Monseigneur, one of the great lords in power at the Court, held his
fortnightly reception in his grand hotel in Paris. Monseigneur was in his
inner room, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest of Holiests to the
crowd of worshippers in the suite of rooms without. Monseigneur was about
to take his chocolate. Monseigneur could swallow a great many things with
ease, and was by some few sullen minds supposed to be rather rapidly
swallowing France; but, his morning's chocolate could not so much as get
into the throat of Monseigneur, without the aid of four strong men besides
Yes. It took four men, all four ablaze with gorgeous decoration, and the
Chief of them unable to exist with fewer than two gold watches in his
pocket, emulative of the noble and chaste fashion set by Monseigneur, to
conduct the happy chocolate to Monseigneur's lips. One lacquey carried the
chocolate-pot into the sacred presence; a second, milled and frothed the
chocolate with the little instrument he bore for that function; a third,
presented the favoured napkin; a fourth (he of the two gold watches),
poured the chocolate out. It was impossible for Monseigneur to dispense
with one of these attendants on the chocolate and hold his high place
under the admiring Heavens. Deep would have been the blot upon his
escutcheon if his chocolate had been ignobly waited on by only three men;
he must have died of two.
Monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, where the Comedy
and the Grand Opera were charmingly represented. Monseigneur was out at a
little supper most nights, with fascinating company. So polite and so
impressible was Monseigneur, that the Comedy and the Grand Opera had far
more influence with him in the tiresome articles of state affairs and
state secrets, than the needs of all France. A happy circumstance for
France, as the like always is for all countries similarly favoured!—always
was for England (by way of example), in the regretted days of the merry
Stuart who sold it.
Monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general public business, which
was, to let everything go on in its own way; of particular public
business, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea that it must all go
his way—tend to his own power and pocket. Of his pleasures, general
and particular, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea, that the world
was made for them. The text of his order (altered from the original by
only a pronoun, which is not much) ran: "The earth and the fulness thereof
are mine, saith Monseigneur."
Yet, Monseigneur had slowly found that vulgar embarrassments crept into
his affairs, both private and public; and he had, as to both classes of
affairs, allied himself perforce with a Farmer-General. As to finances
public, because Monseigneur could not make anything at all of them, and
must consequently let them out to somebody who could; as to finances
private, because Farmer-Generals were rich, and Monseigneur, after
generations of great luxury and expense, was growing poor. Hence
Monseigneur had taken his sister from a convent, while there was yet time
to ward off the impending veil, the cheapest garment she could wear, and
had bestowed her as a prize upon a very rich Farmer-General, poor in
family. Which Farmer-General, carrying an appropriate cane with a golden
apple on the top of it, was now among the company in the outer rooms, much
prostrated before by mankind—always excepting superior mankind of
the blood of Monseigneur, who, his own wife included, looked down upon him
with the loftiest contempt.
A sumptuous man was the Farmer-General. Thirty horses stood in his
stables, twenty-four male domestics sat in his halls, six body-women
waited on his wife. As one who pretended to do nothing but plunder and
forage where he could, the Farmer-General—howsoever his matrimonial
relations conduced to social morality—was at least the greatest
reality among the personages who attended at the hotel of Monseigneur that
For, the rooms, though a beautiful scene to look at, and adorned with
every device of decoration that the taste and skill of the time could
achieve, were, in truth, not a sound business; considered with any
reference to the scarecrows in the rags and nightcaps elsewhere (and not
so far off, either, but that the watching towers of Notre Dame, almost
equidistant from the two extremes, could see them both), they would have
been an exceedingly uncomfortable business—if that could have been
anybody's business, at the house of Monseigneur. Military officers
destitute of military knowledge; naval officers with no idea of a ship;
civil officers without a notion of affairs; brazen ecclesiastics, of the
worst world worldly, with sensual eyes, loose tongues, and looser lives;
all totally unfit for their several callings, all lying horribly in
pretending to belong to them, but all nearly or remotely of the order of
Monseigneur, and therefore foisted on all public employments from which
anything was to be got; these were to be told off by the score and the
score. People not immediately connected with Monseigneur or the State, yet
equally unconnected with anything that was real, or with lives passed in
travelling by any straight road to any true earthly end, were no less
abundant. Doctors who made great fortunes out of dainty remedies for
imaginary disorders that never existed, smiled upon their courtly patients
in the ante-chambers of Monseigneur. Projectors who had discovered every
kind of remedy for the little evils with which the State was touched,
except the remedy of setting to work in earnest to root out a single sin,
poured their distracting babble into any ears they could lay hold of, at
the reception of Monseigneur. Unbelieving Philosophers who were
remodelling the world with words, and making card-towers of Babel to scale
the skies with, talked with Unbelieving Chemists who had an eye on the
transmutation of metals, at this wonderful gathering accumulated by
Monseigneur. Exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding, which was at that
remarkable time—and has been since—to be known by its fruits
of indifference to every natural subject of human interest, were in the
most exemplary state of exhaustion, at the hotel of Monseigneur. Such
homes had these various notabilities left behind them in the fine world of
Paris, that the spies among the assembled devotees of Monseigneur—forming
a goodly half of the polite company—would have found it hard to
discover among the angels of that sphere one solitary wife, who, in her
manners and appearance, owned to being a Mother. Indeed, except for the
mere act of bringing a troublesome creature into this world—which
does not go far towards the realisation of the name of mother—there
was no such thing known to the fashion. Peasant women kept the
unfashionable babies close, and brought them up, and charming grandmammas
of sixty dressed and supped as at twenty.
