In the early seventeenth-century Church of St. Anne, which stands at the northwest corner of the Place de la République, or Place Royale as it is now called, there are gathered together many beautiful fragments of the sculptured statues, busts, heads, and tombs that have been found in and around the town. The tombs, both Pagan and early Christian, are of exceptional historic interest, not only to the townsfolk, but to the world at large, for by their curious inscriptions much may be gathered of the occupations followed, and the lives led, by the early inhabitants of the town. To go through them all would require a work devoted to the subject alone, but they are varied enough to show that Arles enjoyed a wide celebrity as a burial-ground.
The Pagan and Christian tombs found in the Alyscamps (Elysian Fields) have been an inexhaustible mine of wealth, not only to collectors and museums, but to the inhabitants of the town and surrounding country. The massive monolithic stone coffins have been turned to use, and in the district one finds them converted into water-troughs, benches, washtubs, and even pig-troughs. The dust of the dead of twenty centuries amounts to very little, and the natives evidently thought it a work of supererogation to carve, with much labour, the limestone rocks into articles of daily use when they had such quantities lying ready to their hands.
The Church of St. Anne forms a very fitting museum for many of the interesting tombs that have been rescued from the hands of ruthless utilitarians, and there they can be studied in peaceful and solemn surroundings. Many of the more imposing of these ancient funeral monuments are now used as altars in the churches of Provence, as in the Church of St. Trophimus, immediately opposite the Museum.
The inscriptions on these tombs form an abbreviated biography of the former occupants of the town. They tell of “Nautæ Arlatenses,” or boatmen, who plied the craft that carried the merchandise up and down the Rhone; the “Fabrii navales,” or naval builders, a body that were held in high esteem by the most exalted in the city; and the naval architects, a grade higher still, professional gentlemen who mixed with intimacy with the “Upper Ten”; the “Utriculare,” a separate body of watermen who plied large rafts, supported by air bladders made of sheep-and-goat skins, over the shallow lagoons to outlying islands and to the port of Fos. From this source we learn of the oil merchants and sail or tarpaulin manufacturers, as well as of the students and scholars who flourished in the Gallic-Greco-Roman city.
One of the most interesting biographical tombs removed from the Alyscamps is that of Julia Tyrannia. It records not only the highly appreciated virtues and accomplishments of this young lady, whose life was cut short at the
age of twenty, but on two panels on one side the musical instruments on which she performed are cut in deep relief: a lyre, a guitar, very much like a modern mandoline, a water-organ with nine pipes, one of the earliest representations of this instrument (there is a similar one carved in the fourth century on the tomb of Theodosius at Constantinople), and a syrinx, or panpipes, in a box. Underneath this latter there is a lamb, which might either typify the gentle disposition of the occupant or that she was of the Christian faith.
There is often great difficulty in distinguishing between the Pagan and Christian tombs, owing to the similarity of the symbols used; but in some cases the newer faith expresses hopes that are lacking in the Pagan inscriptions, as a comparison of these two free translations clearly shows:
And this on the tomb of Concordius, a Christian priest of the fourth century:
The inscriptions on most of the tombs evince that the departed were held in tender regard by their bereft relatives and friends. Some of them are quite touching human documents, manifesting the deep attachment that parents had for their children. Many elaborately carved tombs, with short stumpy figures, lacking entirely any æsthetic beauty, but full of ingenuity to express symbolically the Christian story and traditions, have been found; and one of the latest additions to the Museum is an early Pagan tomb of great excellence of workmanship, evidently belonging to the first century of the Christian era. The figures carved round it have an entirely different character from those on the Christian tombs of a later date. This was found in La Camargue when the railway to Les Maries was in course of construction.
The Alyscamps, the vast cemetery, where most of these tombs were found, lies to the south of the town on the farther side of the broad “Avenue Victor Hugo.” The antiquity of this burial-ground is indisputable. When it was consecrated for Christian burial by St. Trophimus may well be a matter for dispute, for it is a little uncertain who St. Trophimus really was. He is the apostle of Arles, and legend makes him one of the companions of St. Paul who accompanied him on his travels; but this claim was not put forward until the twelfth century, and after the time when the saint’s bones were transferred from the Alyscamps to the Church of St. Etienne, now famous as the Church of St. Trophimus. Whoever the St. Trophimus may have been, there is very little doubt that the Church of St. Honorat was built by St. Virgil, who probably utilised the site of an ancient Pagan or early Christian temple.
