"Frightful crowds" at the doors of the bakeries， then at the doors of the butchers and grocers， then at the markets for butter， eggs， fish and vegetables， and then on the quay for wine， firewood and charcoal -such is the steady refrain of the police reports.[61] - And this lasts uninterruptedly during the fourteen months of revolutionary government： long lines of people waiting in turn for bread， meat， oil， soap and candles， "queues for milk， for butter， for wood， for charcoal， queues everywhere！ "[62] "There was one queue beginning at the door of a grocery in the Petit Carreau stretching half way up the rue Montorgueil."[63] These queues form at three o'clock in the morning， one o'clock and at midnight， increasing from hour to hour.
Picture to yourself， reader， the file of wretched men and women sleeping on the pavement when the weather is fine[64] and when not fine， standing up on stiff tottering legs； above all)in winter， "the rain pouring on their backs，" and their feet in the snow， for so many weary hours in dark， foul， dimly lighted streets strewed with garbage；for， for want of oil， one half of the street lamps are extinguished， and for lack of money， there is no repaving， no more sweeping， the offal being piled up against the walls.[65] The crowd draggles along through it， likewise， nasty， tattered and torn， people with shoes full of holes， because the shoemakers do no more work for their customers， and in dirty shirts， because no more soap can be had to wash with， while， morally as well as physically， all these forlorn beings elbowing each other render themselves still fouler. -Promiscuousness， contact， weariness， waiting and darkness afford free play to the grosser instincts； especially in summer， natural bestiality and Parisian mischievousness have full play. "Lewd women"[66] pursue their calling standing in the row； it is an interlude for them； "their provoking expressions， their immoderate laughter，" is heard some distance off and they find it a convenient place： two steps aside， on the flank of the row， are "half open doors and dark alleys" which invite tête-à-tête； many of these women who have brought their mattresses "sleep there and commit untold abominations." What an example for the wives and daughters of steady workmen， for honest servants who hear and see！ "Men stop at each row and choose their dulcinea， while others， less shameless， pounce on the women like bulls and kiss them one after the other." Are not these the fraternal kisses of patriotic Jacobins？ Do not Mayor Pache's wife and daughter go to the clubs and kiss drunken sans-culottes？ And what says the guard？ - It has enough to do to restrain another blind and deaf animal instinct， aroused as it is by suffering， anticipation and deception.
On approaching each butcher's stall before it opens "the porters， bending under the weight of a side of beef， quicken their steps so as not to be assailed by the crowd which presses against them， seeming to devour the raw meat with their eyes." They force a passage， enter the shop in the rear， and it seems as if the time for distributing the meat had come； the gendarmes， spurring their horses to a gallop， scatter the groups that are too dense； "rascals， in pay of the Commune，" range the women in files， two and two， "shivering" in the cold morning air of December and January， awaiting their turn.
Beforehand， however， the butcher， according to law， sets aside the portion for the hospitals， for pregnant women and others who are confined， for nurses， and besides， notwithstanding the law， he sets aside another portion for the revolutionary committee of the section， for the assistant commissioner and superintendent， for the pashas and semi pashas of the quarter， and finally for his rich customers who pay him extra.[67] To this end， "porters with broad shoulders form an impenetrable rampart in front of the shop and carry away whole oxen；"after this is over， the women find the shop stripped， while many， after wasting their time for four mortal hours，" go away empty handed.
- With this prospect before them the daily assemblages get to be uneasy and the waves rise； nobody， except those at the head of the row， is sure of his pittance those that are behind regard enviously and with suppressed anger the person ahead of them. First come outcries， then jeering and then scuffling； the women rival the men in struggling and in profanity，[68] and they hustle each other. The line suddenly breaks； each rushes to get ahead of the other； the foremost place belongs to the most robust and the most brutal， and to secure it they have to trample down their neighbors.
There are fisticuffs every day. When an assemblage remains quiet the spectators take notice of it. In general "they fight，[69] snatch bread out of each other's hands； those who cannot get any forcing whoever gets a loaf weighing four pounds to share it in small pieces.