On the following day, March 17, the three orders betook themselves
to their several places of reunion, to draw up their memorials of
grievances. The clergy assembled in the hall of the Seminary of S.
Taurinus under the presidency of the bishop of the diocese, assisted
by the Bishop of Lisieux, Féron de la Ferronnais. The nobility met in
the Church of S. Nicholas, with the grand bailiff as their chairman,
and the third estate occupied the audience chamber of the Viscount’s
court, and was presided over by M. Girardin.
The deliberations of the third estate presented no incident worthy of
note. Unanimity reigned among the members, and its resolutions were
in accordance with, and had indeed been prepared by, the discussions
conducted in the earlier stages of election. What were the pressing
grievances weighing on the people, have been already shown. The
_cahiers_ from the villages and towns which were read before it threw
a clear light also on ecclesiastical abuses; the principal we shall
extract from these documents for the edification of the reader.
Intolerable abuses had invaded the collation to benefices. The
revenues which had been provided by the piety of the past for the
maintenance of public worship, for the subsistence of the ministers
of religion, and for the support of the poor, had accumulated in the
hands of a few abbés about the Court and high dignitaries of the
Church. M. de Marbeuf, archbishop of Lyons, was Abbot commendatory
of Bec, the nursery of S. Anselm and Lanfranc; the celebrated
Abbé Maury held in commendam the Abbey of Lyons-la-Forêt; Dom
Guillaume-Louis Laforcade, a Benedictine resident at S. Denis,
was Prior of Acquigny; De Raze, minister of the Prince-bishop of
Bâle, was Prior of Saint-Lô, near Bourg-Achard; Loménie de Brienne,
archbishop of Sens, who was minister of finance in 1788, and of whom
M. Thiers well says, that ‘if he did not make the fortune of France,
he certainly made his own,’ possessed 678,000 livres per annum, drawn
from benefices all over France, and his brother, the Archbishop of
Trajanopolis was non-resident Abbot of the wealthy Abbey of Jumiéges.
This state of things drew from the redactors of the _cahiers_ of
the third estate many bitter recriminations. ‘It is revolting,’
said Villiers-en-Vexin, ‘that the goods of the Church should only
go to nourish the passions of titulars.’ ‘According to the canons,’
said the parish of Thilliers, ‘every beneficed clergyman is bound
to give a quarter of his income to the poor. In our parish, with a
revenue of twelve thousand livres flowing into the Church, nothing
returns to the poor but the scanty alms of the ill-paid curate.’ ‘Is
it not surprising,’ said the people of Plessis-Hébert, ‘to see so
many bishops and abbés squander their revenues in Paris, instead of
expending them on religious works, in those places whence they are
derived?’
Fontenay wrote in stronger terms: ‘The most revolting abuse is the
miserable exspoliation of the commendatory abbeys. The people are
indignant at it. They see the fruit of their toil pass into the
covetous hands of a titular, deaf to the cries of misery, whose ears
are filled with the clatter of political affairs and the rattle of
pleasure. Let the king seize on the property of the Church and pay
with it the debts of the State--this is what the country desires! The
Church has no need of fiefs to govern souls.’
Whilst the high dignitaries rolled in riches, a large class of
priests, and that the most deserving, vegetated in a wretched
condition of poverty. These were the curés of parishes, who were
deprived of the tithe which passed into the hands of some lay or
high clerical impropriator, and who received only a small indemnity,
called the _portion congrue_, scarcely sufficient to keep them from
perishing with hunger.
The _cahiers_ are full of commiseration for these poor disinherited
sons of the Church. Villiers-sur-le-Roule and Tosny assert ‘that
the benefice of their curés, reduced to the _portion congrue_, is
absolutely insufficient for their support, and for enabling them
to render help to the poor. The Abbé of Conches absorbs half the
tithe, and he does not give a sous to the relief of the parish.’ At
Muids, ‘the collegiate church of Ecouis receives all the tithes.
The chapter gives nothing to the poor, and seeks only to augment
the revenue. The curé is reduced to misery.’ The situation is the
same at Saint-Aubin-sur-Gaillon: ‘The extent of this parish makes
the presence of a curate necessary, and as he receives from the Abbé
de la Croix-Saint Leufroy, who holds the great tithes, only three
hundred and fifty livres, and as the sum is quite insufficient, he is
obliged to go round at harvest-time, like a begging friar, through
the hamlets, asking for corn and wine and apples. Surely this is
lowering the priest, and is adding an impost to the already taxed
parish.’ ‘When the curés have hardly a bare subsistence,’ says the
memorial of Fontenay; ‘when they are reduced to live on what is
strictly necessary, what can they offer to the poor? They have only
their tears. Let the curés have the tithe of the parishes in which
they minister.’
