always felt that, but I couldn't say it. Free! I'm a vagabond, I'm hungry, but I don't care: I'm free. Free! It makes my chest swell, it does! I'm a king. I could walk over the world. [He becomes excited as he talks, striding back and forth.] It's like as if I was drunk; my head's turned—though I haven't drunk a drop. What is it? It's glory!
Hulin [coming from the house]. I was stifling in there. I must get out.
The Man. Eh, Hulin, what are they doing?
Hulin. Talking, talking. The damned gossips. They're never at a loss for something to say. Desmoulins is making jokes and spouting Latin. Robespierre, with his long face, declares he'll sacrifice himself. They're calling everything into question: laws, the social contract, reason, the origin of the world. One is making war on God, and the other on Nature. As to real war plans, how to protect themselves against danger, not a word! Their counsel is like that in Paris: when it rains, why let it rain!—Devil take these phrasemakers!
The Man. Don't blame them. It's a fine thing to be able to speak. I tell you, there are words he uses that catch you way-down inside. They make the shivers run up your spine. They make you cry, they'd make you even kill your father; and they make you feel as strong as the whole world; make you feel like the good God Himself. Each man has his own work to do. They do the thinking for us; we've got to do our part for them.
