THE SECOND FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON

by William Makepeace Thackeray

AKA Michael Angelo Titmarch. 

I. On the Disinterment of Napoleon at St. Helena

II. On the Voyage from St. Helena to Paris

III. On the Funeral Ceremony

I. --ON THE DISINTERMENT OF NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. 

MY DEAR ----, --It is no en the Voyage from St. Helena asy task in thisworld to distinguish between what is great in it, and what is mean; andmany and many is the puzzle that I have had in reading History (or theworks of fiction which go by that name), to know whether I should laudup to the skies, and endeavor, to the best of my small capabilities, toimitate the remarkable character about whom I was reading, or whetherI should fling aside the book and the hero of it, as things altogetherbase, unworthy, laughable, and get a novel, or a game of billiards, ora pipe of tobacco, or the report of the last debate in the House, or anyother employment which would leave the mind in a state of easy vacuity, rather than pester it with a vain set of dates relating to actions whichare in themselves not worth a fig, or with a parcel of names of peoplewhom it can do one no earthly good to remember. 

It is more than probable, my love, that you are acquainted with what iscalled Grecian and Roman history, chiefly from perusing, in veryearly youth, the little sheepskin-bound volumes of the ingenious Dr. Goldsmith, and have been indebted for your knowledge of the Englishannals to a subsequent study of the more voluminous works of Hume andSmollett. The first and the last-named authors, dear Miss Smith, havewritten each an admirable history, --that of the Reverend Dr. Primrose, Vicar of Wakefield, and that of Mr. Robert Bramble, of Bramble Hall--inboth of which works you will find true and instructive pictures of humanlife, and which you may always think over with advantage. But let mecaution you against putting any considerable trust in the other works ofthese authors, which were placed in your hands at school and afterwards, and in which you were taught to believe. Modern historians, for the mostpart, know very little, and, secondly, only tell a little of what theyknow. 

As for those Greeks and Romans whom you have read of in "sheepskin, "were you to know really what those monsters were, you would blush allover as red as a hollyhock, and put down the history-book in a fury. Many of our English worthies are no better. You are not in a situationto know the real characters of any one of them. They appear before youin their public capacities, but the individuals you know not. Suppose, for instance, your mamma had purchased her tea in the Borough from agrocer living there by the name of Greenacre: suppose you had been askedout to dinner, and the gentleman of the house had said: "Ho! Francois!a glass of champagne for Miss Smith;"--Courvoisier would have served youjust as any other footman would; you would never have known that therewas anything extraordinary in these individuals, but would have thoughtof them only in their respective public characters of Grocer andFootman. This, Madam, is History, in which a man always appears dealingwith the world in his apron, or his laced livery, but which has not thepower or the leisure, or, perhaps, is too high and mighty to condescendto follow and study him in his privacy. Ah, my dear, when big and littlemen come to be measured rightly, and great and small actions to beweighed properly, and people to be stripped of their royal robes, beggars' rags, generals' uniforms, seedy out-at-elbowed coats, andthe like--or the contrary say, when souls come to be stripped of theirwicked deceiving bodies, and turned out stark naked as they were beforethey were born--what a strange startling sight shall we see, and what apretty figure shall some of us cut! Fancy how we shall see Pride, withhis Stultz clothes and padding pulled off, and dwindled down to a forkedradish! Fancy some Angelic Virtue, whose white raiment is suddenlywhisked over his head, showing us cloven feet and a tail! FancyHumility, eased of its sad load of cares and want and scorn, walkingup to the very highest place of all, and blushing as he takes it!Fancy, --but we must not fancy such a scene at all, which would be anoutrage on public decency. Should we be any better than our neighbors?No, certainly. And as we can't be virtuous, let us be decent. Figleavesare a very decent, becoming wear, and have been now in fashion for fourthousand years. And so, my dear, history is written on fig-leaves. Wouldyou have anything further? O fie!

Yes, four thousand years ago that famous tree was planted. At theirvery first lie, our first parents made for it, and there it is still thegreat Humbug Plant, stretching its wide arms, and sheltering beneath itsleaves, as broad and green as ever, all the generations of men. Thus, my dear, coquettes of your fascinating sex cover their persons withfiggery, fantastically arranged, and call their masquerading, modesty. Cowards fig themselves out fiercely as "salvage men, " and make usbelieve that they are warriors. Fools look very solemnly out from thedusk of the leaves, and we fancy in the gloom that they are sages. Andmany a man sets a great wreath about his pate and struts abroad ahero, whose claims we would all of us laugh at, could we but remove theornament and see his numskull bare. 

And such--(excuse my sermonizing)--such is the constitution of mankind, that men have, as it were, entered into a compact among themselves topursue the fig-leaf system a l'outrance, and to cry down all whooppose it. Humbug they will have. Humbugs themselves, they will respecthumbugs. Their daily victuals of life must be seasoned with humbug. Certain things are there in the world that they will not allow to becalled by their right names, and will insist upon our admiring, whetherwe will or no. Woe be to the man who would enter too far into therecesses of that magnificent temple where our Goddess is enshrined, peepthrough the vast embroidered curtains indiscreetly, penetrate the secretof secrets, and expose the Gammon of Gammons! And as you must not peertoo curiously within, so neither must you remain scornfully without. Humbug-worshippers, let us come into our great temple regularly anddecently: take our seats, and settle our clothes decently; open ourbooks, and go through the service with decent gravity; listen, and bedecently affected by the expositions of the decent priest of the place;and if by chance some straggling vagabond, loitering in the sunshine outof doors, dares to laugh or to sing, and disturb the sanctified dulnessof the faithful;--quick! a couple of big beadles rush out and belaborthe wretch, and his yells make our devotions more comfortable. 

Some magnificent religious ceremonies of this nature are at presenttaking place in France; and thinking that you might perhaps while awaysome long winter evening with an account of them, I have compiled thefollowing pages for your use. Newspapers have been filled, for some dayspast, with details regarding the St. Helena expedition, many pamphletshave been published, men go about crying little books and broadsheetsfilled with real or sham particulars; and from these scarce and valuabledocuments the following pages are chiefly compiled. 

We must begin at the beginning; premising, in the first place, thatMonsieur Guizot, when French Ambassador at London, waited upon LordPalmerston with a request that the body of the Emperor Napoleon shouldbe given up to the French nation, in order that it might find a finalresting-place in French earth. To this demand the English Governmentgave a ready assent; nor was there any particular explosion of sentimentupon either side, only some pretty cordial expressions of mutualgood-will. Orders were sent out to St. Helena that the corpse shouldbe disinterred in due time, when the French expedition had arrived insearch of it, and that every respect and attention should be paid tothose who came to carry back to their country the body of the famousdead warrior and sovereign. 

This matter being arranged in very few words (as in England, upon mostpoints, is the laudable fashion), the French Chambers began to debateabout the place in which they should bury the body when they got it;and numberless pamphlets and newspapers out of doors joined in the talk. Some people there were who had fought and conquered and been beaten withthe great Napoleon, and loved him and his memory. Many more were therewho, because of his great genius and valor, felt excessively proud intheir own particular persons, and clamored for the return of theirhero. And if there were some few individuals in this great hot-headed, gallant, boasting, sublime, absurd French nation, who had taken a coolview of the dead Emperor's character; if, perhaps, such men as LouisPhilippe, and Monsieur A. Thiers, Minister and Deputy, and MonsieurFrancois Guizot, Deputy and Excellency, had, from interest orconviction, opinions at all differing from those of the majority; why, they knew what was what, and kept their opinions to themselves, comingwith a tolerably good grace and flinging a few handfuls of incense uponthe altar of the popular idol. 

In the succeeding debates, then, various opinions were given withregard to the place to be selected for the Emperor's sepulture. "Somedemanded, " says an eloquent anonymous Captain in the Navy who haswritten an "Itinerary from Toulon to St. Helena, " "that the coffinshould be deposited under the bronze taken from the enemy by the Frencharmy--under the Column of the Place Vendome. The idea was a fine one. This is the most glorious monument that was ever raised in a conqueror'shonor. This column has been melted out of foreign cannon. These samecannons have furrowed the bosoms of our braves with noble cicatrices;and this metal--conquered by the soldier first, by the artistafterwards--has allowed to be imprinted on its front its own defeat andour glory. Napoleon might sleep in peace under this audacious trophy. But, would his ashes find a shelter sufficiently vast beneath thispedestal? And his puissant statue dominating Paris, beams withsufficient grandeur on this place: whereas the wheels of carriages andthe feet of passengers would profane the funereal sanctity of the spotin trampling on the soil so near his head. "

You must not take this description, dearest Amelia, "at the foot ofthe letter, " as the French phrase it, but you will here have a masterlyexposition of the arguments for and against the burial of the Emperorunder the Column of the Place Vendome. The idea was a fine one, granted;but, like all other ideas, it was open to objections. You must notfancy that the cannon, or rather the cannon-balls, were in the habitof furrowing the bosoms of French braves, or any other braves, withcicatrices: on the contrary, it is a known fact that cannon-ballsmake wounds, and not cicatrices (which, my dear, are wounds partiallyhealed); nay, that a man generally dies after receiving one suchprojectile on his chest, much more after having his bosom furrowed bya score of them. No, my love; no bosom, however heroic, can stand suchapplications, and the author only means that the French soldiers facedthe cannon and took them. Nor, my love, must you suppose that the columnwas melted: it was the cannon was melted, not the column; but suchphrases are often used by orators when they wish to give a particularforce and emphasis to their opinions. 

Well, again, although Napoleon might have slept in peace under "thisaudacious trophy, " how could he do so and carriages go rattling by allnight, and people with great iron heels to their boots pass clatteringover the stones? Nor indeed could it be expected that a man whosereputation stretches from the Pyramids to the Kremlin, should find acolumn of which the base is only five-and-twenty feet square, a sheltervast enough for his bones. In a word, then, although the proposal tobury Napoleon under the column was ingenious, it was found not to suit;whereupon somebody else proposed the Madelaine. 

