| Editor : Abbé Georges de Nantes | N° 83 – August 2009 |
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THE MYSTICAL PAGES
OF A « GREAT WRITER »
In the judgement of Pierre Flottes, dean of the University of Bordeaux, the Abbé de Nantes is « a great writer ». The eminent and late lamented man of letters invoked his long-standing experience as « an old reader of ancient books, a long-time friend of French literature ». To corroborate his judgement, he cited Mémoires et récits, which was being published as a serial in each issue of the Catholic Counter-Reformation starting in 1979. His entreaties made us decide to gather into volumes, into « library books » as he said, what had been « sown in intermittent publications ». To date, we have thus published two volumes of the Memoires et récits: Volume I, 1924-1943; Volume II, 1943-1947. They will be on the programme of the next Phalangist Camp.
Before these memoirs the Mystical Pages had also appeared interspersed from 1968 to 1978 in the monthly editions of the Catholic Counter-Reformation in the XXth Century. We have gathered them into two « library books » : Volume I, Feb. ’68 - Oct. ’73; Volume II, Nov. ’73 – April ’78 [in French only].
The reader who goes back to the collection of the bulletins from which they were taken will realise that these pages of piety and devotion not only bear the mark of a « great writer », but they are also the work of a great polemicist. To understand them and savour them, it is necessary to put them back into the context that engendered them.
Truly, the author knows how to make use of all literary styles with the sovereign liberty that a superior genius gives him. But there is more: the vision that was glimpsed on the « Tabor of impoverished glory » that was our Maison Saint-Joseph (Sept. ’69), and the love of the Church contemplated in the Sacred Heart of Christ, her Spouse, « as serene and peaceful as a satisfied child on the bosom of his mother » (Nov. ’69), cannot leave the person who gives himself over to them indifferent to the daily fight of this valorous Church doing battle with the apostasy of the last times that the Scriptures announced.
Upon reading the first volume, one realises to what degree of incandescence the holy polemic carried out against schism and heresy has raised the virtues of faith, hope and charity. These pages express this supernatural ardour, and they communicate its grace.
Already the Letters to My Friends, which were published before the Counter-Reformation and were written starting in 1956 with the sole aim of « making known splendours of divine Love and assisting the sanctification of souls » (Letter 1), raised their pitch shortly after the death of Pius XII. The purpose in so doing was to defend Catholic faith and piety against a new religion and false mysticism, a resuscitation of the old Modernist heresy; these letters cast light on The Mystery of the Church and Antichrist (Letters 58 to 141)
« Our Father who art in Heaven » : the first words written in the first “Mystical Page” (Feb. 1968) rise towards Heaven as the daily prayer of Christians, words that the Lord Himself taught two thousand years ago. To the reader who will refer back to the February 1968 issue of the CRC, it will, however, appear to be the cry of the most burning issue of the hour. It emerges from the tumult of the fights waged on the previous pages as an act of reparation to console our God for the blasphemies of the Dominican from the convent of Montpellier, Fr. Jean Cardonnel, a disciple of Fr. Chenu and a friend of Fr. Congar. His revolutionary preaching ignited the conflagration of May ’68 by proclaiming that God is nothing more than « the divinisation of obscure forces at work in humanity ». This is why, this friar of the Order of Preachers wrote, « there is no Heaven, there is no hereafter, there is nothing else, but there is the development of all that we are. Not another world, but a different world. »
Fr. Cardonnel died recently. Where is he now?
The following Mystical Page is dated April 1968. It resembles the sermon of a parish priest leading his flock in the liturgical tragedy of Holy Week in which Christ once again offers Himself as an expiatory victim for the salvation of the world:
« O Word, O Christ, how attractive You are! How great You are! More attractive, greater than ever in this last combat of Jerusalem and this final abandonment into the hands of the ungodly which Your mystical Spouse, the Church, has just relived with an oppressed heart. »
Now, this surge of love is the scathing reply of a « great writer » and sound theologian to the “Fonds obligatoire” that the Plenary Assembly of the French episcopate promulgated to serve as a standard for authors of new catechisms adapted to the doctrine of the Second Vatican Council. This “Fonds obligatoire” was the object of feature articles in the CRC from April to November 1968; this so-called catechism teaches a pagan humanism from which the very notion of sacrifice has been eliminated under the pretext that « a child cannot give his trust to someone who in his eyes is a “victim” in the passive sense of the word ». Word for word, that is what it says!
