AIX
A city left solitary—Foundation of Aquæ Sextiæ—The Invasion
of Cimbri and Teutons—Defeat of the Romans—Blunders of the
barbarians—Defeat of Cœpio and Manlius—Marius sent against the
barbarians—Defeat of the Ambrons—Destruction of the Teutons—Ste.
Victoire—The Garagoul—King Réné: Sir Walter Scott’s character of
him: his imprisonment: his failure in Naples: retires to Provence:
character of his daughter, Queen Margaret—The procession at Aix—The
Feast of Fools—Death of Réné: carrying off of his corpse—Destruction
of the tombs at Angers—Cathedral—Museum.
AIX is perhaps the most dejected of cities. At one time the life blood
of the empire poured through it. The great road that left the Flaminian
gate of Rome, passed along the coast of the Ligurian Gulf, crossed the
shoulder of the Alps at La Turbie, and then, going through Nice and by
Cannes, reached Fréjus. At that point it turned inland, left the sea
behind, and made direct for Aix. Thence it stretched away to Arles, and
from that city radiated the routes to Spain, throughout Gaul, and to
the Rhine. Through the market passed all the trade of the West; through
it tramped the legions for the conquest of Britain, and the defence of
the Rhenish frontier; through it travelled the treasure for the pay of
the soldiery; through it streamed the lines of captives for the slave
market at Rome.
But now, Aix is on no artery of communication. To reach it, one most go
in a loitering and roundabout fashion by branch lines, on which run no
express trains, in company with oxen in pens and trucks of coal.
Marseilles has drained away the traffic that formerly ebbed and flowed
through Aix, leaving it listless and lifeless. But if we desire relics
and reminiscences of the past we must not omit a visit to Aix.
Aquæ Sextiæ owes its foundation to Sextius Calvinus, in B.C. 124. The
town has thrice shifted its site. The old Ligurian fortified town was
on the heights of Entremont, three kilometres to the north—and traces
of it remain, but what its name was we do not know. After the defeat
of the Ligurians, Sextius Calvinus planted the Roman town about the
hot springs; but the modern town lies to the east. After his victory
over the Ambrons and Teutons Marius rested here and adorned the town
with monuments, and led water to it by the aqueduct, of which fragments
remain. Cæsar planted a colony here, and the place enjoyed great
prosperity. It was sacked and destroyed by the Saracens in 731, and but
slowly recovered from its ashes. From the thirteenth century the counts
of Provence held their court at Aix, and here lived and painted and
sang good King Réné, of whom more presently.
Aix first rises to notice conspicuously through the defeat of the
Ambro-Teutons by Marius B.C. 102. I have described the campaign at some
length in my book _In Troubadour Land_, as I went over the whole of the
ground carefully. Here I will but sum up the story briefly.
The Cimbri from what is now Jutland, the Teutons, and the Ambrons,
driven from their northern lands by an inundation of the sea, so it was
reported, more probably drawn south by desire of reaching fertile and
warmer seats than the bleak wastes of Northern Germany, crossed the
Rhine to the number of 300,000 fighting men, accompanied by their wives
and children, and moved south. All Gaul, and even Rome, trembled before
them, and the Senate despatched the Consul Papirius Carbo against them.
Having occupied the defiles of the Alps, the Consul opened negotiations
with the barbarians, who pleaded to have lands allotted to them. True
to the unscrupulous principles of Rome, in dealing with an enemy, he
proposed an armistice, which was accepted, and, profiting by this,
he fell treacherously on the enemy by night, when least expected by
the barbarians, who relied on his pacific assurances. But the Cimbri,
though taken at a disadvantage, rallied and drove the legions back in
disorder. On his return to Rome, Carbo was subjected to accusations
by M. Antonius, and put an end to his life by drinking a solution of
vitriol. Instead of profiting by this great victory to enter Italy, the
horde retraced its steps and turned towards Illyria and Thrace; after
devastating these, they again reappeared in Gaul on the right bank of
the Rhone, laden with spoils. Julius Silanus, governor of the province,
hastened to block their course, and the barbarians again asked to be
granted lands on which to settle, offering in return to place their
arms at the service of Rome. Silanus referred the proposal to the
Senate. The reply was one of insolent refusal and defiance. This so
exasperated the Cimbri and Teutons that they resolved on crossing the
Rhone and exacting at the point of the sword what had been refused as
a voluntary concession. In vain did a Roman army endeavour to dispute
with them the passage of the river. They crossed, fell on the Romans,
and slaughtered them.
