It has some poetical associations as well as historical; for here M. de Lamartine is said to have hung up the long locks that Graziella had shorn from her beautiful head, and sent to be suspended in one of the churches of his belle France. And perhaps this was the one to which he referred in the following words:
"When the last hour of the day has sounded from thy lofty towers, when the last beam has faded away from the dome, when the sigh of the distant organ dies away with the light, and the nave is deserted by all but the Levite attentive to the lamps of the holy place, then I come to glide under thy obscure arches, and to seek, while nature sleeps, Him who never slumbers! The air which the soul breathes in thy aisles is full of mystery and peace. Let love and anxious cares seek shade and solitude under the green shelter of groves to soothe their secret wounds. O darkness of the sanctuary! the eye of religion prefers thee to the wood which the breeze disturbs. Nothing disturbs thy foliage. Thy still shade is the image of eternal peace."
I loved to think the poet found here the source of the inspirations which are embodied in his Harmonies Religieuses which are the delight of every tender and religious soul.
There is in one of the transepts a beautiful font of pure white marble, executed by M. Jouffroy from a model by Madame de Lamartine and presented by her to this church. The basin is surmounted by three expressive figures, Faith, Hope, and Charity, supporting a cross.
This church with its perfumed air, its subdued light, and its quiet recesses incentive to piety, so charmed me by its contrast with the gay world without, and revived all the fervor of early religious impressions, that I did not leave it till I had resolved to commence each remaining day of my stay at Paris, by going to a different church till I had visited them all, like Horace Walpole. And should I even visit them like him as a mere amateur of art, I could not fail to receive some inspiration that would leave me better for the rest of the day. The hours thus passed in the churches seemed to consecrate the day, and left a perfume in my heart that nothing in the world could wholly dissipate. They became the happiest and most profitable of my life, both morally and intellectually.
"For thou dost soothe the heart, thou Church of Rome,
By thy unwearied watch, and varied round
Of service, in thy Saviour's holy home.
I cannot walk the city's sultry streets,
But the wide porch invites to still retreats,
Where passion's thirst is calmed, and care's unthankful gloom."
"There, on a foreign shore,
The homesick solitary finds a friend:
Thoughts, prisoned long for lack of speech, outpour
Their tears, and doubts in resignation end."
One morning I went to St. Merri's, where St. Edmund, Archbishop of Canterbury, when a young student at Paris, used to go to assist at the midnight office. A friend had given me his practical little book entitled The Mirror of the Church, and I took it with me to read in a place he had loved. In reading it I was struck by what he says of the Lord's Prayer, the great prayer of the middle ages, and the prominence he would have us give it in our devotions. He says:
"The Pater Noster surpasses all other prayers in excellence, dignity, and utility. It was made by God himself; hence the injury done to Jesus Christ the Son of God when curious or rhymed prayers are preferred to that composed by him who knows the will of the Father, and better than we what prayer is most acceptable to him, and what we most need. How many deceive themselves in multiplying the forms of prayer! They think they are devout, but they are only carnal in their affections, for every carnally-minded person naturally delights in the vain curiosity of words. Be then prudent and discreet in this respect. I know you will bring forward St. Augustin, St. Gregory, and other saints to oppose me, who prayed according to the affections of their hearts. I am certainly far from blaming them. I only blame the practice of those who, from a spirit of pride or curiosity abandon the prayer made by the Lord himself for those which the saints have composed. Our Lord himself says, And when you are praying, speak not much as the heathen do, for they think they are heard for their much speaking. You therefore shall pray in this manner, Our Father, etc."
We Catholics are often accused of elevating the creature above the Creator, and reproached for saying ten Hail Marys to one Our Father in the beautiful devotion of the Rosary, as if we had no other. This extract from St. Edmund does not support the accusation, and he was a prelate of the dark ages—the thirteenth century. But then he was an Englishman, and we all know the Anglo-Saxon race did not fall in Adam, and only a little way in Peter!
In justice to St. Edmund I will add that he was so devout to Our Lady that, early in life, he consecrated himself to her, and wore, in memory of this consecration, a ring with Ave Maria upon it. He related this on his death-bed, that his example might be followed by others, and was buried with the ring on his finger.