The Marquis de Saint-Huruge, born at Macon of a rich and noble family, was one of those men of tumult and disturbances who seem to personify the masses.  Gifted by nature with a towering stature and a martial figure, his voice thundered above the roars of the crowd.  He had his agitations, his fury, his moments of repentance, and sometimes even of cowardice; his heart was not cruel, but his brain was disturbed.  Too aristocratic to be envious, too rich to be a spoliator, too frivolous to be a fanatic by principle, the Revolution turned his brain in the same manner as a rapidly flowing river carries with it the eye that in vain strives to gaze fixedly on it.  His life seemed that of a maniac; he loved the Revolution when in motion because it was akin to madness.  When yet very young he had sullied his name, ruined his fortune, and forfeited his honours by debauchery, women, and gaming.  At the Palais Royal and the neighbouring quartiers, the scene of every disorder, he possessed the infamous celebrity of scandal and shame.  All the world had heard of him; his family had procured his incarceration in the Bastille, from which the 14th of July had freed him.  He had sworn to be avenged, and he kept his oath; a voluntary and indefatigable accomplice of every faction, he had offered his unpaid services to the Duc d’Orleans, Mirabeau, Danton, Camille Desmoulins, the Girondists, and Robespierre:  always an adherent of the party who went the greatest lengths; always a leader of those emeutes that promised the most havoc and ruin.  Awake before daybreak, present at every club, he hastened at the slightest noise to swell the crowd; at the smallest tumult to stir men up to more violence.  He himself was consumed by the common passion, ere he comprehended its nature; and his voice, his gestures, the expression of his features communicated it to others.  He vociferated tales of terror; he disseminated the fever; he electrified the wavering masses; he urged on the current; he was in himself a sedition.

XI.

After Saint Huruge, marched Theroigne de Mericourt.  Theroigne, or Lambertine de Mericourt, who commanded the third corps of the army of the faubourgs, was known among the people by the name of La Belle Liegoise.  The French Revolution had drawn her to Paris, as the whirlwind attracts things of no weight.  She was the impure Joan of Arc of the public streets.  Outraged love had plunged her into disorder, and the vice, at which she herself blushed, only made her thirst for vengeance.  In destroying the aristocrats she fancied she purified her honour, and washed out her shame in blood.