Campbell P. Power and Politics in Old Regime France, 1720-1745

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ended up dashing all the hopes that had been raised…It is easy to understand that

the men and corps threatened by these reforms stopped at nothing to make them

impossible, that these legions of ambitious men who competed for ministries,

should have seized on this vast terrain for their great struggles’.

The socio-political system of government, as revealed for the 1720s and 1730s—

a period that ought to have given different conclusions if the reign of Louis XIV had

witnessed real changes—displays similar characterisics to other periods. The socio-

political system of the baroque state therefore remained remarkably constant in its

techniques over two centuries. It also tended to give rise to a certain pattern of

political contest or ‘crisis’ over the same period.

One of my prime concerns has

been to reveal these recurring elements of crisis by means of a very detailed

reconstruction of events on a daily basis.

The close study of 1730–2, and Swann’s evidence of the genesis of the crisis of

1770–1, reveals that political crisis in the ancien régime was not principally ‘about’

constitutional ideology; in fact, it was very little about it, in the conventional sense

of competing political theories. Parlementaire crises were the product not of a

single ideological or constitutional stance, nor of a single institutional position,

but of a conjunction of several elements frequently occurring in this socio-political

regime. In 1730–2, first and foremost was particularist resistance that was leading

the parlement into a challenge to the royal right to legislate as it pleased. In order

better to justify its claims, the parlement appealed to long-standing ideas on the

limitations of the royal prerogative. However, although the activity of the

parlement should not be seen as having been motivated by a constitutional

theory, constitutional pronouncements could be the result of its resistance.

Each

side searched for plausible rhetorical positions to buttress its stance. This was

usually fairly easy to do. The corpus of ideas which regulated the working of the

French state was ill-defined and the subject of perpetual disagreement.

If the

royal government found it convenient to emphasise the divine origin of the King’s

power and Roman concepts of sovereignty in the interests of practical legislative

independence, opposition to policy or legislation could emphasise the royal duties

to subjects and the need to respect forms and precedent. This last issue was

capable of sustaining many a debate because, in the absence of clearly defined

limits to the rights of the various bodies in the state, including the crown, there

was a general recourse to precedent. Although everyone therefore accepted the

status of precedent, those to which parties to a dispute appealed either lent

themselves to conflicting interpretations, or different precedents were found

supporting each side.

In this situation any dispute which led to a challenge to royal authority was

always dangerous for the monarchy, because it was well aware that, in spite of its

far-reaching theories, its power to enforce its will was still weak. Indeed, its own

very wide theoretical claims had been developed with the aim of concealing and

eventually doing away with this very weakness. Fortunately, usually neither party

was willing to push-its arguments to the limit during a crisis, for different but

equally compelling reasons. On the one hand, those bodies which resorted to

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theoretical arguments—the parlements, the estates or the ‘grands’ as the case might

be—all realised that ultimately they owed their office, jurisdiction or status either to

an act of the sovereign will or to royal recognition. They therefore depended on the

position of the King for their own legitimacy, and so ultimately knew that they

would probably have to capitulate. On the other hand, the monarch could not

afford to appear arbitrary in the eyes of his subjects, although the problems which

he had to resolve often forced him into a position of dubious legality.

Such a situation occurred in 1730–2. There was an element of bluff in the

policies of both the crown and the parlement in 1732. The magistrates hoped that

their resignations would not be accepted, and the crown hoped that it would not be

forced to abolish or remodel the parlement. As usual, the ministry tried to avoid a

resort to force. A subtle and preferably covert game of bluff, negotiation and

compromise was played. The upshot was typical of confrontation during the ancien

régime: there was a negotiated compromise in which the crown preserved the

appearance of absolute authority and the institutions secured concessions. Other

crises, however, particularly those of the 1750s and 1760s, if badly managed, could

lead to a widening circle of discussion on the topic of those veiled mysteries of state

that were uncovered by constitutional debate. Precisely because France had no

agreed constitution, constitutional discussion was dangerous.

Apart from the danger of an appeal to ‘constitutional’ rhetoric that was

inherent in even minor disputes, the analysis in Part 2 reveals the possibilities of

manipulation of institutions by interested or disaffected groups. Whereas this

study had disclosed the importance of Jansenists in several disputes, other studies

of the parlements have shown the importance of court factions with clients among

the magistrates.

The frequency with which such allegations were made against

ministers by their contemporaries suggests that this not only was a common

vision of politics but also reflected a recurring situation.

