History of the Name “Saint-Germain-Les-Belles”
The parish of Saint-Germain is first mentioned around the year 1040, though its origins are older—likely dating back to the Merovingian period (possibly the 7th century).
In 1265, Pierre de Châteauneuf, a knight, referred to himself as “Seigneur de Saint-Germain.”
A prominent figure from a family based in the castrum of Châteauneuf-la-Forêt, Pierre arranged advantageous marriages for his children: his eldest son, Gaucelin, married Delphine de Ventadour, while his daughter Blanche wed the future Ebles VII de Ventadour—a fine example of a dual marriage, reflecting a strategy to consolidate the ties between two noble lineages. Two other daughters were also married: Hélis to a member of the Culan family, and Alpais to Pierre de Pierre Buffière.
Later on, the name “Saint-Germain” was often distinguished from other places of the same name by specifying its proximity to Masseret: for example, in 1319, it was called “Saint-Germain near Masseret,” and in 1412, “Saint-Germain near Pierre-Buffière.”
In 1580, the village was referred to as “Saint-Germain-les-Bois” (from the Occitan las fustas, meaning “the woods”).
From the 17th century onwards, the name changed several times:
It became “Saint-Germain-Les-Belles,” then “Saint-Germain-Les-Belles-Filles,” and so on.
Local tradition recounts that during King Henry IV’s visit in 1605, after a hearty feast, the king exclaimed:
“Well then, by God! Now I understand why they say Les Belles (the beautiful ones) in Saint-Germain—just listen, and above all, look at these girls!”
In 1790, the parish was transformed into a commune. The village was briefly renamed “Mont-les-Belles,” but from 1796, it returned to its current name: Saint-Germain-Les-Belles.
The Beautiful Recluse
Text by Jean-Pierre Uhlen & Fabienne Muet
Transcription and sound design: Christophe Muet
Compagnie Furiosa – May 2025
My God, have mercy on me.
Weeks, maybe months I have been trapped here, shut away like a recluse.
I beg for your mercy.
Let them at least tell me why I am here.
If I have sinned, someone must tell me so.
These stones… always these stones that freeze time.
Even with my eyes closed, I still see them.
Alone in this cold, I fear I will lose my mind.
Not even a visit from the priest…
For several Sundays now I’ve heard the bells calling to mass, and yet no communion,
no chance to confess.
What could I have done to deserve being buried alive?
If it weren’t for those brief moments when food is brought to me, I would believe myself a ghost.
But that woman refuses to say anything.
She leaves behind scraps of food and disappears almost instantly.
So fast that, blinded by the light outside, I barely catch a glimpse of her.
She is modest, I can tell. Perhaps she is mute.
If only I knew. Then I could endure it.
I could defend myself, or even do penance.
Oh Mother, oh my sisters, you who are out there and know nothing…
No, you don’t know.
If you did, your voices would have already echoed through this door.
You would have cried out my name, wouldn’t you?
You must think I’ve vanished.
And it’s unbearable, knowing you’re just outside.
With every step I hear, I hope it’s yours.
Every word I hear, I search for your voice.
I remember you laughing, singing in my memories.
You were by my side, I could feel your sweet breath.
I see us, yes, I see us the day the King came to visit.
In front of knights and armed men, we sang.
We sang our pride.
We sang so well that Saint-Germain stayed in their memory.
My meal…
I beg you, tell my mother I am here.
Have mercy on me.
Tell my family to come and save me.
I must not give in.
I must recognize each day by its small details.
Monday is the day the deliveryman unloads goods at the blacksmith’s.
Tuesday, the women go to the washhouse.
Today is Friday, yes, Friday—and the market is already bustling.
My dog… It’s my dog barking. Can he sense me?
Can he tell you, Mother, with his big wet eyes,
that I am dying here behind these walls?
Orion in the sky tonight, nearly full.
A long, long night.
Sleep has abandoned me.
(Birdsong)
Dawn is already here.
The birds come and go freely.
Nothing holds them back.
Some days, brother, I dream they carry me away to find you again.
I no longer know if I dream or if I am losing my mind.
Can hunger and cold create visions?
Day by day, the appearance of these birds changes.
Their eerie strangeness unsettles me.
And I laugh.
If only you could see me, brother—
a madwoman laughing with the birds.
Do you remember, among the few manuscripts we owned,
that book the cardinal gave us?
At the bottom of one page, a chimera had been drawn.
I believe it is she who slipped from the parchment to visit me one night.
Beautiful chimera…
At first, you appeared as a shapeless figure.
But slowly, I rediscovered your outline, your identity.
This long inner journey has helped me gather the fragments of a forgotten story.
You helped me rebuild myself.
Now you are my guide, leading me on a journey beyond these walls.
At last, beyond these walls—
free, like my auburn hair!