Upon All-Saints' Day, in the year 1745-the point of time at which our tale commences-vespers had been concluded at the Cathedral of Tours, and the archbishop, Helie de Bourdeilles, rose up from his throne to bestow, with his own holy lips, the benediction upon the faithful.

The sermon happened to be an unusually long one, so that the shades of night came down before the service was finished, and the most profound gloom reigned in many parts of that beauteous church, of which the two towers were not, even at that time, completed.

A vast number of wax tapers, however, were burning in honour of the saints, placed upon triangular chandeliers which were designed to hold those pious offerings, the precise merit of which, by the way, no council has ever thought proper to explain to us.

The lights of each altar, and all the candelabras of the choir were kindled, but the rays from them, being only partially distributed throughout the forests of pillars and arcades which support the three naves of the cathedral, imperfectly illuminated its im

mense area.

These flickering lights, as they projected the deep shadows of the massive columns, or the graceful tracery of the lighter ornamental carving, along the lofty and far-extended galleries of the

VOL. III.

building, formed there a thousand fantastic shapes, and boldly defined, by the strong contrast, the immeasurable gloom beyond, in which lay buried the lofty arches, the mouldings, the covings of the vaults, and, more especially, the little chapels on each side, which were already thus dark even in the noon day. The crowd of supplicants, too, produced effects no less picturesque. The forms of some were so vaguely defined in the chiaro oscuro, that you might easily imagine them to be phantoms; while, on the contrary, the entire influence of those scattered lights falling full upon others, attracted the attention to them as to the prominent figures in a picture. Then the statues, too, seemed breathing with life, and the men stilled and converted into statues; while, here and there, eyes sparkled in the recesses between the pillars-the stone gazed out upon you the marble figures became endowed with speech-the vaults re-echoed the sighs around-in fine, the whole edifice seemed instinct with animation.

Life presents no scene more touchingly solemn-no moment of existence more grand and exalted. Some degree of excitement is, indeed, always necessary to produce a poetic effect on the mass of mankind; but, in those hours of religious contemplation, when all the pomp and splendour of the riches of this world are combined with the

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grandeur and dignity with which every thing celestial is invested, there is an inconceivable sublimity in silenceterror or despair in repose-eloquence in bended knees, in clasped hands. That union of sentiments which concentrates the energies of souls in one and the same aspiration, then produces an indescribable display of spiritual feeling. The mysterious elevation of all the faithful who are gathered together, in all likelihood, continues to re-act, with its combined influence, on each individual who is engaged, and the most feeble spirit is probably borne along upon the waves of that boundless ocean of love and of faith. Prayer, powerful as the electric stream, thus draws our nature to itself, by concentrating its energies; and this spontaneous combination of all our volitions, equally bowed down to the earth, equally elevated to heaven, contains, without doubt, the secret of those magical influences which the chauntings of the priests, the pealings of the organ, the incense and the pomp of the altar, the breathings of the multitude and their silent meditations, fail not to exercise over our minds.

We need not, therefore, feel very much astonished at finding, in the middle ages, so many love affairs commenced in church in consequence of such transports-which, for the most part, were neither conducted with much squeamishness, nor brought to a very correct conclusion; but in which the women contrived to settle their accounts with heaven, according to their usual fashion, by doing penance.

The sentiment of religion was, at that period, connected by certain affinities with that of love. It was either its origin or its end. Then love was still a religion, it had still its beautiful fanaticisms-its simple superstitionsits sublime devotions, which were in perfect accordance with the creed of the times; and if their mysteries conspired so conveniently with each other, the manners of that age afford a sufficient explication of this singular alliance.

At first, indeed, there was little society to be found elsewhere than at the altar. There, and there only, the lord and the slave, man and woman, met on terms of equality. It was only there that lovers could contrive to see each other and hold any correspondence. In those days the fetes of the church

composed almost the only spectacles of the times, and the soul of woman was then more powerfully excited in the recesses of the cathedral than it would be at this day in the ball room or in the opera; while now there is scarcely a violent emotion of the female mind that does not lead to a love affair. In a word, religion so intimately blended herself with all the concernments of life-so insensibly insinuated herself into every action of man, that she become an accomplice equally with virtue and with vice. She had made good her entrance into the sciences, into politics, into eloquence, into

crimes. She mounted on the thrones of kings-she entered into the hearts of the sick man and the beggar-she was, in fact, all in all.

