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’arrivera pas—­pour une heure.”

The little drums were instantly hushed, the procession turned to the right-about, and walked back to the altar again, the blown-out candle that 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 sandwiches again.  We had to wait an hour and a half at least before the great procession arrived.  The guns without went on booming all the while at intervals, 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 under arms, the clergymen were sent for and went, and presently—­yes, there was the tall cross-bearer at the head of the procession, and they came back!

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

Crash! however, Mr. Habeneck and the fiddlers in the organ loft pealed out a wild shrill march, which stopped the reverend gentlemen, and in the 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 the procession,

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—­a dingy-looking crown lying on the top of it—­Seamen on one side and Invalids on the other—­they had passed in an instant and were up the aisle.

A faint snuffling sound, as before, was heard from the officiating priests, but we knew of nothing more.  It is said that old Louis Philippe was standing at the catafalque, whither the Prince de Joinville advanced and said, “Sire, I bring you the body of the Emperor Napoleon.”

Louis Philippe answered, “I receive it in the name of France.”  Bertrand put on the body the most glorious victorious sword that ever has been forged since the apt descendants of the first murderer learned how to hammer steel; and the coffin was placed in the temple prepared for it.

The six hundred singers and the fiddlers now commenced the playing and singing of a piece of music; and a part of the crew of the “Belle Poule” skipped into the places that had been kept for them under us, and listened to the music, chewing tobacco.  While the actors and fiddlers were going on, most of the spirits-of-wine lamps on altars went out.