When I set up my itinerary for this 8-day trip, it was immediately clear that the city of Moissac should be a destination, that there was too much to see here in the few waking hours one has while walking every day, and that this should be the place to take my day of rest that wise pilgrims are urged to incorporate into their schedules. It was a great choice. The city has enormous charm, and the Abbey & Cloister are uniquely heralded in the world of medieval sculpture.
Moissac came into prominence when it developed an alliance with the Abbey at Cluny. It was rich and able to afford the best architects and sculptors of the Middle Ages. Now a UNESCO Heritage site, the monastic area is a magnet for visitors from around the world. I decided to attend the morning Mass in the Abbey (which also has a convent of nuns affiliated with it currently), partly to participate in a religious service, partly to observe the building as it was intended to function, and partly because I had been offered some time on the Abbey’s 1863 Cavaillé-Coll organ – set up for me by one of my hosts several days ago. The outcome, alas, was educational yet also entirely unsatisfactory!
The Mass was well-attended, with a priest from the Philippines (?) serving as the Officiant. The choir and cantors were, I think, from Africa, as they were dressed in African garb and sang music that sounded like it might be African in origin. The combination of a loud sound system, guitars, and their particular style of singing did not lend itself, I found, to the acoustical ambience the building engendered. While this isn’t the blog to speculate about what’s happening to music in the Catholic Church in general, nor the French Catholic Church in particular, suffice it to say that there was an incredible disconnect between the Mass and the building, as if the building was an annoyance whose limitations had to be overcome.
But as I said earlier, I treated it as a sociological education and tried not to get too judgmental based on my tastes and background. Besides, I was incredibly jazzed to be afforded the chance to play on the organ after Mass.
I waited for the organist (who had not played the guitar mass) by the door that ascends to the organ on the side wall of the nave, but he never showed up! I was approached by a nun asking what I was doing, and after describing the situation, she gave me the name and phone number of the organist so that I could contact him – but only to discover later that she had given me the name of the former organist who knew nothing about me or why I was contacting him. The morning was an exercise in frustration.
So I came back to my room to cogitate on all of that before taking a stroll through the city, itself. I believe that the instrument an organist has at his/her disposal is there to create beauty for the world at large. The organist is the custodian for the instrument, taking care that it is always in peak form. As custodian, I believe the organist has an obligation to share the church’s (or synagogue’s) instrument with the outside world, not to be possessive of it as if it belongs to the player, and certainly not to treat colleagues as if they are annoyances to be ignored.
The city of Moissac was inundated by a flood in the 1930s, killing some and making homeless nearly the entire population (60,000 out of 74,000). The city of Paris and the country of Morocco gave a considerable amount of money to help rebuild homes immediately after, nearly entirely in the Art Deco style. (There is a sizable population of Moroccans here in Moissac.) I was eager to see these houses which are scattered throughout the city, as well as walk over to one of the most unusual things I’ve ever seen: the Pont-Canal du Cacor (or “bridge-canal”). A barge canal (the Garonne) flows through Moissac, and this canal traverses OVER the Tarn River. Originally constructed in 1845, it is one of the major architectural and structural elements of this entire region of France. It’s hard to visualize until you see it, with its 1.5 km length at right angles to the River Tarn. Amazing.
The Cloister ended my day of rest; and what a perfect place for it to end! Serene, quiet, and bursting with 76 capitals representing the Bible, the lives of Saints, and the Church. The cloister was finished in 1100 AD and is considered the oldest decorated cloister in Christendom. The solace was palpable! And they had kindly arranged some comfortable lawn chairs to sit and soak up the ambiance.
Returning home to make some supper, I flipped on a livestream of a cathedral Evensong from England (this being Trinity Sunday). Having just (minutes before) photographed the great tympanum over the main portal to the Abbey – a staggering display of Revelation 4, St. John’s vision of paradise, including 24 elders on thrones playing rebecs and other musical instruments – I was astounded to discover that the lesson for Evensong was also Revelation 4. What are the chances of that synchronicity? As Albert Einstein said: “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”
The day of rest and reflection comes to a close. Onward for my last two days of walking!
©2024, Jonathan Dimmock