The Eve of the French Revolution

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The privileges and immunities which the Church of France enjoyed had
given to her clergy a tone of independence both to the Pope and to the
king. We have seen them accompanying their "free gifts" to the latter by
requests and conditions. Toward the Holy See their attitude had once
been quite as bold. In 1682 an assembly of the Church of France had
promulgated four propositions which were considered the bulwarks of the
Gallican liberties.

(1.) God has given to Saint Peter and his successors no power, direct or
indirect, over temporal affairs.

(2.) Ecumenical councils are superior to the Pope in spiritual matters.

(3.) The rules, usages and statutes admitted by the kingdom and the
Church of France must remain inviolate.

(4.) In matters of faith, decisions of the Sovereign Pontiff are
irrevocable only after having received the consent of the church.

These propositions were undoubtedly a part of the law of France, and
were fully accepted by a portion of the French clergy. But the spirit
that dictated them had in a measure died out during the corrupt reign of
Louis XV. The long quarrel between the Jesuits and the Jansenists, which
agitated the Galilean church during the latter part of the seventeenth
and the earlier half of the eighteenth century, had tended neither to
strengthen nor to purify that body. A large number of the most serious,
intelligent and devout Catholics in France had been put into opposition
to the most powerful section of the clergy and to the Pope himself. Thus
the Church of France was in a bad position to repel the violent attacks
made upon her from without.[Footnote: Rambaud, ii. 40. For a Catholic
account of the Jansenist quarrel, see Carne, _La monarchie francaise
au 18me siecle_, 407.]

For a time of trial had come to the Catholic Church, and the Church of
France, although hardly aware of its danger, was placed in the forefront
of battle. It was against her that the most persistent and violent
assault of the Philosophers was directed. Before considering the
doctrines of those men, who differed among themselves very widely on
many points, it is well to ask what was the cause of the great
excitement which their doctrines created. Men as great have existed in
other centuries, and have exercised an enormous influence on the human
mind.

But that influence has generally been gradual; percolating slowly,
through the minds of scholars and thinkers, to men of action and the
people. The intellectual movement of the eighteenth century in France
was rapid. It was the nature of the opposition which they encountered
which drew popular attention to the attacks of the Philosophers.

CHAPTER IV.

THE CHURCH AND HER ADVERSARIES.

The new birth of learning in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries had
been followed by the strengthening and centralization of government,
both in church and state. France had its full share of this change. Its
civil government became the strongest in Europe, putting down every
breath of opposition. Against the political conduct of Louis XIV neither
magistrate nor citizen dared to raise his voice. The Church of France,
on the other hand, in close alliance with the civil power, became almost
irresistible in her own sphere. The Catholic Church throughout Europe
had been the great schoolmaster of civilization. It had fallen into the
common fault of schoolmasters, the assumption of infallibility. It was,
moreover, a state within all states. Its sovereign, the Pope, the most
powerful monarch in Christendom, is chosen in accordance with a curious
and elaborate set of regulations, by electors appointed by his
predecessors. His rule, nominally despotic, is limited by powers and
influences understood by few persons outside of his palace. His
government, although highly centralized, is yet able to work efficiently
in all the countries of the earth. It is served by a great body of
officials, probably less corrupt on the whole than those of any other
state. They are kept in order, not only by moral and spiritual
sanctions, but by a system of worldly promotion. They wield over their
subjects a tremendous weapon, sometimes borrowed, but seldom long or
very skillfully used by laymen, and called, in clerical language,
excommunication. This, when it is confined to the denial of religious
privileges, may be considered a spiritual weapon. But in the eighteenth
century the temporal power of Catholic Europe was still in great measure
at the service of the ecclesiastical authorities. Obedience to the
church was a law of the state. Although Frenchmen were no longer
executed for heresy in the reign of Louis XVI., they still were
persecuted. The property of Protestants was unsafe, their marriages
invalid. Their children might be taken from them. Such toleration as
existed was precarious, and the Church of France was constantly urging
the temporal government to take stronger measures for the extirpation of
heresy.

