Laws of Silence

John Tyler

2012-01-26T22:09:00.000-08:00

The 10th president of the United States, John Tyler, was born in 1790.

His grandchildren are still alive.

The Virgin and the Cross

2012-01-25T07:32:00.000-08:00

I've mentioned a few times recently (in comments anyway) that in the southwest of France we find crosses which have Mary at the center as opposed to a crucified Jesus.

For the Gid, who was pretty flabbergasted by this, I present a couple of photos of the phenomenon.

The first used to be a grave marker; a neighbor rescued it from the scrap heap and it's now in my possession. Note the vegetal motif. This one's been re-painted with rust-proofing paint.

The following image comes from Le Burgaud, a neighboring town I've mentioned previously; in this town there is a small chapel dedicated to Notre Dame de Aubets along with a sacred spring. This second example is particularly striking. The vegetal motif on the cross is less abstract and the cross itself like two logs lashed together.

A lot could be said on this topic but I've written so many things about Marial shrines lately I'm totally fuggered on it. Suffice it to say that's it's pretty clear evidence of the thriving cult of Mary in France and may have something to do with pre-Christian goddesses of the crossroads such as Hecate and the Mater Larum, both of which, like Mary in the Cross (usually found as a grave marker--exhibit A--or crossroad marker--exhibit B), have associations with the afterlife. (previously).

Make of that what you will.

Truthiness

2012-01-19T13:15:00.000-08:00

In Logo Veritas

In my new job I noticed a certificate which attests that my employer is ISO compliant. I was struck by this little cartouche, filled with stylized forms like so many hieroglyphs: a torch, a mirror, scales, a ship, the caduceus, a cock, a nekkid woman....

Long-time readers will recognize that almost every symbol in this logo has been covered by LoS at some time or another. Here's the Bureau Veritas description:

Bureau Veritas was established in 1828 “to seek out the truth and tell it without fear or favor.” The allegorical figure of Truth, represented by a woman emerging from a well, was chosen as the logo.

The Bureau Veritas emblem shows a young woman seated on the edge of a well with her arms raised. In her right hand is a torch, in her left a mirror. Her left foot rests on a globe.

On the ground are a pair of scales, Mercury’s wand (a caduceus), and a rooster with its eyes raised towards the woman. The horizon shows a three-masted vessel, sails billowing, passing across a bay.

They've got a nifty lil' flash animation to illustrate.

Amateur symbologists and Illuminist killers are likely to blow a nut over this one. Lucifer clearly has had his filthy paws all over it. I likes it, me. We've already discussed the mirror as symbol of truth in Debia's allegorical painting L'Arbre de la Liberté. A woman with a hand mirror, Venus, is evoked in the title of another post, yet for some reason we never actually discuss the mirror! Incidentally, that post continues to be one of the top three (ususally second but currently fourth) posts on LoS by number of views. The title stems from the belief that the Venus symbol, the symbol of Woman (♀) represents a hand mirror. Whether when associated with Venus the miror represents an appreciation of beauty and/or healthy self-love, vanity and narcissism, or truth, is question whose answer eludes me. But the mirror doesn't lie and the answers we find there may be unsettling. Unless you're an ageless goddess, eternal and erotic. Or ISO compliant. Could the woman with the hand mirror represent Venus, whose eponymous plant was called in it's dawn aspect Lucifer, the light-bringer. Light of course representing....Truth? And you thought that Luciferian Illuminati talk was just me being glib (I was).

Formed in June 1828 in Antwerp by underwriters Alexandre Delehaye and Louis van den Broek, and insurance broker, Auguste Morel, the Bureau Veritas name was adopted in 1829. This included the adoption of the figure of Truth logo designed by Achille Deveria.

Déveria's portfolio, by the way, contained a heavy swath of erotic engravings and watercolers. An acolyte of venus, perhaps.

I'd like to see the unmodified original logo if anyone digs up a copy. As it says above, it pictured a naked woman climbing out of a well. They don't make logos like they used to!

Compare it, if you will, to the "macaron" of the BIPM.:scantily clad woman, Mercury's caudceus, globe. Cool stuff....

"Too late, baby. Slay a few animals. At the crossroads."

2012-01-18T14:52:00.000-08:00

This "croix de chemin" both marks an intersection and memorializes a chapel to

St. Blandine, destroyed during the Revolution.

This post began when I mentioned to Gid that here in the south west of France one often finds roadside crosses (croix de chemin) with the Virgin Mary at the center as opposed to a crucified Jesus. The Gid was a bit surprised by this and requested a photo, so I've tried to oblige him. These crosses do in fact sometimes represent the crucified Jesus. They can also be unadorned, simple crosses or crosses made to look like unworked logs covered in vines and flowers. Some are adorned with symbols of the Crucifixion: a cock, spear, ladder, various tools and implements.....

In the Toulouse region, these small monuments are suchlike: they are generally about chest-high square pillars, maybe 3 feet (1m) to a side, made of brick. A cross is mounted on top, made of wrought iron. Viola. Simple. They are ubiquitous. In the relatively small town of Aucamville, I can count more or less a dozen off the top of my head, but perhaps there are more....

I've pondered these monuments for years and have several theories about their origin; I lay them out in three categories.

Category one is practical. Imagine when roads were simple dirt tracks, at best. When it snows, the roads would quickly become covered, side roads easy to miss. The cross would then pop up, like those poles you see by the side of the road in the mountains, in order to mark the edge of the road. I should mention that these crosses invariably mark the junction of either a t-intersection or crossroads.

The southwest, however, is not the snowiest of regions, so perhaps this explanation is not the origin--merely added value. They may have been markers in the wider sense: "OK, Johann, head towards Grenade and when you come to the second cross, go left." Or maybe, "The farm you're looking for is three crosses down the road." Where the streets have no name, the cross guides.

My second category is linked to superstition. My first instinct was to think of the Blues legends of the crossroads. You know, go to the local crossroads at midnight and make your deal with the devil, play guitar like Ralph Macchio, etc. A cross would offset this unholy place, no? In fact, I have read that crossroads were traditionally regarded with apprehension as places where the roads converge were especially prone to unforessen encounters. Strangers presented a larger danger in those days, I think. Cathar heretic? Sorcerer? Plague victim? Without an explicit diabolical association, they could still represent vague forms of danger from the four corners of the earth.

I tend to think that a crossroads, being a cross, might have provoked unease because people were essentially trampling a cross underfoot. Maybe by dedicating a cross at these spots, the populace felt they'd mollified Jesus into not sending Michael down with a flaming blade in order to make quick with the smiting. It seems quite possible, much like the theory that the red cross became a symbol of health after the practice of painting them on walls to prevent peasants from pissing there....

The third category is something I'd wondered about and in discussing these things with my neighbor, my feeling was supported: Christianization. Recall that the Romans had tutelary and guardian deities (lares) for just about everything: cities, neighborhoods, down to the individual households. There were even lares of intersections:

Lares Compitalicii (also Lares Compitales): the Lares of local communities or neighbourhoods (vici), celebrated at the Compitalia festival. Their shrines were usually positioned at main central crossroads (compites) of their vici, and provided a focus for the religious and social life of their community, particularly for the plebeian and servile masses.

This festival was annual and its name itself derives from "crossroads":

In ancient Roman religion, the Compitalia (Latin: Ludi Compitalicii) was a festival celebrated once a year in honor of the Lares Compitales, household deities of the crossroads, to whom sacrifices were offered at the places where two or more ways meet. The word comes from the Latin compitum, a cross-way.

There is even precedent for honoring a feminine deity at the crossroads. Apparently, a "mother of the lares" was honored at them, her devotees hanging woolen effigies which were believed to have replaced the actual sacrifice of children. Hmm, a mother deity....the sacrifice of children....the cross with Mary at the center may have some kind of foreshadowing here. The roadside crosses too, are often decorated with flowers upon Mary's feast days.

From the Late Republican and early Imperial eras, the priestly records of the Arval Brethren and the speculative commentaries of a very small number of literate Romans attest to a Mother of the Lares (Mater Larum)....She is named as Mania by Varro (116–27 BC), who believes her an originally Sabine deity. The same name is used by later Roman authors with the general sense of a bogey or "evil spirit". Much later, Macrobius (fl. AD 395–430) describes the woolen figurines hung at crossroad shrines during Compitalia as maniae, supposed as an ingenious substitution for child sacrifices to the Mater Larum, instituted by Rome's last monarch and suppressed by its first consul, L. Junius Brutus.

In this context the follwing may even indicate aspects of the Black Madonna:

Modern scholarship takes the Arval rites to the Mother of the Lares as typically chthonic, and the goddess herself as a dark or terrible aspect of the earth-mother, Tellus...Mercury leads her to the underworld abode of the dead (ad Manes); in this place of silence she is Tacita (the silent one). En route, he impregnates her. She gives birth to twin boys as silent or speechless as she. In this context, the Lares can be understood as "manes of silence" (taciti manes).

Manes of silence?

Hecate, another figure associated with the underworld, was thus honored, and her shrines served as signposts to find one's way, one would assume in a literal and spiritual sense. This most certainly included the afterlife as well, as Hecate was the goddess of this realm. These three forms: literal direction, spiritual direction and navigating the underworld, neatly echo our three categories of purpose outlined above.

In a similar fashion, food was often left at the crossroads to honor Hecate, especially at junctions where three roads converged --what we often call a "Y-intersection".

Frequently a pole was erected at the intersection and three masks would be hung from it to pay homage to Hecate and to request her guidance in helping to choose the right direction.

Interesting in this context is that the iron crosses used for the croix de chemin markers often serve to adorn grave markers as well. Could we here be seeing an echo of Greco-Roman devotion, in which literal space was marked by a kind of roadsign which also had connotations of the journey of the soul in the afterlife? As we will see, the roadside cross was often used along the route to the cemetery, so that the funeral procession could stop and make appropriate prayers.

Could this ancient association of the crossroads with a goddess of the underworld have influenced the the legend that the Devil, Lord of the Underworld, will appear at a crossrounds 'round Midnight?

Crossroads also played a part from time to time in the Imperial cult, indicating that the honorees were not only feminine principles:

In 86 BC, offerings of incense and wine were made at crossroad shrines to statues of the still-living Marius Gratidianus, the nephew of the elder Marius, who was wildly popular in his own right, in large part for monetary reforms that eased an economic crisis in Rome during his praetorship.

After returning to the subject of the roadside cross and formulating the above speculations, I decided to re-read some articles I hadn't read in a while on the topic. The first, from French Wikipedia, is "Croix de chemins". This article distinguishes three types of cross: memorial crosses, boundary crosses and crossroad crosses. I've spoken a bit about the idea of the memorial and boundary marker in past posts, but in this article I focus mainly on the third type. This category is the only which has an article of it's own: "Croix de carrefour". Under the "functions" heading it mentions the religious use, of course, but indicates they were also used as guide stones, specifically for when roads were covered by snow. Whereas I'm quite sure I thought of the first point independently, I think this is where I first heard of the idea that they were used in snowy conditions, but, as I've mentioned, the Toulouse area isn't the snowiest of regions.

The crossroad cross is described as having its origin in the Christianization of megaliths and other pagan monuments, as well as in the practical purpose of defining the limits of parishes, the location of hamlets, as a guide for religious processions. Why the crossroads? As stated before; one can get lost more easily there than on the straight and narrow and besides, they've always stood for uncertainty from any direction, a place where the likelihood of a malific encounter is heightened:

Le carrefour, dans de nombreuses symboliques, évoque un choix pour lequel il est facile de se tromper de direction, donc de tomber sous la domination des puissances maléfiques.

I have focused primarily on crossroad crosses, but this here site deftly summarizes the roles and types of crosses: the roadside cross; the processional cross marking the route of, hey hey! religious processions; the boundary cross; the cemetery and village cross (unlike the crossroad crosses which often feature Mary, these ususally feature a crucified Jesus); crosses at bridges, summits and springs; finally, memorial crosses.

Unless you read French, this site won't do you much good and the pics aren't stunning but they do their job and show you what the crosses look like. Note these come from Cantal, north of where I live in the Lomagne area northwest of Toulouse; the cantal Crosses have much more variety and are hewn from stone. As I've said, these parts, like most of the buildings in Toulouse and environs, the socles are made from brick and the crosses themselves wrought iron.

I've posted a few example from Aucamville, including one in my possession that was once a gravemarker. No, I didn't desecrate a grave....it had been thrown on a pile of rubble after having presumably come loose from the tomb. Some of these village cemeteries are in a shocking state of disrepair and it's not common to find a pile broken headstones and iron thrown into an unused corner of the cemetery, invariably behind a high-brick wall on the edge of town....questions of sanitation and what not.

OK, so this is a hubub of ideas. I'm not so sure I've done the subject justice, confusedly evoking both underworld figures such as Hecate and Tellus: "chthonic....a dark or terrible aspect of the earth-mother" and the Virgin Mary. In the French Southwest at least, Mary, like her pagan counterparts, is a tutelary figure of the crossroads and a spiritual guide. Yet Mary herself, though usually associated with Isis, the Great Mother and Cybele, has in the Black Virgin the cthonic aspect of these other goddesses; BV's were often found in caves or buried in the earth. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that Apuleis, in perennial LoS favorite The Golden Ass, identifies Hecate with Isis. Googling "Hecate and the Virgin Mary" I'm not surprised many people make the link. And why not? Being thrice-headed, she represents a trinty. Her powers linked to regeneration and rebirth are not incompatible with Mary's, nor her dominion over childbirth. The Virgin is indeed believed to have a special role in childbirth; for both Mary and Hecate, this roles was represented by a serpent.

Though Hecate evolved into a vampiric and terrible figure, she began more benignly, something of a protectress. By the Middle Ages, she was a Witch Queen. Could this be a result of the growing popularity of Mary in the Middle Ages, perhaps a subsequent need, even if unconscious, to distance her from her prototypes? Is it a coincidence that midwives and healers, working in Hecate's domain, began to be accused of being witches? The first witch, Lilith, Adam's first wife, was transformed into a demon when Yahweh booted her from Eden for daring to proclaim herself equal to Adam. But it was Eve who eventually brought Adam down and brought the curse of pain and suffering upon the proces of giving birth. But Mary, free from their Original Sin, was able to counter the pain and danger of birth, if the right prayers were offered and objects such as her belt rented for such occasions (ND de la Daurade).

It is said that four rivers flowed from Eden to the four corners of the world, forming a great cross. Each crossroads is a microosm of this vast cross covering the world. The center of each crosroads is the center of the world, if not the universe. The axis mundi is "a point of connection between sky and earth where the four compass directions meet. At this point travel and correspondence is made between higher and lower realms". Hecate and Mary, are unsurprisingly both considered as mediators between heaven and earth, Hecate especially seen as a gatekeepr and patron of the liminal; what could be more liminal than birth, or death? Each one impossible without the other.

Trouble was knowing which paths lead to heaven and which ones to hell. Linger too long, and who know who'll turn up. Choices, choices. At least in the Southwest, you've got the Virgin Mary looking over you, sometimes from a cross cast to look like wood, decorated with vines and flowers. An instrument of death, with wood taken, according to legend, from the Tree of Life, if not the Tree itself. Carpentry seems to have played a large role in the symbolism of rebirth; the tree returns to life each Spring, the carpenter transforms dead wood into usefel, even if sometimes cruel creations. Jesus, the carpenter, killed on a wooden cross. Noah saved humanity in a big wooden Ark. The other tree in Eden, that of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, has a name that says it all. Good and evil, more paths, more choices.

