Historical Characters

“Philarète,” says M. Laclos, “having found it easy to become a hero, fancies it will be as easy to become a statesman. The misfortune of Philarète is that he has great pretensions and ordinary conceptions. He has persuaded himself that he was the author of the revolution in America; he is arranging himself so as to become one of the principal actors in a revolution in France.

“He mistakes notoriety for glory, an event for a success, a sword for a monument, a compliment for immortality. He does not like the court, because he is not at his ease in it; nor the world, because there he is confounded with the many; nor women, because they injure the reputation of a man, while they do not add to his position. But he is fond of clubs, because he there picks up the ideas of others; of strangers, because they only examine a foreigner superficially; of mediocrity, because it listens and admires.

“Philarète will be faithful to whatever party he adopts, without being able to assign, even to himself, any good reasons for being so. He has no very accurate ideas of constitutional authority, but the word ‘liberty’ has a charm for him, because it rouses an ambition which he scarcely knows what to do with. Such is Philarète. He merits attention, because, after all, he is better than most of his rivals. That the world has been more favourable to him than he deserves, is owing to the fact that he has done a great deal in it, considering the poverty of his ability; and people have been grateful to him, rather on account of what he seemed desirous to be, than on account of what he was. Besides, his exterior is modest, and only a few know that the heart of the man is not mirrored on the surface.

“He will never be much more than we see him, for he has little genius, little nerve, little voice, little art, and is greedy of small successes.”

Such was the portrait which was drawn of Lafayette; we now come to that of M. de Talleyrand.

“Amène has charming manners, which embellish virtue. His first title to success is a sound understanding. Judging men with indulgence, events with calmness, he has in all things that moderation which is the characteristic of true philosophy.

“There is a degree of perfection which the intelligence can comprehend rather than realise, and which there is, undoubtedly, a certain degree of greatness in endeavouring to attain; but such brilliant efforts, though they give momentary fame to those who make them, are never of any real utility. Common sense disdains glitter and noise, and, measuring the bounds of human capacity, has not the wild hope of extending them beyond what experience has proved their just limit.

“Amène has no idea of making a great reputation in a day: such reputations, made too quickly, soon begin to decline, and are followed by envy, disappointment, and sorrow. But Amène will arrive at everything, because he will always profit by those occasions which present themselves to such as do not attempt to ravish Fortune. Each step will be marked by the development of some talent, and thus he will at last acquire that general high opinion which summons a statesman to every great post that is vacant. Envy, which will always deny something to a person generally praised, will reply to what we have said, that Amène has not that force and energy of character which is necessary to break through the obstacles that impede the course of a public man. It is true he will yield to circumstances, to reason, and will deem that he can make sacrifices to peace without descending from principle; but firmness and constancy may exist without violent ardour, or vapid enthusiasm.

“Amène has against him his pleasing countenance and seductive manner. I know people whom these advantages displease, and who are also prejudiced against a man who happens to unite the useful chance of birth with the essential qualities of the mind.

“But what are we really to expect from Amène in the States-General? Nothing, if he is inspired with the spirit of class; much, if he acts after his own conceptions, and remembers that a national assembly only contains citizens.”

VIII

Few who read the above sketch will deny to the author of the “Liaisons Dangereuses” the merit of discernment. Indeed, to describe M. de Talleyrand at this time seems to have been more appropriate to the pen of the novelist than to that of the historian. Let us picture to ourselves a man of about thirty-five, and appearing somewhat older: his countenance of a long oval; his eyes blue, with an expression at once deep and variable; his lips usually impressed with a smile, which was that of mockery, but not of ill-nature; his nose slightly turned up, but delicate, and remarkable for a constant play in the clearly chiseled nostrils. “He dressed,” says one of his many biographers, “like a coxcomb, he thought like a deist, he preached like a saint.” At once active and irregular, he found time for everything: the church, the court, the opera. In bed one day from indolence or debauch, up the whole of the following night to prepare a memoir or a speech. Gentle with the humble, haughty with the high; not very exact in paying his debts, but very scrupulous with respect to giving and breaking promises to pay them.

