“Long live the bridal couple!” we all exclaimed. And thanks to the valiant Gafet, whom every one knew, and to his presence of mind, the thing ended there.
The next question was where to go next? The Man of Bronze had just struck eleven o’clock. We decided to make the tour of the Aliscamps.[19]
Passing down the Lice d’Arles we went the round of the ramparts, and by the light of the moon descended the avenue of poplars leading to the cemetery of the old Arles of the Romans. And while wandering amongst the tombs and sarcophagi, showing white on either side in long rows, we solemnly chaunted the fine ballad by Camille Reybaud:
The poplars growing in the churchyard here
Salute the dead that in these graves abide—
If thou the sacred mysteries dost fear
Oh never pass the churchyard by so near!
The long, white grave-stones in the churchyard here
Have flung their heavy covers open wide.
If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c.
Upon the greensward in the churchyard here
The dead men all stand upright side by side.
If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c.
They all embrace within the churchyard here,
These mute and silent brothers who have died.
If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c.
’Tis keeping holiday, the churchyard here,
And dancing to and fro the dead men glide.
If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c.
Across the churchyard now the moon shines clear;
Each maiden seeks her love, each lad his bride.
If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c.
No more they find them, in the churchyard here,
Their loves of yore, that would not be denied.
If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c.