Napoleon the Prince. Cold, impassive, and judicious, the Emperor, from his Cabinet in the Tuileries, looks with occasional approbation and occasional dismay on the fiery temper of the Egalité of his House: who

In

chafes at the restraint to which he finds himself continually subjected. The latter is as arrogant and eager as the former is calculating and inscrutable. Nor does the Prince dissemble his dissatisfaction at the slowness with which the empire moves in the direction of internal and external change. But with all his bursts of enthusiasm and extravagance, he shows us the nature of the link that binds together the French Emperor and the French nation. The Napoleons possess the affection of a large mass of the people because they have come from the people's loins, and because they are wise enough never to forget it. In spite of all the wrongs that liberty has suffered at their hands, the Revolution is proud of the formidable Empire that sprang full-armed into existence from the dragon's teeth which the first Republic sowed. In respect of the severity with which it rules at home, Imperialism in France may be very much the same as despotism elsewhere. But the French are not unwilling that their imperial shield, like other royal shields, should have one golden side, provided that the world. is made to know that the side on the reverse is earthen. Nor can it be denied that the Empire, during the last ten years, has been for Europe a strongly liberal element-a powerful solvent to destroy the past, and a powerful force to build up a democratic future. The vanity of the French eagles may be satisfied with what they have accomplished. They have implanted new and fruitful ideas, even where they have not achieved material conquests. Prince Napoleon, indeed, seems to think that France is not marching onwards fast enough. He may depend upon it that, in the opinion of old Europe, she has been spinning down the groove of novelty at railroad pace. Considering the sum

of the alteration that has been creeping over the spirit of the entire Continent. Posterity will acknowledge that the French nation-unconsciously, it may be

has been the cause of most of it. However this may prove, for fear that the Slave of the Lamp should mistake himself for the Master who owns it, Prince Napoleon periodically appears upon the boards of the political theatre to warn his cousin, in semi-tragic tones, that the Napoleons must obey democracy or perish.

The

The influence which he is said to possess in the imperial closet is considerable, and no doubt legitimate; yet, if human nature be human nature, it cannot always have been pleasing to a victorious consul to have the lugubrious admonition dinned into his ears, at the very hour of his triumph, that he was after all but mortal. illustrious captive who gave his soul to the Revolution when he was in the solitude of Ham may not care, now that he is flushed with empire, to be reminded so often by his friend, the Fiend, of his ghostly and ambitious bargain. And though his cousin is more ostentatiously progressive, Napoleon the Third has some right to consider himself the better representative of the political views of the French. The vast majority of Frenchmen are, no doubt, democratical at heart. But they are not, therefore, doctrinaires; nor are they anti-Catholic, though personal piety, perhaps, is not their forte. They care very little about political theories; they are satisfied so long as the master of a hundred legions lowers his ensign before the emblems of the people's power; and all that they wish is to be ruled by one of themselves in their own name, and to be left to enrich themselves on week days, and to amuse themselves on holy days as they please. The Prince Napoleon is a philosopher, and sighs to reconstruct the world; but the French masses have no idea of any such nonsense; and, fond as they are of military glory, war for them is rather a gorgeous spectacle than a method of propagating any political

sympathies are not offended, they are by no means inclined to insist that all their institutions should be theoretically perfect, or that France should reorganize the Continent from a philosophical point of view. Politics with the multitude of Frenchmen are a matter of feeling, not of speculative opinion. French journalists, indeed, are never happy unless they are fitting nationalities into one another, reviving extinct races, rectifying national frontiers, tidying up the loose islands, and putting the globe in order upon the strictest geographical principles. No writer of any ambition in the French metropolis attains to middle age without having published at least one pamphlet, containing an original plan for repairing the shortcomings of Providence, and resettling the map of Europe on the basis of its principal watersheds, its rivers, or its mountain ranges. The indifference, accordingly, of the French masses to what we may call political theorems would be inexplicable if it were not for the undeniable fact that the French masses entertain a profound contempt for French journalists as a class.. Being, as we have said, a doctrinaire, his Imperial Highness is accordingly a little in advance of the democratical population, whom he professes to represent. He is a visionary, who dreams of a universal democratic propaganda. The first Revolution was an epoch at which such missionary enthusiasm would have been in place; but France, though still capable of appreciating an idea, has passed the age of crusades. At a crisis of exceptional political excitement, the fiery cross might again, perhaps, be carried through the length and breadth of the land, and find intoxicated multitudes to answer to the flaming summons. The present hour is the hour of materialism and repose, not of idealism and apostolic effort. Democracy is still democracy; only it has laid its spear aside. It is not now the evening before the battle, as Prince Napoleon seems to imagine; it is the morning after victory. Abroad, indeed, beyond the limits of the French frontier, the Genius of Revolution has left his task

