The west front of Évreux Cathedral occupies one side of a small
square, of which the south side is formed by a high wall pierced by
the arched gate that conducts into the courtyard of the bishop’s
palace.
Above this arch was wont to be erected the arms of the prelate
occupying the see, impaled with those of the diocese. The Bishop
of Évreux in 1788 was Monseigneur de Narbonne-Lara, and the arms
borne by him displayed a ramping and roaring lion. As those of the
bishopric were a S. Sebastian bound to a pillar, and transfixed with
arrows, the combination was peculiar, and was seized on by the wags
to point a moral. They observed that the saint typified Religion,
bound hand and foot by establishmentarian thongs, and pierced through
with many sorrows, whilst Monseigneur’s lion, which seemed bent
on devouring the martyr, symbolized the greed and ambition of the
episcopacy.
Monseigneur de Narbonne had scrambled from a counter to a throne.
He was one of those few prelates of the French Church who were not
members of great families. Tell it not in Gath! his father made and
sold goose-liver pasties at Strasbourg; but Strasbourg is a very long
way from Évreux.
The bishop’s father called himself Lara, his mother had been a
Demoiselle Narbonne; by combining the names, and prefixing to the
maternal cognomen a _De_, the bishop was able to pass himself off as
a member of the nobility, and to speak disparagingly of roturiers.
Above the parental shop at Strasbourg hung a wooden and painted
figure of a plucked goose, the badge of the family profession, and
the only heraldic device of which old Lara boasted. The lion, says
Æsop, once assumed an ass’s skin; but on the shield of Monseigneur
de Narbonne-Lara, bishop of Évreux, abbot _in commendam_ of three
religious houses, the ancestral goose ramped and roared as a lion or
out of a field gules.
The bishop was ambitious of becoming an archbishop and a cardinal; he
had therefore to pay his court at once to Versailles and to Rome--a
course he was perfectly competent to pursue, for, though filled
to the brim with pride, he had not a drop of self-respect. He was
a tall, stout and handsome man, but his good looks were marred by
the redness and fleshiness of his face, and his proportions were
disguised by the pomposity of his carriage.
Being a man of consummate shrewdness, he had succeeded in making
himself a favourite at Court. His knowledge of German had won him
first the bishopric of Gap, and afterwards the more important one
of Évreux, when, during the late reign, the Dauphiness had set
Austrian fashions. For the same reason, he was now private chaplain
to the Queen. He gave capital dinners, and hoped by the choiceness
of his cookery and wines to buy the favour of those who had the ear
of royalty. By fussy officiousness in the diocese, by worrying his
clergy, he hoped to obtain credit for energetic discharge of his
episcopal duties, and by favouring the Jesuits, he made sure that his
acts would be favourably reported at Rome.
Monseigneur was now about to achieve a triumph. Prince
Louis-Stanislas-Xavier, commonly called ‘Monsieur,’ the brother of
the King, Duke of Anjou, Alençon and Vendôme, Count of Perche, Maine,
and Senonches, having business to transact in Normandy connected with
the bailiwicks of Bernay and Orbec, of which he was lord, had been
invited to the palace by the Bishop of Évreux, and the prince had
accepted the invitation.
Monseigneur de Narbonne was in a flutter of excitement at the
prospect. The same may be said of Mademoiselle Baptistine, his
sister, who lived with him. The grand old palace was turned inside
out. Painters, gilders, and upholsterers had taken possession of the
house, and had banished the bishop into the turret overlooking the
garden.
