Its mistake is not to understand the Revolution, the Empire, glory, liberty, young ideas, young generations, the age.
But this mistake which it makes with regard to us,-- have we not sometimes been guilty of it towards them?
The Revolution, whose heirs we are, ought to be intelligent on all points. To attack Royalism is a misconstruction of liberalism.
What an error! And what blindness!
Revolutionary France is wanting in respect towards historic France, that is to say, towards its mother, that is to say, towards itself.
After the 5th of September, the nobility of the monarchy is treated as the nobility of the Empire was treated after the 5th of July.
They were unjust to the eagle, we are unjust to the fleur-de-lys. It seems that we must always have something to proscribe!
Does it serve any purpose to ungild the crown of Louis XIV., to scrape the coat of arms of Henry IV.? We scoff at M. de Vaublanc for erasing the N's from the bridge of Jena! What was it that he did?
What are we doing?
Bouvines belongs to us as well as Marengo.
The fleurs-de-lys are ours as well as the N's. That is our patrimony.
To what purpose shall we diminish it? We must not deny our country in the past any more than in the present. Why not accept the whole of history?
Why not love the whole of France?
It is thus that doctrinarians criticised and protected Royalism, which was displeased at criticism and furious at protection.
The ultras marked the first epoch of Royalism, congregation characterized the second. Skill follows ardor.
Let us confine ourselves here to this sketch.
In the course of this narrative, the author of this book has encountered in his path this curious moment of contemporary history; he has been forced to cast a passing glance upon it, and to trace once more some of the singular features of this society which is unknown to-day. But he does it rapidly and without any bitter or derisive idea.
Souvenirs both respectful and affectionate, for they touch his mother, attach him to this past.
Moreover, let us remark, this same petty world had a grandeur of its own. One may smile at it, but one can neither despise nor hate it. It was the France of former days.
Marius Pontmercy pursued some studies, as all children do.