Fountain 54 St. Yeuix Lesperch 28 August

                                             

St. Yrieix was a 6th century monk who founded the monastery
around which grew the town of St. Yeuix Lesperch. 

      He was a blood relation to Clovis, (c. 466 – c. 511)
"the first king of what would eventually become France".

After much persuasion from his wife, and a bit of political posturing, Clovis converted from paganism to Catholicism, thus setting into motion the French allegiance to the church of Rome.

                                                

  This is what I had believed to

  St. Yeuix's medieval golden reliquary head,

protected behind glass in the church and waiting for its day out on the town.

But now, after some research, I'm discovering it isn't the real thing, it is only a replica. ****
"Does that matter?" I often ask myself when confronted
 with the compromising aspects of modern life.

But I never have a good answer.

A photo from a display in the church

  
  The Ostensions is a traditional ceremony
 particular to the Limousin for the veneration of reliquaries.
The reliquary heads of local saints are carried in a procession
through the streets before being returned to the church.
Inside the head will be a relic, generally a piece of bone,
but it could be a bit of textile, that belonged to the saint in their life time.
The Ostensions are over a thousand years old

and since the 16th century they have been held every seven years.

Charming young girls dressed up as angels in white gowns and wings accompany
the head of St. Yreix as it is paraded about the town on his feast day, 25th August.

The followers invoke his protection for the town against "le mal des ardents",  the burning sickness.

**** after more research, I have discovered that the reliquary in St Yeuix Lesperch
is a 20th Century copy, but it does contain the actual skull of the saint.

  And this, no doubt, is the genuine medieval head of the saint.
 

 

                                                  
Reliquary Bust of Saint Yrieix, second quarter of 13th century
France, Limousin, Church of Saint–Yrieix–la–Perche
Gilded silver, rock crystal, gems, glass, originally over walnut core with silver leaf and gesso on interior; Reliquary: 15 x 9 3/16 x 10 1/4 in. (38.1 x 23.4 x 26.1 cm); wooden core: 14 7/16 x 8 7/8 x 9 13/16 in. (36.6 x 22.5 x 24.9 cm)
Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917 (17.190.352a,b)

See complete record .

Saint Yrieix, whose skull was once contained in this reliquary, was the sixth-century founder of a monastery south of Limoges that still bears his name. A special veneration of reliquaries in the form of the heads of local saints developed in the Limousin region during the Middle Ages and continues to the present. On feast days, the image would have been carried in procession through the streets and then placed on the altar for the veneration of the faithful. Although carefully carved, the wooden core was not intended to be seen but to provide support for the precious silver sheathing.


http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=8eD1Noek1yYC&pg=PA177&lpg=PA177&dq=Reliquary+Bust+of+Saint+Yrieix,+second+quarter+of+13th+century+France,+Limousin,+Church+of+Saint%E2%80%93Yrieix%E2%80%93la%E2%80%93Perche&source=bl&ots=TfPJq96KTi&sig=4_IQbFZXr1x6fBPdClUu8vKxG64&hl=en&sa=X&ei=PtNvVM32NYTIPMKvgagH&ved=0CDAQ6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=Reliquary%20Bust%20of%20Saint%20Yrieix%2C%20second%20quarter%20of%2013th%20century%20France%2C%20Limousin%2C%20Church%20of%20Saint%E2%80%93Yrieix%E2%80%93la%E2%80%93Perche&f=false

This is the longest link I have ever seen, not that I actually "look" at links,
however, this might also be one of the most interesting links I have ever seen.
Well worth a visit for those who like this sort of thing.

        

   A little procession of metre high plaster apostles lined up against the wall of a dim side chapel.

The feast day procession had come and gone three days earlier.

The church and town were virtually empty.

The fountain's flow was nearly exhausted.

