Chapter 11

The Maison Carree is a beautiful bijou, better known than any other of the curiosities of Nismes. I believe the opinion of Mons. Seguier (formed from a laborious examination of the nail-holes belonging to its last bronze inscription) is generally adopted; viz. that it was a temple dedicated to Caius and Lucius Caesar, grandsons of Augustus. A perfect copy of it, built from actual measurement, may be found in the Temple of Victory and Concord, in the Duke of Buckingham's gardens at Stowe. So admirable is the preservation of the original in every part, owing to the dry and pure air of Languedoc, as almost to operate as a disadvantage. Its freshness and compactness suggest rather too much the idea of a modern pavilion of twenty or thirty years standing, instead of that of a temple; and if I may venture to say so, the same want of the aerugo of age, which renders it more valuable as an architectural relic, produces an incongruous and unpoetical effect on the imagination. Age, in fact, has its own characteristic branch of beauty. An old man with curly hair and a fresh smooth complexion, like Godwin's Struldbrugg, St. Leon, would be an unpleasant and unnatural object. There is a masculine and imposing medium between youthful vigour and decay, in which the leading features of the former man may be distinctly traced; as in Wordsworth's beautiful description of the old knight of Rylstone, and Sir Walter Scott's fine portraiture of Archibald Bell-the-Cat: and I think the analogy holds good in classical remains. Somewhat should be decayed for effect's sake; and those parts only left which are strikingly beautiful, or of a leading and important nature. The Arena, which we next visited, is perhaps more consonant to this standard than the Maison Carree. Its structure is similar to that of the Colosseum at Rome, of which, however, it falls infinitely short in size and grandeur, while at the same time it so far exceeds it in perfectness, as to give a complete idea to an inexperienced eye of its original figure and arrangement, and of the admirable system of accommodation which such places possessed. It has just enough of the graceful decay of age to render it picturesque, and enough of freshness to answer the questions of the antiquarian: and neither too much nor too little is left to the imagination. Mr. Albanis Beaumont, in his work on the Maritime Alps, calculates the number of persons which this building must have held at 16,599, and the spectators in the Colosseum at 34,000. He also states the widest interior circumference of the Arena, as 1110-1/2 feet. The plate engraved in his work, dated 1795, represents two square towers over the principal entrance, erected perhaps by Charles Martel, when he converted the building into a citadel; they have however been since destroyed, and the work of clearing away the houses which defaced both its inside and outside, commenced originally by Louis XVI., has been completed. It now stands in a broad open space, adapted to set off its full height and proportions.

The public garden also presents a well-arranged group of interesting objects; but to behold them to any advantage, it is necessary to turn your back upon a pert little cafe, roofed with party-coloured tiles like the scales of a fancy fish, which glares from under the shade of the trees. From hence you look over a handsome balustrade into a large excavated space adorned with stone steps, which collects the waters of a fine fountain, and in which the foundations of the ancient Baths are still visible. On the summit of the opposite cliff, from whence these waters issue, the ruined Pharos, which forms the principal landmark of Nismes, rises with great majesty, and at its foot, immediately to the left of the fountain, the ruined temple of Diana, though not individually striking, combines admirably with the general group. From the fountain arises a beautifully clear stream, which is distributed in wide and deep stone channels through some of the principal streets at Nismes, and greatly contributes to the ornament and cleanliness of the town. The Pharos, or Tour Magne, to which I scrambled from the Baths, fully answers to its distant appearance. There is a peculiar dignity and solidity in a figure approaching to the pyramidical, when placed on the top of a rock; and independent of its height, which is between eighty and ninety feet, the Pharos has this recommendation also. Its interior appears a curious work of masonry. A high wide conical vault, without pillar or buttress, constitutes almost the whole internal space, admitting just light sufficient to render "the darkness visible," and give additional solemnity to a mere shell of brickwork.

We found the Hotel du Louvre (to which we had been recommended in preference to the Hermite's inn, the Hotel du Luxembourg) excellent in every respect. The two hotels adjoin one another so closely, be it observed, and are so similar in appearance, that one may walk into the wrong salle-a-manger, and only discover the mistake through the difference of the waiter's faces.

May 15.--Seventeen miles to New Lunel, where we breakfasted indifferently enough, not liking French customs sufficiently to qualify the bad coffee with a glass of the brandy of this place, which is as celebrated as its wine. New Lunel, which has grown on the back of the old town, in consequence of a branch of the Languedoc canal which runs close to it, is a neat and thriving place, but possesses no feature worthy of remark. The country is of the same character as the town, a dull rich flat, over which one may sleep with the soothing consciousness that every thing is going on well with its trade and agriculture. To Montpelier eighteen miles. Within the last league or two, the country begins rather to improve, and rise into somewhat of an undulating form; but no romantic or interesting feature marks the approach to this celebrated town.