Far from being an escape into the intemporal, these pages constitute a veritable harmonic of the Church’s struggles, her concerns, and the ills she suffered during the years from the immediate post-Council, which bore as their fruit subversion and apostasy, to the death of Paul VI. All this time, the author, as a loving son, did not leave the « bedside of a mother who, in her unconsciousness, called imaginary lovers and tore to pieces the caressing hands of her sons, no longer wanting to recognise them as her own » (June ’69).
But there was worse. The Mystical Page of July ’69 makes this heartbreaking admission: « Oh, no! It is not from being unblemished or better than others that the ills of the Church make me suffer so much. It is because I am afflicted by them and feel so greatly their influence that I know their perversity; it makes me tremble… » The lure of the Dutch Catechism did this; this is what gave the Mystical Pages of that year a style more touched by pathos: The Most Holy and Immaculate Virgin Mary, « Perfect Beauty who engendered Wisdom » (August ’69); « Joseph, the Taciturn Patriarch » (March ’70); The Crib, the Cross, the Tabernacle (Jan. ’70). All these divine faces that shine in the night did not prevent « heresy like the flaming arrow of an Angel of light from luring me, our Father admitted; its unprecedented fever tempted me. Revolt proposed to me the exquisite delight of being free and returning to forbidden dreams, as though it were Satan’s caress. »
Thus, he was able to resist those who claimed to be the last of the righteous and attempted to drive him into schism:
« Outside the Church, there is no salvation for me either in Heaven or on earth, and if, as the Apostles long ago rebuffed the noisy children or the importunate blind man, I happened to be driven from her, O my Saviour, I would remain under the porch listening to the fraternal voices singing the divine praises and I would beckon, even then, to passers-by to enter so as to enjoy the goods from which I would be excluded. »
Thanks to this supernatural wisdom, he was not excluded. He even remained in the heart of the sanctuary, assiduous in celebrating the Divine Office as the second volume of the Mystical Pages attests.
The combat took a particularly tragic turn in 1970 when the Abbé de Nantes saw confreres who had been his first companions in the fight against heresy invite him to enter into schism: « Come, the unknown friend shouts to me, look this way, curse this Church, thunder forth against this corrupt Rome! » (Sept. ’70)
For more than forty years the answer has not changed. As obstinate as the ass of Balaam who refused to advance in the lane hemmed in by stone walls where the Angel of Yahweh had taken up position with drawn sword, the author of these fiery pages could only repeat the inspired oracle: « How can I curse whom God has not cursed? » (Nb 23:8) The eternal salvation of the Church’s children is at stake: « No curse will be called down upon her that will not backfire on its author. She has the keys to History and still goes in joyful procession towards the Promised Land. »
In this liturgical procession, the Community of the Little Brothers and Little Sisters of the Sacred Heart, which was founded in 1958 before the death of Pius XII, has held its own, persevering in celebrating the Divine Office throughout these difficult years, according to the age-old tradition of monastic prayer.
The second volume begins with a series of meditations that follow its daily sequence, from the “First Nocturn” of Matins (Feb. ’74) to Compline and the great Salve, « our Mother’s evening kiss that we would never wish to miss, Salve! » (March ’75) One evening during a pilgrimage at Fatima, we re-read this page at the Capelinha. A Portuguese man who had joined our group, about which he had been warned, exclaimed: « The person who wrote that cannot be something bad! »
Fidelity to this work, our daily lot, opens onto the bliss of Heaven, the subject of the second series of meditations on which the Mystical Pages finish: from “Judgement” (April ’75) to “My Ultimate Secret” (March ’78).
