In a moment the casks were broached, and the liquor, in whatever receptacles were at hand, was passed around from mouth to eager mouth. No one made the slightest attempt to husband it, and it was soon pouring down over the steps in little purple rivulets. The faces of the crowd, as the flaring torches and dancing flames revealed them, became more and more inhuman, their shouts hoarser and more menacing, their actions more and more bestial, until I felt my cheeks grow hot at the thought that these creatures belonged to humankind. Truly long centuries in the darkness had rendered them unfit for the light! If vermin such as this was to govern France, then France would better far be sunk in the ocean!
Drunken couples reeled hither and thither shouting incoherently; women forgetting their sex pursued such men as made a pretense of escaping and dragged them down into the shadows; a half-naked girl mounted astride a cask shouted obscenities at six or eight scoundrels who were going through the pretense of a mass.
“The Goddess of Reason!” said M. le Comte, his eyes dwelling upon this group; and indeed at that moment, as the wretch who played the priest made as though he were elevating the host, those behind him burst forth in a hoarse shout:
“Long live Reason! Long live Reason!”
Sick with disgust I glanced at the heavens, wondering that God did not blast them with his thunderbolts.
“I never thought such vileness could exist,” I murmured; and Pasdeloup, who heard the words, smiled grimly.
“Do not blame them too bitterly, monsieur,” he said. “How does it happen that they are what they are? What have they to thank God for? Why should they be grateful to the church? All their lives they have known only cruelty and injustice. Now it is their turn.”
“That is true,” I agreed; and suddenly I realized that this rude and ignorant peasant had a broader and truer outlook upon life than I. And I think that that moment saw the birth in me of a new tolerance and sympathy. At least I hope it did!
No thunderbolt came. Perhaps God, too, was looking down more in pity than in anger.
Attracted by the shout others of the crowd joined the group before the steps, drank of the wine which the girl passed down to them, and began a crazed Bacchanal dance before her. Then a red-faced rogue dashed up the steps to her and screaming with laughter tore her few remaining clothes from her back.