The aspiration to own a second home in France did not originate with the English middle class after the second world war. The idea also appealed to the ecclesiastical dignitaries who peopled the papal court during its sojourn in Avignon in the 14th century.
At the time Avignon was not part of France. Even before its purchase by the papacy, it fell within the boundaries of the County of Provence, which then owed its allegiance not to France, but to the Holy Roman Empire. Notoriously, this was neither holy nor Roman nor even an empire – more of a loose association of mainly Germanic principalities. The hold of its rulers on its extremities was often flimsy, so there was nothing much to stop the more headstrong French kings crossing the Rhone and knocking places like Avignon about a bit. Occasionally, when the Rhone flooded the city, they’d use the inundation as a crafty pretext to soak it financially as well, since the river itself was defined by treaty as being part of France, and thereby subject to French taxes.
All in all, the citizens must have been quite relieved when the papacy settled in Avignon in 1309 and relations with their neighbours thawed. The Pope at the time – not by coincidence – was a friendly Frenchman, Clement V, and the French monarchy saw every advantage in keeping on good terms with the church. Whilst the left bank of Rhone remained the international frontier, crossing it became a pretty routine undertaking, at least for privileged personages, such as Cardinals or other VIPs in the Catholic hierarchy. For them the French side of the river became a favourite place to keep a mansion or villa, away from the insalubrious hustle and bustle of Avignon itself. Fifteen of these residences were even grand enough to be called palaces. The town that grew up around them became known as New-Town-beside-Avignon, or Villeneuve-lèz-Avignon in the local dialect, reminding us that everything that now seems old was once a novelty.
It is still an attractive place to visit today.
The steep approach from Avignon
Villeneuve is the first place you’d reach if you could still cross the Rhone from Avignon by the old, now-truncated bridge of St Bénézet. Ascending the hill on the far side you’d find yourself in the shadow of a tall, forbidding watch-tower.
This tower was built at the behest of, and still bears the name of, Phillippe-le-Bel – “Philip the Fair”, the nickname of King Philip VI of France. Fair he may have been in appearance, but not in any other way. His hand is believed to have been behind the assassination of the previous Pope, Boniface VIII, and the installation of the more pliable Clement. He was certainly a tough ruler and ruthless enemy, and the tower named after him remains an appropriately harsh stone structure, with little decoration. Visiting it today is mainly memorable for the views it affords back across the river to Avignon, and in both directions along the Rhone.
Even better views can be had by ascending the crest of the hill behind the tower, the Colline des Mourgues, which is a public park and worth a small diversion even if you are not pausing for a picnic, though this is certainly a good place for al fresco eating if the day is fine.
From here, looking north over the town itself, which lies in a dip between the two, you find the horizon dominated by a far larger fortress on a further hilltop beyond. This is the fort of Saint-André, in every sense one of the high points of any visit to Villeneuve. Let’s go there first before we return to explore the town.
Two monuments for the price of two
Saint-André is an archetypal mediaeval fortress, and its exterior is very well preserved. Solidly built astride its hilltop in the local grey-beige limestone, it looks down on the town with massive twin towers protecting its central gateway. High ramparts stretch away to either side - their full circumference is about half a mile. Once again, Phillippe-le-Bel was responsible, reinforcing and extending an earlier stronghold on the same site.
Inside, the fort’s state of preservation is less impressive than from the outside, but not without interest. The enclosed area divides into two almost equal parts: the military remains, and those of the abbey that the walls were also extended to encompass. Much of the military half is almost derelict, with the vestiges of stonework poking out from hummocks of unkempt grass, amid straggling trees and undergrowth. The surviving structures consist of a tiny but charming Romanesque chapel, a later (19th century) barracks building which was not open to visitors when I was there, and the interior of the twin towers themselves.The twin towers constitute not so much a mere gatehouse, more of a keep. Within them are all the main functional rooms, now bare of decoration, but full of atmosphere and well-furnished with exhibits to explain their role in the defence and administration of the castle, or in accommodating its garrison. From the towers’ roof one can also gain access to the ramparts for a short stretch towards the also well-preserved and curiously-named Tower of the Masks, but one cannot, unfortunately, walk the full circuit of the walls.
The other half of the enclosure within the walls could not be in starker contrast to the mediaeval military relics of the fort. Although the Abbey was there first, little of its original fabric survives, and the main building dates from much later, being an elegant 17th century residence in neo-classical style. Around it, again in complete contrast to the ill-tended grounds of the fort, is a lovely terraced Italianate garden on several levels, each displaying different planting and offering different views across the surrounding countryside. The Abbey is separately managed from the fort, and entry to it will cost you a few more euros over and above the five you will have already paid, but is well worth it and not to be missed.