The three years that were occupied with raising this unfailing hope could perhaps be counted among the most fruitful. In 1975, the history of the great crises that the Church went through was « evoked with so much life, fervour, and science », in Dean Flottes’ judgement, that he described Volume VII of the CRC – in spite of an inveterate personal attachment to Marc Sangnier, who is given a rough ride in it! – as an « irreplaceable book that I always keep at hand ». Volume VIII (1976) offers a series of studies on the great debates of our time: ancient or new Mass, war and the death penalty, dictatorship… When one reads them thirty years later, we see that only one thing is lacking: their implementation. It is extremely urgent…
1977 was dedicated to the study of the Sacraments, a study about which even Fr. Congar, the father of the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council, publicly declared to the Abbé de Nantes on the day of their dramatic confrontation at Annecy: « I insist on saying that, for example, I greatly esteemed your catechesis on the Sacraments! »
In 1978, we believed that we were within sight of home with the accession of a good Catholic Pope… Beginning in 1979, the Mémoires et récits replaced the “Mystical Pages”, filling its column while the fight resumed after the martyrdom of the holy Pope John Paul I. In Pierre Flottes’ judgement the Memoires still deserve the name of Mystical Pages: « I lay stress on this limpidity of your style that makes spirituality penetrate into the humblest of things. Since all spirituality is friendship, your account establishes a bond of unsuspected friendship between the reader and you. Your noble family becomes the humblest; we feel close to those whom you evoke; in a word: we love them. For this reason, these pages deserve to be called “Mystical Pages”. »
The remark is indeed capable of enlightening our readers of the Mystical Pages, if we observe that they were already a memorial:
« It was from my father that I learned to persevere in the service of apparently lost causes. I imitated that faith of his which had kept his eyes fixed – indeed immovably riveted – on Your hands and his ears attentive to Your immense, Your unbearable silence. Like him, I know that something will come of our daily struggles, something originating from You! » (Dec. ’69; infra)
The pages that had been consecrated to commenting on the rites of Baptism (June ’72 – Oct. ’73) were already the “Memoires et récits” of Georges-Marie-Camille de Nantes, who received this Sacrament on 5 April 1924: « I was hardly two days old. » And the faith « that never, ever left me », is transfused into the soul of his readers: « Jesus as true as I, I as true as Jesus! Joy. »
Even, and above all, the expectation of Heaven takes root in « the memory of the paradise of our holy childhood », because Heaven is « the family back together again » (April ’76). It had already been evoked in one of the most beautiful pages of Volume I; the circumincession of the Divine Persons glimpsed in the light of a family gathering: « O glorious and most lovable Trinity of God, You resemble us so much! » (Oct. ’71)
We removed from Memoires et récits the pages that were dedicated to Mamine (the Abbé de Nantes’ mother) to make a separate book of them. This pure literary masterpiece is also a monument of filial piety. Through talent characterised by its incomparable eloquence, it is capable of giving back to our generation what it lacks most: love. According to the maxim that Marguerite de Verclos marked in her “small green notebook” at 19 years of age, « to convert is to turn oneself towards love. » She did this so well throughout her hundred years of life, that she kindled in the heart of her son a filial tenderness that spreads like a perfume of rare sweetness throughout these pages. They are not only intended for us who had the joy of knowing and loving her, but also for the countless hearts that, in a world in which charity is cooling, will discover the treasure of a mother’s affection.
MYSTICAL PAGES
O my God, my Father, I raise my eyes towards You who dwell in Heaven, to You do I raise my eyes. I implore You to end this trial and I wait in hope for the coming of a new day. Outside, a watery snow is falling in the night. This evening all is cold and saddened to tears. When, oh when, will the sun return and the blue sky appear above the rooftops? Our trials seem long when they weigh too heavily on us. Everything seems to melt and turn into mud. I had not thought that the skies could so rain down on our heads. Chilled and lost, I beg of You that this misery cease, and I implore of You, our Father, the long-awaited dawn of the Church’s salvation. My eyes are fixed like the eyes of servants on the hands of their masters; my eyes are like the eyes of the serving girl on the hands of her mistress. They watch for the least gesture, sign, or command whence mercy will again spring forth.
