Cesar Franck was then organist in the church of Notre Dame de Lorette, and the marriage took place there, February 22, 1848, in the very thick of the revolution.  Indeed, to reach the church, the wedding party were obliged to climb a barricade, helped over by the insurgents, who were massed behind this particular fortification.

Soon after the wedding, Franck, having now lost his pupils—­or most of them—­and being continually blamed by his father, whom he could no longer supply with funds, decided to leave the parental roof and set up for himself in a home of his own.  Of course he had now to work twice as hard, get new pupils and give many more lessons.  But with all this extra labor, he made a resolve, which he always kept sacredly, which was to reserve an hour or two each day for composition, or for the study of such musical and literary works as would improve and elevate his mind.  Nothing was ever allowed to interfere with this resolution, and to it we owe all his great works.

Franck made his first attempt at a dramatic work in 1851, with a libretto entitled “The Farmer’s Man.”  As he must keep constantly at his teaching during the day, he devoted the greater part of the night to composition.  He worked so hard that the opera, begun in December 1851, was finished in two years, but he paid dearly for all this extra labor.  He fell ill—­a state of nervous prostration—­and was unable for some time to compose at all.

It was indeed a time of shadows for the young musician, but the skies brightened after a while.  He had the great good fortune to secure the post of organist and choir master in the fine new basilica of Sainte Clothilde, which had lately been erected, and which had an organ that was indeed a masterpiece.  This wonderful instrument kept all its fulness of tone and freshness of timbre after fifty years of use.  “If you only knew how I love this instrument,” Father Franck used to say to the cure of Sainte Clothilde; “it is so supple beneath my fingers and so obedient to all my thoughts.”

As Vincent d’Indy, one of Franck’s most gifted and famous pupils, writes: 

“Here, in the dusk of this organ-loft, which I can never think of without emotion, he spent the best part of his life.  Here he came every Sunday and feast day—­and toward the end of his life, every Friday morning too, fanning the fire of his genius by pouring out his spirit in wonderful improvisations, which were often far more lofty in thought than many skilfully elaborated compositions.  And here, too, he must have conceived the sublime melodies which afterward formed the groundwork of his ‘Beatitudes.’”

“Ah, we knew it well, we who were his pupils, the way up to that thrice-blessed organ loft, a way as steep and difficult as that which the Gospels tell us leads to Paradise.  But when we at last reached the little organ chamber, all was forgotten in the contemplation of that rapt profile, the intellectual brow, from which seemed to flow without effort a stream of inspired melody and subtle, exquisite harmonies.”