"It was proposed, " says the before-quoted author with his usualfelicity, "to consecrate the Madelaine to his exiled manes"--that is, tohis bones when they were not in exile any longer. "He ought to have, itwas said, a temple entire. His glory fills the world. His bones couldnot contain themselves in the coffin of a man--in the tomb of a king!"In this case what was Mary Magdalen to do? "This proposition, I amhappy to say, was rejected, and a new one--that of the President of theCouncil adopted. Napoleon and his braves ought not to quit each other. Under the immense gilded dome of the Invalides he would find a sanctuaryworthy of himself. A dome imitates the vault of heaven, and that vaultalone" (meaning of course the other vault) "should dominate above hishead. His old mutilated Guard shall watch around him: the last veteran, as he has shed his blood in his combats, shall breathe his last sighnear his tomb, and all these tombs shall sleep under the tatteredstandards that have been won from all the nations of Europe. "

The original words are "sous les lambeaux cribles des drapeaux cueillischez toutes les nations;" in English, "under the riddled rags of theflags that have been culled or plucked" (like roses or buttercups) "inall the nations. " Sweet, innocent flowers of victory! there they are, mydear, sure enough, and a pretty considerable hortus siccus may any manexamine who chooses to walk to the Invalides. The burial-place beingthus agreed on, the expedition was prepared, and on the 7th July the"Belle Poule" frigate, in company with "La Favorite" corvette, quittedToulon harbor. A couple of steamers, the "Trident" and the "Ocean, "escorted the ships as far as Gibraltar, and there left them to pursuetheir voyage. 

The two ships quitted the harbor in the sight of a vast concourse ofpeople, and in the midst of a great roaring of cannons. Previous to thedeparture of the "Belle Poule, " the Bishop of Frejus went on board, and gave to the cenotaph, in which the Emperor's remains were tobe deposited, his episcopal benediction. Napoleon's old friends andfollowers, the two Bertrands, Gourgaud, Emanuel Las Cases, "companionsin exile, or sons of the companions in exile of the prisoner of theinfame Hudson, " says a French writer, were passengers on board thefrigate. Marchand, Denis, Pierret, Novaret, his old and faithfulservants, were likewise in the vessel. It was commanded by his RoyalHighness Francis Ferdinand Philip Louis Marie d'Orleans, Prince deJoinville, a young prince two-and-twenty years of age, who was alreadydistinguished in the service of his country and king. 

On the 8th of October, after a voyage of six-and-sixty days, the "BellePoule" arrived in James Town harbor; and on its arrival, as on itsdeparture from France, a great firing of guns took place. First, the"Oreste" French brig-of-war began roaring out a salutation to thefrigate; then the "Dolphin" English schooner gave her one-and-twentyguns; then the frigate returned the compliment of the "Dolphin"schooner; then she blazed out with one-and-twenty guns more, as amark of particular politeness to the shore--which kindness the fortsacknowledged by similar detonations. 

These little compliments concluded on both sides, Lieutenant Middlemore, son and aide-de-camp of the Governor of St. Helena, came on board theFrench frigate, and brought his father's best respects to his RoyalHighness. The Governor was at home ill, and forced to keep his room; buthe had made his house at James Town ready for Captain Joinville and hissuite, and begged that they would make use of it during their stay. 

On the 9th, H. R. H. The Prince of Joinville put on his full uniform andlanded, in company with Generals Bertrand and Gourgaud, Baron Las Cases, M. Marchand, M. Coquereau, the chaplain of the expedition, and M. DeRohan Chabot, who acted as chief mourner. All the garrison were underarms to receive the illustrious Prince and the other members of theexpedition--who forthwith repaired to Plantation House, and had aconference with the Governor regarding their mission. 

On the 10th, 11th, 12th, these conferences continued: the crews ofthe French ships were permitted to come on shore and see the tomb ofNapoleon. Bertrand, Gourgaud, Las Cases wandered about the island andrevisited the spots to which they had been partial in the lifetime ofthe Emperor. 

The 15th October was fixed on for the day of the exhumation: that dayfive-and twenty years, the Emperor Napoleon first set his foot upon theisland. 

On the day previous all things had been made ready: the grand coffinsand ornaments brought from France, and the articles necessary for theoperation were carried to the valley of the Tomb. 

The operations commenced at midnight. The well-known friends of Napoleonbefore named and some other attendants of his, the chaplain and hisacolytes, the doctor of the "Belle Poule, " the captains of the Frenchships, and Captain Alexander of the Engineers, the English Commissioner, attended the disinterment. His Royal highness Prince de Joinville couldnot be present because the workmen were under English command. 

The men worked for nine hours incessantly, when at length the earth wasentirely removed from the vault, all the horizontal strata of masonrydemolished, and the large slab which covered the place where the stonesarcophagus lay, removed by a crane. This outer coffin of stone wasperfect, and could scarcely be said to be damp. 

"As soon as the Abbe Coquereau had recited the prayers, the coffin wasremoved with the greatest care, and carried by the engineer-soldiers, bareheaded, into a tent that had been prepared for the purpose. Afterthe religious ceremonies, the inner coffins were opened. The outermostcoffin was slightly injured: then came, one of lead, which was in goodcondition, and enclosed two others--one of tin and one of wood. The lastcoffin was lined inside with white satin, which, having become detachedby the effect of time, had fallen upon the body and enveloped it like awinding-sheet, and had become slightly attached to it. 

"It is difficult to describe with what anxiety and emotion those whowere present waited for the moment which was to expose to them allthat death had left of Napoleon. Notwithstanding the singular state ofpreservation of the tomb and coffins, we could scarcely hope to findanything but some misshapen remains of the least perishable part of thecostume to evidence the identity of the body. But when Doctor Guillardraised the sheet of satin, an indescribable feeling of surprise andaffection was expressed by the spectators, many of whom burst intotears. The Emperor was himself before their eyes! The features of theface, though changed, were perfectly recognized; the hands extremelybeautiful; his well-known costume had suffered but little, and thecolors were easily distinguished. The attitude itself was full of ease, and but for the fragments of the satin lining which covered, as witha fine gauze, several parts of the uniform, we might have believed westill saw Napoleon before us lying on his bed of state. General Bertrandand M. Marchand, who were both present at the interment, quickly pointedout the different articles which each had deposited in the coffin, andremained in the precise position in which they had previously describedthem to be. 

"The two inner coffins were carefully closed again; the old leadencoffin was strongly blocked up with wedges of wood, and both were oncemore soldered up with the most minute precautions, under the directionof Dr. Guillard. These different operations being terminated, the ebonysarcophagus was closed as well as its oak case. On delivering the keyof the ebony sarcophagus to Count de Chabot, the King's Commissioner, Captain Alexander declared to him, in the name of the Governor, thatthis coffin, containing the mortal remains of the Emperor Napoleon, wasconsidered as at the disposal of the French Government from thatday, and from the moment at which it should arrive at the place ofembarkation, towards which it was about to be sent under the orders ofGeneral Middlemore. The King's Commissioner replied that he was chargedby his Government, and in its name, to accept the coffin from the handsof the British authorities, and that he and the other persons composingthe French mission were ready to follow it to James Town, where thePrince de Joinville, superior commandant of the expedition, would beready to receive it and conduct it on board his frigate. A car drawn byfour horses, decked with funereal emblems, had been prepared before thearrival of the expedition, to receive the coffin, as well as a pall, andall the other suitable trappings of mourning. When the sarcophagus wasplaced on the car, the whole was covered with a magnificent imperialmantle brought from Paris, the four corners of which were borne byGenerals Bertrand and Gourgaud, Baron Las Cases and M. Marchand. Athalf-past three o'clock the funeral car began to move, preceded by achorister bearing the cross, and by the Abbe Coquereau. M. De Chabotacted as chief mourner. All the authorities of the island, all theprincipal inhabitants, and the whole of the garrison, followed inprocession from the tomb to the quay. But with the exception of theartillerymen necessary to lead the horses, and occasionally support thecar when descending some steep parts of the way, the places nearestthe coffin were reserved for the French mission. General Middlemore, although in a weak state of health, persisted in following the whole wayon foot, together with General Churchill, chief of the staff in India, who had arrived only two days before from Bombay. The immense weightof the coffins, and the unevenness of the road, rendered the utmostcarefulness necessary throughout the whole distance. Colonel Trelawneycommanded in person the small detachment of artillerymen who conductedthe car, and, thanks to his great care, not the slightest accident tookplace. From the moment of departure to the arrival at the quay, thecannons of the forts and the 'Belle Poule' fired minute-guns. After anhour's march the rain ceased for the first time since the commencementof the operations, and on arriving in sight of the town we found abrilliant sky and beautiful weather. From the morning the three Frenchvessels of war had assumed the usual signs of deep mourning: their yardscrossed and their flags lowered. Two French merchantmen, 'BonneAmie' and 'Indien, ' which had been in the roads for two days, had putthemselves under the Prince's orders, and followed during the ceremonyall the manoeuvers of the 'Belle Poule. ' The forts of the town, and thehouses of the consuls, had also their flags half-mast high. 

"On arriving at the entrance of the town, the troops of the garrisonand the militia formed in two lines as far as the extremity of the quay. According to the order for mourning prescribed for the English army, themen had their arms reversed and the officers had crape on their arms, with their swords reversed. All the inhabitants had been kept away fromthe line of march, but they lined the terraces, commanding the town, andthe streets were occupied only by the troops, the 91st Regiment beingon the right and the militia on the left. The cortege advanced slowlybetween two ranks of soldiers to the sound of a funeral march, while thecannons of the forts were fired, as well as those of the 'Belle Poule'and the 'Dolphin;' the echoes being repeated a thousand times by therocks above James Town. After two hours' march the cortege stopped atthe end of the quay, where the Prince de Joinville had stationed himselfat the head of the officers of the three French ships of war. Thegreatest official honors had been rendered by the English authorities tothe memory of the Emperor--the most striking testimonials of respect hadmarked the adieu given by St. Helena to his coffin; and from this momentthe mortal remains of the Emperor were about to belong to France. Whenthe funeral-car stopped, the Prince de Joinville advanced alone, and inpresence of all around, who stood with their heads uncovered, received, in a solemn manner, the imperial coffin from the hands of GeneralMiddlemore. His Royal Highness then thanked the Governor, in the name ofFrance, for all the testimonials of sympathy and respect with which theauthorities and inhabitants of St. Helena had surrounded the memorableceremonial. A cutter had been expressly prepared to receive the coffin. During the embarkation, which the Prince directed himself, the bandsplayed funeral airs, and all the boats were stationed round withtheir oars shipped. The moment the sarcophagus touched the cutter, amagnificent royal flag, which the ladies of James Town had embroideredfor the occasion, was unfurled, and the 'Belle Poule' immediatelysquared her masts and unfurled her colors. All the manoeuvers of thefrigate were immediately followed by the other vessels. Our mourning hadceased with the exile of Napoleon, and the French naval division dresseditself out in all its festal ornaments to receive the imperial coffinunder the French flag. The sarcophagus was covered in the cutter withthe imperial mantle. The Prince de Joinville placed himself at therudder, Commandant Guyet at the head of the boat; Generals Bertrand andGourgaud, Baron Las Cases, M. Marchand, and the Abbe Coquereau occupiedthe same places as during the march. Count Chabot and Commandant Hernouxwere astern, a little in advance of the Prince. As soon as the cutterhad pushed off from the quay, the batteries ashore fired a saluteof twenty-one guns, and our ships returned the salute with all theirartillery. Two other salutes were fired during the passage from the quayto the frigate; the cutter advancing very slowly, and surrounded by theother boats. At half-past six o'clock it reached the 'Belle Poule, ' allthe men being on the yards with their hats in their hands. The Princehad had arranged on the deck a chapel, decked with flags and trophies ofarms, the altar being placed at the foot of the mizzen-mast. The coffin, carried by our sailors, passed between two ranks of officers withdrawn swords, and was placed on the quarter-deck. The absolution waspronounced by the Abbe Coquereau the same evening. Next day, at teno'clock, a solemn mass was celebrated on the deck, in presence of theofficers and part of the crews of the ships. His Royal Highness stood atthe foot of the coffin. The cannon of the 'Favorite' and 'Oreste'fired minute-guns during this ceremony, which terminated by a solemnabsolution; and the Prince de Joinville, the gentlemen of the mission, the officers, and the premiers maitres of the ship, sprinkled holywater on the coffin. At eleven, all the ceremonies of the church wereaccomplished, all the honors done to a sovereign had been paid to themortal remains of Napoleon. The coffin was carefully lowered betweendecks, and placed in the chapelle ardente which had been prepared atToulon for its reception. At this moment, the vessels fired a lastsalute with all their artillery, and the frigate took in her flags, keeping up only her flag at the stern and the royal standard at themaintopgallant-mast. On Sunday, the 18th, at eight in the morning, the'Belle Poule' quitted St. Helena with her precious deposit on board. 

