Monkish Holiday

     Bonne Année! From Rennes, France, I traveled by train to Solesmes, a tiny village on the Sarthe River.

     I was looking forward to an European Christmas; less commercialism, no Santa Claus.  Solesmes (click here for map on Wikipedia page) is known primarily for its Abbaye Saint Pierre, a behemoth abbey built in the fifteenth century (click here for the abbey's history). What's unique about this abbey is the Benedictine Monks whose prayers are authentic Gregorian Chants.

     I visited here briefly three years ago and although not Catholic, I was enchanted by the Monks' chants. Unlike recordings and choir performances which imitate Gregorian Chants to please the Western ear, the real McCoy is more quiet and less polished. With the help of Google Translate, I emailed Father Arnauld last August and he granted my wish to spend two weeks in their cottage across the street from the abbey. This is my cottage.

     Inside, the cottage is cheerful and spacious. There's a kitchen with a gas stove, microwave, refrigerator; it has a modern bathroom and modern heat and hot water. The ceiling has thick old ceiling beams and there's a beautiful nonworking fireplace opposite my bed.

     Across the street from my cottage is the main entrance to the abbey.

    Looking down the street from my cottage, there are more old cottages.

     Tourists aren't permitted in the abbey's gardens and buildings, but twice daily we may enter the cathedral for mass.

     Population-wise, perhaps a few hundred people live in Solesmes. Besides the all-male Monks residing at St. Pierre's Abbey, about one-quarter mile down the main road is St. Cecilia's Abbey for Nuns.

     And like most tiny French villages which always have at least one cathedral, Solesmes also has one boulangerie (bakery) and one letter carrier on a government-issued bicycle.

     For two weeks, I lived almost like a monk. No Internet, no radio, no television, no news, and no spoken English language! Father Arnauld spoke enough English to explain there was no grocery store in Solesmes. So, I took a photo of the kitchen's pantry contents -- pasta, rice, flour and canned vegetables to name a few -- and began a 30 minute walk to the next town (Sable) to find a grocery store.

 The road to Sable is rural and scenic.

     Technically, the small town is known as Sable Sur Sarthe (literally Sable on the Sarthe River). In France, the name of a town along any river sometimes (but not always) precedes the name of the river it sits on, such as "sur Loir" (on the Loir River), "sur l'Orne" (on the Orne River), or "sur Viliane" (on the Viliane River). 

     Any French community on a river looks picture-perfect, etes-tu d'accord?

     On my walks to and fro Sable, I walk under the railroad bridge that crosses over the Sarthe River. By the way, railway travel in France thus far has been surprisingly smooth, quiet, fast and punctual; and it's a popular mode of transport.

I pass the Notre Dame Cathedral of Sable.

     Sable (click here for city info) is a maze of criss-crossing canals, streets and bridges with the Sarthe River as its main artery. It's easy to get lost.

If I could rent any place in Sable, I'd stay at this charming place on the Sarthe River (see right side of photo below) with its unique windows, its gate to the river, and its low stone-walled patio.

    Everyday I'd be on the patio watching the sun rise and set, the sky reflections on the river. Maybe I'd take up painting . . . .

     While looking for a grocery store on my first visit to Sable, I flagged down a kindly elderly lady on the sidewalk, "Mademoiselle, English?" Non, she said apologetically, while I fidgeted with my camera to show her my photo of pantry foodstuff. She understood immediately and spoke inquisitively to an elderly man nearby who pointed down the street. Aha! There was a little corner grocery store! "Merci!" I replied with a huge smile. All's right again with my little French world. And the abbey is an unmistakable re-assuring landmark on my walk home with groceries.

     Because of the abbey's religious conflicts with political powers throughout its long history, it's protected and surrounded by high old stone walls.

Solesmes is also "sur La Sarthe", on the Sarthe River. This bridge over the river enters the east side of Solesmes.

Just about every day, this bridge promises spectacular views.

Under this bridge begins a public pathway just outside the abbey's protective wall along the river.

Most of this pathway consists of high vine-covered stone walls. When the vines leaf-out in the Spring, it's probably very beautiful.

Saint Cecilia's Abbey has high vine-covered stone walls, too.

     It's hard to show the enormity of Saint Pierre's Abbaye. Only by crossing to the other side of the Sarthe River, could I fit most of the abbey's buildings in one photograph.

    I came prepared for early cold nights at Solesmes by downloading several books to read on my Kindle. There were a couple lingering frosty mornings, too. Light snow one morning.

    One of those books was "Madamoiselle Coco Chanel and the Pulse of History" by Rhonda K. Garelick. Since Chanel was a French-born fashion icon, this book about her life before, during and after both World Wars was fascinating reading. One of her lovers off and on, mostly off for 40 years, was the French poet Pierre Reverdy. Behind his back, she paid a publisher to distribute his poems, then bought copies so that he could receive royalties from the publisher. So there I am, comfortably curled-up in my cottage with Kindle in hand, reading about the moody (and married) Reverdy whose childhood was as traumatic and impoverished as Chanel's childhood -- making them kindred spirits. Then, I read that Reverdy decides to become Catholic and moves to Solesmes! What?! One of Chanel's lovers moves to this little village? Below is my Kindle page of the author's footnote -- a verbatim (translated) letter Reverdy had written to a friend explaining why he moved to Solesmes.

     On one of my walks in Solesmes several days prior to beginning the biography about Chanel, I had passed a cemetery in town with no desire to wander through. But hmm, after learning Reverdy had lived in this village, the cemetery became more interesting. So I walked over there, only three blocks from my cottage, to look for Pierre's grave. And lo and behold, there was this sign. . . 

. . . and there he was, alongside his patient wife of many years, Henriette. 

     Reverdy (click here for his story) continued to live in Solesmes for the rest of his life (dying at age 70). He probably enjoyed visiting Coco Chanel who was loving, engaging and enlightening, showing him Paris gaiety, foods and wines. But being an introspective poet Reverdy probably appreciated a more quiet life with Henriette (who died 36 years after his death when she was 104). As I walked around Solesmes every day, I began to wonder which old cottage Henriette grew old in? 

Maybe this one?

     And I wondered who was offended by and vandalized the statues that once graced these two second-floor alcoves?

If buildings could talk . . .

     Acoustically, the village of Solesmes is definitely not quiet. Several times daily (I lost count), cathedral bells clang loudly. And twice daily, there's mass and chants inside the abbey, as well as the occasional pipe organ. Cameras are not allowed inside, but I recorded several sounds from the street and from inside the abbey (stealthily, in the rear near the organ). Below is my slideshow with, sorry, a poorly made soundtrack (must be on the webpage to see it).