In default of the majority， who shirk their responsibilities， it is the minority which does the work and assumes the power. The majority having resigned， the minority becomes sovereign， and public business， abandoned by the hesitating， weak， and absent multitude， falls into the hands of the resolute， energetic， ever-present few who find the leisure and the disposition to assume the responsibility. In a system in which all offices are elective， and in which elections are frequent， politics becomes a profession for those who subordinate their private interests to it， and who find it of personal advantage； every village contains five or six men of this class， every borough twenty or thirty， every town its hundreds and Paris its many thousands.[32] These are veritable active citizens They alone give all their time and attention to public matters， correspond with the newspapers and with the deputies at Paris， receive and spread abroad the party watchword on every important question， hold caucuses， get up meetings， make motions， draw up addresses， overlook， rebuke， or denounce the local magistrates， form themselves into committees， publish and push candidates， and go into the suburbs and the country to canvass for votes. They hold the power in recompense for their labor， for they manage the elections， and are elected to office or provided with places by the successful candidates. There is a prodigious number of these offices and places， not only those of officers of the National Guard and the administrators of the commune， the district， and the department， whose duties are gratuitous， or little short of it， but a quantity of others which are paid，[33] - eighty-three bishops， seven hundred and fifty deputies， four hundred criminal judges， three thousand and seven civil judges， five thousand justices of the peace， twenty thousand assessors forty thousand communal collectors， forty-six thousand curés， without counting the accessory or insignificant places which exist by tens and hundreds of thousands， from secretaries， clerks， bailiffs and notaries， to gendarmes， constables， office-clerks， beadles， grave-diggers， and keepers of sequestered goods. The pasture is vast for the ambitious； it is not small for the needy， and they seize upon it.
Such is the rule in pure democracies： hence the swarm of politicians in the United States. When the law incessantly calls all citizens to political action， there are only a few who devote themselves to it； these become expert in this particular work， and， consequently， preponderant. But they must be paid for their trouble， and the election secures to them their places because they manage the elections.
Two sorts of men furnish the recruits for this dominant minority： on the one hand the enthusiasts， and on the other those who have no social position. Towards the end of 1789， moderate people， who are minding their own business， retire into privacy， and are daily less disposed to show themselves. The public square is occupied by others who， through zeal and political passion， abandon their pursuits， and by those who， finding themselves hampered in their social sphere， or repelled from ordinary circles， were merely awaiting a new opening to take a fresh start. In these utopian and revolutionary times， there is no lack of either class. Flung out by handfuls， the dogma of popular sovereignty falls like a seed scattered around， to end up vegetating in heated brains， in the narrow and rash minds which， once possessed by an idea， adhere to it and are mastered by it. It falls amongst a class of reasoners who， starting from a principle， dash forward like a horse who has had blinders put on. This is especially the case with the legal class， whose profession accustoms them to deductions； nor less with the village attorney， the unfrocked monk， the "intruding" and excommunicated curé， and above all， the journalist and the local orator， who， for the first time in his life， finds that he has an audience， applause， influence and a future before him. These are the only people who can do the complicated and constant work which the new Constitution calls for； for they are the only men whose desires are unlimited， whose dreams are coherent， whose doctrine is explicit， whose enthusiasm is contagious， who cherish no scruples， and whose presumption is unbounded. Thus has the rigid will been wrought and tempered within them， the inward spring of energy which， being daily more tightly wound up， urges them on to propaganda and to action. - During the second half of the year 1790 we see them everywhere following the example of the Paris Jacobins， styling themselves friends of the Constitution， and grouping themselves together in popular associations. Each town and village gives birth to a club of patriots who regularly every evening， or several times a week， meet "for the purpose of co-operating for the safety of the commonwealth."[34] This is a new and spontaneous organ，[35] an cancer and a parasite， which develops itself in the social body alongside of its legal organizations. Its growth insensibly increases， attracting to itself the substance of the others， employing them for its own ends， substituting itself for them， acting by and for itself alone， a sort of omnivorous outgrowth the encroachment of which is irresistible， not only because circumstances and the working of the Constitution nourish it， but also because its germ， deposited at a great depth， is a living portion of the Constitution itself.