorisation, without the consent of the families concerned, and despite all secular and religious laws, in order to prevent the establishment or operation of any other cemetery in Sicoe’s territory. Irregularities were also reported in Piteúti, where the priest Mihai Costache took advantage of the town’s shortage of burial spaces in order to establish a business: his firm sold overpriced burial plots in the cemetery of the church where his father-in-law executed funeral works (Afaceri 2008). The vast majority of Romanian cemeteries belong to those Christian denominations that are officially recognised by the State. However there has been no known initiative by the representatives of any of these churches to implement practical solutions which would address the critical lack of burial space. Since the majority of these cemeteries are under the guardianship of the Romanian Orthodox Church, the Orthodox Church may be regarded as particularly culpable in this respect. Romania’s accession into the European Union has generated to a series of amendments to the burial regulations, both on coffins and on keeping and waking the dead at home – the latter prohibited – but in spite of this, in practice the popular funerary culture in Romania remains largely unchanged (Mincan 2007). Although the new regulations have had some effect in urban areas, they have proved completely ineffective in rural areas and the smaller towns. The European regulations have also done nothing to advance the development of cremation; therefore, if the future is to bring cremation to Romania, this will be the consequence of internal need brought about by the shortage of burial space in urban Romania, rather than by the force of external imperative. Another notable point on the subject of cemeteries after 1989, and especially following Romania’s admission to the European Union, is the submission of EU funding applications for the construction of private cemeteries (Bani 2009). Even if these applications fail to gain funding, there is still potential for a business start-up, such as an undertaker, to obtain EU money. The Romanian customs which surround the management of corpses are

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sometimes very far removed from Western practices. For instance, Associated Press journalists have expressed their surprise at the lack of funeral homes in Romania, and at the Romanian habit of keeping the dead at home instead (MorĠii 2010). The existence of the cemetery mafia, and its presence at Romania’s only crematorium, has also attracted criticism: in an article published in June 2010, Mircea Ziliúteanu unmasked the bureaucracy and corruption at Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium, drawing attention to the manner in which this had infested the organisation’s decision-making structures (Ziliúteanu 2010).

The National Pantheon project Launched in September 2008 by the Romanian Academy, the National Pantheon project (Vergu 2008, 11) aimed to construct a “monumental institution to the brilliant personalities who have brought honour to their Homeland or have sacrificed themselves for its Glory over time” (Academia 2008). This was to be located on the site of the former Cenuúa crematorium, where construction works, estimated at about 50 million lei, were scheduled to begin in the spring of 2010 (Olivotto 2008a, 18). The Romanian Academy initiated a foundation named the Romanian Pantheon, which has sought to meet the costs of the building through donations. The will of King Carol I has been invoked, in an attempt to appeal to the consciences of the Romanian people and persuade them to support the project, with “Give a Ron for the Pantheon!” being adopted as the campaign slogan. The terms of the project specified an international architecture contest to be held in March 2009, with the winner to be selected and construction work to commence by autumn 2009. In an open letter former King Mihai I declared himself a supporter of the project, and said he considered that the National Pantheon fulfilled the will of his forebear Carol I (Olivotto 2008b). However the project raises some important questions. Firstly, it brings into focus the fate of the former Cenuúa crematorium buildings, on whose demolition no clear decision has yet been taken. Clearly, the building cannot be restored to its original purpose, because of the extremely high costs that this would incur. But it can be considered a national heritage building because of its unique monumentality, its particular significance and even its integration into the landscape. Indeed it is for these very reasons that the crematorium has been designated as a historical monument and listed as a protected building; although it has to compete for money with other projects designed to support Romanian culture, including the restoration of other buildings owned by the Romanian Academy, and the urgent upgrade of

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certain Academy services. Furthermore, the project raises the question of what would happen to those remains which are presently housed within the building, since it is difficult to believe that the remains of some of the most prominent figures in Romanian history would be removed from their current locations. Finally, it could be argued that the project is hardly original, and would merely be a tawdry, overpriced copy of Western models. Indeed, since nothing at all had been accomplished on the project by the end of 2010, the entire concept may well perhaps be attributable to a flight of fancy.

Amurg: The Romanian cremation association The concept of Amurg, the Romanian Cremation Association, was first born in autumn 2009. The association became operational in April 2010, with six founding members.

Figure 6-5 Logo of Amurg, the Romanian Cremation Association

It is important to emphasise that the ambition of the association’s founders was to restore the tradition of the inter-war Romanian cremationists, whose activities had been so abruptly interrupted by the onset of Communism. This calls for concrete actions to achieve the main purpose of the association, namely to support the practice of cremation by building the first crematorium in Transylvania. The association’s website is organised in an accessible manner, with extensive information on the topic, in particular a list of famous Romanians who were cremated, or who at least wanted to be, but whose wishes were for various reasons not carried out. As awareness of the association’s activities spread, the famous Pharos journal devoted an article to it, highlighting Amurg’s efforts

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toward the development of cremation in Romania and noting that it was the only pro-cremation body in the country (New 2010, 14).

Crematoria in the Romanian media since 1989: Jokes … and serious things too Since 1990, local newspapers have made the most of the continuing taboo against cremation during the Communist period. Paradoxically, in the realm of death, according to Dan Ciachir, in his latest book, Cioran said that in Marx’s entire work there is not even one thought on death. For the Communists too, death was a taboo. Denying the eternity of the soul, and the belief that God created man, the Communists did not believe in the Resurrection of Christ. Their prominent activists were not buried in the cemetery: their dead body was taken the way of the crematorium, and then their ashes were deposited in their pagan temple built in Carol Park, renamed the Freedom Park. When a leading Communist died, the newspapers wrote that … he passed away; he is gone, so, into nothingness. (Ciachir 2005, 6)

Thus, the crematorium has remained a subject of fascination for the Romanian media, due not so much to practical necessity in the context of the urban burial space crisis, but because of its outlandish nature. Analysis of representations of the topic of crematoria in the post-1990 Romanian media reveals certain patterns: the crematorium as a place preferred by Communists (CâlĠan 1997, 3); the crematorium as a dreadful place; or alternatively, let’s all laugh at the crematorium (Torr and Bacan 2006, 6); and so on. Sometimes, however, one finds more balanced coverage (Enescu 2005, 8), although even here emotive language is frequently used, and there remains a certain ironic note in the presentation (Munteanu 2008). Most striking in these pieces are the detailed descriptions of the supposed connection between Communism and the practice of cremation, such as Adrian CâlĠan’s 1997 article. The premise of the article was the lack of storage facilities for urns at the crematorium, but it started with a general description which portrayed the crematorium building as a giant monument of loneliness, with a grand interior resembling that of a church “without any religion or, rather, belonging to all religions, a church where a strange silence rules, the silence of the end of world.” However, it was “the red corner, which actually comprised half of the room and the whole right wing, where the crematorium administrators were obliged to exhibit the urns containing the ashes of Communists who at the Party’s insistence

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could not be buried, but had to be cremated” which made the strongest impression upon CâlĠan. This statement is not inaccurate. Furthermore, according to CâlĠan, the overextension of the red corner had caused the urns of non-Party members to be deposited in the crematorium attic, and the restoration of the building had been used as the pretext for requiring the Communists’ families to remove their urns. CâlĠan also (mistakenly) believed that lack of space in the columbarium had prompted the crematorium management to restrict cremations only to those families who had already leased niches at Cenuúa. CâlĠan’s descriptions of the cremation process itself were very similar indeed to those of his inter-war predecessors: he promulgated the myths that the body moved like a ballet dancer in the cremator, and that crematorium employees performed brutal manoeuvres upon the corpses (CâlĠan 1997, 3). The earliest post-1989 newspaper article on Cenuúa seems to be dated 2 April 1994, and gave an initial, highly critical description of the place, essentially on two counts. The first was in relation to a certain priest, Constantin Stancu, who was serving at Cenuúa crematorium, apparently without any problem of conscience, and claiming that he had been appointed to the job without Patriarchal mandate. When interviewed Stancu identified three reasons in favour of cremation: lack of burial spaces, the desire of relatives to rid themselves of the corpse as quickly as possible, and reasons of hygiene, however valid for the important people, according to his own words. Stancu asserted that cremation was permitted by the Orthodox Patriarchy, citing as evidence of this his own presence at the crematorium, and also the example of the Dacians, the ancestors of modern Romanians (he considered it irrelevant that the Dacians were pagans, since they had subsequently converted to Christianity). Stanciu rejected any suggestion that those priests who worked at the crematorium were defrocked, considering the cremation dispute as being particular to the inter-war period because both sides at the time “thought that was the way to act” (Mântuirea 1994, 2). The article’s second criticism associated cremation and the crematorium with Communism. It mentioned a number of Communist Party members as having opted for cremation. Meanwhile the inscription of the words “Eternal Glory to the Heroes and Martyrs who have Sacrificed Themselves in the Struggle Against Capitalist Exploitation, and Against the Imperialism Which Starts Wars,” on one of the interior walls of the building, was described by the article’s author as “the height of irony and impudence.” It was noted that the popular belief that “in Ceauúescu’s time, the dead were burned at a low temperature because there was no gas” was a myth, because Cenuúa crematorium was always connected to a “special

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pipe.” Meanwhile a crematorium employee complained that the urns of Communist activists were resting alongside the commemorative plaque dedicated to those who had been cremated at Cenuúa following the events of 1989 in Timiúoara (Mântuirea 1994, 2). Father Stancu’s stance was criticized in four subsequent articles authored by clerics and other supporters of the Romanian Orthodox Church. Alexandru Horia described cremation as the terrestrial embodiment of hell, a satanic act in which the human body, robbed of its mystical journey, was instead abandoned to the absolute empire of death. Although he recognised, accurately, that in practice cremation was limited to Bucharest, his remark that “it is surprising that cremation has not scandalised the Christian world,” because “it is Satanism with a human face, being institutionalised and supplemented (allegedly) with religious services” (Mântuirea 1994, 2) was nonetheless fundamentally erroneous. Ioan Lucian Ciucu also rejected cremation, instead supporting “the truth” of the Orthodox Church’s anti-cremation stance, not because of “automatism generated by tradition, but incorporated to a higher meaning, valued by the eschatological hope of universal resurrection” (Mântuirea 1994, 2). Cremation, in Ciucu’s view, would allow an insufficient reestablishment of the nature of the resurrected person and his relationship with God, a difference which appeared very small, but which was sufficient to distinguish between heaven and hell. The hieromonk Justin Marchiú adopted a similar approach, based on his reading of biblical texts (Mântuirea 1994, 2). Mihai Sârbulescu’s discussion took a similar line, starting from the idea that after death the soul is gradually separated from the body as it becomes earth. Fire hastened this separation process, but was more painful than the gradual, gentle process of decomposition. Despite this, those who opted for cremation, or who carried out a relative’s wish to be cremated, were not Christians, and Sârbulescu openly criticised the fact that for many Romanians Christian adherence was merely nominal. In a note printed on 8 April 1994 in the pages of the same publication, the Romanian Patriarchy responded with the following points: (1) The Patriarchy did not authorise its priests to minister at the crematorium; (2) The Archdiocese of Bucharest had never authorised any Orthodox priest to officiate at the crematorium; (3) The Romanian Orthodox Church forbade cremation, and refused the burial service to anyone who opted for it; (4) Constantin Stancu was to be investigated for breaches of Canon Law. (Ecou 1994, 4).

