black with carriages. And the dense mass of carriages,
congested into interminable lines, were passing without end, carrying human birds of prey to nocturnal carnages. Reclining on their cushions, indolent and disdainful, with stupid countenances and flabby flesh,
exhaling a putrid odor, they were all there, so nearly
alike that I recognized Juliette in each one of them.
The line of vehicles appeared to me more lugubrious
than ever. As I looked at these horses, this diversity
of colors, this crimson sun which made the glass panes
of the carriages shine like breastplates, all this intense intermingling of colors red, yellow, blue all these plumes that swayed in the wind, I had the impression of looking at some enemy regiments, regiments of an army of conquest ready to fall upon vanquished foes, drunk foes, drunk with a desire for pillage. And quite seriously I was indignant over
the fact that I did not hear the roar of cannons, did
not hear the mitrailleuses spitting death and sweeping the avenue with fire. A laborer who was returning from work stopped at the end of the sidewalk. With tools on his shoulder and crooked back, he was watching the street. Not only did he have no hatred in his
eyes but there was a sort of ecstasy in them. Anger
seized me. I wanted to come up to him, grab him by
the collar and cry out:
"What are you doing here, you fool? Why do you look at these women so? These women who are an insult to your torn coat, to your arms trembling with fatigue, to your whole wretched body emaciated by daily hardships! In the days of revolution you thought you could avenge yourself upon society which kept you down by killing soldiers and priests, humble and suffering human beings like yourself? And you never thought of erecting scaffolds for these infamous creatures, for these ferocious beasts who steal from you
