No petit déjeuner at the Le Moulin de Moissac this morning, we've got business at the Abbey.
We drive there, to the car park on the other side of the railway tracks that carved their way slap bang through the abbey's medieval refectory back in the C19th. Almost took out the cloisters as well, which is now the major cultural feature of this edifice, which we have bee-lined here for, as Adam hasn't seen it since he was knee high. M and self brought the senior sibling Terry here in September 2024 and renewed our acquaintance.
A Unesco World Heritage site we have here, the whole abbey and its appurtenances.
People come from all over and it's on the pilgrimage route to Santiago-de-Compostela. I worked hard to keep the place looking deserted. It wasn't.
Adam and Mary have availed themselves of the entrance fee and revisited St Pierre.
We meet up over the railway tracks and make a move.
I'm not sure when it is that Adam and your author detect a departure from the approved route. The former certainly before latter. I have noted with regret that we've passed under, without stopping, the magnificent aqueduct near Agen carrying the Canal de Garonne over the river of the same name. But now here is the variation we mooted before even setting out on this holiday.
I am directed… and do duly arrive in Le Mas d'Agenais where in the singular village church we encounter the Rembrandt. It is a crucifixion. The work has the distinction of being the only Rembrandt that is neither in a private collection or in an art gallery. It belongs to the church and the parishioners thereof. A Rembrandt, mind.
I've had the privilege of standing in close proximity to a Rembrandt before, in Holland. True, there is protective glass here but the presence of the painter's genius is hardly dimmed by it. We have this unique masterpiece to ourselves for, what, at least twenty minutes or more. Could have been longer… No queueing, no attendants, just a quiet Catholic church interior with the occasional parishioner in the nave or chancel. No entrance fee either. No priest, even. This is one of the world's greatest painters of all time. And this work is one of his.
Be moved.
Sorry about the reflections, but even these integrate the Christ figure with the church interior. Not a fan of crucifixions, me. But of Rembrandt? That I am.
This photo representation of the work (above) is by Mme Melling.
Shortly after driving on, we dive down a country road to another river crossing, in a village, with a suspension bridge leading a single track road to a golf course. I mention it because we eat our sandwiches there. This side of the bridge. No idea where it is, or was. The river, neither.
We motor on, take refreshment at Sauveterre, then don't stop again until we get into the usual traffic mayhem of Rochefort. There's the hotel, there's a spot to park, let's get off to the crêperie (the new one just down the road is already closed and not trading) I limp all the way down there and shamble all the way back. Damn it. I liked my galette anyway and we did sink two bottles of rather dashing cidre brut. But bed's the thing. We are here for two nights but no one is too keen on going very far tomorrow… and we didn't.
