The object for which "the Earth" had exhaled from its stratum the Cloud of Deputies in response to the Royal Edict, saying, "Ascend hither!" was the establishment of a Constitution. The instruction given to its deputies energetically expressed its demand for this, with the understanding that the new government was to be monarchical and hereditary. The constituents of the deputies were all agreed in desiring the regeneration of France; and the whole French nation claimed with energy the rights of the citizen, liberty, and property, and the free communication of thought. It insisted on being free; and "the genius of France," says Clermont-Tonnerre, "hurried, as it were, the march of the public mind; and had accumulated for it in a few hours the experience which could scarcely be expected from many centuries."

Clermont-Tonnerre’s "Genius of France," was John’s "Spirit of Life from God." It was this that "hurried on the march of the public mind," and gave it a certain amount of wisdom for the crisis beyond its experience of ages.

But the instability of the king, and the infatuation of the court and aristocracy, proved an obstacle quite insurmountable by a wise moral force, and precipitated events which threatened, and at length effected, their destruction. Had the estates of the kingdom been left to their own action, the result would probably have been in favor of the old abuses; but there were forces exterior to these orders, vigilantly observing the course of events, and ever ready to shape them into the direction it was considered they ought to go for the development of the public good. These forces were famine and the fury of the people worked by agents invisible and unknown. The parliaments, the nobility, the clergy, the court, all threatened with the same ruin, had united their interests, and acted in concert. They were all pervaded with consternation mingled with despair. Their policy was to have the people commit as much evil as possible, that what they called good might be brought about by the very excess of that evil. In promotion, therefore, of this "political pessimism," compounded of spite and perfidy, the aristocracy began from the time of the capture of the Bastile to co-operate with the most violent members of the popular party.

Under the influence of these antagonist forces, unexpected events would result to the astonishment and dismay of all parties. The agitation was general. A sudden terror had spread itself everywhere. On the night between July 14 and 15, Paris was to be attacked on seven points, and the National Assembly dissolved. The treachery of the court was revealed by its imprudence, and effectually defeated by the fury of the people, who stormed the Bastile, July 14, 1789, and caused the Assembly to triumph over its enemies.

But the reconciliation was only transitory. The court resumed its pride, and the people its distrust; and implacable hatred recommenced its course. Atrocious outrages were committed throughout the whole kingdom, which were rather increased than pacified by the spontaneous abolition of the feudal system, and the tithes without redemption. The king, who sanctioned this revolution, accepted the flattering but undeserved title of "the Restorer of French Liberty." His was a struggle of power against liberty; and every concession was a victory gained by the people, and one step nearer the precipice over which "the Tenth of the City" was doomed to fall.

The work upon which the National Assembly was now engaged was the New Constitution. "The nation wills, the king executes:" these were its simple elements, and they imagined that they wished for a monarchy, because they left a king as the executor of the national resolve. Real monarchy is the rule of one, to which limits are set by means of the national concurrence. There the will of the prince in reality does almost every thing. But the moment the nation can order what it pleases, without the king having the power to oppose it by a veto, the king is not more than a magistrate. It is then a republic with one consul instead of several. Such was the monarchy existing in men’s opinions; and they were republicans without being aware of it.

But events were too slow for the impatient populace; for while the court and the aristocracy were intriguing, and the National Assembly discussing, the people were crying for bread. The mob determined to go to Versailles, and call the king and Assembly to account for their hesitation to secure the welfare of the people. >From all quarters was heard the cry of "The king to Paris!" which the aristocracy proposed to prevent by carrying him off to Metz where, in a fortress, the court might order what it pleased. All were in commotion. Paris poured forth its thousands, and attacked the palace of the king, whose foreign mercenaries would have been massacred but for the interposition of Lafayette. With frightful howlings, the mob demanded the removal of the royal family to Paris. At length they were gratified, and the procession started. "I hope," says Lavallette, "such a scene will never be witnessed again!" It was the conveyance of the royal representatives of Charles IX, his Queen-Mother, and Louis XIV, the sanguinary murderers of the witnesses of Jesus, prisoners of a mob as ferocious as they, to the place of their future execution. "These madmen, dancing in the mire and covered with mud, surrounded the king’s coach. The foremost groups carried on long pikes the bloody heads of the life-guardsmen butchered in the morning. A group of women, ugly as crime itself, swarming like insects, and wearing grenadier’s hairy caps, went to and fro, howling barbarous songs. Several of these abandoned women, drunk with wine and fury, rode astride upon the cannon, celebrating by their abominable howlings all the crimes they had committed or witnessed. Others, near the king’s carriage were singing allegorical airs, and, by their gross gestures, applying the insulting allusions in them to the Queen. In the transports of their brutal joy, the women stopped the passers by, and yelled in their ears, while pointing to the royal carriage: ‘Courage, my friends; we shall have plenty of bread now that we have got the baker, the baker’s wife, and the baker’s boy.’ This scene lasted for eight hours before the royal family arrived at the Place de Greve. They alighted at the Hotel de Ville, their first resting-place during protracted misery, that terminated afterwards in a horrible death. Thus ended the memorable 6th of October, 1789."

