In the Walled City of Avignon
It turns out sleeping within a walled city is something that can be felt.
When I wake in Avignon, having never been in a city surrounded by walls before, it’s a new, protected feeling, perhaps similar to a dog’s comfort in a welcome kennel or being inside a cave out of the wind and rain. It’s shelter, but not a stifling kind. It’s a warm haven.
Building the ramparts of Avignon began in 1355 during the time of Pope Innocent VI as a way to protect the grand palatial papacy from assaults by marauders. They were completed during the time of the next Pope Urbain V in 1370.
The Palace came first. A massive structure, the largest Gothic building of the Middle Ages, le Palais des Papes was constructed during the leadership of two popes: Pope Benoît (Benedict) XII (the old palace) and Pope Clement VI (the new palace) between 1335 and 1352. Pope Clément VI was the most extravagant of the Avignon popes. Prior to his papacy, he was an aristocrat living a life of great luxury and he brought that luxury and an appreciation for art and beauty along with him to the palace. He hired Matteo Giovannetti to oversee the group of painters who made the interior works of art on the walls.
The Papal Library within le Palais was the largest in Europe at the time with over 2,000 volumes. Writers and thinkers, such as Petrarch, and clerics passionate about the study of “belles-lettres” were drawn to the Library of Avignon.
During a time melodramatically referred to as the Babylonian Captivity in reference to a genocide event in Jewish history, the papacy moved from Rome to Avignon in 1305 when King Philip IV of France refused to tolerate papal political interference. When Pope Boniface VIII declared that both spiritual and temporal power were under the pope’s jurisdiction and kings were subordinate to the pope, King Philip IV could see the writing on the wall and took immediate action. He sent troops to attack the pope’s residence in Anagni just outside of Rome on September 7, 1303. Pope Boniface VIII was held prisoner for three days, beaten badly, and died a month later. The Catholic Cardinals quickly ordained Pope Benoît (Benedict) XI, a choice made in the firm hope that he would appease the King of France. Immediately, Pope Benoît released King Philip IV from excommunication, however, he couldn’t resist excommunicating King Philip IV’s minister, Guillaume de Nogaret. There is no direct evidence, but it is likely that Guillaume de Nogaret’s response was to poison the newly ordained pope.
As influenced by the French king who would not allow papal control to get out of hand, Clément V, a French pope who never even journeyed to Rome, was elected in 1305 and began his papal reign from Avignon in 1309. For the next eighty years, all the popes were French. Here are their names and dates of papacy:
Clément V (1305-1314)
Jean XXII (1316-1334)
Benoît (Benedict) XII (1334-1342)
Clément VI (1342-1352)
Innocent VI (1352-1362)
Urbain (Urban) V (1362-1370)
Grégoire (Gregory) XI (1370-1378)
Grégoire XI brought the papacy back to Rome. Once there, he realized his mistake, planned to return to Avignon, and mysteriously died in 1378 just after announcing his plans. For the first time in about eighty years, a Roman pope, Urbain VI, was elected. Unfortunately, the selection was made out of haste and fear and he proved to be a disaster of a pope with a violent temper. Regretting electing him, the cardinals removed themselves from Rome, and elected a rival pope, Antipope Clément VII, who reestablished the papal court of Avignon and ushered in the time known as the Western Schism from 1378 to 1417. Certain countries, mostly western, recognized the Avignon pope, while certain countries, mostly eastern, recognized the Roman pope. Two popes at the same time, each excommunicating the other. You can’t make this stuff up.
After le petit déjeuner in the hotel, I step out into the wet, gray day, walking through the Place de l’Horloge, thinking about how it was once the city’s Roman forum. Up a narrow street, I can see the expanse of the grand palace and the square in front of it. I didn’t realize how many people from all over the world come to Avignon to visit a site that is essentially a monument to human disagreement and political religious maneuvering.
I go up the steps to the entrance. The sign near the door says that it is open every day from 9 am to 7 pm. I pay 14.50 Euros for a combination ticket to visit le Palais des Papes and the famous Avignon Bridge.
Each entrant to le Palais des Papes receives a personal touch screen and headphones in the language of his or her choice among many. It’s a very well done self-guided tour that enables the viewer to see what each room looked like back in the 1300s, complete with sound effects, and includes scavenger hunt games. There are twenty-five rooms open to the public. Among them are the Grand Tinel Banquet Room, the Great Clementine Chapel, the colorful Papal Chamber, and the Stag Room with intriguing frescoes of nature scenes, deer, hunting dogs, and exotic aquatic life in a pool. The Stag Room is mesmerizing with so many stories going on. It’s one of the rare times that I just stand gazing, soaking it all in, reluctant to leave.
While inside the enormous palace of the popes, the sun comes out and the wet cobblestones sparkle in its brilliance.
Now that the rain has stopped, there is a man playing the saxophone in the grand square with his case open for money and to advertise his CD. He plays and sings, both tone and voice are rich. Etienne Alsamia is the name in the case. Another man, looking more like a detective than an artist in his coat and a cap, sits under a white tented canopy and paints, not noticing anything but his work. A smiling woman stands with her impressionistic paintings under another white tented canopy, inviting conversation. I love impressionism, so I look and speak with her and end up with her card. Isabelle Vavasseur. I love her vivid painting of two girls walking down a road with a dreamy quality of the past.
