lord, destitution is
chronic. At Penkridge, in Coventry, where you have just endowed a
cathedral and enriched a bishop, there are no beds in the cabins, and
they dig holes in the earth in which to put the little children to lie,
so that instead of beginning life in the cradle, they begin it in the
grave. I have seen these things! My lords, do you know who pays the
taxes you vote? The dying! Alas! you deceive yourselves. You are going
the wrong road. You augment the poverty of the poor to increase the
riches of the rich. You should do the reverse. What! take from the
worker to give to the idle, take from the tattered to give to the
well-clad; take from the beggar to give to the prince! Oh yes! I have
old republican blood in my veins. I have a horror of these things. How I
execrate kings! And how shameless are the women! I have been told a sad
story. How I hate Charles II.! A woman whom my father loved gave herself
to that king whilst my father was dying in exile. The prostitute!
Charles II., James II.! After a scamp, a scoundrel. What is there in a
king? A man, feeble and contemptible, subject to wants and infirmities.
Of what good is a king? You cultivate that parasite royalty; you make a
serpent of that worm, a dragon of that insect. O pity the poor! You
increase the weight of the taxes for the profit of the throne. Look to
the laws which you decree. Take heed of the suffering swarms which you
crush. Cast your eyes down. Look at what is at your feet. O ye great,
there are the little. Have pity! yes, have pity on yourselves; for the
people is in its agony, and when the lower part of the trunk dies, the
higher parts die too. Death spares no limb. When night comes no one can
keep his corner of daylight. Are you selfish? then save others. The
destruction of the vessel cannot be a matter of indifference to any
passenger. There can be no wreck for some that is not wreck for all. O
believe it, the abyss yawns for all!"

The laughter increased, and became irresistible. For that matter, such
extravagance as there was in his words was sufficient to amuse any
assembly. To be comic without and tragic within, what suffering can be
more humiliating? what pain deeper? Gwynplaine felt it. His words were
an appeal in one direction, his face in the other. What a terrible
position was his!

Suddenly his voice rang out in strident bursts.

"How gay these men are! Be it so. Here is irony face to face with agony;
a sneer mocking the deat