On the 4th of May, the opening of the States-General was inaugurated
by a solemn procession and service at Versailles. The king, the
queen, the whole court and the deputies of the three orders assembled
in the church of Notre Dame to hear chanted the 'Veni Creator.' The
hymn ended, the procession formed in the church, and passed out at
the great door, crossed the market-place and the Rue de la Pompe,
traversed the Place d'Armes, entered the Avenue de Sceaux, which did
not, as now, extend in its full breadth to the Place, but was blocked
in the middle by buildings; thence into the Rue de Satory, and so to
the Cathedral of S. Louis. The French and Swiss guards lined the way,
the walls of the houses were hung with tapestries and costly damasks,
and the whole length of the streets along which the court and deputies
were to walk was laid down with crimson carpets. The balconies were
hung with garlands, banners were suspended from the windows, and
triumphal arches spanned the road. At intervals, bands of music were
placed, and everywhere were grouped orange-trees and exotics from the
Versailles palace gardens. Crowds filled every vantage-point; windows,
galleries, roofs, presented visions of beaming faces, and as far as
the eye could see up the streets appeared heads. The Place d'Armes was
densely thronged, and the people were allowed to enter within the rails
enclosing the Court of the Ministers, and to cling to every bar, and
cluster in ranks on every step of the palace front.
The first in the procession were the five hundred and fifty deputies of
the Third Estate in black suits, white falling cravats, and black silk
cloaks.
As the head of this sable line appeared, a female voice exclaimed: 'Ah,
mon Dieu! there is surely a funeral!'
The speaker was Madame Deschwanden, whom the interest of the day had
attracted, along with Madeleine, to Versailles.
'A funeral, ah a funeral!' was echoed by several on all sides; then
Madeleine raising her voice answered, 'A funeral, yes. They are burying
abuses,' which raised a laugh.
'Who can that be, that little pale man, with parboiled eyes? My faith!
he is a cripple, he is deformed, they help him along, or he would not
be able to walk. I wonder who he is?'
Madeleine did not know, none of those around knew. It was George
Couthon, deputy for the Puy de Dôme.
'And there!'
A thunder of cheers rent the air as a large-built man, his huge
head covered with a heap of shaggy hair, a massive forehead, dark
well-arched brows and large luminous eyes, but with the lower portion
of the face scarred with eruptions, fleshy and coarse, emerged from the
church of Our Lady.
'Mirabeau! vive Mirabeau!' was roared by the crowd, caps were tossed
into the air, handkerchiefs were waved from every window, and flower
bunches fell at his feet, cast by fair hands from the balconies.
His firm-set lips curled with a smile, and with a bow he responded to
these enthusiastic greetings.
Presently a running fire of applause arose as a slender pale-faced
man with delicate features and an expression of ingenuous good faith
appeared. This was Mounier of Grenoble. There passed a man with small
face, retreating forehead and sharp eyes, a man with sallow complexion
and thin lips, and vivacity and energy depicted in every lineament.
No one noticed him on that day, he was an obscure deputy whom none
knew--Maximilian Robespierre.
Paris was unrepresented, the elections there had been delayed.
After the Third Estate, separated from it by trumpeters and drummers,
walked the nobility. The moment that they appeared, the cheering, which
had been continuous on the passage of the Commons, ceased abruptly. The
contrast they presented to the Tiers État was significant. Their dress
was black, the vest of cloth of gold, and the coat frogged with gold
lace. Their cloaks were of silk, their cravats of lace, and their hats
of the shape worn in Henry IV's reign, adorned with plumes. Among the
nobility, last, and lagging behind, walked the Duke of Orléans, burly,
with bad features, wearing large rings in his ears. Instantly a shout
arose, 'Vive le Duc d'Orléans!' which ran along the street and roared
from the Place d'Armes. The duke laughed good-naturedly, lifted his
feathered hat, bowed to the right and then to the left, and laid his
hand on his heart.
After the nobles came the curés in their cassocks, short baptismal
surplices, and long black cloaks, wearing on their heads the birretta.
A few shouts of greeting rose, not many, but some.
