LOUIS XV.
The reign of Louis XV. was one of the longest on record extending from
1715 to 1774--the greater part of the eighteenth century. But he was a
child, only five years of age, on the death of his great grandfather,
Louis XIV.; and, even after he came to his majority, he was ruled by
his ministers and his mistresses. He was not, like Louis XIV., the
life and the centre of all great movements in his country. He was an
automaton, a pageant; not because the constitution imposed checks on
his power, but because he was weak and vacillating. He, therefore,
performing no great part in history, is only to be alluded to, and
attention should be mainly directed to his ministers.
[Sidenote: Regency of the Duke of Orleans.]
During the minority of the king, the reins of government were held by
the Duke of Orleans, as regent, and who, in case of the king's death,
would be the next king, being grand-nephew of Louis XIV. The
administration of the Duke of Orleans is nearly contemporaneous with
that of Sir Robert Walpole. The most pressing subject which demanded
the attention of the regent, was that of the finances. The late king
had left a debt of one thousand millions of livres--an enormous sum in
that age. To get rid of this burden, the Duke of St. Simon proposed a
bankruptcy. "This," said he, "would fall chiefly on the commercial and
moneyed classes, who were not to be feared or pitied; and would,
moreover, be not only a relief to the state, but a salutary warning to
the ignoble classes not to lend their money." This speech illustrates
the feelings and opinions of the aristocratic class in France, at that
time. But the minister of finance would not run the risk of incurring
the popular odium which such a measure would have produced, and he
proposed calling together the States General. The regent duke,
however, would not hear of that measure, and yet did not feel inclined
to follow fully the advice of St. Simon. He therefore compromised the
matter, and resolved to rob the national creditor. He established a
commission to verify the bills of the public creditors, and, if their
accounts did not prove satisfactory, to cancel them entirely. Three
hundred and fifty millions of livres--equal, probably, to three
hundred millions of dollars in this age--were thus swept away. But it
was resolved not only to refuse to pay just debts, but to make people
repay the gains which they had made. Those who had loaned money to the
state, or had farmed the revenues, were flung into prison, and
threatened with confiscation of their goods, and even death,--treated
as Jews were treated in the Dark Ages,--unless they redeemed
themselves by purchasing a pardon. Never before did men suffer such a
penalty for having befriended an embarrassed state. To this injustice
and cruelty the magistracy winked. But, in addition to this, the coin
was debased to such an extent, that seventy-two millions of livres
were thus added to the treasury. Yet even these gains were not enough
to satisfy a profligate government. There still continued a constant
pressure. The national debt had increased even to fifteen hundred
millions of livres, or almost seventy millions sterling--equivalent to
what would now be equal to at least one thousand millions of dollars.
[Sidenote: John Law.]
To get rid of this debt, the regent listened to the schemes of the
celebrated John Law, a Scotch adventurer and financier, who had
established a bank, had grown rich, and was reputed to be a wonderful
political economist.
Law proposed, in substance, to increase the paper currency of the
country, and thus supersede the necessity for the use of the precious
metals.
The regent, moreover, having great faith in Law's abilities, and in
his wealth, converted his private bank into a royal one--made it, in
short, the Bank of France. This bank was then allied with the two
great commercial companies of the time--the East India and the
Mississippi. Great privileges were bestowed on each. The latter had
the exclusive monopoly of the trade with Louisiana, and all the
countries on the Mississippi River, and also of the fur trade in
Canada. Louisiana was then supposed to be rich in gold mines, and
great delusions arose from the popular notion.
[Sidenote: Mississippi Company.]
The capital of this gigantic corporation was fixed at one hundred
millions and Law, who was made director-general, aimed to make the
notes of the company preferable to specie, which, however could
lawfully be demanded for the notes. So it was settled that the shares
of the company could only be purchased by the paper of the bank. As
extravagant hopes of gain were cherished respecting the company, its
shares were in great demand. And, as only Law's bank bills could
purchase the shares, the gold and silver of the realm flowed into
Law's bank. Law and the regent had, therefore, the fabrication of both
shares and bank bills to an indefinite amount.
The national creditor was also paid in the notes of the bank, and, as
unbounded confidence existed, both in the genius of Law and in the
profits of the Mississippi Company,--as the shares were constantly in
demand, and were rising in value,--the creditor was satisfied. In a
short time, one half of the national debt was transferred. Government
owed the bank, and not the individuals and corporations from whom
loans had been originally obtained. These individuals, instead of
government scrip, had shares in the Mississippi Company.
And all would have been well, had the company's shares been valuable,
or had they retained their credit, or even had but a small part of the
national debt been transferred. But the people did not know the real
issues of the bank, and so long as new shares could be created and
sold to pay the interest, the company's credit was good. For a while
the delusion lasted. Law was regarded as a great national benefactor.
