Part I, 10

The then Marquis de la Fayette was placed on the second committee, presided over by the Count D'Artois; since its business was money, every circumstance connected with money naturally came under scrutiny. M. de la Fayette accused Calonne verbally of selling crown lands worth two millions of livres in a manner apparently unknown to the king. The Count D'Artois—as if to intimidate him, for the Bastille still stood—asked whether the Marquis would put the charge in writing. He answered that he would. The Count D'Artois did not demand it himself, but brought a message from the king asking for it. M. de la Fayette then submitted his written charge for delivery to the king, undertaking to support it. Nothing further was done in the affair, but M. Calonne was soon dismissed by the king and departed for England.

From his experience in America, M. de la Fayette knew more of the principles of civil government than most members of the Assembly of the Notables could then know, and much of the burden of its business fell on him. Those who sought a constitution planned to challenge the Court over taxation, and some openly avowed their purpose. Disputes often arose between the Count D'Artois and M. de la Fayette on various subjects. To remedy the arrears already incurred, the latter proposed bringing expenses into line with revenue rather than revenue into line with expenses. He also proposed, as reforms, abolishing the Bastille and every State prison in the nation, whose upkeep was costly, and suppressing Lettres de Cachet. These proposals attracted little attention at the time; a majority of the Nobles appeared to favor Lettres de Cachet.

When the question was how to replenish the Treasury through new taxes, the Assembly declined to take the matter upon itself, agreeing that it lacked authority. During a debate M. de la Fayette said that taxes could be raised only by a National Assembly freely elected by the people to act as their representatives. The Count D'Artois asked whether he meant the States-General, and M. de la Fayette said he did. The Count then asked if he would sign those words for submission to the king. He answered that he would do more: he would say that the effective course was for the king to agree to establish a constitution.

One plan had thus failed: to make the Assembly act as a Parliament. The other plan, to have it make recommendations, came forward. The Assembly agreed to recommend two new taxes for registration by the Parliament: a stamp tax and a territorial tax, a kind of land tax. Together they have been estimated at about five millions sterling per annum. We must now turn to the Parliaments, upon whom the business was falling once again.

The Archbishop of Thoulouse, later Archbishop of Sens and now a Cardinal, was appointed to manage the finances soon after Calonne's dismissal. He was also made Prime Minister, an office that did not always exist in France. When there was no Prime Minister, each head of a principal department dealt directly with the King; when one was appointed, they dealt only with him. The Archbishop attained more authority in the State than any minister since the Duke de Choiseul, and the nation was strongly disposed in his favor. Yet by a course of conduct scarcely explicable he squandered every opportunity, proved a despot, and sank into disgrace—and a Cardinal.

After the Assembly of the Notables broke up, the minister sent its recommended edicts for the two new taxes to the Parliaments for registration. They came first, of course, before the Parliament of Paris, which replied, “With the revenue the nation already supplies, the name of taxes ought to be mentioned only for the purpose of reducing them,” and rejected both edicts.*8 On this refusal, the Parliament was ordered to Versailles, where the King held, in the customary form, what the old government called a Bed of Justice. The two edicts were registered in the Parliament's presence by an order of State, in the manner described earlier. The Parliament immediately returned to Paris, formally resumed its sitting, ordered the registrations struck out, and declared all that had been done at Versailles illegal. Every member of the Parliament was then served with a Lettre de Cachet and exiled to Troyes. But they were as inflexible in exile as before; and since vengeance could not take the place of taxes, they were recalled to Paris after a short time.

The edicts were presented to them again, and the Count D'Artois undertook to represent the King. For this purpose he came in procession from Versailles to Paris, where the Parliament had assembled to receive him. But pomp and display had lost their power in France: whatever sense of importance he brought with him, he returned humiliated and disappointed. As he stepped from his carriage to climb the steps of the Parliament House, the large crowd called out the familiar taunt, “This is Monsieur D'Artois, who wants more of our money to spend.” Their conspicuous disapproval made him apprehensive, and the officer commanding his guard cried, “Aux armes!” (“To arms!”). The cry rang so loudly through the passages of the house that it caused a moment of confusion. I was standing in one of the rooms through which he had to pass, and could not help reflecting on the wretched position of a man whom nobody respects.

He tried to impress the Parliament with grand words, opening his address with “The King, our Lord and Master.” The Parliament received him coldly, with its usual determination not to register the taxes; and so the interview ended.

A new issue then arose. In the many debates and disputes over taxes between the Court and the Parliaments, the Parliament of Paris finally declared that, although the Parliaments had customarily registered tax edicts as a matter of convenience, the right belonged only to the States-General. The Parliament could therefore no longer properly debate a matter in which it had no authority to act. The King subsequently came to Paris and met with the Parliament from ten in the morning until about six in the evening. In what appeared to be an unprompted act of his own, without consultation with the Cabinet or Ministry, he pledged to the Parliament that the States-General would be convened.

