A few years ago, the mayor of Salon-en-Provence in southern France decided to move an ancient cemetary in order to enable a motorway to be built.
A specialist company was entrusted with moving the graves, one by one, to the new location.
Finally, just one was left. It belonged to the famous physician and seer, Nostradamus.
But none of the workers wanted to touch it; everyone in Salon knew what Nostradamus had predicted. In one of his well-known quatrains, he had written: “He who opens my tomb… will be cursed.” (Cursed = ‘maudit‘ in French).
Naturally, no-one wanted to take the risk of being maudit. And so no company would agree to move Nostradamus’s tomb.
The mayor was annoyed and called in the army. A sergeant and a few privates arrived in the cemetary and quite calmly began to open up the tomb in order to transfer the remains.
A television crew had shown up too, aware of the curse and the various refusals to touch the grave. A journalist interviewed the sergeant:
“Do you know whose tomb you are transporting?”
The sergeant was not very talkative and may have been lacking in intelligence and curiosity.
The journalist was intrigued…
“What is your name, Sergeant?”
” Sergent Maudit, à vos ordres Monsieur”
“Sergeant Cursed, at your command, sir!”