Eleanor of Aquitaine (1122-1204)

KINGSTON UPON THAMES, APRIL 23^rd 2017

Here we go! I should go into more detail; I can’t just say ‘spent the day here’ – this will be an official travel diary to treasure for…oh…days at least after I come home. I’m travelling relatively light, meaning one pair of pants and every electronic device I own. I had it mostly packed last night, just had to charge my phone and tablet over-night. 5.15 alarm call – bastard – left the house at 5.50 and walked through the quietest Taunton I’ve ever seen. No cars, no people, I had the whole town to myself. I managed to get all of 200ft away from my front door before I started crying with excitement. It was like that old feeling when I was little before a holiday or Christmas Eve, being overwhelmed by the emotion of it all. It passed into normal, generic happiness after a few minutes, but still, weird.

The choice of an early Sunday coach was a good one as nearly everyone had a pair of seats to themselves. By Bridgwater I felt horribly sick so I had a few sips of squash and tried to get some sleep. Didn’t really manage it but it passed after an hour or so. At Heathrow a whole coach load of people had been dumped short of their destination because the driver had reached is quota of hours and there was no one to take over, so the last hour was a bit squished. When we arrived, I stuck to my normal London routine of not doing anything for the first half an hour, so I stopped for a coffee and gathered myself together. I thought I’d go see the new Rembrandt room at the National Gallery which on a normal day is a 20 minute walk from Victoria. A normal day. Not the day of the London marathon. To begin with it was OK, just more people about, but my route and the marathon route both go along the Mall – I think I saw the winner cross the line to massive cheers – and getting emotional again! But apart from that the noise and crowds were very stressful and I was so happy to get into the nearly empty lobby of the Sainsbury wing. I remembered my membership card so I could put my rucksack into the cloakroom for free and took my notebook up to the new wing. It was a mix of paintings I’d already seen in other rooms but the new room was small enough so I could sit on the bench in the middle of the room and clearly see Margarethe de Geer and Heindrickje Stoffels. I stayed writing for a while, then made further use of my card and went back to the Michelangelo exhibition. Not for long, it was all as I had left it, but I spent some extra time with Sebastiano’s Visitation, which I find fascinating.

When I left, the apocalypse of runners was reaching a crescendo. I stupidly, not knowing the route of the marathon, opted for walking to the Embankment and of course the full tide of normal runners was flowing by and I was constantly buffeted by ex-runners, supportive families and hi-vized volunteers. I finally got into the tube station and hit a wall of bodies going both ways. I got through, and I know not to underestimate the crowds next time. I got a normal train out to Kingston, which at first glance looked like Station Road in Taunton, and checked in.

AAAHHHHHHH. Soft bed, clean toilet, take off the boots, open a window and stop properly for the first time today. I had a look for a likely restaurant, didn’t really find anything so decided to take the lazy option and eat in the hotel after popping out for a nearby earthcache. The Kings Stone, the crowning stone of the Anglo-Saxons is in a driveway of the local council offices, which seems a bit mean. I answered my questions, and it still being a lovely sunny night went for a stroll towards the river. I turned a corner and once again hit a wall of people, this time sat lounging on the riverbank with pints and artisanal ciders enjoying the beautiful evening. I didn’t really want to eat out, too expensive, but I found myself wishing I could be a part of the crowd. Further down the towpath I found a spot I could sit, furnished myself with a ginger beer shandy, and became one of the human race. I leaned back against a pillar, listened to the conversations around me, laughed at some truly horrific fashion faux pas and allowed myself to go gently pink in the evening sun. It was lovely. If someone could have grabbed the girl feeding the pigeons and pushed her in the river my happiness would have been complete.

So now I’m back in the hotel with a bit of a beer buzz catching up and hoping to plan every second between leaving one hotel at 6am and checking in at the next on at 3.30pm. Please let tonight’s foray into the world not be an anomaly – please let the optimism hold out for another 48 hours, then I can go back to being introverted and misanthropic. Just don’t let me spoil this.

TOURS, AVRIL 24me 2017

I’m in a foreign fucking country, finally!!! I am knackered, and bruised, and so over train travel but I’m here, in a little bar off the old square drinking a big gin and tonic feeling pretty fucking smug! So, back to the beginning. Another 5,30 start, had time for a cuppa, and for some reason feeling very grown up sitting on the bed writing out my itinerary. I left enough time to that in case I missed a connection there were two more trains behind me that would still get me there on time. I discovered later I was wrong, but it worked and I know for next time. I got to St. Pancras at 7.10, thinking I had lots of time and could even check in stupid early to get settled. Again, no. Anyway, got myself a tea and bun for breakfast and finally dawdled over to the check in desk which was so much bigger and complex that I was expecting. I was expecting a normal platform but with a metal detector. I wasn’t expecting an airport. I saw people, most people, bring wanded so I did what they said, I put my bag and coat in a tray and walked through the scanner: cue bleeping. A friendly lady started to pat me down – trés awkward – and then she found my phone.

Security guard: what’s this?

Me: my mobile?

S: it should have gone through the scanner. What’s this?

M: my keys?

S: it should have gone through the scanner. What’s this?

M: pen…for geocaching? *clicks pen to demonstrate*

S: *clearly face palming hard* Never mind, just go.

Next was two lots of passport control, neither of whom deigned to give me a stamp. What’s the point in giving me pages? I’d got through in good time, and the train was delayed so a bit of a wait, watching yet another sartorial cavalcade of atrociousness parade through the business gate, then our gate opened. I hadn’t realised there were travellators designated for different carriages so I pelted through the nearest door, stood smugly rising above the confusion, then realised I’d emerged at carriage 3 and I wanted carriage 12, several miles of train away. Ok, hiked down, hefted on, separated my crap and got settled. I had a portion of a window which was nice. The train was very new and had good legroom but they were semi-reclined and I felt like I was going to be examined. I enjoyed the tannoy announcements, particularly as they called us Chere Voyageurs – yes I am your dear traveller. He also kept getting tongue-tied by ‘big bus tours’, which came out as ‘beeg burrs toooors’. Bit racist, probably. My neighbour and I kept to ourselves until half an hour before we arrived when we got talking about where we were travelling on to. She was going to Turin then Sicily. She had also got the train to Lisbon which I asked about as I’ll have to make that trip eventually. We chatted on and off till we pulled in. arriving was strange – having done double security in London, there was nothing left to do in Paris but disembark and wander off. I headed for the metro, took a while to find a ticket machine – of which there were only two in the busiest part of the station – and headed for the trains. I got a bit cocky getting on the train. I overestimated the time I had to get on so dawdled and got wedged in the doors, then crash landed on an Australian exclaiming ‘crikey!’. Has ever an English Englished as Englishly outside England as I? The trip to Austerlitz was quick and smooth which makes me feel better about the changeover on Wednesday. I achieved the station, saw a tempting toilet sign and circled the whole station following it. There was a very chirpy guy manning it so I got to finally have a semi conversation to get change. I had enough time to grab a sandwich then get on board. European trains may be cheap and run on time but they aren’t particularly comfy. It was the kind with carriages and seats for 8 people at a time and for some reason we’d been allocated 3 on one side, though no-one dared move from their seats. It was a bit cramped and am now very much looking forward to my 1^st class return. I read my book, played a bit of Go, dozed off for a bit – it’s all a boring blur of clock-watching and not believing I hadn’t been on the train for my whole life. We arrived. Again, no ticket checking, it’s all very casual. There are also a lot of pianos at French train stations, and someone was playing as I left. I had the walking route all planned out and it would have worked wonderfully if I had walked out of the right door. I was accosted by a dog on a string type but my well rehearsed English excuse of only carrying cards came out remarkably smoothly in French. So, I bumbled off, albeit in the wrong direction. It didn’t matter. The sun was shining, there is a sort of mini-orchard and fountain right outside the station, and all the old buildings are built from a warm, creamy limestone what is very pleasing. Eventually I realised my mistake but I wasn’t far out – I took a turn and emerged on the main street. They have trams! Big modern ones, not romantic like Prague but the infrastructure does something to the roads – Rue Nationale is flat, there are no markings, people just know where to walk and when not to cross. It made the street, not pretty, but aesthetically pleasing, it just seemed so clean and simple.