Still more hardly treated were the town curés, for the _portion
congrue_ paid them was smaller in proportion than that given to the
country priests, upon the excuse that the difference was made up by
the increased number of fees. But it was forgotten that the charges
and other expenses of a town, the calls on the priest’s purse, were
far greater in a populous city than in a country village.
The house of the clergy was the theatre of stormy scenes, which broke
out between the high dignitaries and the curés living on the _portion
congrue_. These latter had a numerical advantage; they formed a
majority of thirty to one. On the evening of the 16th, instead of
bearing to the episcopal palace the expression of their deference,
they assembled, to the number of three hundred, in a chapel. There,
disdaining all moderation of language, a curé of the diocese of
Évreux boldly said that the inferior clergy had groaned too long
under the oppression of the bishops, and that it was time to shake
off a yoke which had become as odious as it was intolerable. A second
orator, a curé of the diocese of Lisieux, no less energetically
expressed the same opinion. A third priest, having risen to speak,
began to defend the episcopate, whereupon he was silenced by the
clamour of the throng of priests, and his cassock was torn off his
back. When, on the 17th of March, the official deliberation of the
clergy was opened at the Seminary of S. Taurinus, the Bishop of
Évreux proposed to nominate a secretary, and mentioned his choice;
but his nomination was rejected with a firmness which let him
understand that the vast majority of his clergy were antagonistic to
his wishes. Every proposition made by this prelate and his colleague
met with a similar fate, and the memorial addressed to the Crown was
drawn up without their participation, and in a spirit hostile to the
high clergy.
On March 21, the Bishop of Évreux, smarting under the humiliations
to which he was exposed, wrote a letter to M. Necker, Minister
of Finances, filled with complaints. It contained the following
passage:--‘It is impossible for me, say what I will to them, to keep
this assembly of wild, excited curates in control. I am cast, like a
Christian of old, _ad leones_. These priests, calculating on their
numbers, are inflated with pride, and bear down all remonstrance.
And these are the men we are to send to the States-General, without
a shadow of knowledge of our ecclesiastical affairs; without a trace
of interest in the maintenance of our prerogatives; without a glimmer
of sympathy for our rights, jurisdictions, fiefs, and our territorial
possessions. They are prepared to overturn everything; they are
indifferent to the spoliation of the Church; they are even prepared
to hail its disestablishment, if one were fool enough to suggest such
a possibility.
‘The high beneficed clergy are unrepresented; how can they be
otherwise, when the great majority of the deputies are taken
from amongst curés who have, as a general rule, no interest in
defending our properties? You are too just not to be struck with
the inconveniences which this general summons of our clergy to an
assembly must drag down on us, and I venture to hope that in future
I shall not be again subjected to the indignity of presiding over a
tumultuous and disorderly rout, such as that at present assembled.
My zeal for the public welfare, and my devotion to the Crown, have
alone sustained me against the outrages I have endured, to the like
of which I have never previously been subjected in my diocese.’
A few days after, the bishop received an answer from M. Necker,
couched in these laconic terms:--
‘Monseigneur, I grieve to hear of the schism in the assembly under
your presidence. But who is to blame if the children revolt against
their father? I have read somewhere the injunction, which you,
my Lord, may also possibly have seen, “Fathers, provoke not your
children to wrath.”’
On the 23rd, the _cahiers_, or memorials of complaints and
recommendations, were completed, and on the 24th the election of
deputies took place. In the hall of the Seminary the election of
clerical delegates was the scene of the final struggle between the
upper and lower clergy, and it was fought with greatest violence. On
the preceding evening the bishops had concerted with those clergy on
whom they thought they could rely, and had resolved to bring forward
M. Parizot de Durand, incumbent of Breteuil, and M. de la Lande,
curé of Illiers-l’Évêque. The former was a worthy priest, greatly
beloved for his piety, exceedingly obstinate in his adhesion to the
existing state of affairs, and utterly averse to change in any form.
