ail between his legs, like the lions on the
throne of Solomon, in the humiliated attitude which befits force in the
presence of justice? and the beautiful doors? and the stained glass?
and the chased ironwork, which drove Biscornette to despair? and the
delicate woodwork of Hancy? What has time, what have men done with these
marvels? What have they given us in return for all this Gallic history,
for all this Gothic art? The heavy flattened arches of M. de Brosse,
that awkward architect of the Saint-Gervais portal. So much for art;
and, as for history, we have the gossiping reminiscences of the great
pillar, still ringing with the tattle of the Patru.

It is not much. Let us return to the veritable grand hall of the
veritable old palace. The two extremities of this gigantic parallelogram
were occupied, the one by the famous marble table, so long, so broad,
and so thick that, as the ancient land rolls--in a style that would have
given Gargantua an appetite--say, "such a slice of marble as was never
beheld in the world"; the other by the chapel where Louis XI. had
himself sculptured on his knees before the Virgin, and whither he caused
to be brought, without heeding the two gaps thus made in the row of
royal statues, the statues of Charlemagne and of Saint Louis, two saints
whom he supposed to be great in favor in heaven, as kings of France.
This chapel, quite new, having been built only six years, was entirely
in that charming taste of delicate architecture, of marvellous
sculpture, of fine and deep chasing, which marks with us the end of
the Gothic era, and which is perpetuated to about the middle of the
sixteenth century in the fairylike fancies of the Renaissance. The
little open-work rose window, pierced above the portal, was, in
particular, a masterpiece of lightness and grace; one would have
pronounced it a star of lace.

In the middle of the hall, opposite the great door, a platform of gold
brocade, placed against the wall, a special entrance to which had been
effected through a window in the corridor of the gold chamber, had
been erected for the Flemish emissaries and the other great personages
invited to the presentation of the mystery play.

It was upon the marble table that the mystery was to be enacted, as
usual. It had been arranged for the purpose, early in the morning;
its rich slabs of marble, all scratched by the heels of law clerks,
supported a cage of carpenter's work of considerable height, the upper