The two superior bodies absolutely refused to sit in the same room with the commons.  They might under the same roof, but in the same room—­never.

There was an historic precedent for this refusal.  The three estates had always acted as three separate bodies.  So the demand in itself was an encroachment upon the ancient dignity of the two superior bodies, which they resented.  But they might better have yielded.  The Tiers Etat with dignity and firmness insisted that they should meet and vote together as one body, or they would constitute themselves a separate body, and act independently of the other two.  This was the Rubicon.  On one side compromise, and possible co-operation of the three legislative bodies; on the other, revolution, in charge of the people.

Aristocratic France was offered its last chance, and committed its last act of arrogance and folly.  The ultimatum was refused by the nobles and clergy.  And the Tiers Etat declared itself the National Assembly, in which was vested all the legislative authority of the kingdom.  The people had taken possession of the Government of France!

The predetermined destruction of the monarchy seems evident, when at the most critical point, and at the moment calling for the most careful retrenchment and reform, fate had placed Louis XV., acting like a madman in the excesses of his profligacy; and, at the next stage, while the last opportunity still existed by main force to drag the nation back, and hold it from going over the brink, there stood the most excellent, the kindest-hearted but weakest gentleman who ever wore the name of king!  When the distracted Louis gave the impotent order for the National Assembly to disperse, and for the three bodies to assemble and vote separately, according to ancient custom; and then when he gave still further proof of childish incompetency by telling the Tiers Etat they were “not to meddle with the privileges of the higher orders,” kingship had become a mockery.  It was a child telling the tornado not to come in that direction.

When the king’s herald read to the National Assembly this foolish message, ending with the formula, “You hear, gentlemen, the orders of the king,” Mirabeau sprang to his feet, saying, “Go, tell your master we are here by the will of the people, and will be only removed at the point of the bayonet,” the pitiful king then yielding to this defiance, even begging the nobles and deputies of the clergy to join the National Assembly—­a revolutionary assembly, which was holding its meetings in his own Palace of Versailles, and which was every day gravitating from its original lofty purpose; its rallying cry for justice and reform of abuses changing to “Down with the Aristocrats!” It was becoming alarming, so Louis ordered the body to disperse; and when soldiers stood at the door to prevent its assembling, it took possession of the queen’s tennis court, and there each member took a solemn oath not to dissolve until the object they sought had been secured.