Berry - the heart of France
Where Milady lost her heart
“ … they fled together into Berry, and there he obtained a little curacy. This woman passed for his sister. The Lord of the estate on which the chapel of the curacy was situated saw this pretend sister and became enamoured of her—amorous to such a degree that he proposed to marry her.”
Dumas
2017
From Paris, I took a train to Bourges to look for Anne de Breuil. This used to be the power capital of France.
I listened to my podcast and imagined Anne of Breuil and her priest friend struggling through these lands to find a friendly church to take them in, give him a job so he could protect her, and, given her beauty, arrange her profitable marriage. Perhaps it was this, her allure, he felt he could develop as though she was a rare plant or creature to be tamed, trained, and sold off?
I walked into the old part of the city staring up at wooden framed houses, wonky and creaky old timbers working, not only to hold up the house they were supposed to, but also the house next door. I had found Anne’s time. She may well have seen these very buildings (yes, I do know she’s a fiction, thanks) and I turned the corner to be flabbergasted by the biggest grey buttresses I’d ever seen and there, in front of the imposing building, a medieval faire setting up.
Medieval artisans of all classes set up their medieval tents with artefacts and foodstuffs - mostly arranged upon some animal skin, sheep or deer or boar will do - BAM - that’s medieval right there. Little children in medieval costumes hit each other with little wooden swords. Big hairy men hit each other with big metal swords. Fire and smoke. Women swished around in long decorative dresses. The cathedral rose above it all. And rain damped down the straw that littered the surrounding cobblestones.
I went back into the cathedral to listen to the organist rehearsing and reflect upon the London terror attack which killed eight and left forty-eight in hospital.
A wonderful concert, the music at times reaching such heights of cadence and harmony, the final resolution deeply satisfying, inevitable like that terrifying cliff fall in a great Fat Freddy’s Drop song. On first impression the building a bone-grey skeleton, lifeless and organic as the interior of a museum whale, but breathed when music filled it like spirit. It was as though the huge cave took nurture from the vibrations.
What luck to be here; humanity evident in the creation of the enormous temple, and the organ, the music prana, and the skilled performer. Thinking of terror and dreadful knives and hatred unleashed, one could try to seek reassurance in the name of God, but remember that Clinton and Bush called on their God to go to war in Iran. Thousands and thousands of civilians killed and maimed, and now a busload with no warning. Given that Clinton’s war was called ‘Shock and Awe’, these smaller attacks meant no less for the individuals struck down and the grief of their beloveds.
The organist was off again, more jagged, perhaps Messiaen spooky, with a low arrhythmic subtle sliding and repeating under a clear melody that walked along the high points, walking on water or stepping stones. What a powerful performance, like a march of engines, serious music, exploring the depth of souls, caverns and chest cavities. One lady seemed overcome. She walked out of the cadaverous cathedral, supported by her husband. He cared for her, protected her, embraced her lovingly as he led her out. Another lady appeared to cross herself in front of the organ.
The clashing of massive metal swords could not be heard inside the Cathedral but the smell of charring meat carried. Funny how one medieval day can encompass plastic swords, plastic amour and plastic circus toys yet real dead animals. You can’t have a medieval faire without a pig on a stick (sorry, spit).
Milady did not denounce her friend the priest at the end, well, she wasn’t given a chance, but if she could have had a quiet word to the Executioner I suspect she would have talked about his brother.
Why would Athos let her pass into marriage without noticing if she was, or was not a virgin, while he tried to kill her just for being branded? So, I reckoned she was still a virgin.
This is a Big Thing, for the Executioner had to brand his brother believing Anne seduced him. I’ve solved it. You’ll have to read the book.
On my third visit to the Bourges Cathedral it occured to me that Anne would marry in the Cathedral. Why not? His mother would want a grand occasion - perhaps before she died. Anne would be beside herself with excitement and disbelief and wonder. She would become the Countess, fully accepted into high society, a jewel in the crown of Berry.
Berry was a place of power. Calvin trained in Bourges. Joan of Arc stayed in Bourges. I like to think of Anne de Breuil in terms of TayTay, Beyonce or Oprah - dangerous women. Desirable women. Women who learned to breathe fire gradually.
