cal theories. It is necessary to have heard one of
those malcontents who ill digest what they read, haranguing the company
in some provincial taproom, in order to conceive the degree of hateful
folly at which Macquart had arrived. As he talked a good deal, had
seen active service, and was naturally regarded as a man of energy and
spirit, he was much sought after and listened to by simpletons. Although
he was not the chief of any party, he had succeeded in collecting
round him a small group of working-men who took his jealous ravings for
expressions of honest and conscientious indignation.

Directly after the Revolution of February '48, he persuaded himself that
Plassans was his own, and, as he strolled along the streets, the
jeering manner in which he regarded the little retail traders who stood
terrified at their shop doors clearly signified: "Our day has come,
my little lambs; we are going to lead you a fine dance!" He had grown
insolent beyond belief; he acted the part of a victorious despot to
such a degree that he ceased to pay for his drinks at the cafe, and the
landlord, a simpleton who trembled whenever Antoine rolled his eyes,
dared not present his bill. The number of cups of coffee he consumed
during this period was incalculable; sometimes he invited his friends,
and shouted for hours together that the people were dying of hunger, and
that the rich ought to share their wealth with them. He himself would
never have given a sou to a beggar.

That which chiefly converted him into a fierce Republican was the hope
of at last being able to revenge himself on the Rougons, who had openly
ranged themselves on the side of the reactionary party. Ah, what a
triumph if he could only hold Pierre and Felicite at his mercy! Although
the latter had not succeeded over well in business, they had at
last become gentlefolks, while he, Macquart, had still remained a
working-man. That exasperated him. Perhaps he was still more mortified
because one of their sons was a barrister, another a doctor, and the
third a clerk, while his son Jean merely worked at a carpenter's shop,
and his daughter Gervaise at a washerwoman's. When he compared the
Macquarts with the Rougons, he was still more ashamed to see his wife
selling chestnuts in the market, and mending the greasy old straw-seated
chairs of the neighbourhood in the evening. Pierre, after all, was but
his brother, and had no more right than himself to live fatly on his
income. Moreov