September 17 - King Charles VI of France Expels the Jews

This Day in History: 17 September 2020

 

17 September 1394

 

626 years ago, today, King Charles VI of France ordered all the Jews to be expelled from the kingdom. This order outlived the monarchy and still remains as one of the major contributing factors to the miniscule Jewish population in France. The country had been home to Jews since ancient times, but they had still faced frequent discrimination and persecution. In France, their religious texts were burnt, prejudiced taxes were imposed upon them, and they were scapegoated for the Black Plague. Throughout the past decades, various French cities independently expelled the Jews, but it was not until 1306 and 1394 that the country formally called for them to leave.

 

France did not experience a major Jewish population until the 1700s, when Jews arrived in Alsace and Lorraine while fleeing violence and discrimination. By the eve of the French Revolution, the Jewish population in France was near 40,000. The newly 'enlightened' governments that were in place during the turbulent years after 1789 attempted to gradually restore the Jews' rights to live in France. However, they continued to face discrimination and their numbers around the world and in France were decimated due to the Nazi occupation of France and other nations. Today, roughly one percent of France is Jewish.

 

Want to find out more about the French expulsion of Jews in the 14^th century? Click here for more information, or here for more about the Nazi occupation of France.

Review: 'When Christ and His Saints Slept' - Sharon Penman

The so-called Anarchy of the 12^th century – the civil war in England and Normandy between King Stephen and the Empress Matilda - is an exciting yet surprisingly neglected period of history. It often appears only as a background for the story of Henry II, Matilda’s son, or as a brief sidenote in Tudor history textbooks, using Matilda to comment on the perceived calamities of having a Queen Regnant.

In the second half of the 20^th century, with the discovery of the second half of the Gesta Stephani (a very important contemporary chronicle) and the subsequent publication of RHC Davis’ King Stephen, still considered to be the ‘Bible of the reign’ (Jim Bradbury, 2004) the Anarchy has finally received a bit more attention.

Sharon Penman’s When Christ and His Saints Slept isn’t the only popular work of literature to be set during the period. It is portrayed reasonably accurately in  Ellis Peter’s Cadfael series, and less accurately in the nevertheless acclaimed novel The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. At a hefty 900 or so pages, Penman’s novel is the first to focus on the key political players rather than characters on the periphery, and does so with commendable accuracy.

The narrative begins in 1120, with the sinking of the White Ship, a disaster that claimed the life of William the Æthling, the only legitimate son of Henry I, thus throwing the royal succession up in the air. In 1126, King Henry ordered the barons to swear an oath of fealty to Matilda (known in the novel by the vernacular version of the name: Maude) as his heir. She was then married to Geoffrey, Count of Anjou, enemy of the Normans. Fears of being ruled by a woman, and of having an Angevin as the King, the barons did not offer Maude their support when Henry I died in 1135. Instead, they offered it to her cousin Stephen, who quickly sailed from France to claim the crown for himself.

The novel then details, from various perspectives, the 19 year civil war that ensued. Two thirds of the way through, our attention switches to France, to Eleanor of Aquitaine. Having heard snippets of her story through the gossip of other characters, we now see for ourselves marriage to Louis IX disintegrate, and Henry of Anjou’s successful bid to wed her himself. The novel closes with the death of Stephen the accession of Henry and Eleanor as King and Queen of England. Saints is actually the first novel in a trilogy about Eleanor of Aquitaine, so it finishes with an annoyingly prophetic ring of triumph for dramatic effect.

The 21^st century has already seen significant progress in revising Stephen’s reign and the extent of the chaos it caused. Published in 1994, Saints obviously doesn’t include this, meaning that behind the heavy research woven through the text, there remains the underlying assumption that Stephen was a kind man but an utterly hopeless King. In its bare essence, this is true, but it would have been nice to see a more open attitude to the Scottish truce in 1148, or the appointment of Theobald of Bec as Archbishop of Canterbury. Stephen had sensible reasons for making these decisions, no matter how disastrous the consequences. There is also some debate as to the strength of Maude’s power base, and the equal weighting Penman gives to Stephen and Maude may not have been strictly the case, but the lack of evidence and a division of historical opinion for some leeway here.

Obviously, Penman is a novelist, not an historian, so perhaps this nit-picking on my part is unfair. However, she researches her novels better than most other novelists, and so I feel inclined to raise the bar.

