We came first upon the Aude at Carcassonne, where it takes a bend towards the sea—the Ville-basse, a thriving town in the plain that dates from the time of St. Louis; the old fortified city on the height above, historic, legendary, and picturesque. And ancient too, for it was, according to some ambitious writers, founded by the fugitive Trojans, or, what is better still, by one of the grandsons of Noe, and prosperous in the time of the Pharaos. Be that as it may, it was in the possession of the Romans before the coming of Cæsar. In the fifth century after Christ it fell into the hands of the Visigoths, who are said to have brought hither from the sack
of Rome jewelled utensils that came from the palace of King Solomon and the vessels of gold that belonged to the Temple of Jerusalem, carried away by Titus and Vespasian. These treasures were long believed hidden in a deep well still to be seen in the upper city, but during a dry season a few years ago it was explored without any discovery to confirm the tradition. They were probably taken to Spain, or carried to Ravenna by Theodoric the Great, to whom several of the towers of Carcassonne are attributed. There are two walls around the old city: the inner ones, with their circular towers of the time of the Visigoths; the outer, with fortified gateways that date at least from the time of Louis IX. And then there is a venerable quadrangular castle, with five towers and a moat that bears the marks of many a hard assault, but now serves chiefly to give a picturesque look and a pleasing air of antiquity to the landscape. The square tower next the Aude, if not all five, is said to have bowed down before the great Emperor of the West. But we are anticipating.
After the Ostrogoths came the Saracens, flushed with victory, from Spain, and they had possession of Carcassonne when Charlemagne came into Gaule Narbonnaise and laid siege to the city, determined to drive them beyond the Pyrenees. The delightful old traditions of that day, which are so much better than history, say it then bore the name of Atax. According to them, the emperor remained beneath the walls five long years without the slightest success, notwithstanding the valor of his peerless knights. So astonishing a resistance was solely owing to Dame Carcas, a mere woman, and a Moor at that, who not only possessed remarkable courage,
but was shrewd to the last degree, as we are prepared to show. Of course, after a five years’ siege the provisions had dwindled away to a very low ebb, and the inhabitants had naturally diminished in proportion. In fact, everybody was at length dead in the city except stout Dame Carcas, who seemed to have lived on her wits. This wonderful woman was not discouraged. She acted on the principle of the inscription over the gates of Busyrane—“Be bold, be bold, and evermore be bold.” She garnished the walls with effigies in armor—mere scarecrows—and, making the round of the rampart, she kept up such a hail of arrows on the enemy, as if she had the arms of Briareus, that they marvelled, as well they might, at the resources of so well-supplied and vigilant a garrison. Wishing to convince Charlemagne that there was no possibility of his reducing the city by famine, she gorged her very last pig with her last bushel of wheat, and threw it over the ramparts. It was naturally dashed to pieces, and its internal economy fully displayed, as shrewd Dame Carcas intended. The besiegers, astonished to see the very lowest of animals fed on the purest of wheat, now supposed the supplies quite inexhaustible, and Charlemagne, as sensible as he was great, at once raised the siege. Not without regret, however, and, as he turned back to take a last look at the walls before which he had spent in vain so much time and labor, wondrous to relate, one of the mighty towers of the Goths bowed down before him in reverence, and never regained its perpendicular, as may be seen to this day by any one who goes to Carcassonne.
Dame Carcas, you may be sure, was on the lookout. Satisfied with
having got the better of the mighty emperor, she called him back, opened the ponderous gates, and acknowledged his sovereignty. Charlemagne, full of admiration at her courage and wit, determined the city should be called after her. Hence the name of Carcassonne. It is a pity any doubt should be cast over so pleasing a tradition, but some do say, let us hope without proof, that it bore this name in the time of the Romans. We do not feel obliged to believe it. People who are historically as well as religiously “convinced against their will, are of the same opinion still.” We stick to the Middle Ages, when the tradition was so fully credited that a bas-relief, a kind of emblazonry, of the bust of an Amazon was placed over the principal gate of the city, with the words below: Carcas sum—I am Carcas.
According to a popular legend, Charlemagne besieged Carcassonne twice. The second time it was defended by Anchises, King of the Saracens, who was aided by Satan himself and an efficient corps of African sorcerers. However, the demons were routed, and the pious emperor set up a fortress of the faith, known to us as the cathedral of St. Nazaire, which is in the southeast corner of the city, built into the very walls forming a part of the old fortifications. This church is still the jewel of the place. The crypt alone is of the Carlovingian age. The nave and aisles of the upper church are of the eleventh century, in the Roman style, grave and sombre, with small windows, massive pillars, and thick walls capable of resisting the enemy. These were blessed by Pope Urban II. in 1096. The present choir was built in St. Louis’ time, and
forms a striking contrast to the heavy gloomy nave, for it is of the pointed style, light and elegant, with seven stained glass windows of wonderful beauty, and so close together as to leave no wall. The arches seem to rest on the eight colonnettes that frame the windows. In one of them may be read the whole legend of SS. Nazarius and Celsus, celebrated in Italian art. Titian has painted them in armor in a beautiful altarpiece of the church that bears their name at Brescia. St. Saturnin, however, the apostle of Toulouse, first announced the faith in this region. St. Nazaire is reputed to have arrived soon after. His mother was a Roman matron converted by St. Peter, and he himself was baptized by the apostle, who commissioned him to preach the Gospel. At Milan he exhorted and comforted SS. Gervasius and Protasius in prison, and was beaten with staves by order of the governor. Celsus was his spiritual child and co-laborer. At Genoa they were cast into the sea, which refused to drown them, and they walked back over the angry billows to land. After their apostolic journey to Southern Gaul, they were beheaded at Milan just without the Porta Romana, where a beautiful church still stands to perpetuate their memory. But it is inferior to St. Nazaire of Carcassonne, which is at once antique and poetic. What deep shadows in its venerable aisles! What rainbow lights in its jewelled windows! The rose of the north transept is composed of twelve lobes, in six of which blue predominates; in the other six, green—very beautiful in the sunset light. In the window of the south transept the lobes are in two rows, so disposed that green is under cramoisie, and
cramoisie under green, producing quite a magical effect.
North of the cathedral, just beyond its ruined cloister, is a donjon of the thirteenth century, called the Tour de l’Evêque, which contains a well, an oven, and everything necessary to sustain a regular siege. Here, through the vines, figs, and almond-trees, is the best view of the church, with its time-stained turrets, its buttressed walls, and the fine tracery of its windows. The old city is before us with its towers and antique walls, on which every storm that has swept over Southern France has left its trace. Simon de Montfort scaled them early in the thirteenth century. In the fourteenth, they braved the Black Prince, who contented himself with feasting on the well-stocked larders of the Basse Ville and drinking its rich wines, and afterwards setting fire to the place. In the sixteenth century the city was invaded by the Huguenots, who tore a statue of the Blessed Virgin from its niche and dragged it through the streets, which so enraged the Catholics that they rose in their fury and slaughtered all the offenders on whom they could lay hands. Then they carried the statue back to its place in solemn procession. And, when a royal edict of 1562 assigned the Calvinists a meeting-house just out of the city, the people barred the gates against the returning assembly, and drove them into the very Aude.