First came the gendarmes, or mounted police, with glittering brazen breastplates, waving horse-hair crests, fine horses, and a band of trumpeters; then the mounted Garde Municipale; then Lancers; then the Lieutenant-General commanding the National Guard of Paris, surrounded by his staff, and all officers, of whatever grade, then on leave in the capital.  These were followed by infantry, cavalry, sappers and miners, Lancers, and Cuirassiers, staff-officers, etc., with bands and banners.  Then came a carriage containing the chaplain who had had charge of the body from the time it left St. Helena, following whom were a crowd of military and naval officers.  Next appeared a led charger, son of a stallion ridden by Napoleon, and soon after came a bevy of the marshals of France.  Then all the banners of the eighty-six departments, and at last the funeral catafalque.

As it passed under the Arch of Triumph, erected by Napoleon in commemoration of his victories, there were hundreds in the crowd who expected to see the Emperor come to life again.

Strange to say, the universal cry was “Vive l’empereur!” One heard nowhere “Vive le roi!”

The funeral car was hung with purple gauze embroidered with golden bees.  As I said, the coffin of the Emperor was suffered to repose upon a gilded buckler supported by four golden caryatides; but it was, as the sailors would have said, “stowed safely in the hold.”

The catafalque was hung all over with wreaths, emblems, and banners.  It had solid gilded wheels, and was drawn by eight horses covered with green velvet, embroidered with gold bees; each horse was led by a groom in the Bonaparte livery.  At the four corners of the car, holding the tassels of the pall, rode two marshals, an admiral, and General Bertrand, who had shared the captivity of the Emperor.  Count Montholon was not suffered to leave his imprisonment for the occasion, though he also had been a companion of the Emperor at St. Helena.  Around the catafalque marched the five hundred sailors of the “Belle Poule,” headed by their captain, the Prince de Joinville,—­slender, tall, and dark, a very naval-looking man.  He was supposed to be intensely hostile to England, and only to be kept in check by a strong hand.  Then came all the Emperor’s aides-de-camp who were still living, and all the aged veterans in Paris who had served under him.  This was the most touching feature of the procession.  Many tears were shed by the spectators, and a thrill ran through the hearts of eight hundred thousand people as the catafalque creaked onward, passing under the arch which celebrated Napoleon’s triumphs, and beneath which at other times no carriage was allowed to pass.  But enthusiasm rose to the highest point at the sight of the veterans in every kind of faded uniform,—­Grenadiers of the Guard, Chasseurs, Dragoons of the Empress, Red Lancers, Mamelukes, Poles, and, above all, the Old Guard.  “Vive la Vieille Garde!” shouted the multitude; “Vive les Polonais!  Vive l’empereur!”