where Brantôme is inconsistent with the true French type of character, mostly as eager to declare the fair inamorata’s name as to appreciate the proofs of love she may have given. Francis I. is but just dead, we must remember. His reign has been called the Renaissance, and not without good reason. Under him begins that light, graceful bearing, that elegance of manner, that politeness of address, which henceforth will make continuous advances to greater and greater refinement. Rabelais is the last expression of that old, unsoftened and unmitigated French speech, from which at a later date Matthieu Regnier will occasionally borrow one of his picturesque phrases. In the same reign costume first becomes dainty. Men’s minds grow finical like their dress; and a new mode of expression was imperatively required to match the new elegance of living. The change was effected almost without effort; ’twas a mere question of external sensibility. The body, now habituated to silk and velvet, grows more sensitive and delicate, and intellect and language follow suit. The correspondence was inevitable. So much for the mental revolution. As for the moral side, manners gained in frankness no doubt; but otherwise things were neither better nor worse than before. It has always seemed to us a strange proceeding, to take a particular period of History, as writers so often will, and declare,—‘At this epoch morals were more relaxed than ever before or since.’ * * * * * Now under Francis I., and by his example, manners acquired a happy freedom, an unstudied ease, his Courtiers were sure to turn to good advantage. A King is always king of the fashion. Judging by the two celebrated lines[3] he wrote one day on a pane in one of the windows at the Castle of Chambord, Francis I., a Prince of wit and a true Frenchman, could discover no better way of punishing women for their fickleness and frivolity than that of copying their example. Every pretty woman stirred a longing to possess in the ample and facile heart of this Royal Don Juan. They were easy and happy loves,—without remorse and without bitterness, and never deformed with tears. So far did he push his rights as a Sovereign, that there is said to have been at least one instance of rivalry between him and his own son. He died, as he had lived, a lover,—and a victim to love. Under Henri II., Diane de Poitiers is the most prominent figure on the stage; following the gallant leadership of the King’s mistress, the Court continues the same mode of life and type of manners which distinguished the preceding reign. Of the reign of Francis II., we need only speak _en passant_. During the short while he and Mary Stuart were exhausting the joys of a brief married life, there was no time for further change.