Book II - Chapter VII. Monseigneur in Town

by Charles Dickens

　　Monseigneur, one of the great lords in power at the Court, held hisfortnightly reception in his grand hotel in Paris. Monseigneur wasin his inner room, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest ofHoliests to the crowd of worshippers in the suite of rooms without.Monseigneur was about to take his chocolate. Monseigneur couldswallow a great many things with ease, and was by some few sullenminds supposed to be rather rapidly swallowing France; but, hismorning's chocolate could not so much as get into the throat ofMonseigneur, without the aid of four strong men besides the Cook.

　　Yes. It took four men, all four ablaze with gorgeous decoration,and the Chief of them unable to exist with fewer than two goldwatches in his pocket, emulative of the noble and chaste fashion setby 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 instrumenthe 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 theseattendants on the chocolate and hold his high place under theadmiring Heavens. Deep would have been the blot upon his escutcheonif his chocolate had been ignobly waited on by only three men; hemust have died of two.

　　Monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, where theComedy and the Grand Opera were charmingly represented. Monseigneurwas out at a little supper most nights, with fascinating company.So polite and so impressible was Monseigneur, that the Comedy andthe Grand Opera had far more influence with him in the tiresomearticles of state affairs and state secrets, than the needs of allFrance. A happy circumstance for France, as the like always is forall countries similarly favoured!--always was for England (by way ofexample), 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 particularpublic business, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea that itmust all go his way--tend to his own power and pocket. Of hispleasures, general and particular, Monseigneur had the other trulynoble 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 creptinto his affairs, both private and public; and he had, as to bothclasses of affairs, allied himself perforce with a Farmer-General.As to finances public, because Monseigneur could not make anythingat all of them, and must consequently let them out to somebody whocould; as to finances private, because Farmer-Generals were rich, andMonseigneur, after generations of great luxury and expense, wasgrowing poor. Hence Monseigneur had taken his sister from a convent,while there was yet time to ward off the impending veil, the cheapestgarment she could wear, and had bestowed her as a prize upon a veryrich Farmer-General, poor in family. Which Farmer-General, carryingan appropriate cane with a golden apple on the top of it, was nowamong the company in the outer rooms, much prostrated before bymankind--always excepting superior mankind of the blood of Monseigneur,who, his own wife included, looked down upon him with the loftiestcontempt.

　　A sumptuous man was the Farmer-General. Thirty horses stood in hisstables, twenty-four male domestics sat in his halls, six body-womenwaited on his wife. As one who pretended to do nothing but plunderand forage where he could, the Farmer-General--howsoever hismatrimonial relations conduced to social morality--was at least thegreatest reality among the personages who attended at the hotel ofMonseigneur that day.

　　For, the rooms, though a beautiful scene to look at, and adorned withevery device of decoration that the taste and skill of the time couldachieve, were, in truth, not a sound business; considered with anyreference to the scarecrows in the rags and nightcaps elsewhere(and not so far off, either, but that the watching towers of NotreDame, almost equidistant from the two extremes, could see them both),they would have been an exceedingly uncomfortable business--if thatcould have been anybody's business, at the house of Monseigneur.Military officers destitute of military knowledge; naval officerswith 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 severalcallings, all lying horribly in pretending to belong to them, but allnearly or remotely of the order of Monseigneur, and therefore foistedon all public employments from which anything was to be got; these wereto be told off by the score and the score. People not immediatelyconnected with Monseigneur or the State, yet equally unconnected withanything that was real, or with lives passed in travelling by anystraight road to any true earthly end, were no less abundant.Doctors who made great fortunes out of dainty remedies for imaginarydisorders that never existed, smiled upon their courtly patients inthe ante-chambers of Monseigneur. Projectors who had discoveredevery kind of remedy for the little evils with which the State wastouched, except the remedy of setting to work in earnest to root outa single sin, poured their distracting babble into any ears theycould lay hold of, at the reception of Monseigneur. UnbelievingPhilosophers who were remodelling the world with words, and makingcard-towers of Babel to scale the skies with, talked with UnbelievingChemists who had an eye on the transmutation of metals, at thiswonderful gathering accumulated by Monseigneur. Exquisite gentlemenof the finest breeding, which was at that remarkable time--and hasbeen since--to be known by its fruits of indifference to everynatural subject of human interest, were in the most exemplary stateof exhaustion, at the hotel of Monseigneur. Such homes had thesevarious notabilities left behind them in the fine world of Paris,that the spies among the assembled devotees of Monseigneur--forming agoodly half of the polite company--would have found it hard todiscover among the angels of that sphere one solitary wife, who, inher manners and appearance, owned to being a Mother. Indeed, exceptfor 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 theunfashionable babies close, and brought them up, and charming grandmammasof sixty dressed and supped as at twenty.

　　The leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attendanceupon Monseigneur. In the outermost room were half a dozen exceptionalpeople who had had, for a few years, some vague misgiving in themthat things in general were going rather wrong. As a promising wayof setting them right, half of the half-dozen had become members of afantastic sect of Convulsionists, and were even then considering withinthemselves whether they should foam, rage, roar, and turn catalepticon the spot--thereby setting up a highly intelligible finger-post tothe Future, for Monseigneur's guidance. Besides these Dervishes,were other three who had rushed into another sect, which mendedmatters with a jargon about "the Centre of Truth:" holding that Manhad got out of the Centre of Truth--which did not need muchdemonstration--but had not got out of the Circumference, and that hewas to be kept from flying out of the Circumference, and was even tobe shoved back into the Centre, by fasting and seeing of spirits.Among these, accordingly, much discoursing with spirits went on--andit did a world of good which never became manifest.