Something that intrigues me about Penman’s writing is her decision to switch suddenly between fiction and non-fiction at the end of chapters. Occasionally, she will give us an overview of what happened, accompanied with a quotation from a contemporary chronicle. Sometimes this works to the novel’s advantage, allowing the reader to consolidate what they know, and reminding them that these are not merely characters, but historical figures. It encourages reflection and caution when reading. At times, however, all it serves to do is pull the reader out of the narrative. Also, I’m a great lover of monastic chronicles, and they aren’t nearly as inaccurate as some people make them out to be, but planting extracts in the novel creates unhelpful melodrama. England was not completely desolated by the Anarchy, and the chronicles give the opposite impression.

One of the peripheral characters in the novel is Ranulf, an illegitimate son of Henry I and staunch supporter of Maude, though his past in Stephen’s service allows him to be more open-minded than some of the other characters. Ranulf does not exist in the historical record, but is an original creation of Penman’s. As she writes in her author’s note: ‘Since Henry I is known to have sired at least twenty illegitimate children, I decided one more wouldn’t hurt!’ Thankfully, his presence does not upset the historical narrative. Instead, he is a charming and relatable character, who endears himself to us early in the novel. Even I – who tend to dislike original characters in historical fiction – found myself growing rather attached to him.

The problem comes when Ranulf runs away to have adventures on his own. These adventures in Cantebrigge (now Cambridge) and Wales were entertaining in their own right, but as someone who picked up the book to read about the actual historical personalities involved, it did grow tiresome when none of them appeared for 50 pages at a time. I didn’t come to the novel for romance and heroism – as important as those things were in the 12^th century anyway – but for political intrigue and siege warfare. Thankfully, these were also in abundance, and were covered in extraordinary detail. The pages dedicated to the Rout of Winchester were a tour de force in world-building.

Another aspect in which Penman has done an admirable job is in naming her characters. The medieval nobility were notoriously unimaginative in naming their children, and Penman has managed to juggle four Matildas, two Henrys, two Theobalds and an uncountable number of Williams around in such a way that one is rarely confused. It took a while for me to accept that the Empress was called Maude, not Matilda, but I had 900 pages to warm to the idea.

Historical novels are always a drag when you already know the story, a fact that is not helped when the book is heavy enough to use as a weapon. It’s heavy-going, but if you’re fond of the period, Saints is definitely worth a read.

V.G

The Great Mortality

 Described on the cover as 'An Intimate History of the Black Death' (a name which, interestingly, was never used by contemporaries and arose from a mistranslation), this is a charming introduction to a fascinating and gory topic that can actually justify the numerous hymns of praise plastered across the back.

The Great Mortality focuses on the progress of the Black Death across Europe from its beginning in Russia, describing both the probable causes of the contagion and its effects on the population. Interwoven are the histories of the places plague visited, the events preceding the plague - such as the Great Famine -  and the history of Yersinia Pestis itself, including its discovery and its appearances before and after the Black Death.

The book is not without imperfections. There were worrying discrepancies between the book's account of how the plague bacillus was identified and other accounts I have read - though, to be fair, there is no reason to assume they were more reliable. Editorial mistakes are more common than they should be (epitaph is, in one entertaining incident, confused with epithet) and the final chapter - which deals with 'plague deniers' (those who think the Black Death was not caused by Yersinia Pestis) - feels like it needs more work, and has employed some circular arguments.

On the other hand, The Great Mortality has the great merit of being immensely readable. The writing style is beautifully clear, while the interspersion of anecdotes - for example, the Sienan merchant who lost his wife and five sons to plague - really impresses upon the reader the tragedy the epidemic brought, and the addition of contemporary events to the book, like the trial of Johanna of Naples for the murder of her husband, allows the reader to imagine the outbreak in context. Overall, the book is an immensely entertaining introduction to the Black Death, and worth recommending.

WS

Crocodile Tears

A bog standard definition of ‘crocodile tears’ is ‘fake tears’. But where did these ‘fake tears’ actually derive from? The answer to everything: good, old History!

In case you didn’t know, the saying actually originates from the medieval belief that crocodiles shed tears in sadness while they slaughtered and ate their prey. (A bit like when Henry VIII ordered for his wives to be killed- because if you shed tears, that makes a murder perfectly acceptable!) The myth dates back to the 14^th century, from the then widely popular and famous novel: ‘The Travels of Sir John Mandeville’. The book accounts a chivalrous knight’s adventures throughout Asia. (You can download it for free here!)

