beautiful even than Isabel d’Anjou, the wife of King Rene.
I have seen, from not so far away, Jeanne de Laval, the present wife of King Rene. They tell me she is Breton. She is pleasant, but I have heard it said that she is not so gay as Isabel. Perhaps it is because she misses Bretagne the way I shall miss France.
two days after Sainte Cecile
I am sent away. At least I have been given Agnes. She was the woman of my mother, and now she is mine.
We passed by Chinon and I could not stop my tears. Will I never again see the chateau, which projects so mightily from river Vienne? Will I never again walk its infinite length, never visit the home of Richard the Lion-Heart or imagine the persuasion of Jeanne d’Arc on Charles VII against the English?
Chinon is my heart. Touraine is my country. I wish for no other.
two days before Saint Andrew
There has been little time to write these five days. We passed by Saumur. I wished to stop and demand of Jeanne de Laval would she go to Bretagne in my place. We stayed the night before at Chateau de Montsoreau after having passed the Abbaye de Fontevraud where Richard the Lion-Heart and his mother and his father lie entombed. The chateau is all new. The square towers are more like Saumur than Chinon. It is much less big than the both.
We crossed the river Loire the next morning. We lodged at the Chateau de Treves.
This next night we stayed at St. Remy la Varenne.
And now we have gained Angers.
I have never seen a chateau so formidable. It is immense. And outside it is striped by stones of lighter colors. The towers cannot be called well-portioned or graceful and the ramparts are low and ugly. Inside I changed my mind. This is the place of birth of King Rene. How could it not be pleasing? There are many gardens, pavilions, and galleries. Had it not been so cold, I might have made a promenade about the grounds.
Would that I could stay forever in this city of books and songs and learning.
Time presses. My lord awaits.
four days before Saint Nicolas
Angers is but a memory.
These days between Angers and Chateaugiron are difficult. The more long my journey, the more strange the countryside appears. I miss being able to see the land. And the river. There is nothing here but trees. And more trees. They press themselves up to the road and I cannot breathe.
The songs of the birds are strange. Even the sky, when I can see it, appears different.
three days before Saint Nicolas
My jennet enervates me. She has no mind, only following the palfrey of the man of my father, who rides first. She is too quick and too eager to finish this journey. This means that for every step of the palfrey, she takes two. My brain is so shaken by her gait that it is numb. I can no longer think. The trees, the hills, the road, the villages pass. And ten minutes later, I cannot remember what it is that I have seen. I am become dull.
two days before Saint Nicolas
I have gained Bretagne.
Agnes says me that I am blessed by fortune to be married into the line of Barenton.
I have only thoughts of returning to Chinon. My soft, gentle country.
I do not like it here.
one day before Saint Nicolas
We gain Chateaugiron. The man of my father says me that it is one of the nine great baronies of Bretagne. The chateau is being restored, and so we pass by. It pleases me, with round, tall towers made of stone from the countryside.
Perhaps one day I will come back here and visit with my lord.
I hope my chateau will look the same.
day of Saint Nicolas
This night we lodge at Rennes. We entered through the stout Portes de Mordelaises. Passing between the two squat, round towers, I felt as if I were being swallowed up by the country of Bretagne. My jennet fought for rein to move forward and into the city.
I have been met by the man of my lord, the comte. From here he rides with us.
one day after Saint Nicolas
This day we passed the river Ille and many millers, launderers, and tanners who do work upon the banks. This night I am told we are two days ride from Chateau de Kertanuan.
7
Today we will reach Chateau de Kertanuan. When I rose, Agnes aided me to wear one of my new robes. It is an houppelande the color of vert-de-gris, a green of gray, and the sleeves and neck lined in fur. The all is covered by silvered broderie and it is rather elegant. A ceinture pulls tight beneath my chest, but it has a clasp of gold which is decorated with stones of chrysoprase which glow a gray-green.
Agnes says me that they symbolize virtue.
I would rather a stone symbolizing intelligence or wisdom.
My shoes of soft leather have a long curled point, as is the fashion.
I write this night of the chateau of the comtes of Barenton, Chateau Kertanuan. It is not so large as Chateaugiron. It is constructed of stones of the countryside, and it has four tall round towers, one for each corner. The enceinte encloses a chapel and a large courtyard in front of the chateau. This is filled with mud and stone and hay. In time, perhaps, I shall make it a garden.
The village is not small, there are both a tavern and a carpenter. But it is not large: I saw no butcher, no fishmonger, no smith.
At least the trees do not assault the chateau. This I could not support. And one can see clearly down the road and into the village. It is not far.
I have my own room.
Agnes sleeps on the level above me, and her room too has much space.
For my own, I have a bed. And a large one. It is four columned with a drape the color of blueberries broderied with silk the color of wheat to make flowers and vines. And the duvet of the bed, the same material. I have been given a bench for by the window and several chairs. There is a large fireplace in which I can stand and lay two of me end-to-end. And it is made certain the fire never goes out during the day. There is a fur all near on which I might sit. On the walls are hung several carpets of the orient. Their patterns are exotic and of blue, gold, crimson, and cinnamon.
There is also an armoire large enough to hold all my clothes.
But the best is a table on which are several sharpened quills and a pot of ink. And it is here on which I write.
This is my new home.
one day before Saint Damase, pape
The noces took place this day inside the chapel for cause of rain. And I am glad of it. If not, my martin blue velvet houppelande might have been ruined. As it was, my cloak protected the outside, but the crimson satin lining of the skirt has been spotted from the underneath. And I shall have need of a new pair of silk slippers.
But still, in spite of the rain, there were musicians who promenaded before us. They played the saqueboute, and the drums, and an instrument of which I have never heard: a biniou. It gives a strange, wild, screaming sound that raises the hairs of my head.
I pledged to give my body to my lord, and he pledged to receive it. And then he pledged the inverse and I did the same thing.