His house was thronged with dukes and princes. He became
controller-general of the finances--virtually prime minister. His fame
extended far and wide. Honors were showered upon him from every
quarter. He was elected a member of the French Academy. His schemes
seemed to rain upon Paris a golden shower. He had freed the state from
embarrassments, and he had, apparently, made every body rich, and no
one poor. He was a deity, as beneficent as he was powerful. He became
himself the richest man in Europe. Every body was intoxicated. The
golden age had come. Paris was crowded with strangers from all parts
of the world. Five hundred thousand strangers expended their fortunes,
in hope of making greater ones. Twelve hundred new coaches were set up
in the city. Lodgings could scarcely be had for money. The highest
price was paid for provisions. Widow ladies, clergymen, and noblemen
deserted London to speculate in stocks at Paris. Nothing was seen but
new equipages, new houses, new apparel, new furniture. Nothing was
felt but universal exhilaration. Every man seemed to have made his
fortune. The stocks rose every day. The higher they rose, the more new
stock was created. At last, the shares of the company rose from one
hundred to twelve hundred per cent., and three hundred millions were
created, which were nominally worth, in 1719, three thousand six
hundred millions of livres--one hundred and eighty times the amount of
all the gold and silver in Europe at that time.
[Sidenote: Popular Delusion.]
In this public delusion, the directors were wise enough to convert
_their_ shares into silver and gold. A great part of the current coin
in the kingdom was locked up in the houses or banks of a few
stockjobbers and speculators.
But the scarcity of gold and silver was felt, people's eyes were
opened, and the bubble burst, but not until half of the national debt
had been paid off by this swindling transaction.
The nation was furious. A panic spread among all classes; the bank had
no money with which to redeem its notes; the shares fell almost to
nothing; and universal bankruptcy took place. Those who, a few days
before, fancied themselves rich, now found themselves poor. Property
of all kinds fell to less than its original value. Houses, horses,
carriages, upholstery, every thing, declined in price. All were
sellers, and few were purchasers.
But popular execration and vengeance pursued the financier who had
deceived the nation. He was forced to fly from Paris. His whole
property was confiscated, and he was reduced to indigence and
contempt. When his scheme was first suggested to the regent, he was
worth three millions of livres. He had better remained a private
banker.
The bursting of the Mississippi bubble, of course, inflamed the nation
against the government, and the Duke of Orleans was execrated, for his
agency in the business had all the appearance of a fraud. But he was
probably deluded with others, and hoped to free the country from its
burdens. The great blunder was in the over-issue of notes when there
was no money to redeem them.
Nor could any management have prevented the catastrophe.
[Sidenote: Fatal Effects of the Delusion.]
It was not possible that the shares of the company should advance so
greatly, and the public not perceive that they had advanced beyond
their value; it was not possible, that, while paper money so vastly
increased in quantity, the numerical prices of all other things should
not increase also, and that foreigners who sold their manufactures to
the French should not turn their paper into gold, and carry it out of
the kingdom; it was not possible that the disappearance of the coin
should not create alarm, notwithstanding the edicts of the regent, and
the reasonings of Law; it was not possible that annuitants should not
discover that their old incomes were now insufficient and less
valuable, as the medium in which they were paid was less valuable; it
was not possible that the small part of society which may be called
the sober and reasoning part, should not be so struck with the sudden
fortunes and extravagant enthusiasm which prevailed, as not to doubt
of the solidity of a system, unphilosophical in itself, and which,
after all, had to depend on the profits of a commercial company, the
good faith of the regent, and the skill of Law; it was impossible, on
these and other accounts, but that gold and silver should be at last
preferred to paper notes, of whatever description or promise. These
were inevitable consequences. Hence the failure of the scheme of Law,
and the ruin of all who embarked in it, owing to a change in public
opinion as to the probable success of the scheme, and, secondly, the
over-issue of money.
By this great folly, four hundred thousand families were ruined, or
greatly reduced; but the government got rid of about eight hundred
millions of debts. The sufferings of the people, with such a
government, did not, however, create great solicitude; the same old
course of folly and extravagance was pursued by the court.
Nor was there a change for the better when Louis XV. attained his
majority. His vices and follies exceeded all that had ever been
displayed before. The support of his mistresses alone was enough to
embarrass the nation. Their waste and extravagance almost exceeded
belief. Who has not heard of the disgraceful and disgusting iniquities
of Pompadour and Du Barry?
The regency of the Duke of Orleans occupied the first eight years of
the reign of Louis XV. The prime minister of the regent was Dubois, at
first his tutor, and afterwards Archbishop of Cambray. He was rewarded
with a cardinal's hat for the service he rendered to the Jesuits in
their quarrel with the Jansenists, but was a man of unprincipled
character; a fit minister to a prince who pretended to be too
intellectual to worship God, and who copied Henry IV. only in his
licentiousness.
The first minister of Louis XV., after he assumed himself the reins of
government, was the Duke of Bourbon, lineal heir of the house of
Condé, and first prince of the blood. But he was a man of no
character, and his short administration was signalized by no important
event.
[Sidenote: Administration of Cardinal Fleury.]