The church had succeeded in implanting in the minds of its votaries one
opinion of enormous value in its struggle for power. Originally and
properly an association for the practice and spreading of religion, the
corporation had succeeded in making itself an object of worship. One
great reason why atheism took root in France was the impossibility,
induced by long habit, of distinguishing between religion and
Catholicism, and of conceiving that the one may exist without the other.
The by-laws of the church had become as sacred as the primary duties of
piety; and the injunction to refrain from meat on Fridays was
indistinguishable by most Catholics, in point of obligation, from the
injunction to love the Lord their God.

The Protestant churches which separated themselves from the Church of
Rome in the sixteenth century carried with them much of the intolerant
spirit of the original body. It is one of the commonplace sneers of the
unreflecting to say that religious toleration has always been the dogma
of the weaker party. The saying, if it were true, which it is not, yet
would not be especially sagacious. Toleration, like other things, has
been most sought by those whose need of it was greatest. But they have
not always recognized its value. It was no small step in the progress of
the human mind that was taken when men came to look on religious
toleration as desirable or possible. That the state might treat with
equal favor all forms of worship was an opinion hardly accepted by wise
and liberal-minded men in the eighteenth century. It may be that the
fiery contests of the Reformation were still too near in those days to
let perfect peace be safe or profitable.

Yet religious toleration was making its way in men's minds. Cautiously,
and with limitations, the doctrine is stated, first by Locke, Bayle, and
Fenelon in the last quarter of the seventeenth century, then by almost
all the great writers of the eighteenth. The Protestants, with their
experience of persecution, assert that those persons should not be
tolerated who teach that faith should not be kept with heretics, or that
kings excommunicated forfeit their crowns and kingdoms; or who attribute
to themselves any peculiar privilege or power above other mortals in
civil affairs; in short, they exclude the Catholics. Atheists also may
be excluded, as being under no possible conscientious obligation to
dogmatize concerning their negative creed. The Catholics maintain the
right of the sovereign to forbid the use of ceremonies, or the
profession of opinions, which would disturb the public peace.
Montesquieu, a nominal Catholic only, declares that it is the
fundamental principle of political laws concerning religion, not to
allow the establishment of a new form if it can be prevented; but when
one is once established, to tolerate it. He refuses to say that heresy
should not be punished, but he says that it should be punished only with
great circumspection. This left the case of the French Protestants to
all appearances as bad as before; for the laws denied that they had been
established in the kingdom, and the church always asserted that it was
mild and circumspect in its dealings with heretics. Voltaire will not
say that those who are not of the same religion as the prince should
share in the honors of the state, or hold public office. Such
limitations as these would seem to have deprived toleration of the
greater part of its value, by excluding from its benefits those persons
who were most likely to be persecuted. But the statement of a great
principle is far more effectual than the enumeration of its limitations.
Toleration, eloquently announced as an ideal, made its way in men's
minds. "Absolute liberty, just and true liberty, equal and impartial
liberty, is the thing we stand in need of," cries Locke, and the saying
is retained when his exceptions concerning the Catholics are forgotten.
"When kings meddle with religion," says Fenelon, "instead of protecting,
they enslave her."[Footnote: Locke, vi. 46, 46 (Letter on Toleration).
Bayle, Commentary on the Text "Compelle intrare" (for atheists), ii.
431, a., Fenelon, Oeuvres, vii. 123 (Essai philosophique sur le
gouvernement civil). Montesquieu, Oeuvres, iv. 68; v. 175 (Esprit des
Lois, liv. xii. ch. v. and liv. xxxv. ch. x.). Felice, Voltaire, xli.
247 (Essai sur la tolerance).]

The Church of France had long been cruel to her opponents. The
persecution of the French Protestants, which preceded and followed the
revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, is known to most readers. It
was long and bloody. But about the middle of the eighteenth century it
began to abate. The last execution for heresy in France appears to have
taken place in 1762. A Protestant meeting was surprised and attacked by
soldiers in 1767. Some eight or ten years later than this, the last
prisoner for conscience' sake was released from the galleys at Toulon.
But no religion except the Roman Catholic was recognized by the state;
and to its clergy alone were entrusted certain functions essential to
the conduct of civilized life. No marriage could be legally solemnized
but by a Catholic priest. No public record of births was kept but in the
parish registers. As a consequence of this, no faithful Protestant could
be legally married at all, and all children of Protestant parents were
bastards, whose property could be taken from them by the nearest
Catholic relative. It is true that the courts did much to soften the
execution of these laws; but the judges, with the best intentions, were
sometimes powerless; and all judges did not mean to act fairly by
heretics.

