We arrived at Mont St Michel on Tuesday evening, still early enough to do a little shopping before our dinner at La Mere Poulard. The main street is crammed with small shops, all selling trinkets and souvenirs and any item you could possibly want stamped with the name Mont St Michel. Some people might have thought the scene was tawdry or tacky. Not us, for we knew how very medieval it was. In the Middle Ages, the same row of shops fronted the main street; only then they were selling pilgrim badges instead of post cards. Medieval merchants depended upon the flow of pilgrims just as the modern ones depend upon the crush of tourists. Human nature has not changed over the centuries and we all want mementos. It is just that in the MA, they came in the shape of scallop shells (San Juan de Compostela), badges depicting St Michael slaying the dragon (Mont St Michel) leaden images of the Blessed Mother Mary (Our Lady of Rocamadour) and little vials of the blood of the holy martyr, St Thomas of Canterbury. In Devil’s Brood, Henry cannot resist a snarky comment that it was almost a miracle in itself that Thomas bled enough to keep filling the little tin phials that the monks gave to pilgrims who made offerings at his shrine. But pilgrim badges were an important element of the medieval economy. In the late 14th century, the citizens of Mont St Michel petitioned the French king, complaining that the tax imposed on the sale of pilgrim souvenirs was hurting their livelihoods; the king, who was devoted to St Michael, agreed to exempt Mont St Michel pilgrim badges from taxation in perpetuity. I suspect, though, that today’s merchants on Mont St Michel are not so lucky.
So after hitting the shops, we returned to our hotel, La Mere Poulard, which has been renowned since the 19th century. I’d never stayed there before because I knew none of the island hotels had ascenseurs, lifts, or elevators, and in the interest of self-preservation, I’d chosen to stay at the Hotel Le Relais St Michel at the head of the causeway, which is a bit pricey but offers truly spectacular views of the abbey from the hotel balconies. I thought it was a good idea to book us into La Mere Poulard, though, for I knew our tour group would enjoy the medieval ambiance after all the other tourists had gone home. So for my readers planning to make pilgrimages of your own to Mont St Michel, pick one of the island hotels if you want to be able to wander about after dark. But unless you are as agile as a mountain goat or travel with only a toothbrush since cars are forbidden, it might be best to go with one of the hotels clustered by the causeway.
We had a private dinner that night in the hotel restaurant, and it was so much fun. We really had a good group, and friendships were already being forged that will last long after our memories of the tour start to fade. The food was excellent, with just one disappointment — the Flaming Dessert of Doom, as one of us called it. This was the house speciality, an omelette that actually resembles a soufflé and is cooked over an open fire. It was certainly entertaining to watch its preparation. The result, though, did not live up to the pyrotechnics or to its renowned reputation — at least for most of us. A few dissenters enjoyed it, Paula being one. Being a vegetarian, though, she was probably grateful for any food she could actually eat; French chefs didn’t seem all that interested in offering up tasty alternatives for non-meat eating guests.
The next morning I disregarded my inner warning voice and went for a walk along the steep medieval street. This entailed tackling way too many stairs and by the time we were ready to head out for our tour of the abbey, I was not only in considerable pain again but I was out of breath, too, which alarmed my doctor friend, John. Fortunately, the travel agency had hired a local guide for the abbey visit. So, knowing I would not be able to manage the 900 plus steps without a pair of wings, I sensibly elected to wait for them at the hotel, making use of Motrin and my support pillow. I’d bought a lumbar pillow especially for the trip and it had been very useful on the flight over, but it somehow disappeared between the airport and our Paris hotel. I’d asked J.D., our guide, if he could pick up another one for me and he found a perfectly-sized little pillow that would prove to be a godsend on our bus rides. I mention it because the pillow will figure in the story later on; consider this a clue.