Each morning I scan the news for evidence of the birth of new times. But each morning the news is worse, and I lie down in the evening along with my grief. Unable to sleep, the vision of Zechariah comes back to haunt me. Lo, the horsemen rush forth, they gallop through the world right unto the four sources of the winds, looking for any birth or stirring that could be the prelude to the coming reign of God. But as yet nothing moves; the whole world remains at rest and tranquil in its iniquity. Heaven remains deaf, the world flounders in apostasy, and the humble faithful are moved to despair by this false peace. « O God of Hosts, how long will You have no mercy on Jerusalem and the cities of Judah, against which You have had indignation these seventy years? » (Zc 1:12)
I keep my eyes fixed on Your hands, O Lord most powerful and merciful. But take pity on us and shorten the time of our trial, for everything is collapsing and being swept away by the torrent of rivers in flood; the earth is inundated and houses are engulfed. You had promised that never more would there be a universal flood! Even so, my father suffered on behalf of Your honour and my grandfather earned himself naught but tears and opprobrium for his fidelity. It is the combat of our fathers that we continue without glory. This trial has become for us an ancestral tradition, one which we bear with a hope that is constantly pushed back till tomorrow. For how many generations has Your Name been rejected by the peoples and Your Truth sullied by Your priests? We are, under the New Testament, like the poor of Yahweh in the Old who waited for centuries for the blessed fruit of the virginal womb and died without ever having seen it, passing the torch of their unassuaged hopes on to the rising generation. They experienced the Babylonian whip, they fell under the arrows of the Parthians and the Medes, and they believed themselves to have been delivered by the cavalry of Cyrus. But the Persian yoke weighed heavy until the time of Alexander, who broke it only to replace it with the Greek yoke, which was worse. Alexander’s march certainly prepared the way for Him who was to come. But the poor of Israel knew nothing but wretchedness and fearful dangers as a reward for their faith. Then came the Romans, followed by Herod. Devout families, now reduced to a few small islands of fidelity, kept the meagre flame of their ancient hope burning in the privacy of their homes. They still had their eyes raised up to You, O Father, their eyes fixed on Your age-old hands, Your long, slender, powerful Hands, during centuries of sleep and inertia, until at last they rose up and announced the Event of Salvation to Heaven and earth.
My grandfather believed in the restoration of Christendom and did not allow himself to be carried away by despair. His son did not believe in the false peace of the modern world and the prosperity of the ungodly. He died on Christmas night 1914, leaving my father as his heritage the certainty of Your reign, reinforced by so many sorrowful meditations and strengthened through one defeat after another. It was from my father that I learned to persevere in the service of apparently lost causes. I imitated that faith of his which had kept his eyes fixed – indeed riveted – on Your motionless hands and his ears attentive to Your immense, Your unbearable silence. Like him, I know that something will come of our daily struggles, something originating from You!
These divine hands that I adore, one day they will start to move and the world will tremble. One hand, that of Your all-powerful Wisdom, will shatter the pride of the evil angels and of men. Through the cracks and splits of this world will stream forth Your light. The other hand, that of Your Mercy, will raise up legions of angels to come to the aid of Your Church and of the Kingdom of Mary, whilst inflaming the saints of the new times with an incredible charity, teaching them miracles and virtues capable of converting the world! Yes, I know that Your hands will stir for me. They will give me my orders and the zeal to accomplish them. Sacred History will recommence such as our mothers formerly related it to us with wonder in a series of sumptuous images. The future will thus be more beautiful than the past… But for too long our fathers will have waited for this human happiness, for too many years will I have followed them in preserving the humble attitude of a servant bent over his task, his eyes attentive to the orders of his master, to solicit a reversal of fortunes and the inheritance of the rich. I am exhausted now and belong to too old a generation ever to enjoy the exhilaration of revenge and worldly celebrations. The illusions of our youth flourished and then faded. Should order ever be restored at Rome, Rheims and Paris, I will remain at my work, my eyes fixed like those of a servant on the hands of his Lord, out of love. (December 1969)
MYSTICAL PAGES
Oh Most Holy and Immaculate Virgin Mary, I want no beauty that leaves me without wisdom and that is why I have chosen You for Queen and for friend, though I dare not, on account of my sins, say with St. Bernard, for unique spouse, You the perfect Beauty who begets Wisdom... At these words, my soul quivers like David’s harp and my spirit communicates in the essential mystery of God’s works. You are She who reveals the secrets of God, and Your virginal Motherhood explains the act of both creation and salvation: all God’s wonders are of a Wisdom radiating beauty and joy in Love. That is why the Church’s liturgy is not afraid of applying to You all that is said in the Sacred Books of that mysterious and touching companion of the Creator, present at all His works, the confidante of all His secrets, delighting to play among the children of men. It is You whom Michelangelo painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the shadow of the Father’s right hand whilst from His powerful left hand the universe bursts forth. And You again whom we see cradled beneath Your Son’s terrible right hand cursing the damned, You who are mediating tenderness and sweetness, tempering the rigour of justice and allowing myriads of the predestined to expect divine mercy.
