Calvin's Musée

Geneva is Calvin’s city. His church, St. Pierre, dominates the skyline. The Reformer’s Wall dominates a park. The statues of the reformers always upset me. The sculptor missed severe leaving them with hate-filled expressions. I always take long showers to wash off the depression I feel after I have seen them. I only go when guests ask to be accompanied and politeness over comes personal desire. I say nothing of my feelings, but often they report that the statues made them feel creepy or sad or other similar descriptions. None have ever reported being uplifted by these religious leaders.

I am just beginning research on a book to be set in present day Geneva as well as in the Geneva of Calvin’s time. I have already been able to find out that that in Calvin's time despite the lake, water in homes could only be found by carrying it up a hill to the Vielle Ville. A Jew from Avignon was hired to build wells, but the town fathers only wanted to pay for one. A fountain is still in the same spot.

The city has opened a new Reformation museum. The young man selling tickets was more than helpful, telling me what times films could be seen and the highlights. He wore his hair over his ears and had a thin moustache.

The musée is in an old mansion behind St. Pierre. Between the cobble stoned street off limits to cars and electrical wires and the old houses made of thick blocks of stones, it is impossible to know which century you are walking it. Calvin and Knox could as easily stroll by as Lenin, George Sand, or David Bowie, President Clinton or John-Paul Belmondo, all who have been in this city at one time or another.

The exhibits are interesting with an Guttenberg type press, trays of lead type letters, old Bibles, maps, dishes and other artefacts from the period. Even more fascinating was an indulgence sold by the Catholic Church. That I had read about indulgences since I was a history-loving child, I never expected any were still extent, much less that I would actually see one.

One room has huge windows, old fashioned floor to ceiling velvet-like drapes and ten two foot across round tables with gold trim that would be at home in any antique shop. The rug was thick and classic. That’s where the 16th century atmosphere crashed. On each table was a slightly raised flat screen where the musée showed a film about the Reformation. At one point the picture faded and the same moustached guard called attention to the mirror over the unlit fireplace where the paintings of the heads of Martin Luther and Jean Calvin were projected. The heads talked to the audience.

What was disconcerting was when the paintings talked their lips moved the same way Conan O’Brien projects talking celebrities on the Late Show on MSNBC. Equally jarring were the chairs with beautifully rounded backs, arms and legs that look like Queen Anne Style meets Hepplewhite. Three were around each table for people to sit to view the film. The problem was that in this old house in this old room they are made of totally clear plastic, clearer than any freshly washed window. There is a modern beauty about them, but I wonder if Calvin would have found them too frivolous.

The dining room, furnished in style for the 15th-16th century, was set up for meal. Each plate ready to be served with filet des perches from the lake bore a portrait of a different reformer along with his name. The seat of the grey wooden chairs had been hollowed out and letters or books written by the person’s whose place we are at were placed inside and covered with glass.

The musée has accomplished its goal of showing a vital part of the religious history of the world. Back at the entrance, the same guard showed me different source material, telling me which was in English (preferred) or French (acceptable). I will return as I go deeper into my research. I will take the tour that will show me more. I will look at the school Calvin founded. I will read and read. What I don’t want to do is to look at the statues with the hate-filled faces.