In this statement, this programme, this message, the manifesto, or by whatever name it should be called, which you addressed to your assembled guests at St. Quentin, you proceed in this wise:
You call for “a strong and stable government, that will vigilantly protect the interests of all, and be able to regenerate the morals of the French family.” On this point, sir, we certainly all agree. This government, you go on to say, will pacify souls, bring the social classes closer to one another, and will restore to France her rank in Europe. This is also very fine. But let us see further.
To bring about this end, you appeal even to the disabused voters of the plébiscite; even to the legitimists, who, by their wealth and education, are to be the ornament of the state; even to the conservative men, who are to be as a bridle of restraint on a policy which your friends are to urge forward.
And what is to be this policy? The policy of labor, very different from the policy of conquest, the triumph of the idea of justice in the fulfilment of social duties. I cannot forbear remarking here that these
expressions, policy of labor, idea of justice, are in daily use by the Internationale, and not in a sense particularly intended to tranquillize society. But let us go on.
But this form of government, this policy, how is its establishment to be brought about? Why, by universal suffrage, that foremost of rights, that sole and sovereign tribunal, that army of peace. And how is universal suffrage to be persuaded and drawn to the desired end? By giving to public opinion, through democratic intermingling, proofs of the morality, the political value, and the adaptation for business of the republican party; by demonstrating that the republican government is the most liberal of all forms of government, etc.
Really, sir, all this must have appeared admirable to your audience, and, if your republic is of that sort, many of our most upright conservatives will tell you: Let us clasp hands, for that is the very republic which the National Assembly, acting with and through M. Thiers, is endeavoring to realize at the cost of so much self-denial, disinterestedness, and honesty.
But let us be frank.
You have no right to claim that your republic answers this description. Your sweetness is purely oratorical and Platonic; for two sentences of your address reveal you and show who you are.
“No one,” you say, “must ever give his opinion except as a means of adding to the general good; and each one must convert his mind into, as it were, a memorandum tablet for himself, in which he puts down, with a view of obtaining them, the institutions which the people have a right to expect from the democratic republic.”