TOURIST CENTERS IN PROVENCE

Several railway lines in the Southeast seem to have been designed for the sole pleasure of travel. Along their entire route, wonders follow one another; not a station that is not a picturesque poem or a page of history, not a turning point that does not bring a surprise. This is the case from Grenoble to Briançon; from Briançon to Marseille, along the Durance; from Livron to Veynes, going up the Drôme.

I have traveled these routes a hundred times, with many stops, and this book, whose illustrated pages turn as the train progresses, always offers me a new charm. We can never establish the definitive edition.

To visit the Diois, which is a whole world, you would need Pierre Dévoluy as a guide. He wrote about his native country the pages of a great poet, of documented historian, while as usual, Colonel Gros-Long studied economic resources as a scholar. Our Capoulié magnifies, with what faith, what knowledge and what talent, our majestic Alps and our stunning plains of Provence. No one loves them and makes them loved better than he. May he therefore forgive this summary of the itinerary, its inevitable omissions and its cinematographic appearance. These apologies, on the way.

Alex and Grâne explain the ancient consecration of the valley to Cybèle. The monumental keep of Crest throws us into the heart of history with the tower of Chabrillan as a preface. A visit to the city is a must, especially the excursion to the forest of Saou. Imagine a formidable bouquet of woods and meadows planted in a gigantic vase of rocks, a maze of arches in the play of shadows and lights, green glades, night paths, a triumphal entrance through the portal carved by the Vèbre and that flowers decorate with their multicolored frescoes: it is the forest of Saou with its village, always a refuge for viewers. Ruined abbeys, crumbling castles abound in this region, which by “their slow apotheoses have reached beauty”.

From Aouste, we go to the too little known gorges of Omblèze, to the Forest of Lente so justly famous, which will be discussed later.

But here is Saillans, pilgrimage of all good Félibre, where is no longer, alas! the late Maurice Faure, the friend whose soul and heart spoke and vibrated at the same time, the cicada driver who was the early adviser to most of us. On all sides one reads his memory. The "Native Land" that he so adored and sang of, celebrates him now; its name shines on the cliff of Roche-Courbe near the heavens.

The unique in picturesque awaits you in Espenel and especially in Pontaix; on all sides the gorges cut into this capricious defile, their cascading waters falling into the Drôme; one would like to go everywhere, to interrogate the stones, to marvel at their secrets. Up there, in a wild valley, where one would gladly place nostalgic limbo, rises in a circus the Château de Quint, prison of Diane de Poitiers.

One more "step" to force you to look at the Suze which draws it from its waters, and, after the high rocky walls forming a window, the widened, poetic valley appears with the forests attacking Glandasse in the background. We arrive in Die, the capital, a first-rate center of tourism and a pleasant holiday resort.

The Voconces and the Gallo-Romans knew each other about places of enchantment, we have lost their devotion to beautiful nature. Our era no longer builds a temple to the "Dea Augusta", symbol of the grandiose Mountain. The Courts of Love are replaced, what a downfall! by literary prizes.

The Countess reminds Die of the era of the troubadours, she who "fes matas bonas cansos per en Rambaut d'Aurenga". What do the mysteries surrounding her matter, whether she was Beatrix, Alice or Isoarde? She loved her gallant knight very well and very well tuned the lyre of her heart: "À chantar m'er". In the absence of resemblance to the miniatures of the National and the Vatican, his bust appears! the ideal epoch, so nobly superior to ours and which will never return.

Die has its Porte Saint-Marcel, its Porte Rouge, its Roman walls, its unique Roman-Gothic cathedral, its written stones, its alleys, its squares and its boulevards. It retains in an old character, its amenities of a peaceful city, happy to have finished with the Great Companies, the Baron des Adrets, Maugiron and Lesdiguières. The land of sparkling Clairette, this Drôme champagne, is it not the land of a life of tranquil and healthy gaiety? Here, you will taste, à la Racan, the delights of retirement, in other words of pleasant holidays, by visiting the rich collections of M. de Fontgalland and by learning, if that intrigues you, what content, in his library, the marvelous annals of Diois. You will never tire of admiring the mountain scenery of which Die is as proud as of his parchments.

There are the very specialized thermo-resinous baths and the Virginal Source; the former perform the miracle of putting you in the oven at a hundred degrees without cooking you; the second completes the renal elimination cure. At Martouret and Les Sablières, pinch the annoying rheumatism and return the voluptuous "greenness". Try it, it's sovereign for health and repopulation.

In the vicinity wander a few well-licked bears, harmless and shy, also sucking resin, feasting on the honey of the bee-eaters. May the fear of meeting them not deprive you of climbing Glandas (2025 m.), gathering air for your lungs and picking a thousand varied flowers for your friends. From up there, you will hold in your eyes the peaks of Oisans and the Provençal mountains. because it is one of the most delightful belvederes in France.

You will go to the abbey of Valcroissant, to the four sources of the Rays, to the ten surrounding passes: the Menée, the Bachasson, the Prépeyret; that of Grimone with the famous defile of Ayguat and the collar of Glandage is a prodigy of vertiginous escarpments and desert corners.

With the certainty of a cordial welcome, especially if you claim to be from the Provençal of Paris and its tourist collaborator, the Syndicat d'initiative de Die, will detail these walks, these excursions; in his place you will have a home.

Beyond Die, in Pont-de-Quart, a poetic tortillard leads to Châtillon, under the walnut trees and among the oiliest, most fragrant lavender that blooms in the world. Ah! what fine trout are those of the Bez, what alpine stanza is the valley of Archiane with its four fountains (observe the prodigality of the waters which in this region well up in fours); what happy days around here. Ask the recipe for existence in this paradise from Pierre Dévoluy who makes it his summer Nice.

The ancient "Lucus Vocontiorum", today's Luc-en-Diois, only has the royalty of its mosaics; its era of glory can be read in the found objects. Only archaeologists take pleasure in it and lovers of solitude too. But everyone wants to see the Claps, more phenomenal than the Pas-de-Soucy in the gorges of the Tarn, as prodigious as the scree with which the gods of India had fun. In the year 1442, the mountain split and collapsed, blocking the valley, creating lakes of three hundred hectares. The monks of Durbon dried up the lakes, without daring to touch the granite colossi, the legend continues to tell the sad epic of these giants of horror, struck down by the fire of the sky, burned by the sun and that neither the bird, nor the blade of grass.

A good piece of advice, climb the Col de Cabre (1180 m.), the former "Gaura Mons" of the Routes, between the summit of Rigaud (1579 m.) and the Archier (1370 m.), or cross it under the tunnel for a league and push on to the "Mutatio Cambonum", La Baume-des-Arnauds, a place for wise lovers of absolute calm, unforgettable hours within the alpine family of Baumillons; a place, finally, where we spent five or six summers rolling around voluptuously in the water of distilled lavender, playing
bowls, to toast under the trees and to chat under the starlight in the meadows lined with fantastic rocks.

But we crossed the limits of Diois, whose superb empire requires at least two months for its visit and which I had the foolish pretension to present to you like a canvas.

Emile Roux-Parassac

For your holidays, for your travels, to be informed about hotels, resorts, resorts, itineraries, etc... please contact the Provençal de Paris (Services de Tourisme) and recommend it.