Of an evening at St. Nicholas du Chardonnet

On our first night in Paris, this past Thursday, we went to the daily indult Mass at the lovely church of St. Eugene and St. Cecile - somehow, I think that it has two names. Anyway, the one on the Rue du Conservatoire - you can't miss it. I've still not been there for a Sunday old rite Mass - Ambrosius has - but for several daily Masses. As I said in my last post, I was impressed, but not favorably, that the readings were done in the vernacular. Concluding by this fact that the dogma of the Faith had been lost in the Paris indult community, I resolved to steer the four of us towards St. Nicholas du Chardonnet on the next night, a first Friday. Actually, it wasn't so much the dogma of the Faith that moved me as the promise of a sung Mass (as is their first Friday practice) and a chance to see, for the first time, this famous church at the heart, in some sense, of the traditionalist movement.

I was not disappointed by my first visit: the Mass was beautiful and the church magnificent. Yet it was not so much the church which impressed me as that a church in this grand, old style, ring with side altars was in use, was alive, its various altars frequented by priests offering the Sacrifice. One can tell as much simply by observing the condition of the side chapels, by noticing, for example, that the candles have been burned. But it was not until our second visit that we got to see this loving use for ourselves. After we had returned from Chartres, we heard the Mass Accipite iucunditatem, also sung, on account of the octave, I believe.

After this Missa cantata was concluded, and the organist had rejoiced in exhibiting his art, another Mass began in the large chapel at the head of and to the right of the nave. There were some few people in assistance at this Mass; whether they knew in advance that it would be said there and at that time, I do not know. Then yet another Mass began, this time at a side altar a little farther up the right side of the church. It was here that I took the pictures accompanying this post. I tried to hold the camera steady, but my picture of the elevation of the Host did not come out; I didn't want to use a flash at such a time. But the pictures of the moment just before the words of consecration and of the elevation of the chalice came out decently enough to share.


I am very happy to share them here as glimpses of our Romish religion in practice, the holy Sacrifice offered on countless altars around the world, though unremarked by many, though nearly altogether in the silence of the priest's heart. This private liturgy, monastic in its origins, though disdained to-day, is, I think, especially dear to many of us because its use affirms the uniqueness of the priestly office and the efficacy of the Sacrifice apart from any "celebrating" community or lay persons there to receive the Sacred Body and Blood in Communion. It's a sort of confession of faith in many realities which have been obscured in recent times.


go to main page