Before selecting their delegates, the electors of each of the three orders had drawn up a list of their grievances and of suggestions for reform known as a cahier de dolèances. These cahiers were virtually unanimous in their condemnation of royal absolutism but none wished to do away with the monarchy altogether or questioned the King’s right to choose his Ministers and initiate legislation. They were also almost unanimous in their desire for a constitution with the voting of taxes and approval of new legislation taking place in regular meetings of the Estates General, in their demands for elected Provincial Estates, for individual liberty and freedom of the press. Many asked for unification of laws and standardization of weights and measures, an end to government wastefulness, to abuses in public finance and internal customs barriers, and for reforms in the Church, though not for its separation from the state. But it was clear that the Clergy were bent upon retaining their independence; the Nobility their social rank and feudal dues.
At the end of April the various deputies, travelling from all over France, made their way by private carriage and public coach towards the palace of Versailles. It had been arranged that they should meet here close to ‘the King’s own dwelling’, ‘not in any way to fetter their deliberations, but so that he could preserve in regard to them the character that lies nearest his heart – that of adviser and friend’.
1
THE DAY OF THE TENNIS-COURT OATH
20 June 1789
‘No National Assembly ever threatened to be so stormy as that which will decide the fate of the monarchy, and which is gathering in such haste and with so much mutual distrust’
On Saturday, 2 May 1789, the King waited in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles to receive the deputies of the clergy and the nobility. The clergy, as the pre-eminent order, came in first, the double doors being opened wide and then firmly closed behind them. The nobility were also received in private although, in accordance with the usual ceremonial practice, the doors were not fully closed after their entry but left slightly ajar. As though to emphasize their inferior status, the Third Estate were not received in the Hall of Mirrors but, after being kept waiting for over three hours, were presented to the King in another apartment where they were ushered past him in file. The King, standing between his two brothers, could not bring himself to address a single word to any of them other than one old man of exceptionally benign appearance to whom he said, ‘Good morning, good man.’ The others, having made their bows, turned away, feeling much disheartened by the King’s inability to display the least indication of friendliness and by the courtiers’ haughty reserve.
The next day was Sunday, a day of preparation, argument and discussion, during which it became clearer than ever that none of the three orders was completely united in its aims. Among the clergy there were passionate radicals such as the Abbé Henri Grégoire from Nancy; there were defenders of the ancien régime like the clever and articulate Abbé Maury, the son of an artisan, who set his face firmly against change from the beginning; and there were those who followed the Archbishop of Vienne in preaching moderation. Among the Nobility there were many who supported the fat and fiery Duval d’Eprémesnil and the brilliant orator Jacques de Cazalès, a dragoon officer from a minor noble family in the south, in advocating an uncompromising stand in defence of their privileges. But there were also those, like the Duc de La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt and the Duc de Clermont-Tonnerre, who, more accommodating and, incidentally, of more imposing pedigree, were prepared to compromise. There were equally pronounced differences among the members of the Third Estate, some of whom believed that their ends should be obtained by agreement with the King and with the the other two orders, and others of whom insisted that there must be no compromise even at the risk of violence. The delegates from Brittany, for example, and many of those from Provence and Franche Comté, soon came to be recognized as the most uncompromising, while those from Dauphiné were generally far more moderate.
On Monday, 4 May, the deputies of all three orders came together for a procession through the streets of Versailles to a Mass of the Holy Spirit at the Church of Saint Louis. As on Saturday, the members of each order were separated and distinguished by their dress: the Third Estate, all wearing tricornes and clothed in plain, official suits of black cloth with cambric ruffs, led the way immediately behind the guard; the nobles followed them, splendidly attired in plumed hats, satin suits with lace ruffs, silver waistcoats and silk cloaks, swords hanging from their belts. Lagging behind the rest, as though unwilling to be associated with them, was the Duc d’Orléans, the debauched, hard-drinking and witty demagogic Prince of the blood, who was believed to have designs on the throne and certainly spent a great deal of money in making himself popular with the people, and in the furtherance of mysterious plots. Behind him marched the parish priests in black habits, followed by the bishops in their episcopal robes and the King’s musicians. ‘Neither the King nor the Queen appear too well pleased,’ wrote Gouverneur Morris, soon to become American Minister in Paris and that day a guest at Versailles of the Intendant of the Royal Gardens. ‘The King is repeatedly saluted as he passes along with the Vive le Roi but the Queen receives not a single acclamation. She looks, however, with contempt on the scene in which she acts a part and seems to say, “For the moment I submit but I shall have my turn.”’
When she appeared in the church, sparkling with jewels, some deputies cheered but others murmured ‘Shame!’ for she had kept them waiting for no less than three hours. The King, however, was well received, pleasing the Third Estate by smiling approvingly at the end of the sermon, which had been given by the Bishop of Nancy who had taken the opportunity to deliver a lecture to the Court, the burden of which His Majesty had missed since he had fallen asleep.
The next day the meetings began. Various buildings had been set aside for the deputies, including the Hôtel des Menus Plaisirs on the Avenue de Paris, which was normally used for storing theatrical scenery and costumes and was now specially decorated with tasselled hangings and gold and white painted columns, and a hall behind it in the Rue des Chantiers, which had recently been built for the Assembly of Notables and had just been enlarged and redecorated.
It was in this hall that the deputies of all three orders came together for the official opening of the convention. Gouverneur Morris was there, sitting on a cramped bench, to watch them arrive: ‘When M. Necker comes in he is loudly and repeatedly clapped and so is the Duke of Orleans, also a bishop who has long lived in his diocese and practised there what his profession enjoins…An old man who refused to dress in the costume prescribed [for the Third Estate] and who appears in his farmer’s habit, receives a long and loud plaudit…The King at length arrives…’ ‘He waddled in clumsily,’ the Comtesse de La Tour du Pin observed. ‘His movements were graceless and abrupt; and, as his sight was so poor and it was not customary to wear spectacles, he screwed up his face’ as he peered at the deputies.
He was wearing a suit of cloth-of-gold, a huge diamond in his hat which he carried in his hand. The Queen, accompanied by Charles de Barentin, Keeper of the Seals, followed him in a white silver-spangled dress, a heron plume in her now thinning hair. The King, welcomed by shouts of Vive le Roi!’ sat down on his velvet-covered throne and put on his plumed hat, a sign that the privileged orders might put on theirs. And, as they did so, the Third Estate, either unaware of the custom or in defiance of it, put theirs on, too. The King immediately, therefore, took his off again, all the deputies following suit. He then replaced his hat as the Queen sat down in an armchair next to him.