commencement of the reign of Francis I. Faulty, and even meretricious, as
is the whole of the interior, the choir will not fail to strike you with
surprise and gratification. It is light, rich, and lofty. This church is
very large, but not so capacious as St. Gervais--while situation is, if
possible, still more objectionable.

Let me not forget my two old favourite churches of ST. GERMAIN DES PRÈS,
_and St. Geneviève_; although of the latter I hardly know whether a hasty
glimpse, both of the exterior and interior, be not sufficient; the greater
part having been destroyed during the Revolution.[8] The immediate vicinity
of the former is sadly choaked by stalls and shops--and the west-front has
been cruelly covered by modern appendages. It is the church dearest to
antiquaries; and with reason.[9] I first visited it on a Sunday, when that
part of the Service was performed which required the fullest intonations of
the organ. The effect altogether was very striking. The singular pillars--
of which the capitals are equally massive and grotesque, being sometimes
composed of human beings, and sometimes of birds and beasts, especially
towards the choir--the rising up and sitting down of the congregation, and
the yet more frequent movements of the priests--the swinging of the
censers--and the parade of the vergers, dressed in bag wigs, with broad red
sashes of silk, and silk stockings--but, above all, the most scientifically
touched, as well as the deepest and loudest toned, organ I ever heard--
perfectly bewildered and amazed me! Upon the dispersion of the
congregation--which very shortly followed this religious excitation--I had
ample leisure to survey every part of this curious old structure; which
reminded me, although upon a much larger scale, of the peculiarities of St.
Georges de Bocherville, and Notre Dame at Guibray. Certainly, very much of
this church is of the twelfth century--and as I am not writing to our
friend P*** I will make bold to say that some portions of it yet "smack
strongly" of the eleventh.