THE FRENCH MONARCHY
In no country was the evil side of absolutism exhibited so unmistakably as in France. During the eighteenth century the French government went from bad to worse, until at last it was altered not by peaceful reform but by violent revolution.
[Sidenote: French People better off than their Neighbors]
As far as their actual condition was concerned, the people of France were, on the whole, better off than most Germans or Italians. Next to England, France had the most numerous, prosperous, and intelligent middle class; and her peasants were slightly above the serfs of other Continental countries. But the very fact that in material well-being they were a little better off than their neighbors, made the French people more critical of their government. The lower classes had not all been ground down until they were mere slaves without hope or courage; on the contrary, there were many sturdy farmers and thrifty artisans who hoped for better days and bitterly resented inequalities in society and abuses in the government. The bourgeoisie was even less inclined to bow to tyranny; it was numerous, intelligent, wealthy, and influential; it could see the mistakes of the royal administration and was hopeful of gaining a voice in the government. Thus, the people of France were keener to feel wrongs and to resent the injustice of undutiful monarchs.
Let us glance at the crying abuses in the French state of the eighteenth century, and then we shall understand how great was the guilt of that pleasure-loving despot—Louis XV (1715-1774).
[Sidenote: The Administration]
[Sidenote: The King]
The French administrative system was confused and oppressive. In theory, it was quite simple—the government was the king. As Louis XV haughtily remarked: "The sovereign authority is vested in my person… the legislative power exists in myself alone… my people are one only with me; national rights and national interests are necessarily combined with my own and only rest in my hands."
But in practice, the king could not alone make laws, keep order, and collect taxes, especially when he spent whole days hunting or gambling. He contented himself with spending the state money, getting into wars, and occasionally interfering with the work of his ministers. And it was necessary to intrust the actual conduct of affairs to a complicated system or no-system of royal officials.
[Sidenote: The Royal Council]
The highest rung in the ladder of officialdom was the Royal Council. It was composed of the half dozen chief ministers and about thirty councilors who helped their chiefs to supervise the affairs of the kingdom,—issuing decrees, conferring on foreign policy, levying taxes, and acting on endless reports from local officials.
[Sidenote: Local Administration. The Intendants]
The Royal Council had numerous local representatives. There were the bailiffs and seneschals, whose actual powers had quite disappeared, but whose offices served to complicate matters. Then there were the governors of provinces, well-fed gentlemen with fat salaries and little to do. The bulk of local administration fell into the hands of the intendants and their sub-delegates. Each of the thirty-four intendants —the so-called "Thirty Tyrants of France"—was appointed by the king's ministers and was like a petty despot in his district (généralité).
The powers of the intendant were extensive. He decided what share of the district taxes each village and taxpayer should bear. He had his representatives in each parish of his district, and through them he supervised the police, the preservation of order, and the recruiting of the army. He relieved the poor in bad seasons. The erection of a church, or the repair of a town hall, needed his sanction. When the Royal Council ordered roads to be built, it was the intendant and his men who directed the work and called the peasants out to do the labor. With powers such as these, it was little wonder that the intendant was called Monseigneur—"My lord."
[Sidenote: The Parlement of Paris]
The system of Royal Council, intendants, and sub-intendants would have been comparatively simple, had it not been complicated by the presence of numerous other political bodies, each of which claimed certain customary powers. First of all, there was the Parlement, or supreme court, of Paris, primarily a judicial body which registered the royal decrees. If the Parlement disliked a decree, it might refuse to register it, until the king should hold a "bed of justice"—that is, should formally summon the Parlement and in person command it to register his decree.
[Sidenote: Provincial Estates]
Then there were provincial "Estates," or assemblies, in a few of the provinces. [Footnote: Such provinces were called pays d'état and included Brittany, Languedoc, Provence, Roussillon, Dauphiné, Burgundy, Franche Comté, Alsace, Lorraine, Artois, Flanders, Corsica, etc. The local assemblies in these pays d'état were by no means representative of all the inhabitants. The remaining provinces, in which no vestiges of provincial self-government survived, were called pays d'élection: they included Ile de France, Orléanais, Champagne and Brie, Maine, Anjou, Poitou, Guyenne and Gascony, Limousin, Auvergne, Lyonnais, Bourbonnais, Touraine, Normandy, Picardy, etc.] These bodies, survivals of the middle ages, did not make laws but had a voice in the apportionment of taxes among the parishes of the province, and exercised powers of supervision over road-building and the collection of taxes.
