Our Experience with the Church Bells of Bonnieux
Recently, we stayed in the hilltop village of Bonnieux in the Luberon valley of Provence where we were treated to a singular sensory experience. We reached out to Vincent Gils, the only carillonneur (bell-ringer) left in the Vaucluse area and one of few left in France.
Vincent’s father, Bernard, taught him to ring the bells. Before him, his father was the custodian of this church, at the summit of Bonnieux, with 900 years of history. His father says that “Pour moi, mon clocher, c’est un piano volant” (for me, my bell, is like a flying piano). Nowadays, churches in France have automated bells. However, in Bonnieux, bells are rung by hand for mariages, baptisms, funerals and religious festivals. Vincent has been doing it for the last thirty years. He agreed to allow us to witness the ringing of the bells as he was on that day going to pay homage to a villager, a good friend, that passed away that week.
Mistral Wind in Bonnieux
It was a Saturday evening marked by a ferocious Mistral wind. We climbed the steep cobblestone street where you can find Vincent’s brocante, or antique shop in Bonnieux. Tripping on the cobblestones in the 80km winds, we came to the entrance of his shop where we encountered the combined sound of howling wind and thundering Baroque Opera.
Vincent flamboyantly stepped out from behind a leaning pile of antique plates. It had been a slow afternoon. Noticing our wonder, he gingerly stepped around the furniture and low-hung dusty chandeliers and launched into a history of the mysterious stone walls surrounding us.12th century vaulted ceilings are wonderfully common in Bonnieux; not so old in this village with history dating back to Roman and even Neolithic times. The deep channels cut into the stone floor were once used to carry water to various stone basins. There was once a tannery here. Now, fittingly, between the channels in the floor there are antiques from various eras. Vincent owns this antique store/brocante but is an ébeniste by trade, or cabinetmaker.
Bonnieux, A Historian’s Dream
A passionate student of history, Vincent acts as custodian not only of the old church of Bonnieux, but as custodian of it’s fascinating history as well.
As he’s linking together random tidbits of history for us, he realises that it’s nearing 6pm. This is when he’s told the village that he’ll be ringing the bells. He turns down the opera and proudly brandishes an ancient key that he uses to lock the gate. We climb up the medieval street, fighting against the wind and swirling dust. Vincent opens his arms and embraces the gusts with pleasure. He stops every few metres to lean on the door of a private home to hurriedly tell us the history of the family living there and the history of the facade of the building. He treats the village like the museum that it is. Particularly enthused by centuries-old woodwork, he runs his hand along the engravings and tells us which restorations he approves of and which he does not.
But hurry- we must get to the church on time! Vincent waves at each villager we pass and addresses them by name. The usual greeting here is three kisses and we can see it pains him in these Covid times to hold back on this familiarity.
Èglise Haute de Bonnieux
Pink Hollyhocks sway between the stones on the paths leading up the very top of the village. We pass the towering parasol pines and enter the tiny church courtyard. Vincent unlocks the sacristy. This church was originally built in the 12th century, and then later expanded in the 15th century. The styles are a mix of Roman-Provençal and Gothic Provencal. We rush up the nave of the empty church, our footsteps echoing, as it’s nearly 6pm. We follow Vincent through a creaky wooden door into the bell tower.
Thankfully we’re rushing because we don’t have time to contemplate the slanting slippery stone steps. We avoided the branches and piles of leaves on the shallow steps while hanging onto the staircase as we braced ourselves against the wind. The tower is open to the elements.
The Bell Ringing
With no delay, Vincent started untying the ropes of the four bells, each with their own name and purpose. The bells range from 170kg to a ton each. Usually, there is an order in which they should be rung but this was a an occasion apart from the usual church service.
Full of emotion in remembering his friend, Vincent started tugging with force on the blue and grey ropes, first one at a time using his entire body to bring the weight of the bell towards the center of the tower. Then, two at a time. The clappers start banging. The tarnished bronze and mint green bells were glinting in the golden evening light. His bare feet sidestep the ends of the frayed ropes that were whipping through the air. I was frozen by the ecstatic reverberating sound. The bells started swinging as if in slow motion, then faster and faster almost upending themselves with the combined force of Vincents thrusts and the howling Mistral wind. We weren’t sure if the entire bell tower was swinging or if it just felt like it.
The work of the Carillonneur
Vincent yelled in French over the bells “you have to be crazy to do this job!!” with a glint in his eye similar to that of Lieutenant Dan in the storm. Indeed, many bell-ringers have died in France. In the Middle Ages, it was believed that the ringing of the bells could disperse thunder. At least 103 carillonneurs were killed as they held wet ropes in thunderstorms.
For twenty minutes we watched in awe; Vincent’s ballet with the ropes. The sound around us was almost tangible. Robin kept signalling for me to come down a few steps, away from the dangerous ropes. But I was enraptured by the sensory experience. Vincent later said “en temps de mistral, elles piquent de vous etrangler”. In times of Mistral, the ropes can strangle you. Well, thankfully not the case!
As the church bells stopped ringing, we took our ringing ears slowly down the stone steps and stood for a few moments in the silent church. Vincent, emotional, stood breathing heavily. The act, in remembrance of his friend, took mental and physical strength. He called his mother and asked if they heard the bells in the village below. They didn’t. The wind was too strong. But it wasn’t all for nothing. I’ll never forget the potency of that moment. I can’t think of a better send-off. Thank you Vincent for allowing us to experience it. The bells of Bonnieux.
