CHAPTER XXVII
THE INTOLERANCE OF REVOLUTION
The ancient edifice of official glory and unofficial misery known as the Kingdom of France came crashing down on a memorable evening in the month of August of the year of grace 1789.
On that hot and sultry night, after a week of increasing emotional fury, the National Assembly worked itself into a veritable orgy of brotherly love. Until in a moment of intense excitement the privileged classes surrendered all those ancient rights and prerogatives which it had taken them three centuries to acquire and as plain citizens declared themselves in favor of those theoretical rights of man which henceforth would be the foundation-stone for all further attempts at popular self-government.
As far as France was concerned, this meant the end of the feudal system. An aristocracy which is actually composed of the “aristoi,” of the best of the most enterprising elements of society, which boldly assumes leadership and shapes the destinies of the common country, has a chance to survive. A nobility which voluntarily retires from active service and contents itself with ornamental clerical jobs in diverse departments of government is only fit to drink tea on Fifth Avenue or run restaurants on Second.
The old France therefore was dead.
Whether for better or for worse, I do not know.
But it was dead and with it there passed away that most outrageous form of an invisible government which the Church, ever since the days of Richelieu, had been able to impose upon the anointed descendants of Saint Louis.
Verily, now as never before, mankind was given a chance.
Of the enthusiasm which at that period filled the hearts and souls of all honest men and women, it is needless to speak.
The millennium was close at hand, yea, it had come.