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[Frontispiece: Tower of St. Trophimus, Arles.]
IN TROUBADOUR-LAND.
A Ramble in
Provence and Languedoc.
by
S. Baring-Gould, M.A.,
AUTHOR OF "MEHALAU," "JOHN HERRING," "OLD COUNTRY LIFE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY J. E. ROGERS.
"What is this life, if it be not mixed with some delight? And what delight
is more pleasing than to see the fashions and manners of unknown
places? You know I am no common gadder, nor have oft troubled you with
travell."--_Tom of Reading_, 1600.
1891.
PREFACE.
With Murray, Bædeker, Guide Joanne, and half-a-dozen others--all
describing, and describing with exactness, the antiquities and scenery--the
writer of a little account of Provence and Languedoc is driven to give much
of personal incident. When he attempts to describe what objects he has
seen, he is pulled up by finding all the information he intended to give in
Murray or in Bædeker or Joanne. If he was in exuberant spirits at the time,
and enjoyed himself vastly, he is unable, or unwilling, to withhold from
his readers some of the overflow of his good spirits. That is my apology to
the reader. If he reads my little book when his liver is out of order, or
in winter fogs and colds--he will call me an ass, and I must bear it. If he
is in a cheerful mood himself, then we shall agree very well together.
S. BARING-GOULD.
LEW TRENCHARD, DEVON,
_October 28, 1890._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
The Tiber in Flood--Typhoid fever in Rome--Florence--A Jew
acquaintance--Drinking in Provence--Buying _bric-à-brac_ with the Jew--the
_carro_ on Easter Eve--Its real Origin--My Jew friend's letters--Italian
_dolce far niente_
CHAPTER II.
THE RIVIERA.
No ill without a counterbalancing advantage--An industry peculiar to
Italy--Italian honesty--Buffalo Bill at Naples--The Prince and the
straw-coloured gloves--The Riviera--A tapestry--Nice--Its flowers--Notre
Dame--The château--My gardener--A pension of ugly women--Horses and their
hats--Antibes--Meeting of Honoré IV. and Napoleon--The Grimaldis--Lérins,
an Isle of Saints--A family jar--Healed
CHAPTER III.
FRÉJUS.
The freedman of Pliny--Forum Julii--The Port of Agay--The Port
of Fréjus--Roman castle--Aqueduct--The lantern of Augustus--The
cathedral--Cloisters--Boy and dolphin--Story told by Pliny--The _Chains des
Maures_--Désaugiers--Dines with the porkbutchers of Paris--Siéyès--_Sans
phrase_--Agricola--His discoveries
CHAPTER IV.
MARSEILLES.
The three islands Phoenice, Phila, Iturium--Marseilles first a Phoenician
colony--The tariff of fees exacted by the priests of Baal--The arrival
of the Ionians--The legend of Protis and Gyptis--Second colony of
Ionians--The voyages of Pytheas and Euthymenes--Capture of Marseilles
by Trebonius--Position of the Greek city--The Acropolis--Greek
inscriptions--The lady who never "jawed" her husband--The tomb of
the sailor-boy--Hôtel des Négociants--Ménu--Entry of the President
of the Republic--Entry of Francis I.--The church of S. Vincent--The
cathedral--Notre Dame de la Garde--The abbey of S. Victor--Catacombs--The
fable of S. Lazarus
CHAPTER V.
THE CRAU.
The Basin of Berre--A neglected harbour--The diluvium--Formation of the
Crau--The two Craus--Canal of Craponne--Climate of the Crau--The _bise_ and
_mistral_--Force of the wind--Cypresses--A vision of kobolds
CHAPTER VI.
LES ALYSCAMPS.