"How I envy you the sight of that delightful Montpelier, of which one reads and hears so much!" exclaims many an untravelled lady, no doubt, to her travelled brother or cousin. No place certainly sounds more familiarly in the ear as a novel-scene; and its very name is associated with ideas of beauty, verdure, retirement, orange groves, hanging woods, and all the et ceteras of a spot.

"Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give."

The truth is, that the Montpelier of the imagination may be found at Vico, Sorrento, Massa di Carrara; or, with a little alteration, in some spots of our own Devonshire coast. The real Montpelier is a large, opulent, well-frequented provincial capital, full of noise and dress, and possessing an air of neatness and fashion, but totally devoid of any thing allied to the poetry of nature. It stands on a round sweeping hill, commanding a considerable extent of land and sea; but the sea-coast is chiefly an expanse of low ground and etangs, or salt-water lakes; and the neighbouring hill country, resembling in form a succession of cultivated downs, has neither height nor variety to recommend it. The most interesting spot in Montpelier is the Place Peyrou, a public garden raised on high terraces, in a situation commanding the rest of the town. At the extremity of the principal walk stands an elegant open building of the Grecian order, overarching a basin into which the waters of the celebrated aqueduct of Montpelier are received, and from thence distributed through the town. The aqueduct itself, which springs from the foot of this pavilion, and conveys the water from the crest of an opposite hill, is a truly noble work, and, though modern, worthy in every respect of a Roman aedile. It was erected by the states of Languedoc in honour of Louis XIV. whose statue is placed in the garden. Like the Pont du Gard, it consists of two tiers of arches, fifty of which we counted in the lower range, and one hundred and fifty in the upper, until the lessening perspective baffled all farther attempts at reckoning. The architecture is inferior in dignity and massiveness to that of the Roman work, but exceeds it in extent, and probably in the quantity of masonry employed. Nothing can be more elegant than its general form, and the manner in which it is united to the terrace of the Place Peyrou.

Whatever natural objects are interesting in the environs, may be seen also from this elevated spot, though I am inclined to think that the views of distant Pyrenees which we were taught to expect, are a fiction existing in the minds of some travellers. At all events, the glimpses must be partial, and only to be obtained on a fine day. The Cevennes mountains rise, however, to a tolerable height in the distance to the west; and to the south-east, the remains of the old town and cathedral of Maguelone, form a striking distant group, projecting like a low reef of rocks into the sea at the distance of three or four miles. To judge from the site of this ancient town, which tradition describes as the original nucleus of Montpelier, the sea must have made great inroads on the neighbouring coast. The air, it is said, is growing less wholesome than formerly, owing probably to the accumulation of the etangs. From the edge of the coast to Maguelone, the distance cannot be much less than a mile and a half at low water.

The Montpelliards are considered a scientific people; and, at all events, they seem to have found out the secret of perpetual motion, if we may judge from the experience of the first night we spent in the town. At half past nine, the principal street, which our hotel overlooked, began to swarm with heads. The whole population were on the alert, promenading during the greater part of the night; and such a busy hum arose from beneath the windows, which the heat obliged us to keep open, that it was impossible even to think of sleeping till daybreak. Our accommodations indeed were not of the most tempting sort; for finding the Hotel du Midi full of travellers, and consequently saucy and unaccommodating, we had tried the Cheval Blanc, described to us as the next best hotel; and detestable enough we found it. On stepping however next morning into a cafe and restaurant in the Place de Comedie, whose superior appearance had attracted us, we found that M. Pical, the master of it, was in the habit of letting rooms, and we immediately removed to his house. Nothing indeed could be more clean and elegant than its accommodations, or more refreshing after the dusty journey of the former day, and the nightly bustle of the streets, than its quiet and coolness, situated as it is in a large area in the suburbs or boulevards. The salle-a-manger partakes of the same character with the rest of the house, and the carte contains a list of many more good things than we were inclined to do justice to. In short, no traveller can do better than order himself to be driven directly to this house, which comprises all the advantages of a private residence at a reasonable charge, with the recommendations of great attention and civility.

This day, May 16, we attended service at the French Protestant Church, and were gratified both with spending a morning on the shores of the Mediterranean in a manner which reminded us of an English Sunday, and witnessing also the full and respectable attendance of fellow Protestants. The service was performed in the following order:--1, a psalm; 2, a general confession of sins; 3, another psalm; 4, a sermon; 5, the commandments and the creed; 6, a long prayer for the sick and distressed, the king and the royal family; 7, another psalm, and the blessing. The singing was impressive, not so much from any intrinsic merit in the performance, as the earnestness in which the whole congregation joined in it, "singing praises lustily with a good courage," instead of deputing this branch of religious duty to half a dozen yawning and jangling charity children, assisted by the clerk and parish tailor. I believe it is an observation of Dr. Burney, in his History of Handel's Commemoration, that no sound proceeding from a great multitude can be discordant. In the present instance, certainly, the separate voices qualified and softened down each other, so as to produce a good compound. Of the sermon I cannot speak so favourably, for in truth it savoured somewhat of the conventicle style. Its theme was chiefly the raptures which persons experience under the influence of the Holy Spirit, and it was calculated to discourage all whose imaginations were not strong enough to assist in working them into this state. The manner of the preacher was however good, and his delivery fluent; and so great was the attention of the congregation, that during three quarters of an hour not a sound interrupted his voice, until, on his pausing to use his handkerchief, a general chorus of twanging noses took place, giving a ludicrous effect to what was, in fact, a mark of restraint and attention.

In the evening we departed for Cette. The road, according to the set phrase of the French Itineraire, is through a "campagne de plus agreables;" but our observation showed us only a bleak high common to the right, and to the left a succession of etangs and sandy flats, affording a prospect at once desolate and uninteresting. The space between the etangs and the road is generally marshy; and instead of a fine blue expanse of sea in motion, the horizon is commonly bounded by a long white sandy line, over which the sails of the little vessels appear very oddly. One or two houses erected on these ridges, which border the etangs, give to the view, if possible, a still more desolate appearance, being totally unaccompanied by even a tree or a patch of verdure, and only serve to remind you of the nakedness of the land. Near Frontignan the prospect improves, as far merely as concerns its fertility; for it is in the vicinity of this town that the famous Frontignac wine, or to denominate it more correctly, the Muscat de Frontignan, is made. The only thing during this evening's route which could be considered as a feature, was the lofty cape at whose foot Cette stands; a perfect idea of which, from the side on which we approached it, is given by Vernet's picture of that port, in the Louvre. A bridge of fifty-one arches, traversing a series of swampy ground and etangs, connects this promontory with terra-firma, and crosses the great Languedoc canal, which communicates at this spot with the sea. A beautiful sunset, which made the whole expanse of back-water appear of a rose-colour, and which, I confess, I have seldom seen equalled in England, gave as much richness to the view as it was capable of receiving. There is naturally but little in it; and the effect of Vernet's view is derived from accidental circumstances purposely introduced; so that, on the whole, we wished that our evening's excursion had been confined to the Place Peyrou. I should, however, conceive the air of Cette to be much better adapted to tender lungs than that of Montpelier, as well from the difference of temperature, perceptible even to a person in sound health, as from the superior shelter which its situation affords; while the high and exposed site of Montpelier leaves a doubt whether, in most cases it would not be more hurtful than salutary. The productions of the neighbourhood of Cette are also in a more forward condition than those of Montpelier. We saw hedges of arbor vitae in full flower; and peaches two-thirds grown, in almost a wild state.

May 17.--We rose at five in the morning, desirous to secure a cool walk to the Tour des Pilotes, a signal post on the high cape above Cette. The sun was however prepared for us, and continued to grill us alive from the first moment; and, after all, the prospect from this station, to which you climb as if ascending the steep roof of a house, is not of a nature to repay the exertion. We went to satisfy our consciences that there was nothing to see, and we saw nothing. The Pyrenees, so far from being visible near Montpelier, cannot be distinguished even from this nearer point, excepting, perhaps, on a peculiarly clear day; and no other feature worth mentioning occurs. The coast presents a bare and uninhabited appearance, arising partly from the almost total want of trees. Our perquisitions in the town of Cette itself were more fortunate, though, by-the-by, it exceeds Lyons itself in dirt and ill smells. It is a place of considerable trade in proportion to its size, and is employed chiefly as an entrepot for goods, which may be landed and reshipped without paying duty: and a walk on the quay affords, in consequence, considerable varieties of the human face divine, neat as imported. I recognised a group of Catalan sailors by their brown jackets embroidered with shreds of gaudy cloth, their red night-caps, and the redicillas in which their hair was bagged. No race of men with whom I am at all acquainted bear so marked a character of animation and decision in every movement of ordinary life as these sturdy provincials, or would be more remarked by a stranger among a mixed concourse of different nations. The same exuberance of animal motion which degenerates into restlessness and buffoonery in the Neapolitan, or the native of Languedoc, assumes a more dignified character in the Catalan, who is certainly a gentleman of Nature's own making. One of the crew, a tall athletic fellow, was holding forth to the rest on some trivial matter with a varied and graceful action, which might have served as a model to a painter. The rest were at breakfast; but even their mode of pouring the wine on their tongues at arm's length, from the long spout of a sort of glass kettle, had somewhat classical in it, and reminded me of the recumbent figure in the Herculanean painting, who is drinking in the same manner. Simple as it may appear, this knack is not to be acquired without a long apprenticeship, and I was ludicrously reminded of my abortive efforts to master it by the sight of the party on the quay. It certainly is adapted for making the most of any liquid, and might have been adopted during such a scarcity of water as the Hanoverian consul informed us existed in Cette during the former year. Not a drop of rain fell for ten months, and water at last became dearer than wine.

On crossing the bridge, we observed a man on one of the piers, spearing aiguilles de mer, a beautiful silvery fish, of which he had taken several. They were about two feet long, and of the shape of an eel, excepting in the form of their long picked heads and jaws, which correspond exactly with their name. The tunny is also caught in abundance near this part of the coast; and Vernet has introduced the fishery, from a lack of picturesque circumstances, into one of his sea-ports, painted by royal order. No other fish can better deserve this particular compliment, uniting, as it does, size, flavour, and the merits of both fish and flesh in a great degree. The "thon marine" is its plainest and best preparation, and is preferable, with a dish of salad, to all the high-seasoned dishes which form a Provencal bill of fare; in short, if our national sirloin obtained knighthood, such a good lenten substitute as the tunny deserves canonization.[39] I cannot say so much for the dish, common enough among Frenchmen, which a well-dressed man, the harlequin to a troop of comedians, was eating in the salle-a-manger when we entered; viz. a raw artichoke with oil and vinegar. Sterne, it appears, little knew the extent of the ass's good taste, when he deprived him of this article in the Tabella Cibaria, "to see how he would eat a macaroon."

[Footnote 39: A similar dignity was conferred by some heathen poet, I believe, on the _potnia syke_ (the august, or god-like fig).]

We set off at two o'clock in the day on our return to Montpelier, not a little envying the horses and mules their cool quarters in the immense remise. Within a mile of Cette lies the breakwater of rough stones, which forms a prominent object in the foreground of Vernet's picture, and serves to ascertain the spot from whence he took his design. At Villeneuve, where we stopped to bait the horses, we were diverted by a scene characteristic of the country. A bag had just been found on the road by the conductor of the Cette diligence, which drove up to the inn while we were there; and on Durand disowning it, a shabby-looking foot passenger claimed it, but could not establish his plea by identifying a single article. In a few seconds every soul in the inn, excepting ourselves, was assembled to take part in the discussion, and argued the pro and con with a vehemence of voice and action, which would have made a stranger believe it was a matter of life and death to each. A female inside-passenger, with an infant in her arms, which she nearly let drop in her energies, was the coryphee of this chorus of tongues, which could be compared to nothing but bees in the act of swarming, or the cackle which the entrance of a fox causes in a hen-roost. We were no longer surprised at hearing the peasants whom we met conversing in a tone which we had mistaken for quarrelling. The French generally, indeed, are fond of noise and action and emphasis about what does not concern their own interests a jot, while a London mob indulges an equal degree of curiosity by silent gaping; but these good folks certainly outdid anything I ever witnessed in France before. An action for defamation brought in Languedoc[40] might, with propriety, be worded, "that the defendant did, with four-and-twenty mouths, four-and-twenty tongues, and four-and-twenty pair of lungs, vilify and damnify his neighbour's reputation;" for it is probable that a scolding match could not take place in the open air of that country, without enlisting volunteer seconds to that amount on both sides, all equally bawling and violent. At Nismes, a fellow bellows across the street to offer himself as cicerone, in a tone which seems intended to warn you of a mad dog at your heels; and, in general, the lungs of Languedoc appear constructed on a larger and more discordant scale than is usual, and their volubility is rather a contradiction to the yea and nay appellation of the country. A respectable Frenchman informed us, that the peasants of Languedoc were considered to possess much wit and ingenuity by those who could understand their patois, which he frankly owned was unintelligible to himself. Their liveliness and animal exuberance are as strong a contrast to the immoveable form into which they are swathed when infants, as the flutter of a butterfly is to its torpidity as a chrysalis; indeed a fanciful person might be apt to suppose, that on emerging from their bandages, they indemnify themselves for the previous constraint by a life of perpetual fidget, and that the same re-action takes place as in the case of Munchausen's horn, which played for half an hour of its own accord when unfrozen. To speak seriously, nothing can be more piteously ridiculous than the state of a poor Languedoc child, swathed and bandaged into all the rigidity of a mummy, and totally motionless. Our friend H. declares, that his attention was once drawn behind a door by a faint cry, and that he there discovered and took down one of these little teraphims from the hook by which it hung suspended by a loop, like a young American savage. "C'est la mode du pays," is the only account of the practice which you get either here or at Nice; and it is fortunate that they have not still improved on it by a hint from the black nurses of Barbadoes, who embalm weakly young Creoles in wrappers lined with assa-foetida, and think it prejudicial to "burst their cerements" more than once in a fortnight.

[Footnote 40: The word Oc, according to tradition, meant in the old patois of the country "yes:" hence the original derivation of "Langue d'Oc."]