A droll story is related with respect to this last peculiarity. The new Bishop had ordered and received a very handsome carriage, becoming his recent ecclesiastical elevation. He had not, however, settled the coachmaker’s “small account.” After long waiting and frequent letters, the civil but impatient tradesman determined upon presenting himself every day at the Bishop of Autun’s door, at the same time as his equipage.

For several days, M. de Talleyrand saw, without recognising, a well-dressed individual, with his hat in his hand, and bowing very low as he mounted the steps of his coach. “Et qui êtes vous, mon ami?” he said at last. “Je suis votre carrossier, Monseigneur.” “Ah! vous êtes mon carrossier; et que voulez-vous, mon carrossier?” “Je veux être payé, Monseigneur,” said the coachmaker, humbly. “Ah! vous êtes mon carrossier, et vous voulez être payé; vous serez payé, mon carrossier.” “Et quand, Monseigneur?”⁷ “Hum!” murmured the Bishop, looking at his coachmaker very attentively, and at the same time settling himself in his new carriage: “Vous êtes bien curieux!” Such was the Talleyrand of 1789, embodying in himself the ability and the frivolity, the ideas and the habits of a large portion of his class. At once the associate of the Abbé Sieyès, and of Mademoiselle Guimard: a profligate fine gentleman, a deep and wary thinker; and, above all things, the delight and ornament of that gay and graceful society, which, crowned with flowers, was about to be the first victim to its own philosophy. As yet, however, the sky, though troubled, gave no evidence of storm; and never, perhaps, did a great assembly meet with less gloomy anticipations than that which in the pomp and gallantry of feudal show, swept, on the 1st of May, through the royal city of Versailles.

Still, there was even at that moment visible the sign and symbol of the approaching crisis; for dark behind the waving plumes and violet robes of the great dignitaries of Church and State, moved on the black mass, in sable cloak and garb, of the Commons, or tiers-état, the body which had, as yet, been nothing, but which had just been told by one of its most illustrious members,⁸ that it ought to be everything.

The history of the mighty revolution which at this moment was commencing, is still so stirring amongst us, – the breath of the tempest which then struck down tower and temple, is still so frequently fancied to be rustling about our own dwellings, – that when the mind even now wanders back, around and about this time, it is always with a certain interest and curiosity, and we pause once again to muse, even though we have often before meditated, upon that memorable event which opened a new chapter in the history of the world. And the more we reflect, the more does it seem surprising that in so civilised an age, and under so well-meaning a sovereign, an august throne and a great society should have been wholly swept away; nor does it appear less astonishing that a monarch with arbitrary sway, that a magistracy with extraordinary privileges, each wishing to retain their authority, should have voluntarily invoked another power, long slumbering in an almost forgotten constitution, and which, when roused into activity, was so immediately omnipotent over parliament and king.

IX

The outline of Louis XVI.’s reign is easily, though I do not remember where it is briefly, and clearly traced. At its commencement, the influence of new opinions was confined to the library and drawing-room. The modern notions of constitutional liberty and political economy prevalent amongst men of letters, and fashionable amongst men of the world, had not been professed by men in power, and were consequently disdained by that large class which wishes in all countries to pass for the practical portion of the community. At this time, an old minister, himself a courtier, and jealous lest other courtiers should acquire that influence over his master which he possessed, introduced into affairs a set of persons hitherto unknown at court, the most eminent of whom were Turgot, Malesherbes, and Necker; and no sooner had these three eminent reformers obtained a serious political position, than their views acquired a political consideration which had not before belonged to them, and the idea that some great and general reform was shortly to take place entered seriously into the public mind. Each of these ministers would have wished to make the reforms that were most necessary with the aid of the royal authority; and, had they been able to do so, it is probable that they would have preserved the heart and strength of the old monarchy, which was yet only superficially decayed. But the moderate changes which they desired to introduce with the assent of all parties, were opposed by all parties, in spite of – or, perhaps, on account of – their very moderation: for losers are rarely satisfied because their losses are small, and winners are never contented but when their gains are great.

