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Sacré-Coeur at Montmartre
by Valerie Haynes Perry
Sacré-Coeur is a mirage as you wind
your way toward it through Pigalle, Montmartre unfolding all around. It
darts around far corners of narrow streets that suddenly dead end, as
if body-guarding the basilica, protecting it from anyone who does not
have legitimate business there. That business is simple, merely
demanding respect for the unequalled impact of peace that billows down
the steps that lead away from Sacré-Coeur, cascading over the
generous parvis and onto the lower streets and allies. Though
Sacré-Coeur is related to mirage, the desert does not mimic
Paris in any way except perhaps
for the tranquil quality of silent sound that hovers over sands and
lingers within the smooth and sweeping walls of this majestic basilica
perched high upon the hill.
Distracted by the exterior beauty of the
Abesses metro station with its adjacent carousel, cafés,
bistros, restaurants, and shops, you can almost forget about the
basilica because it is fully hidden from that depth.
Then, if you find yourself walking down one particular street, the funicular
(sort of rolling gondola) catches you by surprise, promises to deliver
you to the front door of Sacré-Coeur. You board, ascend, and
arrive. Try to separate tourists from resident visitors and realize
those distinctions have no substance. You are all drawn there at the
same time for a purpose. For some, it is enough to let the senses
comprehend the sweeping view of Paris, spread out before them like a
finely laid table. But you — perhaps for other than religious
reasons — pass through the doors of the basilica and wander to an
inner pew.
As you sit or kneel, your purpose is
revealed. It is to experience the other-worldly voices of the choir, to
have some sense of what all those ancient dynasties were after when
they decided that angels had voices full of song. You are filled with
substance that reminds you of awe. As you acclimate to the notion of
becoming one with a source greater than yourself, the singing stops,
replaced by the deepest void you have ever known. Then a priest enters
and reads scripture in a monotone. You look around, do one full pass of
the corridor surrounding the nave, let your hands slide against the
smooth stones of the wall. You feel something you cannot name. Then you
emerge out into a new light, dimmer than how you remember it but
burning bright.
Missing the funicular bound away
from glory, you take the steps and think it was fortunate that the
hunchback and Esmeralda had Notre Dame as their sanctuary for a while.
For everyone else, you decide, the one and only Sacred Heart is no
secondary refuge.
Click here to read Elizabeth Barchas' feature on the Sacré-Coeur Basilica.
Copyright (c) 2007 - www.paris-hotel-by-district.com CH. All rights reserved.
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