[Sidenote: Town Councils]
The government of the towns was peculiar. The old gilds, now including only a small number of the wealthiest burghers, elected a Town Council, which managed the property of the town, appointed tax-collectors, saw that the town hall was kept in repair, and supervised the collection of customs duties on goods brought into the town. It is easy to perceive how the Town Council and the intendant would have overlapping powers, and how considerable confusion might arise, especially since in different towns the nature and the powers of the Town Council differed widely. Matters were complicated still further by the fact that the mayors of the towns were not elected by the council, but appointed by the crown.
In rural districts there was a trace of the same conflict between the system of intendants and the survivals of local self-government. Summoned by the clanging church bell, all the men of the village met on the village green. And the simple villagers, thus gathered together as a town meeting or communal assembly, might elect collectors of the taille, or might perhaps petition the intendant to repair the parsonage or the bridge.
[Sidenote: Confusion in Administration]
Possibly the reader may now begin to realize that confusion was a prime attribute of the French administrative system. The common people were naturally bewildered by the overlapping functions of Royal Council, Parlement, provincial estates, governors, bailiffs, intendants, subintendants, mayors, town councils, and village assemblies. The system, or lack of system, gave rise to corruption and complication without insuring liberty. The most trivial affairs were regulated by overbearing and exacting royal officials. Everything depended upon the honesty and industry or upon the meanness and caprice of these officials. Each petty officer transmitted long reports to his superior; but the general public was kept in the dark about official matters, and was left to guess, as best it could, the reasons for the seemingly unreasonable acts of the government. If an intendant increased the taxes on a village, the ignorant inhabitants blamed it upon official "graft" or favoritism. Or, if hard times prevailed, or if a shaky bridge broke down, the villagers were prone in any case to find fault with the government, for the more mysterious and powerful the government was, the more likely was it to bear the blame for all ills.
Confusion in administrative offices was not the only confusion in eighteenth-century France. There was no uniformity or simplicity in standards of weight and measure, in coinage, in tolls, in internal customs-duties. But worst of all were the laws and the courts of justice.
[Sidenote: Confusion in Laws]
What was lawful in one town was often illegal in a place not five miles distant. Almost four hundred sets or bodies of law were in force in different parts of France. In some districts the old Roman laws were still retained; elsewhere laws derived from early German tribes were enforceable. Many laws were not even in writing; and such as were written were more often in Latin than in French. The result was that only unusually learned men knew the law, and common people stumbled along in the dark. The laws, moreover, were full of injustice and cruelty. An offender might have his hand or ear cut off, or his tongue torn out; he might be burned with red-hot irons or have molten lead poured into his flesh. Hanging was an easy death compared to the lingering torture of having one's bones broken on a wheel.
[Sidenote: Confusion in Law Courts]
The courts were nearly as bad as the laws. There were royal courts, feudal courts, church courts, courts of finance, and military courts; and it was a wise offender who knew before which court he might be tried. Extremely important cases might be carried on appeal to the highest courts of the realm—the Parlements—of which there were thirteen, headed in honor by that of Paris.
[Sidenote: Prevalence of Injustice]
Although courts were so plenteous, justice was seldom to be found. Persons wrongfully accused of crime were tortured until they confessed deeds they had never committed. The public was not admitted to trials, so no one knew on what grounds the sentence was passed, and the judge gave no reason for his verdict. Civil lawsuits were appealed from court to court and might drag on for years until the parties had spent all their money. Lawyers were more anxious to extract large fees from their clients than to secure justice for them.