He had a favourite maxim, ‘quieta non movere,’ which he produced
on every possible occasion, and which was, in fact, the law of his
life. It was in vain for those who saw the agitation of mind, and
the effervescence of popular feeling, to assure him that nothing was
quiet; the stolid old Conservative was not to be shaken from his
position, and maintained that this excitement was due to the moving
of things hitherto quiet, and that the only cure for it was to reduce
them to their former condition of stagnation.
M. de la Lande was a man of family. He had been appointed in 1765
incumbent of the church of Nôtre-Dame in Illiers-l’Évêque; he was
a pluralist, enjoying, in addition, the incumbency of S. Martin,
the second parish in the barony. The collation to these two rich
benefices belonged to the Bishop of Évreux, who was lord of Illiers,
the barony having been made over to the see by Philip de Cahors in
the thirteenth century. M. de la Lande was a courtier, and was often
at Versailles. In his parish he was liked as an amiable, easy-going
parson, fond of his bottle, and passionately addicted to the chase.
It was arranged that the bishops and beneficed clergy should
not appear prominently as supporting these candidates, but that
they should be proposed and seconded by members of the assembly
not suspected of being rigid partizans of the _ancien régime_.
Monseigneur de Narbonne had given up the hope of being himself
elected, and deemed it prudent not to allow his name to be proposed.
At nine o’clock the Bishop of Évreux took his seat in the hall of
the Seminary. The large windows admitted floods of light, and the
casements were opened to allow the spring air to enter. The snow
had wholly disappeared during the last few days, and a breath of
vernal air had swept over the land, promising a return of warmth and
beauty. The swallows were busy about the tower of S. Taurin; from the
bishop’s seat the belfry was visible, and the scream of the excited
birds that wheeled and darted to and fro was audible. Now and then
a jackdaw dashed through the fluttering group with a dry stick in
its beak, to add to the accumulation of years which encumbered the
turret stairs. The Cathedral bell summoned the electors, and they
came to their assembly-room in groups of two and three, and took
their seats in silence. The bishop looked sullen and discontented;
he sat rubbing his episcopal ring, breathing on it, and polishing
it on his cuff, and then looking out of the window at the birds.
His large fleshy cheeks hung down, and their usual beefy redness
was changed to an unwholesome mottle of pink and purple. His barber
had not attended on him that morning, or the prelate had been too
busy to allow himself to be shaved, so that his chin and upper lip
presented a rough appearance, which helped to make him look more ill
at ease and out of condition than he had during the earlier part of
the session. He took no notice of the clergy as they entered, and was
regardless of Monsieur de la Ferronnais when he took his place near
him. Every now and then he muttered to himself expressions of disgust
at the situation in which he was placed, and aspirations for a speedy
termination to the session.
‘Good morning, my dear Lord,’ said the Bishop of Lisieux, touching
his arm. The Bishop of Évreux looked round sulkily, placed his hands
on the arms of his chair, and raised himself slightly from the seat.
Monseigneur de la Ferronnais was a bright old man, amiable, fond of
fun, not particularly anxious about the turn matters took. He was
sure that ‘all would come right in the end.’
‘This is your last day in purgatory,’ he said to his colleague.
‘I thank Heaven,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne, without looking
at him.
‘You take these troubles too seriously, you lay them too much to
heart,’ continued the Bishop of Lisieux. ‘Let the boys wrangle over
their precious _cahiers_ and _doléances_; we know very well that
they are sops--sops to Cerberus. The Government will never read
them, and it pleases the poor fellows to be called to scribble their
complaints. Possibly the charming queen wants curl-papers for the
ladies of the Court, and has hit on this sweet expedient of obtaining
paper at no personal cost.’
‘I cannot, and will not, stand this much longer,’ said the Bishop
of Évreux. ‘I am like the martyr who was stabbed to death with the
styles of his scholars. It is the indignity which I am subjected to
that galls me to the quick.’
‘Put your pride in your pocket,’ laughed M. de la Ferronnais. ‘We
have long ago learned to pocket our conscience at the bidding of the
Crown; perhaps our self-respect may fill the other pocket, and so
balance be preserved.’
