Washington sentinel., 1898-12-10
TT ~ SENTINEL
Where Flows the Rhoue
Charles ", Wood +. X. @. s, in the
.AgROSy

ArgOSy
No town in the Lower Valley Of
Rhone possesses a greater charm,
more points of intt rest, than AYig-
non. Historically it has a great
past. Great was its rise and great
its fall, amazing its vicissitudes.
1t has been the scene Of sUme Of
the most gorgeous pageants OF
earth, and again it has had to sit
lowly and clothe itself in sack
cloth and ashes. Every succeed
ing hour spent in the old town
only servedto increase our affection
for it, Each passing day dis
closes some fresh sign or remem-
brance OF the cent ries gone by.
Time after time we were reminded
that this was the ancient city Of
the popes. We stood upon the
heights OF the Rocher des Doms
and gazed upon that wonderful
and far-famed panorama, through
which the great river takes its
silent, but flashing, winding course.
Every foot of the vast stretch Of
country seemed historical and
classical ground, as indeed it is.
Here in the days remote came sail
ing up the stream pageant after
pageant, prince after prince, all to
pay homage to the heads of the
Church. The Popes, drawing the
eyes and attention OF the whole
civilized world upon Avignon,
made it perhaps the most famous
town Of the medieval ages, as well
as one Of the richest and most
beautiful Here the Popes added to
their mighty power, the luxurious
ness OF their living, and, too often,
the wickedness OF their ways.
Still, it was a magnificent city, aud
many OF its traditions, and not a
few Of its ancient landmarks have
remained to the present day.
From that wonderful Rochcr, you
look down upon the river flo wing
al Its feet, rubbing through the
four emaining arches OF the fam
Gus bridge of St. Benezet; arches
that have wIthstood all the ravages
of time and water, so well did the
saint do his work. The whole
nineteen arches would be still
Standing if they had not been de-
stroyed by man. Time and the
river and the air wouldhave spared
them: that climate which is de-
scribed as "Avenio ventosa, sine
vento Venenosa, cum vento fastd-
osa." Here. in the chapel crown
ing the fourth arch, lie the bones
of St. Benezet, somewhat in the
unenvlable position OF Mahomet's
coffin. For seven hundred years
the river has risen and fallen be-
meath them; and angry' andturious
and swelling TO an immense volume
flooding the country and spread
ing deSolation around; now falling
int quiet ways and peaceful slum-
bers, as though it were the meek
est and mildest OF rivers flowing to
the sea.
Opposite rises the ancient for
tress, forever associated with mys-
terry and romance as well as with
the fortunes Of war; for here was
confined the Man with the Iron
Mask, than whom no character in
history is more shrouded in uncer-
taintY. We may surmise and guess
and wonder. but who he was can
never now be known. Secrets do
not come back from the dead.
How interesting and picturesque
was the Sister who conducted US
about the ruins, moving silently
in her nuns dress, and speaking in
low Subdued voice. How path
etc her eyes, how charming her
tones, when she spoke of her past
and the world she had for the time
being torsaken. Two years have
rolled by since that day when she
suddenly plunged US from the
glamor OF broad sunshine and blue
skies INTO the profound obscurity
Of that dungeon in which the Man
with the Iron Mask (would we
could give him a namely passed
some Of the hours oil that long cap.
tivity tht ended only in death.
Two years; what ha she done with
them1 Has she relented, and gone
back to the world, and become a
happy wife, making the paradise
OF some fortunate man2 II it is not
so, yet il will be so when the dav
comes and the hour strikes, for It |
was writ IN the stars that she should |
not die unwe ided. There are
some faces with their fate tor good
or Ill so plainly marked that thev
who possess the gift OF the seer in |
the least degree can foretell the
future. Not every face carries this
index; happily they are rather
rare, but when seen they are un-
mistakable. Another romantic |
but distant spot may be deserted |
from the Rocher; Vaucluse, with
its mysterious fountain, its woods |
and groves, where Petrarch wan
dered hand in hand with Laura, |
until she died with love for him;
OF hope deferred, for which no ex-
cuse IS apparent. And then, when
her spirit had flown to the unseen
world. and her body lay in the
silent tomb, he wandered alone,
and wrote his sonnets; and who
knows how far grief and remoroe |
lived in his heart when the light Of
his eyes had gone from him, and
he might call to her, but she could
not answer Men play havoc with
their best blessings; blessings that
come to them so easily and natur-
ally, so straight from Heaven, that
they fail to recognize them; never