By an order dated January 24th, 1789, the king required that the
desires and reclamations of all his subjects should be transmitted to
him. Every parish was to draw up a statement of its grievances and
its wishes, which was to be handed into the assembly of the secondary
bailiwick, by it to be fused into one which was forwarded to the
grand bailiwick. The secondary bailiwicks of Beaumont-le-Royer,
Breteuil, Conches, Ezy-Nonancourt, Orbec, and Bernay, belonged to the
grand bailiwick of Évreux. The nobility and the clergy drew up their
papers separately.
Another operation, not less important than the composition of these
_cahiers_, was to be simultaneously accomplished. This was the
election of delegates.
According to the edict of the 24th January, the ancient distinction
of electors and deputies into three orders, the clergy, the nobility,
and the third estate, was maintained. These orders had a common
electoral circumscription, the grand bailiwick. The mode of election
in the two first orders was made the same, but it was different in
the third.
The nomination of deputies for the clergy was to be made directly
by the bishops, abbés, canons, and other beneficed clergy in the
grand bailiwick. The curés, who subsisted on the _portion congrue_,
in another word, nearly all the clergy in country parishes, could
only vote in person if their parish were within two leagues of the
town in which was held the assembly, unless they had a curate to
take their place during their absence, and provide for the religious
requirements of the people.
The election was equally direct for the deputies of the nobility. The
nobles possessing fiefs within the jurisdiction of the grand bailiff,
might appear by representatives, but all others were required to
appear in person.
The third estate, on the contrary, in naming its representatives,
had to traverse three stages. Eight days at latest after having
received the notification, the inhabitants composing the tiers état
in the towns and country parishes, above the age of twenty-five,
were invited to unite in their usual place of assembly, before the
justice, or, in his default, before their syndic, for the purpose
of naming a number of delegates, the number being proportioned to
the population--two for two hundred fires and under, three for more
than two hundred, four for three hundred and over, and so on, in
progression. These delegates were required to betake themselves
to the seat of the secondary bailiwick of their arrondissement,
and there elect one quarter of their number. Those who had
passed this ordeal were next bound to transport themselves to the
principal bailiwick, and there, united with the deputies of that
particular arrondissement of the bailiwick, and with the delegates
of the town corporations, to form, under the presidence of the
lieutenant-general, a college to which was remitted the final
election of deputies.
Such organization had this advantage,--it gave to the elections, at
a period when the relations of men with each other were much more
limited than they are at present, guarantees of sincerity which
they could not have had by direct universal suffrage. At each stage
the electors knew those who solicited their votes. A communication
was established through an uninterrupted chain of confidential
trusts, from the most humble member of the primary assemblies to the
delegates sent to Versailles from the grand colleges.
On Monday, the 16th March, 1789, seven hundred and fifty
ecclesiastics, four hundred and thirty nobles, and three hundred
deputies of the third estate, assembled in Évreux for the final
election of delegates.
At eight o’clock in the morning, the great bell of the Cathedral
boomed over the city to announce the opening of the first session.
From the summit of the central spire floated a white standard,
powdered with golden lilies. Ropes had been flung across the streets,
and from them were slung banners and flags bearing patriotic
inscriptions, ‘Vive le Roy!’ and ‘Vive les États Généraux.’ The
lilies of France fluttered from the windows of the barracks, the
hospital, and the Palais de Justice.
The weather was cold. The winter had been of unprecedented severity,
and the snow was not gone. On the north side of the Cathedral it was
heaped between the buttresses in dirty patches. It glittered on the
leaden roof of the aisles. In the streets it was kneaded into black
mud; it lurked white and glaring in corners. Women had been up at
daybreak sweeping the slush from their door-steps, and making the
causeway before their houses look as clean as the season permitted.
The limes in the palace-garden had not disclosed a leaf; the buds
were only beginning to swell.
It was a bright morning, almost the first really sunny springtide day
that year, and it was accepted by all as a glad omen of a bright era
opening on France with the elections of that day.
A stream of people poured into the Cathedral through the west gate
and northern portal. The nave was reserved for the electors; the
people of Évreux filled the transepts and aisles. In the centre,
under Cardinal Balue’s tower, sat the nobility, many of them
dressed with studious splendour; the clergy occupied the choir, and
overflowed into the choir-aisles. The third estate sat west of the
central tower. This body of men presented marked contrasts in the
appearance of the members constituting it. Side by side with the
lawyer and surgeon, in good black cloth suits, black satin breeches,
and black silk stockings, sat the peasant delegate in coarse blue
cloth jacket, brown cap,--that cap which has been mounted on the
flag-staff of the Republic as the badge of liberty,--and shoes of
brown leather without heels, laced in front. Next to him a miller,
with a broad-brimmed hat, pinched to make it triangular, a velvet
waistcoat, and a coat set with large mother-of-pearl buttons, and
here and there also a curé in cassock turned green with age, and
black bands, edged with white; for some of the country villages sent
their priests to bear their complaints before the great assembly.
