IV century, and grew and flourished mightily, until the Bishop dwelt
securely on his rock, his Brother of Gap had a "box" on the opposite
bank, the Convent of the little Dominican Sisters was further up the
river, and, besides this busy ecclesiastical life, there was the world
of burghers in the town and its Convent of Ursulines. Here came once
upon a time a sprightly lady who added a thousand lively interests. This
was Louise de Cabris, sister of the great Mirabeau, "who, when a mere
girl, had been married to the Marquis de Cabris. Part knave, part fool,
the vices of de Cabris sometimes ended in attacks of insanity. His
marriage with one who united the violence of the Mirabeaus to the
license of the Vassans was unfortunate; ... and after Louise began to
reign in the big dark house of the Cours of Grasse, life never lacked
for incidents." Matters were not mended by the arrival of her brother,
twenty-four and wild, and supposed to be living under a "lettre de
cachet" in the sleepy little town of Manosque. The two were soon
embroiled in so outrageous a scandal that their father, who loved a
quarrel for its own sake, sided with the prosecution; and declaring that
"no children like his had ever been seen under the sun," took out a
"lettre de cachet" for Louise, who was sent up to Sisteron, where he
requested her to "repent of her sins at leisure in the Convent of the
Ursulines." Inheriting a brilliant, restless wit and unbridled morals,
her life with the stupid, vicious Marquis had not improved her natural
disposition, and she soon set Sisteron agog. On pretence of business all
the lawyers flocked to see her; and with no pretence at all the garrison
flocked in their train. When the Ursulines ventured to remonstrate, she
diverted them with such anecdotes of gay adventure as were never found
between the pages of their prayer-books. Finally the whole town was
divided into two camps; her foes called her "a viper," and many an eye
peered into the dark streets, many a head was judiciously hidden behind
bowed shutters, to see who went toward the Convent; till by wit and
scheming and after some months of most surprising incident, Louise
carried her point, left the good Ursulines to a well-merited repose,
and returned to the Castle of Mirabeau,--to laugh at the townsfolk of
Sisteron.
[Illustration: "THE CATHEDRAL IS NEAR THE HEAVY, ROUND TOWERS OF THE
OUTER RAMPARTS."--SISTERON.]
[Illustration: "THE BRIDGE ACROSS THE DURANCE."--SISTERON.]
When in the city, the prelates occupied their Castle of the Citadel with
the high lookouts and defences, far from their Cathedral, which is in
the lower town near the heavy, round towers of the ramparts. This
church, which has been very slightly and very judiciously restored, is
of unknown date, probably of the XII century, it is faithful to the
native architectural tradition, and in some details more interesting
than many of the Provencal Cathedrals. Its exterior is small and low.
There are the familiar, friendly little apses of the Romanesque; near
them, above the east end of the north aisle, the squat tower with a
modest, modern spire; and at its side, above the roof-line, is the
octagon that stands over the dome. All this structure is unaffectedly
simple. The walls and buttresses which enclose the aisles are plain, and
it is only by comparison with this architectural Puritanism that the
facade may be considered ornate. Near the top of its wall, which is
supported by sturdy piers, are three round windows, with deep, splayed
frames. The largest of them is directly above the high, slender portal
that is somewhat reminiscent of the Italian influence, so elaborately
marked further up the valley, at Embrun. The rounded arch of the
door-way and its pointed gable are repeated, on either side, in a
half-arch and half-gable. An allegorical animal, in relief, stands above
the central arch, and a few columns with delicate capitals complete the
adornment of the entrance-way, which, in spite of being the most
decorative part of the church, is most discreet.
Nine steps lead down into an interior that is small, very usually
planned, and much defaced by XVII century gilt--yet is essentially
dignified and impressive. Eliminate the tawdry altars, take away the
stucco Saints and painted Virgins, let the chapels be mere shadowy
corners in the dark perspective, and the little church appears like the
meeting-place of the Faithful of an early Christianity. Its nave and
each of the narrow side aisles rise to round tunnel-vaults; there are
but five bays, and the last is covered by a small, octagonal dome. The
whole church is built of a dark stone that is almost black, its lighting
is very dim, and centres in the little apses where the holiest statues
stand and the most sacred rites are celebrated; and the worshippers,
shrouded in twilight, have more of the atmosphere of mystery than is
usual in the Cathedrals of Provence, the subtle influence of quiet
shadowy darkness that is so potent in the churches of the Spanish
borderland.
