This edifice had，for its intestinal tube，a long corridor，on which opened to right and left sorts of compartments of varied dimensions which were inhabitable under stress of circumstances，and rather more like stalls than cells.These chambers received their light from the vague waste grounds in the neighborhood.
All this was dark，disagreeable，wan，melancholy，sepulchral；traversed according as the crevices lay in the roof or in the door，by cold rays or by icy winds.
An interesting and picturesque peculiarity of this sort of dwelling is the enormous size of the spiders.
To the left of the entrance door，on the boulevard side，at about the height of a man from the ground，a small window which had been walled up formed a square niche full of stones which the children had thrown there as they passed by.
A portion of this building has recently been demolished.From what still remains of it one can form a judgment as to what it was in former days.
As a whole，it was not over a hundred years old.A hundred years is youth in a church and age in a house.It seems as though man's lodging partook of his ephemeral character，and God's house of his eternity.
The postmen called the house Number 50-52；but it was known in the neighborhood as the Gorbeau house.
Let us explain whence this appellation was derived.
Collectors of petty details，who become herbalists of anecdotes，and prick slippery dates into their memories with a pin，know that there was in Paris，during the last century，about 1770，two attorneys at the Chatelet named，one Corbeau（Raven），the other Renard（Fox）.The two names had been forestalled by La Fontaine.The opportunity was too fine for the lawyers；they made the most of it.A parody was immediately put in circulation in the galleries of the court-house，in verses that limped a little：——
Maitre Corbeau，sur un dossier perche，[13]
Tenait dans son bee une saisie executoire；
Maitre Renard，par l'odeur alleche，
Lui fit a peu pres cette histoire：He！bonjour.
Etc.
[13]Lawyer Corbeau，perched on a docket，held in his beak a writ of execution；Lawyer Renard，attracted by the smell，addressed him nearly as follows，etc.
The two honest practitioners，embarrassed by the jests，and finding the bearing of their heads interfered with by the shouts of laughter which followed them，resolved to get rid of their names，and hit upon the expedient of applying to the king.
Their petition was presented to Louis XV.
on the same day when the Papal Nuncio，on the one hand，and the Cardinal de la Roche-Aymon on the other，both devoutly kneeling，were each engaged in putting on，in his Majesty's presence，a slipper on the bare feet of Madame du Barry，who had just got out of bed.
The king，who was laughing，continued to laugh，passed gayly from the two bishops to the two lawyers，and bestowed on these limbs of the law their former names，or nearly so.
By the kings command，Maitre Corbeau was permitted to add a tail to his initial letter and to call himself Gorbeau.Maitre Renard was less lucky；all he obtained was leave to place a P in front of his R，and to call himself Prenard；so that the second name bore almost as much resemblance as the first.
Now，according to local tradition，this Maitre Gorbeau had been the proprietor of the building numbered 50-52 on the Boulevard de l'Hopital.He was even the author of the monumental window.
Hence the edifice bore the name of the Gorbeau house.
Opposite this house，among the trees of the boulevard，rose a great elm which was three-quarters dead；almost directly facing it opens the Rue de la Barriere des Gobelins，a street then without houses，unpaved，planted with unhealthy trees，which was green or muddy according to the season，and which ended squarely in the exterior wall of Paris.
An odor of copperas issued in puffs from the roofs of the neighboring factory.
The barrier was close at hand.
In 1823 the city wall was still in existence.
This barrier itself evoked gloomy fancies in the mind.
It was the road to Bicetre.
It was through it that，under the Empire and the Restoration，prisoners condemned to death re-entered Paris on the day of their execution.
It was there，that，about 1829，was committed that mysterious assassination，called'The assassination of the Fontainebleau barrier，'whose authors justice was never able to discover；a melancholy problem which has never been elucidated，a frightful enigma which has never been unriddled.
Take a few steps，and you come upon that fatal Rue Croulebarbe，where Ulbach stabbed the goat-girl of Ivry to the sound of thunder，as in the melodramas.A few paces more，and you arrive at the abominable pollarded elms of the Barriere Saint-Jacques，that expedient of the philanthropist to conceal the scaffold，that miserable and shameful Place de Grove of a shop-keeping and bourgeois society，which recoiled before the death penalty，neither daring to abolish it with grandeur，nor to uphold it with authority.
Leaving aside this Place Saint-Jacques，which was，as it were，predestined，and which has always been horrible，probably the most mournful spot on that mournful boulevard，seven and thirty years ago，was the spot which even to-day is so unattractive，where stood the building Number 50-52.
Bourgeois houses only began to spring up there twenty-five years later.The place was unpleasant.
In addition to the gloomy thoughts which assailed one there，one was conscious of being between the Salpetriere，a glimpse of whose dome could be seen，and Bicetre，whose outskirts one was fairly touching；that is to say，between the madness of women and the madness of men.
