Thirty men carrying muffled drums, thirty more with trumpets draped in
crape, head a long procession; every now and then the drums roll
dismally, and the trumpets give a long sad wail.
Numerous detachments of all the battalions come next, marching slowly,
their arms reversed. A small bunch of red immortelles is on every
breast. Has the choice of the colour a political signification, or is
it a symbol of a bloody death?
Next appears an immense funeral car draped with black, and drawn by
four black horses; the gigantic pall is of velvet, with silver stars.
At the corners float four great trophies of red flags.
Then another car of the same sort appears, another, and again another;
in each of them there are thirty-two corpses. Behind the cars march the
members of the Commune bare-headed, and wearing red scarfs. Alas!
always that sanguinary colour! Last of all, between a double row of
National Guards, follows a vast multitude of men, women, and children,
all sorrowful and dejected, many in tears.
The procession proceeds along the boulevards; it started from the
Beaujon hospital, and is going to the Père Lachaise: as it passes all
heads are bared. One man alone up at a window remains covered; the
crowd hiss him. Shame on him who will not bow before those who died for
a cause, whether it may be a worthy one or not! On looking on those
corpses, do not remember the evil they caused when they were alive.
They are dead now, and have become sacred. But remember, oh! remember,
that it is to the crimes of a few that are due the deaths of so many,
and let us help to hasten the hour when the criminals, whoever they be,
and to whatever party they belong; will feel the weight of the
inexorable Nemesis of human destiny.