Montsegur

Pyrenees.

One of the many reasons why I chose Carcassonne as the place to stay and learn to speak French was the story of the Cathars. I am inexorably drawn to lost settlements, lost civilizations, lost causes.  The Cathar story encompass all three of those.  I am reading a book about Montsegur and the Cathar enigma.  It's in French, so sometimes it's slow going, but I can't seem to put it down. (There's much more written in French than in English about the subject, for obvious reasons.)

Montsegur

Here's the Cliff Notes version of the story:   The Cathars were a religious sect that the Catholic Church deemed as heretics.  The power of the Church in 1200 was beyond most of our comprehension today.  It had the final word on everything, and if you didn't fall into line with what it wanted, the church authorities threatened you first with excommunication, which was scary enough to keep most people in line.  The really hard cases, like some of the Cathars, weren't afraid of being thrown out of the Church, since they didn't subscribe to it in the first place.  So more drastic measures were called for.  Enter the Albigensian Crusade and then later, the Inquisition.  The Church, went about killing off the Cathars and giving their lands and property to the political powers (namely the King of France) whose troops helped with the slaughter.

The Cathars built these amazing fortresses on the hillsides in this region of France. As they were chased out of the cities, they retreated to these citadels, which, one by one, fell.  The very last one to go was Montsegur. 

When the Church and its political allies finally breached Montsegur, they offered the Cathars a chance to recant their heresy and become obedient Catholics once again. 200 of them refused, and so, in one great big pyre, they were burned alive at the base of the peak.  And that was that!  End of that little Cathar problem.  

Cold.  Lonely.  Defiant.  Unbowed.

At our first view of Montsegur, we let out an collective involuntary gasp. The sun had broken through the icy clouds and was shining directly on the fortress.  All around it, the neighboring summits were still in shadows.  It couldn't have been better scripted if it had been in a movie.  I felt the way I feel when I see the big mountains of the Cascades--Hood, St. Helen and even McLoughlin--unable to tear my eyes away.

 This was as far as we dared go up the icy road.

I struggle to find words to describe the feelings I had and the words to describe the human characteristics I ascribe to the citadel.  Lonely.  Defiant. Proud. Isolated. I am sure that more accomplished writers than I will ever be can come to a suitable description.  I can't seem to separate what it is today from what it was and what happened there 800 years ago.  My photos do not in any way do it justice, but maybe someone who reads this can find the words that remain beyond my reach.

The film crew's vehicles, 

I can't tell you how it felt to be standing on that ground.  We did not go up to the fortress; it was cold and the road was icy. We went as far as we dared.  At our first stopping point, some people there were making a film. The man who told me about it had one of the kindest faces and smiles I have ever seen. He was so earnest, and told me that this film would portray the reconcilliation between the Cathars and the Catholics. He seemed genuinely happy and somehow at peace. The shot was of someone walking up the snow-covered road swinging a censer. I didn't quite get it, but my ignorance of religious symbolism is profound. I wanted to ask him if he was Cathar.  Who was doing the reconciling? All the Cathars are gone.  But I have taken the position that I am but a guest in this country and I do know how to mind my manners and not pick a fight.

I do know that I MUST go back there, in the spring--after I have had some time to process the power of this place.