Letter from Paris - September in Aveyron
It would have been more accurate to title this piece "Letter from the Train", except that by the time I send off this note, I will have alighted at the Gare d'Austerlitz, headed home, having spent a golden weekend in "Conques the Magical", in the department of Aveyron.
I have seen Conques at all times of year, by now, and under every kind and colour of sky - from hopelessly soggy and grey to brilliantly luminous, under mist, under snow, under pouring rain, and during scorching canicules, but never before had I seen it dipped in melted gold so unreal, that as Monsieur le Maire drove me into the cobbled village on Saturday afternoon, I thought I was Alice driving through a blown-up medieval illumination.How considerate on the part of the Heavens to have staged such glorious light effects to welcome into the open air the 10th century golden reliquary of Saint Foy (or Fidès, or Faith, or Fé...), for her annual celebration, which takes place on the first Sunday following October 6, and to whom the early 12th-century abbey church of Conques is dedicated.
Lying at the bottom of a depression, the pink-stone village climbs in amphitheatre up the slope in the shape of a conch (hence Conques), surrounded by an awesome, wooded wilderness which helped protect its fabulous medieval treasure (the only one to have survived in France in its entirety) from the clutches of the Revolution. The determination of the villagers also helped, who scattered it around in different hiding places. On the other hand, for some strange reasone, the German Nazis did not meddle with the treasure when they came her a century and a half later, and yet its gold and silver, precious stones and cameo must have been irresistibly tempting. Is it to Saint Foy that we owe their preservation, the celebrated miracle worker who rendered their eyesight to the blind and their fertility to childless women? Her main speciality, however, was the unfettering and releasing of prisoners, as carved into the amazing tympanum of the Last Judgement, on the western façade of the church, the ultimate romanesque masterpiece of its genre on French soil. Some say a ransom of gold coins had to be paid in exchange, which makes sense, the Aveyronnais being of down-to-earth peasant stock who know where their bread is buttered. And if you are having trouble getting pregnant, walk into the church and touch the big lock on the door on your left - le barriou - (which is permanently locked). Apparently the desired conception takes place within a year. A friend of mine vouches that it worked both for her and for her mother.
Be that as it may, the one miracle Saint Foy definitely worked for Conques was putting it on the medieval map of Europe and turning it into a landmark on one of the four pilgrim roads to Compostela, the 'Via Podiensis' which runs through parts of northern Aveyron, coming from Puy-en-Velay (the road that started in Paris was a different one). Having chatted with different pilgrims, it transpired that their motivations vary and are not necessarily spiritual or Christian. In one extreme case I met a middle-aged backpacker who was unashamed to admit that he needed a break from the stress at home because his daughter was taking the 'bac' (the baccalauréat, the end of school exams). Unabashed, he told me that he had lef his wife to deal with their daughter's anxiety on her own while he was enjoying great landscapes and great architecture with one of his buddies. In the 9th century, the abbot of Conques was just as shameless, when he sent out to Agen one of his monks to steal the relics of Saint Foy, a felony downplayed by historical records into "furtive translation". In other words, felony was at the origin of the fortunes of Conques, something to meditate upon. Agen's protestation were to no avail, but centuries later poetic justic was restored: Thanks to its rugby team and world-class prunes, Agen is much better known than Conques.
Holy relics were the most prestigious possession in the Middle Ages, and the more prestigious the saint, the better. Having failed to abduct those of Saint Vincent, the patron of winegrowers, Conques decided to go for Saint Foy. No doubt the protection of the abbey's vineyards would have been preferred, but Saint Foy did have virginal purity going for her, which was no small recommendation either. Indeed, the 13-year-old maiden from Agen was martyred by the Romans, in the year 303 AD for following the Christian faith. Obviously, her renown rocketed once her relics were deposited in the resplendent golden reliquary, in the 10th century. Pilgrims and donations streamed to Conques, securing for both pilgrim and donor a ticket to paradise, and likewise, for Conques, commercial prosperity.
when night fell a star-studded black sky enveloped the village, extending Christian associations further back to Bethlehem and the three Magi, somewhat ahead of time. Pilgrims, tourists and locals of all ages mingled into a candle-lit procession singing the praise of the Saint and of the Lord through the streets of Conques, led along by one of the monks on his guitar. The procession ended inside the church for more veneration, contemplation and meditation, surrounded by the luminous volume of its architecture and the glorious glow of the windows, the controversial stroke of genius of Pierre Soulages, derided by so many for lack of understanding. For a start, the colourful stained-glass windows of the Middle Ages, which they crave, were inserted into polychrome edifices, which the erosion of time has wiped away. Besides, they had a pedagogical and moral purpose, as did the carvings on the façade and the mysteries played out in front of the House of God. Gratuitious art was foreign to the church.