After this great success, the barbarians, instead of pursuing their
advantage, spread through the province and formed an alliance with the
Volci Tectosages, who had their capital at Toulouse. Then they hurried
towards Northern Gaul. The consul Cœpio was sent to chastise the Volci
for their defection, and he took and pillaged Toulouse. The Cimbri and
Teutons, on hearing of this, retraced their steps and confronted Cœpio.
But a year was allowed to pass without any decisive action being fought.
In the meantime a fresh army had been raised in Rome, and despatched to
the aid of Cœpio, under the command of Manlius. In a fit of jealousy
Cœpio retired to the left bank, encamped apart, and refused to hold any
communication with Manlius; and, that he might have an opportunity of
finishing the war himself, he pitched his quarters between Manlius and
the enemy. At this juncture, with such a formidable host threatening,
the utmost prudence and unanimity were needed by the two commanders;
this the soldiers perceived, and they compelled Cœpio, against his
will, to unite his forces with those of Manlius. But this did not mend
matters. They quarrelled again, and again separated. The barbarians,
who were informed as to the condition of affairs, now fell on one
army and then on the other, and utterly routed both. Eighty thousand
Roman soldiers and forty thousand camp followers perished; only ten
men are said to have escaped the slaughter. It was one of the most
crushing defeats the Romans had ever sustained, and the day on which
it happened, October 6th, became one of the black days in the Roman
calendar.
This overwhelming victory opened to the barbarians the gates of Italy.
It was, however, decided by them to ravage Spain before invading Italy.
The whole course of proceedings on their part was marked by a series
of fatal blunders. Accordingly they crossed the Pyrenees, but met with
such stubborn resistance from the Iberians that they withdrew.
Meanwhile, Rome had recalled Marius from Africa, where he had triumphed
over Jugurtha, King of Numidia, along with some of his victorious
legions; and to him was entrusted the defence of Italy. He hastily
raised a new army, hurried into the province, crossed the _crau_, and
planted himself at the extreme western end of the chain of Les Alpines
at Ernaginum, now S. Gabriel, whence he could watch the enemy; and
whilst there he employed the soldiery in digging a canal from the sea
to the Durance, by means of which his camp could be supplied from
Marseilles with munitions of war and provisions.
The Cimbri and Teutons, on leaving Spain, divided their forces. They
decided that the Cimbri should cross into the plains of Italy by the
passes of the Noric Alps, whereas the Ambrons and Teutons should
advance across the Maritime Alps by the Col de Tende.
Marius remained inert, and observed the enemy cross the Rhone
without making an effort to prevent the passage, to the surprise and
indignation of his troops. The barbarians in vain attempted to draw him
into an engagement. Then they defiled along the Roman road to the north
of Les Alpines, passing under the palisades of the camp, shouting
derisively, “We are on our way to Rome! Have you any messages for your
wives and children?” Six days were spent in the march past.
With difficulty Marius restrained his men. Only when the last of the
Ambrons, who brought up the rear, had gone by did Marius break up his
camp. He had along with him his wife, Julia, and a Syrian sorceress
named Martha. This woman, gorgeously attired, wearing a mitre, covered
with chains of gold, and holding a javelin hung with ribbons, was
now produced before the soldiery, and, falling into an ecstasy, she
prophesied victory to the Roman arms. Marius now moved east, following
the horde, keeping, however, to the high ground, the summit of the
limestone cliffs, and he came suddenly upon the Ambrons at Les Milles,
four miles to the south of Aix. At this point red sandstone heights
stand above the little river Are, and from under the rocks ooze
innumerable streams. Here the Ambrons were bathing, when the Roman
legionaries appeared above.
Marius saw that the Ambrons had become detached from the Teutons,
who were pushing on to Aix. He had now no occasion to restrain his
soldiers, who poured down the hill and cut the enemy to pieces.
