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He never expressed publicly at least any preference for Royalism, Republicanism, or Imperialism; for fleur-de-lis, bonnet-rouge, or tricolore: in short, Jean Baptiste Véron was a stern, taciturn, self-absorbed man of business; and as nothing else was universally concluded, till the installation of a quasi legitimacy by Napoleon Bonaparte, when a circumstance, slight in itself, gave a clearer significance to the cold, haughty, repellent expression which played habitually about the merchant's gray, deep-set eyes, and thin, firmly-compressed lips.
He must have kept up some acquaintance with respectable society; for we find his name on the lists of the Cercle Constitutionnel, a club to which belonged Talleyrand, Benjamin Constant, and conservatives of that class who were opposed to both the bonnet-rouge and the fleur-de-lis. Occasionally he appears above the surface with a pamphlet.
If to be a conservative is to let all the drains of thought choke up and keep all the soul's windows down, to shut out the sun from the east and the wind from the west, to let the rats run free in the cellar, and the moths feed their fill in the chambers, and the spiders weave their lace before the mirrors, till the soul's typhus is bred out of our neglect, and we begin to snore in its coma or rave in its delirium, I, Sir, am a bonnet-rouge, a red cap of the barricades, my friends, rather than a conservative.
Don't you know me? don't you remember my face?" "Not in the least; yet I have some recollection of your voice." The man took off the bonnet-rouge still she could not guess who he was. "You never saw me in a uniform before nor without a black face." She looked again, and recollected the smith to whom Maurice was bound apprentice, and remembered his patois accent.
If to be a conservative is to let all the drains of thought choke up and keep all the soul's windows down, to shut out the sun from the east and the wind from the west, to let the rats run free in the cellar, and the moths feed their fill in the chambers, and the spiders weave their lace before the mirrors, till the soul's typhus is bred out of our neglect, and we begin to snore in its coma or rave in its delirium, I, Sir, am a bonnet-rouge, a red cap of the barricades, my friends, rather than a conservative.
Don't you remember my face?" "Not in the least; yet I have some recollection of your voice." The man took off the bonnet-rouge still she could not guess who he was. "You never saw me in an uniform before, nor without a black face." She looked again, and recollected the smith, to whom Maurice was bound apprentice, and remembered his patois accent.
If to be a conservative is to let all the drains of thought choke up and keep all the soul's windows down, to shut out the sun from the east and the wind from the west, to let the rats run free in the cellar, and the moths feed their fill in the chambers, and the spiders weave their lace before the mirrors, till the soul's typhus is bred out of our neglect, and we begin to snore in its coma or rave in its delirium, I, Sir, am a bonnet-rouge, a red-cap of the barricades, my friends, rather than a conservative.
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