Castelnau! This ancient name brings to me visions of glorious sunshine and of clear light shining upon noble heights; it evokes¹ the gentle melancholy² that I felt among its ruins, and recalls to me my dreams before the dead splendors³ buried there for so many centuries.  
The old ruin of Castelnau was perched on one of the most heavily wooded mountains in the neighborhood, and its reddish stone turrets⁴ and towers stood out boldly against the sky.
 
By looking over and beyond the wall surrounding my uncle's garden I could see the ancient castle. Indeed, it was a conspicuous⁵ point in the landscape, and one immediately saw its rough red stones emerging from the interlaced trees; one instantly noted⁶ the ancient ruin crowning the mountain all overgrown with the beautiful verdure of chestnut⁷ and oak trees.
 
Upon the day of my arrival I had caught a glimpse of it, and I was attracted by this old eagle's nest which must have been a superb place of refuge during the stormy middle ages. It was a common custom in my uncle's family to go up there two or three times a month to dine and pass the afternoon with the proprietor⁸, an old clergyman, who lived in a comfortable house built against one side of the ruin.
 
For me those days were like a revel⁹ in fairy land.
 
We started very early in the morning so that we should be beyond the plains before the hottest period of the day. When we arrived at the foot of the mountain we were refreshed by the cool shade of the forest, enveloped¹⁰ in its mantle¹¹ of beautiful green. As we went up and up, by zig-zag paths, afoot, and in single file, under lofty arching oaks and intertwined foliage¹² our line of march resembled a huge serpent. I was reminded of Gustave Dore's engravings of mediaeval pilgrims making their way to isolated¹³ abbeys perched on mountain heights. Tiny springs oozed¹⁴ out here and there and trickled¹⁵ across the red earth; between the trees we had momentary¹⁶ glimpses of beautiful and extensive vistas¹⁷. At last we reached the summit, and after passing through the very quaint¹⁸ village that had perched on this height for many centuries, we rang the bell at the priest's tiny door. The castle overhung his miniature garden and house; both were built under the shadow of the crumbling¹⁹ walls and the sinking, almost tottering²⁰, red stone towers. A great peace seemed to emanate²¹ from those aerie ruins, and a deep silence reigned²² there.
 
The dinners given by the old priest, to which several of the notabilities of the neighborhood were invited, always lasted very long. The ten or fifteen courses had an accompaniment of the ripest fruits and the choicest wines of that country so excelling in exquisite²³ vintages.
 
For several hours we remained at the table afflicted²⁴ by the August or September midday heat, and I, the only child in the company, became very restless; I was disturbed by the thought of the crushing nearness of the castle, and after the second course I would ask to be permitted to leave the table. An old serving-woman used always to go with me and open the outer door in the wall of the feudal²⁵ ramparts of Castelnau; then she confided²⁶ the keys of the stately ru............