The herald and news. [volume] (Newberry S.C.) 1903-1937, 1909-01-01
AN ANCIENT MONASTERY.
Will Seabrook Visits the Abbeye de
Montmajour-The Legend Of -.
The Wine.
(Bv ". B. Seabrook.)

from Aries. at the end Of a poplar
shaded lane. surmounting the crest
Of a hill, whose flowery slopes are
the delight Of botanists and artists
during all seasons OF the year, rises
the Anc1enne Abbeye de Montmaj jour.
This venerable monastery, founded by
Saint Cesaire in the sixth century,
survived the stormy period during
which Provence was ravaged by ra-
pacious robber lords, and eventually
became the largest religious commun-
1ty in southern France. It's name is
Intimately connected with the real
and legendary history of the Midi
during the Middle Ages, and the
dramas enacted within its walls form
ed favorite theme for medieval
troubadours and poets. Among the
ancient remances preserved in the
library of manuscripts at Avignon,
one encounters frequently the follow
ing phrase, usually terminating some
tale Of unrequited love, "Ainsi il Sc
rendit moine Montmajour'' $50 he
became a monk at Montmajour.)
The concierge, or guardian, of the
abbey is dear little woman. whose
tiny, wrinkled face beamed with
pride and pleasure when she learned
from my questions that 7 was already
somewhat familiar with the wonder
ful past Of ''her monastery"
Armed with a bunch of gigantic
keys and followed by a yellow dog
a solemn, silent beast, whose tenn
perament had evidently been affect
ed by countless promenades in mon-
kish cells and cloisters, not to men-
tion the fact, which I discovered cy
chance, that it was his regular Gus
tom, when thirsty, to drink the holy
water from dismantled baptismal
font in the court-yard-we entered
the chapter hall and descended into
the crypts, a series Of chambers hewn
in the living rock, from which rise
the columns supporting the colossal
superstructure. Nowhere, except at
Mont Saint Michel, have I seen such
heavy pillars, such noble, massive
arches. Most Of the subterranean
apartments had served as chapels,
mertuary vaults, or simple store
rooms, but there was one dismal cav
srn that had, beyond question. been
"a prison and torture chamber; its To-
'cality is too definitely indicated in
the chronicles Of the abbey to leave
any doubt; roughly carved in the
rocky wall, there still exists the IA
>mous "lit de penitence," a coffin
shaped bed Of stone, with the bottom
Intentionally left irregular and jagged
upon which the unhappy prisoner
was chained. at full length, and left
for days at time to ''meditate" up
on his sins. The holes through which
the chains were passed are still in
tact.
After visiting the donjon tower and
The beautifully sculptured cloister,
during which excursion the concierge
;anG I had become fast friends, We
repaired to her kitchen, and she pro-
sduced bottle of rich, golden wine.
manufactured with the aid Of herbs
and simples gathered on adjacent hill
sides. We had been talking Of the
curious traditions clustering around
she abbey. and while we drank our
cordial. the good dame. chuckling ov-
er some evidently amusing recollec-
tion launched into the story, which l
will endeavor to recount. Variations
of the same tale, I have learned, are
mingled with the legends Of several
other abbeyS in Province, and AL
phonse Daudet has given one Of them
place among his humorous contes,
but I doubt if the curious recital
which follows has ever found its way
into English print. !
During a certain epoch, says the
legend, the county roundabout was
kept in a state Of terror by
marapding bandits, and the helpless
farmers of the districts, more intent
on saving their mortal skins than
their immortal souls, began to stake
their afith upon the sword Of some
powerful protecting baron rather than
on the crucifix Of the good father alb
bot. As a consequence, the monaster!
fell upon hard times; the poor monks
watched in vain for the procession of
aonkeys which had formerly wound