Anyway, I found the hotel. I should have remembered the hotels we stayed in in Italy, they always looked a bit shabby but had a heart of gold. Ditto here. The owner met me. I explained I had a reservation and gave my name. He was expecting me. I offered my passport but he didn’t need it. He offered me a big key or a little key – little key please! He explained the number on the fob was for the front door, that I was in room 6 on the second floor. He asked if I wanted breakfast, I said I thought I would. He asked what time, 7 or 8, I said 8, I as very tired. He showed me the dining room, I clarified my room was on the second floor, he said yes, I said thank you and left. IN FRENCH!!!!! Language neurons firing, thank god! I cried a bit when I got into my room. Part triumph, part relief, part unadulterated happiness. I unpacked, got my boots and stinky jeans off and crashed on the bed. Joy. After 11 years of having this idea in the back of my mind, I had made it, and with a minimum of effort. I kept thinking how there had been no big watershed. I stayed in a hotel, which I probably do once a year. I got on a train in London, which I do half a dozen times a year. That the train had taken me to Paris seemed a peripheral coincidence. I had stayed on the ground the whole way. That sounds stupidly simple, but throughout the whole journey, nothing was outside my realm of experience. I was used to hearing foreign conversations from being in London. I was used to unfamiliar surroundings from caching. It just happened, thing after thing after thing until I was inexplicably in a hotel in a new city in France, planning my day trip tomorrow. It just happened.

I stayed in the room for a couple of hours cooling down and making plans and translating earthcaches, then I felt it was time to explore. The sun was still out and everything just looked so rosy! I saw a post office and even though I didn’t need them yet I thought I’d get my stamps while I was feeling strong. Then I had to text people for the addresses so I could use the stamps! I walked up to Pont Wilson which is epic – it has 14 arches – and is surrounded by little islands and sandbanks in the river. As I was walking I said to myself ‘this is me, walking across the Loire in Tours – look at me!’. I had the questions for some caches but I wasn’t quite in the mood. I needed to get one so I would have a new ‘furthest from home’ and a new ‘furthest south’ and by chance I knew there was one on a noticeboard on the other side of the bridge so I had a feel and found it, result! I dodged the traffic to cross the bride: there was another bridge about half a mile down and I thought it would be nice to see Wilson from a distance. Well, I was nearly run over for my trouble and the view was underwhelming but I had a good walk. I eventually found myself in an old square where the entire under 50 population of Tours had congregated at street cafes. A bit intimidating so I did a very slow circuit of the square till I found somewhere I felt I could tackle. So I’m sat in a little side bar with a view onto the square sipping my G&T and listening to La Vie en Rose – until the bartender turned it off in disgust! I’ve been watching while I write so I will be a better customer next time. I went and ordered like I would in England which totally confused the bartender, likewise when I tried to pay immediately. So next time I will just sit down, he will eventually find me and I pay at the end. It’s too late for a big meal so I’ll get something light form a market to take back and stock up on brekkie tomorrow.

Later…

As I left the bar I walked passed a little restaurant that smelled great reminding me a) I was very hungry and b) I had just drunk a large G&T on a nearly empty stomach. I wandered around for half an hour looking for somewhere likely and cheap till I remembered there was a Chinese restaurant opposite the hotel. I looked at the menu, which looked comparable, so braved it. The owner was very welcoming, I got settled with Agatha: I ordered a chicken curry – I asked if rice came with it – a spring roll and a coke. Sorry to say the most satisfying part of the meal was the coke. The spring roll came as an hors d’ouevre separately – one big rolled up flannel sized steamed looking log. I was now hesitating over how to attack it when the owner came over to instruct me. I was to pick it up whole and dip it in the sesame oil and bite the end: if I tried cutting it, it would go everywhere. It was funny, and I appreciated the help but I couldn’t help calling him professor for teaching me. So I picked it up to find it was stone cold. Everything in it was cooked, just a really long time ago. I think it took about 20 minutes to struggle through the whole thing. Then the curry. Small portion of rice that had clearly been sitting for a while and a dish of curry. Knowing what I do of how Chinese food has been warped to suit the English, I must assume the same has happened here, and the vegetables, spices and portion size is reflective of Chinese cuisine viewed through the lens of French expectations. It wasn’t bad – it was a chicken curry – but it was not what I had hoped for and therefore didn’t quite hit the spot. I stayed reading while I slowly finished the gargantuan coke then paid and left. The owner shook my hand when I left! So, I braved a restaurant and a bar in one night. And if you think a Chinese while on holiday in France was a cop out, let’s hear you order Chinese food in French.

FONTEVRAUD, AVRIL 25me 2017

My hands are cold so I can’t write very well and I’m wet from the rain and probably going to be moved on by a nun as there aren’t any seats and I’ve found an illicit perch on some steps with a view of the effigies. I’m having a hard time stopping crying. Technically I am looking at numbers 2 and 3 but I didn’t know that when I went to Sudeley so this is my first – what do I call it? Collection? Am I collecting queens? Have I achieved them? A gathering? I like that. Today I gather Eleanor of Aquitaine and Isabella of Angouleme. I see them both. I know them, I acknowledge them. They are not forgotten. Today they do not stand behind a husband, or a father, or a son. They are not wives, or mothers, or daughters. Today they are not chattel. They are women, and when I look at them, they are seen. They may be educated or not. Wealthy or not. Intelligent or not. Beautiful or not. They are not perfect, not always wise, or subtle, or generous. But in being or not being those things they were themselves only, and all they were and were not is honoured today.