proud to have assisted in the work so far, and would be proud, no doubt, at the right occasion, to lend her helping hand again. But no great people, which has material interests on a world-wide scale, can afford to live in the fumes of perpetual missionary fervour. When the chord of national vanity is struck, Frenchmen will once more respond. Until then they are only too well pleased to be allowed to convert their swords into ploughshares, and to live among their vines and olives. The solemn menace which the Prince so often addresses to the Emperor, it is true, is not altogether out of place. Democracy may, with propriety, appear at stated intervals to its Imperial bondsman, in the solitude of his cabinet, and whisper in his ear, "Je suis ton maître." Yet less is implied in the warning than at first sight might be thought. France does not ask from her Emperor Liberal forms of internal government-free journals --free elections or even independent municipal authorities. Nor does she demand that he should be for ever bearding the kings of the earth. He is not bound, as far as she is concerned, to live at the beck of the most fanatical and aggressive of the Carbonari. One thing alone is necessary that, if ever the time should come for him to strike a blow on one side or the other, he should, at all events, not strike it against the cause of the people.

That the French, as a body, are indifferent to all political movement which does not practically come home to the mere democratic pulses of their heart, is plain from the drama which has been performing before their eyes in the Legislative Assembly, contemporaneously with these proceedings in their Senate. For the first time in their political existence, the members of the Corps Legislatif have shown a determination to oppose a project recommended to them strenuously by the Emperor himself. General Montauban, Count de Palikao, was commander of the recent expedition to China, is an Imperialist of long-standing, and one of the oldest allies and intimates

confer upon him, as a dowry for his new title, a revenue in perpetuity, which at his death should pass to his family. Neither the military nor the social exploits of the general, during his African and his Parisian career, have succeeded in winning for him much more than notoriety in the salons and cafes of the critical capital. The proposal to violate for his benefit the principles of French law, which forbid the creation of majorats, was anything but popular. The Legislative Assembly felt that the cause of democratic independence was injured by the suggestion. A committee, whose business it was to report upon the plan, decided unanimously against it, in spite of an Imperial letter-verbosa et grandis epistola-which was evidently meant to influence its vote. The Emperor saw his mistake, and surrendered an inch in order that he might take an ell. He gave up the question of majorats. He substituted for it a comprehensive scheme, to enable him to bestow pecuniary rewards on the most deserving officers of his army. The inch he gave up was almost all that democracy required. The French are ready enough to recompense military prowess, and to heap even golden laurels on the head of their victorious generals. They are not ready to assist in the creation of a rich and permanent military noblesse.

The excitement caused by this little incident, of so much interest to all true democrats, drowned the nobler sensations which might have been expected to agitate a free people, at a scene which took place in the same assembly nearly at the same time. There is a small and heroic knot of lovers of constitutional liberty still left in Paris, as in the provinces, who have not yet bowed the knee to Baal. Constitutional Freedom, taking her leave of France, while she plumes her wings for flight, has halted her foot awhile among a little party of moderate Liberals, headed by some of the leaders of the French bar. This month they have made their annual onset upon tyranny, and have met with their annual repulse. Five deputies for among two hundred