[Sidenote: "Noblesse de la Robe">[
Confused laws and conflicting jurisdictions were often made worse by the character of the judges who presided over royal courts. Many of them were rich bourgeois who had purchased their appointment from the king. For a large price it was possible to buy a judgeship or seat in a Parlement, not only for a lifetime but as an hereditary possession. It has been estimated that 50,000 bourgeois families possessed such judicial offices: they formed a sort of lower nobility, exempted from certain taxes and very proud of their honors. Naturally envious were his neighbors when the "councilor" appeared in his grand wig and his enormous robe of silk and velvet, attended by a page who kept the robe from trailing in the dust. No wonder these bourgeois judges were called "the nobility of the robe."
In some way or other the "noble of the robe" had to compensate himself for the price of his office and the cost of his robe. One bought an office for profit as well as for honor. For to the judge were paid the court fees and fines; and no shrewd judge would let a case pass him without exacting some kind of a fee. Even more profitable were the indirect gains. If Monsieur A had gained his case in court, it was quite to be expected that in his joy Monsieur A would make a handsome present to the judge who had given the decision. At least, that is the way the judge would have put it. As a plain matter of fact the judges were bribed, and justice was too often bought and sold like judgeships.
[Sidenote: Abuses in the Army]
Corruption and abuses were not confined to the civil government and the courts of law; the army, too, was infected. In the ranks were to be found hired foreigners, unwilling peasants dragged from their farms, and the scum of the city slums. Thousands deserted every year. Had the discontented troops been well commanded, they might still have answered the purpose. But such was not the case. There were certainly enough officers—an average of one general for every 157 privates. But what officers they were! Dissolute and dandified generals drawing their pay and never visiting their troops, lieutenants reveling in vice, instead of drilling and caring for their commands. Noble blood, not ability, was the qualification of a commander. Counts, who had never seen a battlefield, were given military offices, and the seven-year-old Duc de Frousac was a colonel.
[Sidenote: Confusion in Finance]
Confused administration, antiquated laws, corrupt magistrates, and a disorganized army showed the weakness of the French monarchy; but financial disorders threatened its very existence,—for a government out of money is as helpless as a fish out of water.
The destructive wars, costly armies, luxurious palaces, and extravagant court of Louis XIV had left to the successors of the Grand Monarch many debts, an empty treasury, and an overtaxed people. If ever there was need of care and thrift, it was in the French monarchy in the eighteenth century.
Yet the king's ministers did not even trouble themselves to keep orderly accounts. Bills and receipts were carelessly laid away; no one knew how much was owed or how much was to be expected by the treasury; and even the king himself could not have told how much he would run into debt during the year. While it lasted, money was spent freely.
[Sidenote: Royal Revenue]
The amount of money required by the king would have made taxes very heavy anyway, but bad methods of assessment and collection added to the burden. The royal revenue was derived chiefly from three sources: the royal domains, the direct taxes, and the indirect taxes. From the royal domains, the lands of which the king was landlord as well as sovereign, a considerable but ever-diminishing income was derived.
[Sidenote: Direct Taxes]
[Sidenote: The Income Tax]
[Sidenote: The Poll Tax]
The direct taxes were the prop of the treasury, for they could be increased to meet the demand, at least as long as the people would pay. There were three direct taxes—the taille, the capitation, and the vingtième. The vingtième, or "twentieth," was a tax on incomes5 per cent [Footnote: Five per cent in theory; in practice in the reign of Louis XVI it was 11 per cent] on the salary of the judge, on the rents of the noble, on the earning of the artisan, on the produce of the peasant. The clergy were entirely exempted from this tax; the more influential nobles and bourgeois contrived to have their incomes underestimated, and the burden fell heaviest on the poorer classes. Capitation was a general poll or head tax, varying in amount according to whichever of twenty-two classes claimed the individual taxpayer. Maid-servants, for example, paid annually three livres and twelve sous. [Footnote: A livre was worth about a franc (20 cents) and a sou was equivalent to one cent.]
