ly their city, now a mere
country town which has lost prestige with its increasing isolation, many
of its inhabitants by plagues and wars, and almost all of its
picturesque Mediaevalism through the destructiveness of sieges.

Long before this day of contented stagnancy, in 1061, when Forcalquier,
fortified, growing, and important, claimed many honours, Bishop Gerard
Caprerius of Sisteron had given the city a Provost and a Chapter, and
created the Church of Saint-Mary, co-cathedral with that of Notre-Dame
of Sisteron. Not contented with this honour, Forcalquier demanded and
received a Bishopric of her own. Her hill was then crowned by a Citadel,
her Cathedral stood near-by, her walls were intact. Now the Citadel is
replaced by a peaceful pilgrims' chapel, the walls are gone, Saint-Mary,
ruined in the siege of 1486, is recalled only by a few weed-covered
stumps and bits of wall, and its title was given to Notre-Dame in the
lower part of the town.

No Cathedral is a sadder example of architectural failure than
Notre-Dame of Forcalquier because it has so many of the beginnings of
real beauty and dignity, so many parts of real worthiness that have been
unfortunately combined in a confused and discordant whole. If, of all
little cities of Provence, Forcalquier is one of the least unique and
least holding, its Cathedral is also one of the least satisfying. It is
not beautiful in situation nor in its own essential harmony, and the
fine but tantalising perspectives of its interior may be found again in
happier churches.

The exterior shows to a superlative degree that general tendency of
Provencal exteriors to be without definite or logical proportions. A
large, square tower, heavier than that of Grasse, served as a lookout, a
tall, thin little turret served as a belfry. In the facade there is a
Gothic portal which notwithstanding its entire mediocrity is the chief
adornment of the outer walls. They are irregular and uncouth to a degree
and their only interesting features are at the eastern end. Here the
smaller, older apses on either side betray the church's early origin.
The central apse, evidently of the same dimensions as the Romanesque one
originally designed, was re-built in severe, rudimentary Gothic. Looking
at this shallow apse alone, and following its plain lines until they
meet those of the big tower, there is a straight simplicity that is
almost fine,--but this is one mere detail in a large and barren whole,
and t