peaceful termination; otherwise we might have been contented to refer
to the period when Fléchier was tutor to the son of M. Lefevre de
Caumartin, one of the king's council, master of requests, and bearer of
the royal seals at the tribunal of the Grands-Jours. The future bishop
had been at Paris about two years, when he accepted this tutorship.
Four years more elapsed; he was in priest's orders, and already had
some reputation as a preacher, when he accompanied M. de Caumartin to
Clermont. It was in 1665, and Louis XIV. had convoked the exceptional
court occasionally held in the distant provinces of France, and known
as the Grands-Jours. "This word," says M. Gonod, in his introduction
to Fléchier's volume, "which excited, scarcely two centuries ago, such
great expectations, so many hopes and fears, is almost unknown at the
present day; and one meets with many persons, otherwise well informed,
who inquire 'what the Grands-Jours were?' They were extraordinary
assizes, held by judges chosen and deputed by the king. These judges,
selected from the parliament, were sent with very extensive powers, to
decide all criminal and civil cases that might be brought before them,
and their decisions were without appeal. They inherited the duties of
those commissioners, called _missi dominici_, whom our kings of the
first and second dynasties sent into the provinces to take information
of the conduct of dukes and counts, and to reform the abuses that
crept into the administration of justice and of the finances. The rare
occurrence of these assizes, and the pomp of the judges, contributed to
render them imposing and solemn, and obtained for them from the people
the name of Grands-Jours. They were held but seven times in Auvergne,"
(the dates follow, commencing 1454;) "and of those seven sittings,
the most remarkable for duration, for the number and importance of
the trials, for the quality of the persons figuring in them, and for
their result, are, without the slightest question, those of 1665-6.
They lasted more than four months, from the 26th September to the 30th
January. More than twelve thousand complaints were brought before them,
and a multitude of cases, both civil and criminal, were decided. And,
amongst the latter, whom do we see upon the bench of the accused? The
most considerable persons, by birth, rank, and fortune, of Auvergne and
the circumjacent provinces, judges, and even priests!" Here we find
the true reason why Fléchier's interesting memoirs of this important
session have so long remained unprinted, almost unknown. It were idle
to assert that want of merit caused them to be omitted, or at best
passed over with a cursory notice, by collectors and commentators of
Fléchier's writings. We have already intimated, and shall presently
prove, that, both as a literary composition, and as a chronicle of
the manners of the times, this long-neglected volume is of great
merit and interest. And had these been less, this was still hardly a
reason for grudging the honours and advantages of type to a single
volume of no very great length, at the cost of the integrity of its
author's works. If not included in any of the partial editions of
the bishop's writings, or printed with his posthumous works at Paris
in 1712, a nook might surely have been reserved for it in the Abbé
Ducreux's complete edition, or in the less estimable one of Fabre de
Narbonne. But no--such favour was not afforded. M. Fabre dismisses
it with a curt and flippant notice, and Ducreux confines himself to
a careless abstract, inserted in the tenth volume of his edition, as
a sort of sop to certain persons who, having obtained access to the
manuscript, were sufficiently judicious to hold it in high estimation.
The Abbé alleged as his reason, that he thought little of the style,
which he considered strange and negligent. We will not do him the
unkindness to accept this as his real opinion. His true motive, we
cannot doubt, was more akin to that loosely hinted at by M. Fabre,
who, as recently as the year 1828, intimates that there might be
some "imprudence" in raking up these old stories. In 1782 M. Ducreux
may have been justified in apprehending detriment to his interests,
and perhaps even danger to his personal liberty, as the possible
consequence of his giving too great publicity to the chronicles of
the Grands-Jours. The Bastille and _Lettres-de-Cachet_ were not then
the mere empty sounds they were rendered, seven years later, by the
acts of a furious mob and a National Convention. There was still "snug
lying" in the fortress of the Porte St Antoine, for impertinent scribes
as for suspected conspirators. We cannot doubt that, by the affected
disparagement of Fléchier's book, the Abbé Ducreux sought to veil his
own timid or reasonable apprehensions, feigning, like the fox in the
fable, to despise what he was unable (or dared not) to make use of.
