HYÈRES
The olive—The orange—The sumac—The _crau_ of the Gapeau—Contrast
between the old town and the new—Shelter or no shelter—The
family of Fos—The peninsula of Giens—Saltings—Ancient
value of salt—Pomponiana—S. Pierre a’ Al-Manar—A false
alarm—The League—Razats and Carcists—Castle held by the
Carcists—Surrender—Churches of S. Paul and S. Louis—The Iles
de Hyères—The reformatory in Ile du Levant—Mutiny—Horrible
scenes—Sentences.
IT will be at Hyères, probably, that the visitor to the Riviera first
realises that he has come amidst tropical vegetation, for here he will
first see palms, agaves, and aloes in full luxuriance. Moreover, the
olive, which has been seen, but not in its full luxuriance, reaches its
finest development on the red soil north of the branch line, where it
parts from the main line at La Pauline.
[Illustration: OLIVE TREES]
The olive is without question the most important tree on this coast;
it prevails, and gives its colour to the country everywhere, except in
the Montagnes des Maures and the Estérel. This is a most difficult tree
for an artist to deal with, as it forms no masses of foliage; the small
pointed leaves, dull green above, pale below, are so disposed that the
foliage can be represented only by a series of pencil scratches. The
trunk has a tendency to split into three or four parts in the ground.
The vitality of the olive is remarkable. After a century, it may be
after more, the core of the trunk decays, and the tree parts into
sections, and lives on through the ever-vital bark. The bark curls
about the decayed sections, and forms a fresh tree. Consequently, in
place of one huge ancient olive, one finds three or four younger trees,
but all with a look on them as if they were the children of old age,
growing out of the same root. And when this second generation dies,
the vitality of the root remains unimpaired; it throws up new shoots,
and thus the life of the tree, like that of an ancient family, is
indefinitely prolonged. The healthy olive tree, well fed on old rags
and filth of every description, to which it is exceedingly partial, is
very beautiful; but the beauty of the olive tree comes out in winter
and early spring; when the deciduous trees are in leaf and brilliant
green, it looks dull and dowdy. The olive flowers from April to
June, and the fruit requires about six months to reach maturity. The
harvest, accordingly, is in winter. The berry becomes black finally,
and falls from the tree in December and January. The oil from the fully
matured olives is more abundant, but is not so good in quality as that
expressed from the berry whilst still green. The olives, when gathered,
are taken to the mills, which are rude, picturesque buildings, planted
in the ravines to command water power; but occasionally the crushing
is done by horses turning the mills. The olives are crushed by stone
rollers; the pulp is put into baskets and saturated with hot water, and
subjected to great pressure. The juice then squeezed out is carried
into vats, where the oil floats on the surface and is skimmed off.
The wood of the olive is used for fuel, and for boxes and other
ornaments that are hand-painted.
The tree requires good nourishment if it is to be well cropped, and it
is most partial to a dressing of old rotten rags. All the filthy and
decayed scraps of clothing cast by the Neapolitan peasantry are carried
in boats to the coast and are eagerly bought as manure.
At Hyères, moreover, we come on the orange and the lemon. The orange
was originally imported from China into Spain, and thence passed to
Italy and the Riviera. Oranges are said to live four or five hundred
years. S. Dominic planted one in the garden at Sta. Sabina, at Rome,
in 1200, that still flourishes. Hale and fruit-bearing also is that at
Fondi, planted by Thomas Aquinas in 1278. Nevertheless, it is certain
that old orange-trees have disappeared from Hyères. Whether they
were killed by the severe winter of 1864, or whether by a disease,
is doubtful. The trees one sees now are none of them ancient, and do
not attain a height above nine feet. The name orange comes from the
Sanskrit, and the Portuguese, who introduced the orange to Europe,
borrowed the name from the Hindus. In 1516 Francis I. was present
during a naval sham fight at Marseilles, where oranges were used as
projectiles. Oranges had been grown sufficiently long at Hyères to
have attained a great size in the sixteenth century, for when there,
Charles IX., his brother the Duke of Anjou, and the King of Navarre,
by stretching their hands, together hooped round the trunk of one tree
that bore 14,000 oranges. Thereupon was cut in the bark, “_Caroli regis
amplexu glorior_.” But there are no such orange-trees as that now
at Hyères. Probably that was of a more hardy nature and of inferior
quality to the orange-tree now grown. In fact, the present strain of
oranges cultivated is a late importation, not earlier than about 1848.
When a horticulturist of Marseilles imported it, it was next brought
to Bordighera; from thence it passed to San Remo, to Ventimiglia, and
thence to Nice. The orange, and above all the lemon, is very sensitive
to cold, and the frost of February, 1905, blighted nearly every tree
along the coast, turning the leaves a pale straw colour. Only in very
sheltered spots did they retain their green and gloss.
