Eloquence of the Pulpit.--L'Abbé Coeur.--Sermon at St.
Roch.--Elegant Congregation.--Costume of the younger Clergy.
There is one novelty, and to me a very agreeable one, which I have
remarked since my return to this volatile France: this is the fashion
and consideration which now attend the eloquence of her preachers.
Political economists assert that the supply of every article follows
the demand for it in a degree nicely proportioned to the wants of the
population; and it is upon this principle, I presume, that we must
account for the present affluence of a talent which some few years ago
could hardly be said to exist in France, and might perhaps have been
altogether denied to it, had not the pages both of Fenelon and his
eloquent antagonist, Bossuet, rendered such an injustice impossible.
It was, I think, about a dozen years ago that I took some trouble to
discover if any traces of this glorious eloquence remained at Paris. I
heard sermons at Notre Dame--at St. Roch--at St. Eustache; but never
was a search after talent attended with worse success. The preachers
were nought; they had the air, too, of being vulgar and uneducated
men,--which I believe was, and indeed still is, very frequently the
case. The churches were nearly empty; and the few persons scattered up
and down their splendid aisles appeared, generally speaking, to be of
the very lowest order of old women.
How great is now the contrast! Nowhere are we so certain of seeing a
crowd of elegantly-dressed and distinguished persons as in the
principal churches of Paris. Nor is it a crowd that mocks the eye with
any tinsel pretensions to a rank they do not possess. Inquire who it
is that so meekly and devoutly kneels on one side of you--that so
sedulously turns the pages of her prayer-book on the other, and you
will be answered by the announcement of the noblest names remaining in
France.
Though the eloquence of the pulpit has always been an object of
attention and interest to me in all countries, I hardly ventured on my
first arrival here to inquire again if anything of the kind existed,
lest I should once more be sent to listen to an inaudible mumbling
preacher, and to look at the deaf and dozing old women who formed his
congregation. But it has needed no inquiry to make us speedily
acquainted with the fact, that the churches have become the favourite
resort of the young, the beautiful, the high-born, and the
instructed. Whence comes this change?
"Have you heard l'Abbé Coeur?" was a question asked me before I had
been here a week, by one who would not for worlds have been accounted
_rococo_. When I replied that I had not even heard of him, I saw
plainly that it was decided I could know very little indeed of what
was going on in Paris. "That is really extraordinary! but I engage you
to go without delay. He is, I assure you, quite as much the fashion as
Taglioni."
As the conversation was continued on the subject of fashionable
preachers, I soon found that I was indeed altogether benighted. Other
celebrated names were cited: Lacordaire, Deguerry, and some others
that I do not remember, were spoken of as if their fame must of
necessity have reached from pole to pole, but of which, in truth, I
knew no more than if the gentlemen had been private chaplains to the
princes of Chili. However, I set down all their names with much
docility; and the more I listened, the more I rejoiced that the
Passion-week and Easter, those most Catholic seasons for preaching,
were before us, being fully determined to profit by this opportunity
of hearing in perfection what was so perfectly new to me as popular
preaching in Paris.
I have lost little time in putting this resolution into effect. The
church of St. Roch is, I believe, the most fashionable in Paris; it
was there, too, that we were sure of hearing this celebrated Abbé
Coeur; and both these reasons together decided that it was at St.
Roch our sermon-seeking should begin: I therefore immediately set
about discovering the day and hour on which he would make his
appearance in the pulpit.
When inquiring these particulars in the church, we were informed, that
if we intended to procure chairs, it would be necessary to come at
least one good hour before the high mass which preceded the sermon
should begin. This was rather alarming intelligence to a party of
heretics who had an immense deal of business on their hands; but I was
steadfast in my purpose, and, with a small detachment of my family,
submitted to the preliminary penance of sitting the long silent hour
in front of the pulpit of St. Roch. The precaution was, however,
perfectly necessary, for the crowd was really tremendous; but, to
console us, it was of the most elegant description; and, after all,
the hour scarcely appeared much too long for the business of reviewing
the vast multitude of graceful personages, waving plumes, and blooming
flowers, that ceased not during every moment of the time to collect
themselves closer and closer still about us.
Nothing certainly could be more beautiful than this collection of
bonnets, unless it were the collection of eyes under them. The
proportion of ladies to gentlemen was on the whole, we thought, not
less than twelve to one.
"Je désirerais savoir," said a young man near me, addressing an
extremely pretty woman who sat beside him,--"Je désirerais savoir si
par hasard M. l'Abbé Coeur est jeune."
The lady answered not, but frowned most indignantly.