The Alyscamps was well supplied with churches and chapels, at one time possessing as many as nineteen. Even the early Church of St. Honorat, when it was rebuilt, had chapels added to it by the pious, and still more by the aristocratic families of the seventeenth century. The nave of the church is in ruins, although other parts are in tolerable repair. The pillars, which support the roof and separate the nave from the aisles, are enormous columns about thirty feet in circumference. The additions of later times have made the interior plan of the church rather confusing, and the ruinous state of the exterior gives one the impression that a bombardment or an earthquake shock have rendered some assistance in tumbling walls and ceilings to the ground.
All through the Middle Ages the Alyscamps was in high favour as a burial-ground, and bodies from distant parts were brought to it for interment, but its popularity declined somewhat after the removal of the remains of St. Trophimus. At intervals there seemed to be a slight revival, for we find that chapels were added to the original collection of buildings as late as the seventeenth century, although before this period the collector had been busy among the tombs, and Charles IX. (the same monarch who consented to the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s day) gave away many of the more beautiful of the sarcophagi to his friends and intimates.
The vast field of tombs rapidly fell a prey to the vandal hands of collectors, and one can readily understand that
the large trade in stone coffins would make folk timid of patronising a graveyard that was subject to such unholy raids. Much ground of the Alyscamps has been turned over to the plough, and the railway company has erected large repairing shops upon a portion of it near the Church of St. Honorat. A number of the great massive tombs have, however, been collected and placed at the foot of the tall poplars that line either side of the avenue that leads from the ruined gateway of the cemetery to the ancient church. Here and there other monuments and larger vaults break the monotonous regularity of the long series of stone mausoleums, but nothing can rob the Alyscamps of the mournful pathos of its history.
The Cathedral of St. Trophimus, which stands opposite the Museum, was built in the twelfth century, and has a distinguished west portal. The absolute plainness of the surrounding walls enhances the rich effect of the deeply recessed arch which springs from the curious sculptured frieze that forms the lintel of the door. On this porch the characteristic ornamentations of the Greeks, Romans, and Gauls have all been pressed into service without injury to one another, although the spirit that animates the whole is mainly concerned in giving expression to the Christian story.
The interior of the Cathedral is plain and simple after the elaborate work of the porch. The nave is separated from the narrow aisles by clustered pillars, which rise gracefully into lofty ogival vaults. The effect is a trifle gloomy and severe, but age adds its charm to this church, as it does to all the ancient buildings of Provence. The cloisters of St. Trophimus are justly famous, and like those at Montmajour and St. Paul’s at St. Remy, portions of them date from the eleventh century. The capitals of the double columns supporting the arcade in the cloisters at Arles are carved with religious subjects, so that even in the hours of relaxation, when they were taking exercise, the brothers had before their eyes, written in the stone, the story of their faith—right up to date too, for the monster “Tarasque” which St. Martha slew has not been overlooked, and on one of the capitals the sculptor has done his best to perpetuate its terrible visage.
Arles has a past unique in the annals of France. Every great movement that has taken place in the civilised world for the last two and a half thousand years helped to mould and shape the town one sees to-day. Its history of traditions reflects something of every period. The greatest, perhaps, was its connection with the Emperor Constantine, who lived for a period at the Palace, now ruined, which bears his name. His influence and tolerance combined to unite, at Arles, Pagan and Christian arts and religions. Everywhere one sees evidences of the fusion of the Greek and Gaul, the Gallic-Greek with the Roman, and still more the grafting of the new faith on to the old Pagan forms.
The city, proud of its traditions, may not be as happy in its relations with modern life and commerce as it was in the past with contemporary activities. Marseilles has left it centuries behind in the march of progress, and the great clumsy river-boats of the Rhone, that lie moored to the banks at Arles, contrast unfavourably with the ocean liners that crowd the harbours of the great seaport town. The Greek theatre and the Roman amphitheatre, built during the Empire’s greatest prosperity, are surrounded
with the earliest buildings and primitive arts of the revolutionary Christianity.
