his own opinions regarding these grand ladies and gentlemen in the background, he leaves it to the competent “grands discoureurs” to judge these things. To be sure, if one wished to get information regarding the court of Henri II. and Catherine of Medici, one ought not exactly to read Brantôme, who creates the impression as if the court were a model of a moral institution. “Sa compaignie et sa court estait un vray paradis du monde et escole de toute honnestate, de virtu, l’ornement de la France,” he once says somewhere in the _Dames illustres_ (page 64). On the other hand, L’Etorle in May, 1577, gives us a report of a banquet given by the Queen-mother in Chenonceaux: “Les femmes les plus belles et honnestes de la cour, estant a moitie nues et ayant, les cheveux epars comme espousees, fuient employees a faire le service.” Other contemporaries likewise report a great deal of the immorality prevailing at the court. Thus we have curious reports regarding the pregnancy of Limeuil, who had her birth-throes in the queen’s wardrobe in Lyon (1564), the father being the Prince of Conde. Likewise, Johanna d’Albret warns her son, later Henri IV., against the corruption of the court. When she later visited him in Paris she was horrified at the immorality at the court of her daughter-in-law, later Queen Margot, who lived in the “most depraved and dissolute society.” (Brantôme pretended that he was a relative of hers, and pronounced a panegyric upon her in his Rodomontades which was answered in her memoirs dedicated to him.) He did not feel it his mission to be a Savonarola. To his great regret this “culture” came home to him in his own family. He had more and more cause to be dissatisfied with his youngest sister, Madeleine. The wicked life of this lady-in-waiting filled him with fury. He paid her her share and drove her from the house.