The allied armies were marshalling their hosts against
the new republic. Every means must be used to add to the public resources,
and the decree went forth that even the tombs should be robbed of their
coffins. The republican administrator of the District of Cambray, Bernard
Cannonne, in company with a butcher and two artillery-men, entered the
cathedral and went down into the vault which held the ashes of so many
prelates. The leaden coffins with their contents were carried away and
placed upon the cars; but when they came to the inclosure whose tablet
bore the name of Fenelon, and lifted it from its bed, it appeared that the
lead had become unsoldered and they could take away the coffin and leave
the sacred dust it had contained. Years passed, and the reign of Napoleon
bringing a better day, rebuked the Vandalism that would dishonor all
greatness and spoil even its grave. The facts regarding the acts of
desecration were legally ascertained and the bones of the good archbishop
triumphantly reserved for a nobler than the ancient sepulchre. There was a
poetical justice in the preservation of them from violence. It was well
that the bloody revolutionists who went to the tombs for metal to furnish
their arsenals, were made, in spite of themselves, to respect the ashes of
one whose counsels of duty heeded would have averted that revolution by a
system of timely concessions and benignant legislation.
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