Everywhere in the town one comes across bits of ancient carvings and sculptures built into modern walls. Even the once palatial residence of the first Christian Emperor, to whom the town owed much of its prosperity, is to-day surrounded by humble buildings that thrust themselves against it with irreverent familiarity.
In the Place Royale there stands a curious obelisk found in the ancient Roman circus—a link with a still older civilisation. This Egyptian column was discovered towards the end of the seventeenth century, but was not placed in its present position till 1829.
It is only natural that Arles, which was probably the first town of any importance in Gaul to receive the Gospel, should be rich in Christian traditions and relics, and, if one can give credence to the legends of the city, it was, in the first century, about thirty years at most after the Crucifixion, closely in touch with the holy men and women, who are reputed to have landed at the point where the desolate little village of Les Saintes Maries still stands. This little town lies not more than twenty miles from Arles, and although most coastlines alter their contour and position in very short periods, geologists and scientists have asserted that the regions of the Camargue have not sensibly changed for twenty centuries. This fact, together with the recent discovery on the Camargue of a tomb of the first century, and the inscription found on the site of the Church of Les Maries, has somewhat revived belief in the ancient legend that King René popularised when he altered the name of the Church of St. Marie of the Boats, which dated from the sixth century, to Les Maries.
The interest that attaches to Christian Arles is deepened when we dip into the ancient traditions of the town. These old legends of the Saints period and the stones of Arles all speak of them, and keep alive many customs that a too prosaic common sense would soon allow to die.
Its population has diminished sadly since the Roman ramparts hemmed in and fortified the town, but the narrow streets and tightly packed houses seem hardly enough for the present population, which is barely one-third of what it was in its palmy days. Its curious twisting streets form a maze that is puzzling to the stranger, and the four principal places are replete with bewildering entrances and exits. The Place du Forum is small and almost modern, squeezed into the very heart of the town.
All that remains of the ancient forum are two pillars supporting a small entablature, so damaged and shorn of detail as to suggest the art of Egypt. In front of it stands the statue of Mistral, the poet of Provence, who
loved his country, its natural beauty, art, and legends with a passion that only a native can understand. His patriotism swelled so within him that he gave the Nobel prize of £4,000, awarded to him in 1904, to the Museum founded by him in Arles. He sang his country’s praises in hundreds of poems and verses, and many of them in the Provençal dialect. He was an enthusiast, whose ardour increased with advancing years. His statue stands in the busiest, or at least the most characteristic, part of the ancient town.
What there is of life centres in the Forum, noisy with the stamping of the fly-tormented cab horses, who stand round the little square waiting to be hired. Two hotels, four or five cafés and bars, two hairdresser’s shops, two newspaper and book shops, and one devoted to the sale of antique curios, make up the Place du Forum. Although the traffic in the town is small, it creates a deafening noise as it passes over the cobble-stoned streets.
So familiar are the inhabitants with classic beauty, daily before their eyes in dying monuments and living womenfolk, that they see no incongruity in the statuettes of the “Venus of Arles” or other classic figures being used by shopkeepers to illustrate the application of belts and surgical appliances and even modern clothing. Extremes meet in Arles; beauty and decay exist side by side; art and dirt ever did go hand in hand; and the loveliest women in the whole of France, perhaps in the world to-day, reek of the most obnoxious odour the nostril ever encountered, the pungent smell of garlic.
Nîmes, unlike its contemporary and neighbour Arles, has contrived to flourish even in a prosaic and commercial age. Its industries, light and refined in character, the weaving of silk and the pressing of the grapes, are not too violently opposed to its ancient traditions of beauty and luxurious living. Like Arles, it has an early origin, but of a religious rather than a mundane order. The Celtic inhabitants of Gaul fixed upon the site, and gave it a name which in the language of its founders signifies a spring. The Romans early in the first century appreciated and coveted the spot, which was soon occupied and named Nemausus. The mysterious spring that wells up at the foot of the little mountain Cavalier, sacred to the ancient Celts, assumed great importance in the estimation of the newcomers. Its fame spread far and wide, and much of the wealth and ingenuity of Rome was spent in building and beautifying the city that rapidly grew up from the ruins of the Celtic town which nestled round the spot where the “God of the fountain” resided and was worshipped.