The prelate sat in his purple cassock and cape, pen in hand, making
imaginary calculations of the expenses the visit of the prince would
entail upon him. He had ordered the withdrawing room to be furnished
with blue silk hangings powdered over with silver lilies, and having
ascertained from his sister the price per yard of silk, and having
allowed a margin for the fleurs-de-lis, he measured the room when no
one was looking, and had just estimated the cost. He added to this
the blue velvet divan, and the chairs gilt and covered with blue
velvet, and the painting and gilding of the ceiling, the carpets and
the mirrors. He had pretty well satisfied himself that the income of
the see would not bear such an expenditure as he contemplated. But it
was worth the sacrifice. Three archbishops were then infirm. His own
immediate superior at Rouen had been reduced very low by a virulent
attack of gastric fever, brought on by immoderate eating of peaches;
and, according to the last account from Rouen, the archbishop,
immediately on his recovery, had again attacked the fruit of which
he was passionately fond, in opposition to the express orders of his
physician. If the archbishop were to be again prostrated, there was
every chance of his vacating an archiepiscopal throne, and also of
placing a cardinal’s hat at the disposal of the Pope. M. Ponce, the
_officiel_, was with the Bishop of Évreux.
‘My good Ponce,’ said the bishop, ‘you must procure me money somehow.
Between ourselves, the expenses which I shall be compelled to incur,
in order adequately to entertain royalty, are so considerable,
that I must have my coffer replenished, or I shall be involved in
difficulties.’
‘I think, my Lord,’ answered the confidant, ‘that some of the cases
for your lordship’s court might be compromised, and that would at
once produce a sum of ready money.’
‘My excellent friend, I shall esteem it a favour if you will do so.
Are there many cases in hand?’
‘My Lord, I think there are some other cases coming on, but they
are not ripe yet. But, if your lordship will take my advice, I
should advise attention to be directed rather to the clergy than to
the laity. The times, as your lordship is well aware, are somewhat
uncertain. A spirit of antagonism to constituted authority is abroad;
there is much restlessness, much impatience of the rights of those,
whom Providence has ordained masters and governors, in Church and
State.’
‘It is but just that the shepherd should live of the milk of the
flock,’ said the bishop with dignity.
‘Your lordship is theoretically right; but, unfortunately, the flock
will not submit to be milked with as great equanimity as heretofore.
Since the local parliaments, to the detriment of the liberties of
the Church, have assumed to receive appeals from our courts, we have
lost the hold upon the laity that we possessed formerly. I think--but
here I bow to your lordship’s superior judgment--that it would not be
advisable, just at present--I only urge at present, to draw off too
much milk from the laity. Now as for the _prêtrisse_, that is quite
another matter. The priests are at your disposal, your lordship can
do with them almost what your lordship likes. They are, in fact, mere
servants of the bishop.’
‘True, Ponce,’ said the prelate, blandly; ‘I say to this man go, and
he goeth; and to another do this, and he doeth it.’
‘And the most satisfactory point is this, they have no appeal against
their bishop. The law----’
‘I am the law,’ interrupted Monseigneur; ‘to the diocese in all
matters ecclesiastical, I repeat the expression, I am the law.’
‘Your lordship is right,’ continued the officer; ‘and therefore I
would urge that the most ready source of money is to be found in the
Church. You have but to fine a priest, and he cannot escape you. He
cannot evade your court, he cannot appeal to the crown, he dare not
throw himself on public opinion. He is completely at your mercy. He
is your slave. If he refuses to comply with your requirements, you
can inhibit him, or suspend him. Whilst suspended, the income of the
living goes to your lordship, and you have only to provide out of it
for the ministration of the sacraments; a small tax, for there are
always indigent or disreputable clergy glad enough to take temporary
duty for a trifling fee. But the curé knows better than to resist his
diocesan. He has been bred to consider it a matter of conscience
to yield to his ecclesiastical superior; and, even if conscience
does not influence him, common prudence will act upon him, when he
considers that every other profession is legally shut against him, so
that he must be his bishop’s slave, or starve.’
‘I have no wish for a moment to act with undue severity towards
my clergy,’ said Monseigneur de Narbonne; ‘indeed, I am incapable
of any such action; but discipline must be maintained, and when a
spirit of defiance manifests itself, even amongst the clergy, it is
high time that they should be made to recognise who is master in the
Church. The curés dare to call my episcopal acts in question, and to
oppose the execution of my projects. Is the Church a constitutional
government? Certainly not; it is a monarchy of which every prelate is
sovereign in his own see. The laity may have eluded his crook, but
with the spike he can transfix his recalcitrant clergy.’
