Donc un homme a v\u00e9cu qui s\u2019appelait Varron,
\nUn autre Paul-\u00c9mile, un autre Cic\u00e9ron ;
\nCes hommes ont \u00e9t\u00e9 grands, puissants, populaires,
\nOnt march\u00e9, pr\u00e9c\u00e9d\u00e9s des faisceaux consulaires,
\nOnt \u00e9t\u00e9 g\u00e9n\u00e9raux, magistrats, orateurs ;
\nCes hommes ont parl\u00e9 devant les s\u00e9nateurs ;
\nIls ont vu, dans la poudre et le bruit des arm\u00e9es,
\nFrissonnantes, passer les aigles enflamm\u00e9es ;
\nLa foule les suivait et leur battait des mains ;
\nIls sont morts ; on a fait \u00e0 ces fameux romains
\nDes tombeaux dans le marbre, et d\u2019autres dans l\u2019histoire ;
\nLeurs bustes, aujourd\u2019hui, graves comme la gloire,
\nDans l\u2019ombre des palais ouvrant leurs vagues yeux,
\nR\u00eavent autour de nous, t\u00e9moins myst\u00e9rieux ;
\nCe qui n\u2019emp\u00eache pas, nous, gens des autres \u00e2ges,
\nQue, lorsque nous parlons de ces grands personnages,
\nNous ne disions : tel jour Varron fut un butor,
\nPaul-\u00c9mile a mal fait, Cic\u00e9ron eut grand tort.
\nEt lorsque nous traitons ainsi ces morts illustres,
\nTu pr\u00e9tends, toi, maraud, goujat parmi les rustres,
\nQue je parle de toi qui lasses le d\u00e9dain,
\nSans dire hautement : cet homme est un gredin !
\nTu veux que nous prenions des gants et des mitaines
\nAvec toi, qu\u2019e\u00fbt chass\u00e9 Sparte aussi bien qu\u2019Ath\u00e8nes !
\nForce gens t\u2019ont connu jadis quand tu courais
\nLes brelans, les enfers, les trous, les cabarets,
\nQuand on voyait, le soir, tant\u00f4t dans l\u2019ombre obscure,
\nTant\u00f4t devant la porte entr\u2019ouverte et peu s\u00fbre
\nD\u2019un antre d\u2019o\u00f9 sortait une rouge clart\u00e9,
\nTon chef branlant couvert d\u2019un feutre cahot\u00e9.
\nTu t\u2019es fait broder d\u2019or par l\u2019empereur boh\u00e8me.
\nTa vie est une farce et se guinde en po\u00ebme.
\nEt que m\u2019importe \u00e0 moi, penseur, juge, ouvrier,
\nQue d\u00e9cembre, \u00e9tranglant dans ses poings f\u00e9vrier,
\nT\u2019installe en un palais, toi qui souillais un bouge !
\nAllez aux tapis francs de Vanvre et de Montrouge,
\nCourez aux galetas, aux caves, aux taudis,
\nLes \u00e9chos vous diront partout ce que je dis :
\nCe dr\u00f4le \u00e9tait voleur avant d\u2019\u00eatre ministre ! –
\nAh ! tu veux qu\u2019on t\u2019\u00e9pargne, imb\u00e9cile sinistre !
\nAh ! te voil\u00e0 content, satisfait, souriant !
\nSois tranquille. J\u2019irai par la ville criant :
\nCitoyens ! voyez-vous ce j\u00e9suite aux yeux jaunes,
\nJadis, c\u2019\u00e9tait Brutus. Il ha\u00efssait les tr\u00f4nes,
\nIl les aime aujourd\u2019hui. Tous m\u00e9tiers lui sont bons ;
\nIl est pour le succ\u00e8s. Donc, \u00e0 bas les Bourbons,
\nMais vive l\u2019empereur ! \u00e0 bas tribune et charte !
\nIl d\u00e9teste Chambord, mais il sert Bonaparte.
\nOn l\u2019a fait s\u00e9nateur, ce qui le rend fougueux.
\nSi les choses \u00e9taient \u00e0 leur place, ce gueux
\nQui n\u2019a pas, nous dit-il en d\u00e9clamant son r\u00f4le,
\nLes fleurs de lys au c\u0153ur, les aurait sur l\u2019\u00e9paule !<\/p>\n
Londres, ao\u00fbt 1852.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"parent":0,"template":"","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"default","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}}},"annee":[440],"poems-book":[439],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[206],"class_list":["post-9091","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-440","poems-book-les-chatiments","poete-victor-hugo"],"yoast_head":"\n