of its own, though it stands
within the outer walls of the place. There are many other high towers on
the walls; and, until the reign of Napoleon, there were still more; but
he caused them to be razed to the level of the walls, which of
themselves are sufficiently high.

The chapel is a fine building, being Gothic. It was constructed in the
time of Charles V. There are also two or three vast _corps de batimens_,
which are almost palaces in extent and design, though they are now used
only as quarters for officers, etc. etc. The _donjon_ dates from the
same reign. The first room in this building is called the "salle de la
question," a name which sufficiently denotes its infernal use. That of
the upper story is the room in which the kings of France formerly held
their councils. The walls are sixteen feet thick, and the rooms are
thirty feet high. As there are five stories, this _donjon_ cannot be
less than a hundred and forty or fifty feet in elevation. The view from
the summit is very extensive; though it is said that, in the time of
Napoleon, a screen was built around the battlement, to prevent the
prisoners, when they took the air, from enjoying it. As this conqueror
was cruel from policy alone, it is probable this was merely a precaution
against signals; for it is quite apparent, if he desired, to torment his
captives, France has places better adapted to the object than even the
_donjon_ of Vincennes. I am not his apologist, however; for, while I
shall not go quite as far as the Englishman who maintained, in a
laboured treatise, that Napoleon was the beast of the Revelations, I
believe he was anything but a god.

Vincennes was a favourite residence of St. Louis, and there is a
tradition that he used to take his seat under a particular oak, in the
adjoining forest, where, all who pleased were permitted to come before
him, and receive justice from himself. Henry V. of England, died in the
_donjon_ of Vincennes; and I believe his successor, Henry VI. was born
in the same building. One gets a better notion of the state of things in
the ages of feudality, by passing an hour in examining such a hold, than
in a week's reading. After going through this habitation, and studying
its barbarous magnificence, I feel much more disposed to believe that
Shakspeare has not outraged probability in his dialogue between Henry
and Catharine, than if I had never seen it, bad as that celebrated
love-scene is.

Shortly after quitting Vinc