None of this is a direct analogy, role by role, blow by blow, but it is a kind of associational cloud in which we can see faces peering back us, at times distinct, at others, blending into one. At times distinct and unique all at once, leaving us with a vantage point filtered as if through old glass, forms defined by what isn't rather than what is; questions as opposed to the artifical transparency of answers.

I once saw a sign that said "if you can't dazzle 'em with diamonds, baffle 'em with busllshit." I may make it my new motto. That or "Wherever you go, there you are."

Beaten to the Punch

2012-01-15T16:36:00.000-08:00

I wish I'd done this first.

“Black Madonna” is a documentary series spanning centuries, continent, cultures and religions. This ‘road movie,’ is a Quest through a landscape of ‘heresy’ to explore the enigmatic icon of the black virgin and her role as a crossroads figure. Representing a spiritual matrix predating Christianity, she threatened the very formation of the early Church, and though suppressed, has shaped Western culture and consciousness.

http://black-madonna.org/

I wish I'd gotten to it first because the documentary seems to be sensationalist and instead of focusing on the already interesting and well-grounded theories about Black Madonnas, will be a leap into humbug, to whit:

* What does an obscure 9th Century, black, rough hewn sculpture of a woman in the south of France have to do with Mary Magdalen, “The Da Vinci Code,” the mysteries of eros or the Divine Feminine?

* Was Mary Magdalene a high priestess of ancient spiritual lineage?

* Did Jesus perform sacred sexual rites with his Shekinah Mary Magdalene?

* What does the black madonna have to do with Cinderella, the Knights Templars, the Tarot or the Rromani people?

* Is the current crisis in Western religious institutions rooted in the suppression of ‘heretical’ ideas?

Interesting questions and I'm all for looking into some of them, sure, but that Da Vinci Code reference sets off alarm bells. I'm willing to give this film its chance, but unless they're just being canny with the publicity and will actually take a more sober look at what is known and speculated about the origins and "meaning" of Black Madonnas, I smell hokum and exploitation.

........

Notre Dame de Rocamadour

2012-01-12T15:09:00.000-08:00

Notre Dame de Rocamadour

Rocamadour--the place, the legends and its Black Madonna--are so evocative and rich that I've resisted writing about them until now. Too daunting, too much to cover, too many connections to things we've already written about on LoS....

Well, I can't be a wuss. I've got to jump right in and sort it all out. As I said, we will look at a lot of themes covered in LoS posts, not simply about Black Madonnas, but about high holy places, living rock and sacred waters....all of which have reappeared regularly on LoS since the subject was first opened in relating the legend of St. Fris, many years ago. I'm pretty much convinced these elements, related to nature, survive from pre-Christian beliefs, both Celtic and Greco-Roman....the worship of stones, holy springs, the changing of the seasons....even if this conviction is born of feeling rather than irrefutable logic and fact (though there is that too). Many Christians are loath to accept pagan survival because they feel it undermines Christian exceptionalism. I, on the other hand, think pagan survival is a kind of validation, almost an honor. But then again, I am not a Christian....

It has been proposed that some Black Virgins are copies of pre-existing pagan deities. In the case of Notre Dame de la Daurade, for example, this deity may have been Pallas Athena. Notre Dame de Tudet and La Virgen de Monserrat both may have derived from Isis. Although it is believed Rocamadour once housed a shrine to Cybele, certain iconographic elements lead me to believe there is a strong link to Isis as well. In previous posts I have mentioned that Isis lent many attributes to the Virgin Mary....and vice versa. The Romanized cults revolving around Isis, such as the mystery religion described by Apuleis (The Golden Ass) and in other more popular exoteric forms of worship, were very widespread in Gaul. That aspects of these cults survived into Christian practice is far from an original proposition.

So, let's see what Rocamadour is all about.

A vertiginous view....

Aside from producing one of the best cheeses on the planet, the region around Rocamadour is hilly and full of gorges and crags. The better part of Rocamadour is built into the base of a cliff and the complex of churches and religious buildings which ornament this still-popular pilgrim's destination rises dizzily up the side; the buildings at cliff's edge seem to lean ominously overhead. I found it best to keep me eyes ahead of me or else suffer from a sense of being on the edge of a great precipice, vertigo making my head spin slightly and my knees go a bit wobbly.

This characteristic, i.e. the placement of chapels dedicated to Black Virgins being found on hills overlooking a village, doesn't seem to be something other writers have dwelled upon; in the examples I have seen, it's quite common: Notre-Dame du Pouech, the chapels at St. Béat and Aspet, Notre Dame de Sabart, Notre Dame de Boisville, Notre Dame d'Alet....

According to the founding legend, Rocamadour is named after the founder of the ancient sanctuary, Saint Amator, identified with the Biblical Zacheus, the tax collector of Jericho mentioned in Luke 19:1-10, and the husband of St. Veronica, who wiped Jesus' face on the way to Calvary. Driven out of Palestine by persecution, St. Amadour and Veronica embarked in a frail skiff and, guided by an angel, landed on the coast of Aquitaine, where they met Bishop St. Martial, another disciple of Christ who was preaching the Gospel in the south-west of Gaul.

--Wikipedia

The actual origin of the sanctuary is lost to time; no one knows exactly who founded it and when. Inonsistencies in the founding legend make it unreliable history--the appearance of Saint Martial (3rd century), for example, is completely anachronistic. Some have suggested that Saint Amadour was actually Saint Amator, a 4th-century bishop in Auxerre, making the appearance of St. Martial impossible. In any event, he legend is full of other anachronisms and inconsistencies.

What strikes me about this is that Martial was one of the seven "apostles to Gaul" sent by Pope Fabian to Christianize Gaul; these magnificent seven are a group I recently referred to as including St. Denis and Saint Saturnin. Regarding this latter Saint I once investigated the two Christian girls who buried his remains, les Saintes Puelles--drawing parallels between them and the Three Marys. The Three Marys came to France much as Saints Amadour and Veronica:

According to various legends, during a persecution of early Christians, commonly placed in the year 42, Lazarus, his sisters Mary Magdalene and Martha, Mary Salome (the mother of the Apostles John and James), Mary Jacobe and Saint Maximin were sent out to sea in a boat. They arrived safely on the southern shore of Gaul at the place later called Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer.

These Marys were accompanied by one Saint Sarah, a servant of Mary Jacobe, who some fanciful commentators have suggested is the real inspiration behind....the Black Madonnas. What the inital quote mentions is that saint Amadour, in addition to being identified as St. Amator (without historical basis) or Zacheus, is also sometimes identified in legends as a servant of another Mary...the Virgin!

So we have at least two ahistorical Saints identified as servants of a Mary, exiled from Palestine and making their way to Gaul on a perilous journey by boat. As I said, Sarah has been identified by some a the origin of the Black Madonnas. I reject this notion, but it is interesting to note that a reproduction of Notre Dame de Rocamadour is in fact placed near the main shrine in a boat. This of course neatly echoes the story of Sarah. It also echoes the mystery religion practices devoted to Isis as described by Apuleis.

Saint Amadour's tomb and spring.

Apparently, pre-Christian worship at Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer focused on a sacred spring. At Rocamadour, a sacred spring comes from the rock cliff, from the tomb of St. Amadour. We have also seen this sort of sacred spring from the rock/sarcophagus in the legend of St. Fris and as the Asturian Marial shrine of Covadonga.

Durandal, the sword of Roland.

Above this spring/tomb, a sword is wedged into the cliff, said to have belonged to Roland, Frankish paladin, killed by Saracens (at least according to the legends). Compare this with the story of Covadonga: there we have a Wisigothic prince, Pelagius, victorious against Saracens; the Virgin is honored in a sacred cave; a sacred spring pours out of the rock. Both of these Virgins' chapels are hewn directly into the face of a cliff. St. Fris' legend doesn't feature a cave, but the rock (in this case a stone sarcophagus which serves as a virtual cave) spewing water is central to his story; he died from wounds sustained in a victorious battle against Saracens. This battle took place on a hill, a small bluff of sorts, outside of what is now Bassoues in the Gers. Unsurprisingly, all of these places are along routes to Santiago de Compostela; some legends about Santiago, a.k.a. the "Moor Slayer" also contain the elements of sacred rocks and waters.

Other BV's we've looked at have connections to the Reconquista, such as Notre Dame du Sabart and La Virgen de Montserrat. ND de Sabart figures in the story of Charlemagne (Roland's uncle), who was saved from a Saracen trap by her sudden appearance. St. Fris was the nephew of Charles Martel, Charlemagne's grandfather, making Roland and St. Fris cousins of some kind (I've never understood this "once-removed" business so if anyone can tell me what kind of cousins they'd be, there's a thank you in it).

As I mentioned earlier, a reproduction of Notre Dame de Rocamadour is found next to the original chapel; this reproduction sits in a boat. Not only does this evoke the legend of Saint Amadour and Veronica and the Three Marys, it also evokes other legends about the Virgin.

I chanced across a charming image of another Virgin Mary, in a boat (I'm on a boat, yo!), which referred to another article, found here. This article speaks of Notre Dame de Boulogne, identified by some as a Black Virgin. Her legend appeared in the Middle Ages but took place in the 7th century. There are two versions, but in both the statue appears on the shore near Boulogne-sur-Mer in an unmanned ship, without oars or sails.

Her cult became fervent, interrupted by the Revolution, at which point the statue was burned; her cult was subsequently taken up again with enthusiasm afterwards:

From 1943 to 1948, four reproductions of Our Lady of Boulogne (also known as Our Lady of the Great Return) were made, each mounted on a skiff. They toured nearly 750,000 miles across France, visiting 16,000 parishes and causing a surge of new faith, prayers and conversions in its path.

The statue of Our Lady, carried as it stood in a boat, accompanied pleas for the deliverance of France, which took on a new sense in the context of World War II.

I would thus argue that the image of Mary in a boat is more than just a local phenomena, but an archetype which has special meaning in France, hearkening back to other stories of figures from the Bible making their way to France under similar miraculous circumstances. Another reputed Black Madonna, Notre Dame de Boisville, to cite one example, has echoes of the Boulogne story. In Boisville, a statue of Mary was perched in a boat which had become stranded; She then guided the sailors to shore and indicated where She wanted to be worshipped. ND de Rocamadour is also credited with saving sinking ships; a miraculous bell sounded at these miracles which are commemorated by lovingly-detailed model ships hanging in her chapel. An odd sight in this land-locked town. In the chapel of Notre Dame d'Alet, who could rightly be considered a Black Madonna, ex-votos attest to similar miracles. Yet the chapel is, like Rocamadour, far from the sea. Incidentally, there is a statue of Saint Veronica at the entrance to this chapel.

Copy of Notre Dame de Rocamadour, a pagan reminiscence?

This leads us back to Isis. Isis was frequently pictured in a boat; in the Book of Coming Forth by Day she is pictured, arms outstretched, in a solar barque. Her special connection to the sea is described by Apuleis. In the Greco-Roman world, Isis was the patron of sailors and ships.

There is also another curious legend I've read about, which is summarized in an interesting article found here. Apparently it was a popular belief among French historians as early as the 14th century that Paris was founded by Isis. Images of her from this period show her arriving in a boat. Perhaps this dates back to the fact that several shrines to Isis existed in pre-Christian Paris, and co-existed for centuries. One idol was worshipped as the Virgin Mary in St.-Germain-des-Pres. A few years after its destruction a cult to the Virgin sprung up in a nearby church; this Virgin is today worshipped as Notre Dame de Bonne Délivrance, another Black Madonna. (I discussed this story in a post about La Vierge de Chaillot, who, like ND d'Alet, is not generally referred to as a Vierge Noire.)

To support their claims, historians had recourse to a number of fanciful etymologies, for example:

This place [St.-Germain-des-Pres] is called the Temple of Isis and, for the nearby city, this was called Parisis....meaning near the temple of Isis.

These legends led to some other curious results. Napoleon apparently became interested in Isis upon his return from Egypt in 1799, commissioning a scholar to verify the claims that Isis was in fact the tutelary goddess of Paris; the scholar concluded it was true and in January, 1811, Napoleon issued the order to include Isis and her star on Paris's coat of arms. A more general Egyptian revival was by then in full swing. In the coat of arms, (again I refer you to the aforementioned article), Isis is clearly seen on the prow of a ship, wearing a headress in the form of a tower. This tower headress reappears in various Paris monuments. Historically accurate or not, the prevailing opinion of 17th-century French historians is that the goddess in the tower headress was Isis.

It is curious that a saint often seen in such a crown is Mary Magdalene, whose name derives from Aramaic word for "tower". As we have seen, French legend has it that Magdalene left from Egypt to arrive in France by boat, with two other Marys: Jacobe and Salome. Finally there are legends that the Virgin Mary, or a statue of her, also came to France by boat. Likewise Amadour and Veronica. I think there's a lot of clues here to suggest a genral conflation of several Biblical women and Isis. A proposition bound to offend Christians. If it were only the boat, sure this would be a stretch. Add to it the titles of Isis, such as "Queen of Heaven" and "Star of the Sea". Add to that the ubiquitous images of Isis suckling Horus. Add too the iconography of a crown of stars or a starry cape and its hard not to conclude Mary is an evolution of Isis. Their shared roles as tutelary figures, protectors of children and patrons of the sea support this conclusion.

To sum up, Rocamadour involves several motifs common to French folklore. As a Black Madonna, the Rocamadour exemplar is the one which fits most neatly into the conflation of Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene, Saint Sarah and again, Isis. It also involves sacred waters and stones. Like several Black Madonnas in the Pyrenées, it is linked to the combat against invading Saracens.

As far as my own experience goes, Notre Dame de Rocamadour is the most ancient and mysterious of the scuptures I have seen. Her style unique, one might even say "primitive". It is the most pagan of the Black Madonnas, again, as far as I have seen.

Rocamadour is a dizzying ceremonial complex; the welter of associations surrounding its legend equally so. I hope this brief little conjecture is useful in provoking eventually, further reflection. After the burnout recedes....

Photo note: Thie first photo of the statue is the only photo I didn't take. My own pics were useless so I nagged this one. In this pic, the Virgin is not on her regular hangout, e.g. the altar in her chapel. So I'm not sure if this is a copy or the original. The photo comes from this page, which includes a 23-minute video of a POV journey to the sacred precinct by artist Matt White. Matt is not the original author of the photo.

I should also note a debt here to Ean Begg. ND de Rocamadour graces the cover of his Cult of the Black Virgin and he speaks quite a bit about the link between BV's and Isis; even though he didn't come up with idea, his book is a folklore goldmine and I've referred to him in the past. I didn't consult him much for this post, but I'm sure that some of what I've said here is influenced if not derived by his work.

♪ ♫ Get yerself a black Madonna....♪ ♫

2012-01-09T04:22:00.000-08:00

Wanting to tie up any loose ends regarding my experiences with Black Madonnas, I decided to write a brief post on two roadside shrines I photographed years ago featuring Virgins dark in hue.

The first is located in the small town of Loubens-Lauragais, where an American acquaintance of mine once lived. I made a web search to see if I could find any info on this shrine and there, on the village website, I saw a link to...."la vierge noire". I was both surprised and delighted.

The link leads to a PDF which tells us the legend of a child about to be attacked by a wolf and saved by an apparition of the Virgin. Indeed, the parish church is dedicated to Notre Dame de Loubens-Lauragais. This incident almost certainly gave the village it's name, as Loubens (Lobens de Lauragués in Occitan) is derived from the word for wolf. "Lop" in some dialects of Occitan, "Lobo" in Spanish" etc. In Latin is it "lupus." We can see from the two examples how he "b" and the "p" in Romance languages interchange.

