It is the corner house between the
narrow Rue des Hallebardes and the little square De la Cigogne. As soon
as you are through the archway you find within a spacious square court,
with old carved wooden galleries all round it, and a wooden staircase to
reach it; everywhere are scattered in disorder small windows of last
century with leaden sashes, skylights, and air-holes; old wooden posts
are nearly yielding under the weight of a roof that threatens to sink in.
The barn, the rows of casks piled up in a corner, the cellar door at the
left, a pigeon-cote forming the point of the gable end; then, again,
beneath the galleries, other darkened windows in the same style, where
you can see swillers and topers in three-cornered hats, distinguished by
noses red, purple, or crimson; little women of Hundsruck, in velvet caps
with long fluttering ribbons, some grave, some laughing, others queer and
grotesque-looking; the hay-loft high up under the roof; stables,
pigsties, cowsheds, all in picturesque confusion attract and confound
your attention. It is a strange sight!
For fifty years not a hammer has been lifted against this venerable ruin.
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