When the vague twilight began to gather,
the lonely valley seemed to fill itself with the shadow of the Roman name,
as if the mighty empire were still as erect as the support of the
aqueduct; and it was open to a solitary tourist, sitting there
sentimental, to believe that no people has ever been, or will ever be, as
great as that, measured, as we measure the greatness of an individual, by
the push they gave to what they undertook. The Pont du Gard is one of the
three or four deepest impressions they have left; it speaks of them in a
manner with which they might have been satisfied....
On my way back to the little inn where I had left my vehicle, I passed the
Pont du Gard, and took another look at it. Its great arches made windows
for the evening sky, and the rocky ravine, with its dusky cedars and
shining river, was lonelier than before. At the inn I swallowed, or tried
to swallow, a glass of horrible wine with my coachman; after which, with
my team, I drove back to Nimes in the moonlight. It only added a more
solitary whiteness to the constant sheen of the Provencal landscape.
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