The book encompasses a description of crocodiles: “These serpents slay men, eat them crying.’ Mandeville’s recount of ‘the weeping reptiles’ later placed itself in Mr Shakespeare’s works- such as Othello and Anthony and Cleopatra , and since has become an idiom as early as the 16^th century. The phrase, ‘crocodile tears’ is even used today in everyday English language. In fact, Shakespeare has been responsible for a lot of other modern day sayings we hear still every day! And that is the story of ‘crocodile tears’ in a nutshell - fascinating!

PS: You can find out more about "medieval crocodiles" as shown in the picture above, here.       

By MD

King John on Film

A new film about King John, "Ironclad", will be released on Friday. It is of particular interest to Nonsuch students as it focuses on the Siege of Rochester Castle, which took place after John was forced to sign the Magna Carta in 1215. Early reviews suggest that this won't win many Oscars next year, but that the Siege itself is quite exciting, and that Paul Giamatti puts in an enjoyable performance as the devious monarch. This BBC article wonders why John is so often portrayed as a villain, and why he has such a reputation as a poor king. Some contemporary chroniclers such as Matthew Paris and Roger Wendover wrote at length about various acts of cruelty he was said to have performed, but, as most Year 7s will know, these were often full of inaccuracies. The Tudors were more sympathetic to John as was involved in a dispute with the Pope, which obviously would have been well received following the break with Rome. The popular view of John, and in particular his connection with the Robin Hood stories, comes from 19th Century. His chaotic personal life was viewed as morally dubious by the Victorians, and the Whig view of History identified the signing of the Magna Carta as a crucial moment in England's political development, pushing the barons forward as heroes against John's repressive rule.

Whatever the film might say, John eventually recaptured Rochester Castle in November 1215 (bringing down one of the towers after tunnelling under it and then setting fire to the wooden supports with the fat of 30 pigs) and looked set to complete the rebelling barons completely. However, he failed to seize the opportunity and then, after a "fit of over-indulgence", died of dysentry in October 1216. His son Henry III was declared King and the Magna Carta reissued. His reign was over, but his reputation for incompetence and cruelty had been sealed.

You can read more about King John here, and about other incompetent Kings here. For the Disney interpretation of John, look here.

Castle Competition 2011

Here are some of the winning entries in this year's castle competition. The standard was very high and we were delighted that so many students were ready to take part. Well done everybody!

Entrance Hall Display

The Winning Castle!

The Best Motte and Bailey Castle

Battle of Hastings Game

Today is the anniversary of the Battle of Hastings, which took place on 14 October 1066. We are hoping to recreate the battle at school on the field next Tuesday, so keep an eye out for notices! There is plenty of information about the battle available, including these websites this game from the BBC, where you can take on the role of either William or Harold! PS: For further posts on the battle from last year, click on the "Battle of Hastings" label below or on the right hand side of the blog.

Battle of Hastings Day

Today is the 943rd anniversary of the Battle of Hastings. Yesterday the HP Society marked this event with an exciting confrontation on the school field. The Saxon shieldwall faced up to the Norman invaders and terrible combat ensued.

Here is a very detailed site on the causes, events and consequences of the battle. There are plenty of videos available on the subject, including this cheerful description of Harold Godwinson's death from Terry Deary. The BBC have also provided a game, and lots of other useful information. Let us know how you get on!

Battle of Hastings Map

Stand by for the Battle of Hastings in HP Society on Tuesday (Room 103 at lunchtime - bring outdoor clothes) In preparation for this, here is a map of the battlefield prepared on Google Maps (click on each shape and arrow for more information). The creator of the map is a military historian who as plenty more to say on the subject in his blog.

View Battle of Hastings_opening disposition in a larger map

The Peasants' Revolt

Here is a good article from the Today Programme on the Peasants' Revolt. It tries to make parallels with today's popular anger towards politicians and the events of 1381. However, although the Credit Crunch has caused many problems, it cannot compare to the economic and social devastation of the Black Death. Wat Tyler's mob were eventually defeated and King Richard II survived the crisis, but it took six months to calm the rest of the country.

How to cook a porpoise

The University of Manchester has put a medieval cookbook on the internet. The "Forme of Cury" was written by Richard II's master chef and includes recipes for porpoise in broth (shown above)and blancmange. More details and video here, and the cookery book itself (along with many other precious manuscripts) can be found here. Please let the blog know if you try any of the recipes.

UPDATE: The "Supersizers" covered Medieval food on BBC2 on Monday. You can catch the episode here.