The sculptor was Regis Vialaret, who also painted the interior of the church and apparently was a friend of the local priest. The work is ceramic, made sometime in the 1950's. The shrine is built into the wall of the local chateau, a modest affair belonging to a family of minor local nobles with a rich family history.

Calling it a "vierge noire" is a canny stroke, given contemporary interest in the phenomenon. I would stop to visit if I was passing that way if I knew there was a Black Virgin to be found, and so would many others. As it turns out, I was there anyway, took an interest in the sculpture, but never thought of it in the Black Virgin context until now....and my instinct has been vindicated. As far as I can tell, no miracles are attributed to this statue and it doesn't have a fervent cult.....but it is dark and I can only imagine that the artist was either referring to the phenomenon of the Black Virgins or had his own aesthetic reasons, the appellation Black Virgin added later.

I think the wolf as an animal of pagan goddesses could be evoked here, but I'm more inclined to think it's a straightforward reference is to the legend and the very real danger wolves presented to villagers in the Middle Ages, back when they were more numerous and apparently, much larger.

Coincidentally, I just saw the film Brotherhood of the Wolf, a fantastical take on real events in 18th-century France about the the Beast of Gévaudan. This was a real reign of terror; in the course of a year or two there were over 200 attacks and nearly a hundred deaths by a wolf, wolf-pack or wolf hybrid. The exact nature of the animal(s) is still not clear. Although this is an extreme case, the danger was widespread. This Virgin commemorates that collective memory.

The second roadside shrine in this post is also a more contemporary statue, but I have absolutely no details about it. I can't even remember where it is. Is does appear in a folder between photographs I took at Aspet and St. Béat....that is to say two chapels dedicated to Black Virgins. There are several others within a short distance of these as well, representing a kind of micro-cluster among the already well-represented Pyrenées. My next (and last post) on this phenomenon will discuss some examples I photographed in Andorra, which, as far as I can tell, have not been documented as Black Virgins.

What these two shrines tell me is that the Blackness of certain Virgins continues to exert a fascination and continues to be a salient feature worth referring to, even in humble devotions. Although the majority of the "BVs" are Romanesque works or post-Revolutionary re-creations of statues thrown onto the bonfires, it's more interesting to see this not as a static historical phenomenon but an ongoing devotion which is, to judge by the number of books and articles which continue to appear on the subject, a notable manifestation of contemporary spirituality.

P.S. Jan. 16, 2012.

Gid asked in a comment (see below) if the second Madonna was holding Jesus.

From the close-up taken from the picture on the left, it would appear Mary is holding her hands in prayer and not the infant Jesus.

Ik

2012-01-07T22:05:00.000-08:00

Anomie is a really weird Wikipedia article, but even weirder is an article it used to link to on the Ik People, which claims this bizarre practice:

Children by age three are at least sometimes permanently expelled from the household and form groups called age-bands consisting of those within the same age group. The 'Junior Group' consists of children from the ages of three to eight and the 'Senior Group' consists of those between eight and thirteen. No adults look after the children, who teach each other the basics of survival.

Wikipedia casts some doubts on this practice, but I'll be blunter: I don't believe this at all.

Has any culture ever done such a thing?

I'll give you this much: Any given Friday night at my house pretty much resembles this quote--it's basically lord of flies amongst the kids running about.

But we do feed them...

(Photo source)

For your consideration

2012-01-03T17:02:00.000-08:00

Matthieu is a friend of mine. Talented musician, great guy.

La Vierge de Chaillot

2011-12-27T08:39:00.000-08:00

In Two Black Virgins of Paris I wrote about Notre Dame de Bonne Délivrance and Notre Dame de la Paix. In Nos Vierges Noires (1949) Saillens speaks only of these two examples in his section on Paris. He also mentions a Chapel to Mary the Egyptian which contains a dark image of that saint. In addition to these three examples, Begg (1985) mentions no less than 13 other examples, including reproductions, museum pieces and places where a Black Virgin was once reported to exist but no longer does. Other citations merely have links of on sort of another to Black Virgins.

None of them mentions La Vierge de Chaillot, pictured above. This Madonna and Child, clearly dark, is found in a side chapel dedicated to the Holy Family in the Church of Saint Pierre de Chaillot. I stumbled across this church on my way to the Arc de Triomphe, in fact on my way to Neuilly to see Notre Dame de Bonne Délivrance. Unfortunately, I missed visiting hours; as you can see from the photos here, the church is impressive, an Art Deco behemoth in concrete.

The Virgin pictured, however, is from the church which previously occupied this location dating from the 17th century. The current edifice was built from private donations between 1933 and 1938 in a Romano-Byzantine model...with, as I said, a serious dose of Art Deco, especially in the sculptures by Henri Bouchard (1875-1960). It's rather dark inside, as only a few stained-glass windows illuminate the space.

source

Curious, I Googled the name of the church plus "vierge noire" and came across an article referring to La Vierge de Chaillot as a Black Virgin:

Si l’image a ainsi le pouvoir de modifier la pensée grâce à l’ordre de présentation ou à la sélection de certains thèmes, elle modifie également notre façon de considérer la Vierge par la manière dont on la figure. Ainsi, les représentations de vierges noires soulèvent bien des questions sur l’origine de ce type iconographique. À Paris, on en trouve actuellement à Sainte-Rita, Notre-Dame de Bercy (ill. 1), Sainte-Marie des Batignolles et Saint-Pierre de Chaillot. Sans pouvoir trancher au cas par cas à cause de l’insuffisance documentaire, on peut affirmer que cette situation tient soit aux matières utilisées (vieillissement entraînant une oxydation métallique, superposition de vernis, encrassement dû à la fumée des cierges,…) ; soit à l’idée qu’on se fait de Marie : certains s’accordent à penser que les artistes ont cherché un type ethnique, en s’appuyant sur le Cantique des Cantiques (« Nigra sum sed formosa »). Quelle que soit l’explication de la noirceur, cette couleur a modifié le rapport que les fidèles entretiennent avec la statue qu’ils fréquentent lors de leurs dévotions : l’art n’a nécessairement pas laissé leur pensée intacte par le fait même de son intervention.

In this article (Apport de l’archéologie à l’étude du culte marial parisien pour l’époque contemporaine) Marie-Laure Portal studies the cult of Mary in Paris and her iconography. She talks about the theories surrounding the origin of her darkness but does not seem to find this of primary importance. She is more concerned with how the color affects the relationship with her devotees:

"Whatever the explanation of the dark, this color has changed the relationship that believers have with the statue when they attend their devotions...."

Unfortunately, Portal doesn't speak of this and like her other identifications (Notre-Dame de Bercy, Sainte-Marie des Batignolles) this Virgin is not discussed by other writers on the topic. Online searches find no other references to La Vierge de Chaillot as a Black Virgin. I wonder how Portal came to the rather important conclusion quoted above. Interviews, other accounts? She doesn't say and her bibliography isn't clear as to the origin of this conclusion.

The fact this sculpture has a name does indicate she is some importance, but there wasn't evidence of an especially active cult. The church is adjacent, however to the church of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont, which was consecrated in 1626 but has its roots as a chapel built in1222, when Saint Stephen was the patron of Paris. There had been an abbey there since the 6th century, dedicated to Saint Genevieve. It now houses the tomb of Saint Genevieve, Paris' current patroness. In 1857, one Bishop Sibour, on his way to inaugurate the novena to Genevieve, was assassinated here; the assassin cried "Down with the goddesses!" Why exactly, I'm not sure, although the assassin was a priest motivated by Sibour's support of the papal doctrine of the immaculate conception, proclaimed three years prior after centuries of bitter controversy.

Apparently the celebrated occultist Eliphas Levi was a witness to this event. He had in fact, recently met the assassin-priest and claimed to have dreamed about the assassination two nights prior.

So, we can assume the priest believed the doctrine of immaculate conception elevated Mary to the stature of a goddess. Some observers have said the Black Virgins represent just that: a Christianization of pagan goddesses. In many ways, she is a goddess and in the south of France one is just as likely to find an image of the Virgin Mary in the center of crosses as much as an image of Jesus. Just one last observation. Saint Bernard, who is often cited as an influence on the color of the Black Virgin and who had an important role in the development of the worship of Mary, was opposed to the doctrine, which he felt dehumanized her and undermined her role as an earthly mother.

Where in the World?

2011-12-24T06:46:00.000-08:00

Where am I?

Two Black Madonnas of Paris

2011-12-23T07:06:00.000-08:00

While I'm in the process of re-publishing all my old Black Madonna essays on LoS, I figger I might as well get around to writing a little bit on some of the other Madonnas I've since seen but yet to write about.

Notre Dame de Bonne Délivrance, located in the wealthy Parisian suburb of Neuilly-sur-Seine, is one of the two Black Virgins I saw this time last year when I spent a week in Paris. She is an utterly charming example of the genre, perhaps the most graceful I have seen; she's definitely one of if not the blackest. Her chapel is a tidy design, with clean lines and a delicate palette. Let's face it, French churches tend to be dark, damp and gloomy affairs. This statue is fortunate to be found in such a well-maintained spot, and regularly open to visitors. I saw her on a cold yet sunny day, and the light filtering gently through the stained-glass windows created a calm and cheery aspect.

One of these windows pictures a nobleman in prayer before the Virgin and in this window. She is also very black. This contrasts with other Black Virgin chapels, such as Notre Dame de Tudet, where the Virgin is depicted on a banner as fair-skinned, or with Notre Dame de Sabart, who in a coronation hymn is referred to as "White and pure under her veils." Notre Dame de Bonne Délivrance is an example whose blackness is a critical identifying feature; she is unquestionably a "Black Madonna."

Readers who have followed my posts on "les Noires" may tire of this theme--that of the perception of and meaning attached to the Madonna's color--but I have yet to take a systematic approach to this topic and mention it for the benefit of readers who may be approaching each post as their first. For a more coherent explanation of what I'm on about, please see "From Majesty to Mystery: Change in the Meanings of Black Madonnas from the: Sixteenth to Nineteenth Centuries" (here). Scheer does a great job of examining at which point a black Virgin becomes a Black Virgin.

Allow me to quote Wikipedia at length to provide some history about this statue:

....Notre Dame de Bonne Délivrance....[is] also known as the Black Madonna of Paris. The statue dates from the 14th century, replacing an 11th-century version. It is 150 centimeters (59 in) tall, and made from painted limestone.

This statue was venerated by many notable French saints, including Vincent de Paul and Francis de Sales—it was in front of the statue that de Sales recited the Memorare, and made his religious conversion.....

When the church [St. Etienne des Grès] was destroyed during the Revolution, all its contents were sold; the statue was saved by a pious rich woman named Madame de Carignan. De Carignan was arrested during the Reign of Terror, and she would pray to Our Lady in prison with others who had been arrested for their Catholicism. When de Carignan was freed in 1806, she gave the statue to the Sisters of St. Thomas of Villeneuve, who had been imprisoned with her. The statue is still located in the chapel of the Congregation of the Sisters of St. Thomas of Villeneuve in Neuilly-sur-Seine.

Emile Saillens, in Nos Vierges Noirs (1945) has different dates. Without even a legend to account for her origin, he says, the history of the sculpture dates to April 20th, 1533, when a confraternity was formed to honor her. This confraternity had up to 12,000 members, among them members of the aristocracy, including Louis XIII. Saillens doubts that the current statue dates beyond the Revolution, as old commentators write that she was a work in ancient, black stone, rudely sculpted and naiively painted. They harped upon the coarseness of execution, even making a virtue of it.

Thus, the current statue at Neuilly, Saillens concludes cannot be the same; the current statue is both "modern" and gracefully executed. We have no idea, then, what the original looked like. Both Saillens and Wikipedia agree that the current statue replaced an older one; they disagree on the dates and are unclear as to when one replaced the other. Other sources, however, also say the current statue is from the 14th century, replacing an 11th century original.

Saillens states, according to other commentators, that the "Grès" of the original church were probably grave markers and that a Black Madonna was likewise surrounded by a cemetery in Marseilles and Arles. Given that he also speaks of Notre Dame de la Paix in Paris, it is odd he doesn't mention that She, too, presides over a cemetery! Saillens also suggests that in both Lyon and Paris the cult of Isis was replaced by that of the Black Madonna.

This Madonna was the object of a fervent cult and was invoked against a number of miseries and calamities, not the least of which was heresy. She was especially useful agains the Huguenots. I found this striking, as Notre Dame du Taur, a Virgin of Toulouse not generally recognized as a Black Virgin, was also known as Notre Dame de Delivrance after she saved the city from Huguenots in 1562!

As Wikipoop says, devotion to this Virgin dates back at least to the 11th century; St. Etienne des Grès was built on the site of an oratory built by St. Denis, patron of Paris and dedicated to St. Stephen. If we consider that St. Denis (Dionysus) was martyred circa 250 CE, we're looking at a Virgin with a connection to the earliest days of Christianity in Paris. Denis was one of the seven "apostles to the Gauls" sent from Italy by Pope Fabian to Christianize what is now France. For his pains, Denis lost his head:

After his head was chopped off, Denis is said to have picked it up and walked ten kilometres (six miles) to the summit of Mont Mars (now Montmartre), preaching a sermon the entire way, making him one of many cephalophores in hagiology.

Another of these seven apostles was Saint Sernin (Saturninus), who also died from a head injury, his brains bursting out of his cracked skull after being dragged through Toulouse by a raging bull. Sernin's companion Saint Papoul (Papulus), evangelist of the Lauragais, was also beheaded and, like Denis, is a cephalophore (a category of saints who were beheaded then carried their heads in their hands, or spoke). This seems to be a particularly French hagiographic element; one folklorist counted 134 examples of cephalophores in France alone. If memory serves me correctly, these head-carrying saints almost all date from rather early on; it's easier to claim it happened when the event is in the distant past....rest assured, the case for John Paul II's canonization doesn't include anything so fancy!

Notre Dame de la Paix is another Black Madonna in Paris, found in the chapel serving the Picpus Cemetery. Is is small, maybe a little over a foot high, and dates from the 15th century. It is said to have cured Louis XIV of a serious illness. Like the Virgin in Neuilly, she is also in a convent, in this case with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart.

Picpus Cemetery is notorious because of its proximity to the Place de la Nation, which we have already discussed and which, under the name Place du Trône Renversé, was the site of the scaffold and the guilloutine. Picpus Cemetery holds numerous victims of this infernal machine, but (presumably) none of them were cephalophores, urban legends notwithstanding. At least 1300 people were interred in mass graves in Picpus. The remains of General Lafayette (who died naturally and was buried with decorum) are here as are those of his mother-in-law and sister-in-law; unlike the General, these unfortunates were guillotined and thrown into the pit. Perhaps given it's shameful history, it's not the easiest place to find. The chapel and cemetery now sit across the narrow street from a large service station and the chapel itself is grey, drab and somewhat gloomy.

A question I have, though, is whether or not Notre Dame de la Paix is really a Black Virgin. The statue is dark and Begg and Saillens, as well as at least one or two other online writers, refer to her as such, but neither of these latter are traditional academics. Indeed, I often suspect that people see a Black Virgin where historically, the Virgin in question might not have been perceived as such at all. Nevertheless, one of these writers does have some background to offe:

This icon went through many hands before arriving in Paris. She was a gift to the royal family line of Joyeuse, given as a wedding present. It first place of residents [sic], was Chateau de Couiza very close to Rennes le Chateau of South of France. The statue was passed through the family line and made its home in Toulouse, before finally coming to Paris in 1576. It finally came into the hands of Charles de Lorraine, the Duc de Guise, who built a beautiful chapel to house this Black Virgin....The Lady of Peace was finally given as a gift to the Sisters of the Sacred Heart in 1806.