Then he thrust on in pursuit of the Teutons. He knew the ground
thoroughly. The road beyond Aix ran through a basin—a plain bordered
by mountain heights, those on the north sheer precipices of yellow and
pink limestone, those on the south not abrupt, and clothed with coppice
and box shrubs. He detached Claudius Marcellus to make a circuit to
the north of the limestone range, with the cavalry, and to take up a
position where the road emerges from the basin, at its eastern limit.
He, with the main body of his army, by forced marches outstripped the
Teutons, be moving to the south, out of sight in the brushwood, and
came out where stands now the town of Trets. Thence he advanced down
the slope towards the plain, which is red as blood with sandstone and
clay, and where were tile works, Ad Tegulata. The Teutons had already
encamped, when they saw the Romans. An engagement at once began. Whilst
it was in progress, Marcellus came down in their rear with his cavalry.
The result was a rout and a slaughter. Few were spared among the
fighting men. Over 100,000 were slaughtered or made prisoners. Their
wives and children, their camp, and all their plunder, fell to the
victors. So great was the carnage, that the putrefying remains of the
Germans gave to the spot the name of Campi Putridi, now corrupted into
Pourrières.
A monument was afterwards erected where the fiercest of the battle
raged, the foundations of which remain; and here was found the statue
of Venus Victrix, now in the Museum of Avignon; and at Pourrières a
triumphal arch was raised that still stands to commemorate the victory.
On the crag to the north, commanding the field, a temple of Victory
was erected that in Christian times became a chapel of Ste. Victoire,
and the great deliverance in B.C. 120 is still commemorated by the
lighting of bonfires on the heights, and by a pilgrimage and mass said
in the chapel on March 23rd. A little convent was erected near the
chapel, that is now in ruins; the existing chapel dates from only 1661.
At the Revolution it was allowed to fall to decay, but has since been
restored. The height of Ste. Victoire is noted as the resort of a
special kind of eagle, resembling the golden eagle, but more thickset,
and with “white scapulars.”
It may be remembered that Sir Walter Scott has placed one of the scenes
of _Anne of Geierstein_ at the Monastery of Ste. Victoire.
Near the chapel is the cavern of Lou Garagoul:
“In the midst of this cavernous thoroughfare,” says Sir Walter, “is
a natural pit or perforation of great, but unknown, depth. A stone
dropped into it is heard to dash from side to side, until the noise
of its descent, thundering from cliff to cliff, dies away in distant
and faint tinkling, less loud than that of a sheep’s bell at a mile’s
distance. The traditions of the monastery annex wild and fearful
recollections to a place in itself sufficiently terrible. Oracles,
it is said, spoke from thence in pagan days by subterranean voices,
arising from the abyss.”
The pit is, in fact, one of these _avens_ so commonly found on the
limestone _causses_. The description is somewhat overdrawn, but Sir
Walter had never seen the place, and all he knew of it was second hand.
With Aix, King Réné is inseparably associated, that most unfortunate
Mark Tapley of monarchs claiming to be King of Jerusalem, Aragon,
of Naples and of Sicily, of Valencia, Majorca, Minorca, of Corsica
and Sardinia—to wear nine crowns, and yet not possessing a rood of
territory in one of them; Duke of Anjou and Bar, but despoiled of his
dukedoms, and reduced to only his county of Provence.
[Illustration: KING RÉNÉ
_From the Triptych in Aix Cathedral_]
Sir Walter Scott pretty accurately describes him:—
“Réné was a prince of very moderate parts, endowed with a love of
the fine arts, which he carried to extremity, and a degree of good
humour, which never permitted him to repine at fortune, but rendered
its possessor happy, when a prince of keener feelings would have died
of despair. This insouciant, light-tempered, gay, and thoughtless
disposition, conducted Réné, free from all the passions which embitter
life, and often shorten it, to a hale and mirthful old age. Even
domestic losses, which often affect those who are proof against
mere reverses of fortune, made no deep impression on the feelings
of this cheerful old monarch. Most of his children had died young;
Réné took it not to heart. His daughter Margaret’s marriage with the
powerful Henry of England was considered a connexion much above the
fortunes of the King of the Troubadours. But in the issue, instead of
Réné deriving any splendour from the match, he was involved in the
misfortunes of his daughter, and repeatedly obliged to impoverish
himself to supply her ransom.”