"This narrative," says M. Gonod, speaking of the _Mémoires_, "in which
the manners and morals of the nobility and clergy of the period are
sometimes painted in such black colours, could not, as will be seen
on perusal, be brought to light in the time of its author. More than
a century later, the Abbé Ducreux did not deem it advisable to print
it in a complete form. 'What interest,' he says, 'could the reader
find in the recital of those old stories, some of revolting atrocity,
others studiously malicious, and of depravity calculated only to shock
susceptible imaginations and generous hearts? The history of crime
is already too vast and too well known; it is that of virtue, and of
actions honourable to humanity, that we should endeavour to preserve
and disseminate.' Admitting this principle, M. Gonod very justly
remarks, "the first thing to do would be to pass a spunge over history;
and the virtuous Abbé forgot that nothing is more adapted to inspire
horror of crime than the contemplation of its hideous face, and of the
penalties that follow in its train. On the other hand"--and here we
have the true reason--"the Abbé Ducreux feared to retrace these facts
at a time when the descendants of the men most compromised in those
terrible trials held the first places in the church, the magistracy,
and the army: it would have been wounding them, he says, without
utility to the public." Nearly sixty years later, M. Fabre de Narbonne
allows himself to be fettered by similar unwillingness to offend the
posterity of the noble and reverend criminals of 1666; for thus only
can be explained his intimation of the possible imprudence of reviving
those judicial records. In 1844, the librarian of Clermont writes
thus: "This reason"--he refers to that alleged by Ducreux--"which I
respect and approve, is extinct for us. Of all those families, two
only, I think, are still in existence; and I believe that the present
representatives of those once odious names are personally known in
too honourable a manner to have to dread from Fléchier's narrative
any lesion to their honour. I must add, moreover, that with respect
to one, every thing has been long since published by Legrand d'Aussy,
Taillandier;[25] and that the other has received communication from
me of all relating to his family, and sees no objection to its
publication." From this paragraph it is manifest, that M. Gonod
was not quite at his ease as to the effect of his publication. He
_thinks_ one thing, _believes_ another, assumes altogether a doubting
and deprecatory tone, defending himself before attack. The worthy
bibliophilist and editor was evidently in some slight trepidation as
to the reception of his literary foster-child by the descendants of
the dissolute and tyrannical nobility arraigned before the tribunal
of the Grands-Jours. His apprehensions were not unfounded. It is
certainly difficult to understand what could be risked and who offended
by the resuscitation--after one hundred and eighty years, and when
French institutions and society had been so completely turned upside
down by successive revolutions--of these antiquated details of feudal
oppression, priestly immorality, and magisterial corruption. It argues
singular tenuity of epidermis on the part of French _gentilâtres_ of
the nineteenth century, that they cannot bear to hear how their great
grandfather, seven or eight times removed, oppressed his vassals by
enforcing odious privileges, hung up his lady's page by the heels till
death ensued, poisoned his wife, or confined a serf[26] in a damp
closet where he could neither sit nor stand, and where his face lost
its form and his garments acquired a coat of mildew. Why the disclosure
of these crimes--atrocious though they are, and characteristic of a
barbarous state of society--should disturb the repose or cloud the
countenances of the far-removed posterity of the feudal tyrants who
committed them, is no easy question to answer. Are these susceptible
descendants apprehensive lest the crimes of the French aristocracy,
two hundred years ago, should acquire a peculiarly swart hue, in the
eyes of existing generations, by contrast with the immaculate purity
of corresponding classes in the nineteenth century? The misdeeds of
a Senegas and a Montvallat, extenuated by the circumstances of the
times, by a ruder state of society and greater laxity of morals, might
well be forgotten in the infamy of a Praslin and a Teste. Whatever the
reason, however, the fact is that the publication of the Grands-Jours
was viewed with displeasure by various Auvergnat families. The edition
consisted, we believe, of seven or eight hundred copies, of which the
public bought a portion, and the remainder were purchased and destroyed
by those whom the contents of the volume offended. The book is now
unobtainable; and there appears little probability of a reprint in
France. Under these circumstances, it is surprising that the Brussels
publishers--whom no trashy French novel can escape--have not laid their
piratical claws upon a book of such attractive interest.
Written during the four months that Fléchier passed at Clermont as one
of the household of M. de Caumartin, the _Mémoires_ are intended less
as an historical record of the assizes than as a general diary of all
the amiable Abbé saw, heard, and collected during his stay in Auvergne.