"During the whole time that the mission remained at James Town, the bestunderstanding never ceased to exist between the population of the islandand the French. The Prince de Joinville and his companions met in allquarters and at all times with the greatest good-will and the warmesttestimonials of sympathy. The authorities and the inhabitants must havefelt, no doubt, great regret at seeing taken away from their islandthe coffin that had rendered it so celebrated; but they repressed theirfeelings with a courtesy that does honor to the frankness of theircharacter. "

II. --ON THE VOYAGE FROM ST. HELENA TO PARIS. 

On the 18th October the French frigate quitted the island with itsprecious burden on board. 

His Royal Highness the Captain acknowledged cordially the kindnessand attention which he and his crew had received from the Englishauthorities and the inhabitants of the Island of St. Helena; nay, promised a pension to an old soldier who had been for many yearsthe guardian of the imperial tomb, and went so far as to take intoconsideration the petition of a certain lodging-house keeper, who prayedfor a compensation for the loss which the removal of the Emperor's bodywould occasion to her. And although it was not to be expected that thegreat French nation should forego its natural desire of recovering theremains of a hero so dear to it for the sake of the individual interestof the landlady in question, it must have been satisfactory to her tofind, that the peculiarity of her position was so delicately appreciatedby the august Prince who commanded the expedition, and carried away withhim animae dimidium suae--the half of the genteel independence whichshe derived from the situation of her hotel. In a word, politeness andfriendship could not be carried farther. The Prince's realm and thelandlady's were bound together by the closest ties of amity. M. Thierswas Minister of France, the great patron of the English alliance. AtLondon M. Guizot was the worthy representative of the French good-willtowards the British people; and the remark frequently made by ourorators at public dinners, that "France and England, while united, mightdefy the world, " was considered as likely to hold good for many yearsto come, --the union that is. As for defying the world, that was neitherhere nor there; nor did English politicians ever dream of doing anysuch thing, except perhaps at the tenth glass of port at "Freemason'sTavern. "

Little, however, did Mrs. Corbett, the St. Helena landlady, little didhis Royal Highness Prince Ferdinand Philip Marie de Joinville know whatwas going on in Europe all this time (when I say in Europe, I mean inTurkey, Syria, and Egypt); how clouds, in fact, were gathering upon whatyou call the political horizon; and how tempests were rising that wereto blow to pieces our Anglo-Gallic temple of friendship. Oh, but itis sad to think that a single wicked old Turk should be the means ofsetting our two Christian nations by the ears!

Yes, my love, this disreputable old man had been for some time past theobject of the disinterested attention of the great sovereigns of Europe. The Emperor Nicolas (a moral character, though following theGreek superstition, and adored for his mildness and benevolence ofdisposition), the Emperor Ferdinand, the King of Prussia, and ourown gracious Queen, had taken such just offence at his conduct anddisobedience towards a young and interesting sovereign, whose authorityhe had disregarded, whose fleet he had kidnapped, whose fair provinceshe had pounced upon, that they determined to come to the aid of AbdulMedjid the First, Emperor of the Turks, and bring his rebellious vassalto reason. In this project the French nation was invited to join; butthey refused the invitation, saying, that it was necessary for themaintenance of the balance of power in Europe that his Highness MehemetAli should keep possession of what by hook or by crook he had gotten, and that they would have no hand in injuring him. But why continue thisargument, which you have read in the newspapers for many months past?You, my dear, must know as well as I, that the balance of power inEurope could not possibly be maintained in any such way; and though, tobe sure, for the last fifteen years, the progress of the old robber hasnot made much difference to us in the neighborhood of Russell Square, and the battle of Nezib did not in the least affect our taxes, ourhomes, our institutions, or the price of butcher's meat, yet there is noknowing what MIGHT have happened had Mehemet Ali been allowed toremain quietly as he was: and the balance of power in Europe might havebeen--the deuce knows where. 

Here, then, in a nutshell, you have the whole matter in dispute. WhileMrs. Corbett and the Prince de Joinville were innocently interchangingcompliments at St. Helena, --bang! bang! Commodore Napier was pouringbroadsides into Tyre and Sidon; our gallant navy was storming breachesand routing armies; Colonel Hodges had seized upon the green standard ofIbrahim Pacha; and the powder-magazine of St. John of Acre was blown upsky-high, with eighteen hundred Egyptian soldiers in company with it. The French said that l'or Anglais had achieved all these successes, andno doubt believed that the poor fellows at Acre were bribed to a man. 

It must have been particularly unpleasant to a high-minded nation likethe French--at the very moment when the Egyptian affair and the balanceof Europe had been settled in this abrupt way--to find out all of asudden that the Pasha of Egypt was their dearest friend and ally. Theyhad suffered in the person of their friend; and though, seeing that thedispute was ended, and the territory out of his hand, they could nothope to get it back for him, or to aid him in any substantial way, yetMonsieur Thiers determined, just as a mark of politeness to the Pasha, to fight all Europe for maltreating him, --all Europe, England included. He was bent on war, and an immense majority of the nation went with him. He called for a million of soldiers, and would have had them too, hadnot the King been against the project and delayed the completion of itat least for a time. 

Of these great European disputes Captain Joinville received anotification while he was at sea on board his frigate: as we find by theofficial account which has been published of his mission. 

"Some days after quitting St. Helena, " says that document, "theexpedition fell in with a ship coming from Europe, and was thus madeacquainted with the warlike rumors then afloat, by which a collisionwith the English marine was rendered possible. The Prince de Joinvilleimmediately assembled the officers of the 'Belle Poule, ' to deliberateon an event so unexpected and important. 

"The council of war having expressed its opinion that it was necessaryat all events to prepare for an energetic defence, preparations weremade to place in battery all the guns that the frigate could bring tobear against the enemy. The provisional cabins that had been fitted upin the battery were demolished, the partitions removed, and, with allthe elegant furniture of the cabins, flung into the sea. The Prince deJoinville was the first 'to execute himself, ' and the frigate soon founditself armed with six or eight more guns. 

"That part of the ship where these cabins had previously been, went bythe name of Lacedaemon; everything luxurious being banished to make wayfor what was useful. 

"Indeed, all persons who were on board agree in saying that Monseigneurthe Prince de Joinville most worthily acquitted himself of the great andhonorable mission which had been confided to him. All affirm not onlythat the commandant of the expedition did everything at St. Helenawhich as a Frenchman he was bound to do in order that the remains of theEmperor should receive all the honors due to them, but moreover that heaccomplished his mission with all the measured solemnity, all the piousand severe dignity, that the son of the Emperor himself would have shownupon a like occasion. The commandant had also comprehended that theremains of the Emperor must never fall into the hands of the stranger, and being himself decided rather to sink his ship than to give up hisprecious deposit, he had inspired every one about him with the sameenergetic resolution that he had himself taken 'AGAINST AN EXTREMEEVENTUALITY. '"

Monseigneur, my dear, is really one of the finest young fellows itis possible to see. A tall, broad-chested, slim-waisted, brown-faced, dark-eyed young prince, with a great beard (and other martial qualitiesno doubt) beyond his years. As he strode into the Chapel of theInvalides on Tuesday at the head of his men, he made no smallimpression, I can tell you, upon the ladies assembled to witness theceremony. Nor are the crew of the "Belle Poule" less agreeable to lookat than their commander. A more clean, smart, active, well-limbed set oflads never "did dance" upon the deck of the famed "Belle Poule" in thedays of her memorable combat with the "Saucy Arethusa. " "These fivehundred sailors, " says a French newspaper, speaking of them in theproper French way, "sword in hand, in the severe costume of board-ship(la severe tenue du bord), seemed proud of the mission that theyhad just accomplished. Their blue jackets, their red cravats, theturned-down collars of blue shirts edged with white, ABOVE ALL theirresolute appearance and martial air, gave a favorable specimen of thepresent state of our marine--a marine of which so much might beexpected and from which so little has been required. "--Le Commerce: 16thDecember. 

There they were, sure enough; a cutlass upon one hip, a pistol on theother--a gallant set of young men indeed. I doubt, to be sure, whetherthe severe tenue du bord requires that the seaman should be alwaysfurnished with those ferocious weapons, which in sundry maritimemanoeuvers, such as going to sleep in your hammock for instance, or twinkling a binnacle, or luffing a marlinspike, or keelhauling amaintopgallant (all naval operations, my dear, which any seafaringnovelist will explain to you)--I doubt, I say, whether these weapons areALWAYS worn by sailors, and have heard that they are commonly and verysensibly too, locked up until they are wanted. Take another example:suppose artillerymen were incessantly compelled to walk about with apyramid of twenty-four pound shot in one pocket, a lighted fuse and afew barrels of gunpowder in the other--these objects would, as you mayimagine, greatly inconvenience the artilleryman in his peaceful state. 