These events had an impact on liturgical practice, such as the suggestion by the priest I. Ionescu, published in Glasul Bisericii in 1994,

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that the word “ash” be replaced with “dust” in the funeral verse “I remembered the prophet crying: I am earth and ashes” (Ionescu 1994, 93– 96). In support of his idea, Ionescu referred to I. Popescu-Mălăieúti’s work on cremation, believing “ashes” to be a mistranslation of the Hebrew word “apahar,” since the usage appeared only once, while in the Old Testament, it was translated everywhere as “dust” (93). Ionescu was concerned that the usage could have led some to believe that the church accepted cremation. In the episode reported by România Liberă newspaper, this was identified as the main reason brought by Constantin Stancu. Although Stancu was given an (unspecified) punishment, “the public affront to the Orthodox priesthood” persisted well after the case had officially been concluded (Ionescu 1994, 94). Ionescu offered further explanations, drawing on Popescu-Mălăieúti’s writings and referring to those biblical texts and liturgical clauses that he considered most relevant to the case in hand: “For dust you are and to dust you shall return,” the condemnation of Adam, the raising of Lazarus, the meaning of St. Paul’s grave, the Apostle John, the example of relics (94–95). Therefore, priests who conducted the burial service for a cremated person must do penance for their sin, and furthermore any service conducted without the approval of the church was ineffective. Also, the very presence of any Orthodox priest at the crematorium was unacceptable under church law. As for those who were cremated, they were considered to reside in the same category as suicides, excluded from the body of the Church of Christ through their own actions. The same issues arose again in a further article, published in 2003 and focusing upon Father Gheorghe, who had been serving as a priest at VitanBârzeúti since 1994 until his retirement (according to another version, he had been defrocked (Mateescu 2009, 2)); while he recognised that the Orthodox Church rejected cremation, he did not personally approve of the church’s stance (Priest 2006). During my last research visit to VitanBârzeúti crematorium, I asked for information about the burial service that would be conducted for an Orthodox Christian who had opted for cremation. I was advised that this is strictly a private family matter, and it is up to them whether or not they succeed in convincing an Orthodox priest to conduct the service in the crematorium chapel. României Liberă’s 1994 initiative was not the only one: in 1996 Ionescu published another short article in Glasul Bisericii, in which he publicly urged people to reject cremation as means of managing the corpse after death (Ionescu 1996, 2). However, on closer inspection this item actually proved to be an almost exact reproduction of his previous 1994 article. Again, nothing was mentioned of Constantin Stancu and his presence at Cenuúa crematorium in 1994, due probably to the fact that

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Glasul Bisericii is a popular magazine produced by the Metropolitan Church of Wallachia and Dobruja. Ionescu was certainly being very careful to avoid creating any undesirable precedents or leaving any room for interpretation. However, elsewhere in the post-1989 Romanian Orthodox milieu, there were sometimes serious signs of ignorance about cremation, such as in the case of an article by Alexandru Stănciulescu, lecturer in the Faculty of Theology at the University of Craiova. Stănciulescu stated that “the Roman Catholic Church has definitely forbidden cremation, but the Romanian Orthodox Church has been more permissive,” although it recommended burial and considered the practice of cremation to be pagan. Stănciulescu then presented the surprising conclusion that “the social and demographic context has made the Orthodox Church tolerate the provision of the funeral service for the bodies of those who are to be cremated” (Stănciulescu-Bârda 2006, 374). This statement is completely inaccurate, and is explained by Stănciulescu’s use of Vladimir Prelipceanu’s article on cremation and Orthodox theology, which had been published in 1962 and therefore predated the Second Vatican Council. Although Prelipceanu had subsequently revised and updated his article with some of the arguments in favour of cremation, Stănciulescu preferred to ignore this later edition, considering the question already settled. However, the ignorance among Orthodox priests has on occasion reached even higher levels. For example Radu Dumitru, former director of ACCU, commented at one point that “the Romanian Orthodox Church has not expressed a clear view on the cremation procedure through Act of Synod. In this regard, we have referred the matter to the Patriarchy. We believe it to be a civic matter” (Mateescu 2008). A clearer articulation of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s stance on cremation may be found in the work of Nicolae Necula, of the Faculty of Theology in Bucharest, who shows that the practice of cremation is forbidden to the Orthodox faithful. It is interesting that at the end of his study, Necula attacked a Romanian politician for promoting cremationist propaganda in the newspapers, an act he considered “the most flagrant defiance and disregard of such an important aspect of Romanian Orthodox spirituality, namely the cult of the dead, and a lack of respect for the people who, for all the hard work they give under the sun, deserve at least a set of clothes and four boards with which to leave this life” (Necula 1996, 265–269). The man Necula was so vehemently attacking was Gheorge Dumitraúcu, at that time senator for ConstanĠa. Dumitraúcu had publicly expressed his support for cremation and for its development in Romania, promoting the idea that a crematorium should be built in ConstanĠa. Meanwhile, Necula clearly showed that any religious assistance

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given to those who opted for cremation was contrary to Romanian Orthodox Canon law, according to the Synods of 1928 and 1933, and that he considered this to be on the same level as affording religious services to suicides. Necula also expressed alarm that certain defrocked priests were conducting the Orthodox funeral service at the crematorium, and demanded the urgent elimination of this practice (Necula 1996, 265–269). Other Romanian Orthodox priests have also adopted negative stances toward cremation: Eugen Drăgoi (Drăgoi 2002, 13), Nicodim MandiĠă, who was Protosingelos of Agapia Monastery for many years before his death in 1975, but became known after 1989 (MandiĠă 2004, 48), Picioruú Dorin Octavian (Picioruú 2008), Gabriel Militaru (Militaru 2009) and Alexandru Stanciu (Stanciu 2011, 8–9), Adrian Zaharia (Zaharia 2011), Radu Petre Mureúan (Mureúan 2011, 283–295) and Visarion Iugulescu (Iugulescu 2011). The latter have expressed their views online, through their blogs. Although this type of medium has limited impact, their importance cannot altogether be denied due to the nature of the topics they address. For example, Father Gabriel Militaru has addressed the complex issues which surround a dying person’s expression of their wish to be cremated, a wish he explains in terms of lack of faith, poor knowledge of Orthodox principles, the effects of illness, and material considerations. He also criticised the attitude displayed by some families in respecting the will of the dying person above the will of God. Much the same attitude was adopted by Father Silviu Tudose, of the Faculty of Orthodox Theology in Bucharest, in an interview published in 2010 (Tudose 2011). In Tudose’s opinion, the reason there are no Orthodox Church laws regulating cremation is that the Canons predate its introduction, and priests who fail to comply with the decision of the Synod risk being barred from conducting religious services and being judged by the Diocesan Consistory Court. However, by far the best example of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s continued rejection of cremation is the sermon preached by Patriarch Teoctist on easter night 2007. In the sermon, which was delivered to approximately 3,000 Orthodox worshippers gathered at the patriarchal palace in Bucharest, and was also broadcast on radio and television, Teoctist urged the Orthodox faithful to educate their children in the Christian spirit, and young people to be very careful with their bodies. In so doing, Teoctist openly criticised those who were cavalier with their bodies after death: “It is also a very great sin for those who treat their body with disrespect and give it to the crematorium for burning” (Teoctist 2007). The behaviour and conduct of the Romanian Orthodox Church in regard to cremation is not “authentic” when compared to the Greek

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example (Dargentas 2005, 223–225). However, when comparing the Romanian and Greek experiences of cremation, it should be remembered that the pace of development has obviously been very different in the two countries: whilst in Romania cremation and burial have had the same legal status since the inter-war period, in Greece cremation has only very recently become a possibility. In the years since 1989, even the great Orthodox theologians have participated in the debate on cremation: Ilarion Argatu, Ilie Cleopa and Teofil Pârâianu have expressed their opinions in various works, and have published interviews. Although not academic texts, these opinion pieces remain significant because their authors enjoy considerable influence over post-1989 Romanian society. The first two vehemently reject cremation: those who are cremated voluntarily should not receive any religious support from the Orthodox Church – although Cleopa believes that services may be conducted at the crematorium for the deceased who are being cremated against their will. Argatu has adopted a similar position, viewing cremation as an act of disbelief, “a sin against nature, against human nature and against the Creator’s act of Creation.” Argatu does however exempt those who die accidentally in fires (Argatu 2005, 174–175). Pârâianu expresses some rather more surprising views. He contends that, although the Church has not yet approved cremation, and does not currently allow it, it will be obliged to accept it in future given the burial space crisis (Pârâianu 2001, 57). In the Romanian Orthodox context, Father Pârâianu’s stance is therefore highly singular. Also, the cremation debate should not overlook the importance of another factor, one specific to Romanian Orthodoxy, namely the importance of relics in daily worship. It is very difficult for those who believe in the power of relics to accept cremation, since there is a very close relationship between the perception of the relics and the decomposition of the bodies – an issue also revealed in the writings of several Romanian clergy, such as Father Cleopa, since 1989 (Cleopa 2001, 64–65). The importance of catechism in the choice of cremation has been addressed by Father Vasile Gordon, a university professor in Bucharest. Gordon has stated that cremation is a serious sin, even if it follows the will and testament of the deceased. Given that the costs of cremation are considerably lower than those for burial, Gordon concludes that the Church should support poor families to prevent them from resorting to cremation (Gordon 2008, 1–2). Gordon has also shown that Orthodox believers are absolutely prohibited from giving any religious assistance to those who are cremated (Gordon 2009). The position of physician Pavel Chirilă on cremation is relevant due to

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his close relationship with the church. Professor at the Faculty of Theology in Craiova, Chirilă is a distinguished specialist in bioethics, who advocates the notion of so-called “Christian medicine” and has expressed a similar attitude to cremation to the Orthodox representatives. At a conference held in 2008, Chirilă addressed the subject of cremation at the same time as declaring himself opposed to contraception, abortion, the concept of brain death, and homosexuality. According to Chirilă the body, as the temple of the Holy Spirit, should not be burned, this practice being applied in the Old Testament only as punishment (Chirilă 2008, 8). As can be seen, the anti-cremation stance taken by Romanian Orthodox theologians after 1989 has not produced extensive scientific analysis of the topic. Although this direction was first established during the inter-war period, Romanian theologians have consistently failed to pay sufficient attention to the subject, especially in the context of the burial space crisis. However, cremation remains a very plausible possibility for as long as the crisis continues to exist, meaning that the church risks simply being presented with a fait accompli at some point in the future. The one exception to the church’s refusal to engage meaningfully with the subject of cremation is the work of Nicolae Neaga, who published a special article dedicated to the topic in 1991 (Neaga 1991, 182–191). This stands as probably the one of the best pieces written from an Orthodox perspective after 1989. Anti-cremation views are also to be found in a paper by Father Vasile Răducă, which was intended as a handbook for the contemporary Orthodox worshipper. The paper briefly discussed cremation, stating that not only is it groundless, but also declaring its positive harmfulness (cremation as an Oriental practice; devaluation of and disrespect for the body; rejection by Christians who view the body as the temple of the Holy Spirit; its development after the French Revolution). Răducă described the religious funeral service as performed at cremations with a striking analogy: “when performed by a defrocked priest, the service – at the crematorium or elsewhere – has the same value as the order of a dismissed general” (Răducă 1998, 204–205). Translated works published under the auspices of the Romanian Orthodox Church which deal with the subject of cremation are also important. An example of this is the Romanian edition of John Breck’s Treatise of Bioethics, whose conclusion mentioned the Orthodox perspective on cremation (Breck 2003, 305–311). Meanwhile the Greek theologian Georgios Mantzaridis, professor at the University of Thessaloniki, has expressed similar views in one of his works, which has also been translated into Romanian (Mantzaridis 2006, 521–525). In

