Estates-General: At Ease
1775 May 12, Versailles Palace.
I was a liberal arts major. In modern times, that meant pitying looks or worries about my future—a fringe choice even among the mainstream. But what about 1775?
"Archbishop Beaumont du Roc. Don't compromise so ambiguously. Are you perhaps an Arianist? Don't you grasp the Holy Trinity? If everything is part of the divine order, then order itself must be part of that order as well. Your words smack of nothing less than an assault on Scripture."
Circular sophistry. Once they engaged, refutation was impossible by design. Could these 18th-century power-mongers withstand my 21st-century attacks? Even if they did, what could they do about it? I'm the king.
"Duke of Orléans. You speak as if I have erred somehow. Aren't the nobility precisely those who most aggressively pursue the desire to 'live better than others'?"
As Archbishop Beaumont du Roc trembled in silence, I shifted my target, hurling a question at the Second Estate.
"Your Majesty, that's mere sophistry!"
One of them was stung.
"Indeed. And what is your name? I'm not seeking to punish you—I'm genuinely curious."
I pointed at the enraged noble, and his face twisted as if his head had cooled in an instant. He stepped forward to the center of the hall and spoke.
"I am Baron de Chantenay of the Vendée region. I apologize for my rudeness."
"I'm not punishing you. Explain why the 'desire to live better than others' is sophistry. If you can't, I shall have no choice but to charge you with lèse-majesté."
Lèse-majesté applied to non-commoners? That's a first for me!
A strange murmur rose from the Third Estate, but it was probably nothing.
Baron de Chantenay clenched his jaw so hard his teeth might shatter and pressed on.
"Your Majesty. Before the First, Second, and Third Estates, the throne itself derives its authority from God. Thus, the crown is sacred, answerable only to the divine, unbound by any human law. In utmost loyalty, I counsel you: the greatest beneficiary of the current estate system is you, Your Majesty! The king stands at the pinnacle of the sacred First, Second, and Third Estates! To assail the First and Second is to undermine your own foundation!"
Ah, the divine right of kings. Now I remembered. Wait—didn't that fall apart?
"Before I respond, I have a question. Do the First and Second Estates agree with Baron de Chantenay's words? If so, raise your hands."
Nearly all of them—save a tiny few—raised their hands.
So that's how it is.
"I am younger than you all, so I may lack understanding in some matters. But Baron, I must ask: you say the king answers only to God?"
"Yes. Thus, a predecessor declared, 'L'État, c'est moi'—I am the state."
"Then why do you not obey my lit de justice?"
"That is..."
Exactly as I thought.
"Our forebears decreed that even if vetoing a lit de justice, one must first enact it, then veto. If 'I am the state' and unbound by human law, should they not implement the decree—then propose bypasses or go underground? Yet you refuse outright. You claim to revere absolute monarchy, but dishonor the crown itself?"
This was the key.
"I ask you: when rain falls on your path, can you refuse it? Does wielding a veto against the rain make the clouds recall it? Can fallen droplets be sucked back into the sky? You dodge under shelter or raise your umbrella, but the rain falls regardless. Do you truly not comprehend why our forebears mandated enacting a lit de justice before veto?"
If I play this right, I can shatter them all.
"In truth, is this not proof that you dishonor the crown and divine will? Rejecting the sacred king's lit de justice, resisting it—is that not your vaunted 'free will'? Not just you, Baron de Chantenay. I put it to every First and Second Estate representative who raised a hand: why refuse to join the sacred royal tax reform?"
Most of the First and Second Estates seemed poised to retort, but swallowed their words upon realizing the contradictions.
"Comptroller-General Terray. Bring the list of nobles here who complied with the previous tax reform. Let us see how many embraced their 'free will'."
Terray's parchment bore a single name.
"Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, Count. Mirabeau is with the Third Estate. In effect, none of the nobility present at this Estates-General honors the sacred crown. Mirabeau, I grant you the right to critique my words. Will you speak?"
At my nomination, Mirabeau rose confidently.
"I believe Your Majesty's words are just!"
The moment Mirabeau sided with me, the Estates-General effectively became a roast of the First and Second Estates.
"You claim all is God's design, yet cling to your own sacred estate while scorning others' authority. Is this reactionary rot—endured for centuries—not why the Ancien Régime stands accused of contradiction?"
Ancien Régime? Old order? Why invoke the old regime now? Is he proclaiming a new one?
I'd let "Ancien Régime" slip. To them, the current system was still the regime—not yet "old."
"Then I ask once more—not just you, Baron de Chantenay, but any of the First or Second Estate: refute me if you can. Are corrupt clerics scorning divine authority, exploitative bureaucrats and nobles preying on the lowly—God's design? Or the realization of that 'desire to live better than others'? Speak."
With that, I slowly scanned the hall in silence.
The Third Estate gazed at me in excitement, awaiting a new regime's declaration. The Second Estate whispered furiously, arguing and shaking hands in a muddy debate. The First Estate's leader, Archbishop Beaumont du Roc, remained trapped in my circular logic, speechless.
"This will not do. We adjourn for the day. I trust tomorrow's tax discussions will progress."
*
May 12, 1775, near Versailles Palace tennis court, late afternoon.
"Magnificent, Count."
Mirabeau was the surprise beneficiary of this Estates-General.
"I merely did what was necessary."
He was the only participating noble who'd paid taxes—as one might expect.
"When do you think the new regime—the nouveau régime—will be declared?"
"Likely at the close of this Estates-General."
"I can hardly wait. What form will it take? Abolish the estates? Or compromise with honorary nobility?"
"Constitutional monarchy, naturally! His Majesty has reasons for branding the present order 'old'."
"Enough. I'd settle for equal taxation. The recent cuts gave some relief, but it's infuriating we alone bear the burden."
As they spun their visions of a new order, Mirabeau doused their fervor with a wry mutter.
"Heh, such grand dreams. Next you'll propose a consular republic."
At Mirabeau's cynicism, the Third Estate delegates sobered, faces falling. Even if Louis XVI showed reformist zeal, he wouldn't relinquish power voluntarily. They themselves—bourgeois, wealthy farmers, scholars—wouldn't surrender fortunes to the poor and destitute. Nor would the king yield his throne.
But one Third Estate delegate thought differently.
"No. His Majesty will ultimately return power to the people."
"Robespierre, isn't it? I've heard of your time at Louis le Grand. But managing hundreds of millions of livres isn't like tossing pocket change to a poor student. It's mere noblesse oblige."
Another delegate spoke.
"That's why I believe. No one else has ever seen my true worth and encouraged it—only His Majesty."
At Robespierre's fanatical devotion, the others empathized with his youthful fire.
"I felt that once. But it's a fever. Expectations breed disappointment. Louis XV enacted reforms via lit de justice too—then rescinded them. Robed nobles and reactionaries branded it tyranny. By the time we proved it benefited the people, Louis XV was a puppet. That betrayal, that emptiness—it all stemmed from hope. Power always dangles the carrot, letting us feel we've seized something, then strips our wealth and rights."
"Then tell me: if you could go back, what would you do?"
One delegate paused at Robespierre's question, then replied.
"Support reform. Optimism for the future."
"Then I shall offer my support and optimism in my own way. That is my answer."