stened to reassure
them. "To-morrow," said he, "you will be received with open arms by
the National Assembly. People count on you." The Faubourg
Saint-Antoine was in commotion. Condorcet said, in speaking of the
anxieties expressed by the ministers: "Is it not fine to see the
Executive asking legislators to provide means of action! Let them save
themselves; that is their business!"

The Most Christian King is treated like the Divine Master. Petion,
mayor of Paris, is to play the role of Pontius Pilate. He washes his
hands of all that is to happen. He orders the battalions of National
Guards under arms for the following day, not in order to oppose the
march of the columns of the people, but to fraternize with the
petitioners, and act as escort to the insurrection. This equivocal
measure, he thinks, will set him right with both the Directory and the
populace. To one he says: "I am watching," and to the other, "I am
with you." {185} The rioters count on Petion as anarchy counts on
weakness. He is precisely the magistrate that suits the faubourgs when
they resort to violent measures. A last conventicle was held at the
house of Santerre the brewer, chief of battalion of the National Guard
of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, on the night of June 19-20. It broke up
at midnight. All was ready. The leaders of the insurrection repaired
each to his post. They summoned their loyal adherents, and sent them
about in small detachments to assemble and mass together the working
classes, as soon as they should leave their houses in the morning.
Santerre had declared that the National Guard could offer no opposition
to the rioters. "Rest easy," said he to the conspirators; "Petion will
be there." Louis XVI. no longer feigned not to notice the danger.
"Who knows," said he during the night to M. de Malesherbes, with a
melancholy smile, "who knows if I shall see the sun set to-morrow?"

{186}

XVIII.

THE MORNING OF JUNE TWENTIETH.

It is Wednesday, June 20, 1792, the anniversary of the oath of the Jeu
de Paume. The signal is given. The faubourgs assemble. It is five in
the morning. Santerre, on horseback, is at the Place de la Bastille,
at the head of a popular staff. The army of rioters forms slowly.
Some anxiety is shown at first. The departmental decree forbidding
armed gatherings had been posted, and occasioned some reflection in the
timid. But Santerre reassures them. He tells them that the National
Gu