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general Mantzaridis’ writings are well-argued, indeed the most wellfounded of the Orthodox anti-cremation stands. Mantzaridis has stated that both burial and cremation should not be seen simply in terms of their practical utility, but mainly in symbolic terms. Therefore, even if cremation “does not directly attack the dogma of the Resurrection,” it nonetheless “attacks the sensibility and the ethos cultivated by this dogma” (Mantzaridis 2006, 521–525; Larchet 2006, 80–88). It follows that certain pro-cremation arguments are therefore rejected, such as those based upon the urban burial space crisis, or cases of families failing to comply with the deceased’s stated wish to be cremated. Not even Dumitru Stăniloae, the famous priest, has remained indifferent to the subject of cremation. He has described it as the product of Western attitudes to death, the desire to be free from the thought of death and to hide from it: although death is in fact a perfectly natural phenomenon, the fear which surrounds it engenders the misguided notion that it is unnatural. Such people therefore do everything to cover the body up, in order to avoid mental discomfort. Their homes do not contain any sign of mourning, and the corpse is taken secretly to the cemetery or to the crematorium, in order to make it disappear as quickly as possible (Stăniloae 2003, 227–228). More recently, at least two further anti-cremation stances have been recorded in the Romanian Orthodox milieu (Teúu 2011, Ulea 2011). These are linked not only by their continued characterisation of cremation as alien to the “Romanian spirit,” but both have also made unacknowledged use of material from the Amurg website. People considering opting for cremation were warned again about the fact that they would be barred from receiving Orthodox religious services. The actions of a group of parishioners from Pipera also illustrate the Orthodox perspective on cremation. In 1991 the group sent a delegate to the Patriarchy, in the person of George Becali, because they had been scandalised to learn that the bodies of children dying in hospitals and orphanages were being cremated. Becali consequently obtained permission from the Patriarchy for those children to be buried in two special cemeteries, the justification for this being perfectly in line with the Orthodox rejection of cremation: “We Romanians, we are a Christian people, and there are three sacraments in our religion: baptism, marriage and the funeral. What was previously done with these little ones was a mortal sin. From dust we were conceived and to dust we shall return” (Bobeú 1997, 10).

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The Orthodox Church, post-Communist Romania and cremation According to the 2002 Census, over 86 percent of Romania’s population belongs to the Romanian Orthodox Church (Recensământ 2002). Therefore, if the Church is the point of reference for the majority of Romanians, its stance on cremation is obviously essential. Romanian researchers have noted the resurgence of the church, almost to the point of religious saturation, in Romania over the last two decades (Frunză and Frunză 2009, 13–35). However this situation is somewhat paradoxical, given that present-day Romanian society also simultaneously idealises modernisation. The reason for this resurgence lies in the particular rise of religion in Romanian society following the collapse of the atheistic Communist regime. However the Romanian Communist regime succeeded merely in marginalising the church rather than destroying it, and consequently, today there are some factors which lend powerful support to the church’s stance. The most important of these, vehemently invoked by its representatives, is the supposed symbiosis between the church, Orthodoxy and the Romanian nation (Conovici 2009, 310–341). This argument is constantly delivered to the Romanian public, often to the extent that it is simply assumed as a given. Therefore when secularisation, or any other social question (for instance, homosexuality) or initiative which displeases the church is discussed, it assumes the role of the most representative voice of the Romanian spirit. As Gabriel Andreescu has commented, this is underpinned by the notion that to be Romanian means, first and foremost, to be Orthodox (cited by Stan and Turcesc 2010, 111). However, things are slightly different in the case of cremation because, as noted earlier, in the eyes of the law the practice has enjoyed equal status with burial since the inter-war period. Therefore, the criticisms levelled at cremation and its followers in the name of the church have only limited effect. However this effect does becomes important, given the church’s influence in present-day Romanian society, when it comes to attempts to open new crematoria as a means of alleviating the urban burial space crisis. The Romanian Orthodox Church’s rejection of cremation is based on simple ideas. However, as has been acknowledged by some of the church’s representatives since the Second World War, there is no dogmatic or canonical argument against cremation (Popescu-Mălăieúti 1932). Therefore, the most important and most often advanced argument against cremation in the Orthodox view is that of tradition, based on the burial of Jesus Christ. There are also other arguments, drawn from the church’s own

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interpretation of Christian teachings: the body is the shelter of the soul (the soul being a part of the Holy Spirit), and this unity between body and soul obliges the Orthodox Christian to show his respect for the body by accepting burial rather than cremation. The resurrection of the body would also be affected if Christians were to choose cremation. Moreover, it should not be forgotten that in Romanian Orthodox teaching, connections between the living and the dead are much stronger than in that of most other denominations: this is why post-mortem memorial services for the deceased are usually arranged, and repeated at regular intervals (three days, nine days, forty days, three months, six months, nine months, a year, and seven years) (Drăgoi 2002). Such connections engender a particular perception of the corpse in relation to burial within Orthodox Christianity. The particular significance of burial grounds within Romanian spirituality is also regularly invoked, along with the argument that cremation would be a foreign practice for Romania. In this latter argument we can see an evolution regarding the identification of the foreign element in the Romanian area designated by cremation. Of all these tactics, the most effective is to label cremation as a pagan practice, a point frequently raised by Romanian Orthodox critics today. Of course, this thinking conveniently ignores the fact that much of the rest of the Christian world, including the Roman Catholic Church, now accepts cremation. Another key anticremation argument, propounded by the Romanian Orthodox Church until the Second World War, was the identification of cremation with Freemasonry. After 1989, Romanian Orthodox anti-cremation discourse identified cremation as atheistic, and inspired by Communism. The justification for this claim is that civil funerals, many of which did include cremation, began to be held during the Communist era. Statistically, however, it can be seen that the number of cremations actually declined following the installation of Communism, and in any case civil funerals were only ever preferred by a small minority of Romanian communists. More recently, secularisation, seen as a direct threat to Romanian Orthodoxy, is perceived by some church representatives as the main engine for the promotion of cremation in the country. A further point is that the cult of relics remains very strong among Orthodox Christians in Romania, and the introduction of cremation could therefore affect an entire representational system. An example of the strength of the cult of relics is the arrival of those of Saint Andrew in Bucharest in October 2011, which in the course of just five days attracted over 100,000 pilgrims who came to worship them, with 200 Orthodox priests serving continuously (Pelerine 2011). Although Romanian state law guarantees personal freedom and the

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right of free association and choice, the Romanian Orthodox Church has placed its own interpretations on these rights. For instance Bartolomeu Anania, one of today’s most important Romanian Orthodox theologians, has asserted that theological freedom differs from moral, individual or ontological freedom, in that it is the ultimate type of freedom. Theological freedom is relational in nature, to God, and to other people by means of good works, and requires a gradual abasement of the self through prayer and asceticism. Thus, according to Anania, absolute freedom is experienced as union with the divine, a union which is threatened by nothing and which does not exercise any threat (as cited in Conovici 2009). Relations between the Romanian state and the Romanian Orthodox Church are complex: since Orthodoxy is the majority confession of the Romanian people, the Romanian state, secular by definition, manifests a “favourable” neutrality towards the Romanian Orthodox Church in comparison to others. On the other hand, the Romanian Orthodox Church displays a “friendly” neutrality towards the state (Conovici 2009). Thus a circle of mutual reinforcement operates between state and church, especially during elections. However, in some cases since 1989, the state has also overruled opposition from the Romanian Orthodox Church on some issues, for instance accepting homosexuality and legalising abortion (Stan and Turcescu 2010). In Orthodox theology, personal freedoms and rights are also located in sin: there can therefore be no rights or freedoms which encompass a person’s right or freedom to sin (Conovici 2009). This makes any kind of “freedom,” whether assumed at a personal or collective level, and which enables sin (such as homosexuality or, in this case, cremation) to take place, open to condemnation. Consequently, in the Orthodox view, the “freedom” of choosing cremation cannot belong to a Christian, and even if he were to request cremation after death, his family should refuse such a wish (Militaru 2009). So although in theory cremation would appear to solve the problems currently besetting the Romanian funeral system, in practice the predominance of Orthodox teaching on death and disposal means that for a large part of Romanian society it is only natural that the Romanian Orthodox Church should condemn cremation. As for the positions of the other Romanian denominations in regard to cremation after 1990, the response of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Bucharest, as summarised by Cristina ùoican in its official newspaper Actualitatea Creútină, is particularly remarkable (ùoican 2008, 20–21). ùoican summarises the historical development of cremation, emphasising the great changes that have occurred in the field since 1963, and the

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subsequent regulations of 1968 and 1983. She also notes the refusal of the Orthodox Church to accept cremation, as well as the problems that have arisen in Greece. In conclusion she calls for tolerance toward cremation, reinforcing the argument that the rarity of cremation in Romania is due to ignorance and prejudice. Furthermore, she emphasises that cremation is “a solution to the problems of space, hygiene and urbanisation” (ùoican 2008, 21). Isidore Martincă, professor at the Faculty of Roman Catholic Theology in Bucharest, also refers to the situation in his study of Canon Law published after 2000 (Mărtincă 2005, 412). Of all the newspapers which have portrayed cremation in a sensationalist manner, Libertatea seems to be most prominent. For example, on 1 November 2007 there appeared an article in which Nicolae Oprea profiled a certain Emil Miculescu. Miculescu had spent nine years as a crematorium operative, loading bodies into the cremator, and he talked frankly about the subject, describing what happened when the body was placed in the incinerator, how a woman’s breasts would burst and a man’s penis become temporarily erect. Miculescu did however demolish the myth that the bodies “danced” while being cremated, and he stated his belief that the family should have the right to attend the cremation in order to be convinced that the ashes of their loved one were not being changed over or otherwise tampered with (Oprea 2007, 5). Another example of this type of sensationalist reporting was published in early September 2009, this time focusing on the volume of gas consumed during a cremation (Ionescu 2009). This was calculated at forty cubic metres of gas per cremation, equivalent to heating a flat for a week during winter. This was important because it highlighted the much lower cost of cremation compared to that of a burial. Meanwhile, the biggest inaccuracy is to be found in an article dated 8 January 2007, in which it was announced with sadness that the crematorium at Cluj-Napoca had closed after twenty years in operation (Gherman 2007, 23). Since there has never in fact been a crematorium in Cluj, this was to say the least a regrettable confusion. Two further issues are worthy of mention here: between 2002 and 2004, the director of ACCU was Father Radu Dumitru, a versatile character who in 2002 was variously priest, director of ACCU, student, PSD member, councillor and karate fighter. Besides his involvement in several scandals, Dumitru’s entire position, as an Orthodox priest who also presided over the Bucharest crematoria, constituted a clear conflict of interest. This invites some grievous conclusions, not only on the sheer outrageousness of the situation, but also on the complete lack of perspective in present-day Romanian society with regard to the expansion of cremation. It is especially noteworthy that Cenuúa crematorium was