I feel that my heart yearns to harmonise its beat with that of this heavenly order – my heart smitten with beauty, my human heart moved by the fragility and charm of all creatures, my priestly heart dedicated to chastity so contrary to the pagan world into which my path sinks. But with the Church, I sing: « Charm is empty and beauty deceptive; only the woman who fears the Lord will be worthy of praise»... In his endless quest for passing beauties, the most carnal of men seeks gentleness, and in gentleness he seeks a tender and generous goodness, and in tenderness he looks for the sublime virtues inspired by Wisdom. No one could be satisfied with a beauty that shone without truth. No, what all look for, as Plato the Greek had understood, is a passage from tangible beauty to spiritual perfection. That way is You, Mary, immaculate lily of the flower beds of Eden, who bear in Your arms and who show us the blessed fruit of Your virginal womb, Jesus, uncreated Wisdom. My certain vocation keeps me in the perfection of this twofold and indivisible virtue: as a priest, I was bound to be and forever am consecrated in mind and hand to the worship of Wisdom incarnate, and, chaste, I shall eternally have no other legitimate attachment but to You, my Mother, Woman blessed among all women, chosen in preference and to the exclusion of all other, You whose body begets the flesh of the Son of God, whose beauty engenders Wisdom in us.
You are the smile of Carmel; You are the Eve of a new Paradise, whose love draws the sons of Adam back to the divine truth and guides every woman to the pure wedding feast of the Word’s mystical marriage. « Both are necessary for me, St. Bernard confesses, the truth from which I could never depart and the grace I would not lose for all the world. Without their twofold presence, God’s Visitation would be imperfect. » With the mystic Abbot of Clairvaux, I rejoice for I have received as my dowry and inheritance grace, truth and mercy with justice, gentleness allied to strength, as we sing at Vespers for Virgins, with God’s left hand under my neck and His right arm embracing me. The Anointing identifies me with the Bridegroom, God’s Wisdom and Truth, unfathomable, beatifying Light, the great joy of my mind and the source of my words, whilst I am united by Vow to the Bride in this vale of tears, to Mary, the guardian of faithful souls, the source of virtue and joy in the religious life, the secret peace of the cloister.
Oh Jesus and Mary, for Joseph our Patriarch, You were his twofold love. In the house of Nazareth, You were Wisdom and Love, virginal Love bearing Wisdom to the world through the working of the Holy Spirit indwelling You, O Mary – divine Wisdom begotten by this Immaculate Virgin whom You had created for this sublime work, O Jesus. And so God’s great and endless works in the universe swell my heart with gladness, and the hidden mysteries of my vocation open to me the infinite wonders of grace. I am a priest – what grandeur! – wholly dedicated to the continued and communicated Incarnation of Jesus, God’s Wisdom. I am chaste – what sweetness! –presented to the consolation and purification of Mary, God’s Grace, to sing of the divine beauty and spread its joy to all creatures. Amen. (August 1969)