The newspaper writer is therefore most likely mistaken in saying thatthe seamen were in the severe tenue du bord, or by "bord" meaning"abordage"--which operation they were not, in a harmless church, hunground with velvet and wax-candles, and filled with ladies, surely calledupon to perform. Nor indeed can it be reasonably supposed that thepicked men of the crack frigate of the French navy are a "good specimen"of the rest of the French marine, any more than a cuirassed colossusat the gate of the Horse Guards can be considered a fair sample of theBritish soldier of the line. The sword and pistol, however, had no doubttheir effect--the former was in its sheath, the latter not loaded, andI hear that the French ladies are quite in raptures with these charmingloups-de-mer. 

Let the warlike accoutrements then pass. It was necessary, perhaps, tostrike the Parisians with awe, and therefore the crew was armed in thisfierce fashion; but why should the captain begin to swagger as well ashis men? and why did the Prince de Joinville lug out sword and pistolso early? or why, if he thought fit to make preparations, should theofficial journals brag of them afterwards as proofs of his extraordinarycourage?

Here is the case. The English Government makes him a present of thebones of Napoleon: English workmen work for nine hours without ceasing, and dig the coffin out of the ground: the English Commissioner handsover the key of the box to the French representative, Monsieur Chabot:English horses carry the funeral car down to the sea-shore, accompaniedby the English Governor, who has actually left his bed to walk in theprocession and to do the French nation honor. 

After receiving and acknowledging these politenesses, the French captaintakes his charge on board, and the first thing we afterwards hear ofhim is the determination "qu'il a su faire passer" into all his crew, to sink rather than yield up the body of the Emperor aux mains del'etranger--into the hands of the foreigner. My dear Monseigneur, is notthis par trop fort? Suppose "the foreigner" had wanted the coffin, could he not have kept it? Why show this uncalled-for valor, thisextraordinary alacrity at sinking? Sink or blow yourself up as muchas you please, but your Royal Highness must see that the genteel thingwould have been to wait until you were asked to do so, before youoffended good-natured, honest people, who--heaven help them!--have nevershown themselves at all murderously inclined towards you. A man knocksup his cabins forsooth, throws his tables and chairs overboard, runsguns into the portholes, and calls le quartier du bord ou existaient ceschambres, Lacedaemon. Lacedaemon! There is a province, O Prince, in yourroyal father's dominions, a fruitful parent of heroes in its time, whichwould have given a much better nickname to your quartier du bord: youshould have called it Gascony. 

 "Sooner than strike we'll all ex-pi-er On board of the Bell-e Pou-le. "

Such fanfaronading is very well on the part of Tom Dibdin, but a personof your Royal Highness's "pious and severe dignity" should have beenabove it. If you entertained an idea that war was imminent, would it nothave been far better to have made your preparations in quiet, and whenyou found the war rumor blown over, to have said nothing about whatyou intended to do? Fie upon such cheap Lacedaemonianism! There isno poltroon in the world but can brag about what he WOULD have done:however, to do your Royal Highness's nation justice, they brag and fighttoo. 

This narrative, my dear Miss Smith, as you will have remarked, is not asimple tale merely, but is accompanied by many moral and pithy remarkswhich form its chief value, in the writer's eyes at least, and theabove account of the sham Lacedaemon on board the "Belle Poule" has adouble-barrelled morality, as I conceive. Besides justly reprehendingthe French propensity towards braggadocio, it proves very stronglya point on which I am the only statesman in Europe who has stronglyinsisted. In the "Paris Sketch Book" it was stated that THE FRENCH HATEUS. They hate us, my dear, profoundly and desperately, and there neverwas such a hollow humbug in the world as the French alliance. Men geta character for patriotism in France merely by hating England. Directlythey go into strong opposition (where, you know, people are always morepatriotic than on the ministerial side), they appeal to the people, andhave their hold on the people by hating England in common with them. Why? It is a long story, and the hatred may be accounted for by manyreasons both political and social. Any time these eight hundred yearsthis ill-will has been going on, and has been transmitted on the Frenchside from father to son. On the French side, not on ours: we have hadno, or few, defeats to complain of, no invasions to make us angry;but you see that to discuss such a period of time would demand aconsiderable number of pages, and for the present we will avoid theexamination of the question. 

But they hate us, that is the long and short of it; and you see how thishatred has exploded just now, not upon a serious cause of difference, but upon an argument: for what is the Pasha of Egypt to us or them buta mere abstract opinion? For the same reason the Little-endians inLilliput abhorred the Big-endians; and I beg you to remark how his RoyalHighness Prince Ferdinand Mary, upon hearing that this argument wasin the course of debate between us, straightway flung his furnitureoverboard and expressed a preference for sinking his ship rather thanyielding it to the etranger. Nothing came of this wish of his, to besure; but the intention is everything. Unlucky circumstances denied himthe power, but he had the will. 

Well, beyond this disappointment, the Prince de Joinville had nothing tocomplain of during the voyage, which terminated happily by the arrivalof the "Belle Poule" at Cherbourg, on the 30th of November, at fiveo'clock in the morning. A telegraph made the glad news known at Paris, where the Minister of the Interior, Tanneguy-Duchatel (you will read thename, Madam, in the old Anglo-French wars), had already made "immensepreparations" for receiving the body of Napoleon. 

The entry was fixed for the 15th of December. 

On the 8th of December at Cherbourg the body was transferred from the"Belle Poule" frigate to the "Normandie" steamer. On which occasion themayor of Cherbourg deposited, in the name of his town, a gold laurelbranch upon the coffin--which was saluted by the forts and dykes of theplace with ONE THOUSAND GUNS! There was a treat for the inhabitants. 

There was on board the steamer a splendid receptacle for the coffin:"a temple with twelve pillars and a dome to cover it from the wet andmoisture, surrounded with velvet hangings and silver fringes. At thehead was a gold cross, at the foot a gold lamp: other lamps were keptconstantly burning within, and vases of burning incense were hungaround. An altar, hung with velvet and silver, was at the mizzen-mast ofthe vessel, AND FOUR SILVER EAGLES AT EACH CORNER OF THE ALTAR. " It wasa compliment at once to Napoleon and--excuse me for saying so, but sothe facts are--to Napoleon and to God Almighty. 

Three steamers, the "Normandie, " the "Veloce, " and the "Courrier, "formed the expedition from Cherbourg to Havre, at which place theyarrived on the evening of the 9th of December, and where the"Veloce" was replaced by the Seine steamer, having in tow one of thestate-coasters, which was to fire the salute at the moment when the bodywas transferred into one of the vessels belonging to the Seine. 

The expedition passed Havre the same night, and came to anchor at Val dela Haye on the Seine, three leagues below Rouen. 

Here the next morning (10th), it was met by the flotilla of steamboatsof the Upper Seine, consisting of the three "Dorades, " the three"Etoiles, " the "Elbeuvien, " the "Pansien, " the "Parisienne, " and the"Zampa. " The Prince de Joinville, and the persons of the expedition, embarked immediately in the flotilla, which arrived the same day atRouen. 

At Rouen salutes were fired, the National Guard on both sides of theriver paid military honors to the body; and over the middle of thesuspension-bridge a magnificent cenotaph was erected, decorated withflags, fasces, violet hangings, and the imperial arms. Before thecenotaph the expedition stopped, and the absolution was given by thearchbishop and the clergy. After a couple of hours' stay, the expeditionproceeded to Pont de l'Arche. On the 11th it reached Vernon, on the 12thMantes, on the 13th Maisons-sur-Seine. 

"Everywhere, " says the official account from which the above particularsare borrowed, "the authorities, the National Guard, and the peopleflocked to the passage of the flotilla, desirous to render the honorsdue to his glory, which is the glory of France. In seeing its heroreturn, the nation seemed to have found its Palladium again, --thesainted relics of victory. "

At length, on the 14th, the coffin was transferred from the "Dorade"steamer on board the imperial vessel arrived from Paris. In the evening, the imperial vessel arrived at Courbevoie, which was the last stage ofthe journey. 

Here it was that M. Guizot went to examine the vessel, and was verynearly flung into the Seine, as report goes, by the patriots assembledthere. It is now lying on the river, near the Invalides, amidst thedrifting ice, whither the people of Paris are flocking out to see it. 

The vessel is of a very elegant antique form, and I can give you on theThames no better idea of it than by requesting you to fancy an immensewherry, of which the stern has been cut straight off, and on which atemple on steps has been elevated. At the figure-head is an immense goldeagle, and at the stern is a little terrace, filled with evergreens anda profusion of banners. Upon pedestals along the sides of the vessel aretripods in which incense was burned, and underneath them are garlands offlowers called here "immortals. " Four eagles surmount the temple, and agreat scroll or garland, held in their beaks, surrounds it. It is hungwith velvet and gold; four gold caryatides support the entry of it; andin the midst, upon a large platform hung with velvet, and bearing theimperial arms, stood the coffin. A steamboat, carrying two hundredmusicians playing funereal marches and military symphonies, precededthis magnificent vessel to Courbevoie, where a funereal temple waserected, and "a statue of Notre Dame de Grace, before which the seamenof the 'Belle Poule' inclined themselves, in order to thank her forhaving granted them a noble and glorious voyage. "

Early on the morning of the 15th December, amidst clouds of incense, and thunder of cannon, and innumerable shouts of people, the coffinwas transferred from the barge, and carried by the seamen of the "BellePoule" to the Imperial Car. 

And, now having conducted our hero almost to the gates of Paris, I musttell you what preparations were made in the capital to receive him. 

Ten days before the arrival of the body, as you walked across theDeputies' Bridge, or over the Esplanade of the Invalides, you saw onthe bridge eight, on the esplanade thirty-two, mysterious boxes erected, wherein a couple of score of sculptors were at work night and day. 

In the middle of the Invalid Avenue, there used to stand, on a kind ofshabby fountain or pump, a bust of Lafayette, crowned with some dirtywreaths of "immortals, " and looking down at the little streamlet whichoccasionally dribbled below him. The spot of ground was now clear, andLafayette and the pump had been consigned to some cellar, to make wayfor the mighty procession that was to pass over the place of theirhabitation. 

Strange coincidence! If I had been Mr. Victor Hugo, my dear, or a poetof any note, I would, in a few hours, have made an impromptu concerningthat Lafayette-crowned pump, and compared its lot now to the fortuneof its patron some fifty years back. From him then issued, as from hisfountain now, a feeble dribble of pure words; then, as now, some faintcircles of disciples were willing to admire him. Certainly in themidst of the war and storm without, this pure fount of eloquence wentdribbling, dribbling on, till of a sudden the revolutionary workmenknocked down statue and fountain, and the gorgeous imperial cavalcadetrampled over the spot where they stood. 