'Oh, Madeleine!' exclaimed Madame Deschwanden, 'who can that priest
be? Look, do look at him!' She pointed to a slender abbé with a face
of great beauty and refinement. The smooth broad brow was massive, the
eyes large and soft, like those of an ox; the straight nose rather
long, and the lips and chin indicative of extreme sensibility.
Some one in the crowd shouted, 'Long live the Abbé Grégoire, the friend
of the Jew!' Madame Deschwanden looked round and saw an old man with
the features of an Israelite raising his hat above his white head and
waving his withered hand towards the priest who had attracted her
attention. Percenez, who was close to her, said, 'That curé has in his
face the making of a great saint and a great patriot. Long live the
Abbé Grégoire!' Then suddenly he exclaimed, 'Ah! there is a friend of
the people walking along a little way behind him. Vive le Curé Lindet!'
There were two hundred and fifty-nine curés, delegates to the Assembly.
They were followed by the bishops, thirty-eight bishops and eleven
archbishops, delegates like the curés and elected by the clergy, but
separated from their inferiors by a choir in scarlet and lace, bearing
silver cross and tall lighted candles, chanting the 'Exsurgat Deus,'
which had been chosen by the master of the ceremonies as an oblique
hit at the refractory clergy. The bishops wore violet cassocks, lace
rochets, and violet-hooded capes. Their gold crosses glittered on
their breasts. As they walked proudly along, not a voice was raised
in acclamation. Immediately after the bishops marched the Swiss guard
with their band, and then the King in his superb royal robes of
state, surrounded by his brothers the Count of Provence and the Count
of Artois, and the ministers. As he left the church, the cannons on
the Place d'Armes were discharged. This was the signal for universal
applause. It was heard running from street to street, rising in a
billow of sound from the market-place, rattling down the street to the
great amphitheatre before the Palace, where it rolled from side to
side, and was passed on down the Rue de Satory, whence it was wafted
faintly, and where it expired.
After the King and his group followed the Queen, with madame, the wife
of the Count of Provence, the Countess of Artois, the princesses, and
the ladies of the court, superbly dressed and covered with diamonds.
The queen's hair was rolled into a mountain of curls about her temples,
and bound round with a circlet of large diamonds and sapphires. Two
long locks fell on either side of her beautiful throat and rested on
her shoulders. The exquisite transparency of her complexion showed
to advantage that day. The excitement had brought a little brilliant
carnation to her cheeks. A chain of large pearls surrounded her neck
and supported a pearl cross, which reposed on her bosom. Two crystal
drops depended from her ears. Her brooch and stomacher blazed with
precious stones. She passed along the street, between the lines of
soldiers and the close-packed crowds, and not a voice was raised
to salute her. She felt it, and a hard expression over-spread her
countenance, she walked more erect, held her proud head up, and tossed
it slightly, as the curls teased her.
'How beautiful the queen is!' was whispered.
'And she so wicked!' sighed Madame Deschwanden.
'No, mother,' answered Madeleine; 'she is not wicked, but foolish.
She would not give one of those pearls to save a life; she would not
deprive herself of a pleasure to lighten a heavy heart.'
'Well,' said madame; 'if you do not call that wicked, it is cousin to
it.'
Some one shouted 'Vive le Duc d'Orléans!' and the cry was caught up by
about a hundred voices. The queen hated the duke, who was the leader of
the liberal party and a renegade from the traditions of his order. He
was the people's idol, the abhorrence of the court. The queen would not
tolerate his presence, and had refused to accept his homage. This was
well known. It was known that his was the name of all others to gall
her proud spirit, and the popular detestation of Marie Antoinette found
vent in that shout, 'Vive le Duc d'Orléans!'
Instantly a pang of annoyance, a flash of anger obscured her eyes; she
bent, as though suffering from a spasm. Madame de Lamballe, her pretty
little friend, started forwards from her place in the rear and lent the
queen her arm. Marie Antoinette rested her hand upon it for a moment,
and then with a defiant air continued her walk.
