In Troubadour-Land by Sabine Baring-Gould

The right spelling of Nimes -- Derivation of name -- The fountain -- Throwing coins into springs -- Collecting coins -- Symbol of Agrippa -- Character of Agrippa -- What he did for Nimes -- The Maison Carrée -- Different idea of worship in the Heathen world from what prevails in Christendom -- S. Baudille -- Vespers -- Activity of the Church in France -- Behaviour of the Clergy in Italy to the King and Queen -- The Revolution a blessing to the Church in France -- Church services in Italy and in France -- The Tourmagne -- Uncertainty as to its use -- Cathedral of Nimes -- Other churches -- A canary lottery -- Altars to the Sun -- The sun-wheel -- The Cross of Constantine -- Anecdote of Fléchier.

I pray the reader to observe how I spell the name of Nimes, with neither an s nor a circumflex, neither as Nismes, nor as Nîmes, for both are wrong. Nimes is Nemausus, and there is no s to be sounded or suppressed in the ancient name of the place, which comes from the Keltic _naimh_, a fountain or spring. And in very truth no other name could better suit it, for here under a limestone hill wells up the river in one large flood sufficient for boats to go on it at once. This great green spring, ever flowing, mysterious even nowadays, is the great feature of Nimes, and this fountain certainly awoke the veneration of the old Gauls, who believed it to be a direct gift of the gods. One follows up a canal between streets planted with trees, and looks down into the pure water like liquid green glass, then suddenly reaches a garden. Above rises a wooded hill, thick with pines, syringa, Judas tree of brilliant pink lake, laburnum with its chains of gold, forming an arc of flowers, and sees before one a wide enclosed pool, walled round, of the shape of the figure 8, heaving with cold pure water that flows away under the terrace and falls with a roar to the lower level of the canal. On one side are ruins -- of a temple to the Nymphs; but one cannot at first look at that, the volume of water engages one -- a lake lifting itself up by its own strength out of the earth, always, night and day, inexhaustible, hardly varying in volume, coming no one knows whence, deep and green, with no visible bottom, without a bubble, without a ruffle -- it is indeed wonderful. I have seen the spring of the Danube at Donaueschingen: it is nothing to this; the fountain of Vaucluse one can understand -- it breaks out from a cave in the mountainside, like scores of others; this is otherwise -- a river rising with no fuss, no display, no noise, without even a ripple.