But here, in the Tuileries, I heard modern explanations of the meaning of this image at which many an antiquary would smile in pity, and many an aristocrat secretly shudder.
In any case, this garden plan is a colossal folly, and exposes the King to the most abominable accusations. It may even be interpreted as a symbolic deed. Louis Philippe draws a ditch between himself and his people—that is, he visibly divides himself from them. Or has he grasped the spirit of constitutional monarchy in such a feeble-minded and short-sighted manner as to think that by leaving to the people the greater portion of the garden he can appropriate the lesser more decidedly for himself? No; absolute royalty, with its grandly egotistic Louis XIV., who instead of "L'état c'est moi," could also say, "Les Tuileries c'est moi," such royalty appeared far more stately than constitutional popular sovereignty with its Louis Philippe I., who in anxious care fences in his little private garden and claims a petty wretched chacun chez soi—every one by himself. It is said that the work
has the cheek, face, and expression of a tinker, which are the same in all lands and ages, be it among Aryans, Shemites, or Turanians. The terrible explanations of the meaning of the statue to which Heine alludes are that the people saw in it an executioner sharpening the knife of the guillotine.—Translator.
