o believe in the nullity
of every judgment, my own in particular--I who make it a business to
judge others, and am so short-sighted.... The future will disclose what
no one can foresee. There is no use in talking of ordinary wisdom
and prudence: they have been utterly at fault. Guizot, the
historian-philosopher, has turned out more stupid than a Polignac:
Utopia and the poet's dream, on the contrary, have become facts and
reality. I forgive Lamartine everything: he has been great during these
days, and done honor to the poetic nature." But afterward, in looking
back to the poet's reign, he grew satirical: "It was in the time of the
good provisional government, which did so many things and left so many
undone. The fortunes of France crumbled to pieces in a fortnight, but it
was under the invocation of equality and fraternity. As to liberty, it
only existed for madmen, and the wise took good care to make no use of
it. 'The great folk are terribly scared,' said my portress, but the
small fry triumphed: it was their turn. So much had never been said
about work before, and so little was never done. People walked about all
day, planted liberty-trees at every street-corner, illuminated
willy-nilly, and perorated in the clubs and squares until midnight. The
Exchange rang with disasters in the morning: in the evening it sparkled
with lanterns and fireworks. It was the gayest anarchy for the lower
classes of Paris, who had no police and looked after themselves. The
street-boys ran about with flags; workmen without work, but paid
nevertheless, walked in perpetual procession; the demireps had kicked
over the traces, and on the sidewalks the most virtuous
fellow-citizenesses were hugged without ceremony: it must be added that
they did not resent it too much. The grisettes, having nothing to eat,
gave themselves away for nothing or next to nothing, as during the
Fronde. The chorus of the Girondists was sung on every open lot, and
there was a feast of addresses. Lamartine wrought marvels such as
Ulysses might have done, and he was the siren of the hour. Yet they
laughed and joked, and the true French wit revived. There was general
good-humor and amiability in those first days of a most licentious
spring sunshine. There was an admixture of bad taste, as there always is
in the people of Paris when they grow sentimental. They made grotesque
little gardens round the liberty-trees, which they watered
assiduously.... The small fry adored the