A matter of vocabulary
In the 14th century, the stone bartizans set at the corners of the keep were known as maisoncelles. The château had four of them. The word is thought to have drifted from maisoncelle to Maisonseule.


In the 14th century, the stone bartizans set at the corners of the keep were known as maisoncelles. The château had four of them. The word is thought to have drifted from maisoncelle to Maisonseule.
No house, no farm, no church anywhere near. The château stands alone on its ridge, and always has. Its isolation may have been enough to name it — maison seule, the lone house.
First a lookout post over the Doux valley, then a fortress closed in a little further each century as the surrounding country grew dangerous.
In the 14th century a wing, a vaulted kitchen and a tower known as the Oubliettes were built against the keep; in the 15th, fear of the marauding free companies closed the quadrangle for good.
In a single generation the stronghold became a home: Jean de Maisonseule had the south and east walls broken open to let the daylight in.
A staircase was built whose every step is a single slab of granite, and the beamed ceilings were rebuilt in chestnut. Beneath those ceilings, the family's marriages were painted one by one.
In 1820 Abbé Fustier bought the château and opened a school in it. With that, the place left the family that had built and held it for more than five centuries.
The isolation that had been its military strength proved fatal to the school, which soon moved down to Privas.
The façades and roofs have been listed as a Monument Historique since 1983.
Thirty years later, lightning destroyed the roof of the keep. The restoration that followed gave it back all four bartizans, of which only one had survived.

Twelve metres by eight, with walls a metre and a half thick at the base and sixty-five centimetres at the top. No staircase in the masonry at all: the upper floors were reached by ladder.

Where there had been nothing but arrow slits, wide cross-mullioned openings were cut. The gesture says everything: this was no longer a house that defended itself, but one that looked out at the view.

Every step is a single slab of granite, two metres long. A staircase with landings, comfortable to climb: the opposite of a defensive turret.

Chestnut beams nine metres long, stencilled with rosettes and fleurs-de-lis. The timber came from the surrounding country: not a single concession to marble.

A frieze of heraldry runs beneath the ceiling of the grand salon: the family's own arms and those of every family it married into. A genealogy painted on a wall.

Scattered through the façades are stones cut for some other building. They tell us this pass was already being watched long before the keep.
Eight centuries do not come down to a list of dates. They also come down to a refused marriage proposal, a tomb in Malta and a religious order that ended up in Toronto.
When Jean de Maisonseule married Judith de La Tour-Gouvernet, he married into a family at the very centre of the Wars of Religion. His mother-in-law, Paule de Chambaud, lady of Privas, was widowed, wealthy and much courted. The Huguenot captain Brison, himself widowed of her own daughter, set out to marry her in turn; she preferred the Vicomte de Lestrange, of the opposing party.
That refusal set the Vivarais ablaze. The civil war that followed kept the name its contemporaries gave it, half-amused and half-appalled: la guerre des Amoureux, the War of the Lovers. It ended beneath the walls of Privas, besieged by Richelieu and the king in person. Jean de Maisonseule fought there alongside his father-in-law.
The house produced a sailor. René de Maisonseule, Knight of St John of Jerusalem, became Commander of Lyon in 1676 and then Grand Marshal of the Order of Malta the following year: the second dignity of the Order, immediately after the Grand Master.
He died in Malta in 1679 and lies in St John's Co-Cathedral in Valletta. His full-length portrait, the mantle of the Order across his shoulders, has remained at the château.
Two years after Abbé Fustier opened his school, the Congregation of St Basil was founded here.
The order itself flourished. Its headquarters are now in Toronto and its work reaches from Canada as far as Colombia. In 2022 its representatives from North and South America came back to mark the bicentenary where it all began.

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