Slowly, during the lifetime of a generation, the Protestants gained
ground. The coronation-oath contained a clause by which the king
promised to exterminate heretics. When Louis XVI. was to be crowned at
Rheims, Turgot desired to modify this part of the oath. He drew up a new
form. The clergy, however, resisted the innovation, and Maurepas, the
prime minister, agreed with them. The young king, with characteristic
weakness, is said to have muttered some meaningless sounds, in place of
the disputed portion of the oath.

In 1778, an attempt was made to induce the Parliament of Paris to
interfere in behalf of the oppressed sectaries, It was stated that since
1740, more than four hundred thousand marriages had been contracted
outside of the church, and that these marriages were void in law and the
constant cause of scandalous suits. But the Parliament, by a great
majority, rejected the proposal to apply to the king for relief. In
1775, and again in 1780, the assembly of the clergy protested against
the toleration accorded to heretics. It is not a little curious that at
a time when a measure of simple humanity was thus opposed by the highest
court of justice in the realm, and by the Church of France in its
corporate capacity, a foreign Protestant, Necker, was the most important
of the royal servants.

The spirit of the church, or at least of her leading men, is expressed
in the Pastoral Instruction of Lefranc de Pompignan, Archbishop of
Vienne, perhaps the most prominent French ecclesiastic of the century.
The church, he says, has never persecuted, although misguided men have
done so in her name. The sovereign should maintain the true religion,
and is himself the judge of the best means of doing it. But religion
sets bounds to what a monarch should do in her defense. She does not ask
for violent or sanguinary measures against simple heretics. Such
measures would do more harm than good. But when men have the audacity to
exercise a pretended and forbidden ministry, injurious to the public
peace, it would be absurd to think that rigorous penalties applied to
their misdeeds are contrary to Christian charity. And in connection with
toleration, the prelate brings together the two texts, "Judge not, that
ye be not judged;"--"but he that believeth not is condemned already."
This plan of dealing gently with Protestants, while so maltreating their
pastors as to make public worship or the administration of sacraments
very difficult, was a favourite one with French churchmen.

The great devolution was close at hand. On the last day of the first
session of the Assembly of Notables, in the spring of 1787, Lafayette
proposed to petition the king in favor of the Protestants. His motion
was received with almost unanimous approval by the committee to which it
was made, and the Count of Artois, president of that committee, carried
a petition to Louis XVI. accordingly. His Majesty deigned to favor the
proposal, and an edict for giving a civil status to Protestants was
included in the batch of bills submitted to the Parliament of Paris for
registration. The measure of relief was of the most moderate character.
It did not enable the sectaries of the despised religion to hold any
office in the state, nor even to meet publicly for worship. Yet the
opposition to the proposed law was warm, and was fomented by part of the
nobility and of the clergy. One of the great ladies of the court called
on each counselor of the Parliament, and left a note to remind him of
his duty to the Catholic religion and the laws. The Bishop of Dol told
the king of France that he would be answerable to God and man for the
misfortunes which the reestablishment of Protestantism would bring on
the kingdom. His Majesty's sainted aunt, according to the bishop, was
looking down on him from that heaven where her virtues had placed her,
and blaming his conduct. Louis XVI. resented this language and found
manliness enough to send the Bishop of Dol back to his see. On the 19th
of January, 1788, the matter was warmly debated in the Parliament
itself. D'Espremenil, one of the counselors, was filled with excitement
and wrath at the proposed toleration. Pointing to the image of Christ,
which hung on the wall of the chamber, "would you," he indignantly
exclaimed, "would you crucify him again?" But the appeal of bigotry was
unavailing. The measure passed by a large majority.[Footnote: For the
last persecution of the Protestants, see Felice, 422. Howard,
Lazzarettos, 55. Coquerel, 93. Geffroy, i. 406. Cherest, i. 45, 382. For
the oath, Turgot, i. 217; vii. 314, 317. See also Dareste, vii. 20,
Lefranc de Pompignan, i. 132. Geffroy, i. 410; ii. 85. Droz, ii. 38.
Sallier, Annales francaises, 136 n. The majority was 94 to 17. Seven
counselors and three bishops retired without voting.]