*The family tree of Eleanor of Aquitaine*

I feel like it would be a travesty to leave because this, this exact moment is what all this time and worry and money has been for. I feel that I will be letting them and me down if I don’t linger for hours, but honestly I’m cold and wet and a bit hungry and I feel like I could do with a sit down on a not pile-inducing seat. There are a couple of cafes outside the abbey and I have 2 hours until my bus so maybe I’ll hit the gift shop and go and get warm.

Later…

I found a Salle de Thé in which the tea was priced higher than gold but I’ll have a coffee and a sandwich and hunker down. I’ll be too tired to write tonight so I’ll catch up now then there’s only the trip home for later. Still waiting for my hands to come back to life.

I slept well. Not OMG good but I woke at about 6 and felt better for it. I left the window open but didn’t hear a peep from the tram. I ached like a bastard and definitely had a bit of pinkness from my passageatta but otherwise rested and ready. The shower was a bit of a trial – turn this way and I knock the tap onto cold, turn that way I knock the door open. Good water pressure, feels important to say that for some reason. I hadn’t seen any other guests but there was a large group of large men when I went for breakfast. It was a bit all over the place and I was brought a special mug when I asked for tea but I filled up on croissant, yoghurt, boiled egg, tea and juice. Not quite enough, I’m starving now but it got me here and I’ll pick up something for my tea on my trek back through Saumur. I had some extra time, because I’m me, before the train so I took a little detour for a cache but no joy, too many spectators. So, train tickets – actual tickets, not just A4 prints – and onto my triple decker train. That’s right, triple. Not really decker, sort of 3 half decks but exciting nonetheless. Nice seats, beautiful scenery but disappointed not to have my ticket checked. Had a little moment with another guy getting off at Saumur: was this the only Saumur station? I said yes, the next stop was another town, then the performance took over and I said ‘I hope’ because that’s what I would have said in English. He said ‘I hope so too’ with a little laugh, and we got off. I think I like that the most about talking, being able to make those little in between comments, the fluff, the oil on the cogs of the conversation that it takes a while to learn because you’re memorising vocab and verb tables. Eventually it comes naturally. I’m not saying it does for me but I’ve managed to have a few normal style conversations, and that makes me happy.

Saumur feels a bit grimier than Tours but I wasn’t seeing it at its best: the sun had gone and there was a little drizzle in the air. It’s another town split across the Loire and here the sandbanks are even more pronounced. I wandered slowly as I had a couple of hours to kill, bought some postcards and went in search of the bus depot. It felt further than it really was because I ran out of shops quickly then it was just dusty narrow side roads. I asked at the ticket office what kind of ticket I would need and where to buy it – I was fairly sure I knew the answers but it wouldn’t hurt to keep testing myself. I got a bit tongue tied but with some teamwork we got my answers. I still had a while to wait so I went back towards town to find a café. Got a cache at the same time – now furthest south and west. Understood the clue for this one so went straight to it, then the café, with a waitress who was, I admit, a little distracting. Slicked back hair, pin striped trousers with braces, also a nice smile. Might have sat for longer if I didn’t have a bus to catch. I wrote my postcards and read a bit then I found a post box and headed back to the station. There was proper rain by now so I was glad the bus was there and ready. They have weird tickets – for a journey that last less than one hour you pay one price, for a longer but unbroken journey you pay another. Very cheap too, though once we got going I tensed up from being driven the wrong way. The driver let me know when we arrived, I checked where to get the return bus and got off. And started crying. Took a few minutes to get control this time. Sat on a bench and fanned my wet eyes until I realised a bunch of people in camper vans were watching me.

The entrance to the abbey was down a long avenue of bushy trees, past a couple of churches, through a sort of town square with businesses picking up on the tourist trade and through an arch. I wasn’t sure what I was looking at to begin with: I now know it’s a modern addition built around the stable blocks. Once I asked for an English audio-guide the assistant switched to English too: native English, though I couldn’t place her accent. The guide was informative but badly laid out so half the time I didn’t know if I was in the right place. Half way around I sat out of the wind and rain and a little calico cat came and found me for a fuss – a proper fuss, on my lap and everything. Even got a pic. I had accidentally missed the effigies after being detoured around some restoration work so the abbey nave was actually my last stop. Cue crying again. I tried looking up, back the way I’d come, moving further into the nave and watching an a/v presentation but every time I looked back I lost it again. The place was completely empty apart from the four effigies, including a lack of seats. I later realised I could have borrowed a portable shooting stick from reception. Anyway, I found a seat on some steps, fully expecting to be moved on and tried to absorb the moment. Eleanor’s was bigger than the rest, maybe as a result of paying the most in endowments. Most of the colour is worn away and of course the bones are gone but it’s still powerful to be there. This is where she, they, lived the final years of their lives. They walked these corridors, sang in these halls – no, that’s not right, it was a silent order – prayed in these halls. I watched people taking photographs because they were there and that’s what you do, but I didn’t see anyone moved by what they saw. They looked and moved on.

I’ve already written about how I felt so I’ll stick to what happened. I was too tired and cold to stay and sketch and my illicit perch didn’t offer much of a view so I took a few photos to sketch from later and moved on. As I left the side of the chapel I noticed a few small rocks that had come loose from the cobbled path. I use the ‘oh, something important has happened on my phone’ ruse while people passed then grabbed a small one and stuffed it in my bag. I did the same in Prague, so the metal detectors shouldn’t both about it. Which is stupid really, because I’m pretty sure I could do more damage with that than a spork. I was a bit disappointed by the gift shop, I was looking forward to going crazy on Eleanor merch but it was not to be. I had to settle for an exterior shot of the abbey on a fridge magnet and a cartoon biography. My photos were as good as the postcards so that was that. I’m now in Trois Lys drinking the worst coffee ever and waiting to head for the bus. I’m not looking forward to hiking back through Saumur, I’ll be frozen by the time I get back to the hotel. Packing will be easy, its everything in the room. And then for home. What a long way for such a small thing. I think for my next gathering I will plan longer city breaks where the gather is just a part, so it doesn’t feel like I’m letting my queen down by leaving. Also, read the weather report. I included every detail on my itinerary except ‘wear your coat’.

TOURS, AVRIL 26me, 2017

I’ll stop later to do today: I want a Paris heading in my diary but I should catch up on the rest of yesterday. The coffee got worse as it got cold and the Croque monsieur wasn’t warmed all the way through. I have not had great success with French food on this trip. Apart from breakfast which is exactly what is needed. I hung around in the café till half an hour before my bus, left all the tiny useless coins in my pocket as a tip and made for the stop. There is apparently nothing in the town. I walked one way to a roundabout, the other way to look down a hill to see what was there but nothing. So I hunkered down in the little shelter to wait. So cold. It’s always disconcerting to be cold and miserable because it happens so rarely, and on such an important day as well. Can’t be helped. It came, I bought my ticket, I asked if the driver could let me know when we get to the town centre so I didn’t have such a long walk back and we were off. At the next stop the bus emptied and I had it to myself the whole way back. After exiting the town, it comes back into Saumur along the Loire which is lovely despite looking occasionally like a giant sand pit. I saw a heron – note to self, look up ‘heron’ in French. Tern is les sternes, I got that from a noticeboard by the Pont Wilson, there were dozens on the sandbank fighting over fish. As we came back into the town I started to pay attention so I could navigate back when the driver asked where I was going, I said the station and she asked if I would like to be dropped right next to the bridge – she basically halved my walk. I said it was perfect, and I think because she thought I didn’t know where I was going she wished me courage! Apart from the traffic dodging – Saumur, unlike Tours, doesn’t have pedestrian traffic lights so you have to find a gap, not easy at rush hour, or trust they’ll see you and slow long enough for you to leg it. A bit stressful but I felt I was slowly hardening to French driving.