‘I can give your lordship an instance of insubordination
corroborative of what you have just stated. I have just returned from
Bernay----’
‘Ah! there you have one of these new lights,’ interrupted the bishop.
‘I know his sentiments; he is a leader of disaffection, a man of
ungovernable vehemence, huge pride, and insolent demeanour.’
‘Quite so, my Lord,’ said M. Ponce. ‘According to your honoured
instructions, he has been closely watched, and, as I learned that he
had neglected to light his sanctuary-lamp during three days, he has
rendered himself amenable to justice. I have, however, offered him to
compromise the matter on the receipt of a fine of twenty-five livres.
He has refused me the money, and declares that he will speak to your
lordship about it, face to face.’
‘The fellow must be humbled,’ said the prelate; ‘he forgets that he
has no legal status, that he is a mere salaried curate, and that I
have it in my power to ruin him. I am glad that he is coming here;
I shall have an opportunity of cautioning him to exhibit decorum in
his conduct and respect in his behaviour.---- Well, Mademoiselle!’
he suddenly exclaimed, as the door opened, and his sister entered,
embracing a large deal box.
‘I have brought you your letters, Monseigneur, and----’
‘Well, my good sister, and what?’
‘Oh, nothing, nothing!’
‘May I ask what that box contains?’ enquired the bishop blandly,
whilst he took the letters.
‘Nothing in the world, brother, but----’
‘But what, eh?’
‘Oh! nothing at all.’
‘Shall I retire?’ asked M. Ponce, who had risen from his seat on the
lady’s entry.
‘By no means, my Ponce, by no means;’ and he began to tear open his
letters.
‘Ha! begging appeals. The priest of Semerville is restoring his
church, and entreats help; the people are too poor, the landlord too
chary of giving, and so on.’ Away fluttered the note, torn in half,
and the _officiel_ obsequiously picked it up and placed it with a
score other dead appeals in the wastepaper basket.
‘The curé of S. Julien entreats me to interfere--some widow who has
been wronged--bah!’ and that letter followed the first.
‘“I have allowed nine months to elapse since the _vicaire_ of
Vernon was appointed, and the licence has not yet been forwarded;
wherefore, knowing the uncertainty of the post, he is confident that
the omission is due to the neglect of the postman, and not of the
forgetfulness of the bishop.” Humph! inclined to insolence. That is
the way these young curates behave! You shall await my convenience,
M. Dufour.’ This letter was crumpled up, and thrown at the basket.
‘An altar to S. Joseph! The clergy of Louviers are desirous--and so
on. Well, Louviers is a large place. S. Joseph the patron of the
Jesuits; at any other time than this, my good friends.’ Away sped
this appeal. ‘“The curé of Beaumont ventures to observe that it is
two years since the last confirmation, and that the children are
growing up and leaving the district.” Confound his impudence! My
rule is plain enough, to hold a confirmation every year in the large
towns, Évreux and Louviers; one every second year in the smaller
towns; and one every third year in the rural districts. Sister!
enclose a printed slip with that notice to the curé of Beaumont.’
‘Yes, brother.’
‘What have we here? So, ho! a note from M. Berthier, Intendant
of Paris, written at his country seat, near Bernay, about Thomas
Lindet, who has behaved to him without proper respect, and whose
revolutionary principles render him a dangerous person to be the
curé of a large and important town. Pass me my paper-case, Ponce,
my good fellow, I will send him a note in return to thank him for
the information, and to promise that the curé shall be reprimanded
and cautioned. Intendant of Paris! a man of consequence, is he not,
Ponce, eh?’
‘A man of very great consequence, my Lord; his father-in-law is M.
Foulon, a great person at Court, as your lordship must know.’
If the bishop had attended to his sister instead of to his letters,
he would have observed that she was carefully placing the deal box
underneath the divan or sofa, which occupied one side of the little
room.
‘Can I assist you, Mademoiselle?’ asked M. Ponce.
‘On no account,’ replied the lady with evident alarm and agitation.
