Part 3 — A FETE-DAY AT LYONS.

Some writer has remarked that “there is no purgatory in France,” meaning thereby to illustrate the great extremes of piety and irreligion in the national character; and, although on a broad ground this assertion is by no means orthodox, yet it is practically true to a certain extent, and nowhere perhaps are these traits more noticeable to a stranger than in the time-honored city of Lyons. Here faith and disbelief walk side by side through all grades of society, each stronger and more resolute from its very proximity to the other; and when the tide of revolution swept over France, nowhere have the excesses been greater or religion more monstrously profaned than here; and yet nowhere has faith been more profound, more edifying, and more uncompromising. The blood of its early Christian martyrs has been a wonderful leaven and has worked well, and the thousands of pilgrims who yearly tread the heights of Fourrière, the extraordinary solemnity and fervor of the exterior devotions and religious ceremonies, show that there is a countercurrent stronger and more powerful than any opposing force that infidelity can bring to bear against it.

It is to give a few impressions made by these latter characteristics of this old city that we now recall some reminiscences of a visit there several years ago. The antiquity of Lyons, and its many monuments of interest, are quite sufficient to induce a traveller to linger on his route, and a week can be easily filled in exploring the city proper and its environs.

Like many of the European cities, its streets are narrow, and the houses high and badly ventilated; but a great change has taken place in regard to these defects within the last ten years, and a renovation without mutilation has opened its thoroughfares, adorned it with beautiful squares, fine bridges, broad and handsome quays, and placed it on an equal footing with any city in Europe in regard to its sanitary advantages.

Dating as far back as the Christian era and beyond, there are many remnants of its Roman origin yet to be seen, which have been carefully preserved through its various vicissitudes. Christianity was here planted in blood; and under the Roman emperors, three persecutions of Christians took place, which numbered forty-five thousand martyrs on their crimson pages; and this is why faith has taken such deep root, and why it opposes itself so firmly to those subtle influences of the day which threaten to endanger a birthright so dearly bought.

To us Americans who are only familiar with Lyons in its commercial bearings, and from the superior quality of its manufactures which find their way into our market, the fact that its inhabitants are a lettered as well as a business people is rather a matter of surprise; and we gaze in wonder at its magnificent buildings, devoted to the fine arts, its lyceums, colleges, academies of science, schools and institutions of every kind for instruction and the development of the finer tastes; and the riddle is solved by knowing that their manufactures, their commerce, their business, occupy only a part of their lives, and by no means constitute the sum total, as is so nearly the case in this country. This repose is very attractive to us Cisatlantic people, who lead such restless lives; and the lovely summer days that we spent in the old city enjoying this tranquillity are never to be forgotten.

We were awaiting the celebration of the Fête du Saint Sacrament,[75] which is usually kept with so much solemnity in the provinces. On the eve of the feast we made the ascent of Mont Fourrière, though not in the garb of humble pilgrims, “with sandal shoon and scallop-shell,” but in the more commonplace character of sightseers from the Western World, attracted to this height by the far-famed shrine which crowns its summit, and by the many historic associations that cluster round it.

On our way up we visited a cemetery which almost hangs by the mountain-side, and from which there are lovely views in every direction. It made a strange impression, this city of the dead, so far above the noise and clatter of the busy world below. It was so still, nothing broke the silence except our footsteps along the gravelled walks. One tomb especially attracted our attention: it was fairly buried and hidden by the quantity of fresh flowers, and the crosses and wreaths of immortelles which covered it. While wondering who could be the silent occupant of a grave so much loved, a lady approached in deep widow’s mourning, leading two little children, clad in the same sombre hue. They came and knelt at the tomb. Our question was answered, and we moved silently away, sorry for even the momentary intrusion we had been guilty of. Near the cemetery is the church of St. Irenée, which contains the bones of 18,500 Christians, martyred by order of Septimius Severus, 193 A.C. The remains of its ancient crypt are also shown, which dates back to the second century. There is also a well in this crypt, in which it is said these bones were found. The roughly paved road then leads up to the Chapel,[76] and Terrace of Notre Dame de Fourrière. We found we were just in time for the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, which was given here every afternoon during the Triduum which preceded the feast.

This little chapel was not remarkable either for its architectural finish nor for the richness and perfection of its ornamentation; it is plain, very plain indeed, but the marvellous number of its ex-votos, the gilt and silver hearts which actually burnish its walls, the crutches and other instruments suggestive of disease which hang around, tell of the moral and physical burdens which have been brought here and left, and of the weary, sorrowing souls who have wandered up this rocky height, who have made their deposit, and returned singing alleluias.

A fine terrace is just at the side of the chapel, and the view magnificent from the parapet which guards its eastern face. Just beneath lies Lyons in all its stateliness, traversed by two superb rivers from north to south, and prominent among its most striking points is the grand old Cathedral of St. Jean, which stands directly at the base of the mountain.