The previous night I had stayed at a very neat and tidy campsite and spent the evening sitting on the wall outside the office, watching the spinning wheel go round on my ipad.
The promise of wifi delivering my emails and connecting me

 to the "real" world felt both important and a waste of my time.
 Facebook alerts that somebody likes candy crush or posted up a new profile photo
 made me ask the "Does this matter?" question again. 

   

Fountain 53 Water tap, Souillac 27 August

 

St. James the Greater

son of Zebedee and Salome,

one of Jesus' 12 Apostles,

a fisherman, 

and the big brother of my favourite apostle, John the Beloved. 

James, recognisable by his walking staff, stout boots and the large scallop shell on his hat stands resolutely in the church at Souillac.

The scallop shell, the definitive symbol for the pilgrim, is now used to mark the routes to Compostela throughout Spain, France and Italy.

Originally it was worn as a sign of intention. It enabled the pilgrim to gain access to free bed and meals,but also acted as a talisman to ward of robbers

Now little metal scallop shell pins or pendants are sold at pilgrim route souvenir kiosks.

Even I have one to remind me of my visit to a personally important church.

There are several explanations for the appearance of the scallop shell.

According to Wikipedia, two versions of the most common myth about the origin of the symbol concern the death of  James.  According to Spanish legends, he had spent time preaching the gospel in Spain, but returned to Judaea after seeing a vision of the Virgin Mary on the bank of the Ebro River.  A while later, in 44 CE, James became the first martyr of the Christian church when he was beheaded in Jerusalem.

Version 1: After James's death, his disciples shipped his body to the Iberian Peninsula to be buried in what is now Santiago. Off the coast of Spain, a heavy storm hit the ship, and the body was lost to the ocean. After some time, however, it washed ashore undamaged, covered in scallops.

Version 2: After James's death his body was mysteriously transported by a crewless ship back to the Iberian Peninsula to be buried in what is now Santiago. As the ship approached land, a wedding was taking place on shore. The young groom was on horseback, and on seeing the ship approaching, his horse got spooked, and horse and rider plunged into the sea. Through miraculous intervention, the horse and rider emerged from the water alive, covered in seashells.

According to another, now forgotten, Catholic website :

Legends have sprung up that James evangelized Spain before he died but these stories have no basis in historical fact.
James is the patron saint of hat makers, rheumatoid sufferers, and laborers.  

Interestingly, being the patron saint of hat makers, rheumatoid sufferers, etc doesn't need to have a basis in historical fact, it just is a fact.

 

"St.James slaying the infidel Moors"

Oh internet! You treasure trove and den of iniquity.

My spelling is atrocious, as is my vocabulary. I no longer trust my definition for words and because I am interested in etymology, I Google and Google, even the most obvious and banal, which can open new doors and take me to interesting places.

While checking that I wasn't making a faux pas, I fell upon this shockingly xenophobic website.

Having been raised to be a devout Catholic I feel entitled to have an openly critical opinion, however, will I have my phone tapped?

Will I get through security at the airport if I cut and paste it here as an example 

 of what serves to fuel this senseless fire that is raging the planet and spoiling it

 for the rest of us open minded, peace loving individuals?

http://www.opusdeialert.com/st-thomas-aquinas-against-mohammed.htm

The Apostle of Jesus Christ, St. James the Moor-Slayer (Santiago Matamoros)

The [True] Catholic Church to this day, celebrates the miraculous appearance of St. James the Apostle, to the Catholic Armies of Spain in the 11th Century. St. James lead the Spanish Catholic Militia to triumphantly defeat the *infidel Mohammedans (Moors). All Catholics should invoke this Holy Apostle of Jesus Christ, asking his powerful intercession to once again, throw back the idolatrous Muslim hordes that are wreaking havoc on the vestige of what is left of Western Civilization.

*The word infidel is from the Latin infidelis and literally means "no faith." Chief examples are the unbelieving Jews and Mohammedans.

You what? Am I reading this correctly?

Can anyone actually believe this?

