In the midst of all this horror and terror I saw one little incident
which made me smile, though it was sad too; an idyl which might be an
elegy. Three hired carriages descended the Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.
It was a wedding. In the first carriage was the bride, young and
pretty, in tears; in the second, the bridegroom, looking anything but
pleased. As the horses were proceeding slowly on account of the hill, I
approached and inquired the cause of the discontent. A disagreeable
circumstance had happened, the _garçon d’honneur_ told me. They had
been to the _mairie_ to be married, but the _mairie_ had been turned
into a guard-house, and instead of the _mairie_ and his clerks, they
found soldiers of the Commune. The sergeant had offered to replace the
municipal functionary, but the grands-parents had not consented to such
an arrangement, and they were forced to return with the connubial knot
still to be tied. An unhappy state of things. “Pooh!” said an old woman
who was passing by, “they can marry to-morrow.—There is always time
enough to commit suicide.”
It is true, they can marry to-morrow; but these young people wished to
be married to-day. What are revolutions to them? What would it have
mattered to the Commune had these lovers been united to-day? Is one
ever sure of recovering happiness that has once escaped? Ah! this
insurrection, I hate it for the men it has killed, and the widows it
has made; and also for the sake of those pretty eyes that glistened
with tears under the bridal wreath.