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M. Gillenormand resumed:—
‘Cannons in the courtyard of the Museum! For what
purpose? Do you want to fire grape-shot at the Apollo Bel-
vedere? What have those cartridges to do with the Venus
de Medici? Oh! the young men of the present day are all
blackguards! What a pretty creature is their Benjamin Con-
stant! And those who are not rascals are simpletons! They
do all they can to make themselves ugly, they are badly
dressed, they are afraid of women, in the presence of petti-
coats they have a mendicant air which sets the girls into fits
of laughter; on my word of honor, one would say the poor
creatures were ashamed of love. They are deformed, and
they complete themselves by being stupid; they repeat the
puns of Tiercelin and Potier, they have sack coats, stable-
men’s waistcoats, shirts of coarse linen, trousers of coarse
cloth, boots of coarse leather, and their rigmarole resembles
their plumage. One might make use of their jargon to put
new soles on their old shoes. And all this awkward batch
of brats has political opinions, if you please. Political opin-
ions should be strictly forbidden. They fabricate systems,
they recast society, they demolish the monarchy, they fling
all laws to the earth, they put the attic in the cellar’s place
and my porter in the place of the King, they turn Europe
topsy-turvy, they reconstruct the world, and all their love
affairs consist in staring slily at the ankles of the laundress-
es as these women climb into their carts. Ah! Marius! Ah!
you blackguard! to go and vociferate on the public place!
to discuss, to debate, to take measures! They call that mea-
sures, just God! Disorder humbles itself and becomes silly.