The Early Morning FuneralBy Edna Elliott-Carr(In “The Living Age.”)
By Edna Elliott-Carr
(In “The Living Age.”)
One of the sad sights is the early morning funeral to be met almost daily in the streets of Paris—the lonely journey of a dead hero from his bed of suffering to the Garden of Sleep.
One sunny morning as I turned from the wide Champs Elysees into a side street, I found waiting near the back entrance of a large hotel hospital a small company of gendarmes with bowed heads, their banner bearing the crêpe ribbons of mourning. Near them a few passers-by were standing reverently looking on. I waited. The hearse drove closer to the door, and later bore away the coffin. No military pomp or display! A splendid hero had given his life for his country, and this was his simple funeral. Above, on the window balconies, some maids stood looking down, crying, and wiping their tears awaywith their aprons. This “colonel” had lain only four days in the house of suffering, but in so short a time had been beloved enough to be missed. The gendarmes followed slowly, and in the rear a motor car bore a military official. That was all!
The sun seemed to cease shining, and the world looked cold and gray. A taxi cab hovered in sight. I hailed it, and, entering, bade the driver accompany the solemn cortage slowly. I had a sudden wish to follow this soldier to his last resting place, and as I did so, my thoughts were sad ones. How many thousands of such deaths could this war already account for, and how many thousands of hearts had it broken?