The Commandant of Bordeaux surrenders Chateau-Trompette with its guns and equipment. The Commandant at Metz， who remains firm， suffers the insults and the orders of the populace. The Commandant of Brittany wanders about his province "like a vagabond，" while at Rennes his people， furniture， and plate are kept as pledges. As soon as he sets foot in Normandy he is surrounded， and a sentinel is placed at his door. -- The Intendant of Besan？on takes to flight；that of Rouen sees his dwelling sacked from top to bottom， and escapes amid the shouts of a mob demanding his head. - At Rennes， the Dean of the Parliament is arrested， maltreated， kept in his room with a guard over him， and then， although ill， sent out of the town under an escort. -- At Strasbourg "thirty-six houses of magistrates are marked for pillage."[5] -- At Besan？on， the President of the Parliament is constrained to let out of prison the insurgents arrested in a late out-break， and to publicly burn the whole of the papers belonging to the prosecution. - In Alsace， since the beginning of the troubles， the provosts were obliged to fly， the bailiffs and manorial judges hid themselves， the forest-inspectors ran away， and the houses of the guards were demolished. One man， sixty years of age， is outrageously beaten and marched about the village， the people， meanwhile， pulling out his hair； nothing remains of his dwelling but the walls and a portion of the roof.
All his furniture and effects are broken up， burnt or stolen. He is forced to sign， along with his wife， an act by which he binds himself to refund all penalties inflicted by him， and to abandon all claims for damages for the injuries to which he has just been subjected. -- In Franche-Comté the authorities dare not condemn delinquents， and the police do not arrest them； the military commandant writes that "crimes of every kind are on the increase， and that he has no means of punishing them." Insubordination is permanent in all the provinces； one of the provincial commissions states with sadness：
"When all powers are in confusion and annihilated， when public force no longer exists， when all ties are sundered， when every individual considers himself relieved from all kinds of obligation， when public authority no longer dares make itself felt， and it is a crime to have been clothed with it， what can be expected of our efforts to restore order？ "[6]
All that remains of this great demolished State is forty thousand groups of people， each separated and isolated， in towns and small market villages where municipal bodies， elected committees， and improvised National Guards strive to prevent the worst excesses. --But these local chiefs are novices； they are human， and they are timid. Chosen by acclamation they believe in popular rights； in the midst of riots they feel themselves in danger. Hence， they generally obey the crowd.
"Rarely，" says one of the provincial commissions reports， "do the municipal authorities issue a summons； they allow the greatest excesses rather than enter upon prosecutions for which， sooner or later， they may be held responsible by their fellow-citizens. . .
. Municipal bodies have no longer the power to resist anything."Especially in the rural districts the mayor or syndic， who is a farmer， makes it his first aim to make no enemies， and would resign his place if it were to bring him any "unpleasantness" with it. His rule in the towns， and especially in large cities， is almost as lax and more precarious， because explosive material is accumulated here to a much larger extent， and the municipal officers， in their arm-chairs at the town-hall， sit over a mine which may explode at any time. To-morrow， perhaps， some resolution passed at a tavern in the suburbs， or some incendiary newspaper just received from Paris， will furnish the spark. - No other defense against the populace is at hand than the sentimental proclamations of the National Assembly， the useless presence of troops who stand by and look on， and the uncertain help of a National Guard which will arrive too late.
Occasionally these townspeople， who are now the rulers， utter a cry of distress from under the hands of the sovereigns of the street who grasp them by the throat. At Puy-en-Velay，[7] a town of twenty thousand inhabitants， the présidial，[8] the committee of twenty-four commissioners， a body of two hundred dragoons， and eight hundred men of the guard of burgesses， are "paralyzed， and completely stupefied， by the vile populace. A mild treatment only increases its insubordination and insolence." This populace proscribes whomsoever it pleases， and six days ago a gibbet， erected by its hands， has announced to the new magistrates the fate that awaits them.
" What will become of us this winter，" they exclaim， "in our impoverished country， where bread is not to be had！ We shall be the prey of wild beasts！"III.
Public feeling. - FamineThese people， in truth， are hungry， and， since the Revolution， their misery has increased. Around Puy-en-Velay the country is laid waste， and the soil broken up by a terrible tempest， a fierce hailstorm， and a deluge of rain. In the south， the crop proved to be moderate and even insufficient.