ating, in their insidious conciliatory way,
the same proposal. Here, then, is a complexity: what will wise Commons
say to this?

Warily, inertly, the wise Commons, considering that they are, if not a
French Third Estate, at least an Aggregate of individuals pretending to
some title of that kind, determine, after talking on it five days, to
name such a Commission,--though, as it were, with proviso not to be
convinced: a sixth day is taken up in naming it; a seventh and an eighth
day in getting the forms of meeting, place, hour and the like, settled:
so that it is not till the evening of the 23rd of May that Noblesse
Commission first meets Commons Commission, Clergy acting as
Conciliators; and begins the impossible task of convincing it. One other
meeting, on the 25th, will suffice: the Commons are inconvincible, the
Noblesse and Clergy irrefragably convincing; the Commissions retire;
each Order persisting in its first pretensions. (Reported Debates, 6th
May to 1st June, 1789 in Histoire Parlementaire, i. 379-422.)

Thus have three weeks passed. For three weeks, the Third-Estate
Carroccio, with far-seen Gonfalon, has stood stockstill, flouting the
wind; waiting what force would gather round it.

Fancy can conceive the feeling of the Court; and how counsel met
counsel, the loud-sounding inanity whirled in that distracted vortex,
where wisdom could not dwell. Your cunningly devised Taxing-Machine has
been got together; set up with incredible labour; and stands there, its
three pieces in contact; its two fly-wheels of Noblesse and Clergy,
its huge working-wheel of Tiers-Etat. The two fly-wheels whirl in the
softest manner; but, prodigious to look upon, the huge working-wheel
hangs motionless, refuses to stir! The cunningest engineers are at
fault. How will it work, when it does begin? Fearfully, my Friends;
and to many purposes; but to gather taxes, or grind court-meal, one may
apprehend, never. Could we but have continued gathering taxes by hand!
Messeigneurs d'Artois, Conti, Conde (named Court Triumvirate), they
of the anti-democratic Memoire au Roi, has not their foreboding proved
true? They may wave reproachfully their high heads; they may beat
their poor brains; but the cunningest engineers can do nothing. Necker
himself, were he even listened to, begins to look blue. The only thing
one sees advisable is to bring up soldiers. New regiments, two, and a
battalion of a third, have already reached Paris; others shall get