The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attendance
upon Monseigneur. In the outermost room were half a dozen exceptional
people who had had, for a few years, some vague misgiving in them that
things in general were going rather wrong. As a promising way of setting
them right, half of the half-dozen had become members of a fantastic sect
of Convulsionists, and were even then considering within themselves
whether they should foam, rage, roar, and turn cataleptic on the spot—thereby
setting up a highly intelligible finger-post to the Future, for
Monseigneur's guidance. Besides these Dervishes, were other three who had
rushed into another sect, which mended matters with a jargon about "the
Centre of Truth:" holding that Man had got out of the Centre of Truth—which
did not need much demonstration—but had not got out of the
Circumference, and that he was to be kept from flying out of the
Circumference, and was even to be shoved back into the Centre, by fasting
and seeing of spirits. Among these, accordingly, much discoursing with
spirits went on—and it did a world of good which never became
But, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel of
Monseigneur were perfectly dressed. If the Day of Judgment had only been
ascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would have been eternally
correct. Such frizzling and powdering and sticking up of hair, such
delicate complexions artificially preserved and mended, such gallant
swords to look at, and such delicate honour to the sense of smell, would
surely keep anything going, for ever and ever. The exquisite gentlemen of
the finest breeding wore little pendent trinkets that chinked as they
languidly moved; these golden fetters rang like precious little bells; and
what with that ringing, and with the rustle of silk and brocade and fine
linen, there was a flutter in the air that fanned Saint Antoine and his
devouring hunger far away.
Dress was the one unfailing talisman and charm used for keeping all things
in their places. Everybody was dressed for a Fancy Ball that was never to
leave off. From the Palace of the Tuileries, through Monseigneur and the
whole Court, through the Chambers, the Tribunals of Justice, and all
society (except the scarecrows), the Fancy Ball descended to the Common
Executioner: who, in pursuance of the charm, was required to officiate
"frizzled, powdered, in a gold-laced coat, pumps, and white silk
stockings." At the gallows and the wheel—the axe was a rarity—Monsieur
Paris, as it was the episcopal mode among his brother Professors of the
provinces, Monsieur Orleans, and the rest, to call him, presided in this
dainty dress. And who among the company at Monseigneur's reception in that
seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt,
that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold-laced, pumped,
and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out!
Monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken his
chocolate, caused the doors of the Holiest of Holiests to be thrown open,
and issued forth. Then, what submission, what cringing and fawning, what
servility, what abject humiliation! As to bowing down in body and spirit,
nothing in that way was left for Heaven—which may have been one
among other reasons why the worshippers of Monseigneur never troubled it.
Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, a whisper on one happy
slave and a wave of the hand on another, Monseigneur affably passed
through his rooms to the remote region of the Circumference of Truth.
There, Monseigneur turned, and came back again, and so in due course of
time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate sprites, and
was seen no more.
The show being over, the flutter in the air became quite a little storm,
and the precious little bells went ringing downstairs. There was soon but
one person left of all the crowd, and he, with his hat under his arm and
his snuff-box in his hand, slowly passed among the mirrors on his way out.
"I devote you," said this person, stopping at the last door on his way,
and turning in the direction of the sanctuary, "to the Devil!"
With that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had shaken the
dust from his feet, and quietly walked downstairs.
