The Argosy — page 341: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

320 Fair Normandy. and raised in one the spirit of adventure. There was, indeed, nothing commonplace about Dreux from beginning to end, as we saw it that night. We passed down the walks and between sombre avenues, follow- ing our guide. Now she held high her lamp, casting fitful gleams upon path and trees, and we could have fancied her some ancient vestal virgin on her way to replenish the sacred fires ; for dragon as she might be in name and reputation, she was soft and feminine and comely in appearance. From the tower-roof, she had looked por- tentous, gigantic, threatening ; a very gorgon of custodians. We now perceived our error ; the obscurity of the night had exaggerated her outlines, as it exaggerates the outlines of cathedrals and mountains, and other majestic objects of art or nature. If she was a vestal virgin, here was the temple. For suddenly there loomed before us a building, of which we could see nothing but the form. We could not judge of its architecture, which is said to be a mixture of many schools, a pure example of none. Never- theless, the building looked imposing, and the cupola surmounting it was clearly outlined against the dark sky. A solemn silence reigned—the silence of the dead. Our guide herself ceased speaking, and evidently felt on hallowed ground. She stood a moment before the great door, then quietly inserted her key, and the door swung noiselessly back upon its hinges. She went before us, carrying the lamp, which dimly lighted up the interior and cast ghostly shadows upon the walls. It seemed richly decorated, and by daylight we could fancy it ornamented to gorgeousness. It is in the form of a Greek Cross ; the rotunda is eighty feet high, and the cupola above it forty-three feet in diameter. ‘Behold your wish,” said our Slave of the Lamp, with a dignity that became the place and the occasion. ‘‘You are in the Royal Chapel. It is dedicated to St. Louis. Never before has friend or foe trodden these flags at night under my guidance. You gaze upon a scene unknown to mortal eyes in its present aspect—or I am mistaken.” It was certainly weird enough for the most ghost-loving imagina- tion, and we felt repaid for all our pains and perseverance. It was something, also, to have subdued this dragon. “Did Louis Philippe found the chapel?” we asked. ““No; it was founded by the old Duchess of Orleans; she lies there,” pointing to the apse on the left of the altar; ‘close to Madame Adélaide. ‘The statue to her memory is by Barre. The most beautiful statue of all is the Angel of Resignation, sculptured by the Princess Marie of Orleans, afterwards Duchess of Wurtemburg. She too hes there, but on the right, close to Louis Philippe and Marie Amélie, his consort. She was as accomplished as she was good and lovely. It is thought to be finer than her Jeanne d’Arc.” It was certainly very beautiful. As the lamp-light played upon it Eomichbooks.co —- — - -— —_— ee ————E