About Solliés-Pont the sumac is grown for the sake of its tannin. The
leaves only are used, but for them the branches are cut off. When these
are dry they are stripped of their foliage by women and children. The
leaves are then pounded to powder, and are packed in sacks and sent
away. Thirty per cent. of the matter in the dried sumac leaves is
tannin.
At Hyères we have passed abruptly from the limestone to the schist
that has been heaved up by the granite of the Montagnes des Maures.
The Gapeau, which at present flows into the sea to the east of Hyères,
originally discharged past La Garde into the Rade de Toulon. But it
brought down such a quantity of rubble from the limestone range—of
which the Pilon de la Sainte Beaume is the highest point—that it has
formed a _crau_ of its own, and choked up its mouth to such an extent
as to force its current to turn to the farther side of the Maurettes so
as to find a passage to the sea.
Hyères is a notable place for the abrupt contrast it exhibits between
what is ancient and what is modern. Down the slope of the height, that
is crowned by the castle, slides the old town, with narrow streets,
mere lanes, to its old walls, in which are gateways, and through these
arches we emerge at once into everything that is most up-to-date. At a
stride we pass out of the Middle Ages into modern times. There is no
intervening zone of transition.
At Hyères the Maurette rises as a natural screen, facing the sun,
banking out the north wind, with the _crau_ of the Gapeau on one side,
and the bed of the Gapeau on the other; and of course, those who go
to the South for shelter would naturally, one would suppose, keep the
screen between themselves and the Mistral. But not so. Settlers have
thought they had done all that was required when they came to Hyères,
and have built their villas, and extended the town to the north-west,
precisely where there is no shelter at all, and there is full exposure
to the blasts from the north. One great disadvantage to Hyères is the
distance at which it stands from the sea.
Hyères belonged originally to the family de Fos, which had the
marquisate of Marseilles, an immense fief containing fifty towns,
Marseilles, Solliés, Toulon, Hyères, Le Ciotat, Cassis, Aubagne, etc.
But in 1257 it was ceded to Charles of Anjou, Count of Provence.
The importance of Hyères was due to its salt pans. The peninsula of
Giens was undoubtedly at one time an island, one of the group that
forms a chain, of which Porquerolles and l’Ile du Levant are the
principal. But the currents round the coast threw up shingle beds and
sealed it to the coast, forming an extensive natural lake of salt
water between the two barriers, but with a gap in that to the east
through which the sea water could flow. In this shallow lagoon salt
was produced. The entrance could be closed, and the sun dried up the
water in the basin, leaving the salt behind. At present, with our ready
communication by rail, the importance and value of salt in ancient
times can hardly be realised. In the centre of Gaul and of France in
olden days men ravened for salt. It was to them what sweetstuff is
now to children. They would sell anything to provide themselves with
this condiment. Conceive for a moment what our tables would be without
the salt-cellar; how flat, how insipid would be our meals.
[Illustration: PINES NEAR HYÈRES]
Dr. Schweinfurt, in his _Travels in the Heart of Africa_, describes
the loathsome parasitic growths in the intestines of the cattle due to
the absence of salt. It is a necessity for man and beast. Our storms
carry some and deposit it on the grass; but we live in an island. What
intestinal troubles must those men have endured who were deprived of
it! Well, the lagoon of Giens furnished a large amount, and there were
other salt-pans—as there are still, on the eastern side of Hyères.
These made the town to flourish. Salt was the main production and
source of wealth.
Near the Château de Carqueyranne, in the lap of the Bay of Giens, are
the ruins of a Greco-Roman town, Pomponiana. It stretched from the
beach up the hill crowned by the remnants of the Convent of S. Pierre
a’ Al-Manar. The old town was explored in 1843 by Prince Frederick,
afterwards King Frederick VII. of Denmark. He laid bare the Acropolis,
baths, cisterns, store-houses, and a mole for the protection of the
galleys that entered the harbour. Most of what was then laid open has
since been covered over, but the whole ground is so strewn with pottery
that the peasants have to clear their fields of it as an incumbrance.
The ruined convent above was occupied by Sisters of the Benedictine
Order. It was fortified, and exercised feudal authority over the land
around. In the event of danger, the convent bell summoned the tenants
to its aid. But one winter night a frolicsome nun rang the bell for
the fun of the thing, and when the vassals arrived, laughed at them for
allowing themselves to be fooled from their beds. This prank cost the
convent dear, for shortly after a Moorish corsair put into the bay, and
the convent was attacked. The alarm bell was sounded in vain; no one
answered the summons, and before morning the house was sacked, and the
nuns had been carried away, to be sold as slaves in Africa.
