atters to be debated separately was, in the existing conditions
of antagonism, the end of free government. And indeed the position
occupied by the king was untenable, because the division of orders
into three Houses had already come to an end. For on Monday the 22nd,
in the Church of St. Lewis, 149 ecclesiastical deputies, the
Archbishops of Bordeaux and Vienne at their head, had joined the
Commons. It was a step which they were legally authorised and
competent to take, and the Revolution now had a majority not only of
individual votes, but of orders. It was a forlorn hope, therefore, to
separate them by compulsion.

Lewis XVI. ended by declaring that he was determined to accomplish the
happiness of his people, and that if the deputies refused to
co-operate he would accomplish it alone; and he charged them to
withdraw. The Commons were in their own House, and, with the majority
of the clergy, they resumed their seats, uncertain of the future.
Their uncertainty was all at once auspiciously relieved. Dreux Breze,
the master of ceremonies, reappeared, and as he brought a message from
the king he wore his plumed hat upon his head. With clamorous outcries
he was told to uncover, and he uttered a reply so insolent that his
son, describing the scene in public after many years, declined to
repeat his words. Therefore, when he asked whether they had heard the
king's order to depart, he received a memorable lesson. Mirabeau
exclaimed, "Yes, but if we are to be expelled, we shall yield only to
force." Breze answered, correctly, that he did not recognise Mirabeau
as the organ of the Assembly, and he turned to the president. But
Bailly rose above Mirabeau, and said, "The nation is assembled here,
and receives no orders." At these words the master of ceremonies, as
if suddenly aware of the presence of majesty, retired, walking
backwards to the door. It was at that moment that the old order
changed and made place for the new. For Sieyes, who possessed the good
gift of putting a keen edge to his thoughts, who had begun his career
in Parliament ten days before by saying, "It is time to cut the
cables," now spoke, and with superb simplicity thus defined the
position: "What you were yesterday you are now. Let us pass to the
order of the day." In this way the monarchy, as a force distinct from
a form, was not assailed, or abolished, or condemned, but passed over.
Assault, abolition, condemnation were to follow, and already there
were pene