In the Cours Mirabeau at Aix may be seen a statue of him by David
of Angers, but it is worthless as a bit of portraiture; which is
indefensible, as several genuine portraits of the king exist; one is
in the cathedral along with his second wife, in the triptych of the
Burning Bush; another in the MS. of Guarini’s translation of Strabo, in
the library at Albi; a third, in private hands, has been engraved in
the Count de Quatrebarbe’s edition of King Réné’s works.
Réné has got into such a backwater of history that probably not
many English folk know more about him than that he was the father
of the unfortunate Margaret, Queen of Henry VI., sketched for us by
Shakespeare in an unfavourable light, and more of him than what Scott
is pleased to say in _Anne of Geierstein_. But no man has so taken hold
of Provençal affection as has Réné.
“If to the present day,” says a local historian, “the thought of this
King makes a Provençal heart beat with tender love, it is due to this:
that never was there a sovereign who showed greater consideration for
his people, was more sparing of their blood and money, more desirous
of promoting their happiness. Simple and modest in all his tastes,
enjoying less revenue than most of the Seigneurs who were his vassals,
he was to be seen every winter sunning himself in the midst of his
subjects, who idolised him.”
Réné, Duke of Anjou and Maine, was prisoner to the Duke of Burgundy,
when news reached him that the inheritances of his brother and of Queen
Joanna II. of the Two Sicilies, had fallen to him. Married to Isabella,
daughter of Charles of Lorraine, he had claimed that duchy on the death
of his father-in-law, and in opposition to Anthony, Count of Vaudemont,
nephew of Charles. The Count of Vaudemont was supported by Philip,
Duke of Burgundy. Réné was defeated and taken prisoner, along with
his son and all his great nobles. Conducted to the castle of Blacon,
near Salines, he was there retained in captivity till he could pay an
enormous ransom. It was, accordingly, whilst a prisoner that he heard
the news of the death of his brother, Louis III., and of his adoption
by the queen, and then of the death of Joanna, in 1435.
As he was unable to take possession of his kingdom of the Two Sicilies,
he was obliged to transfer his authority to his wife, the Duchess
Isabella, a woman of rare prudence and of masculine courage. The
absence of Réné from his kingdom of Naples gave rise to the formation
of factions: one favoured Alphonso of Aragon, a claimant; another took
the side of Pope Eugenius IV., who wanted to annex the Sicilies to
the papal states; a third party favoured Réné, and this latter was
the most numerous. But the King of Aragon was prompt and determined.
Alphonso hastened to Naples, took Capua, and laid siege to Gaeta.
Happily for Réné’s party, the Genoese, who were jealous of Alphonso,
forced him to raise the siege, and took him prisoner. Later, however,
Gaeta fell before Peter, the brother of Alphonso.
At this time Isabella was making preparations at Aix and in the port of
Marseilles for a descent on Naples. The Pope was induced to withdraw
his claim, to lend her 4,000 horsemen, and to help her by hurling
excommunications against the Aragonese. Meanwhile, King Réné, by
promises, had succeeded in effecting his release, but on very harsh
terms. He bound himself to pay 200,000 gold florins, and to cede
several fortified places till his ransom was paid. His son, the Duke
of Calabria, had been set at liberty the year before for a ransom of
25,000 florins. Réné had spent six years in prison.
Delivered from his long captivity, Réné hastened to Provence, where the
estates found him 100,000 gold florins for the prosecution of the war.
