It looks like a magic city in the sunshine or in the glow of evening; the interminable Palace, the Cathedral, the spires and towers rising against the sky with that particular serenity of beauty that we think of as belonging to the land of dreams.
A railway journey of about two hours from Avignon takes one to the little ducal city of Uzès, which lies in the heart of this curious lateral country, whose eminences have no peaks or highest points, whose lines are all horizontal.
Upon the sky-line at the end of the leisurely journey appears a striking mass of buildings and mediæval towers, announcing to the lover of architecture that some delightful hours are before him.
A quaint old omnibus takes (and shakes) the passengers—mostly commercial travellers—up the slight hill and in through the grey gates of this stately little city, landing one and all at the big inn in the broad main street. Except that it is so exceedingly quiet, it has something in common with the street of an English cathedral town.
Obviously Uzès has been a place of importance in the past: the public buildings are on a grand scale and of fine design; the Ducal Palace announces the capital of a little Principality or Duchy, and the number of churches would suggest either a large population or a very devout one. But a sort of trance seems to have fallen upon the place, and not even the bustle of the inn at its busiest moments, when the vast, dark-papered dining-room is filled with hungry passengers, can overcome the sense of suspended life that haunts the town.
But in the earlier centuries it had a stirring history. Uzès possessed some valiant seigneurs in the days of Philippe le Bel, for that monarch was so pleased with their prowess that he erected the town into a "Vicomté." It was governed by its seigneurs and its bishops who shared the jurisdiction, and a lively time they must have had of it!
It has always been a fiery little city, and during the religious wars of the sixteenth century was the scene of terrible struggles and massacres, even in the very churches, which were half ruined during this period. Perhaps the tumult of those times has left Uzès weary and sad, for now the place seems dedicated to the God of Sleep.
The shaded promenade or terrace, with its white parapet of short stone pillars, runs round two sides of the Ducal Garden outside its walls—a delightful spot to rest or loiter in, commanding a curious wide view over the country, which is, however, suddenly shut in by a hard, high horizon line as level as if it were ruled, or as if it were the edge of a plain, though it is really a range of hills.
The trees of the shady old garden of the Duché drop their branches over a high wall; at the back of the demesne the Cathedral stands half hidden by some of the buildings of the Duché and beside it rises one of the most singular and beautiful architectural monuments of the South, La Tour Fenestrella, an exquisite Romanesque tower, much smaller but more graceful than the Leaning Tower of Pisa, which it otherwise resembles.
It springs upwards, tier after tier of little arches, with an effect of exquisite lightness and strength, and leaves one wondering why this delicate example of Romanesque work does not enjoy a greater renown.