The royal family was followed by the procession of ecclesiastics
belonging to the cathedral, the church of Notre Dame and the King's
chapel, vested in their surplices and capes; the choir and acolytes
singing and censing around a canopy of crimson and gold, beneath which
the Archbishop of Paris bore the Blessed Sacrament, in a monstrance
blazing with rubies. On his right walked De Narbonne-Lara, Bishop of
Évreux, acting as deacon, in dalmatic of cloth of gold; he was at
Versailles as chaplain to the queen. On the left paced the dean of
Versailles in tunicle to match. Monseigneur Juigné, the archbishop, was
vested in cope of gold brocade, lined with crimson velvet; the deacons
and subdeacons held the corners; he was bare headed.
On entering the church of S. Louis, the Blessed Sacrament was elevated
to its shrine above the altar. The bands united to play a magnificent
triumphal march, as the court took its place. A daïs of purple velvet
sown with golden lilies had been prepared for the king and queen; the
princes, princesses, the grand officers of the crown and the ladies of
the palace grouped themselves around the throne.
The triumphal march ceased, and softly, unaccompanied by instruments,
the great choir sang the 'O salutaris hostia' to a simple melody
full of sweetness, whilst the fragrant smoke rose in clouds upon the
altar-steps around the elevated pyx, which blazed through it like a red
sun on a misty morning, and every knee was bowed in adoration.
The Marquis of Ferrières, in his Memoirs, thus recalls the feelings
inspired at the moment:--'This simple strain, true and melodious,
disengaged from the crash of instruments which choke expression; the
regulated accord of voices swelling up to heaven, confirmed me in
my belief that the simple is always beautiful, always grand, always
sublime.... This religious ceremony cast a gleam over all the human
pomp. Without thee, venerable Religion, it would only have been a
display of vain pride; but thou dost purify and sanctify, ay, and
aggrandise grandeur itself; kings, the mighty of earth, render homage,
real or simulated, to the King of kings. These holy rites, these
chants, these priests vested in their sacerdotal robes, these perfumes,
the canopy, the sun gleaming with gold and jewels! I remembered the
words of the prophet, "Daughters of Jerusalem, your King cometh,
take your bridal garments, and go ye out to meet Him." Tears of joy
flowed from my eyes. My God, my country, my fellow-citizens had become
identified with myself.'
The sermon was preached by Monseigneur Lafarre, Bishop of Nancy. It
overflowed with patriotic sentiments; but the prelate did more than
express his enthusiastic devotion to the good of his country,--he
reminded the court of its crimes, its pride, its lavish expenditure,
and its exactions. He bade it remember that it was the crown and the
court which had made luxury fashionable and had glorified dissolution
of morals, and he urged on king, queen, and all whom the Almighty has
placed in conspicuous positions, to consider their responsibility to
Him who set them there, and he bade them be very sure, that if they
slighted these responsibilities or used their place to exalt and
sanction evil, a Nemesis awaited them which would be as speedy as
terrible.
This sermon, so bold and patriotic, was not listened to without
interruption. The queen was observed to turn white as chalk; the king's
brothers, notorious for their immoralities, were differently affected;
Monsieur glanced at his mistress, Madame Balby, and then covered his
face; the Count d'Artois reddened, and beat with his foot upon the
stage of the platform on which the throne was placed. The ladies around
the queen fanned themselves and whispered audibly to each other. Some
of the young nobles moved their seats, and rattled their swords on
the pavement; others groaned and coughed, and the preacher's words
were lost. He paused, looked towards the king's throne; Louis XVI was
unmoved; he, an amiable, simple man, was untouched in conscience by the
reproaches of the bishop; he quite agreed with him in his verdict, and
appreciated his sentiments. But the queen had thrown all her weight
into the conservative side, and conservatism then meant the retention
of every abuse under which the country groaned, and the sanction of
every vice which outraged morality and disorganized society. When
Monseigneur Lafarre looked at her majesty, she met his eye with a
threatening glance of indignation. The murmurs increased, and it was
evident that the court and nobles were bent on preventing the preacher
from continuing his discourse. The deputies of the third estate became
excited, and agitation was observed among the deputies of the clergy.
Thomas Lindet, responding to a sudden inspiration, sprang to his
feet, looked across at the court, and cried:--'Magna est veritas et
prevalebit.' A roar of applause rose from the benches on all sides of
him and from behind. He sat down, and in perfect silence, without an
attempt at disturbance, the Bishop of Nancy concluded his discourse.
It was apparent to every one from that moment that the battle was to be
fought _à l'outrance_.