Difficulty of finding one's way about in Arles--The two inns--The
_mistral_--The charm of Arles is in the past--A dead city--Situation
of Arles on a nodule of limestone--The Elysian Fields--A burial-place
for the submerged neighbourhood--The Alyscamp now in process of
destruction--Expropriation of ancient tombs--Avenue of tombs--Old church
of S. Honoré--S. Trophimus--S. Virgilius--Augustine, apostle of the
English, consecrated by him--The flying Dutchman--Tomb of Ælia--Of
Julia Tyranna--Her musical instruments--Monument of Calpurnia--Her
probable story--Mathematical _versus_ classic studies--Tombs of
_utriculares_--Christian sarcophagi--Probably older than the date usually
attributed to them--A French author on the wreckage of the Elysian Fields
CHAPTER VII.
PAGAN ARLES.
The Arles race a mixture of Greek and Gaulish--The colonisation
by the Romans--The type of beauty in Arles--The amphitheatre--A
bull-baiting--Provençal bull-baits different from Spanish bull-fights--The
theatre--The ancient Greek stage--The destruction of the Arles
theatre--Excavation of the orchestra--Discovery of the Venus of Arles--A
sick girl--Palace of Constantine
CHAPTER VIII.
CHRISTIAN ARLES.
Sunday in France--Improved observance--The cathedral of Arles--West
front--Interior-Tool-marks--A sermon on peace--The cloisters--Old Sacristan
and his garden--Number of desecrated churches in Arles--Notre Dame de la
Majeur--S. Cæsaire--The isles near Arles--Cordes--Montmajeur--A gipsy
camp--The ruins--Tower--The chapel of S. Croix
CHAPTER IX.
LES BAUX.
The chain of the Alpines--The promontory of Les Baux--The railway from
Arles to Salon--First sight of Les Baux--The churches of S. Victor,
S. Claude, and S. Andrew--The lords of Les Baux claimed descent from
one of the Magi--The fair maid with golden locks--The chapel of the
White Penitents--The _deïmo_--History of the House of Les Baux--The
barony passes to the Grimaldi--The ladies of Les Baux and the
troubadours--Fouquet--William de Cabestaing--The morality of the loves
of the troubadours--The Porcelets--Story of a siege--Les Baux a place of
refuge for the citizens of Arles--_Glanum Liviæ_--Its Roman remains--In the
train--Jäger garments
CHAPTER X.
THE CAMPAIGN OF MARIUS.
The Trémaïé--Representation of C. Marius, Martha, and Julia--The Gaïé--The
Teutons and Ambrons and Cimbri threaten Italy--C. Marius sent against
them--His camp at S. Gabriel--The canal he cut--The barbarians cross
the Rhone--First brush with them--They defile before him at Orgon--The
rout of the Ambrons at Les Milles--He follows the Teutons--The plain
of Pourrières--Position of Marius--The battle--Slaughter of the
Teutons--Position of their camp--Monument of Marius--Venus Victrix--Annual
commemoration
CHAPTER XI.
TRETS AND GARDANNE.
The fortifications of Trets--The streets--The church--Roman
sarcophagus--Château of Trets--Visit to a self-educated archæologist--His
collection made on the battle-field--Dispute over a pot of burnt bones--One
magpie--Gardanne--The church--A vielle--Trouble with it--Story of an
executioner's sword
CHAPTER XII.
AIX.
Dooll, but the mutton good--Les Bains de Sextius--Ironwork caps to
towers--S. Jean de Malthe--Museum--Cathedral--Tapestries and tombs--The
cloisters--View from S. Eutrope--King René of Anjou--His misfortunes--His
cheeriness--His statue at Aix--Introduces the Muscat grape
CHAPTER XIII.
THE CAMARGUE.
Formation of the delta of the Rhone--The diluvial wash--The alluvium spread
over this--The three stages the river pursues--The zone of erosion--The
zone of compensation--The zone of deposit--River mouths--Estuaries and
deltas--The formation of bars--Of lagoons--The lagoons of the Gulf
of Lyons--The ancient position of Arles between the river and the
lagoons--Neglect of the lagoons in the Middle Ages--They become
morasses--Attempt at remedy--Embankments and drains--A mistake made--The
Camargue now a desert--Les Saintes Maries--No evidence to support the
legend--Based on a misapprehension
CHAPTER XIV.
TARASCON.
Position of Tarascon and Beaucaire opposite each other--Church of S.
