Dear friend,

Your weekly Letter from Elisabeth…stories from the Chateau and the Normandy countryside...The triumph of the Sacred Chemise...the Cross and the Sword...Saint Maurille and William the Conqueror

Although autumn crispness is not yet in the air, the bright clear days of l’été de la Saint Maurille, the "summer of Saint Maurille" -- feted last Monday on September 13 -- are here.

“You can’t explain everything that happens in history in terms of material riches,” commented le Père Côme. We stood about on the parvis after the church service yesterday. 

“Man serves God as well as Mammon, after all!” 

Our local church, like most country parishes in France these days, is served by itinerant priests. We have grown used to receiving the sacraments from new hands, and are almost blasé about the variety of sermons we receive. But this Father’s conversation was certainly illuminating.
 
We had begun with a vague question about Saint Maurille. He was a companion of Saint Martin of Tours, who brought Christianity to the Roman provinces of Gaul in the 400s. Maurille chased demons out of pagan temples, healed the sick and even resurrected a corpse. And he is the patron saint of Angers, less than two hours’ drive to the south and a little west of Courtomer.

“Hors de question!” said our priest, in the precise tones of a specialist, in response to a question about this early evangelizer.
 
“That was Maurilius of Angers. In Normandy, we have our own Saint Maurille! He helped to make Normandy.”
 
As suggested by this comment, Normandy has a distinctive identity that endures to this day. King Charles le Simple carved the duchy of Normandy out of the kingdom of France in 911 and gave it to Rollo the Viking. It was part of a negotiation to end Norse raiding. Rollo’s descendants created a vast dynastic territory that was eventually twice as large as the domains of the king of France. 
 
And although Normandy decisively lost its political independence in a struggle with the bold and determined French king Philippe Auguste in 1204, it remained the richest province of France until the late 19th century, producing wheat, cider, iron, textiles and wood, and trading lucratively with the Indies and the Americas.

But as le Père Côme observed, the lure of material wealth doesn't explain all of history.
 
Part of Charles le Simple’s deal with Rollo, he told us, was that the pagan Norse would convert to Christianity. 
 
He warmed to his theme as the small circle of parishioners fell silent.
 
“La Foi, the Faith, played a great role leading up to the Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte. As we know, n’est-ce pas?” 
 
He paused expectantly. The Treaty, which defined the duchy of Normandy in 911, followed a failed Viking siege of the town of Chartres. This is part of every Norman schoolchild’s curriculum.
 
“Rapellez-vous!” he tut-tutted. “Rollo almost lost the battle that day, but not because of the king. It was the precious relic of the tunique de la Vierge, the Virgin’s tunic, that routed the Norse warriors at first!” 
 
The archbishop of Chartres had caused the Sacred Chemise, the Sancta Camisa, given to Chartres in 876 by Charles' father, to be displayed above the ramparts of the city. Perhaps the Virgin herself intervened to protect her cathedral and its City. Or perhaps the relic injected courage into wavering French troops. The Vikings retreated to the Epte, where they made a valiant stand and held off the royal forces.
 
A few parishioners nodded sagely. The Sainte Chemise might not be part of the national curriculum, and our fellow Normans partake sparingly of weekly religious services. But processions of holy relics are another matter. A large piece of the holy tunic remains in the cathedral of Chartres. Thousands of pilgrims unite each year at Pentecost in its honor.

“Rollo well understood the power of the Faith,” continued le Père Côme, approvingly. “So, after negotiating for the old Frankish Brittania, from the river Epte to the Atlantic Ocean and from Brittany to the mouth of the Seine “in sempiternum” as the Chronicle tells us, he agreed to become a Christian.” To finalize the arrangement, after his conversion Rollo married Gisla, the king’s daughter.
 
“And the Church understood the power of the Norsemen,” interposed our friend Rodolph, who had joined the conversation on the parvis, and whose dark eyes had lighted up with intellectual fervor.
 
Le Père Côme raised his eyebrows. 
 
“If you mean,” he said coolly, “that the negotiations were handled by Hervé, the archbishop of Reims and political counselor to the king, you are certainly correct. He was a minister of foreign affairs avant la lettre.”
 
“Or perhaps,” said Henry to me, under his breath, “he is referring to Rollo’s famous reply to the archbishop, when told to kiss the foot of the king: “Nunquam curvabo genua mea alicuius genibus, nec osculabor cuiuspiam pedem.” 

“Never to nobody will I bend my knee nor kiss his foot!” He looked down at little James, who was listening quizzically.
 
