STATE OF RELIGION.
The order of the priesthood in France had suffered greatly in the revolution. They were everywhere scouted and reviled, either for being supporters of the throne, or for being rich, or for being moderès. Napoleon found them in this condition; he never more than tolerated them, and latterly, by his open attack and cruel treatment of their chief, he struck the last and severest blow against the church. Unable to bear the insults of the military, deprived of the means of support, many of the clergy either emigrated or concealed themselves. In the principal towns, indeed, the great establishments took the oath of allegiance to the tyrant; but the inferior clergy and the country curates met nowhere with encouragement, and were allowed to starve, or to pick up a scanty pittance by teaching schools in a community who laughed at education, at morality, and religion.
Many of the churches, convents, and monasteries were demolished; many were converted into barracks, storehouses, and hospitals. We saw but one village church in our travels through France, and even in the larger towns we found the places of public worship in a state of dilapidation. I went to see the palace of the Archbishop at Aix; out of a suite of most magnificent rooms, about 30 in number, one miserable little chamber was furnished for his highness. In the rest, the grandeur of former days was marked by the most beautiful tapestry on some part of the walls, while other parts had been laid bare and daubed over with caps of liberty, and groupes of soldiers and guillotines, and indecent inscriptions. The nitches for statues, and the frames of pictures, were seen empty. The objects which formerly filled them were dashed to pieces or burnt.
The conduct of the people at the churches marked the low state of religion: the higher ranks talked in whispers, and even at times loudly, on their family concerns, their balls and concerts. The peasantry and lower ranks behaved with more decency, but seemed to think the service a mere form; they came in at all hours, and staid but a few minutes; went out and returned.
We had in our small society some very respectable clergymen; but I am sorry to say, we had one instance shewing the immoral tendency of the celibacy of the clergy.
Very few of the convents remain. I have detailed our visit to one of them in my journal; we found every thing decent and well conducted, but not with any thing like the strictness and rigour we expected. At Aix there was a small establishment of Ursulines, a very strict order; there was also a penitentiary establishment of Magdalenes, the rules of which were said by the people of Aix to be of the most inhuman nature. The caterers for the establishment were ordered to buy only spoilt provisions for food; fasting was prescribed for weeks together; and the miserable young women lay on boards a foot in breadth, with scarce any clothing. Their whole dress, when they went out, consisted of a shift and gown of coarsest hard blanket stuff. They were employed in educating young children. I once met a party of them walking out with their charges, who were chanting hymns and decorating these miserable walking skeletons with flowers.
We had also at Aix a very celebrated preacher named De Coq. I went to hear him, and, though much struck with his fluency of language, did not much admire his style of preaching; there was too much of cant and declamation, and at times he made a most intolerable noise, roaring as if he were addressing an army. This man, however, succeeded in drawing tears from the audience; but this did not surprise me, for it is astonishing how easily this is accomplished. This reminds me of a scene which I witnessed one evening at the theatre at Aix. We were seated next an old Marquise with whom we were acquainted. The tragedy of Meropè, and particularly the part of the son Egistus, was butchered in a very superior style; the Marquise turned to my sister, and said to her, "Oh how touching! how does it happen that it does not make you cry? But you shall see me cry in a minute; I shall just think of my poor son whom Napoleon took for the conscription." She then by degrees worked herself up into a fit of tears, and really cried for a pretty tolerable space of time. A most amusing soliloquy took place at our house the night before the national guard left Aix, in pursuit of Bonaparte. This lady came to pay us a visit; and after crying very prettily, she exclaimed, "Oh, the barbare, he has taken away my son—he has ruined my concert which I had fixed for Thursday—we were to have had such music!—and Jule, my son, was to have sung; but Jule is gone, perhaps to——Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!—and I had laid out three hundred pounds in repairing my houses at Marseilles, and not one of them will now be let—and I had engaged Ciprè (a fiddler), for Thursday; and we should have been so happy."—But this is a most extraordinary episode to introduce when talking of the state of religion.
Some measures taken latterly by the King, seem to have been but ill received by the French, and they then shewed how little attention they were inclined to pay to religious restraints, which were at variance with their interests and their pleasures: I allude to the shutting of the theatres and the shops on Sunday. Perhaps, considering the nature of their religion, and the long habit which had sanctioned the devoting of this day to amusement, the measure was too hasty. Certain it is, that neither this measure, nor the celebration of the death of Louis XVI. did any good to the Bourbon cause. The last could not fail to awaken many disagreeable feelings of remorse and of shame: It was a kind of punishment to all who had in any way joined in that horrid event. At Aix, the solemn ceremony was repeatedly interrupted by the noise of the military. We remarked one man in particular, who continued laughing, and beating his musket on the ground. On leaving the church, our landlord told us, he was one of those who had led one of the Marseilles bands at that time; and that there were in that small community, who had assembled in church, more than five or six others of the same description. How many of these men must there have been in all France whose feelings, long laid asleep, were awakened by such a ceremony!
