the materiel of our breakfast.  The postboy, having stabled and refreshed his horses, was regaling himself in the kitchen—­but-how do you think he was regaling himself?—­Truly, in stretching himself upon a bench, and reading, as old Ascham expresses it, “a merry tale in Boccace.”  In other words, he was reading a French version of the Decameron of that celebrated author.  Indeed, I had already received sufficient proof of the general propensity of the common people to read—­whether good or bad books ... but let us hope and believe the former.  I left the bibliomaniacal postboy to his Boccaccio, and prepared to visit the CASTLE... the once proud and yet commanding residence of the family of MONTMORENCI.

I ascended—­with fresh energies imparted from my breakfast.  The day grew soft, and bright, and exhilarating ... but alas! for the changes and chances of every thing in this transitory world.  Where was the warder?  He had ceased to blow his horn for many a long year.  Where was the harp of the minstrel?  It had perished two centuries ago, with the hand that had struck its chords.  Where was the attendant guard?—­or pursuivants—­or men at arms?  They had been swept from human existence, like the leaves of the old limes and beech trees by which the lower part of the building was surrounded.  The moat was dry; the rampart was a ruin:—­the rank grass grew within the area... nor can I tell you how many relics of halls, banqueting rooms, and bed-rooms, with all the magnificent appurtenances of old castellated architecture, struck the eager eye with mixed melancholy and surprise!  The singular half-circular, and half square, corner towers, hanging over the ever-restless wave, interested me exceedingly.  The guide shewed me where the prisoners used to be kept—­in a dungeon, apparently impervious to every glimmer of day-light, and every breath of air.  I cannot pretend to say at what period even the oldest part of the Castle of Montmorenci was built:  but I saw nothing that seemed to be more ancient than the latter end of the fifteenth century.[90] Perhaps the greater portion may be of the beginning of the sixteenth; but, amidst the unroofed rooms, I could not help admiring the painted borders, chiefly of a red colour, which run along the upper part of the walls, or wainscoats—­giving indication not only of a good, but of a splendid, taste.  Did I tell you that this sort of ornament was to be seen in some parts of the eastern end of the Abbey of Jumieges? Here, indeed, they afforded evidence—­an evidence, mingled with melancholy sensations on reflection—­of the probable state of magnificence which once reigned throughout the castle.  Between the corner towers, upon that part which runs immediately parallel with the Seine, there is a noble terrace, now converted into garden ground—­which commands an immediate and extensive view of the embouchure of the river.  It is the property of a speculator, residing at Havre.