“Rollo sent forward one of his warriors in his place. The warrior lifted up the king’s foot to his lips and “regemque fecit resupinum.” The king fell down.” 
 
James smirked. Le Père Côme ignored this aside.
 
“But once the new rulers of Normandy became Christians, they protected the Faith.”
 
Under Rollo and his successors, the great Frankish monasteries and churches that had been devastated by Viking raids were rebuilt. New abbeys were constructed. Manuscripts were added to ecclesiastical libraries. Precious metals and jewels ornamented chalices and holy relics.
 
A hundred years later, our Maurille, working closely with the 11th-century duke of Normandy, Guillaume le Bâtard or William the Bastard, as he was then known, brought his enthusiasm and administrative skills to the task.
 
“Maurille was learned. He was the magister, the head scholar, at the Cathedral of Halberstadt – but the snares of society weighed upon his soul,” recounted le Père Côme. 
 
Rodolph held back a harrumph.
 
“Wishing to live in quiet contemplation, he became a monk at our great abbey of Fécamp – burned and looted by Viking raiders, but rebuilt by Rollo’s grandson Duke Richard -- near the coast. Then, Maurille went to Italy, where a local seigneur asked him to reform an abbey in Florence. The monks there tried to poison him.” 
 
“Why did they do that?” asked James uneasily. At six, he is liable to anxiety about unseemly adult behavior. 
 
“Eh bien, mon petit James,” said Rodolph, “they didn’t want to be reformed. You see, in the 11th century, there was a great desire for purity in the Christian faith, and not just in Normandy. Some people believed the year 1000 would bring the end of the world. Everyone would be carried off, either up to heaven, or down to hell, to be tortured for eternity by demons.”
 
James looked horrified. Rodolph, who is a professor of Histoire at the Sorbonne, continued.
 
“But just because the current is strong, not everyone wants to be carried along. Not all churchmen thought it was necessary to live on a meatless diet and wear burlap robes. They rather liked rich vestments and a fine library.”
 
Le Père Côme coughed.
 
“So Maurille came back to the monastery at Fécamp. And then, he became bishop of Rouen after the unworthy Bishop Mauger was deposed. He oversaw the construction of the cathedral of Rouen, a splendid monument to our Faith.
 
“He was of great counsel to Duke William. They call him the Conqueror of England, you know,” he added, with an unseemly spark in his eye that might have been pride. “Maurille blessed the voyage of restitution to England in 1066.”
 
“And there you have it!” cried Rodolph. “Maurille was appointed to defend William’s very earthly interests. After all, Bishop Mauger was Duke William’s first cousin and enemy. Mauger’s father Duke Richard was the great rival of William’s father, Robert le Magnifique.”
 
“Might I remind you that Mauger was merely 20 years old when he became bishop?” remonstrated le Père. “A purely political appointment engineered by his father. And Mauger was known to keep concubines!”
 
“What of it?” exclaimed Rodolph, excited by the prospect of a debate. “Why, celibacy wasn’t a requirement for the priesthood until the Second Lateran Council of 1139! And that was a century after Mauger was born.”
 
“Hence the concern for purity,” replied le Père succinctly. “Guillaume le Bâtard opposed concubines for priests. And he never took a concubine himself, contrary to Norse custom. He was faithful to la reine Matilde.”
 
“Maurille fit in nicely with Guillaume’s strategy and vice versa,” pursued Rodolph, shrugging off this moral example as a mere digression. “As you’ve noted, Maurille blessed Guillaume’s expedition to England in 1066. We should note that Fécamp, his old monastery, benefited greatly from the success of the venture.”
 
Fécamp held rich and profitable manors in England that had been seized by Godwin, King Harold’s father. William swore on the point of a knife that he would return the lands to the monks if he was successful. 
 
“And the monks provided him with a ship for the expedition. As you know,” Rodolph added politely.                    

“God works in mysterious ways,” said le Père Côme. “Doesn’t it, jeune homme?” He looked down kindly at James, who seemed reassured by this comforting thought.

“Bon Dimanche!”
 
We separated. A trip to Fécamp, a couple of hours from the Chateau, seems in order.
 
“And,” added Rodolph as we bid each other une bonne journée, “Let us recall that Fécamp is also the cradle of Benedictine liqueur.”
 

Until next week, with warm regards -- et à bientôt au Chateau!

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P.P.S. Some dates in 2021 are still available for the Chateau and the newly restored and decorated Farmhouse. And 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!