You must now attend me to the most interesting public building, perhaps all things considered, which is to be seen at Caen.  I mean, the Abbey of the Holy Trinity, or L’ABBAYE AUX DAMES.[118] This abbey was founded by the wife of the Conqueror, about the same time that William erected that of St. Stephen.  Ducarel’s description of it, which I have just seen in a copy of the Anglo-Norman Antiquities, in a bookseller’s shop, is sufficiently meagre.  His plates are also sufficiently miserable:  but things are strangely altered since his time.  The nave of the church is occupied by a manufactory for making cordage, or twine; and upwards of a hundred lads are now busied in their flaxen occupations, where formerly the nun knelt before the cross, or was occupied in auricular confession.  The entrance at the western extremity is entirely stopped up:  but the exterior gives manifest proof of an antiquity equal to that of the Abbey of St. Stephen.  The upper part of the towers are palpably of the fifteenth, or rather of the early part of the sixteenth century.  I had no opportunity of judging of the neat pavement of the floor of the nave, in white and black marble, as noticed by Ducarel, on account of the occupation of this part of the building by the manufacturing children; but I saw some very ancient tomb-stones (one I think of the twelfth century) which had been removed from the nave or side aisles, and were placed against the sides of the north transept.  The nave is entirely walled up from the transepts, but the choir is fortunately preserved; and a more perfect and interesting specimen of its kind, of the same antiquity, is perhaps no where to be seen in Normandy.  All the monuments as well as the altars, described by Ducarel, are now taken away.  Having ascended a stone staircase, we got into the upper part of the choir, above the first row of pillars—­and walked along the wall.  This was rather adventurous, you will say:  but a more adventurous spirit of curiosity had nearly proved fatal to me:  for, on quitting daylight, we pursued a winding stone staircase, in our way to the central tower—­to enjoy from hence a view of the town.  I almost tremble as I relate it.  There had been put up a sort of temporary wooden staircase, leading absolutely to ... nothing:  or, rather, to a dark void space.  I happened to be foremost in ascending, yet groping in the dark—­with the guide luckily close behind me.  Having reached the topmost step, I was raising my foot to a supposed higher or succeeding step ... but there was none.  A depth of eighteen feet at least was below me.  The guide caught my coat, as I was about to lose my balance—­and roared out “Arretez—­tenez!” The least balance or inclination, one way or the other, is sufficient, upon these critical occasions:  when luckily, from his catching my coat, and pulling me in consequence slightly backwards, my fall ... and my LIFE ... were equally saved!  I have reason from henceforth to remember the ABBAYE AUX DAMES at Caen.