Cardinal Fleury succeeded the Duke of Bourbon as prime minister. He
had been preceptor of the king, and was superior to all the intrigues
of the court; a man of great timidity, but also a man of great
probity, gentleness, and benignity. Fortunately, he was intrusted with
power at a period of great domestic tranquillity, and his
administration was, like that of Walpole, pacific. He projected,
however, no schemes of useful reform, and made no improvements in laws
or finance. But he ruled despotically, and with good intentions, from
1726 to 1743.
The most considerable subject of interest connected with his peaceful
administration, was the quarrel between the Jesuits and the
Jansenists. Fleury took the side of the former, although he was never
an active partisan; and he was induced to support the Jesuits for the
sake of securing the cardinal's hat--the highest honor, next to that
of the tiara, which could be conferred on an ecclesiastic. The Jesuits
upheld the crumbling power of the popes, and the popes rewarded the
advocates of that body of men, who were their ablest supporters.
The Jansenist controversy is too important to be passed over with a
mere allusion. It was the great event in the history of Catholic
Europe during the seventeenth century. It involved principles of great
theological, and even political interest.
[Sidenote: Cornelius Jansen.]
The Jansenist controversy grew out of the long-disputed questions
pertaining to grace and free will--questions which were agitated with
great spirit and acrimony in the seventeenth century as they had
previously been centuries before by Augustine and Pelagius. The
Jesuits had never agreed with the great oracle of the Western church
in his views on certain points, and it was their aim to show the
absolute freedom of the human will--that it had a self-determining
power, a perfect liberty to act or not to act. Molina, a Spanish
Jesuit, had been a great defender of this ancient Pelagianism, and his
views were opposed by the Dominicans, and the controversy was carried
into all the universities of Europe. The Council of Trent was too wise
to meddle with this difficult question; but angry theologians would
not let it rest, and it was discussed with peculiar fervor in the
Catholic University of Louvaine. Among the doctors who there
distinguished themselves in reviving the great contest of the fifth
and sixth centuries, were Cornelius Jansen of Holland, and Jean de
Verger of Gascony. Both these doctors hated the Jesuits, and lamented
the dangerous doctrines which they defended, and advocated the views
of Augustine and the Calvinists. Jansen became professor of divinity
in the university, and then Bishop of Ypres. After an uninterrupted
study of twenty years, he produced his celebrated book called
_Augustinus_, in which he set forth the servitude of the will, and the
necessity of divine grace to break the bondage, which, however, he
maintained, like Calvin, is imparted only to a few, and in pursuance
of a decree existing in the divine mind before the creation of our
species. But Jansen died before the book was finished, and two years
elapsed before it was published, but, when published, it was the
signal for a contest which distracted Europe for seventy years.
[Sidenote: St. Cyran--Arnauld--Le Maitre.]
While Jansen was preparing this work, his early companion and friend,
De Verger, a man of family and rank, had become abbot of the monastery
of St. Cyran in Paris, and had formed, in the centre of that gay city,
a learned and ascetic hermitage. This was during the reign of
Louis XIII. His reputation, as a scholar and a saint, attracted the
attention of Richelieu, and his services were solicited by that able
minister. But neither rewards, nor flatteries, nor applause had power
over the mind of St. Cyran, as he was now called. The cardinal hated
and feared a man whom he could not bribe or win, and soon found means
to quarrel with him, and sent him to the gloomy fortress of Vincennes.
But there, in his prison, he devoted himself, with renewed ardor, to
his studies and duties, subduing his appetites and passions by an
asceticism which even his church did not require, and devoting all his
thoughts and words to the service of God. Like Calvin and Augustine,
he had so profound a conception of the necessity of an inward change,
that he made grace precede repentance. A man so serene in trial, so
humble in spirit, so natural and childlike in ordinary life, and yet
so distinguished for talents and erudition, could not help exciting
admiration, and making illustrious proselytes. Among them was Arnauld
D'Antilly, the intimate friend of Richelieu and Anne of Austria; Le
Maitre, the most eloquent lawyer and advocate in France; and Angelique
Arnauld, the abbess of Port Royal. This last was one of the most
distinguished ladies of her age, noble by birth, and still more noble
by her beautiful qualities of mind and heart. She had been made abbess
of her Cistercian convent at the age of eleven years, and at that time
was gay, social, and light-hearted. The preaching of a Capuchin friar
had turned her thoughts to the future world, and she closed the gates
of her beautiful abbey, in the vale of Chevreuse, against all
strangers, and devoted herself to the ascetic duties which her church
and age accounted most meritorious. She soon after made the
acquaintance of St. Cyran, and he imbued her mind with the principles
of the Augustinian theology. When imprisoned at Vincennes, he was
still the spiritual father of Port Royal. Amid this famous retreat
were collected the greatest scholars and the greatest saints of the
seventeenth century--Antoine Le Maitre, De Lericourt, Le Maitre de
Saci, Antoine Arnauld, and Pascal himself. Le Maitre de Saci gave to
the world the best translation of the Bible in French; Arnauld wrote
one hundred volumes of controversy, and, among them, a noted satire on
the Jesuits, which did them infinite harm; while Pascal, besides his
wonderful mathematical attainments, and his various meditative works,
is immortalized for his Provincial Letters, written in the purest
French, and with matchless power and beauty. This work, directed
against the Jesuits, is an inimitable model of elegant irony, and the
most effective sarcasm probably ever elaborated by man. In the vale of
Port Royal also dwelt Tillemont, the great ecclesiastical historian;
Fontaine and Racine, who were controlled by the spirit of Arnauld, as
well as the Prince of Conti, and the Duke of Liancourt. There resided,
under the name of _Le Merrier_, and in the humble occupation of a
gardener, one of the proudest nobles of the French court; and there,
too, dwelt the celebrated Duchess of Longueville, sister of the Prince
of Condé, the life of the Fronde, the idol of the Parisian mob, and the
once gay patroness of the proudest festivities.