The Bishop of Évreux did not answer. The Cathedral bell had ceased,
and, with an expression of impatience and disgust visible to all in
the room, he rang his hand-bell and opened the sitting.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘we have before us this day an important
duty to fulfil. Let me ask of you to remember that it is not to be
undertaken lightly and in a spirit of private pique. You have to
elect delegates to the national council. You are hardly aware how
great are the issues in the hands of that assembly. If you send
men to utter there the wild sentiments you have been pleased to
express in your paper to the king, you will revolutionise France and
the Church. That there have been, and still exist, abuses in the
political and ecclesiastical worlds, I am the last to deny. In times
of great excitement, extreme partizans of change may precipitate
the constitution into an abyss from which it would take centuries of
reconstruction to recover it. You will be good enough to remember
that the Church in this land is established, that it enjoys great
privileges and possessions; that to wrest from her those possessions
would be to leave her suddenly in a condition of destitution for
which she is wholly unprovided, and to rob her of her privileges
will be to subject her to an indignity from which it is your place
to shield her, as your spiritual mother and the bride of Christ.
Gentlemen, hitherto you have exhibited yourselves as a compact and
resolute body of malcontents. I do not use the word in an injurious
sense. I say you have exhibited yourselves as malcontents, as
dissatisfied with the existing state of affairs in Church and State.
If you wish to have abuses rectified, it will not be by violent men
who endeavour to tear down every institution which by its antiquity
has become full of rents, but it will be by men of calm judgment and
reconstructive ability, who will carefully and reverently restore
and re-adapt what is decayed and antiquated. I ask of you, then, in
the interest of your order, to elect persons of matured judgment and
practical experience. It can be no secret to you that the fate of
France depends on the attitude assumed by your delegates. The house
of the nobility is naturally attached to conservative principles,
that of the third estate is liberal and revolutionary. It will be
our mission to arbitrate between these contending interests, on
the one side to conciliate the people, and on the other to move the
aristocracy to relinquish their most obnoxious privileges, and to
lend their shoulders to ease the third estate of the yoke which, it
is universally acknowledged, presses upon them unduly. Above all,
let us avoid being divided in our own house. We touch both of the
other estates. On one hand, we are allied with the noblesse; on
the other hand, we are attached to the _tiers état_. Through our
hierarchy we are in communication with the noble class, through our
curates we pulsate with the heart of the unprivileged class. Let not
that double union lead to a dissolution of our body, but rather to a
harmonization of the other bodies. _Omne regnum in seipsum divisum
desolabitur, et domus supra domum cadet._’
This address, so full of good sense, was not without its effect upon
the clergy. Some began to feel that they had been a little too hard
on the privileged party in the assembly, and that an attempt at
conciliation might now well be made.
Jean Lebertre, curé of La Couture, rose and said:
‘Monseigneur, and you my fellow-electors,--At the coming assembly of
the estates of this realm, it is well that all interests should be
represented,--that which desires a redistribution of the funds of
the Church, and that which desires that they should remain in the
hands of a few as prizes to those who are most diligent and most
deserving.’
A Voice: ‘When are the prizes so given?’
‘Well,’ continued Lebertre, ‘suppose that they are given to the
clergy who by birth or political influence have some claim to receive
them, what then? Is not the Church brought into intimate contact
with both rich and noble, and poor and commoner? If her clergy are
to exert influence over those in the highest classes, they must be
enabled to move in those classes, and to leaven them. To do so,
they must receive an income proportionate to the requirements of
such a life. God forbid that the Church should be only the Church
of the poor and ignorant; and that she must become, if you rob her
of prizes. Educated and intellectual men will not enter her orders
unless they are provided with a competency. We country curés do not
want wealth; our lot is cast among the poor, and by being ourselves
poor, we have a fellow-feeling for our flock, and our flock have an
affection for us. The beneficed clergy, pluralists and commendatory
abbots, are wealthy, and are thus enabled to enter into high society,
and to infuse into it religious principles and a love of morality.
Take away their means, and you withdraw all spiritual influence from
the most powerful, because the highest, stratum of society. I propose
as one candidate for the clergy of this assembly, M. Parizot de
Durand, curé of Breteuil, a priest of unblemished character, and a
man of solid common sense.’
M. de Durand was seconded.
But immediately after, the Abbé Lecerf started up and proposed Thomas
Lindet, curé of Bernay.
Instantly an expression of anger,--a sudden dark cloud, obscured the
countenance of the president.
‘I take it as a deliberate insult to myself, that a man should
be proposed to represent the clergy of the diocese who is under
inhibition from me,’ he said, in a passionate loud tone.
Monseigneur de la Ferronnais shrugged his shoulders, and tapping the
Bishop of Évreux on the back of his hand with his middle finger,
said: ‘You have made as great a mistake now as you made a great hit
by your first speech.’