It’s time for lunch and all the restaurants are crowded. I find a small table tucked at the outskirts of an outdoor restaurant space that appears to be a polite choice for one person. Service is slow, but I don’t mind. The food is wonderful, slow-cooked chicken and a glass of red wine. However, there is nothing to eat with and it is difficult to get the attention of the fast-paced waitresses. The two couples dining near me notice my distress, because the French notice everything, and I explain, “Pas de fourchette.” When the waitress returns, they are quick to let her know of my need for a utensil and she is quick to bring one. The couples seem as relieved as I am. There is a sensitivity to the needs of others in France that I like.
Full and reenergized, I walk through a little hole in the wall to emerge outside of the city and approach the bridge over the Rhône River. The bridge stops in the middle of the water and the people peering over the edge look a bit like lemmings urging each other to jump. Once upon a time, the bridge did go all the way over both arms of the river, but the people grew weary of repairing it again and again. You don’t think about bridges having chapels, but this one does. The Chapel of Saint Nicholas is on the second pier. I hear a father teaching his toddler son the French folk song “Sur le Pont d’Avignon.”
Sur le Pont d’Avignon
L’on y danse, l’on y danse,
Sur le Pont d’Avignon,
L’on y danse tous en rond.
Here is a loose English translation:
On the Bridge of Avignon,
We all dance there, we all dance there,
On the Bridge of Avignon,
We all dance there all around.
That’s the chorus and there are verses that go through the steps of the dance accompanying the song from the 15thCentury.
The real name of the bridge is the little-known Pont Saint-Bénézet. It was first built in 1185, long before the popes arrived, as a wooden bridge across the Rhône that provided access between Avignon and Villeneuve-lez-Avignon. It was destroyed and rebuilt with stone in 1234. Because the stone arches tended to collapse every time the Rhône flooded, the bridge was abandoned in the mid-1600s.
According to legend, Saint-Bénézet was a shepherd boy from a small town in the Ardèche (northwest of Avignon) who had a divine calling to build a bridge across the river. He won support for the project by miraculously lifting a huge block of stone, providing the divine stamp of approval the town needed. Saint-Bénézet‘s remains are in the chapel on the bridge.
After spending some time on le Pont d’Avignon, I walk along the river and cross the Rhône at Pont Édouard Daladier to get to the island made by the two arms of the river. There is a camping site and a walking path on the green belt along the shore.
I cross the island and continue to another bridge, Pont du Royaume, to reach Villeneuve-lez-Avignon. There are a number of sites to visit in the ancient town in spite of its “new city” name. Fort Saint-Andre stands above everything with an outstanding view of le Palais des Papes across the two arms of the river. There’s an old tower and a museum and an abbey, but I’ve always been intrigued by the Chartreuse. I think it’s the name. Try saying it aloud. Chartreuse. What a great name! So, I go to La Chartreuse du Val de Bénédiction, the place where the Chartreuse Monks (translated into English as the Carthusian Monks – I definitely prefer the French word) lived. It was founded by Pope Innocent VI sometime after 1352. When he died in 1362, he was interred in one of the chapels of the monastery. It comes straight off the street, like it’s a simple apartment building, but once inside, there is a beautiful gated entrance and the entire place has a solemn mystical beauty.
The admission is 8 euros. No one speaks loudly. And there is a central courtyard where I saw a number of people meditating and praying. What a contrast this simple place is to the elaborate pope palace across the river! In modern times, playwrights and drama groups are hosted where the monks once lived.
After a meditative stroll at La Chartreuse, I return to the town square with its post office and Hôtel de Ville of Villeneuve-lez-Avignon and discover a natural health food restaurant. Not my typical choice for lunch, but I’m intrigued. The young waiter who greets me has a concerning energy and keeps underscoring that I am “tout seul.” Sometimes, and it’s rare, I sense something strange, perhaps dangerous, from people. It almost feels like they are predators reveling in any challenges or low spirits I may be experiencing. I usually ignore these encounters and move on, but it is unsettling. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen very often.
The food is not typical French, but it is good. I eat a plateful of raw vegetables mixed with spices, drink a ginger and turmeric tonic. Back on the street, there is a very welcoming sign advertising foreign language instruction for children. And next door to it, a motorcycle shop. Ah, the dream of living in Villeneuve-lez-Avignon! Quickly, I cross the bridges and go through the hole in the wall and return to the warm safety of a lovely second story hotel room safe within the walls of Avignon.
Next France for Two Months: Inside the Rich Ochre of Roussillon
This is #10 in a series of stories: France for Two Months. Follow the links below to read the other parts of the series starting with the first:
1. Santa Fe Depot Departure
2. Return to the Great Lady
3. Shakespeare and Company Bookstore
4. Paris Stroll
5. Paris – des heures exquises
6. Train to Thonon-les-Bains
7. Château de Ripaille
8. Getting up with the Birds: Lac Léman to Lyon to Lille
9. Navigating to Avignon