came forward on the occasion of the address, to require at the hands of the Empire the justice and the freedom of which their country has been robbed. In spite of the continual interference of M. de Morny, and of the murmurs of a startled and obsequious audience, M. Jules Favre has pronounced one of those splendid orations which may serve either for the natal or the funeral hymn of a country's constitutional privileges. M. Jules Favre and his friends cannot reproach themselves with having deserted their colours in the hour of despair. If liberty never revives in France during their lifetime, each may still say with the poet, "J'ai suivi son cercueil." But their indignant declamation has fallen dead and cold on the hearts of the majority of their countrymen. It matters little to the multitudes on whose suffrage, or on whose bayonets, the Empire rests, whether or no the "law of public security" is not repealed, or whether the iron fingers of the Executive should be taken from the throat of French journalism. The very additional freedom which has recently been bestowed on the two Chambers does not touch them closely. All relaxation of restraint, late in the day as it has come, has come as early as they care to have it. If the empire falls, it will not fall as an English ministry might fall upon a parliamentary vote. Don Juan may safely invite the statue of Liberty itself to supper. has accepted the invitation, but all the use it can make of it will not do much harm. When a democratic Emperor ceases to reign, it will be by the will of the millions, not by a constitutional opposition. Acteon, if he is ever devoured, is destined to be devoured by his own hounds.

It

If, then, France alone was interested in the matter, there would be little reason to anticipate a speedy solution of the Roman question. The French have been perfectly satisfied for twelve years to be the instruments of supporting the temporal power at Rome. No sudden outbreak of liberal enthusiasm is likely to set in at Paris or in the rest of the

drawal of the French troops from what remains of the territory of St. Peter. If France is moved at all, she will only be moved by an outcry raised on the other side of the Alps by the revolutionists of Italy. The Roman question, no doubt, is at the bottom of the Catholic agitation, as well as of the Liberal demonstrations in the French Senate. Until the Italian war, Catholicism in France was as loyal as it was orthodox, and delighted on all occasions to fling its influence into the scale of the eldest son of the Church, who stood indeed between that Church and the Revolution. The hierarchy of France gave the Empire their best wishes and their prayers. It was only when the sword of Damocles was about to be let fall on the head of the successor of the Apostles that the Gallican clergy became disaffected. But, though dissatisfaction is almost universal among the clerical party in his dominions, the Emperor is strong enough to hold them in leash as yet. No vis major compels him to decide upon action either for or against the Pope. The French nation itself halts, it may be, between two opinions, and is half-reluctant to take any irrevocable step. Like his people, the Emperor stands irresolute-" hither and thither dividing his swift mind." His Cabinet are as uncertain and doubtful as their master, differing one from the other as he differs within himself. The Senate represents fairly the shifting theories, the passions and the prejudices, of the whole French people upon this most embarrassing of subjects. As the advocates of action or reaction prevail within and without its walls, the Imperial arbiter of the situation simply shifts his position from one foot to the other. He persuades the public that compromise is desirable as long as it is possible, by playing off the violence of one extreme party against the other. During the last month accordingly, the Red Spectre has been trotted across the Parisian stage by the French police having received orders, in all probability, to clank its chains loudly as it passes, in order to remind France

should have a powerful keeper. As the Red Spectre is useful to hush the clamour of the Catholics, Ultramontanism may be employed to pacify the Revolution. Prince Napoleon, who is the representative of Republican fanaticism, sees in the pious virulence of M. de la Rochejacquelein all kinds of perils, threatening the safety of the world. He is half-afraid in very earnest of a return to the principles of La Vendée. "Ce système, savez-vous ce que c'est," he cries to the listening Senate; "c'est la "terreur blanche appuyée sur les baionettes "etrangères."