That the Bishop of Lisieux was right became at once apparent. Lindet
sprang up, on fire, in a blaze.
‘There, there!’ he said, stretching out his hands, that quivered with
excitement and the vehemence of his utterance; ‘see what he wants you
to commit yourselves to--to support the absolute and irresponsible
exercise of discipline. Why am I under inhibition? I will tell you
all. A friend of the bishop’s, then, is a man notorious for his
immoralities, a man very great at Court, or be sure he would not be
monseigneur’s friend. Well, this man attempted to seduce a poor girl,
a peasant’s daughter. She fled from her seducer, and I protected
her, and saved her, at the earnest entreaty of the man’s own wife.
He thereupon charges me with what he himself had failed to do, and
the bishop, who is his guest, complaisantly, at his host’s request,
inhibits me without allowing me a fair hearing, and an open trial.’
‘Are we going to be pestered with this nonsense here?’ asked the
bishop, angrily. ‘I pronounce this not to be the place for such
questions to be ventilated.’
‘What place is?’ suddenly asked Lindet, turning upon the prelate; ‘I
have asked for a trial, open and fair; I cannot get one. I have no
wish to be your representative, gentlemen; but what I do wish is,
that the whole body of clergy here should protest unanimously against
these arbitrary judgments, and insist on impartiality in our judges.’
He sat down. A murmur of sympathy ran through the crowd. A curé of
the town of Évreux sprang up.
‘How shall we best declare our indignation at the exercise of
authority which is unjust and arbitrary? Surely by electing the man
who has thus signally been ill-treated. I second the nomination of M.
Lindet.’
‘I refuse to put his name to the meeting,’ said the bishop.
‘My brother!’ exclaimed Monseigneur de la Ferronnais, ‘you are
throwing everything into their hands. Be cool.’
‘You are not competent to refuse,’ said the Abbé Lecerf. ‘If you
abdicate your place as president, we shall elect another president.
As long as you occupy the chair, monseigneur, you must propose
whoever is named.’
‘I contend,’ spoke the dean, rising slowly, ‘that this proposal is
indecent. There are certain charges which it is not well should be
given to the world, and discussed in public. If the bishop sees fit
to exercise his prerogative, and to secretly punish a priest without
publishing his reasons, he is perfectly justified in so doing. It is
necessary to screen the Church from scandal.’
‘It is never justice to condemn unheard,’ said Lecerf.
‘We have groaned too long under this arbitrary exercise of power.
The bishop may suspend and inhibit any congruist in his diocese,’
exclaimed another priest. ‘If he chooses, he can at any future
occasion, when his gracious Majesty summons us again,--he can, I say,
hold the election in his own hands by suspending and inhibiting all
those who are stipendiary curates, and thus throw all the power into
the scale of the high clergy.’
‘It is a question of liberty to elect or of servitude,’ shouted
another curé.
‘Gentlemen,’ said an old ecclesiastic of Évreux, ‘I was present
last autumn during a conversation between the bishop’s _officiel_,
M. Ponce, and an abbé, whom I see before me, but will not name,--an
abbé, gentlemen, whom I have noticed to be exceedingly diligent in
whipping up voters on the side of privilege. During the conversation
at which I was present, the name of M. Lindet, curé of Bernay, was
mentioned. The abbé here present stated that he had heard rumours
of the intention of some of the clergy of the deanery of Bernay to
make an attempt to nominate M. Lindet as a distinguished upholder of
liberal opinions, and as a priest of much experience and of great
influence. The officer of monseigneur, sitting yonder in the chair,
replied to this that he had discussed the matter with the bishop,
and that they had agreed to stop the nomination at all ventures. M.
Ponce suggested an inhibition, and he said that the bishop had sent
him to Bernay to find some excuse for serving one on the unfortunate
curé of that parish. I address myself to his Lordship, our president.
Let him deny this if he dares. If he does deny it, I shall at once
mention the name of the abbé whom I heard in conversation with the
_officiel_.’
A storm was instantly evoked: some clamoured for the name, others
called on the bishop to answer, and others cried ‘Shame, shame!’
‘Let the name of M. Lindet be put to the meeting?’ asked the same old
priest. ‘His Lordship is sullen. Rise, all who vote for M. Lindet.’
Instantly five or six hundred electors sprang up and waved their
hands above their heads.
‘Those in favour of M. Durand, stand up.’
There was a clatter, as the voters for the inhibited priest sat down,
and about fifty stood up.
