PROGRESS CONTAINED IN THE COUP D’ETAT

CHAPTER I

THE QUANTUM OF GOOD CONTAINED IN EVIL

Among us democrats, many well-meaning minds were stupefied by the event of the 2nd of December.  It disconcerted some, discouraged others, and terrified many.  I have seen some who cried:  Finis Poloniae.  As for myself, since at certain times I am obliged to say, I, and to speak in the face of history as a witness, I proclaim that I saw that event without perturbation.  I say more than this, that at times, in the face of the 2nd of December, I declare myself satisfied.

When I can abstract myself from the present, when for a moment I can turn my eyes away from all the crimes, from all the blood spilt, from all the victims, from all the proscribed, from those hulks that echo the death rattle, from those deadful penal settlements of Lambessa and Cayenne, where death is swift, from that exile where death is slow, from this vote, from this oath, from this vast stain of shame inflicted upon France, which is growing wider and wider each day; when, forgetting for a few moments these painful thoughts, the usual obsession of my mind, I succeed in confining myself within the severe calmness of the politician, and in considering, not the fact, but the consequences of the fact; then, among many results, disastrous beyond doubt, a considerable, real, enormous progress becomes manifest to me, and, from that moment, while I am still of those whom the 2nd of December exasperates, I am no longer of those whom it afflicts.

Fixing my eyes upon certain points in the future, I say to myself:  “The deed was infamous, but the result is good.”

Attempts have been made to explain the inexplicable victory of the coup d’etat in a hundred ways.  A true balance has been struck between all possible resistances, and they are neutralized one by the other:  the people were afraid of the bourgeoisie, the bourgeoisie were afraid of the people; ­the faubourgs hesitated before the restoration of the majority, fearing, wrongfully however, that their victory would bring back to power that Right which is so thoroughly unpopular; the shopocracy recoiled before the red republic; the people did not understand; the middle classes shuffled; some said, “Whom shall we send to the legislative palace?” others:  “whom are we going to see at the Hotel de Ville?” In fine, the rude repression of 1848, the insurrection crushed by cannon-shot, the quarries, the casements, and the transportations ­a living and terrible recollection; ­and then ­Suppose some one had succeeded in beating the call to arms!  Suppose a single legion had sallied forth!  Suppose M. Sibour had been M. Affre, and had thrown himself in the midst of the bullets of the pretorians!  Suppose the High Court had not suffered itself to be driven away by a corporal!  Suppose the judges had followed the example of the representatives, and we had seen the scarlet gowns on the barricades, as we saw the scarfs!  Suppose a single arrest had miscarried!  Suppose a single regiment had hesitated!  Suppose the massacre on the boulevards had not taken place, or had turned out ill for Louis Bonaparte! etc., etc., etc.  This is all true, and yet what has been, was what was to be.  Let us say again, under the shadow of that monstrous victory vast and definitive progress is taking place.  The 2nd of December succeeded, because in more than one point of view, I repeat, it was good that it should succeed.  All explanations are just, but all are vain.  The invisible hand is mingled in all this.  Louis Bonaparte committed the crime; Providence brought about the result.

In truth, it was essential that order should come to the end of its logic.  It was essential that people should learn, and should learn for all time, that, in the mouths of the men of the past, that word order signifies false oaths, perjury, pillage of the public cash-box, civil war, courts-martial, confiscation, sequestration, deportation, transportation, proscription, fusillades, police, censorship, degradation of the army, disregard of the people, debasement of France, a dumb Senate, the tribune overthrown, the press suppressed, a political guillotine, murder of liberty, garroting of the right, violation of laws, sovereignty of the sword, massacre, treason, ambuscades.  The spectacle that we have before our eyes is a profitable spectacle.  What we see in France since the 2nd of December is the debauch of order.

Yes, the hand of Providence is in it.  Reflect, too, upon this:  for fifty years the Republic and the Empire have filled men’s imaginations, the one with its souvenirs of terror, the other with its souvenirs of glory.  Of the Republic men saw only 1793, that is to say, the terrible revolutionary necessity, ­the furnace; of the Empire they saw only Austerlitz.  Hence a prejudice against the Republic, and prestige for the Empire.  Now, what is the future of France to be? is it the Empire?  No, it is the Republic.