In the meantime, Maurepas, who would have supported the policy of his colleagues, if it had brought him popularity, was by no means disposed to do so when it gave him trouble. Thus, Malesherbes, Turgot, and Necker were successively forced to resign their offices, without having done anything to establish their own policy, but much to render any other discreditable and difficult.

The publication of the famous “Compte Rendu,” or balance-sheet of state expenses and receipts, more especially, rendered it impossible to continue to govern as heretofore. And now Maurepas died, and a youthful queen inherited the influence of an old favourite. M. de Calonne, a plausible, clever, but superficial gentleman, was the first minister of any importance chosen by the influence of Marie-Antoinette’s friends. He saw that the expenses and receipts of the government must bear some proportion to each other. He trembled at suddenly reducing old charges; new taxes were the only alternative; and yet it was almost impossible to get such taxes from the lower and middle classes, if the clergy and nobility, who conjointly possessed about two-thirds of the soil, were exempted from all contributions to the public wants. The minister, nevertheless, shrunk from despoiling the privileged classes of their immunities, without some authorization from themselves. He called together, therefore, the considerable personages, or “notables,” as they were styled, of the realm, and solicited their sanction to new measures and new imposts, some of the former of which would limit their authority, and some of the latter affect their purses.

The “notables” were divided into two factions: the one of which was opposed to M. de Calonne, the other to the changes which he wished to introduce. These two parties united and became irresistible. Amongst their ranks was a personage of great ambition and small capacity – Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse. This man was the most violent of M. de Calonne’s opponents. The court turned round suddenly and chose him as M. de Calonne’s successor. This measure, at first, was successful, for conflicting opinions end by creating personal antipathies, and the “notables,” in a moment of exultation over the defeated minister, granted everything with facility to the minister who had supplanted him. A new embarrassment, however, now arose. The notables were, after all, only an advising body: they could say what they deemed right to be done, but they could not do it. This was the business of the sovereign; but his edicts, in order to acquire regularly the force of law, had to be registered by the Parliament of Paris; and it is easy to understand how such a power of registration became, under particular circumstances, the power of refusal. The influence of that great magisterial corporation, called the “Parliament of Paris,” had, indeed, acquired, since it had been found necessary to set aside Louis XIV.’s will by the sanction of its authority, a more clear and positive character than at former periods. This judicial court, or legislative assembly, had thus become a constituent part of the State, and had also become – as all political assemblies, however composed, which have not others for their rivals, will become – the representative of popular opinion. It had seen, with a certain degree of jealousy, the convocation, however temporarily, of another chamber (for such the assembly of notables might be called), and was, moreover, as belonging to the aristocracy, not very well disposed to the surrender of aristocratical privileges. It refused, therefore, to register the new taxes proposed to it: thus thwarting the consent of the notables, avoiding, for a time, the imposts with which its own class was threatened, and acquiring, nevertheless, some increase of popularity with the people who are usually disposed to resist all taxation, and were pleased with the invectives against the extravagance of the court, with which the resistance of the parliament was accompanied.

The government cajoled and threatened the parliament, recalled it, again quarrelled with it, attempted to suppress it – and failed.

Disturbances broke out, famine appeared at hand, a bankruptcy was imminent; there was no constituted authority with sufficient power or sufficient confidence in itself to act decisively. People looked out for some new authority: they found it in an antique form. “The States-General!” (that is, an assembly chosen from the different classes, which, in critical periods of the French nation had been heretofore summoned) became the unanimous cry. The court, which wanted money and could not get it, expected to find more sympathy in a body drawn from all the orders of the State than from a special and privileged body which represented but one order.

