way: using his fists and his foot, he falls on whoever he meets, on an
employee in the commissariat, on a convalescent officer, on two men
in the line, and many others. He shouts to one of them, "You are a
muscadin!" To another:

"I see by your eyes that you are an aristocrat!"

To another:

"You are a bloody beggar, an aristocrat, a rascal,"

and he strikes him in the stomach; he seizes a fourth by his collar
and throws him down on the pavement.[3299] In addition to this, all are
imprisoned. The fire being extinguished, an indiscreet fellow, who
stood by looking on, recommends "the dispenser of blows" to wipe his
forehead." "You can't see straight--who are you? Answer me, I am the
representative." The other replies mildly: "Representative, nothing
could be more respectable." Duquesnoy gives the unlucky courtier a
blow under the nose: "You are disputing--go to prison," "which I did
at once," adds the docile subject.--That same evening, "whereas, in the
conflagration, none of the inhabitants in good circumstances offered
their services in extinguishing the fire,[32100] and none but
sans-culottes came thereto, from the garrison as well as from the
commune," Duquesnoy orders "that a tax of 40,000 livres be imposed on
the commune of Metz, levied on the fortunes of the rich and distributed
among the poor, payable within ten days."[32101]--"Fais-moi f.... dedans
tous ces b... la[32102]," "quatre j...f... a raccourcir;"[32103] At
Arras, as at Metz, the lout is ever the ruffian and the butcher.

Others are either jolly fellows, or blackguards. A certain Andre Dumont,
an old village attorney, now king of Picardie, or sultan, as occasion
offers, "figures as a white Negro," sometimes jovial, but generally as
a rude hardened cynic, treating female prisoners and petitioners as in
a kermesse.[32104]--One morning a lady enters his ante-room, and
waits amidst about twenty sans-culottes, to solicit the release of her
husband. Dumont appears in a morning-gown, seats himself and listens to
the petitioner.

"Sit down, citoyenne."

He takes her on his lap, thrusts his hand in her bosom and exclaims:

"Who would suppose that the bust of a marchioness would feel so soft to
one of the people's representatives."

The sans-culottes shout with laughter. He sends the poor woman away
and keeps her husband locked up. In the evening he may write to the
Convention that he investigates things himself, and closely examines
aristocrats.--If on