I Walked Round The Parapet Which Protects The
Outer Edge Of The Moat (It Is All Up Hill, And The Moat
Deepens And Deepens), Till I Came To The Entrance
Which Faces The Town, And Which Is As Bare And
Strong As The Rest.
The concierge took me into the
court; but there was nothing to see.
The place is
used as a magazine of ammunition, and the yard con-
tains a multitude of ugly buildings. The only thing
to do is to walk round the bastions for the view; but
at the moment of my visit the weather was thick, and
the bastions began and ended with themselves. So I
came out and took another look at the big, black ex-
terior, buttressed with white-ribbed towers, and per-
ceived that a desperate sketcher might extract a
picture from it, especially if he were to bring in, as
they say, the little black bronze statue of the good
King Rene (a weak production of David d'Angers),
which, standing within sight, ornaments the melancholy
faubourg. He would do much better, however, with
the very striking old timbered house (I suppose of the
fifteenth century) which is called the Maison d'Adam,
and is easily the first specimen at Angers of the
domestic architecture of the past. This admirable
house, in the centre of the town, gabled, elaborately
timbered, and much restored, is a really imposing
monument. The basement is occupied by a linen-
draper, who flourishes under the auspicious sign of
the Mere de Famille; and above his shop the tall
front rises in five overhanging stories.
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