Three days after our excursion to Vaucluse, I went with my sons to the
Pont du Gard and Nismes. Our coach stopt, for three hours, at Foix; we
took our dejeune, at which we had delicious grapes and execrable wine:
one instance amongst a thousand of the ingenuity of man in spoiling the
gifts of Providence, and its agent, Nature. We walked to the Pont du
Gard, about a mile from our inn. As it is at an equal distance from
Avignon and from Nismes, parties, from each of these towns, make it a
point of rendezvous, establish a pic-nic, and pass the day together.
When we arrived near the Pont, we saw a large company from Nismes,
regaling themselves in a spacious, dry cavern, well situated for their
purpose, and affording a most agreeable shade. We passed them to go
nearer to the bridge: one of them followed us; his accent announced him
to be an Irishman, and his uniform to be an officer in the French
service. He conversed with us a few minutes, and promised to call on me
at Nismes.
At the side of the lower part of the Pont du Gard and forming part of
it, is a bridge over the Gardon: this bridge has been widened in modern
times, but the ancient wheel-track is still seen on the side nearest to
the aqueduct. Above the bridge rise three tiers of arches, each tier
diminishing in the size, and increasing in the number, of its arches.
Along the top is the canal, through which flowed the water for the
supply of Nematia at the distance of seventeen miles. The whole has the
appearance of a magnificent screen of arcades, thrown across the narrow
and rocky valley through which the Gardon forces its way. Both the sides
of this screen are beautiful, but the lower side is most to be admired.
The ground falls away before it, and gives it the appearance of being
loftier: it is in a quite secluded scene, in which no road or bridge
appears.
This precious remain of antiquity is sufficiently ruined and touched by
time to harmonize well with the landscape, but yet so fresh and entire
as to call up no idea of decay or desolation. The aqueducts of Frejus
and of Rome are curious, but they possess no beauty in themselves, and
derive none from the surrounding scenery. Suppose the Pont du Gard in a
plain, it would still be beautiful as a piece of architecture: see it,
where it is, enclosed by the sides of a deep valley and bestriding a
rapid river, you will admit it to be an object at once grand and
picturesque.
We arrived at Nismes at three in the afternoon, tired and overpowered by
the heat and dust. We gave up three hours to rest and cool ourselves,
and at six set down to dinner; we then walked out by the moon-light of a
southern clime. We passed several handsome buildings; at length I beheld
one which immediately arrested my attention: "that _shall_ be the Maison
Quarree," exclaimed I. Never had I seen, nor have I since seen any thing
in architecture so graceful: it seemed by the "uncertain moon-light"
rather to be descending from the skies than standing on the earth.
We returned the next morning. The portico, from its having been in the
shade the preceding evening, we had then been hardly able to
distinguish: this, with the interior and every part of this exquisitely
beautiful building, and all its fine proportions and finished ornaments,
filled us with delight and wonder.
The amphitheatre is close by the Maison Quarree: the site of the larger
building may very fairly be indicated by that of the smaller, when the
smaller edifice is the more interesting of the two. Milton, without any
such excuse, talks of "the earth close by the moon;" though his critic
Bentley has indeed corrected the punctuation, "the earth, close by, the
moon." This is what may be called punctilious. Had I not since seen the
Coliseum, I should consider the amphitheatre of Nismes as
indestructible: luckily no builders of palaces have tried the
experiment. It is composed of enormous stones, large in all the three
dimensions, length, breadth, and thickness, which must have required
powers of mechanism, known to the Romans, but now lost, to raise them to
the height at which they now are seen. This amphitheatre is said to be
rather less in size and rather more ruined than that of Verona: it is
entire, however, all but the lower ranges of seats: the arena is
occasionally used for a spectacle somewhat resembling bullfights.
