An extraordinary structure looming over the marshlands north of Arles, this magnificent Romanesque abbey stands in partial ruin, with shrieking rooks ducking in and out of its empty stone-framed windows. Begun in the 12th century by a handful of Benedictine monks, it grew according to an ambitious plan of church, crypt, and cloister; under corrupt lay monks in the 17th century it grew more sumptuous; when those lay monks were ejected by the church, they sacked the place. After the Revolution it was sold to a junkman, who tried to pay the mortgage by stripping off and selling its goods. A 19th-century medieval revival spurred its partial restoration, but its 18th-century portions remain in ruins. Ironically, because of this mercenary history, what remains is a spare and beautiful piece of Romanesque architecture, bare of furniture and art—an abstraction of massive stone arches, vaults, and flowing curves that seem to be poured and molded instead of quarried and fitted in chunks. And its cloister rivals that of St-Trophime in Arles for its balance, elegance, and air of mystical peace.
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