I had loads of time to wait and I was still cold so I got a coffee at the station. I asked for a small café au lait, and what I got was an espresso sized cup with coffee that had probably only been shown some milk across a crowded room. I was feeling cocky so I said I did ask for milk at which I got a look that could have turned me to stone. I was offered the tiniest dribble of extra milk and a plague wished upon my house. I was hungry too but I couldn’t face going to the counter a third time so I found a seat and huddled around my warming thimble. After a few minutes, something light caught my eye and I saw there was a calico cat curled up on the seat opposite. Much fatter than my other friend and fast asleep. There’s something calming about just seeing cats, or dogs. In the café earlier someone had come in with two yorkies who ran around everywhere and I couldn’t help smiling and feeling uplifted. Anyway, the train came, I got a seat in a weird 70’s style carriage with green velour bench seats, made my change at St. Pierre des Corps and arrived back. Managed to go the wrong way for the hotel so had to double back and set off the intruder alarm trying to get into the hotel, but otherwise uneventful. So cold. So tired. I turned the radiator on full, got the epic extra fleecy blanket cum buffalo skin from the cupboard and snuggled down. The blanket made me sleep like the dead – it was so heavy – I don’t know how to ask where he bought it but it was lush. But I fell asleep too soon so this morning I still have to pack and write out my itinerary. Or have another boiled egg.

LATER, PARIS…

I’m on the train and literally writing this while we wait to depart because there wasn’t time to stop for a coffee and I wanted a Paris header. I can feel the post-holiday malaise coming, made worse by spending an hour wandering around Little India and remembering how much I really don’t like Paris. This is jumping the story ahead a little but it really felt like a drudge – it started raining, roadworks made the traffic difficult to navigate and the men were a lot more shouty as I walked around. I failed to find two caches, and the tarte au poivre I got at the station was solid. Didn’t stop me eating it but I mean the worst rock hard custard. Obviously, it was a vicious cycle compounded by not wanting the holiday to end. Just have to plan another.

LATER, LONDON…

Part of me doesn’t want to catch up on today because as soon as I finish writing, then my holiday is over. That’s what I felt at Fontevraud, no matter how cold or wet or tired I was I was desperate to stay because the moment I walked away from the tombs, I was effectively already travelling home. I am feeling very sorry for myself and have been more than a bit pushy with fellow travellers on my various journeys. I keep accidentally saying ‘pardon’ instead of sorry, then hating that person for not being French! Ok, stop moping and go back to the beginning.

I didn’t have another egg but I did have a slice each of ham and cheese to fortify me for my trip. Packing was easy, as expected, got the itinerary written and went to pay the bill. I was a little worried that this was where my luck and French would give out. It was the scenario where I had the least practice, least vocab and where the most spontaneous conversation turns could happen. However, it couldn’t be avoided.

Proprietor: madam?

Me: l’addition, s’il vous plait?

P: oui, c’est la

M: ah oui, c’est comme je pense – sur le carte de credit?

P: oui – j’ai un peu de problem avec le machine

M: oh, c’est gratuit? Tres bien, au revoir!

P: Oh ho ho! (I know, classy comedy) Le numero s’il vous plait

M: le feuille, c’est pour moi?

P: oui madam, et l’autre recet. Ou habitez vous?

M: a Somerset, a l’Angleterre

P: Ah oui? (God bless him for sounding surprised)

M: Oui, j’arrive a chez moi a vingt-deuz heures ce soir

P: vous allez au train?

M: oui, l’Eurostar a Londres, at aussi a Somerset

P: avez vous un bonne journee madam

M: J’ai eu des tres bonnes vacaces, merci beaucoup. Au revoir

P: au revoir, madam.

I know that I have stressed a lot on who said what when, but I need to remember those moments – they are always the moments from travelling that give me the greatest pleasure to reminisce about. The conversation as I’ve written it is banal and typical of the conversations he will have with every departing guest. But that was me. I did all that. There was no-one guiding me, no-one to step in if I got stuck or didn’t understand. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘feuille’ in French. I don’t know if ‘circulaire’ is really a word. I overheard someone else say ‘j’ai dit’ and unconsciously used it the next time I needed it. The woman in front of me for a coffee at Gare du Nord ordered in English prompting me to order in my thickest French accent which probably sounded ridiculous but I didn’t care. Not one time, in my admittedly limited experience over three days, did I not understand. To have tested myself and found that despite nerves and horror of people I genuinely can get by in French is incredibly satisfying. I ran at conversations that I didn’t need to have; I threw in words or phrases as though I was speaking English. I understood and so did everyone I spoke to. Apart from being excited about Fontevraud, the moments when I have stopped and thought to myself ‘this is me, in France, I just had a conversation, I just bought a ticket, I just ordered a Chinese meal’. Those moments filled me with, well, fulfilment. With satisfaction, triumph, joy, I don’t want to say happy that’s too pedestrian.

Once I got outside the hotel, I got that excited, look at me feeling. I had some time so I struck out for the cathedral. I honestly hadn’t really researched Tours as it was just a base but I felt that the cathedral ought to be visited, out of respect for Tours being so lovely. I had a Cologne moment, turned a corner and there it was in all its pointy gothic glory. I think the outside was more impressive than the interior – lots of mediocre stained glass and the usual saints and sinners. I gave it a slow walkaround but nothing particularly stayed with me. I got a couple of caches, one cleverly hidden in a tree which earned a favourite point and another behind a drainpipe which did not. Bit of a wait at the train station then my train boarded and I got to appreciate 1^st class French train travel. First, on a train where a single passenger is travelling from the starting station to the terminus, why would you allocate them an aisle seat when the window seat is unoccupied? The seats were very nice, plush purple velour, slightly wider with one row of singles in the window. There was no difference in the toilets except that someone appeared to be hiding in it. There was no buffet or extras. For an extra quid or two I’d do it again because 2^nd class is such a lottery but their 1^st feels like our normal. I dozed off a couple of times and stood up for a bit to enjoy the view, but otherwise uneventful.

So, that got me to Austerlitz, and a tube ride took me to Gare du Nord. I had an hour before check in opened so I thought I’d try for a nearby cache. I’m pretty sure I was looking in the right place but no sign. Went further on to Little India, which ought more appropriately be named Little Africa, filled with men who feel that shouting at a woman is the perfect start to a loving relationship. Couldn’t find the second one either so I limped back to the station. I got myself a slice of pear tarte in honour of the last time I was in Paris and ate in on a balcony overlooking the tracks. They were already checking in so I got prepared – keys, pen and phone in the rucksack. Perfect. I got some supplies at a Relay to use the last of my shrapnel and waited for a seat to come free while we waited to board. I saw the sign for the different coaches this time but I didn’t realise they had their own waiting area, which looked far superior as I walked through it half an hour later. Shoved a few teens out of my way, found my seat, settled in. I will go on record as saying I don’t like the Eurostar seats. They are too reclined. What I didn’t realise until I was getting off was there’s a little handle what allows you to push the seat back back, making it feel more upright. Noted for next time. I was really starting to feel weary. I know on a train you can get up and move. There’s more interesting scenery. Its more leisurely. But by this point I had really had my fill of trains. It won’t stop me making the same journey, but not three full days with nothing in between.

EXTRA: EXETER, APRIL 28^th, 2017

You can tell I’m back in England because I wrote April instead of Avril. Makes all the difference. While I was writing at Paddington I was eating a pot of macaroni cheese from Eat which was lush but had a sneaky jalapeno in the middle which took me by surprise. Pretty much everything about England was pissing me off by then. Including but not limited to signs in English, tourists, commuters, tube trains, pigeons, tannoy announcements, stairs, ramps, cycling shorts and daylight. The bonus of being a solo traveller is that I would be the worst companion in the history of exploration. And so would they. Doesn’t matter who they were, they just would.

My train was called and I was in coach A of a ten coach train so I basically had to walk half way home before I could board. But I had a forward-looking table seat to myself so I should stop bitching. Read a bit, dozed a bit, sudoko’d a bit. Walked home. Went to bed. Slept well. Yesterday I had planned to go out into town but just had zero energy so made do with a petrol station sandwich and an ice cream for lunch and spent the rest of the day on the sofa. Some of the mad elation has ebbed, but I still have this warm glow. Thanks to being a detail nerd I think the captured most of this trip here, good and bad. There’s no rose tint – I know I tried to do too much, that I should have checked the weather, that my French is rubbish and entirely in the present tense. I know that that was a fantastic amount of time and money to achieve standing next to two statues for half an hour. But at the same time I have learned to live with very small and simple goals in life, and trips, when I take them are always shortened or bounded by cost, time, dwindling inclination. I say I have holiday French, or that I can get by, but it’s been a long time since I tested that. A long time since I stepped so far and completely out of my comfort zone.

EXTRA: TAUNTON 13^th MAY, 2017

I never really signed off my travel journal. Every time I tried I got interrupted half way through so my diary is filled with a sort of verbal dribbly chain running through the next few weeks full of thoughts and reflections and at no point do I say ‘enough’. So let me try to wrap up sensibly here. It was a few weeks ago now. What do I still hold onto? I can’t quite believe how good my French turned out to be. To be able to instinctively communicate with someone in what amounts to a secret code is exhilarating. I went there. I plan so many things but this one I actually did, I got off my sofa, packed a bag and went to another country. I’ve started a project and have not yet gotten bored of it: I still spend spare hours here or there building the family trees or researching their lives. I’ve planned the next weekend away to Peterborough: it was going to be Canterbury but Canterbury don’t know where their queen is, so that’s going to take more research. And given the absence now of studying anything, I feel comfortable allowing this to become my next thing. I see hours and hours of research ahead of me, discovering new facts, visiting family archives, collecting seals and signatures. I love this idea. And I have now proved that there is nothing stopping me. I think I need a reminder like that every now and then, a reminder that when I chose, I can do a thing, and do it well, even if it’s terrifying. I’m awesome.

The Life of Eleanor of Aquitaine (or what we know of it)

1122

Eleanor is born at Poitiers or Bordeaux to Aenor, daughter of Aimery I de Rochefoucauld and William X Duke of Aquitaine

1127

10 February: Eleanor’s grandfather William IX dies

1129

July: Eleanor, her parents and her siblings sign a charter granting priviledges to the Abbey of Montierneuf

1130

March: Eleanor’s mother Aenor and brother William Aigret die at their hunting lodge Talmont. Eleanor becomes heir-presumptive to her father’s land

1136

Eleanor’s father William X demands his nobles swear and oath of fealty to Eleanor as his heir

1137

Eleanor and her sister Petronilla travel with their father as far as Bordeaux, where they are left in the care of Geoffrey of Leroux, Archbishop of Bordeaux, while William is on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela
9 April: Eleanor’s father William X dies of dysentry at Santiago de Compostela. Eleanor becomes Duchess of Aquitaine and Gascony and Countess of Poitou in her own right
25 July: Eleanor marries Louis the Younger of France at the Cathedral of Saint Andre, Bordeaux
1st August: Louis VI dies of dysentery. Louis the Younger becomes Louis VII, King of France. Eleanor and Louis arrive in Poitiers
8 August: Eleanor and Louis VII are invested as Countess and Count of Poitou
25 December: Eleanor is crowned Queen of France. Louis had already been crowned, but went through a symbolic re-crowning with Eleanor

1138

September: Eleanor attends the Festival of Our Lady at Puy L’Eveque

1141

Spring: Louis VII lays claim to Toulouse in Eleanor’s name
24 June: Eleanor and Louis VII depart Paris for Toulouse

1142

Spring: Eleanor’s sister Petronilla marries Roaul of Vermandois

1143

The deree of consanquinity between Eleanor and Louis is made public in a pedigree written by the Bishop of Laon

1144

11 June: Eleanor, Louis VII and Queen Dowager Adelaide travel to Saint-Denis in Paris for its consecration

1145

April: Eleanor gives birth to her first child, a daughter named Marie
25 Deecember: Louis VII announces he is taking the cross and launching a Second Crusade to reclaim the Holy Land. Eleanor announces her intention to do the same

1146

31 March: Eleanor and Louis VII publicly dedicate themselves to the crusade preached by Bernard of Clairvaux

1147

June: Eleanor departs France on the Second Crusade from Vezelay
3 October: Eleanor and Louis VII arrive at the gates to Constantinople
20 October: Eleanor and Louis VII arrive at Chalcedon, to cross the Bosphorus

1148

20 January: Eleanor and Louis VII arrive at Antalya
19 March: Eleanor and Louis VII arrive by ship at Antioch
March: Eleanor is suspected of relationships with other men, including her uncle, Raymond of Poitiers
March: Eleanor tells Louis it is not lawful to be his wife, that they are related in the fourth and fifth degrees of consanguinity, and demands a separation.
28 March: Eleanor is summarily arrested by soldiers and the French force leaves Antioch

1149

Easter: Eleanor and Louis VII sail from Acre for Calabria in Southern Italy
May: Eleanor and Louis VII’s ships are attacked by Byzantine forces trying to take them hostage on their way home from the crusade
July: Eleanor’s ship finally arrives at Sicily
9 October: Eleanor and Louis VII arrive at Frascati to rest with Pope Eugenius
November: Eleanor and Louis VII finally arrive in Paris