She made several ineffectual attempts to attract her brother’s
attention, but he was too absorbed in his letters to notice her. And
the moment he had despatched his answer to M. Berthier, he plunged
at once into a discussion as to the guests who were to be invited to
meet His Royal Highness, at a fête on the evening of his arrival.
‘I am in doubt whether to ask M. Girardin,’ said the prelate; ‘what
is your opinion, my Ponce? He is Lieutenant-General of the bailiwick,
which should weigh against his lack of nobility; his views are too
liberal to please me, he is a bit of a philosopher, has read Rousseau
and Voltaire, perhaps, and thinks with Montesquieu. I do not like to
introduce a herd of roturiers to the Duke; and, if one admits two or
three, all the burghers of the place will be offended at not having
been invited.’
‘As you have done me the honour of asking my opinion,’ said the
functionary, ‘I would recommend you to invite M. Girardin. Feed well
those who are not favourably disposed towards you; dazzle those who
are your enemies, and you render them powerless.’
‘I quite agree with what you say,’ said the bishop. This was not
extraordinary, as his official merely repeated a sentiment he had
heard Monseigneur express several times before; ‘those whom I cannot
suppress I dazzle, those whom I cannot dazzle I invite to my table.’
‘There is sound worldly wisdom in that,’ said M. Ponce.
‘And it works admirably,’ the bishop continued; then, turning to his
sister, he said, ‘Well, Baptistine, what about the box?’
The lady gave a little start, frowned, and shook her head.
‘Well,’ paused the bishop; ‘what is in it? Where have you put it?’
Mademoiselle Baptistine at once seated herself on the sofa, and
spread her gown, as a screen, to cover it, whilst she made several
cabalistic gestures to signify that the presence of a third party
prevented her from saying what she wanted. M. Ponce caught a glimpse
of these signs, or guessed that he was no longer wanted, for he rose,
and, after having formally saluted the bishop, and asked permission
to retire, he walked sideways towards the door, repeatedly turning to
bow.
As his hand rested upon the latch, the door was thrown open, and a
large black retriever bounded into the room, between the legs of a
powdered footman in purple livery, who announced, ‘M. le Marquis de
Chambray.’
The gentleman who entered was tall and thin, with a solemn face,
adorned with a pair of huge grey moustaches. His hair was powdered,
and the dust covered the collar of his velvet coat. He was
elaborately dressed, and had the air of an ancient dandy. The Marquis
was a man of some fortune, and of illustrious family. He acted for
the prince as his deputy in the bailiwicks of Orbec and Bernay.
Scarcely less stiff and formal than his appearance was his character.
He was an aristocrat of the aristocrats, filled with family pride,
and rigid in his adherence to the rules of etiquette of the reign of
Louis XIV. He was never known to have made a witty remark, certainly
never a wise one. But though neither witty nor wise, he was a man who
commanded respect, for he was too cautious ever to act foolishly, and
too well-bred ever to behave discourteously.
‘Ah! sapristi!’ exclaimed the Marquis; ‘my naughty dog, how dare you
intrude? I must apologise, my Lord, for the bad conduct of my dog. I
left it in the courtyard, but it has found its way after me.’
‘Let him remain,’ said the bishop; ‘fine fellow, noble dog! The doors
are all open, my dear Marquis; the workmen are engaged in getting the
palace just a little tidy for our distinguished visitor. Never mind
the dog--it would be impossible to shut him out, whilst the house is
in confusion. I am so sorry that you should be shown into this little
boudoir; but really, I am driven to it as my only refuge in the midst
of a chaos.’
‘I have come to inform you, my lord bishop, that Monsieur will be
with you on Thursday next, if that will suit your convenience. I
received a despatch from him to-day, and, amongst other matters, was
a notice to that effect, and a request that the announcement should
be made to you immediately.’
‘We shall be proud to receive him, and everything shall be in
readiness,’ said the bishop.
‘The weather is exceedingly fine,’ observed the Marquis, turning
courteously towards Mademoiselle Baptistine.
