Second Empire--it was May 1, 1866, that Amedee
Violette entered there for the first time--the Cafe de, Seville passed
for, and with reason too, one of the most remarkable places in Paris.
For this glorious establishment had furnished by itself, or nearly so,
the eminent staff of our third Republic! Be honest, Monsieur le Prefet,
you who presided at the opening of the agricultural meeting in our
province, and who played the peacock in your dress-coat, embroidered
in silver, before an imposing line of horned creatures; be honest and
admit, that, at the time when you opposed the official candidates in
your democratic journal, you had your pipe in the rack of the Cafe
de Seville, with your name in white enamel upon the blackened bowl!
Remember, Monsieur le Depute, you who voted against all the exemption
cases of the military law, remember who, in this very place, at your
daily game of dominoes for sixty points, more than a hundred times
ranted against the permanent army--you, accustomed to the uproar of
assemblies and the noise of the tavern--contributed to the parliamentary
victories by crying, "Six all! count that!" And you too, Monsieur le
Ministre, to whom an office-boy, dating from the tyrants, still says,
"Your excellency," without offending you; you also have been a constant
frequenter of the Cafe de Seville, and such a faithful customer that the
cashier calls you by your Christian name. And do you recall, Monsieur
the future president of the Council, that you did not acquit yourself
very well when the sedentary dame, who never has been seen to rise from
her stool, and who, as a joker pretended, was afflicted with two wooden
legs, called you by a little sign to the desk, and said to you, not
without a shade of severity in her tone: "Monsieur Eugene, we must be
thinking of this little bill."

Notwithstanding his title of poet, Amedee had not the gift of prophecy.
While seeing all these negligently dressed men seated outside at
the Cafe de Seville's tables, taking appetizers, the young man never
suspected that he had before him the greater part of the legislators
destined to assure, some years later, France's happiness. Otherwise he
would have respectfully taken note of each drinker and the color of his
drink, since at a later period this would have been very useful to
him as a mnemonical method for the understanding of our parliamentary
combinations, which are a little complicated, we must admit. For
example, would it