In April, 1438, Réné sailed from Marseilles for Naples. Unfortunately
for him, at this time his trusted constable, Jacopo Caldora, died, and
the king gave his place to the son of Caldora, a man of very different
stamp, who sold himself to the King of Aragon and threw every possible
hindrance in the way of Réné, who was besieged in Naples, and sorely
hampered by lack of money wherewith to content his soldiery. One day,
as he was passing through the streets, a widow cried to him to give her
bread for her starving children. Réné passed without a word. “If he
will not feed them, I know who will,” said the woman, and she hastened
to betray to a partisan of Alphonso the secret of a subterranean
passage into the town; in fact, the old aqueduct through which, nine
centuries before, Belisarius had penetrated into Naples. The Spaniards
poured into the town, and Réné had but just time to escape to a vessel
in the bay. He retired to Provence, and there his wife, Isabella, died
in 1453. He had her body moved to Angers, and erected over her a noble
tomb, near one he had set up some years before to his old nurse. Réné
fought against the English beside the French King, and was in the
battle of Crecy. In 1448 his daughter Margaret had been married to
Henry VI.
Shakespeare and the chroniclers have combined to blacken the character
of this unfortunate woman. She is represented in repulsive colours,
as unfeminine, revengeful, loose in her morals; and even her energy
and fortitude are distorted into unnatural ferocity and obduracy.
But we cannot trust the picture painted of her. The English people
resented the marriage with an impecunious woman, and the cession of
the duchy of Maine to the French as the price for her hand. They were
galled and writhing at the humiliation of the English arms, in a
series of victories won by the aid of the Maid of Orleans. She was,
moreover, placed in the unnatural position of having to supply, by her
force of character, the feebleness of her husband’s rule. The soft,
feminine nature of Henry’s disposition threw hers by contrast into
undue prominence. She had penetration to discover, what was hidden
from Henry’s eyes, that the throne was surrounded by false friends and
secret enemies. Considering the incapacity of the King, it is unjust to
judge her harshly, if she strove with all her powers to save the crown
imperilled by his feebleness. The situation in which she was placed
compelled her to do that which is the worst thing a woman can do, to
unsex herself, and that, not like the Maid of Orleans, in consequence
of a Divine impulse, but from motives of policy. Inevitably much has
been attributed to her for which she was not rightfully responsible.
It could hardly be otherwise than that much in her way of life was
inconsistent with her female character; a woman cannot play a man’s
part in the work of the world without detriment to her own nature; but
this was forced on her by the helpless imbecility of her husband, and
she was compelled by the stress of circumstances to take the first part
in a struggle to save the crown, and to hand it on to her son.
After the death of Isabella, Réné married Jeanne de Laval, with whom he
lived happily. He loved to walk about the country in a broad-brimmed
straw hat, and to chat with the peasants; or else to amuse himself with
illuminating MSS. and composing poems.
Louis XI. was his nephew, a crafty and cold-blooded king, and he took
advantage of the inability of Réné to offer effective resistance to
dispossess him of his duchy of Anjou. Thenceforth Réné, who had spent
his time between Anjou and Provence, was constrained to reside only in
the latter.
One great source of delight to him consisted in scheming showy public
processions and tournaments, and in hunting up relics of saints. He
instituted a festival at Aix to represent the triumph of Christianity
over Paganism, that was to be repeated annually. At the head of the
procession appeared the gods, with their proper attributes—Jove with
his eagle and thunderbolts, Pluto surrounded by devils, Diana with
her crescent, Venus in the scantiest of garments. Around their chariot
trotted an assembly of lepers covered with sores and vested in rags.
Then came a body of pipers, dancers, and soldiers. Next appeared the
Queen of Sheba on a visit to Solomon; Moses with the Tables of the Law,
and with gilt horns; round him a rabble of Jews hooting and cutting
derisive antics, and dancing about a golden calf. Next came apostles
and evangelists, all with their appropriate symbols, and Judas, against
whose head the apostles delivered whacks, Peter with his keys, Andrew
with his cross, James with his staff.
Then came a gigantic figure to represent S. Christopher, followed by
military engaged in sham fight. Next the Abbot of Youth, the Lord
of Misrule, the Twelfth Night King, and other allegorical figures
preceding the Blessed Sacrament, carried under a daïs. Finally the
procession closed with a figure of Death mowing to right and left with
his scythe. Each group of this interminable procession executed a sort
of dramatic game designed by King Réné—the game of the stars, of the
devils, and so on; and the whole procession moved, not only to the
braying of horns, the beating of drums, and the shrill notes of the
wry-necked fife, but also to the discordant clashing of all the church
bells of Aix.
