This is the dictatorship of a mob, and its proceedings, conforming
to its nature, consist in acts of violence, wherever it finds
resistance, it strikes. -- The people of Versailles, in the streets
and at the doors of the Assembly, daily "come and insult those whom
they call aristocrats."[24] On Monday, June 22nd, "d'Espréménil
barely escapes being knocked down; the Abbé Maury. . . owes his
escape to the strength of a curé, who takes him up in his arms and
tosses him into the carriage of the Archbishop of Arles." On the
23rd, "the Archbishop of Paris and the Keeper of the Seals are
hooted, railed at, scoffed at, and derided, until they almost sink
with shame and rage." So formidable is the tempest of rage with
which they are greeted, that Passeret, the King's secretary, who
accompanies the minister, dies of the excitement that very day. On
the 24th, the Bishop of Beauvais is almost knocked down by a stone
striking him on the head. On the 25th, the Archbishop of Paris is
saved only by the speed of his horses, the multitude pursuing him
and pelting him with stones. His mansion is besieged, the windows
are all shattered, and, notwithstanding the intervention of the
French Guards, the peril is so great that he is obliged to promise
that he will join the deputies of the Third-Estate. This is the way
in which the rude hand of the people effects a reunion of the
Orders. It bears as heavily on its own representatives as on its
adversaries. "Although our hall was closed to the public," says
Bailly, "there were always more than six hundred spectators."[25]
These were not respectful and silent, but active and noisy, mingling
with the deputies, raising their hands to vote in all cases, taking
part in the deliberations, by their applause and hisses: a
collateral Assembly which often imposes its own will on the other.
They take note of and put down the names of their opponents,