The Palace of the Popes, not the one in Rome...
This morning to the Palace of the Popes, the edifice in the centre of the city which is what had really brought me to Avignon. For nearly one hundred years, spanning the reigns of seven pontiffs, Avignon had been the political centre of Christendom, in many ways the high-water mark of French ecclesiastical power. The 14th century papacy bears little resemblance to the papacy as it existed under the Borgheses and Medicis, who came later and were largely responsible for how the papacy exists today. In the 1300s, the curia was itinerant, moving from city to city as it saw fit (often to avoid political unrest, which is what ultimately led it to leave Italy for France). One element that has remained constant though, throughout the history of the papacy, is the deeply political nature of Conclave. The Western Schism arose when the College of Cardinals elected a pope who many later disavowed and proceeded to elect a new pope, giving rise to the Avignon ‘anti-popes’. At one point, in the early 15th century, there were three claimants to the title of Pope.
When it was ‘completed’ in the 1370s with the addition of the Palais Neuf (New Palace), the fortress at Avignon could easily be counted among the largest buildings in the world. Since then it has suffered, with successive generations pulling parts down or modifying it to suit their needs. The distinctive towers over the gate house had to rebuilt in the 20th century and many of the magnificently frescoed interiors have been lost. As best as can be, the look of the castle, as it would have been when it was the seat of papal authority, is cleverly recreated for the visitors with the aid of tablet computers that can be wafted around the room to display a computer rendered mock up of what you are looking at. Perhaps unsurprisingly, one of the highlights was the kitchen, that was used in later years to supply the massive banqueting hall, with its enormous central hearth under an architectural marvel—an octagonal chimney, almost exactly the same as the one at the Royal Abbey at Fontevraud, in the Loire Valley. I wish I could have taken a photo that did it justice.
Finally, at about 4 o’clock, it stopped raining. It had been raining non-stop for nearly forty eight hours, almost unheard of in Provence. I walked up to the park on top of the bluff that the palace and cathedral are built on, which overlooks the broad sweep of the Rhone as it heads towards the sea. As the sky cleared, the sunlight reflected off the snowcapped peak of Mont Ventoux in the distance and glittered on the surging waters of the river.
Dinner: galette with cheese and ham, from Jean Le Gourmand a wonderful Avignon-based creperie.