aloon: whenever the clown robs, the
stolen articles are sure to be found in his companion's pocket; and thus
exactly Robert Macaire and his companion Bertrand are made to go through
the world; both swindlers, but the one more accomplished than the other.
Both robbing all the world, and Robert robbing his friend, and, in the
event of danger, leaving him faithfully in the lurch. There is, in
the two characters, some grotesque good for the spectator--a kind of
"Beggars' Opera" moral.

Ever since Robert, with his dandified rags and airs, his cane and
snuff-box, and Bertrand with torn surtout and all-absorbing pocket, have
appeared on the stage, they have been popular with the Parisians; and
with these two types of clever and stupid knavery, M. Philipon and his
companion Daumier have created a world of pleasant satire upon all the
prevailing abuses of the day.

Almost the first figure that these audacious caricaturists dared to
depict was a political one: in Macaire's red breeches and tattered coat
appeared no less a personage than the King himself--the old Poire--in a
country of humbugs and swindlers the facile princeps; fit to govern, as
he is deeper than all the rogues in his dominions. Bertrand was opposite
to him, and having listened with delight and reverence to some tale of
knavery truly royal, was exclaiming with a look and voice expressive of
the most intense admiration, "AH VIEUX BLAGEUR! va!"--the word blague is
untranslatable--it means FRENCH humbug as distinct from all other; and
only those who know the value of an epigram in France, an epigram so
wonderfully just, a little word so curiously comprehensive, can fancy
the kind of rage and rapture with which it was received. It was a blow
that shook the whole dynasty. Thersites had there given such a wound to
Ajax, as Hector in arms could scarcely have inflicted: a blow sufficient
almost to create the madness to which the fabulous hero of Homer and
Ovid fell a prey.

Not long, however, was French caricature allowed to attack personages
so illustrious: the September laws came, and henceforth no more epigrams
were launched against politics; but the caricaturists were compelled to
confine their satire to subjects and characters that had nothing to
do with the State. The Duke of Orleans was no longer to figure in
lithography as the fantastic Prince Rosolin; no longer were multitudes
(in chalk) to shelter under the enormous shadow of M. d'Argout's nose:
Marshal Loban