As for the Champs Elysees, there was no end to the preparations; thefirst day you saw a couple of hundred scaffoldings erected at intervalsbetween the handsome gilded gas-lamps that at present ornament thatavenue; next day, all these scaffoldings were filled with brick andmortar. Presently, over the bricks and mortar rose pediments of statues, legs of urns, legs of goddesses, legs and bodies of goddesses, legs, bodies, and busts of goddesses. Finally, on the 13th December, goddessescomplete. On the 14th they were painted marble-color; and the basementsof wood and canvas on which they stood were made to resemble thesame costly material. The funereal urns were ready to receive thefrankincense and precious odors which were to burn in them. A vastnumber of white columns stretched down the avenue, each bearing a bronzebuckler on which was written, in gold letters, one of the victories ofthe Emperor, and each decorated with enormous imperial flags. On thesecolumns golden eagles were placed; and the newspapers did not fail toremark the ingenious position in which the royal birds had been set:for while those on the right-hand side of the way had their heads turnedTOWARDS the procession, as if to watch its coming, those on the leftwere looking exactly the other way, as if to regard its progress. Do notfancy I am joking: this point was gravely and emphatically urged inmany newspapers; and I do believe no mortal Frenchman ever thought itanything but sublime. 

Do not interrupt me, sweet Miss Smith. I feel that you are angry. I cansee from here the pouting of your lips, and know what you are going tosay. You are going to say, "I will read no more of this Mr. Titmarsh;there is no subject, however solemn, but he treats it with flippantirreverence, and no character, however great, at whom he does notsneer. "

Ah, my dear! you are young now and enthusiastic; and your Titmarsh isold, very old, sad, and gray-headed. I have seen a poor mother buy ahalfpenny wreath at the gate of Montmartre burying-ground, and go withit to her little child's grave, and hang it there over the little humblestone; and if ever you saw me scorn the mean offering of the poor shabbycreature, I will give you leave to be as angry as you will. They saythat on the passage of Napoleon's coffin down the Seine, old soldiersand country people walked miles from their villages just to catch asight of the boat which carried his body and to kneel down on the shoreand pray for him. God forbid that we should quarrel with such prayersand sorrow, or question their sincerity. Something great and good musthave been in this man, something loving and kindly, that has kept hisname so cherished in the popular memory, and gained him such lastingreverence and affection. 

But, Madam, one may respect the dead without feeling awe-stricken at theplumes of the hearse; and I see no reason why one should sympathize withthe train of mutes and undertakers, however deep may be their mourning. Look, I pray you, at the manner in which the French nation has performedNapoleon's funeral. Time out of mind, nations have raised, in memoryof their heroes, august mausoleums, grand pyramids, splendid statues ofgold or marble, sacrificing whatever they had that was most costly andrare, or that was most beautiful in art, as tokens of their respect andlove for the dead person. What a fine example of this sort ofsacrifice is that (recorded in a book of which Simplicity is the greatcharacteristic) of the poor woman who brought her pot of preciousointment--her all, and laid it at the feet of the Object which, uponearth, she most loved and respected. "Economists and calculators" therewere even in those days who quarrelled with the manner in which the poorwoman lavished so much "capital;" but you will remember how nobly andgenerously the sacrifice was appreciated, and how the economists wereput to shame. 

With regard to the funeral ceremony that has just been performed here, it is said that a famous public personage and statesman, Monsieur Thiersindeed, spoke with the bitterest indignation of the general style of thepreparations, and of their mean and tawdry character. He would havehad a pomp as magnificent, he said, as that of Rome at the triumph ofAurelian: he would have decorated the bridges and avenues through whichthe procession was to pass, with the costliest marbles and the finestworks of art, and have had them to remain there for ever as monuments ofthe great funeral. 

The economists and calculators might here interpose with a great deal ofreason; for, indeed, there was no reason why a nation should impoverishitself to do honor to the memory of an individual for whom, afterall, it can feel but a qualified enthusiasm: but it surely might haveemployed the large sum voted for the purpose more wisely and generously, and recorded its respect for Napoleon by some worthy and lastingmemorial, rather than have erected yonder thousand vain heaps of tinsel, paint, and plaster, that are already cracking and crumbling in thefrost, at three days old. 

Scarcely one of the statues, indeed, deserves to last a month: some areodious distortions and caricatures, which never should have been allowedto stand for a moment. On the very day of the fete, the wind was shakingthe canvas pedestals, and the flimsy wood-work had begun to gape andgive way. At a little distance, to be sure, you could not see thecracks; and pedestals and statues LOOKED like marble. At some distance, you could not tell but that the wreaths and eagles were gold embroidery, and not gilt paper--the great tricolor flags damask, and not stripedcalico. One would think that these sham splendors betokened shamrespect, if one had not known that the name of Napoleon is held in realreverence, and observed somewhat of the character of the nation. Realfeelings they have, but they distort them by exaggeration; real courage, which they render ludicrous by intolerable braggadocio; and I think theabove official account of the Prince de Joinville's proceedings, of themanner in which the Emperor's remains have been treated in their voyageto the capital, and of the preparations made to receive him in it, willgive my dear Miss Smith some means of understanding the social and moralcondition of this worthy people of France. 

III. --ON THE FUNERAL CEREMONY. 

Shall I tell you, my dear, that when Francois woke me at a veryearly hour on this eventful morning, while the keen stars were stillglittering overhead, a half-moon, as sharp as a razor, beaming in thefrosty sky, and a wicked north wind blowing, that blew the blood out ofone's fingers and froze your leg as you put it out of bed;--shall I tellyou, my dear, that when Francois called me, and said, "V'la vot' cafe, Monsieur Titemasse, buvez-le, tiens, il est tout chaud, " I felt myself, after imbibing the hot breakfast, so comfortable under three blanketsand a mackintosh, that for at least a quarter of an hour no man inEurope could say whether Titmarsh would or would not be present at theburial of the Emperor Napoleon. 

Besides, my dear, the cold, there was another reason for doubting. Did the French nation, or did they not, intend to offer up some of usEnglish over the imperial grave? And were the games to be concluded bya massacre? It was said in the newspapers that Lord Granville haddespatched circulars to all the English resident in Paris, begging themto keep their homes. The French journals announced this news, and warnedus charitably of the fate intended for us. Had Lord Granville written?Certainly not to me. Or had he written to all EXCEPT ME? And was I THEVICTIM--the doomed one?--to be seized directly I showed my face in theChamps Elysees, and torn in pieces by French Patriotism to the franticchorus of the "Marseillaise?" Depend on it, Madam, that high and lowin this city on Tuesday were not altogether at their ease, and that thebravest felt no small tremor! And be sure of this, that as his MajestyLouis Philippe took his nightcap off his royal head that morning, heprayed heartily that he might, at night, put it on in safety. 

Well, as my companion and I came out of doors, being bound for theChurch of the Invalides, for which a Deputy had kindly furnished us withtickets, we saw the very prettiest sight of the whole day, and I can'trefrain from mentioning it to my dear, tender-hearted Miss Smith. 

In the same house where I live (but about five stories nearer theground) lodges an English family, consisting of--1. A great-grandmother, a hale, handsome old lady of seventy, the very best-dressed and neatestold lady in Paris. 2. A grandfather and grandmother, tolerably youngto bear that title. 3. A daughter. And 4. Two little great-grand, orgrandchildren, that may be of the age of three and one, and belong to ason and daughter who are in India. The grandfather, who is as proudof his wife as he was thirty years ago when he married, and pays hercompliments still twice or thrice in a day, and when he leads her into aroom looks round at the persons assembled, and says in his heart, "Here, gentlemen, here is my wife--show me such another woman inEngland, "--this gentleman had hired a room on the Champs Elysees, for hewould not have his wife catch cold by exposing her to the balconies inthe open air. 

When I came to the street, I found the family assembled in the followingorder of march:--

--No. 1, the great-grandmother walking daintily along, supported by No. 3, her granddaughter. 

--A nurse carrying No. 4 junior, who was sound asleep: and a huge basketcontaining saucepans, bottles of milk, parcels of infants' food, certaindimity napkins, a child's coral, and a little horse belonging to No. 4senior. 

--A servant bearing a basket of condiments. 

--No. 2, grandfather, spick and span, clean shaved, hat brushed, whitebuckskin gloves, bamboo cane, brown great-coat, walking as upright andsolemn as may be, having his lady on his arm. 

--No. 4, senior, with mottled legs and a tartan costume, who wasfrisking about between his grandpapa's legs, who heartily wished him athome. 

"My dear, " his face seemed to say to his lady, "I think you might haveleft the little things in the nursery, for we shall have to squeezethrough a terrible crowd in the Champs Elysees. "

The lady was going out for a day's pleasure, and her face was full ofcare: she had to look first after her old mother who was walking ahead, then after No. 4 junior with the nurse--he might fall into all sorts ofdanger, wake up, cry, catch cold; nurse might slip down, or heaven knowswhat. Then she had to look her husband in the face, who had gone to suchexpense and been so kind for her sake, and make that gentleman believeshe was thoroughly happy; and, finally, she had to keep an eye upon No. 4 senior, who, as she was perfectly certain, was about in two minutes tobe lost for ever, or trampled to pieces in the crowd. 

These events took place in a quiet little street leading into the ChampsElysees, the entry of which we had almost reached by this time. The fourdetachments above described, which had been straggling a little in theirpassage down the street, closed up at the end of it, and stood fora moment huddled together. No. 3, Miss X--, began speaking to hercompanion the great-grandmother. 

"Hush, my dear, " said that old lady, looking round alarmed at herdaughter. "SPEAK FRENCH. " And she straightway began nervously to make aspeech which she supposed to be in that language, but which was as muchlike French as Iroquois. The whole secret was out: you could read it inthe grandmother's face, who was doing all she could to keep from crying, and looked as frightened as she dared to look. The two elder ladieshad settled between them that there was going to be a general Englishslaughter that day, and had brought the children with them, so that theymight all be murdered in company. 

