Romantic Cities of Provence

by Mona Caird

St. Virgilius, under whose direction it was erected, had no little trouble at the beginning of his work. The pillars of the church had arrived, and were just going to be set up, when the workmen found that they could not get them lifted, do what they would. The reason was obvious. They found sitting solidly on the columns a very small but very determined demon, and budge he would not. He sat there square and firm, resolved that the obnoxious church should never be completed if he had any say in the matter. At last, in despair, they had to send for St. Virgilius, who was Bishop of Arles, and with holy-water and various exorcisms the obstructive demon was driven away and the columns triumphantly hoisted into their places, where one can see them to this day. It seemed to us that that demon had not altogether departed from the church. The place was gloomy, uncanny, damp, and unwholesome, but undoubtedly a fine example of its style.

St. Virgilius, no doubt on account of his saintship, was much beset by demons and false appearances—a very discouraging feature in the lives of the saints.

He was one night looking out over the lagoons, when he saw a phantom ship, and a voice called out saying that the crew was bound for Jerusalem and had come to take St. Virgilius with them. But the wary saint replied, "No, thank you; not until I know who you are!" And he made the sign of the cross, and instantly the ship became a drift of mist, and rolled away across the water.

This is said to be a version of the legend of the "Flying Dutchman."

It is not surprising that Arles should have had so many splendid Roman buildings, for not only did it become a Roman colony,[10] but it was the residence of Roman emperors, and was nicknamed the Rome of Gaul—Gallula Roma, Arelas.

The museum was rich in relics of the Imperial occupation. There is a beautiful bust of the Empress Livia among the treasures, and one exquisite little head of a boy, son of one of the Cæsars, a delicate, pathetic little face, evidently an individual, not a type.

The collection also boasts a Phœnician tomb which looks as if it were made yesterday, and some fine reliefs of dancing figures, decorated foliage, instinct with that quality of beauty, lightness, magic that the Gods have bestowed upon the art of Greece. This quality comes into strong evidence in this museum, where there are Pagan and Christian sarcophagi side by side in large numbers. Fine as are the earlier Christian sculptures (that is, on tombs before the withdrawal of protection from Christian cemeteries),[11] they are not to be compared with the pure pagan work; and the later tombs of Christian origin are "rude and childish in design and execution."

One can spend hours wandering about the nooks and corners of the city, loitering by the river-side, where there are the wretched remains, worse than ruined, of a palace of Constantine; lingering about the silent theatre where the famous Venus of Arles was found.

Cyril, an enthusiastic deacon, had the building destroyed, knocked down all the statues and all the noble pillars, of which only two sad ones are now standing above the ruin.

One might sit for hours unmolested on some fragment of the seats once so gaily filled with fashionable citizens of the Empire, for though the ruins are surrounded by houses on three sides there is little sign of life in those quiet and ancient dwellings of the citizens of Arles. The fine tower of St. Trophime rises conspicuously behind them, a true southern tower, square and solid, with the three stories marked with flat arcading and round-topped windows: simple, characteristic, with a grave charm which is almost impossible to define, yet very obvious.