The Idler in FranceBlessington, Marguerite, Countess of
History
The Idler in France
Blessington, Marguerite, Countess of
France -- Description and travel; France -- Social life and customs
The hill above the fountain has been tastefully planted with evergreen
trees, which shade a delicious walk, formed to its summit.
This improvement to the appearance, as well as to the _agréments_, of
Nismes, is due to Monsieur d'Haussey[1], prefect, whose popularity is
said to be deservedly acquired, by his unremitting attention to the
interests of the city, and his urbanity to its inhabitants.
Nismes is a gay town, if I may judge by the groups of well-dressed
women and men we have observed at the promenade.
It has a considerable garrison, and the officers are occasionally seen
passing and repassing; but not, as I have often remarked in England,
lazily lounging about as if anxious to kill time, but moving briskly as
if on business.
The various accomplishments acquired by young men in France offer a
great resource in country quarters. Drawing, in which most of them have
attained a facility, if not excellence, enables them to fill albums
with clever sketches; and their love of the fine arts leads them to
devote some hours in most days to their cultivation.
This is surely preferable to loitering in news-rooms, sauntering in the
shops of pretty milliners, breaking down the fences of farmers, or
riding over young wheat--innocent pastimes, sometimes undertaken by
young officers for mere want of some occupation.
The Temple of Diana is in the vicinity of the fountain, which has given
rise to the conjecture that it originally constituted a portion of the
ancient baths. Its shape is rectangular, and a large opening in the
centre forms the entrance.
Twelve niches, five of which open into the partition of the temple, and
two on the right and left of the entrance, are crowned by frontons
alternately circular and triangular, and are said to have contained
statues. This is one of the most picturesque ruins I ever saw. Silence
and solitude reign around it, and wild fig-trees enwreath with their
luxuriant foliage the opening made by Time, and half conceal the wounds
inflicted by barbarian hands.
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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