Their nature scarcely admitting publication during the author's
lifetime, we must consider their composition to have been a pastime,
a manner of dispelling the tedium of long mornings in a provincial
town. "Assuredly," a clever French critic has said, "no author ever
wrote for himself alone; in literature, as on the stage, monologues
are purely conventional; in reality, one speaks to the public, without
seeming so to do." If ever there was an exception to this rule, it was
in the case of Fléchier. During the Grands-Jours, Clermont, crowded
with functionaries and their families, with plaintiffs, defendants, and
witnesses, from every part of the extensive district[27] over which the
court had jurisdiction, was a grand focus of gossip and scandal; and
by this, Fléchier, as one of the household of so important a person
as M. de Caumartin, was in the best possible position to benefit. It
is by no means improbable, that a desire to retain the many pungent
anecdotes that reached his ear, and also the more important and
striking of the proceedings before the court, stimulated him to indite
the four hundred and fourteen folio pages of manuscript now printed,
with introduction, notes, and appendix, in an octavo volume of four
hundred and sixty. He may have anticipated lively gratification in
refreshing his memory, at some later and more tranquil period of his
life, by a reference to the annals of those gay and bustling days. He
may have had in view the delectation of the witty Parisian _coteries_
by whom he was already held in high and well-merited esteem. And
the modest preceptor, foreseeing not, at that early period of his
career, the eminence he was destined to attain, may have indulged in
pleasing visions of posthumous fame, founded on this graceful volume
of memoirs. What we cannot suppose him to have contemplated, was its
immediate publication; and to this we must attribute the capricious
disorder, the frequent transitions, the sprightly _naiveté_ and piquant
negligence of a book written (as so few are written) for the author's
private gratification, or at most for that of a limited circle of
friends. With regard to the intrinsic merit of the work, we can hardly
do better than quote M. Gonod. "Independently," says that gentleman,
"of the curious facts it reveals, of the manners (still too little
known) which it retraces, it will be for the intelligent reader one of
the most precious literary monuments of the age of Louis XIV. It was
composed ten years after Pascal's 'Provinciales,' when Corneille had
already produced his masterpieces, at the moment that Molière brought
out his 'Misanthrope,' when Racine prepared his 'Plaideurs,' and his
'Britannicus,' and Boileau published his first satires. These memoirs
add a new gem to Fléchier's literary crown, by displaying qualities
not to be traced in his previously-published works. Here one does not
find that scientific formality of style which procured him the name of
a skilful artisan of words; but the author, still young, and writing,
as we may say, in play, or to exercise his easy pen, lets the latter
run on at random, whence often arises a certain _laisser-aller_, an
apparent negligence, of which Legrand d'Aussy, who criticises it, felt
neither the charm nor the value. Had he found declamation against
reigning abuses, against the nobility, or against what he called
superstition, he would have admired it. But the scholarly harmony of
the style, the vein of subtle and delicate wit pervading the work, have
completely escaped him. Let others having more right to be severe than
the author of the 'Voyage en Auvergne,' point out occasional prolixity,
romantic adventures, digressions, a superabundance of antitheses; let
them even blame the coolness with which Fléchier--in times when such
circumspection was necessary--relates horrible facts. I leave them to
play this easy part, and prefer receding with the author to a period
whose private and intimate customs are little known to me, observing
with him the follies, and listening to the gossip of the day, laughing
with him, enjoying his gaiety, and, at the same time, acquiring
knowledge." Then come a few words of compliment and gratitude to the
enlightened minister (M. Villemain) who encouraged the publication of
the _Mémoires_. In the main we agree with M. Gonod, and are much more
disposed to give ourselves up to the charm--scarcely admitting exact
definition--which we find in Fléchier's work, and to cull the flowers
of instruction and amusement so liberally scattered through his pages,
than to sit down with the dogged brow of a hypercritic to pick out
errors and carp at deficiencies. The kind-hearted Abbé, by his decorous
gaiety, inoffensive satire, and occasional tinge of tender melancholy,
surely deserves this much forbearance. Nor can we, considering the
unassuming nature of his work and the circumstances under which it was
written, allow ourselves to be angry with him for the abrupt flights
and transitions by which he so frequently passes from the annals
of crime to the recital of follies, from the lady's bower to the
ensanguined scaffold, from the dark details of feudal oppression to the
trivial tattle of the town; careless in some instances to terminate
history or anecdote, to dispel the doubts and gratify the curiosity of
the reader. Whilst recognising the historical importance and interest
of a grave and minute account of the sessions of the Grands-Jours, we
do not quarrel with our Abbé for not having transmitted it to us, but
accept his heterogeneous tragi-comic volume as a graphic and amusing
sketch of the vices, follies, and tone of French society in the
twenty-third year of the reign of Louis, surnamed the Great.