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closed down during Dumitru’s tenure (see above). It is difficult to sustain any argument that, as an Orthodox priest, he would have militated for the crematorium, but instead Radu Dumitru carried out the inter-war anticremationist “ideals” of his fellows. (Having being dismissed from the directorship of ACCU in opprobrious circumstances, culminating in his being ejected from the premises by the police, Dumitru quickly became director of the Railway Tourism Society, in which position he is once again marked by scandal.) In addition, according to the current organisational chart, at another time the deputy director of ACCU was one Vasile Silviu, also an Orthodox priest, which again raises the same issues (Observatorul 2010). Despite the burial space crisis and the many other problems currently being experienced by the Romanian funerary system, the idea that Romanian funeral customs are superior to those of other, secularised, Western countries continues to shape Romanian public opinion. In this context, the building of crematoria is considered to be something alien to the realities of death and dying in Romania (Mihăilescu 2008). Newspaper reports on the cremation of several public figures after 1990 are also significant: the cremations reported include those of Clody Bertola (actress), Aurel Giurumia (actor), ùtefan Mihăilescu-Brăila (actor), Ilarion Ciobanu (actor), Zoia Ceauúescu, Silviu Brucan (political scientist), Ludovic Spiess (tenor - cremated at his family’s request, the corpse being deposited in the ceremony room at Vitan-Bârzeúti), Marcela Rusu (actress - her ashes, at her express desire, were scattered on the steps of the National Theatre in Bucharest; her husband, the playwright Aurel Baranga, had also chosen cremation on his death in 1979), Rodica Ojog-Braúoveanu (writer - who expressed her desire for her ashes to be scattered on the Calea Victoriei in Bucharest), Marcel Chirnoagă (painter -who ordered his cremation in his will, following in his parents’ footsteps), Monica Lovinescu, Virgil Ierunca, the novelist and playwright Petru Dumitriu (writer - who died and was cremated in France), the literary critic and historian Lucian Raicu (writer -who died in Paris and was cremated at Pere-Lachaise), the actress Gilda Marinescu (whose urn rests in VitanBârzeúti columbarium), the painter, sculptor and journalist Paul Neagu (cremated in London, and his ashes deposited in a cemetery in Timiúoara) and, more recently, the writer and literary critic Mircea Micu. In some of these cases the newspaper coverage was limited simply to a note of the event itself, and to the fact that the deceased had opted for cremation. On other occasions, however, there were crass distortions of the truth, as in the case of the actor Ilarion Ciobanu; the day after his cremation, many newspapers rushed to denounce his family as irresponsible for leaving his

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urn at Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium (Dumitrescu 2008) – despite the fact that, as we have seen in the crematorium regulations, families are allowed forty-five days following the cremation to collect their urn. In the cases of Monica Lovinescu and Virgil Ierunca, both of whom were cremated in Paris, we may note that prior to the cremation a group of Orthodox priests led by Iulian Nistea conducted the funeral liturgy at the Romanian Church of Paris (Chifor 2008, 2–11). Surprisingly this provoked only one response in the Orthodox press, in Lumina magazine, in which Archimandrite Timotei Aioanei rhetorically asked why Lovinescu would have wanted to be cremated. His answer provided little by way of enlightenment, his key message being that Lovinescu and Ierunca had “believed in God in their own way.” Thus Aioanei believed that it was a question of the strength of one’s faith (Aioanei 2008). The ceremony which accompanied the repatriation of these two urns was exactly the same as if the body of the deceased were being brought home to be buried. A presidential plane flew the urns from Paris to Henri Coandă Airport in Bucharest, where they were welcomed with a guard of honour and carried on a red carpet by two soldiers. The urns were then displayed in the foyer of the Romanian Athenaeum, where various public figures paid them a final tribute (Mihăilescu 2008, 7). After several weeks, the two urns were then taken to the Lovinescu family crypt at the Grădini cemetery in Fălticeni, where, in accordance with the writer’s wishes, they were buried in a discreet location. It is significant that two Orthodox priests provided a religious service (Buculei 2008); on the site of the Grădini parish, near the picture of the tomb, there is another picture in which the Orthodox burial ceremony can be clearly seen being performed over the two urns (Parohia 2010). Zoia Ceauúescu is another who expressed a desire to be cremated after death, despite having been a religious person. In her case a religious service was held first at the church of St. Eleutherius in Bucharest, which was attended by family, friends and hundreds of other mourners. She was then taken to Vitan-Bârzeúti, where no other ceremony was held, the coffin simply being unloaded from a Mercedes hearse and cremated in the number two cremator. Those who arrived in the area became scared after observing a dense, black smoke emanating from the chimney (CorlaĠan 2006). Ceauúescu’s urn is now kept in the Vitan-Bârzeúti columbarium, the niche notable for its simplicity.

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Figure 6-6 Niche containing the urn of Zoia Ceauúescu, Vitan Bârzeúti crematorium

A further category of relevance to our topic is those public figures who expressed their desire to be cremated, but whose wishes were, for a variety of reasons, not fulfilled. Two examples can be mentioned in this regard. The first one is that of Dan Iosif, who died of cancer in Novosibirsk at the age of fifty-seven. His last wish was to be cremated, and his daughter was determined to accomplish this. However, the 1989 revolutionaries wished Iosif to be buried in the Heroes’ Cemetery (Cimitirul Eroilor), which is what happened (Simbolul 2007). In an editorial published in Adevarul, Christian Levant asked rhetorically why Dan Iosif had opted for cremation over burial. He offered two possible reasons: firstly, that Iosif had wanted to break by fire the chain of some terrible, predestined deeds; or on the other hand, that the rebel Dan Iosif had wanted to conduct a final rebellion against destiny (Levant 2007). The second case concerns the television producer Aristide Buhoiu, who died in 2006. It seems that he also expressed a desire to be cremated, but in the end was buried in the Orthodox Bellu cemetery. In the speech at Buhoiu’s funeral, Corneliu Vadim Tudor made a brief reference to the situation, remarking that, in his opinion, “the remains are the nation’s roots,” the cemeteries being thus a place of pilgrimage and a place for teaching the lessons of natural religion. He concluded that through burial is fully expressed the superiority of the Christian burial ritual over other rituals, such as the ritual of cremation. Would we have really gathered here today, so many

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Chapter Six and with military honours to the Patriotic Flag, if it were for an urn with ashes? Certainly not! (Necrolog 2006)

The choice of cremation by the poet FlorenĠa Albu, who died at the Fundeni hospital on 3 February 2000, indicates a full awareness of death the end of the self, and of the means of managing the lifeless corpse. On 10 February 2000, her family published an obituary in România Liberă that revealed Albu’s wish to be cremated and then have her ashes buried, thus “respecting” the Orthodox funeral rite: Her sisters and grandchildren remain inconsolable. In observation of her wishes, she was cremated on 5 February 2000. The forty day memorial service will be held at the church in the Gruiu commune (Snagov), and the urn is to be deposited at the burial place on 13 March 2000 (MP 2000, 18)

This case may be analysed from several angles: most obviously, as a straightforward matter of personal choice, for on several occasions Albu had clearly recorded her preference for cremation in her diary. But even more suggestive is the evidence from one of her poems, in which fire took on metaphorical connotations of witness and power, and which indicates something of the poet’s inspiration for her choice of cremation. The poem was written on the occasion of the cremation of Per Olof Esktrom, a Swedish friend and fellow writer who was cremated at Cenuúa in 1981. It is worth quoting the poem in full, due to its relevance: Today, all the time at the crematorium, I thought of my death. That tiny, shiny urn, like an Olympic cup, the reward of the last victory: the burning of the matter and the defeat of the egos which belong to it: the meat, the pain, the love and fear; the social ego and the feeble ego, the vicious ego and that of aging and helplessness, and all dwarfs and giants, humptydumpties and depraved and proud – defeated and consumed at the same time. I see this cup of ashes as a victory of the spirit. At this end, the fire becomes a mystery, the existence, metaphysics. (Albu 1994, 236)

On yet another level, we may also analyse how FlorenĠa Albu’s cremation was perceived by others. The most accurate picture of this event is drawn by Liviu Ioan Stoiciu (Stoiciu 2000, 5). His article is also highly emotive, especially since, as the author himself confesses, this was the first time he had ever been to a crematorium. From it, we discover that Albu had expressed her wish to be cremated in her will, in the event that the Writers’ Union failed to find her a burial place on Writers’ Alley at Bellu cemetery. Stoiciu also explained her choice of cremation because in the 1950s she had graduated from Gheorghe ùincai High School, located near

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Cenuúa crematorium, which perhaps explained why she wanted to watch “herself her smoke, transposed, for the last time, into a happy high school student” (Stoiciu 2000, 5). Stoiciu’s description of the ceremony held at the crematorium began with the bittersweet reflection that: “Death, not poetry, makes you an outsider to yourself” – since Albu had died without a lighted candle at her side and without receiving the eucharist; there had then been a religious service held by two “unfrocked” priests; and taped music and songs which were “rarely Orthodox.” His description of the moment that the coffin descended for cremation is poignant, yet starkly realistic: The descent of the coffin strained me to the maximum; I was living the same feeling, like that experienced in an earthquake, that I was sinking, I did not know what to do, to step back, to stay, to lean on something. A metallic bang brought me back to reality – the two metallic, curved caps closed automatically above the coffin and the cement floor of the crematorium vibrated for minute after minute, I was hearing the beasts of fire raging from the basement, the serrated wheels, and the cover of the coffin being removed... Was I dreaming?” (Stoiciu 2000, 5)

The fact that this was Stoiciu’s first experience of a cremation lent his writing a somewhat ironic tone, addressing also the issue of the money collected for cremation: “how would every leu be calculated?” One of the most recent cases of a celebrity choosing to be cremated is that of Michaela Tonitza Iordache, the wife of the famous actor ùtefan Iordache, who expressed her desire to be cremated and for her ashes to be deposited in her husband’s tomb. No religious service was performed at her cremation; this was due not to the wishes of the deceased, but to the categorical refusal of the church to minister in this context. Evidence for this is found in the account given by the physician Dana Sfata, according to whom all attempts to persuade the priests, and even the office of the patriarchate, had been unsuccessful. Her choice of cremation attracted some criticism from certain Romanian Orthodox prelates; for instance, Gheorghe Istodor PhD stated: By cremation the body is devalued and the significance of the body’s resurrection is violated. Consequently, cremation does not comply with Christian teachings and memorial services are not held in these cases. The commandment of God “you are dust and to dust you shall return” is also violated. (Anghelescu and Pacearca 2010)

While Istodor’s justification was correct in terms of the Romanian Orthodox Church, as an explanation it was simplistic, generalised and

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subjective, turning on the easiest key of understanding and rejecting the practice on the basis of public opinion. However, when Iordache’s urn came to be deposited in the family crypt in the village of Gruiu, a religious service was celebrated. The village priest, Father Nicolae, justified his action by dint of the fact that Iordache had been popular in the village, and furthermore had expressed her wish for her urn to be deposited in that place near to her husband. Although “no memorial services are held for those who are cremated,” father Nicolae also received the funeral wheat porridge for all the dead relatives of the deceased (Oprea 2010). In recent years two particular celebrity cases have impacted considerably upon the way in which cremation is viewed and put into practice in present-day Romania: those of the soprano Roxana Briban and the songwriter Cristian Paturcă. In the first case concerns a violent death by suicide, Briban herself having expressed her desire to be cremated after death. But her husband did not do so, arguing that “I did not comply with her wish, for I had too much appreciation for my wife and what she represented in Romanian culture” (Roxana 2010). The second case is a more significant one. Cristian PaĠurcă died in early 2011, expressing himself in radical agreement with cremation, and even threatening to haunt anyone who did not respect his wish to be cremated (Testamentul 2011). Unfortunately, however, the cremation did not happen. For this decision, PaĠurcă’s family and the 21 Decembrie 1989 Association are both responsible. At first it seemed that the artist’s body would be cremated at Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium, but then those responsible for the funeral, in agreement with physicians and priests, decided instead upon burial, which took place in Bellu cemetery (Vanghele 2011). The interference of Orthodox priests was decisive in bringing this change about. The performance of religious services for cremated Orthodox worshippers may also be noticed in the recent case of the actor, director and playwright George Bănică. According to his obituary, Bănică’s body was deposited at the Three Hierarchs church in Bucharest, and the cremation took place at Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium (MP 2010, p.43). However, his obituary explicitly stated that he had been a believer: “he went to have conversations with the other priceless shadows, in the great theatre which the Lord has created” (MP 2010, 43). This source is also evidence of the changes in obituaries announcing cremation have changed in România Liberă since 1989. Quantitatively speaking the number of such obituaries has noticeably decreased, but qualitatively they remain relatively unchanged from before. The reduction in the overall number of obituaries is due to the gradual decrease in obituaries in general: whereas during the last two decades of the

