“Good morning, Mr. Sampson!” cried the children hanging by the lamp-posts. One of his servants next followed. “Bravo, Tuesday!” cried out the children, as the two placed themselves on the front seat.
It was now my turn, and I mounted with a firm step.
“He goes well to it!” said a woman beside the gendarmes.
This atrocious commendation gave me courage. The Priest took his seat beside me. They had placed me on the hindmost seat, my back towards the horse. I shuddered at this last attention. There is a mixture of humanity in it.
I wished to look around me,—gendarmes before and behind: then crowd! crowd! crowd! A sea of heads in the street. The officer gave the word, and the procession moved on, as if pushed forward by a yell from the populace.
“Hats off! hats off!” cried a thousand voices together, as if for the King. Then I laughed horribly also myself, and said to the Priest, “Their hats—my head.”
We passed a street which was full of public-houses, in which the windows were filled with spectators, seeming to enjoy their good places, particularly the women.
There were also people letting out tables, chairs, and carts; and these dealers in human life shouted out, “Who wishes for places?”
A strange rage seized me against these wretches, and I longed to shout out to them, “Do you wish for mine?”
The procession still advanced. At each step the crowd in the rear dispersed; and I saw, with my wandering eyes, that they collected again farther on, to have another view. I know not how it was, that, notwithstanding the fog and the small white rain which crossed the air like gossamer, nothing which passed around escaped me; every detail brought its torture: words fail to convey my emotions. My great dread was lest I should faint. Last vanity! Then I endeavoured to confuse myself into being blind and deaf to all, except to the Priest, whose words I scarcely heard amidst the tumult. I took the Crucifix and kissed it.