A curious condition of affairs existed at Hyères during the troubles of
the League.
The Count de Retz, Grand Marshal of France, was Governor of Provence,
and the Count de Carces was its Grand Sénéchal. The jealousy of these
two men gave birth to a deplorable rivalry, which placed each at the
head of a different party. De Retz supported the Huguenots, and the
Catholic party took Carces as its headpiece; and the factions called
themselves, or were called, Razats and Carcists long after the men
whose names they had adopted had disappeared from the scene.
The rancour of each party did not abate, even when plague devastated
the province. Then confusion grew worse confounded when the League
was formed, due to the death of the Duke of Anjou, brother of Henry
III., which made Henry of Navarre, a Calvinist, heir to the throne.
The most extreme Carcists, alarmed at the prospect of the succession
falling to a Huguenot, formed the plan of inviting the Duke of Savoy
to take Provence. The anarchy in the country became intolerable, and
large bodies of peasants and mechanics armed and fell on the forces of
Carcists and Razats indifferently, routed and butchered them.
In 1586 the town of Hyères was staunch in its adherence to the king,
but the castle that commanded it was occupied by the forces of the
Baron de Méolhon, who was also Governor of the Port of Marseilles,
and he was a Carcist, and inclined to favour the claims of the Duke
of Savoy. He had placed a Captain Merle in the castle, with secret
instructions to hold it for the duke.
M. de la Valette was Governor of Provence, and he saw himself obliged
to make an attempt to take the castle. A messenger between De Méolhon
and the Duke of Savoy had been taken with in his possession treasonable
correspondence, betraying the plans of the Leaguers.
Hyères readily opened its gates to De la Valette, in November, 1588,
and he summoned Merle to surrender the castle, but met with a prompt
refusal. Then he attempted to take it by escalading, but in vain.
It stood too high; its garrison were too alert. He could not even
prevent well-wishers of the Carcists from smuggling provisions into the
fortress.
At last, despairing of success, the Governor of Provence withdrew; and
having failed to take the castle by force, had recourse to other means.
He bought the aid of a M. de Callas, a Leaguer, related to two of the
officers of the garrison, and induced him to enter the fortress and
bribe and cajole its defenders into surrendering. Merle, however, was
not to be seduced. He must be got rid of by other means. A cannon was
dragged upstairs to an upper window of a house that commanded Merle’s
dining apartment. It was known at what hour he supped, and in what part
of the room he sat. A signal was to be given by a traitor when Merle
took his place at the table, with his covers before him. The appointed
signal was made: the cannon thundered, and a ball crashed in through
the window and knocked supper and wine bottles and everything about in
wreckage. But happily something had occurred to the captain as he took
his seat, and he had left the room. When he returned, there was no more
a dumpling on the table, but an exploded shell.
De Callas was sent again into the castle to propose terms of surrender.
Merle would still have held out, but the garrison had been bought,
and they refused to continue the defence. Terms of capitulation were
agreed on, whereby Merle, for surrendering, was to be indemnified with
ten thousand crowns. This extraordinary agreement was signed on August
31st, 1589, after the castle had held out against the king for ten
months.
The churches of Hyères are not without interest. That of S. Paul, on
the height, has immense substructures. It is a curious jumble of parts
and styles. It dates back to the eleventh or twelfth century, but the
vaulting is later, and later windows were added. The great square tower
is Romanesque.
The other church, outside the walls, that of S. Louis, is in much
better preservation. It was the chapel of the Knights of the Temple,
and is of the twelfth century, very severe, without sculptured capitals
to the pillars, and without clerestory. It is a somewhat gloomy church,
deriving nearly all its light from the west window. The preceptory of
the Templars is within the old town, and is now the Hôtel de Ville.
The Iles de Hyères are a detached portion of the crystalline rocks of
the Montagnes des Maures. Their climatic condition is very different
from that of Hyères, as they are exposed to the sweep of every wind.
They are bleak and uninviting. The only inhabitants are fishermen,
Customs-officers, and the lighthouse men.
On L’Ile du Levant was a reformatory for young criminals, started by M.
de Pourtalès, but it came to a disastrous end.
According to a law of 1850, such reformatories might be founded
and conducted by private individuals, and in 1860 the Count de
Pourtalès, as an act of humanity, established an agricultural colony
on this island for young criminals, and placed over it an amiable,
well-intentioned man named Fauvau.