I can't vouch for this history, but why not? It makes no wild claims and seems plausible enough, and it's damn interesting that She stayed for a spell in the Southwest, especially Toulouse and near Rennes-le-Chateau. Saillens substantiates this history, but refers to the small statue an ebony reproduction of the "Vierge de Joyeuse" destroyed in 1793. This Virgin took Her name from the family to with which she was associated. The original, a gift, is thought to have been created in 1518 and based upon a Greek prototype of Eirene [Eirene means "peace"!] carrying Ploutos (see here) on her left arm, and olive branch in her right. Saillens supposes that the olive branch and the black color might have symbolized the union between two families (it was a wedding present, if you'll recall), both of which had lands and properties in areas where other Black Virgins had popular cults.

While I should probably focus on Saillens' identification, I'd like to say a word or two about those online references because they seem to represent a contemporary feminist position, an emotional identification with a Virgin whose blackness represents an accentuated femininity, earthliness and power, not to mention pre-Christian prototypes.

There is a reference to her on a site that speaks of "healing tours" and the "sacred feminine." I admit I am a little derisive towards this kind of thing, but only because it seems something historically suspect is being propagated. It's interesting, nonetheless, to speculate as to why these Black Virgins are so important to a certain "new-agey" feminist element. I think the yearning for some sign that there can be a place within traditional religion is a strong pull. Dissatisfied with the Church, one can still find within its iconography something powerful, of value, something to redeem it. Catholics, Evangelicals, Protestants, it's a man's world; it's only natural that strong, spiritual women would seek an alternative to a world in which women are denied (to varying degrees) the same access to the clergy that men have, and thus implicitly not quite equals.

That said, the tendency to overreact and make wild assumptions about Mary Magdalene or the Virgin Mary tends to detract from the credibility of this approach from a historical point of view. Which does nothing to diminish its validity as a spiritual phenomenon, in my opinion; it merely adds fuel to my speculative fires as to how many "Black Virgins" are products of contemporary as opposed to traditional perceptions.

Sadly, I lack access to the primary resources needed to trace these identifications, which is a pity, because my instinct tells me these could be two very instructive examples....

Tossa del Mar and La Virgen de Montserrat

2011-12-21T02:09:00.000-08:00

Previously published on my old website.

La Virgen de Montserrat, La Moreneta, "The Little Black", is one of the most celebrated Black Virgins among the approximately 500 reported to exist worldwide. Patroness of Catalonia, she takes her place among those Black Virgins which in addition to generating fervent devotion, serve as national symbols, such as Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico and the Queen of Poland at Czestochowa.

La Moreneta is not restricted to a purely nationalist role. Secondary images—copies—can be found outside Catalonia at Lourdes and Santiago de Compostela, two of the most important pilgrimage destinations in the Catholic world.[1] When I first entered Tossa del Mar’s (Catalonia) parish church and ran directly into a Black Virgin I was stunned. Her presence was much less surprising when I realized I was facing a reproduction of La Moreneta rather than a primary image proper to Tossa. Nevertheless she was unexpected, for I had never run across a mention of her presence there. Even the ubiquitous Begg Gazeteer[2] lists copies of La Moreneta and other famous Virgins, but nothing about Tossa.

The parish church at Tossa is dedicated to Saint Vincent, a Hispano-Roman Christian martyred during the reign of Diocletian in 304 CE. The church has chapels dedicated to the Immaculate Conception, the Ascension of Mary and both the Virgen of Carmen and the Virgen of Lourdes. La Moreneta is found at the entrance, to the right. Opposite her and at the same height there is a statue of the Virgin of Fatima. That makes six separate shrines to the Virgin in this modestly-sized church, including some of the most revered apparitions in the Catholic world: Lourdes, Fatima and Montserrat.

A seventh image is found on an 18th century tapestry representing the legend of the invocation of the Mare de Déu del Socors (socors = aid, assistance, rescue). As the legend goes, a small boy called Xixanet was playing marbles one day and broke a jar of cooking oil his mother had given him to fill. “The Devil take you!” she cried in anger. And take him he did. A demon arrived to carry the clumsy lad away to the Pit. Horrified and repentant, the mother quickly called upon the Virgin, who arrived with her sceptre (known as “sa mitja cana”[3]) and drove the demon off and sent him back to whence he came. This act is remembered in a popular dance performed when this miracle is celebrated on July 2nd. July 2nd, in addition to being a feast day for several other saints, is also the original day of the Feast of the Visitation, the day the Virgin Mary went to visit Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist. This Virgin is honoured in Tossa in a small chapel near the parish church. It was erected in the 16th century by mariner Antonio Caixa after a promise made for favors received. She remains the Patroness of Tossa’s sailors and fishermen.

Begg’s entry on La Moreneta is extensive and worth quoting in its’ entirety:

The documentary evidence for the devotion to Our Lady of Montserrat dates from 932 when the count of Barcelona confirmed and renewed an endowment made to the shrine by his father in 888, soon after the BV was found among the rocks. The gift was confirmed again by in 982 by Lothair, King of France. According to the legend, the rocks of Montserrat, formerly smooth, became serrated at the Crucifixion, after which the statue, carved by St. Luke, was brought from Jerusalem to Barcelona by St. Peter. It was hidden on the Sierra de Montserrat to save it from the Moors, and was found by shepherds guided by a choir of angels, possible in the 8 C. (Moss and Cappannari state it is known to have been black since at least 718). When the Bishop of Manresa tried to move it to his cathedral it refused to budge.

The present statue is a 12 C.(?) majesty; 38 ins; seated with the child held centrally. Montserrat is the home of Catalan nationalism and scholarship, where the language has always been preserved thanks to the great monastery library of the Benedictines and the famous boys’ choir, the Escalona. The sardana is danced regularly in front of the Church. [As with the non-black Virgin of Tossa] The BV is concerned with fertility and marriage, “No es ben casat qui no dun la done a Montserrat” (He is not well wed who has not taken his wife to Montserrat). St. Ignatius of Loyola received his vocation there and hung up his sword. Wagner was inspired to write Parzival there (Montserrat as Grail Castle). Goethe and Schiller both attributed great importance to Montserrat, and the house where Beethoven died was an ancient fief of the abbey.

Former Temple of Venus

Right off the bat, one notices themes typical to other Black Virgins. Found by shepherds (or herdsmen), the statue was immovable thenceforth from the place where it was discovered. The special relationship with fertility and marriage is common (see Notre Dame de la Daurade). It’s also quite common to find important Marial shrines on the site of old pagan temples. The Grail connection is a bit more fanciful; it is surprisingly common folklore among les Noires, at least in Begg's work; but one must be careful to sift through the manure to make sure any Grail connections are not the more recent additions of goofballs. That said, the idea that the Grail is not a thing but an idea, some kind of secret knowledge, is intriguing when we consider that La Moreneta was supposedly hidden at this site to protect her from the Moors. There are a number of Black Virgins, such as those at Tarascon-sur-Ariege and at Thuir, associated with victories over the Moors. In the legend of St. Fris, who in many ways is a surrogate for the Virgin, a victory over the Moors results in the death of our hero, whose body was then hidden within a rock, only to spring forth with new life centuries later. In many details St. Fris’ legend there are echoes of Santiago de Compostela, patron saint of Spain known as Santiago Matamoros: “the Moor-Slayer.”

In another article Michael P. Duricy clarifies some details. At first the image was called La Jerosilimitana due to the belief that it had been carved in the early days of the church. In what Duricy calls a “well-attested” account the image came to Montserrat in 718 to save her from the Moors. She then disappeared until about 890, when shepherds reported to their priest that they had heard singing and seen lights in the mountains, a fact confirmed by both the priest and Bishop. La Moreneta was discovered in a cave and placed in a small church erected to house her.

Several sources consulted (Duricy, Morris) seem to favour the notion that La Moreneta is black due to prolonged exposure to candles and incense smoke. If Moss and Camppannari’s assertion that she was known to have been black since at least 718 is correct, a date which comes more than 150 years before her cult became well-established, this seems unlikely. The original statue, wherever it may be now, has long since disappeared. It would have easily predated the intense interest in Mary that developed in the 11th and 12th centuries. Perhaps, says, Duricy, what the shepherds found was a statue of Isis and Horus, often pictured as black and whose iconography was adopted by Christians for their representations of Virgin and Child.

The current effigy, however, dates from much later. Its blackness may result from the influence of the commentaries upon the Virgin by St. Bernard, or may come from some Grail-related esoteric symbolism. Perhaps it faithfully reproduces the color of the lost original. I reject the notion that it was the result of candles and smoke. My tentative proposal, a notion coming from recent encounters with other legends, is that there is some connection with the long struggle against the Moors; how exactly I’m not quite sure. I am reminded though, of the Al-Hajar-ul-Aswad, the “Black Stone” around which the Kaaba is built. This is the holiest shrine of Mecca, the focal point of Islam. The Black Stone is said to be black from having absorbed the sins of the faithful, who make the Hajj in hopes of kissing the stone and thus expiating their guilt. Its silver frame is a vaginal form, echoing the shape of the Moon around whose cycles the Muslim calendar is based.

But this speculation remains at this time something of a flight of fancy……what I would like to know is when she first became called “Moreneta” which as we stated at the beginning means “little dark one.” Perhaps we should amend that to mean the “little Moor.”

Works Consulted
:
Begg, Ean. The Cult of the Black Virgin.

Capella de la Mare de Déu del Socors. (tourist pamphlet in Catalan and Spanish)

“Cana” http://ca.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cana

Duricy, Michael P. Our Lady of Montserrat. http://www.udayton.edu/mary/meditations/olmont.html

Iglesia Parroquial San Vincente. (tourist pamphlet, Spanish)

See Also:

Morris, Paul N. Patronage and Piety: Montserrat and the royal House of Medieval Catalonia-Aragon.

Notes:

[1] In the Middle Ages, Compostela ranked with Rome and Jerusalem as a way to earn a plenary indulgence for all ones’ sins.

[2] Found in the of the interesting if not-entirely-reliable Gazeteer of The Cult of the Black Virgin.

[3] According to Catalan Wikipedia, a “cana” is an old unit of measurement found throughout the old Catalan and Occitan world measuring more or less 1.6 meters depending upon the region. A "mitja cana" or half-cana would thus measure 80cm or about a foot-and-a-half long.

Notre Dame de Cahuzac

2011-12-20T02:47:00.000-08:00

Re-published from my now defunct website.

According to the table of Vierges Noires located here and based upon the works of Jean-Pierre Bayard and Jacques Bonvin, there is a small polychrome Virgin from the 14^th century located at Gimont, in the Gers. Why a polychrome Virgin is in the list is curious enough though there must there must be a reason for its inclusion. Searching the internet I came across the briefest of blurbs on a message board where soon-to-be brides talk about where their weddings and receptions will take place, what the groom will be wearing, that sort of nonsense. One of them mentions that the religious ceremony will take place in “Gimont (Gers) l'après midi dans la chapelle de la vierge noire probablement” that is to say “the afternoon in the chapel of the vierge noire probably.” Given that this could be a misidentification I tried the usual Boolean fandango and came across another, more official reference from the Fleurance tourist office which speaks of “une chapelle honore la Vierge Noire de Cahuzac. Les pèlerins de St. Jacques de Compostelle trouvaient refuge à l’Abbaye de Planselve, une construction cistercienne etc. etc.…” Translation: “A chapel honoring the Vierge Noire de Cahuzac. Pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela found refuge at Planselve Abbey, a Cistercian construction etc.etc.”

Googling “Notre Dame de Cahuzac” brings up scant information except for news about a Catholic school of that name associated with the parish. One does find that the chapel was erected in the 16^th century in brick and stone to honor the virgin which appeared to a shepherd.

Other than those three skimpy references, one finds no further reference to a Vierge Noire at Cahuzac. The chapel does have many of the characteristics of the Vierge Noire. The cult is evidently very active, with candles abundant, devotion to Notre Dame de Cahuzac specifically rather than Mary generally and with votive plaques and decorations attesting to her intercession for various cures and salvations. An apparition to a shepherd also jibes with Vierge Noire legendry. Most importantly, she is definitely dark in hue.

Unlike every other Vierge Noire I have seen, however, she is not a Virgin in Majesty or a Madonna and Child, but is here a pieta; a Virgin of Pity who holds the dead Christ in her lap, a motherly gesture to be sure, but one which is not usually associated with les Noires.

One also finds that this chapel once housed another statue called Notre-Dame-des-Neiges (Our Lady of the Snow). This was a mother and child which from photographs is a particularly charming piece. It was (or is) made of wood and dates from the first quarter of the 14^th century. It sits 50 centimeters high. Unfortunately some dickhead stole it during the night of January 7/8 in 1980. Apparently it was put up for auction in Amsterdam in November 2003. One assumes the government made some effort to recover the piece or to at least try and convince the Dutch authorities to do something about it, but as far as I know it’s somewhere in private hands. (More scant data).

So, what’s up with Our Lady of the Snow? Being a lazy bastard I present you with this explanation cut and pasted from the wikisource article itself cadged from the 1913 Catholic encyclopedia.

"Dedicatio Sanctæ Mariæ ad Nives".

A feast celebrated on 5 August to commemorate the dedication of the church of Santa Maria Maggiore on the Esquiline Hill in Rome. The church was originally built by Pope Liberius (352-366) and was called after him "Basilica Liberii" or "Liberiana". It was restored by Pope Sixtus III (432-440) and dedicated to Our Lady. From that time on it was known as "Basilica S. Mariæ" or "Mariæ Majoris"; since the seventh century it was known also as "Maria ad Præsepe". The appellation "ad Nives" (of the snow) originated a few hundred years later, as did also the legend which gave this name to the church. The legend runs thus: During the pontificate of Liberius, the Roman patrician John and his wife, who were without heirs, made a vow to donate their possessions to Our Lady. They prayed to her that she might make known to them in what manner they were to dispose of their property in her honor. On 5 August, during the night, snow fell on the summit of the Esquiline Hill and, in obedience to a vision which they had the same night, they built a basilica, in honor of Our Lady, on the spot which was covered with snow. From the fact that no mention whatever is made of this alleged miracle until a few hundred years later, not even by Sixtus III in his eight-lined dedicatory inscription [edited by de Rossi, "Inscript. Christ.", II, I (Rome, 1888), 71; Grisar (who has failed to authenticate the alleged miracle), "Analecta Romana", I (Rome, 1900), 77; Duchesne, "Liber Pontificalis", I (Paris, 1886), 235; Marucchi, "Eléments d'archéologie chrétienne", III (Paris and Rome, 1902), 155, etc.] it would seem that the legend has no historical basis. Originally the feast was celebrated only at Sta Maria Maggiore; in the fourteenth century it was extended to all the churches of Rome and finally it was made a universal feast by Pius V. Clement VIII raised it from a feast of double rite to double major. The mass is the common one for feasts of the Blessed Virgin; the office is also the common one of the Bl. Virgin, with the exception of the second Nocturn, which is an account of the alleged miracle. The congregation, which Benedict XIV instituted for the reform of the Breviary in 1741, proposed that the reading of the legend be struck from the Office and that the feast should again receive its original name, "Dedicatio Sanctæ Mariæ".

Analecta Juris Pontificii, XXIV (Rome, 1885), 915; HOLWECK, Fasti Mariani (Freiburg, 1892), 164-6.