1150

July: Eleanor gives birth to her second child, a daughter named Alix, in Bordeaux

1151

September: Eleanor and Louis VII go on tour of Aquitaine

1152

11 March: Eleanor and Louis VII are divorced at the castle of Beaugency
21 March: Eleanor’s marriage to Louis VII is annulled by four archbishops on the grounds of consanguinity
18 May: Eleanor marries Henry Fitzempress, Duke of Normandy, after an attempted kidnapping by Theobald of Blois and Geoffrey of Nantes

1153

17 August: Eleanor gives birth to her third child, a son named William, later styled William IX of Poitiers

1154

Spring: Eleanor and her family gather at Rouen to celebrate Easter, and Eleanor meets her mother-in-law, the Empress Matilda for the first time
25 October: King Stephen of England dies, and Eleanor’s husband Henry Fitzempress becomes Henry II of England
8 December: Eleanor and Henry II arrive at Osterham after a rough channel crossing
19 December: Eleanor is crowned Queen of England, consort to Henry II. The Royal Court is held at Westminster

1155

28 February: Eleanor gives birth to her fourth child, a son named Henry, later styled Henry the Young King

1156

10 January: Henry II departs for France, leaving Eleanor and her household, including her sister Petronilla, in the care of Archbishop Theobald and John of Salisbury
April: Eleanor’s son, William IX of Poitiers dies aged 2 at Wallingford Castle
June: Eleanor gives birth to her fifth child, a daughter named Matilda, later styled Matilda of England, probably in London
July: Eleanor travels with her children Princess Matilda and Prince Henry to meet Henry II at Saumur

1157

8 September: Eleanor gives birth to her sixth child, a son named Richard, at Beaumont Palace, Oxford

1158

14 August: Eleanor acts as regent as Henry II departs for France
23 September: Eleanor gives birth to her seventh child, a son named Geoffrey, later styled Geoffrey II, Duke of Brittany

1159

Eleanor’s daughter Marie marries Henry of Champagne
29 December: Eleanor sets out from Normandy to Winchester to escort money from the treasury back to Henry II in France

1160

2 November: Eleanor’s son Prince Henry is betrothed to Margaret of France, daughter of Eleanor’s first husband Louis VII

1161

13 October: Eleanor gives birth to her eighth child, a daughter named Eleanor Plantagenet, at Domfront, Normandy

1164

Eleanor’s daughter Princess Alix marries Theobald V, Count of Blois
December: Eleanor and Henry II spend Christmas at Marlborough

1165

May: Eleanor, accompanied by Prince Richard and Princess Matilda, travel to Normandy to meet with Henry II, before moving on to Angers, where Eleanor is entrusted with the government of Anjou and Maine
October: Eleanor gives birth to her ninth child, a daughter named Joanna, at Chateau D’Angers, Anjou

1166

24 December: Eleanor gives birth to her tenth child, a son named John, later styled John Lackland

1167

10 September: Eleanor’s mother in law, Empress Matilda dies in Rouen

1168

1 February: Eleanor’s daughter Princess Matilda marries Henry, Duke of Saxony at Brunswick
27 March: Eleanor is attacked on the road to Lusignan by Guy and Geoffrey de Lusignan. She is rescued by William Marshall, who is himself taken hostage
Eleanor initiates a separation from Henry II, and remains in Poitiers, making regular progresses and making amends with her vassals

1170

14 June: Eleanor’s son, Prince Henry, is crowned King of England in Westminster Abbey

1172

11 June: Eleanor has her son Prince Richard invested as Duke of Aquitaine at Limoges
27 August: Eleanor’s son Henry the Young King is married to Margaret of France at Winchester Cathedral and Henry is re-crowned, this time alongside his wife

1173

February: Eleanor and Henry II hold a lavish week-long banquet in honour of Alfonso II of Aragon, and the betrothal of Eleanor’s son Prince John to Alice of Maurienne is finalised
March: Eleanor’s son Henry the Young King begins the Revolt of 1173, encouraging his brothers and mother to join him
March-May: Eleanor is arrested and taken to Henry II at Rouen

1174

8 July: Eleanor and Henry II sailed for England from Barfleur. Eleanor is transported to either Winchester or Sarum and held prisoner. Henry begins living openly with his mistress, Rosamund Clifford

1175

1 November: Henry II meets with Papal legate Cardinal Pierlone to discuss an annulment of his marriage to Eleanor on the grounds of consanguinity

1176

Easter: Eleanor appeals to the Pope in response to Henry’s offer that she become a nun
August: Eleanor travels under guard to Winchester to bid farewell to her daughter Joanna, betrothed to William II of Sicily
28 September: Eleanor’s youngest son Prince John is betrothed to Hawise, or Isabella, of Gloucester

1177

19 June: Eleanor’s daughter-in-law Margaret of France gives birth to a son, William, who dies after three days

1179

26 August: Eleanor’s first husband, Louis VII of France suffers a stroke, and his son Phillip is crowned King of France
18 September: Eleanor’s first husband Louis VII of France dies in Paris

1181

July: Eleanor’s son Prince Geoffrey marries Constance of Brittany

1183

11 June: Eleanor’s son, Henry the Young King, dies at Quercy from dysentery. On his deathbed he asks to be reconciled with his father, but Henry II, suspecting a trap, refuses to go
August: Eleanor travels to join Henry II in Normandy

1184

Easter: Eleanor spends the holiday at Berkhamsted

1186

19 August: Eleanor’s son Prince Geoffrey dies trampled to death at a jousting tournament in Paris

1187

29 March: Eleanor’s daughter-in-law Constance of Brittany gives birth to a son, Arthur, later styled Arthur I Duke of Brittany

1189

28 June: Eleanor’s daughter, Matilda of Saxony, dies at Brunswick
6 July: Eleanor’s husband Henry II dies at Chinon
Eleanor’s son Richard becomes Richard I of England: he immediately arranges for the release of his mother
29 August: Eleanor’s son Prince John marries Hawise, or Isabella, of Gloucester
3 September: Eleanor’s son Richard is crowned Richard I, King of England at Westminster Abbey

1190

14 April: Eleanor arrives in Rome on her route back to England
12 May: Eleanor’s son Richard I and Berengaria of Navarre are married at Cyprus
June: Eleanor arrives in England in the company of Walter de Coutances, Richard I’s Chief Justicier
July: Eleanor is named regent during Richard I’s absence
Winter: Eleanor orders all Normandy castles and fortifications to be repaired and strengthened in preparation for conflict with Philip of France

1192

Spring: Eleanor convenes a Great Council and demands the nobles swear fealty to the absent Richard I, to stop Prince John from starting a war with France
21 December: Eleanor’s son Richard I is taken prisoner by Duke Leopold of Austria