In Corsica was another, but that was a State establishment. It had
become a nest of such disorder and misconduct that it was broken up in
1866, and some of the young criminals from this Corsican reformatory
were drafted into that on the Ile du Levant, to the number of
sixty-five. These young fellows began at once to give trouble; they
complained of their food, of their work, and they demanded meat at
every meal, tobacco, coffee, and daily six hours in which to amuse
themselves. On Tuesday, October 2nd, they broke out in mutiny, smashed
the windows and the lamps, destroyed some of the cells, and drove away
the warders. The leader in the movement was one Coudurier, a boy of
sixteen. By his command the whole body now rushed to the lock-up, where
were confined some of those who had misconducted themselves, broke it
open, and led them forth. Then they descended to the cellar, and with
axes and crowbars burst open the door, tapped the barrels of wine, and
drank as much as they liked.
Coudurier now ordered the breaking into of the store-house. This was a
building standing by itself; it had a strong door, and windows firmly
barred with iron. The young ruffians succeeded in beating in the upper
panels, but those below resisted all their efforts. They climbed over
the solid portion and carried forth bacon, sausages, sugar, brandy,
and what they could lay their hands on, and when well laden returned
over the door to make way for others. Meantime Coudurier had chosen
two lieutenants, Ferrendon and Allard, and, in council with them and
some others of the worst miscreants, had resolved on putting to death
several of their comrades whom they regarded as milksops and spies. By
Coudurier’s orders only those were allowed to enter the store-house
whose names he called forth, and thus he sent fourteen of the lads
he regarded as sneaks into the magazine. Then he emptied a bottle
of petroleum over some paper by the door, and stationed Ferrendon
and Allard to prevent the egress of the lads who had been sent in.
Ferrendon by his orders set the petroleum on fire, and he provided
Allard with a long knife with which to drive back the victims into the
fire when endeavouring to escape, and to prevent any attempt at rescue.
“Ferrendon,” said he to a comrade, Lecocq, “is game for any mischief;
and Allard is half-drunk.” In a few minutes the sole entrance to the
store-house was a sheet of flame. One boy, Garibaldi, who was within,
at once dashed through the fire and began to scramble over the broken
door.
Allard stabbed him in the shoulder and breast, and then flung him down
into the sheet of flaming petroleum. The scene now became inexpressibly
horrible. The boys, seeing the fire rapidly spreading, got to the
windows, put their arms between the bars, and screamed for help. They
pulled at the gratings with desperation, but were unable to dislodge
it. Two boys who ran forward to attempt to extinguish the fire were
driven back by the knife of Ferrendon. Some of the young criminals did
feel qualms, and a desire to free their comrades, but were overawed
by Coudurier. The lighthouse man, who had come to the spot, got a
blanket, dipped it in water and ran to the door, but was seized by the
boys, taken off his legs, and flung into a pit twenty feet deep, and
broke his ankle in the fall, so that he was unable to stir. A boy who
snatched at the blanket and tried to extend it to some of those in a
window, was also flung into the pit; but he happily came off better,
and ran away. The poor wretches within, black against a background of
fire, shrieked and wept; their clothes, their hair, caught fire, and
one by one they fell back into the flames behind. The frightful end
of their comrades sobered the drunken, mutinous crew; and some strove
to drown their fears for the consequences by drinking themselves into
total unconsciousness.
Next day the mutineers scattered over the island, doing what mischief
they pleased. Not till October 4th did help arrive, when the fire was
extinguished, the island was occupied by soldiery, and the youths were
taken to prison on the mainland, and the ringleaders brought to trial.
It may be wondered where was Fauvau, the Director, all this while.
He and the chaplain had got into a boat and escaped to shore. What
had become of the warders we are not told, but they seem also to have
effected their escape.
On January 3rd, 1867, sixteen of the young criminals were tried at
Draguignan. Ferrendon was a boy little over thirteen, a lad with a soft
expressive face. Allard was aged thirteen, with a hangdog, evil look.
One of the accused was a lad from Paris, refined in appearance and
with large, beautiful eyes. One was aged twenty. Coudurier, Fouché,
Laurent, and Bérond were found guilty by the jury, not of murder, but
of homicide, with extenuating circumstances, and were sentenced to
life-long hard labour. Allard was condemned to be sent to a reformatory
for ten years. Ferrendon was discharged as innocent! Guenau was also
declared innocent. “Where, then, am I to sleep to-night?” he asked;
whereupon the audience made up a handsome sum for him.
This was not the end of the matter. In prison one of these culprits
murdered another of his fellow boy-convicts because he thought the
latter had given evidence against him. It is hard to say which came out
worst in this affair, the Director, Chaplain, and warders, or the jury
at Draguignan.
Although M. de Pourtalès was willing to renew the experiment, the
establishment was not restored, and of the reformatory only the ruins
remain.
[Illustration: A CAROB TREE]