The Celtic tribes, who were dispossessed or conquered by the invading Romans, were far from being untutored savages. They knew and bartered with the Greek colonists at Arles and Marseilles, and Celtic coins and bronzes discovered in the neighbourhood of Nîmes give abundant evidence of strong Hellenic influences.
The wondrous spring which gave rise to the ancient city still gushes out in an inexhaustible volume of water, which finds its outlet through canals into the Vistre. The Baths, built by Agrippa in the first century at the foot of the hill, were supplied by the sacred well, and their
extent and elegance show how important and wealthy the colony had become. Stone terraces, courts, and promenades, ornamented with urns and statues, are now built upon the site, and the water of the spring is allowed to overflow into the apartments and chambers of the ancient Baths. The gardens are very beautiful, the brilliant white of the stone balustrade, terraces, and steps, contrasting with and adding to the beauty of the thickly wooded hill that rises at the back. After the gardens at Arles, and even Avignon, this garden of the Fountain seems fresh and joyous; there is an air of perpetual youth about it which the genii of the spring seem unwilling to abandon.
The statues that adorned the place in the Roman days have vanished; here, as elsewhere, the collector and vandal have had their way with the smaller objects of art, but the place is not dead nor deserted. Succeeding ages so felt the beauty of the spot that they have adorned it with the best works they could produce.
The habit the ancients had of throwing small coins into these waters to propitiate the gods and goddesses to whom the spot was sacred, accounts for the almost inexhaustible supply of coins that have been and still are discovered in the “Spring.” Thousands of these have found their way into museums and private collections, and amongst them the curious “pied du sanglier,” a coin which has puzzled many numismatists.
The coin, or medal, has one of its edges extended or drawn out into a shape resembling the leg of a boar. The obverse of these coins has the heads of Augustus and Agrippa embossed upon it, with the letters IMP ... P.P ... DIVIF ..., and on the reverse is a crocodile chained to a palm-tree, with the letters COL. to the left and NEM. to the right, separated by the palm-tree. It is thought that the boar’s leg and foot on these coins, or medals, may be some special compliment to the Gauls, to whom the boar was sacred. The inscription on the coin is common enough, and the heads of Augustus and Agrippa are of course meant for the heads of Octavius Augustus, the grand-nephew of Julius Cæsar, Emperor in 27 B.C., and Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, the great general who was the life-long friend and son-in-law of Augustus.
He was a great benefactor to Nîmes, and built the gigantic Pont du Gard which brought the water into the town, the spring of Nemausus being too sacred to use for drinking and domestic purposes. It is in compliment to Agrippa that the crocodile tied to the palm-tree is stamped on the reverse of these coins, symbolic of the subjugation of the Egyptian power when Antony was defeated at Actium. This device of the palm-tree and crocodile has been adopted as the arms of the town. Agrippa was a warrior and organiser of the first order, and the honours that his friend the Emperor showered upon him were no more than he deserved, for Rome owes to him its Pantheon, and Nîmes its Pont du Gard.
The brilliance of Nîmes at the beginning of the Christian era was unrivalled in the whole of Gaul. During this epoch, buildings of the most splendid character sprang up on all sides, until, in the time of Antoninus Pius (whose father was a Roman Consul in Nemausus), the great Arena was erected.
The Maison Carrée, which has for centuries excited the admiration of the civilised world, is the finest classic temple extant. Built during the first years of the Christian era, it was dedicated to the two sons of Agrippa, Caius and Lucius, who were adopted by their grandfather, the Emperor Augustus, at their father’s death. The youths both died young, and without accomplishing anything worthy of record, but as long as the Maison Carrée stands their names will go down to posterity.