　　But, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel ofMonseigneur were perfectly dressed. If the Day of Judgment had onlybeen ascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would have beeneternally correct. Such frizzling and powdering and sticking up ofhair, such delicate complexions artificially preserved and mended,such gallant swords to look at, and such delicate honour to the senseof smell, would surely keep anything going, for ever and ever.The exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding wore little pendenttrinkets that chinked as they languidly moved; these golden fettersrang like precious little bells; and what with that ringing, and withthe rustle of silk and brocade and fine linen, there was a flutter inthe air that fanned Saint Antoine and his devouring hunger far away.

　　Dress was the one unfailing talisman and charm used for keeping allthings in their places. Everybody was dressed for a Fancy Ball thatwas never to leave off. From the Palace of the Tuileries, throughMonseigneur and the whole Court, through the Chambers, the Tribunalsof Justice, and all society (except the scarecrows), the Fancy Balldescended 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--theaxe was a rarity--Monsieur Paris, as it was the episcopal mode amonghis brother Professors of the provinces, Monsieur Orleans, and therest, to call him, presided in this dainty dress. And who among thecompany at Monseigneur's reception in that seventeen hundred andeightieth year of our Lord, could possibly doubt, that a systemrooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold-laced, pumped, andwhite-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out!

　　Monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken hischocolate, caused the doors of the Holiest of Holiests to be thrownopen, and issued forth. Then, what submission, what cringing andfawning, what servility, what abject humiliation! As to bowing downin body and spirit, nothing in that way was left for Heaven--whichmay have been one among other reasons why the worshippers ofMonseigneur never troubled it.

　　Bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, a whisper on onehappy slave and a wave of the hand on another, Monseigneur affablypassed through his rooms to the remote region of the Circumference ofTruth. There, Monseigneur turned, and came back again, and so in duecourse of time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolatesprites, and was seen no more.

　　The show being over, the flutter in the air became quite a littlestorm, and the precious little bells went ringing downstairs.There was soon but one person left of all the crowd, and he, with hishat under his arm and his snuff-box in his hand, slowly passed amongthe mirrors on his way out.

　　"I devote you," said this person, stopping at the last door on hisway, and turning in the direction of the sanctuary, "to the Devil!"

　　With that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had shakenthe 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 atthe top of each nostril. In those two compressions, or dints, theonly little change that the face ever showed, resided. They persistedin changing colour sometimes, and they would be occasionally dilatedand contracted by something like a faint pulsation; then, they gave alook of treachery, and cruelty, to the whole countenance. Examinedwith attention, its capacity of helping such a look was to be foundin 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 facemade, it was a handsome face, and a remarkable one.

　　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 beenwarmer in his manner. It appeared, under the circumstances, ratheragreeable to him to see the common people dispersed before his horses,and often barely escaping from being run down. His man drove as ifhe were charging an enemy, and the furious recklessness of the manbrought no check into the face, or to the lips, of the master. Thecomplaint had sometimes made itself audible, even in that deaf cityand dumb age, that, in the narrow streets without footways, the fiercepatrician custom of hard driving endangered and maimed the mere vulgarin a barbarous manner. But, few cared enough for that to think of ita second time, and, in this matter, as in all others, the commonwretches were left to get out of their difficulties as they could.

　　With a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment ofconsideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriagedashed through streets and swept round corners, with women screamingbefore it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out ofits way. At last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one ofits wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cryfrom a number of voices, and the horses reared and plunged.

　　But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would nothave stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave theirwounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down ina 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 feetof 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 child."

　　"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 itwas, into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall mansuddenly 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 armsat 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 butwatchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger.Neither did the people say anything; after the first cry, they hadbeen silent, and they remained so. The voice of the submissive manwho had spoken, was flat and tame in its extreme submission.Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all, as if they had beenmere rats come out of their holes.

　　He took out his purse.

　　"It is extraordinary to me," said he, "that you people cannot takecare of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is forever in the, way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses.See! Give him that."

　　He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the headscraned 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 therest made way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon hisshoulder, sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain, wheresome women were stooping over the motionless bundle, and movinggently about it. They were as silent, however, as the men.

　　"I know all, I know all," said the last comer. "Be a brave man, myGaspard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so, thanto live. It has died in a moment without pain. Could it have livedan hour as happily?"

　　"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 they right?"

　　Without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time, Monsieurthe Marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just being driven awaywith the air of a gentleman who had accidentally broke some commonthing, and had paid for it, and could afford to pay for it; when hisease 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 faceon the pavement in that spot, and the figure that stood beside himwas 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 youvery willingly, and exterminate you from the earth. If I knew whichrascal threw at the carriage, and if that brigand were sufficientlynear it, he should be crushed under the wheels."

　　So cowed was their condition, and so long and hard their experienceof 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 themen, not one. But the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily,and looked the Marquis in the face. It was not for his dignity tonotice it; his contemptuous eyes passed over her, and over all theother 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 quicksuccession; the Minister, the State-Projector, the Farmer-General,the Doctor, the Lawyer, the Ecclesiastic, the Grand Opera, theComedy, the whole Fancy Ball in a bright continuous flow, camewhirling by. The rats had crept out of their holes to look on,and they remained looking on for hours; soldiers and police oftenpassing between them and the spectacle, and making a barrier behindwhich they slunk, and through which they peeped. The father had longago taken up his bundle and bidden himself away with it, when thewomen who had tended the bundle while it lay on the base of thefountain, sat there watching the running of the water and the rollingof the Fancy Ball--when the one woman who had stood conspicuous,knitting, still knitted on with the steadfastness of Fate. The waterof 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 andtide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together intheir dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was lighted up at supper,all things ran their course.