In order to breathe a little, we propose you stop here to enjoy, as a medieval cartographer did, the view given by the hillock.
The old hamlet of Plancoët is easily spotted on your left, the hamlet of Nazareth on your right. Separating the two villages : the road, the railway tracks, the Arguenon River.
Imagine two centuries ago, the arrival of the young Chateaubriand by carriage, feeble newborn and weaken, to find the "good air of Plancoët".
Following your path you enter into a natural sensitive zone, qualified by scientists as an "exceptional island of ordinary biodiversity", and the house to over 795 animal species.
From this point, we can see, West of Plancoët, Monchoix manor, home of happiness which belonged to Antoine de Bedée, called Bedée the Artichoke.
"My uncle's castle, the count of Bedée, was situated a league away from Plancoët, in an elevated and pleasant position. Everything breathed joice there; my uncle hilarity was endless. He had tree daughters, Caroline, Marie and Flore, and a son, the count of la Boistardais, adviser to the Parliament, who shared his heart's fulfilment. Mon-Choix was always full of the gentlemen of the area. We played music, danced, hunted; we knew jubilation from dawn to dusk. My aunt Madame de Bedée who was seeing my uncle cheerfully eating away his funds and his income, got justly crossed, but wasn't heard out. On the contrarary, her bad temper increased the good spirits of her family, particularly as my aunt herself was prone to many peculiarities; she always had a quarrelsome hunting dog laying in her fold and a private boar which filled the castle with his grunts. When I arrived from the dark and silent paternal house to this home of party and noise, I felt like being in true paradise. This contrast became more apparent, when my family was based in the countryside. To go from Combourg to Mon-Choix, was going from the desert to the world, from the keep of an old Gaulish baron to the villa of a Roman prince." (extract from Memories of my Life).
Imagine the young Chateaubriand coming here two centuries earlier to take a nap and let himself dream.
Facing him, the marshes were in water which the warm summer days turned into mist, favourable to dreams.
That's here that he had the vision of druidess Velléda, Romantic figure of the "martyrs".
"Soldiers warned me that for a few days a woman exited the wood at the beginning of night, went up alone in a bark and crossed the lake, got down on the opposite bank and disappeared.
Hidden amongst the rocks, I waited for a few moments without seeing anything appear. (...) I discover a skiff hanging on the top of a wave, a woman lead it; she was singing whilst fighting the storm, she looked like she was playing amongst the winds; one would have said they were under her powers, so much was she appearing to challenge them. (...) Soon she reaches the shore, soars to terra firma, goes deep into the woods. She passed by me without seeing me. She was tall of height, a black tunique, short with no leaves, barely served as a veil on her nakedness. She was carrying a golden sickle hung to a bronze belt and was crowned of an oak tree branch. The whiteness of her arms and of her skin, her blue eyes, her pink lips, her long blond hair floating freely, told of the daughter of the Gauls, and contrasted by their softness to her proud and wilde gate. She sang with a melodious voice terrible words and her bare breast fell and rose as the waters' foam." (Extract from Martyrs)