A remarkable proof of the reverence in which this little shrine was held, in consequence, I presume, of the relics it contained, may be found in the dignified style of its establishment. Kings and popes seem to have felt a holy rivalry as to which should most distinguish it by gifts and privileges. The wealth of its functionaries appears greatly to have exceeded the bounds of Christian moderation; and their pride of place was sustained, notwithstanding the _pet.i.tesse_ of their dominions, by t.i.tles and prerogatives such as no _chapelains_ ever had before. The chief dignitary of the establishment had the t.i.tle of archichapelain; and, in 1379, Pope Clement VII. permitted him to wear a mitre, and to p.r.o.nounce his benediction on the people when they were a.s.sembled during any of the processions which took place within the enclosure of the palace. Not only, indeed, did this arch-chaplain take the t.i.tle of prelate, but in some public acts he is styled "Le Pape de la Sainte Chapelle." In return for all these riches and honours, four out of the seven priests attached to the establishment were obliged to pa.s.s the night in the chapel, for the purpose of watching the relics. Nevertheless, it appears that, in the year 1575, a portion of the _vraie croix_ was stolen in the night between the 19th and 20th of May. The thief, however, was strongly suspected to be no less a personage than King Henry III. himself; who, being sorely distressed for money, and knowing from old experience that a traffic in relics was a right royal traffic, bethought him of a means of extracting a little Venetian gold from this true cross, by leaving it in p.a.w.n with the Republic of Venice. At any rate, this much-esteemed fragment disappeared from the Sainte Chapelle, and a piece of the holy rood was left _en gage_ with the Venetians by Henry III.

I have transcribed, for your satisfaction, the list I find in Dulaure of the most sacred of the articles for the reception of which this chapel was erected:--

Du sang de Notre Seigneur Jesus-Christ.

Les drapeaux dont Notre Sauveur fut enveloppe en son enfance.

Du sang qui miraculeus.e.m.e.nt a distille d'une image de Notre Seigneur, ayant ete frappe d'un infidele.

La chaine et lien de fer, en maniere d'anneau, dont Notre Seigneur fut lie.

La sainte touaille, ou nappe, en un tableau.

Du lait de la Vierge.

Une partie du suaire dont il fut enseveli.

La verge de Mose.

Les chefs des Saints Blaise, Clement, et Simon.

Is it not wonderful that the Emperor of Constantinople could consent to part with such precious treasures for the lucre of gain? I should like to know what has become of them all.

As late as the year 1770, the annual ceremony of turning out devils on Good Friday, from persons pretending to be possessed, was performed in this chapel. The form prescribed was very simple, and always found to answer perfectly. As soon as it was understood that all the demoniacs were a.s.sembled, _le grand chantre_ appeared, carrying a cross, which, spite of King Henry's _supercherie_, was declared to enclose in its inmost recesses a morsel of the _vraie croix_, and in an instant all the contortions and convulsions ceased, and the possessed became perfectly calm and tranquil, and relieved from every species of inconvenience.

Having seen all that this lovely chapel had to show, and particularly examined the spot where the battle of the books took place, the pa.s.se-partout of M. J*** caused a mysterious-looking little door in the Sainte Couronne to open for us; and, after a little climbing, we found ourselves just under the roof of the Palais de Justice. The enormous s.p.a.ce of the _grande salle_ below is here divided into three galleries, each having its entire length, and one-third of its width.

The manner in which these galleries are constructed is extremely curious and ingenious, and well deserves a careful examination. I certainly never found myself in a spot of greater interest than this.

The enormous collection of records which fill these galleries, arranged as they are in the most exquisite order, is one of the most marvellous spectacles I ever beheld.

Amidst the archives of so many centuries, any doc.u.ment that may be wished for, however remote or however minute, is brought forward in an instant, with as little difficulty as Dr. Dibdin would find in putting his hand upon the best-known treasure in Lord Spencer's library.

Our kind friend obtained for us the sight of the volume containing all the original doc.u.ments respecting the trial of poor Joan of Arc, that most ill-used of heroines. Vice never braved danger and met death with such steady, unwavering courage as she displayed. We saw, too, the fatal warrant which legalised the savage murder of this brave and innocent fanatic.

Several other death-warrants of distinguished persons were also shown to us, some of them of great antiquity; but no royal hand had signed them. This painful duty is performed in France by one of the superior law-officers of the crown, but never by the hand of majesty.

Another curious trial that was opened for our satisfaction, was that of the wretched Marquise de Brinvilliers, the famous _empoisonneuse_, who not only destroyed father, brother, husband, at the instigation of her lover, but appears to have used her power of compounding fatal drugs upon many other occasions. The murderous atrocities of this woman seem to surpa.s.s everything on record, except those of Marguerite de Bourgogne, the inconceivable heroine of the "Tour de Nesle."

I was amused by an anecdote which M. J*** told me of an Englishman to whom he, some years ago, showed these same curious papers--among which is the receipt used by Madame de Brinvilliers for the composition of the poison whose effects plunged Paris in terror.

"Will you do me the favour to let me copy this receipt?" said the Englishman.

"I think that my privilege does not reach quite so far as that," was the discreet reply; and but for this, our countryman's love for chemical science might by this time have spread the knowledge of the precious secret over the whole earth.

LETTER LIII.

