theology into their memorials," he wrote to M. de Montmorin, on the 24th
of March, 1789, "and the noblesse compensations for pecuniary sacrifice.
I have exhausted my lungs and have no hope that we shall succeed
completely on all points, but the differences of opinion between the
noblesse and the third estate are not embarrassing.  There is rather more
pigheadedness amongst the clergy as to their debt, which they decline to
pay, and as to some points of discipline which, after all, are matters of
indifference to us; we shall have, all told, three memorials of which the
essential articles are pretty similar to those of the third estate.  We
shall end as we began, peaceably."

"The memorials of 1789," says M. de Tocqueville [_L'ancien regime et la
Revolution,_ p. 211], "will remain as it were the will and testament of
the old French social system, the last expression of its desires, the
authentic manifesto of its latest wishes.  In its totality and on many
points it likewise contained in the germ the principles of new France.  I
read attentively the memorials drawn up by the three orders before
meeting in 1789,--I say the three orders, those of the noblesse and
clergy as well as those of the third estate,--and when I come to put
together all these several wishes, I perceive with a sort of terror that
what is demanded is the simultaneous and systematic abolition of all the
laws and all the usages having currency in the country, and I see at a
glance that there is about to be enacted one of the most vast and most
dangerous revolutions ever seen in the world.  Those who will to-morrow
be its victims have no idea of it, they believe that the total and sudden
transformation of so complicated and so old a social system can take
effect without any shock by the help of reason and its power, alone.
Poor souls!  They have forgotten even that maxim which their fathers
expressed four hundred years before in the simple and forcible language
of those times: 'By quest of too great franchise and liberties, getteth
one into too great serfage.'"

However terrible and radical it may have been in its principles and its
results, the French Revolution did not destroy the past and its usages,
it did not break with tradition so completely as was demanded, in 1789,
by the memorials of the three orders, those of the noblesse and the
clergy, as well as those of the third estate.

One institution, however, was nowhere attacked or discussed.  It is not
true," says M. Malouet, "that we were sent to constitute the kingship,
but undoubtedly to regulate the exercise of powers conformably with our
instructions.  Was not the kingship constituted in law and in fact?  Were
we not charged to respect it, to maintain it on all its bases?"  Less
than a year after the Revolution had begun, Mirabeau wrote privately to
the king: "Compare the new state of things with the old regimen, there
is the source of consolations and hopes.  A portion of the acts of the
National Assembly, and the most considerable too, is clearly favorable to
monarchical government.  Is it nothing, pray, to be without Parliaments,
without states-districts, without bodies of clergy, of privileged, of
noblesse?  The idea of forming but one single class of citizens would
have delighted Richelieu.  This even surface facilitates the exercise of
power.  Many years of absolute government could not have done so much as
this single year of revolution for the kingly authority."

Genius has lights which cannot be obscured by either mental bias or
irregularities of life.  Rejected by the noblesse, dreaded by the third
estate, even when it was under his influence, Mirabeau constantly sought
alliance between the kingship and liberty.  "What is most true and nobody
can believe," he wrote to the Duke of Lauzun on the 24th of December,
1788, "is that, in the National Assembly, I shall be a most zealous
monarchist, because I feel most deeply how much need we have to slay
ministerial despotism and resuscitate the kingly authority."  The States-
general were scarcely assembled when the fiery orator went to call upon
M. Malouet.  The latter was already supposed to be hostile to the
revolution.  "Sir," said Mirabean, "I come to you because of your
reputation; and your opinions, which are nearer my own than you suppose,
determine this step on my part.  You are, I know, one of liberty's
discreet friends, and so am I; you are scared by the tempests gathering,
and I no less; there are amongst us more than one hot head, more than one
dangerous man; in the two upper orders all that have brains have not
common sense, and amongst the fools I know several capable of setting
fire to the magazine.  The question, then, is to know whether the
monarchy and the monarch will survive the storm which is a-brewing, or
whether the faults committed and those which will not fail to be still
committed will ingulf us all."

