When such a vote is put to the people under circumstances which have been indicated, the first question which presents itself, is: And what if the vote turn out No? Will the candidate, already at the head of the army, the executive, and of every other branch; whose initials are paraded everywhere, and whose portrait is in the courts of justice, some of which actually have styled themselves imperial, and who has been addressed Sire; who has an enormous civil list-will he make a polite bow, give the keys to some one else, and walk his way? And to whom was he to give the government? The question was not, as Mr. de Laroche-Jacquelin had proposed, Shall A or B rule us? Essentially this question would not have been better; but there would have been apparently some sense in it. The question simply was: Shall B rule us?—Yes or No. It is surprising that some persons can actually believe reflecting people may thus be duped.

The Cæsar always exists before the imperatorial government is acknowledged and openly established. Whether the prætorians or legions actually proclaim the Cæsar or not, it is always the army that makes him. A succeeding ballot is nothing more than a trimming belonging to more polished or more timid periods, or it may be a tribute to that civilization which does not allow armies to occupy the place they hold in barbarous or relapsing times, at least not openly so.

First to assume the power and then to direct the people to vote, whether they are satisfied with the act or not, leads psychologically to a process similar to that often pursued by Henry VIII., and according to which it became a common saying: First clap a man into prison for treason, and you will soon have abundance of testimony. It was the same in the witch-trials.

The process of election becomes peculiarly unmeaning, because the power already assumed allows no discussion. There is no free press.1

1 When the question of the new imperial crown was before the people of France, Count Chambord, the Bourbon prince who claims the crown

Although no reliance can be placed on wide-spread elections, whose sole object is to ratify the assumption of imperatorial sovereignty, and when therefore it already dictatorially controls all affairs, it is not asserted that the dictator may not at times be supported by large masses, and possibly assume the imperatorial sovereignty with the approbation of a majority. I have repeatedly acknowledged it; but it is unquestionably true that generally in times of commotion, and especially in uninstitutional countries, minorities rule, for it is minorities that actually contend. Yet, even where this is not the case, the popularity of the Cæsar does in no way affect the question. Large, unarticulated masses are swayed by temporary opinions or passions, as much so as individuals, and it requires but a certain skill to seize upon the proper moment to receive their acclamation, if they are willing and consider themselves authorized to give away by one sudden vote, all power and liberty, not only for their own lifetime, but for future generations. In the institutional government alone, substantial public opinion can be generated and brought to light.

It sometimes happens that arbitrary power or centralism recommends itself to popular favor by showing that it intends to substitute a democratic equality for oligarchic or oppressive, unjust institutions, and the liberal principle may seem to be on the side of the levelling ruler. This was doubtless the case when in the sixteenth and seventeenth century the power of the crown made itself independent on the continent of Europe. Instead of transforming the institutions, or of substituting new ones, the governments levelled them to the ground, and that unhappy centralization was the consequence which now draws every attempt at liberty back into its vortex. At other times, monarchs or governments disguise their plans to destroy

of France on the principle of legitimacy, wrote a letter to his adherents, exhorting them not to vote. The leading government papers stated at the time that government would have permitted the publication of this letter, had it not attacked the principle of the people's sovereignty. The people were acknowledged sovereign, yet the government decides what the sovereign may read!

liberty in the garb of liberty itself. Thus James II. endeavored to break through the restraints of the constitution, or perhaps ultimately to establish the catholic religion in England, by proclaiming liberty of conscience for all, against the established church. Austria at one time urged measures, apparently liberal for the peasants, against the Gallician nobles. In such cases, governments are always sure to find numerous persons that do not look beyond the single measure, nor to the means by which it is carried out; yet the legality and constitutionality of these means are of great, and frequently of greater importance than the measure itself. Even historians are frequently captivated by the apparently liberal character of a single measure, forgetting that the dykes of an institutional government once being broken through, the whole country may soon be flooded by an irresistible tide of arbitrary power. We have a parallel in the criminal trial, in which the question how we arrive at the truth is of equal importance with the object of arriving at truth. Nullum bonum nisi bene.