In this respect the

evidence of Plainmont and the police reports in 1737 are useful examples of such

assumptions. A recent study of the provincial parlements during the Fronde

contains a good deal of evidence to suggest that the loyalty or disloyalty of the

magistrates to Mazarin’s ministry was closely connected to their relations with the

provincial governor, who sometimes could use his clients in the courts to

influence decisions.

He himself would have been involved in factional conflict at

court and his interests there would often dictate the degree of zeal with which he

tried to control his province.

In such a political system, once a conflict had begun it became increasingly

difficult to prevent its escalation almost to a point of no return. From 1730 to 1732

a sort of internal momentum to the events can be detected. A statement by one

party led to a counter-statement, rather than to a dialogue.

This was because the

ministry could not be seen to negotiate: first, negotiations would detract from the

royal claims to absolute sovereignty and second, in a society where status was of

vital importance, if the crown stooped to open bargaining it effectively enhanced

the prestige of the other party—for ever. The bureaucratic or administrative

methods therefore served often to exacerbate the affair and to lead to the

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crystallisation of two contrasting points of view. Even if there was middle ground

it could not be exploited openly. The series of formal pronouncements thus

created a situation in which the honour of each party was at stake and this in turn

impelled both of them to attempt to achieve a more complete victory. A perfect

example of this situation would be the crisis which led to the abolition of the

parlements in 1771.

Within the courts, techniques of control existed too. The First President was a

King’s man whose job it was to manage the law courts while leading them as well.

On occasions he would have to take the side of the discontented in order to have a

hope of holding his corporation together and moderating its claims. It was a

supremely difficult job.

The possibility of pensions and preferment to a better post

could be held out to magistrates. Given the mixture of corporate loyalties, still-

powerful notions of honour, and always the desire for more prestige, advancement

and graces, such bribes would sometimes work—and sometimes not, depending

upon the individual. Nevertheless, it was virtually axiomatic in the ancien régime that

everyone in opposition had a price, although religious conviction and classical

notions of virtue could create isolated exceptions to this rule. If not, blackmail or

intimidation would be used—and that was common enough, be it threats, exiles or

imprisonment.

As a means of resolving conflicts or preventing them from taking on substance,

the ministry would normally resort to more informal methods. For example, in

1732, and more successfully from 1733 to 1743, the gens du roi, whose official role

was as royal prosecutors, actually strove to dampen the ardour of the chambers.

The avocat general Gilbert de Voisins even went so far as to allow Fleury to modify

his speeches;

although the official function of the procureur général was that of

solicitor-general, Joly de Fleury was chiefly responsible for the negotiations which

took place with the magistrates during their exile. The First President, until he lost

the respect of his colleagues, was in close contact with the ministers and made

valiant attempts to tone down the demands of the courts; later, he sought on several

occasions to negotiate with the ministry. A prestigious individual might make

discreet approaches in order to act as a mediator, like the maréchal-duc de Villars in

1732, the archbishop of Toulouse at the estates of Languedoc in 1750, or the due de

Montmorency-Luxembourg in 1787.

Pomp and circumstance would be exploited

in an attempt to enhance royal authority, as when a lit de justice was held, or when

deputies of the parlement were called to a royal audience, or in the permanent right

of governors to sit beneath a canopy. The ministry, the governor or the intendant

would, like Chauvelin in 1732 or Richelieu in 1740, make use of a network of

clients to constitute a pro-ministerial party to counter-balance the activities of other

factions.

For this, the ability of the minister to secure the benefits of patronage for

his clients was crucial. If he failed to do so he would be unable to fulfil his duty and

would himself suffer loss of prestige and reverses in factional conflicts. All of these

techniques of political management—none of which was bureaucratic in structure—

were liable to periodic failure.

The crisis of the early 1730s was especially characteristic of crown-parlement

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relations, but we have seen the importance attached to managing the periodic

Assemblies of Clergy, while several studies of provincial estates provide

considerable evidence of similar techniques at work in the provinces. In the

provincial estates such conflicts were always possible if less frequent. Far too little

work has been done on the role of governors and intendants in managing the pays

d’états during the eighteenth century, with the exception of Brittany.

A study of the

governance of Burgundy, the Richelieu papers on Languedoc, Du Bouetziez de

Kerouguen’s study of the Breton estates of 1736, together with the considerable

documentation among the records of the Secretary of State for foreign affairs (with

several provinces to manage) all confirm that careful management was still regarded

as essential.