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Communist period, obituaries were given priority in România liberă’s classified columns, after 1989 the newspaper was more interested in targeting other markets, most notably sales and purchases and recruitment. In some respects, this dilution of the obituary is a positive thing, although they no longer routinely specify the method of disposal, as before. In line with developments in Romanian society over the past twentyone years, there is a rise in the number of religious references within the obituaries. This is also evident in the obituaries about cremation, most often in direct reference to the creator and the soul of the deceased (“God rest his/her soul!”) Therefore, it seems that for those who choose cremation, as well as for their families, the extent of the religious experience is not affected by the Orthodox Church’s rejection of the practice. On the other hand, the explicitness with which the choice of cremation is stated, which has been a feature this type of obituary since the inter-war period, is noteworthy, in two particular respects. First is the clear statement that cremation was the desire of the deceased, enabling the family to distance itself from the practice. Second, some obituaries even go so far as to explicitly name Orthodox priests who are willing to conduct religious services for a cremated person. Another branch of development for cremation in post-1989 Romania has been that connected with Romanian citizens who die abroad. These citizens have often been obliged to leave the country in particular circumstances, and in these cases the families tend to opt for repatriation of the deceased’s body, rather than cremation followed by return of the urn to Romania. This is not just simply because cremation is unpopular among Romanians generally, but is also, as Mircea Eliade has famously observed, a consequence of the imperative to be buried “at home.” In theory, given the acute shortage of burial space in Romania, the Romanian government should be encouraging cremation as a solution to the current deficiencies in the funerary infrastructure. But given the current financial crisis, it is hard to believe that public funds will be used to build crematoria in Romania in the foreseeable future, and so the only solution for their development seems to be private initiative. This would necessitate some fundamental reforms in the Romanian system, where the existing EU regulations on keeping the dead only in special chapels of rest, and on the use of eco-friendly coffins, are still far from being translated into reality. According to Ion Ciocea, president of the Undertakers Association, Romanian undertakers still continue to operate “by tradition and by ear,” a situation leading to serious deficiencies in the field (R. Mateescu 2009). A survey of the funeral industry in Bucharest, published in Academia CaĠavencu in 2009, analysed six of the most

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popular funeral companies in the capital and included a pertinent comment from representatives of the Alecu Funeral House, to the effect that cremation is currently not much cheaper than burial. This is a logical consequence of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s exclusion of cremation, which has led to an increase in the prices charged for burial. Most recently, the question has been debated by the city council in Cluj-Napoca, occasioned by broader discussions about the new funeral taxes and including a reminder that establishing a crematorium may soon become a matter of public imperative. In the course of the debate Sorin Apostu, the former mayor, showed that in two years the city would have no burial spaces left, thus necessitating the construction of a crematorium. Thus, Apostu warned that some citizens who would actually prefer to be cremated, are obliged to opt for a burial space which takes up just as much space as those who choose burial (Păcurar 2010).

The cremation war: Oradea and Cluj-Napoca, 2011–2012 After a long time when it seemed that nothing was going to profoundly change the place of cremation in the Romanian funeral system, 2011 witnessed a positive flurry of activity. In Transylvania, two large projects to build crematoria emerged, both of which were the result of private initiatives. In the summer and autumn of 2011 the local and national newspapers announced that crematoria were to be built in Oúorhei, near Oradea, and at the Mănăútur cemetery in Cluj-Napoca, in response to the shortage of burial spaces in these two big Transylvanian cities. The two projects are closely connected, both by similarities in the way they proceeded and, especially, by the negative reactions both encountered from the local communities. In terms of their development, the two projects have been remarkably similar: neither encountered any initial opposition, and in Cluj the RDK Cremation Association even signed a contract with the city hall to begin the construction work (Primăria 2011). Gradually, however, voices began to be raised against the project. In Cluj, the first to do so was the metropolitan of Cluj, Andrei AndreicuĠ, who on several occasions argued against the plans on the basis of “tradition,” and an erroneously generalised summary of the Christian position; notably, he claimed that all Christian denominations, not only the Orthodox, rejected cremation, and that cremation was an atheistic, Soviet-inspired practice (AndreicuĠ 2011). However, the decisive action to stop these initiatives came from local communities who opposed the location of the new crematoria near to dwellings, invoking (erroneously) a 1997 Ministry of Health order. Meanwhile, discontented locals in Oúorhei influenced the

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environmental debate on the proposed crematorium there, persuading the city hall, by means of street protests, to cancel the rental contract for the land on which the crematorium was to have been built (Berb 2011). In Cluj, matters went even further, resulting in the cancellation of the RDK Cremation project even after many of the necessary permits for the investment had already been obtained. It is also significant that many opponents to the plans gave environmental concerns as their reason, and not the anti-cremation arguments which have been described at length in this chapter. However, whilst knowledge about cremation, and especially about its technical aspects, remains limited, the two are definitely fused in the popular imagination. Furthermore certain local politicians, who at the beginning were not actively against the RDK Cremation project, subsequently sided with the protesters to the extent even of organising protest marches. This made for an unbalanced dispute, given that the two projects lacked adequate support on their side and that there was no publicity campaign to inform the population and promote the projects. Thus the opposition to RDK Cremation has metamorphosed into anticremationist action, evidenced by the involvement of more Orthodox priests in the meeting held on 11 January 2012, and also by the memo submitted to Cluj local council by Dan Hognoni, the priest of the Orthodox parish of Mănăútur. This memo was packed with Orthodox anticremationist clichés (Memoriu 2012). Moreover, the report on the basis of which Cluj-Napoca city council finally cancelled the contract with RDK Cremation Association was essentially motivated not by concerns about pollution, but by Orthodox morals and values (Primăria 2011). From this perspective it was again an unbalanced dispute, in which the opponents received support from local politicians, the Orthodox Metropolitan Church of Cluj, plus various associations, while, on the other side, there was only Amurg, the Romanian Cremation Association. Amurg publicly declared its support for RDK Cremation, and also attempted to attract international support, but this failed to make any impact on the Cluj authorities (Pop 2012). Anyhow, it is clear that the contract with RDK was revoked under the pressure of street protests, and politicians from Cluj who preferred not to risk electoral capital in a year of local and general elections, rather than on any scientific basis. However the most serious consequence of this episode is that Cluj-Napoca has become forbidden territory for cremationists, according to the interim mayor Radu Moisin (Dragotă 2012), with the promoters of the RDK project facing significant attacks from parts of the local mass media, to the extent that RDK shareholders and their proposals have been compared to Miklos Horty, Joseph Mengele and even Auschwitz (ğene 2012; Bogdan 2012).

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In August 2012, the media announced the opening of Transylvania’s first crematorium, in Oradea. This is a private crematorium, owned by Phoenix Cremation Services. A few months before, the company had failed to open a crematorium in Oúorhei. This time, Dorin Gherghev, the owner of the company, chose to install an incinerator in a rented unit in the Oradea area; by using this trick, the company avoided having to acquire the necessary environmental authorization, as the incinerator was located in the industrial part of the city (Boanchiú 2012). The project therefore required only the permission from the Oradea County Department of Public Health. Nevertheless, the Environmental Guard of Oradea rejected this idea. Meanwhile, the Oradea City Hall representatives complained that they had found out about this project from the media. In this manner, the city hall noticed that Phoenix Cremation Services had failed to submit a planning application to change the warehouse’s purpose, and had thereby committed an offense; the company was fined and ordered to obey the law (Chiúbora 2012). Gherghev confessed that he had invested 500,000 euros in the project, having purchased two new-generation incinerators from the Swedish company TABO. He also stated that the religious services will be performed by Reformed or Catholic priests, while the Orthodox rejected the incineration (Boanchiú 2012). In fact, we are not talking about the presence of a crematorium in Oradea, but rather the operation of an incinerator. A crematorium requires a special building with several spaces that are equipped for cremation and for the other related services (columbarium, ceremony hall, administrative and technical offices, and so on). However, in Oradea, an innovation took place: the crematorium was reduced to a space for the operation of an incinerator. Given the attitude of a large section of the Romanian population toward cremation, such a fact also represents a disservice to the idea of burning the dead. Elsewhere, in Cluj-Napoca, following the RDK Cremation scandal, the new mayor Emil Boc announced that the issue of opening a human crematorium in the city is permanently closed (Prodan 2012). As a result of all these events, the Synod of the Romanian Orthodox Church decided on 5 July 2012 to adopt a new statement regarding cremation (Hotărâri 2012). This statement comprised seven points: 1. The previous decisions to reject cremation (1928, 1933) are reconfirmed; 2. Before the funeral of any Orthodox believer the Orthodox priest is obliged to find out which cemetery the dead body will be buried in;

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3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

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Orthodox priests who perform religious services in the case of cremation will be defrocked; If a defrocked Orthodox priest performs the religious service in the case of a cremation, that priest could be prosecuted for using a “fake identity”; The archbishops and bishops will notify all Orthodox priests about this decision; The Orthodox Diocesan Centres must take the appropriate actions on pastoral missionary duties to catechize the Orthodox believers in order to reject incineration; The Orthodox Diocesan Centers should stay in close contact with the Orthodox clergy in order to educate Orthodox believers that lack of money should not be a reason to cremate the dead and rebut claims that burial would be too expensive (Hotărârile 2012).

Figure 6-7 The columbarium at Bellu cemetery, Bucharest

Recently the Synod of Romanian Orthodox Church has decided to organize its own cemeteries in Romania, and to advise the orthodox priests to refuse the religious services into the private cemeteries. A part of Romanian Society has understood this fact as an attempt of the Romanian Orthodox Church to monopolize the entirely Romanian funeral system (Vîrîci 2012). Thus, after 1990 we may notice a series of changes in regard to cremation in Romania. The most important of these has been the opening of the second crematorium in Bucharest. However, even this has not engendered any fundamental changes in the practice itself, as the closure of Cenuúa crematorium reduced the number of Romanian crematoria back to one. The changes after 1990 can be observed instead in the information and comment about cremation and crematoria that now circulates openly

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in the mass media. But even though the mass media has (at times) emphasised the public utility that cremation would have in Romania, as an alternative to the urban burial space crisis, this has still not led to any major changes in practice. Indeed, to judge by the present state of affairs it would seem that cremation has no part to play in Romania’s future. This situation is explained by the ingrained, often assumed preference for burial which prevails in Romanian society, which in turn is influenced by the implacably anti-cremation stance of the Romanian Orthodox Church. Thus, although the public utility of cremation is indisputable, it had never been the subject of any serious debate in post-1990 Romania. The greatest beneficiary of this situation has of course been the Romanian Orthodox Church, which continues to repudiate the practice. It can therefore be seen that as long as cremation and crematoria are not subjected to a real debate, the Romanian Orthodox Church will continue to maintain the silence that, by default, favours its position. Meanwhile the cremation rate in the European Union, of which Romania is now a member, now accounts for somewhere around 36 percent of all annual deaths (Righi 2008, 16); in some EU countries the rate is considerably higher, where cremation even represents the predominant method of disposal. This demonstrates the manner in which the practice has consistently expanded over the last few decades outside Romania, with Hungary being a particularly clear example of development in this respect.