[Illustration: "ENTRANCES TO TWO NARROW STREETS."--SISTERON.]
Many will pass through Sisteron and enjoy its rugged strength, its
sun-lit days, its narrow streets, and the peaks that stand out in solemn
sternness against the dark blue sky at night. Notre-Dame-de-Pomeriis has
none of the salient beauty of any of these, and to appreciate its
ancient charm, it must not be forgotten that the Provencal Cathedral has
not the distinction of size or the elaboration of the greater Cathedrals
of Gascony, that it is far removed from the fine originalities of
Languedoc, that it is conventional, and, as it were, clannish, and that
its highest dignity is in a simple quiet that is never awe-full. There
is, in truth, more than one church of this country that needs the
embellishment of its history to make it truly interesting. But
Notre-Dame of Sisteron is not of these. It is not the big, empty shell
of Carpentras, nor the little rough Cathedral of Orange. It is the
smaller, more perfect one, of finer inspiration, which the many will
pass by, the few enjoy.
IV.
CATHEDRALS OF THE VALLEYS.
[Sidenote: Orange.]
Lying on the Rhone, and almost surrounded by the papal Venaissin, is a
tiny principality of less than forty thousand acres. This small state
has given title to more than one distinguished European who never
entered its borders, and who was alien to it not only in birth, but in
language and family. So great was the fame of its rulers that this
small, isolated strip of land suffered for their principles, and
probably owes to them much of its devastation in the terrible Wars of
Religion. From the well-known convictions of the Princes of Orange, the
country was always counted a refuge for heretics of all shades, and in
1338 they were in sufficient force to demolish the tower of the
Cathedral. Later in history, Charles IX declared William of Nassau "an
outlaw" and his principality "confiscate"; and in 1571, there was a
three days' massacre of Protestants. In spite of this horrid orgy the
Reformers rose again in might and soon prevented all celebration of
Catholic rites. Refugees fleeing from the Dragonnades of Dauphine and of
the Cevennes poured into the principality; and when the Princes of
Orange were strong enough to protect their state, its Catholics lived
restricted lives; but when the Protestant power waned, Kings and
Captains of France raided the land in the name of the Church. And at
the death of William of Orange, King of England, Louis XIV seized the
capital of the state, razed its great palace and its walls, and after
the Treaty of Utrecht had awarded the principality to the French crown,
treated the defenceless Huguenots with the same impartial cruelty he had
meted to their fellow-believers in other parts of the kingdom. Orange's
changes in religious fate are not unlike those of Nimes, with this
essential difference, that here Catholicism has conquered triumphantly.
Where ten worship in the little Protestant temple, a thousand throng to
the Mass.
Both in history and its monumental Roman ruins, the capital of this
province, Orange, is one of the richest cities of the Southland, but its
Cathedral is very poor and mean. The plan is one of the simplest of the
Provencal conceptions, a "hall basilica," archaeologically interesting,
but in its present state of patch and repair, architecturally
commonplace and unbeautiful. In spite of Protestant attacks and Catholic
restorations, the XI century type has been maintained, a rectangle whose
plain double arches support a tunnel vault and divide the interior into
four bays. The piers are heavy and severe; and between them are alcoves,
used as chapels. The choir, narrower than the nave, is preceded by the
usual dome, and beyond it is a little unused apse, concealed from the
rest of the interior by a wall. Unimportant windows built with
distinctly utilitarian purpose successfully light this small, simple
room, and no kindly shadow hides its bareness or diminishes the unhappy
effect of the paintings which disfigure the walls. The Cathedral's
exterior is so surrounded by irregular old houses that the traveller had
discovered it with some difficulty. It has little that is worthy of
description, and after having entered by a conspicuously poor
Renaissance portal only to go out under an uninteresting modern one, he
found himself lost in wonder that the Cathedral-builders of
Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth should have utterly failed in a town which
offered them such inspiring suggestions as the great Arch of Triumph and
the still greater Imperial Theatre, besides all the other remains of
Roman antiquity which, long after the building of Notre-Dame, the
practical Maurice of Orange demolished for the making of his mediaeval
castle.