[Sidenote: The Taille or Land Tax]
The most important and hated direct tax was the taille or land tax,—practically a tax on peasants alone. The total amount to be raised was apportioned among the intendants by the Royal Council, and by the intendants among the villages of their respective districts. At the village assembly collectors were elected, who were thereby authorized to demand from each villager a share of the tax, according to his ability to pay. As a result of this method, each villager tried to appear poor so as to be taxed lightly; whole villages looked run- down in order to be held for only a small share; and influential politicians often obtained alleviation for parts of the country.
[Sidenote: Indirect Taxes]
[Sidenote: "Tax Farming">[
The indirect taxes were not so heavy, but they were bitterly detested. There were taxes on alcohol, metal-ware, cards, paper, and starch, but most disliked of all was that on salt (the gabelle). Every person above seven years of age was supposed annually to buy from the government salt-works seven pounds of salt at about ten times its real value. [Footnote: It should be understood, of course, that the gabelle was higher and more burdensome in some provinces than in others.] Only government agents could legally sell salt, and smugglers were fined heavily or sent to the galleys. These indirect taxes were usually "farmed out," that is, in return for a lump sum the government would grant to a company of speculators the right to collect what they could. These speculators were called "farmers-general,"—France could be called their farm [Footnote: Etymologically, the French word for farm (ferme) was not necessarily connected with agriculture, but signified a fixed sum (firma) paid for a certain privilege, such as that of collecting a tax.] and money its produce. And they farmed well. After paying the government, the "farmers" still had millions of francs to distribute as bribes or as presents to great personages or to retain for themselves. Thus, millions were lost to the treasury.
[Sidenote: The Burden of Taxation]
Taxes could not always be raised to cover emergencies, nor collected so wastefully. The peasants of France were crushed by feudal dues, tithes, and royal taxes. The bourgeoisie were angered by the income tax, by the indirect taxes, by the tolls and internal customs, and by the monopolistic privileges which the king sold to his favorites. How long the unprivileged classes would bear the burden of taxation, while the nobles and clergy were almost free, no one could tell; but signs of discontent were too patent to be ignored.
Louis XIV (1643-1715) at the end of his long reign perceived the danger. As the aged monarch lay on his deathbed, flushed with fever, he called his five-year-old great-grandson and heir, the future Louis XV, to the bedside and said: "My child, you will soon be sovereign of a great kingdom. Do not forget your obligations to God; remember that it is to Him that you owe all that you are. Endeavor to live at peace with your neighbors; do not imitate me in my fondness for war, nor in the exorbitant expenditure which I have incurred. Take counsel in all your actions. Endeavor to relieve the people at the earliest possible moment, and thus to accomplish what, unfortunately, I am unable to do myself."
[Sidenote: Louis XV, 1715-1774]
It was good advice. But Louis XV was only a boy, a plaything in the hands of his ministers. In an earlier chapter [Footnote: See above, pp. 255 f.] we have seen how under the duke of Orleans, who was prince regent from 1715 to 1723, France entered into war with Spain, and how finance was upset by speculation; and how under Cardinal Fleury, who was minister from 1726 to 1743, the War of the Polish Election (1733- 1738) was fought and the War of the Austrian Succession (1740-1748) begun.
When in 1743 the ninety-year-old Cardinal Fleury died, Louis XV announced that he would be his own minister. But he was not a Frederick the Great. At the council table poor Louis "opened his mouth, said little, and thought not at all." State business seemed terribly dull, and the king left most of it to others.
But of one thing, Louis XV could not have enough—and that was pleasure. He much preferred pretty girls to pompous ministers of state, and spent most of his time with the ladies and the rest of the time either hunting or gambling. In spite of the fact that he was married, Louis very easily fell in love with a charming face; at one time he was infatuated by the duchess of Châteauroux, then by Madame de Pompadour, and later by Madame du Barry. Upon his mistresses he was willing to lavish princely presents,—he gave them estates and titles, had them live at Versailles, and criminally allowed them to interfere in politics; for their sake he was willing to let his country go to ruin.
The character of the king was reflected in his court. It became fashionable to neglect one's wife, to gamble all night, to laugh at virtue, to be wasteful and extravagant. Versailles was gay; the ladies painted their cheeks more brightly than ever, and the lords spent their fortunes more recklessly.
