harmonizes well with the proportions of the building.
An oriel, or rather tower, of enriched workmanship
projects into the court, and varies the elevations.
On the left-hand side of the court, a wide flight of
steps leads to the hall called
la Salle des Procureurs,
a place originally designed as an Exchange for the
merchants of the city, who had previously been in the
habit of assembling for that purpose in the cathedral.
It is one hundred and sixty feet in length, by fifty
in breadth.
“In this great hall,” says Peter Heylin,
“are the seats and desks of the procurators;
every one’s name written in capital letters over
his head. These procurators are like our attornies;
they prepare causes, and make them ready for the advocates.
In this hall do suitors use, either to attend on,
or to walk up and down, and confer with, their pleaders.”—The
attornies had similar seats in the ancient English
courts of justice; and these seats still remain in
the hall at Westminster, in which the Court of Exchequer
holds its sittings. The walls of the Salle des
Procureurs are adorned with chaste niches. The
coved roof is of timber, plain and bold, and destitute
either of the open tie-beams and arches, or the knot-work
and cross timber which adorn our old English roofs.
If the roof of our priory church was not ornamented,
as last mentioned, it would nearly resemble that in
question.—Below the hall is a prison; to
its right is the room where the parliament formerly
held its sittings, but which is now appropriated to
the trial of criminal causes. The unfortunate
Mathurin Bruneau, the soi-disant dauphin, was last
year tried here, and condemned to imprisonment.
He is treated in his place of confinement with ambiguous
kindness. The poor wretch loves his bottle; and,
being allowed to intoxicate himself to his heart’s
content, he is already reduced to a state of idiotism.—Heylin,
who saw the building when it was in perfection, says,
speaking of this Great Chamber, “that
it is so gallantly and richly built, that I must needs
confess it surpasseth all the rooms that ever I saw
in my life. The palace of the Louvre hath nothing
in it comparable; the ceiling is all inlaid with gold,
yet doth the workmanship exceed the matter.”—The
ceiling which excited Heylin’s admiration still
exists. It is a grand specimen of the interior
decoration of the times. The oak, which age has
rendered almost as dark as ebony, is divided into
compartments, covered with rich but whimsical carving,
and relieved with abundance of gold. Over the
bench is a curious old picture, a Crucifixion.
Joseph and the Virgin are standing by the cross:
the figures are painted on a gold ground; the colors
deep and rich; the drawing, particularly in the arms,
indifferent; the expression of the faces good.
It was upon this picture that witnesses took the oaths
before the revolution; and it is the only one of the
six formerly in this situation that escaped destruction[105].
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