A DAY IN NISMES.

CHAPTER I.

CHATEAU GARDON.

THE small town of Uzès in the department of Gard, that now numbers about seven thousand inhabitants, was formerly the chief place in the Uségeois country, and, for at least nine hundred years, was an episcopal see. During the Roman rule it possessed a College of Priests, devoted to the worship of Augustus. Uzès has many antique inscriptions that verify the existence of this college. Christianity was early introduced into Uzès. Constance, one of its first Bishops, attended the Council of Arles in 455, and Probatius, that of Agde in 506.

The Reformation made rapid progress in Uzès. The greater part of the population early followed that movement, at the head of which was the Bishop with his whole chapter.

Below the episcopal palace, now made the sub

B

prefecture and town-hall, is a splendid terrace, shaded by fine trees, and commanding a noble view. If we follow this cool avenue we may rest at a little pavilion, half hidden by the branches of an enormous lote tree; it is Racine's pavilion,— the author of Athalie resided here, occasionally, during his youth; his uncle was a canon of Uzès.

The climate of Uzès on a summer's day, is thus described for us by Racine, in a letter to De la Fontaine, June 13, 1662, and it remains, as we may suppose, pretty much the same now.

"The harvest is getting in here; opposite to me are a heap of reapers, roasting in the blaze, and working away like demons. When they are out of breath they throw themselves on the ground, under the vertical beams of the sun, sleep a few minutes, and then jump up again. I only see this from my window; I could not be out a moment without dying; the air is as hot as the breath of a lighted oven."

From the terrace of this pavilion the eye wanders over the delightful valley of Gisfort; the heat of Uzès being, as we have seen, most formidable, we will descend into this privileged valley, with any patient reader who may be so amiable as to accompany us, and having examined the ruins of an ancient Druidical temple, now in rapid course of demolition by the thistles in summer and the frosts in winter, will cross the noisy brook

by a rustic bridge, and returning in a northern direction, follow the windings of the valley.

It seems quite extraordinary to be so soon transported from the dusty roads and dark streets of Uzès to such a fresh and green retreat. We see all around us tumultuous and glittering cascades, sharp rocks, grassy slopes, and hills draped by noble trees, and surmounted by the picturesque tower of Uzès, shooting up over the landscape, light and aerial as an Italian belfry.

The beautiful fountain of Eure, that formerly fed the aqueduct of Nismes, emerges foaming from fissures at the base of a rock that stands in advance of the others, like a sentinel. From this spring formerly drank the Roman legions, but now industry, with its dikes and screaming mills, has claimed a right to it, and the marvels of modern art are produced at the beautiful silk manufactory adjacent, by the aid of its waters. The acanthus, with its corinthian leaves, profusely decorates the oddly-shaped peaks and spires of the rocks, sharpened into whimsical forms by the continuous agency of the active fountain.

The shadowy light of eve adorns the whole scene, and the odours from the valley rise luxuriously beneath the falling dew; and now, full of the pleasantness of the landscape, and soothed by the song of the nightingale, that thrills sweet and clear over the hoarse tumult of the factories, we

will bear away with us a remembrance of beauty

and harmony.

"The situation of Uzès," says Racine, in another letter to De la Fontaine, "you must know is on a very high hill, which hill is one continued rock, so that in any weather we may go dry-shod round the town. The surrounding fields are covered by olives yielding the finest-looking fruit imaginable, but very deceitful, nevertheless."

Stepping downward out of Uzès, along the winding road leading to Nismes, we find it marked by twelve stones, erected in 1780, at distances of about one mile from each.

At St. Nicholas de Campagnae, half way between Uzès and Nismes, the river Gardon is crossed by an ancient bridge, at the head of which still stand the remains of a convent, with its outworks, formerly arrayed for defence in days of trouble. There are few sites in France more delicious; the water is clear, the vegetation rich and varied; there are ruins admirably tinged by sun and shade, and, farther on, threatening rocks, grey with lichens, or weltering in the light.

At the base of these rocks the rapid stream whirls tumultuously round some shapeless wreck, the remnant of a mill of ancient construction. Could this be the mill that Lewis the Fourteenth possessed between Nismes and Uzès, and whence, eight months before his death, to postpone the

fatal term by choice nourishment, he had, by the aid of fourteen mules richly caparisoned, fourteen loads of the finest flour? We will suppose it was; but be this as it may, it is by this mill, near St. Nicholas, with Blauzac on one side, and Sagriers on the other, that on an ascent planted with mulberry trees and olives, and showing farther on rich fields of wheat, rises conspicuously the ancestral mansion of Felix, a young Frenchman descended from one of the old noble families of Provence, and owning property there to a large extent, with whose movements we are desirous to interest the reader, as he is about to visit places rich in historical associations and remembrances, and also pleasant to the eye to look upon.

The turrets and battlements of Château Gardon carry us back to the middle ages, whilst a profusion of spacious windows, lighting and ventilating long suites of modern apartments, luxuriously cultivated gardens, richly filled conservatories, and well-kept avenues, indicate it to be the dwelling of prosperous people in the nineteenth century.

Château Gardon is, indeed, the present abode of the young and happy. "All that's bright must fade!" And now, leaving Felix and his fair bride Suzanne, to felicity whilst it is within their reach, we will say something of the dashing river from which their habitation is named.

The Gardon is as restless as the imagination