Le Moulin du Jaudi (Thursday's Mill)

About a half mile down the country road from our house in France is an old farm that dates at least from the 16th century.  The name of the farm is Le Moulin du Jaudi and it means, using the old spelling, the Mill of Thursday.  Legend has it that young Prince Francois, future King Francis I of France, came here every Thursday from his castle fifteen miles away in Cognac for a tryst with a young woman of the farm.  Considering what a fine horseman Francois was said to be, and how easy it would be to cover the gentle terrain on horseback, and Francois' reputation as a passionate lover, I personally have never thought of this story as legend, but rather as true, undisputed, obvious fact.  Why the hell not??

When I was twenty-four years old and living in Paris, I invited my boyfriend to come down to the house for a visit at the end of the summer.  Things were going pretty badly between us and one afternoon we took a walk down the road to talk things over.  He took a picture of me, dressed in a gray sweater under a gray sky, standing by a lovely green vineyard in front of the farm.  It remains the saddest picture of me ever taken.

A few years ago in much happier circumstances I visited le Moulin du Jaudi with Bernard, Catherine and a few other friends.  We wanted to pay a call on Robert, the elderly farmer who had lived there all his life, first with his parents, then with his brother and finally, all alone.  When I was a child, local people avoided going to the farm because there were a large number of dogs, said to be vicious.  You could hear them barking when you walked along the road.  After his brother died, Robert gave all the dogs away and let it be known that anyone was welcome on his property to fish from the river Antenne, to hunt during the season or just to stroll under his cool, rustling poplar trees.  But Robert himself remained rather aloof and isolated.  I could see him sometimes on a hot summer evening sitting outside on a chair under a tree in front of the massive stone gateway that led to his house.

As my friends and I approached the courtyard, Robert came out of the house to greet us.  He seemed surprised but mildly pleased by our visit.  After exchanging the usual niceties, absolutely de rigeur in the French countryside, he asked if we would like him to show us around the farm.  This, of course, had been our secret desire.  The farm compound, seen from the road at the end of a long chalky lane, was impressive.  Connected by a high stone wall, the various buildings formed a rectangle that kept the family in and outsiders (marauding knights during the Renaissance?) out.  A broad square tower, the pigeon house, held down one corner.  The manor house, tall and stately in a region where houses were more usually close to the ground, was off limits (mais naturellement) but Robert seemed proud to show off the large stables and barns.  Empty of animals for several years, they were immaculately clean with enormous ceiling beams and old stone work.  The ancient copper still (this is cognac country) in its own structure was huge and gleaming.  Perhaps encouraged by our admiration for his beautifully maintained farm buildings, Robert asked us tentatively if we would like to see the old cognac cellar.  "It's kind of dark and smelly," he said worriedly, "You might not like it."

We entered the cognac cellar through a low, dilapidated door and I saw the two men in our party exchanging secret, knowing looks.  Clearly they anticipated with pleasure what was to happen next.  Robert waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the giant oak barrels that I was beginning to perceive as my eyes adjusted to the gloom.  "Vous voulez gouter?" he asked, "Would you like a taste?"  Mais bien sur!!  Robert dipped a long glass tasting spoon into several barrels of cognac and pineau, the local aperitif, some of it dating back to the 1930s.  We were thrilled to taste the smooth, strong brandies and we realized what a rare gesture of friendship Robert was bestowing on us.  A little while later we emerged from the cellar into the summer sunshine.  As we said our farewells, promising to return again soon, Bernard said to Robert how complete the farm was, how it had everything anyone could ever need or want.  "Yes," replied Robert, "Everything but a wife."