whose previous office had connected him with the police,
was, on that account, very unpopular with a class
which is very numerous in all large cities. The
populace of Paris broke out at once in riots which
amounted to insurrection. Thousands of citizens,
not all of the lowest class, decorated with green cockades,
the color of Necker’s livery, and armed with
every variety of weapon, paraded the streets, bearing
aloft busts of Necker and the Duc d’Orleans,
without stopping, in their madness, to consider how
incongruous a combination they were presenting.
The most ridiculous stories were circulated about the
queen: it was affirmed that she had caused the
Hall of the Assembly to be undermined, that she might
blow it up with gunpowder;[2] and, by way of averting
or avenging so atrocious an act, the mob began to set
fire to houses in different quarters of the city.
Growing bolder at the sight of their own violence,
they broke open the prisons, and thus obtained a re-enforcement
of hundreds of desperadoes, ripe for any wickedness.
The troops were paralyzed by Louis’s imbecile
order to avoid bloodshed, and in the same proportion
the rioters were encouraged by their inaction and
evident helplessness. They attacked the great
armory, and equipped themselves with its contents,
applying to the basest uses time-honored weapons,
monuments of ancient valor and patriotism. The
spear with which Dunois had cleared his country of
the British invaders; the sword with which the first
Bourbon king had routed Egmont’s cavalry at Ivry,
were torn down from the walls to arm the vilest of
mankind for rapine and slaughter. They stormed
the Hotel de Ville, and got possession of the municipal
chest, containing three millions of francs; and now,
more and more intoxicated with their triumph, and
with the evidence which all these exploits afforded
that the whole city was at their mercy, they proceeded
to give their riot a regular organization, by establishing
a committee to sit in the Guildhall and direct their
future proceedings. Lawless and ferocious as
was the main body of the rioters, there were shrewd
heads to guide their fury; and the very first order
issued by this committee was marked by such acute
foresight, and such a skillful adaptation to the requirements
of the moment and the humor of the people, that it
remains in force to this day. It was hardly strange
that men in open insurrection against the king’s
authority should turn their wrath against one of its
conspicuous emblems, consecrated though it was by usage
of immemorial antiquity and by many a heroic achievement—the
snow-white banner bearing the golden lilies.
But that glorious ensign could not be laid aside till
another was substituted for it; and the colors of the
city, red and blue, and white, the color of the army,
were now blended together to form the tricolor flag
which has since won for itself a wider renown than
even the deeds of Bayard or Turenne had shed upon
the lilies, and with which, under every form of government,
the nation has permanently identified itself.