<30 January 1999>

Bernie graduated from École Jacques Lecoq in 1990

There is a Protestant church in the Marais just behind the BHV on the rue des Archives, the sidewalks are wide and in the spring the street is full of cafe seating. There is a magic shop right across the way where they give you a discount if you work for the Rire Medecin or if they just like your face.

The inside of the church is very simple and very beautiful in a worn out Theatre Bouffes de Nord way. There are balconies along both sides, two levels up, and in the back there is a three story pipe organ.

Nicole had warned us to come early, and she was right because the place was packed, and it kept filling with late arrivals right up to the end of the service. We dressed up, and on our way to the church we began to collect classmates and friends from other years and other theatre companies so that when we arrived we were already a small band. It looked like the same thing had happened to all the others standing around outside.

Fay was sitting, alone, in the front seat of the hearse and it was at that moment that it struck me that he was gone, and that we weren't there just to celebrate his memory, but to say goodbye.

Nicole had said that on his last day at school Jacques was not feeling 100% and Fay suggested he skip teaching. Nicole mentioned that there was a brocante in the neighborhood and that he go have a look and get some fresh air. While there, he purchased an African statuette for Fay. Unbeknownst to him Fay had recently bought him a book on Africa, and they had a laugh about the coincidence back at school. In the car on the way home Jacques started to feel worse and Fay took him to Ambroise Pare hospital just as he started to fade in and out of consciousness. He died of a cerebral aneurysm in his sleep. I have already heard several versions of this story and I think it is likely to change form as does the reporting of the last moments of any great personality.

Once inside the church, it was just like at school. There were professors and third year students organizing the crowd, suggesting the balconies for the 1st and 2nd years and the young. We went up and discovered a little abandoned balcony box in the back of the church tucked away under the organ with a great view. It was standing room only on all levels and it was a beautiful crowd, every age and every nationality present, crowds of young people filled the balconies on all sides while the bottom filled with les vieux.

Arianne Minouchkin seemed to be looking around for someone, there was Pierre Bilan, Philippe Gautrai, Philippe Avron, Said Lassaad. Peter Brooke came in late and sat alone. Jacques sister was there, older than he. Every time we screwed up making a mask or executing the simplest maneuver Lecoq used to yell at us that his sister could do better than that!

The service was very simple. Someone (we think it might have been the editor of Jacques last book) got up and read three extracts of Jacques book, one about his students, one about his teaching and the one about Tout Bouge. Not a trained actor, he had enormous difficulty projecting his voice and after the initial disappointment of the crowd, an absolute silence installed itself as everyone strained to hear. He chose very well his texts as they touched everyone in the room.

The casket was very simple, wood, with a simple plaque with his name and dates. There were four men from the funeral parlor and a master of ceremony. They all wore black with hats like limousine drivers. They brought the casket in at shoulder height and placed it on two very simple sawhorses. A collective cringe went through the crowd of movement specialists as the pallbearers gracelessly hefted the casket into position.

The minister gave a nice homily, taking the movement theme of tout bouge and winding it into a reading about David dancing from the Bible. Looking down I could see people still coming in, and from time to time people in the crowd would meet eyes across the balconies, and it was clear they had not seen one another in a long time.

Taking advantage of the biggest crowd he had had in years the minister insisted on taking up a collection! Several ancienne eleves were pressed into service and the organ player kicked in with a tune. The atmosphere lightened up considerably. People took advantage of the pause to look around at one another, and that was the real homage to Jacques, more than any Bible reading, it was the crowd that had gathered to honor his memory, so many lives that he had touched and changed, so many destinies shaped by the decision to come to Paris to learn from him. An enormous room full of people with the courage to be artists.

The minister announced that the family preferred not to have a receiving line at the end of the service and he invited everyone to sign the guest book.

Jane Ridley was there with us. She had come over to see Lory's play the Sunday before and we said goodbye to her in the church as she had just enough time to see the service and catch a cab for the Eurostar.

We were some of the last to leave, it having taken us so long to get down from the balcony to sign the book. While up there we could see everyone leave and people started pointing out to the others who everyone was. "Look, there's Jacques Lifskin, isn't that Monika Paneaux, where? with the red scarf, Simon McBurny flew in from England, who's that with...." While this was going on we noticed that some of the younger students up above were looking at all of us as we were looking down at the older generation. They had little idea of who we were looking at because they have never seen the older generation in performance, but they have seen us. It has been almost nine years since we left the school, and in that time Fay and Jacques always came to see our shows in Paris and we always gave a discount or invitations to the students. Every time I do a festival Nicole puts the publicity up at school. And so now, we are the older generation.

The pallbearers were no more graceful hoisting the casket up and they were a little taken back by the collective grunt-wince from the audience.

The sight that awaited us outside the church was one that I will always remember. Hundreds of people milling around, blocking traffic. The faces of all these people. Quelle Guelles! They were so beautiful, so marginal! So alive. Nobody wanted to leave. Friends were rediscovered, addresses exchanged, feuds ended, invitations given out and deals made. A group of us went to the corner cafe, and in memory of Jacques we ate and drank well and told stories.

Fay was in better shape outside and very happy to see us. She immediately asked me how the London Mime Festival had gone for me and how Lory's premiere had been and that she was sorry she couldn't come. Amazing. Pascal looks older but calmer, and she was relieved when the crowd started to thin out.

Only friends of the family were invited to the burial. And I have heard that the burial was in a little plot near their house, that the guests improvised little speeches, some of them very funny and some of them just a little too long so that an old friend had to remind them that Jacques would have already said "Eh bien, on arret la!".

It turned cold as they each dropped dirt into the grave and said goodbye, and Fay hustled everyone back to the house for a bite to eat.

I have not seen it but I have heard that there was a page on Jacques in Le Monde and that it was very well written, from the week of the 20th.

There are a lot of rumours about the school. That Fay offered everyone a reimboursement, that the 2nd years won't get a command, that the 1st years will have a different semester curriculum etc. etc. Nobody knows, and I am not inclined to ask Fay just to satisfy my curiosity. I just hope that they will avoid the mistakes that the Decroux's made.

So, there you go. Now you will have to tell me what your last visit together was like.

All my love,
Bernie.