The Churches of Paris, from Clovis to Charles X

by Sophia Beale

SAINT-FRANÇOIS XAVIER.

Until quite lately, the only church in Paris dedicated to the memory of the great Jesuit was the little chapel belonging to the Missions Étrangères in the Rue de Bac. The first stone was laid in 1683 by the archbishop of Paris, in the name of the king. It is a double chapel with a flight of steps leading from the lower to the upper church.

SAINTE-GENEVIÈVE (LE PANTHÉON).

As we walk up the Rue Soufflot and see the great domed Panthéon facing us in its Classic glory, it is difficult to realise that the space occupied by the modern building is but a small portion of what was formerly the domain of the important abbey of S. Geneviève belonging to the Augustinian canons. When the religious orders were suppressed in France, Paris contained nine abbeys: S. Geneviève, S. Victor, belonging to the Augustins; S. Germain des Prés to the Benedictines; Val des Grâce to the nuns of S. Benedict; Port-Royal, Pantemont, l'Abbaye aux Bois, and S. Antoine to the Cistercian nuns; and the Cordelières to the order of the Poor Clares. An inspection of a pre-Revolution map of the city shows us that a large part of it was swallowed up by these abbeys and other monastic lands and properties.

The foundation of the abbey of S. Geneviève was due to the desire of Clovis to celebrate his victory over the Visigoths in the plains of Vouillè. Having overrun a great part of Gaul, and annexed it to the kingdom of the Franks, what was more natural than that he should offer his thanks for robbery, violence, and slaughter, by the building of a church upon the hill overshadowing his Palais des Thermes? He dedicated it to S. Peter and S. Paul, and put it under the charge of some monks who were succeeded later on by secular canons, and eventually in the 12th century, by regular canons of S. Augustin. Clovis died ere the church was terminated, but Queen Clotilde was able to carry the work on, and it became the resting place of both sovereigns, as well as of the children of Clodomir, who were done to death by their loving relatives after the manner of some modern Africans. In the 11th century, the church was put under the patronage of S. Geneviève in consequence of the numberless miracles performed at her tomb, for the maid of Nanterre had been laid to rest in this church. The legend of S. Geneviève is picturesque in the extreme, affording endless subjects for the artist, as witness the wall paintings in the modern church. Born in 421 at Nanterre, a little village situated upon the plain over which the fort of Mt. Valérien now frowns, she was employed, as are many of her compatriots of the present day, in tending sheep. A graceful, if somewhat affected picture by Guérin, represents her with a distaff in her hands. When about seven years old, S. Germain, bishop of Auxerre, passed through Nanterre on his way to Britain. A crowd assembled to receive the good bishop's blessing, and among them were S. Geneviève and her parents. La pucelette was already famed for her piety and humility, and S Germain, wise man, had no sooner cast his eyes upon her than he became aware of her future glory; and finding that she desired to be a handmaiden of Christ, he hung round her neck a small coin marked with the symbol of the cross, thus consecrating her to God's service. Many were the miracles which she wrought by prayer, even in her childhood; as for instance, when her mother, being struck blind for boxing her little Saintship's ears, recovered her sight through the prayers of the daughter. Some say that Geneviève prayed for her hasty parent after a year and nine months had elapsed; but surely it is better to believe that the prayers were unanswered for that length of time, than that the daughter, whose intercession was so efficacious, should have omitted to help her mother for so many months.

At fifteen, Geneviève renewed her vows, but remained with her parents until their death. She then took up her abode with an old kinswoman in Paris, where, from her piety and devotion, she became the subject of disputes between those who venerated her as a saint, and others who considered her sanctity and benevolence mere hypocrisy and sham piety. And so it came about that at night, when she kept her vigils, the arch enemy, not content with putting into the hearts of men the desire to slander and vilify the godly maiden, set himself to worry her, by extinguishing her candle. But she had a tinder-box in her faith and prayer, and so she was never left in darkness. This is a favourite subject of the old artists; one frequently sees the Saint holding her taper, while a demon is blowing it out, sometimes using a pair of bellows, as at the doorway of S. Germain l'Auxerrois, S. Nicholas, and other French churches; and it is obvious that the legend grew out of the promise that God never leaves those in darkness who pray for light. So, too, the holding up of the re-kindled taper in the face of the fiend, and his consequent flight, symbolises the Light of the World chasing away evil. Another legend relates that when a storm overtook her and some friends on their way to S. Denis, and blew out their tapers, an Angel descended to relight them in answer to Geneviève's prayers.

The Saint was a sort of early Jeanne d'Arc, inasmuch as she delivered the city from its enemies; but Geneviève depended only upon her prayers; and yet, simply by these means, she caused the Huns, who were besieging Paris under Attila, to flee. On another occasion, when the city was invested by Childéric, she took command of some boats which were sent up the river to Troyes for succour, and brought them back laden with provisions. When the city was taken, Geneviève was treated with great respect by Childéric, and it was through her influence that Clovis and his wife, Clotilde, were converted to Christianity, and the first Christian church was erected in Paris.[74] Geneviève died at the ripe old age of eighty-nine, and was buried in what was then called the church of SS. Peter and Paul; and it was in consequence of her miracle-working tomb that the patronage of the church was given over to her, the Apostles falling into complete oblivion. Among these miracles was a cessation of a terrible visitation of the plague called the mal ardent, which raged in Paris in the reign of Louis le Gros; hence the dedication of a church to S. Geneviève-des-Ardents, situated near the cathedral, and long since destroyed.

Most painters of modern times have depicted the Saint as a shepherdess, somewhat after the Chelsea china pattern, and a few have given her the suggestiveness of the nymphs of Boucher. Watteau's is a charming picture, but the graceful maiden scarcely comes up to our ideal of the pious little peasant girl of Nanterre. Guérin's is pure and refined, if somewhat affected, but one feels inclined to hail our old friend with the fiend behind her puffing or blowing the bellows as a more worthy reading of the character of S. Geneviève. In the church of S. Merri there is a very curious picture representing the maid surrounded by her sheep, and enclosed by a circle of huge stones after the manner of those at Stonehenge.

The legend of feeding the besieged Parisians is said to be the origin of the pain bénit of the Paris churches, a custom peculiar to the old Parisian rite, and almost the only one kept up since that use was superseded by the Roman, some few years since. This blessed bread is a large brioche offered by some of the parishioners, and brought into church in procession during the offertory. It is usually piled up on a stage and decorated with flowers and lights, the whole being carried on the shoulders of acolytes. Preceded by the beadle and donor, it is taken to the altar and sprinkled with holy water; some prayers are said, the donor is presented with a pax to kiss, and the procession then returns to the sacristy, where the bread is cut up and put into baskets, which are then carried round the church, and the brioche distributed among the congregation. One often sees strangers refuse this, thinking it something peculiarly popish; indeed, I was once assured by a friend that he had been offered the Sacrament, "which of course he had refused." But we may be certain that if the pain bénit were considered so exceedingly holy, promiscuous strangers would not get the chance of partaking of it. It rather figures a sort of amicable meal after the manner of the early Agapæ, and is a very pretty ceremony; besides, it is always refreshing to witness any little peculiarity in ritual, instead of the dull uniformity which recent papal decrees have enforced over western Europe.