God bless you, O women, moist-eyed and tender-hearted! In those gentlesilly tears of yours there is something touches one, be they never sofoolish. I don't think there were many such natural drops shed that dayas those which just made their appearance in the grandmother's eyes, andthen went back again as if they had been ashamed of themselves, whilethe good lady and her little troop walked across the road. Think howhappy she will be when night comes, and there has been no murder ofEnglish, and the brood is all nestled under her wings sound asleep, andshe is lying awake thanking God that the day and its pleasures and painsare over. Whilst we were considering these things, the grandfather hadsuddenly elevated No. 4 senior upon his left shoulder, and I saw thetartan hat of that young gentleman, and the bamboo cane which had beentransferred to him, high over the heads of the crowd on the oppositeside through which the party moved. 

After this little procession had passed away--you may laugh at it, butupon my word and conscience, Miss Smith, I saw nothing in the course ofthe day which affected me more--after this little procession hadpassed away, the other came, accompanied by gun-banging, flag-waving, incense-burning, trumpets pealing, drums rolling, and at the close, received by the voice of six hundred choristers, sweetly modulated tothe tones of fifteen score of fiddlers. Then you saw horse and foot, jack-boots and bear-skin, cuirass and bayonet, National Guard and Line, marshals and generals all over gold, smart aides-de-camp galloping aboutlike mad, and high in the midst of all, riding on his golden buckler, Solomon in all his glory, forsooth--Imperial Caesar, with his crown overhis head, laurels and standards waving about his gorgeous chariot, and amillion of people looking on in wonder and awe. 

His Majesty the Emperor and King reclined on his shield, with his heada little elevated. His Majesty's skull is voluminous, his foreheadbroad and large. We remarked that his Imperial Majesty's brow was of ayellowish color, which appearance was also visible about the orbits ofthe eyes. He kept his eyelids constantly closed, by which we hadthe opportunity of observing that the upper lids were garnished witheyelashes. Years and climate have effected upon the face of this greatmonarch only a trifling alteration; we may say, indeed, that Time hastouched his Imperial and Royal Majesty with the lightest feather in hiswing. In the nose of the Conqueror of Austerlitz we remarked very littlealteration: it is of the beautiful shape which we remember it possessedfive-and-twenty years since, ere unfortunate circumstances induced himto leave us for a while. The nostril and the tube of the nose appear tohave undergone some slight alteration, but in examining a beloved objectthe eye of affection is perhaps too critical. Vive l'Empereur! thesoldier of Marengo is among us again. His lips are thinner, perhaps, than they were before! how white his teeth are! you can just see threeof them pressing his under lip; and pray remark the fulness of hischeeks and the round contour of his chin. Oh, those beautiful whitehands! many a time have they patted the cheek of poor Josephine, andplayed with the black ringlets of her hair. She is dead now, and cold, poor creature; and so are Hortense and bold Eugene, than whom the world"never saw a curtier knight, " as was said of King Arthur's Sir Lancelot. What a day would it have been for those three could they have liveduntil now, and seen their hero returning! Where's Ney? His wife sitslooking out from M. Flahaut's window yonder, but the bravest of thebrave is not with her. Murat too is absent: honest Joachim loves theEmperor at heart, and repents that he was not at Waterloo: who knowsbut that at the sight of the handsome swordsman those stubborn English"canaille" would have given way. A king, Sire, is, you know, thegreatest of slaves--State affairs of consequence--his Majesty the Kingof Naples is detained no doubt. When we last saw the King, however, andhis Highness the Prince of Elchingen, they looked to have as goodhealth as ever they had in their lives, and we heard each of them calmlycalling out "FIRE!" as they have done in numberless battles before. 

Is it possible? can the Emperor forget? We don't like to break it tohim, but has he forgotten all about the farm at Pizzo, and the garden ofthe Observatory? Yes, truly: there he lies on his golden shield, neverstirring, never so much as lifting his eyelids, or opening his lips anywider. 

O vanitas vanitatum! Here is our Sovereign in all his glory, and theyfired a thousand guns at Cherbourg and never woke him!

However, we are advancing matters by several hours, and you must givejust as much credence as you please to the subjoined remarks concerningthe Procession, seeing that your humble servant could not possibly bepresent at it, being bound for the church elsewhere. 

Programmes, however, have been published of the affair, and your vividfancy will not fail to give life to them, and the whole magnificenttrain will pass before you. 

Fancy then, that the guns are fired at Neuilly: the body landed atdaybreak from the funereal barge, and transferred to the car; and fancythe car, a huge Juggernaut of a machine, rolling on four wheels of anantique shape, which supported a basement adorned with golden eagles, banners, laurels, and velvet hangings. Above the hangings stand twelvegolden statues with raised arms supporting a huge shield, on which thecoffin lay. On the coffin was the imperial crown, covered with violetvelvet crape, and the whole vast machine was drawn by horses in superbhousings, led by valets in the imperial livery. 

Fancy at the head of the procession first of all--

The Gendarmerie of the Seine, with their trumpets and Colonel. 

The Municipal Guard (horse), with their trumpets, standard, and Colonel. 

Two squadrons of the 7th Lancers, with Colonel, standard, and music. 

The Commandant of Paris and his Staff. 

A battalion of Infantry of the Line, with their flag, sappers, drums, music, and Colonel. 

The Municipal Guard (foot), with flag, drums, and Colonel. 

The Sapper-pumpers, with ditto. 

Then picture to yourself more squadrons of Lancers and Cuirassiers. TheGeneral of the Division and his Staff; all officers of all armsemployed at Paris, and unattached; the Military School of Saint Cyr, thePolytechnic School, the School of the Etat-Major; and the Professorsand Staff of each. Go on imagining more battalions of Infantry, ofArtillery, companies of Engineers, squadrons of Cuirassiers, ditto ofthe Cavalry, of the National Guard, and the first and second legions ofditto. 

Fancy a carriage, containing the Chaplain of the St. Helena expedition, the only clerical gentleman that formed a part of the procession. 

Fancy you hear the funereal music, and then figure in your mind's eye--

THE EMPEROR'S CHARGER, that is, Napoleon's own saddle and bridle (whenFirst Consul) upon a white horse. The saddle (which has been keptever since in the Garde Meuble of the Crown) is of amaranth velvet, embroidered in gold: the holsters and housings are of the same richmaterial. On them you remark the attributes of War, Commerce, Science, and Art. The bits and stirrups are silver-gilt chased. Over thestirrups, two eagles were placed at the time of the empire. The horsewas covered with a violet crape embroidered with golden bees. 

After this came more Soldiers, General Officers, Sub-Officers, Marshals, and what was said to be the prettiest sight almost of the whole, thebanners of the eighty-six Departments of France. These are due to theinvention of M. Thiers, and were to have been accompanied by federatesfrom each Department. But the government very wisely mistrusted thisand some other projects of Monsieur Thiers; and as for a federation, mydear, IT HAS BEEN TRIED. Next comes--

His Royal Highness, the Prince de Joinville. 

The 600 sailors of the "Belle Poule" marching in double file on eachside of

THE CAR. 

[Hush! the enormous crowd thrills as it passes, and only some few voicescry Vive l'Empereur! Shining golden in the frosty sun--with hundreds ofthousands of eyes upon it, from houses and housetops, from balconies, black, purple, and tricolor, from tops of leafless trees, from behindlong lines of glittering bayonets under schakos and bear-skin caps, from behind the Line and the National Guard again, pushing, struggling, heaving, panting, eager, the heads of an enormous multitude stretchingout to meet and follow it, amidst long avenues of columns and statuesgleaming white, of standards rainbow-colored, of golden eagles, of palefunereal urns, of discharging odors amidst huge volumes of pitch-blacksmoke, THE GREAT IMPERIAL CHARIOT ROLLS MAJESTICALLY ON. 

The cords of the pall are held by two Marshals, an Admiral and GeneralBertrand; who are followed by--

The Prefects of the Seine and Police, &c. 

The Mayors of Paris, &c. 

The Members of the Old Guard, &c. 

A Squadron of Light Dragoons, &c. 

Lieutenant-General Schneider, &c. 

More cavalry, more infantry, more artillery, more everybody; and as theprocession passes, the Line and the National Guard forming line on eachside of the road fall in and follow it, until it arrives at the Churchof the Invalides, where the last honors are to be paid to it. ]

Among the company assembled under the dome of that edifice, the casualobserver would not perhaps have remarked a gentleman of the name ofMichael Angelo Titmarsh, who nevertheless was there. But as, my dearMiss Smith, the descriptions in this letter, from the words in page 298, line 20--THE PARTY MOVED--up to the words PAID TO IT, on this page, havepurely emanated from your obedient servant's fancy, and not fromhis personal observation (for no being on earth, except a newspaperreporter, can be in two places at once), permit me now to communicate toyou what little circumstances fell under my own particular view on theday of the 15th of December. 

As we came out, the air and the buildings round about were tinged withpurple, and the clear sharp half-moon before-mentioned was still in thesky, where it seemed to be lingering as if it would catch a peep of thecommencement of the famous procession. The Arc de Triomphe was shiningin a keen frosty sunshine, and looking as clean and rosy as if it hadjust made its toilette. The canvas or pasteboard image of Napoleon, ofwhich only the gilded legs had been erected the night previous, was nowvisible, body, head, crown, sceptre and all, and made an imposing show. Long gilt banners were flaunting about, with the imperial cipher andeagle, and the names of the battles and victories glittering in gold. The long avenues of the Champs Elysees had been covered with sand forthe convenience of the great procession that was to tramp across it thatday. Hundreds of people were marching to and fro, laughing, chattering, singing, gesticulating as happy Frenchmen do. There is no pleasantersight than a French crowd on the alert for a festival, and nothing morecatching than their good-humor. As for the notion which has been putforward by some of the opposition newspapers that the populace were onthis occasion unusually solemn or sentimental, it would be paying a badcompliment to the natural gayety of the nation, to say that it was, on the morning at least of the 15th of December, affected in anysuch absurd way. Itinerant merchants were shouting out lustily theircommodities of segars and brandy, and the weather was so bitter cold, that they could not fail to find plenty of customers. Carpenters andworkmen were still making a huge banging and clattering among the shedswhich were built for the accommodation of the visitors. Some ofthese sheds were hung with black, such as one sees before churches infunerals; some were robed in violet, in compliment to the Emperor whosemourning they put on. Most of them had fine tricolor hangings withappropriate inscriptions to the glory of the French arms. 

All along the Champs Elysees were urns of plaster-of-Paris destined tocontain funeral incense and flames; columns decorated with huge flags ofblue, red, and white, embroidered with shining crowns, eagles, and N'sin gilt paper, and statues of plaster representing Nymphs, Triumphs, Victories, or other female personages, painted in oil so as to representmarble. Real marble could have had no better effect, and the appearanceof the whole was lively and picturesque in the extreme. On each pillarwas a buckler, of the color of bronze, bearing the name and date of abattle in gilt letters: you had to walk through a mile-long avenueof these glorious reminiscences, telling of spots where, in the greatimperial days, throats had been victoriously cut. 

