byss. That is what the descamisados have brought
us to! To deliberate on the citizen artillery! To go and jabber in the
open air over the jibes of the National Guard! And with whom are they to
meet there? Just see whither Jacobinism leads. I will bet anything you
like, a million against a counter, that there will be no one there but
returned convicts and released galley-slaves. The Republicans and the
galley-slaves,--they form but one nose and one handkerchief. Carnot used
to say: 'Where would you have me go, traitor?' Fouche replied: 'Wherever
you please, imbecile!' That's what the Republicans are like."

"That is true," said Theodule.

M. Gillenormand half turned his head, saw Theodule, and went on:--

"When one reflects that that scoundrel was so vile as to turn carbonaro!
Why did you leave my house? To go and become a Republican! Pssst! In
the first place, the people want none of your republic, they have common
sense, they know well that there always have been kings, and that there
always will be; they know well that the people are only the people,
after all, they make sport of it, of your republic--do you understand,
idiot? Is it not a horrible caprice? To fall in love with Pere Duchesne,
to make sheep's-eyes at the guillotine, to sing romances, and play on
the guitar under the balcony of '93--it's enough to make one spit on all
these young fellows, such fools are they! They are all alike. Not one
escapes. It suffices for them to breathe the air which blows through the
street to lose their senses. The nineteenth century is poison. The
first scamp that happens along lets his beard grow like a goat's,
thinks himself a real scoundrel, and abandons his old relatives. He's
a Republican, he's a romantic. What does that mean, romantic? Do me the
favor to tell me what it is. All possible follies. A year ago, they ran
to Hernani. Now, I just ask you, Hernani! antitheses! abominations
which are not even written in French! And then, they have cannons in the
courtyard of the Louvre. Such are the rascalities of this age!"

"You are right, uncle," said Theodule.

M. Gillenormand resumed:--

"Cannons in the courtyard of the Museum! For what purpose? Do you want
to fire grape-shot at the Apollo Belvedere? What have those cartridges
to do with the Venus de Medici? Oh! the young men of the present day are
all blackguards! What a pretty creature is their Benjamin Constant! And
those who are not rascals are simpletons! They do al