All history is conjecture. All of it. It is the height of folly and arrogance for anyone to say that he or she knows definitively what happened in the past. We piece it together the best we can, with the shreds of evidence that exist. When we are very lucky, the pieces come together to form a beautiful and cohesive collage. The difference between the mosaic that a historical novelist creates and that which a historian constructs occurs in the chasm somewhere of what we accept individually as evidence. I tend to think that novelists prefer to work in Technicolor, whereas academics choose to work strictly in the realm of black and white. Both have merits in the worlds of entertainment and education, and I hope that one day we will all learn to complement each other on our mutual search for the glories of our human history.
About the Book of Love
I first heard about the Book of Love while touring the Languedoc in the early 1990s. I was fascinated by the fleeting references to a “mysterious gospel” that was used by the Cathars in their most sacred and secret traditions. Initial attempts to understand what, exactly, this Book of Love was were largely unsuccessful. Requests for information in the Languedoc turned up coy and elusive replies—that is, when they received replies at all. More often than not, I was told that the Book of Love was an alternate version of the gospel of John. This sounded like a cover story to me. I would find over the course of ten years that it was most definitely a smoke screen to protect the truth.
Readers of The Expected One are likely aware that my own spiritual quest has mirrored Maureen’s in many ways. Like my fictional heroine, it was my immersion into the cultural and folkloric traditions of France, and later Italy, that changed my thinking, my faith, and my life. As I was blessed with access to extraordinary teachers—and “perfect heretics”—I was told a different version of the true origins and contents of the Book of Love. I have done my best to present these lost teachings within the preceding pages. While the words of the Book of Love in these pages are entirely my own, they are an interpretation of the moving and powerful traditions and teachings which I believe have been passed down for two thousand years.
At the time when I first became aware through the oral histories of the Book of Love and its contents, I had not studied the Gnostic Gospels. Thus it was a shock for me to discover that the Gospel of Philip was identical in numerous places to the “heretical” teachings as they had been given to me. The Gospels of Thomas and Mary Magdalene also contained notable similarities to the traditions from the Book of Love. Certainly, the erotic and passionate nature of the Philip material was a revelation, as was the clear indication that the Holy Spirit was feminine. I absolutely believe, as Peter conjectures in the preceding pages, that the Gospel of Philip was at least a partial attempt to reconstruct the Book of Love—for those with ears to hear.
For those who wish to tune their own ears to hear and who desire to study this subject in greater detail, I would enthusiastically recommend taking a very close look at Philip. While there are many great interpretations and commentaries available, I am personally fond of the writings of Jean-Yves le Loup, which are available widely in English translation. Newcomers to the Gnostic Gospels should begin their search with Elaine Pagels’s classic of the same name for a more thorough foundation.
About Matilda of Tuscany
I first encountered Matilda physically while touring Italy with my husband in the spring of 2001. We were in St. Peter’s Basilica, and I had just turned around from Michelangelo’s masterpiece, the Pietà, when I nearly crashed into her enormous marble shrine. That there was a monument to a woman in the center of the Vatican was astonishing to me. That the woman in question held the papal tiara and the key of Saint Peter in her hands was nearly beyond my comprehension. Who was this woman, what was she doing in the middle of St. Peter’s, and why didn’t anyone I asked have the answer to those questions? I had to know.
Researching a woman who has been dead for a thousand years, and who lived in a time when uppity women were not beloved by the monks recording history, is a tremendous challenge regardless of background or approach. Factor in what I am certain was Matilda’s commitment to the Cathar heresies in Tuscany, which were by their nature secret and protected, and you have what I refer to as a historical blackout.
An important note here on Cathar history: academics will happily throw stones at me for referring broadly to all these heresies across time and through Europe as “Cathar” because history recalls Catharism in a very specific time and defined space. However, this tradition of “pure Christianity,” which is the very essence of the word Cathar, dates back two thousand years. Thus I unapologetically refer to all of these “perfect heretics” as Cathars.
Like most French Cathars, these “pure ones” in Italy lived a quiet existence that was found to be entirely unthreatening to traditional Catholics for nearly a thousand years. The persecution of these original followers, declared dangerous heretics by the Inquisition, would happen in earnest by the thirteenth century, when the Italian Cathars would endure the same hardships as their brethren in France. Also, like the French Cathars, their history was entirely misunderstood and perhaps intentionally misrepresented by the Catholic Church and subsequent historians. These people were not descendants of other, later heretical sects that had migrated from elsewhere in Europe to oppose Catholic doctrine, as has long been purported in histories derived from Inquisition sources. The Cathars of Umbria and Tuscany, like the Cathars of the Languedoc, had been there since the foundation of Christianity, holding their traditions and their teachings in quiet strength as they always had. That the Church did not recognize them as such was a canny strategy and instrumental in their successful persecution.
