at I do not enter politics of my own
volition. In pushing myself in this unexpected manner into the electoral
breach, I merely follow an inspiration that has been made to me. A
ray of light has come into my darkness; a father has partly revealed
himself, and, if I may believe appearances, he holds a place in
the world which ought to satisfy the most exacting ambition. This
revelation, considering the very ordinary course of my life, has come to
me surrounded by fantastic and romantic circumstances which served to be
related to you in some detail.

As you have lived in Italy, I think it useless to explain to you the
Cafe Greco, the usual rendezvous of the pupils of the Academy and
the artists of all countries who flock to Rome. In Paris, rue de
Coq-Saint-Honore, we have a distant counterpart of that institution in a
cafe long known as that of the Cafe des Arts. Two or three times a week
I spend an evening there, where I meet several of my contemporaries
in the French Academy in Rome. They have introduced me to a number of
journalists and men of letters, all of them amiable and distinguished
men, with whom there is both profit and pleasure in exchanging ideas.

In a certain corner, where we gather, many questions of a nature to
interest serious minds are debated; but the most eager interest, namely
politics, takes the lead in our discussions. In this little club the
prevailing opinion is democratic; it is represented under all its
aspects, the phalansterian Utopia not excepted. That's enough to tell
you that before this tribunal the ways of the government are often
judged with severity, and that the utmost liberty of language reigns in
our discussions. The consequence is that about a year ago the waiter
who serves us habitually took me aside one day to give me, as he said, a
timely warning.

"Monsieur," he said, "you are watched by the police; and you would do
well not to talk like Saint Paul, open-mouthed."

"The police! my good friend," I replied, "why the devil should the
police watch me? What I say, and a good deal else, is printed every
morning in the newspapers."

"No matter for that, they _are_ watching you. I have seen it. There is
a little old man, who takes a great deal of snuff, who is always within
hearing distance of you; when you speak he seems to pay more attention
to your words than to those of the others; and once I saw him write
something down in a note-book in marks that were not writing."

"Well