It was not against Protestants alone that the clergy showed their
activity. The church, in its capacity of guardian of the public morals
and religion, passed condemnation on books supposed to be hostile to its
claims. In this matter it exercised concurrent jurisdiction with the
administrative branch of the government and with the courts of law. A
new book was liable to undergo a triple ordeal. A license was required
before publication, and the manuscript was therefore submitted to an
official censor, often an ecclesiastic. Thence it became the custom to
print in foreign countries, books which contained anything to which
anybody in authority might object, and to bring them secretly into
France. The presses of Holland and of Geneva were thus used. Sometimes,
instead of this, a book would be published in Paris with a foreign
imprint. Thus "Boston" and "Philadelphia" are not infrequently found on
the title-pages of books printed in France in the reign of Louis XVI.
Such books were sold secretly, with greater or less precautions against
discovery, for the laws were severe; an ordinance passed as late as 1757
forbade, under penalty of death, all publications which might tend to
excite the public mind. So loose an expression gave discretionary power
to the authorities. The extreme penalty was not enforced, but
imprisonment and exile were somewhat capriciously inflicted on authors
and printers.

But a book that had received the _imprimatur_ of the censor was not
yet safe. The clergy might denounce, or the Parliament condemn it. The
church was quick to scent danger. An honest scholar, an upright and
original thinker, could hardly escape the reproach of irreligion or of
heresy. Nor were the laws fairly administered. It might be more
dangerous to be supposed to allude disagreeably to the mistress of a
prince, than to attack the government of the kingdom. Had a severe law
been severely and consistently enforced, slander, heresy, and political
thought might have been stamped out together. Such was in some measure
the case in the reign of Louis XIV. But under the misrule of the
courtiers of his feeble successors, no strict law was adhered to. There
was a common tendency to wink at illegal writings of which half the
public approved. Malesherbes, for instance, was at one time at the head
of the official censors. He is said to have had a way of warning authors
and publishers the day before a descent was to be made upon their
houses. Under laws thus enforced, authors who held new doctrines learned
to adapt their methods to those of the government. Almost all the great
French writers of the eighteenth century framed some passages in their
books for the purpose of satisfying the censor or of avoiding
punishment. They were profuse in expressions of loyally to church and
state, in passages sometimes sounding ludicrously hollow, sometimes
conveying the most biting mockery and satire, and again in words hardly
to be distinguished from the heartfelt language of devotion. They became
skillful at hinting, and masters of the art of innuendo. They attacked
Christianity under the name of Mahometanism, and if they had occasion to
blame French ministers of state, would seem to be satirizing the viziers
of Turkey. Politics and theology are subjects of unceasing and vivid
interest, and their discussion cannot be suppressed, unless minds are to
be smothered altogether. If any measure of free thought and speech is to
be admitted, the engrossing topics will find expression. If people are
not allowed pamphlets and editorials, they will bring out their ideas in
poems and fables. Under Louis XV and Louis XVI, politics took possession
of popular songs, and theology of every conceivable kind of writing.
There was hardly an advertisement of the virtues of a quack medicine, or
a copy of verses to a man's mistress, that did not contain a fling at
the church or the government. There can be no doubt that the moral
nature of authors and of the public suffered in such a course. Books
lost some of their real value. But for a time an element of excitement
was added to the pleasure both of writers and readers. The author had
all the advantage of being persecuted, with the pleasing assurance that
the persecution would not go very far. The reader, while perusing what
seemed to him true and right, enjoyed the satisfaction of holding a
forbidden book. He had the amusement of eating stolen fruit, and the
inward conviction that it agreed with him.[Footnote: Lomenie, Vie de
Beaumarchais, i. 324. Montesquieu, i. 464 (Lettres persanes, cxlv.).
Mirabeau, L'ami des hommes, 238 (pt. ii. oh, iv.). Anciennes Lois, xxii.
272. Lanfrey, 193.]

The writers who adopted this course are mostly known as the
"Philosophers." It is hard to be consistent in the use of this word as
applied to Frenchmen of the eighteenth century. The name was sometimes
given to all those who advocated reform or alteration in church or
state. In its stricter application, it belongs to a party among them; to
Voltaire and his immediate followers, and especially to the
Encyclopaedists.