Martha--Crypt--Ancient paintings--Catechising--Ancient altar--The
festival of the Tarasque--The Phoenician goddess Martha--Story
of S. Fronto--Discussion at _déjeûner_ over the entry
of M. Carnot into Marseilles--The change in the French
character--Pessimism--Beaucaire--Font--Castle--Siege by Raymond VII.--Story
of Aucassin and Nicolette
CHAPTER XV.
NIMES.
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
CHAPTER XVI.
AIGUES MORTES AND MAGUELONNE.
A dead town--The Rhônes-morts--Bars--S. Louis and the Crusades--How S.
Louis acquired Aigues Mortes--His canal--The four littoral chains and
lagoons--The fortifications--Unique for their date--Original use of
battlements--Deserted state of the town--Maguelonne--How reached--History
of Maguelonne--Cathedral--The Bishops forge Saracen coins--Second
destruction of the place--Inscription on door--Bernard de Treviis--His
romance of Pierre de Provence--Provençal poetry not always immoral--Present
state of Maguelonne
CHAPTER XVII.
BÉZIERS AND NARBONNE.
Position of Béziers--S. Nazaire--The Albigenses--Their
tenets--Albigensian "consolation"--Crusade against them--The storming
of Béziers--Massacre--Cathedral of Béziers--Girls' faces in the
train--Similar faces at Narbonne, in cathedral and museum--Narbonne
a Roman colony--All the Roman buildings destroyed--Caps of
liberty--Christian sarcophagi--Children's toys of baked clay--Cathedral
unfinished--Archiepiscopal palace--Unsatisfactory work of M.
Viollet-le-Duc--In trouble with the police--Taken for a German spy--My
sketch-book gets me off
CHAPTER XVIII.
CARCASSONNE.
Siege of Carcassonne by the Crusaders--Capture--Perfidy of legate--Death
of the Viscount--Continuation of the war--Churches of New Carcassonne--_La
Cité_--A perfect Mediæval fortified town--Disappointing--Visigoth
fortifications--Later additions--The cathedral--Tomb of Simon de Montfort
CHAPTER XIX.
AVIGNON.
How Avignon passed to the Popes--The court of Clement VI.--John
XXII.--Benedict XII.--Their tombs--Petrarch and Laura--The Palace of
the Popes--The Salle Brûlée--Cathedral--Porch--S. Agricole--Church of
S. Pierre--The museum--View from the Rocher des doms--The Rhone--The
bridge--Story of S. Benezet--Dancing on bridges--Villeneuve--Tomb of
Innocent VI.--The castle at Villeneuve--Defences--Tête-du-pont of the
bridge
CHAPTER XX.
VALENCE.
A dull town--Cathedral--Jacques Cujas--His daughter--Pius VI.--His
death--Maison des Têtes--Le Pendentif--The castle of Crussol--The dukes of
Uzes--A dramatic company of the thirteenth century
CHAPTER XXI.
VIENNE.
Historic associations--Salvation Army bonnets--The fair--A quack--A
vampire--The amphitrite--A _carousel_--Temple of Augustus and
Livia--The Aiguille--Cathedral--Angels and musical instruments--S.
André-le-Bas--Situation of Vienne--Foundation of the Church there--Letter
of the Church on the martyrdoms at Lyons
CHAPTER XXII.
BOURGES.
The siege of Avaricum by Cæsar--The complete subjugation of Gaul--The
statue of the Dying Gaul at Rome--Beauty of Bourges--The cathedral--Not
completed according to design--Defect in height--Strict geometrical
proportion in design not always satisfactory--Necessity of proportion
for acoustics--Domestic architecture in Bourges--The house of Jacques
Coeur--Story of his life--A rainy day--Why Bourges included in this book--A
silver thimble--_Que de singeries faites-vous là, Madeleine?_--Adieu
APPENDIX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
Tower of S. Trophimus, Arles
Abbey of S. Victor, Marseilles
Part of the North Cloister of Arles Cathedral
Les Baux
The Pont du Gard
Béziers from the River
An Entrance to Carcassonne
The Cathedral and the Palace of the Popes, Avignon
GENERAL ILLUSTRATIONS.
