The castle's door took a while to unlock its many rusty bolts. A stench of centuries-old invisible dust filled my nostrils. The tour guide told us that Chateaubriand's private apartments were sealed indefinitely. They were haunted. By a wooden leg. And a black cat who had been walled up alive. They found the black cat's cadaver and exposed it for us to witness. His cadaver was shouting helplessly behind a glass box. So they had placed him on a small white cushion to ease the pain. We crossed the roof on shivering construction boards. Dry rot was eating the history.
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