My sworn mission as a writer, and my own promise, is to uncover the stories of extraordinary women who dared to change the world and risked everything to do it, yet have been forgotten or misrepresented by history. Matilda of Canossa exemplified this more than any subject I have ever studied besides Mary Magdalene. I learned so much from her! While many are aware that the south of France has been home to heretical history for two thousand years, the prevalence of these traditions in Italy is a new idea for most. Yet it has been hiding in plain sight there for centuries, as we have seen here in Matilda’s life story. I have just come from visiting her territory in Tuscany with my family, where we viewed the Ponte della Maddalena, the bridge that Matilda created just outside Lucca. It is breathtakingly beautiful, how the stone semicircles reflect perfectly in the water to create a complete circle, particularly visible at night. We stayed there for hours because we couldn’t leave the place, it was so…magical. It is clear that the designer of this bridge had a spiritual intention as well as a practical one. That the structure was named for Mary Magdalene and that there was once a statue and a chapel dedicated to her at the foot of the bridge is, I think, highly indicative of Matilda’s devotion to her lady. That there have been several attempts to change the name of the bridge over time and obscure its origins is also significant. But Mary—and Matilda—will not be ignored; and the name Ponte della Maddalena endures and is recognized officially in Italian government documents.
There is very little written in English about Matilda, and, given her huge historical impact, not an awful lot more written about her in Latin or Italian. Matilda is subsequently one of history’s great mysteries. The Donizone manuscript that resides in the Vatican is the key source of information on her life to be found on record. However, I truly believe she manufactured it as a public relations exercise with the help of the Church to protect her holdings and her reputation. Often, what Donizone doesn’t say is, I believe, far more important than what he does. The alternative manuscript that Maureen is given is rumored to exist, but I can’t prove it and for our purposes it is fictional. Matilda’s sarcophagus in San Benedetto was opened on several occasions prior to the rule of Pope Urban VIII, and for the record I believe that members of the Medici family did find this alternate version of her life written in her own hand. The Medici and t
heir methods—and how they transformed the world through the Renaissance—will be revealed in my forthcoming book, The Poet Prince.
I must honor the esteemed author Michèle K. Spike for her excellent book, Tuscan Countess, which is the definitive work in English on Matilda and highly recommended reading for those who would know the complex historical details of her world. Ms. Spike’s book is written with a passion that is rare in an academic setting. I am grateful to this learned woman, whose interest in Matilda sent her on her own journey through the Middle Ages and ultimately aided mine as I also trekked through Italy in search of this near forgotten heroine. So while I necessarily draw different conclusions in terms of many of Matilda’s motivations (and motive is the one element of human nature that we can truly only conjecture), I remain in debt to the richness that was produced through her work.
Ms. Spike also helped me solve the riddle of Michelangelo’s claim to be a descendant of Matilda and was ridiculed for the claim! While I came upon sources that hypothesized that this could have been possible if the baby Beatrice had not died, I knew there was another explanation. I had long suspected that there was a second, hidden child in this story, and it was Michèle Spike who led me to him with her discovery of the three documents that mention Guidone and Guido Guerra, most significant of these the Vallambrosan “adoption decree.” Let me emphasize that Ms. Spike does not draw this conclusion about the identity of Guidone as Matilda and Gregory’s child. That assertion is entirely my own. Based on the surrounding evidence, I am certain that these are Matilda’s son and grandson and that they are Michelangelo’s ancestors. This concept will also be explored in more detail in the forthcoming sequel, The Poet Prince.
I will ask that medieval scholars and experts cut me some slack for condensing and abbreviating the complicated events of Matilda’s time to make her extraordinary life more palatable to the average reader. There were periods of months at a time when I was in despair of ever finishing the Matilda chapters, as it was so difficult to distill the feudal politics and papal intrigues. While I have tried to remain as faithful as possible to the historical backdrop, there were necessary abbreviations for the sake of which I plead poetic license. Indeed, at least ten popes and their histories ended up on the cutting room floor as I worked through this story. Again, those who are interested in delving deeper are invited to my Web site, where they will find more historical details of Matilda’s world.
There is no definitive recording of Matilda’s birthplace. Several noted scholars, including Michèle Spike, advocate for Mantua, as that is the first recorded city of activity in her childhood, and the place she chose to be buried. However, I came across several sources along my path that named Lucca as a “possible” or even a “likely” location. For me, and with all due respect to my friends in Mantua, this was a gut choice: it feels right. Certainly, Matilda’s commitment to Lucca and the people within it never waivers, even when Henry IV does his damnedest to alienate her own people from her. And the events I describe—her dedication of San Martino’s, the decree of protection for Lucca in 1099, and the great bridge built in the name of Maria Magdalena—are all historically based.
Several guide books that I possess, published and obtained locally in Lucca, indicate that Matilda was present at the time that San Martino’s was rededicated. However, they place this date as 1070, which is impossible. One of the few things we know about Matilda definitively was that she was in Lorraine in 1070, married to the hunchback and building Orval. While scholars have theorized that it may have been Beatrice who was present and not Matilda, I disagree. I think it is highly unlikely that anyone in Lucca, particularly during her time, would confuse Matilda’s unforgettable and legendary presence, certainly not with her mother’s. And I believe that Matilda would have insisted on being present to rededicate the church that housed her beloved Holy Face. I think it is far more likely that the date may have been mistaken or incorrectly recorded.