"Never," says Voltaire, in his "English Letters," "will our
philosophers make a religious sect, for they are without enthusiasm."
This was a favorite idea with the disciples of the great cynic, but the
event has disproved its truth. The Philosophers in Voltaire's lifetime
formed a sect, although it could hardly be called a religious one. The
Patriarch of Ferney himself was something not unlike its pontiff.
Diderot and d'Alembert were its bishops, with their attendant clergy of
Encyclopaedists. Helvetius and Holbach were its doctors of atheology.
Most reading and thinking Frenchmen were for a time its members.
Rousseau was its arch-heretic. The doctrines were materialism, fatalism,
and hedonism. The sect still exists. It has adhered, from the time of
its formation, to a curious notion, its favorite superstition, which may
be expressed somewhat as follows: "Human reason and good sense were
first invented from thirty to fifty years ago." "When we consider," says
Voltaire, "that Newton, Locke, Clarke and Leibnitz, would have been
persecuted in France, imprisoned at Rome, burnt at Lisbon, what must we
think of human reason? It was born in England within this century."
[Footnote: Voltaire (Geneva ed. 1771) xv. 99 (Newton). Also (Beuchot's
ed.) xv. 351 (Essai sur les Moeurs) and passim. The date usually set by
Voltaire's modern followers is that of the publication of the Origin of
Species; although no error is more opposed than this one to the great
theory of evolution.] And similar expressions are frequent in his
writings. The sectaries, from that day to this, have never been wanting
in the most glowing enthusiasm. In this respect they generally surpass
the Catholics; in fanaticism (or the quality of being cocksure) the
Protestants. They hold toleration as one of their chief tenets, but
never undertake to conceal their contempt for any one who disagrees with
them. The sect has always contained many useful and excellent persons,
and some of the most dogmatic of mankind.

CHAPTER V.

THE CHURCH AND VOLTAIRE.

The enemies of the Church of France were many and bitter, but one man
stands out prominent among them. Voltaire was a poet, much admired in
his day, an industrious and talented historian, a writer on all sorts of
subjects, a wit of dazzling brilliancy; but he was first, last, and
always an enemy of the Catholic Church, and although not quite an
atheist, an opponent of all forms of religion. For more than forty years
he was the head of the party of the Philosophers. During all that time
he was the most conspicuous of literary Frenchmen. Two others, Rousseau
and Montesquieu, may rival him in influence on the modern world, but his
followers in the regions of thought are numerous and aggressive to-day.

Voltaire was born in 1694 the son of a lawyer named Arouet. There are
doubts as to the origin of the name he has made so famous; whether it
was derived from a fief possessed by his mother, or from an anagram of
AROUET LE JEUNE. At any rate, the name was adopted by the young poet, at
his own fancy, a case not without parallel in the eighteenth century.
[Footnote: As in the case of D'Alembert. For Voltaire's name, see
Desnoiresterres, _Jeunesse de Voltaire_, 161.]

Voltaire began early to attract public attention. Before he was
twenty-five years old he had established his reputation as a wit, had
spent nearly a year in the Bastille on a charge of writing satirical
verses, and had produced a successful tragedy. In this play a couplet
sneering at priests might possibly have become a familiar quotation
even had it been written by another pen.[Footnote: _Oedipe_, written
in 1718. "Nos pretres ne sont point ce qu'un vain peuple pense; Notre
credulite fait toute leur science." Act IV., Scene I.] For several
years Voltaire went on writing, with increasing reputation. In 1723,
his great epic poem, "La Henriade," was secretly circulated in
Paris.[Footnote: Desnoiresterres, _Jeunesse_, 297.] The author was
one of the marked men of the town. At the same time his reputation
must have been to some extent that of a troublesome fellow. And in
December of that year an event occurred which was destined to drive
the rising author from France for several years, and add bitterness to
a mind naturally acid.

The details of the story are variously told. It appears that Voltaire
was one evening at the theatre behind the scenes, and had a dispute with
the Chevalier de Chabot, of the family of Rohan. "Monsieur de Voltaire,
Monsieur Arouet, what's your name!" the chevalier is said to have called
out. "My name is not a great one, but I am no discredit to it," answered
the author. Chabot lifted his cane, Voltaire laid his hand on his sword.
Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, the actress, for whose benefit, perhaps, the
little dispute was enacted, took occasion to faint. Chabot went off,
muttering something about a stick.

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