of the island there is still pointed out, we know not with what correctness, a portion of a building said to be the remains of a temple of Isis. The vestiges, also, of its ancient château are still in existence, where Saint Louis lived, and where Robert and Philip I died. Amyot was born at Melun; and Law received there his second birth, being converted to Catholicism preparatively to becoming grand financier.

We have not time to tell how this town was taken first by the Normans, and then by the English; or how the latter people, being unable to capture it by open force, reduced it by famine; and how, after garrisoning it for ten years, they were at last driven forth by the inhabitants.

On leaving Melun, instead of pursuing our journey by the Seine, we put ourselves into the voiture for Fontainebleau, and crossing the river from the right bank, soon plunged into the shade of the forest. This immense wood, which is twelve leagues in circumference, with a surface of nearly to thirty-three thousand acres, owing to the natural inequalities of the ground, is still picturesque, and sometimes grand, notwithstanding that it has been subjected to the operation of the same taste for mathematical lines which has metamorphosed almost all the other forests of France. into fashionable drives and lounges for nursemaids and children. "It is fearfully beautiful," says a French author; "those ancient oaks-those crumbling rocks, dark and shapeless-those blocks of granite, heaped upon one another as if by accident-those immense beeches, towering in the air, or lying prone upon the earth, blasted by thunder, or ready to fall into ruin upon our heads." Even in the immediate neighbourhood of the château, where the vestiges of the presence of man are more numerous than elsewhere, the scene retains a character of wildness amounting almost

to the sublime. Looking down from a lofty eminence, you see on one hand the palace and town embosomed in dark masses of trees, which extend on all sides to the verge of the horizon; on the other, you may fancy that you behold Solitude herself cradled in a deep glen, surrounded by granite cliffs, piled on one another in all the rudeness of primeval nature.

Fontainebleau is a paltry-looking town, with one wide street; and the palace a collection of houses, imposing from the magnitude of the picture they present, but without character in any other way that we could discover. This royal abode has been the scene of so many important historical events, and all of them so well known, that perhaps we ought to pass by without touching upon them at all. The interview between Henri IV, however, and Biron, may be alluded to, as a trait of individual character rather than of history. It was here that Henri, for nearly two days, employed himself in endeavouring to soften the obduracy of his old comrade in arms, in order to obtain disclosures from him respecting the conspiracy, which would justify a pardon. All was in vain. The marshal remained obstinate to the last; a reluctant warrant was granted by the king; and he was carried in the middle of the night to Paris, and hung by torch-light in the court of the Bastille.

In the year 1642 a strange cortége presented itself at the gates of the castle. This was a moveable chamber, carried by eighteen gardes-du-corps, marching with uncovered heads, and followed by another party ready to take their turn time about. This immense machine was built of wood, richly ornamented, and covered externally with crimson damask. In the course of its journey, rocks had been levelled, and walls thrown down, to allow it to pass; and when at length it reached its destination, among a con

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course of curious spectators, it was found to contain no less valuable a treasure than-Cardinal Richelieu. He had been seized with illness in Dauphiné, and, unable to endure the jolting of an ordinary carriage, had caused himself to be transported in this manner over the greater part of France. It was at least going to his grave by as easy a mode of travelling as could be devised. From Fontainebleau the chamber resumed its travels, and landed the cardinal finally at Paris, where he died.

If Fontainebleau was famous for nothing else than the murder of Monaldeschi, the secretary to Christina of Sweden, while she resided here, this extraordinary event would be sufficient in itself to make it one of the most remarkable

places in Europe. Christina was no longer a queen, and Monaldeschi no longer a subject. He was her private secretary, her friend-her lover, as some suppose; perhaps a deceitful friend, perhaps a faithless lover. She received, apparently, proofs of his guilt in his own hand-writing; and, in the presence of Father Lebel, whom she had brought hither on purpose, and of three others, gentlemen of her suite, she dared him to deny his signature. The scene was curious. It took place in the Galerie des Cerfs, where Christina stood in the middle of the floor with her false friend or faithless lover. In the back-ground were her three officers, all armed; and the wondering ecclesiastic, as he entered the room, in obedience to the ex-royal summons, struck with the singularity of the picture, became alarmed, he knew not why.

She called him traitor; Monaldeschi threw himself at her feet; and the three men drew their swords. But Christina did not give the signal. She listened calmly to what he had to say; allowed him, with imperturbable patience, to draw her aside to a corner of the room, that he

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CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN.

might deliver his explanation unheard by the rest; and, turning to Father Lebel, requested him to observe that she was in no haste to condemn. Her passion had been concentrated in the single word traitor! and this having escaped, her heart was still as death. After an hour's conference with the victim, she turned again to Lebel, and addressed him in a grave but moderate tone.

"Father," said she, "I now retire, and leave you in charge of this man's soul. Teach him how to die!" The princess then left the apartment, slowly and loftily: the door shut behind her, and the executioners advanced. Monaldeschi threw himself on his knees before the ecclesiastic, not to confess, but to implore his intercession. The armed men themselves were moved; and one of them went out to try whether their mistress had not yet relented. His blank visage, when he returned, declared the ill success of his errand; and at length Father Lebel, in desperation, sought the queen himself, and first with supplication, then indignantly, demanded that she should stay her hand from so unheard-of a murder.

He threw himself on his knees, and implored her, by the memory of the wounds and sorrows of Jesus Christ, to have mercy on the victim. Christina expressed no impatience at the interference; she heard him calmly and graciously; merely replying, that she neither would nor ought to pardon a crime which, instead of simple death, deserved the wheel. The father then desired her to remember that she was not now in her own palace; that she was a guest in the house of Louis XIV; and that, whatever her own views might be, it was necessary, before taking so extraordinary a step, to inquire how far it might correspond with the ideas of justice of the King of France. To this Christina replied, that she was a guest, indeed, but not a