French ideas of England.--Making love.--Precipitate retreat of a young Frenchman.--Different methods of arranging Marriages.--English Divorce.--English Restaurans.

It now and then happens, by a lucky chance, that one finds oneself full gallop in a conversation the most perfectly unreserved, without having had the slightest idea or intention, when it began, of either giving or receiving confidence.

This occurred to me a few days ago, while making a morning visit to a lady whom I had never seen but twice before, and then had not exchanged a dozen words with her. But, upon this occasion, we found ourselves very nearly tete-a-tete, and got, I know not how, into a most unrestrained discussion upon the peculiarities of our respective countries.

Madame B*** has never been in England, but she a.s.sured me that her curiosity to visit our country is quite as strong as the pa.s.sion for investigation which drew Robinson Crusoe from his home to visit the...."

"Savages," said I, finishing the sentence for her.

"No! no! no!... To visit all that is most curious in the world."

This phrase, "most curious," seemed to me of doubtful meaning, and so I told her; asking whether it referred to the museums, or the natives.

She seemed doubtful for a moment whether she should be frank or otherwise; and then, with so pretty and playful a manner as must, I think, have disarmed the angry nationality of the most thin-skinned patriot alive, she answered--

"Well then--the natives."

"But we take such good care," I replied, "that you should not want specimens of the race to examine and make experiments upon, that it would hardly be worth your while to cross the Channel for the sake of seeing the natives. We import ourselves in such prodigious quant.i.ties, that I can hardly conceive you should have any curiosity left about us."

"On the contrary," she replied, "my curiosity is only the more _piquee_: I have seen so many delightful English persons here, that I die to see them at home, in the midst of all those singular customs, which they cannot bring with them, and which we only know by the imperfect accounts of travellers."

This sounded, I thought, very much as if she were talking of the good people of Mongo Creek, or Karakoo Bay; but being at least as curious to know what her notions were concerning the English in their remote homes, and in the midst of all their "singular customs," as she could be to become better acquainted with them, I did my best to make her tell me all she had heard about us.

"I will tell you," she said, "what I want to see beyond everything else: I want to see the mode of making love _tout-a-fait a l'Anglaise_. You know that you are all so polite as to put on our fashions here in every respect; but a cousin of mine, who was some years ago attached to our Emba.s.sy at London, has described the style of managing love affairs as so ... so romantic, that it perfectly enchanted me, and I would give the world to see how it was done (_comment cela se fait_)."

"Pray tell me how he described it," said I, "and I promise faithfully to tell you if the picture be correct."

"Oh, that is so kind!... Well then," she continued, colouring a little, from the idea, as I suppose, that she was going to say something terribly atrocious, "I will tell you exactly what happened to him. He had a letter of introduction to a gentleman of great estate--a member of the chamber of your parliament, who was living with his family at his chateau in one of the provinces, where my cousin forwarded the letter to him. A most polite reply was immediately returned, containing a pressing invitation to my cousin to come to the chateau without delay, and pa.s.s a month with them for the hunting season. Nothing could be more agreeable than this invitation, for it offered the best possible opportunity of studying the manners of the country. Every one can cross from Calais to Dover, and spend half their year's income in walking or driving through the long wide streets of London for six weeks; but there are very few, you know, who obtain an entree to the chateaux of the n.o.blesse. In short, my cousin was enchanted, and set off immediately. He arrived just in time to arrange his toilet before dinner; and when he entered the salon, he was perfectly dazzled by the exceeding beauty of the three daughters of his host, who were all _decolletees_, and full-dressed, he says, exactly as if they were going to some very elegant _bal pare_. There was no other company, and he felt a little startled at being received in such a ceremonious style.

The young ladies all performed on the piano-forte and harp, and my cousin, who is very musical, was in raptures. Had not his admiration been too equally drawn to each, he a.s.sures me that before the end of that evening he must inevitably have been the conquest of one. The next morning, the whole family met again at breakfast: the young ladies were as charming as ever, but still he felt in doubt as to which he admired most. Whilst he was exerting himself to be as agreeable as he could, and talking to them all with the timid respect with which demoiselles are always addressed by Frenchmen, the father of the family startled and certainly almost alarmed my cousin by suddenly saying,--"We cannot hunt to-day, mon ami, for I have business which will keep me at home; but you shall ride into the woods with Elizabeth: she will show you my pheasants. Get ready, Elizabeth, to attend Monsieur...!"

Madame B*** stopped short, and looked at me as if expecting that I should make some observation.

"Well?" said I.

"Well!" she repeated, laughing; "then you really find nothing extraordinary in this proceeding--nothing out of the common way?"

"In what respect?" said I: "what is it that you suppose was out of the common way?"

"That question," said she, clasping her hands in an ecstasy at having made the discovery--"That question puts me more au fait than anything else you could say to me. It is the strongest possible proof that what happened to my cousin was in truth nothing more than what is of every-day occurrence in England."

"What did happen to him?"

"Have I not told you?... The father of the young ladies whom he so greatly admired, selected one of them and desired my cousin to attend her on an excursion into the woods. My dear madame ... national manners vary so strangely.... I beseech you not to suppose that I imagine that everything may not be exceedingly well arranged notwithstanding. My cousin is a very distinguished young man--excellent character--good name--and will have his father's estate ... only the manner is so different...."

"Did your cousin accompany the young lady?" said I.

"No, he did not--he returned to London immediately."