The small temple has been portrayed on canvas and paper thousands of times; familiarity with its graceful form can never exhaust its charms; measurements and analysis do not assist in making its beauty more apparent. Kings and Emperors have coveted it, and the miracle is that it has escaped destruction or removal. Napoleon was contemplating this latter when more pressing affairs demanded his attention, and Louis XIV., at the suggestion of the architect Colbert, would have transported it to Versailles, but the task was found to be impossible. Each succeeding age endeavours to pay its tribute to this flower of Greco-Roman art, but none has ever succeeded in describing the indescribable. Arthur Young, who visited Nîmes in the course of his travels through France during the Revolution, says:
“I visited the Maison Carrée yesterday evening, this morning, and three times during the course of the day. It is without comparison the most trifling, the most agreeable building I have ever seen. Without having an imposing grandeur, or displaying any extraordinary magnificence that might create surprise, it rivets the attention. In its proportions there is a magic harmony that charms the eye. It would be impossible to single out any special part for excellence of beauty, for it is altogether perfect in symmetry and grace.”
The temple stands in a square which was the Forum in Roman days; the remains of the foundations indicate the position which the contemporary buildings occupied. To-day the square is surrounded with modern buildings, but sufficient space is left between them and the temple to permit of its being viewed from all sides.
The modern theatre that stands on the left is classic in style, with Ionic pillars supporting the entablatures of its porch, but a glance at it is sufficient to demonstrate to what depths a modern imitation of a classic style can sink.
The temple, although in good preservation, has in its time seen many vicissitudes. Towards the end of the
Middle Ages it was installed as a town hall or council house, and its interior fitted to accommodate its new occupiers; but evidently it was not quite suitable, for, in the sixteenth century, the town authorities parted with it to a private person, in exchange for a piece of land upon which they could erect a building more adapted to their requirements. The new proprietor had little respect for the beauty of the ancient temple, and had no compunction in altering it to suit his prosaic needs. It was about this period that the Duchess d’Uzès tried to purchase the building to serve her and her descendants as a place of sepulture. This attempt to turn it into a family vault, however, failed; but the noble lord was more successful who managed to purchase and convert the temple into a stable, although this vandalism was loudly protested against by the learned and artistic inhabitants of the city. It changed hands again and passed into possession of the Augustine friars, who transformed it into a church or chapel, their occupation being conditional on their offering up on fête day masses and prayers for their King and Country. After the Revolution, the Government of the restoration stepped in and rescued beauty’s temple from further humiliations and abuse, and now a collection of the rare and precious relics of the most classic town in France is housed in its choicest building.
The other famous relic of Nemausus, the Arena, has been mentioned previously in connection with that of Arles. It is in much better preservation than the latter and more imposing, as it stands where an uninterrupted view of its vast proportions can be obtained. Smaller in actual measurement than the arena at Arles, it impresses one as being much larger. It has had a similar history, however, for in the fifth century the Visigoths who possessed the town turned it into a fortress, and the Saracens, who A.D. 719 had made themselves masters of Septimania or Languedoc, used it as a stronghold until they were driven out by the powerful Charles Martel.
Later in its history the Arena was occupied by over two thousand Nimansians, who built within the great ellipse a town of narrow streets and houses, the endless galleries and arcades offering a series of almost ready-made dwellings. They had a church too, the remains of which are being carefully preserved. The exterior of this Arena is pure Roman, as befits a building built for the Roman national sport. The two arcades of bold, deep-sunk arches are gloomily mysterious even when the brilliant sunlight illumines all around. At night the gloom and mystery increases, and the footfall of the solitary passer-by awakens echoes through the endless vaults that seem to reach into the beginning and end of time. And yet when the moon creeps up and throws her pale rays over the giant seats that rise in circles like the rings on a disturbed pool, the Arena has a beauty all its own—unpaintable, unspeakable.
The gladiatorial fights would seem to have been the most prevalent kind of sport that was witnessed in the Arena, for it has been suggested over and over again that the low wall of the podium would render fights between wild or ferocious animals unsafe to the most important of the spectators. On one of the stones in the podium there is, amongst others, one inscription which has an interest in showing that the important guilds of Nîmes had places perpetually reserved for them in the distinguished foremost position of the podium. This inscription reads N. RHOD. ET. ARAR, XL. DDN. which has been deciphered “Nautæ of the Rhone and of the Saone, 40 places by decree of the Decuriones of Nemausus.” The watermen were evidently a guild of considerable social importance to have such honourable positions assigned to them, unless they were a similar body to the guilds of our own capital, whose names have little connection with the occupations of their members.
