Read Ebook: A Tour Through Old Provence by Forrest A S Archibald Stevenson

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At the beginning of the thirteenth century there existed a sect known as the Valdenses, or Albigenses, which had become so strong that Princes and Nobles were embracing its tenets to the vexation of the Papacy. What exactly were the beliefs of these heretics it is difficult to determine, as the accounts handed down to us come from prejudiced sources.

There were those who alleged that the Albigenses professed a distorted Christianity, grafted on to a degraded pagan mysticism, whilst others, and amongst these were some of the persecutors, averred that nothing could be more Christianlike than their behaviour or more blameless than their lives. Claud, Archbishop of Turin, testifies that they were "perfect, irreproachable, without reproach among men, addicting themselves with all their might to the service of God."

Thus was the cupidity of adventurous knights appealed to, and whilst the legions of the Church ostensibly fought for the upholding of the faith, Raymond of Toulouse was forced into the position of defending his inheritance. Prompted by fear or contrition, or perchance a mixture of both, Raymond underwent a most humiliating penance in his anxiety to propitiate the enraged Innocent. Strong indeed must have been the motive which induced so powerful a prince to submit to being stripped naked from head to foot, save for a linen cloth round his waist for decency's sake, and being thus led nine times round the pretended Martyr's grave in the Church at St. Gilles, his naked shoulders chastised the while with rods. The penance was accepted and Raymond was absolved, but his possessions had already been divided amongst the crusaders, of whom Simon de Montfort was Chief. The Comtat Venaissin was made over to the Papal See, a transfer in which the inhabitants of the independent town of Avignon who sided with Raymond did not concur.

Through endless sieges the fortunes of the contending factions continually fluctuated. Simon de Montfort, now Count of Toulouse, succeeded in obtaining the re-excommunication of Raymond; but the latter never forsook the practices of the Holy Church, and with true humility continued to perform his devotions at the doors of edifices whose thresholds he was forbidden to cross. At the siege of Toulouse in 1216, death put an end to the crusading career of de Montfort, but the struggle went on as bitterly as ever. Every victory of the Papal forces continued to be celebrated by a massacre of the vanquished.

On the principle probably that faith need not be kept with heretics the pledge was broken, and the invading army entered the town, put its defenders to the sword, filled up its trenches, demolished its ramparts and towers, and pulled down its strongholds. Moreover, the citizens of Avignon were heavily fined for their adherence to a heresy which they were solemnly sworn to abjure for the future; and, as if this were not enough, they were further compelled to maintain an armed and equipped body of thirty men in the Holy Land to assist in the recovery of the sacred tomb from the Saracens.

Most of the beautiful windows, specimens of early Gothic, which originally gave character to the whole building and more particularly to the courtyard into which they looked, disappeared when the place became a barracks, and were replaced by ugly square openings, totally out of keeping with the surrounding masonry.

The utilitarian engineer had but little regard for the architectural and archaeological amenities of this monument, and with ruthless hands desecrated rich carvings and rare frescoes, timbered ceilings and vaulted roofs; therefore a large expenditure of money, time, and skill will be required to restore the Palace of the Popes to anything like its former splendour.

The work of restoration is being carried out under the auspices of a Government which is animated by a spirit very different from that of many of its predecessors, and already the imposing audience hall and the magnificent

chapel above it have recovered much of their original appearance.

In the ceiling of the chapel of Saint Martial the vaults are covered with a series of pictures illustrating the life of the Saint. The colour is in a brilliant state of preservation, the blues and warm browns being contrasted so as to give a very rich yet soothing effect. The irregularity of the designs, placed in an arbitrary fashion in the spaces between the ribs, strikes one at first as being strangely affected; but the figures are free and expressive in their action, some of them being finished with a searching minuteness worthy of the Sienese School at its best period. The ribs of the vault are decorated with most beautiful Arabesque patterns, very suggestive of Byzantine mosaics.

In the lower chapel the ribwork is similar but not so elaborate in detail, whilst the figures illustrating the life of St. John are on a much larger scale. Unfortunately most of them are headless, a piece of vandalism attributed to a Corsican regiment under the command of Colonel Sebastiani, which was quartered in this part of the Palace. The incentive was not mere wanton disfigurement of the paintings, for the heads have all been neatly cut round, and most carefully removed, and the assumption is, that the soldiers earned considerable pocket-money by disposing of them to collectors. The Colonel has not been held blameless in the matter, but probably overlooked the depredations of his men because he enriched his own collection from the same source.