The main difference between those disputes involving the parlements

and those involving the estates is that whereas the former tended to base their

resistance on their established jurisdiction, the latter would appeal to the charters

and privileges of the locality.

What then was the status or role of constitutional ideology? In the light of an

empirical study of politics, it appears diminished: now less of a motivating issue in

itself and more of rhetorical strategy covering traditional or factional opposition.

Two cases serve to illustrate the essential point. The evidence of formal records

from the Paris parlement in the 1730s, when the courts were being manipulated

on jurisdictional grounds by the parti janséniste, and from the Assembly of Notables

in 1787, when intrigue was partly instrumental in its failure, both give the

impression that the issues were primarily legal and constitutional. Although there

are some indications that all was not as it seems, it is only by going behind the

scenes with the aid of informal records, as Van Kley has also partly done for the

1750s on the expulsion of the Jesuits, that the situation is clearly revealed.

The

formal language actually conceals the operation of partis or factions who

expressed their opposition through a legalist discourse suited to the forum in

which it was to be employed. Legal and perhaps constitutional language had to be

used in courts of law. Thus an examination of new theories put forward in such

disputes still leaves unsolved the question of at what point the modern political

ideologies became the central issue.

In the light of an influential paper by Professor Mousnier in 1955, it is often

argued that France had a constitution during the ancien régime, ‘a customary

constitution, derived from the vital necessities of the body politic, in which the King

was the head and the subjects the members. This constitution was beyond the royal

will’.

If there was a constitution then constitutional conflict must have been a

possibility. But not all historians agree with the school of juristic historians who

have sought to identify an ‘unwritten constitution’ in France. The efforts of such

historians depend upon an arguable historical method, that of putting together all

the statements of the various jurists, theorists, chancellors and magistrates over a

long period and then calling attention to areas where they seem to agree. They

deduce the existence of a vague monarchical constitution with wide areas of

disagreement. Their method begs the question: it assumes that because there are

constitutional arguments there must be a constitution. The study of political

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practice shows that this is incorrect and it will be found that the monarchy never

explicitly accepted even the existence of fundamental laws with the exception of the

Salic law. There was not an unwritten constitution but only the recurring statement

of opposing points of view, and no constitution. That is why the ministry had to

avoid situations that would give rise to constitutional claims and why such

arguments were potentially so dangerous. It is precisely because there was no

constitution that precedent, privilege and liberties were so important. Historians

should take seriously the idea that the disputes were often about the extent of the

royal prerogative to affect rights and jurisdiction.

The baroque state was a socio-political system in which the main concerns were

for vested interests, social position, corporate, local or provincial privileges, and in

which issues of jurisdiction tended to be the mainsprings of conflict and opposition.

Offended honour, the impetuosity of youth, familial, individual and corporate

ambitions, all came into play to exacerbate a difficult situation. Against this stood

the monarchy, whose instruments were ministers, governors and intendants, who

were themselves the products of the same political culture, and who often did not

succeed in playing their new role to the exclusion of other interests. Thus the

ministers were never impartial and their proceedings reflected their sometimes

divided loyalties and personal ambitions. Matters often got worse before they got

better. Nevertheless, this sort of confrontation and crisis was a normal aspect of that

political culture. Perhaps it reflected the absence of formal mechanisms through

which demands could be ‘legitimately’ negotiated. Confrontation, crisis and

compromise was part of the way the political culture worked—in this sense at least,

much of politics was the politics of contestation.

During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries failures of the political system

were particularly frequent. Looking beyond the specifics of each case, several

more general reasons for this can be found. The most usual was that the royal

government overstepped the bounds of what was considered tolerable by the

groups or institutions—in other words it went beyond what was considered its

legitimate sphere of activity. This could be because of a change of foreign policy,

the imposition of heavy taxes, the extraction of forced loans or any of those

financial expedients to which the monarchy resorted during long periods of war.

The crises manifested themselves as civil wars, provincial opposition or urban

revolts, and parlementaire crises. Usually, the royal policies could be stigmatised

by the opposition as ‘ministerial despotism’ and gave rise to the particularist

resistance of the type which has already been described. The dire financial straits

of the monarchy often led it to undermine its own system. There finally came a

point during the 1640s when the office-holders refused to accept the tactic of

divide and rule based on the paulette, and the weight of forced loans and taxes

overcame the natural reluctance of venal office-holders, who were dependent on

the crown for their posts, to rebel. Pressure of administrative change and taxation

even overcame the loyalty of the nobility, which was the class most dependent

upon the monarchy to defend the social hierarchy—and upon whom the

monarchy depended.