A few minutes afterwards, his doubts upon this point, if he really had
any, were removed. A man far from ill-looking, and farther still from
being old, mounted the tribune, and some thousands of bright eyes were
riveted upon him. The silent and profound attention which hung on
every word he uttered, unbroken as it was by a single idle sound, or
even glance, showed plainly that his influence upon the splendid and
numerous congregation that surrounded him must be very great, or the
power of his eloquence very strong: and it was an influence and a
power that, though "of another parish," I could well conceive must be
generally felt, _for he was in earnest_. His voice, though weak and
somewhat wirey, was distinct, and his enunciation clear: I did not
lose a word.
His manner was simple and affectionate; his language strong, yet not
intemperate; but he decidedly appealed more to the hearts of his
hearers than to their understandings; and it was their hearts that
answered him, for many of them wept plenteously.
A great number of priests were present at this sermon, who were all
dressed in their full clerical habits, and sat in places reserved for
them immediately in front of the pulpit: they were consequently very
near us, and we had abundant opportunity to remark the traces of that
_march of mind_ which is doing so many wondrous works upon earth.
Instead of the tonsure which we have been used to see, certainly with
some feeling of reverence--for it was often shorn into the very centre
of crisped locks, while their raven black or shining chesnut still
spoke of youth that scrupled not to sacrifice its comeliness to a
feeling of religious devotion;--instead of this, we now saw unshaven
crowns, and more than one pair of flourishing _favoris_, nourished,
trained, and trimmed evidently with the nicest care, though a stiff
three-cornered cowl in every instance hung behind the rich and waving
honours of the youthful head.
The effect of this strange mixture is very singular. But
notwithstanding this bold abandonment of priestly costume among the
junior clergy, there were in the long double row of anointed heads
which faced the pulpit some exceedingly fine studies for an artist;
and wherever the offending Adam was subdued by years, nothing could be
in better keeping than the countenances, and the sacred garb of those
to whom they belonged. Similar causes will, I suppose, at all times
produce similar effects; and it is therefore that among the twenty
priests at St. Roch in 1835, I seemed to recognise the originals of
many a holy head with which the painters of Italy, Spain, and Flanders
have made me familiar.
The contrast furnished by the deep-set eyes, and the fine severe
expression of some of these consecrated brows, to the light, airy
elegance of the pretty women around them, was sufficiently striking;
and, together with the mellow light of the shaded windows, and the
lofty spaciousness of the noble church, formed a spectacle highly
picturesque and impressive.
After the sermon was over, and while the gaily-habited congregation
fluttered away through the different doors like so many butterflies
hastening to meet returning sunshine, we amused ourselves by wandering
round the church. It is magnificently large for a parish church; but,
excepting in some of the little chapels, we found not much to admire.
That very unrighteous old churchman, the Abbé Dubois, has a fine
monument there, restored from Les Petits Augustins; and a sort of
marble medallion, bearing the head of the immortal Corneille--immortal
despite M. Victor Hugo--is also restored, and placed against one of
the heavy columns of, I think, the centre aisle. But we paused longest
in a little chapel behind the altar--not the middle one, with its
well-managed glory of crimson light, though that is very beautiful;
but in the one to the right of it, which contains a sculptured
Calvary. It is, I believe, only one of _les stations_, of which twelve
are to be found in different parts of the church; but it has a
charm--seen as we saw it, with a strong effect of accidental light,
bringing forward the delicate figure of the adoring Magdalene, and
leaving the Saviour in the dark shadow and repose of death--that sets
at defiance all the connoisseurship of art, and taking from you all
faculty to judge, leaves only the power to feel. Under these
circumstances, whether quite delusive or not I hardly know, this group
appeared to us one of exceeding beauty.
The high altar of St. Roch, and the extremity of the carpeted space
enclosed round it, is most lavishly, beautifully, and fragrantly
adorned with flowers of the choicest kind, all flourishing in the
fullest bloom in boxes and vases. It is the only instance I remember
in which the perfume of this most fair and holy decoration actually
pervaded the church. They certainly offer the sweetest incense that
can be found to breathe its grateful life and spirit out on any altar;
and were it not for the graceful swinging of the censers, which very
particularly pleases my eye, I would recommend to the Roman Catholic
church henceforth an economy of their precious gums, and advise them
to offer the incense of flowers in their stead.
Before we left the church, about a hundred and fifty boys and girls,
from ten to fourteen years of age, assembled to be catechised by a
young priest, who received them behind the Lady Chapel. His manner was
familiar, caressing and kind, and his waving hair fell about his ears
like the picture of a young St. John.