The northern transept is approached through a gloomy court, once occupied by the shops of the transcribers and caligraphists, the libraires of ancient times, and from them it has derived its name.  The court is entered beneath a gate-way of beautiful and singular architecture, composed of two lofty pointed arches of equal height, crowned by a row of smaller arcades.  On each side are the walls of the archiepiscopal palace, dusky and shattered, and desolate; and the vista terminates by the lofty Portal of St. Romain; for it is thus the great portal of the transept is denominated.  The oaken valves are bound with ponderous hinges and bars of wrought iron, of coeval workmanship.  The bars are ornamented with embossed heads, which have been hammered out of the solid metal.  The statues which stood on each side of the arch-way have been demolished; but the pedestals remain.  These, as well as other parts of the portal, are covered with sculptured compartments, or medallions, in high preservation, and of the most singular character.  They exhibit an endless variety of fanciful monsters and animals, of every shape and form, mermaids, tritons, harpies, woodmen, satyrs, and all the fabulous zoology of ancient geography and romance; and each spandril of each quatrefoil contains a lizard, a serpent, or some other worm or reptile.  They have all the oddity, all the whim, and all the horror of the pencil of Breughel.  Human groups and figures are interspersed, some scriptural, historical, or legendary; others mystical and allegorical.  Engravings from these medallions would form a volume of uncommon interest.  Two lofty towers ornament the transept, such as are usually seen only at the western front of a cathedral.  The upper story of each is perforated by a gigantic window, divided by a single mullion, or central pillar, not exceeding one foot in circumference, and nearly sixty feet in height.  These windows are entirely open, and the architect never intended that they should be glazed.  An extraordinary play of light and shade results from this construction.  The rose window in the centre of the transept is magnificent:  from within, the painted glass produces the effect of a kaleidoscope.—­The pediment or gable of this transept was materially injured by a storm, in 1638, one hundred and thirty years after it was completed; and the damage was never restored.

The southern transept bears a near resemblance to that which I have already described; but it was originally richer in its ornaments, and it still preserves some of its statues.  Here the medallions relate chiefly to scripture-history; but the sculpture is greatly corroded by the weather, and the more delicate parts are nearly obliterated; besides which, as well here, as at the other entrances, the Calvinists, in 1562, and, more recently, the Revolutionists, have been most mischievously destructive, mutilating and decapitating without mercy.  The spirit, indeed, of the French reformers, bore a near resemblance to the proceedings of John Knox and his brethren:  the people embraced the new doctrine with turbulent violence.  There was in it nothing moderate, nothing gradual:  it was not the regular flow of public opinion, undermining abuses, and bringing them slowly to their fall; but it was the thunderbolt, which—­