But another scene followed, on entirely new ground. The Minister and Cabinet opposed summoning the States-General. They knew well that if it assembled, they would fall; since the King had set no date, they devised a scheme to evade his pledge without appearing to oppose it.

To this end, the Court set about making a kind of constitution of its own. It was chiefly the work of M. Lamoignon, the Keeper of the Seals, who later shot himself. The new arrangement established a body called the Cour Pleniere, or Full Court, invested with every power the Government might need to exercise. The King would nominate its members. He would abandon his disputed claim to the power of taxation, and a new criminal code and new judicial procedures would replace the old. In many respects the scheme embodied better principles than those on which the Government had previously been conducted. But the Cour Pleniere was nothing more than a channel through which despotism could act without seeming to act directly.

The Cabinet had high hopes for its invention. The members of the Cour Pleniere had already been nominated; to give it a respectable appearance, many of the finest people in the nation were among those appointed. It was to begin on May 8, 1788. Opposition arose, however, on two grounds: principle and form.

As a matter of principle, it was argued that a government had no right to alter itself: admit that practice once and it would become an established principle, a precedent for any future changes the Government wished to introduce. The right to alter the Government belonged to the nation, not to the Government. As a matter of form, it was argued that the Cour Pleniere was merely a larger Cabinet.

The then Duke de la Rochefoucault, Luxembourg, De Noailles, and many others refused nomination and vigorously opposed the whole scheme. The Parliaments also resisted when the edict establishing the new court was sent to them for registration and implementation. The Parliament of Paris not only refused but denied the authority behind it; the struggle between Parliament and Cabinet resumed more fiercely than ever. While the Parliament debated the matter, the Ministry ordered a regiment of soldiers to surround the House and blockade it. The members sent for beds and provisions and lived like defenders of a besieged citadel. When this had no effect, the commanding officer was ordered to enter the Parliament House and seize them. He did so, and several leading members were confined in different prisons. Around the same time a deputation arrived from the province of Brittany to protest the establishment of the Cour Pleniere; the archbishop sent its members to the Bastille. Yet the spirit of the nation could not be overcome. So fully aware was it of its strong position—the withholding of taxes—that it confined itself to a kind of quiet resistance, which effectively defeated every plan then made against it. The Cour Pleniere had at last to be abandoned; before long the Prime Minister shared its fate, and M. Neckar was recalled to office.

The attempt to establish the Cour Pleniere had an effect upon the nation that it did not itself perceive. As a kind of new government, it imperceptibly displaced the old one in people's minds and loosened its hold on the superstitious authority of antiquity. It was Government dethroning Government; in attempting to create a new government, the old one opened a chasm beneath itself.

The scheme's failure renewed the question of convening the States-General, giving rise to a new sequence of political struggles. There was no fixed form for convening it. All the name definitely meant was a deputation from those then called the Clergy, the Noblesse, and the Commons; their numbers and proportions had not always been the same. They had met only on extraordinary occasions, most recently in 1614, when their numbers were equal and they voted by orders.

M. Neckar could hardly fail to see that the method of 1614 would serve neither the government of the day nor the nation. Under existing circumstances it would make agreement too contentious. Endless debate over privileges and exemptions would leave both the Government's needs and the nation's desire for a Constitution unattended. Unwilling to decide for himself, however, he summoned the Assembly of the Notables again and referred the question to them. The members of that body, chiefly aristocrats and highly paid clergy, generally had an interest in the outcome; they chose the method of 1614. Their decision opposed the sense of the Nation and the wishes of the Court alike: the aristocracy set itself against both, demanding privileges independent of either. The Parliament next took up the question and recommended that the Commons equal the other two in number, with all members sitting in one house and voting as one body. The number finally fixed was 1,200: 600 chosen by the Commons—less than their proper share, measured by their national worth and importance—300 by the Clergy, and 300 by the Aristocracy. Whether they would assemble together or separately, and how they would vote, remained undecided.*9

The election that followed was spirited but not contested. The candidates were not men but principles. Societies formed in Paris, and committees for correspondence and communication were established throughout the nation to enlighten the people and explain the principles of civil government. The election was conducted so peacefully that it gave rise not even to a rumor of disorder.

The States-General were to meet at Versailles in April 1789, but did not assemble until May. They took their places in three separate chambers—or rather, the Clergy and Aristocracy each withdrew into a separate chamber. A majority of the Aristocracy claimed the privilege, as they called it, of voting as a separate body and giving or withholding consent in that way. Many bishops and clergy holding rich benefices claimed the same privilege for their Order.

