But now, among French hopes, is not that of old M. de Maurepas one of the best-grounded; who hopes that he, by dexterity, shall contrive to continue Minister?  Nimble old man, who for all emergencies has his light jest; and ever in the worst confusion will emerge, cork-like, unsunk!  Small care to him is Perfectibility, Progress of the Species, and Astraea Redux:  good only, that a man of light wit, verging towards fourscore, can in the seat of authority feel himself important among men.  Shall we call him, as haughty Chateauroux was wont of old, ’M.  Faquinet (Diminutive of Scoundrel)’?  In courtier dialect, he is now named ‘the Nestor of France;’ such governing Nestor as France has.

At bottom, nevertheless, it might puzzle one to say where the Government of France, in these days, specially is.  In that Chateau of Versailles, we have Nestor, King, Queen, ministers and clerks, with paper-bundles tied in tape:  but the Government?  For Government is a thing that governs, that guides; and if need be, compels.  Visible in France there is not such a thing.  Invisible, inorganic, on the other hand, there is:  in Philosophe saloons, in Oeil-de-Boeuf galleries; in the tongue of the babbler, in the pen of the pamphleteer.  Her Majesty appearing at the Opera is applauded; she returns all radiant with joy.  Anon the applauses wax fainter, or threaten to cease; she is heavy of heart, the light of her face has fled.  Is Sovereignty some poor Montgolfier; which, blown into by the popular wind, grows great and mounts; or sinks flaccid, if the wind be withdrawn?  France was long a ’Despotism tempered by Epigrams;’ and now, it would seem, the Epigrams have get the upper hand.

Happy were a young ‘Louis the Desired’ to make France happy; if it did not prove too troublesome, and he only knew the way.  But there is endless discrepancy round him; so many claims and clamours; a mere confusion of tongues.  Not reconcilable by man; not manageable, suppressible, save by some strongest and wisest men;—­which only a lightly-jesting lightly-gyrating M. de Maurepas can so much as subsist amidst.  Philosophism claims her new Era, meaning thereby innumerable things.  And claims it in no faint voice; for France at large, hitherto mute, is now beginning to speak also; and speaks in that same sense.  A huge, many-toned sound; distant, yet not unimpressive.  On the other hand, the Oeil-de-Boeuf, which, as nearest, one can hear best, claims with shrill vehemence that the Monarchy be as heretofore a Horn of Plenty; wherefrom loyal courtiers may draw,—­to the just support of the throne.  Let Liberalism and a New Era, if such is the wish, be introduced; only no curtailment of the royal moneys?  Which latter condition, alas, is precisely the impossible one.