Many of the churches, convents, and monasteries were demolished; many were converted into barracks, storehouses, and hospitals. We saw but one village church in our travels through France, and even in the larger towns we found the places of public worship in a state of dilapidation. I went to see the palace of the Archbishop at Aix; out of a suite of most magnificent rooms, about 30 in number, one miserable little chamber was furnished for his highness. In the rest, the grandeur of former days was marked by the most beautiful tapestry on some part of the walls, while other parts had been laid bare and daubed over with caps of liberty, and groupes of soldiers and guillotines, and indecent inscriptions. The nitches for statues, and the frames of pictures, were seen empty. The objects which formerly filled them were dashed to pieces or burnt.
The conduct of the people at the churches marked the low state of religion: the higher ranks talked in whispers, and even at times loudly, on their family concerns, their balls and concerts. The peasantry and lower ranks behaved with more decency, but seemed to think the service a mere form; they came in at all hours, and staid but a few minutes; went out and returned.
We had in our small society some very respectable clergymen; but I am sorry to say, we had one instance shewing the immoral tendency of the celibacy of the clergy.
Very few of the convents remain. I have detailed our visit to one of them in my journal; we found every thing decent and well conducted, but not with any thing like the strictness and rigour we expected. At Aix there was a small establishment of Ursulines, a very strict order; there was also a penitentiary establishment of Magdalenes, the rules of which were said by the people of Aix to be of the most inhuman nature. The caterers for the establishment were ordered to buy only spoilt provisions for food; fasting was prescribed for weeks together; and the miserable young women lay on boards a foot in breadth, with scarce any clothing. Their whole dress, when they went out, consisted of a shift and gown of coarsest hard blanket stuff. They were employed in educating young children. I once met a party of them walking out with their charges, who were chanting hymns and decorating these miserable walking skeletons with flowers.
We had also at Aix a very celebrated preacher named De Coq. I went to hear him, and, though much struck with his fluency of language, did not much admire his style of preaching; there was too much of cant and declamation, and at times he made a most intolerable noise, roaring as if he were addressing an army. This man, however, succeeded in drawing tears from the audience; but this did not surprise me, for it is astonishing how easily this is accomplished. This reminds me of a scene which I witnessed one evening at the theatre at Aix. We were seated next an old Marquise with whom we were acquainted. The tragedy of Meropè, and particularly the part of the son Egistus, was butchered in a very superior style; the Marquise turned to my sister, and said to her, "Oh how touching! how does it happen that it does not make you cry? But you shall see me cry in a minute; I shall just think of my poor son whom Napoleon took for the conscription." She then by degrees worked herself up into a fit of tears, and really cried for a pretty tolerable space of time. A most amusing soliloquy took place at our house the night before the national guard left Aix, in pursuit of Bonaparte. This lady came to pay us a visit; and after crying very prettily, she exclaimed, "Oh, the barbare, he has taken away my son—he has ruined my concert which I had fixed for Thursday—we were to have had such music!—and Jule, my son, was to have sung; but Jule is gone, perhaps to——Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!—and I had laid out three hundred pounds in repairing my houses at Marseilles, and not one of them will now be let—and I had engaged Ciprè (a fiddler), for Thursday; and we should have been so happy."—But this is a most extraordinary episode to introduce when talking of the state of religion.
Some measures taken latterly by the King, seem to have been but ill received by the French, and they then shewed how little attention they were inclined to pay to religious restraints, which were at variance with their interests and their pleasures: I allude to the shutting of the theatres and the shops on Sunday. Perhaps, considering the nature of their religion, and the long habit which had sanctioned the devoting of this day to amusement, the measure was too hasty. Certain it is, that neither this measure, nor the celebration of the death of Louis XVI. did any good to the Bourbon cause. The last could not fail to awaken many disagreeable feelings of remorse and of shame: It was a kind of punishment to all who had in any way joined in that horrid event. At Aix, the solemn ceremony was repeatedly interrupted by the noise of the military. We remarked one man in particular, who continued laughing, and beating his musket on the ground. On leaving the church, our landlord told us, he was one of those who had led one of the Marseilles bands at that time; and that there were in that small community, who had assembled in church, more than five or six others of the same description. How many of these men must there have been in all France whose feelings, long laid asleep, were awakened by such a ceremony!
Dieses Kapitel ist Teil des Buches TRAVELS IN FRANCE, DURING THE YEARS 1814-15.