It became necessary to reverse that situation, to suppress the prestige of that which cannot be restored, and to suppress the prejudice against that which must be.  Providence did it:  it destroyed those two mirages.  February came and took away from the Republic its terror; Louis Bonaparte came and deprived the Empire of its prestige.  Henceforth, 1848, fraternity, is superimposed upon 1793, terror; Napoleon the Little is superimposed upon Napoleon the Great.  The two grand things, one of which alarmed and the other dazzled, are receding.  We perceive ’93 only through its justification, and Napoleon only through his caricature; the foolish fear of the guillotine vanishes, the empty imperial popularity disappears.  Thanks to 1848, the Republic no longer terrifies; thanks to Louis Bonaparte, the Empire no longer fascinates.  The future has become possible.  These are the secrets of the Almighty!

But the word republic is not sufficient; it is the thing republic that is wanting; well, we shall have the thing with the word.  Let us develop this thought.

CHAPTER II

THE FOUR INSTITUTIONS THAT STAND OPPOSED TO THE REPUBLIC

Awaiting the marvellous but tardy simplifications which the union of Europe and the democratic federation of the continent will some day bring forth, what will be in France, the form of the social edifice, of whose ill-defined and luminous outlines the thinking man already has a glimpse, through the darkness of dictatorships?

That form is this: ­

The sovereign commune, ruled by an elective mayor; universal suffrage everywhere, subordinate to the national unity only in respect to acts of general concern; so much for the administration.  Syndics and upright men arranging the private differences of associations and industries; the jury, magistrate of the fact, enlightening the judge, magistrate of the law; elective judges; so much for justice.  The priest excluded from everything except the church, living with his eye fixed on his book and on Heaven, a stranger to the budget, unknown to the state, known only to his flock, no longer possessing authority, but possessing liberty; so much for religion.  War confined to the defence of the territory.  The whole nation constituting a national guard, divided into three districts, and able to rise as one man; so much for power.  The law for ever, the right for ever, the ballot for ever, the sword nowhere.

Now, what were the obstacles to this future, to this magnificent realization of the democratic ideal?

There were four material obstacles, namely: ­

    The standing army. 
    Centralized administration. 
    The office-holding clergy. 
    The irremovable magistracy.

CHAPTER III

SLOW MOVEMENT OF NORMAL PROGRESS

What these four obstacles are, what they were even under the Republic of February, even under the Constitution of 1848; the evil they produced, the good they prevented, what sort of past they perpetuated, what excellent social order they postponed, the publicist saw, the philosopher knew, the nation did not know.

These four institutions, immense, ancient, solid, supported one upon another, composite at their base and summit, growing like a hedge of tall old trees, their roots under our feet, their branches over our heads, smothered and crushed on all sides the scattered germs of the new France.  Where life and movement, association, local liberty, communal initiative should have been, there was administrative despotism; where there should have been the intelligent vigilance, armed at need, of the patriot and the citizen, there was the passive obedience of the soldier; where the quick Christian faith should have gushed forth, there was the Catholic priest; where there should have been justice, there was the judge.  And the future was there, under the feet of suffering generations, which could not rise and were waiting.

Was this known among the people?  Was it suspected?  Was it divined?

No!

Far from it.  In the eyes of the greater part, and of the middle classes in particular, these four obstacles were four buttresses.  Army, magistracy, administration, clergy, these were the four virtues of order, the four social powers, the four sacred pillars of the old French structure.

Attack that, if you dare!

I have no hesitation is saying, that in the state of blindness in which are plunged the best minds, with the measured march of normal progress, with our assemblies, of which I shall not be suspected to be the detractor, but which, when they are both honest and timid, as is often the case, are disposed to be led only by their average men, that is, by mediocrity; with the committees of initiative, their delays and ballottings, if the 2nd of December had not brought its overwhelming demonstration, if Providence had not taken a hand, France would have remained condemned for an indefinite term to its irremovable magistracy, to administrative centralization, to the standing army, and to the office-holding clergy.

