The other was for—
"Thierry Gueroult, en broche et en fossets
Gueu très-expert pour les Religieux."
The fort and the religious buildings all perished nearly at the same time: the former was destroyed at the request of the inhabitants, to whom Henry IVth returned on that occasion his well-known answer, that he "wished for no other fortress than the hearts of his subjects;" the latter to gratify the avarice of individuals, who cloked their true designs under the plea that the buildings might serve as a harbor for the disaffected.
Of the origin of the fort I find no record in history, except what Noel says[[62]], that it appears to have been raised by the English while they were masters of Normandy; but what I observed of the structure of the walls, in 1815, would induce me to refer it without much hesitation to the time of the Romans. Its bricks are of the same form and texture as those used by them; and they were ranged in alternate courses with flints, as is the case at Burgh Castle, at Richborough, and other Roman edifices in England. That the fort was of great size and strength is sufficiently shewn by the depth, width, and extent of the entrenchments still left, which, particularly towards the plain, are immense; and, if credence may be given to common report, in such matters always apt to exaggerate, the subterraneous passages indicate a fortress of importance.
It chanced, that I visited the hill on Michaelmas-day, and a curious proof was afforded me, that, at however low an ebb religion may be in France, enthusiastic fanaticism is far from extinct. A man of the lower classes of society was praying before a broken cross, near St. Michael's Chapel, where, before the revolution, the monks of St. Ouen used annually on this day to perform mass, and many persons of extraordinary piety were wont to assemble the first Wednesday of every month to pray and to preach, in honor of the guardian angels. His manner was earnest in the extreme; his eyes wandered strangely; his gestures were extravagant, and tears rolled in profusion down a face, whose every feature bore the strongest marks of a decided devotee. A shower which came at the moment compelled us both to seek shelter within the walls of the chapel, and we soon became social and entered into conversation. The ruined state of the building was his first and favorite topic: he lamented its destruction; he mourned over the state of the times which could countenance such impiety; and gradually, while he turned over the leaves of the prayer-book in his hand, he was led to read aloud the hundred and thirty-sixth psalm, commenting upon every verse as he proceeded, and weeping more and more bitterly, when he came to the part commemorating the ruin of Jerusalem, which he applied, naturally enough, to the captive state of France, smarting as she then was under the iron rod of Prussia. Of the other allies, including even the Russians, he owned that there was no complaint to be made: "they conduct themselves," said he, "agreeably to the maxim of warfare, which says 'battez-vous contre ceux qui vous opposent; mais ayez pitié des vaincus.' Not so the Prussians: with them it is 'frappez-çà, frappez-là, et quand ils entrent dans quelque endroit, ils disent, il nous faut çà, il nous faut là, et ils le prennent d'autorité.' Cruel Babylon!"—"Yet, even admitting all this," we asked, "how can you reconcile with the spirit of christianity the permission given to the Jews by the psalmist, to 'take up her little ones and dash them against the stones.'"—"Ah! you misunderstand the sense, the psalm does not authorize cruelty;—mais, attendez! ce n'est pas ainsi: ces pierres là sont Saint Pierre; et heureux celui qui les attachera à Saint Pierre; qui montrera de l'attachement, de l'intrépidité pour sa religion."—Then again, looking at the chapel, with tears and sobs, "how can we expect to prosper, how to escape these miseries, after having committed such enormities?"—His name, he told us, was Jacquemet, and my companion kindly made a sketch of his face, while I noted down his words.
This specimen will give you some idea of the extraordinary influence of the Roman catholic faith over the mind, and of the curious perversions under which it does not scruple to take refuge.
Leaving for the present the dusty legends of superstition, I describe with pleasure my recollections of the glorious prospect over which the eye ranges from the hill of Saint Catherine.—The Seine, broad, winding, and full of islands, is the principal feature of the landscape. This river is distinguished by its sinuosity and the number of islets which it embraces, and it retains this character even to Paris. Its smooth tranquillity well contrasts with the life that is imparted to the scene, by the shipping and the bustle of the quays. The city itself, with its verdant walks, its spacious manufactories, its strange and picturesque buildings, and the numerous spires and towers of its churches, many of them in ruins, but not the less interesting on account of their decay, presents a foreground diversified with endless variety of form and color. The bridge of boats seems immediately at our feet; the middle distance is composed of a plain, chiefly consisting of the richest meadows, interspersed copiously with country seats and villages embosomed in wood; and the horizon melts into an undulating line of remote hills.