{"id":"01KG8AM5CP9MMCRKZFT6ADSVG8","cid":"bafkreieg3tzbpwcrcc4mrc4t3jj6oo2yir4yp74swjfkj27z5b4glwes7m","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":6453,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:26.985Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 13","source_file":"01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY","start_line":6380,"text":"As he spoke, a basement door in the distance was thrown open, and the\r\nsqualid mass made a rush for the dark vault beyond.\r\n\r\nI nodded to my guide, and sideways we joined in with the rest. Ere long\r\nwe found our retreat cut off by the yelping crowd behind, and I could\r\nnot but congratulate myself on having a civic, as well as civil guide;\r\none, too, whose uniform made evident his authority.\r\n\r\nIt was just the same as if I were pressed by a mob of cannibals on some\r\npagan beach. The beings round me roared with famine. For in this mighty\r\nLondon misery but maddens. In the country it softens. As I gazed on the\r\nmeagre, murderous pack, I thought of the blue eye of the gentle wife of\r\npoor Coulter. Some sort of curved, glittering steel thing (not a sword;\r\nI know not what it was), before worn in his belt, was now flourished\r\noverhead by my guide, menacing the creatures to forbear offering the\r\nstranger violence.\r\n\r\nAs we drove, slow and wedge-like, into the gloomy vault, the howls of\r\nthe mass reverberated. I seemed seething in the Pit with the Lost. On\r\nand on, through the dark and the damp, and then up a stone stairway to a\r\nwide portal; when, diffusing, the pestiferous mob poured in bright day\r\nbetween painted walls and beneath a painted dome. I thought of the\r\nanarchic sack of Versailles.\r\n\r\nA few moments more and I stood bewildered among the beggars in the\r\nfamous Guildhall.\r\n\r\nWhere I stood--where the thronged rabble stood, less than twelve hours\r\nbefore sat His Imperial Majesty, Alexander of Russia; His Royal Majesty,\r\nFrederick William, King of Prussia; His Royal Highness, George, Prince\r\nRegent of England; His world-renowned Grace, the Duke of Wellington;\r\nwith a mob of magnificoes made up of conquering field-marshals, earls,\r\ncounts, and innumerable other nobles of mark.\r\n\r\nThe walls swept to and fro, like the foliage of a forest with blazonings\r\nof conquerors’ flags. Naught outside the hall was visible. No windows\r\nwere within four-and-twenty feet of the floor. Cut off from all other\r\nsights, I was hemmed in by one splendid spectacle--splendid, I mean,\r\neverywhere, but as the eye fell toward the floor. _That_ was foul as a\r\nhovel’s--as a kennel’s; the naked boards being strewed with the smaller\r\nand more wasteful fragments of the feast, while the two long parallel\r\nlines, up and down the hall, of now unrobed, shabby, dirty pine-tables\r\nwere piled with less trampled wrecks. The dyed banners were in keeping\r\nwith the last night’s kings; the floor suited the beggars of to-day. The\r\nbanners looked down upon the floor as from his balcony Dives upon\r\nLazarus. A line of liveried men kept back with their staves the\r\nimpatient jamb of the mob, who, otherwise, might have instantaneously\r\nconverted the Charity into a Pillage. Another body of gowned and gilded\r\nofficials distributed the broken meats--the cold victuals and crumbs of\r\nkings. One after another the beggars held up their dirty blue tickets,\r\nand were served with the plundered wreck of a pheasant, or the rim of a\r\npasty--like the detached crown of an old hat--the solids and meats\r\nstolen out.\r\n\r\n‘What a noble charity!’ whispered my guide. ‘See that pasty now,\r\nsnatched by that pale girl; I dare say the Emperor of Russia ate of that\r\nlast night.’\r\n\r\n‘Very probably,’ murmured I; ‘it looks as though some omnivorous emperor\r\nor other had had a finger in that pie.’\r\n\r\n‘And see yon pheasant too--there--_that_ one--the boy in the torn shirt\r\nhas it now--look! The Prince Regent might have dined off that.’\r\n\r\nThe two breasts were gouged ruthlessly out, exposing the bare bones,\r\nembellished with the untouched pinions and legs.\r\n\r\n‘Yes, who knows!’ said my guide, ‘His Royal Highness the Prince Regent\r\nmight have eaten of that identical pheasant.’\r\n\r\n‘I don’t doubt it,’ murmured I, ‘he is said to be uncommonly fond of the\r\nbreast. But where is Napoleon’s head in a charger? I should fancy _that_\r\nought to have been the principal dish.’\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 13"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJVQ8D7NW8GVW8QE4DYG9","peer_type":"segment","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1FFTGRE9J93Z3K29NGY","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AM5C78TTGQPADDMY47YVC","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AM5C7TCHREHQMYNYVHFWD","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:28.054Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:41.478Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}