All through the spring and summer of 1851 France exhibited herself in the eyes of the world a laughing-stock to her enemies, a thing of pity to those who loved that great country.
The Republic of 1848 was already a house divided against itself.
Its President, Louis Bonaparte, had been elected for four years.

He was, as the law then stood, not eligible again until after the lapse of another four years.

His party tried to abrogate this law, and failed.
"No matter," they said, "we shall elect him again, and President he shall be, despite the law." This was only one of a hundred such clouds, no bigger than a man's hand, arising at this time on the political horizon.

For France was beginning to wander down that primrose path where a law is only a law so long as it is convenient.
There was one man, Louis Bonaparte, who kept his head when others lost that invaluable adjunct; who pushed on doggedly to a set purpose; whose task was hard even in France, and would have been impossible in any other country.

For it is only in France that ridicule does not kill.
And twice within the last fifteen years--once at Strasbourg, once at Boulogne--he had made the world hold its sides at the mention of his name, greeting with the laughter which is imbittered by scorn, a failure damned by ridicule.
It has been said that Louis Bonaparte never gave serious thought to the Legitimist party.