It was a matter of keen competition annually to get a part to play in
the show. One man on a certain occasion was highly wrath and offended
because he was not set down to the part of Devil. “My father was a
devil before me, my grandfather was a devil, why should not I be one
as well?” Possibly King Réné devised the entertainment to draw people
away from their celebration of the Feast of Fools, a feast that existed
in full vigour until it was finally put down by the provincial council
of Aix in 1585, after Réné had vainly endeavoured to get rid of it.
This astounding piece of ribaldry and profanity was everywhere, and
every effort made by the Church to be rid of it had met with stubborn
resistance from the people. In Dijon it was abolished by the Parliament
in 1552, as the ecclesiastical authorities were powerless to end it.
The Feast of Fools was the carrying on of the old pagan Saturnalia,
when on December 17th for a week all conditions were turned
topsy-turvey. The slaves took places at table and the masters served;
and the streets were full of riot and revelry. It was customary at
Aix and Arles, and in almost every great church in France, from the
New Year to the Epiphany, for the people to proceed to the election
of a Bishop of Fools. The election took place amidst buffoonery and
the most indecent farces. The newly-elected was then made to officiate
pontifically at the high altar, whilst clerks carried mitre and
crozier, their faces daubed over with paint or soot. Some men dressed
as women, women were disguised as men, and danced in the choir. Songs
of the grossest nature were sung; and in place of incense old leather
and all kinds of filth were burnt; sausages and black puddings were
eaten on the altar. The last traces of these horrible profanities did
not disappear till the middle of the eighteenth century.
But to return to King Réné. He died at the age of seventy-two in July,
1480, and according to his will, his nephew, Charles of Maine, took
possession of the county of Provence under the title of Charles IV. But
he soon died, and then Louis XI. annexed Provence, as he had Anjou, to
the French crown.
Réné had desired to be buried at Angers beside his first wife, and
Jeanne, his second, tried to carry out his wishes; but the people of
Aix would not hear of the body being removed from their midst. The
estates met, and sent a petition to Jeanne to renounce the idea of
conveying the remains away from Provence. However, she gained the
consent of the archbishop to the removal; but she was obliged to wait
a whole year before the suspicions and watchfulness of the people of
Aix would allow her to execute her purpose. Then she sent a covered
waggon, with intent, as she gave out, to remove some of her goods from
the castle at Aix; and during the night the body of the old king was
whisked away; the horses started at a gallop, and the corpse conveyed
beyond the frontiers of the county before the people were aware of the
theft. A noble monument was erected at Angers to contain the mortal
remains of Réné. Unhappily at the French Revolution this, as well as
the monument and statue of Isabella, his first wife, and even that of
his dear old nurse, were smashed to fragments by the rabble.
The cathedral is an interesting church: the south aisle constituted
the Early Romanesque church. To this was added the present nave in
1285, with apse. On the south side of the church is a charming Early
Romanesque cloister, and on the north is a baptistry of the sixth
century, but somewhat altered in 1577, containing eight columns of
polished granite and marble proceeding from some demolished temple.
There are two objects in the church likely more specially to attract
attention; the triptych of the Burning Bush, where King Réné and
Jeanne de Laval are represented kneeling before the Bush that burns
with fire and is not consumed, and in which, by a curious anachronism,
is represented the Virgin and Child. This triptych was painted, it is
thought, by Van der Meire, a disciple of Van Eyck. The other object
is the magnificent series of tapestries in the choir, representing
the Life of Our Lord, which came from S. Paul’s Cathedral, London,
whence they were ejected at the time of the Commonwealth. The date of
these tapestries is 1511, and they are attributed to Quentin Matsys of
Antwerp.
The museum of Aix richly deserves a visit. It contains bas-reliefs
dug up at Entremont, where was the old Ligurian stronghold, taken by
Sextius Calvinus; and these are the very earliest bits of Gaulish
sculpture that have been found anywhere. There are also numerous relics
of the classic Aix that have been unearthed in the town, and Christian
sarcophagi sculptured with Biblical scenes.
In the town library is King Réné’s _Book of Hours_, illuminated by his
own hand.