Innocent smoothieAnother 7€ (4.50€ if you are a student or child) should be invested in a visit to Val de Bénédiction Charterhouse in the northern corner of the town. Originally one of the cardinals’ palaces, it was donated to the Carthusian Order when the cardinal in question became Pope Innocent VI, together with a generous endowment to help with its enlargement into a monastery and appropriate decoration with religious art.
By the time of the revolution, the monastery had become the biggest and one of the richest of its kind in France, but then the revolutionaries sold its treasures and allowed the buildings to deteriorate. Over the past century, however, it has been painstakingly restored, and although doubtless less splendid than in its heyday, there is still much to see and enjoy: both surviving statues, frescos and similar embellishments, and living quarters furnished to illustrate the everyday life of the inmates.
These, together with the gardens, courtyards and cloisters convey some sense of the peace and seclusion that the monks sought there, away from the squalor and mayhem of the coeval world outside. One can almost see the attraction, except of course for all the religious rites and rigmarole one would have had to endure to be allowed to stay.
Vieille Villeneuve
By the time you have spent a few hours in the fort and the monastery, you see the town in a new light as you walk back through its narrow streets. Earlier, it seemed just another small French town, an old one certainly, but not in any way remarkably so, and with all the usual modern amenities – shops, bars, restaurants and so forth – much in evidence. Now you find yourself looking behind and beyond these for earlier relics, particularly those of the other fourteen palatial residences. In truth, there is scant trace of them. Most of those that survived the centuries to the revolution were, like the monastery, split up and sold off, demolished or fell into disrepair, but, unlike the monastery, were not restored. One of the few remaining edifices, now known as the Pierre de Luxembourg Museum, displays examples of such of their art and ornaments as has been preserved, but even this is only a small section of the original edifice. If one still glimpses vestiges of grandeur here and there among the older buildings, they might only be the imagination working overtime. Certainly, the 14th century Gothic church of Notre Dame with its adjacent cloister captures something of the same ambience as the monastery itself, but probably any 14th century church with cloisters – of which there are many in France – would do the same.
Nevertheless, the sense is reinforced that this is somewhere left over from another epoch. Somehow, Villeneuve still feels like a mediaeval town, and as such it causes one to reflect on that alien era and on its contrasts with the world today.
Du temps perduWhat are we to make of the Middle Ages? Their written history is that of kings and nobles, of their squabbles over land and power, intertwined with that of an outwardly monolithic church that was in truth as riddled with intrigue and avarice as any temporal authority.
For most of European humanity, though, all this was so remote as to be irrelevant. You knew of your own feudal master – you bowed low when he passed by, and laboured in his fields as well as on your own small patch, if you were lucky enough to have one. You knew of your own parish priest – you listened to his incomprehensible Latin readings from the scriptures and, for the privilege, paid him a tenth of the little you produced.
Apart from that, you wanted to keep as clear as possible from those in power, knowing that you were not even a pawn in their games, more like the dust on the board. Above all you hoped their warring armies kept away, for they would bring only rape and pillage in their wake, whichever side they purported to be on.
You kept your head down, stayed where you were born, remained ignorant and illiterate, bred and hoped some of your children would survive, grew what you could to feed them, and died young. And you lived in a hovel, no trace of which survives today. So modern visitors tread on the soil where it once stood, and look instead at the remains of castles and monasteries, abbeys and palaces, and believe they have understood something of mediaeval life, of which they have seen less than the tip of the iceberg.
Still, maybe it’s preferable to be an ignorant visitor now than an ignorant peasant then.
All mod cons
Even without the old bridge, Villeneuve is easily accessible from Avignon, being just a few kilometres away. On a fine day, across the new bridge that lies a little to the south, it would be a pleasant walk, taking less than an hour. Alternatively, the No. 11 bus will carry you there more comfortably in about ten minutes, at a cost of 1.20€. On a chilly day with a mistral blowing, that’s the way to go.
If you wanted to stay in Villeneuve, there are a number of hotels there, and restaurants. A night or two there might acquaint you even more intimately with the anachronistic atmosphere of the place, or might dispel it as an illusion after all.
RecommendationIf you’re in the area, a visit to Villeneuve is definitely recommended. Apart from being full of interest in its own right, it subtly complements its grander counterpart across the Rhone, and makes you perceive it in a slightly different light. Looking back from one of Phillippe-le-Bel’s frontier posts, you remember that Avignon – seemingly so typically French and so typically mediaeval – has only become French as it has become modern. In Villeneuve, even if you’ve reached it by a ten-minute bus-ride across a 20th century bridge, you feel you’ve passed into another country, and another age.
© torr 2009
A review of Avignon may be found at:
http://travel.ciao.co.uk/Avignon_France__Review_5878187
In another country 
Great review!