The Carro
A Florentine Torch Holder
A Horse in a Hat
Lérins
Aqueduct of Fréjus
Lantern of Augustus
Map of Massalia
Musical Instruments from the Tomb of Julia
Calpurnia's Monument
An Arelaise. (_From a Photograph._)
Part of the Amphitheatre of Arles
Back of a House at Arles
A Boat with two rudders at Arles
On a House at Arles
Samson and the Lion, from the West door of the Cathedral of Arles
On a House at Arles
South Entrance to the Cloister, Arles Cathedral
Church of Notre Dame de la Majeur, Arles
Tower of the desecrated Church of S. Croix, Arles
Part of the Courtyard of the Convent of S. Cæsarius, Arles
Church of the Penitents Gris, Arles
In the Cloisters, Montmajeur
In the Cloister at Arles
Les Baux
Range of the Alpines from Glanum Liviæ
Ruins S. Gabriel
La Trémaïé
Les Gaïé
Caius Marius (_From a bust in the Vatican._)
Orgon and the Durance
Mont Victoire and the Plain of Pourrières
Sketch Plan of the Battle-fields
Monument of Marius
Venus Victrix
Gardanne
The Vielle
Les Saintes Maries
Early Altar, Tarascon
Spire of S. Martha's Church, Tarascon
Iron Door to Safe in S. Martha's Church
King René's Castle, Tarascon
A bit in Tarascon
The Chapel of Beaucaire Castle
Beaucaire Castle from Tarascon.--Sunset
In the Public Garden, Nimes
The Maison Carrée, Nimes
Cathedral of Nimes.--Part of West Front
Aigues Mortes.--One of the Gates
Aigues Mortes.--Tower of the Bourgignons
Sketch Map of Aigues Mortes and its Littoral Chains
Original use of Battlements. (_From Viollet-le-Duc._)
Second stage of Battlements
East End of the Church of Maguelonne
Béziers.--Church of S. Nazaire
Fountain in the Cloister of S. Nazaire, Béziers
Types of faces, Narbonne: Modern--Sixteenth-Century Tomb in
Cathedral--Classic Bust in Museum
Freedmen's Caps, Narbonne
Children's Toys in the Museum, Narbonne
Towers on the Wall, Carcassonne
A Bit of Carcassonne
Inside the Wall, Carcassonne
Papal Throne in the Cathedral of Avignon
John XXII.
Benedict XII.
An Angle of the Papal Palace, Avignon
Lantern at the Cathedral, Avignon
Angel at West Door, Church of S. Agricole
A Bit of the Old Wall, Avignon
Part of Church of S. Didier, Avignon
Bridge and Chapel of S. Benezet
At Villeneuve
Castle of S. André, at Villeneuve
At Villeneuve
A Well at Villeneuve
Cathedral of Valence
Doorway in the House Dupré Latour, Valence
Doorway and Niche in the Maison des Têtes, Valence
House in Vienne
At Vienne
Hurdy-Gurdy Played by an Angel
Church of S. André-le-Bas.--The Tower
Porte de l'Ambulance, Vienne
A Street Corner, Bourges
Part of Jacques Coeur's House
Turret in the Hôtel Lallemand
Staircase in the Hôtel Lallemand
Sculpture over the Kitchen Entrance at Jacques Coeur's House
Jacques Coeur's Knocker
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
The Tiber in Flood--Typhoid fever in Rome--Florence--A Jew
acquaintance--Drinking in Provence--Buying _bric-à-brac_ with the Jew--The
_carro_ on Easter Eve--Its real Origin--My Jew friend's letters--Italian
_dolce far niente_.
Conceive yourself confronted by a pop-gun, some ten feet in diameter,
charged with mephitic vapours and plugged with microbes of typhoid fever.
Conceive your sensations when you were aware that the piston was being
driven home.
That was my situation in March, 1890, when I got a letter from Messrs.
Allen asking me to go into Provence and Languedoc, and write them a book
thereon. I dodged the microbe, and went.