The surrounding country is a succession of lovely landscapes, and beyond, looking far away, a hundred miles off into Switzerland, the glorious Alps, with Mont Blanc’s snowy peak towering far above all, bound the horizon. We were fortunate in getting this view in perfection, for frequently a veil of mist and fog shuts out entirely this latter part of the tableau. On ascending the belfry of the chapel, we found the panorama yet more extended and enchanting. In every direction the views were entirely unbroken and uninterrupted. Seven rich provinces of France unfolded their scenery before our delighted eyes. At the extreme edge of the southern horizon rose Mont Pilat; at the west, the mountains of Forey and Auvergne; toward the north, Mont d’Or; and on the east, the Alps, in their eternal mantle of snow, completed a picture that could not be surpassed. Every prominence had caught the golden light of the sinking sun, and the shadows that had crept into the valleys only enhanced the coloring of the scene and made the effect more striking.

A Jesuit college, with its garden and appurtenances, is an appendant on the southern side of the terrace, and we crossed over to take a peep at their chapel, well knowing the good taste and exquisite finish which are usually displayed in their churches. There we found them also holding a Triduum, and, their service being a little later than that of the other chapel, we had the pleasure of attending Benediction a second time. Here the music was delightful and the chapel a gem. It was very small, and seemed to be lit entirely from the altar, which was ablaze with wax-lights and natural flowers; there appeared to be no external light to enter at all, and yet from its miniature size none of its details were lost, and, with the accessories of the solemn service then going on, it was the embodiment of beauty and inspiration.

When we turned our footsteps downward, the shadow’s had lengthened, and were fast creeping out of the valleys, and by the time we reached home the heights of Fourrière, which we still had in sight, were shrouded in gloom.

The next morning we were awakened by the booming of cannon, which announced the inauguration of the fête.

We hurried through breakfast, so as to reach the cathedral in time for the procession. In the square opposite our hotel, an altar had been erected, and we passed several others on our way, but their decorations, at this early hour, were not quite complete.

Everything wore a festive look, and everybody was out in holiday attire, flags and banners were flying, and the façades of some of those immensely high houses were festooned from top to bottom with crimson and yellow hangings. One building in especial was very effective; it was the Palais de Justice, which is on the right bank of the Saône, and which we faced in crossing the bridge to the cathedral. Its extended front of Corinthian pillars was draped in crimson cloth, which contrasted finely with the gray stone of which it was built. A little to its left is the old cathedral, stately and grand in its sombre livery of centuries. It has seen generations pass away, emperors and empires, kingdoms and kings, and yet it stands to-day intact, and ready to do duty for another hundred years, unless demolished by the sacrilegious hand of the iconoclast of the nineteenth century.

On reaching the place in front of the cathedral, we found a large crowd awaiting the procession. In a short time the sound of martial music was heard, and presently several officers rode up on horseback to open a passage through the crowd.

The procession was escorted by a troop of cavalry and military band, and preceded by a number of lovely children, dressed in white, with silver wings, their hair flowing, and scattering flowers as they passed along. As it entered the church, the organ pealed forth, filling the vast aisles with its magnificent harmony. Then Pontifical High Mass began, in all the grandeur of the especial ritual which is attached to this church, and which is the oldest in France, having been introduced here by one of the first bishops of Lyons; the liturgy is also different from that ordinarily used, and the ceremonies are of the most imposing character. The band, placed in a remote part of the church, played at intervals during the service, and the harsh and deafening sounds which are usually the result of brass instruments in a close building were lost in the immense space, and only the sweetest strains swept up through the nave and aisles.

In like manner the glare of day fell through the richly stained windows in a mellow and subdued light, which diffused itself generally over the church.

A very pleasant American writer[78] has said: “If we could only bring one thing back from Europe, that one thing would be a cathedral.” And truly these old monuments have a prestige to which persons of all creeds must pay tribute; and the veriest scoffer lifts his hat with reverence as he enters, and feels the influence of that wonderful atmosphere which pervades their hallowed precincts. After Mass we prolonged our walk home to see the decorations of the city. The altars were now entirely finished, and dressed with a profusion of natural flowers.

In the afternoon the procession passed round the city in a line with the altars, at each of which benediction was given. In their liturgy there are four special hymns for each of these stations or reposoirs, and, when the latter exceed that number, the chants are repeated until they have all been visited. There is generally one altar in each ward or district of the city, to satisfy the pious devotion of those who cannot attend service at the church.

In the evening illuminations and fireworks completed the festivities of the day—of a day whose minutest detail showed how true “the Rome of Gaul” had been to the colors which she unfurled nearly seventeen hundred years ago on the ramparts of paganism.

Since then I have seen other fêtes in other lands, but none have left the impression of the first which I saw inaugurated in the old Cathedral of St. Jean, under the shadow of Mont Fourrière.