f the fortress, proving how even
with the most primitive weapons these ponderous and unscalable walls were
not as impregnable as they may have seemed to the builders. Like the abbey
of Jumieges, this proud structure became nothing more than a quarry, for in
the seventeenth century permission was given to two religious houses, one
at Le Petit-Andely and the other at Le Grand-Andely to take whatever
stone-work they required for their monastic establishments. Records show
how more damage would have been done to the castle but for the frequent
quarrels between these two religious houses as to their rights over the
various parts of the ruins. When you climb up to the ruined citadel and
look out of the windows that are now battered and shapeless, you can easily
feel how the heart of the bold Richard must have swelled within him when he
saw how his castle dominated an enormous belt of country. But you cannot
help wondering whether he ever had misgivings over the unwelcome proximity
of the chalky heights that rise so closely above the site of the ruin. We
ourselves, are inclined to forget these questions of military strength in
the serene beauty of the silvery river flowing on its serpentine course
past groups of poplars, rich pastures dotted with cattle, forest lands and
villages set amidst blossoming orchards. Down below are the warm
chocolate-red roofs of the little town that has shared with the chateau its
good and evil fortunes. The church with its slender spire occupies the
central position, and it dates from precisely the same years as those which
witnessed the advent of the fortress above. The little streets of the town
are full of quaint timber-framed houses, and it is not surprising that this
is one of the spots by the beautiful banks of the Seine that has attained a
name for its picturesqueness.

With scarcely any perceptible division Le Grand-Andely joins the smaller
village. It stands higher in the valley and is chiefly memorable for its
beautiful inn, the Hotel du Grand Cerf. It is opposite the richly
ornamented stone-work of the church of Notre Dame and dates chiefly from
the sixteenth century. The hall contains a great fireplace, richly
ornamented with a renaissance frieze and a fine iron stove-back. The
courtyard shows carved timbers and in front the elaborate moulding beneath
the eaves is supported by carved brackets. Unlike that old hostelry at
Dives which is mentioned in another chapter, this hotel is not over