1193

February: Eleanor’s son Richard I is handed over to the Holy Roman Emperor
Easter: Eleanor’s son Prince John demands the regency be turned over to him. When it is refused, he begins to muster forces of mercenaries, but they are easily defeated
1 June: Eleanor appoints a council to oversee the raising of the 100,000 mark ransom demanded for the return of her son Richard I. Some of this, 50,000 marks, is raised in exchange for Richard not helping the Holy Roman Emperor attack Tancred of Sicily
December: Eleanor appoints Hubert Walter as justiciar, and sets sail for Germany with the balance of the ransom

1194

6 January: Eleanor celebrates the Feast of Epiphany in Cologne
17 January: Eleanor arrives with the ransom in Speyer, to discover Richard I’s release date has been delayed
2 February: Eleanor is reunited with Richard I at Mainz, but discovers Prince John and Philip of France have outbid her for Richard’s freedom
4 February: Eleanor negotiates Richard I’s release in exchange for the ransom, and acknowledging the Holy Roman Emperor as his overlord
12 March: Eleanor and Richard I arrive at Sandwich, the first time the king had been in England in 5 years
Easter: Eleanor and Richard I celebrate at Northampton, and in celebration of his restoration, Richard adds a third leopard to his and Eleanor’s arms, which has been in use by the royal family of England ever since
12 May: Eleanor and Richard I sail from Southampton to Barfleur. Neither would ever set foot in England again

1196

Spring: Eleanor, reluctant to name her son Prince John as her heir, instead nominates her grandson, Otto of Saxony

1197

Eleanor’s daughter Alix of France dies

1198

11 March: Eleanor’s daughter Marie of France dies, allegedly from sorrow after her own son died

1199

6 April: Eleanor’s son Richard I dies at Chalus from an arrow wound, leaving his kingdom to his brother Prince John
14 April: Eleanor’s son Prince John arrives at Chinon to take control of the royal treasury
4 May: Eleanor signs a charter granting Poitiers the right to self-government
27 May: Eleanor’s son Prince John crowned King John of England at Westminster Abbey
Summer: Eleanor’s son John has his marriage to Hawise, or Isabella, of Gloucester annulled on the grounds of consanguinity
4 September: Eleanor’s daughter, Joan, Queen of Sicily dies in childbirth at Fontevraud Abbey

1200

March: Having selected Blanche, her granddaughter, as a fit bride for the King of France’s son, Eleanor escort’s the princess across the Pyrenees to Paris
24 August: Eleanor’s son John marries Isabella of Angouleme

1201

July: Eleanor is trapped inside Mirebeau Castle by her grandson Arthur of Brittany and the Lusignan family
1 August: Eleanor’s son John lays siege to Mirebeau, killing most of the soldiers, and taking Arthur and the Lusignans hostage.

1202

August: Eleanor returns to Fontevraud and takes the veil to formally join the community as a nun

1204

1 April: Eleanor dies at Fontevraud. She is laid to rest in the crypt of Fontevraud Abbey between Richard I and Henry II

References

Weir, Alison (2008) Eleanor, By The Wrath of God, Queen of England. London, Vintage
Weir, Alison (2017) Queens of the Conquest: England’s medieval queens. London, Jonathan Cape
Hilton, Lisa (2008) Queens Consort: England’s medieval queens. London, Weidenfeld & Nicholson
Marie of France: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marie_of_France,_Countess_of_Champagne
Alix of France: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alix_of_France
Richard I of England: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_I_of_England
Henry the Young King: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_the_Young_King
Eleanor of Aquitaine: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleanor_of_Aquitaine#Death_and_interment_(1204)

Letter from Eleanor of Aquitaine to Pope Celestine III, 1192

Eleanor writes to the Pope to complain of the treatment of her son Richard I being held captive in Vienna by Leopold of Austria. There is nothing restrained or diplomatic here, it is all pain and anguish and no small amount of admonishing the pope about his religious duty, which is bold, to say the least!

To the reverend father and lord Celestine, by God’s grace highest pontiff, Eleanora the miserable, and I would I could add the commiserated, queen of England, duchess of Normandy, countess of Anjou, entreating him to shew himself a father of mercy to a miserable mother.

I am prevented, O holiest pope, by the great distance which parts us, from addressing you personally; yet I must bewail my grief a little, and who shall assist me to write my words? I am all anxiety, internally and externally, whence my very words are full of grief. Without are fears, within contentions; nor have I a moment wherein to breathe freely from the tribulation of evils, and the grief occasioned by the troubles which ever find me out. I am all defiled with grief, and my bones cleave to my skin, for my flesh is wasted away. My years pass away in groanings, and I would they were altogether passed away. O that the whole blood of my body would now die, that the brain of my head and the marrow of my bones were so dissolved into tears that I might melt away in weeping! My very bowels are torn away from me; I have lost the light of my eyes, the staff of my old age: and, would God accede to my wishes, he would condemn me to perpetual blindness, that my wretched eyes might no longer behold the woes of my people. Who will grant me the boon of dying for thee, my son? O mother of mercy! look upon a mother so wretched; or if thy Son, the in-exhausted fount of mercy, is avenging the sins of the mother on the son, let him exact vengeance from her who has alone sinned: let him punish me, the wicked one, and not amuse himself with the punishment of an innocent person. Let him who hath begun the task, who now bruises me, take away his hand and slay me; and this shall be my consolation, that, afflicting me with grief, he spares me not.

O wretched me, yet pitied by none! why have I, the mistress of two kingdoms, the mother of two kings, reached the ignominy of a detested old age? My bowels are torn away, my very race is destroyed and passing away from me. The young king and the Earl of Bretagne sleep in the dust, and their most unhappy mother is compelled to live that she may be ever tortured with the memory of the dead. Two sons yet survived to my solace, who now survive only to distress me, a miserable and condemned creature: King Richard is detained in bonds, and John, his brother, depopulates the captive’s kingdom with the sword, and lays it waste with fire. In all things the Lord is become cruel towards me, and opposes me with a heavy hand. Truly his anger fights against me, when my very sons fight against each other, if, indeed, that can be called a fight in which one party languishes in bonds, and the other, adding grief to grief, tries by cruel tyranny to usurp the exile’s kingdom to himself.

O good Jesus! who will grant me thy protection, and hide me in hell itself till thy fury passes away, and till thy arrows which are in me, by whose vehemence my very spirit is drunk up, shall cease? I long for death, I am weary of life; and though I thus die incessantly, I yet desire to die more fully; I am reluctantly compelled to live, that my life may be the food of death and a means of torture. Unhappy ye who pass away by a fortunate abortion, without experiencing the waywardness of this life and the unexpected events of an uncertain condition! What do I? why do I remain? why do I, wretched, delay? why do I not go, that I may see him whom my soul loves, bound in beggary and irons? as though, at such a time, a mother could forget the son of her womb! Affection to their young softens tigers, nay, even the fiercer sorceresses. Yet I fluctuate in doubt: for, if I go away, deserting my son’s kingdom, which is laid waste on all sides with fierce hostility, it will in my absence be destitute of all counsel and solace; again, if I stay, I shall not see the face of my son, that face which I so long for.