For an abbey, Mont St Michel has a surprising amount of violence in its history. After Philippe Capet took Normandy from John, his Breton allies lay siege to the island, and the town and part of the abbey itself went up in flames. It would be caught up in the One Hundred Years’ War, too, and in 1424, it was once again besieged, this time by the English, and was saved by the Bretons. The French monarch known as the Universal Spider, Louis XI, created the Order of the Knights of Saint Michael, with the Archangel as its first member. Louis also created an appalling punishment for those poor souls who fell out of favor — a wood and metal cage suspended from the ceiling at the Mont; each time the prisoner inside moved, the whole cage would rock wildly. Political prisoners would be sent here in years to come, truly a fate worse than death for many. But ironically, it would be prisoners who saved the abbey from what befell so many other medieval treasures. By the eighteenth century, the buildings were falling into ruin. It is likely it would have suffered the fate of so many castles and abbeys, torn apart by local people in search of building material, had it not been converted into a prison, the “Sea Bastille.” But in the 19th century, people began to realize the importance of the abbey’s past, and in 1874, it was declared a historic monument — for which countless visitors are eternally grateful.
I had time to ponder the history of Mont St Michel during the two hours that the rest of the tour was getting a guided tour of the abbey. Not all of our guides were first-rate; that is the luck of the draw, after all. This one was very good and they told me she brought the past to vivid life for them. I am just sorry the did not get to see Notre Dame Sous Terre, one of the oldest parts of the abbey, an 11th century church where I committed a murder in Prince of Darkness.
As the abbey’s dramatic silhouette slowly faded into the distance, we sped toward our next destination. Le Mans is an ancient city, founded during the reign of the Emperor Augustus around 20 BC, known as Vindinium; its Roman walls are among the best preserved in Europe. To many people today, Le Mans means the Grand Prix. To me and my fellow medieval geeks, it means the city that Henry II most loved, a city that was the beating heart of the Angevin Empire. Henry was born here, christened here, came here often during his long reign, and suffered his greatest defeat here, when he was forced to flee the city before the forces of his son Richard and the French king. The chroniclers reported that he reined in on the crest of a hill and, as he looked back at the burning city, his anguish gave way to a wild, unholy rage. To the horror of his companions, he vowed that since God had taken from him the city where he was born and where his father was buried, he would deny the Almighty his soul.
We had a wonderful guide at Le Mans and she gave us a fascinating tour of the magnificent cathedral of St Julien and the medieval part of the town, known as Cite Plantagenet. La Cathedrale St Julien is one of the most beautiful churches I’ve ever seen. There was a church on this site since the 5th century; the present cathedral was begun in the 11th century, consecrated in 1120. It has a Romanesque nave and a High Gothic Choir, and a collection of stained glass that only Chartres can rival. Above all, it resonates with the history of the Angevin dynasty. Henry’s parents were wed here in June of 1128. Henry was born in the palace, christened here in the cathedral, as were his brothers. Geoffrey was buried here. Henry was a generous patron of the cathedral, paying for the amazing flying buttresses, and as we gazed upon the spectacular stained glass Ascension window, we knew that Henry had often gazed upon it, too.
Our walk through the Cite Plantagenet was an absolute delight — cobbled streets and half-timbered houses, more than a hundred of them. Le Mans has begun to restore the original colors of these medieval houses, vivid reds, greens, and blues. People don’t always realize how colorful the Middle Ages were. Seven of these houses are decorated with bright corner pillars, one way of identifying locations, for all streets did not have names and none had numbers; if directions referred to the “red pillared house,” the inhabitants had a point of reference — rather clever, actually.
In Henry’s time, there were two royal residences in Le Mans, the ancient castle near the cathedral and the palace in the Place St Pierre, where he had been born and where he and Eleanor stayed upon their visits to the city. The palace would also be home for Richard Coeur de Lion’s queen, Berengaria. She was his wife for just eight years; she would be his widow for thirty. Richard had generously provided for her with dower lands in Normandy and England, but they were not to pass to her until after Eleanor died. In the years after Richard’s death, Berengaria lived at Beaufort en Vallee, Chinon, and Fontevrault, as she struggled to get John to honor her dower payments. He treated her very shabbily, and there is no evidence Eleanor ever intervened on her daughter-in-law’s behalf. Berengaria was treated more fairly by the French king, a man not known for his generosity of spirit. But in 1204. Philippe bestowed the city of Le Mans upon her in return for her surrender of lands, including Falaise and Domfront, which had passed to her upon Eleanor’s death. Le Mans would be her home for the remainder of her life, and she became known as The Lady of Le Mans. She devoted herself to works of charity, and founded the Cistercian abbey of L’Epau near Le Mans; here she was buried after her death in December, 1230. I was very pleased to find that she has not been forgotten in her adopted city; there is a street named Rue de la Reine Berengere, and her name graces a local museum, too. Berengaria is a name she would never have heard; she was born Berenguela, and that was translated into the French Berengere at the time of her marriage; Berengaria is the English version and — to me — nowhere near as pleasing to the ear as the musical Berenguela. As for the palace itself, it has been used since 1790 as the City Hall, and all that remains of the original building are the walls and the walled Roman windows.