But Versailles was not France. France was ruined with wars and taxes. Louis XIV had said, "Live at peace with your neighbors"; but since his death four wars had been waged, culminating in the disastrous Seven Years' War (1756-1763), by which French commerce had been destroyed and the French colonies had been lost. [Footnote: The formal annexation of Lorraine in 1766 and of Corsica in 1768 afforded some crumbs of comfort for Louis XV.] Debts were multiplied and taxes increased. What with war, extravagance, and poor management, Louis XV left France a bankrupt state.
[Sidenote: Growing complaints against the French Monarchy under Louis
XV]
Complaints were loud and remonstrances bitter, and Louis XV could not silence them, try as he might. Authors who criticized the government were thrown into prison: radical writings were confiscated or burned; but criticism persisted. Enemies of the government were imprisoned without trial in the Bastille by lettres de cachet, which were orders for arrest signed in blank by the king, who sometimes gave or sold them to his favorites, so that they, too, might have their enemies jailed. Yet the opposition to the court ever increased. Resistance to taxation centered in the Parlement of Paris. It refused to register the king's decrees, and remained defiant even after Louis XV had angrily announced that he would not tolerate interference with his prerogatives. The quarrel grew so bitter that all the thirteen Parlements of France were suppressed (1771), and in their stead new royal courts were established.
Opposition was only temporarily crushed; and Louis XV knew that graver trouble was brewing. He grew afraid to ride openly among the discontented crowds of Paris; the peasants saluted him sullenly; the treasury was empty; the monarchy was tottering. Yet Louis XV felt neither responsibility nor care. "It will surely last as long as I," he cynically affirmed; "my successor may take care of himself."
[Sidenote: Louis XVI, 1774-1792]
His successor was his grandson, Louis XVI (1774-1792), a weak-kneed prince of twenty years, very virtuous and well-meaning, but lacking in intelligence and will-power. He was too awkward and shy to preside with dignity over the ceremonious court; he was too stupid and lazy to dominate the ministry. He liked to shoot deer from out the palace window, or to play at lock-making in his royal carpentry shop. Government he left to his ministers.
[Sidenote: Turgot]
At first, hopes ran high, for Turgot, friend of Voltaire and contributor to the Encyclopedia, was minister of finance (1774- 1776), and reform was in the air. Industry and commerce were to be unshackled; laisser-faire was to be the order of the day; finances were to be reformed, and taxes lowered. The clergy and nobles were no longer to escape taxation; taxes on food were to be abolished; the peasants were to be freed from forced labor on the roads. But Turgot only stirred up opposition. The nobles and clergy were not anxious to be taxed; courtiers resented any reduction of their pensions; tax-farmers feared the reforming minister; owners of industrial monopolies were frightened; the peasants misunderstood his intentions; and riots broke out. Everybody seemed to be relieved when, in 1776, Turgot was dismissed.
[Sidenote: Necker]
Turgot had been a theorist; his successor was a businessman. Jacques Necker was well known in Paris as a hard-headed Swiss banker, and Madame Necker's receptions were attended by the chief personages of the bourgeois society of Paris. During his five years in office (1776-1781) Necker applied business methods to the royal finances. He borrowed 400,000,000 francs from his banker friends, reformed the collection of taxes, reduced expenditures, and carefully audited the accounts. In 1781 he issued a report or "Account Rendered of the Financial Condition." The bankers were delighted; the secrets of the royal treasury were at last common property; [Footnote: The Compte Rendu, as it was called in France, was really not accurate; Necker, in order to secure credit for his financial administration, made matters appear better than they actually were.] and Necker was praised to the skies.