In the gardens are found remains of ancient baths, many pieces of mosaic
pavement, and the ruins of the temple of Diana, in which are shown other
objects found in digging in the neighbourhood. They were blowing up rock
on the side of the hill near the garden, to improve and extend it still
further, and to facilitate the approach to the Tour Magne, or great
tower of Roman construction. To this tower we ascended; the tower itself
we could not ascend: it is a hollow cylinder, without staircase, or
roof, or platform; the view, however, even at the bottom of the tower
is sufficiently extensive all around. Southward, it reaches to the
Mediterranean; and though I do not believe that the sea reached to
Nismes, though such is the popular notion;--yet its shores have much
receded on this coast. Aigues Mortes, where St. Louis embarked for the
crusades, is now three leagues from the sea. Frejus, Forum Julii, is no
longer a port: it is probable, then, that the Tour Magne was once a
light-house or a land-mark.
Nismes, like almost every other ancient town, is ill-built, ill-paved,
and ill-pierced; but then, in compensation, it has a Boulevard all
around, or broad road lined with trees; and houses and buildings are
continued all along with very few intervals of interruption. The city
being in the centre, here, on these Boulevards, are united the
accommodations of a town with the fresh air and promenades of the
country: indeed, of fresh air there is rather too much; it often amounts
to wind, and then the dust becomes inconvenient; but the gardens are
delightful. In this town are thirteen thousand protestants. I know not
that English protestants can choose a better town than Nismes for a
retreat in the South of France: they will find places of public worship,
the want of which many of them regret when abroad: there are also
schools kept by protestants. The protestantism is Genevan; but
_n'im__porte_; all protestantism is, to a protestant, equally true: we
have seen a Calvinist and a Lutheran King become good members of the
Church of England at the end of the seventeenth, and beginning of the
eighteenth century.
In the evening we rambled among the vineyards on the slopes, and reached
the summits of the hills at the foot of which Nismes is situated at the
edge of a vast plain. A locality like this seems favourable to a great
town. It draws its supply of wood, wine, and water, from the one sort of
country, and its corn, meat, and forage, from the other.
We supped in the salon of our inn, the Louvre: there were several
tables. At one of these was seated a party of Spaniards, who vociferated
and gesticulated in a manner which they meant perhaps to impose on us
for dignity, but which I thought inconsistent with Castilian gravity. At
the time, it did not occur to either party that our opinion of each
other was perfectly insignificant to both. At our table, besides other
persons, we met a gentleman with whom I was acquainted at Avignon; and
another who, after supper, (for he economized his time for eating,)
began a political tirade, which, though addressed to the French, derived
its chief zest from the presence of the English. He asserted that the
Duke of Wellington was surprised by the approach of Napoleon to
Brussels, quitted the ball-room in silk stockings, and went to lose the
battle of Waterloo, which battle was gained by the Prussians. As a sort
of appeal was made to me to defend the military reputation of my Irish
countryman, I objected the improbability of a surprise, as two battles
had just been fought in the neighbourhood. He reverted to the conclusion
to be drawn from the silk stockings: I replied "Puisqu'il y a des
improbabilites des deux cotes, il faut demander au Duc lui-meme."[57]
_En attendant_, (for the answer, though, no doubt, it would have been
satisfactory, could not be quickly obtained,) the politician began a
discussion on the wealth of England, the existence of which he
questioned on account of its debt and paper currency. Again appealed to,
I admitted that the taxes raised for the payment of the interest of the
debt made every individual by so much the poorer, but that the national
wealth was not diminished, as the taxes passed into the hands of the
fund-holders. He then went off to paper money, on which he talked with
great good sense: "Reste a savoir si l'Angleterre est veritablement
riche; pour moi je crois que la chose representee n'equivaut pas ce qui la
represente."[58] I quote the purport of his words, and the words as
nearly as I can remember them.
He hit, I think, upon the cause of late and present commercial
embarrassments: wealth is over-represented. The quantity of paper in
circulation at any given time is not a sufficient criterion whether this
be or be not the case. Every re-issue or new issue of a bank note is in
fact a new coinage: in this, as well as in the facility of their
creation, bank notes differ from metallic currency, and this difference
is, to the state, the more important of the two. Representation is
continually "pressing on the limits" of real wealth, and is from time to
time regorged. "Pay your bank notes in money," said Napoleon in answer
to some boasting statement of the wealth of England. This too is the
only security against bankruptcies.
Our politician was evidently seeking a quarrel. In this purpose he was
by no means encouraged by the rest of the company, who, every now and
then, threw in some qualifying, temperate remark. At the pressing
instance of Kenelm, who, not having sufficient experience to be
impartial, felt his choler rising, we retired to rest. The next day,
after a farewell view of the Maison Quarree, we returned to Avignon,
which we reached in six hours.
A protestant friend, being at Avignon, wished to see the Maison Quarree,
and inquired of me if it was safe to go to Nismes. "Will not the papists
murder me?" The cause of this dread is curious; the explication of it
may amuse the impartial, that is, almost nobody; but I will venture. The
protestants of Nismes had all been favourable to the Revolution. The
ancient royal government of France had not indeed, like the queen and
parliament of England, insisted on every man's changing his faith, but
it had resisted the introduction of a new religion: these two cases are
very different, though perpetually confounded both by the tolerant and
intolerant amongst us. However, the protestants of Nismes very naturally
threw their weight into that balance, the preponderance of which
promised them the assurance of their civil rights and political
consideration. The catholics on the contrary, not having these motives,
and carrying into politics that love of stability, the principle of
which they find in their religion, disliked political change, and were
well pleased with the return of the king.
"C'est la le beau cote de la religion catholique; elle n'approuve pas
les revolutions,"[59] said a protestant minister of a protestant king.
He regarded the matter like a statesman, and no further.
During the republican and imperial governments the protestants were the
stronger party at Nismes, and had made the catholics feel that they were
so. On the restoration, a scuffle took place between the parties, in
which some half dozen protestants were killed. Of this unlucky affray
great advantage was taken in England: committees were appointed and
subscriptions raised for the purpose of succouring "our distressed
brethren, the protestants of the south of France." The "no popery" cry
being once well set up, it was thought right to inquire into the extent
of the mischief. A letter was returned from France, reporting nearly
what has been stated above; this letter the noble person to whom it was
addressed kept in his pocket some days before he sent it to the
committee, that the "no popery" cry might not go down too soon. The fear
entertained by my friend of being murdered by the papists at Nismes need
not now be wondered at: it was only three or four years since such
things had happened; and it is well known, that what has happened once,
may happen again.
Hatred of popery is, in England, an amiable sentiment originating in a
love of religious truth and confirmed by political wisdom. In such a
sentiment, so pure in its source, so wise in its direction, heroes of
all sorts may glory. In them it is distinguishable from poperyphobia:
they are not afraid of popery: popery is afraid of them.
Shakspeare's Hotspur cries out, "A plague o' this quiet life: I want
work." For myself, being no hero, I love a quiet life; but I cannot
refuse to heroes the tribute of admiration that is due to them and their
laurels.
For the catholics of Nismes, I believe them to be more devout and more
decorous than those of the rest of France. The circumstances in which
they are placed render this probable. The catholics of England are the
most zealous and the most decent of all Christendom: an Italian
nobleman, who knew them well, said to me, in speaking of them, "ce sont
des saints:"[60] a papal nuncio to the Brazils, thrown by a sort of
shipwreck on the English coast, and going to chapel in London, was
delighted to find what he called "so precious a portion of the church of
Christ." I went into some of the churches of Nismes, and found, on the
inner door of one of them, an _ecriteau_ requesting the faithful not to
allow their dogs to follow them to church. At Avignon the dogs made
love, or war, and barked in the churches at pleasure.
Reluctant to approach to the catastrophe of my residence in France, I
loiter on my way, and turn aside into by-paths. Yet a little more of
detail, I hope neither tedious nor uninstructive,--yet a few more
notices respecting the principal personage in this drama of woe;--and I
will proceed to fix the reader's admiration of the character of that
person, to call forth his compassion for my sufferings, and his
indignation at the conduct of those medical men, whom, though I have
described their conduct as it deserves, I endeavour to pity and to
pardon.