MICHAEL OTT

Our Lady of the Snow is a widely revered apparition of the Virgin and there is a large church dedicated to her in Prague, a vast cemetery in her name in Montreal, a large shrine in Belleville, Illinois and a famous Cistercian abbey in Ardeche. The Cistercians, if you recall, also had an abbey near Cahuzac.

So in this chapel one finds a Black Virgin along with the usual cast of characters: Jeanne D’Arc, St. Germaine de Pibrac and not one but two chapels dedicated to St. Thérèse. All of them represent the French penchant for saints who were suffering young girls. Along with another young sufferer, St. Bernadette (of Lourdes fame), they are the most popular Saints in France. In the Midi-Pyrenées and thereabouts you will find at least three of them in every church you visit. From Aucamville to St. Gaudens, I’ve seen them everywhere. Saints Germaine and Thérèse are especially noted for miracles involving flowers and their iconography always includes them, recalling the virgin Mary in the process. (See Women from Los).

The church is covered in marble votive plaques thanking the Virgin for healings and near misses, salvation from war and who knows what other small “miracles.” There are also several framed ribbons on the walls. I’m not sure of their significance but they are very feminine. The phrase “P.P. Moi” can only mean “priez pour moi”: “pray for me.”

Along with more traditional votive plaques, the ribbons are plentiful. Other artifacts on the walls include a military standard and a propeller, of all things. The walls have been painted in an elaborate geometric tromp l’oeil pattern suggesting niches and recalling the even more elaborate patterns at the Albi cathedral. Great care went into decorating the chapel.

In the panoply of Vieres Noirs extant, then, ND de Cahuzac rests one of the least typical, but she is probably worthy of inclusion in the list. As we have seen elsewhere, what qualifies as a bona fide Black Madonna is very fluid; Though she might not have originally been considered among their number, it is clear that many regard her as such now, perhaps by this association elevating her as something beyond the common Virgins and imbuing her with a special significance. I place the information about her before you and let you be the judge.

Notre Dame de Tudet

2011-12-19T03:05:00.000-08:00

Previously published on my old website.

The first visit.

I have been unlucky in many ways regarding my visits to the various Black Madonnas in the vicinity of my home in Toulouse. At Aspet, Oust and St. Béat, I was unable to enter the chapels and thus only able to present a picture of the chapel and give a description of the Virgin culled from various sources. At Montaut I was without camera. At Tudet I had access and a camera, but no batteries. This lack of photos means my little “essays” on Black Madonnas are not as useful I would like them to be, for these Madonnas are among the lesser photographed and an online image of them would provide those interested in the phenomenon with examples of the variation and similarities one can find among the existing corpus.

Visiting Dame de Tudet was a last–minute deal arranged with my pal Dan, an agreement to finally make a road trip together before he left Toulouse for good to make a go of his music back in his native Scotland. We’d considered Rennes-le-Chateau or Montsegur, but I’d come across a reference to Gimont (Notre Dame de Cahuzac) on a Black Madonna list and suggested going there instead. The next morning, I considered the evidence and decided we’d be more likely to have success in Gaudonville.

So I loaded up my kids, brought along a sack lunch and set off in the rain to pick up Dan, poor lad, still a bit peaked from the night before. A word to the wise: Never mix the grape and the grain. ‘Nuff said.

Our route took us in the direction of Gimont upon the road to Auch, but we turned off towards the north in the direction Cologne and Mauvezin, finally turning onto one of those small one-lane blacktops which wend their way through the countryside cheerfully oblivious to the rest of the world; it was conducive to good conversation. We remarked upon a number of topics, from the syncretic accretions Jesus has accumulated, his role as a vegetal god, the concept of the Messiah, King Arthur’s Welsh roots. The rain had cleared.

We presently found ourselves on an even smaller road and after a short spell we rounded a curve and entered Gaudonville. The town was deserted. The church was very old, almost "primitive", with a low “clocher-mûr” made for five bells but containing only two. Begg states that in the house next to the church one can ask for the key so I did. My heart sank when the occupant of the house told me the man with the key was not in town that day.

I ventured to ask if in fact this town was also called Tudet. No, no, Tudet is a kilometer down the road. See, we’re looking for the rather well-known statue, a Black Virgin and….oh yes it’s down the road, but the lady with the key might not be there….

Cheered at this nonetheless we continued towards Tudet, which is really just a collection of three or four houses. The first house we visited turned out to be occupied by an Englishwoman, who seemed a bit wary of the two scruffy young men who’d rung unannounced at her door. Children, however, work wonders when it comes to allaying people’s natural suspicions and she pointed us in the right direction. In short, we met the guardian of the keys and she handed them over without a blink and before we knew it we were inside the sanctuary.

It was at Gaudonville that we discovered our batteries were dead and that we would have no pictures of our outing. Which is truly a shame. Notre Dame de Tudet is quite alluring—a small, lithe, black stone effigy which has a vaguely Hellenic feel to it. It is placed on a round pedestal about six feet high in a position of honor behind the altar. The church is simple, very spare, with only two other statues flanking the apse and the only other ornamentation in the nave are plaques representing the stations of the cross. Here’s a bit of history:

At the exit of the village (of Gaudonville) in the direction of Saint-Clar, one can take a footpath on the right which leads to Notre-Dame de Tudet, a celebrated pilgrimage site since the 12^th century.

Vivian II, Viscount of Lomagne, had a modest chapel built here between 1137 and 1152, to which Henry II of England added a larger church between 1152 and 1168. This church was later rebuilt, with the exception of the choir, at the end of the 15^th and beginning of the 16^th centuries. The ensemble was destroyed in 1793, with the exception of the octagonal bell tower still visible today.

Attached to this rather robust tower is a house, a remnant of a monastery from another time.

In 1877, about 100 meters from this bell tower, a chapel of 16^th century appearance was erected in the presence of the Monsignor of Langalerie, revealing the emplacement of a fountain situated 100 meters below the site of the chapel.

The pilgrimage to Notre Dame de Tudet takes place each year on September 8^th, sometimes in the presence of the archbishop of Auch.

From the website of the Communauté de Communes Coeur de Lomagne, my translation. Much of this text either comes from or forms the basis of the text of the Patrimoine de France entry.

According to Begg, “Tudet” means “protection”; indeed, in at least one source she is referred to as ND of Protection and at least two of the memorial plaques in the chapel come from soldiers spared in the first and second world wars. There are surprisingly few of these marble votive plaques, however, given the supposed antiquity of this pilgrimage site.

Begg states that the current statue dates from the 15th or 16th century, replacing the original of 1152. This jibes perfectly with the dates from the Commune’s text (above). The statue is made of black marble and stands 47 centimeters in height. In this she appears to be at the smaller end of the spectrum when it comes to “les Vierges Noires.” Notre Dame de Tudet has an origin story with many themes common among Black Virgins: apparently an ox, who had grown fat without eating, was one day gazing into a spring. A young herdsmen, curious about the strange behavior of the beast, looked into the spring and discovered the Virgin. Tudet, not so much of a town as a “lieu-dit” (a “named place”), is still a site of cattle farms; I loved the sign which said “Attention aux Bovines.”

Whatever the origin, the site was an important pilgrimage by the 12th century, and the Virgin merited the grander accommodations accorded her by Vivian and Henry II. Begg states that it may be the oldest pilgrimage in Gascony. But not everyone shared the love; the statue was damaged during the Revolution (and wasn't restored until 1963). The chapel which housed her had no such luck. Only the bell tower remains, with rusted cars and farm equipment huddled at the base.

Evidence of an active cult includes votive objects left, such as rosaries, prayer cards, a pair of child’s earrings, a child’s ring, a broach. In an adjoining room, damp smelling and empty save for a few cleaning supplies and a low table, we found the litter used to carry her around in processions. We also saw a banner in the church with a brocaded image of the Madonna, unmistakably white, which only reinforces the sense I’ve had that the skin color of “Black Madonnas”—or rather the perception of that skin color and its importance—is remarkably fluid.[1] Seeing the banner of a white Virgin in this context reminded me of Montaut’s Notre Dame des Ermites, lily-white, which was inspired by that of Einsiedeln, which is very black not only in actual hue but according to the importance placed upon her blackness by devotees.

The second visit.

Some cursory after-the-fact research led me to a website which spoke of a pair of lectures to be given in Gaudonville regarding Notre Dame de Tudet, to be followed by a mass (in Occitan) in the chapel at Tudet. I was, needless to say, interested in going. I vowed to take the opportunity to learn more and get some photographs. Timed passed and the day arrived, a bit less gloomy than the first, and I set out alone from my new home in Aucamville a mere half hour from the site. As it turns out, the lectures followed the annual meeting of the association “La Lomagne, Memoire Pour Demain”. It lasted too long for me, eager as I was to get to the lectures, listening impatiently to the summary of their financial details, plans, and projects accomplished in 2006. I needn’t have been antsy, unfortunately, as the first lecture merely recapitulated everything I have already stated on this page in a typically French (that is to say, circumloquacious) fashion. Ho-hum. The second speaker, Mr. Passerat, spoke of Notre dame de Tudet’s place in Occitan literature. Apparently, it’s not a very prominent place, which in itself is significant. How large could her cult have been? Another important thing I did get from these lectures is that there is in fact no way to verify that her cult is especially old. The current statue is from the 16^th century and may not have replaced anything older; there is no textual evidence to suggest otherwise.

It was worth visiting this meeting for I was able to get some decent pictures and visit the spring where the sculpture was said to have been found—I’d missed that the first time around. Just as I was willing to write off the lectures off as a loss, however, a friendly old fellow in attendance rose to comment that Tudet may have come from the Latin word “tutela,” meaning “protection”[2], and that in Spain we find more than one city named Tudela whose names certainly derive from it. Another gentleman elaborated that Tutela was in fact personified as a woman and worshipped as a minor goddess. It was in his eyes another example of a pagan survival.

Indeed, according to Stephen McKenna in Paganism and Pagan Survivals in Spain up to the Fall of the Visigothic Kingdom :

Tutela was probably the most popular abstract conception that was worshiped in Spain. Sometimes the name Tutela is found alone,but more often the formula is met, Tutela colonorum Cluniensium,or Genius Tutela horreorum.All of the fourteen inscriptions in Spain have been found in western Tarraconensis. Three towns of the Peninsula have derived their names from Tutela: Tudela Vegún near León, Tudela de Duero near Valladolid, and Tudela not far from Saragossa.

This photo from the British Museum by Barbara McManus (1999) depicts a personified Tutela wearing an elaborate headdress representing the days of the week. The cornucopia she holds is adorned with the heads of Luna and Sol—the Moon and the Sun. It comes from a hoard of coins and statuettes, possibly from a sanctuary, buried at Mâcon, France sometime after 260 CE; the figure itself dates from the 3^rd century. Despite the extravagant allegorical headdress, her basic crown and the crescent moon at her waist are echoed in countless Marian sculptures; one might even be tempted to sea a precursor of the infant Jesus on her arm. There is even something of her sumptuous curves in Notre Dame de Tudet.

Rodriguez Morales in "Tutela Nauis" e Isis Pelagia en el Satyricon ("Tutela Nauis" and Isis Pelagia in the Satyricon), explains that there are two references to Tutela Nauis in Petronius’ Satyricon. After analyzing their context he deduces that the "protecting divinity" (Tutela) referred to is the goddess Isis. None of this says that Tutela was always an aspect of Isis, but it does remind us just how often Isis thus assumed in many guises and how many local tutelary goddesses were often regarded as one of these.

Which brings us back to the Virgin, Notre Dame, who is in this writer’s opinion is most certainly a descendant of Isis both in her iconography and her functions. One must not however, exaggerate. Tutela and Tudet are not necessarily etymologically related and even though in Spain we find towns called Tudela, a connection remains tantalizing conjecture. Given that both signify “protection” makes it far from extravagant. Tutela was an abstraction deified as a woman. Isis was also in a way a kind conflation of many such minor deities; as her cult spread she absorbed many pre-existing goddesses and attributes; her cult eventually spread throughout Europe. The idea that the iconography of Isis was an important influence on Marial iconography, though certainly contentious, is a well -supported argument.

The basic question remains: Is Notre Dame de Tudet a very ancient pagan survival? Mary glued upon Isis as Tutela? Apparently the first textual evidence of Notre Dame de Tudet surfaces in the 18^th century and people speak of her cult as being “as old as anyone can remember” which could merely be a generation or two. It’s generally accepted that the current statue dates from the late-15^th/early-16^th century. This then could be the beginning, with no pagan survival.

Notes:

[1] Her names is literally the Latin word for “protection”, especially of wards, as in guardianship, and survives as the root of the English words “tutor” and “tutelage.”

[2] An essay located here makes some useful observations regarding how the perception of certain Madonnas' blackness has changed over time.

Two Black Virgins of the Pyrénées

2011-12-18T02:13:00.000-08:00

Reprinted from the Reticenteer, written in 2007 or so.

Notre-Dame de Meijo-Costo or Miège-Coste, Aspet (Haute-Garonne)

This Black Virgin can be found in the chapel of Notre-Dame de Miège-Coste (pictured on the left), so named because it sits "à mi-côte" or halfway up a hill which overlooks Aspet. The statue itself dates from about 1680, replacing a Black Virgin of the 4th century. This copy was itself documented as a Black Virgin in 1682. Apparently the chapel was already a pilgrimage destination for the surrounding area by the mid-15th century.

I was unable to visit the inside of the chapel as it was locked. I was unable to locate the home of the caretaker named on a sign affixed to the chapel door and anyway, the key is no longer lent out due to a series of "regrettable incidents." Some people, it goes without saying, are swine.

According to the ubiquitous Mr. Begg, only the heads of the Virgin and Child are sculpted, and the are hands sewn onto the sleeves of their clothing. The sculpture is apparently similar to Notre Dame de la Daurade. She survived the Revolution in hiding.

The statue is made of wood and is about 160 cm high. (Patrimoine de France)

Begg states that Notre-Dame de Miège-Coste has been invoked against war, plague and famine. Healing miracles (including one for blindness in 1753) have also been attributed to her. Aspet has never been ravaged by war, but a large white statue of the Virgin on the chapel roof was destroyed by lightning in 1945.

The fact that the chapel overlooks the village from a prominent elevated position is a testament to the special veneration accorded the Virgin; the chapel is not the village church. This also struck me as interesting because the chapels of both Notre Dame du Pouech (Oust, 51k) and Notre Dame de l'Espérance (St. Béat, 31k) are thus situated.

* * * * * * * *

Romain Sourrieu was born in Aspet in 1825. After a missionary stint in Toulouse, he became a chaplain at Rocamadour [the site of an especially revered Black Virgin]. Bishop of Châlons-en-Champagne en 1882, he was named Archbishop of Rouen in 1894. Made a Cardinal by Léon XIII en 1897, he died soon after in 1899.

Very attached to his birthplace, he was the principal force behind the restoration of the Chapel of Miègecoste.

(I translated this biographical sketch of Cardinal Sourrieu from this page)

Notre-Dame de l'Espérance, St. Béat (Haute-Garonne)

Like Notre-Dame de Miège-Coste, Notre-Dame de l'Espérance is of blackened polychrome wood and can be found in a special chapel overlooking the town (pictured on the right). In this case the village church, containing the ossuary of St. Béat, is located just at the foot of this hill. The chapel is adjacent to a small fort: St. Béat, known as "the key to France" was an important frontier citadel.

The statue is 53 cm high and 21 cm wide (Patrimoine de France). Begg gives the 13th century as its origin but it may in fact be from the16th. Information on this one is rather scarce.