The new constitution being finished, it was sworn to by all parties on the anniversary of the destruction of the Bastile, July 14, 1790. Having concluded its labors, the National Constituent Assembly was replaced by the Legislative Assembly. The members of this body were of opinion that enough had not yet been done. Their minds were incessantly recurring to the idea of a republic. The National Assembly had changed an absolute monarchical despotism into a constitutional and very limited monarchy, but the hot-headed republicans of the new legislature, who occupied the highest benches, and thence denominated The Mountain, were all-powerful in the clubs and among the populace, and were determined to be satisfied with nothing short of the abolition of monarchy as an expensive and useless pageant.

The policy of the Legislative Assembly was the curtailing of the prerogatives of Royalty. Its predecessor had already wrested from the king the privilege of pardoning criminals. It continued the work by decreeing that he should no longer be addressed by the titles Sire and Your Majesty; and, on August 11, 1792, they suspended him, and formed an Executive Council to exercise his constitutional functions; and, on August 13, imprisoned him and the rest of the royal family in the Temple.

The Legislative Assembly held its first sitting October 1, 1791. It passed 2,140 decrees relative to administration or legislation, and closed its labor without abolishing monarchy, September 21, 1792.

During the brief reign of this Assembly some very exciting events had transpired in the history of the King. He considered himself as a prisoner in the hands of his enemies; more especially since the failure of his attempt to establish himself and family at Montmady. He had fled with them in disguise from Paris; but was recaptured at Verennes, whence he was brought back by the populace with ignominy.

On June 20, 1792, the mob invaded his palace in great tumult and in arms to lay before him their remonstrances. They highly disapproved of his use of the veto, and demanded that he should sanction the decrees of the Legislative Assembly against the priests, and for the formation of a camp of 20,000 men, for the defence of Paris against foreign enemies. But the king, true to the catholic instincts of his blood-stained dynasty, was indisposed to endorse the decrees which expelled non-juring priests from France, and demanded a vigorous prosecution of hostilities against foreign powers, upon whose success against the revolutionary "earth" he looked for deliverance and restoration to his former despotic authority. He regarded the revolution as merely a transient popular movement that would soon be stopped by a few victories of the invaders. Neither he nor his Queen, Marie Antoinette, could be persuaded of the truth of Dumouriez’s words, that the movement was "an almost unanimous insurrection of a mighty nation against inveterate abuses, the flame of which was fanned by great factions." "Thus, by a kind of fatality," says Thiers -- yes, a fatality, apocalyptically registered, decreeing the fall of "the Tenth of the City" -- by this fatality "the supposed intentions of the palace excited the distrust and fury of the people, and the uproar of the people increased the anxiety and the imprudence of the palace. Despair therefore reigned within and without." Utter detestation of royalty moved the heart of the abyss. "You see me very sad," said the Queen to Dumouriez. "I dare not approach the palace window which looks into the garden. Yesterday evening I went to the window towards the court just to take a little air. A gunner of the guard addressed me in terms of vulgar abuse, adding, ‘How I should like to see your head on the point of my bayonet.’ In this horrid garden you see on one side a man mounted on a chair, reading aloud the most abominable calumnies against us; on the other, a military man or an abbe, dragged through one of the basins, overwhelmed with abuse, and beaten; whilst others are playing at ball, or quietly walking about. What an abode! What a people!"

The Girondins, who were enthusiasts for liberty and philosophy, ruled in the Legislative Assembly. They despaired of the king’s sincerity. Therefore, having Paris at their back, they determined to make their party master of the king, and to forestall his suspicious intentions. Through Roland they declared to the king that "the declaration of rights is become a political gospel, and the French constitution a religion for which the people are ready to perish. That all attacks made upon it are but means of kindling enthusiasm in its behalf. That it was too late to recede, and that means of temporizing no longer exist. That the Revolution was accomplished in men’s minds, and would be consummated at the expense of their blood, and cemented with it, if prudence did not prevent the calamities which it was yet possible to avoid. Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed they, "hast thou stricken with blindness the powers of the earth, and are they never to have any counsel but such as shall lead them to perdition!"