M. Malouet listened, not clearly seeing the speaker's drift.  Mirabeau
resumed: "What I have to add is very simple I know that you are a friend
of M. Necker's and of M. de Montmorin's, who form pretty nearly all the
king's council; I don't like either of them, and I don't suppose that
they have much liking for me.  But it matters little whether we like one
another, if we can come to an understanding.  I desire, then, to know
their intentions.  I apply to you to get me a conference.  They would be
very culpable or very narrow-minded, the king himself would be
inexcusable, if he aspired to reduce the States-general to the same
limits and the same results as all the others have had.  That will not
do, they must have a plan of adhesion or opposition to certain
principles.  If that plan is reasonable under the monarchical system, I
pledge myself to support it and employ all my means, all my influence, to
prevent that invasion of the democracy which is coming upon us."

This was M. Malouet's advice, incessantly repeated to the ministers for
months past; he reported to them what Mirabeau had said; both had a bad
opinion of the man and some experience of his want of scruple.
"M. Necker looked at the ceiling after his fashion; he was persuaded that
Mirabeau had not and could not have any influence."  He was in want of
money, it was said.  M. Necker at last consented to the interview.
Malouet was not present as he should have been.  Deprived of this
sensible and well-disposed intermediary, the Genevese stiffness and the
Provencal ardor were not likely to hit it off.  Mirabeau entered.  They
saluted one another silently and remained for a moment looking at one
another.  "Sir," said Mirabeau, "M. de Malouet has assured me that you
understood and approved of the grounds for the explanation I desire to
have with you."  "Sir," replied M. Necker, "M. Malouet has told me that
you had proposals to make to me; what are they?"  Mirabeau, hurt at the
cold, interrogative tone of the minister and the sense he attached to the
word proposals, jumps up in a rage and says: "My proposal is to wish you
good day."  Then, running all the way and fuming all the while, Mirabeau
arrives at the sessions-hall.  "He crossed, all scarlet with rage, over
to my side," says M. Malouet, and, as he put his leg over one of our
benches, he said to me, 'Your man is a fool, he shall hear of me.'"

When the expiring kingship recalled Mirabeau to its aid, it was too late
for him and for it.  He had already struck fatal blows at the cause which
he should have served, and already death was threatening himself with its
finishing stroke.  "He was on the point of rendering great services to
the state," said Malouet: "shall I tell you how?  By confessing to you
his faults and pointing out your own, by preserving to you all that was
pure in the Revolution and by energetically pointing out to you all its
excesses and the danger of those excesses, by making the people
affrighted at their blindness and the factions at their intrigues.  He
died ere this great work was accomplished; he had hardly given an inkling
of it."

Timidity and maladdress do not retard perils by ignoring them.  The day
of meeting of the States-general was at hand.  Almost everywhere the
elections had been quiet and the electors less numerous than had been
anticipated.  We know what indifference and lassitude may attach to the
exercise of rights which would not be willingly renounced; ignorance and
inexperience kept away from the primary assemblies many working-men and
peasants; the middle class alone proceeded in mass to the elections.  The
irregular slowness of the preparatory operations had retarded the
convocations; for three months, the agitation attendant upon successive
assemblies kept France in suspense.  Paris was still voting on the 28th
of April, 1789, the mob thronged the streets; all at once the rumor ran
that an attack was being made on the house of an ornamental paper-maker
in the faubourg St. Antoine, named Reveillon.  Starting as a simple
journeyman, this man had honestly made his fortune; he was kind to those
who worked in his shops: he was accused, nevertheless, amongst the
populace, of having declared that a journeyman could live on fifteen sous
a day.  The day before, threats had been levelled at him; he had asked
for protection from the police, thirty men had been sent to him.  The
madmen who were swarming against his house and stores soon got the better
of so weak a guard, everything was destroyed; the rioters rushed to the
archbishop's, there was voting going on there; they expected to find
Reveillon there, whom they wanted to murder.  They were repulsed by the
battalions of the French and Swiss guards.  More than two hundred were
killed.  Money was found in their pockets.  The Parliament suspended its
prosecutions against the ringleaders of so many crimes.  The government,
impotent and disarmed, as timid in presence of this riot as in presence
of opposing parties, at last came before the States-general, but blown
about by the contrary winds of excited passions, without any guide and
without fixed resolves, without any firm and compact nucleus in the midst
of a new and unknown Assembly, without confidence in the troops, who were
looked upon, however, as a possible and last resort.