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After the Fronde, as Hamscher, Mettam and Beik have shown, the monarchy

was acutely aware of the dangers and of the opposing forces. The exercise of royal

power continued to leave a large place to informal practices, placing increased

emphasis on bluff and propaganda developed behind a façade of bureaucratic

power. In the eighteenth century, when a serious crisis developed it was often

because some or several of these techniques had proved inadequate. A conflict

would tend to become more serious as each technique of management ceased to be

effective, leading to an increased reliance on the formal system. As has been shown,

in the political culture of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the formal

system led only to increased tension. The contrast between the highly efficacious

action taken in 1737 by the First President Le Peletier and the failure of his

predecessor Portail in 1731 is instructive here.

Certain features of the institutional structure of the regime indicate that the

monarchy was aware of the problems inherent in the system and had therefore

developed this variety of techniques deliberately. Most of these were designed not to

resolve crises but to prevent them from occurring in the first place by careful

management. The memoir by d’Argenson in which he suggests an increase in the

weight of patronage bestowed upon the grand’chambre shows that he was entirely

aware of its importance in preventing the outbreak of disputes—informal techniques

were actually built into the socio-political structure of the regime.

If monarchical culture was fairly well adapted to the management of interests, it

had great difficulty coping with ideology—whether in the guise of the religious

dimension to opposition in the sixteenth century (and later with Jansenism), or as

the parlementary claims to discern fundamental laws and an ancient constitution,

or the classical republican critique of politics that crystallised into a new patriote

ideology. During the eighteenth century the wider dissemination of a classical

republican Utopian alternative to the regime meant that in the event of a political

collapse the result was less likely to be the reconstruction of the existing regime (as

after the Fronde) and more likely to be an attempt at its replacement with the

Utopian vision—as happened in 1792–3.

Nor could the regime ever cope satisfactorily with internal problems on a large

scale. In particular, the degree of adaption in the realm of royal finances required by

the changing pattern of warfare continually raised problems beyond its capacity.

On the one hand, with its noble military ethic, warrior traditions and European role

the monarchy could not reduce its foreign commitments to the level that would

match its existing resources.

On the other hand, given the techniques and

resources available, any root and branch reform would simply produce a crisis on a

scale that was unmanageable. Particularly to be feared was any policy that would

alienate several groups at once.

This should not be taken to mean that reform was impossible, only that it was

bound to provoke a crisis—with all its dangers of escalation. It does not even mean

that the only viable alternative was an attempt, such as was finally made, to

reorganise fiscality along new lines. Less controversial options could have been

explored, and indeed were explored, and Calonne only proposed the radical option

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in 1786 when his other solutions were blocked, and probably at a time when he

should already have been dismissed. It would be also over-determinist to suggest

that the crisis that did ensue could not have been managed, and that some

compromise could not have been arrived at between the various elites and the

ministry In order to ask the right questions about the end of the regime historians

must not fall into the error of assuming that what happened had to be. Hardly

anyone before 1787 seriously thought that the existence of the regime was at stake,

and all actions were predicated on this sense of security.

That is why traditional

roles were played out to the end. Yet the participants were deluding themselves: the

balance was always precarious.

The baroque state was essentially weak, a system in tension, in which an

equilibrium was preserved through deft intervention by the King’s men. It was

based on the management of interests, and in so far as these had manifested

themselves in the past the monarchy had navigated its way through a series of

shoals with moderate success. One of the regime’s problems stemmed from the fact

that it had grown up over a long period in an ad hoc fashion. It had not usually

crushed opposition, it had compromised with it, respected it and circumvented it.

This approach is not the hallmark of an inherently strong regime.

It is perhaps a mistake to regard the ancien régime as a solid structure whose collapse

is surprising. The regime was very good at dealing with the old problems on a small

scale; indeed its success during the seventeenth century in gathering the finance for a

long series of wars without complete governmental collapse (as happened in Britain)

can be cited on this point. However, its survival then was at the price of compromise,

and the financial story shows that the system continued to exhibit serious inherent

weaknesses. In the absence of an agreed constitution setting limits to the powers of

specific bodies, the other issues over which conflict typically occurred (usually

questions of rival jurisdictions or corporate interests) could easily lead to disputes

which would escalate into confrontation, precisely because one statement would lead

to a counter-statement, honour would become involved, allies would be drawn in and

the stakes would be raised. Stalemate was often reached, only to be broken by

negotiations behind the scenes. Each side knew the rules and played brinkmanship,

such that intransigence became part of the rituals of the political culture. This failing

was only truly dangerous when the influence of ideology stiffened the resistance of

government critics, or when the issues were themselves of paramount importance for

the monarchy. Then crisis could escalate into collapse.

