The Book of Love (56 page)

The Book of Love
(original)

First Century:
The original manuscript is written by Jesus Christ. Following the crucifixion, it is taken by Mary Magdalene first to Alexandria, and then to France.

Mary Magdalene teaches from the book, handing it down to her daughter, Sarah-Tamar, as her successor upon her death. While other traditions from Sarah-Tamar and the bloodline families are preserved within the French culture, they are not immediately documented as they will be in Italy. In France, the Book of Love remains in its pristine and untouched format, although it is bound in leather to protect it.

Second to Thirteenth Centuries:
The Book of Love in its original form is protected by bloodline families in France, who continue to teach from it. It is the foundation of a “heresy” that is preserved in France to this day, most commonly referred to as Catharism.

Thirteenth Century:
Maureen’s ancestress, La Paschalina, saves the Book of Love from the Crusaders at Montségur and smuggles it to safety, taking it to the Cathar sympathizers at the monastery of Montserrat, on March 22, 1244.

Thirteenth to Sixteenth Centuries:
The Book of Love remains hidden by the blood-line families in Catalonia (northern Spain).

Mid-Sixteenth Century:
Ignatius Loyola discovers the secret of the Book of Love and reveals it to the pope. The Book is taken to Rome, where it becomes the highly protected and secret property of the Church. It is never spoken of publicly, and all historical records that refer to it are destroyed.

Seventeenth Century:
Pope Urban VIII rebuilds St. Peter’s to honor the secret traditions of the Book of Love, in emulation of the decoration of Chartres Cathedral.

The Libro Rosso
(copy)

First Century:
A copy of the Book of Love is made by the apostle Philip, at the request of Mary Magdalene during her confinement in Alexandria. This copy goes to Jerusalem, where it is protected by the Order of the Holy Sepulcher, a secret society formed on the first Easter by Saint Luke, Nicodemus, and Joseph of Arimathea.

Luke takes this copy to Italy, where he installs it in a monastery in Calabria. A tradition is born, wherein Calabrian scribes begin to chronicle the lives and deaths of the holy family and their descendants. The Calabrians add the prophecies of Sarah-Tamar to their manuscript, and along with their copy of the Book of Love, they begin referring to this as the Libro Rosso after it is bound in red leather.

Second to Eleventh Centuries:
The Libro Rosso moves to Lucca in the second century as the Order of the Holy Sepulcher creates a base in Tuscany.

Eleventh Century:
Matilda sends the Libro Rosso to Chartres in France, where it is the inspiration for the rebuilding of the Gothic masterpiece that is Chartres Cathedral with its enigmatic labyrinth, designed by the hand of Jesus.

Twelfth to Fifteenth Centuries:
The Libro Rosso is in the hands of the French royal family, until it is returned to Italy by King Louis XI as a gift to the Medici family.

Mid-Sixteenth Century:
The Libro Rosso is in the possession of the Medici popes, Leo X and Clement VII, and remains in the Vatican until the Barberini family smuggles it out following the death of Urban VIII. It disappears from history at this time.

Seventeenth Century:
Pope Urban VIII moves Matilda’s remains to St. Peter’s Basilica and, with Bernini, also honors Longinus and Veronica for their roles in protecting the holy teachings that came directly from Jesus.

The subject matter of this book is one that, to my knowledge, has never seen the light of publication anywhere in the world. As such, the research required to put all the pieces together was years in the making and paralleled my search for Mary Magdalene as chronicled in the first novel in this series,
The Expected One
. As a result of the multiple layers of time and history, the first draft of this book was well over 1,400 pages and completely unruly for both this author and my future readers. With the aid of a team that features a gifted agent and editor, I made those tough choices that most writers dread—cutting entire storylines and characters, and hundreds of pages of historical detail. These author’s notes could easily run half the length of the book itself. But as space (and trees) will not allow that, I invite those who are interested in exploring this world in more depth to visit my Web site at www.KathleenMcGowan.com, where I will share extensive annotations, anecdotes, and addenda.

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 their 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 moti
vations (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.