operty, families, and persons. If French
citizens wish to fathom the depth of the "government" into which they
have fallen, they have only to ask themselves a few questions. Let us
see: magistrate, he tears off your gown, and sends you to prison. What
of it? Let us see: Senate, Council of State, Corps Legislatif, he
seizes a shovel, and flings you all in a heap in a corner. What of it?
Landed proprietor, he confiscates your country house and your town
house, with courtyards, stables, gardens, and appurtenances. What of
it? Father, he takes your daughter; brother, he takes your sister;
citizen, he takes your wife, by right of might. What of it? Wayfarer,
your looks displease him, and he blows your brains out with a pistol,
and goes home. What of it?

All these things being done, what would be the result? Nothing.
"Monseigneur the Prince-President took his customary drive yesterday in
the Champs Elysees, in a caleche _a la Daumont_, drawn by four horses,
accompanied by a single aide-de-camp." This is what the newspapers will
say.

He has effaced from the walls Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity; and he
is right. Frenchmen, alas! you are no longer either free,--the
strait-waistcoat is upon you; or equal,--the soldier is everything; or
brothers,--for civil war is brewing under this melancholy peace of a
state of siege.

Emperor? Why not? He has a Maury who is called Sibour; he has a
Fontanes, or, if you prefer it, a _Faciuntasinos_, who is called
Fortoul; he has a Laplace who answers to the name of Leverrier,
although he did not produce the "_Mecanique Celeste_." He will easily
find Esmenards and Luce de Lancivals. His Pius VII is at Rome, in the
cassock of Pius IX. His green uniform has been seen at Strasburg; his
eagle has been seen at Boulogne; his grey riding-coat, did he not wear
it at Ham? Cassock or riding-coat, 'tis all one. Madame de Stael comes
out, of his house. She wrote "Lelia." He smiles on her pending the day
when he will exile her. Do you insist on an archduchess? wait awhile
and he will get one. _Tu, felix Austria, nube._ His Murat is called
Saint-Arnaud; his Talleyrand is called Morny; his Duc d'Enghien is
called Law.

What does he lack then? Nothing; a mere trifle; merely Austerlitz and
Marengo.

Make the best of it; he is Emperor _in petto_; one of these mornings
he will be so in the sun; nothing more is wanting than a trivial
formality, the mere consecration and crowning of his false oath at
Notr