Not that I disagree with asking for saintly intercession,
but I was taught that Jesus said to 'turn the other cheek' and
that 'he who is without sin may cast the first stone' etc.

Perhaps I, too, join the infidels if I don't buy into the globalised religion of fear?

**Where is Archangel Michael when we need an unbiased judge of human deeds?

                                     or at least, where is the feeble human voice of reason?

                                               

 The Last Judgement by Hans Memling, painted 1445-50.

It hangs in the Hotel-Dieu, in Beaune, Burgandy, a hospital founded in 1452

 during a time of great destitution and plague.

 It depicts the Archangel Michael weighing the souls of the dead to determine their fate.

** With reference to the post Fountain 49 and its mention that Archangel Michael
 is one of the few figures who hold an important position in the three key

 (and warring) religions - Judaism, Islam and Christianity.

 

After a dry and inhospitable visit to Rocamadour earlier in the day,

I was grateful to find even a water tap in Souillac, where I could refill my bottle.

                                 Carved from a single stone, this knotted Celtic design of dogs
                                and beasts and griffons, with the sacrifice of Abraham tangled in,
                                             acts as a trumeau at Sainte Marie de Souillac.
                          

         elsewhere in the church is a similar tangle of people in turmoil

 (as always, it seems)

Fountain 52 Muriac 26 August

"à droite, tourner à gauche, tout droit, tourner à gauche, continuer sur la droite"

I did all theses things, more than once, and somehow always ended up where I started : not far from the tabac and the huge  map of the town and surrounding area. If there was a sun I would be able to orientate myself. But grey and cold and wet are confusing states for me.
The little tent icon and the lake were firmly on the map, yet so elusive.

Val St. Jean, A Holiday Camp.
Generally not my cup of tea.
Generally priced out of my humble budget to reflect the amenities- pools with happily screaming children charging down spiraling super slides, gangly legged adolescents leaning heavily on their club for a round of goofy golf with the over keen parents, gyrating discos, off key karaoke, and themed soirees where sometimes, close to midnight, the noise levels rise and it sounds like everyone has abandoned their chairs and are dancing on the tables.

I am a quiet camper.
I don't even like unzipping my tent when all has gone sleepy and peaceful.
( although I do enjoy a little existential laugh to myself/ at myself while listening to the ziiiiiiiip zzzzzziiiiiiipppp, zip as we all shut ourselves into our permeable cocoons)

I wouldn't really define myself as parsimonious, but apart from preferring a simple field with only a flush toilet and a hot shower, I can't afford to camp for seven weeks in the luxury sites. I love the flee market thrill of a genuine bargain and simple municipal camping costing four euro has that bargain edge to it.

The reception at Val St. Jean reminded me of an American resort. There were lots of  sparkling windows, soft chairs and racks of tourist attraction leaflets.

I left little muddy puddles as I crossed from the door to the desk.

With a sigh, and the  barely perceptible nodding movement of the head that I now remember my father doing in awkward financial transactions, I gave the man 30 damp euro.
Without making eye contact, he returned most of  it and even pulled a few warm coins out of the drawer.

Steamy showers.
Toilets with loo paper.
Free wifi in a heated television room.
I dry my boots and gloves on the radiator.
I smile at the children who alternate their stares between a sci fi horror with ooze dibbling monsters and me.

Merci St. Jean, I've landed with my nose in the butter.

 Fountain  in  Muriac

 Childebert, daughter of Clovis I, allegedly had a vision of the Virgin Mary, 

accompanied by St. Peter, carrying the baby Jesus. 

This led her to found a chapel at the side of the Rieu Mauri,

 the small stream now known as the ruisseau Saint-Jean. 

The little chapel attracted pilgrims and grew over the centuries to become the basilica

Notre-Dame-des-Miracles. 

                                     a  little beetle-bellied Jesus with a super sized halo

possibly the patron who erected the cross,

barefooted, wearing a full pleated gown

 and a headdress which looked like a crown (or Cossacks hat)