ath. Understand,--astronomy must swear fealty. In a
well-regulated state, like France or China, everything is bureaucracy,
even science. The mandarin of the Institute depends upon the mandarin
of the police. The great parallactic telescope owes homage to M.
Bonaparte. An astronomer is a sort of constable of the heavens. The
observatory is like any sentry-box. It is necessary to keep an eye on
the good God up yonder, who seems sometimes not to submit absolutely
to the Constitution of the 14th of January. The heavens are full of
unpleasant allusions, and require to be kept in order. The discovery
of a new spot on the sun is evidently a case for the censorship. The
prediction of a high tide may be seditious. The announcement of an
eclipse of the moon may be treason. We are a bit moonstruck at the
Elysee. Free astronomy is almost as dangerous as a free press. Who can
tell what takes place in those nocturnal _tete-a-tetes_ between Arago
and Jupiter? If it were M. Leverrier, well and good!--but a member
of the Provincial Government! Beware, M. de Maupas! the Bureau of
Longitude must make oath not to conspire with the stars, and especially
with those mad artisans of celestial _coups d'etats_ which are
called comets.

Then, too, as we have already said, one is a fatalist when one is a
Bonaparte. Napoleon the Great had his star, Napoleon the Little ought
surely to have a nebula; the astronomers are certainly something of
astrologers. So take the oath, gentlemen. It goes without saying that
Arago refused.

One of the virtues of the oath to Louis Bonaparte is that, according as
it is refused or taken, that oath gives you or takes from you merits,
aptitudes, talents. You are a professor of Greek or Latin; take the
oath, or you are deprived of your chair, and you no longer know Greek
or Latin. You are a professor of rhetoric; take the oath, or tremble;
the story of Theramenes and the dream of Athalie are interdicted; you
shall wander about them for the rest of your days, and never again be
permitted to enter. You are a professor of philosophy; take the oath to
M. Bonaparte,--if not, you become incapable of understanding the
mysteries of the human conscience, and of explaining them to young men.
You are a professor of medicine; take the oath,--if not, you no longer
know how to feel the pulse of a feverish patient. But if the good
professors depart, will there be any more good pupils? Particularly in
medicine, this is a serious matt