XIII St. Trophime D’Arles
“In all the world that which interests me most is La Fleur des ‘Glais’... It is a fine plant.... It is the same as the Fleurs des Lis d’Or of the arms of France and of Provence.”
—Frederic Mistral.
Two French writers of repute have recently expressed their admiration of the marvellous country, and the contiguous cities, lying about the mouth of the Rhône; among which are Nîmes, Aigues-Mortes, and—of far greater interest and charm—Arles. Their opinions, perhaps, do not differ very greatly from those of most travellers, but both Madame Duclaux, in “The Fields of France,” and René Bazin, in his Récits de la Plaine et de la Montagne, give no palm, one to the other, with respect to their feeling for “the mysterious charm of Arles.”
It is significant that in this region, from Vienne on the north to Arles and Nîmes in the south, are found such a remarkable series of Roman remains as to warrant the statement by a French antiquarian that “in Rome itself are no such temples as at Vienne and Nîmes, no theatres so splendidly preserved as that at Orange,—nor so large as that of Arles,—and that the magnificent ruined colosseum on the Tiber in no wise has the perfections of its compeer at Nîmes, nor has any triumphal arch the splendid decorations of that at Reims in the champagne country.”
With these facts in view it is well to recall that many non-Christian influences asserted themselves from time to time, and overshadowed for a temporary period those which were more closely identified with the growth of the Church. The Commission des Monuments Historiques catalogue sixteen notable monuments in Arles which are cared for by them: the Amphitheatre, the remains of the Forum,—now built into the façade of the Hôtel du Nord,—the remains of the Palais de Constantin, the Abbey of Montmajour, and the one-time cathedral of St. Trophime, and its cloister—to particularize but a few.
To-day, as anciently, the ecclesiastical province is known as that of Aix, Arles, and Embrun. Arles, however, for a time took its place as an archbishopric, though to-day it joins hands again with Aix and Embrun; thus, while enjoying the distinction of being ranked as an archbishopric, its episcopal residence is at Aix.
It was at Arles that the first, and only, English pope—Adrian Breakspeare—first entered a monastic community, after having been refused admission to the great establishment at St. Albans in Hertfordshire, his native place. Here, by the utmost diligence, he acquired the foundation of that great learning which resulted in his being so suddenly proclaimed the wearer of the tiara, in 1154.
St. Trophime came to Arles in the first century, and became the first bishop of the diocese. The first church edifice on this site was consecrated in 606 by St. Virgil, under the vocable of St. Etienne. In 1152 the present church was built over the remains of St. Trophime, which were brought thither from St. Honorat des Alyscamps. So far as the main body of the church is concerned, it was completed by the end of the twelfth century, and only in its interior is shown the development of the early ogival style.
The structure was added to in 1430, when the Gothic choir was extended eastward.
The aisles are diminutively narrow, and the window piercings throughout are exceedingly small; all of which makes for a lack of brilliancy and gloom, which may be likened to the average crypt. The only radiance which ever penetrates this gloomy interior comes at high noon, when the refulgence of a Mediterranean sun glances through a series of long lancets, and casts those purple shadows which artists love. Then, and then only, does the cathedral of St. Trophime offer any inducement to linger within its non-impressive walls.
The exterior view is, too, dull and gloomy—what there is of it to be seen from the Place Royale. By far the most lively view is that obtained from across the ruins of the magnificent Roman theatre just at the rear. Here the time-resisting qualities of secular Roman buildings combine with the cathedral to present a bright, sunny, and appealing picture indeed.
St. Trophime is in no sense an unworthy architectural expression. As a Provençal type of the Romanesque,—which it is mostly,—it must be judged as quite apart from the Gothic which has crept in to but a slight extent.
The western portal is very beautiful, and, with cloister, as interesting and elaborate as one could wish.
It is the generality of an unimposing plan, a none too graceful tower and its uninteresting interior, that qualifies the richness of its more luxurious details.
The portal of the west façade greatly resembles another at St. Gilles, near by. It is a profusely ornamented doorway with richly foliaged stone carving and elaborate bas-reliefs.
The tympanum of the doorway contains the figure of a bishop in sacerdotal costume, doubtless St. Trophime, flanked by winged angels and lions. The sculptures here date perhaps from the period contemporary with the best work at Paris and Chartres,—well on into the Middle Ages,—when sculpture had not developed or perfected its style, but was rather a bad copy of the antique. This will be notably apparent when the stiffness and crudeness of the proportions of the figures are taken into consideration.
The wonderful cloister of St. Trophime is, on the east side, of Romanesque workmanship, with barrel vaulting, and dates from 1120. On the west it is of the transition style of a century later, while on the north the vaulting springs boldly into the Gothic of that period—well on toward 1400.
The capitals of the pillars of this cloistered courtyard are most diverse, and picture in delicately carved stone such scenes of Bible history and legend as the unbelief of St. Thomas, Ste. Marthe and the Tarasque, etc. It is a curious mélange of the vagaries of the stone carver of the Middle Ages,—these curiously and elaborately carved capitals,—but on the whole the ensemble is one of rare beauty, in spite of non-Christian and pagan accessories. These show at least how far superior the classical work of that time was to the later Renaissance.
The cemetery of Arles, locally known as Les Alyscamps, literally teems with mediæval and ancient funeral monuments; though many, of course, have been removed, and many have suffered the ravages of time, to say nothing of the Revolutionary period. One portion was the old pagan burial-ground, and another—marked off with crosses—was reserved for Christian burial.
It must have been accounted most holy ground, as the dead were brought thither for burial from many distant cities.
Danté mentions it in the “Inferno,” Canto IX.:
“Just as at Arles where the Rhône is stagnant
The sepulchres make all the ground unequal.”
Ariosto, in “Orlando Furioso,” remarks it thus:
“Many sepulchres are in this land.”
St. Rémy, a few leagues to the northeast of Arles, is described by all writers as wonderfully impressive and appealing to all who come within its spell;—though the guide-books all say that it is a place without importance.
René Bazin has this to say: “St. Rémy, ce n’est pas beau, ce St. Rémy.” Madame Duclaux apostrophizes thus: “We fall at once in love with St. Rémy.” With this preponderance of modern opinion we throw in our lot as to the charms of St. Rémy; and so it will be with most, whether with regard to its charming environment or its historical monuments, its arch, or its funeral memorials. One will only come away from this charming petite ville with the idea that, in spite of its five thousand present-day inhabitants, it is something more than a modern shrine which has been erected over a collection of ancient relics. The little city breathes the very atmosphere of mediævalism.