The public funeral took place on the 18th of November, and was attended by the Prince Consort and all the chief officers of State. The body was removed by torchlight, on the evening previous, to the Horse Guards, under an escort of cavalry. At dawn on the 18th the solemn ceremony began. From St. Paul's Cathedral, down Fleet Street, along the Strand, by Charing Cross and Pall Mall, to St. James's Park, troops lined both sides of the streets; while in the park itself, columns of infantry, cavalry, and artillery were formed ready to fall into their proper places in the procession, of which we publish two interesting engravings. How it was conducted—with what respectful interest watched by high and low—how solemn the notes of the bands, as one after another they took up and entoned the "Dead March in Saul"—how grand, yet how touching the scene in the interior of St. Paul's—none but those who can remember it can realise.
Fig. 53.—Funeral of the Duke of Wellington, November 18, 1852. The Procession passing Apsley House.—From an original sketch, reproduced expressly for this publication.
Fig. 54.—Funeral of the Duke of Wellington, November 18, 1852. Scene inside St. Paul's.—Reproduced from an original sketch, expressly for this publication.
A man of genius in France is rightly placed on a kind of throne, and considered a "king of thought;" so the obsequies of so truly illustrious a poet as Victor Hugo, which took place in Paris, June 1, 1885, assumed proportions rarely accorded even to the mightiest sovereigns. Unfortunately, it was marred by the desecration of a noted church, the Pantheon; for it pleased a political party in power to make out that Hugo had denied even the existence of God, and this notwithstanding the fact that every page of his works is a testimony to his ardent creed in the Almighty and his hope in the life to come. The lying-in-state took place under the Arch of Triumph, which was decorated with much taste by a huge black veil draped across it. Flaring torches lighted up the architectural features of the monument, and also the tremendous throng of spectators. The arch looked solemn enough, but the behaviour of the people who surrounded it was the reverse, especially at night. On Thursday, June 1, early in the day, which was intensely hot, the procession began to move from the Arc de Triomphe to the Pantheon, and presented a scene never to be forgotten. The coffin was a very simple one, in accordance with the poet's wishes to be buried like a pauper; but what proved the chief charm of this really poetical spectacle was the amazing number of huge wreaths carried by the countless deputations from all parts of France, and sent from every city of Europe and America. There were some 15,000 wreaths of foliage and flowers carried in this strange procession, many of which were of colossal dimensions, so that when one beheld the cortége from the bottom of the Champs Élysées, for instance, it looked like a huge floral snake meandering along. The bearers of the wreaths were hidden beneath them, and these exquisite trophies of early summer flowers, combined with the glittering helmets of the Guards, the bright costumes of the students, and, above all, with the veritable walls of human beings towering up on all sides, filling balconies and windows, covering roofs and every spot wherever even a glimpse of the pageant could be obtained, created a spectacle as unique as it was picturesque.
