ROUSSILLON AND THE CATALANS
[Illustration: map of ROUSSILLON]
Roussillon is a curious province. "Roussillon is a bow with two
strings," say the inhabitants. The workers in the vineyards of other
days are becoming fishermen, and the fishermen are becoming vineyard
workers. The arts of Neptune and the wiles of Bacchus have however
conspired to give a prosperity to Roussillon which many more celebrated
provinces lack.
The Roussillon of other days, a feudal power in its time, with its
counts and nobles, has become but a Département of latter-day France.
The first historical epochs of Roussillon are but obscurely outlined,
but they began when Hannibal freed the Pyrenees in 536, and in time the
Romans became masters here, as elsewhere in Gaul.
Then there came three hundred years of Visigoth rule, which brought the
Saracens, and, in 760, Pepin claimed Roussillon for France. Then began
the domination of the counts. First they were but delegates of the king,
but in time they usurped royal authority and became rulers in their own
right.
Roussillon had its own particular counts, but in a way they bowed down
to the king of Aragon, though indeed the kings of France up to Louis IX
considered themselves suzerains. By the Treaty of Corbeil Louis IX
renounced this fief in 1258 to his brother king of Aragon. At the death
of James I of Aragon his states were divided among his children, and
Roussillon came to the kings of Majorca. Wars within and without now
caused an era of bloodshed. Jean II, attacked by the men of Navarre and
of Catalonia, demanded aid of Louis XI, who sent seven hundred lances
and men, and three hundred thousand gold crown pieces, which latter the
men of Roussillon were obliged to repay when the war was over. Jean II,
Comte de Roussillon, hedged and demanded delay, and in due course was
obliged to pawn his countship as security. This the Roussillonnais
resented and revolt followed, when Louis XI without more ado went up
against Perpignan and besieged it on two occasions before he could
collect the sum total of his bill.
Charles VIII, returning from his Italian travels, in a generous frame of
mind, gave back the province to the king of Aragon without demanding
anything in return. Ferdinand of Aragon became in time king of Spain, by
his marriage with Isabella, and Roussillon came again directly under
Spanish domination.
Meantime the geographical position of Roussillon was such that it must
either become a part of France or a buffer-state, or duelling ground,
where both races might fight out their quarrels. Neither François I nor
Louis XIII thought of anything but to acquire the province for France,
and so it became a battle-ground where a continuous campaign went on for
years, until, in fact, the Grand Condé, after many engagements, finally
entered Perpignan and brought about the famous Treaty of the Pyrenees,
signed on the Ile des Faisans at the other extremity of the great
frontier mountain chain.
The antique monuments of Roussillon are not many; principally they are
the Roman baths at Arles-sur-Tech, the tomb of Constant, son of
Constantine, at Elne, and an old Mohammedan or Moorish mosque,
afterwards serving as a Christian church, at Planes. The ancient city of
Ruscino, the chief Roman settlement, has practically disappeared, a
tower, called the Tor de Castel-Rossello, only remaining.
Impetuosity of manner, freedom in their social relations, and a certain
egotism have ever been the distinctive traits of the Roussillonnais. It
was so in the olden times, and the traveller of to-day will have no
difficulty in finding the same qualities. Pierre de Marca first
discovered, and wrote of these traits in 1655, and his observations
still hold good.
Long contact with Spain and Catalonia has naturally left its impress on
Roussillon, both with respect to men and manners. The Spanish tone is
disappearing in the towns, but in the open country it is as marked as
ever. There one finds bull-fights, cock-fights, and wild, abandoned
dancing, not to say guitar twanging, and incessant cigarette rolling and
smoking, and all sorts of moral contradictions--albeit there is no
very immoral sentiment or motive. These things are observed alike of the
Roussillonnais and the Catalonians, just over the border.
[Illustration: _Catalans of Roussillon_]
The bull-fight is the chief joy and pride of the people. The labourer
will leave his fields, the merchant his shop, and the craftsman his
atelier to make one of an audience in the arena. Not in Spain itself, at
Barcelona, Bilboa, Seville or Madrid is a bull-fight throng more
critical or insistent than at Perpignan.
He loves immensely well to dance, too, the Roussillonnais, and he often
carries it to excess. It is his national amusement, as is that of the
Italian the singing of serenades beneath your window. On all great gala
occasions throughout Roussillon a place is set apart for dancing,
usually on the bare or paved ground in the open air, not only in the
country villages but in the towns and cities as well.
The dances are most original. Ordinarily the men will dance by
themselves, a species of muscular activity which they call "_lo batl_."
A _contrepas_ finally brings in a mixture of women, the whole forming a
mélange of all the gyrations of a dervish, the swirls of the Spanish
dancing girl and the quicksteps of a Virginia reel.
The music of these dances is equally bizarre. A flute called _lo
flaviol_, a _tamborin_, a _hautboy_, _prima_ and _tenor_, and a
_cornemeuse_, or _borrassa_, usually compose the orchestra, and the
music is more agreeable than might be supposed.
In Roussillon the religious fêtes and ceremonies are conducted in much
the flowery, ostentatious manner that they are in Spain, and not at all
after the manner of the simple, devout fêtes and _pardons_ of Bretagne.
The Fête de Jeudi-Saint, and the Fête-Dieu in Roussillon are gorgeous
indeed; sanctuaries become as theatres and tapers and incense and gay
vestments and chants make the pageants as much pagan as they are
Christian.
The coiffure of the women of Roussillon is a handkerchief hanging as a
veil on the back of the head, and fastened by the ends beneath the chin,
with a knot of black ribbon at each temple.
[Illustration: _The Women of Roussillon_]
Their waist line is tightly drawn, and their bodice is usually laced
down the front like those of the German or Tyrolean peasant maid. A
short skirt, in ample and multifarious pleats, and coloured stockings
finish off a costume as _unlike_ anything else seen in France as it
is _like_ those of Catalonia in Spain.
The great Spanish cloak, or _capuchon_, is also an indispensable article
of dress for the men as well as for the women.
The men wear a tall, red, liberty-cap sort of a bonnet, its top-knot
hanging down to the shoulder--always to the left. A short vest and wide
bodied pantaloons, joined together with yards of red sash, wound many
times tightly around the waist, complete the men's costume, all except
their shoes, which are of a special variety known as _spardilles_, or
_espadrilles_, another Spanish affectation.
The speech of Roussillon used to be Catalan, and now of course it is
French; but in the country the older generations are apt to know much
Catalan-Spanish and little French.
Just what variety of speech the Catalan tongue was has ever been a
discussion with the word makers. It was not Spanish exactly as known
to-day, and has been called _roman vulgaire_, _rustique_, and
_provincial_, and many of its words and phrases are supposed to have
come down from the barbarians or the Arabs.
In 1371 the Catalan tongue already had a poetic art, a dictionary of
rhymes, and a grammar, and many inscriptions on ancient monuments in
these parts (eighth, ninth and tenth centuries) were in that tongue. In
the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the Catalan tongue possessed a
written civil and maritime law, thus showing it was no bastard.
A fatality pursued everything Catalan however; its speech became
Spanish, and its nationality was swallowed up in that of Castille. At
any rate, as the saying goes in Roussillon,--and no one will dispute
it,--"one must be a Catalan to understand Catalan."
The Pays-de-Fenouillet, of which St. Paul was the former capital, lies
in the valley of the Agly. Saint-Paul-de-Fenouillet is the present
commercial capital of the region, if the title of commercial capital can
be appropriately bestowed upon a small town of two thousand inhabitants.
The old province, however, was swallowed up by Roussillon, which in turn
has become the Département of the Pyrénées-Orientales.
The feudality of these parts centred around the Château de Fenouillet,
now a miserable ruin on the road to Carcassonne, a few kilometres
distant. There are some ruined, but still traceable, city walls at
Saint-Paul-de-Fenouillet, but nothing else to suggest its one-time
importance, save its fourteenth-century church, and the great tower of
its ancient chapter-house.
Nearer Perpignan is Latour-de-France, the frontier town before Richelieu
was able to annex Roussillon to his master's crown.
Latour-de-France also has the débris of a château to suggest its former
greatness, but its small population of perhaps twelve hundred persons
think only of the culture of the vine and the olive and have little
fancy for historical monuments.
Here, and at Estagel, on the Perpignan road, the Catalan tongue is still
to be heard in all its silvery picturesqueness.
Estagel is what the French call "_une jolie petite ville_;" it has that
wonderful background of the Pyrenees, a frame of olive-orchards and
vineyards, two thousand inhabitants, the Hotel Gary, a most excellent,
though unpretentious, little hotel, and the birthplace of François Arago
as its chief sight. Besides this, it has a fine old city gate and a
great clock-tower which is a reminder of the Belfry of Bruges. The wines
of the neighbourhood, the _macabeu_ and the _malvoisie_ are famous.
North of Estagel, manners and customs and the _patois_ change.
Everything becomes Languedocian. In France the creation of the modern
departments, replacing the ancient provinces, has not levelled or
changed ethnological distinctions in the least.
The low-lying, but rude, crests of the Corbières cut out the view
northward from the valley of the Agly. The whole region roundabout is
strewn with memories of feudal times, a château here, a tower there, but
nothing of great note. The Château de Queribus, or all that is left of
it, a great octagonal thirteenth-century donjon, still guards the route
toward Limoux and Carcassonne, at a height of nearly seven hundred
metres. In the old days this route formed a way in and out of
Roussillon, but now it has grown into disuse.