The vis major which is wanting, perhaps, in France to make the Emperor move onwards with respect to Italy and Rome, will be found most probably before long on the other side of the Alpine barrier. The Revolution in France will never permit its elected chief to draw his sword in the teeth of a Liberal nation, which is resolved to achieve its independence; though the revolutionists of France are in no pedantic hurry to precipitate matters to a crisis. Partly, then, the duration of the present suspense depends upon the patience of Italy. It was in an evil hour for the Emperor's peace that Ricasoli forced upon Europe the annexation of Tuscany and Romagna, and that Naples rose against the Bourbons. Napoleon III. has not to blame his campaign in Lombardy for the subsequent cry that has been raised against the temporal authority of the Papal See. That idea is the fruit, not of the Italian war, but of the desire for Italian unity, which was seen after the war. So much even Baron Brenier, in his recent pamphlet upon Italy and the Roman question, finds himself reluctantly constrained to admit. Had the scheme of an Italian confederation been carried out according to the Imperial programme, his Holiness might have been suffered by the entire Italian people to preside sleepily in his chair over the Federal Councils of a subdivided Peninsula. The treaty of Villafranca came too soon to permit of the

as Austria holds Venice, the foreigner has a foot upon Italian soil, and Italy cannot afford to accept independence in the modified shape of an harmonious alliance of kindred states. The servi

tude of Venetia makes it necessary that the Italians should be one and indivisible. The unity of Italy entails the deliverance of Rome. If the unity of the nation is to be achieved, Rome must be delivered from the priests, and handed over to the people. France seems to consider that it is unreasonable to ask for this. But the hesitation of the Emperor is natural enough. He had not bargained for a united kingdom of twenty millions on his borders; consequently he had not promised that Rome should be their metropolis. The difficulty which stares him in the face is not one of his own creation. He is, doubtless, a believer in the political advantages of keeping on good terms with the Church, and he suddenly discovers that his Italians have sprung a mine under his very feet. He thought he was sailing with a stream, and he finds himself at the mercy of a deluge.

The firm will of Baron Ricasoli had annexed Tuscany to Piedmont, thereby upsetting many of the Imperial calculations; and it began to be only too likely that he would insist on completing the Italian edifice, by adding to it the coping-stone of Rome. His fall is known to have been acceptable to the Cabinet of the Tuileries; nor was it utterly unacceptable in Italy. A severe and unbending censor of men and things, he had become personally unpopular to the dissolute and gay circle which rules within the palace at Turin. Nor had his administration been successful as far as domestic politics were concerned. The Parliament, indeed, within the last four months had twice given him a vote of confidence: but he had been unable to prevail on any man of ability to take the Portfolio of Home Affairs in his ministry. Lastly, his stern Puritan character had brought him more than once if scandal is to be believed-into personal collision with the king. He

only statesman thought capable of succeeding to Cavour. In course of time, his stern resolution and his integrity might have opened the path for the Italians to their future capital. For the advent to power of his rival, Europe had been for some weeks prepared. The golden and silver wires of diplomatic sympathy and personal friendship for some time past have connected him with the Cabinet of Paris. He has entered office, not indeed as the nominee for he is a statesman of character and distinction-but as the ally and the friend of the French Emperor. The programme he has announced is, as it could not but be, a national and a worthy one. Unfortunately, the question is not at the present emergency one so much of internal measures as of men. And, though the programme is the programme of Cavour, the voice is the voice of Ratazzi. While the Italian Chambers have promised him the support of a reasonable majority, his connexion with Napoleon III. will tend to weaken his position. The left centre and extreme left-friendly as the former, at all events, naturally would be to a Piedmontese politician who has been one of their own sectional leaders-are likely to view with jealous eyes a minister who has the reputation of being a favourite in France. Yet Rome, at least, cannot flatter herself that in the new minister she has found a faithful votary. As Minister of the Interior in the Cabinet of 1854, it was Ratazzi's task to propose two measures in succession which the Catholic clergy of that time regarded as deadly blows directed against themselves. One was a bill for the suppression of monasteries and the diminution of episcopal revenues; the other was a penal law for the repression of clerical sedition. The Catholics, then, of Piedmont view him with unforgiving and undiminished hostility. But, if he is no more friendly than Ricasoli to the Papal Church, at least he is a man who is capable of delaying for awhile the blow which will, sooner or later, fall on the Pope's head. In the profession of