The parliament, on the other hand, imagined that, having acquired the reputation of defending the nation’s rights, it would have its powers maintained and extended by any collection of men representing the nation. This is why both parliament and court came by common accord to one conclusion.

The great bulk of the nobility, though divided in their previous discussions, here, also, at last agreed: one portion because it participated in the views of the court, and the other because it participated in those of the parliament.

In the meantime, the unfortunate Archbishop, who had tried every plan for filling the coffers of the court without the aid of the great council now called together, was dismissed as soon as that council was definitively summoned: and, according to the almost invariable policy of restoring to power the statesman who has increased his popularity by losing office, M. Necker was again placed at the head of the finances and presented to the public as the most influential organ of the crown.

X

It will be apparent, from what I have said, that the court expected to find in the States-General an ally against the parliament, whilst the parliament expected to find in the States-General an ally against the court. Both were deceived.

The nobility, or notables, the government, and the parliament, had all hitherto been impotent, because they had all felt that there was another power around them and about them, by which their actions were controlled, but with which, as it had no visible representation, they had no means of dealing.

That power was “public opinion.” In the Commons of France, in the Deputies from the most numerous, thoughtful, and stirring classes of the community, a spirit – hitherto impalpable and invisible – found at once a corporate existence.

Monsieur d’Espremenil, and those parliamentary patricians who a year before were in almost open rebellion against the sovereign, at last saw that they had a more potent enemy to cope with, and rallied suddenly round the throne. Its royal possessor stood at that moment in a position which no doubt was perilous, but which, nevertheless, I believe, a moderate degree of sagacity and firmness might have made secure. The majority of the aristocracy of all grades, from a feudal sentiment of honour, was with the King. The middle classes also had still for the monarch and his rank considerable respect; and were desirous to find out and sanction some just and reasonable compromise between the institutions that were disappearing, and the ideas that had come into vogue. It was necessary to calm the apprehensions of those who had anything to lose, to fix the views of those who thought they had something to gain, and to come at once to a settlement with the various classes – here agitated by fear, there by expectation. But however evident the necessity of this policy, it was not adopted. Suspicions that should have been dissipated were excited; notions that should have been rendered definite were further disturbed; all efforts at arrangement were postponed; and thus the revolution rushed onwards, its tide swelling, and its rapidity being increased by the blunders of those who had the greatest interest and desire to arrest it. The fortune of M. de Talleyrand was embarked upon that great stream, of which few could trace the source, and none foresaw the direction.

XI

I have just said that none foresaw the direction in which the great events now commencing were likely to run. That direction was mainly to be influenced by the conduct and character of the sovereign, but it was also, in some degree, to be affected by the conduct and character of the statesman to whom the destinies of France were for the moment confided.

M. Necker belonged to a class of men not uncommon in our own time. His abilities, though good, were not of the first order; his mind had been directed to one particular branch of business; and, as is common with persons who have no great genius and one specialty, he took the whole of government to be that part which he best understood. Accordingly, what he now looked to, and that exclusively, was balancing the receipts and expenditure of the State. To do this, it was necessary to tax the nobility and clergy; and the class through whose aid he could best hope to achieve such a task was the middle-class, or “tiers-état.” For this reason, when it had been decided to convoke the States-General, and it became necessary to fix the proportionate numbers by which each of the three orders (viz. the nobility, clergy, middle-class, or “tiers-état,”) which composed the States-General, was to be represented, M. Necker determined that the sole order of the “tiers-état” should have as many representatives as the two other orders conjointly; thinking in this way to give the middle-class a greater authority, and to counterbalance the want of rank in its individual members, by their aggregate superiority in numbers.