There will be none who will study to procure the liberation of my son, and, what I fear still more, the most delicate youth will be tormented for an impossible quantity of money, and, impatient of so much affliction, will easily be brought to the agonies of death. Oh, impious, cruel, and dreadful tyrant! who hast not feared to lay sacrilegious hands on the anointed of the Lord! nor has the royal unction, nor the reverence due to a holy life, nor the fear of God, restrained thee from such inhumanity! Yet the prince of the apostles still rules and reigns in the apostolic seat, and his judicial rigour is set up as a means of resort: this one thing remains, that you, O father, draw against these evil-doers the sword of Peter, which for this purpose is set over people and kingdoms. The cross of Christ excels the eagles of Caesar, the sword of Peter the sword of Constantine, and the apostolic seat is placed above the imperial power. Is your power of God or of men? Has not the God of gods spoken to you by the Apostle Peter, that “whatsoever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatsoever you loose on earth shall be loosed also in heaven?” Wherefore, then, do you so long negligently, nay, cruelly, delay to free my son, or rather do not dare to do it.

You will, perhaps, say that this power is given to you over souls, not over bodies: be it so; it will certainly suffice me if you will bind their souls who hold my son bound in prison. It is your province to loose my son, unless the fear of God has given way to human fear. Restore my son to me, then, O man of God, if indeed thou art a man of God and not a man of blood; for know that, if thou art sluggish in the liberation of my son, from thy hand will the Most High require his blood. Alas, alas for us, when the chief shepherd has become a mercenary, when he flies from the face of the wolf, when he leaves the little sheep committed to him, or rather the elect ram, the leader of the Lord’s flock, in the jaws of the bloody beast of prey! The good Shepherd instructs and informs other shepherds not to fly when they see the wolf coming, but to lay down their lives for the sheep. Save, therefore, I entreat thee, thine own soul, whilst, by urgent embassies, by salutary advice, by the thunders of ex- communication, by general interdicts, by terrible sentences, thou endeavourest to procure the liberation, I will not say of thy sheep merely, but of thy son. Though late, you ought to give your life for him, for whom, as yet, you have refused to write or speak a single word.

The Son of God, as testifies the prophet, came down from heaven that he might bring up them that were bound from the pit in which was no water. Now, would not that which was fitting for God to do become the servant of God? My son is tormented in bonds, yet you go not down to him, nor send, nor are moved by the sorrow of Joseph. Christ sees this and is silent; yet at the last there shall be fearful retribution for those who do the work of God negligently. Ambassadors have been promised to us three times, but never sent; so that, to speak the truth, they are bound rather than sent. If my son were in prosperity, they would eagerly hasten at his lightest call, because they would expect rich handfuls for their embassy from his great munificence and the public profit of the kingdom. But what profit could be more glorious to them than to liberate a captive king, to restore peace to the people, quiet to the religious, and joy to all? Now, truly, the sons of Ephraim, who bent and sent forth the bow, have turned round in the day of battle and in the time of distress, when the wolf comes upon the prey, they are dumb dogs who either cannot or will not bark. Is this the promise you made me at the castle of Ralph with such protestations of favour and good faith? What availed it to give words only to my simplicity, and to alude by a fond trust the wishes of the innocent? So, in olden time, was King Ahab forbidden to make alliance with Ben-hadad, and we have heard the fatal issue of their mutual love. A heavenly providence prospered the wars of Judas, John and Simon, the Maccabaean brothers, under happy auspices; but when they sent an embassy to secure the friendship of the Romans, they lost the help of God, and, not once alone, but often was their venal intimacy cause of bitter regret.

You alone, who were my hope after God, and the trust of my people, force me to despair. Cursed be he who trusteth in man. Where is now my refuge? Thou, O Lord, my God. To thee, O Lord, who considerest my distress, are the eyes of thine handmaid lifted up. Thou, O King of kings and Lord of lords, look upon the face of thine Anointed, give empire to thy Son, and save the son of thine handmaid, nor visit upon him the crimes of his father or the wickedness of his mother!

We know by certain and public relation that the emperor, after the death of the Bishop of Liege (whom he is said to have slain with a fatal sword, though wielded by a remote hand), miserably imprisoned the Bishop of Ostia and four other provincials, the Bishop of Salerno, and the Archbishop of Treves; and the apostolic authority cannot deny that, to the perpetual prejudice of the Roman church, he has, in spite of embassies, supplications, and threats of the apostolic seat, taken possession of Sicily, which from the times of Constantine has been the patrimony of St. Peter. Yet with all this his fury is not yet turned away, but yet is his hand stretched forth. Fearful things he has already done, but worse are still certainly to be expected; for those who ought to be the pillars of the church are swayed with reed-like lightness by every wind. Oh, would they but remember that it was through the negligence of Eli, the priest ministering in Shiloh, that the glory of the Lord passed away from Israel!

Nor is that a mere parable of the past, but of the present. For the Lord drove from Shiloh the tabernacle, his tabernacle, where he had dwelt amongst men, and gave their strength into captivity and their beauty into the hands of the enemy. It is imputed to your pusillanimity that the church is trampled upon, the faith perilled, liberty oppressed, deceit encouraged by patience, iniquity by impunity. Where is the promise of God when he said to his church, “Thou shalt suck the milk of the Gentiles, and shalt suck the breasts of kings?” “I will make thee the pride of ages, and a joy from generation to generation.” Once the church, by its own strength, trod upon the necks of the proud and the lofty, and the laws of emperors obeyed the sacred canons. But things are changed, and not only the canons, but the very formers of the canons, are restrained by base laws and execrable customs. The detestable crimes of the powerful are borne with. None dare murmur, and canonical rigour falls on the sins of the poor alone. Therefore, not without reason did Anacharsis the philosopher compare laws and canons to spiders’ webs, which retain weaker animals but let the stronger go. “The kings of the earth have set themselves, and the rulers have taken counsel together,” against my son, the anointed of the Lord. One binds him in chains, another devastates his lands with cruel hostility, or, to use a vulgar phrase, ” One clips and another plunders; one holds the foot and another skins it.” The highest pontiff sees these things, and yet bids the sword of Peter slumber in its scabbard; so he adds boldness to the sinner, his silence being presumed to indicate consent. He who corrects not when he can and ought seems even to consent, and his dissimulating patience shall not want the scruple of hidden companionship. The time of dissension predicted by the apostle draws on, when the son of perdition shall be revealed; dangerous times are at hand, when the seamless garment of Christ is cut, the net of Peter is broken, and the solidity of Catholic unity dissolved. These are the beginnings of sorrows. We feel bad things; we fear worse. I am no prophetess, nor the daughter of a prophet, but grief has suggested many things about future disturbances; yet it steals away the very words which it suggests. A sob intercepts my breath, and absorbing grief shuts up by its anxieties the vocal passages of my soul. Farewell.

Taken from Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies of Great Britain by Mary Anne Everett Green