When Prosper Mérimée (better known as the author of Carmen), came to Conques in the capacity of Inspector of the Monuments Historiques (French Heritage Trust), his mission was to determine whether the dilapidated church, following the wreckage of the French Revolution, could or should be salvaged. Fortunately, he opted for its restoration, but the two colossal front towers were added only at the time, transforming entirely the external aspect of the monument. (Similarly, Viollet-le-Duc's Notre-Dame-de-Paris has little to do with the one where Quasimodo and Esmeralda hung out in the 15th century). So what's wrong with having contemporary windows? All the more so as these blend in splendid continuity and harmony with the original Benedictine architecture, carrying the same austere bareness and purity of line across so many hundreds of years, thus lifting them into perennial and universal existence, the very essence of all great art. And while the texture of the glass is deliberately rugged and opalescent, to match the monument's honey-coloured limestone, it reflects the ever-changing light around, as does the surface of water in nature, the silver-blue of an overcast sky, the subdued glow of sunshine, the dark shadow of a cloud, and the purplish grey colour of the hand-hewn schist tiles (lauzes) that drape the pitched roofs of the village like sheets of coats of mail.
My picturesque room for the weekend was situated in the eaves of one of those roofs, affording me a great view of the church front and bell towers. This meant I didn't need to rewind my alarm clock before going to sleep, knowing I would be woken up the old-fashioned way. Lying in the dark I was pleased to count a total of eight strokes followed by silence, just the right number to be ready for my rendez-vous with Monsieur le Maire preceded by a leisurely breakfast. Sunday morning was the big day, when the reliquary of Sainte Foy en Majesté (meaning 'seated') was brought out of the treasury to be displayed in what remains of the cloister before being carried by four pole bearers, in white and red gowns, into the church for the day. A red rose was stuck in each of her hands, a match to the rubies that enhanced her garments. In case you are picturing her like some graceful madonna, note that she is in fact rather stocky and squat, very much pagan looking, endowed with two mysterious, impenetrable eyes, and could just as easily pass for a male. In all likelihood the original statue was a Celtic goddess, taken over by the Christians in later generation. Incidentally, the Aveyron is a Celtic land, unbeknownst to most, and has more dolmens and stone statues than any other part of France, including Britanny.
Yes, spirituality was definitely the main item on that golden Indian summer of the weekend. However, earthly pleasures are also tended to in Conques, notably at le Moulin de Cambelong, a one-time mill by the Dourdou which has been converted into a cosy, elegant, country inn with an English touch, fire place, two smiling hosts, Dominique and Hervé Busset, not to mention the gastronomic pleasures provided by Hervé, one of the Aveyron's most gifted chefs. (tel: 05 65 72 84 77 ; fax: 05 65 72 83 91). And rest assured, the exquisite, formal lunch I was invited to in company of the Bishop, the Mayor, and some of the monks, was accompanied by superb wines and lasted over three hours.
To get there :
By car, from Paris:
A75 to Clermont Ferrand, then on in the direction of Millau. Sortie 35.
By train from Paris:
From Gare d'Austerlitz to Rodez, then by car (get off at Saint Christophe)
By plane from Paris:
Air France from Orly Ouest to Rodez/Marcillac airport, then by car
By plane from London
Ryanair from Stantsted to Rodez/Marcillac airport, then by car
Around and About Paris by Thirza Vallois is published by Iliad Books, UK.
Romantic Paris by Thirza Vallois is published by Interlink, US and Arris Books, UK
To order a copy of the books and for more information: http://www.thrizavallois.com
