Victor Hugo had once written an essay about Napoleon's funeral.
That day was sunny. Although it had rained heavily the day before, the weather was so cold that the water in the gutters had frozen. His coffin did not enter the city until the afternoon.
Generals and marshals took part in the funeral procession, making for a magnificent spectacle. Sunlight shone upon the breastplates of the infantrymen holding rifles, setting the badges on their chests glittering.
Along the way, they passed a statue of Louis XIV, grand and imposing, turned golden beneath the sun.
Amid the mist and sunlight, the trees along the Champs-Élysées appeared gray and brown, like a painted backdrop. When the hearse appeared on the avenue, the people cheered, welcoming him as though he were still alive and returning in triumph.
Halfway through, it was delayed for some reason. At the corner of the riverside avenue stood a statue of Marshal Ney.
Later, it broke down again in front of Victor Hugo, allowing him to study the hearse at leisure. Overall, it was solemn and majestic, an enormous thing glittering with gold. Four huge golden wheels bore it, rising layer upon layer in the shape of a pyramid. From top to bottom, it was draped in purple gauze covered with bees. Yet the true coffin could not be seen; it had been placed inside the base. What people saw was only a false coffin, atop which lay the Emperor's insignia—the crown, sword, scepter, cloak, and such. Georgiana could not remember the rest. It had only been an essay, and besides, Napoleon had been nothing more than a historical figure to her at the time.
The burial ceremony for Saint Genevieve's sarcophagus was also grand, but unlike Napoleon, she had not come from afar. The sarcophagus was not