Surely, the power of the tribune and of the press combined, these two great forces of civilization, ­it is not I who seek to deny or belittle them; but see how many efforts of all kinds it would have required, in every direction, and under every form, by the tribune and by the newspaper, by the book and by the spoken word, to succeed even in shaking the universal prejudice in favor of these four fatal institutions!  How many to succeed in overthrowing them! to exhibit the evidence to the eyes of all, to overcome selfish, passionate or unintelligent resistance, thoroughly to enlighten public opinion, the consciences of the people, and the ruling powers, to cause this fourfold reform to force its way first into ideas, then into the laws.  Reckon up the speeches, the writings, the newspaper articles, the projects of laws, the counter-projects, the amendments, the amendments to amendments, the reports, the counter-reports, the facts, the incidents, the polemics, the discussions, the assertions, the denials, the storms, the steps forward, the steps backward, the days, the weeks, the months, the years, the quarter-century, the half-century!

CHAPTER IV

WHAT AN ASSEMBLY WOULD HAVE DONE

I imagine, on the benches of an assembly, the most intrepid of thinkers, a brilliant mind, one of those men who, when they ascend the tribune, feel it beneath them like the tripod of the oracle, suddenly grow in stature and become colossal, surpass by a head the massive appearances that mask reality, and see clearly the future over the high, frowning wall of the present.  That man, that orator, that seer, seeks to warn his country; that prophet seeks to enlighten statesmen; he knows where the breakers are; he knows that society will crumble by means of these four false supports:  centralized government, standing army, irremovable judges, salaried priesthood; he knows it, he desires that all should know it, he ascends the tribune and says: ­

“I denounce to you four great public perils.  Your political system bears that within it that will destroy it.  It is incumbent upon you to transform your government root and branch, the army, the clergy, and the magistracy:  to suppress here, retrench there, remodel everything, or perish through these four institutions, which you consider as lasting elements, but which are elements of dissolution.”

Murmurs.  He exclaims:  “Do you know what your centralized administration may become in the hands of a perjured executive power?  A vast treason, carried into effect at one blow over the whole of France, by every office-holder without exception.”

Murmurs break out anew with redoubled violence; cries of “order!” The orator continues:  “Do you know what your standing army may become at any moment?  An instrument of crime.  Passive obedience is the bayonet ever pointed at the heart of the law.  Yes, here, in this France, which is the initiatress of the world, in this land of the tribune and the press, in this birthplace of human thought, yes, the time may come when the sword will rule, when you, inviolable legislators, will be collared by corporals, when our glorious regiments will transform themselves, for the profit of one man and to the shame of the nation, into gold-laced hordes and pretorian bands, when the sword of France will become a thing that strikes from behind, like the dagger of a hired assassin, when the life-blood of the first city in the world, done to death, will splash the gold épaulettes of your generals!”

The murmur becomes an uproar, cries of “Order!” are heard from all quarters.  The orator is interrupted:  “You have been insulting the government, now you insult the army!” The President calls the orator to order.

The orator resumes: 

“And if it should happen some day that a man, having in his hand the five hundred thousand officeholders who constitute the government, and the four hundred thousand soldiers composing the army, if it should happen that this man should tear up the Constitution, should violate every law, break every oath, trample upon every right, commit every crime, do you know what your irremovable magistrates, instructors in the right, and guardians of the law, would do?  They would hold their tongues.”

The uproar prevents the orator from completing his sentence.  The tumult becomes a tempest. ­“This man respects nothing.  After the government and the army, he drags the magistracy in the mire!  Censure! censure!” The orator is censured and the censure entered in the journal.  The President declares that, if he continues, the Assembly will proceed to a vote, and the floor will be taken from him.

