Many villages with their tall picturesque towers
dotted the landscape, and the groves of green olive enlivened the
barrenness of winter.
The Pont du Gard--Aigues-Mortes-Nimes
By Henry James
[Footnote: From "A Little Tour in France." By special arrangement with,
and by permission of, the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin Co. Copyright,
1884.]
It was a pleasure to feel one's self in Provence again--the land where the
silver-gray earth is impregnated with the light of the sky. To celebrate
the event, as soon as I arrived at Nimes I engaged a caleche to convey me
to the Pont du Gard. The day was yet young, and it was perfectly fair; it
appeared well, for a longish drive, to take advantage, without delay, of
such security. After I had left the town I became more intimate with that
Provencal charm which I had already enjoyed from the window of the train,
and which glowed in the sweet sunshine and the white rocks, and lurked in
the smoke-puffs of the little olives.
The olive-trees in Provence are half the landscape. They are neither so
tall, so stout, nor so richly contorted as I have seen them beyond the
Alps; but this mild colorless bloom seems the very texture of the country.
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