He was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in manner, and
with a face like a fine mask. A face of a transparent paleness; every
feature in it clearly defined; one set expression on it. The nose,
beautifully formed otherwise, was very slightly pinched at the top of each
nostril. In those two compressions, or dints, the only little change that
the face ever showed, resided. They persisted in changing colour
sometimes, and they would be occasionally dilated and contracted by
something like a faint pulsation; then, they gave a look of treachery, and
cruelty, to the whole countenance. Examined with attention, its capacity
of helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth, and the
lines of the orbits of the eyes, being much too horizontal and thin;
still, in the effect of the face made, it was a handsome face, and a
Its owner went downstairs into the courtyard, got into his carriage, and
drove away. Not many people had talked with him at the reception; he had
stood in a little space apart, and Monseigneur might have been warmer in
his manner. It appeared, under the circumstances, rather agreeable to him
to see the common people dispersed before his horses, and often barely
escaping from being run down. His man drove as if he were charging an
enemy, and the furious recklessness of the man brought no check into the
face, or to the lips, of the master. The complaint had sometimes made
itself audible, even in that deaf city and dumb age, that, in the narrow
streets without footways, the fierce patrician custom of hard driving
endangered and maimed the mere vulgar in a barbarous manner. But, few
cared enough for that to think of it a second time, and, in this matter,
as in all others, the common wretches were left to get out of their
difficulties as they could.
With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of
consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashed
through streets and swept round corners, with women screaming before it,
and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its way. At
last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of its wheels came to
a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices,
and the horses reared and plunged.
But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have
stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their wounded
behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry, and
there were twenty hands at the horses' bridles.
"What has gone wrong?" said Monsieur, calmly looking out.
A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the
horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was down in
the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal.
"Pardon, Monsieur the Marquis!" said a ragged and submissive man, "it is a
"Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?"
"Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis—it is a pity—yes."
The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was,
into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall man suddenly got
up from the ground, and came running at the carriage, Monsieur the Marquis
clapped his hand for an instant on his sword-hilt.
"Killed!" shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending both arms at
their length above his head, and staring at him. "Dead!"
The people closed round, and looked at Monsieur the Marquis. There was
nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at him but watchfulness and
eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger. Neither did the people
say anything; after the first cry, they had been silent, and they remained
so. The voice of the submissive man who had spoken, was flat and tame in
its extreme submission. Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all,
as if they had been mere rats come out of their holes.
He took out his purse.
"It is extraordinary to me," said he, "that you people cannot take care of
yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in the
way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses. See! Give him
He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads
craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell. The
tall man called out again with a most unearthly cry, "Dead!"
He was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, for whom the rest
made way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon his shoulder,
sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain, where some women were
stooping over the motionless bundle, and moving gently about it. They were
as silent, however, as the men.
"I know all, I know all," said the last comer. "Be a brave man, my
Gaspard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so, than to
live. It has died in a moment without pain. Could it have lived an hour as
"You are a philosopher, you there," said the Marquis, smiling. "How do
they call you?"
"They call me Defarge."
"Of what trade?"
"Monsieur the Marquis, vendor of wine."
"Pick up that, philosopher and vendor of wine," said the Marquis, throwing
him another gold coin, "and spend it as you will. The horses there; are
Without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time, Monsieur the
Marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just being driven away with the
air of a gentleman who had accidentally broke some common thing, and had
paid for it, and could afford to pay for it; when his ease was suddenly
disturbed by a coin flying into his carriage, and ringing on its floor.
"Hold!" said Monsieur the Marquis. "Hold the horses! Who threw that?"
He looked to the spot where Defarge the vendor of wine had stood, a moment
before; but the wretched father was grovelling on his face on the pavement
in that spot, and the figure that stood beside him was the figure of a
dark stout woman, knitting.
"You dogs!" said the Marquis, but smoothly, and with an unchanged front,
except as to the spots on his nose: "I would ride over any of you very
willingly, and exterminate you from the earth. If I knew which rascal
threw at the carriage, and if that brigand were sufficiently near it, he
should be crushed under the wheels."
So cowed was their condition, and so long and hard their experience of
what such a man could do to them, within the law and beyond it, that not a
voice, or a hand, or even an eye was raised. Among the men, not one. But
the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily, and looked the Marquis in
the face. It was not for his dignity to notice it; his contemptuous eyes
passed over her, and over all the other rats; and he leaned back in his
seat again, and gave the word "Go on!"
He was driven on, and other carriages came whirling by in quick
succession; the Minister, the State-Projector, the Farmer-General, the
Doctor, the Lawyer, the Ecclesiastic, the Grand Opera, the Comedy, the
whole Fancy Ball in a bright continuous flow, came whirling by. The rats
had crept out of their holes to look on, and they remained looking on for
hours; soldiers and police often passing between them and the spectacle,
and making a barrier behind which they slunk, and through which they
peeped. The father had long ago taken up his bundle and bidden himself
away with it, when the women who had tended the bundle while it lay on the
base of the fountain, sat there watching the running of the water and the
rolling of the Fancy Ball—when the one woman who had stood
conspicuous, knitting, still knitted on with the steadfastness of Fate.
The water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran into
evening, so much life in the city ran into death according to rule, time
and tide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together in their
dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran