GRAMACI Aquesto obro es dedicacia à-n-Andriéu Ariès emai à Brunoun Eyrier, dous ome d’elèi que, sènso éli, moun libre aurié jamai creba l’iòu. Sarié, pamens, nimai juste nimai poussible d’óublida si gènti femo, Franço Ariès e Rèino Eyrier, qu’à-n-éli tambèn ié dise gramaci— mot bèn frèule e bèn pichot pèr dire quant aprecìe soun amista e sa caudo acuiènço. I’a d’àutri que s’ameriton, éli peréu, mi gramaci. Fuguè Louis Bayle qu’escriguè la famouso gramatico que m’endraiè sus la lengo; éu, tambèn estigancè ma proumiero courrespoundènçi emé Andriéu Aries. Lou grand pouèto Fernand Moutet, que beilejè mis estùdi, noun s’alassavo de me manda, d’à cha pau, de mot d’encourajamen. Laurent Théodore-Aubanel e sa femo, Anne, me dounèron li fotò dóu pouèto Aubanel em’aquelo de Zani; e siéu recouneissènt à Mireille Bosqui e Sabine Barnicaut, dóu Palais dóu Roure, en Avignoun, pèr li fotò dóu palais papau e de la Venus d’Arle. This work would not have been possible without the help of a number of people, all of whom played important roles as the work unfolded. The work is dedicated to André Ariès and Bruno Eyrier, two friends without whom it certainly would never have taken place. But I certainly must also include France Ariès and Reine Eyrier who, with their husbands, have been frequent and generous models of Provençal hospitality. Louis Bayle made the above contacts possible; in addition, his Grammaire Provençale gave me a tool, and his encouragement was as appreciated as his grammar. My thanks, also, to the late Fernand Moutet, a wonderful poet who kept telling me that my Provençal was meravihous at a time when it was really just beginning. I also thank M. and Mme Laurent Théodore-Aubanel for their generous assistance, and for their interest in this project. Thanks also to Mireille Bosqui and Sabine Barnicaut of the Palais dóu Roure for photos other than those of Aubanel and Zani. Thanks, also, to Susan Stringer and Sandra Miller, who forced me to see Provence at a time when I was only interested in looking at France. And, more recently, to Guy and Régine Bonnet, for warm hospitality and friendship, the kind that comes so naturally that they’re not aware of how much it has meant; to Roy Rosenstein, for knowing that Karl wanted to know me; to Karl Orend, for his interest, his support, and his vision. And, finally, to Joe Spooner, for technical and aesthetic assistance, and a sense of humor; and to Pamela Vohnson, for her comments and corrections as my introductory texts unfolded. Théodore Aubanel, to 1860 At one point, the title of this work was to be Theodore Aubanel: Doublecrossed by the Provençal Church. That title clearly gave way to another. However, Aubanel— the finest of the Provençal lyric poets of his time, and perhaps of all time— was both doubly reproached and twice scorned by the censors of the very Church he so faithfully served in his private as well as his professional life. In the century before Theodore’s birth, the Vatican bestowed upon the Aubanel family’s publishing house the title Seul Imprimeur de Sa Sainteté: Sole Printer for His Holiness, the Pope. The title was more honorific than remunerative, although it did tend to bring with it a number of printing contracts for religious works. Theodore and his brother, Charles, served together as managers of Editions Aubanel in 1860, when Aubanel’s first volume of poetry was published. The Revue des Bibliothèques Paroissiales, which reviewed recent publications as to their acceptability for a Catholic library, marked works to be excluded from such libraries with a “cross.” Aubanel’s collection, La Miougrano entre- duberto, was branded with an unprecedented two crosses. Aubanel was sufficiently circumspect to have his first dramatic piece, The Bread of Sin (Lou Pan dóu Pecat), published in a limited edition, and to have it distributed only to trusted and understanding friends. The dramatic piece would have fared no better than did the first collection of poetry. The Girls of Avignon, his second collection of poetry, was published a quarter of a century after La Mióugrano entre-duberto. Clearly more passionate than its predecessor, it was barely off the press when a copy of it was slipped into the hands of the archbishop. The author was promptly summoned, and commanded not only to stop distribution of this “dangerous work,” but to destroy all remaining copies. These events are all the more ironic in light of Aubanel’s religious history and practices. Aubanel was a “Christian gentleman,” in every sense of the word. In addition to the religious publications of Editions Aubanel, he gave to the poor, took part in religious processions, defended members of the Church, and regularly received the sacraments.1 The branding of his first work as “dangerous” was cause for great pain to Aubanel.2 His closest friends were under the impression that the anguish he experienced after the publication of his second collection of poetry is what caused his rapid decline in health and his death just months thereafter. The present book contains the first translations of Aubanel’s work into English. The translations include everything published in Provençal during Aubanel’s lifetime: his two collections of poetry and his dramatic piece. Aubanel was an enigmatic man. First of all, he was one of three key figures, a true leader, in the Felibrige, Provence’s renaissance movement. He was a writer, a publisher, and an orator; and he was laughed at behind his back.3 1 Ludovic Legré, Le Poète Théodore Aubanel, Récit d’un témoin de sa vie, Paris, 1900, pp. 366-71 and passim, gives ample examples of Christianity in Aubanel’s life. Aubanel dedicated significant time, and money, to works of charity among the poor and the sick of Avignon. During the cholera epidemic which struck Avignon in the 1850s, he spent “days and nights” taking care of sick people at their bedsides. He also took part regularly in religious processions of the day, “barefoot ... carrying a crucifix.” On one occasion was arrested and fined for publicly demonstrating against the expulsion of the priests of the Pères Récollets from Avignon. And when the Italian government wanted to decorate Aubanel for his work on the commemoration of the five hundreth anniversary of the death of Petrarch, Aubanel refused. He announced that he wanted nothing to do with the government which had plundered the papacy fifteen years earlier by taking away some of the Church's States. 2 The correspondence regarding the incident is dealt with, additionally, by Nicolas Welter (Théodore Aubanel, Un chantre provençal de la beauté, Avignon, 1904), pp. 96-101; Liprandi, in the notice biographique to Théodore Aubanel, Oeuvres choisies,pp. 41-50. 3 Claude Liprandi, “Sur un mot de Théodore Aubanel: “Ne m’appelez plus Félibre, je ne le suis plus.” in Aubanel et le Félibrige, Avignon, 1954, p. 50: “…the little man, of whose short stature Second, even in the hindsight allowed by the century since Aubanel’s death, it is difficult to understand how he— who certainly knew, understood, and applied the “conventions” of censorship applicable in mid-nineteenth-century Avignon— could have been so surprised to see his book “condemned.” A third enigma is the discrepancy between the Aubanel that his biographers describe and the one that his reader sees. The majority of his biographers, and even some of the closest of his literary friends appear to have misunderstood the driving force behind Aubanel’s literary works: the "burning" sensuality that he unabashedly juxtaposed with his committed Christianity.4 These friends include “the Master” himself, Frédéric Mistral, the greatest of the names associated with the modern language of the south of France. Mistral, in wording that is accepted and adopted by writers after him, sees Aubanel’s spirituality and his sensuality as opposing one another, de-longo soun en lucho (“they’re continually doing battle”).5 We shall return to these thoughts in the introductions to The Girls of Avignon and The Bread of Sin. However, a careful look at Aubanel’s works show little evidence of such a battle. On the contrary, it should be apparent, both from the works present here and from comments in his letters that, for Aubanel, Christianity and sensuality are not mutually exclusive. One of his clearest expressions of this is in his letter to Legré of 2 June, 1860: It is truly painful and sad that what is most touching and respectable in the world, a beautiful, young, noble passion, is neither understood nor respected. Alas! These days, when everything is on earth, when no one, or almost no one still has a God, or a King, or a lady, the time has come to scoff at a book, to mistreat a man who believes in both God and love.6 For Aubanel, the line of “love” that must not be crossed is that of illicit sexual relationships. He was undoubtedly influenced by his strict religious upbringing. But an analysis of the texts suggests that the real reason for not acting out one’s urges in the theater of life is not fear of punishment or damnation, but rather the pain and suffering that such actions cause other members of society. Avignon’s role in the late Middle Ages left an indelible mark on the city’s later history. Seven popes had resided in Avignon, from 1309 until 1377. Even after Gregory IX decided to return to Rome, the Holy See continued to govern the area, the Comtat Venaissin, until the time of the Revolution.