‘It is charming,’ answered the bishop’s sister, nervously.
Mademoiselle Baptistine was a lady of forty-five, with an aquiline
nose, of which, as an aristocratic feature, she and her brother were
proud. Her complexion was fair, her eyes very pale, and starting from
her head, so that she had always, except when asleep, the appearance
of being greatly surprised at something.
‘It is also hot; Mademoiselle doubtless finds it hot,’ said the
Marquis.
‘Very much so. I have been quite overcome.’
‘But it is seasonable,’ observed the visitor. And so on.
Presently, however, the conversation brightened up a little; for the
Marquis, turning sharply on the bishop, said: ‘By the way, I met a
member of your family the other day.’
A scarlet flush covered the bishop’s face, and Mademoiselle
Baptistine turned the colour of chalk.
‘I met the old Countess de Narbonne in Paris; she is doubtless a
cousin. I told her I was acquainted with your lordship, but she did
not seem to know you; probably her memory fails.’
‘The De Narbonne and the De Narbonne-Lara families, though remotely
connected, are not the same,’ answered the bishop, wiping his hot
face; ‘the branches separated in the reign of Saint Louis, and
therefore the connection between them is distant. Mine crossed the
Pyrenees and settled in Spain, where they fought valiantly against
the Moors. The castle of Lara is in Andalusia; the family assumed the
territorial name of Lara, in addition to the De Narbonne, on their
receiving the Spanish estates from a grateful monarch in recognition
of their services. My grandfather, unfortunately, gambled half the
property away, and my father sold the rest to pay off the debts his
father had contracted; an honourable proceeding, which reduced the
family, however, greatly. With the remains of his fortune he came to
France, retaining possession only of the ancestral castle in Spain.’
Suddenly Mademoiselle Baptistine uttered a scream. From under the
sofa darted the retriever with a huge pasty in its mouth. In its
efforts to secure the dainty morsel, it flung the lid of the box from
which it had extracted the pie, half way across the room.
‘What is the dog at?’ exclaimed the bishop.
‘Rascal!’ shouted the Marquis, ‘bring that here instantly.’ He
threatened the brute with his stick, and the dog crawled to him with
the pasty in its mouth.
‘What manners!’ cried the nobleman; ‘I am so grieved at the
ill-conduct of my dog--No, Madame!’ as the lady stooped towards the
cover of the box, which had contained the delicious tempting pie.
‘Never, Madame; allow me.’
‘Allow me!’ said the bishop, bending his knee, and stooping towards
it. But Mademoiselle Baptistine was as active as either of the men;
and thus it came to pass that the three heads met over the lid of the
box; and at the same moment the bishop and the Marquis read a printed
shop-label, pasted upon it, and directed in manuscript to the bishop,
from--
‘_Jacques de Narbonne-Lara (formerly Lara),
Maker of the celebrated Strasbourg Goose-liver Pasties.
Rue des Capuchins, 6; Strasbourg._’
‘Sapient dog!’ said the nobleman, rising, and blowing his nose. ‘My
wise Leo knows what is good. Ah! the pasty is utterly gone, he has
eaten it. I quite envy him the mouthful. Pray accept my deepest
regret for his misconduct.’
‘Do not mention it,’ answered the bishop, with his eyes still on the
hateful label.
‘I am so glad to have the address,’ said the Marquis, with a slight
tinge of sarcasm in his voice; ‘I will write to the shop and order
some of these pasties for myself--I dote on the paté de foix gras.’
And he bowed himself out of the room.
‘What has that fool Jacques been about?’ asked the bishop, throwing
himself back in his chair, and clasping his hands in the air above
his head.
‘My dear brother!’ answered Baptistine, ‘Jacques has assumed the same
name as you have; he is proud of being brother to a bishop, that
is why--and he has sent you the pasty as an offering of brotherly
love--so he says in his letter. I found the box on the table in the
hall, and all the servants round it, laughing. I snatched it from
them, and brought it up here, when----’ the rest was drowned in
tears.
‘He had better have sent me a halter,’ said the bishop.