Stories from the Valley of Flowers

Salut, ô Florival (Florigera vallis), tu es presque rivale du paradis, avec tes collines fécondes et tes coteaux que les pampres de la vigne recouvrent ….

Granted that these the words of an 11th century monk named Flurandus, and thus perhaps evoke poetic sentiment we cannot immediately identify with, it is none the less cheering and inspiring to see that someone thought so highly of the petit coin of Alsace I have had the pleasure of inhabiting… Affectionately greeting and then saluting the fertile hills covered in vineyards as a foretaste of paradise, this historic trip-advisor does not mask his enthusiasm.

Yesterday a spontaneous bank-holiday balade with a fellow wannabe-Alsacienne (Being a Parisian, my good friend Maeva has almost the étrangère status that i possess) led me to appreciate this sentiment a little more.  Optimistically choosing a path with an incline (in Guebwiller there is only a choice of two directions – up or down) we lost ourselves amidst the coloured houses perched in the hills, indulging in a nosy comparison of facades/gardens (and Easter decorations – the Guebwillerois tend to go in for adorning their already picture-book homes with nests and wreaths and spring-time animals made of everything other than chocolate) and before realizing had ascended up the valley to the point of being a afforded an impressive view down over the town. Considering we were still in Guebwiller territory, and thus technically remained en bas in the foothills, it is unsurprising that I appreciate now a little more our religious friends enthusiasm for a landscape that has to be acknowledged as impressive. I am also reminded that despite the persistent cold weather, and infuriating inaccessibility that seems to characterize Guebwiller, j’ai de la chance to have dropped been into a small town I had never heard of and would otherwise never have thought to discover. And considering how enjoyable just one afternoon’s stroll was, I’d be missing out.

In the spirit of Guebwiller-appreciation (and admittedly a little too much free time...as is the life of the Language Assistant) I decided yet again to indulge the inner-geek and find out a little more about the home of Flurandus, myself, and many Alsatians in between. Guebwiller is the first town of Florival, literally the vallée des fleurs; poetically re-named to match the abundant floral life that covers the hills. It is situated in the Haut-rhin, one of the two departments of Alsace and lying in the south of the region (the Bas-rhin is to be found in he north – a inversion provoking a confusion I am starting to recognize as characteristic of Alsace). Like all of its neighbors, the identity of this particular Vosgien corner was forged under the influence of powerful and competing territorial powers, resulting in the standard melange of Franco and Germanic culture. Its early history was however characterised by the rule of powerful religious institutions, most notably the Abbey of Murbach (the biggest mediaeval power of the region) that founded the town during the 13^th century (in 774 to be precise).

A legend that may be of interest to all those with feminist tendencies  (apologies les garcons) evokes the events of the night of the 14^th February 1445. Guebwiller came under attack from outside forces who has succeeded to ravage the rest of the region. Despite the advanced defence technology of the time (i.e. they had built a high wall) the attackers were able to overcome this military conundrum with their own special weapons (i.e. they came armed with long ladders). However, little did they know a local lady (with the attractive Germanic title Brigitte Shick) saw their sneaky approach and sounded the alarm. The unwitting soldiers believed the sudden appearance of a female figure on the wall was an apparition of Mary, and thus were so shocked they abandoned their weapons and fled into the night. To this day the famous ladders are conserved in the local church, as a souvenir of the night that the town was saved, and by a woman at that. Who needs a weapon when you can pass off as an apparition? When this small town had gotten over what was probably a traumatic series of events, it continued to plod on at a characteristically slow Alsatian pace, becoming French in 1680 and saying good-bye to the Murbachs and hello to the Revolution and industrial development and a soon blooming (almost literally) wine growing culture.

Although my research didn’t reveal anything overly exciting, it does turn out that the now often ignored Guebwiller was once pretty important. The sign of this was probably the fact that at one point it was home to not one, but four castles (standard Alsace): Burgstall, Neuenburg, Angreth and Hungerstein (with standard Germanic and slightly threatening names clearly chosen to heighten their strategic and symbolic importance). It is also not without a smile that I note that my current residence lies in the grounds of what once was the latter of these castles. Sadly demolished in 1806, the Hungerstein gave way to the Chateau in which I currently lodge. Although not as old, or impressive as the original homes of the nobles, the little chez moi to which I have grown strongly attached is not without a history! Now a school, and prior to that the home of Alsace’s Scripture Union, my current residence has some stories of its own. Indeed it is thriving with history on a more personal level. I have encountered several people who are former inhabitants of the chateau found on Avenue Maréchal Foch, all of whom evoke fond memories of staying for a year (or several) in one of the studios or appartments found on the troisieme étage. One former resident, Jeanette, described her years of raising a family up in the eves (her husband worked for the Union), making me think twice about dreading the mammoth climb up the stairs when I’ve been to the supermarket. Apparently three children and a buggy is manageable once you get used to it. Non-merci for now. I don’t quite merit the title of Chatelaine, but I think this is the closest I will ever get.

6 months living amidst history and beauty on a big, and personal scale, in the small but definitely significant town of Guebwiller. Resident of a Chateau in the Valley of Flowers.  And if that’s not one for the Ellen Grace history file, I’m not sure what is.