Life at Combourg Castle.
The gloomy stillness of Combourg Castle was increased by my father's taciturn and unsocial humour. Instead of drawing his family and his retainers closer to him, he had dispersed them to all the winds of the building. His bedroom was in the small east tower, his study in the small west tower. The furniture of this study consisted of three chairs in black leather and a table covered with parchments and title-deeds. A genealogical tree of the Chateaubriand family adorned the chimney-mantel, and in the embrasure of a window hung arms of all sorts, from a pistol to a blunderbuss. My mother's room extended over the great hall, between the two small towers; it had a parqueted flooring and was adorned with faceted Venetian mirrors. My sister occupied a closet leading out of my mother's room. The waiting-maid slept far away, on the ground floor between the two great towers. Myself, I was nestled in a sort of isolated cell at the top of the turret containing the staircase which led from the inner yard to the different parts of the castle. At the foot of this staircase, my father's valet and the other man-servant lay in a vaulted basement, and the cook kept garrison in the great west tower.
My father rose at four o'clock in the morning, winter and summer alike: he went to the inner yard to call and wake his valet at the entrance to the turret staircase. A cup of coffee was brought to him at five; he then worked in his study till midday. My mother and sister each breakfasted in her own chamber at eight o'clock. I had no fixed time for rising or breakfasting; I was supposed to study till noon: the greater part of the time I did nothing.
At half-past eleven, the bell rang for dinner, which was served at twelve. The great hall did duty as both dining-room and drawing-room: we dined and supped at one end, on the east side; when the meal was over, we went and sat at the other end, the west side, before a huge chimney. The hall was wainscoted, painted whity-grey, and adorned with old portraits ranging from the reign of François I. to that of Louis XIV. Among these portraits one recognized those of Condé and Turenne: a picture representing Achilles slaying Hector beneath the walls of Troy hung over the chimney-piece.
After dinner we remained together until two o'clock. Then, if it was summer, my father went fishing, visited his kitchen-gardens, walked within the limits of the home park; in the autumn and winter he went shooting. My mother withdrew to the chapel, where she spent some hours in prayer. This chapel was a gloomy oratory, adorned with fine pictures by the greatest masters, such as one would scarcely expect to find in a feudal castle in the heart of Brittany. I still have in my possession a Holy Family by Albani, painted on copper, which was taken from this chapel: it is all that remains to me of Combourg. When my father had left the house and my mother gone to her prayers, Lucile withdrew to her room and I either returned to my cell or went out to roam about the country.
At eight o'clock the bell rang for supper. After supper, in fine weather, we sat out on the steps. My father, armed with his gun, shot at the brown owls which issued from the battlements at nightfall. My mother, Lucile and I watched the sky, the woods, the dying rays of the sun, the rising stars. At ten o'clock we went in and retired to bed.
The autumn and winter evenings were different. Supper over, the four of us would leave the table and gather round the chimney. My mother flung herself, with a sigh, upon an old couch covered in imitation Siam; a stand was put before her with a candle. I sat down with Lucile by the fire; the servants cleared the table and withdrew. My father then began a tramp which lasted till he went to bed. He was dressed in a white ratteen gown, or rather a kind of cloak, which I have seen no one wear except him. His half-bald head was covered with a big white cap that stood straight up on end. When he walked away to a distance from the fire-place, the huge hall was so badly lighted by its solitary candle that he was no longer visible; we could only hear him still walking in the darkness: then he would slowly return towards the light and gradually emerge from the dusk, like a ghost, with his white gown, his white cap, his long pale face. Lucile and I exchanged a few words in a low voice when he was at the other end of the hall; we hushed when he drew nearer to us. He asked, as he passed, "What were you talking about?" Terror-stricken, we made no reply; he continued his walk. For the rest of the evening, the ear heard nothing save the measured sound of his steps, my mother's sighs, and the murmuring of the wind[160].
The hour of ten struck on the castle clock: my father stopped; the same spring which had raised the hammer of the clock seemed to have arrested his steps. He drew out his watch, wound it, took a great silver candle-stick holding a tall candle, went for a moment to the small west tower, then returned, candle in hand, and went towards his bedroom, which formed part of the small east tower. Lucile and I placed ourselves on his way; we kissed him and wished him good-night. He turned his dry, hollow cheek to us without replying, continued his road, and withdrew inside the tower, the doors of which we heard closing behind him.
The spell was broken: my mother, my sister and myself, who had been changed into statues by my father's presence, recovered the functions of life. The first effect of our disenchantment took the form of an overflow of words: silence was made to pay us dear for having so long oppressed us. When this torrent of words had sped, I called the waiting-woman and escorted my mother and sister to their rooms. Before I went, they made me look under the beds, up the chimneys, behind the doors, and inspect the surrounding stairs, passages and corridors. All the traditions of the castle concerning robbers and ghosts returned to their memory. The servants were persuaded that a certain Comte de Combourg, with a wooden leg, who had been dead three centuries, appeared at certain intervals, and that he had been seen in the great staircase of the turret; sometimes also his wooden leg walked alone, accompanied by a black cat.
These stories took up the whole of the time occupied by my mother and sister in preparing for the night: they got into bed dying of fright; I climbed to the top of my turret; the cook returned to the main tower, and the men went down to their basement.