Never had that noble church looked more impressive than on that March
morning. It is peculiarly narrow and lofty, and darkened by the
immense amount of painted glass which fills the windows,--glass of
the highest style of art, and great depth of colour, and thickness of
material.
The bishop occupied his throne, and the Abbé de Cernay, dean of the
chapter, sang the mass of the Holy Ghost, in crimson vestments.
Never, probably, has that grand church resounded with a finer choral
burst of song than when, at the conclusion of the mass, those seven
hundred and fifty priests, with the choir, and a number of the laity,
joined with the thunder of the organ, in the _Veni Creator_, sung to
the melody composed by good King Robert of France.
The assembly was then constituted in the nave of the Cathedral.
The candles were extinguished, the fumes of incense faded away,
the clergy who had assisted in robes retired to lay aside their
vestments; seats and a table were placed in the nave at the
intersection of the transepts, and M. de Courcy de Montmorin, grand
bailiff of Évreux, took his seat as president. Beside him sat M.
Girardin, lieutenant-general of the bailiwick, and on his left M.
Gozan, procureur of the king. Adrian Buzot, chief secretary, sat pen
in hand at the table. On the right, filling the northern transept,
sat the clergy in a dense black body, with the bishops of Évreux
and Lisieux at their head in purple velvet chairs, studded with
gold-headed nails. The bishops wore their violet cassocks, lace
rochets, and capes, over which hung their episcopal crosses. In the
south transept were placed the nobles; and the third estate filled
the first three bays of the nave below the cross.
As soon as the assembly was seated, and silence had been established,
the grand bailiff rose. He was a venerable man, of noble appearance,
with a fresh complexion, bright clear grey eyes, and a flowing
beard whiter than the late snow without. Raising his _chapel_ from
his blanched head as he began his speech, he replaced it again.
His voice, at first trembling and scarcely audible in that vast
building, gradually acquired tone, and was, towards the close of the
address, heard by every one in that great concourse.
‘I give thanks to Heaven,’ said the old man, lifting his cap and
looking upwards, ‘that my life has been prolonged to this moment,
which opens before us, under the auspices of a beloved monarch, a
perspective of happiness, which we should hardly have ventured to
hope for.
‘What an epoch in our annals, and, indeed, in those of humanity!
A sovereign consults his people on the means of assuring their
felicity, and assembles around him all those gifted with political
knowledge, to strengthen, or rather, to relay the bases of general
prosperity.
‘Already, from one end of France to the other, those social ideas
which establish the rights of man and citizenship on true and solid
foundations have been disseminated. Government, far from attempting
to hinder the spread of these ideas, has allowed them a liberty in
accordance with its own generous purposes.
‘It is for us, gentlemen, to show ourselves worthy of this noble
confidence reposed in us by our sovereign; it is for us to second the
views of a monarch who consecrates for ever his power, by showing
that he desires to endear it to his subjects.
‘Experience has taught kings, as it has their subjects, that this
alone is the means of protecting and securing the royal prerogative
from the seductions of their ministers, who too frequently have
stamped the decrees of their selfish passions, their errors, and
their caprice, with the seal of a cherished and sacred authority.
‘In order that we may arrive at that patriotic aim, dear to our
hearts, we have to endeavour to maintain concord and mutual
consideration between the three orders. Let us then from this moment
suppress our own petty, selfish interests, and subordinate them
to that dominant interest which should engross and elevate every
soul--the public weal.
‘The clergy and the nobility will feel that the grandest of all
privileges is that of seeing the person and property of each under
national security, under the protection of public liberty, the only
protective power which is durable and infallible.
‘The third estate will remember the fraternal joy with which all
orders have hailed the success of the third in obtaining its demands.
Let it not envy its elder brethren those honorific prerogatives,
rendered legitimate by their antiquity, and which, in every monarchy,
accompany those who have rendered service to their country, and whose
families are venerable through their age.
‘Generous citizens of all orders, you whom patriotism animates, you
know all the abuses, and you will demand their reform at the ensuing
council of the nation.
‘I do not agitate the question of the limit of the powers given to
our deputies. Public opinion has decided that; in order that they
may operate efficaciously, they must be, if not wholly unlimited, at
least very extensive.
‘Such are the ideas, gentlemen, which I submit to your consideration.
‘I assure you solemnly of the sincerity with which I offer up my
prayers for the public welfare. This hope--so sweet, yet so late in
coming to me, now far advanced in years, is the consolation of my
age, rejuvenated by the light of a new era which promises to dawn,
inspiring with hope us who stand on the brink of eternity, and which
will be the glory of our posterity. We shall lay the foundations,
another generation will rejoice in the superstructure. I thank God
that this feeble hand is called even to the preparatory work, and,
gentlemen, I conclude with the words of the Psalmist: “_Respice in
servos tuos, et in opera tua, et dirige filios eorum._”’
The venerable bailiff sat down; a thrill of emotion ran through the
assembly. In perfect silence, the roll-call and verification of
powers was begun.
