Many hours might be well spent in this forgotten little city, where in the old days the intense quiet that broods over it—as if invading it from the strange, almost ominous landscape beyond the parapet—was broken by the din of warfare more violent and more unappeasable than any other sort of strife: that of religion.
In early spring the plain of the Rhone in the neighbourhood of Avignon is all flushed with young almond blossoms. The carriage of the tourist trundles past field after field of misty pink, and for the time he might fancy himself in the landscape of a Japanese fan.
Above this plain, perched on a bare hillside that gives a bird's-eye view of the wide expanse of the Rhone valley, stands the ancient village of Barbentane, a name that occurs constantly in the literature of Provence, especially in the poems of Mistral. In Roman days Barbentane or Bellinto, a station on the road between Tarascon and Orange, was an island surrounded by the waters of the Durance.
STREET AT UZÈS.
By E. M. Synge.
It is of far less imposing aspect than Uzès and is approached by a long, ascending road, which is continuous with the broad main street of the town, whence other streets climb the hill, wandering into little platforms and nooks and picturesque corners such as only a hill town in the Midi can produce. There are ancient buildings at every turn, and above the rest, beyond the gateway leading up to the windy limestone downs, stands the tall ruined tower of Barbentane, which has a romantic story attached to it. Mistral writes of it:
"The Bishop of Avignon ...
Has built a tower at Barbentane,
Sea-wind it spurns, and tramontane,