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.

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This article is republished with the authorization of Paris Eiffel Tower News - a great guide for a Paris vacation. Copyright (c) 2004 Paris Eiffel Tower News - All rights reserved.