The States-general were presented to the king on the 2d of May, 1789.  It
seemed as if the two upper orders, by a prophetic instinct of their ruin,
wanted, for the last time, to make a parade of their privileges.
Introduced without delay to the king, they left, in front of the palace,
the deputies of the third estate to wait in the rain.  The latter were
getting angry and already beginning to clamor, when the gates were opened
to them.  In the magnificent procession on the 4th, when the three orders
accompanied the king to the church of St. Louis at Versailles, the laced
coats and decorations of the nobles, the superb vestments of the
prelates, easily eclipsed the modest cassocks of the country priests as
well as the sombre costume imposed by ceremonial upon the deputies of the
third estate; the Bishop of Nancy, M. de la Fare, maintained the
traditional distinctions even in the sermon he delivered before the king.
"Sir," said he, "accept the homage of the clergy, the respects of the
noblesse, and the most humble supplications of the third estate."  The
untimely applause which greeted the bishop's words were excited by the
picture he drew of the misery in the country-places exhausted by the
rapacity of the fiscal agents.  At this striking solemnity, set off with
all the pomp of the past, animated with all the hopes of the future, the
eyes of the public sought out, amidst the sombre mass of deputies of the
third (estate), those whom their deeds, good or evil, had already made
celebrated: Malouet, Mounier, Mirabeau, the last greeted with a murmur
which was for a long while yet to accompany his name.  "When the summons
by name per bailiwick took place," writes an eye-witness, "there were
cheers for certain deputies who were known, but at the name of Mirabeau
there was a noise of a very different sort.  He had wanted to speak on
two or three occasions, but a general murmur had prevented him from
making himself heard.  I could easily see how grieved he was, and I
observed some tears of vexation standing in his bloodshot eyes "
[_Souvenirs de Dumont,_ p. 47].

Three great questions were already propounded before the Assembly entered
into session; those of verification of powers, of deliberation by the
three orders in common, and of vote by poll.  The wise men had desired
that the king should himself see to the verification of the powers of the
deputies, and that they should come to the Assembly confirmed in their
mandates.  People likewise expected to find, in the speech from the
throne or in the minister's report, an expression of the royal opinions
on the two other points in dispute.  In a letter drawn up by M. Mounier
and addressed to the king, the estates of Dauphiny had referred, the year
before, to the ancient custom of the States-general.  "Before the States
held at Orleans in 1569," said this document, "the orders deliberated
most frequently together, and, when they broke up, they afterwards met to
concert their deliberations; they usually chose only one president, only
one speaker for all the orders, generally amongst the members of the
clergy.  The States of Orleans had the imprudence not to follow the forms
previously observed, and the orders broke up.  The clergy in vain invited
them to have but one common memorial and to choose one single speaker,
but they were careful to protest that this innovation would not interfere
with the unity and integrity of the body of the States.  The clergy's
speaker said in his address that the three estates, as heretofore, had
but one mouth, one heart, and one spirit.  In spite of these protests,
the fatal example set by the States of Orleans was followed by those of
Blois and those of 1614.  Should it be again imitated, we fear that the
States-general will be powerless to do anything for the happiness of the
kingdom and the glory of the throne, and that Europe will hear with
surprise that the French know neither how to bear servitude nor how to
deserve freedom."