[Sidenote: The Labors of the Port Royalists.]
But it is the labors of these saints, scholars, and nobles to repress
the dangerous influence of the Jesuits for which they were most
distinguished. The Jansenists of Port Royal did not deny the authority
of the pope, nor the great institutions of the papacy. They sought
chiefly, in their controversy with the Jesuits, to enforce the
doctrines of Augustine respecting justification. But their efforts
were not agreeable to the popes, nor to the doctors of the Sorbonne,
who had no sympathy with their religious life, and detested their bold
spirit of inquiry. The doctors of the Sorbonne, accordingly, extracted
from the book of Jansen five propositions which they deemed heretical,
and urged the pope to condemn them. The Port Royalists admitted that
these five propositions were indefensible if they were declared
heretical by the sovereign pontiff, but denied that they were actually
to be found in the book of Jansen. They did not quarrel with the pope
on grounds of faith. They recognized his infallibility in matters of
religion, but not in matters of fact. The pope, not wishing to push
things to extremity, which never was the policy of Rome, pretended to
be satisfied. But the Jesuits would not let him rest, and insisted on
the condemnation of the Jansenist opinions. The case was brought
before a great council of French bishops and doctors, and Arnauld, the
great champion of the Jansenists, was voted guilty of heresy for
denying that the five propositions which the pope condemned were
actually in the book of Jansen. The pope, moreover, was induced to
issue a formula of an oath, to which all who wished to enjoy any
office in the church were obliged to subscribe, and which affirmed
that the five condemned propositions were actually to be found in
Jansen's book. This act of the pope was justly regarded by the
Jansenists as intolerably despotic, and many of the most respectable
of the French clergy sided with them in opinion. All France now became
interested in the controversy, and it soon led to great commotions.
The Jansenists then contended that the pope might err in questions of
fact, and that, therefore, they were not under an obligation to
subscribe to the required oath. The Jesuits, on the other hand,
maintained the pope's infallibility in matters of fact, as well as in
doctrine; and, as they had the most powerful adherents, the Jansenists
were bitterly persecuted. But, as twenty-two bishops were found to
take their side, the matter was hushed up for a while. For ten years
more, the Port Royalists had peace and protection, chiefly through the
great influence of the Duchess of Longueville; but, on her death,
persecution returned. Arnauld was obliged to fly to the Netherlands,
and the beautiful abbey of Port Royal was despoiled of its lands and
privileges. Louis XIV. had ever hated its inmates, being ruled by
Madame de Maintenon, who, in turn, was a tool of the Jesuits.
But the demolition of the abbey, the spoliation of its lands, and the
dispersion of those who sought its retreat, did not stop the
controversy. Pascal continued it, and wrote his Provincial Letters,
which had a wonderful effect in making the Jesuits both ridiculous and
hateful. That book was the severest blow this body of ambitious and
artful casuists ever received.
[Sidenote: Principles of Jansenism.]
Nor was the Jansenist controversy merely a discussion of grace and
free will. The principles of Jansenism, when carried out, tended to
secure independence to the national church, and to free the
consciences of men from the horrible power of their spiritual
confessors. Jansenism was a timid protest against spiritual tyranny, a
mild kind of Puritanism, which found sympathy with many people in
France. The Parliament of Paris caught the spirit of freedom, and
protected the Jansenists and those who sympathized with them. It so
happened that a certain bishop published a charge to his clergy which
was strongly imbued with the independent doctrines of the Jansenists.
He was tried and condemned by a provincial council, and banished by
the government. The Parliament of Paris, as the guardian of the law,
took up the quarrel, and Cardinal Fleury was obliged to resort to a
_Bed of Justice_ in order to secure the registry of a decree. A Bed of
Justice was the personal appearance of the sovereign in the supreme
judicial tribunal of the nation, and his command to the members of it
to obey his injunctions was the last resort of absolute power. The
parliament, of course, obeyed, but protested the next day, and drew up
resolutions which declared the temporal power to be independent of the
spiritual. It then proceeded to Meudon, one of the royal palaces, to
lay its remonstrance before the king; and Louis XV., indignant and
astonished, refused to see the members. The original controversy was
forgotten, and the cause of the parliament, which was the cause of
liberty, became the cause of the nation. The resistance of the
parliament was technically unsuccessful, yet, nevertheless, sowed the
seeds of popular discontent, and contributed to that great
insurrection which finally overturned the throne.
