At this present moment Paris counts its eighty different “Cercles,” while the provinces possess not less than two thousand. The third Sunday after Easter, the Patronage of St. Joseph, is their annual feast, and on that day, while gay Paris was attending the races in the Bois de Boulogne, we were present at the afternoon service in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. A more imposing sight, with greater promise for the future, it were impossible to conceive; for six thousand members, but only that portion which consists of the schools and apprentices—many from the Belleville quarters—had marched thither, each headed by their own chaplain and carrying handsome banners, unfolded as they entered the church. For them the nave was set apart, all others being in the aisles, while the meek, venerable Cardinal-Archbishop of Paris sat opposite the pulpit during the sermon, the blind Monseigneur de Ségur at his side, the Comte de Mun and other gentlemen of the society directing the general arrangements.
The now celebrated hymn of the Sacred Heart composed by the blind old bishop was first sung; and if the sensation of the Derby Day in May, 1871, had cut deeply into my soul, it was now all but effaced by the sublime, thrilling emotion caused by this vast multitude answering each verse chanted by the choir by the famous, heart-stirring chorus of
Dieu de Clemence,
Dieu Vainqueur,
Sauvez, sauvez la France
Par votre sacré Cœur.
The effect at any time would have been marvellous, but with the knowledge that these six thousand youths had almost all been to Holy Communion that very morning, with such a past in one’s memory, and a congregation composed of such elements before one, it became simply overpowering. Moreover, we all knew that at the same hour, nay, at the same moment, the same prayer was being offered up in two thousand other churches in France; for, the provincial branches had made arrangements that their ceremonies should thus coincide with those of Paris. A procession, rendered picturesque as well as impressive by the six thousand lighted tapers winding in and out of the nave and aisles of this grand, historic cathedral and headed by the cardinal-archbishop, followed the short sermon, when a public act of consecration, with Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, brought this most heart-stirring and encouraging celebration to a close.
And now, on the 30th May, since writing the above lines, another impressive ceremony has taken place in the same cathedral, but strikingly illustrative, too, of the increasing influence the religious element is obtaining in France—namely, a public act of reparation for the intended celebration of Voltaire’s centenary and in memory of Joan of Arc. Good principles have certainly made more progress than was supposed, for public opinion and the protests of the religious portion of the nation have forced the government to forbid the demonstration in honor of the enemy of Christianity. But, to show even-handed justice, they equally forbade all homage to Joan of Arc, even that of depositing wreaths around her statue in the Rue de Rivoli—erected, by the way, on the spot where she was wounded when attacking Paris for the king.[[128]] No authorities, however, could or would interfere inside a church. Hence at three o’clock precisely the act of reparation commenced, every spot in the vast cathedral being occupied by a crowd, composed in greater part, too, of men, though the ladies, especially the “Enfants de Marie,” distinguished by their lighted tapers, mustered strong under their president, the Duchesse de Chevreuse. Amongst the number, in her Spanish mantilla, I recognized “La Reine Marguerite,” with many another high-born dame of far-sounding title. It was purely a work of devotion—vespers and benediction, the Miserere chanted by this enormous congregation, constituting the “reparation,” followed by a “Regina Cœli” which in beauty nothing could surpass. But the countenances of all present were a perfect study in themselves, showing the depth of their emotion and how different such ceremonies are in a country like this, where every one attends them for a solemn and public purpose, far more than for private, individual motives. It lends a sublimity to such acts that raises the spirit high above ordinary moments. Who, for instance, could behold the vast multitude beneath the roof of this lofty nave, which goes back to the ancient days of France, without remembering that Providence had saved it seven short years since from destruction by its own sons, and that the chairs whereon they were kneeling had been piled up in that same spot, in the hope of putting an end to all ceremonies or worship of this kind? As one listened to the “Regina Cœli,” and gazed on the beautiful statue of the Virgin Mother presenting to us the Divine Infant, and which stands amidst the lights and flowers over the altar outside the choir, courage and hope revived, and all left the sacred edifice with renewed grace to encounter their struggles in the cause of right. Most surely prayer and expiation are the strength and the duty of modern France, and with such reward as has been already vouchsafed to them her sons and daughters need no longer despair.
THE CREATED WISDOM.[[129]]
BY AUBREY DE VERE.
II.
Behold! I sought in all things rest: