X Notre Dame des Doms D’Avignon
It would be difficult to say with precision whether Avignon were more closely connected in the average mind with the former papal splendour, with Petrarch and his Laura, or with the famous Félibrage.
Avignon literally reeks with sentimental associations of a most healthy kind. No probable line of thought suggested by Avignon’s historied and romantic past will intimate even the mawkish, the sordid, or the banal. It is, in almost limitless suggestion, the city of France above all others in which to linger and drink in the life of its past and present to one’s fullest capacities.
For the “literary pilgrim,” first and foremost will be Avignon’s association with Petrarch, or rather he with it. For this reason it shall be disposed of immediately, though not in one word, or ten; that would be impossible.
“‘The grave of Laura!’ said I. ‘Indeed, my dear sir, I am obliged to you for having mentioned it,’” were the words with which the local bookseller was addressed by an eighteenth-century traveller. “‘Otherwise one might have gone away, to their everlasting sorrow and shame, without having seen this curiosity of your city.’”
The same record of travel describes the guardian of this shrine as “a converted Jew, who, from one year’s end to another, has but two duties to perform, which he most punctually attends to. The one to take care of the grave of Laura, and to show it to strangers, the other to give them information respecting all the curiosities. Before his conversion, he stood at the corner by the Hôtel de Ville offering lottery tickets to passers-by, and asking, till he was hoarse, if they had anything to sell. Not a soul took the least notice of him. His beard proved a detriment in all his speculations. Now that he has become a Christian, it is wonderful how everything thrives with him.”
At the very end of the Rue des Lices will be found the last remains of the Église des Cordeliers—reduced at the Revolution to a mere tower and its walls. Here may be seen the spot where was the tomb of Laura de Sade. Arthur Young, writing just before the Revolution, described it as below; though since that time still other changes have taken place, with the result that “Laura’s Grave” is little more than a memory to-day, and a vague one at that.
“The grave is nothing but a stone in the pavement, with a figure engraved on it already partly effaced, surrounded by an inscription in Gothic letters, and another on the wall adjoining, with the armorial bearings of the De Sade family.”
To-day nothing but the site—the location—of the tomb is still there, the before-mentioned details having entirely disappeared. The vault was apparently broken open at the Revolution, and its ashes scattered. It was here at Avignon, in the Église de St. Claire, as Petrarch himself has recorded, that he first met Laura de Sade.
The present mood is an appropriate one in which to continue the Petrarchian pilgrimage countryward—to the famous Vaucluse. Here Petrarch came as a boy, in 1313, and, if one chooses, he may have his déjeuner at the Hôtel Pétrarque et Laure; not the same, of course, of which Petrarch wrote in praise of its fish of Sorgues; but you will have them as a course at lunch nevertheless. Here, too, the famed Fontaine first comes to light and air; and above it hangs “Petrarch’s Castle,” which is not Petrarch’s castle, nor ever was. It belonged originally to the bishops of Cavaillon, but it is possible that Petrarch was a guest there at various times, as we know he was at the more magnificent Palais des Papes at Avignon.
This château of the bishops hangs perilously on a brow which rises high above the torrential Fontaine, and, if sentiment will not allow of its being otherwise ignored, it is permissible to visit it, if one is so inclined. No special hardship is involved, and no great adventure is likely to result from this journey countryward. Tourists have been known to do the thing before “just to get a few snapshots of the fountain.”
As to why the palace of the popes came into being at Avignon is a question which suggests the possibilities of the making of a big book.
The popes came to Avignon at the time of the Italian partition, on the strength of having acquired a grant of the city from Joanna of Naples, for which they were supposed to give eighty thousand golden crowns. They never paid the bill, however; from which fact it would appear that financial juggling was born at a much earlier period than has hitherto been supposed.
Seven popes reigned here, from 1305 to 1370; when, on the termination of the Schism, it became the residence of a papal legate. Subsequently Louis XIV. seized the city, in revenge for an alleged affront to his ambassador, and Louis XV. also held it for ten years.
The curious fact is here recalled that, by the treaty of Tolentino (12th February, 1797), the papal power at Rome conceded formally for the first time—to Napoleon I.—their ancient territory of Avignon. On the terms of this treaty alone was Pope Pius allowed to remain nominal master of even shreds of the patrimony of St. Peter.
The significant events of Avignon’s history are too great in purport and number to be even catalogued here, but the magnificent papal residence, from its very magnitude and luxuriance, compels attention as one of the great architectural glories, not only of France, but of all Europe as well.
Here sat, for the major portion of the fourteenth century, the papal court of Avignon; which the uncharitable have called a synonym for profligacy, veniality, and luxurious degeneracy. Here, of course, were held the conclaves by which the popes of that century were elected; significantly they were all Frenchmen, which would seem to point to the fact of corruption of some sort, if nothing more.
Rienzi, the last of the tribunes, was a prisoner within the walls of this great papal stronghold, and Simone Memmi of Sienna was brought therefrom to decorate the walls of the popes’ private chapel; Petrarch was persona grata here, and many other notables were frequenters of its hospitality.
The palace walls rise to a height of nearly ninety feet, and its battlemented towers add another fifty; from which one may infer that its stability was great; an effect which is still further sustained when the great thickness of its sustaining walls is remarked, and the infrequent piercings of windows and doorways.
This vast edifice was commenced by Pope Clement V. in the early years of the thirteenth century, but nothing more than the foundations of his work were left, when Benedict XII., thirty years later, gave the work into the hands of Peter Obreri—who must have been the Viollet-le-Duc of his time.
Revolution’s destroying power played its part here, as generally throughout France, in defacing shrines, monuments, and edifices, civil and ecclesiastical, with little regard for sentiment and absolutely none for reason.
The mob attacked the papal palace with results more disastrous than the accumulated debasement of preceding centuries. The later régime, which turned the magnificent halls of this fortress-like palace into a mere barracks—as it is to-day—was quite as iconoclastic in its temperament.
One may realize here, to the full, just how far a great and noble achievement of the art and devotion of a past age may sink. The ancient papal palace at Avignon—the former seat of the power of the Roman Catholic religion—has become a mere barracks! To contemplate it is more sad even than to see a great church turned into a stable or an abattoir—as can yet be seen in France.
In its plan this magnificent building preserves its outlines, but its splendour of embellishment has very nearly been eradicated, as may be observed if one will crave entrance of the military incumbent.
In 1376 Pope Gregory XI. left Avignon for Rome,—after him came the two anti-popes,—and thus ended what Petrarch has called “L’Empia Babilonia.”
The cathedral of Notre Dame des Doms pales perceptibly before the splendid dimensions of the papal palace, which formerly encompassed a church of its own of much more artistic worth.
In one respect only does the cathedral lend a desirable note to the ensemble. This, by reason of its commanding situation—at the apex of the Rocher des Doms—and by the gilded statue of the Virgin which surmounts the tower, and supplies just the right quality of colour and life to a structure which would be otherwise far from brilliant.
From the opposite bank of the Rhône—from Villeneuve-les-Avignon—the view of the parent city, the papal residence, the cathedral, and that unusual southern attribute, the beffroi, all combine in a most glorious picture of a superb beauty; quite rivalling—though in a far different manner—that “plague spot of immorality,”—Monte Carlo, which is mostly thought to hold the palm for the sheer beauty of natural situation.
The cathedral is chiefly of the twelfth century, though even a near-by exterior view does not suggest any of the Gothic tendencies of that era. It is more like the heavy bungling style which came in with the Renaissance; but it is not that either, hence it must be classed as a unique variety, though of the period when the transition from the Romanesque to Gothic was making inroads elsewhere.
It has been said that the structure dates in part from the time of Charlemagne, but, if so, the usual splendid appointments of the true Charlemagnian manner are sadly lacking. There may be constructive foundations of the eleventh century, but they are in no way distinctive, and certainly lend no liveliness to a building which must ever be ranked as unworthy of the splendid environment.
As a church of cathedral rank, it is a tiny edifice when compared with the glorious northern ground-plans: it is not much more than two hundred feet in length, and has a width which must be considerably less than fifty feet.
The entrance, at the top of a long, winding stair which rises from the street-level of the Place du Palais to the platform of the rock, is essentially pagan in its aspect; indeed it is said to have previously formed the portal of a pagan temple which at one time stood upon the site. If this be so, this great doorway—for it is far larger in its proportions than any other detail—is the most ancient of all the interior or exterior features.
The high pediment and roof may be pointed Gothic, or it may not; at any rate, it is in but the very rudimentary stage. Authorities do not agree; which carries the suggestion still further that the cathedral at Avignon is of itself a queer, hybrid thing in its style, and with not a tithe of the interest possessed by its more magnificent neighbour.
The western tower, while not of great proportions, is rather more massive than the proportions of the church body can well carry. What decoration it possesses carries the pagan suggestion still further, with its superimposed fluted pillars and Corinthian columns.
The gloomy interior is depressing in the extreme, and whatever attributes of interest that it has are largely discounted by their unattractive setting.
There are a number of old paintings, which, though they are not the work of artists of fame, might possibly prove to be of creditable workmanship, could one but see them through the gloom. In the before-mentioned porch are some frescoes by Simone Memmi, executed by him in the fourteenth century, when he came from Sienna to do the decorations in the palace.
The side chapels are all of the fourteenth century; that of St. Joseph, now forming the antechamber of the sacristy, contains a noteworthy Gothic tomb and monument of Pope John XXII. It is much mutilated to-day, and is only interesting because of the personality connected therewith. The custodian or caretaker is in this case a most persistently voluble person, who will give the visitor little peace unless he stands by and hears her story through, or flees the place,—which is preferable.
The niches of this highly florid Gothic tomb were despoiled of their statues at the Revolution, and the recumbent effigy of the Pope has been greatly disfigured. A much simpler monument, and one quite as interesting, to another Pope, Benedict XII.,—he who was responsible for the magnificence of the papal palace,—is in a chapel in the north aisle of the nave, but the cicerone has apparently no pride in this particular shrine.
An ancient (pagan?) altar is preserved in the nave. It is not beautiful, but it is undoubtedly very ancient and likewise very curious.
The chief accessory of interest for all will doubtless prove to be the twelfth-century papal throne. It is of a pure white marble, rather cold to contemplate, but livened here and there with superimposed gold ornament. What decoration there is, chiefly figures representing the bull of St. Luke and the lion of St. Mark, is simple and severe, as befitted papal dignity. To-day it serves the archbishop of the diocese as his throne of dignity, and must inspire that worthy with ambitious hopes.
The chapter of the cathedral at Avignon—as we learn from history—wears purple, in company with cardinals and kings, at all celebrations of the High Mass of Clara de Falkenstein. From a well-worn vellum quarto in the library at Avignon one may read the legend which recounts the connection of Ste. Clara de Mont Falcone with the mystery of the Holy Trinity; from which circumstance the honour and dignity of the purple has been granted to the prelates of the cathedral.
No mention of Avignon, or of Arles, or of Nîmes could well be made without a reference to the revival of Provençal literature brought about by the famous “Félibrage,” that brotherhood founded by seven poets, of whom Frederic Mistral is the most popularly known.
The subject is too vast, and too vastly interesting to be slighted here, so perforce mere mention must suffice.
The word Félibre was suggested by Mistral, who found it in an old hymn. Its etymology is uncertain, but possibly it is from the Greek, meaning “a lover of the beautiful.”
The original number of the Félibres was seven, and they first met on the fête-day of Ste. Estelle; in whose honour they adopted the seven-pointed star as their emblem. Significantly, the number seven has much to do with the Félibres and Avignon alike. The enthusiastic Félibre tells of Avignon’s seven churches, its seven gates, seven colleges, seven hospitals, and seven popes—who reigned at Avignon for seven decades; and further that the word Félibre has seven letters, as, also, has the name of Mistral, one of its seven founders—who took seven years in writing his epics.
The machicolated walls, towers, and gateways of Avignon, which protected the city in mediæval times, and—history tells us—sheltered twice as many souls as now, are in a remarkable state of preservation and completeness, and rank foremost among the masterworks of fortification of their time. This outer wall, or enceinte, was built at the instigation of Clement VI., in 1349, and was the work of but fourteen years.
A hideously decorated building opposite the papal palace—now the Conservatoire de Musique—was formerly the papal mint.
The ruined bridge of St. Bénezet, built in the twelfth century, is a remarkable example of the engineering skill of the time. Surmounting the four remaining arches—still perfect as to their configuration—is a tiny chapel dedicated to St. Nicholas, which formerly contained reliques of St. Bénezet.
The extraordinary circumstance which led up to the building of this bridge seems legendary, to say the least.
It is recorded that St. Bénezet, its founder, who was a mere shepherd, became inspired by God to undertake this great work. The inspiration must likewise have brought with it not a little of the uncommon skill of the bridge-builder, and, considering the extent and scope of the projected work, something of the spirit of benefaction as well.
The foundation was laid in 1171, and it was completed, after seventeen years of labour, in 1188.
On this bridge, near the entrance to the city, was erected a hospital of religious persons, who were denominated Les Frères du Pont, their offices being to preserve the fabric, and to afford succour to all manner of travellers.
The boldness and utility of this undertaking,—it being the only means of communication between Avignon and the French territory beyond the Rhône,—as well as the permanency assured to it by the annexing of a religious foundation, cannot fail to grant to the memory of its holy founder something more than a due share of veneration on behalf of his genius and perspicacity.