According to Catholic Online, St Beatus of Lungern was "monk and hermit....earlier designated as the Apostle of Switzerland. Baptized in England by St. Barnabas and ordained by St. Peter, Beatus went to Switzerland. He lived and died on Mount Beatenburg above Lake Thun. The cave became a popular pilgrim's destination, the famed site of Beatus' fight with a dragon."

Notre Dame des Ermites

2011-12-17T02:17:00.000-08:00

Reprinted from my old site and written circa 2008.

Notre-Dame des Ermites, Ensiedeln. Pic found here, reproduced endlessly.

I recently had some extra time on a trip back from Foix to Toulouse so I decided to make a stop along my route in order to take a look at another reputed Black Virgin listed in Ean Begg’s Gazetteer.[1] According to Begg, Note Dame des Ermites was introduced to Montaut by one Fr. Voisard in 1748 “impressed by the cures of Our Lady of Einsiedeln” in Switzerland.

The weather was cool and the sky hung low and grey with an occasional spattering of light rain. North of Pamiers I turned towards Toulouse went a few kilometers and thought I’d missed the village, but lo! I saw the sign and turned off into the stubbled fields towards Montaut. After a kilometer or two I turned onto another side road and again, yet another, this one barely large enough for my borrowed Citroën. The music on the radio was appropriately eerie, some kind of modernist piece with jangling cascades of piano and screeching violins. I approached the village and not a soul was about.

The church of Saint Michel was in remarkably good condition, it’s low hexagonal tower peering over the village from atop the church, itself situated at the crest of the small hill upon which Montaut is situated. I found it locked. Fortunately a woman scuttled past--broom in hand--and I was able to inquire about getting inside. She directed my to a house facing the church. I was to ask for Madame ---. I did so. Madame was very accommodating and she at once came out of her house to let me into the church.

Like the exterior, the inside was in an unusually well-preserved state. The brick vaults in the side chapels were impeccable, the paint on the walls bright and unstained by humidity. The paintings behind the altar were in a likewise remarkable state of repair, their colors especially vivid.

In addition to Notre Dame, there was another curiosity inside. A recumbent effigy of the obscure Saint Eudôce, a Roman Centurion martyred for urging his fellow Christian soldiers not to attack other Christians. His effigy bears an unmistakable eroticism in the delicate lilt of his head and the breathless, parted lips. His garment is ornate cloth and his right forearm is open to reveal an actual bone inside. This relic is worn smooth. A few sets of medals dating back to the First World War had been placed on his body, thanks from the faithful for surviving their ordeals.

The object of my visit turned out to be a charming and somewhat primitive sculpture of Virgin and Child, lily-white but unmistakably the most venerated effigy in the church, judging from the extra adornments her chapel featured. The candle wax on her candelabra was certainly the thickest! I was puzzled as to why Begg included her in his Gazetteer of Black Virgins. The following is my translation of a paragraph from a pamphlet provided by the Mairie:

Notre-dame des Ermites

Originally from Sancey, near Besançon, Pierre Joseph Voisard, priest of Montaut until 1758, had often heard talk of the Sanctuary of Notre-Dame des Ermites in Einsiedeln, Switzerland.

He conceived of the idea to erect in his church an image of Notre-Dame des Ermites resembling the original of Einsiedeln, four feet high including her crown, with the baby Jesus holding a bird in his hand. On the 27th of September, 1748 he blessed the holy image, carried her in procession throughout the village and—having placed her in her chapel—invited the faithful to come and pray there.

Archival records show that the entire region flocked to this “holy image.” In 1752, an epidemic invaded Montaut; entire families were stricken down. The four consuls of the commune, followed by the populace, came to prostrate themselves before Notre-Dame des Ermites. The plague stopped. Other miracles followed. [Begg mentions that she stopped cholera in 1854.] Her reputation attracted large crowds to the church of Montaut. The offerings of the faithful permitted Father Jacques Rouja (priest from 1852 to 1881) to renovate the church entirely.

The church was decorated with stained-glass windows, balustrades, statues, a pulpit sculpted in Belcaire stone, an organ on rollers and relics.

The stained-glass windows carry the names of the donor families. There one can see the names of Vadier, Dardigna, Donat, etc. [2]

But what of the original statue? A bit of research reveals why Begg has included her in his list of Black Virgins. I will here quote extensively from the website of the Benedictine Abbey of Einsiedeln, a site I urge readers to visit in order to read the full story:

The History the Holy Chapel

St. Meinrad erected his hermitage here, which included a chapel, his cell and two small rooms for guests. The chapel sheltered an altar, candlesticks, reliquaries, a bible and a missal, along with a still existent copy of the Rule of St. Benedict. Most likely, St. Meinrad also brought with him the Marian piety for which his abbey on Reichenau was well noted.

After St. Meinrad was clubbed to death by two brigands, fellow solitaries from the vicinity of his refuge erected on this spot their cells and a chapel, which was dedicated to the Savior.

The first abbot, the Blessed Eberhard, built at the side of the hermitage the first small monastery with a church, dedicated to the Virgin Mary and St. Maurice, on August 948. On September 14, 948, the chapel of the Savior should have been dedicated by the bishop of the diocese, St. Conrad of Constance.

The Legend of the "Miraculous Dedication"

The night before the dedication, this saintly bishop prayed in the "Chapel of the Hermits" which he was going to consecrate on the following day. Suddenly he saw in a vision Christ the Savior in a purple chasuble, coming down from heaven. The four evangelists, St. Peter, angels, the archangel Michael who conducted the singing, and many other saints, assisted in the solemnity, during which Christ himself dedicated the Chapel in honor of his holy mother Mary.

"Black, but beautiful."

The visage of the Madonna and her Child are black. "Nigra sum, sed formosa," ("black, but beautiful") those words of an old anthem [from Song of Solomon 1:5] are put into her mouth. In the course of the centuries the uncovered faces became darkened by the smoke of the candles, the tallow and oil lamps, and the incense.

In 1802, before the statue could come back after its flight from the French, it was restored in Austria. J. A. Fueter undertook careful restorative work on the statue in the course of which he ascertained that the child and the mother's face and hands had originally been flesh-toned and only later became darkened. The restorer finished his work, however, by painting over the lighter surfaces in the now traditional black, because people said: "It is not ours, ours used to be black." (emphasis added)

The nice lady who showed me around the church informed me that in her youth, the Church of St. Michael was always full, but over the intervening years the flow of faithful had slowed to a trickle. The Virgin was no longer carried in procession as she had been in those bygone days. “We are lucky to have a priest to say mass three out of four Sundays a month. Most villages around here have one only once a month. Religion doesn’t play as important part in peoples’ lives these days. The church building is all that remains. But that is something.”

Notes:

[1] The Cult of the Black Virgin, 1985.

[2] This pamphlet was prepared by G. Couthieu, Bernadette Gianesini and Jean-Jacques Soulet. Their pamphlet doesn’t mention it but according to my host the church was again restored in the last fifteen or so years, hence the overall excellent condition previously noted.

Notre-Dame du Pouech

2011-12-16T01:55:00.000-08:00

Reprinted from the now-defunct Reticenteer, my old website, written in 2006 or 2008.

“Notre-Dame du Pouech extends her protection over the village of Oust. In the middle of the 19th century, a fearsome cholera epidemic threatened the population and the residents made a commitment to rebuild a sanctuary to Mary if she saved them from the disease. The blight stopped at the gates of the city: the [current] edifice was constructed 1854 and restored in 1969.

The origins of the chapel have become lost in the distant past and are difficult to know [although a priory is mentioned in the 13th century]. The deteriorated chapel was reconstructed with the promise of a procession in the streets of the town in honor of the Nativity of Our Lady.

The statue is still venerated. It is in polychrome wood of the 13th century, the Virgin seated and carrying the infant Jesus on her left knee. She welcomes the pilgrim with her right hand and a motherly look.

A statue of Saint Catherine and another of Saint Lucy, both also of the 13th century, surround the Virgin.

The pilgrimage to this chapel is September 8.”

(Translated from the website of the Catholic Church in Ariège)

Begg identifies Notre Dame du Pouech as a Black Virgin, adding that she “reigns over mines” and the area is known as Terra Santa (“Holy Land” in Occitan). None of the official sources, however, lists her as such, although the Terra Santa appellation is verified by signs in the area. When I visited the chapel, which sits atop a steep hill overlooking the village, it was locked and the Virgin could only be glimpsed through the front door and the side windows. She’s definitely dark in hue. According to a man who was going past on a moped as I left the place, the chapel is rarely opened.

Oddly, although some believe the name Oust comes from the Latin “Augusta,” others believe it comes from the Celtic “ustous,” meaning “inferno.” According to archeological evidence, the village was a Roman settlement; it was also home to a Christian community before the Carolingian period (640 CE). Some believe it was sacked by the Saracens. In the late 19th century it housed two important forges. In any event, given the mining history and the Roman connection, either origin is possible.

And that’s all I know.

Sea also: Black is Beautiful on why her classification as a Black Virgin is problematic.

Notre Dame du Taur: Our Lady of the Bull

2011-12-15T03:22:00.000-08:00

Reprinted from the now-defunct Reticenteer, my old website, written in 2007.

According to most of what I've read, Notre Dame du Taur is not a Black Virgin.[1] Though her skin is dark, there is no mystery surrounding her origins; she is from the 16th century and she is not particularly noted for any miracles. Despite that I would like to talk a bit about her in the context of the Black Virgin phenomenon for two principal reasons. The first is that in appearance she looks strikingly similar to the Notre Dame de la Daurade and the second is that there are curious pagan associations with the place of her cult, which is a common feature of Black Virgins.

As you can see from comparing their pictures, Notre Dame du Remparts (Our Lady of the Ramparts) and Notre Dame de la Daurade (aka La Noire) are very much alike. Both wear crowns and carry batons, both wear actual dresses. Their pose and the position of the infant Jesus is more or less the same, but there are differences: ND du Taur holds her baton in front of her and ND de la Daurade holds hers in a more upright position; the infant Jesus carried by ND du Taur does not carry a baton but a globe, in his left hand and the infant Jesus carried by La Noire holds a baton in his right hand and the left hand is hidden. What makes these differences so minimal is the form of the two Virgins: the shape of their heads, their features, their hair and their proportions are almost identical. They are so close that one might venture to say that one was modeled on the other. Although La Noire is a bona fide Black Virgin with a much more ancient—and fervent—cult, the current statue could very well be the copy, for the 14th century sculpture burned in the bonfires of the Revolutionary government of Toulouse was said to resemble a much different-looking effigy, that of Mare de Déu del Claustre at Solsona Cathedral in Spain. The current statue dates from 1807, much later than the 16th century statue of ND du Taur. It is also possible that ND du Taur was originally inspired by La Noire, and that when it became necessary to replace the latter, the inspired piece became the inspiration.

Notre Dame du Remparts is so very similar to La Noire that at first I mistook her for a Black Virgin. A glimpse at her history, however, eliminates that as a possibility. She is too recent, there is no miraculous origin, she wasn’t found in a cave or discovered by a skittish bull. She was made to commemorate a specific event. As you can see from the photo above, her uneven brown color, noticeably light in places, especially around the eyes, suggests that she is in fact dark because of the years of incense and candle smoke left under her statue by the faithful….which is often how some have dismissed all Black Virgins.

According to a brief history at the church, Notre Dame du Remparts dates back to 1562. On May 13 of that year the Huguenots captured the northern part of Toulouse (Tolosa) including the Capitole. Four days later, after tremendous street fighting, they were driven out and forced to flee via the Porte Villeneuve (located at the current Place Wilson). To commemorate this event the effigy was created and placed in an oratory[2] within the fortifications there, where she became an object of great devotion and where she was known by the titles Notre Dame de Bon Secours or Notre Dame de Delivrance.

On June 3, 1783, the Taur parish inherited the cult after the statue was taken from its place at the Porte Villeneuve, but it was not until 1785 that it was placed in the central chapel of the current church, prominently ensconced above and behind the altar. Every May 17 a procession was held from the Église du Taur to the old oratory where mass was celebrated. As the procession returned to the Church, the crowds shouted “Vive Marie, Vive le Sainte Vierge.” Today, she is more commonly known as Notre Dame du Remparts is still an object of devotion to whom prayers are addressed.

According to legend, the Église du Taur is built on the spot where St. Sernin (Occitan for Saturnine, from the Latin Saturninus) was detached from the bull that dragged him to his death. Sernin was one of the seven "apostles to the Gauls" sent out by Pope Fabian (236 – 250 CE) and is credited with the establishment of churches in Eauze, Auch, Pamplona, and Amiens. According to the fanciful Acts of Saturninus, he often passed the pagan altars on his way to his church and the priests blamed him for the silence of their oracles. One day, after refusing to sacrifice to their gods, he was condemned to be dragged by a bull about town until dead.

After his death two Christian women remembered as "les Puelles"[3] buried his corpse in a "deep ditch." More than a hundred years later, Sernin’s successor Hilary (bishop 358 - 360) erected a simple wooden oratory over this place in order to accommodate the pilgrims who visited the site, but the increasing popularity of the pilgrimage encouraged bishop Silvius (360 - 400) to build a larger church, finished by his successor Exuperius (400 - ?) in 402. The body of St. Sernin, which was said to emanate sweet and gentle odors, was then transferred to the new church, which today forms the crypt of the Romanesque masterpiece, the Church of St. Sernin. The original site is now occupied by the 14th century Church of Our Lady of the Bull. Legend states the church is built where the execution bull stopped, but some believe it is in fact a place previously dedicated to a pre-Christian sacred bull. It is, after all, “Our Lady of the Bull,” and the street on which it sits—the rue du Taur—is the “Street of the Bull.”

There is a profusion of names in Toulouse that refer to the bull. For example: the large bell in a Toulouse-style carillon is called “Le Grand Taur”; the church built over St. Sernin’s original resting place is still called Notre Dame du Taur; and the name of the Matabiau neighborhood is said to come from the words “matar” (“killing”) and buèu (“bull). Owing to this profusion, some have linked the martyrdom of St. Sernin with the mystery religion called Mithraism. The tauroctony, or "killing of the bull," is the central rite of Mithraism. Some have even speculated that the “deep ditch” in which St. Sernin was buried, and thus the site of the current church, was a former Mithraeum.

Just as often as others have disputed it, some have suggested that the tauroctony evolved from Mithraic ritual into bullfighting, which is still practiced in Spain, Portugal and southern France. I think it is quite possible. After all, the martyrdoms of St. Sernin and his protegé St. Fermin are linked to bull-sacrifice, and in their 3rd century milieu, Mithraism was Christianity’s biggest competitor. When relics of St. Fermin were brought to Pamplona from Amiens in 1196[4], the city decided to mark the occasion with an annual festival. This Saint Day evolved over time to include the festivals which feature the famed running of the bulls and the bullfights which occur at the same time. That he was sometime given St. Sernin’s death attests to the power of the association of the bull with the sacred. Is it so improbable that the tauroctony could have been absorbed by the Christians martyr myth and then transformed into the tauromachy? At some of the towns where St. Sernin is said to have founded churches, such as Eauze and Pamplona, the tauromachy exists today.

Just so how does all this fit into the story of the Virgin?

The so-called Occitan cross serves as the official symbol of Toulouse. The four arms, each with three points, are said to represent the twelve signs of the zodiac.[5] Many symbols of Mithraism were also based on the zodiac; the central motif, the tauroctony, results in the replenishment of the earth with life, and some accounts suggest Mithras himself died, was entombed and then resurrected. The cave-like place of Mithraic worship, the mithraeum, can be interpreted as the cosmos, the dome of heaven. It is surprising that a religion so enamoured of the turn of the star wheel would build their places of worship in caves. Some believe that the Mithraists worshipped Mithras as the mediator between Man and God. Other commentators have compared the religion to that of Isis, even Jesus.

