seething mass
below. Roofs within the walls are on fire, and finally a red tongue
licks the turret of the Cathedral. In a few seconds its walls are
hideously aglow, and the people in the valley--although they know the
truth--groan aloud, so real is the illusion. The nave lines of the
Cathedral are silhouetted as it burns, the fires along the walls growing
brighter, spread gradually at first,--then rapidly, and the whole Cite
is the prey of great, waving clouds of flame and smoke. Men and women,
as if fascinated by this lurid and magnificent destruction, press
forward to get the last view of the Cathedral's lovely rose, or the
peaked roof of some tower which is dear to them. But slowly the deep red
flames are growing paler, less strong, and less high. Then the glare,
too, begins to die away; the fire turns to smoke and the light becomes
grey and misty. "It is all over," some one whispers, and with backward
glances at the charred, smoldering hill-top, they turn silently towards
home.

A few, sitting on the stone parapet of the bridge, remain to talk of the
evening's magic, of the inspiration of the Cadets de Gascogne, and other
scenes which their memory suggests, of wars and rumours of other wars.
And when at length they turn to go, they see the moonlight on the
glimmering Aude, the peaceful lower city, and above, Carcassonne--the
Invincible--rising from her ashes.

[Illustration: "THE CHOIR IS OF THE XIV CENTURY."--CARCASSONNE.]

[Illustration: "THE FACADE--STRAIGHT AND MASSIVE."--CARCASSONNE.]

The Cathedral of the Cite is worthy of great protecting walls and there
are few churches whose destruction would have been so sad a blow to the
architecture of the Midi. Saint-Nazaire is typical at once of the
originality of the southern builders, of their idealism, and their
joyous freedom from conventional thrall. The facade, straight, and
massive, has the frowning severity of an old donjon wall. Its towers are
solid masses of heavy stone; instead of spires, there are crenellations;
instead of graceful flying-buttresses at the sides, there are solid,
upright supports on the firm, plain side-walls. This is the true old
Romanesque. A few steps further, and the apse appears, as great a
contrast to the body of the church as a bit of Mechlin lace to a
coat-of-mail. A little tower with gargoyles, another with a fine-carved
turret, windows whose delicate traceries could be broken by a blow, and
an upper balustrade which would have