This being Sunday, and the Fete-Dieu, the garrison,
with flags flying, drums beating, trumpets sounding,
and all in gala dress, marched through the streets
to attend Divine worship. The train was headed
by our old acquaintance General Le Paultre de la Motte,
(whom we left at Lyons on our route to Italy), and
his staff; wearing all their military decorations,
attended by a vast procession, including the whole
of the clergy in their rich attires and all the different
religious communities in the town.
The officers were bare-headed—their spurred
heels and warlike demeanour rendering this homage
to a sacred ceremony more picturesque. The gold
and silver brocaded vestments and snowy robes of the
priests glittering in the sun, as they marched along
to the sound of martial music, looked very gorgeous;
and this mixture of ecclesiastical and military pomp
had an imposing effect.
The streets through which the procession passed were
ornamented with rich draperies and flowers, reminding
me of Italy on similar occasions; and the intense
heat of a sun glowing like a fiery furnace, aided the
recollection.
Since I have been on the continent, it has often struck
me with surprise, that on solemn occasions like the
present, sacred music has not been performed instead
of military. Nay, I have heard quadrilles and
waltzes played, fruitful in festive associations little
suited to the feelings which ought to have been excited
by solemn ceremonials.
Knowing, by experience, the effect produced on the
mind by sacred music, it is much to be wished that
so potent an aid to devotional sentiment should not
be omitted, malgre whatever may be said against
any extraneous assistance in offering up those devotions
which the heart should be ever prompt to fulfil without
them.
I leave to casuists to argue whether, or how far,
music, sculpture, or painting, may be employed as
excitements to religious fervour: but I confess,
although the acknowledgment may expose me to the censure
of those who differ with me in opinion, that I consider
them powerful adjuncts, and, consequently, not to
be resigned because some—and happy,
indeed, may they be deemed—stand in no need
of such incitements to devotion.
Who that has heard the “Miserere”
in the Sistine chapel at Rome, and seen, while listening
to it, “The Last Judgment,” by Michael
Angelo, on its walls, without feeling the powerful
influence they exercised on the feelings?
June, 1828.—A fatiguing journey,
over dusty roads, and in intensely hot weather, has
brought us to Paris, with no accident save the failure
of one of the wheels of our large landau—a
circumstance that caused the last day’s travelling
to be any thing but agreeable; for though our courier
declared the temporary repair it received rendered
it perfectly safe, I was by no means satisfied on
the point.