CONCLUSIONS FINDINGS AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS

By way of conclusion to this study, we may note that several stages of development can be identified in the history of cremations and crematoria in Romania between the nineteenth and twenty-first centuries, and certain predictions may be framed accordingly. Firstly, the period from the mid nineteenth century until the Second World War witnessed the appearance and the dissemination of cremationist ideas in Romania, through the efforts of certain public figures of that time. From this perspective, we may particularly emphasise the coterminous nature of this process with Western pro-cremation movements. The Western cremationists established a model which was adopted by their Romanian contemporaries, and attempts were made to adapt this model to the Romanian context. However, the Romanian cremationists can also be considered as having been rather idealistic, because they naively believed that the reaction of the Orthodox Church would be moderate in nature and, moreover, that their efforts would naturally lead to the popular acceptance of cremation in Romania. In actual fact, until after the Great War the notion of cremation remained alien to the Romanian territories, because no crematoria had yet been built. Indeed, attitudes to cremation, especially those of the clergy, appear to have been actively hostile, in both the Kingdom of Romania and in Transylvania. In the latter, opposition from the Greek-Catholic Church, under Vatican influence, was a particularly significant factor. In fact Transylvania has never contributed a great deal to the development of cremation in Romania, most obviously evidenced by the fact that the region still has no crematoria at all. Rather, cremationist activities, both intellectual and practical, were instead concentrated in Bucharest. The period prior to the Great War also saw the beginnings of the Romanian Orthodox Church’s anti-cremation stance, although it had yet to adopt a formal position on the matter. At this stage of the debate, anti-cremationist rhetoric was essentially aimed at preventing the practice from becoming established; however it proved unable to prevent certain developments occurring. The emergence

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and development of cremationist ideas in Romania prior to 1914 was due to efforts by members of the social and intellectual elite, mainly physicians, who invoked mainly utilitarian arguments based on miasmic theory. Despite all their efforts, however, the actual uptake of cremation in pre-war Romania remained extremely low, and almost exclusively restricted to the educated and elite members of society. Synchronisation with Western developments in the field was a prominent theme during the inter-war period, in particular with the establishment of the Cenuúa Society in 1923. Founded initially as a cremation society, in time Cenuúa (ashes) would also become a mutual help society. The construction of the Cenuúa Crematorium (1925–1928) and its inauguration on 26 January 1928, and the publication of the cremationist journal magazine, Flacăra Sacră, from December 1934, brought Romania further into line with Western developments. The cumulative effect of these developments was to be the increasing popularity of cremation during the inter-war period. Furthermore, during this period the Romanian cremation movement was gaining an international profile, with Romanian cremationists taking part in international conferences and achieving worldwide recognition and respect. However the most important development during the inter-war period was the legal recognition of cremation, and, through a series of regulations between 1929 and 1936, the granting of legal status equal to that of burial. This legislation remains in force in the present day. With the exception of the Soviet Union, where developments were driven by the state, Romania became the first Orthodox country in the world to open a crematorium between the two wars. Thus the inter-war Romanian cremationists were pioneers relative to their colleagues in neighbouring countries, and moreover achieved this in the face of vehement opposition from the Romanian Orthodox Church. The contribution of the Cenuúa Society (which until 1948 remained the owner of the eponymous crematorium) was essential to this achievement. Despite these achievements, in inter-war Romania cremation remained a minority option, usually adopted only by those with an above-average educational level. However, the low level of actual take-up did not exempt Romanian society from experiencing one of the sharpest debates of the period between cremationists and traditionalists, the latter being led by Romanian theologians who strongly expressed their anti-cremation views through Orthodox publications such as Glasul Monahilor (Monks’ Voice), Biserica Ortodoxă Română (Romanian Orthodox Church) and Cuvântul Bun (The Good Word). According to the Romanian Orthodox Church, cremation was anti-Christian, anti-Orthodox and pagan, a foolish adaptation

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of Western practices in Romania. Cremation was presented as a direct, calculated attack upon Romanian spirituality and national identity. Meanwhile, the Orthodox Church also linked cremation and the cremationists to Freemasonry, which was perceived as morally and spiritually extremely dangerous. More broadly, in the Church’s opinion, cremation was an aberration, to be regarded alongside other modern deviations from the Romanian moral tradition such as the (partial) legalisation of abortion through the Criminal Code of 1936, the change of the calendar, transmission of the Divine Liturgy by radio, alcoholism, and official sanction for political meetings to be held at the same time as religious services. The Romanian Orthodox Church Synods of 1928 and 1933 therefore condemned cremation, decisions which stand to the present. Prominent inter-war Romanian Orthodox clerics and theologians who strongly opposed the establishment and functioning of the Cenuúa crematorium included Dionisie Lungu, Iuliu Scriban, Ion Popescu Mălăieúti and, especially, Marin C. Ionescu. Ionescu was also the protagonist of a public trial with Mina Minovici on human cremation. Responding to these attacks required remarkable effort on the part of the pro-cremationists. Flacăra Sacră would become a vital weapon in this fightback, in the process taking pro-cremation propaganda in Romania to a new and higher level. Particularly worthy of mention are the contributions of Archimandrite Calinic I. Popp ùerboianu, who sought to justify cremation in terms of Orthodox theology. Also worthy of note is the practical support provided by Bucharest City Hall to the Romanian cremationists during this time. This support came even before the setting up of the Cenuúa Society, showing once again the interest of the civic authorities in building a crematorium. This led to a number of complaints against the Bucharest city council, which were expressed mainly through Orthodox publications. Of those individuals from Bucharest City Hall who made particularly important contributions to the development of cremation, we may highlight Ion Costinescu, twice mayor of Bucharest, and Minister for Health and Social Care during the 1930s, along with Minister of Labour Grigore Trancu-Iaúi, and others who exercised their decision-making powers in favour of cremation. It is noticeable that, during the inter-war period, a number of prominent Romanian public figures began to opt for cremation. Moreover, several personalities from the Romanian literary world either chose cremation for themselves, or engaged in the debate on one side or the other, or at least passed comment upon it. This, in concert with the vigorous nature of the cremation debate, the publication of obituaries announcing cremations,

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and the direct actions of Romanian cremationists in furtherance of their cause, demonstrates that the practice was becoming known in Romania, and that it had indeed started to acquire a normative presence within wider society and within the public mind. This claim is also supported by the fact that after 1936–1937, the attacks against cremation from the Romanian Orthodox Church began to decrease in number; although these did not disappear entirely, nor was their vehemence at all diminished when they did appear. During the Communist period, although the number of cremations increased slightly, with a particular peak in 1980, the practice did not develop greatly and indeed recorded an overall decline from the inter-war period. In terms of its cremation rate, Romania was comprehensively overtaken by neighbouring countries such as Hungary and Yugoslavia. Historically, there is a fascinating question as to why the Romanian Communists did not build crematoria, and the answer is that the Communist hierarchy had no interest in dispensing entirely with traditional culture, nor in dealing any fatal blow to the Romanian Orthodox Church. Rather, the Communist hierarchy was actually concerned to preserve both traditional culture and the Church, to be manipulated at their own will. In these conditions cremation could not develop, although for a short while Cenuúa Crematorium did see a slight increase in the number of cremations. Some individual Romanian Communists did support cremation, as seen, for example, in the inauguration of the Bela Brainer corner at Cenuúa Crematorium, in the cremation of some key Romanian Communist Party members and in the inclusion of dedicated urn niches in the Monument for the Communist Heroes in Carol Park. However these were exceptions – despite the Communist ideology of the new man, and also the Communist atheistic, both of which should in theory have been highly favourable to the development of cremation. Although some aspects of the Soviet model were adopted in Romania, notably in relation to political funerals, this did not extend to the promotion of cremation over burial. Although some highranking, well positioned members of the Romanian Communist Party were cremated, these tended to be second-level figures – it is striking that all the Romanian Communist leaders were buried. An analysis of obituaries published in the România liberă (Free Romania) newspaper during this period reveals that the Orthodox religious service was still performed for those who did opt for cremation; a practice which the Church has continued into the present day. An article published by the theologian Vladimir Prelipcean in Studii Teologice (Theological Studies) journal, in 1962, is relevant in this regard (although a few years later the author was

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to retract some of his claims). During the Communist era, cremation continued to be popular amongst the social elite. Consequently, at this stage in the history of cremation and crematoria, Romania was out of step with European and worldwide developments in the field. This was especially evident when juxtaposed against the profound paradigm shift in the Roman Catholic world, following the decisions of the Second Vatican Council. Also highly significant was the breaking of ties with the International Cremation Federation, consequent upon the nationalisation of Cenuúa Crematorium and the abolition of the eponymous society. This impacted negatively upon the Romanian cremation movement, because there were no longer cremationists, in the true sense of the word, to advocate the development of the practice. To compound matters, the crematorium was conspicuously – and notoriously – employed by the state as an instrument of political coercion, most notably in 1939, 1945, 1946 and, especially, in December 1989. Since 1989, this gap between developments worldwide and in Romania has increased. This is despite the opening of the Vitan-Bârzeúti crematorium in Bucharest in 1994, a project designed, supported and completed by the local authorities. The persistence of this gap in provision for cremation is all the more surprising given that the greatest problem faced by the death system in present-day Romania is a critical shortage of burial space in urban areas. This crisis has given rise to a cemetery mafia, to the charging of prohibitive prices for burial spaces, to some frankly farcical solutions and even to the emergence of funeral tourism – the latter especially in Transylvania. All this has been repeatedly highlighted and criticised by the Romanian media since 1989. The closure of Cenuúa Crematorium in 2002 may be viewed as a particularly retrograde step, and the current poor condition of the disused crematorium buildings requires rapid intervention by the authorities, as there is now a very real danger that in the not-too-distant future this grand building, unique in the world and a part of Romanian history, may be lost altogether. Given these circumstances, it would seem that cremation and crematoria have no prospect of further development in Romania. This particular state of affairs is primarily due, after all, to deeply ingrained habits of perception and behaviour around death in Romanian society, which are in turn heavily influenced by the Romanian Orthodox Church’s stance on the issue of disposal. As for the motivation of those few Romanians who have opted for cremation over the last ninety-four years, we may conclude that their choices were based mainly on ethical, aesthetic and hygienic arguments. Overwhelmingly, their choice of cremation was not motivated by a desire to make an anti-religious statement, as evidenced

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both by the performance of religious services, and by the presence of religious symbols on the niches of the Bucharest columbarium. In fact, not only have Romanian cremationists not displayed any anti-religious agenda in their promotion of cremation, but they have actively attempted to harmonise their choices with Orthodox doctrine. The presence of Christian symbols, even on the urns of some Romanian Communists at Cenuúa Crematorium, stands as confirmation of this. Here a key question arises – the question, in fact, posed at the beginning of this study: How to explain, from a historical perspective, the fact that Romania has at present only one functional crematorium for its twenty million inhabitants. The answer to this question has two parts: on the one hand, the fact that Romania was a precocious adopter of cremation in comparison to its neighbours. On the other hand, the answer lies in current cremation rates throughout the world. It is my contention that the relatively small scale of cremation in present-day Romania can be explained historically (but not only from this perspective) by several overlapping key issues: 1. the hostile stance of the Romanian Orthodox Church toward cremation; 2. the current absence of Romanian cremationists who are actively willing to fight for progress in the field; 3. a general lack of interest from the secular authorities in building new crematoria; 4. the lower degree of secularisation within Romanian society compared to the West, and concomitant influence of Orthodox perspectives on life and death; 5. the ingrained mental habits of the general population. The combination of these factors in specific historical contexts, in which cremation has been more or less tolerated, has led to the present position of cremation in Romania, in contrast to the wider European and global situation. Any study of such a sensitive subject as cremation in present-day Romanian society cannot but attempt to exercise some degree of foresight as to the future development of cremation in Romania. As already outlined, the signs in present-day Romania are generally not encouraging – although there are some hints of possible development through private initiatives designed to solve the burial space crisis in urban areas. The (failed) project to build crematoria in Transylvania in 2011 is an example of this. Today, the case for cremation in Romania is premised upon the principle of public utility. This line of argument does not impinge upon