The combat had now commenced between the Girondins and the Court -- a combat which was for life or death. Lafayette, who was a constitutionalist, offered to deliver the king from his enemies by an armed rescue. But the king and queen refused to be saved by him a second time, hoping that salvation would come from the occupation of Paris by Austrian and Prussian troops. The discovery of Lafayette’s intrigue made the popular party absolutely desperate, and it resolved to strike a blow at the court before it could carry into execution the plots of which it was accused.

June 20, 1792, was the insurrection of the Sans Culottes. They bore flags inscribed with the words, "The Constitution or Death." Ragged breeches were held up in the air with shouts of Vivent les sans-culottes! Besides which an atrocious sign was displayed to add ferocity to the whimsicality of the spectacle. On the point of a pike was borne a calf’s heart, with the inscription, "Heart of an Aristocrat." The court had called in the disciplined barbarians of the North, by which its adversaries were stirred up to call in those other undisciplined barbarians, who by turns merry and ferocious, abound in the heart of cities, and remain sunk in depravity amid the most polished civilization. This motley multitude filed by thousands through the Legislative Hall, and there forcibly intruded themselves upon the king, whom they compelled to don the red Phrygian "cap of liberty." He consented to hear them read their petition. This terrible lecture of the rabble was listened to amid uproar and shouts, and the oft-repeated cries of "No Veto," "No Priests," "No Aristocrats!" "The Camp near Paris!"

At length, in the evening, these unwelcome visitors were persuaded to retire in peace and order. He was immediately rejoined by his family. Tears flowed copiously from these royal constituents of "the affrighted remnant" (xi. 13). The king, with the red cap still perched on the top of his wig, was overcome by the scene. Recollecting that the offensive symbol was still there, he flung it from him with indignation. The Queen perceived tears in the eyes of M. Thionville, a staunch republican deputy. "You weep," she said, "to see the king and his family treated so cruelly by a people whom he has always wished to render happy." "It is true, Madam," replied he, "I weep over the misfortunes of a beautiful, tender-hearted woman and mother of a family. But, do not mistake; there is not one of my tears for the king or the queen -- I hate kings and queens."

The attacks against royalty were as yet only indirect. None seemed to be satisfied with the constitution. One party wished to modify it by the intervention of foreigners; the other to overthrow it by establishing a republic. The report of the committees on public affairs was alarming, and caused the Assembly, on July 11, to pronounce the solemn formula: "Citizens, the country is in danger!" The meaning of this was, that every one should now lay down his life in behalf of the State. The Revolutionary ardour was excited to the utmost. An universal phrenzy seized the public mind. The idea of declaring that the king had forfeited the crown, and of forcing him to abdicate, was regarded as the only possible remedy for the evils which threatened France. Many departments openly defied the authority of government, and without any orders sent their contingents to form the camp near Paris. This was the commencement of the revolt that overturned "the tenth of the Great City."

Consternation pervaded the court, and a new trial of fortitude awaited the king. July 14, 1792, had arrived -- the anniversary of the destruction of the Bastile -- which was to be celebrated. An immense tree was planted by "the Earth," who styled it "the Tree of Feudalism." It bore on its branches crowns, blue ribbons, tiaras, cardinals’ hats, St. Peter’s keys, ermine mantles, doctors’ caps, bags of law proceedings, titles of nobility, escutcheons, coats of arms, and so forth, and the king was invited to set fire to it. This, however, he declined, saying there was no longer any such thing as feudalism. The concourse of rabble, federalists from the provinces, and troops, was immense. No accident, however, occurred, and the king returned to the palace, glad at having escaped the dangers, which he conceived to be great, but alarmed at those he beheld approaching.

Everything indicated a speedy revolution. The Girondins foresaw and wished for it; but they did not clearly distinguish the means, and dreaded the issue of it. The people accused them of indolence and incapacity. They were weary of eloquent speeches without result, and the leaders of the clubs and sections demanded an active and concentrated direction, that the popular efforts might not prove unavailing.

This demand was supplied by a secret conclave styled the insurrectional committee. It was composed of Jacobins, who concerted the celebrated insurrection of the 10th of August, ’92, "which was due," says Petion, "to the Guardian Genius which has constantly governed the destinies of France ever since the first meeting of its representatives" -- "the Spirit of Life from God."