The frescoes in the Garde Robe, a chamber of considerable importance, have recently been brought to light. The roof of the chamber is not vaulted, but has heavy wooden beams resting upon stone corbels and supporting the floor above. The walls of this interesting room are completely covered with paintings of the fourteenth century by an unknown artist. These have been restored, and one gets a very good idea of the original state of the apartment. On a background of grass and foliage figures in fourteenth-century costumes are depicted, engaged in the pastimes of the period, hunting, fishing, falconry, and bathing. The restoration of the

background has not been very happy, the chalky colour of the new work being a little too conspicuous.

The question of the restoration of ancient pictures, sculptures, and buildings is rather a vexed one, but the advocates of the "let alone" policy seem to overlook the fact that ultimately little would remain, as only such massive monuments as the Pyramids can resist the ceaseless ravages of time and the elements. The difficulty is to determine the right moment to set about repairs which should be neither too long delayed nor undertaken prematurely; but the process must be a perpetual one if posterity is to retain the structures and works of earlier times. The most zealous opponent of restoration could hardly take exception to the work that has been carried out in the two most important parts of the building--the great Audience Hall and the beautiful Chapel above it. The extraordinary plan of placing these two lofty buildings one above the other was a daring feat of building construction.

The internal structure of both hall and chapel is unexpectedly beautiful, for the outside of this frowning fortress gives no indication whatever of the delicate refinement of the roof vaulting, the clustered pillars, the carved capitals and corbels that it contains. The Audience Hall, or lower chamber, is divided into two naves by five clustered pillars, from which the elegant ribs of the vaulted roof outspread themselves.

This Hall, which was for half a century the chief tribunal of Christendom, is about 150 feet long, 50 feet wide, and 34 feet high, and is lit by eleven tall ogival windows, in graceful harmony with the airy vaulting of the roof. At the top of the great staircase that ascends from the entrance of the Audience Chamber there was recently "unearthed," or unwalled, the main doorway to the chapel above. This had been built over so completely by the military that its presence was for years unsuspected. It has suffered much damage, but what remains gives indication of the rich beauty it once possessed. The Chapel has no pillars, being one great nave, its vault springing from engaged clustered columns, that run up the walls between the windows. The capitals of these columns are the only carving in this vast airy hall.

The original builders, in the flights of their imagination after spaciousness, gave so little heed to the constructional problems involved in its achievement, that less inspired but more practical successors found it imperative to prop the outside wall with a great flying buttress which arches over a street running past the south side of the building, and seems to form a portion of the main building.

On the vaults of the upper bay of the Audience Hall there are fragmentary remains of the frescoes that were executed by some artist or artists of the Sienese school. The records of a hundred years ago show that the subjects which could be seen on the walls at that time were a "Last Judgment," "The Prophets," and a "Crucifixion."

The military gentlemen of the last century are again the culprits: they could not see the merit or use of preserving such works, preferring to see the dormitories of their men whitewashed, clean, and bare, as befitted their occupation.

These few traces of early Italian artists, who were employed by the wealthy court of the Papacy, are all that now remain of what was one of the chief glories in the fourteenth century.

As one wanders through the courts, chambers, passages, prisons, and chapels of the fortress palace, the historical associations they possess fill the mind more than their present state. Page after page of history is opened up at every turn, and the Past rises before us, with its romance and war, cruelty and beauty, voluptuousness and spirituality, joys and sorrows, ambitions and disappointments, all mixed together like colours in a kaleidoscope.

The inscription that was found on the porch of the

ancient Cathedral might well be paraphrased into one that could be placed upon the Palace.

Such an inscription would briefly set out the main facts of its long history for the last six hundred years.

After months of fighting the King's troops stormed the fortress, and Pierre de Luna saved himself by means of secret passages and staircases leading to a vault from whence he got to the river side, and escaping across the Rhone, sought refuge under the protection of the King of Spain in his native country. Here, with two vicars, or priests, he kept up the pretence of being still the Pope, and each day from the top of a tower he blessed his distant friends and cursed his enemies. At his death his two followers, both of whom he had made cardinals, met in conclave, and one elected the other "Pope." The farce of this schism was ended by both of the exiled cardinals being bribed into reconciliation to Rome; one being made Archbishop of Toledo, and the other Archbishop of Seville.

It was during this siege that the fire broke out by which the Salle Brulle got its name; but there is another story which attributes the origin of this name to the brutality of one of the Papal Legates, when, inviting a number of the leading citizens of the town to a great feast in the chamber, he left them in the middle of the banquet and blew up the happy party with gunpowder.

The reason for this "Gunpowder treason" was, that a near relative of the Legate had been assassinated by some

citizens for taking liberties with a young maiden of good family belonging to the town. Whichever version is correct, the name has stuck tenaciously to this chamber. There is another tragedy associated with this Palace which is famous for evermore. The massacre, which took place in the Glaci?re, or Ice Tower, one awful night in the middle of November 1791, at the outbreak of the Revolution, set a fiendish example to the lawless brutality which, in 1793, expressed itself in a similar way in the Abbaye Prison in Paris. Jourdain Coupet?te, a fierce revolutionary, had earned his nickname two years previously by decapitating the corpses of the two Body-guards in the Marble Court of the Palace at Versailles, at the "insurrection of women." In June 1791 he was leading a body of nearly 15,000 men, who called themselves the Brigands of Avignon. Jourdain had dubbed himself "General," and with his associates was the terror of the Royalists.

L'Escuyer, one of the Patriot leaders, accompanied by the crowd, entered the Church of the Cordeliers to hear Mass, or to mock at it. The aristocratic Papists resented this, and their hot southern blood being roused, the two parties came to blows. In the m?l?e L'Escuyer was killed, and this roused the Patriots to demand an inquest. Impatient of delay, the Brigands under Jourdain took possession of the Papal Palace, and there imprisoned some hundred and thirty persons--men, women, and children--in the dungeons of the Glaci?re Tower.

Then establishing themselves into a court-martial, with Jourdain as the judge, these Brigands very quickly disposed of all the prisoners with the naked sword--a most ghastly slaughter that makes the blood run cold.

When the troops under General Choisi came to the rescue, Jourdain could not hold the castle, but was forced to take flight, escaping through the secret passages as Pierre de Luna had done four hundred years previously.

If Avignon were to be deprived of her grand Papal Palace, she would still have enough churches and monasteries left to give evidence either of the great popularity her church enjoyed, or of the power wielded in the Middle Ages by the religious orders.

Churches and monasteries are scattered lavishly through the town, and from the rich stores of relics still possessed by them, some slight idea may be gleaned of the wealth they possessed before the terrible Revolution. Everywhere the stranger goes the story is the same. Vergers and guides tell of the past glories of this town: this stood here and that there; here was a monument, there a shrine; but--they vanished in the Revolution.

Terrible were these revolutionists of the South; they gathered their harvests of rich plunder from the Church's hand with as little concern as a farmer gathers his corn, or as a beggar his rags. Nothing was sacred from their vandal hands, and the tables were turned upon the Church, which in the centuries long gone had taken its heavy toll from all the country round.

What a grotesque picture the Revolution presents! Grim satire on the vanity of riches, the pomp of ceremony and fleetingness of power, and the emptiness of rank. Riches took wings, or rather were carried off on donkeys' backs to be melted down into coin and turned into bread for hungry mouths. Ceremonies, even the most sacred, were mocked at, and burlesque processions of ecclesiastical pageants excited the ribald laughter of the crowd. The powerful were humbled to the dust, and rank lost its head under the cruel slicing invention of Dr. Guillotin.

The Royalist faction in Avignon had always been associated with the Order of the "White Penitents," and in the same way the "Black Penitents" had inherited the independence and rebellious spirit that animated the followers of Count Raymond of Toulouse. These rival factions, whose original opposition had been mainly religious, had now become political, and on the fall of Napoleon at Waterloo their differences became more accentuated and violent. The Royalists were in the ascendancy, and they revenged themselves upon their political and religious enemies with all the fanatical fervour of their Southern nature.

The aristocratic and religious party had much to remember. The Glaci?re massacres of 1791 were perpetrated upon their class, and as in 1795 the Royalist libertines in Paris had indulged in ghastly reprisals against the red-capped revolutionaries, the White Penitents followed in Avignon the fashion set them by the capital. The enforced submission to the restored Bourbon Dynasty in July 1815 aroused the bitterest resentment of the Black Penitents and their followers, just as the restoration of Napoleon had done their opponents earlier in March of the same year.

At Carpentras, about fifteen miles from Avignon, a small garrison of the republicans, who had kept the tricolour floating until July 15, were shot down by the Royalist Volunteers, although they had surrendered. Fanatical crowds of Royalists directed their hatred and anger against the Protestant section of the community.

Vindictive murder and pillage spread all over the country towns and villages. "The White Terror" of 1815 is a thing to remember, or rather to forget. The diabolical outrages of Jourdain were equalled, if not surpassed, by the White Penitent Pointu, the Avignon murderer, a leader of a band as ferocious and bloodthirsty as himself. The military and civil authorities were powerless to check the excesses of the fanatical horde that rode roughshod over law and order, morality, decency, and ordinary human feeling.

