which are paid exclusively, or almost exclusively, by them -- the
taille and its accessories, the poll-tax and road dues, and
assuredly on their return home they talk all this over with their
neighbor. These figures are all printed; the village attorney
discusses the matter with his clients, the artisans and rustics, on
Sunday as they leave the mass, or in the evening in the large public
room of the tavern. These little gatherings, moreover, are
sanctioned, encouraged by the powers above. In the earliest days of
1788 the provincial assemblies order a board of inquiry to be held
by the syndics and inhabitants of each parish. Knowledge is wanted
in detail of their grievances. What part of the revenue is
chargeable to each impost? What must the cultivator pay and how much
does he suffer? How many privileged persons there are in the parish,
what is the amount of their fortune, are they residents, and what
their exemptions amount to? In replying, the attorney who holds the
pen, names and points out with his finger each privileged
individual, criticizes his way of living, and estimates his fortune,
calculates the injury done to the village by his immunities,
inveighs against the taxes and the tax-collectors. On leaving these
assemblies the villager broods over what he has just heard. He sees
his grievances no longer singly as before, but in mass, and coupled
with the enormity of evils under which his fellows suffer. Besides
this, they begin to disentangle the causes of their misery: the King
is good -- why then do his collectors take so much of our money?
This or that canon or nobleman is not unkind -- why then do they
make us pay in their place? -- Imagine that a sudden gleam of reason
should allow a beast of burden to comprehend the contrast between
the species of horse and mankind. Imagine, if you can, what its
first ideas would be in relation to the coachmen and drivers who
bridle and whip it and again in relation to the good-natured