It is important that people should know who and what this M.
Bonaparte is.

At the present moment, thanks to the suppression of the platform, thanks to the suppression of the press, thanks to the suppression of speech, of liberty, and of truth,--a suppression which has had for one result the permitting M.Bonaparte to do everything, but which has had at the same time the effect of nullifying all his measures without exception, including the indescribable ballot of the 20th of December,--thanks, we say, to this stifling of all complaints and of all light, no man, no fact wears its true aspect or bears its true name.

M.Bonaparte's crime is not a crime, it is called a necessity; M.Bonaparte's ambuscade is not an ambuscade, it is called a defence of public order; M.Bonaparte's robberies are not robberies, they are called measures of state; M.Bonaparte's murders are not murders, they are called public safety; M.Bonaparte's accomplices are not malefactors, they are called magistrates, senators, and councillors of state; M.Bonaparte's adversaries are not the soldiers of the law and of right, they are called Jacquerie, demagogues, communists.

In the eyes of France, in the eyes of Europe, the 2nd of December is still masked.

This book is a hand issuing from the darkness, and tearing that mask away.
Now, we propose to scrutinize this triumph of order, to depict this government so vigorous, so firm, so well-based, so strong, having on its side a crowd of paltry youths, who have more ambition than boots, dandies and beggars; sustained on the Bourse by Fould the Jew, and in the Church by Montalembert the Catholic; esteemed by women who would fain pass for maids, by men who want to be prefects; resting on a coalition of prostitutions; giving fetes; making cardinals; wearing white neck-cloths and yellow kid gloves, like Morny, newly varnished like Maupas, freshly brushed like Persigny,--rich, elegant, clean, gilded, joyous, and born in a pool of blood! Yes, men will awaken! Yes, men will arouse from that torpor which, to such a people, is shame; and when France does awaken, when she does open her eyes, when she does distinguish, when she does see that which is before her and beside her, she will recoil with a terrible shudder from the monstrous crime which dared to espouse her in the darkness, and of which she has shared the bed.
Then will the supreme hour strike! The sceptics smile and insist; they say: "Hope for nothing.