Amongst those names first proclaimed, in the order of the nobility,
was that of Louis-Stanislas Xavier, son of France, Duke of Anjou,
Alençon and Vendôme, Count of Perche, Maine and Senonches, Lord of
the bailiwicks of Orbec and Bernay. This prince, who was afterwards
Louis XVIII, was represented by the Marquis of Chambray.
When the names of the clergy were read, Monseigneur de Narbonne
turned his ear towards Adrian Buzot.
‘Robert Thomas Lindet, curate of S. Cross, at Bernay.’
‘I object,’ said the bishop, raising his hand.
The secretary turned to him, and asked his reason.
‘He is disqualified from appearing. He is under inhibition.’
Lindet sprang to his feet and worked his way to the front. ‘I
maintain,’ said he, ‘that an inhibition does not disqualify me from
appearing.’
The bishop leaned back in his velvet chair, crossed his feet, folded
his hands, and looked at the president.
‘I have been inhibited without just cause, without having been given
a hearing, or allowed to clear myself of imputations maliciously cast
upon me.’
‘M. Lindet,’ said the grand bailiff, ‘we cannot enter upon the
question of the rights of the inhibition; we are solely concerned
with the question, whether that said inhibition incapacitates you
from voting.’
‘Quite so,’ the prelate interjected; then his cold grey eye rested
upon Lindet, who returned the look with one of defiance.
M. de Courcy whispered with the Procureur du Roi.
‘I think,’ said the bishop, in a formal tone, ‘that, whatever may
be the decision on the legality of your appearing, M. Lindet, there
can be but one opinion on its propriety. If you have not the decency
to remain in retirement, when lying under rebuke for scandalous and
immoral conduct, you will probably not be shamed by anything I may
say.’
‘My Lord,’ began the curé, ‘I protest--’ but he was interrupted by
the president, who, nodding to M. Gozan, the agent for the king, said:
‘The objection raised by monseigneur appears to me not to invalidate
the claim of M. Lindet to have a voice in the redaction of the
cahiers and the election of the clerical delegates. The order of his
Majesty makes no provision for the case of a clerk under censure,
and silence on this point may fairly be construed in his favour. The
sentence upon him was purely spiritual, his status as stipendiary
curate remains unaltered. If he have a grievance, an opportunity is
graciously afforded him by his Majesty of declaring it. The ends
proposed would be frustrated, if all those who had grievances were
precluded by an exercise of authority on the part of their lords,
feudal or spiritual, from expressing them.’
The bishop coloured, bowed stiffly, and began to converse in a low
tone with M. de la Ferronays, bishop of Lisieux.
The preliminary work of calling over the names of electors and
delegates occupied the session of that day. At four o’clock in the
afternoon it was dissolved, and the vast concourse began to flow out
at the Cathedral doors.
But it was observed by the bishops, that the clergy showed no signs
of moving from their places.
M. de Narbonne rose from his violet velvet chair, and with a smile at
his brother prelate, and then at the dean, suggested that they should
retire through the private entrance in the south transept to the
palace garden.
He was about to cross before the table at which Adrian Buzot was
still engaged with his papers, when Thomas Lindet, standing on his
chair, addressed him.
‘My Lord! you have this morning publicly attacked my character, by
asserting that my conduct has been “scandalous and immoral.” I demand
of you, before these my brother priests, to state the grounds upon
which you base that charge.’
The bishop, taking the arm of his suffragan, did not even turn to
look at the curé, but began to speak rapidly to his brother prelate.
‘My Lord! are you going to answer me, or are you not?’ again asked
Lindet. ‘I appeal to you as a Christian--not as a bishop. You have
damaged my character. State frankly your reasons for doing so. Give
me an opportunity of clearing myself.’ He had spoken calmly so far,
but all at once his natural impetuosity overpowered him, and he
burst forth with the sentence: ‘Stay! you have just genuflected
towards the Host! you have bent the knee in homage to Him who is
Mercy and Justice, whose minister you are. In His name I demand
justice. Mercy I have long ago ceased to expect.’
‘I had rather be keeper of a lunatic asylum,’ said the Bishop of
Lisieux, ‘than be custos of a herd of wild curés.’
The Bishop of Évreux laughed aloud. The laugh echoed through the
aisles, and was heard by the priests, as he laid his hand on the
private door.
The dense black mass of clerics rose, and the bishop darted through
the door with purple cheek and blazing eye, as a hiss, long and
fierce, broke from that body of priests he shepherded.
‘Barbarians! blackguards!’ said the bishop, shaking his fist at the
Cathedral, as he shut the door behind him and quenched that terrible
sound. ‘Wait! I have chastised you hitherto with whips; when these
States-General are over, I shall thrash you into subserviency with
scorpions.’