I had the honor to be present on the fifth of this month at the
opening of the States-General; a spectacle more solemn to the mind
than gaudy to the eye. And yet, there was displayed everything of
noble and of royal in this titled country. A great number of fine
women, and a very great number of fine dresses, ranged round the hall.
On a kind of stage the throne; on the left of the King and a little
below him the Queen; a little behind him to the right, and on chairs,
the princes of the blood; on the right and left, at some distance
from the throne, the various princesses, with the gentlemen and ladies
of their retinue. Advanced on the stage, to the left of the throne,
the Keeper of the Seals. Several officers of the household, richly
caparisoned, strewed about in different places. Behind the throne a
cluster of guards, of the largest size, drest in ancient costumes,
taken from the times of chivalry. In front of the throne on the right,
below the stage, the ministers of state, with a long table before
them. On the opposite side of the hall some benches, on which sat the
marechals of France, and other great officers. In front of the
ministers, on benches facing the opposite side of the hall, sat the
representatives of the clergy, being priests of all colors, scarlet,
crimson, black, white, and gray, to the number of three hundred. In
front of the marechals of France, on benches facing the clergy, sat an
equal number of representatives of the nobility, drest in a robe of
black, waistcoats of cloth of gold, and over their shoulders, so as to
hang forward to their waists, a kind of lapels about a quarter of a
yard wide at top, and wider at bottom, made of cloth of gold. On
benches, which reached quite across the hall, and facing the stage,
sat the representatives of the people clothed in black. In the space
between the clergy and nobles, directly in front of the
representatives of the people, and facing the throne, stood the
heralds-at-arms, with their staves and in very rich dresses.
[Footnote 39: From a letter written in 1789 and addrest to Mrs. Morris
of Philadelphia. Copyright, 1888, by Charles Scribner's Sons.]
When the King entered, he was saluted with a shout of applause. Some
time after he had taken his seat, he put on a round beaver,
ornamented with white plumes, the part in front turned up, with a
large diamond button in the center. He read his speech well, and was
interrupted at a part which affected his audience by a loud shout of
_Vive le Roi_. After this had subsided, he finished his speech, and
received again an animated acclamation of applause. He then took off
his hat, and after a while put it on again, at which the nobles also
put on their hats, which resembled the King's, excepting the button.
The effect of this display of plumage was fine.
The Keeper of the Seals then performed his genuflexions to the throne,
and mumbled out, in a very ungraceful manner, a speech of considerable
length, which nobody pretends to judge of, because nobody heard it. He
was succeeded by M. Necker,[40] who soon handed his speech to his
clerk, being unable to go through with it. The clerk delivered it much
better than the minister, and that is no great praise. It was three
hours long, contained many excellent things, but too much of
compliment, too much of repetition, and indeed too much of everything,
for it was too long by two hours, and yet fell short in some capital
points of great expectation. He received, however, very repeated
plaudits from the audience, some of which were merited, but more were
certainly paid to his character than to his composition. M. Necker's
long speech now comes to a close, and the King rises to depart. The
hall resounds with a long loud _Vive le Roi_. He passes the Queen, who
rises to follow him. At this moment some one, imbued with the milk of
human kindness, originates a faint _Vive la Reine_. She makes a humble
courtesy and presents the sinking of the high Austrian spirit; a
livelier acclamation in return, and to this her lowlier bending, which
is succeeded by a shout of loud applause. Here drops the curtain on
the first great act of this great drama, in which Bourbon gives
freedom. His courtiers seem to feel what he seems to be insensible of,
the pang of greatness going off.
[Footnote 40: Jacques Necker, director of the Treasury in 1776;
resigned in 1781; recalled in 1788; convened the States-General in
1789; dismissed in the same year and again recalled, but finally
resigned in 1790. Married Mlle. Suzanne Curchod, Gibbon's early love,
and became the father of Madame de Stael.]