Dear friend,

How delightful to stroll along the harbor and through the little streets of Cherbourg. But time pressed on and friends in the Pays d’Auge on the way to Courtomer awaited. We drove inland down the Cotentin Peninsula.
 
The Cotentin projects into the English Channel, known as la Manche, “the sleeve,” in France. In ancient days, Celtic tribes living on both sides of the sound moved easily back and forth across the water, exchanging, buying and selling manufactured goods from the European heartland and British crafts, livestock, and raw metals – gold, tin, and iron.

When Julius Caesar famously came, saw and conquered Gaul – a huge territory that comprises most of Western Europe – he divided it, also famously, into three parts. The Cotentin was in Gallia Comata, “long-haired” Gaul, inhabited by the wildest and least submissive tribes. And the Cotentin has remained a distinct entity for centuries – it was the last place that norrois, the Scandinavian language spoken by the Vikings, flourished. And apparently, it is the last place where Normand, a branch of Latin rather than a mere patois of French, is still heard.

With their methodical perseverance, the Romans extended Gallo-Roman civilization into Gallia Comata. By the beginning of the 1st century A.D., the Gauls in Cotentin were almost all using Latin. The word “Cotentin” itself derives from Constantia, named for the Emperor Constantius I.

After the fall of Rome, seafaring peoples took advantage of the decaying authority of the Empire. By the time the Vikings laid claim to the orchards and pastures of the Cotentin in the 10th century, it had been successively invaded by Frisians, Angles, Danes, and Bretons. For a time, the peninsula was contested territory between the duchy of Brittany and the Viking duchy of Normandy. Then, in 1088 just 22 years after the Norman Conquest of England, the Norman duke Robert Short-hose gave the Cotentin to his brother Henry, who would become king of England. Five centuries later, the Cotentin is where Henry’s descendent Edward III of England knighted his heir, Edward the Black Prince – and launched the Hundred Years War to reclaim English possessions in France.

“So much history!” commented Monsieur, dryly.

Ah, but the family of Courtomer has roots in the Cotentin, too!

Courtomer’s lords were seigneurs of settlements throughout the peninsula. The title of Seigneur of Sainte-Mère-Eglise, Beuzeville and Appeville came into the family in 1562 when Léonore, eldest daughter of the baron of Courtomer, married Artus Simon. Artus was seigneur of the territories in Cotentin -- as well as several others in Basse-Normandy. Through special “lettres patentes” from the king of France, Artus inherited the titles and property of Courtomer from Léonore’s father…and kept his other property and titles as well.

We left the Cotentin and turned east into the Pays d’Auge, a soft landscape of rich pasture, woodlots, and small fields of corn. Auge, which means “pasture watered with streams,” is famous for Camembert, Pont l’Evêque and Livarot -- all cheeses made from the raw, creamy milk of the Normandy cow. And how delightful it was, on that sunny summer afternoon, to admire the brindled cows grazing under the cider apple trees – just as cattle have done for centuries in the gently rolling hills and dells of this part of Normandy. An elderly lady in a black dress blocked the narrow road for a few minutes, while a younger woman in jeans walked the herd from the pasture toward the étable.

We stopped to stay the night with close friends, former Parisians who moved into a Normandy manoir a couple of years ago. With great force of character, your correspondent repressed pangs of jealousy as we toured the property and admired their extensive and completely finished renovations. A new conservatory brought light into the kitchen and provided a sunny, protected gathering place. The cobblestones of the old stable gleamed. Outbuildings had been renovated into guest quarters and houses for their two children. The old kennels were the perfect spot for two lively dogs, Oups and Ola. And a swimming pool overlooked a valley stretching away to the river Dives. No niche de poule marred the smooth gravel of the driveway, lined by an allée of newly planted trees, all flourishing.

“It was terrible,” signed Sybille. “We had workmen living here for two years!”

Two years!

I thought of Monsieur Xavier painstakingly removing the nails one by one from the old windows in la petite maison du haras, a restoration project he has taken up again after a three-year hiatus. And the scaffolding that had covered the east and west wings of the Chateau, so that we could restore the roof during two successive winters. The Maison de l’Orangerie with its collapsing staircase and gaping holes in the étage, crying out for children to once more run in and out the doors and chase butterflies among ordered rows of bedding plants.I thought of planting more trees in the park.

Sybille gave us a wonderful dinner, cooked in her new outdoor kitchen. And we enjoyed conversations long into the summer night…while a waterfall gently spilled into a lily pool that had once been the farm’s lavoir.

We left early the next morning, minds swirling with ideas and eager to get back to Courtomer.

“I need a coffee,” announced my companion, as we drove into the picturesque town of Cambremer, just about an hour from the Chateau.

An excellent idea! The village place, ornamented with a cider press filled with bright flowers and decorative apple-gathering buckets, overlooked the higgledy-piggledy profile of an ancient stone church. A huge clock hung above the side door on the bell-tower.

“A suggestion of modern times,” commented Monsieur, with an approving nod. He checked his portable device.

“We have twenty-five minutes!” he announced.

Tables and chairs were set up on the place. We sat down, and la patronne emerged from the bar-café. She had no croissants, but pointed out the boulangerie down the main street.

Before we left our pleasant stopping place, I slipped into l’église Saint-Denis. A parishioner sat in the front pew in quiet contemplation. The summer light streamed gently through stained-glass windows.

The church had been built and dedicated to France’s patron Saint Denis in 1188. A few grotesques still lurked on the tops of the columns holding up the ceiling, reminders of its medieval past. But Saint-Denis had been substantially modified in the days of Catholic Reform five hundred years later. A new sanctuary was added onto the bell-tower. Here, the retable had been inspired by the majestic baroque style of the 17th century. But this was a country church, decorated with wooden panels painted in swirls of color instead of real marble, and flat gilt paint instead of gold leaf. The statue of the Sainte Vierge above the altar harked back to the still serenity of the medieval style.

A stone plaque on the wall brought the modern world into this quiet sanctuary. The parish priest had ministered at Dachau during the Second World War, subsequently returning to Cambremer. He had died a few years later at the age of 46.

I put two euros into a box and lit a candle, thankful for this tranquil moment of “recueil."

Bonne semaine à tous!

Until next week!

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PPS. Some dates in 2021 are still available for the Chateau and the newly restored and decorated Farmhouse. We are taking reservations for 2022 and 2023. Please write to Heather or Béatrice (both are bilingual in English and French), or, of course to me, at info@chateaudecourtomer.com.

We look forward to hearing from you!