An honest but useless appeal to the memories of the far past!  Times were
changed; whereas the municipal officers representing the third estate
used to find themselves powerless in presence of the upper orders
combined, the third (estate); now equal to the privileged by extension of
its representation, counted numerous adherents amongst the clergy,
amongst the country parsons, and even in the ranks of the noblesse.
Deliberation in common and vote by poll delivered the two upper orders
into its hands; this was easily forgotten by the partisans of a reunion
which was desirable and even necessary, but which could not be forced
upon the clergy or noblesse, and which they could only effect with a view
to the public good and in the wise hope of preserving their influence by
giving up their power.  All that preparatory labor characteristic of the
free, prudent and bold, frank and discreet government, had been neglected
by the feebleness or inexperience of the ministers.  "This poor
government was at grips with all kinds of perils, and the man who had
shown his superiority under other difficult circumstances flinched
beneath the weight of these.  His talents were distempered, his lights
danced about, he was, sustained only by the rectitude of his intentions
and by vanity born of his hopes, for he had ever in reserve that
perspective of confidence and esteem with which he believed the third
estate to be impressed towards him; but the promoters of the revolution,
those who wanted it complete and subversive of the old government, those
men who were so small a matter at the outset, either in weight or in
number, had too much interest in annihilating M. Necker not to represent
as pieces of perfidy his hesitations, his tenderness towards the two
upper orders, and his air of restraint towards the commons" [_Memoires de
Malouet,_ t. i.  p. 236].

It was in this state of feeble indecision as regarded the great
questions, and with this minuteness of detail in secondary matters, that
M. Necker presented himself on the 5th of May before the three orders at
the opening of the session in the palace of Versailles by King Louis XVI.
The royal procession had been saluted by the crowd with repeated and
organized shouts of "Hurrah for the Duke of Orleans!" which had disturbed
and agitated the queen.  "The king," says Marmontel, "appeared with
simple dignity, without pride, without timidity, wearing on his features
the impress of the goodness which he had in his heart, a little affected
by the spectacle and by the feelings with which the deputies of a
faithful nation ought to inspire in its king."  His speech was short,
dignified, affectionate, and without political purport.  With more of
pomp and detail, the minister confined himself within the same limits.
"Aid his Majesty," said he, "to establish the prosperity of the kingdom
on solid bases, seek for them, point them out to your sovereign, and you
will find on his part the most generous assistance."  The mode of action
corresponded with this insufficient language.  Crushed beneath the burden
of past defaults and errors, the government tendered its abdication, in
advance, into the hands of that mightily bewildered Assembly it had just
convoked.  The king had left the verification of powers to the States-
general themselves.  M. Necker confined himself to pointing out the
possibility of common action between the three orders, recommending the
deputies to examine those questions discreetly.  "The king is anxious
about your first deliberations," said the minister, throwing away at
haphazard upon leaders as yet unknown the direction of those discussions
which he with good reason dreaded.  "Never did political assembly combine
so great a number of remarkable men," says M. Malouet, "without there
being a single one whose superiority was decided and could command the
respect of the others.  Such abundance of stars rendered this assembly
unmanageable, as they will always be in France when there is no man
conspicuous in authority and in force of character to seize the helm of
affairs or to have the direction spontaneously surrendered to him.
Fancy, then, the state of a meeting of impassioned men, without rule or
bridle, equally dangerous from their bad and their good qualities,
because they nearly all lacked experience and a just appreciation of the
gravity of the circumstances under which they were placed; insomuch that
the good could do no good, and the bad, from levity, from violence, did
nearly always more harm than they intended."

