Half An Hour's Walk
Brought Me To Villeneuve, Which Lies Away From The
River, Looking Like A Big Village, Half Depopulated, And
Occupied For The Most Part By Dogs And Cats, Old
Women And Small Children; These Last, In General, Re-
Markably Pretty, In The Manner Of The Children Of
Provence.
You pass through the place, which seems
in a singular degree vague and unconscious, and come
to the rounded
Hill on which the ruined abbey lifts
its yellow walls, - the Benedictine abbey of Saint-
Andre, at once a church, a monastery, and a fortress.
A large part of the crumbling enceinte disposes itself
over the hill; but for the rest, all that has preserved
any traceable cohesion is a considerable portion, of
the citadel. The defence of the place appears to have
been intrusted largely to the huge round towers that
flank the old gate; one of which, the more complete,
the ancient warden (having first inducted me into his
own dusky little apartment, and presented me with
a great bunch of lavender) enabled me to examine in
detail. I would almost have dispensed with the privi-
lege, for I think I have already mentioned that an ac-
quaintance with many feudal interiors has wrought a
sad confusion in my mind. The image of the outside
always remains distinct; I keep it apart from other
images of the same sort; it makes a picture sufficiently
ineffaceable. But the guard-rooms, winding staircases,
loop-holes, prisons, repeat themselves and intermingle;
they have a wearisome family likeness.
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