But when M. Necker went thus far he should have gone farther, and defined in what manner the three orders should vote, and what power they should separately exercise. This precaution, however, he did not take; and therefore, as soon as the States-General assembled, there instantly arose the question as to whether the three orders were to prove the validity of their elections together as members of one assembly, or separately as members of three distinct assemblies. This question, in point of fact, determined whether the three orders were to sit and vote together, or whether each order was to sit and vote apart; and after M. Necker’s first regulation it was clear that, in one case, the order of the Commons would predominate over all opposition; and that, in the other, it would be subordinate to the two rival orders. A struggle then naturally commenced.

XII

The members of the “tiers-état,” who, as the largest of the three bodies forming the States-General, had been left in possession of the chamber where all the orders had been first collected to meet the sovereign – an accident much in their favour – invited the members of the two other orders to join them there. The clergy hesitated; the nobles refused. Days and weeks passed away, and the minister, seeing his original error, would willingly have remedied it by now proposing that which he might originally have fixed, namely, that the three orders should vote together on questions of finance, and separately on all other questions. This idea was brought forward late; but, even thus late, it might have prevailed if the court had been earnest in its favour. The King, however, and those who immediately influenced him, had begun to think that a deficit was less troublesome than the means adopted to get rid of it; and fancying that the States-General, if left to themselves, might ere long dissolve amidst the dissensions which were discrediting them, were desirous that these dissensions should continue. Nor would this policy have failed in its object if negotiation had been much further prolonged.

But it is at great moments like these that a great man suddenly steps forth, and whilst the crowd is discussing what is best to be done, does it. Such a man was the Comte de Mirabeau; and on the 15th of June, this marvellous personage, whose audacity was often prudence, having instigated the Abbé Sieyès (whose authority was at that time great with the Assembly) to bring the subject under discussion, called on the tiers-état, still doubting and deliberating, to constitute themselves at once, and without further waiting for the nobility, “The Representatives of the French people.” They did so in reality, though not in words, declaring themselves duly elected, and taking as their title “The National Assembly.” The government thought to stop their proceedings by simply shutting up the chamber where they had hitherto met, but so paltry a device was insufficient to arrest the resolutions of men whose minds were now prepared for important events. Encouraging each other, the Commons rushed unhesitatingly to a tennis-court, and in that spot, singularly destined to witness so solemn a ceremony, swore, with but one dissentient voice, to stand by each other till France had a constitution. After such an oath, the alternative was clearly between the old monarchy, with all its abuses, and a new constitution, whatever its dangers. On this ground, two orders in the State stood hostilely confronted. But another order remained, whose conduct at such a juncture was all-decisive. That order was the clergy, – which, still respected if not venerated, – wealthy, connected by various links with each portion of society, and especially looked up to by that great and sluggish mass of quiet men who always stand long wavering between extremes – had been endeavouring to effect some compromise between the privileged classes and their opponents, but had as yet taken no prominent part with either. The moment was come at which it could no longer hesitate.

XIII

M. de Talleyrand, though but a new dignitary in the church, was already one of its most influential members. He had been excluded by a prejudice of the nobility from the situation to which his birth had entitled him amongst them. He had long resolved to obtain another position at least as elevated through his own exertions. His views, as we have seen, at the time of his election, were liberal, though moderate, whilst he was sufficiently acquainted with the character of Louis XVI. to know that that monarch would never sincerely yield, nor ever sturdily resist, any concession demanded with persistency. Partly, therefore, from a conviction that he was doing what was best for the public, and partly, also, from the persuasion that he was doing what was best for himself, he separated boldly from the rest of his family (who were amongst the most devoted to the Comte d’Artois and Marie-Antoinette), and laboured with unwearied energy to enlist the body he belonged to on the popular side.

To succeed in this object he had the talents and advantages most essential. His natural courtesy flattered the curates; his various acquirements captivated his more learned brethren; his high birth gave him the ear of the great ecclesiastical dignitaries; and, finally, a majority of his order, instigated by his exertions and address, joined the Third Estate, on the 22nd of June, in the Church of Saint-Louis.