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popular tradition, nor upon Church teachings, and it is therefore the most productive line of argument, dictated as it is purely by current imperatives, and not by any fleeting trend, hypocrisy or subjective condescension on the part of cremationists. However, when considering potential future directions for cremation in Romania, we certainly must factor in the inevitable opposition of the Romanian Orthodox Church to the construction of new crematoria. It is already apparent that the Church’s reaction will once again be vehemently hostile, and will include pressurising local authorities to withhold their support, in particular financial investment, for the building of crematoria. It is very likely that the Church will also resume its old strategy of publicly condemning and stigmatising those who support cremation in Romania. Another, more positive scenario, and arguably a natural direction, would be the reinstatement of relations between the Romanian cremationists and the International Cremation Federation. However, this is unlikely to occur until Romania can demonstrate it is undertaking real initiatives to encourage the construction of new crematoria. Thus, over the course of almost two centuries, the terms of the Romanian cremation debate are greatly revealing of the specificities of Romanian society over time; conversely, however, social conditions have also profoundly shaped the course of the cremation debate. From this perspective, a history of cremation in nineteenth to twentieth century Romania merely provides one possible profile of society, whetting further the appetite for more research in the field, research which should be aimed both at a professional audience and also toward the general public. From the international perspective this book adds to the stock of worldwide research into cremation and, I hope, completes the picture of cremation over the last two centuries. By way of final review, I submit that this analysis functions on multiple levels: as a contribution to political and social history, and as an approach designed to identify the degree of influence of secular thinking and patterns in the community, with particular regard to its secularisation and modernisation. However, this study also – and especially – represents a new and original contribution to the history of attitudes and behaviours towards life and death. In a further sense, the present study may also be viewed as the history of a controversy, a controversy arising from the implementation of an entire new social and cultural model, and a controversy whose reverberations still continue to be felt in present-day Romania.

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INDEX

Aioanei T............................402, 421 Albu A................................404, 421 Alexianu G. ........................429, 454 Ameskamp S. ...................8, 14, 421 Amos Avener B..........261, 307, 424 Anania V.. 246, 399, 421, 422 Andon S. ...........................360, 422 AndreicuĠ A........................408, 422 Anghel P.....................349, 380, 422 Anghelescu.................242, 405, 450 Anton S. .... 214, 242, 245, 246, 347, 421, 422 Antonescu I . 69, 242, 269, 270, 427, 439, 454 Antoniu G.............................73, 422 Apostol M. .................307, 366, 422 Arghezi T. ..... 50, 51, 135, 136, 145, 155, 174, 248, 253, 254, 255, 256, 423 Arbey R……………….14 Ariès P…. 4, 6, 7, 300 Asandei S. ..........................294, 423 Asis ....................................377, 423 Ávila R .................................10, 455 Bacan D..............................388, 462 Bacovia A...........................258, 438 Baets A...................................2, 423 Bagdasar D…. 270 Bagdasar F......................... 320, 431 Bălan N. .......................60, 424, 428 Balotă N. ............................256, 424 Bălteanu E.D ........................62, 424 Baranga A. .................346, 401, 427 Băsescu T…… 384 Bârda A. .............................392, 459 Barrier G. ...........................230, 424 Bartel Q..............................231, 424 Batzaria N. .........................134, 424 Baudry P.........................3, 261, 424

BecuĠ C.............................. 239, 424 Belciuganu R. .................... 365, 424 Bellow S. .......................... 320, 424 Benezic D. ......................... 372, 424 Beniuc E……. 343 Beniuc M. ...........257, 258, 343, 424 Berar P…............294, 424, 425, 441 Beraru P............................. 298, 425 Bernard J.P. ....................... 288, 425 Bernstein A.......................... 10, 425 Betea L. ............................ 319, 425 BeĠoiu A. .......................... 327, 425 Bezviconi Gh..................... 251, 425 Bianu V. ...................30, 31, 58, 425 Binns C.............................. 274, 425 Black M................................. 8, 425 Blaga L. ..................... 252, 253, 425 Boanchiú C. ....................... 410, 425 Bobes L. .................................... 425 Boc E…… 384, 410, 454 Bodrean C………. 15 Bogdan R........................... 409, 425 Boia L........................ 335, 425, 451 Bonciu H. ......................... 256, 426 Botez A.I. .............83, 216, 426, 458 Brădiúteanu S.......85, 118, 131, 134, 426 Brainer B. .....X, 269, 301, 302, 303, 310, 313, 314, 315, 326, 330, 416, 439, 445 Brâncu Z.................... 318, 426, 436 Brânzeu N. ........................ 240, 426 Brătescu Gh. ..................... 320, 426 Breazu M. .......................... 300, 426 Breb L........................................ 426 Breck J............................... 396, 426 Briban R. ........................... 406, 456 Brumariu R.S..................... 356, 426 Buculei S. .......................... 402, 426

History of Modern Cremation in Romania Bunta P...............................311, 426 Burileanu B. .......................309, 426 Buzatu Gh .. 259, 261, 351, 426, 427 Buzdun A. ..........................313, 427 Buzilă B. ....................325, 326, 427 Cahane M. ..........................208, 427 Călinescu.. 40, 69, 77, 244, 259, 427 CâlĠan .................303, 330, 388, 427 Cantea A.M. .......................376, 427 Carozea S. . 190, 192, 200, 201, 211, 267, 427 Ceauúescu E. … 270, 274, 336, 343, 353, 354, 355, 422, 456 Ceauúescu N......270, 274, 275, 326, 331, 336, 343, 344, 345, 353, 354, 355, 363, 390, 435 Ceauúescu Z. …VIII, 401, 402, 303, 430 Cernăianu C..........................98, 427 Cernichevici S. ...................299, 428 CheĠan O. ...................296, 297, 428 Chifor V. ............................402, 428 Chifu V.......................383, 384, 428 ChiricuĠă I. .........................346, 428 Chirilă P .............................395, 428 Chiúbora S. .........................410, 428 Ciachir N. ...........................388, 428 Cilibeanu V. .......................379, 428 Cioculescu ù.......................248, 428 Ciopraga C. ................................429 Cioran E… 388 Cireúeanu B. .........................64, 428 Ciucă M.D..................427, 440, 454 Ciucanu C...................259, 261, 426 Coca C................................378, 428 Codreanu M..........................58, 429 Colesnic I. ..........................251, 425 Coman C.N...................91, 429, 444 Comana Gh… ............266, 267, 429 Comănescu C. .....83, 152, 191, 192, 193, 203, 219, 222, 235, 236, 429, 434 Comba A. ...............................5, 429 Comúa A...............................16, 457 Conovici I...................397, 399, 429 Constantiniu F. ...................263, 430

467

Conti F................................... 5, 430 Corduneanu A. .................. 378, 430 CorlaĠan M......................... 402, 430 Cornea M.H....................... 218, 430 Cornu A. ........................... 345, 430 Carol I (King of Romania)…386, 388, 426 Carol II (King of Romania)… 69, 70, 428, 431, 452 Coroiu C. ........................... 377, 430 Cosaúu R............................ 334, 430 Costin M.................... 250, 251, 430 Costinescu I…. 75, 78, 83, 114, 128, 132, 193, 227,415, 440 Cotos ..........91, 92, 93, 94, 279, 430 Covaci M. .......................... 313, 430 Crainic134, 137, 200, 201, 203, 241, 430 Crăiniceanu G...................... 41, 430 Crevedia N........................... 54, 431 Criúan I.H.. .............18, 19, 431, 443 Cristoiu I. .......................... 352, 431 Culea H.............................. 293, 431 Cutiúteanu S....................... 311, 431 Daneú M. ................................... 422 Dargentas M. ................. 9, 394, 431 Daubenfeld M................... 231, 431 David E........83, 251, 269, 310, 311, 312, 374, 432, 462 Davidescu 83, 96, 99, 104, 105, 141, 142, 143, 184, 188, 219, 220, 432, 447 Davies Douglas J .......2, 3, 8, 27, 79, 225, 226, 333, 425, 431, 432, 435, 445, 456, 464 Deculeanu Al.....191, 192, 208, 231, 239, 432, 464 Dej Gheorghiu Gh. ....291, 292, 309, 317, 319, 432, 437 Deletant D. ........................ 332, 432 Dennie G.M................. 10, 112, 433 Derussi G…….. 146 Dima M. ............................ 371, 433 Dissescu C…. 76, 77 Dombrovowski C…. 472 Drăghici A. ........................ 329, 421

468 Drăgoi E. ....................393, 398, 433 Dragomirescu V…54, 151, 261, 433 Dragotă G...........................409, 433 Dumbravă D.......................112, 434 Dumea C. ...........................284, 434 Dumitrescu 150, 193, 196, 197, 198, 259, 402, 434 Dură N. ..............................283, 434 DuĠu A................................382, 434 Economu Ath .... VII, 47, 48, 49, 66, 434 Eduard B. ...........378, 383, 434, 435 Emilian...... 131, 132, 159, 161, 163, 354, 435 Enescu P.............................388, 435 Engels F… 289, 291 Evans R…… X Farrell J. ................................4, 435 Fântâneanu C….. 16 Felea I.................................313, 435 Felix I… VII, IX, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 435 Ferdinand (King of Romania)… 70 Fernandez E.C… ............13, 42, 435 Fernic G…. 126, 144, 451 Fernic I…. V, 242, 249, 421, 439, 462 Fiastru M.M. ......................375, 435 FrecăĠeanu A….. 15 Frisby H…. X, 15 Frunză S. ....................147, 397, 436 Gagarin I. ...........................328, 436 Georgescu.. 303, 319, 322, 374, 375, 424, 425, 428, 441 Gherghev D. ......................410, 428 Gherman D.........................400, 437 Gheorghe I….. 372, 373 Gheorghian Gh. … 74, 75, 78, 83, 114, 115, 116, 118 Ghiúe D. .............................299, 437 Gillet O...............................332, 437 Gjorgjecivi S.M..................231, 437 GogoneaĠă N. ......................31, 437 Goia I.D..............................333, 437 Goldberger N......310, 313, 436, 437 Gordon V. ..........................394, 437