[Sidenote: Functions of the Parliament.]
[Sidenote: The Bull Unigenitus.]
It may be asked how the Parliament of Paris became a judicial
tribunal, rather than a legislative assembly, as in England. When the
Justinian code was introduced into French jurisprudence, in the latter
part of the Middle Ages, the old feudal and clerical judges--the
barons and bishops--were incapable of expounding it, and a new class
of men arose--the lawyers, whose exclusive business it was to study
the laws. Being best acquainted with them, they entered upon the
functions of judges, and the secular and clerical lords yielded to
their opinions. The great barons, however, still continued to sit in
the judicial tribunals, although ignorant of the new jurisprudence;
and their decisions were directed by the opinions of the lawyers who
had obtained a seat in their body, as is the case at present in the
English House of Lords when it sits as a judicial body. The necessity
of providing some permanent repository for the royal edicts, induced
the kings of France to enroll them in the journals of the courts of
parliament, being the highest judicial tribunal; and the members of
these courts gradually availed themselves of this custom to dispute
the legality of any edict which had not been thus registered. As the
influence of the States General declined, the power of the parliament
increased. The encroachments of the papacy first engaged its
attention, and then the management of the finances by the ministers of
Francis I. called forth remonstrances. During the war of the Fronde,
the parliament absolutely refused to register the royal decrees. But
Louis XIV. was sufficiently powerful to suppress the spirit of
independence, and accordingly entered the court, during the first
years of his reign, with a whip in his hand, and compelled it to
register his edicts. Nor did any murmur afterwards escape the body,
until, at the close of his reign the members opposed the bull
_Unigenitus_--that which condemned the Jansenists--as an infringement
of the liberties of the Gallican Church. And no sooner had the great
monarch died, than, contrary to his will, they vested the regency in
the hands of the Duke of Orleans. Then freedom of expostulation
respecting the ruinous schemes of Law induced him to banish them, and
they only obtained their recall by degrading concessions. Their next
opposition was during the administration of Fleury. The minister of
finance made an attempt to inquire into the wealth of the clergy,
which raised the jealousy of the order; and the clergy, in order to
divert the attention of the court, revived the opposition of the
parliament to the bull _Unigenitus_. It was resolved by the clergy to
demand confessional notes from dying persons, and that these notes
should be signed by priests adhering to the bull, before extreme
unction should be given. The Archbishop of Paris, at the head of the
French clergy, was opposed by the parliament, and this high judicial
court imprisoned such of the clergy as refused to administer the
sacraments. The king, under the guidance of Fleury, forbade the
parliament to take cognizance of ecclesiastical proceedings, and to
suspend its prosecutions. Instead of acquiescing, the parliament
presented new remonstrances, and the members refused to attend to any
other functions, and resolved that they could not obey this injunction
without violating their consciences. They cited the Bishop of Orleans
before their tribunal, and ordered all his writings, which denied the
jurisdiction of the court, to be publicly burnt by the executioner. By
aid of the military, the parliament enforced the administration of the
sacraments, and became so interested in the controversy as to neglect
other official duties. The king, indignant, again banished the
members, with the exception of four, whom he imprisoned. And, in order
not to impede the administration of justice, the king established
another tribunal for the prosecution of civil suits. But the lawyers,
sympathizing with the parliament, refused to plead before the new
court. This resolute conduct, and other evils happening at the time,
induced the king to yield, in order to conciliate the people, and the
parliament was recalled. This was a popular triumph, and the
archbishop was banished in his turn. Shortly after, Cardinal Fleury
died, and a new policy was adopted. The quarrel of the parliament and
the clergy was forgotten in a still greater quarrel between the king
and the Jesuits.
The policy of Fleury, like that of Walpole, was pacific; and yet, like
him, he was forced into a war against his own convictions. And success
attended the arms of France, in the colonial struggle with England,
until Pitt took the helm of state.
Until the death of Fleury, in 1743, who administered affairs with
wisdom, moderation, and incorruptible integrity, he was beloved, if he
was not venerated. But after this event, a great change took place in
his character and measures, and the reign of mistresses commenced, and
to an extent unparalleled in the history of Europe. Louis XIV.
bestowed the revenue of the state on unworthy favorites, yet never
allowed them to govern the nation; but Louis XV. intrusted the most
important state matters to their direction, and the profoundest state
secrets to their keeping.
[Sidenote: Madame de Pompadour.]
Among these mistresses, Madame de Pompadour was the most noted; a
woman of talent, but abominably unprincipled. Ambition was her
master-passion, and her _boudoir_ was the council chamber of the royal
ministers. Most of the great men of France paid court to her, and to
neglect her was social ruin. Even Voltaire praised her beauty, and
Montesquieu flattered her intellect. And her extravagance was equal to
her audacity. She insisted on drawing bills on the treasury without
specifying the service. The comptroller-general was in despair, and
the state was involved in inextricable embarrassments.
