All around the château and the numerous outbuildings runs an immense wall, at least twenty feet high, which dates back into even greater antiquity than the tower; it leaves ample space open, so that even the enormous building looks but small in the wide circle. This wall has, however, long since been changed into a peaceful promenade, overshadowed on high by lofty beeches, walnut-trees, and lindens. The broad moat which follows it all around is now partly obliterated, forming a low swamp filled with reeds; and wherever the water has held its own, it is covered with a green carpet of water-plants, in which half-wild ducks love to feed and fatten. The wall and the moat had evidently been intended to afford safe protection not only to the inhabitants of the castle, but also to the faithful vassals of the warlike barons, with their wives and children, their herds and their provisions. Even the farm buildings, which, since the erection of the new château, had been removed to a distant part of the farm, had originally been enclosed within the wall. In those days there had been a single passage in the wall, a huge fortified gate under a tower, which opened upon a drawbridge, and then led to a strong _tête de pont_. Now the tower had been demolished; the drawbridge refused to move, and the fortification had long since been changed into a number of ovens and other useful contrivances. From this principal gate an avenue of magnificent lime-trees, some of which were several hundred years old, led to the great portal of the château. To the right of the avenue and in front of the castle was a vast lawn, with a stone basin in the centre; a naiad stood over it as patroness, but she had long since lost her head, perhaps from grief that for half a century the water had refused to come at her bidding. The remaining space inside of the wall was filled with gardens and plantations, which dated from the time of the new building, and clearly enough betrayed the character of that period by the straight walks, carefully trimmed evergreen hedges, huge pyramids of box, and an abundance of gods carved in sandstone. Here and there, however, a spirit of innovation seemed to have been at work. Box-trees had made desperate efforts to stretch out their crippled branches, and to grow for a while as nature prompted them; the two sides of a long, stiff walk had made common cause, and formed, united, an impenetrable bosquet; and a gardener, who had no taste for the silent language of yew pyramids and box avenues, had defied all æsthetic rules, and boldly planted fruit-trees of every kind wherever he had found an open space; even vegetables were met with, encroaching impudently upon trim beds of flowers. A sister of the naiad in the courtyard was completely hid under brambles and briers; but, more easily resigned than the other goddess, she had preserved her head, and prattled in silent nights merrily of the good old times.