Index Gorun I. ............................ 257, 437 Grainger H................... 4, 8, 14, 437 Grama S..................... 261, 355, 437 Grancea M. .................... 2, 303, 438 Grigorovschi........................ 89, 438 Groza P...................... 329, 331, 434 Grunberg L. ....................... 298, 438 Hall R. ............................... 364, 438 Hamangiu C....................... 429, 455 Haúdeu B.P. ........................ 32, 438 Holban A. .....V, 242, 245, 246, 247, 421, 438 Horomnea D. ..................... 363, 438 Howarth G. ........................... 3, 439 Huscariu N. ....................... 308, 439 Ibrăileanu G….V, 242, 243, 244, 245, 248, 439, 447, 458 Ierunca V. ................. 401, 402, 426 Iliescu Th. ….160 Iliescu I…. 262, 356, 364, 426, 438 Ionescu, I ................................... 440 Ionescu, M. C ............................ 440 IoniĠă C…. 15, 373, 374 IoniĠă E. 311, 373, 374, 385, 440 IoniĠoiu C ......................... 351, 440 Iordache Tonitza M. .. 405, 406, 450 Iordăchescu Th. .303, 306, 313, 433, 436, 441 Iosif D........................................ 458 Isastia A.M. ........................... 5, 430 Istrati C.I. .... VII, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 47, 49, 59, 66, 84, 110, 192, 441 Iugulescu V. ..................... 393, 441 Ivan S ................................ 361, 441 Ivelea I.V........................... 113, 441 Jianu I .................................. 31, 441 Jupp P.. .... XII, 1, 4, 8, 14, 112, 442 Justinian............................. 331, 441 Kawano S. ........................... 10, 442 Kazmier L.............................. 8, 442 Keizer H. ................... 225, 226, 432 Kent E........................ 225, 226, 432 KiriĠescu C................................. 442 Kligman G. ........................ 331, 442 Laderman G........................... 4, 442

History of Modern Cremation in Romania Lalouette J .................................442 Laqueur Th.............................6, 443 Larchet J.C. ........................396, 442 Lavric S......................................462 Lazăr C….... 16, 183, 375, 380, 443 Lăzăreanu B. ......313, 317, 435, 436 Lenin V.I. … 147, 289, 291, 306, 328, 330 Levant C.............................403, 443 Lez R..................................320, 443 Lica R.................................365, 443 Lien Wu T. .................................464 Longin L.H.................................463 Losonti M…. X Lovinescu E.. V, 242, 246, 247, 248, 428 Lovinescu M…. 247, 248, 401, 402, 421, 426, 443 Lungu 126, 134, 135, 136, 157, 158, 160, 171, 238, 239, 240, 264, 415, 444 Lustig O. ............................334, 444 Macavei..... 308, 313, 317, 325, 427, 436, 444 Macedonski A .....................63, 444 Magda A. …14 Mălăieúti Popescu I. ..166, 167, 168, 169, 172, 209, 391, 398, 415, 452 Mana E. ..................................5, 429 MandiĠă N. .........................393, 444 Mangâru B. ....................64, 65, 444 Manoliu ..............................372, 444 Mantzaridis G.....................396, 444 Marcu ......... 84, 94, 95, 96, 106, 444 Mary (Maria - Queen of Romania)…224, 249 Mărgeanu A........................380, 445 Marinescu A….. 310, 313 Marinescu G… 401 Marinescu Gh.............109, 110, 445 Marx K (marxism)… 289, 290, 291, 293, 298, 299, 311, 312, 352, 388, 425, 469 Mărtincă I. .........................400, 445 Matache S.N.......................156, 445

469

Mateescu ....325, 391, 392, 407, 445 Mates L.H......3, 4, 60, 79, 112, 188, 224, 225, 230, 263, 288, 344, 368, 425, 431, 432, 435, 445, 456, 464 Matichescu O. ................... 302, 445 Matieú E ............................ 380, 445 Mattogno C........................ 287, 445 Matus L. ............................ 270, 445 Medoia I. ................... 358, 360, 445 Mehlis E. ........................... 328, 436 Meriddale Ch............................. 446 Mestugean ........................... 49, 446 Michael I (Mihai I - King of Romania)… 70 Mihăileanu A..................... 313, 446 Mihălcescu I… .....90, 164, 165, 446 Milaú N................................ 66, 446 Militaru G.................. 393, 399, 446 Mincan M .......................... 385, 446 Minovici M…VII, 55, 56, 57, 75, 78, 82, 119, 127, 134, 135, 136, 137, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 370, 415, 446, 447, 462 Minovici N…. 54, 55, 56, 174, 233, 462 Mioc M.............................. 364, 447 Mocanu M. ........................ 382, 447 Moga I. ................................ 63, 447 Moise C. ............................ 125, 447 Munte A. ............................. 76, 448 Munteanu...127, 292, 357, 358, 359, 360, 361, 362, 363, 365, 373, 375, 388, 448 Murăúanu O. ........................ 46, 448 Mureúan R. P. .....378, 393, 435, 448 Nandriú G. ......................... 271, 448 Neaga N. ........................... 395, 448 Neagu P…. 401 Necula N.D........................ 392, 448 Negru M. .............49, 118, 159, 448 Nesperova O...................... 368, 449 Nešpor Z,............................. 11, 449 Neveanu P.P.. ............ 424, 425, 441 Nica M............................... 376, 449 Nicoară T….. 15

470 Nicol R. ................................10, 449 Niculescu I…. 219, 220 NiĠu M................................372, 449 Novarino M. ...........................5, 449 NuĠă I. ........................................428 Olson G.A ............................10, 450 Onofrei M...........................373, 450 Ornea Z. .............................245, 450 Pacearca C..........................405, 450 Păcurar A............................408, 450 Paleologu A. ......................347, 422 Papilian V...........................257, 450 Pârâian T. ..................................450 Park C.W..............................10, 450 Parsons B. ......................8, 112, 450 Pârvu C...............................379, 450 Pasteur P. ...............................7, 451 PaĠurcă C. ..................406, 461, 463 Pavicevic A. ..................8, 192, 451 Petre Z…. 2, 232, 314, 315, 328, 393, 451 Petreanu C. .........................379, 451 Petrescu C .. 126, 133, 244, 245, 451 Petriúor V ...................302, 437, 451 Picioruú A...........................393, 451 Pieck W..............................328, 451 Pintilie P.............................301, 452 PlăvăĠ S. .....................310, 313, 430 Poenaru Căple‫܈‬ti C…. 86 Poenaru Gh….118, 119, 219, 220 Popa C….16 Popovici M... VII, 26, 58, 72, 78, 83, 84, 96, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 105, 111, 114, 138, 152, 153, 164, 177, 184, 186, 188, 190, 192, 193, 194, 195, 200, 217, 218, 219, 220, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 231, 232, 234, 238, 240, 251, 286, 287, 310, 452, 453 Popovici V. M. 110, 146 Porset C..................................5, 458 Portocală R.........................364, 453 PrelipceanuV.....278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 392, 453 Prestia L. ...............................5, 449

Index Priteanu M. ........................ 117, 454 Prodan M........................... 410, 454 Protase D. ............................ 18, 455 Prothero S. ......5, 14, 112, 188, 190, 191, 455 Pursell T. ..................14, 84, 97, 455 Rădăceanu L. ....303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 324, 428, 430, 436, 442, 449, 455 Răducă V. .......................... 395, 455 Ralian A. ................................... 424 RangheĠ I. ..303, 306, 307, 436, 455 Reigler E. ............................ 53, 455 Rev I. ........................ 309, 330, 456 Righi G. ............................. 412, 456 Robu Gh .................... 355, 360, 422 Roller M. .......................... 318, 456 Roncea I. ........................... 355, 456 Roúu T…. 14 Rosetti R.D. ...32, 49, 50, 51, 54, 66, 75, 77, 83, 88, 98, 137, 145, 192, 193, 208, 268, 448, 456 Rotar C. 14 Rotar M. IX, 2, 369, 375, 452, 456 Rotar M. 15 RovenĠa H….............. 169, 170, 456 Sahia Al..................... 228, 230, 456 Sandache ................... 259, 261, 426 Sârbu V................................ 19, 457 Sauciuc R. ......................... 377, 456 SchifirneĠ C. ...................... 300, 457 Schuster C. .......................... 16, 457 Scriban I. VII, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 94, 111, 115, 117, 129, 143, 146, 147, 148, 150, 156, 208, 263, 415, 457 Skupiewski L…. 78, 83, 472 Scurtu I. ..................... 181, 186, 457 Scurtescu N….VII, 40, 41 ùerbănescu T. .................... 457, 460 ùerboianu Popp C.I..... 72, 119, 136, 165, 182, 192, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 211, 212, 213, 216, 224, 233, 235, 237, 238, 249, 251, 263, 265, 415, 460 Sevastos M. ............... 244, 245, 457

History of Modern Cremation in Romania Siedek O. ...........................232, 429 Silva P. ............ VII, 51, 52, 53, 458 Sima H. .....................260, 261, 458 Simonenko I.P. ...........318, 436, 458 ùkiriatov M.F. ....................328, 436 ùoican C. ............................400, 460 Solomon B…......308, 317, 436, 458 Sorescu D. ..................365, 366, 443 Sozzi M. .....................5, 11, 14, 458 Stalin I.V. (stalinism)……. 274, 293, 303, 306, 327, 328, 329, 330, 353 Stamatu H...........................261, 458 Stan L. ........................397, 399, 458 Stanciu................365, 389, 393, 458 Stănescu ...... 83, 190, 191, 192, 193, 202, 210, 211, 311, 312, 459, 464 Stăniloae D.................268, 396, 459 Steinhardt N. ......................335, 459 Stelian T…. 146 Stere C…. V, 242, 245, 248, 450 Stites R. ..............................273, 459 Stoenescu A.M. ..................183, 459 Stoian M.............................333, 459 Stoica O.A..... 45, 73, 319, 326, 451, 459 Stoicescu S. ........................124, 429 Stoiciu L.....................404, 405, 459 Stoilow S ...........308, 317, 335, 436 Stolerul B. ..........................380, 459 Suciu V...............................172, 459 Surcea V.............................361, 462 Tache A......................424, 425, 441 Tănase ..........83, 198, 199, 319, 461 Tarozzi F. ...............................5, 430 Taubes S.............................173, 461 ğene I. ...............................409, 462 Teoctist...............................393, 461 Teúu I. ................................396, 461 Theodorescu 96, 174, 175, 176, 446, 461 Thiron C. .............................58, 462 Thomas L.V. .....1, 6, 7, 8, 300, 335, 443, 462 Thrower J. ..........................289, 462

471

Tismăneanu V. .................. 329, 462 Toader C...................... 15, 372, 462 Todorov T...........354, 355, 366, 462 ğoiu C................................ 320, 462 Toma A... 303, 335, 425, 436, 462 Topalu V............................ 312, 462 Torr C. ............................... 388, 462 Trăilă G. .............................. 60, 462 Trancu Iaúi Gr........ VIII, 75, 78, 83, 157, 192, 223, 242, 243, 249, 265, 266, 267, 268, 415, 427, 433, 462 Tudorică A................................. 462 Tudose S............................ 393, 463 Turcescu L......................... 399, 458 Ulea A. .............................. 396, 463 Ursu Gh. ............351, 352, 451, 463 Vanderdope F. ....................... 3, 463 Vanghele O........................ 406, 463 Vârnav A .......................... 214, 463 Vîrîci A …. 412, 463 Vasilcoiu C........................ 365, 463 Vasilescu A.. .....241, 310, 311, 360, 459, 463 Vasiliu G. ................... 31, 441, 454 Vergu M.M........................ 386, 463 Verret M. ........................... 326, 463 Verúescu G ........................ 162, 464 Vidojhovici H.................... 231, 464 Viesca G. ................................... 455 Vigilante Nonnis E… .... 5, 429, 449 Vinea I............................... 348, 464 Viúinski A.I. .............................. 436 Voiculescu M. .................. 346, 464 Voinea ................158, 357, 379, 464 Vovelle M…. 4, 6, 7, 300 Vuia G. .......................... 42, 43, 464 Vulcan I. ............................. 41, 464 Zaharia........292, 293, 393, 437, 464 Ziliúteanu M…. 386, 464 Zorca V.I…. 107, 193, 196, 197, 199, 203, 209, 210, 219, 223, 224, 230, 231, 236, 464, 465 Zaciu M. 347, 464 Zugravu N…. 20, 470