At the last stage before Clermont, the town of Riom, Fléchier abruptly
commences his narrative. It was the place of rendezvous for the members
of the tribunal, who halted there to shake their feathers and prepare
their pompous entry into Clermont. "At Riom," says the Abbé, "we began
to take repose and congratulate ourselves on our journey. We were so
well received by the lieutenant-general, and were lodged in his house
with so great cleanliness and even magnificence, that we forgot we
were out of Paris." The hospitable seneschal, moreover, took pleasure
in showing his honourable guests all that was remarkable in the town
and its environs, especially a young lady of great attractions, whose
numerous charms of person and mind made her to be considered in that
country as one of the wonders of the world. She was about twenty-two
years of age, daughter of a certain President Gabriel de Combes, and
without being a perfect beauty, she was deemed irresistible when
desirous to please. The great praises Fléchier heard of her, raised his
expectations to a high pitch, and when he saw her, he was disappointed.
He admitted many merits, but also discovered defects. A person of
quality belonging to that country, and whose name is not given,
combated this depreciatory opinion, which the gentle Abbé willingly
waived, merely expressing surprise that a lady of such merit should
have passed her twentieth year without making some great marriage.
The worthy country gentleman, his interlocutor, was astonished at his
astonishment, being unable to conceive that the adventures of this
pearl of Auvergne had not been trumpeted in the remotest corners of the
kingdom. When at last convinced of Fléchier's ignorance, he volunteered
to dispel it; and the Abbé, evidently delighted to be initiated into
the _chronique scandaleuse_ of Riom, gave him all encouragement. But
because they were not at their ease for such discourse, but importuned
by many compliments, in the drawing-room where this occurred, they got
into the honest gentleman's carriage, and were driven to a certain
garden, which passed for the Luxembourg of the district, and was
much frequented in the fine season by the Riom fashionables. "There
are fountains," says Fléchier, "and grottos, and alleys separated by
palisades of a very agreeable verdure, which divert the eyes, and thick
enough to keep the secrets exchanged by lovers, when they walk and talk
confidentially. Although it was one of the finest of autumnal days,
the arrival of Messieurs des Grands-Jours kept every body in the town,
and we found more tranquillity and solitude than we had hoped for."
Amidst the discreet shades of this suburban Eden, Fléchier learned
the gallant adventures of Mademoiselle de Combes, which he professes
to set down verbatim, although it is easy to judge, how greatly the
narrative is indebted to his consummate art as a narrator, far superior
to what could reasonably be attributed to the Auvergnat squire or noble
from whom he derived the facts; to say nothing of the impossibility
of retaining word for word, and upon once hearing it, a narrative
extending over thirty pages. But, throughout the volume, the same thing
occurs. Give Fléchier a story to tell, and he imparts to it a character
entirely his own, arranging it with infinite grace, attributing motives
to the personages, and placing imaginary conversations in their mouths.
This story of Mademoiselle de Combes, for instance, in itself a very
simple case of jilting, acquires, in his hands, an interest peculiarly
its own, and we follow it to the end with unabated amusement. A young
gentleman of Clermont, of the name of Fayet, rich and amiable, of
agreeable person and noble and generous disposition, and well allied,
returned to his native town, after completing his studies at Paris,
to marry Mademoiselle Ribeyre, daughter of the first president of the
Court of Aids at Clermont. The marriage had been arranged between
the respective parents, but some difference supervening, the lady's
father broke off the match, and to prevent any possible renewal of
negotiations, gave his daughter to M. Charles de Combes, so that
Fayet arrived to find his mistress snatched from him, and to witness
a rival's wedding instead of celebrating his own. Many persons would
have been sensibly affected by such a misadventure, but he consoled
himself with a good grace for the loss of a bride whom he had known
little and loved less, paid the usual civilities to the new-married
couple, and soon found himself on a friendly footing in their house.
There he met the sister-in-law of his former intended, Mademoiselle
de Combes, then a young girl of fifteen, endowed with every grace of
mind and person that can be expected at that age, and her favour he
seriously applied himself to gain. "He found a virgin heart," says
Fléchier, "upon which he made a tolerably favourable impression; he
made more expense than ever, gave magnificent entertainments, acquired
the good will of most of the persons who habitually saw his mistress,
and did all in his power to place himself favourably in her opinion,
knowing well that esteem leads to tenderness by a very rapid road.
