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The story begins at the former Jacobins convent in Rennes. Before it was converted into a conference centre, extensive archaeological excavations were carried out there. The site is vast: over the centuries, monks, pilgrims and members of the Breton aristocracy were buried there. The excavations unearthed hundreds of graves — around 800 according to the figures provided by INRAP for the excavation — as well as five lead coffins dating from the 17th century.
One of them has particularly intrigued the archaeologists. Buried deep within the Saint-Joseph Chapel, it could not be extracted immediately. It was not until the work had progressed further, in 2014, that it could be uncovered. Above all, unlike other lead coffins discovered on the site, this one remained completely sealed. This circumstance was to transform an archaeological excavation into an extraordinary discovery.
Inside lies Louise de Quengo, Lady of Brefeillac. This Breton aristocrat, a benefactress of the convent, died on 10 March 1656, aged over 65. Her identification was made possible in particular by an extraordinary object found with her: a cardiotaph, that is to say, a lead funerary urn intended to preserve a heart. An inscription links her to Toussaint de Perrien, Knight of Brefeillac and Louise’s husband, who died in Rennes on 30 August 1649.
But the most astonishing discovery came when the coffin was opened. Louise’s body had naturally mummified. Researchers explained that the stable, oxygen-deprived environment of the hermetically sealed coffin had enabled this exceptional preservation. It was therefore not a case of deliberate mummification comparable to that associated with ancient Egypt: there is no evidence to suggest that any attempt was made to preserve her body in this way.
Even her clothes have survived the centuries. Louise had been buried in an outfit with strong religious significance, including a habit and scapulars, as well as various items of clothing befitting her rank. A large crucifix had been placed in her hands. Several items of her costume and her shoes have been restored and studied.
The condition of the body was exceptional enough to allow for what seems almost unimaginable for someone who died in 1656: CT scans and a full post-mortem examination. Louise was examined at the Institute of Forensic Medicine at Rangueil University Hospital in Toulouse, in collaboration with teams from INRAP, the CNRS and the University of Toulouse. The scientists were able to examine her tissues, certain medical conditions present before her death, and the procedures carried out on her body after her death.
And this is where the story becomes even more fascinating.
Louise de Quengo no longer had a heart.
The post-mortem revealed that it had been removed after her death, in an operation carried out by someone with a remarkable knowledge of thoracic anatomy. However, the rest of the body had not undergone the full treatment one would have expected from a genuine embalming process. Researchers concluded that the aim was probably not to preserve her remains: it was indeed her heart that the perpetrator wished to remove.
Yet, lying right beside her was her husband’s heart.
Toussaint de Perrien had died seven years before her. His heart had been removed, treated and then placed in this lead urn. Examinations showed that the organ had also been treated using preservation techniques. Louise was therefore buried with the heart of the man she had married.
And her own heart?
This is where we must distinguish between archaeological reality and the very beautiful story we would like to tell. Researchers suggest that the arrangement may have been reciprocal: Louise’s heart could have been placed alongside the body of Toussaint de Perrien, who was buried at the convent of the Discalced Carmelites near Carhaix. But this aspect has not been physically proven, as Louise’s heart has not been found with certainty. The hypothesis is nevertheless consistent with the funerary practices studied by researchers and with the strange complementarity of the two burials.
Behind this gesture, which our era might instinctively interpret as a declaration of love, lies a profoundly religious conception of death. Among certain European elites, the body could be divided amongst several burial sites. The body, heart and sometimes internal organs could thus rest separately. Researchers emphasise that these practices made it possible, in particular, to maintain links with several religious institutions and to multiply the prayers for the deceased.
The discovery of Louise de Quengo is therefore much more than that of a ‘Breton mummy’. It provides exceptionally concrete evidence of attitudes towards the body, religion, social status and death in 17th-century Brittany.
And the fact that it has survived to the present day is down to an incredible series of favourable circumstances. Her coffin was not stripped of its lead during the upheavals of the Revolution; it survived the building’s alterations and the vicissitudes endured by the former religious complex. Indeed, the City of Rennes describes this survival less as a miracle than as a series of strokes of luck.
More than three and a half centuries after her death, Louise has thus provided researchers with what the written records alone could not reveal: the manner in which she had been dressed, the way her body had been prepared, certain indications of her health and, above all, this extraordinary practice of separating the heart from the body.
What remains, then, is an image of almost novelistic power: in 1656, a woman died in Rennes. Her heart was removed. In her coffin, her husband’s heart—he had died seven years earlier—was placed.
Then the coffin was closed.
It would be 358 years before anyone opened it again.
And beneath the ground in Rennes, Louise de Quengo had kept her husband’s heart close to her all that time.
