o handbills
on the walls to invite people to elect new brigands to fill up the
vacant places; they simply chose among the vagabonds and such like
individuals those, who seemed to them, the most capable of dealing a
blow with a stiletto or stripping a traveller of his valuables, and the
band, thus properly reinforced, went about its usual occupations. The
devil! _Messieurs_, one must say what is what, and call things by their
names. Let us call a cat a cat, and Pilotel a thief. The time of
illusions is past; you need not be so careful to keep your masks on; we
have seen your faces. We have had the carnival of the Commune, and now
Ash-Wednesday is come. You disguised yourselves cunningly, _Messieurs_;
you routed out from the old cupboards and corners of history the
cast-off revolutionary rags of the men of '98; and, sticking some
ornaments of the present fashion upon them,--waistcoats a la Commune and
hats a la Federation,--you dressed yourselves up in them and then struck
attitudes. People perceived, it is true, that the clothes that were made
for giants, were too wide for you pigmies; they hung round your figures
like collapsed balloons; but you, cunning that you were, you said, "We
have been wasted by persecution." And when, at the very beginning, some
stains of blood were seen upon your old disguises; "Pay no attention,"
said you, "it is only the red flag we have in our pockets that is
sticking out." And it happened that some few believed you. We ourselves,
in the very face of all our suspicions, let ourselves be caught by the
waving of your big Scaramouche sleeves, that were a great deal too long
for your arms. Then you talked of such beautiful things: liberty,
emancipation of workmen, association of the working-classes, that we
listened and thought we would see you at your task before we condemned
you utterly. And now we have seen you at your task, and knowing how you
work, we won't give you any more work to do. Down with your mask, I tell
you! Come, false Danton, be Rigault again, and let Serailler's[61] face
come out from behind that Saint Just mask he has on. You, Napoleon
Gaillard, though you are a shoemaker, you are not even a Simon. Drop the
Robespierre, Rogeard! Off with the trappings borrowed from the dark,
grand days! Be mean, small, and ridiculous,--be yourselves; we shall all
be a great deal more at our ease when you are despicable and we are
despising you again.

Paris said to you yesterday just what I a