It was through her influence that the Duke de Choiseul was made the
successor of Fleury. He was not deficient in talent, but his
administration proved unfortunate. Under his rule, Louis lost the
Canadas, and France plunged into a contest with Frederic the Great.
The Seven Years' War, which occurred during his administration, had
made the age an epoch; but as this is to be considered in the chapter
on Frederic III., no notice of it will be taken in this connection.
The most memorable event which arose out of the policy and conduct of
Choiseul was the fall of the Jesuits.
[Sidenote: The Jesuits.]
Their arts and influence had obtained from the pope the bull
_Unigenitus_, designed to suppress their enemies, the Jansenists; and
the king, governed by Fleury, had taken their side.
But they were so unwise as to quarrel with the powerful mistress of
Louis XV. They despised her, and defied her hatred. Indeed, the
Jesuits had climbed to so great a height that they were scornful of
popular clamor, and even of regal distrust. But there is no man, and
no body of men, who can venture to provoke enmity with impunity; and
destruction often comes from a source the least suspected, and
apparently the least to be feared. Who could have supposed that the
ruin of this powerful body, which had reigned so proudly in
Christendom for a century; which had imposed its Briareus's arms on
the necks of princes; which had its confessors in the courts of the
most absolute monarchs; which, with its hundred eyes, had penetrated
the secrets of all the cabinets of Europe; and which had succeeded in
suppressing in so many places every insurrection of human
intelligence, in spite of the fears of kings, the jealousy of the
other monastic orders, and the inveterate animosity of philosophers
and statesmen,--would receive a fatal wound from the hands of a woman,
who scandalized by her vices even the depraved court of an enervated
prince? But so it was. Madame de Pompadour hated the Jesuits because
they attempted to undermine her influence with the king. And she
incited the prime minister, whom she had raised by her arts to power,
to unite with Pombal in Portugal, in order to effect their ruin.
[Sidenote: Exposure of the Jesuits.]
In no country was the power of the Jesuits more irresistible than in
Portugal. There their ascendency was complete. But the prime minister
of Joseph I., the Marquis of Pombal, a man of great energy, had been
insulted by a lady of the highest rank, and he swore revenge. An
opportunity was soon afforded. The king happened to be fired at and
wounded in his palace by some unknown enemy. The blow was aimed at the
objects of the minister's vengeance--the Marchioness of Tavora, her
husband, her family, and her friends the Jesuits. And royal vengeance
followed, not merely on an illustrious family, but on those persons
whom this family befriended. The Jesuits were expelled in the most
summary manner from the kingdom. The Duke de Choiseul and Madame
Pompadour hailed their misfortunes with delight, and watched their
opportunity for revenge. This was afforded by the failure of La
Valette, the head of the Jesuits at Martinique. It must be borne in
mind that the Jesuits had embarked in commercial enterprises, while
they were officiating as missionaries. La Valette aimed to monopolize,
for his order, the trade with the West Indies, which commercial
ambition excited the jealousy of mercantile classes in France, and
they threw difficulties in his way. And it so happened that some of
his most valuable ships were taken and plundered by the English
cruisers, which calamity, happening at a time of embarrassment, caused
his bills to be protested, and his bankers to stop payment. They,
indignant, accused the Jesuits, as a body, of peculation and fraud,
and demanded repayment from the order. Had the Jesuits been wise, they
would have satisfied the ruined bankers. But who is wise on the brink
of destruction? _"Quem deus vult perdere, prius dementat."_ The
Jesuits refused to sacrifice La Valette to the interests of their
order, which course would have been in accordance with their general
policy. The matter was carried before the Parliament of Paris, and the
whole nation was interested in its result. It was decided by this
supreme judicial tribunal, that the Jesuits were responsible for the
debts of La Valette. But the commercial injury was weak in comparison
with the moral. In the course of legal proceedings, the books and rule
of the Jesuits were demanded--that mysterious rule which had never
been exposed to the public eye, and which had been so carefully
guarded. When this rule was produced, all minor questions vanished;
mistresses, bankruptcies, politics, finances, wars,--all became
insignificant, compared with those questions which affected the
position and welfare of the society. Pascal became a popular idol, and
"Tartuffe grew pale before Escobar." The reports of the trial lay on
every toilet table, and persons of both sexes, and of all ages and
conditions, read with avidity the writings of the casuists. Nothing
was talked about but "probability," "surrender of conscience," and
"mental reservations." Philosophers grew jealous of the absorbing
interest with which every thing pertaining to the _régime_ of the
Jesuits was read, and of the growing popularity of the Jansenists, who
had exposed it. "What," said Voltaire, "will it profit us to be
delivered from the foxes, if we are to be given up to the wolves?" But
the philosopher had been among the first to raise the cry of alarm
against the Jesuits, and it was no easy thing to allay the storm.