To make myself understood I must explain.
I was in Rome. For ten days with a sirocco wind the rains had descended, as
surely they had never come down since the windows of heaven were opened at
the Flood. The Tiber rose thirty-two feet. Now Rome is tunnelled under the
streets with drains or sewers that carry all the refuse of a great city
into the Tiber. But, naturally, when the Tiber swells high above the crowns
of the sewers, they are choked. All the foulness of the great town is held
back under the houses and streets, and breeds gases loathsome to the nose
and noxious to life. Not only so, but a column of water, some twenty to
twenty-five feet in height, is acting like the piston of a pop-gun, and is
driving all the accumulated gases charged with the germs of typhoid fever
into every house which has communication with the sewers. There is no help
for it, the poisonous vapours _must_ be forced out of the drains and _must_
be forced into the houses. That is why, with a rise of the Tiber, typhoid
fever is certain to break out in Rome.
As I went over Ponte S. Angelo I was wont to look over the parapet at the
opening of the sewer that carried off the dregs of that portion of the
city where I was residing. One day I looked for it, and looked in vain.
The Tiber had swelled and was overflowing its banks, and for a week or
fortnight there could be no question, not a sewer in the vast city would
be free to do anything else but mischief. I did not go on to the Vatican
galleries that day. I could not have enjoyed the statues in the Braccio
Nuovo, nor the frescoes in the Loggia. I went home, found Messrs. Allen's
letter, packed my Gladstone bag, and bolted. I shall never learn who got
the microbe destined for me, which I dodged.
I went to Florence; at the inn where I put up--one genuinely Italian,
Bonciani's,--I made an acquaintance, a German Jew, a picture-dealer with
a shop in a certain capital, no matter which, editor of a _bric-à-brac_
paper, and a right merry fellow. I introduce him to the reader because
he afforded me some information concerning Provence. He had a branch
establishment--never mind where, but in Provence--and he had come to
Florence to pick up pictures and _bric-à-brac_.
Our acquaintance began as follows. We sat opposite each other at table in
the evening. A large rush-encased flask is set before each guest in a swing
carriage, that enables him to pour out his glassful from the big-bellied
flask without effort. Each flask is labelled variously Chianti, Asti,
Pomino, but all the wines have a like substance and flavour, and each is
an equally good light dinner-wine. A flask when full costs three francs
twenty centimes; and when the guest falls back in his seat, with a smile of
satisfaction on his face, and his heart full of good will towards all men,
for that he has done his dinner, then the bottle is taken out, weighed, and
the guest charged the amount of wine he has consumed. He gets a fresh flask
at every meal.
"Du lieber Himmel!" exclaimed my _vis-à-vis_. "I do b'lieve I hev drunk
dree francs. Take up de flasche and weigh her. Tink so?"
"I can believe it without weighing the bottle," I replied.
"And only four sous--twenty centimes left!" exclaimed the old gentleman,
meditatively. "But four sous is four sous. It is de price of mine
paper"--brightening in his reflections--"I can but shell one copy more,
and I am all right." Brightening to greater brilliancy as he turns to me:
"Will you buy de last number of my paper? She is in my pocket. She is ver'
interesting. Oh! ver' so. Moche information for two pence."
"I shall be charmed," I said, and extended twenty centimes across the
table.
"Ach Tausend! Dass ist herrlich!" and he drew off the last drops of Pomino.
"Now I will tell you vun ding. Hev you been in Provence?"
"Provence! Why--I am on my way there, now."
"Den listen to me. Ebery peoples hev different ways of doing de same ding.
You go into a cabaret dere, and you ask for wine. De patron brings you a
bottle, and at de same time looks at de clock and wid a bit of chalk he
mark you down your time. You say you will drink at two pence, or dree
pence, or four pence. You drink at dat price you have covenanted for one
hour, you drink at same price anodder hour, and you sleep--but you pay all
de same, wedder you drink or wedder you sleep, two pence, or dree pence, or
four pence de hour. It is an old custom. You understand? It is de custom of
de country--of La belle Provence."