I’d planned to end this blog with our arrival that evening at Fontevrault Abbey, but it is getting too long. So I am going to stop here, leaving us in the lovely city of Le Mans, so dear to Henry’s heart. Next — our arrival at Fontevrault, and our excursions to the capital of Eleanor’s domains, a local winery, and then a night tour of the abbey.
July 10, 2011
Chekhov’s Pillow? I can’t wait to hear of it.
Very interesting. You know, Sharon, the more I hear about the tour, the more I wish I had been there, and yet the more I realize how hard it would have been for me. I was reminded of it when you mentioned Paula’s vegetarian troubles. I would have been even more limited than her, keeping Kosher, since I could not have eaten Dairy Products. Nor would I have been able to enter many of the Churches. So, while sad I missed out, I am happy in the knowledge that I did not cause discomfort to myself and others.
I guess what I should hope for is a tour like this in Israel for Lionheart (or your possible book about Balian?), where it will be far easier for me to join all activities.
Wow, is a word I used a lot during the tour and “wow” is a word I must now use in response to your blog, Sharon. I have wonderful memories and lots of great pictures from our tour but reading this blog makes everything more vivid. I also love the fact that you add historical nuggets about each place we have visited. It makes it so much easier to remember everything!!!
Staying in a hotel on Mont St-Michel was a truly remarkable experience and one I would recommend to everyone. Having people to carry our bags up to our rooms was a blessing as there is only one direction once on the island and it’s up. Nothing beats being able to walk on the island when all the tourists have left. Getting to sleep that night was a little difficult because of the cat fights occurring outside our windows but it made for a funny story to tell everyone when I returned home.
I just finished reading “Devil’s Brood”, and I must say that my visit to Le Mans brought the ending to life. I could really understand Henry’s despair and anger when he had to leave such a beloved place. Walking the streets of the Cité Plantagenet is as close as any of us can get to time travelling. If you take away the cars, you can get a good idea of what it might have looked like during Henry and Eleanor’s time.
I’m so glad you liked the blog, Emilie. We really did collect some special memories, didn’t we? Though I managed to sleep through the cat fight! And like you, I loved our time in Le Mans. Henry was Angevin to the core and Le Mans was the heart of Anjou. His embittered outburst against God was shocking to me, for I’d never encountered anything like it in my chronicle reading. It is such an intimate glimpse of his pain.
Santiago de Campostela = Saint James of Campostela
So, does that mean Iago from Shakespeare’s Othello was really Jim? Does “My reputation, Jim, my reputation…” resonate with the same depth and tragedy?
Today Amalric I of Jerusalem (who was Fulk of Anjou’s son, and so half-brother to Geoffrey le bel) died, Robert the Bruce was born, and the battle of the Golden Spurs took place.
Yes, it was me, I did like the ‘Flaming Omelette of Doom’! I actually liked the poacned apple it was served with more but I also enjoyed the omelette. It sounds like salt was added by mistake to other people’s omelettes but mine definitely had sugar on it. I didn’t see the omelette being prepared as I had my back to it and was deep in conversation with the lovely Sherill.
One highlight of the dinner was that we all stood up in turn and introduced ourselves. I really liked the speech by one of the gentlemen when he said he knew he was a philogynist as he was enjoying the company of so many women. The next highlight of the evening was when Sherill and I went for a walk around the Mont in the twilight. We were near the cemetry when we first saw the bats. It was a magical evening!