These observations, although they have but a tint of the sage in them, may yet, perhaps, bear out the truth of this tale, though some of the incidents contained in it might throw into convulsions the soi-disant morality of our own times; which, by the bye, are not a bit too straight laced, as all the world must confess. But a truce to digres sions for the present, and let us return to our story.

It was just at the moment when the chaunting of the priests came to a conclusion-when the last peals of the organ mingled with the thrillings of the " Amen," poured forth from the lusty lungs of the choir, and while a low slight murmur was still ringing under the distant vaults-at that moment, when the whole congregation collected their attention to receive the words of the blessing, which the prelate was about to pronounce, a citizen, either in haste to regain his own home, or else fearing that his money bags might be carried away in the tumult of the general sally, softly stole off, even at the risk of being reputed but an indifferent Catholic.

The next instant a cavalier, who had lain crouched behind one of the enormous pillars that encircle the choir, where he had remained as if swallowed up in its shadow, pressed eagerly forward to seize the place which the prudent old citizen of Tours had abandoned; but no sooner had he gained it than he quickly hid his face in the plumes that hung from his high grey bonnet, and knelt down on the chair with an air of devotion that would

have deceived even an officer of the Holy Inquisition.

As soon as the worthy folks around had attentively surveyed the stranger, they seemed, one and all, to recognise him, and then betook themselves once more, with great diligence, to their devotions. The good people, however, could not, for the life of them, avoid manifesting to each other a certain indescribable expression, which indicated that the same sentiment was passing in the mind of all-a sentiment bitter, sneering and censorious; in fact, an accusation in all but words. Two withered old crones even went so far as to shake their heads, while they exchanged a significant glance with each other, that seemed to look into futurity, and divine the upshot of the whole

affair.

The seat, of which the young man had thus possessed himself, happened to be placed near a chapel situated between two pillars, and enclosed by a grating of iron.

In consideration of good round rents, the chapter of the clergy hired out to certain families of the gentry, or else of the wealthier citizens, the exclusive privilege, for themselves and their retainers, of participating in the holy offices performed in the lateral chapels, which were situated along the two small naves that ran all round the cathedral, and this species of simony is in existence even at this very day.

In the age of which I am speaking, a lady had her little chapel in the church as necessarily as, in our own times, she takes her box at the Italian opera. Those who rented these privileged places had, in an especial degree, the charge of decorating the altar which was committed to their care, and the spirit of self love impelled each to adorn his own in the most splendid and costly manner-a vanity to which mother church accommodated herself with the most surprising facility. Now it chanced that, in this same chapel, and just beside the grating, there knelt, on a rich square cushion of red velvet, with tassels of gold, a young gentlewoman, in the very next place to that which the honest citizen had heretofore occupied. A silver-gilt lamp, suspended from the vault of the chapel, before an altar adorned with great magnificence, flung its pale light over the Missal which the lady was holding,

These words were pronounced with an accent of innocence to which a man of delicate feeling should instantly have rendered obedience. As it was, they sunk deeply into the heart of the youth, but being doubtless hurried away by one of those paroxysms of passion which stifle the suggestions of conscience, he still continued to occupy the chair, and gently raised up his head to cast one glance into the chapel.

"He sleeps," responded the youth, in a voice so artfully pitched, that the reply might be imagined by the young lady to be the echo of her own sounds.

She grew pale, and her furtive glance, wandering for an instant from the prayer book, was turned upon the old man that the youth had been watching.

What a fearful complication of feelings was crowded into that single glance!