"I quite understand that it is to the interest of the taverner to make his
customers drunk."
"Drunk!" repeated my Mosaic acquaintance. "I will tell you one ding
more, ver' characteristic of de nationalities. A Frenchman--_il boit_;
a German--_er sauft_; and an Englishman--he gets fresh. Der you hev de
natures of de dree peoples as in a picture. De Frenchman, he looks to de
moment, and not beyond. _Il boit_. De German, he looks to de end. _Er
sauft_. De Englishman, he sits down fresh and intends to get fuddled; but
he is a hypocrite. He does not say de truth to hisself nor to nobody, he
says, _I will get fresh_, when he means de odder ding. Big humbug. You
understand?"
One morning my Jew friend said to me: "Do you want to see de, what you call
behind-de-scenes of Florence? Ver' well, you come wid me. I am going after
pictures."
He had a carriage at the door. I jumped in with him, and we spent the day
in driving about the town, visiting palaces and the houses of professional
men and tradesmen--of all who were "down on their luck," and wanted to part
with art-treasures. Here we entered a palace, of roughed stone blocks after
the ancient Florentine style, where a splendid porter with cocked hat, a
silver-headed _bâton_, and gorgeous livery kept guard. Up the white marble
stairs, into stately halls overladen with gilding, the walls crowded with
paintings in cumbrous but resplendent frames. Prince So-and-So had got into
financial difficulties, and wanted to part with some of his heirlooms.
There we entered a mean door in a back street, ascended a dirty stair, and
came into a suite of apartments, where a dishevelled woman in a dirty split
dressing-gown received us and showed us into her husband's sanctum, crowded
with rare old paintings on gold grounds. Her good man had been a collector
of the early school of art; now he was ill, he could not attend to his
business, he might not recover, and whilst he was ill his wife was getting
rid of some of his treasures.
There we entered the mansion of a widow, who had lost her husband recently,
a rich merchant. The heirs were quarrelling over the spoil, and she was in
a hurry to make what she could for herself before a valuer came to reckon
the worth of the paintings and silver and cabinets.
In that day I saw many sides of life.
"But how in the world," I asked of my guide, "did you know that all these
people were wanting to sell?"
"I have my agents ebberywhere," was his reply.
I thought of the _Diable boiteux_ carrying the student of Alcala over the
city, Madrid, removing the roofs of the houses, and exposing to his view
the stories of the lives and miseries of those within.
I was at Florence on Easter Eve. A ceremony of a very peculiar character
takes place there on that day at noon. In the morning a monstrous black
structure on wheels, some twenty-five feet high, is brought into the square
before the cathedral by oxen, garlanded with flowers. This erection, the
_carro_, is also decorated with flowers, but is likewise covered with
fireworks. A rope is then extended from the _carro_ to a pole which is set
up in the choir of the Duomo, before the high altar. For this purpose the
great west doors are thrown open, and the rope extends the whole length of
the nave. Upon it, close to the pole, is perched a white dove of plaster.
Crowds assemble both in the square and in the nave of the cathedral.
Peasants from the countryside come in in bands, and before the hour of noon
every vantage place is occupied, and the square and the streets commanding
it are filled with a sea of heads.
[Illustration: The Carro.]
At half-past eleven, the archbishop, the canons, the choir, go down the
nave in procession, and make the circuit of the Duomo, then re-enter the
cathedral, take their places in the choir, and the mass for Easter Eve is
begun. At the Gospel--at the stroke of twelve, a match is applied to a
fusee, and instantly the white dove flies along the rope, pouring forth
a tail of fire, down the nave, out at the west gates, over the heads of
the crowd, reaches the _carro_, ignites a fusee there, turns, and, still
propelled by its fiery tail, whizzes along the cord again, till it has
reached its perch on the pole in the choir, when the fire goes out and it
remains stationary. But in the meantime the match ignited by the dove has
communicated with the squibs and crackers attached to the _carro_, and the
whole mass of painted wood and flowers is enveloped in fire and smoke, from
which issue sheets of flame and loud detonations. Meanwhile, mass is being
sung composedly within the choir, as though nothing was happening without.