The Tiers Etat, as they were then called, refused to recognize artificial orders or artificial privileges. They were resolute on this point, even disdainful. They began to see the Aristocracy as a fungus growing out of society's corruption, unfit to be admitted even as one of its branches. After the Aristocracy's support for Lettres de Cachet and its conduct in various other instances, it was clear that no constitution could be formed unless men were admitted in no character but that of members of the nation.

The Marquis de la Fayette was put on the second committee, headed by the Count D'Artois. Because the committee dealt with money, every related issue came before it. M. de la Fayette accused Calonne aloud of selling crown lands worth two millions of livres in a way that seemed to be unknown to the king. The Count D'Artois asked whether the Marquis would put the charge in writing, perhaps to intimidate him, since the Bastille still existed. He said he would. The Count D'Artois did not ask for it himself, but delivered a message from the king asking for it. M. de la Fayette then submitted the written charge for the king and promised to support it. Nothing more was done about this matter, but the king soon dismissed M. Calonne, who left for England.

M. de la Fayette had learned from his experience in America. He understood civil government better than most of the members of the Assembly of the Notables could at that time, so much of the work fell to him. Those who wanted a constitution planned to challenge the Court over taxes, and some openly stated this aim. The Count D'Artois and M. de la Fayette often argued about different matters. On the debts already accumulated, de la Fayette proposed bringing expenses into line with revenue, rather than raising revenue to match expenses. As reforms, he proposed abolishing the Bastille and every other state prison in the country, which cost a great deal to maintain, and ending Lettres de Cachet. These proposals received little attention then. Most of the Nobles seemed to support Lettres de Cachet.

The Assembly refused to take responsibility for raising new taxes to supply the Treasury. Its members agreed that they had no authority to do so. In a debate, M. de la Fayette said that only a National Assembly freely elected by the people and acting as their representatives could raise money through taxes. The Count D'Artois asked, "Do you mean the States-General?" M. de la Fayette said yes. The Count D'Artois asked whether he would sign a statement of this view to give to the king. De la Fayette answered that he would do that and more: he would say the effective solution was for the king to agree to establish a constitution.

One plan had failed: getting the Assembly to act as a Parliament. The other plan, having it make recommendations, now came forward. The Assembly agreed to recommend two new taxes for registration by the Parliament: a stamp tax and a territorial tax, a kind of land tax. Together they were estimated at about five millions sterling per annum. We must now turn to the Parliaments, to which the matter returned.

The Archbishop of Thoulouse, later Archbishop of Sens and now a Cardinal, took charge of finances soon after Calonne was dismissed. He also became Prime Minister, a post France did not always have. Without a Prime Minister, the heads of the main departments dealt directly with the King. With one, they dealt only with him. The Archbishop gained more authority in government than any minister since the Duke de Choiseul, and the nation strongly favored him. But through conduct that is hard to explain, he wasted every opportunity, became a despot, and fell into disgrace—and became a Cardinal.

After the Assembly of the Notables broke up, the minister sent its two recommended tax edicts to the Parliaments for registration. They went first, of course, to the Parliament of Paris. Its answer was that "with the revenue the nation already supplies, taxes should be mentioned only to reduce them." It rejected both edicts.*8 After this refusal, the Parliament was ordered to Versailles. There the King held what the old government called a Bed of Justice. An order of State registered the two edicts in the Parliament's presence, as described earlier. The Parliament immediately returned to Paris, formally resumed its session, and ordered the registrations removed. It declared everything done at Versailles illegal. Every member was then served with Lettres de Cachet and exiled to Troyes. But they remained just as firm in exile, and revenge did not produce tax revenue. They were recalled to Paris shortly afterward.

The edicts were presented to them again, and the Count D'Artois agreed to represent the King. He traveled in a procession from Versailles to Paris, where the Parliament gathered to receive him. But ceremony and display no longer impressed France. Whatever sense of importance he had when he set out, he returned humiliated and disappointed. As he got out of his carriage to climb the steps of the Parliament House, the large crowd called out familiar insults: "This is Monsieur D'Artois, who wants more of our money to spend." Their obvious disapproval frightened him. The officer commanding his guard shouted, "Aux armes!" ("To arms!"). The cry echoed so loudly through the building's passages that it caused temporary confusion. I was standing in one of the rooms he had to pass through. I could not help thinking how miserable it is to be a man nobody respects.

He tried to impress the Parliament with grand words. He began by saying, "The King, our Lord and Master." The Parliament received him coldly and maintained its usual refusal to register the taxes. That ended the meeting.

A new issue then arose. During the many disputes about taxes between the Court and the Parliaments, the Parliament of Paris finally declared that, although Parliaments had customarily registered tax edicts for convenience, only the States-General had the right to do so. The Parliament therefore could not properly keep debating a matter it had no authority to decide. The King then came to Paris and met with the Parliament from ten in the morning until about six in the evening. Apparently acting on his own, without consulting the Cabinet or Ministry, he promised the Parliament that the States-General would be convened.