It was amidst such a chaos of passions, wills, and desires, legitimate or
culpable, patriotic or selfish, that there was, first of all, propounded
the question of verification of powers.  Prompt and peremptory on the
part of the noblesse, hesitating and cautions on the part of the clergy,
the opposition of the two upper orders to any common action irritated the
third estate; its appeals had ended in nothing but conferences broken
off, then resumed at the king's desire, and evidently and painfully to no
purpose.  "By an inconceivable oversight on the part of M. Necker in the
local apportionment of the building appointed for the assembly of the
States-general, there was the throne-room or room of the three orders, a
room for the noblesse, one for the clergy, and none for the commons, who
remained, quite naturally, established in the states-room, the largest,
the most ornate, and all fitted up with tribunes for the spectators who
took possession of the public boxes (_loges communes_) in the room.  When
it was perceived that this crowd of strangers and their plaudits only
excited the audacity of the more violent speakers, all the consequences
of this installation were felt.  Would anybody believe," continues M.
Malouet, "that M. Necker had an idea of inventing a ground-slip, a
falling-in of the cellars of the Menus, and of throwing down during the
night the carpentry of the grand room, in order to remove and install the
three orders separately?  It was to me myself that he spoke of it, and I
had great difficulty in dissuading him from the notion, by pointing out
to him all the danger of it."  The want of foresight and the nervous
hesitation of the ministers had placed the third estate in a novel and a
strong situation.  Installed officially in the statesroom, it seemed to
be at once master of the position, waiting for the two upper orders to
come to it.  Mirabeau saw this with that rapid insight into effects and
consequences which constitutes, to a considerable extent, the orator's
genius.  The third estate had taken possession, none could henceforth
dispute with it its privileges, and it was the defence of a right that
had been won which was to inspire the fiery orator with his mighty
audacity, when on the 23d of June, towards evening, after the miserable
affair of the royal session, the Marquis of Dreux-Breze came back into
the room to beg the deputies of the third estate to withdraw.  The king's
order was express, but already certain nobles and a large number of
ecclesiastics had joined the deputies of the commons; their definitive
victory on the 27th of June, and the fusion of the three orders, were
foreshadowed; Mirabeau rose at the entrance of the grand-master of the
ceremonies.  "Go," he shouted, "and tell those who send you, that we are
here by the will of the people, and that we shall not budge save at the
point of the bayonet."  This was the beginning of revolutionary violence.

On the 12th of June the battle began; the calling over of the bailiwicks
took place in the states-room.  The third estate sat alone.  At each
province, each chief place, each roll (_proces-verbal_), the secretaries
repeated in a loud voice, "Gentlemen of the clergy?  None present.
Gentlemen of the noblesse?  None present."  Certain parish priests alone
had the courage to separate from their order and submit their powers for
verification.  All the deputies of the third (estate) at once gave them
precedence.  The day of persecution was not yet come.

Legality still stood; the third estate maintained a proud moderation, the
border was easily passed, a name was sufficient.

The title of States-general was oppressive to the new assembly, it
recalled the distinction between the orders as well as the humble posture
of the third estate heretofore.  "This is the only true name," exclaimed
Abbe Sieyes; "assembly of acknowledged and verified representatives of
the nation."  This was a contemptuous repudiation of the two upper
orders.  Mounier replied with another definition "legitimate assembly of
the majority amongst the deputies of the nation, deliberating in the
absence of the duly invited minority."  The subtleties of metaphysics and
politics are powerless to take the popular fancy.  Mirabeau felt it.
"Let us call ourselves representatives of the people!" he shouted.  For
this ever fatal name he claimed the kingly sanction.  "I hold the king's
veto so necessary," said the great orator, "that, if he had it not, I
would rather live at Constantinople than in France.  Yes, I protest, I
know of nothing more terrible than a sovereign aristocracy of six hundred
persons, who, having the power to declare themselves to-morrow
irremovable and the next day hereditary, would end, like the
aristocracies of all countries in the world, by swooping down upon
everything."

An obscure deputy here suggested during the discussion the name of
National Assembly, often heretofore employed to designate the States-
general; Sieyes took it up, rejecting the subtle and carefully prepared
definitions.  "I am for the amendment of M. Legrand," said he, "and I
propose the title of National Assembly."  Four hundred and ninety-one
voices against ninety adopted this simple and superb title.  In contempt
of the two upper orders of the state, the national assembly was
constituted.  The decisive step was taken towards the French Revolution.

During the early days, in the heat of a violent discussion, Barrere had
exclaimed, "You are summoned to recommence history."  It was an arrogant
mistake.  For more than eighty years modern France has been prosecuting
laboriously and in open day the work which had been slowly forming within
the dark womb of olden France.  In the almighty hands of eternal God a
people's history is interrupted and recommenced never.