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To do everything for the people, and let them do nothing for
themselves--this was the Ancien Regime. To be more wise and more
loving than Almighty God, who certainly does not do everything for
the sons of men, but forces them to labour for themselves by bitter
need, and after a most Spartan mode of education; who allows them to
burn their hands as often as they are foolish enough to put them
into the fire; and to be filled with the fruits of their own folly,
even though the folly be one of necessary ignorance; treating them
with that seeming neglect which is after all the most provident
care, because by it alone can men be trained to experience, self-help,
science, true humanity; and so become not tolerably harmless
dolls, but men and women worthy of the name; with
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
The perfect spirit, nobly planned
To cheer, to counsel, and command.
Such seems to be the education and government appointed for man by
the voluntatem Dei in rebus revelatum, and the education, therefore,
which the man of science will accept and carry out. But the men of
the Ancien Regime--in as far as it was a Regime at all--tried to be
wiser than the Almighty. Why not? They were not the first, nor
will be the last, by many who have made the same attempt. So this
Council of State settled arbitrarily, not only taxes, and militia,
and roads, but anything and everything. Its members meddled, with
their whole hearts and minds. They tried to teach agriculture by
schools and pamphlets and prizes; they sent out plans for every
public work. A town could not establish an octroi, levy a rate,
mortgage, sell, sue, farm, or administer their property, without an
order in council. The Government ordered public rejoicings, saw to
the firing of salutes, and illuminating of houses--in one case
mentioned by M. de Tocqueville, they fined a member of the burgher
guard for absenting himself from a Te Deum. All self-government was
gone. A country parish was, says Turgot, nothing but "an assemblage
of cabins, and of inhabitants as passive as the cabins they dwelt
in." Without an order of council, the parish could not mend the
steeple after a storm, or repair the parsonage gable. If they
grumbled at the intendant, he threw some of the chief persons into
prison, and made the parish pay the expenses of the horse patrol,
which formed the arbitrary police of France. Everywhere was
meddling. There were reports on statistics--circumstantial,
inaccurate, and useless--as statistics are too often wont to be.
Sometimes, when the people were starving, the Government sent down
charitable donations to certain parishes, on condition that the
inhabitants should raise a sum on their part. When the sum offered
was sufficient, the Comptroller-General wrote on the margin, when he
returned the report to the intendant, "Good--express satisfaction."
If it was more than sufficient, he wrote, "Good--express
satisfaction and sensibility." There is nothing new under the sun.
In 1761, the Government, jealous enough of newspapers, determined to
start one for itself, and for that purpose took under its tutelage
the Gazette de France. So the public newsmongers were of course to
be the provincial intendants, and their sub-newsmongers, of course,
the sub-delegates.
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