Then another conflict began on entirely different ground. The Minister and Cabinet did not want the States-General called. They knew they would lose their positions if it met. Since the King had set no date, they devised a way to evade his promise without openly opposing it.

The Court decided to create a kind of constitution itself. It was mainly the work of M. Lamoignon, Keeper of the Seals, who later shot himself. The plan created a body called a Cour Pleniere, or Full Court, and gave it every power the Government might need to use. The King would appoint its members. The King would give up the disputed right to levy taxes, and a new criminal code and criminal procedures would replace the old ones. In many respects the plan rested on better principles than those under which the Government had operated before. But the Cour Pleniere was merely an indirect channel for despotism, allowing it to act without appearing to do so openly.

The Cabinet expected a great deal from this new device. It had already chosen the members of the Cour Pleniere. To make the plan look respectable, it included many of the nation's most respected people. The court was due to begin on May 8, 1788. But opposition arose on two grounds: principle and form.

On principle, opponents argued that a government had no right to change itself. Allow the practice once, and it would become an accepted principle and a precedent for any future changes the Government wanted. The right to change a government belonged to the nation, not to the Government. On form, they argued that the Cour Pleniere was nothing but a larger Cabinet.

The Duke de la Rochefoucault, Luxembourg, De Noailles, and many others refused their appointments and strongly opposed the whole scheme. The Parliaments also resisted when they received the edict creating the new court for registration and enforcement. The Parliament of Paris not only refused to register it but denied that the government had the authority to establish it. Its conflict with the Cabinet flared up more fiercely than ever. While the Parliament debated the matter, the Ministry ordered a regiment to surround the Parliament House and blockade it. The members sent out for beds and food and lived as if besieged in a fortress. When that failed to move them, the commanding officer was ordered to enter and arrest them. He did, and some leading members were locked in different prisons. Around the same time, people from the province of Brittany came to protest the Cour Pleniere. The archbishop sent them to the Bastille. But the nation could not be subdued. It knew how strong its position was because it could withhold taxes. It maintained a kind of quiet resistance that defeated every plan then directed against it. In the end the project of the Cour Pleniere had to be abandoned. Soon afterward the Prime Minister lost his position too, and M. Neckar was recalled to office.

The effort to establish the Cour Pleniere affected the nation without its noticing. This proposed new form of government quietly pushed the old one out of view and loosened its hold on the superstitious respect given to antiquity. Government had dethroned government. In trying to make a new government, the old one had opened a gap.

The failure of this plan brought the question of convening the States-General back and started a new series of political struggles. There was no fixed way to convene it. All the name definitely meant was a delegation from what were then called the Clergy, the Noblesse, and the Commons. Their numbers and proportions had varied. The body had met only on extraordinary occasions, most recently in 1614. Then the three groups had equal numbers and voted by orders.

M. Neckar could hardly fail to see that the 1614 method would suit neither the government nor the nation now. Under present conditions, agreement would have been too difficult. Debates over privileges and exemptions would never end, while the Government's needs and the nation's wish for a Constitution would be ignored. But he did not want to decide the matter himself. He called the Assembly of the Notables again and referred the question to it. Its members, mostly aristocrats and highly paid clergy, had a direct interest in the answer. They chose the 1614 method. This went against both the Nation and the Court, because the aristocracy opposed them both and insisted on privileges independent of either. The Parliament then took up the issue. It recommended giving the Commons as many members as the other two groups combined, with everyone sitting and voting together. The final number chosen was 1,200: 600 from the Commons, fewer than their share should have been considering their national importance and contribution; 300 from the Clergy; and 300 from the Aristocracy. But the questions of whether they would meet together or separately and how they would vote were left undecided.*9

The election that followed was energetic but not contested. The candidates were principles, not men. Societies formed in Paris, and committees for correspondence and communication were set up throughout the nation. They aimed to inform people and explain the principles of civil government. The election was so orderly that it did not even cause rumors of disorder.

The States-General was meant to meet at Versailles in April 1789, but it did not assemble until May. Its members settled into three separate chambers—or, more accurately, the Clergy and Aristocracy each withdrew to its own chamber. Most aristocrats claimed the privilege of voting as a separate body, able to consent or reject proposals as a group. Many bishops and clergy with wealthy benefices claimed the same privilege for their Order.

The Tiers Etat, as they were then called, refused to recognize artificial orders or privileges. They were firm on this point and even scornful. They began to see the Aristocracy as a kind of fungus growing out of society's corruption, unfit even to be counted as one of its branches. The Aristocracy had supported Lettres de Cachet and behaved similarly in several other matters. That made it clear that no constitution could be formed unless people took part simply as members of the nation.