Cucugnan is only found on the maps of the Etat-Major, in the Post-Office
Guide, and in Daudet's "Lettres de Mon Moulin." We ourselves merely
recognized it as a familiar name. The "Curé de Cucugnan" was one of
Daudet's heroes, and belonged to these parts. The Provençal literary
folks have claimed him to be of Avignon; though it is hard to see why
when Daudet specifically wrote C-u-c-u-g-n-a-n. Nevertheless, even if
they did object to Daudet's slander of Tarascon, the Provençaux are
willing enough to appropriate all he did as belonging to them.
The Catalan water, or wine, bottle, called the _porro_, is everywhere in
evidence in Roussillon. Perhaps it is a Mediterranean specialty, for the
Sicilians and the Maltese use the same thing. It's a curious affair,
something like an alchemist's alembic, and you drink from its nozzle,
holding it above the level of your mouth and letting the wine trickle
down your throat in as ample a stream as pleases your fancy.
Those who have become accustomed to it, will drink their wine no other
way, claiming it is never so sweet as when drunk from the _porro_.
"_Du miel délayé dans un rayon de soleil._"
* * * * *
"_Boire la vie et la santé quand on le boit c'est le vin idéal._"
Apparently every Catalan peasant's household has one of these curious
glass bottles with its long tapering spout, and when a Catalan drinks
from it, pouring a stream of wine directly into his mouth, he makes a
"study" and a "picture" at the same time.
A variation of the same thing is the gourd or leathern bottle of the
mountaineer. It is difficult to carry a glass bottle such as the _porro_
around on donkey back, and so the thing is made of leather. The neck of
this is of wood, and a stopper pierced with a fine hole screws into it.
It comes in all sizes, holding from a bottleful to ten litres. The most
common is a two-litre one. When you want to drink you hold the leather
bag high in the air and pour a thin stream of wine into your mouth. The
art is to stop neatly with a jerk, and not spill a drop. One _can_
acquire the art, and it will be found an exceedingly practical way to
carry drink.
It is a curious, little-known corner of Europe, where France and Spain
join, at the eastern extremity of the Pyrenees, at Cap Cerbère. One read
in classic legend will find some resemblance between Cap Cerbère and the
terrible beast with three heads who guarded the gates of hell. There may
be some justification for this, as Pomponius Mela, a Latin geographer,
born however in Andalusia, wrote of a _Cervaria locus_, which he
designated as the _finis Galliæ_. Then, through evolution, we have
_Cervaria_, which in turn becomes the Catalan village of _Cerveia_. This
is the attitude of the historians. The etymologists put it in this wise:
_Cervaria_--meaning a wooded valley peopled with _cerfs_ (stags). The
reader may take his choice.
At any rate the Catalan Cerbère, known to-day only as the frontier
French station on the line to Barcelona, has become an unlovely railway
junction, of little appeal except in the story of its past.
In the twelfth century the place had already attained to prominence, and
its feudal seigneur, named Rabedos, built a public edifice for civic
pride, and a church which he dedicated to San Salvador.
In 1361 Guillem de Pau, a noble of the rank of _donzell_, and a member
of a family famous for its exploits against the Moors, became Seigneur
de Cerbère, and the one act of his life which puts him on record as a
feudal lord of parts is a charter signed by him giving the fishing
rights offshore from Collioure, for the distance of ten leagues, to one
Pierre Huguet--for a price. Thus is recorded a very early instance of
official sinning. One certainly cannot sell that which he has not got;
even maritime tribunals of to-day don't recognize anything beyond the
"three mile limit."
The seigneurs of Pau, who were Baillis de Cerbère, came thus to have a
hand in the conduct of affairs in the Mediterranean, though their own
bailiwick was nearer the Atlantic coast. At this time there were nine
vassal chiefs of families who owed allegiance to the head. After the
fourteenth century this frontier territory belonged, for a time, to the
Seigneurs des Abelles, their name coming from another little feudal
estate half hidden in one of the Mediterranean valleys of the Pyrenees.
The chapel of Cerbère, founded by Rabedos in the twelfth century, had
fallen in ruins by the end of the fourteenth century, but many pious
legacies left to it were conceded to the _clercs bénéficiaires_, a body
of men in holy orders who had influence enough in the courts of justice
to be able to claim as their own certain "goods of the church." Louis
XIV cut short these clerical benefits, however, and gave them--by what
right is quite vague--to his _maréchal_, Joseph de Rocabruna.
Some two centuries ago Cerbère possessed something approaching the
dignity of a château-fortress.
An act of the 25th May, 1700, refers to the Château de Caroig, perhaps
the Quer-Roig. The name now applies, however, only to a mass of ruins on
the summit of a near-by mountain of the same name. Not every one in the
neighbourhood admits this, some preferring to believe that the same heap
of stones was once a signal tower by which a warning fire was built to
tell of the approach of the Saracens or the pirates of Barbary. It might
well have been both watch-tower and château.