We left Paris last Wednesday morning, and arrived at Paray le Monial
a little before six in the afternoon. All day we traversed a land of
great fertility, rich in grain fields, for the most part open and
level, in places picturesque. The season here is at least six weeks
earlier than at home. Already the grain is ripe or fast ripening in
the fields, and the people are busily at work making their hay and
gathering in the harvest.
Paray le Monial is situated on the banks of a small stream, in the
Department of Loire-et-Saone, in the very heart of France. It is a
town of not more than 4,000 inhabitants, quiet with the quietude of
all country places, quaint with the quaintness of almost all of the
old-world towns. No smoke of factories darkens its sky, no sound of
worldly traffic is heard in its streets. You hear instead the song
of birds in the morning, the pealing of bells, and all day long the
pilgrim's hymn. A deep peace, a sweet and restful tranquility,
broods on the place which the Prince of Peace, the Lord of the Sacred
Heart, has chosen for His sanctuary.
The Chapel of the Sacred Heart, attached to the Convent of the
Visitation, must seem commonplace enough to the ordinary traveller.
It is small of size, and, as seen from without, very plain, very
unpretentious. Within is a wealth of votive offerings from every
land. Consecrated banners, wrought in silk and gold and richly
embroidered, are ranged around the walls, and the light of many lamps
falls upon the high altar where Our Blessed Lord revealed His heart
to the lowly Visitandine, and whence He still dispenses His grace.
All day Thursday and far into the night pilgrims keep pouring in from
all parts. All night long the Chapel is open, and the stream of
incoming and outgoing pilgrims is as the flow and ebb of a mighty
sea. At two in the morning of Friday, Feast of the Sacred Heart, the
Masses begin. They continue at all of the eight altars until ten, at
most of them until twelve, yet not one-third of the priests in Paray
le Monial with the great International Pilgrimage can say Mass this
day in the sanctuary of the Sacred Heart. They must needs go
elsewhere, to the basilica, to other churches or chapels.
At ten o'clock Solemn High Mass is celebrated in the basilica, the
Vicar-General of Paris being the celebrant. The Bishop of Autun,
Cardinal Perraud, occupies the throne on the gospel side, for Paray
le Monial is in his jurisdiction. In the sanctuary are several
prelates and dignitaries, among others Arch-bishop Corrigan of New
York, and as many priests as can find standing room. The church is
literally packed with pilgrims, yet many thousands have been unable
to gain entrance. In the nave, directly in front of the main altar,
are ranged the banners of the various pilgrimages, some thirty or
forty in all--I cannot give the exact number. Hither they have been
borne by pilgrim bands from all quarters of the globe, from many
countries of Europe, from Asia, from Africa, from America, North and
South, and from the islands of the far Pacific Ocean. Conspicuous
among them is our own Canadian banner, with its almost life-size
image of Our Lord revealing His Sacred Heart in the centre, and
ranged along the borders the heroic founders of the Church in Canada,
Laval, Champlain, Maisonneuve, Breboeuf, Mary of the Incarnation,
Marguerite Bourgeois, and the foundress of the Ursulines of Quebec.
A little beyond is unfurled another American banner, which proudly
claims a place here to-day by a right peculiarly its own. It is the
banner of Catholic Ecuador, the Republic of the Sacred Heart.
Inscribed on it, in letters of gold, which first were written in
blood, are the words of the martyred President, Garcia Moreno, as he
fell by the hand of the assassin, Iddios ne meure--God dies not. At
the Credo all are on their feet, and the priests in the sanctuary and
in all parts of the basilica pilgrim voices from many lands sing in
unison the time-honoured Confession of the Faith "once delivered to
the saints"--in the chant of the Church and in the language of the
Church, the Creed of the Church Catholic and Apostolic. It is a most
impressive and most solemn scene, one never to be forgotten.
Thursday night the pilgrims made the Way of the Cross by torchlight
in the great garden adjoining the basilica. The garden itself was
brilliant with lights, and at each station the arch-priest attached
to the basilica delivered a discourse in French, of some five or ten
minutes. In the intervals between stations the vast multitude joined
in singing the hymn of Catholic France, with its pleading refrain,
Sauvez, Sauvez la France. On the afternoon of Friday the basilica
was again packed to hear the sermon of Father Couper, one of the
first preachers of France, and to assist at the International Act of
Consecration to the Sacred Heart. It was indeed a red-letter day in
the City of the Sacred Heart. From earliest dawn the streets were
lined with pilgrims in picturesque costumes and gay with banners, the
Papal colours and the banner of the Sacred Heart ever holding the
place of honour. As the sun went down and darkness fell upon the
scene, the celebration was brought to a close by a great torchlight
procession through the streets.
That night, in the hotel of the Sacred Heart hard by the Chapel of
the Visitation, the Canadian pilgrims were introduced to General
Charette, sometime leader of the Pontifical Zouaves, and Admiral
Cuverville, of the French Navy. Both made short speeches brimful of
Gallic fire, and of loyalty to the Sacred Heart and to Holy Mother
Church. O that France had many such high-souled, God-fearing men
among her leaders and councillors!
There were many pilgrimages at Paray le Monial, and many people
represented there. But it is quite safe to say that the pilgrimage
which represented the Catholics of Canada cut the greatest figure and
claimed the greatest share of attention. This it owed not to its
numbers; numerically it was one of the smallest. Nor was it the rank
or dignity of its members that won it a foremost place: it was made
up of plain priests and humble lay people, many of them from the
remote rural districts of the Province of Quebec. But the Catholics
of France saw in the vast majority of the pilgrim band that gathered
round the Canadian banner the descendants of the men and women who
went forth from France three centuries ago to found a new France on
the banks of the St. Lawrence. And as they heard them sing their
hymns in French to airs that have been familiar to generations of
pious Frenchmen, and saw how they still hold fast, with unswerving
fidelity, the Faith of their Fathers, the Faith of Old France, their
hearts went out to them as they went out to the members of no other
pilgrimage there. Most of all was this made manifest yesterday
morning as we gathered in the sanctuary at Paray le Monial to sing
for the last time before leaving the hymn of the Canadian pilgrims.
Mr. Rivet, organizer of the pilgrimage, who has a rich, strong and
most musical voice, sang the solos, and all joined in the chorus.
The emotion of many present found vent in tears, and copies of the
hymn were afterwards eagerly sought for. This particular hymn, one
of two, was composed while we were in London, by a French Canadian
Sister who has entered a convent there. I subjoin a copy of it, with
an English translation, which one who looks at it without reading
might mistake for verse, but which is really only a rude rendering
into English, line for line and almost word for word, of the original:
Cantique des Pelerins Canadiens
a Paray le Monial.
(AIR: PITIE, MON DIEU.)