July 8, 1852.
Having been informed that the Chapel of the Virgin atSaint-Germain-des-Pres was being repaved, I entered the church withthe hope of discovering some old inscriptions, possibly exposed by thelabours of the workmen. I was not disappointed. The architect kindlyshowed me a stone which he had just had raised up against the wall.I knelt down to look at the inscription engraved upon that stone; andthen, half aloud, I read in the shadow of the old apsis these words,which made my heart leap:
"Cy-gist Alexandre, moyne de ceste eglise, qui fist mettre en argent lementon de Saint-Vincent et de Saint-Amant et le pie des Innocens; quitoujours en son vivant fut preud'homme et vayllant. Priez pour l'ame delui."
I wiped gently away with my handkerchief the dust covering thatgravestone; I could have kissed it.
"It is he! it is Alexander!" I cried out; and from the height of thevaults the name fell back upon me with a clang, as if broken.
The silent severity of the beadle, whom I saw advancing towards me,made me ashamed of my enthusiasm; and I fled between the two holy watersprinklers with which tow rival "rats d'eglise" seemed desirous ofbarring my way.
At all events it was certainly my own Alexander! there could be no moredoubt possible; the translator of the "Golden Legend," the author ofthe saints lives of Saints Germain, Vincent, Ferreol, Ferrution,and Droctoveus was, just as I had supposed, a monk ofSaint-Germain-des-Pres. And what a monk, too--pious and generous! Hehad a silver chin, a silver head, and a silver foot made, that certainprecious remains should be covered with an incorruptible envelope! Butshall I never be able to view his handiwork? or is this new discoveryonly destined to increase my regrets?