Before going to the cafe I had
dined, and before dining I had found time to go and look at the arena.
Then it was that I discovered that Arles has no general physiognomy, and,
except the delightful little church of Saint Trophimus, no architecture,
and that the rugosities of its dirty lanes affect the feet like knife-
blades. It was not then, on the other hand, that I saw the arena best. The
second day of my stay at Arles I devoted to a pilgrimage to the strange
old hill town of Les Baux, the medieval Pompeii, of which I shall give
myself the pleasure of speaking.
The evening of that day, however (my friend and I returned in time for a
late dinner), I wandered among the Roman remains of the place by the light
of a magnificent moon, and gathered an impression which has lost little of
its silvery glow. The moon of the evening before had been aqueous and
erratic; but if on the present occasion it was guilty of any irregularity,
the worst it did was only to linger beyond its time in the heavens, in
order to let us look at things comfortably. The effect was admirable; it
brought back the impression of the way, in Rome itself, on evenings like
that, the moonshine rests upon broken shafts and slabs of antique
pavement.
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