[Sidenote: Cavaillon.]
It was growing dusk, of a spring evening, when the traveller arrived at
Cavaillon and wandered about the narrow streets and came upon the
Cathedral. Glimpses of an interesting dome and a turret-tower had
appeared once or twice above the house-tops, leading him on with
freshened interest, and there was still light enough for many first
impressions when he arrived before the low cloister-door. But here was
no place for peaceful meditation. An old woman, coiffed and bent,
brushed past him as she entered, a chair in each hand; and as he effaced
himself against the church wall, a younger woman went by, also
chair-laden. Two or three others came, talking eagerly, little girls in
all stages of excitement ran in and out, and little boys came and went,
divided between assumed carelessness and a feeling of unusual
responsibility. Then a priest appeared on the threshold, not in
meditation, but on business. Another, old and heavy, and panting,
hurried in; and through the cloister-door, Monsieur le Cure, breviary in
hand, prayed watchfully. A little fellow, running, fell down, and the
priest sprang to lift him; the child was too small not to wish to cry,
but too much in haste to stop for tears. The priest watched him with a
kindly shrug and a smile as he ran on;--there was no time for laughing
or crying, there was time for nothing but the mysterious matter in hand.
"What is it?" the traveller finally asked.
"Ah, Monsieur, to-morrow is the day of the First Communion. We all have
just prayed, just confessed, in the church; and our parents are
arranging their places. For to-morrow there will be crowds--everybody.
You too, Monsieur, are coming perhaps? The Mass is at half-past six."
Such was the living interest of the place that the traveller moved away
without any very clear architectural impression of the Cathedral, except
of the curiously narrow bell-turret and of the height of the dome.
He did not see the early Mass, but toward ten wandered again to the
Cathedral and entered the cloister-door. It was a low-vaulted, sombre
little Cloister which all the chattering, animated crowds could not
brighten. Formerly two sides were gated off, and priests alone walked
there. The other sides were public passage-ways to the church. Now only
the iron grooves of the gates of separation remain, and the four walks
were thronged with people. Little girls in the white dresses of their
First Communion, veiled and crowned with roses, were hurrying to their
places; an old grandmother, with her arm around one of the little
communicants, knelt by a column, gazing up to the Virgin of the
cloister-close; proud and anxious parents led their children into
church, and friends met and kissed on both cheeks. In one corner, an old
woman was driving a busy trade in penny-worths of barley candy.
Diminutive altar-boys in white lace cassocks and red, fur-trimmed
capes, offered religious papers for sale. It was a harvest day for
beggars, and "for the love of the good God" many a sou was given into
feeble dirty hands.
[Illustration: "IT WAS A LOW-VAULTED, SOMBRE LITTLE CLOISTER."
CAVAILLON.]
For a time the traveller walked about the Cloister, so tiny and worn a
Cloister that on any other day it must have seemed melancholy indeed. So
low a vaulting is not often found, massive and rounded and seeming to
press, lowering, above the head. The columns, which help to support its
weight, are short and heavy and thick, so worn that their capitals are
sometimes only suggestive and sometimes meaningless. On one side the
carving is distinctly Corinthian; on another altogether lacking. Between
the columns, one could glance into a close so small that ten paces would
measure its length. It was a charming little spot, all filled with
flowers and plants that told of some one's constant, tender care. From
above the nodding flowers and leaves rose the statue of the Madonna and
the Child.
The tolling bell called laggards to Mass. With them, the traveller
entered the church, and found it so crowded that it was only after
receiving many knocks from incoming children, and sundry blows on the
head and shoulders from ladies who carried their chairs too carelessly,
after minutes of time and a store of patience, that he finally reached a
haven, a corner of the Chapel of Saint-Veran. There, under the care of
the Cathedral's Patron, he escaped further injuries and assisted at a
long, interesting ceremony.