From that moment the question hitherto doubtful was determined; for at no time have the clergy and the commons stood side by side without being victorious. It was in vain, therefore, that even so early as the day following, the descendant of Louis XIV., in all the pomp of royalty, and in the presence of the three orders – whom he had for that day summoned to assemble – denounced the conduct which the tiers-état had pursued, annulled their decisions, and threatened them with his sovereign displeasure.

The tiers-état resisted; the King repented – retracted, – and showing that he had no will, lost all authority. Thus, on the 27th of June, the States-General, henceforth designated by the title which had been already assumed by the Commons (the National Assembly), held their deliberations together, and the three orders were confounded.

XIV

But one step now remained in order to legalise the revolution in progress. Each deputy had received a sort of mandate or instruction from those who named him at the moment of his election. Such instructions or mandates, which had been given at a time when people could hardly anticipate the state of things which had since arisen, limited, or seemed to limit, the action of a deputy to particular points which had especially attracted the attention of his constituents.

The conservative party contended that these mandates were imperative, the liberal party that they were not. According to the first supposition, the States-General could do no more than redress a few grievances; according to the other, they could create a perfectly new system of government.

The Bishop of Autun, in the first speech he delivered in the National Assembly – a speech which produced considerable effect – argued in favour of his own liberty and that of his colleagues, and his views were naturally enough adopted by a body which, feeling its own force, had to determine its own power. Hence, on the record of two great decisions – the one solving the States-General into the “National Assembly;” the other extending and fixing that Assembly’s authority – decisions which, whatever their other results, were at least fatal to the power and influence of the class to which he belonged by birth, but from which he had, in spite of himself, been severed in childhood – was indelibly inscribed the name of the once despised and still disinherited cripple of the princely house of Périgord.

XV

There was nothing henceforth to impede the labours of the National Assembly, and it commenced those labours with earnestness and zeal, if not with discretion. One of its first acts was to choose by ballot a committee of eight members, charged to draw up the project of a constitution, which was subsequently to be submitted to the Assembly. The Bishop of Autun was immediately placed upon this select and important committee. It had for its task to render practical the political speculations of the eighteenth century. Things, however, had commenced too violently for them to proceed thus peaceably; and as the success of the popular party had been hitherto obtained by braving the crown, it was to be expected that the crown would seize the first opportunity that presented itself for boldly recovering its authority. A well-timed effort of this kind might have been successful. But neither Louis XVI., nor any of the counsellors in whom he confided, possessed that instinct in political affairs which is the soul of action, inspiring men with the resolve to do the right thing at the right moment. It has often been found easy to crush a revolution at its commencement, for the most ardent of its supporters at such a time act feebly, and doubt about the policy they are pursuing. It has often been found possible to arrest a revolution at that subsequent stage of its progress when the moderate are shocked by some excess, or the sanguine checked by some disappointment; but a revolution is invincible at that crisis, when its progress, begun with boldness, has neither been checked by misfortune, nor disgraced by violence.

Nevertheless, it was just at such a crisis that the unfortunate Louis XVI., guided in a great degree by the fatal influence of his brother, after having gradually surrounded Versailles and the capital with troops, suddenly banished M. Necker (July 10th), whose disgrace was instantly considered the defeat of those who advised the King to renovate his authority by concessions, and the triumph of those who counselled him to recover and re-establish it by force. But the measures which were to follow this act were still in suspense, when a formidable insurrection broke out at Paris. A portion of the soldiery sided with the people. The Bastille was taken, and its commandant put to death, the populace got possession of arms, the prevôt or mayor of the city was assassinated, whilst the army which had been so ostentatiously collected in the Champ de Mars and at St. Denis was left an inactive witness of the insurrection which its array had provoked. The results were those which usually follow the strong acts of weak men: Louis XVI. submitted; M. Necker was recalled; the Comte d’Artois emigrated.