Through routine and through necessity， manufacturing， display of wares， selling， purchasing， keeping accounts， trades， and professions， continue as usual. The clerk goes to his office， the workman to his shop， the artisan to his loft， the merchant to his warehouse， the professional to his cabinet， and the official to his duty；[117] they are devoted， first of all， to their pursuits， to their daily bread， to the discharge of their obligations， to their own advancement， to their families， and to their pleasures； to provide for these things the day is not too long. Politics only briefly distract them， and then rather out of curiosity， like a play one applauds or hisses in his seat without stepping upon the stage. -- "The declaration that the country is in danger，" says many eye witnesses，[118] "has made no change in the physiognomy of Paris. There are the same amusements， the same gossip. . . . The theaters are full as usual. The wine-shops and places of diversion overflow with the people， National Guards， and soldiers. . . . The fashionable world enjoys its pleasure-parties，" -"The day after the decree， the effect of the ceremony， so skillfully managed， is very slight. "The National Guard in the procession， writes a patriotic journalist，[119] "first shows indifference and even boredom"； it is exasperated with night watches and patrol duty； they probably tell each others that in parading for the nation， one finds no time to work for one's self. -- A few days after this the manifesto of the Duke of Brunswick "produces no sensation whatever. People laugh at it. Only the newspapers and their readers are familiar with it. . .
. The mass know nothing about it. Nobody fears the coalition nor foreign troops."[120] -- On the 10th of August， outside the theater of the combat， all is quiet in Paris. People walk about and chat in the streets as usual."[121] -- On the 19th of August， Moore， the Englishman，[122] sees， with astonishment， the heedless crowd filling the Champs Elysées， the various diversions， the air of a fête， the countless small shops in which refreshments are sold accompanied with songs and music， and the quantities of pantomimes and marionettes.
"Are these people as happy as they seem to be？" he asks of a Frenchman along with him. -- "They are as jolly as gods！" -- "Do you think the Duke of Brunswick is ever in their heads？" -- "Monsieur， you may be sure of this， that the Duke of Brunswick is the last man they think of."Such is the unconcern or light-heartedness of the gross， egoistic mass， otherwise busy， and always passive under any government whatever it may be， a veritable flock of sheep， allowing government to do as it pleases， provided it does not hinder it from browsing and capering as it chooses. -- As to the men of sensibility who love their country， they are still less troublesome， for they are gone or going (to the army)， often at the rate of a thousand and even two thousand a day， ten thousand in the last week of July，[123] fifteen thousand in the first two weeks of September，[124] in all perhaps 40，000 volunteers furnished by the capital alone and who， with their fellows proportionate in number supplied by the departments， are to be the salvation of France. -- Through this departure of the worthy， and this passivity of the flock， Paris belongs to the fanatics among the population. "These are the sans-culottes，" wrote the patriotic Palloy， "the scum and riffraff of Paris， and I glory in belonging to that class which has put down the so-called honest folks."[125] -- "Three thousand workmen，" says the Girondist Soulavie， later， "made the Revolution of the 10th of August， against the kingdom of the Feuillants， the majority of the capital and against the Legislative Assembly."[126] Workmen， day laborers， and petty shop-keepers， not counting women， common vagabonds and regular bandits， form， indeed， one-twentieth of the adult male population of the city， about 9，000spread over all sections of Paris， the only ones to vote and act in the midst of universal stupor and indifference. -- We find in the Rue de Seine， for example， seven of them， Lacaille， keeper of a roasting-shop； Philippe， "a cattle-breeder， who leads around she-asses for consumptives，" now president of the section， and soon to become one of the Abbaye butchers； Guérard， "a Rouen river-man who has abandoned the navigation of the Seine on a large scale and keeps a skiff， in which he ferries people over the river from the Pont du Louvre to the Quai Mazarin，" and four characters of the same stamp. Their energy， however， replaces their lack of education and numerical inferiority.
One day， Guérard， on passing M. Hua， the deputy， tells him in the way of a warning， "You big rascal， you were lucky to have other people with you. If you had been alone， I would have capsized my boat， and had the pleasure of drowning a blasted aristocrat！" These are the "matadors of the quarter".[127] -- Their ignorance does not trouble them； on the contrary， they take pride in coarseness and vulgarity.
One of the ordinary speechmakers of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine， Gouchon， a designer for calicos， comes to the bar of the Assembly， "in the name of the men of July 14 and Augusts 10，" to glorify the political reign of brutal incapacity； according to him， it is more enlightened than that of the cultivated：[128]"those great geniuses graced with the fine title of Constitutionalists are forced to do justice to men who never studied the art of governing elsewhere than in the book of experience. . . . Consulting customs and not principles， these clever people have for a long period been busy with the political balance of things； we have found it without looking for it in the heart of man： Form a government which will place the poor above their feeble resources and the rich below their means， and the balance will be perfect." [129]