THE CRISIS OF THE 1780s

The crisis of the 1780s is consistent with the theory of a crisis of the baroque state

and is characterised by many of its traditional features. In 1743 Richer d’Aube

observed that the political system was like a building on the brink of collapse:

‘Those capable of reflection, well informed, and sensible, unanimously agreed that

France resembled a fine building, solidly built, whose foundations had long been

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undermined, giving rise to fears for the collapse of the whole edifice’.

D’Argenson

made a similar analysis in the 1750s, as did Mably.50 The conditions for this

collapse persisted during most of the 1750s, and from the late 1760s onwards. The

malaise was deeply rooted in the socio-political structures of the regime. Athough

several ministers attempted piecemeal reform after this, no programme of reform

was sustained between the 1750s and the 1780s. The socio-political system

remained in the mould of the 1730s, and not substantially different in structure and

practice from the reign of Louis XIV.

It is my contention that a fuller comprehension of the traditional forms and

structures of political life is extremely important for an understanding of the

political crisis in the 1780s. The courtly intrigue, the appeals to public opinion, the

instability in the ministries and the uncontrolled drift into deeper crisis were all

aspects of the long-term structures of politics, many of which can be traced back to

the seventeenth century. A closer examination of the last years of the regime would

therefore be required to test this model of the baroque state in tension, emphasising

as it does structures and continuities, rather than the contingency of events. Such a

study should help us to understand more precisely at what point the newer aspects

in the political culture became a critical element in the situation. An analysis of the

socio-political conflicts of these years in the light of the system can therefore throw

light on the question of whether collapse was inevitable, and what elements of the

conflicts were new in character. This is not the place for a detailed analysis of the

crisis but a briefer survey is appropriate. By drawing out the implications of earlier

chapters and posing a series of different questions, I hope to highlight unanswered

questions and refocus the debate. My argument is that the most significant elements

of the crisis that led to the collapse of the regime were surprisingly traditional, and

that well-rehearsed roles were played out one last time—tragically with no sense of

impending doom.

The relationship between the political culture of the ancien régime and the

origins of the Revolution is doubtless destined to remain highly problematic.

From within a historical tradition that looks back from the problem of the

Revolution to answer questions raised by it, rather than forward from the

problems of the seventeenth century, the emphasis has been laid heavily on the

new or progressive elements, be they economic, social or intellectual. Much

recent work tends in this direction. For most historians, the term ancien régime still

refers to the social and political culture of France during the last few decades of

the French monarchy before 1789, rather than to the continuities of the baroque

state. Although most would agree that the regime in 1789 then contained many

historic elements dating from much earlier, relatively few scholars of the

Revolution approach it from the perspective of its long-term structures. To fit in

with the obvious originality of the Revolution, the late ancien régime is therefore

viewed as a period of increasingly rapid change, in society, culture and politics—in

fact, as a period of the creation of a new political culture. The consequences of

these changes are taken to be not only the particular forms that ‘the Revolution’

took after 1789, but also the very outbreak of Revolution after the crises of the

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mid-1780s. The political crisis of the ancien régime, misleadingly called a ‘pre-

revolution’, is thus confused with the origins of the revolutionary regime and

regarded as the culmination of new trends that put too much stress on the

antiquated structures of the system.

Clearly the intervention of the bourgeoisie in several provinces in the summer of

1788 and early 1789 was indeed a consequence of the growth in numbers and self-

awareness in this group. But the political crisis at the centre from 1785 to 1788 is

harder to explain. For a long time it was regarded as the consequence of an

aristocratic attempt to regain the political power it had lost in the seventeenth

century. This ‘aristocratic reaction’ was led by the magistrates of the Paris

parlement, who had intermarried with the high nobility and taken the ideological

lead against the crown.