Another highlight Sharon, was the sight of you still holding ‘court’ when we got back to the hotel. Until the waiter’s made it clear that we all had to leave the dining room!
I was still feeling invincible at that stage and thinking I didn’t need sleep or any time to rest at all. I had climbed all the steps on the Mont to the Abbey when we first arrived. I climbed most of the way again after dinner. I climbed all the way to the Abbey at 6 o’clock in the morning and found a nice secluded spot to do some reading. I then climbed to the top again with the guided tour. It was on that tour that I first felt quite faint and the world went all black and fuzzy. I had to leave the tour early and return to the bus. Then I started to feel faint again and also quite nauseous. John made me lie on the ground and he elevated my feet in the air until I felt better. A lot of people then insisted that I sit at the front of the bus and the fact that an empty seat was available next to you Sharon immediately made me feel a lot better 🙂 After that I took time to rest and didn’t rush so much. It had all started the day before when I was so excited to see Falaise that I ran up the hill after JD and was the first one to go in to the keep. After leaving the castle I then walked right around the base of it twice, trying to find the best angle to take a photo. I didn’t bother with stopping and finding something to eat. Who needs food and rest when we have castles and Sharon!
Yes Paula, and I told the others as they returned to the coach, that I got you to do this so that I could rest myself on your feet with my forearm.
Sharon, thanks for putting our thoughts into words so eloquently, and filling in so many background details. I certainly intend to make my way to The former Abbey Church at L’Epau to see Berenguela’s tomb effigy.
Yes, we tour folks were a lucky group! I will never forget Mont St. Michel. The first time I was there, 20 years ago, I got stuck (literally) in a graveyard, but had a crossbow with me, long story. There is never a dull moment for me there, as this time, my sister accidentally locked me outside at midnight on a turret, caught outside a locked door between the main hotel and ancillary rooms building. It wasn’t too long before someone happened by who had the code to get back in, but it was a fun story to tell my husband that I again had a memorable evening at that special place. As if hanging out with Sharon Penman wasn’t special enough! 🙂
I, myself, felt like a pilgrim on this journey to Le Mont with my fellow medieval geeks and Sharon! After seeing videos of Mont St. Michele, I thought I knew what to expect but actually driving up to it and walking around, I was overwhelmed with the history and the beauty of this place! No words can really describe it! And yes, we were very pampered as our luggage magically appeared in our rooms (although I did see JD, Janus and the hotel workers dragging them upstairs)! After dinner, which was great, and the Flaming Omelette of Doom, which was salty (Paula, I sat next to you – wonder how yours was sweet and mine was salty?), I went back to the town and got separated from the people I was with because I kept stopping to take pictures. Around every corner was something amazing. I wish I had ran into Paula and Sherril as I would have loved to see the cemetery and the bats! But I did go back in where Sharon wa holding court and listened and participated in another great conversation before calling it a day.
I was worried about the trek up to the Abbey as I’m not in the greatest shape, but thanks to one of my fellow travelers, I was told about the resting step that hikers use. But I decided to set out before the whole tour left because I wanted to take my time and I didn’t know now fast the group would have gone. I’m so glad I did because I pretty much had the place to myself. The resting step saved the day for me and I waited at the top of the steps for the rest of the group to join me. The whole experience was amazing! I am so grateful for the fact that I got to travel with Sharon and this group. These memories will stay with me forever and these blogs from Sharon just add another level to it.
Today, Æthelstan King of England secured a pledge from Constantine II of Scotland that the latter will not ally with Viking kings, beginning the process of unifying Great Britain, and Saladin’s garrison surrendered to Conrad of Montferrat, ending the two-year siege of Acre.
Here is today’s Facebook Note.
Not a happy day for Catherine Parr; she had to wed Henry VIII on July 12, 1543. A happy day for Lionheart but not for Saladin; on July 12, 1191, Acre surrendered to the crusaders. A happy day for me; Lionheart is up on my website with the prologue and first chapter. And a very happy day for George Martin fans–our long wait is over
Just read the Prologue and the first chapter, and they are amazing. The prologue is very detailed and accurate for being so short, and the first chapter is a very interesting opening, carrying on with the tradition of unknown characters in misfortune being introduced to some of the main characters.
