I could have spent hours in this desecrated temple,
pondering on the brevity of life, as compared with
its age. There is something pure and calm in
such a spot, that influences the feelings of those
who pause in it; and by reminding them of the inevitable
lot of all sublunary things, renders the cares incidental
to all who breathe, less acutely felt for the time.
Is not every ruin a history of the fate of generations,
which century after century has seen pass away?—generations
of mortals like ourselves, who have been moved by
the same passions, and vexed by the same griefs; like
us, who were instinct with life and spirit, yet whose
very dust has disappeared. Nevertheless, we can
yield to the futile pleasures, or to the petty ills
of life, as if their duration was to be of long extent,
unmindful that ages hence, others will visit the objects
we now behold, and find them little changed, while
we shall have in our turn passed away, leaving behind
no trace of our existence.
I never see a beautiful landscape, a noble ruin, or
a glorious fane, without wishing that I could bequeath
to those who will come to visit them when I shall
be no more, the tender thoughts that filled my soul
when contemplating them; and thus, even in death, create
a sympathy.
ARLES.
We stopped but a short time at Beaucaire, where we
saw the largo plain on the banks of the Rhone, on
which are erected the wooden houses for the annual
fair which takes place in July, when the scene is said
to present a very striking effect.
These wooden houses are filled with articles of every
description, and are inhabited by the venders who
bring their goods to be disposed of to the crowds
of buyers who flock here from all parts, offering,
in the variety of their costumes and habits, a very
animated and showy picture.
The public walk, which edges the grassy plain allotted
to the fair, is bordered by large elm-trees, and the
vicinity to the river insures that freshness always
so desirable in summer, and more especially in a climate
so warm as this.
The town of Beaucaire has little worthy of notice,
except its Hotel-de-Ville and church, both of which
are handsome buildings. We crossed the Rhone
over the bridge of boats, from which we had a good
view, and arrived at Tarascon.
The chateau called the Castle of King Rene, but which
was erected by Louis II, count of Provence, is an
object of interest to all who love to ponder on the
olden time, when gallant knights and lovely dames
assembled here for those tournaments in which the good
Rene delighted.
Alas for the change! In those apartments in which
the generous monarch loved to indulge the effusions
of his gentle muse, and where fair ladies smiled,
and belted knights quaffed ruby wine to their healths,
now dwell reckless felons and hopeless debtors; for
the chateau is converted into a prison.