The general arrangements of the Arena are similar to those at Arles, but the whole building is in a much better state of preservation. During the last few years bullfighting, both in the Portuguese and Spanish fashions, has taken place regularly in the Arena. In fact, even in the smaller villages or towns of Provence, the sport is so very popular that temporary makeshift buildings are often erected, but at Nîmes and Arles the splendid arenas enable the displays to be witnessed by more than the present populations of these towns. No use is, however, made of the great stone corbels that project in two rows round the top of the exterior walls, and which in Roman times supported great poles from which enormous sheets of sailcloth were stretched to protect the spectators from the burning sun.
The gladiators were a large fraternity at Nîmes, and many of the inscriptions preserved in the Musée Lapidaire refer directly or indirectly to them. The skill of the different classes of fighters is recorded along with their domestic virtues—testimony which adds pathos to their tragic fate. Many of them were good fathers and faithful husbands, who left anxious hearts behind them when they entered the arena, and aching voids when they returned no more. The Roman courage of the professional gladiators was not less terrible than the Roman cruelty of their employers, and loving hearts were lacerated every time a human body was butchered to make a Roman holiday.
In the same little museum at Nîmes where these
inscriptions now repose there are many fragments of the most exquisite carvings, enriched mouldings, and delicate capitals, all of them speaking eloquently of vanished buildings that adorned the ancient Nemausus.
Of the two other monuments of the ancient city, mere wrecks of their former selves, which have claimed the attention of architects, artists, and archæologists, one, the Temple of Diana, stands in the beautiful garden of the fountain on the site of a much older temple dedicated to the nymphs of the waters by the earliest Roman colonists, probably by Augustus himself. The ruined temple standing to-day was very likely erected about two centuries later, and the object of its presence on the spot has caused, as is usual with these early buildings, considerable difference of opinion; but it undoubtedly had something to do with the cult of the goddess of the fountain, notwithstanding the presence in it of niches reserved for the statues of other divinities.
It is a solid structure containing a large hall with a barrel-vaulted roof in a bad state of repair. The worship of the goddess died out in the fourth century, and the deserted buildings falling, in the dark ages, into the hands of the Benedictines, it was given over to the female devotees of the new religion. These nuns continued in possession for some six hundred years, a long period during which little is known of it, except the facts stated.
There is some kind of a record that a fire took place in it about the end of the nuns’ tenancy, and there seems to be a probability that it had at that time been turned into a hay store. Its later history is a long record of disaster, for it was used as a fortress, and war had its share in bringing about the ruin. But whatever troubles it may have come through, it has an honoured old age, and all the care and protection which the appreciative twentieth century can suggest is bestowed upon it.
The other early monument, dating from before the first century, is the Porte d’Auguste, which was built, 16 B.C., in the ramparts of the town. It was for defensive purposes, and but little remains of the original structure save two large arches and two smaller ones, which have still smaller niches above. In the stormy reign of Charles VI. by his orders a great fortress was erected over this gateway, and for nearly four hundred years this, perhaps the earliest piece of Roman architecture in Nîmes, was buried out of sight and out of ken. The other Roman gates of Nîmes have nearly vanished, portions only remaining of another fortified gateway that stood and guarded the southern entrance to the town.
On the summit of the hill from which the spring of Nemausus issues, and which is 350 feet above the sea-level, there stands an octagonal ruined tower, that rises to a height of about 90 feet. There is a theory that the tower stands on the site of a more ancient one, built by a Phocean-Celtic population to guard their city. The tower was originally some thirty feet higher than it is to-day. The lower story of the imposing mass was built round a rising mound of earth which filled up the interior and made a solid stony foundation for the superstructure. It is known as the “Tour Magne,” and was built, probably, about the same time as the Porte d’Auguste, and formed a part of the system of the town’s fortifications, for it commands such an extensive view of the country round that there can be little doubt that it was a watch-tower from which the military of the time could observe the movements of any threatening danger to their town. The “Tour Magne” must have many memories; if it could only speak, its autobiography would be full of magic charm. It could tell of fierce strife and a crowd of stirring incidents that took place between Roman and barbaric Celt, Visigoths, Franks, and Burgundians, and of the smaller but fierce struggles of which no history exists.
