IV
LES BAUX
The little chain of rugged hills with fantastic contours, which breaks away from the great Alpine range and juts into the peaceful valley of the Rhone, is called “Les Alpilles,” or little Alps. On the south side of this small mountain chain, upon cliffs that stand almost isolated from the main group, lie the ruins of the ancient Provençal town of Les Baux.
The approach to this extraordinary place from over the mountain chain is full of interest and surprises, if one starts out from St. Remy, which lies well over to the north. The ascent by the winding road that curves and twists round the great hills is a fitting preparation for the scenery that lies to the south, for the distant hilltops are crowned with great rocks, carved and chiselled by nature into such shapes that the eye continually mistakes them for buildings erected by the hands of men.
The tall cypress-trees that in the plains spire up into the sky disappear as one ascends, and few shrubs or trees clothe the bald hillside. Wild thyme and lavender betray their presence by the fragrance of their perfume. Rabbits burrow amongst the undergrowth; hawks hover high overhead, and with keen, penetrating vision sweep the rugged landscape in search of prey. Few other signs of life disturb the quiet of the lonely hills.
From the crest of the chain, just before the descent into the great plains of La Crau, a weird scene breaks upon the eye. A valley of rocks, so fantastic, so unearthly, that one can easily credit the Provençal poet Mistral’s belief that it was here that Dante got the inspiration for his graphic description of the topography of the infernal regions. It is a valley of death, of ghosts of skeletons, rocks naked and gaunt, altogether baffling description.
As the limestone of which these rocks are composed is admirable for building purposes, quarrymen have been at work upon the scene, and the great square doorways, or openings, cut into the grotesque formless masses accentuate the unreality of this spot. One could imagine it inhabited by strange monsters of human shape bereft of man’s feelings and emotions. But the wild mysterious grandeur of the valley constitutes only half the astoundingness of the place. For on a great precipitous rock, at the end of it, stands the town of Les Baux, half-built, half-excavated, more than half-ruined, a strange confusion of man’s and nature’s architecture. Above the town, which is carved and built upon a plateau half-way up this mountain rock, a castle rears its ruined towers.
This gaunt fortress looks right over the great, flat plain of La Crau to the distant blue waters of the Mediterranean, over to the lands about fifty miles distant upon which one of the world’s most decisive battles was fought, when Marius with his legions laid 200,000 Ambrones dead upon the field.
The great plateau of La Crau has undergone much change since Roman times. In the fifteenth century a canal was dug across its arid surface, and lands that were once marshy swamps and barren stony ground are gradually yielding to the persuasive hand of the agriculturist, and producing rich harvests of grapes and olives, mulberries, and almonds.