On the other hand, all endeavors to throw more and more unarticulated power into the hands of the primary masses, to deprive a country more and more of a gradually evolving character; in one word, to introduce an ever-increasing direct, unmodified popular power, amount to an abandonment of self-government, and an approach to imperatorial sovereignty, whether there be actually a Cæsar or not-to popular absolutism, whether the absolutism remain for any length of time in the hands of a sweeping majority, subject, of course, to a skilful leader, as in Athens after the Peloponnesian war, or whether it rapidly pass over into the hands of a broadly named Cæsar. Imperatorial sovereignty may be at a certain period more plausible than the sovereignty founded upon divine right, but they are both equally hostile to self-government, and the only means to resist the inroads. of power is, under the guidance of providence and a libertywedded people, the same means which in so many cases have withstood the inroads of the barbarians, namely, the institution-the self-sustaining and organic systems of laws.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CENTRALIZATION.

INFLUENCE OF CAPITAL CITIES.

WE have seen in how great a degree French centralism has produced an incapacity for self-rule, according to one of the most distinguished statesmen of France herself. This centralism, in conjunction with imperatorial sovereignty, has produced some peculiar effects upon a nation so intelligent, ardent, and wedded to system as the French are. Before I conclude this treatise, therefore, I beg leave to offer a few remarks, which naturally suggest themselves, in connection with centralism and imperatorial sovereignty; both so prominent at this moment in France.

Centralism has given to Paris an importance which no capital possesses in any other country. The French themselves often say Paris is France; foreigners always say so; and to them as well as to those French people who desire to enjoy, at one round, as much as possible of all that French civilization produces, this is, doubtless, very agreeable and instructive. Paris is brilliant, as centralism frequently is; Paris naturally flatters the vanity of the French; Paris stands with many people for France, because they see nothing of France but Paris. Centralization appears most imposing in Paris—in the buildings, in demonstrations, in rapidity of execution, and in an æsthetical point of view. Upon a close examination of history, however, we shall find that it has been not only a natural effect of centralism, but an object of all absolute rulers over intelligent races, to beautify the capital and raise its activity to the highest point. The effect is remarkable. The government of King Jerome, of Westphalia-now again prince of France-was one of the most ruinous that has ever existed,

and yet long after the downfall of that ephemeral kingdom, every disapproval of it was answered by a reference to the embellishment of Cassel, the capital.1

1 There are psychological processes which indicate suspicious intentions-the adoption of a new and scientifically sounding term for an old and common offence, as Repudiation for declining to pay what is due; and of mystifying; high sounding abstractions in statesmanship. The latter is carried to a degree, in the following address of Napoleon, which is rare even in France. Louis XIV., according to the present emperor of the French, the great representative of French unity and glory, when he had ruined France by the building of Versailles, warned, on his deathbed, his successor to beware of wars and of building. There are so many points of French politics tersely put in the speech of Napoleon III., when in September of 1857 he opened the Louvre, that its record may be considered a historical document. We give it therefore entire.

The ceremony of opening the Louvre was simple but imposing. The ministers, marshals and generals, the senators and great functionaries, assembled in the hall of the Louvre. The emperor and empress arrived at two o'clock with a vast retinue. The business began by the presentation of an address to the emperor from M. Fould, briefly describing the origin and completion of a work which, begun in 1852 and finished in 1857, unites the Louvre and the Tuileries. The emperor next distributed the legion of honor to the professional men who have distinguished themselves during the erection of the building; making some commanders, some simple knights. Having distributed all the honors, the emperor delivered the following address:

"Gentlemen-I congratulate myself, with you, on the completion of the Louvre. I congratulate myself especially upon the causes which have rendered it possible. In fact, it is order, restored stability, and the ever-increasing prosperity of the country, which have enabled me to complete this national work. I call it so because the governments which have succeeded each other have made it a point to do something towards the completion of the royal dwelling commenced by Francis I. and embellished by Henry II.

"Whence this perseverance, and even this popularity, in the building of a palace? It is because the character of a people is reflected in its institutions as in its customs, in the events that excite its enthusiasm as well as in the monuments which become the object of its chief interest. Now France, monarchical for so many centuries, which always beheld in the central power the representative of her grandeur and of her nationality, wished that the dwelling of the sovereign should be worthy of the country; and the best means of responding to that sentiment