These stones, set in a mortar made of reddish earth, display their variegated colors, the warm yellows of the silex, the white of the lime carbonates, the russet browns of the sandstone, in many a fantastic shape.

As you first enter it, the park is gloomy, the walls are hidden by creeping plants and by trees that for fifty years have heard no sound of axe.

One might think it a virgin forest, made primeval again through some phenomenon granted exclusively to forests.

The trunks of the trees are swathed with lichen which hangs from one to another.

Mistletoe, with its viscid leaves, droops from every fork of the branches where moisture settles.