Dr Bashar al-Assad walked behind his father's flag-draped coffin, tall and ramrod straight in his black suit, sunglasses and tie. Mourners were collapsing in the searing heat, but Dr Bashar exuded calm and self-confidence. His younger brother, Maher, walked to his right, the chief-of-staff of the Syrian army, Gen Ali Aslan, and a phalanx of generals to his left.
They were followed by a cavalcade of black Mercedes and a van specially equipped to neutralise roadside bombs.
Hafez al-Assad had three funerals yesterday: the "popular" procession through the streets of Damascus; the diplomatic reception at the "Palace of the People"; and an Alawite burial in his mountain village of Qordaha.
The morning march through the streets of Damascus was for Assad's people, but, as in life, they were kept a safe distance from him. Assad's face looked down from dozens of billboards along the route, giving the impression that he watched his own funeral. While the army band played a dirge, republican guards with red berets protected the dead President's side of the highway. Beyond a wire fence, thousands of police in beige uniforms ensured the crowd did not break through the barrier.
Groups of demonstrators - most from the Ba'athist Shebibeh (youth) - flowed back and forth on the side of the highway allotted to them, chanting oaths of loyalty to Dr Bashar. "How can we bring you back, Assad?" they shouted.
Masses of sweating, ill-dressed men bussed in from the countryside and poor Alawite districts almost stampeded to keep up with the cortege, trampling plants along the highway and raising great clouds of dust. Those who came too close to the police barrier were shoved back violently. "Why are you pushing me?" one shouted at a policeman. "You're no better than I am."
The Syrian authorities were determined there would be no scenes of crazed mourners tearing at the coffin, as there had been at Ayatollah Khomeini's and King Hussein's funerals.
The message was clear: we are in control, Dr Bashar and the generals were saying. Damascus had returned to its usual, restrained status quo. On the eve of the funeral - after a day of threats by Dr Bashar's Uncle Rifaat - the capital felt tense, with hundreds of plain-clothes gunmen, all secret police, prowling the streets and the poor young people from the Alawite slums becoming a little too boisterous in their orchestrated, almost festive demonstrations of mourning.
That the diplomatic part of the ritual - held at the "Palace of the People", where none of the "people" entered - lasted more than twice as long as the "popular" cortege reflected President Assad's obsession with Syria's place in the world. With its cavernous marble hall, the palace always felt like a mausoleum, and it was here that nearly every Arab head of state, a gaggle of European foreign ministers and dignitaries from the farthest stretches of Asia paid their respects.
Four times Dr Bashar left the main reception room, where mourners sat Arab-style along the wall, sipping the sugarless black coffee served at funerals. He held private meetings with President Khatami of Iran, with the US Secretary of State, Ms Madeleine Albright, his friend King Abdullah of Jordan and President Chirac of France.
When Iran was isolated in the days of Ayatollah Khomeini, Syria was its only conduit to the outside world and its door to Lebanon. The presence yesterday of men like Hussein Mussawi - a Baalbek Hizbullah leader associated with hostage-taking - was a reminder of more radical days in both countries.
Now President Khatami and soon-to-be-President Bashar are considered moderates.
Although she arrived before him, Ms Albright had to wait while Mr Khatami talked to Dr Bashar, and she looked angry as she stood in front of Assad's coffin. The Syrians were wounded that President Clinton did not come to Damascus - after all, the US leader held at least three summits with Assad, and he attended King Hussein's funeral last year.
Mr Chirac was the only Western head of state to make the journey to Damascus, a gesture calculated to increase France's already substantial influence in the region.
Virtually everyone who is anyone in "sister Lebanon" paid condolences to Dr Bashar - even the Maronite Catholic Patriarch, Cardinal Sfeir, who wants Syria to withdraw its 20,000 troops from Lebanon. The Druze leader, Mr Walid Joumblatt, whose father Kamal was probably murdered on Assad's orders, barely paused before the casket where so many mumbled prayers.
