France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction
The roof, of dark red tiles, was disfigured by many large,
leprous-looking, yellow patches, while in some places the decayed
rafters had given way, leaving formidable gaps. The numerous
weather-cocks that surmounted the towers and chimneys were so rusted
that they could no longer budge an inch, and pointed persistently in
various directions. The high dormer windows were partially closed by
old wooden shutters, warped, split, and in every stage of dilapidation;
broken stones filled up the loop-holes and openings in the towers; of
the twelve large windows in the front of the house, eight were boarded
up; the remaining four had small diamond-shaped panes of thick,
greenish glass, fitting so loosely in their leaden frames that they
shook and rattled at every breath of wind; between these windows a
great deal of the stucco had fallen off, leaving the rough wall exposed
to view.
Above the grand old entrance door, whose massive stone frame and lintel
retained traces of rich ornamentation, almost obliterated by time and
neglect, was sculptured a coat of arms, now so defaced that the most
accomplished adept in heraldry would not be able to decipher it. Only
one leaf of the great double door was ever opened now, for not many
guests were received or entertained at the château in these days of its
decadence. Swallows had built their nests in every available nook about
it, and but for a slender thread of smoke rising spirally from a
chimney at the back of this dismal, half-ruined mansion, the traveller
would have surely believed it to be uninhabited. This was the only sign
of life visible about the whole place, like the little cloud upon the
mirror from the breath of a dying man, which alone gives evidence that
he still lives.
Upon pushing open the practicable leaf of the great worm-eaten door,
which yielded reluctantly, and creaked dolefully as it turned upon its
rusty hinges, the curious visitor entered a sort of portico, more
ancient than the rest of the building, with fine, large columns of
bluish granite, and a lofty vaulted roof. At the point of intersection
of the arches was a stone shield, bearing the same coat of arms that
was sculptured over the entrance without. This one was in somewhat
better preservation than the other, and seemed to bear something
resembling three golden storks (cigognes) on an azure field; though it
was so much in shadow, and so faded and dingy, that it was impossible
to make it out clearly. Fastened to the wall, at a convenient height
from the ground, were great iron extinguishers, blackened by the smoke
from torches in long by-gone years, and also iron rings, to which the
guests’ horses were made fast in the olden times, when the castle was
in its glory. The dust that lay thick upon them now showed that it was
long since they had been made use of.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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