Captain Fracasse | Page 4

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.
From this portico--whence a door on either side opened into the main
building; one leading into a long suite of apartments on the ground
floor, and the other into what had probably been a guard-room--the
explorer passed into an interior court, dismal, damp, and bare. In the
corners nettles and various rank weeds were growing riotously amid the
great heaps of rubbish fallen from the crumbling cornice high above,
and grass had sprung up everywhere in the crevices of the stone
pavement. Opposite the entrance a flight of dilapidated, shaky steps,

with a heavy stone balustrade, led down into a neglected garden, which
was gradually becoming a perfect thicket. Excepting in one small bed,
where a few cabbages were growing, there was no attempt at
cultivation, and nature had reasserted her rights everywhere else in this
abandoned spot, taking, apparently, a fierce delight in effacing all
traces of man's labour. The fruit trees threw out irregular branches
without fear of the pruning knife; the box, intended to form a narrow
border to the curiously shaped flower-beds and grass-plots, had grown
up unchecked into huge, bushy shrubs, while a great variety of sturdy
weeds had usurped the places formerly devoted to choice plants and
beautiful, fragrant flowers. Brambles, bristling with sharp thorns, which
had thrown their long, straggling arms across the paths, caught and
tried to hold back any bold adventurer who attempted to penetrate into
the mysterious depths of this desolate wilderness. Solitude is averse to
being surprised in dishabille, and surrounds herself with all sorts of
defensive obstacles.
However, the courageous explorer who persisted in following the
ancient, overgrown alley, and was not to be daunted by formidable
briers that tore his hands and clothing, nor low-hanging, closely
interlaced branches that struck him smart blows in the face as he forced
his way through them, would have reached at last a sort of rocky niche,
fancifully arranged as a grotto. Besides the masses of ivy, iris and
gladiolus, that had been carefully planted long ago in the interstices of
the rock, it was draped with a profusion of graceful wild vines and
feathery ferns, which half-veiled the marble statue, representing some
mythological divinity, that still stood in this lonely retreat. It must have
been intended for Flora or Pomona, but now there were tufts of
repulsive, venomous-looking mushrooms in the pretty, graceful, little
basket on her arm, instead of the sculptured fruit or flowers that should
have filled it. Although her nose was broken, and her fair body
disfigured by many dark stains, and overgrown in part with clinging
mosses, it could still plainly be seen that she had once been very lovely.
At her feet was a marble basin, shaped like a shell, half full of
discoloured, stagnant water; the lion's head just above it, now almost
entirely concealed by a thick curtain of leaves, no longer poured forth
the sparkling stream that used to fall into it with a musical murmur.

This little grotto, with its fountain and statue, bore witness to former
wealth; and also to the aesthetic taste of some long-dead owner of the
domain. The marble goddess was in the Florentine style of the
Renaissance, and probably the work of one of those Italian sculptors
who followed in the train of del Rosso or Primaticcio, when they came
to France at the bidding of that generous patron of the arts, Francis I;
which time was also, apparently, the epoch of the greatest prosperity of
this noble family, now so utterly fallen into decay.
Behind the grotto rose a high wall, built of stone, crumbling and
mouldy now, but still bearing some broken remains of trellis-work,
evidently intended to be covered with creepers that would entirely
conceal the wall itself with a rich tapestry of verdure. This was the limit
of the garden; beyond stretched the wide expanse of the sandy, barren
Landes, flecked here and there with patches of scanty heather, and
scattered groves of pine trees.
Turning back towards the chateau