In the middle of the choir, and just before the high altar, the body of the Conqueror was entombed with great pomp; and a monument erected to his memory of the most elaborate and costly description.  Nothing now remains but a flat, black marble slab, with a short inscription, of quite a recent date....

You must now attend me to the most interesting public building, perhaps all things considered, which is to be seen at Caen.  I mean the Abbey of the Holy Trinity, or L’Abbaye aux Dames.  This abbey was founded by the wife of the Conqueror, about the same time that William erected that of St. Stephen.  Ducarel’s description of it, which I have just seen in a copy of the “Anglo-Norman Antiquities,” in a bookseller’s shop, is sufficiently meager.  His plates are also sufficiently miserable:  but things are strangely altered since his time.  The nave of the church is occupied by a manufactory for making cordage, or twine:  and upward of a hundred lads are now busied in their flaxen occupations, where formerly the nun knelt before the cross, or was occupied in auricular confession.

The entrance at the western extremity is entirely stopt up; but the exterior gives manifest proof of an antiquity equal to that of the Abbey of St. Stephen.  The upper part of the towers are palpably of the fifteenth or, rather, of the early part of the sixteenth century.  I had no opportunity of judging of the neat pavement of the floor of the nave, in white and black marble, as noticed by Ducarel, on account of the occupation of this part of the building by the manufacturing children; but I saw some very ancient tombstones, one, I think, of the twelfth century, which had been removed from the nave or side aisles, and were placed against the sides of the north transept.

The nave is entirely walled up from the transepts, but the choir is fortunately preserved; and a more perfect and interesting specimen of its kind, of the same antiquity, is perhaps nowhere to be seen in Normandy.  All the monuments as well as the altars, described by Ducarel, are now taken away.  Having ascended a stone staircase, we got into the upper part of the choir, above the first row of pillars—­and walked along the wall.  This was rather adventurous, you will say; but a more adventurous spirit of curiosity had nearly proved fatal to me; for, on quitting daylight, we pursued a winding stone staircase, in our way to the central tower—­to enjoy from hence a view of the town.  I almost tremble as I relate it.

There had been put up a sort of temporary wooden staircase, leading absolutely to nothing; or, rather, to a dark void space.  I happened to be foremost in ascending, yet groping in the dark—­with the guide luckily close behind me.  Having reached the topmost step, I was raising my foot to a supposed higher or succeeding step—­but there was none.  A depth of eighteen feet at least was below me.  The guide caught my coat, as I was about to lose my balance, and roared out, “Wait—­Stop!” The least balance or inclination, one way or the other, is sufficient, upon these critical occasions; when luckily, from his catching my coat, and pulling me, in consequence, slightly backward, my fall and my life, were equally saved!  I have reason from henceforth to remember the Abbey aux Dames at Caen.