Mass had already begun, but the voice of the priest and the answering
organ were lost in the movement of excited friends, the murmur of
questions, and the clatter of nailed shoes on the stone floor. A Suisse,
halberd in hand, and gorgeous in tri-cornered hat and the red and gold
of office, kept the aisle-ways open with firm but kind insistence; and
the priests who were directing the children in the body of the church,
were wise enough to overlook the disorder, which was not irreverence,
but interest. For days, everybody had been thinking of this ceremony;
everybody wanted "good places." But few found them. For the little nave
of the church was chiefly given up to the communicants. They sat on long
benches, facing each other. The boys, sixty or seventy of them, were
nearest the Altar; the girls, even more numerous, nearest the door. A
young priest walked between the rows of boys and the old, panting Father
directed the girls.
The whole interior of the church, at whose consecration no less a
prelate than Pope Innocent IV had presided, is small and its plan is
essentially of the Provencal type. The high tunnel vault rests, like
that of Orange, on double arches; and as the nave is very narrow and its
light very dim, the church seems lofty, sombre, and impressive, with a
very serious dignity which its detail fails to carry out. The chapels,
which lie between the heavy buttresses, are dim recesses which increase
the darkened effect of the interior. Of the ten, only three differ
essentially from the general plan; and although of the XVII century,
their style is so severe and they are so ill-lighted that they do not
greatly debase the church. The choir is entered from under a rounded
archway, and its dome is loftier than the nave and much more beautiful
than the semi-dome of the apse, whose roof, in these practical modern
times, has been windowed.
That which almost destroys the effect of the church's fine lines and
would be intolerable in a stronger light, is the mass of gilt and
polychrome with which the interior is covered. The altars are
monstrously showy, the walls and buttresses are coloured, and even the
interesting, sculptured figures beneath the corbels have been carefully
tinted. The dead arise with appropriate mortuary pallor, the halo of
Christ is pure gold, and all the draperies of God and His saints are in
true, primary shadings.
From the contemplation of this misuse of paint, and of a sadly misplaced
inner porch of the XVII century, the traveller's attention was recalled
to the old priest. His hand was raised, the eye of every little girl was
fixed on him and instantly, in their soft, shrill voices, they began the
verse of a hymn. The traveller glanced down the nave. Every boy was on
his feet, white ribbons hanging bravely from the right arm, the Crown of
Thorns correctly held in one white-gloved hand, a Crucifix fastened with
a bow of ribbon to the coat lapel. Every eye was on the young priest,
who also raised his hand. Then they sang, as the girls had sung, and
with a right lusty will. And then, under the guiding hands, both boys
and girls sang together. There was a silence when their voices died
away, and from the altar a deep voice slowly chanted "Ite; missa est,"
and the High Mass of the First Communion Day was over.
Outside, little country carts stood near the church, and fathers and
brothers in blue blouses were waiting for the little communicants who
had had so long and so exciting a morning. Walking about with the
crowds, the traveller saw an exterior whose facade was plainly
commonplace and whose bare lateral walls were patched, and crowded by
other walls. Finally he came upon the apse, the most interesting part of
the church's exterior; and he leaned against a cafe wall and looked
across the little square.
Externally, the apse of Saint-Veran has five sides, and each side seems
supported by a channelled column. The capitals of these columns are
carved with leaves or with leaves and grotesques; on them round arches
rest; and above is a narrow foliated cornice. In relieving contrast to
the artificial classicism of the Renaissance of the interior, the
feeling of this apse is quite truly ancient and pagan, and it is not
less unique nor less charming because it is placed against a plain,
uninteresting wall. The eye travelling upward, above the choir-dome,
meets the lantern with its rounded windows and pointed roof, and by its
side the high little bell-turret which completes a curious exterior; an
exterior which is interesting and even beautiful in detail, but
irregular and heterogeneous as a whole.
The Cathedral of Cavaillon is one of many possibilities. Although small
like those of its Provencal kindred, it has more dignity than Orange,
more simplicity of interior line than the present Avignon, and it is to
be regretted that it should have suffered no less from restoration than
from old age.
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL'S TOWER AND TURRET.--CAVAILLON.]
[Sidenote: Apt.]
