Page 1445 - les-miserables

cabarets of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine resemble those tav-
erns of Mont Aventine erected on the cave of the Sibyl and
communicating with the profound and sacred breath; tav-
erns where the tables were almost tripods, and where was
drunk what Ennius calls the sibylline wine.
The Faubourg Saint-Antoine is a reservoir of people. Rev-
olutionary agitations create fissures there, through which
trickles the popular sovereignty. This sovereignty may do
evil; it can be mistaken like any other; but, even when led
astray, it remains great. We may say of it as of the blind cy-
clops, Ingens.
In ‘93, according as the idea which was floating about
was good or evil, according as it was the day of fanaticism or
of enthusiasm, there leaped forth from the Faubourg Saint-
Antoine now savage legions, now heroic bands.
Savage. Let us explain this word. When these bristling
men, who in the early days of the revolutionary chaos, tat-
tered, howling, wild, with uplifted bludgeon, pike on high,
hurled themselves upon ancient Paris in an uproar, what
did they want? They wanted an end to oppression, an end to
tyranny, an end to the sword, work for men, instruction for
the child, social sweetness for the woman, liberty, equality,
fraternity, bread for all, the idea for all, the Edenizing of the
world. Progress; and that holy, sweet, and good thing, prog-
ress, they claimed in terrible wise, driven to extremities as
they were, half naked, club in fist, a roar in their mouths.
They were savages, yes; but the savages of civilization.
They proclaimed right furiously; they were desirous, if
only with fear and trembling, to force the human race to

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