On occasion he would address a few words to her in a low voice; and
in his conversation would opportunely introduce generous and tender
sentiments. These, the young lady, who had infinite wit and sense,
well knew how to apply; but although she was already a little touched,
she had the art to dissimulate so naturally that it was impossible to
penetrate her thoughts, and even those she most trusted knew nothing of
her new-born inclinations." Such power of dissimulation, at so early
an age, might have alarmed the lover, and given the aspirant to her
hand matter for reflexion. Instead of that, it served to stimulate his
passion, and he pressed the siege of her heart with renewed vigour. In
a long conversation, detailed by Fléchier in the graceful but insipid
language of the period, where the voice of passion seems cramped and
chilled by the necessity of polished periods and elegant diction, Fayet
paved the way to a declaration, which he had already commenced, when
interrupted by the entrance of the sister-in-law. But his discourse,
and the constancy of his attentions, had touched the heart, or at
least wrought upon the imagination of the obdurate fair one; and the
gallant, perceiving his advantage, impatiently awaited an opportunity
to renew the attack. It soon occurred, whilst walking with some ladies
and cavaliers in the same garden where Fléchier heard the tale.
Accident divided the party, and the lovers found themselves alone.
With trembling and hesitation, for his sincere and ardent passion made
him dread the possibility of a refusal which his reason forbade him
to think probable, Fayet avowed his love. The lady affected dismay,
and uttered a cry, says the Abbé, that nearly pierced the paling; but
she ended by permitting him to love her, and after two or three more
interviews, confessed a reciprocal flame. Their amorous joy, however,
was converted into bitterness and despair by the positive refusal of
the President de Combes to sanction their union. The magistrate's
motives for this refusal were in the highest degree absurd. One
was, that M. Ribeyre having declined the alliance of Fayet, it was
to be inferred the latter had less fortune than he received credit
for; the second, still more ridiculous, was an idea that it would be
disgraceful to his daughter to marry a man whom his daughter-in-law
had refused. Fayet, we are told, was near dying of grief on receiving
this rude and unforeseen blow. Retiring to his apartment, he wrote a
despairing billet to his mistress, who, although also very desponding,
returned an encouraging and consolatory reply, and there ensued an
animated correspondence and long series of secret interviews, known
of course to everybody but to the parents who forbade them. At last,
the vigilance of the latter became excessive: Mademoiselle Combes,
never suffered out of sight of her mother, who even slept in her room,
was compelled to scribble her love-letters in haste, by favour of a
half-drawn curtain and a ray of lamplight, whilst the good lady was
absorbed in her evening devotions; until at last, by reason of this
painful constraint, or from some other cause, she fell into a state of
languor, and was taken to the baths of Vichy. "She there recovered her
health," says Fléchier, who manifestly sympathises with the sufferings
of these constant lovers; "but the miracle was less owing to the waters
than to secret interviews with her lover. He followed her in disguise,
and remained hidden in a house adjacent to the baths, whither, under
some pretext, a good lady conducted her, and thence, after a space of
conversation, led her back to her mother. Never were the waters of
Vichy more eagerly desired, or taken with more pleasure." After this,
Mademoiselle de Combes, hoping to alarm her parents into acquiescence,
took refuge in a convent, where she was received on condition that she
should break off all intercourse with the world. But the superior, a
lady of quality and friend of both parties, favoured the reception of
letters, and even visits from Fayet to his mistress. The lover was
smuggled by female friends as far as the convent grating. At last,
Madame de Combes persuaded her daughter to return home, and treated
her more kindly than before, but continued stanch in her opposition
to the marriage. To be brief, this state of affairs lasted eight or
nine years. "The thing went so far," says the Abbé, "that they swore
fidelity before the altar, making profane vows in holy places, and even
writing promises signed with their blood, and committing other follies
peculiar to persons whom a violent passion blinds. By this time the
lady was in her twenty-fourth year, and seeing herself near the age
when the law exempts children from the control of their parents, she
exhorted Fayet to perseverance, writing him to that effect."
Just at this time, M. Bernard de Fortia, a friend and college-comrade
of Fayet, was appointed to the high office of Intendant of Auvergne.
He was a widower, and, on arriving at Clermont, _il se pourvut d'abord
d'une galanterie_. The object of his attentions was a young girl of
eighteen, whose _embonpoint_ added several years to her apparent age,
and who was generally known as _la_ Beauverger. "For we are accustomed
thus to abridge the manner of naming, and find the word _Mademoiselle_
useless, the name of the family sufficiently indicating the quality."
With the unaffected ease and lively conversation of this lady, the
Intendant was much pleased and amused, and saw a good deal of her,
being also greatly diverted by her letters. "Sometimes she began them
by some extravagance, as when she wrote to him: '_The devil take
you, sir!_' at others by tender pleasantries and by naivetés of her
invention. Writing easily, she wrote much; and as she was one day
told that if she continued she would produce more volumes than Saint
Augustin, 'Ay, truly,' she replied, 'though, like him, I were to write
only my confessions.'"