On the 14th of July， 1790， the day of the Federation， the population of Issoudun， in Touraine， solemnly convoked for the purpose， had just taken the solemn oath which was to ensure public peace， social harmony， and respect for the law for evermore.[35] Here， probably， as elsewhere， arrangements had been made for an stirring ceremonial；there were young girls dressed in white， and learned and impressionable magistrates were to pronounce philosophical harangues. All at once they discover that the people gathered on the public square are provided with clubs， scythes， and axes， and that the National Guard will not prevent their use； on the contrary， the Guard itself is composed almost wholly of wine growers and others interested in the suppression of the duties on wine， of coopers， innkeepers， workmen， carters of casks， and others of the same stamp， all rough fellows who have their own way of interpreting the Social Contract. The whole mass of decrees， acts， and rhetorical flourishes which are dispatched to them from Paris， or which emanate from the new authorities， are not worth a halfpenny tax maintained on each bottle of wine. There are to be no more excise duties； they will only take the civic oath on this express condition， and that very evening they hang， in effigy， their two deputies， who "had not supported their interests" in the National Assembly. A few months later， of all the National Guard called upon to protect the clerks， only the commandant and two officers respond to the summons. If a docile taxpayer happens to be found， he is not allowed to pay the dues； this seems a defection and almost treachery. An entry of three puncheons of wine having been made， they are stove in with stones， a portion is drunk， and the rest taken to the barracks to debauch the soldiers； M. de Sauzay， commandant of the "Royal Roussillon，" who was bold enough to save the clerks， is menaced， and for this misdeed he barely escapes being hung himself. When the municipal body is called upon to interpose and employ force， it replies that "for so small a matter， it is not worth while to compromise the lives of the citizens，" and the regular troops sent to the H？tel-de-Ville are ordered by the people not to go except with the but-ends of their muskets in the air.
Five days after this the windows of the excise office are smashed， and the public notices are torn down； the fermentation does not subside， and M. de Sauzay writes that a regiment would be necessary to restrain the town. At Saint-Amand the insurrection breaks out violently， and is only put down by violence. At Saint-étienne-en-Forez， Bertheas， a clerk in the excise office， falsely accused of monopolizing grain，[36] is fruitlessly defended by the National Guard； he is put in prison， according to the usual custom， to save his life， and， for greater security， the crowd insist on his being fastened by an iron collar. But， suddenly changing its mind， it breaks upon the door and drags him outside， beating him till he is unconscious. Stretched on the ground， his head still moves and he raises his hand to it， when a woman， picking up a large stone， smashes his skull. - These are not isolated occurrences. During the months of July and August， 1789， the tax offices are burnt in almost every town in the kingdom. In vain does the National Assembly order their reconstruction， insist on the maintenance of duties and octrois， and explain to the people the public needs， pathetically reminding them， moreover， that the Assembly has already given them relief； - the people prefer to relieve themselves instantly and entirely. Whatever is consumed must no longer be taxed， either for the benefit of the State or for that of the towns.
"Entrance dues on wine and cattle，" writes the municipality of Saint-Etienne， "scarcely amount to anything， and our powers are inadequate for their enforcement." At Cambrai， two successive outbreaks compel the excise office and the magistracy of the town[37] to reduce the duties on beer one-half. But "the evil， at first confined to one corner of the province， soon spreads ；" the grands baillis of Lille， Douai， and Orchies write that "we have hardly a bureau which has not been molested， and in which the taxes are not wholly subject to popular discretion." Those only pay who are disposed to do so， and， consequently， "greater fraud could not exist." The taxpayers， indeed， cunningly defend themselves， and find plenty of arguments or quibbles to avoid paying their dues. At Cambrai they allege that， as the privileged now pay as well as the rest， the Treasury must be rich enough.[38] At Noyon， Ham， and Chauny， and in the surrounding parishes， the butchers， innkeepers， and publicans combined， who have refused to pay excise duties， pick flaws in the special decree by which the Assembly subjects them to the law， and a second special decree is necessary to circumvent these new legal experts. The process at Lyons is simpler. Here the thirty-two sections appoint commissioners； these decide against the octroi， and request the municipal authorities to abolish it. They must necessarily comply， for the people are at hand and are furious.