But one story has been put on record, the only legend current about the old fortress, and strangely unconnected with warlike undertakings. In the sixteenth century a farmer named Trucat heard of a prognostication made by the noted astrologer Nostradamus to the effect that a husbandman would make a fortune by discovering a golden cock. Golden animals and birds seem to have run riot through the imaginations of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The credulous Trucat fondly believed that he was the fortunate man indicated by the prophecy, and that the treasure he was to discover lay buried in the rocky earth, which filled the lower storey of the famous “Tour Magne.”
He set about gaining permission to explore the earth inside the tower. After some trouble he managed to get the consent of the King, Henry IV., to excavate, the condition imposed being that it should all be done at his
own expense, and the King further displayed his characteristic cautiousness by stipulating that two-thirds of any treasure-trove should go into the imperial exchequer. The story of the “Golden Cock” ends tamely enough, for neither the precious bird nor any valuables were found by the superstitious farmer, whose purse was made much lighter instead of heavier by his expensive search.
Nîmes, unlike Arles (the Gallic Rome), is still a prosperous and growing city, a popular place of residence and full of modern life. Its streets, shops, and open spaces, adorned with modern statues, many of great merit, are highly appreciated by all classes of its inhabitants, who delight in the beauty of their town. The older families from the smaller towns around recognise the attractions of the largest city in the lower valley of the Rhone, and seek it as a place of residence and retirement.
The modern churches are perhaps beautiful to a modern taste; St. Baudile with its twin needle-pointed spires, St. Perpetué with its single spire tapering like a pyramid, or St. Paul with its Roman-Byzantine front, have a completeness that the Cathedral of St. Castor lacks, but they have not its old associations. St. Castor is surrounded by houses, and the only view that can be obtained of it is from the tiny square into which its west door faces—an unforgettable little picture.
High up just under the pediment there is, carved in deep relief, a series of figures of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. They represent scenes from the Old Testament, and have the rare merit of telling their story with a simple directness that cannot fail to be recognised by the meanest intelligence. It is thought that the Cathedral stands on the spot that was formerly graced by a Roman temple, and it is a likely enough supposition, for the early Christians in the southern Gallic towns generally selected the sites of Pagan temples for erecting places of worship.
The interior of the church, often restored and rebuilt at later periods, to-day presents a romanesque appearance, and has a very solemn and mournful aspect when dressed for a funeral. Curtains of sombre velvet encase the porch, and the little tapers carried by the mourners throw a weird light on the procession of priests and choir boys as they pass up the great central nave. Although the Church is disestablished and disendowed all through France, the ministrations of the clergy are still sought when the end comes, and these last rites for the dead are of daily occurrence in the South.
The revolutionary South is very conservative in many of its customs. The women still gather round the wells to fill their pitchers, and one can without difficulty eliminate the twentieth century and imagine the daily scene and life in Roman Gaul. The warm climate and small stuffy rooms of many of the older buildings induce a preference for the open air, and one can often see the domestic drudges turning the drums of the coffee-roasters by the side of the Maison Carrée or sawing logs for firewood in the old way, holding the saw between the knees and with the hands passing the timber backwards and forwards over its jagged edge.
From the railway station at Nîmes the broad Boulevard Feuchiers, lined with four rows of plane-trees, leads to a large open space, the Esplanade. Round this public circus there is an oval balustrade, the designer of which seems, perhaps unconsciously, to have been influenced by the great Arena which stands quite near. Even the stone seats preserve the Roman traditions in their heavy construction. The most important café in the town stands in the Esplanade, and in winter the pavement outside is covered with a thick mat upon which the chairs and table stand. A great coke stove stands in the middle, and customers sit round the tables and fire listening to the music until the small hours of the morning. Paris herself can offer no better fare.