To Montauban yesterday, with several missions in mind. For a change, dental/medical appointments did not dictate our day.

First, we had to get there. Although the farmers’ protests had ended the previous day, the clearing up continued. A local newspaper’s website said the A20 autoroute was open to Montauban. Wrong. Piles of manure and detritus still obstructed the exit, so the traffic was funnelled via another route. Instead of the usual 50 minutes, it took 1hr20. It was fortunate that we didn’t have any fixed appointments.

Two Impressionist works

First up was the Musée Ingres-Bourdelle in the red brick former bishops’ palace. We had visited several times before, but I wanted to see two works by Gustave Caillebotte on loan to the museum.

2024 marks the 150^th anniversary of the Impressionists’ first exhibition in Paris in 1874, which they mounted as an alternative to the conservative Salon. Monet’s painting, Impression, Sunrise (Paris: Musée Marmottan Monet, 1872) gave rise to the term Impressionism, although it was initially a criticism of the movement.

As part of the anniversary events, the Musée d’Orsay in Paris has loaned around 180 Impressionist works to museums throughout France for several months.  

As well as being a painter in his own right, Gustave Caillebotte (1848-1894) had independent means and was an enthusiastic collector of his colleagues’ paintings. He bequeathed 68 Impressionist paintings to the French state. He painted in a more realistic style than most of his Impressionist colleagues.

The first work on show is a canvas painted in a design destined for his own dining room walls. He never finished the project, dying prematurely at 45.

The second painting shows sunflowers in Caillebotte’s garden. Like his colleagues, he preferred to set up his easel sur place rather than in the studio.

I quite like both works, which I didn’t know, but Caillebotte painted better ones. I think Montauban must have been some way down the pecking order when the paintings were parcelled out.

Musée Ingres-Bourdelle

Since we were there, we had a quick look around the rest of the museum, devoted to the works of the painter Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1780-1867) and the sculptor Antoine Bourdelle (1861-1929). Both were sons of Montauban.

Works by other painters such as Eugène Delacroix (1798-1863), and Armand Cambon (1819-1885; also born in the town) feature.

If I’m perfectly honest, I find Ingres’ Neoclassical style paintings a bit boring. Bourdelle chose classical subjects, but he also sculpted countless busts of Beethoven, whom he felt he resembled.

The basement of the museum, the oldest part, is known as la Salle du Prince Noir, a magnificent, vaulted chamber. Normally, a collection of medieval artifacts, including a torturer’s rack, is on display. A temporary contemporary art installation takes up the whole space until May. Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid.

Hapless bookworm

We walked from the museum to our lunch restaurant via la Place Nationale, a large square in the centre of the town, the subject of a recent renovation. It looked a little forlorn with its hopeful parasols under a leaden sky.

Leaving the square, I noticed a marble plaque on one of the brick archways.

The inscription reads: “In memory of Charles Henri Valentin Morphange (sic: it’s actually Morhange) Alkan, 1813-1888, found on the 30^th March 1888 crushed beneath his bookcase. Remember, bookseller, this assiduous reader fell beneath the pages, a book in his hand.”

I’m not quite sure if the inscription is slightly tongue-in-cheek. I have to admit, to my shame, that I stifled a giggle when I read it. A fitting end for a book lover.

I thought that the plaque marked the spot (or possibly near there) where Alkan died, but it appears that he was a composer and pianist who lived and died in Paris. I presume the plaque has a connection with the bouquiniste opposite, Baux Livres. Other than that, I’ve drawn a blank. If you know why it’s there, please enlighten us in the comments.

La Maison du crieur

In a side street near the square, we came upon this sculpted head. I hadn’t seen that before, either.

Tradition has it that the 18^th-century building to which it’s affixed was once the town crier’s house. His job was to announce publicly the prices of goods for sale in the market and other news of interest to the denizens of Montauban.

The town restored the building, which now houses temporary exhibitions. Every Saturday at exactly 11h44, the town crier comes out and announces the cultural events going on in Montauban.

Why 1144? That’s the date when the town of Montauban was founded. It claims to be the first bastide town, with its grid of parallel streets and large central square.

Les soldes

Suitably restored by lunch, we focused on our other mission: les soldes, the winter sales.

Like most things in France, the government regulates retailers’ sales. Twice a year, four weeks in the summer and four in the winter, shops are permitted to sell off unsold stock at a lower price. The government fixes the dates and the rules surrounding the sales. Outside those dates, retailers can advertise price reductions, but they can’t call it a sale.

The idea is to protect smaller retailers who are unable to realise the economies that larger chains can achieve by buying in bulk and selling off items as loss-leaders.

The winter sales finish on 6^th February, and retailers were down to their dernière démarque (final markdown). When the end of the sales approaches, you normally find only very small or very large sizes of clothes and shoes left, but we were both lucky and came away with items that actually fit.

Getting caught in yet another traffic jam on the way out of Montauban, we peeled away to take a much longer, but more scenic route home via les Gorges de l’Aveyron. The other traffic doggedly followed the diversion.

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