[Sidenote: Their Expulsion from France.]
The Jesuits, in their distress, had only one friend sufficiently
powerful to protect them, and he was the king. He had been their best
friend, and he still wished to come to their rescue. He had been
taught to honor them, and he had learned to fear them. He stood in
fear of assassination, and dreaded a rupture with so powerful and
unscrupulous a body. And his resistance to the prosecution would have
been insurmountable, had it not been for the capriciousness of his
temper, which more than balanced his superstitious fears. His minister
and his mistress circumvented him. They represented that, as the
parliament and the nation were both aroused against the Jesuits, his
resistance would necessarily provoke a new Fronde. Nothing he dreaded
so much as civil war. The wavering monarch, placed in the painful
necessity of choosing, as he supposed, between a war and the ruin of
his best friends, yielded to the solicitations of his artful advisers.
But he yielded with a moderation which did him honor. He would not
consent to the expulsion of the Jesuits until efforts had been made to
secure their reform. He accordingly caused letters to be written to
Rome, demanding an immediate attention to the subject. Choiseul
himself prepared the scheme of reformation. But the Jesuits would not
hear of any retrenchment of their power or privileges. "Let us remain
as we are, or let us exist no longer," was their reply. The
parliament, the people, the minister, and the mistress renewed their
clamors. The parliament decreed that the constitution of the society
was an encroachment on the royal authority, and the king was obliged
to yield. The members of the society were forbidden to wear the habit
of the society, or to enjoy any clerical office or dignity. Their
colleges were closed, their order was dissolved, and they were
expelled from the kingdom with rigor and severity, in spite of the
wishes of the king and many entreaties and tears from the zealous
advocates of Catholicism, and even of religious education.
[Sidenote: Suppression in Spain.]
But the Jesuits were too powerful, even in their misfortunes, to be
persecuted without the effort to annihilate them. Having secured their
expulsion from France and Portugal, Choiseul and Pombal turned their
attention to Spain, and so successfully intrigued, so artfully wrought
on the jealousy and fears of Charles III., that this weak prince
followed the example of Joseph I. and Louis XV. But the king and his
minister D'Aranda, however, prosecuted their investigations with the
utmost secrecy--did not even tell their allies of their movements. Of
course, the Jesuits feared nothing from the king of Spain. But when
his measures were completed, an edict was suddenly declared, decreeing
the suppression of the order in the land of Inquisitions. The decree
came like a thunderbolt, but was instantly executed. "On the same day,
2d April, 1767, and at the same hour, in Spain, in Africa, in Asia, in
America, and in all the islands belonging to the Spanish monarchy, the
alcaldes of the towns opened their despatches from Madrid, by which
they were ordered, on pain of the severest penalties, immediately to
enter the establishments of the Jesuits, to seize their persons, expel
them from their convents, and transport them, within twenty-four
hours, to such places as were designated. Nor were the Jesuits
permitted to carry away their money or their papers. Only a purse, a
breviary, and some apparel were given them."
The government feared a popular insurrection from an excitement so
sudden, and a persecution so dreadful, and therefore issued express
prohibition to all the ecclesiastical authorities to prevent any
allusion to the event from the pulpit. All classes were required to
maintain absolute silence, and any controversy, or criticism, or
remark was regarded as high treason. Such is despotism. Such is
religious persecution, when fear, as well as hatred, prompts to
injustice and cruelty.
The Jesuits, in their misfortunes, managed with consummate craft.
Their policy was to appear in the light of victims of persecution.
There was to them no medium between reigning as despots or dying as
martyrs. Mediocrity would have degraded them. Ricci, the general of
the order, would not permit them to land in Italy, to which country
they were sent by the king of Spain. Six thousand priests, in misery
and poverty, were sent adrift upon the Mediterranean, and after six
months of vicissitude, suffering, and despair, they found a miserable
refuge on the Island of Corsica.
[Sidenote: Pope Clement XIV.]
Soon after, the pope, their most powerful protector, died. A
successor was to be appointed. But France, Spain, and Portugal, bent
on the complete suppression of the Jesuits, resolved that no pope
should be elected who would not favor their end. A cardinal was
found,--Ganganelli,--who promised the ambassadors that, if elected
pope, he would abolish the order. They, accordingly, intrigued to
secure his election. The Jesuits, also, strained every nerve, and put
forth marvellous talent and art, to secure a pope who would _protect
them_. But the ambassadors of the allied powers overreached even the
Jesuits. Ganganelli was the plainest, and, apparently, the most
unambitious of men. His father had been a peasant; but, by the force
of talent and learning, he had arisen, from the condition of his
father, to be a Roman cardinal. Under the garb of a saint, he aspired
to the tiara. There was only one condition of success; and that was,
to destroy the best supporters of that fearful absolutism which had so
long enslaved the world. The sacrifice was tremendous; but it was
made, and he became a pope. Then commenced in his soul the awful
struggle. Should he fulfil his pledge, and jeopardize his cause and
throne, and be branded, by the zealots of his church, with eternal
infamy? or should he break his word, and array against himself, with
awful enmity, the great monarchs of Europe, and perhaps lose the
allegiance of their subjects to him as the supreme head of the
Catholic Church? The decision was the hardest which mortal man had
ever been required to make. Whatever course he pursued was full of
danger and disgrace. Poor Ganganelli! he had better remained a
cowherd, a simple priest, a bishop, a cardinal,--any thing,--rather
than to have been made a pope! But such was his ambition, and he was
obliged to reap its penalty. Long did the afflicted pontiff delay to
fulfil his pledge; long did he practise all the arts of dissimulation,
of which he was such a master. He delayed, he flattered, he entreated,
he coaxed. But the monarchs called peremptorily for the fulfilment of
his pledge, and all Europe now understood the nature of the contest.