The plan definitely adopted was to set the people in motion, repair in arms to the palace, and to depose the king. On the 3rd of August, Petion, the Mayor of Paris, was directed to petition the Assembly in the name of the forty-eight sections of the city, to decree the dethronement of Louis XVI. The crisis was now approaching. Everything was arranged by the royalists for the king’s flight, which at the last moment was frustrated by his refusal to fly. A general agitation pervaded Paris. The drum beat the call in all quarters. The cry, "To arms!" was raised, and the insurrection proclaimed on the 10th of August. The dismal sound of the tocsin pervaded the whole extent of the Capital. At length it reached the palace, proclaiming that the terrible night had come -- that fatal night of agitation and blood -- destined to be the last the monarch should pass in the palace of his ancestors, a sanguinary and cruel race.

At dawn of day the palace was besieged by "the Earth," full of fury against the royal and courtly representatives of the murderers of the saints and witnesses of Jesus. The king had with him about nine hundred Swiss mercenaries, and more than one battalion of the national guard, besides a crowd of hangers-on about royalty. But he lacked the boldness necessary to use them with effect; and though it is said that the Queen presented a pistol angrily at him, and said to him, with energy, "Sire, it is time to show yourself!" it was found impossible to arouse him from that judicial infatuation sent upon him by the Divine Avenger of his own. Instead of staying to defend himself in the royal den of Charles IX, who, from its windows, had glutted his thirst for righteous blood in shooting Huguenot, men and women, while flying from their murderers in the streets, in 1572 -- Louis took refuge with his family in the midst of the Assembly. Soon after their arrival, the roar of cannon and the roll of musketry was heard. The massacre, retaliatory for that of St. Bartholomew’s had begun. The resurrected witnesses were striking terror and dismay into the hearts of their enemies; and a most sanguinary combat raged. The Marseillais and Bretons, boiling with fury, rushed forward with ardor, fell in great numbers, but at length made themselves masters of the palace. The rabble, with pikes, poured in after them, and the rest of the scene was one general massacre. They put to death every person without distinction. Streams of blood flowed everywhere from the roofs to the cellars. All were butchered alike. It was scarcely possible to set foot anywhere without treading upon a dead body. Modesty forbids the description of the mutilation of the slain. Among the perpetrators of these atrocious deeds were found women! Every corner of the palace was plundered by the mob. Devastation and death everywhere prevailed. The butchery did not cease for hours. Carnage was the revelry of the day; and when "aristocrats" were no longer found, the rabble continued to drink blood in mutual slaughter; so that the mangled bodies of the seven hundred and fifty Swiss guards were covered with fresh heaps of the self-destroyed rabble.

The Assembly anxiously awaited the issue of the combat. Shouts of victory at length arose from the populace, intoxicated with joy and fury. They soon filled the Hall, bringing with them plunder, and the few Swiss prisoners they had spared. The king and his family, cribbed and confined in the reporters’ box, beheld in these trophies the ruin of their throne, and the joy of their conquerors. The reward of victory was the abolition of royalty. The Assembly dared not refuse this. The celebrated decree was therefore passed to the effect, that

Louis XVI is, for the time being suspended from royalty;

A plan of education is directed for the Prince Royal;

A national convention is convoked.

The tumult continued to rage with extreme violence, and, in the opinion of the people it was not sufficient to have suspended royalty, it behoved them to destroy it. In their petitions they insisted that the suspension should be changed into dethronement. They were pacified with the assurance that a convention had been decreed to decide irrevocably the great question. In the meantime the Royal Family was imprisoned in the Temple.

Forty days after this event, Sept. 20, the National Convention was constituted at the Tuileries. A new constitution was to be formed, based upon absolute equality, and the sovereignty of the people. After certain motions and decrees, the question of royalty was brought forward. It was insisted that its abolition should be forthwith pronounced. "The people," it was said, "had just been declared sovereign, but it will not be really so till delivered from a rival authority -- that of kings." The Assembly and the tribunes rose to express their unanimous reprobation of royalty. Discussion was proposed. "What need is there of discussion," it was objected, "when all are agreed? Courts are the hotbed of crime, the focus of corruption; the history of kings is the martyrology of nations. Discussion is not needed."

Profound silence ensued, and by unanimous desire, the President of the National Convention declared that ROYALTY WAS ABOLISHED IN FRANCE. This decree was hailed with universal applause. It was then proposed not to date 1792 the year 4 of liberty, but the year 1 of THE REPUBLIC. The year 1789, was no longer considered as having commenced liberty, and the new republican era began on that very day, Sept. 22, 1792; which was 1260 years from Justinian’s delivery of the saints into the hands of the Supreme Pontiff of the Great City.