_Saint-Remy_
On the way up from Les Baux to the _col_, and for some distance beyond,
the country is arid and cold; but the wealth of aromatic and flowering
shrubs that carpet the ground in these stony regions, and the breathing
spirit of the spring, gives them a charm of their own that is far
removed from desolation. The road was lonely enough. A few flocks of
sheep and goats clattered among the loose stones of the hillsides that
were on either side, among the pines and the thyme and rosemary and the
yellow brooms; and the shepherds watched and whistled to them, never
very far away. A motor-car passed me as I rested at the top of the
hill, and a carriage jogging along the straight road to the "plateau
des antiquités" offered itself for a lift; for I was on my way to see
something that every tourist in these parts comes to see, and this
one was plying for hire in this lonely region in the ordinary way of
business. But otherwise I had the road to myself in the early morning,
and took my time over the six or seven kilometres that were all that I
was yet able to accomplish.
The two noble monuments that stand in an open space a mile or so to
the south of Saint-Remy, and dominate the wide expanse on all sides,
can be seen long before one reaches them, from the south. The wildness
of the hills has begun to give place to cultivation, but they stand by
themselves with no other buildings near them, reminders of a story that
has never been forgotten by the poorest and least educated of those who
work within sight of them.
The so-called mausoleum is the older of the two. It has an inscription
that has caused considerable difficulties to the antiquarians. I need
not go into the controversy, but will accept the conclusions set
forth by Mr. Cook, who deals with the question in his own lucid and
convincing way.
The inscription is to the effect that Sextus, Lucius, and Marcus,
Julii, and sons of Caius, dedicated this monument to their parents;
and within the colonnade on the top of it are two statues which have
been supposed to represent these objects of filial piety. But the
inscription is not less than a hundred years later than the date of
the monument on which it was carved, and the probability is that some
rich colonials "calmly appropriated a fine 'antiquity,' wrote their own
names on it, and buried the respected corpses of their parents within a
building originally intended for entirely different uses."
The bas-reliefs on the four sides of the base represent a Roman
triumph, and there seems little doubt that this noble monument was
erected to commemorate the great victory of Caius Marius over the
barbarians, on the spot where he had first met them. It was erected by
Julius Cæsar, the nephew of Marius, and the two figures represent the
great general himself, and Catullus, his colleague in the consulship,
when their combined forces crushed the Cimbrians upon the Raudine Plain.
The Triumphal Arch, which stands close to the monument, was also
erected by Julius Cæsar, to celebrate his great victory over
Vercingetorix. It is the earliest Roman triumphal arch outside Italy,
and there are probably only two in Rome that are earlier.
[Illustration: THE MAUSOLEUM, SAINT-REMY]
[Illustration: THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH, SAINT-REMY]
The photographs will show the wonderful state of preservation of the
monument, as well as its beautiful details. The arch also preserves
much of its detail, and the two monuments together have a striking
effect. Mr. Cook draws a just comparison between these sane and
beautiful relics of classical antiquity and the misery and squalor of
the mediæval ruins of Les Baux. It is a comparison that strikes one
forcibly throughout Provence. We shall see other examples of Roman
architecture--in the Pont du Gard, the Arenas at Nîmes and Arles,
and elsewhere--and in comparison with them all but fragments of the
oldest churches and palaces and fortifications that came after them
are things of yesterday. And yet the Roman works seem to be built to
stand for ever, and tell their tale so that all may read it; while
with the buildings of centuries after, the tale is confused often
beyond unravelment. We know of the history that led to the erection of
these "antiquities" at Saint-Remy, and the men who made them, almost
as if they were things of a generation ago. Move forward a thousand
years and the long history of Les Baux was just beginning. Its princes
crept out of obscurity, and its stately buildings arose, to arrive at
splendour through long centuries, to decay and to lie in ruins for
centuries more; and all the time these other buildings within a few
miles of them, whose life has been twice as long as theirs in all
their phases, have continued almost in their first perfection. And you
must move on for much more than a thousand years before you find the
Christian legends that derived from the people and events which these
monuments commemorated firmly fixed in the minds of men, and giving
rise to the beautiful buildings which now vie with those of the Romans
in interest. In this country, one is not allowed to forget how many
hundreds of years it took for the church to produce its fine flowers
of architecture, when one is continually coming across those of a
civilization that was old before the Church ever existed.
Not far from these Roman "antiquities" is an interesting church and
cloister of the twelfth century, but I did not turn aside to see it,
as walking had now become a painful business, and it took me half an
hour to limp down the long avenue that led to the pleasant town of
Saint-Remy. It is a gay, clean little town, its broad streets and
squares shaded by great limes and planes and chestnuts, its gardens
full of flowering shrubs, and rich with beds of colour. One seems to
have got back to the country about Grasse, but here the flowers are
grown for seed, not for scent. Saint-Remy's chief industry is the
production of seeds for the horticulturists. I should have liked to see
something of it, but had to content myself with sitting still until the
departure of the omnibus for Avignon.
This was a great clumsy petrol-driven conveyance in which the men
stood in one compartment, holding on to anything within reach as it
lurched and swayed along the road, and the women sat in another. I
think it was market-day. At any rate the seated compartment was full
of peasant women nursing their baskets, every window closed and the
heat considerable. I might have borne that for the sake of a seat, of
which there was one vacant, but when I opened the glass door between
the compartments I was met with such a powerful efflux of garlic that I
closed it again hurriedly and swayed and lurched with the rest until we
reached Châteaurenard.
It was a charming, fertile country that we passed through, with one
farm succeeding another--comfortable-looking, rambling, stone-built
houses and outbuildings, shielded from the fierce winds by rows of tall
cypresses, and even the fields and market-gardens fenced in with dried
reeds. The _mistral_ and the _bise_, when they really set to work,
are a scourge. But as old François Mistral used to say when he heard
grumbling about the weather: "Good people, there is One above who knows
what He is about, and what is good for us. Supposing those great winds
which bring life to Provence never blew, how would the mists and fogs
of our marshes be dispersed? And if we never had the heavy rains, how
would our wells and springs and rivers be fed? We need all sorts, my
children."
At Châteaurenard we changed omnibuses for the five miles' journey to
Avignon. They were mostly townspeople now who crowded the compartments.
There was a family in the corner of mine--a mother with three handsome
daughters who crocheted or knitted busily during the whole journey,
and a father who sat silent and looked learned, but amiable. Perhaps he
was a _félibre_; they are mostly learned and amiable; and Avignon is
one of their chief centres.
We crossed the Durance, a broad and mighty river, soon to join its
waters with those of the Rhône. The sun was setting over it, and the
knitting ladies laid down their wool and exclaimed at the beauty of
the scene. After another mile or so we were set down just outside the
ramparts of the ancient city.