With M. de Choiseul disappeared the sturdiest prop of the Parliaments.  In vain had the king ordered the magistrates to resume their functions and administer justice.  “There is nothing left for your Parliament,” replied the premier president, “but to perish with the laws, since the fate of the magistrates should go with that of the state.”  Madame Dubarry, on a hint from her able advisers, had caused to be placed in her apartments a fine portrait of Charles I. by Van Dyck.  “France,” she was always reiterating to the king with vulgar familiarity, “France, thy Parliament will cut off thy head too!”

[Illustration:  “France, thy Parliament will cut off thy Head too!”—­249]

A piece of ignorant confusion, due even more to analogy of name than to the generous but vain efforts often attempted by the French magistracy in favor of sound doctrines of government.  The Parliament of Paris fell sitting upon curule chairs, like the old senators of Rome during the invasion of the Gauls; the political spirit, the collected and combative ardor, the indomitable resolution of the English Parliament, freely elected representatives of a free people, were unknown to the French magistracy.  Despite the courage and moral, elevation it had so often shown, its strength had been wasted in a constantly useless strife; it had withstood Richelieu and Mazarin; already reduced to submission by Cardinal Fleury, it was about to fall beneath the equally bold and skilful blows of Chancellor Maupeou.  Notwithstanding the little natural liking and the usual distrust he felt for Parliaments, the king still hesitated.  Madame Dubarry managed to inspire him with fears for his person; and he yielded.

During the night between the 19th and 20th of January, 1771, musketeers knocked at the doors of all the magistrates; they were awakened in the king’s name, at the same time being ordered to say whether they would consent to resume their service.  No equivocation possible!  No margin for those developments of their ideas which are so dear to parliamentary minds!  It was a matter of signing yes or no.  Surprised in their slumbers, but still firm in their resolution of resistance, the majority of the magistrates signed no.  They were immediately sent into banishment; their offices were confiscated.  Those members of the Parliament from whom weakness or astonishment had surprised a yes retracted as soon as they were assembled, and underwent the same fate as their colleagues.  On the 23d of January, members delegated by the grand council, charged with the provisional administration of justice, were installed in the Palace by the chancellor himself.  The registrar-in-chief, the ushers, the attorneys, declined or eluded the exercise of their functions; the advocates did not come forward to plead.  The Court of Aids, headed by Lamoignon de Malesherbes, protested against the attack made on the great bodies of the state.  “Ask the nation themselves, sir,” said the president,