I’m so glad you like it, Koby! The first three chapters of the book are actually set in Sicily, for it was to play an important role in events. In Chapter Four, Eleanor comes on the scene, and in Chapter Five, Richard makes his appearance.
Sharon, I’m curious to hear your reaction to the “installation” in the cloister at Fontevraud. Is it a wooden rollercoaster? Is it supposed to convey the ups and downs of Eleanor’s life? At least it will eventually biodegrade! I was there in June, and found the whole restoration to be off putting in its corporate nature. Luckily, I discovered the paintings of Henry and Eleanor on the ceiling above the altar of the church they founded in the village (next to the ti office) – then felt better.
Lucy, I didn’t have any problems with the reconstruction. I guess I’m just so grateful that it was done at all! It was no easy job. for example, they had to remove a floor from the abby church, as it had been made into two stories when it was a prison. You mean the church of St Michel in the village, right? It is wonderfully ancient, dates from about 1180. So Henry probably deserves the credit, not Eleanor, since she was in no position to fund churches at that time. Actually, Henry was the one who’d always shown great favor to the abbey. Eleanor didn’t really get that involved until in the years after Richard’s death. I go into this in the blog I am doing about Fontevrault.
I’m so glad you are rendering such detail of each day of our tour. I enjoyed the Mont but could have wished for one more night there to really be able to absorb more of the ambience. Your descriptions are helping me absorb more. I am personally used to meandering around such places long enough to really imprint them on my mind and take pictures with more delibertion. Tours have a lot of pluses but they are often run at a pace that leaves you wanting to go back and linger and they have you throwing up your camera to grab a picture before moving on. Not much time for delibertion. You are definitely helping me linger. Our fellows on the tour will always be in my mind but since we traveled together for 8 days, we were able to linger with one another.
Today, William I of Scotland was captured at Alnwick by forces loyal to Henry II, and Hubert Walter, Archbishop of Canterbury died.
Thanks, Koby. I’d forgotten that this was the date that the Scots king was captured.
Here is today’s Facebook Note, with credit where due, as usual, to Koby, for jogging my memory and giving me great subject material to write about.
On this date in 1174, it was widely believed that the martyred Thomas Becket performed a miracle on Henry II’s behalf. Henry had come to Canterbury to make a spectacular and desperate penance at the archbishop’s tomb, having himself scourged by the monks and then keeping an all-night vigil in prayer the night of July 12-13. This chapter in Devil’s Brood is one of my all-time favorites, and yes, writers have our own favorite scenes, just as we have our own favorite characters. Henry then returned to London, anguishing in body and soul. But several days later, he learned that at the very moment he was ending his penance, his men were capturing the Scots king at the siege of Alnwick, thus breaking the back of the rebellion against him. When it was learned that at the same time, a storm had scattered the invasion fleet sent by Henry’s son Hal and the Count of Flanders, this convinced even the skeptics that St Thomas had indeed forgiven the English king and was now standing side by side with him against his enemies. I love how real life always outdoes fiction. So much of what I write about is so improbable that I wouldn’t dare invent any of it. Certainly Becket’s “intercession” on Henry’s behalf. Anne Neville’s death during a solar eclipse. Simon de Montfort’s death at the height of a raging storm at Evesham. Ellen de Montfort’s capture by pirates in the pay of the English king. Llywelyn’s forgiving his wife, Joanna. Probably half of Richard’s escapades in Lionheart!
Speaking of Richard, today is also the date upon which the Archbishop of Canterbury, Hubert Walter, died in 1205. He had accompanied Richard to the Holy Land, later joined him in Germany, and showed such loyalty that Richard rewarded him with the then vacant post of archbishop. He would prove to be an excellent choice; Richard shared Henry’s knack of picking the best men for positions of power. Hubert Walter continued to wield considerable influence during the early years of John’s reign, and left an impressive legacy.
And thank all of you who were kind enough to tell me how much you enjoyed reading the prologue and first chapter of Lionheart on my website. That made me very happy–and somewhat relieved! Think of a defendant waiting for the jury to come back and you get an idea of how it is like for writers as we wait for readers to render their verdict
Today, Philippe II ‘August’ of France died.