While I used the Italian version of Brando’s given name, Ildebrando, he is most often referred to in historical sources by the Germanized Hildebrand. The accomplishments of his reign are often referred to as “Hildebrandian reforms.” I chose the Italian pronunciation to emphasize his Roman background. And I thought that Brando was a sexier name for such a complex, masculine character—ironic, certainly, in that he also strengthened the cause of celibacy in the priesthood. It is urgent to remember historically, however, that celibate priests did not produce offspring. Therefore, Rome was their sole heir. The decision to keep the clergy celibate had far more to do with economics than it did with morality.
My interpretation of the Brando/Pope Gregory character is largely colored by the vast number of letters he left as part of his legacy. It is clear while one reads through them that he was strong, smart, ambitious, fearless, and very, very passionate about Matilda. I also think that Brando did sincerely believe that the end justified the means, and that he was overall a good and just man who cared about real reform. I also believe that he was brilliant, cunning, and absolutely ruthless when necessary. Anything else would have put him at a decided disadvantage in the political mire of his time. He had to operate on a level playing field in order to survive, and he was more than capable of creating that field by any means necessary. I believe he was Matilda’s greatest teacher in this regard as well. So it has been in politics since the dawn of time.
Certainly, there is great controversy historically over whether the intense relationship between Brando and Matilda was, indeed, romantic and consummated. Obviously, I do not hesitate to assert my perspective on this. I refer readers to a letter from the pope to his beloved where he writes of his yearning to run away to the Holy Land with her, to a place where they are not under scrutiny and able to pursue the true work of God. It is a letter of such desire that it could only have been written by the most ardent of lovers.
Knock and the Holy Apparitions
I visited Knock with my family during the final edits of this book. I had not been there since I was twenty years old. My view of it now, knowing what I know, is very different than it was then. I believe with all my Irish heart that Knock is a holy place, possibly the only place where the Holy Trinity has appeared for a prolonged period of time for mortal viewing. It is highly sacred ground. I also believe that Saint Patrick saw a similar vision there when he proclaimed that Knock would become holy in the future.
I extend my apologies to anyone I may have offended with my perspective on the Holy Apparitions. I know this is sacrosanct territory for many. I do believe that all these children viewed something extraordinary, and that many of them were mystics. I certainly feel this is true of Lucia Santos. Like Maureen, I wept while reading her story of isolation. I only wish we knew, in her own words and her own voice, what she truly experienced throughout her long and inspired life. I do not, in any way, wish to diminish the miracle of Fátima. I simply wish to inspire people by giving them a different perspective on the circumstances and their outcome so that they may meditate on it as they will.
The priceless document of prophecy that is in the possession of Father Girolamo de Pazzi and attributed to Nostradamus exists and was indeed given in dedication to Pope Urban VIII. It was discovered hidden in plain sight in a national public library in Rome by an Italian journalist in the 1990s. A book and documentary, referring to it as the “lost book of Nostradamus,” were created to chronicle the discovery. But as I indicate here, there is far more to this book than all the traditional Nostradamus commentary would indicate. I am studying it in depth and hope to publish my findings in the near future.
On Chartres and the Labyrinth
I write this as I sit on the steps of Chartres Cathedral, beneath the exquisite statue of Saint Modesta on the north portal, the entrance that is often referred to as the “door of the initiates.” In all my travels, there really is no place on earth that inspires me like Chartres. It is a most astonishing monument to God built by human hands: magnificent in its grandeur, yet humble in its f
aith.
There are legends that surround the building of this place, stories of faith and dedication and human strength, that are unlike any I have heard before. Historians have never been able to account for the financing of such an enormous endeavor, but the folklore here says that if they are searching for ledgers and accountings, they will be left wanting. Chartres was built by people of faith, as a tithing to God. I believe that most of the labor was given freely and with grace. Some say that the reconstruction of Chartres after the terrible fire in 1194 was undertaken by those who opposed the Crusades—they were the medieval version of conscientious objectors. Parents dedicated their sons to the building of the monument to God’s love instead of enlisting them for war—they chose to create for God rather than kill.
There are other legends, stories of prayer rituals that were required for purification before anyone was allowed to begin work for the day on this eternal monument to love and faith. If a laborer was having a bad day and did not come to work in the spirit of the endeavor, he was simply asked to return when he felt restored to the communal mission. No intention that was not based in love was permitted.
Are these legends true? Is there proof of any of this? They endure for eight hundred years in the stones of this place, and that is enough for me. I know, when I see the spires of Chartres from the approach on the road from Paris, that this place is special. I believe its unequaled beauty and grace artistically, architecturally, and spiritually was accomplished by an extraordinary effort based in a community founded on the principles of love and faith, all of which were celebrated through prayer. I believe that Chartres as it exists today was and is a monument to the Book of Love.