‘Take the numbers,’ rose in a shout from the others.
Monseigneur de la Ferronnais held his superior by the arm, or the
Bishop of Évreux would have left the room in a fury.
‘For Heaven’s sake!’ exclaimed he, ‘do be calm. Accept this vote, and
you will get your own man in as the second delegate.’
‘I will have nothing more to say to this assembly of ruffians,’ said
the Bishop of Évreux, wrenching his hand away.
‘I beseech you remain here.’
‘Not another moment,’ he said, rising.
There burst from the mass of priests a shout:
‘He has vacated the chair!’
‘Let the Bishop of Lisieux take it!’ cried the Abbé Lecerf.
‘The Bishop of Lisieux in the chair! Long live the new president!’
Monseigneur de la Ferronnais looked at the Bishop of Évreux.
‘What is to be done?’ he asked.
‘Take the chair, in God’s name,’ answered the president, thrusting it
towards him; ‘I will not remain here another moment.’
‘You must indeed remain,’ said the Bishop of Lisieux, ‘unless you are
inclined to pass through all those infuriated priests to the door.
There is no side entrance to be used as an easy mode of exit.’
Monseigneur de Narbonne scowled down the hall; his colleague was
right, and he seated himself in the chair of his suffragan.
The Bishop of Lisieux rose to the occasion. As he took the place of
the late president a smile illumined his face--a smile full of good
humour, which was at once reflected from every face in the saloon.
‘Be quiet, you babies!’ he said, stretching his right hand towards
the ranks of discontented priests; and then he laughed a bright,
ringing laugh, full of freshness.
Instantly it was echoed from every part of the room.
‘I was once in Spain,’ began Monseigneur de la
Ferronnais;--Monseigneur de Narbonne winced;--‘I was once in Spain,
at the city of Pampeluna. I found a crowd of people hurrying to the
great square before the principal church. What did they rush there
for? To see a bull baited. I returned to France. I stayed a day or
two in the cathedral town of Bayonne. I found the city assembled on
the quay of the Adour. Wherefore? To enjoy the sport of bear-baiting.
Gentlemen! I have seen a bull baited, I have seen a bear baited, but
never till this day have I witnessed the baiting of a bishop.’
He spoke with emphasis, and with that ease of gesture which a
Frenchman knows so well how to make good use of. His words raised a
storm of laughter and cheers. The Bishop of Évreux writhed in his
chair. His suffragan turned towards him, extended his arms as though
to embrace him, laid his head on one side, and in a tone full of
commiseration said: ‘He is down! shall we spare him? In the arena
of ancient Rome, the gladiator who fell elevated the index of his
right hand to ask pity of the spectators---- I see--’ Monseigneur de
Narbonne had his hand up to stop his colleague, but at the allusion,
he instantly withdrew it with a frown. ‘Now, my good spectators, who
are also his assailants, do you stand _presso_ or _verso pollice_?
That is right! You are spared, my Lord Bishop of Évreux.’
He seated himself with rapid motion, and crossed his legs; then,
composing his face, he said:
‘I suppose I need not have voting-papers upon M. Lindet. It is hardly
necessary for me to put his name before you again, but we must
proceed formally. M. Lindet has been proposed by the Abbé Lecerf, and
seconded by M. Rigaud. Those in favour of M. Lindet, hold up their
hands.’
He counted the raised palms, collectedly, rank by rank, requesting
each row when counted to lower their hands.
‘Those opposed to M. Lindet, hold up their hands.’
In a minute, he declared Thomas Lindet elected delegate to the
National Assembly.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ said the president, ‘I wish in no way to influence
your votes in other ways than that of sobriety and consideration.
You must remember that the Church will not be fairly represented at
the States-General, if those in the enjoyment of benefices be wholly
excluded. Choose for your second delegate one as liberal, nay, as
revolutionary in his views as you please, but pray choose one who
may represent the moneyed interests of the Church. I leave it to your
sense of justice and propriety.’
This little speech was received with hearty applause.
M. de la Lande was proposed, seconded, and carried almost unanimously.
The Bishop of Lisieux turned to his angry brother prelate, and
whispered:
‘Now we have got your own man in. You see what may be done with
good-humour. If you had attempted to browbeat those curés any longer,
they would have elected as their second representative a more furious
democrat than even Lindet himself.’
‘I have had humiliations enough to bear without being made the butt
of your jokes before a rabble,’ answered Monseigneur de Narbonne,
sullenly.