Other historians within the same tradition emphasised the

reforming policies of the monarchy and portrayed the noble reaction as a defensive

movement in favour of existing social and fiscal privileges. Both views seemed to

imply that what happened in the 1780s reflected changed circumstances and would

not have occurred earlier, and drew heavily on the evidence of the parlementaire

opposition. More recently, Skocpol has singled out ‘modernisation’ as the crucial

stress laid upon the antiquated system;

while lately the rise of consumerism has

been mooted as highly significant.

As we have seen, Baker has pointed to a new

politics of contestation from the 1750s.

Furet believes that the critical awareness of

those contradictions leading inevitably to Revolution is to be located in the ministry

of Turgot.

Indeed, there is a growing assumption that the Maupeou coup of 1771

inaugurated a new political culture. It confirmed for many ‘citizens’ that the French

monarchy was a despotism, and gave rise to a pamphlet war between the parti

ministériel and the parti patriote that was the literary manifestation of the new politics

of contestation. The new ideologies of ‘parlementary constitutionalism’ and

patriotism made their presence strongly felt then, setting the tone for a pre-

revolutionary politics of contestation.

In the light of this argument, the pamphlet

literature written by numerous ‘patriotic’ critics is accorded privileged status as a

key to understanding the collapse of the regime in 1787–9. However, although a

certain section of the public was undoubtedly influenced by the dissemination of

such ideologies, their impact upon the political situation has not been closely

established before 1788.

The journalistic evidence and pamphlet literature is

important, but perhaps it is of more use in understanding the mood and ethic of

regeneration in 1789 than in explaining how the monarchy lost control by the

summer of 1788. Conversely, the evidence generated by the courtly politics that

brought about a collapse from within is sometimes overlooked.

The history of the crises of the 1780s suggests that the traditional political

structures, practices and beliefs of the ancien régime, and not those elements

associated with a new political culture, were chiefly responsible for its collapse.

Impressively detailed studies by Egret, Doyle, Stone, Hardman and Fitzsimmons all

provide evidence for this argument.

Although the idea of public opinion was

exploited by factions at court to legitimise their position, and this is particularly true

of Necker, there is little evidence that public opinion was the driving force behind the

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opposition to Calonne and Brienne. Although some commentators noted the rise in

public awareness, until the autumn of 1788 ministerial and court politics continued

to display remarkable blindness to the state of the nation. The transition from one

form of politics to another came late in the year, and it came quite suddenly. As

Mallet du Pan wrote, in January 1789:

Public discussion has changed its aspect. It no longer troubles itself except

secondarily with the king, with despotism, or with the constitution: it has

become a war between the third estate and the two other classes, against

whom the court has stirred up the towns. The parlement was an idol six

months back; now every one detests and insults it: d’Eprémesnil, the avenger

of the nation, the Brutus of France, is vilified everywhere. That is what in

France is called the noble empire of opinion.

This quotation is testimony to the sudden shift in the political situation that created a

radical discontinuity in the terms of the debate. By then it was clear to many that the

calling of the Estates General meant that the process of bargaining over taxation

would lead to demands for the redress of grievances and permanent controls over the

executive. In short, as had happened elsewhere in the past, some form of constitution

was inevitable. A struggle had begun to determine whether it would be more or less

favourable to the Third Estate. Only at this point did public opinion have a significant,

that is positive, contribution to make, and it was less to the collapse of the regime than

to the discussion of the basis of what was soon to be the new regime.

Throughout the crucial years 1785–8, poor ministerial management and the

usual process of escalation were features of relations between the ministry and other

institutions. The rhetorical processes of bluff led to the stakes being raised, with

royal authority becoming perhaps inadvertently committed against corporate

honour and provincial privilege. A crisis that began as a series of interlocking

disputes at the centre spread to the periphery. The fine balance of power within the

regime, a balance that was normally preserved by immobilism and deft

management, suddenly came to an end and the apparently strong edifice collapsed

like a house of cards.

The long-term inherent problems within the socio-political system were therefore

not merely the precipitants of a revolutionary crisis. It was these very problems, in

combination with failures of political management, that led to the collapse of the

regime’s political authority. Certainly, the new ideologies, that new tribunal of

public opinion, the politicisation through the melodramatic causes célèbres, the

litigation between trades associations and the newspaper press, all played a vital role

in creating the desire for a new political culture when the extent of this collapse

became apparent. Moreover, studies of these processes are vitally important,

because the new shape of politics and culture in the Revolution cannot be

understood apart from them.

But it is helpful to recognise that two almost distinct

processes were at work: the collapse of the ancien régime, followed by the rebuilding of

a new political culture amidst the ruins of the old edifice.