When the young lady had scanned the senior, she sighed heavily, and raised her lovely brow, on which a precious gem was sparkling, to a painting of the Virgin. This simple movement, her attitude, her eyes swimming in tears, revealed, with an imprudent candour, the whole of a life, which, had it been other than virtuous, she would not have exhibited.

The personage who had been the cause of so much alarm to the two lovers, was a little old man, humpbacked, almost bald and of a ferocious aspect, with a huge beard, of a dirty white colour and trimmed into the form of a fan. The cross of Saint Michael glittered on his breast; his coarse brawny hands, thickly covered with gray hairs and which had at first, no doubt, been clasped together, had become partially separated from each other during the sleep by which he had incautiously suffered himself to be overpowered. His right hand seemed ever ready to drop upon his dagger, the guard of which formed a sort of rude

shell wrought in iron. He had disposed of this weapon in such a manner, that the hilt lay directly under his hand, so that if, by any mischance, his fingers should happen to touch the steel, he would, to a certainty, have awakened on the instant and turned his eye upon his wife. Now, however, as he lay asleep, there lurked upon his grim lips, and in his chin, sharp-pointed, and turned capriciously upwards, the characteristic marks of a spiteful soul-of a cruel, cold-blooded craftiness, which enabled him to fathom every scheme, by rendering him suspicious of all around him. His yellow brows were knitted together, like those of a man accustomed to believe nothing, to weigh all things, and who, like the miser that poises carefully each golden piece, scans the quality and the precise value of every human action. His frame was bony, strong-set, and nervous; he was, apparently, very irritable and captious, and, in short, you would have pronounced him little better than an ogre. It must have been quite evident, then, that upon the waking of this terrible old gentleman, the danger that threatened his young wife was inevitable, since he was a jealous husband, and would not fail to become very soon sensible of the difference which existed between the old cit, whose presence had given him no umbrage whatever, and the youthful, finely-made, and graceful gallant who had just now taken his place.

"Libera nos a malo," "said she, endeavouring to make the cruel youth comprehend the extent of her fears.

Straightway he raised his head, and gazed upon her. Tears stood in his eyes-tears of love and despair. At the sight of them the lady started and was undone. Without doubt they had both been long struggling against, and could, probably, no longer resist, a passion increased from day to day by obstacles that were insurmountable, nourished by terror, strengthened by youth.

The lady was but moderately handsome, still the pallid hue of her cheek betrayed the existence of secret suffering which rendered her an object of interest the moment you beheld her; but her figure was of the finest order

of forms, and she had the most beautiful hair in the world. Placed beneath the watchful eye of a tiger, to utter even a word, to suffer her hand to be pressed, to receive or acknowledge a single glance, would have been, perhaps, to risk her very existence. Never, indeed, was love more deeply enshrined within two hearts, or more exquisitely relished; but, alas! never was passion attended with more fearful perils. How easily can it then be imagined that the air they breathed-the sounds they listened to-the echoings of the footfalls-even the marble slabs, things the most indifferent to all other mortals, possessed, for those two beings, sensible qualities and peculiar properties, which they alone understood. Perhaps love taught them to discover faithful interpreters of their feelings even in the icy hands of the aged priest, as they knelt before him at the confessional, or received from him the customary rites of his office. Love, profound, inextinguishable love! graved into the soul as a wound into the body, which wears not away, save with life itself.

As the two young people continued gazing on each other, the lady's eyes seemed to say to her lover,

"Let us perish, but let us love," And the cavalier's appeared to reply to her's

"We will love, but we shall not perish."

At that moment, with a motion of her head that was full of melancholy, she directed his attention to an aged duenna and two pages. The duenna slept: the pages were young, and did not take the least concern in their master's good or ill fortune.

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Be not alarmed," said he, "when the congregation are going away, but suffer yourself to be

Scarcely had the cavalier uttered these words in a low voice, ere the hand of the old knight dropped down upon the hilt of his sword, and he started up from his sleep the instant that he felt the chill of the iron. He fixed his jaundiced eyes keenly upon his wife, and, with a facility that even men of genius are rarely blessed with, he recovered his perceptions as clearly, and all his ideas in as unconfounded a