d, is very slight. "The National Guard
in the procession, writes a patriotic journalist,[26119] "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."[26120]--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."[26121]--On the 19th of August, Moore, the
Englishman,[26122] sees, with astonishment, the heedless crowd filling
the Champs Elysees, the various diversions, the air of a fete, 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,[26123] fifteen thousand in the first two weeks
of September,[26124] 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."[26125]--"Three thousand workmen," says the
Girondist Soulavie, later, "made the Revolution of the 1