Saturday, August 8, 2015
The Feast Of Saint Dominic
One of the extraordinary things about living in Languedob-Roussillon is the presence of many foundations of religious, as they used to be called. There are forty-eight different ones, some monasteries, some convents, some priories.
A few Sundays ago at Mass at l'Eglise de Saint Michel, the seat of the archdiocese in Carcassonne, a Dominican priest assisted the principal celebrant. Or it might have been at Saint Vincent, also in Carcassonne, I can't remember. Or it might have been both. What I do remember is that the principal celebrant welcomed the Dominican, spoke of the upcoming feast of Saint Dominic and encouraged the flock to visit a place near Fanjeaux in the Lauragais to see the extraordinary things going on there.
I have gotten to know a bit about the Dominican order because the priests in residence at the church I attended in New York, Notre Dame, were Dominicans from Poland. Dominicans use the suffix O.P., after their names, which stands for Order of Preachers. The name derives from the purpose for which Saint Dominic, a Spanish monk, started the order.
Specifically, the Dominicans were founded to try to educate the people of southwest France, then a separate country known as Occitan, to return to the Church of Rome and away from the heresy of Catharism. In brief, Cathars believed in two Gods, a good and an evil one, the former attached to the spirit, the latter to the material, as well as believing that only an elite could know the Divine. Their rejection of the material world implicitly rejected the Catholic doctrine that the body and the soul will be united in heaven, the doctrine of the incarnation, fundamental Catholic teaching.
Saint Dominic founded the order eight hundred years ago this year, and it has perdured, even if its efforts to persuade the Languedociens to turn away from Catharism were insufficient to prevent the conflicts between Cathars and Rome from erupting into the wars known as the Albigensian Crusades.
The order began with a few women recovered from Catharism to whom Dominic was spiritual father. That is to say that the Dominican nuns are the "first Dominicans", as the monastery came after. The women Dominic gathered around him went with him to Prouille, a hamlet near Fanjeaux, establishing a convent there. It is to that convent that the priest at Saint Michel referred, and to which I traveled yesterday.
After romping through many a cratered country road in the Lauragais, I reached the monastery at Prouille (pronounced PRWEE-yeh). It is a massive grey ruin, open to the light, an enormous wooden cross behind the transept, the only decoration in the entire building. The broad grey arches and the individual wooden chairs (there were no pews) emphasized the austerity of the space. A few nuns were busy preparing the space for today's celebration of the founder's feast day. Dressed in below-the-knee (but not floor length) white habits with a veil (but no covering of the throat), they are "modern" in their turnout. I prayed briefly, went to the gift shop to buy postcards and a reproduction of a portrait of Saint Dominic by Fra Angelico, and thought I would like to return to enjoy the quiet at Prouihe another day.
However, the material world beckoned: I had a noon lunch reservation at Le Tirou, well thought of restaurant in Castelnaudary, a half hour away. Castelnaudary is, with Albi, one of the towns to see if you are interested in the history of the Cathars. It is also a town to visit if you are interested in cassoulet, which the natives claim was invented there. Curiously, Le Tirou serves only from noon to 1:00 p.m., so I did not want to be late, particularly as I had planned to go over the border of l'Aude into the village of Soreze in the Tarn, an adjoining department, in the afternoon. The museum of glass there opens only in the afternoons; I wanted to visit it in time to return to Caunes before the end of the afternoon, an ambitious schedule.
I had no difficulties fulfilling it, though: Le Tirou was as professional a restaurant as any I have visited in the Languedoc since I arrived, so there was no delay there. And the food was outstanding, the best I've tasted in the provinces: a salad of warm goat cheese on a crusty round of toast, set on greens dressed with walnuts, a little pot of honey on the side to start. As a main course, aiguillettes of duck cooked in its own juice, a light broth, with squares of roast potatoes also flavored in the jus, and ratatouille, too. Not to waste the liquid, I dipped the 4-grain bread supplied, until I had sopped it all up --delicious! Dessert was a pot de creme, followed by coffee, as is done in France. Exceptionally, I had wine with the meal, from Cahors, a southwestern town in the Lot departement.
Everything was delicious, and off the prix fixe menu. There is nothing comparable in the rustic Minervois, where the ambitions of chefs are much more modest. To eat well, you have to drive, I have concluded. Le Tirou also sells reasonably-priced products made in its kitchens: a lentil stew, stewed pork sausages in juice, a stew of broad beans known as feoulade, another of haricots vets, and of course, foie gras. I came home with a cache of jars to be stored away for fall eating.
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The countryside of the Lauragais part of l'Aude is more like that of the adjoining Tarn than the Minervois: where the Minervois is a mix of Mediterranean and pine forest, the Lauragais is wide-pen countryside, with vast fields of grain and sunflowers everywhere, a golden land. Over the departement line and into Soreze, I discovered that: Soreze is a medieval village of 2,000 people, the streets lined with half-timbered houses with wattle and daub masonry. Also, top stories protrude over the lower. The houses are charming, with a number for sale, although I suspect living in one would have its challenges. The Museum of Glass is in a much newer building --by French standards--early 19th century. The former hospice now contains 1700 pieces of glass and had a special exhibition devoted to a glass maker active during the Belle Epoque.
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Once again, my decision to live in southwest France has borne fruit. I will return to all the places I visited again. And my appetite for more exploring has been whetted: I have not even visited Cahors or Rocamadour, two and a half and three hours away, respectively, and significant medieval villages. However, I can see them on the drive up to Tulle in Correze, when I drive to Paris on a road trip with Beau that will be my last week in the countryside.
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