The primitive Republican. (Columbus, Miss.) 18??-1852, 1852-11-04
Napoleon the Little.

Under this title Victor Hugo has just pub
lished at London by far the most unsparing
criticism and the bitterest assault yet made
upon the rulerko of France. 1t is volume
of 400 pages, divided intoni books. From
the first of these, entitled the Man, the Cou-
rier DIES Etats Unis published an extract, of
which the Philadelphia Ledger translates
portion. 1t is at once = st brilliant spe-
eimen of invective anu profession of faith
in the eternal vitality of Liberty:
Let us set forth this triumph of order; let
Us depict this Government, vigorous, settled,
squared off, strong, having on its side crowd
Of small young men, who have more ambi-
ton than pairs of boots, parasites, and mis-
cradle beggars, sustained on the Exchange by
Fould, the jew, and in the Church by Mont
alcmbcrt, the Catholic; esteemed by women
who wish to be girls, and by men who wish
to be projects; sustained by coalition Of
prostitution, giving fetes, making Cardinals,
wearing a wlritc oravat, and with an opera
: hat under the arm; with gloves like fresh
butter as Morny, new-varnished as Maupas
fresh-brushed as Persigny; rich, elegant
clean, gilded, brushed, joyous, born IN sea
\ of blood
F Yes, there will be waking up.
Yes, men will come out of this torpor
which, for such people, is shame; and wher
France shall wake up, when it shall get it!
eyes open, when it shall see what it has be
fore it and at its side, it will recoil, this
France, with terrible shudder, before thu
monstrous crime which has presumed to es
pouse her in the darkness, and'whose bed sh,
has shared.
! Then the last hour will sound.
The skeptics smile and insist on saying
Hope nothing. This regime, we believe
o is the shame Of France" So be it. Thi
f shameis quoted On Change. Hope nothing
You are poets and dreamers, if you hope
J. Look around you. The tribune, the press
! intelligence, speech, thought, every thin
J. which was liberty has disappeared. Yestel
/ day, it moved, it acted, it lived-to-day,
G is petrifed Well, then! people are content
e they adapt themselves to this petrifaction
o they turn it to account, they carry on thei
. business, and live in it as usual. Societ
% continues, and multitudes of honest men fin
r things well enough as they are. Why d
! you wish for change? Why do you wis
s to bring this state of things to an end? D
not deceive yourselves? This is solid, TIL
, is substantial, this is the present and the fl
- ture."
We are in Russia. The Neva is froze
Il over. Houses are built upon it. Heav
~ carriages pass on its surface. 1t is no lopgt
20 water, it is rock. Passengers go and CON
"A on this marble which was once river. /.
= city is rapidly built-streets are laid out
es Is shops are opened-they buy, they sell, the
N eat, they drink, they light a fire on this W
ter They can indulge in everything Fee
nothing, do what you please, laugh and dane
y it is tirmor tann the solid earth Hurra
y winter Hurra for ice! 1t is here for etc
&c nifty. Look at the sky. Is it day? Is
!" midnight? A dim and pallid ray gimme
y, ~ on the snow-you would say that the sun W
- dying.
n No, thou dost not die, 0 Liberty! One
u these days, at a moment when 1t is the lea
expected, at the very hour when thou a
X most completely forgotten, thou will ri
ne again All! dazzling spectacle Thy su
~, like face will at once emerge from the ho
ire zon and illuminate the sky. Over all I'll
on snow. over all this ice, over this white al
~ stitched plain, over this water now sol
on block, over this shameful winter, thou W
ole1 laund thy golden beams, thy brilliant al
sht burning rays! Light! Heat! Life! Al
elf theulisten!k
ETY. Ib you hear that dull sound? Do y
yet heat that deep and frightful cracking? 1t
pa thebreaking up of the ice. 1t is the Nev
bly, which flows again. It is the river which
9TH subes its course. 1t lis the living water, il
we'd fp and terrible, which lifts up the dead a
rat hHeous ice and breaks it in pieces. 1t v
ganite, do you say? It breaks like pi,
nut T glass. It is the breaking up, tell 70
nth It's truth which returns, tits progress viii
lese fe-commences, it is humanity which takes
ion It's march, and which floats of, drives f
Onward, hufries on, strikes, dashes, brushes a
e e5droWns, like the miserable furnishings Of
ect down-fallen howell, not only the new emp
eni of Lonis Bonaparte, but all the structui
bel and all the works Of ancient eternal desp
ID. ism. Look at II as i passes away. Il
is about to disappear forever. You viii ne
Jb-ls it more. This book half submerged
lhel old codeof iniquity-this stool Nhicl