ion in the world, dating from 1827, following
three former spires, each of which was burned. The architect responsible
for this monstrosity sought to combine two fabrics in incoherent
proportions. More than one authority decries the use of iron as a
constructive element, and Chaucer's description of the Temple of Mars in
the Knight's Tale reads significantly:

"Wrought all of burned steel...
Was long and straight and ghastly for to see."

The great part of the exterior of this remarkable church is closely
hidden by a rather squalid collection of buildings. Here and there they
have been cleared away, but, like much of the process of restoration,
where new fabric is let into the old, the incongruity is quite as
objectionably apparent as the crumbling stones of another age. _Notre
Dame de Rouen_ is singularly confined, but there seems no help for it,
and it is but another characteristic of the age in which it was
built,--that the people either sought the shelter of churchly
environment, or that the church was only too willing to stretch forth
its sheltering arms to all and sundry who would lie in its shadow.

In an assignment of ranking beauty to its external features, the
decorative west front must manifestly come first; next the _Portail aux
Libraires_, with its arcaded gateway and the remains of the booksellers'
stalls which still surround its miniature courtyard; then, perhaps,
should follow the _Tour St. Romain_ and the _Portail de la Calende_,
with its charmingly recessed doorway and flanking lancet arches. The
sculptured decorations of all are for the most part intact and
undisfigured. The gable of the southern doorway rises pointedly until
its apex centres with the radiated circular window above, which, by the
way, is not of the exceeding great beauty of the other two rose windows,
which rank with those at Reims and Chartres as the _beaux ideals_ of
these distinctly French achievements.

The interior, viewed down the nave, and showing its great length and
that of the choir, impresses one with a graver sense of unity in the
manner of building than is possible to conceive with regard to the
exterior. The height and length both approximate that of St. Ouen, and,
though the nave rises only to ninety-eight feet, an effect of greater
loftiness is produced by the unusual quadripartite range of openings
from pavement to vaulting: two rows of arches opening into the aisles
before the triforium itself is reache