Few of the Cathedral-churches of the Midi are without holy relics, but
none is more famous, more revered, and more authentic a place of
pilgrimage than the Basilica of Apt. It came about in this way, says
local history. When Martha, Lazarus, and the Holy Marys of the Gospels
landed in France, they brought with them the venerated body of Saint
Anne, the Virgin's Mother; and Lazarus, being a Bishop, kept the holy
relic at his episcopal seat of Marseilles. Persecutions arose, and
dangers innumerable; and for safety's sake the Bishop removed Saint
Anne's body to Apt and sealed it secretly in the wall. For centuries,
Christians met and prayed in the little church, unconscious of the
wonder-working relic hidden so near them; and it was only through a
miracle, in Charlemagne's time and some say in his presence, that the
holy body was discovered. This is the history which a sacristan recites
to curious pilgrims as he leads them to the sub-crypt.
The sub-crypt of Sainte-Anne, one of the earliest of Gallo-Roman
"churches," is not more than a narrow aisle; its low vault seems to
press over the head; the air is damp and chill; and the one little
candle which the patient sacristan moves to this side and to that, shows
the plain, un-ornamented stone-work and the undoubted masonry of Roman
times. It was part of the Aqueduct which carried water to the Theatre in
Imperial days, and had become a chapel in the primitive Christian era.
At the end which is curved as a choir is a heavy stone, used as an
altar; and high in the wall is the niche where the body of the church's
patron lay buried for those hundreds of years. It is a gloomy, cell-like
place, most curious and most interesting; and as the traveller saw faith
in the earnest gaze of some of his fellow-visitors, and doubt in the
smiles of others, he wondered what ancient ceremonials, secret Masses,
or secret prayers had been said in this tiny chamber, and what rows of
phantom-like worshippers had filed in and out the dark corridor.
Directly above is the higher upper crypt of the church, a diminutive but
true choir, with its tiny altar and ambulatory,--a jewel of the
Romanesque, heavy and plain and beautifully proportioned, with columns
and vaulting in perfect miniature. This, from its absolute purity of
style, is the most interesting part of the church; and being a crypt, it
is also the most difficult to see. In vain the sacristan ran from side
to side with his little candle, in vain the traveller gazed and
peered,--the little church was full of shadows and mysteries, dark and
lost under the weight of the great choir above.
[Illustration: "THE MAIN BODY OF THE CHURCH."--APT.]
Even the main body of the church, above ground, is dimly lighted by
small, rounded windows above the arches of the nave, and from the dome
of Saint Anne's Chapel. Doubtless, on Sundays after High Mass, when the
great doors are opened, the merry sun of Provence casts its cheerful
rays far up the nave. But this is a church which is the better for its
shadows. A Romanesque aisle of the IX or X century, built by that same
Bishop Alphant who had seen the construction of the little crypt church,
a central nave of the XI century, Romanesque in conception, and a north
aisle of poor Provencal Gothic make a large but inharmonious
interior. Restoration following restoration, chapels of the XVIII
century, new vaultings, debased and conglomerate Gothic, and spectacular
decorations of gilded wood have destroyed the architectural value and
real beauty of the Cathedral's interior. Yet in the dim light, which is
the light of its every-day life, the great height of the church and its
sombre massiveness are not without impressiveness.
The exterior dominates the city, but it is so hopelessly confused and
commonplace that its natural dignity is lost. The heavy arch which
supports the clock tower forms an arcade across a narrow street and
makes it picturesque without adding dignity to the church itself. The
walls are unmeaning, often hidden by buildings, and there is not a
portal worthy of description. There is the dome of Saint Anne's Chapel
with a huge statue of the Patron, and the lantern of the central dome
ending in a pointed roof; but each addition to the exterior seems only
an ignorant or a spiteful accentuation of the general architectural
confusion.
To the faithful Catholic, the interest of Sainte-Anne of Apt lies in its
wonderful and glorious relics. Here are the bodies of Saint Eleazer and
Sainte Delphine his wife, a couple so pious that every morning they
dressed a Statue of the Infant Jesus, and every night they undressed it
and laid it to rest in a cradle. There is also the rosary of Sainte
Delphine whose every bead contained a relic; and before the Revolution
there were other treasures innumerable. During many years Apt has been
the pilgrim-shrine of the Faithful, and great and small offerings of
many centuries have been laid before the miracle-working body of the
Virgin's sainted Mother.
[Illustration: THE VIRGIN AND SAINT ANNE. _By Benzoni._]