Marseilles, N?mes, Uz?s, Avignon, Arles, and Carpentras were all involved in the White Terror, and one can hardly credit the details of the cruel crimes committed. Among the victims to the insensate Royalists was Marshal Brune, passing through on his way from Marseilles to Paris to defend his conduct to the Government. On reaching Avignon he sought out quarters in the H?tel de la Poste. The news of his arrival had spread along with sinister stories as to his doings during the Revolution of 1789, and a great mob assembled around the hotel, broke in and shot the Marshal in cold blood. His body was on its way to burial when the crowd forced the bearers to change their course and proceed to the river-side, where a wooden bridge spanned the river. From this they threw the body of the Marshal into the silent Rhone. The ribald crowd fired shots into the body as it floated down the

stream, a proceeding which they termed "military honours." On the arch of the bridge they wrote "The Tomb of Marshal Brune." The river, however, refused the honour, and after twice being washed ashore, the corpse was taken and buried by two men, who recognised it. The Marshal's widow, eventually, had the body disinterred and embalmed. At her instigation a public trial was held, at which the memory of the dead man was cleared of the charge of suicide and the body buried at Rioni.

This is one story; a sidelight on the happenings in Beautiful Provence at the beginning of the nineteenth century.

The Papal Palace in Avignon stands steadfast amidst all the changes that have come to the city, for its outward features have successfully resisted the incessant hammerings of time. The work of internal renovation goes steadily on, whilst the white dust raised by the masons, who sing at their work, settles in every conceivable resting-place, much to the discomfort of the inhabitants, especially when the "mistral" sweeps down and drives this dust, like snow, before it. The old motto of the city

"Windy Avignon, liable to plague when it has not the wind and plagued with the wind when it has it,"

still applies, if the plague is interpreted to mean dust.

The inhabitants have been easily moulded by the influence of modernity, and their principal street boasts of electric light and trams. Fashion finds ardent devotees in the provincial town, who worship at her shrine with as much, if not greater, zeal than her votaries in Paris, London, or New York. The caf? and the restaurant are held in high esteem, and, as in all French towns, occupy an important place in the civil life. The hour 'twixt sundown and the most important of the day, when all Avignon sits around the well-spread dinner tables, is devoted to the caf?s; and these clubs of the people, deserted and idle at some hours, are full of joyful life.

On winter evenings the temporary stoves that stand prominently in the middle of these salons are surrounded by cold-footed mortals, who rest their extremities upon the encircling fenders. Friends meet, and seated around marble tables consume caf?, beer, bright-coloured syrups, and absinthe according to their fancy. Absinthe is still a popular drink throughout Provence, in spite of reasoned appeals from the medical fraternity for its discontinuance. Respectable womenfolk frequent the caf?s with their male relatives and friends, and sip sweet sickly syrups with the rest. Excess is rare, almost unheard of. Cards are played, the stakes usually being the cost of the entertainment. During the hour or so before dinner the caf? is supreme.

The old folk in Avignon are all happy-looking; the men especially are a jolly set of fellows, and although the snow of years falls on their heads and never melts, their hearts are young and warm, secure from Time's blighting frosts. They have studied the art of living, under their blue skies, and have mastered the difficult business.

The girls and women are particularly well favoured, dark, as becomes their Southern origin, well featured, favouring the Grecian rather than the Roman type. They have less of the imperious self-conscious dignity of their sisters in Spain and other Latin countries, and seem frank and more human and in touch with the life around them. The Church finds in them its chief adherents, faithful still in a country where once everybody believed and few inquired, and now, where few believe and all ask questions. New vistas of thought were opened up in Provence during the Revolution epoch, and ever since the view has widened. In the churches nearly all the little brass plates on the prie-dieu chairs have the prefix Mme. or Mlle. engraved upon them. One seldom comes across Monsieur.

In summer, when the heat of the brilliant day gives place to the lovely glow of the Proven?al evening, all Avignon sits outside around the tables that trespass in careless fashion upon the pavements. The gossip of the day goes round amidst unrestrained laughter and merriment. The caf? on the pavement is as truly a Gallic institution as the "Bullring" is Spanish. Spain carried her "institution" to her remotest colonies, and France has done the same with the caf?.

The scene on a summer evening in the Place de l'H?tel de Ville in Avignon is but a repetition on a smaller scale of what may be seen on any evening from one year's end to the other in the Cannebi?re at Marseilles, or farther distant still, across the Mediterranean in the Place du Gouvernement in the French city of Algiers.

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