Louis XI., more devout even than the devout Louis VII., was equally unable to inspire his clergy with confidence. Before the discovery of printing, in 1421, manuscript books at Paris, as elsewhere, were so rare and so dear that students had much trouble in procuring even those which were absolutely necessary for their instruction. Accordingly, when Louis XI. wished to borrow from the Faculty of Medicine the writings of Rhases, an Arabian physician, he was required, before taking the book away, to deposit a considerable quantity of plate, besides the signature of a powerful nobleman, who bound himself to see that his Majesty restored the volume. [Illustration: THE CHOIR STALLS, NOTRE DAME.] Among the many legends told in connection with Notre Dame is a peculiarly fantastic one, according to which the funeral service of a canon named Raimond Diocre, famed for his sanctity, was being celebrated by St. Bruno, when, at a point where the clergy chanted the words: _Responde mihi quantas habes iniquitates?_ the dead man raised his head in the coffin, and replied: _Justo Dei judicio accusatus sum_. At this utterance all present took flight, and the ceremony was not resumed till the next day, when for the second time the clergy chanted forth: _Responde mihi_, etc., on which the corpse again raised its head, and this time answered: _Justo Dei judicio judicatus sum_. Once more there was a panic and general flight. The scene, with yet another variation, was repeated on the third day, when the dead, who had already declared himself to have been "accused" and "judged" by Heaven, announced that he had been condemned: _Justo Dei judicio condamnatus sum_. Witness of this terrible scene, St. Bruno renounced the world, did penance, became a monk, and founded the Order of Les Chartreux. The incident has been depicted by Lesueur, who received a commission to record on canvas the principal events in the life of the saint.