The fireworks continue to explode for about a quarter of an hour, and
then the great garlanded oxen, white, with huge horns, are reyoked to the
_carro_, and it is drawn away.
The flight of the dove for its course of about 540 feet is watched by the
peasants with breathless attention, for they take its easy or jerky flight
as ominous of the weather for the rest of the year and of the prospects of
harvest. If the bird sails along without a hitch, then the summer will be
fine, but if there be sluggishness of movement, and one halt, then another,
the year is sure to be one of storms and late frosts and hail.
Now what is the origin of this extraordinary custom--a custom that is
childish, and yet is so curious that one would hardly wish to see it
abolished?
Several stories are told to explain it, none very satisfactory. According
to one, a Florentine knight was in the crusading host of Godfrey de
Bouillon, and was the first to climb the walls of Jerusalem, and plant
thereon the banner of the Cross. He at once sent tidings of the recovery of
the Holy Sepulchre back to his native town by a carrier pigeon, and thus
the Florentines received the glad tidings long before it reached any other
city in Europe. In token of their gladness at the news, they instituted the
ceremony of the white pigeon and the _carro_ on Easter Eve.
[Illustration: A Florentine torch holder.]
Another story is to the effect that this Florentine entered the city of
Jerusalem before the first crusade, broke off a large fragment of the Holy
Sepulchre, and carried it to Florence. He was pursued by the Saracens, but
escaped by shoeing his horse with reversed irons. Another version is that
he resolved to bring back to Florence the sacred flame that burnt in the
Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Accordingly he lighted thereat a torch, and
rode back to Italy with the torch flaming. But to protect it from the wind,
he rode with his face to the tail of his steed, screening the torch with
his body. As he thus rode, folk who saw him shouted "Pazzi! Pazzi!"--Fool!
Fool! and this name was assumed by his family ever after. The Pazzis
of Florence every year paid all the expenses of the _carro_ till quite
recently, when the Municipality assumed the charge and now defray it from
the city chest. Clearly the origin of the custom is forgotten; nevertheless
it is not difficult to explain the meaning of the ceremony.
In the Eastern Church, and still, in many churches in the West, the lights
are extinguished on Good Friday, and formerly this was the case with all
fires, those of the domestic hearth as well as the lamps in church. On
Easter Day, fresh fire was struck with flint and steel by the bishop, and
all candles, lamps and hearths were rekindled from this new light. At the
present day one of the most solemn scenes in the Eastern Church is this
kindling of the Easter fire, and its communication from one to another in a
vast congregation assembled to receive it and carry it off to their homes.
In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, the new fire kindled and
blessed by the patriarch, is cast down from the height of the dome.
In Florence, anciently, it was much the same. The archbishop struck the
Easter fire, and it was then distributed among the people; but there were
inconveniences, unseemly scuffles, accidents even, and the dove was devised
as a means of conveying the Easter fire outside the Duomo, and kindling
a great bonfire, whereat the people might light their torches without
desecrating the sacred building by scrambling and fighting therein for
the hallowed flame. At this bonfire all could obtain the fire without
inconvenience. By degrees the bonfire lost its significance, so did
the dove, and fables were invented to explain the custom. The bonfire,
moreover, degenerated into an exhibition of fireworks at mid-day.
One morning my Jew friend insisted on my reading a letter he had just
received from his daughter, aged fourteen. He was proud of the daughter,
and highly pleased with the letter.
It began thus: "Cher papa--nous sommes sauvés. That picture of a Genoese
lady you bought for 200 francs, and doubted if you would be able to get rid
of, I sold before we left home for Provence to an American, as a genuine
Queen Elizabeth for 1,000 francs." Then followed three closely-written
pages of record of business transactions, all showing a balance to the
good, all showing a profit nowhere under thirty per cent. Finally, the
letter concluded: "Mamma's back is better. Louis and I went on Sunday
to see a farm. A cow, a stable, an old peasantess saying her rosary, a
daughter knitting--all real, not waxwork. Votre fille très devouée, LEAH."