Without stretching it too thin, I suggest that Jesus had some competition in Toulouse by the name of Mithras, and that the bull which killed Sernin was perhaps a real event perpetrated by Mithraic rivals or a later invention which recalls the rivalry of the two sects. In 205, Christianity was still not beyond the persecutioner’s arm. One can see the symbolism in the act: Mithras kills the bull to bring forth life, the representative of Jesus (Sernin) dies. But Christianity marches on. A century and a half later and the Christian bishops of Toulouse have a bit more say in local matters. They build shrines, they don’t try to hide the story; they turn the humiliation back on their tormenters. Jesus was reborn after all, see, our sacrifices reflects His. We took the bull’s place as the blood-sacrifice necessary to turn the sky wheel. Bullfighting takes the place of the sacrificial killing as a natural development. The cross and the zodiac are reconciled as new traditons develop as one sect is absorbed into another. Virgin births, feast days, communal meals, ressurrections….bulls, whatever functon they serve in the the life-death-rebirth scheme of things, so appealing to the human heart, which makes butterflies of men.

It is with a poetic imagination that we must approach these things. Some critics might think me too loose with the data. Of course, I work with a limited pool, but there is enough to suggest that there was something in the air those days which is stuck to the bricks. There is a feeling and common sense. We cannnot simply divorce Christian history from its pagan milieu. There was never a “pure” Christianity. Its converts brought their ways and created something new, where the resonant images could persist, and like the ringing of the Great Bull Bell of a Toulousain belltower, the sound has lasted, getting dimmer as time goes by. But there are plenty of legends which have trapped those errant waves and pegged them onto a page. The Mithraic current lives on. Both Jesus and Mary have assumed his role. They are waiting for your call for a session of intercession.

The Black Virgin, like the Mithraic cult, is linked to the stars and the moon but is always found in live-giving earth, the Virgin associated with fecundity and the lush rebirth, the sacrifice of blood. She intercedes between the earth and the heaven, can talk to God and protect an unborn child with equal aplomb.

Notes:

[1] So I say, quite forcefully, thus opening my mouth wide enough to put my foot in it. I’vee seen it identified otherwise in at least two places. Until I get more precise information, however, I’m letting this stand.

[2] An oratory is a place of worship created for a special group of people, such as pilgrims. It is semi-private, in that unlike a church it is not open to all who may wish to worship, but it is not as exclusive a say, a private chapel.

[3] Puella means girl in Latin. In the Lauragais, the local traditions of Mas Saintes Puelles report that the two young girls brought the body to the town, then called Recaudum, and buried it there.

[4] Although Fermin was from Pamplona, said to be a son of a prominent Roman official, he is believed to have been beheaded in Amiens.

[5] Place Capitole, the site of the pagan altars Sernin was to have so disdainfully dissed on the day of his death, is today emblazoned with an enormous Occitan cross, in bronze, each point culminating in a sign of the zodiac.

Notre Dame du Palais: A Black Virgin?

2011-12-14T03:10:00.000-08:00

Reprinted from the now-defunct Reticenteer, my old website, written in 2006.

“Notre Dame du Palais or La Noire, dark stone, formerly in niche on

Château Narbonnais (Palais du Justice), now on front of Jesuit church.”

Ean Begg’s entry on Notre Dame du Palais in the Gazetteer appended to his book, The Cult of the Black Virgin, is puzzling. Nowhere in the current museum/oratory that houses this Virgin is she described as a Black Virgin. When I brought the subject up to the caretaker of the place, she adamantly denied it was. “She is polychrome,” I was told. “She was darkened by years of exposure to candles.” With all due respect to the caretaker, this seems unlikely. One can plainly see that the skin of the mother and child are black, said color terminating abruptly where her garments and her crown begins. There may be an explanation for her dark color, but selective darkening by votive candles is not it.

This effigy has dark hands, face and hair but the dress has the reddish, gray and white tones of the stone it

was sculpted from. Her crown is gold. She probably dates from the 14^th century.

Originally, Our Lady was installed at one of the original city gates, called the “Boucail Gate,” later the “Gate of the Inquisition.” The statue was moved after the demolition of the gate and adjacent buildings in 1852. At first she was placed in a niche in the wall of a private residence, but the owners asked that it be moved again, across the street to the Seilhan house, or House of the Inquisition. Thus in 1988 the effigy was placed at the entrance of the Seilhan house, which at that time belonged to the Jesuits (Hence Begg’s now-inaccurate description). Her name, in English “Our Lady of the Palace,” derives its from its proximity to the Palais du Justice. It has also been identified by Begg as “La Noire,” and although I have seen some web references to her as a Black Virgin, it may be that this appellation originates with Begg. Although the caretaker’s explanation for her darkness is clearly unlikely, it does not mean by default that she is a Black Virgin.

Our Lady of the Palace had only moved twice in five centuries, but after being moved to the Seilhan house in 1988 She was subjected to the indignity of a robbery attempt. Following the failed burglary, the sisters of the Société de Marie-Reparatrice decided to allow the city of Toulouse to restore the effigy. The statue remains, as the sisters say, “confiscated” by the city of Toulouse, despite the fact that the piece clearly belongs to the Association Toulousaine de Saint-Dominique. It’s obviously a sore spot for the Association, and I was assured that although legal situation is complex a favorable outcome seems imminent. The upshot is that Our Lady is a copy, albeit a faithful one.

What is this place where She is located, and what is it all about, anyway? On the 25^th of April in 1215, one Pierre Seilhan offered his house to Saint Dominique and then joined his nascent order. The house is situated on the ancient Gallo-Roman wall, which formed the original boundary of Toulouse. St. Dominic and his entourage slept here while they carried out their work at the Cathedral St. Etienne during the day. The Frères Prêcheurs, or Dominicans, were founded and stayed at this location until July of 1216, at which point they opted for a new establishment at the Chapel of Saint-Roman. The house remained Dominican property and in 1233 became the House of the Inquisition, where it remained, situated across from the royal Palace of Justice until the 16th century. After the Inquisition left, their tribunal hall was turned into a chapel, decorated by Brother Balthazar Moncornet with ceiling paintings of the life Saint Dominic. In 1771 the Dominicans left the place and it was acquired by the Jesuits in 1832, to be ceded to the Société de Marie-Reparatrice in 1933. Other orders, such as the Cistercians, have benefited from this place as well. In 1990 it was acquired by the Institut Catholique and since 1993 the 17^th century chapel has been in use as an amphitheatre.

L'Association Toulousaine de Saint Dominique operates the current house/museum, which has a small bookshop downstairs and a museum upstairs. One room contains the bedroom furniture of Lacordaire, a fiery post-revolutionary Dominican preacher who restored the Dominican order in France. There are also a series of 12 paintings of 18^th century origin tracing the life of St. Dominic. The place where the early Dominicans slept is now an oratory, or semi-private chapel where visiting groups, often Dominican nuns and friars, can hold mass. It is also where Our Lady du Palais rests in a niche on the wall upon which is hung a humble crucifix of wood and iron.

Notre Dame de la Daurade: The Black Virgin of Toulouse

2011-12-13T12:39:00.000-08:00

Reprinted from the now-defunct Reticenteer, my old website, written in 2006.

More than 500 representations of the Virgin Mary in existence today are considered to be Black Virgins. Miraculous in their powers, they have long inspired—and continue to inspire—fervent devotion. Yet despite their number and the intensity of their following, much about their origins lies shrouded in myth and conjecture. Long ago, there were many more of these mysterious effigies, but several succeeding depredations have taken their toll. First came the 16th century Wars of Religion during which the Huguenots, in their iconoclastic fury, sent many to the bonfires. During the French Revolution, many more—including Notre Dame de la Daurade in Toulouse—were likewise destroyed. In our time, robbery has accounted for most of the losses, with the result that in some cases, Black Virgins have been locked away in their churches and chapels, unavailable for viewing by the general public. Some Black Virgins have fallen prey to the restorer’s hand; it has been discovered in many cases that a Black Virgin began life as a polychromatic one and was later—as often as the 19th century—painted black for reasons unknown. This does little, however, to clarify their mystery.

A Black Virgin is not simply a Virgin painted black. There are many representations of a dark Mary (and Jesus) in Africa, for example, or wherever there are dark-skinned Christians. Many of these depictions are recent and some are hundreds of years old, but they are not capital “B-V” Black Virgins in the sense of what we are talking about here. “Black Virgins” are found all over the world but have their origin in a European tradition, where most are found today, the highest concentration being the south of France.

What exactly then is a Black Virgin?

First and foremost a Black Virgin is identified by its dusky hue. It is usually of Medieval (or prior) origin and has a particularly devoted following due to its miraculous powers. Its origins are usually as obscure as its skin is dark. Myth has it that many of the Black Virgins were chanced upon in unlikely settings: in caves and grottoes, buried in the ground near springs or under bushes, hidden in trees. Often they were discovered by farmers plowing their fields. In some cases the farmers were alerted to its presence by the strange comportment of their animals, especially bulls, some refusing to cross the spot where a Black Virgin was buried, some seemingly attracted to the spot. Many of these Virgins were brought from the spot in which they were discovered and placed in a chapel, only to disappear from the chapel, somehow making their way back to whence they were discovered. The common thread of these legendary origins is an association with the earth and its life-giving waters, earth and vegetation.

Why are they black? Many writers have given a very prosaic explanation: being the object of such devotion, the years of exposure to incense and candle smoke have rendered some statues black. A fine, rational explanation that nevertheless fails to explain why only the skin of a Virgin turned black and left her garments multi-hued. Another explanation is that the pigment used for the skin, over time, due to either chemical reaction or decay, turned dark. This seems possible in some, but by far from all cases; there are simply too many for them all to have had this experience. This leaves us with hundreds of surviving Black Virgins whose color cannot be explained away by "physical" theories; we must thus look at other possibilities.

One theory is that the original Black Virgins were painted black under the influence of St. Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153), who in his numerous commentaries upon the Song of Solomon associated the phrase "I am very dark, but comely" (Song of Solomon 1:5) with the Virgin Mary. Bernard is known to have visited several shrines of Black Virgins (including that of Toulouse) and his theology emphasized an emotional, “earthy” connection with the Christ and the Virgin as opposed to the rationalist strain of Medieval thought exemplified by Abelard, Bernard's (vanquished) rival; Bernard played a crucial role in the development of the Marian cult and in the 11th century she became the most important intercessor between humanity and the Savior. In this vein, some go on to state that the Black Virgin represents something out of Templar and/or Cathar beliefs. Make of that what you will; for although Bernard was a supporter of the Templars, he preached vehemently against the Cathars.

Another theory is that the Black Virgins are black because they follow the iconography established by religious images of various goddess cults of the Pagan world, be they Celtic, Teutonic or Greco-Roman; in short, Black Virgins represent a Christianization of whatever Pagan traditions were already present in a given region. Especially prominent among these theoretical predecessors are Cybele, Artemis and the Magna Mater. This theory seems to hold considerable merit in that these goddesses were frequently represented as black, and that in sites where a Black Virgin is present, an older pagan tradition often exists. A goddess who bears an especially striking resemblance is Isis, who by the Hellenistic period had become so popular that many other goddesses, including those previously mentioned, became identified with Isis in her various aspects. In Isis’ iconography (a crown of stars, a starry cloak, a crescent moon) and her numerous titles (“Queen of Heaven”, “Our Lady of the Waves”) there are certainly enough correlations to support the theory that she is an important forerunner of Marian iconography. One often finds Hellenistic statues of Isis suckling a baby Horus on her knee that are indistinguishable from the Christian version of this iconography, and by the Hellenistic era this iconography was already venerable. Like Mary, Isis has been associated with the rose (i.e. Apuleius’ 2nd century novel The Golden Ass) and one of the standard flowers of Isis, the lily, has also been associated with Mary in the form of the fleur-de-lis and/or lilies themselves. Ean Begg suggests that the lily carried by Isis may be echoed in the baton sometimes carried by Black Virgins, including Notre Dame de la Daurade.

The original Daurade Basilica was built on the vestiges of a Roman temple to Apollo, endowed by Galla Placidia in about 415 CE and beginning life as the Saint-Mary Basilica of Toulouse.[1] Hereafter it served as a chapel for the Visigothic Kings of Toulouse. In the 9th century the church became part of a Benedictine monastery and in the 11th century a Romanesque nave was added. During the period of the troubadours, it was a center of poets and members of the Company of Gay Science, who held their jocs florals (floral games) in honor of the Black Virgin every May. The original cupola was destroyed in 1703 after threatening to collapse. A new dome was erected in 1760 but only a year later the whole building had to be demolished, the dome having compromised the integrity of the walls. Apparently during the demolition a statue of Aphrodite was found among the rubble. A reconstruction project began in 1764 but the ambitious plans were delayed and finally made impossible by the construction of the quays and walls of the Garonne River on which the Basilica sits. The plans had to be modified, and the nave of the original basilica serves today as the transept. Work on the project was interrupted again by the Revolution. As a consequence, the basilica, though dedicated by Pope Pius IX in 1876, was not finished until 1883.

In 109 CE, legend has it that the Roman Consul Cepio drained a lake at the site of the current Daurade Church looking for the legendary “gold of Toulouse” taken from Delphi by the Volcae Tectosages[2], uncovering a statue of Pallas Athena in the process. (Athena, incidentally, was one of the goddesses sometimes represented as black).

According to Wikipedia:

The name Delphoi is connected with δελφός delphus "womb" and may indicate archaic veneration of an Earth Goddess at the site. Apollo is connected with the site by his epithet Δελφίνιος Delphinios, "the Delphinian", i.e. either "the one of Delphi", or "the one of the womb."

Also of interest is that Daurade suggests dorée or dorada, which in French and Spanish, respectively, translate to “golden,” or more specifically “gilded.” Many statues of Athena are known to have been gilded. Historical documents at the present church suggest that the name Daurade referred to brilliant frescoes that adorned the original church; certainly, no less apt a name could be applied to the current edifice, which is, save the brightly-colored altar to the Black Virgin, as dark and gloomy a church as I have ever visited. Gilded black Athenas aside, it is worth noting that the discovery of the precursor to Notre Dame de la Daurade conforms to the pattern we find in other Black Virgin origin stories, and that it was made while searching for a treasure associated with a place etymologically connected to the womb.

In any event, this statue was installed in the temple where it rested until the site became Christianized under the patronage of the aforementioned Galla Placidia in 415 CE. At this point the histories are unclear, and myth and history collide. Was the original statue of Athena re-consecrated as a Black Virgin, or was a Black Virgin dedicated that recalled this earlier effigy? We cannot say for sure, and in the 14th century this original was stolen and immediately replaced by another effigy, which, if we are to believe an inscription found underneath the current solce, was sculpted in Auch.[3] By the 17th century Notre Dame la Brune (the Brown)—was known as Notre Dame la Noire, after two hundred years of candle smoke supposedly further darkened the statue. During the Revolution her cult was forbidden, but her following was so strong that the authorities were forced to reauthorize it. However, in 1799 the effigy was burned on Place Capitole after public demonstrations of devotion by her followers alarmed the police. Another reproduction was carved from memory in 1807. One can only assume the memory was very faulty, because the current Virgin bears no resemblance whatsoever to a 14th century Christian icon. For an idea of what she looked like, we look to the Black Virgin of Solsona, in Catalonia, which was made in Toulouse and is believed to resemble the 14th century Virgin of the Daurade.

