XIV St. Castor de Nîmes
Like its neighbouring Roman cities, Nîmes lives mostly in the glorious past.
In attempting to realize—if only in imagination—the civilization of a past age, one is bound to bear always in mind the motif which caused any great art expression to take place.
Here at Nîmes the church builder had much that was magnificent to emulate, leaving style apart from the question.
He might, when he planned the cathedral of St. Castor, have avowed his intention of reaching, if possible, the grace and symmetry of the Maison Carée; the splendour of the temple of Diana; the majesty of the Tour Magna; the grandeur of the arena; or possibly in some measure a blend of all these ambitious results.
Instead, he built meanly and sordidly, though mainly by cause of poverty.
The Church of the Middle Ages, though come to great power and influence, was not possessed of the fabulous wealth of the vainglorious Roman, who gratified his senses and beautified his surroundings by a lavish expenditure of means, acquired often in a none too honest fashion.
The imperative need of the soul was for a house of worship of some sort, and in some measure relative to the rank of the prelate who was to guard their religious life. This took shape in the early part of the eleventh century, when the cathedral of St. Castor was built.
Of the varied and superlative attractions of the city one is attempted to enlarge unduly; until the thought comes that there is the making of a book itself to be fashioned out of a reconsideration of the splendid monuments which still exist in this city of celebrated art. To enumerate them all even would be an impossibility here.
The tiny building known as the Maison Carée is of that greatness which is not excelled by the “Divine Comedy” in literature, the “Venus of Milo” in sculpture, or the “Transfiguration” in painting.
The delicacy and beauty of its Corinthian columns are the more apparent when viewed in conjunction with the pseudo-classical portico of mathematical clumsiness of the modern theatre opposite.
This theatre is a dreadful caricature of the deathless work of the Greeks, while the perfect example of Greco-Romain architecture—the Maison Carée—will endure as long as its walls stand as the fullest expression of that sense of divine proportion and magique harmonie which the Romans inherited from the Greeks. Cardinal Alberoni called it “a gem which should be set in gold,” and both Louis Quatorze and Napoleon had schemes for lifting it bodily from the ground and reëstablishing it at Paris.
Les Arènes of Nîmes is an unparalleled work of its class, and in far better preservation than any other extant. It stands, welcoming the stranger, at the very gateway of the city, its grand axe extending off, in arcaded perspective, over four hundred and twenty feet, with room inside for thirty thousand souls.
These Romans wrought on a magnificent scale, and here, as elsewhere, they have left evidences of their skill which are manifestly of the non-decaying order.
The Commission des Monuments Historiques lists in all at Nîmes nine of these historical monuments over which the paternal care of the Ministère de l’Instruction Publique et des Beaux Arts ever hangs.
As if the only really fine element in the Cathedral of St. Castor were the façade, with its remarkable frieze of events of Bible history, the Commission has singled it out for especial care, which in truth it deserves, far and away above any other specific feature of this church.
Christianity came early to Nîmes; or, at least, the bishopric was founded here, with St. Felix as its first bishop, in the fourth century. At this time the diocese was a suffragan of Narbonne, whilst to-day its allegiance is to the archiepiscopal throne at Avignon.
The cathedral of St. Castor was erected in 1030, restored in the thirteenth century, and suffered greatly in the wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
These depredations have been—in part—made good, but in the main it is a rather gaunt and painful fabric, and one which is unlooked for amid so magnificent neighbours.
It has been said by Roger Peyer—who has written a most enticing monograph on Nîmes—“that without prejudice we can say that the churches constructed in the city dans nos jours are far in advance of the cathedral.” This is unquestionably true; for, if we except the very ancient façade, with its interesting sculptured frieze, there is little to impress the cathedral upon the mind except its contrast with its surrounding architectural peers.
The main plan, with its flanking north-westerly square tower, is reminiscent of hundreds of parish churches yet to be seen in Italy; while its portal is but a mere classical doorway, too mean even to be classed as a detail of any rank whatever.
The façade has undergone some breaking-out and stopping-up of windows during the past decade; for what purpose it is hard to realize, as the effect is neither enhanced nor the reverse.
A gaunt supporting buttress, or what not, flanks the tower on the south and adds, yet further, to the incongruity of the ensemble.
In fine, its decorations are a curious mixture of a more or less pure round-headed Roman style of window and doorway, with later Renaissance and pseudo-classical interpolations.
With the interior the edifice takes on more of an interesting character, though even here it is not remarkable as to beauty or grace.
The nave is broad, aisleless, and bare, but presents an air of grandeur which is perhaps not otherwise justified; an effect which is doubtless wholly produced by a certain cheerfulness of aspect, which comes from the fact that it has been restored—or at least thoroughly furbished up—in recent times.
The large Roman nave, erected, it has been said, from the remains of a former temple of Augustus, has small chapels, without windows, beyond its pillars in place of the usual side aisles.
Above is a fine gallery or tribune, which also surrounds the choir.
The modern mural paintings—the product of the Restoration period—give an air of splendour and elegance, after the manner of the Italian churches, to an appreciably greater extent than is commonly seen in France.
In the third chapel on the left is an altar-table made of an early Christian sarcophagus; a questionable practice perhaps, but forming an otherwise beautiful, though crude, accessory.