against the Catholics. The Protestants， in fact， are but twelve thousand out of fifty-four thousand inhabitants， but the principal trade of the place is in their hands； they hold the manufactories and support thirty thousand workmen； in the elections of 1789 they furnished five out of the eight deputies. The sympathies of that time were in their favor； nobody then imagined that the dominant Church was exposed to any risk. It is to be attacked in its turn， and the two parties are seen confronting each other. - The Catholics sign a petition，[6] hunt up recruits among the market-gardeners of the suburbs， retain the white cockade， and， when this is prohibited， replace it with a red rosette， another sign of recognition. At their head is an energetic man named Froment， who has vast projects in view； but as the soil on which he treads is undermined， he cannot prevent the explosion. It takes place naturally， by chance， through the simple collision of two equally distrustful bodies； and before the final day it has commenced and recommenced twenty times， through mutual provocations and denunciations， through insults， libels， scuffles， stone-throwing， and gun-shots. - On the 13th of June， 1790， the question is which party shall furnish administrators for the district and department， and the conflict begins in relation to the elections. The Electoral Assembly is held at the guard-house of the bishop's palace， where the Protestant dragoons and patriots have come "three times as many as usual， with loaded muskets and pistols， and with full cartridge-boxes，" and they patrol the surrounding neighborhood. On their side， the red rosettes， royalists and Catholics， complain of being threatened and "treated contemptuously" (nargués). They give notice to the gate-keeper "not to let any dragoon enter the town either on foot or mounted， at the peril of his life，" and declare that "the bishop's quarters were not made for a guard-house." - A mob forms， and shouting takes place under the windows； stones are thrown； the bugle of a dragoon， who sounds the roll-call， is broken and two shots are fired.[7] The dragoons immediately fire a volley， which wounds a good many people and kills seven. From this moment， firing goes on during the evening and all night， in every quarter of the town， each party believing that the other wants to exterminate it， the Protestants satisfied that it is another St. Bartholomew， and the Catholics that it is "a Michelade."[8] There is no one to act between them. The municipality authorities， far from issuing orders， receive them： they are roughly handled， hustled and jostled about， and made to march about like servants. The patriots seize the Abbé de Belmont， a municipal officer， at the H？tel-de-Ville， order him， on pain of death， to proclaim martial -law， and place the red flag in his hand. "March， rascal， you bastard！ Hold up your flag - higher up still - you are big enough to do that！" Blows follow with the but-ends of their muskets. The poor man spits blood， but this is of no consequence； he must be in full sight at the head of the crowd， like a target， whilst his conductors prudently remain behind. Thus does he advance， exposed to bullets， holding the flag， and finally becomes the prisoner of the red rosettes， who release him， but keep his flag. There is a second march with a red flag held by a town valet， and fresh gunshots； the red rosettes capture this flag also， as well as another municipal officer. The rest of the municipal body， with a royal commissioner， take refuge in the barracks and order out the troops. Meanwhile Froment， with his three companies， posted in their towers and in the houses on the ramparts， resist to the last extremity. Daylight comes， the tocsin is sounded， the drums beat to arms， and the patriot militia of the neighborhood， the Protestants from the mountains， the rude Cévenols， arrive in crowds. The red rosettes are besieged； a Capuchin convent， from which it is pretended that they have fired， is sacked， and five of the monks are killed.
Froment's tower is demolished with cannon and taken by assault. His brother is massacred and thrown from the walls， while a Jacobin convent next to the ramparts is sacked. Towards night， all the red rosettes who have fought are slain or have fled， and there is no longer any resistance.-- But the fury still lasts； the fifteen thousand rustics who have flooded the town think that they have not yet done enough. In vain are they told that the other fifteen companies of red rosettes have not moved； that the pretended aggressors "did not even put themselves in a state of defense；" that during the battle they remained at home， and that afterwards， through extra precaution， the municipal authorities had made them give up their arms. In vain does the Electoral Assembly， preceded by a white flag， march to the public square and exhort the people to keep the peace. "Under the pretext of searching suspicious houses， they pillage or destroy， and what-ever cannot be carried away is broken." One hundred and twenty houses are sacked in N？mes alone， while the same ravages are committed in the environs， the damage， at the end of three days， amounting to seven or eight hundred thousand livres. A number of poor creatures， workmen， merchants， old and infirm men， are massacred in their houses； some， "who have been bedridden for many years， are dragged to the sills of their doors to be shot." Others are hung on the esplanade and at the Cours Neuf， while others have their noses， ears， feet， and hands cut off； and are hacked to pieces with sabers and scythes. Horrible stories， as is commonly the case， provoke the most atrocious acts.