"That is a girl to be proud of," said my acquaintance. "And only fourteen!
But hein! here is another letter I have received, and it is awkward." He
told me that when he had been in London on business he had lodged in the
house of a couple who were not on the best of terms. The husband had been a
widower with one child, a daughter, and the stepmother could not abide the
child. Whilst M. Cohen, my friend, was there, the quarrels had been many,
and he had done his best to smooth matters between the parties. Then he
had invited them over to visit the Continent and stay at his house. They
had come, and he had again to exercise the office of mediator. "And now,"
lamented my good-hearted friend, "nebber one week but I get a letter
from de leddy. Here is dis, sent on to me. Read it." The letter ran as
follows:--
"Do write to me. I fear my last letter cannot have reached you, or you
would have answered it. I am miserable. My husband is so cross about that
little girl, because I cannot love the nasty little beast. Oh, Mr. Cohen,
do come to London, or let me come abroad and live in your house away from
my husband and that child. You were so sensible and so kind. I can't bear
to be longer here in the house with my husband and the spoiled child."
My friend looked disconsolately at me.
"What am I to do?" he asked. "She writes ebery week, and I don't answer.
And my wife sends on dese letters."
"Do?" said I. "Send this one at once to Madame Cohen, and ask her to answer
it for you. That London lady will never trouble you again."
The following circumstance I relate, not that it has the smallest
importance except as a characteristic sketch of Italian _dolce far niente_,
and as a lesson to travellers. The proper study of mankind is man, and a
little incident such as occurred to me, and which I will now relate, raises
the curtain and shows us a feature of humanity in Italy. When I hurried
from Rome, I sent off all my luggage by goods train to England, except such
articles as I could compress into a Gladstone bag; a change of raiment of
course was there. But mark the cruelty of fate. My foot slipped on a white
marble stair, and I rent a certain garment at the knee. I at once dived
into my Gladstone bag and produced another pair, but found with a shock
that they also had suffered--become threadbare, and needed attention from a
tailor. What was to be done? I had to leave Florence at noon. The discovery
was made the night before. I rose early, breakfasted early, and hung about
the shop door of a tailor at 8 A.M. till the door was opened, when I
entered, stated my case, and the obliging _sartore_ promised that the
trifling remedy should be applied and I should have my garment again in one
hour. "In one hour!" he said, holding up his hand in solemn asseveration.
Nine o'clock came; then ten, and my raiment had not returned. I flew to the
tailor's shop and asked for my garment. "It was all right," said he, "only
the thread being knotted. It should be sent to my inn." So I returned and
waited. I had my lunch, paid my bill, packed my bag, looked at my watch.
The omnibus was at the door. No garment. I ran to the tailor's. He listened
to my tale of distress with an amiable smile on his face, then volunteered
to come with me to my inn, and talk the matter over with the host.
Accordingly he locked up his shop and sauntered with me to Bonciani's.
Bonciani and he considered the circumstances at length, thrashed
the subject thoroughly. Then, as the horses were being put into the
omnibus--"Come," said the tailor, "I have a brother, a grocer, we will go
to him."
"But why?" asked I. "Do you see, the boxes are being put on the omnibus. I
want my--garment."
"You must come with me to my brother's," said the tailor. So to the
grocer's went we. Vainly did I trust that the journeyman who was engaged
on my article of apparel lodged there, and that, done or undone, I could
recover it thence. But no--not so. The whole story was related with
embellishments to the brother, the grocer, who listened, discussed,
commented on, the matter.
"There goes the 'bus!" I shouted, looking down the street. "Even now, if
you will let me have the article, I can run to the station and get off; I
have my ticket."
"Subito! subito!" said the tailor.
Then the grocer said that the thing in request might be sent by post.
"But," I replied, "I am going into France, to Nice, and clothes are
subjected to burdensome charges if carried across the frontier."
"Ten minutes!" I gasped. "Almost too late."
A moment later--
"Appunto!"
"The clock is striking. I am done for."
"Appunto!" and he lighted a cigarette.
So I had to travel by night, instead of by day.