Notre Dame de la Daurade is especially protective of children, pregnant women and ensures safe childbirth—so much so that another one of her titles is Notre Dame des Bonne Couches (Our Lady of Good Childbirths)—and votive plaques to this effect cover the walls of her chapel to this day. Many other Black Virgins have the same power and not surprisingly, we find this attributed to many Goddesses of the Classical world, such as Diana/Artemis. Notre Dame de la Daurade has an uncommon but not unique feature in that she is draped in an actual dress, which is changed according to the season. In times past women could “rent” her belt to ensure a particularly fast and painless delivery.[4] This very specific detail is recorded in cults dedicated to Hera and, tellingly, Isis.

Notre Dame de la Daurade has other powers. She has often been called upon in periods of drought to bring rain, which is in keeping with her role as a fertility figure. The last time a procession with the effigy was held for this purpose was in 1790—in the thick of the Revolution. She could also offer protection from other threats. Crowds were said to gather around her when Simon de Montfort laid siege to Toulouse in 1218 (apparently it worked; Simon was crushed by a stone launched by a catapult tradition says was operated by a team of women). In 1630, during a procession referred to as the “Descent of Notre Dame de la Daurade,” her image was carried in procession when the plague threatened the city. Again, in 1672, a procession with the effigy saved the Saint-Michel neighborhood from being destroyed by a fire. Two paintings in the church commemorate this event. In our own era, on August 15, 1944, the people of Toulouse carried her through the streets to pray for deliverance from the Nazi occupation.

The Basilica of the Daurade sits on the Garonne River just to the south of the plaza bearing its name. Although the façade is quite monumental (albeit unremarkable) and of a classical order, the front doors are rarely open and most people pass by without even looking up. Because the façade faces a narrow street on the other side of which sits the river, the casual passerby is given little opportunity to remark upon its existence; I imagine that many assume the church is part of the fine arts school to which it is attached. One enters the church by an unassuming hallway on the north side of the nave. The unprepared visitor is in for a shock, however, because the interior is much larger than one might anticipate, highly decorated but utterly gloomy. In fact, the chapel of Notre Dame de la Daurade is the only colorful place in the basilica.

The chapel of Notre Dame de la Daurade occupies the southern end of the transept. The effigy itself surmounts an altar decorated with lily motifs. Even the lamps to either side of the statue are suspended from brackets formed to look like lilies. The altar is made out of ceramic, and the wall behind the effigy is made up of a mosaic depicting God the father and a host of angels. The Black Virgin herself stands upright with the infant Jesus upon her left arm. She holds a baton stiffly in her right arm. Her body is draped with a real dress, which upon every occasion I can remember has been blue. Postcards in the church, however, depict a yellow dress; I am told that the dress is changed according to the season. Both Mary and Jesus are crowned, and an ovaloid halo of stars surmounts the pair.

Perhaps the most curious motif of the chapel is the serpent, which is repeated in at least six separate images throughout the basilica. The most striking is a mosaic on the floor directly underneath the Virgin. The mosaic depicts a jaunty fellow, his tongue flickering over the apple. The symbol of the serpent is repeated on a relief, which adorns the right pier that forms a kind of entrance to the chapel. In this the monogram of Mary is surmounted by a crown and radiates rays of light; four cherubs look on. Underneath is an upturned crescent moon around which the serpent has wrapped itself.

Directly across from this relief is another depicting the paraclete, emitting rays of light, descending upon a lily—one must assume Mary—held by a disembodied hand. Six cherubs look on

The serpent appears in other contexts. Around the corner from the relief of the hand and the lily, we find a depiction of the tablets of the Ten Commandments and a staff. A snake is coiled around the staff in the form of a Tau. This refers to a curious incident in the Old Testament book of Numbers. In Numbers 21 the Israelites have just set out from Mount Hor by way of the Red Sea and, disheartened by their difficulties, speak reproachfully against God and Moses. So the lord sends fiery serpents among the people and many die from the bites. The people return to Moses and recognize their sin and ask Moses to pray for a reprieve. “And the LORD said to Moses, “Make a fiery serpent, and set it on a pole; and every one who is bitten, when he sees it, shall live” So Moses made a bronze serpent, and set it on a pole; and if a serpent bit any man, he would look at the bronze serpent and live.” (Numbers 21:8-9) According to my annotated Bible this echoes the serpent magic practiced in the ancient world, e.g. Egypt. The bronze serpent, called Nehushtan, itself became an object of worship and the Israelites burned incense before it until the reign of Hezekiah, who broke it into pieces (2 Kings 18:4).

In Exodus 7:8-13, we find the famous story of Aaron’s rod. God instructs Aaron and Moses to impress Pharoah by throwing down the rod, which becomes a serpent. Pharoah has his sorcerers do the same, but Aaron’s rod swallows them up. The incident is repeated in the Quran, and many traditions developed around the rod, associating it not only with the Tree of Life, but the Cross. Indeed, Jesus himself makes the connection between the incident in Numbers and his own destiny: “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” (John 3:14-15). Its inclusion at the Daurade sanctuary thus refers not only to the healing powers of the Virgin but of redemption through Christ.

Serpents were widely associated with healing in the ancient world. Asclepius, the Greek god of healing, was symbolized by and often depicted carrying a wand or rod around which a serpent was wrapped. It is still used in medical symbolism today. Another ancient symbol used in medicinal symbolism is the Caduceus, typically represented as a winged staff around which two snakes are coiled . It often used interchangeably with the Rod of Asclepius, although the latter is considered more accurate despite the common usage of the Caduceus. The Caduceus has been linked with Tamit, the Phoenician goddess of the moon, but is more usually associated with Hermes, father of alchemy and known to the Romans of Mercury. In alchemy, the crucified serpent was used to represent making the elixir of mercury, a healing potion of sorts, which was made by removing the “volatile” element. The serpent represents the poisonous mercury held in check by the “soufre d’or” of the cross.

At the northern end of the transept, in the position analogous to that of the relief depicting the monogram of Mary, we can find a cross emitting rays of light. The serpent is wrapped around the base of the cross. Five cherubs look on.

The final depiction of the serpent is located behind the altar in the apse. Here we find a massive oil painting of Mary as the Queen of Heaven. She has a halo of stars and stands upon an upturned crescent moon. In this image the snake is being vanquished. Mary’s right foot rests upon his head and his body seems uncomfortably pinioned underneath the moon.

Initially I was baffled by these representations of the serpent, but an illuminating essay on Biblical typology by George P. Landow, Professor of Art History and English at Brown University, partially clears up the matter of the unusual imagery:

Certain problems arise in making representations of Genesis 3:15 since it comprises a prophetic, rather than an historic or legal, type....

One common solution is to combine two realistically depicted images in a realistic - that is, non-historical - manner. For example, mediaeval carvings of the Madonna which show her with one foot upon a serpent take Mary as the seed of the woman. These carved Madonnas offer visual images of a symbolic or spiritual act, since Mary nowhere in the Bible treads upon a snake. The artist therefore has juxtaposed two realistic images, one of Mary and one of a serpent. Whereas the pictorial representation of a legal or historical type depicts only those elements present in the type itself, this portrayal of a prophetic type conflates two times, for it includes the serpent from the Fall and Mary, mother of Jesus, in the same image. A second instance of such conflation of two times appears in those mediaeval Crucifixions that include a snake curled around the Cross. The snake rarely gives the impression of having been bruised, and only the viewer's knowledge of Genesis 3:15 explains its presence.

Genesis 3:15 then, is where God says to the serpent after Eve admits to eating of the apple: “And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; it shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.” The logic of the paintings is thus explained, but the reason for the inclusion of the prophetic type in the Daurade remains elusive until we read on to 3:16: “To the woman he said “I will greatly multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children…”

Thus, the iconography of the chapel serves to remind the pregnant woman precisely why she suffers, and why the intercession of Mary is necessary. For Mary conceived without sin and gave birth to the Savior who, through his Sacrifice upon the Cross, gave humanity the opportunity of washing away their own sins. At the opposite end of the transept from the Black Virgin, there is a depiction of the Cross. As the Sacrifice of the Christ offers humanity the chance for salvation from sin, Mary offers the pregnant woman salvation from the punishment incurred through Original Sin as described in Genesis 3:16.

Sources:

Begg, Ean. The Cult of the Black Virgin. London: Penguin Arkana, 1996.

Cassagnes-Brouquet, Sophie. Vierges Noires. Rodez: Editions du Rouergue, 2000.

Daurade Basilica, Corendal Art’Toulouse. http://www.corendal.com/java-corendal/arttoulouse/monuments/detail/?monumentid=APPL-MONM-8 (last visited December 11, 2005).

Delphi, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delphi (last visited December 11, 2005).

Landow, George P. Victorian Types, Victorian Shadows; Biblical Typology in Victorian Literature, Art, and Thought. Boston and London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1980. 1998 web version: http://www.victorianweb.org/religion/type/ch4e.html (last visited December 11, 2005).

The New Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocrypha, New Revised Standard Version. Oxford University Press, USA, 1977.

Notes

[1] Galla, daughter of Emperor Theodosius and half-sister of Emperors Honorius and Arcadius, was a devout Christian and endowed many churches, especially in Ravenna. Her connection with Toulouse stems from her marriage to Athaulf in 414, brother of the Visigothic King Alaric who sacked Rome in 409 and took her hostage in that year or in 410.

[2] Tolosa was the capital of the Volcae Tectosages from sometime in the 3rd century BCE until conquered by Julius Caesar in 52 BCE.

[3] The inscription reads “Maître Raynaud me fit de sa main à Auch.” (Master Raynaud made me by his hand at Auch). The text appears to be in 14th century lettering and is all that remains of the first copy.

[4] The belt, now housed in the Musée National des Arts et Traditions Populaires (Paris) is inscribed with the words: “O Marie, Divine Mére, Priez pour Moi. Protegez-Moi.” (O Mary, Divine Mother, Pray for Me. Protect Me.)

The Gid and I

2011-12-08T01:37:00.000-08:00

I just received this photo from and old friend. This is the Gid and I in late '92 or '93. Note the debris and the haggard looks indicating a night well spent. Or ill spent, depending on your point of view....

Obbleiskes!!

2011-12-01T13:45:00.000-08:00

I bow my head

to this here thread:

http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=1099165

Plug for The Big Bone (Le Grand Os)

2011-11-30T22:36:00.000-08:00

For the French-speaking poetry fan in the Toulouse area. Aurelio Diaz-Ronda is an acquaintance of mine, but,like any other friend whose work I plug, I like what he does. This is where he's reading and/or promoting the works he publishes with the Le Grand Os.

Les rendez-vous de decembre avec Le grand os

Au plaisir de vous y croiser

Retrouvez toutes ces informations sur le blog (page Actualite) 

http://legrandos.blogspot.com/p/actualite.html 

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MONTAUBAN

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dimanche 4 dec / 10h-13h

"Place aux éditeurs"

salon du livre /  Place Nationale (sous les arcades) / Montauban

dans le cadre du festival Lettres d'Automne

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TOULOUSE

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vendredi 9 dec / 19h 

Lecture de "Mottes mottes mottes" d'Ana Tot 

acompagnee au violoncelle par Eugenie Ursch 

La Boutique a reaction / 12 rue Agathoise / Toulouse (quartier de la gare)

Librairie ephemere ouverte tous les jours du 1er au 25 decembre de 14h a 19h

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samedi 3 et dimanche 4 dec / 12h-19h

samedi 10 et dimanche 11 dec / 12h-19h

samedi 17 et dimanche 18 dec / 12h-19h

Exposition
Karine Marco et Helene Jous ouvrent leur atelier a plusieurs artistes et aux editions Le grand os
(voir piece jointe)

"L'atelier fait boutique" / 8 rue de l'Etoile / Toulouse (quartier St Aubin)

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dimanche 11 dec / 16h30 

Lecture d'Aurelio Diaz Ronda 

"L'atelier fait boutique" / 8 rue de l'Etoile / Toulouse (quartier St Aubin)

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samedi 17 et dimanche 18 dec (a confirmer)

Portes ouvertes de la maison-atelier du grand os 

Le grand os / 7 rue Charles Baudelaire / Toulouse 

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Pillars and Power

2011-11-29T10:41:00.000-08:00


Came across this photo of the Pennsylvania State Capitol the other day and was struck by the freestanding pillars which appear from this angle to mark the entrance to the space occupied by the building. Like any capitol building, this rather handsome structure is not only functional architecture, but ceremonial as well. It both houses the government and symbolizes it. The state incarnate.....the capitol is both a city and a building. Indeed, the street we see here is State Street. The two pillars actually sit at one end of the State Street Bridge, also known as the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Bridge. The two pillars, adorned with eagles, represent the Army (and the army Air Force) and the navy (including the Marines). It was opened in 1930. As both bridge and memorial, it too, like the capitol building, have both a ceremonial and functional raison d'être. The freestanding pillars are a long-running interest of LoS (see the tag pillars). As a religious element, they've been used since the Egyptians; we've also discussed their meaning at length in a political contect. See Pillars of the Community for more background; their use for the capitol building of the Haute-Garonne department serves as a starting point for a discussion of their various uses, including their Masonic symbolism. See The Two Pillars, for one Mason's opinion of their meaning. This idea of Soldiers and Sailors brought to mind another monument with a similar name I mentioned back in 2009: Another war monument by Schmitz, by the way, the Indiana Soldier and Sailor's Monument, does feature 32 flights of stairs with 330 numbered steps (and one unnumbered). This may or may not be a coincidence; or you can take it as evidence he imbued his designs with Masonic symbolism. (Incidentally, the Soldier and Sailor's Monument in Syracuse, NY is found in Clinton Square--formerly known as Masonic Park!) Interesting that two monuments with such similar names bothe have Masonic connections. Unlike the Indiana memorial, I don't see any symbolism in the proportions, described here: The western approach is marked by two 143'-0" pylons topped with carved war eagles representing the army and the navy. Each pylon measures 25'-0" by 16'-0" at its base and 13'-6" by 22'-6" at its top. The eagles each weigh approximately 300 tons and rise 21'-0" high, and required thirty-six stones each. The bridge and memorial were initially designed in 1919 and was erected between 1926 and 1930. Neither the original architect Arnold Brunner nor the architects who completed it, William Gehron and Sidney Ross, appear to have been Freemasons. The Schmitz monument dates from 1901 and, as we have seen has some numbers which could be construed as Masonic. I'm not sure if schmitz was a Mason, but another of his works, the Völkerschlachtdenkmal , harbors a Masonic Lodge and was given critical financial support by German Freemasons: Interested in resuming the project, [Clemens ]Thieme, who was also a member of the Apollo masonic lodge, proposed the project during a meeting and gained the support of his fellow masons. The South African Voortrekker Monument, inspired by the Völkerschlachtdenkmal, also contains Masonic number symbolism. Nifty too is that all four of these monuments serve as war memorials, the German and South Africam iterations with heavy nationalist overtones. OK, that's already more than I intended to write, but I'm off to ponder a bit about the continuing influence exercised by Egyptian prototypes, however indirect, on 20th century architecure with memorial, or "funerary" functions. That and Mao's maxim that political power grows from the barrel of a gun. For if these represent in some way the state or ideas of what makes a nation, they also celebrate the military power and those who died defending that definition. Incidentally, the dome of the Pennsylvania State Capitol was inspired by that of St. Peter's Basilica, in front of which stands, an Egyptian obelisk.... Gives me something to think about as I wash the dishes...