A Tour Through Old Provence

by A. S. Forrest

Of all the kingdoms to which he claimed the title, none

were actually in his possession except the fair country of Provence. He was a good-natured, easy-going old monarch; gay, and in spite of all the troubles that overtook him, light-hearted. His daughter’s marriage with the King of England was unfortunate for all parties concerned, and instead of René benefiting by the splendid alliance, the poor old King had frequently to dip his hand deep into his purse to ransom his unlucky daughter. The court of this old Bohemian was conducted on free and easy lines; wandering minstrels and errant knights finding hearty welcome from the King, whose fame was naturally spread far and wide by those gentry. It was only in the last years of René’s reign that he was able to reside much at his castles of Aix, Tarascon and Les Baux—a short period of calm after a stormy life.

He practised the arts of poetry, painting and music, and the surest passport any knight or troubadour could have to his good will and patronage was to be proficient in either of these accomplishments. A good listener might also come in for a share of his smiles, for he was notoriously fond of singing and reciting his own ballads and verses, or superintending some pageant or display. His poetic works were published in four volumes during the last century, but they have never attained any great celebrity.

Of all his castles, Tarascon is the only one standing in anything like its original condition. As one looks up at the great round towers that swell out at the two corners of the main building (on the landward side), one realises what a sense of security its inmates must have indulged in, when besieged; and how impotent the attacking party must have felt. The riverward towers are square, as are the two smaller towers on the north-east side. There is a girdle of slightly projecting stone-work upon one of the towers, about three-quarters of the way up, that conveys very vividly to the eye its great circumference.

Just past the south corner of this vast fortress, the Château de Montmorency rises on the other side of the river. In the clear air its outlines are sharp and well defined, and this distant toylike building helps to accentuate the size of the Château, near at hand. The outer windows on the great wall are grilled over with strong iron bars, for the Château is now a prison. These windows have dripstones over them, the carved ends of which are the only ornamentation on the great bare face of the building. For the rest, the corbels that support the machicolated battlements give a play of light and shade that, though simple, has a very rich effect, when contrasted with the great plain spaces below. The battlements, with their embrasures and oylets, form a crown of great dignity to the whole building, and it is in such fine condition (doubtless carefully restored) that one has no difficulty in picturing the rich spectacle that must have been presented by a cavalcade of brightly habited knights and ladies with their attendants issuing forth on a sunny morning to fly their falcons or to attend some fête at a neighbouring castle. No finer background for their gorgeous costumes could be conceived than these plain creamy walls, which the rounded towers at each corner save from monotony.

From the river the Castle does not present so bold an appearance, owing to the absence of rounded towers. At a little distance, when its size is not so apparent, it looks almost Greek in its restraint and refinement; the row of brackets supporting the overhanging battlements suggesting a series of dentils under an irregular entablature.

The inside of the Castle is well worth examination, but the prison authorities are a little particular whom they admit, and the visitor has to be conducted through the great building by a jailer, who, armed with great bunches of mediæval keys, unbolts ancient doors on creaking hinges, and bolts them just as carefully after. The internal arrangements of a fourteenth-to-fifteenth-century castle are simple, if massive, and hardly any alteration has been necessary to convert it into a prison. Very little has been changed since the good old King’s time. The Chapel has only had a movable wooden partition placed down the centre of it, to separate the prisoners who have been condemned from those awaiting trial, when they attend “the service.” The cells for solitary confinement, with their elaborate blacksmith-wrought fastenings, would defy the ingenuity of any “Jack Sheppard” seeking to escape.

There is not much carving or sculptured work in the Castle. It has been sparingly used, except in the porch of the Chapel, which is in fine ogival style with delicately carved archivolts. The principal chamber of the King is a noble apartment, in which the ceiling is, or rather was, a feature. It is heavily timbered, and although the panels have been removed to enrich some museum or private collection, sufficient remains to give an idea of the importance of this apartment. The embrasures of the windows are of the depth of the wall—that is, about twelve feet—and they form small chambers, around which are great stone slabs, that were used as seats.