The Parisians — Volume 11Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
The Parisians — Volume 11
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century; Paris (France) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Armand smiled mournfully. Though of intellect which, had it been
disciplined, was far superior to his brother's, it was so estranged from
practical opinions, so warped, so heated, so flawed and cracked in parts,
that he did not see the ridicule of Charles's braggadocio. Charles had
succeeded in life, Armand had failed; and Armand believed in the worldly
wisdom of the elder born. But he was far too sincere for any bribe to
tempt him to forsake his creed and betray his opinions. And he knew that
it must be a very different revolution from that which his brother
contemplated, that could allow him to marry another man's wife, and his
"order" to confiscate other people's property.
"Don't talk of strikes, Charles. What is done is done. I was led into
heading a strike, not on my own account, for I was well paid and well
off, but for the sake of my fellow-workmen. I may regret now what I did,
for the sake of Marie and the little ones. But it is an affair of
honour, and I cannot withdraw from the cause till my order, as thou
namest my class, has its rights."
"Bah! thou wilt think better of it when thou art an employer. Thou hast
suffered enough already. Remember that I warned thee against that old
fellow in spectacles whom I met once at thy house. I told thee he would
lead thee into mischief, and then leave thee to get out of it. I saw
through him. I have a head! Va!"
"Thou wert a true prophet--he has duped me. But in moving me he has set
others in movement; and I suspect he will find he has duped himself.
Time will show."
Here the brothers were joined by some loungers belonging to the National
Guard. The talk became general, the potations large. Towards daybreak
Armand reeled home, drunk for the first time in his life. He was one of
those whom drink makes violent. Marie had been sitting up for him,
alarmed at his lengthened absence. But when she would have thrown
herself on his breast, her pale face and her passionate sobs enraged him.
He flung her aside roughly. From that night the man's nature was
changed. If, as a physiognomist has said, each man has in him a portion
of the wild beast, which is suppressed by mild civilising circumstances,
and comes uppermost when self-control is lost, the nature of many an
honest workman, humane and tender-hearted as the best of us, commenced a
change into the wild beast that raged through the civil war of the
Communists, on the day when half-a-dozen Incapables, with no more claim
to represent the people of Paris than half-a-dozen monkeys would have,
were allowed to elect themselves to supreme power, and in the very fact
of that election released all the elements of passion, and destroyed all
the bulwarks of order.
CHAPTER X.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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