The orator continues:  “And your paid clergy! and your office-holding bishops!  On the day when a pretender shall have employed in such enterprises the government, the magistracy, and the army; on the day when all these institutions shall drip with the blood shed by and for the traitor; when, placed between the man who has committed the crimes and God who orders an anathema to be launched against the criminal ­do you know what these bishops of yours will do?  They will prostrate themselves, not before God, but before man!”

Can you form any idea of the frenzied shouts and imprecations that would greet such words?  Can you imagine the shouts, the apostrophes, the threats, the whole Assembly rising en masse, the tribune escaladed and with difficulty guarded by the ushers!  The orator has profaned every sanctified ark in succession, and he has ended by profaning the Holy of Holies, the clergy!  And what does he mean by it all?  What a medley of impossible and infamous hypotheses!  Do you not hear Baroche growl, and Dupin thunder?  The orator would be called to order, censured, fined, suspended from the Chamber for three days, like Pierre Leroux and Emile de Girardin; who can tell, perhaps expelled, like Manuel.

And the next day, the indignant citizen would say:  “That is well done!” And from every quarter the journals devoted to order would shake their fist at the CALUMNIATOR.  And in his own party, on his usual bench in the Assembly, his best friends would forsake him, and say:  “It is his own fault; he has gone too far; he has imagined chimeras and absurdities.”

And after this generous and heroic effort, it would be found that the four institutions that have been attacked were more venerable and impeccable than ever, and that the question, instead of advancing, had receded.

CHAPTER V

WHAT PROVIDENCE HAS DONE

But Providence, ­Providence goes about it differently.  It places the thing luminously before your eyes, and says, “Behold!”

A man arrives some fine morning, ­and such a man!  The first comer, the last comer, without past, without future, without genius, without renown, without prestige.  Is he an adventurer?  Is he a prince?  This man has his hands full of money, of bank-notes, of railroad shares, of offices, of decorations, of sinécures; this man stoops down to the office-holders, and says, “Office-holders, betray your trust!”

The office-holders betray their trust.

What, all? without one exception?

Yes, all!

He turns to the generals, and says:  “Generals, massacre.”

And the generals massacre.

He turns towards the irremovable judges, and says:  “Magistrates, I shatter the Constitution, I commit perjury, I dissolve the sovereign Assembly, I arrest the inviolate members, I plunder the public treasury, I sequester, I confiscate, I banish those who displease me, I transport people according to my fancy, I shoot down without summons to surrender, I execute without trial, I commit all that men are agreed in calling crime, I outrage all that men are agreed in calling right; behold the laws ­they are under my feet.”

“We will pretend not to see any thing,” say the magistrates.

“You are insolent,” replies the providential man.  “To turn your eyes away is to insult me.  I propose that you shall assist me.  Judges, you are going to congratulate me to-day, me who am force and crime; and to-morrow, those who have resisted me, those who are honor, right, and law, them you will try, ­and you will condemn them.”

These irremovable judges kiss his boot, and set about investigating l’affaire des troubles.

They swear fidelity to him, to boot.

Then he perceives, in a corner, the clergy, endowed, gold-laced, with cross and cope and mitre, and he says: ­

“Ah, you are there, Archbishop!  Come here.  Just bless all this for me.”

And the Archbishop chants his Magnificat.

CHAPTER VI

WHAT THE MINISTERS, ARMY, MAGISTRACY, AND CLERGY HAVE DONE

Oh! what a striking thing and how instructive! “Erudimini,” Bossuet would say.

The Ministers fancied that they were dissolving the Assembly; they dissolved the government.

The soldiers fired on the army and killed it.

The judges fancied that they were trying and convicting innocent persons; they tried and convicted the irremovable magistracy.

The priests thought they were chanting hosannahs upon Louis Bonaparte; they chanted a De profundis upon the clergy.

CHAPTER VII

THE FORM OF THE GOVERNMENT OF GOD

When God desires to destroy a thing, he entrusts its destruction to the thing itself.

Every bad institution of this world ends by suicide.

When they have weighed sufficiently long upon men, Providence, like the sultan to his viziers, sends them the bowstring by a mute, and they execute themselves.

Louis Bonaparte is the mute of Providence.