It was between the Jesuits and the monarchs of Europe. Ganganelli was
compelled to give his decision. His health declined, his spirits
forsook him, his natural gayety fled. He courted solitude, he wept, he
prayed. But he must, nevertheless, decide. The Jesuits threatened
assassination, and exposed, with bitter eloquence, the ruin of his
church, if he yielded her privileges to kings. And kings threatened
secession from Rome, deposition--ten thousand calamities. His agony
became insupportable; but delay was no longer possible. He decided to
suppress the order of the Jesuits; and sixty-nine colleges were
closed, their missions were broken up, their churches were given to
their rivals, and twenty-two thousand priests were left without
organization, wealth, or power.
[Sidenote: Death of Ganganelli.]
Their revenge was not an idle threat. One day, the pope, on arising
from table, felt an internal shock, followed by great cold. Gradually
he lost his voice and strength. His blood became corrupted; and his
moral system gave way with the physical. He knew that he was
doomed--that he was poisoned--that he must die. The fear of hell was
now added to his other torments. "_Compulsus, feci, compulsus,
feci!_"--"O, mercy, mercy, I have been compelled!" he cried, and
died--died by that slow but sure poison, such as old Alexander VI.
knew so well how to administer to his victims when he sought their
wealth. Pope Clement XIV. inflicted, it was supposed, a mortal wound
upon his church and upon her best friends. He, indeed, reaped the
penalty of ambition; but the cause which he represented did not
perish, nor will it lose vitality so long as the principle of evil on
earth is destined to contend with the principle of good. On the
restoration of the Bourbons, the order of the Jesuits was restored;
and their flaming sword, with its double edge, was again felt in every
corner of the world.
[Sidenote: Death of Louis XV.]
The Jesuits, on their expulsion, found shelter in Prussia, and
protection from the royal infidel who had been the friend of Voltaire.
A schism between the crowned heads of Europe and infidel philosophers
had taken place. Frederic, who had sympathized with their bitter
mockery, at last perceived the tendency of their writings; that men
who assailed obedience to divine laws would not long respect the
institutions and governments which mankind had recognized. He
perceived, too, the natural union of absolutism in the church with
absolutism in the state, and came to the rescue of the great,
unchanged, unchangeable, and ever-consistent advocates of despotism.
The frivolous Choiseul, the extravagant Pompadour, and the debauched
Sardanapalus of his age, did not perceive the truth which the King of
Prussia recognized in his latter days. Nor would it have availed any
thing, if they had been gifted with the clear insight of Frederic the
Great. The stream, on whose curious banks the great and the noble of
France had been amusing themselves, soon swelled into an overwhelming
torrent. That devastating torrent was the French Revolution, whose
awful swell was first perceived during the latter years of Louis XV.
He himself caught glimpses of the future; but, with the egotism of a
Bourbon, he remarked "that the throne would last during his time."
Soon after this heartless speech was made, he was stricken with the
small-pox, and died 1774, after a long and inglorious reign. He was
deserted in his last hours, and his disgusting and loathsome remains
were huddled into their last abode by the workmen of his palace.
Before the reign of Louis XVI. can be described, it is necessary to
glance at the career of Frederic the Great, and the condition of the
various European states, at a period contemporary with the Seven
Years' War--the great war of the eighteenth century, before the
breaking out of the French Revolution.
* * * * *
REFERENCES.--For a general view of the reign of Louis XV.,
see the histories of Lacretelle, Voltaire, and Crowe. The
scheme of Law is best explained in Smyth's Lectures, and
Anderson's History of Commerce. The struggles between the
king and the Parliament of Paris are tolerably described in
the History of Adolphus. For a view of the Jansenist
Controversy, see Du Pin's Ecclesiastical History, Ranke's
History of the Popes, Pascal's Provincial Letters, and
Stephens's article in the Edinburgh Review, on the Port
Royalists. The fall of the Jesuits has been admirably
treated by Quinet. James has written a good sketch of the
lives of Fleury and Choiseul. For the manners of the court
of Louis XV., the numerous memoirs and letters, which were
written during the period, must be consulted; the most
amusing of which, and, in a certain sense, instructive, are
too infamous to be named.