Albi, the Cathars and Lautrec

We begin our Cathar quest at our first stop in Albi.  Interestingly, Albi, was not really a stronghold of the Cathars at all, yet it is famous for having given its name to the Crusade that completely destroyed them. That crusade, the Albigensian Crusade, was launched by Pope Innocent 111 early in the 13th century, to hunt down the Cathars, who were denounced as heretics by the Pope and his flock. Cathar devotees were violently and cruelly sought out and massacred during this Crusade; their strongholds systematically destroyed.

I have a fondness for the Cathars. I did lots of reading on them before this trip.  Theirs was an ascetic, peaceful set of beliefs. Spurning most of the sacraments they held true to one alone, which for them, offered so much hope, promise and peace, and which they, soothingly, called the Consolamentum.

The Consolamentum involved a laying on of the hands (often close to the death of a believer, or later in a life for a pure living one) in an act that absolved and purified the receiver, making him 'perfect'. Those, so honoured, were called Perfecti. This sacrament is somewhat similar to combining bits of the Catholic sacraments of Baptism, Confession and the Last Rites.

The Cathars were a minority, scattered in small groups of a hundred or more believers in different places across Europe. In France they were called Cathars, in Italy, Patarins, in Flanders, Pifles. Their philosophy appealed to the rich, the nobles, the women of position, the seigneurs of law, commerce and craftsmanship: influential folk, with money, power, and position, disenchanted with the corruption that clung to Catholicism. This worried the Catholic hierarchy, for increasingly the Cathars were seen as a threat to their position and power.

Albi, itself, has little to say about the Cathars, tho a Cathar once held the Bishopric there. There is not even a Cathar museum in town. I visited Albi, not really wanting to like the town, my sympathies and sentiment still with the downtrodden Cathars. But to say I was charmed is an understatement. We all were.  Charmed by this large town, distinctively dressed in small rectangular red bricks, which grew to majestic stature in two major buildings: the Cathedral of Saint Cecil, and its Bishop’s Palace, next door.

They were built fortress-like and spare by the Catholic Bishop of Castanet not long after the Cathar massacres.  Almost as a symbolic warning to any potential aspiring heretics to beware, to stay true to the one true strong invincible religion, Catholicism.  Oddly, I think the Cathars would have loved the austere exteriors had they seen them. The buildings soar. They are vaulted as high as four stories or more and are as decorated on the inside as they are minimalist on the outside.

Inside we notice immediately that we have now moved into a more ‘touristy area’ as we are required to pay for English translations of the church’s interior, for the fresco descriptors, again to enter the Choir, yet, again, the Treasury.  I long to rebel and leave, but I must see it, so am reduced to parting with the forced payment, and grumbling. The cures would have received much more from me had the donation been voluntary.

Inside all is most beautiful, the choir stalls, the frescoes, the Last Judgement, but what awed us totally was the vaulted ceiling, painted in brilliant blue and gold by artists from Bologne. It is as exquisite today as it must have been when it was created. And, it has never needed retouching, still as bright and flawless as if it was painted yesterday.

We leave the church to hunt down our next mission in Albi, the Toulouse Lautrec museum. Which we find easily as it is next door, in the soaring red brick of the Bishop’s Palace.  And I laugh.  To find the Catholic Bishop’s Palace given over to a major permanent exhibition of the work of this once-local hellion, who left Albi to haunt out the brothels of Paris and lead a life of debauchery and devilment in and around the Moulin Rouge and other Montmartre hotspots, is all rather delicious to me.

Toulouse Lautrec’s work I adore. His pieces are all caricature, whimsy and satire. This from a twisted little man with deformed legs, oversized head and bulbous lips, which may have contributed to his keen eye for the malicious image, as well as that wicked sense of humour.

We stay too long, but find we have an invitation to spend the evening at a ferme that produces products from rose oil, in a tiny medieval village, not far from Albi, called Lautrec. Which also happens to be one of the most beautiful villages in France. Fate, we feel, so there we head, and soon dinner is on and we eat under the shade of a row of grandes shade trees.

Tonight our fare is fine and delicious: salmon wrapped around large Coquilles Saint Jacques scallop: a roti of fish that is rolled, decorated with a leek leaf wrap, secured with string and topped with lemon slices. It is served with a fennel and orange salsa, and potatoes pureed with crème fraiche and chopped shallots. For dessert we eat Baba au Rhum, dripping, topped with crème, and head for bed laughing at the memory of Lautrec’s witty lithographs, paintings and posters. We love the man’s work!

Cathedral in Albi

Crusader pastries 

Vaulted ceiling of the Cathedral of St Cecil