As we passed down the avenue, several troops of soldiers met us: thegarde-muncipale a cheval, in brass helmets and shining jack-boots, noble-looking men, large, on large horses, the pick of the old army, asI have heard, and armed for the special occupation of peace-keeping: notthe most glorious, but the best part of the soldier's duty, as I fancy. Then came a regiment of Carabineers, one of Infantry--little, alert, brown-faced, good-humored men, their band at their head playingsounding marches. These were followed by a regiment or detachment of theMunicipals on foot--two or three inches taller than the men of the Line, and conspicuous for their neatness and discipline. By-and-by came asquadron or so of dragoons of the National Guards: they are covered withstraps, buckles, aguillettes, and cartouche-boxes, and make under theirtricolor cock's-plumes a show sufficiently warlike. The point whichchiefly struck me on beholding these military men of the National Guardand the Line, was the admirable manner in which they bore a cold thatseemed to me as sharp as the weather in the Russian retreat, throughwhich cold the troops were trotting without trembling and in the utmostcheerfulness and good-humor. An aide-de-camp galloped past in whitepantaloons. By heavens! it made me shudder to look at him. 

With this profound reflection, we turned away to the right towards thehanging-bridge (where we met a detachment of young men of the Ecole del'Etat Major, fine-looking lads, but sadly disfigured by the wearingof stays or belts, that make the waists of the French dandies of a mostabsurd tenuity), and speedily passed into the avenue of statues leadingup to the Invalides. All these were statues of warriors from Ney toCharlemagne, modelled in clay for the nonce, and placed here to meet thecorpse of the greatest warrior of all. Passing these, we had to walk toa little door at the back of the Invalides, where was a crowd of personsplunged in the deepest mourning, and pushing for places in the chapelwithin. 

The chapel is spacious and of no great architectural pretensions, butwas on this occasion gorgeously decorated in honor of the great personto whose body it was about to give shelter. 

We had arrived at nine; the ceremony was not to begin, they said, tilltwo: we had five hours before us to see all that from our places couldbe seen. 

We saw that the roof, up to the first lines of architecture, was hungwith violet; beyond this with black. We saw N's, eagles, bees, laurelwreaths, and other such imperial emblems, adorning every nook and cornerof the edifice. Between the arches, on each side of the aisle, werepainted trophies, on which were written the names of some of Napoleon'sGenerals and of their principal deeds of arms--and not their deeds ofarms alone, pardi, but their coats of arms too. O stars and garters!but this is too much. What was Ney's paternal coat, prithee, or honestJunot's quarterings, or the venerable escutcheon of King Joachim'sfather, the innkeeper?

You and I, dear Miss Smith, know the exact value of heraldic bearings. We know that though the greatest pleasure of all is to ACT like agentleman, it is a pleasure, nay a merit, to BE one--to come of an oldstock, to have an honorable pedigree, to be able to say that centuriesback our fathers had gentle blood, and to us transmitted the same. ThereIS a good in gentility: the man who questions it is envious, or a coarsedullard not able to perceive the difference between high breeding andlow. One has in the same way heard a man brag that he did not know thedifference between wines, not he--give him a good glass of port, and hewould pitch all your claret to the deuce. My love, men often brag abouttheir own dulness in this way. 

In the matter of gentlemen, democrats cry, "Psha! Give us one ofNature's gentlemen, and hang your aristocrats. " And so indeed Naturedoes make SOME gentlemen--a few here and there. But Art makes most. Good birth, that is, good handsome well-formed fathers and mothers, nicecleanly nursery-maids, good meals, good physicians, good education, few cares, pleasant easy habits of life, and luxuries not too greator enervating, but only refining--a course of these going on for a fewgenerations are the best gentleman-makers in the world, and beat Naturehollow. 

If, respected Madam, you say that there is something BETTER thangentility in this wicked world, and that honesty and personal wealth aremore valuable than all the politeness and high-breeding that ever worered-heeled pumps, knights' spurs, or Hoby's boots, Titmarsh for one isnever going to say you nay. If you even go so far as to say that thevery existence of this super-genteel society among us, from the slavishrespect that we pay to it, from the dastardly manner in which we attemptto imitate its airs and ape its vices, goes far to destroy honesty ofintercourse, to make us meanly ashamed of our natural affections andhonest, harmless usages, and so does a great deal more harm than it ispossible it can do good by its example--perhaps, Madam, you speak withsome sort of reason. Potato myself, I can't help seeing that the tulipyonder has the best place in the garden, and the most sunshine, and themost water, and the best tending--and not liking him over well. But Ican't help acknowledging that Nature has given him a much finer dressthan ever I can hope to have, and of this, at least, must give him thebenefit. 

Or say, we are so many cocks and hens, my dear (sans arriere pensee), with our crops pretty full, our plumes pretty sleek, decent picking hereand there in the straw-yard, and tolerable snug roosting in the barn:yonder on the terrace, in the sun, walks Peacock, stretching his proudneck, squealing every now and then in the most pert fashionable voiceand flaunting his great supercilious dandified tail. Don't let us be tooangry, my dear, with the useless, haughty, insolent creature, becausehe despises us. SOMETHING is there about Peacock that we don't possess. Strain your neck ever so, you can't make it as long or as blue ashis--cock your tail as much as you please, and it will never be half sofine to look at. But the most absurd, disgusting, contemptible sightin the world would you and I be, leaving the barn-door for my lady'sflower-garden, forsaking our natural sturdy walk for the peacock'sgenteel rickety stride, and adopting the squeak of his voice in theplace of our gallant lusty cock-a-doodle-dooing. 

Do you take the allegory? I love to speak in such, and the abovetypes have been presented to my mind while sitting opposite a gimcrackcoat-of-arms and coronet that are painted in the Invalides Church, andassigned to one of the Emperor's Generals. 

Ventrebleu! Madam, what need have THEY of coats-of-arms and coronets, and wretched imitations of old exploded aristocratic gewgaws that theyhad flung out of the country--with the heads of the owners in themsometimes, for indeed they were not particular--a score of years before?What business, forsooth, had they to be meddling with gentility andaping its ways, who had courage, merit, daring, genius sometimes, anda pride of their own to support, if proud they were inclined to be? Aclever young man (who was not of high family himself, but had been bredup genteelly at Eton and the university)--young Mr. George Canning, atthe commencement of the French Revolution, sneered at "Roland the Just, with ribbons in his shoes, " and the dandies, who then wore buckles, voted the sarcasm monstrous killing. It was a joke, my dear, worthy of alackey, or of a silly smart parvenu, not knowing the society into whichhis luck had cast him (God help him! in later years, they taught himwhat they were!), and fancying in his silly intoxication that simplicitywas ludicrous and fashion respectable. See, now, fifty years are gone, and where are shoebuckles? Extinct, defunct, kicked into the irrevocablepast off the toes of all Europe!

How fatal to the parvenu, throughout history, has been this respectfor shoebuckles. Where, for instance, would the Empire of Napoleonhave been, if Ney and Lannes had never sported such a thing as acoat-of-arms, and had only written their simple names on their shields, after the fashion of Desaix's scutcheon yonder?--the bold Republican wholed the crowning charge at Marengo, and sent the best blood of theHoly Roman Empire to the right-about, before the wretched misbegottenimperial heraldry was born, that was to prove so disastrous to thefather of it. It has always been so. They won't amalgamate. A countrymust be governed by the one principle or the other. But give, in arepublic, an aristocracy ever so little chance, and it works and plotsand sneaks and bullies and sneers itself into place, and you finddemocracy out of doors. Is it good that the aristocracy should sotriumph?--that is a question that you may settle according to your ownnotions and taste; and permit me to say, I do not care twopence how yousettle it. Large books have been written upon the subject in a varietyof languages, and coming to a variety of conclusions. Great statesmenare there in our country, from Lord Londonderry down to Mr. Vincent, each in his degree maintaining his different opinion. But here, in thematter of Napoleon, is a simple fact: he founded a great, glorious, strong, potent republic, able to cope with the best aristocracies inthe world, and perhaps to beat them all; he converts his republic intoa monarchy, and surrounds his monarchy with what he calls aristocraticinstitutions; and you know what becomes of him. The people estranged, the aristocracy faithless (when did they ever pardon one who was not ofthemselves?)--the imperial fabric tumbles to the ground. If it teachesnothing else, my dear, it teaches one a great point of policy--namely, to stick by one's party. 

While these thoughts (and sundry others relative to the horrible cold ofthe place, the intense dulness of delay, the stupidity of leaving a warmbed and a breakfast in order to witness a procession that is much betterperformed at a theatre)--while these thoughts were passing in themind, the church began to fill apace, and you saw that the hour of theceremony was drawing near. 

Imprimis, came men with lighted staves, and set fire to at least tenthousand wax-candles that were hanging in brilliant chandeliers invarious parts of the chapel. Curtains were dropped over the upperwindows as these illuminations were effected, and the church was leftonly to the funereal light of the spermaceti. To the right was the dome, round the cavity of which sparkling lamps were set, that designed theshape of it brilliantly against the darkness. In the midst, and wherethe altar used to stand, rose the catafalque. And why not? Who isGod here but Napoleon? and in him the sceptics have already ceased tobelieve; but the people does still somewhat. He and Louis XIV. Dividethe worship of the place between them. 

As for the catafalque, the best that I can say for it is that itis really a noble and imposing-looking edifice, with tall pillarssupporting a grand dome, with innumerable escutcheons, standards, andallusions military and funereal. A great eagle of course tops the whole:tripods burning spirits of wine stand round this kind of dead man'sthrone, and as we saw it (by peering over the heads of our neighbors inthe front rank), it looked, in the midst of the black concave, and underthe effect of half a thousand flashing cross-lights, properly grand andtall. The effect of the whole chapel, however (to speak the jargon ofthe painting-room), was spoiled by being CUT UP: there were too manyobjects for the eye to rest upon: the ten thousand wax-candles, forinstance, in their numberless twinkling chandeliers, the raw tranchantcolors of the new banners, wreaths, bees, N's, and other emblems dottingthe place all over, and incessantly puzzling, or rather BOTHERING thebeholder. 

High overhead, in a sort of mist, with the glare of their originalcolors worn down by dust and time, hung long rows of dim ghostly-lookingstandards, captured in old days from the enemy. They were, I thought, the best and most solemn part of the show. 