[Sidenote: Marie Antoinette]
While Necker's Parisian friends rejoiced, his enemies at court prepared his downfall. Now the most powerful enemy of Necker's reforms and economies was the queen, Marie Antoinette. She was an Austrian princess, the daughter of Maria Theresa, and in the eyes of the French people she always remained a hated foreigner—"the Austrian," they called her—the living symbol of the ruinous alliance between Habsburgs and Bourbons which had been arranged by a Madame de Pompadour and which had contributed to the disasters and disgrace of the Seven Years' War [Footnote: See above, pp. 358 ff]. While grave ministers of finance were puzzling their heads over the deficit, gay Marie Antoinette was buying new dresses and jewelry, making presents to her friends, giving private theatricals, attending horse-races and masked balls. The light- hearted girl-queen had little serious interest in politics, but when her friends complained of Necker's miserliness, she at once demanded his dismissal.
Her demand was granted, for the kind-hearted, well-intentioned Louis XVI could not bear to deprive his pretty, irresponsible Marie Antoinette and her charming friends,—gallant nobles of France,—of their pleasures. Their pleasures were very costly; and fresh loans could be secured by the obsequious new finance-minister, Calonne, only at high rates of interest.
From the standpoint of France, the greatest folly of Louis XVI's reign was the ruinous intervention in the War of American Independence (1778- 1783). The United States became free; Great Britain was humbled; Frenchmen proved that their valor was equal to their chivalry; but when the impulsive Marquis de Lafayette returned from assisting the Americans to win their liberty, he found a ruined France. The treasury was on the verge of collapse. From the conclusion of the war in 1783 to the outbreak of the French Revolution in 1789, every possible financial expedient was tried—in vain.
[Sidenote: The Problem of Taxation]
To tax the so-called privileged classes—the clergy and the nobles— might have helped; and successive finance ministers so counseled the king. But it was absolutely against the spirit of the "old régime." What was the good of being a clergyman or a noble, if one had no privileges and was obliged to pay taxes like the rest? To tax all alike would be in itself a revolution, and the tottering divine-right monarchy sought reform, not revolution.
[Sidenote: The Assembly of Notables, 1787]
Yet in 1786 the interest-bearing debt had mounted to $600,000,000, the government was running in debt at least $25,000,000 a year, and the treasury-officials were experiencing the utmost difficulty in negotiating new loans. Something had to be done. As a last resort, the king convened (1787) an Assembly of Notables—145 of the chief nobles, bishops, and magistrates—in the vain hope that they would consent to the taxation of the privileged and unprivileged alike. The Notables were not so self-sacrificing, however, and contented themselves with abolishing compulsory labor on the roads, voting to have provincial assemblies established, and demanding the dismissal of Calonne, the minister of finance. The question of taxation, they said, should be referred to the Estates-General. All this helped the treasury in no material way.
[Sidenote: Convocation of the Estates-General]
A new minister of finance, who succeeded Calonne,—Archbishop Loménie de Brienne,—politely thanked the Notables and sent them home. He made so many fine promises that hope temporarily revived, and a new loan was raised. But the Parlement of Paris, which together with the other Parlements had been restored early in the reign of Louis XVI, soon saw through the artifices of the suave minister, and positively refused to register further loans or taxes. Encouraged by popular approval, the Parlement went on to draw up a declaration of rights, and to assert that subsidies could constitutionally be granted only by the nation's representatives—the ancient Estates-General. This sounded to the government like revolution, and the Parlements were again abolished. The abolition of the Parlements raised a great cry of indignation; excited crowds assembled in Paris and other cities; and the soldiers refused to arrest the judges. Here was real revolution, and Louis XVI, frightened and anxious, yielded to the popular demand for the Estates- General.
In spite of the fact that every one talked so glibly about the Estates- General and of the great things that body would do, few knew just what the Estates-General was. Most people had heard that once upon a time France had had a representative body of clergy, nobility, and commoners, somewhat like the British Parliament. But no such assembly had been convoked for almost two centuries, and only scholars and lawyers knew what the old Estates-General had been. Nevertheless, it was believed that nothing else could save France from ruin; and in August, 1788, Louis XVI, after consulting the learned men, issued a summons for the election of the Estates-General, to meet in May of the following year.
[Sidenote: Failure of Absolutism in France]
The convocation of the Estates-General was the death-warrant of divine- right monarchy in France. It meant that absolutism had failed. The king was bankrupt. No half-way reforms or pitiful economies would do now. The Revolution was at hand.