On the morrow, May 5th, the deputies assembled in the Hall des
Menus-Plaisirs, situated in the Rue S. Martin, opening out of the
Avenue of Paris.
Considerable changes have taken place in the town and château of
Versailles since the period of our tale, and it will be necessary,
in order that the events we shall have to record may be fully
comprehended, to give a slight sketch of the disposition of the
buildings as they then stood. Although Versailles was the place where
the king and the court resided, it had not then the neat and cleanly
air that it has at present. The streets, the avenues, the squares, even
the courts and corridors of the palace were encumbered with booths, and
stalls, and wooden caravans, which gave the appearance of a perpetual
fair.
The town on the side of the Avenue of Paris was closed by a wooden
barrier, placed a little in advance of the Rue de Noailles. The two
first buildings arresting attention on entering the Avenue were, on the
right, the hôtel erected by Madame du Barry, which was at that time
occupied by Monsieur the King's brother, and which is at the present
day turned into a cavalry barrack. On the left, immediately opposite,
at the corner of the Rue S. Martin, was the Hôtel des Menus-Plaisirs
of the king, now-a-days also a barrack. The principal entrance to the
hôtel was from the Avenue of Paris, which admitted into a court of
honour, at the extremity of which a grand flight of steps led into
a vestibule that opened on the Hall of the Assembly. This hall was
built on the side of the Rue des Chantiers, on higher ground, so that
its floor was level with the first storey of the Menus-Plaisirs. It
was entered also by a door opening on the street; and it was by this
door that the deputies were admitted, whilst that from the Hôtel des
Menus was reserved for the king. At the extremity of the hall, against
the wall joining on to the hôtel, stood the throne, and beneath it
the bureau of the president. The deputies were placed on benches. On
either side of the hall, behind the pilasters supporting the roof, were
galleries, to which the public had admission.
Into this hall, the king with a brilliant suite entered by the
state door, at one o'clock in the afternoon. The deputies had been
summoned at nine, but were only admitted as the herald summoned them,
bailiwick by bailiwick. As each group entered, the master of the
ceremonies pointed out to the clergy and the nobles and the commons
their respective places. During this lengthy business the deputies
remained crowded in a narrow dark corridor, which contributed greatly
to increase the confusion.
The herald summoned the bailiwick of Viller-Cotterets; the deputy of
the clergy was an unbeneficed curate, the delegate of the nobility was
Monsieur the Duke of Orléans. The curé drew aside and bowed, to permit
the prince to enter before him, but the latter refused. No sooner had
the duke entered the hall than it rang with cheers. The deputies had
all found their places at a quarter past twelve. Their benches were
disposed in a semi-ellipse, whose diameter was the platform supporting
the throne. The clergy sat on the right, near the throne, and the
nobles on the left; the third estate occupied the rest of the seats.
When the king entered, the house rose and uncovered, and received him
with thunders of applause. The queen was placed beside him on a lower
step. The royal family surrounded the king. The ministers, the peers
of the realm, and the princes were placed on an inferior stage of the
platform, and the rest of the suite placed themselves as they could.
The king having taken his seat, the nobles covered themselves;
whereupon, contrary to precedent, the commons also put on their hats.
This caught the queen's eye; she made a sign to the king to attract his
attention, and then whispered to him hastily. Instantly he bared his
head, whereupon all in the hall did the same.
The king opened the States-General by an address, awkward, timid, cold,
and colourless. He contented himself with assuring the delegates that
the debt was enormous, and that to pay it off was their business.
This discourse was followed by one from Barentin, Keeper of the Seals,
paler even than that of his royal master, in which he thanked Heaven
for having accorded to France 'the monarch whom it is her happiness to
possess.'
The minister Necker next spoke; he showed that the gulf of the deficit
was still gaping, that it amounted to fifty-six millions. Of the
constitution for France, which was so earnestly desired, he said not a
word, and he concluded with declaring that the votes of the deputies
were to be taken by order and not by heads.
This was the annihilation of the third estate, which, although as
numerous as the two other orders put together, would thus be reduced to
one against two.
Necker's speech lasted three hours.
The king rose at half-past four, and the estates were adjourned till
the morrow.