To suppose that the people were bound to be solemn during the ceremonyis to exact from them something quite needless and unnatural. The veryfact of a squeeze dissipates all solemnity. One great crowd is always, as I imagine, pretty much like another. In the course of the last fewyears I have seen three: that attending the coronation of our presentsovereign, that which went to see Courvoisier hanged, and this whichwitnessed the Napoleon ceremony. The people so assembled for hourstogether are jocular rather than solemn, seeking to pass away the wearytime with the best amusements that will offer. There was, to be sure, in all the scenes above alluded to, just one moment--one particularmoment--when the universal people feels a shock and is for that secondserious. 

But except for that second of time, I declare I saw no seriousness herebeyond that of ennui. The church began to fill with personages of allranks and conditions. First, opposite our seats came a company of fatgrenadiers of the National Guard, who presently, at the word of command, put their muskets down against benches and wainscots, until the arrivalof the procession. For seven hours these men formed the object of themost anxious solicitude of all the ladies and gentlemen seated on ourbenches: they began to stamp their feet, for the cold was atrocious, andwe were frozen where we sat. Some of them fell to blowing their fingers;one executed a kind of dance, such as one sees often here in coldweather--the individual jumps repeatedly upon one leg, and kicks out theother violently, meanwhile his hands are flapping across his chest. Somefellows opened their cartouche-boxes, and from them drew eatables ofvarious kinds. You can't think how anxious we were to know the qualitiesof the same. "Tiens, ce gros qui mange une cuisse de volaille!"--"Il adu jambon, celui-la. " "I should like some, too, " growls an Englishman, "for I hadn't a morsel of breakfast, " and so on. This is the way, mydear, that we see Napoleon buried. 

Did you ever see a chicken escape from clown in a pantomime, and hopover into the pit, or amongst the fiddlers? and have you not seen theshrieks of enthusiastic laughter that the wondrous incident occasions?We had our chicken, of course: there never was a public crowd withoutone. A poor unhappy woman in a greasy plaid cloak, with a batteredrose-colored plush bonnet, was seen taking her place among the stallsallotted to the grandees. "Voyez donc l'Anglaise, " said everybody, andit was too true. You could swear that the wretch was an Englishwoman:a bonnet was never made or worn so in any other country. Half an hour'sdelightful amusement did this lady give us all. She was whisked fromseat to seat by the huissiers, and at every change of place woke a pealof laughter. I was glad, however, at the end of the day to see the oldpink bonnet over a very comfortable seat, which somebody had not claimedand she had kept. 

Are not these remarkable incidents? The next wonder we saw was thearrival of a set of tottering old Invalids, who took their places underus with drawn sabres. Then came a superb drum-major, a handsome smilinggood-humored giant of a man, his breeches astonishingly embroideredwith silver lace. Him a dozen little drummer-boys followed--"the littledarlings!" all the ladies cried out in a breath: they were indeed prettylittle fellows, and came and stood close under us: the huge drum-majorsmiled over his little red-capped flock, and for many hours in the mostperfect contentment twiddled his moustaches and played with the tasselsof his cane. 

Now the company began to arrive thicker and thicker. A whole covey ofConseillers-d'Etat came in, in blue coats, embroidered with blue silk, then came a crowd of lawyers in toques and caps, among whom were sundryvenerable Judges in scarlet, purple velvet, and ermine--a kind ofBajazet costume. Look there! there is the Turkish Ambassador in his redcap, turning his solemn brown face about and looking preternaturallywise. The Deputies walk in in a body. Guizot is not there: he passed byjust now in full ministerial costume. Presently little Thiers sauntersback: what a clear, broad sharp-eyed face the fellow has, with his grayhair cut down so demure! A servant passes, pushing through the crowd ashabby wheel-chair. It has just brought old Moncey the Governor of theInvalids, the honest old man who defended Paris so stoutly in 1814. Hehas been very ill, and is worn down almost by infirmities: but in hisillness he was perpetually asking, "Doctor, shall I live till the 15th?Give me till then, and I die contented. " One can't help believing thatthe old man's wish is honest, however one may doubt the piety of anotherillustrious Marshal, who once carried a candle before Charles X. In aprocession, and has been this morning to Neuilly to kneel and pray atthe foot of Napoleon's coffin. He might have said his prayers at home, to be sure; but don't let us ask too much: that kind of reserve is not aFrenchman's characteristic. 

Bang--bang! At about half-past two a dull sound of cannonading was heardwithout the church, and signals took place between the Commandant ofthe Invalids, of the National Guards, and the big drum-major. Looking tothese troops (the fat Nationals were shuffling into line again) the twoCommandants tittered, as nearly as I could catch them, the followingwords--

"HARRUM HUMP!"

At once all the National bayonets were on the present, and the sabresof the old Invalids up. The big drum-major looked round at thechildren, who began very slowly and solemnly on their drums, Rub-dub-dub--rub-dub-dub--(count two between each)--rub-dub-dub, and agreat procession of priests came down from the altar. 

First, there was a tall handsome cross-bearer, bearing a long goldcross, of which the front was turned towards his grace the Archbishop. Then came a double row of about sixteen incense-boys, dressed in whitesurplices: the first boy, about six years old, the last with whiskersand of the height of a man. Then followed a regiment of priests in blacktippets and white gowns: they had black hoods, like the moon when she isat her third quarter, wherewith those who were bald (many were, and fattoo) covered themselves. All the reverend men held their heads meeklydown, and affected to be reading in their breviaries. 

After the Priests came some Bishops of the neighboring districts, inpurple, with crosses sparkling on their episcopal bosoms. 

Then came, after more priests, a set of men whom I have never seenbefore--a kind of ghostly heralds, young and handsome men, some of themin stiff tabards of black and silver, their eyes to the ground, theirhands placed at right angles with their chests. 

Then came two gentlemen bearing remarkable tall candlesticks, withcandles of corresponding size. One was burning brightly, but the wind(that chartered libertine) had blown out the other, which neverthelesskept its place in the procession--I wondered to myself whether thereverend gentleman who carried the extinguished candle, felt disgusted, humiliated, mortified--perfectly conscious that the eyes of manythousands of people were bent upon that bit of refractory wax. We all ofus looked at it with intense interest. 

Another cross-bearer, behind whom came a gentleman carrying aninstrument like a bedroom candlestick. 

His Grandeur Monseigneur Affre, Archbishop of Paris: he was in black andwhite, his eyes were cast to the earth, his hands were together at rightangles from his chest: on his hands were black gloves, and on the blackgloves sparkled the sacred episcopal--what do I say?--archiepiscopalring. On his head was the mitre. It is unlike the godly coronet thatfigures upon the coach-panels of our own Right Reverend Bench. TheArchbishop's mitre may be about a yard high: formed within probably ofconsecrated pasteboard, it is without covered by a sort of watered silkof white and silver. On the two peaks at the top of the mitre are twovery little spangled tassels, that frisk and twinkle about in a veryagreeable manner. 

Monseigneur stood opposite to us for some time, when I had theopportunity to note the above remarkable phenomena. He stood opposite mefor some time, keeping his eyes steadily on the ground, his hands beforehim, a small clerical train following after. Why didn't they move? Therewas the National Guard keeping on presenting arms, the little drummersgoing on rub-dub-dub--rub-dub-dub--in the same steady, slow way, and theProcession never moved an inch. There was evidently, to use an elegantphrase, a hitch somewhere. 

[Enter a fat priest who bustles up to the drum-major. ]

Fat priest--"Taisez-vous. "

Little drummer--Rub-dub-dub--rub-dub-dub--rub-dub-dub, &c. 

Drum-major--"Qu'est-ce donc?"

Fat priest--"Taisez-vous, dis-je; ce n'est pas le corps. Il n'arriverapas--pour une heure. "

The little drums were instantly hushed, the procession turned to theright-about, and walked back to the altar again, the blown-out candlethat had been on the near side of us before was now on the off side, the National Guards set down their muskets and began at their sandwichesagain. We had to wait an hour and a half at least before the greatprocession arrived. The guns without went on booming all the while atintervals, and as we heard each, the audience gave a kind of "ahahah!"such as you hear when the rockets go up at Vauxhall. 

At last the real Procession came. 

Then the drums began to beat as formerly, the Nationals to get underarms, the clergymen were sent for and went, and presently--yes, therewas the tall cross-bearer at the head of the procession, and they cameBACK!

They chanted something in a weak, snuffling, lugubrious manner, to themelancholy bray of a serpent. 

Crash! however, Mr. Habeneck and the fiddlers in the organ loft pealedout a wild shrill march, which stopped the reverend gentlemen, and inthe midst of this music--

And of a great trampling of feet and clattering, And of a great crowd of Generals and Officers in fine clothes, With the Prince de Joinville marching quickly at the head of theprocession, And while everybody's heart was thumping as hard as possible, NAPOLEON'S COFFIN PASSED. 

It was done in an instant. A box covered with a great red cross--adingy-looking crown lying on the top of it--Seamen on one side andInvalids on the other--they had passed in an instant and were up theaisle. 

A faint snuffling sound, as before, was heard from the officiatingpriests, but we knew of nothing more. It is said that old Louis Philippewas standing at the catafalque, whither the Prince de Joinville advancedand said, "Sire, I bring you the body of the Emperor Napoleon. "

Louis Philippe answered, "I receive it in the name of France. " Bertrandput on the body the most glorious victorious sword that ever has beenforged since the apt descendants of the first murderer learned how tohammer steel; and the coffin was placed in the temple prepared for it. 

The six hundred singers and the fiddlers now commenced the playing andsinging of a piece of music; and a part of the crew of the "BellePoule" skipped into the places that had been kept for them under us, andlistened to the music, chewing tobacco. While the actors and fiddlerswere going on, most of the spirits-of-wine lamps on altars went out. 

When we arrived in the open air we passed through the court of theInvalids, where thousands of people had been assembled, but where thebenches were now quite bare. Then we came on to the terrace before theplace: the old soldiers were firing off the great guns, which made adreadful stunning noise, and frightened some of us, who did not care topass before the cannon and be knocked down even by the wadding. The gunswere fired in honor of the King, who was going home by a back door. Allthe forty thousand people who covered the great stands before the Hotelhad gone away too. The Imperial Barge had been dragged up the river, andwas lying lonely along the Quay, examined by some few shivering peopleon the shore. 

It was five o'clock when we reached home: the stars were shining keenlyout of the frosty sky, and Francois told me that dinner was just ready. 

In this manner, my dear Miss Smith, the great Napoleon was buried. 

Farewell.