Here is today’s Facebook Note, titled “Who was sadly missed by…?”
I’d planned to mention that Richard’s nemesis, Philippe Capet, died on this date in 1223, but several of you beat me to the punch; I have very well-informed readers about the MA, which would prove to be the undoing of one or two of our tour guides in France. What cracked me up was my freind Owen’s comment on Philippe’s demise, and I borrowed it for the title of this Note. Nan Hawthorne has a very funny title, too, about Philippe on her wonderful website, Today in Medieval History. http://todayinmedievalhistory.blogspot.com/ Philippe is like Edward I in some ways, both men capable of cruelty, both more Anti-Semitic than most medieval monarchs, and both men considered successful kings because they were able to greatly increase the power of the Crown, but at such a great cost, a debt paid in blood. Since we already had a too-heated discussion recently about Longshanks, I would ask that we not go down that road again today. Feel free to vent, though, about Philippe! French children are taught that he was a great king and indeed, he did add huge chunks of territory to the royal dominions, mainly because of a careless king and a sharp-eyed crossbowman at the siege of Chalus. I think it is likely that Normandy and the other lands in what we for convenience call the “Angevin empire” would eventually have become French, for Henry’s empire was not a natural one. But I have no doubts whatsoever that Philippe would never have taken Normandy and Anjou, etc, had Richard bothered to arm himself before going out to inspect the battlements on that April eve in 1199.
I find Philippe to be a very unlikeable character, cold and distant and deceitful. He fought with his own mother,did not even wait till poor Louis was dead before seizing power, did nothing whatsoever to help his youngest sister Agnes who came to such grief in Constantinople, showed no warmth toward any of his other sisters, tried to disavow his first wife for failing to give him a child when she was only 14, and treated his second wife, the Danish princess Ingeborg, with such cruelty that he seems to have served as a role model forr Henry VIII’ when he found himself with unwanted wives. And of course he did everything in his power to keep Richard rotting in a German prison, having already ravaged the lands of a crusader king in defiance of the Church. He was every bit as ruthless as Richard, and without Richard’s flashes of magnanimity. I think Owen was right on target; this was not a man to be mourned.
Having said all that, I did find myself feeling a spark or two of sympathy for Philippe as I wrote about his time on the Third Crusade. Unlike Richard, Philippe was a reluctant crusader, having been shamed with Henry into taking the cross by the Archbishop of Tyre. Knowing Henry, I suspect he would have found a loophole, a way to postpone his departure for the Holy Land indefinitely, as he’d done so succesfuly in the past, had he not died when he did. Philippe was not as adroit or as slippery to pin down, and much against his will, he felt compelled to set off on crusade with a man he loathed, knowing that the Holy Land would be the ideal stage for Richard’s bravura heroics and he would be eclipsed at every turn by one of his own vassals. He took his overlordship over Normandy much more seriously than Henry or Richard ever did. I read a scene on the tour about Philippe in Outremer, hating the heat and the dust and the deadly maladies and the snakes and scorpions, fretting about his frail young son back in Paris and fearing for his own health and dreading Richard’s arrival. It was hard not to feel sorry for the guy, especially when Richard sweeps into Acre with his Barnun and Baily showmanship and unerring flair for the dramatic. Richard is seeking–and finds–immortality in the Holy Land. Philippe just wants to go home. Since I think I’d have felt the same way in his place, I do feel some pity for his plight. Of course what he does once he gets home is unforgivable, so those few droplets of pity soon evaporate under the scorching Outremer sun.
Today is also Bastille Day, which always reminds me of the time I was living in Waikiki, Honolulu, and one of our more eccentric neighbors used to play the Marseillaise every night on his trumpet at midnight. Since he looked as if he was auditioning for a role in the Hell’s Angels, no one ever complained. Anyway, happy Basille Day to my readers. I believe it is called National Day in France? Am I right, Mary?
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I’ll gear this review to 2 types of people: current Zune owners who are considering an upgrade, and people trying to decide between a Zune and an iPod. (There are other players worth considering out there, like the Sony Walkman X, but I hope this gives you enough info to make an informed decision of the Zune vs players other than the iPod line as well.)