Another weekend excursion, visiting a church, a cathedral, and a chateau. It was extremely hot and sticky, but today was another lesson in transitions in art history.
In 1032, the 5th Compte de Vendome had a vision, in which he saw three flames strike the ground at a site in Vendome. Where the three flames fell, he began to construct a magnificent church, which he dedicated to the trinity, this being his interpretation of the three flames. The current edifice, like the Cathedral and Basilica at Tours, is really a composite building, with an arch or a tower dating from every century between the 11th and the 16th. On one side of the building's exterior, the masonry at ground level is clearly older than the masonry above it, styles tending to become more ornate and detailed as time went on. The oldest style is very traditional Gothic, whereas the most recent constructions are built in the flamboyant era of the Renaissance. The building sports amazing double-flying-buttresses, stacked one upon the other, and its facade is the newest addition to the building, with stone vines crisscrossing to around glass panes. Vast pillars change in design down the nave: towards the apse, they are less ornate, but as they approach the facade, they become more ornate, with imitative classical capitals and styles, a sign of changing times.
The interior of the church is as historically varied as the exterior. One of the stained-glass windows in the apse represents the virgin and child, and is an example of one of the earliest figurative stained-glass depictions. The two figures in the picture are entirely divine, and only human insofar as they are anthropomorphic: very detached from time and space (so-called "primitive" style, a very inaccurate moniker). The child is not a baby, but a little manikin, and the figures' eyes stare blankly into space. Some of the newer panes of the cathedral are not even colored, reflecting the coming of the counter-reformation. As the Catholic church rose to meet the challenge of the Reformation, the audio supplanted the visual: there was more discussion, and less adoration, as priests more and more felt the need to teach and to explain.
One has but to turn 180 degrees in order to find the art of centuries later, in the form of the stonework to the rear of the altar. Clearly Renaissance-style, it is an ornate piece, depicting motifs of war and hunting, not in the least religious. Even more intriguing is design of a misericord not far from the altar. It depicts a grimacing garlanded mask sprouting oak leaves from its mouth and eyes. This design is neither Christian, nor even secular: it is a traditional pagan European representation of springtime and growth. Its presence in a church is a sign of the effects of the classical tendencies and unstable politics of the Renaissance.
The church possesses an important relic, the tear Jesus shed over the tomb of his friend Lazarus. Someone was lucky enough to have a vial of just the right size handy at the time: the retail value was not posted anywhere in the church, though I imagine it was rather steep. Brought to the cathedral from Constantinople in 1038, the relic was not available to view when we visited, but we could see the highly-ornate late-Medieval niche it once occupied, decorated with a motif of teardrops.
The Cathedral if Notre-Dame de Chartres is magnificent enough for the American historian and philosopher Henry Adams to have dedicated half of a book to it (the other half describes Mont-Saint-Michel, which I visited last week). It is built in a very high medieval Gothic style, and was almost entirely erected only within a 30-year period in the first half of the 13th century. The cathedral is massive: its flying buttresses are heavy, unadorned, and solid, with none of the ornaments of the Renaissance-era double-flying-buttresses of Vendome's church. What is fascinating about Notre-Dame de Chartres is that its construction occurred just as styles were changing, becoming more humanist and realistic. In some decorations, side by side are statues in different styles: while three churchmen blankly stare ahead in rigid poses, the fourth's face is open and expressive, his eyes aimed downward towards the spectator, and his body detached from the masonry behind him, and his feet supporting his full weight, rather than seemingly floating upon a cushion of stone.
The famous facade of Chartres is almost entirely concealed by scaffolding at the moment, which hides the famous representations of learning and wisdom of the classical world: statues of Plato, Aristotle, Pythagoras, Cicero, and the anthropomorphic Liberal Arts adorn this cathedral dedicated to the Virgin. The 11th-century Bishop Fulbert (not to be confused with Fulbert, the church canon, and uncle of Heloise) promoted learning and philosophy in his parish, and his successors inherited this intellectual legacy, representing the theme in their cathedral. A famous circular mosaic maze decorates the floor of one section of the nave, and a now-blank metal plate in the floor of the center of the church once depicted Theseus and the Minotaur, the archetypal (pre-Christian) myth of intellect conquering brute force. The squares formed by the four pillars which mark each transept are 49 feet by 49 feet, because 49 is the square of 7, the number associated with Mary. Mary represents the fusion of earth (which contains four seasons and four cardinal points) with heaven (ruled over by the trinity), and 4 + 3 = 7.
The stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral are phenomenal, although age is beginning to have its effect on them. The glass in some panes is only 5mm thick, and because the panes were fired at a low temperature with a low-sodium staining agent, changes in temperature and humidity have created tiny holes in the panes, turning them black. An extensive restoration process is now in progress: the restored panes are as brilliant and vibrantly colorful as they were 700 years ago. The walls, too, are being restored. Today, with Gothic cathedrals and castles so blackened and mossy with age, it is all too easy to forget that in the Middle Ages, the Gothic style was saturated with light and color. It is also easy to forget the politics of stained glass. In one window, for example, one large circular pane prominently contains a wheel in its composition, and a similar pane just above it just as prominently displays a barrel. Pourquoi? Because these windows were payed for by the wheelwright's guild and the coopers' guild! I wonder how much money these guilds payed, and what the advertising cost amounts to, as an annual rate, over the past several centuries since the windows' construction. The advertisement has endured long after the society has disappeared. One of the chapels, with impressive stained glass, is dedicated to the same Compte de Vendome who began the construction of the church of Vendome which we had visited earlier that day.
Chartres also has a relic, one of the most famous in France, the Veil of the Virgins. The veil, purportedly worn at the annunciation by Mary, is first known of in Constantinople, in the 5th century. In the 8th, Empress Irene gave it to Charlemagne, who passed it on to his son Charles the Bald, who in 876 donated it to the cathedral then standing at Chartres. When the old cathedral burnt down, it was assumed to be lost, but its successful salvage from the wreckage was taken to be a sign that Mary desired a church in her honor to be constructed on the same site. According to the accompanying sign in the Cathedral, "experts" (of archaeology or theology, I don't know) confirm that the veil is indeed made from Middle Eastern silk, and dates from the 1st century.
Our last stop that day was at the Chateau de Chateaudun. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of batteries immediately after I had taken my first photo of the exterior, so I do not have much visual aid to explain this particular castle. The oldest and most prominent part of the castle, the keep, called the "Grosse Tour," was constructed near the end of the 12th century. It is one of the earliest round towers, round towers coming into fashion only as French monarchy began to reconquer lost territory. Later additions were made in the very early 15th century, near the end of the Hundred Years' War, by the Bourbun bastard Dunois. Despite its era of construction, the style of the castle is mostly traditionally French Gothic, although the Italian desire for symmetry had begun to slither into the architect's plans. Still, the newer elements of the chateau are of magical-mystery-fantasy-sleeping-beauty construction. There are heavy asymmetrical triangular vaults, and narrow spiral staircases, though somewhat newer additions contained wider staircases as a sign of prestige, when the castle's military value was declining. The chapel is similar to other chapels constructed in the chateaux with Bourbon proprietors: owning part of the "series" was a way of showing you were a part of the family. The statues of the chapel are very expressive and human, depicting monks, Mary, etc.
Whew, it was good to be back in an air-conditioned apartment at the end of the day! Photos available on Facebook, with captions forthcoming.
~JD
"On proposa meme de massacrer tous les citoyens qui n'adheraient pas au jacobinisme" [There was even a proposal to massacre all of the citizens who did not adhere to Jacobinism] (Marc Bouloisea, La Republique jacobine, p. 94).
In 1032, the 5th Compte de Vendome had a vision, in which he saw three flames strike the ground at a site in Vendome. Where the three flames fell, he began to construct a magnificent church, which he dedicated to the trinity, this being his interpretation of the three flames. The current edifice, like the Cathedral and Basilica at Tours, is really a composite building, with an arch or a tower dating from every century between the 11th and the 16th. On one side of the building's exterior, the masonry at ground level is clearly older than the masonry above it, styles tending to become more ornate and detailed as time went on. The oldest style is very traditional Gothic, whereas the most recent constructions are built in the flamboyant era of the Renaissance. The building sports amazing double-flying-buttresses, stacked one upon the other, and its facade is the newest addition to the building, with stone vines crisscrossing to around glass panes. Vast pillars change in design down the nave: towards the apse, they are less ornate, but as they approach the facade, they become more ornate, with imitative classical capitals and styles, a sign of changing times.
The interior of the church is as historically varied as the exterior. One of the stained-glass windows in the apse represents the virgin and child, and is an example of one of the earliest figurative stained-glass depictions. The two figures in the picture are entirely divine, and only human insofar as they are anthropomorphic: very detached from time and space (so-called "primitive" style, a very inaccurate moniker). The child is not a baby, but a little manikin, and the figures' eyes stare blankly into space. Some of the newer panes of the cathedral are not even colored, reflecting the coming of the counter-reformation. As the Catholic church rose to meet the challenge of the Reformation, the audio supplanted the visual: there was more discussion, and less adoration, as priests more and more felt the need to teach and to explain.
One has but to turn 180 degrees in order to find the art of centuries later, in the form of the stonework to the rear of the altar. Clearly Renaissance-style, it is an ornate piece, depicting motifs of war and hunting, not in the least religious. Even more intriguing is design of a misericord not far from the altar. It depicts a grimacing garlanded mask sprouting oak leaves from its mouth and eyes. This design is neither Christian, nor even secular: it is a traditional pagan European representation of springtime and growth. Its presence in a church is a sign of the effects of the classical tendencies and unstable politics of the Renaissance.
The church possesses an important relic, the tear Jesus shed over the tomb of his friend Lazarus. Someone was lucky enough to have a vial of just the right size handy at the time: the retail value was not posted anywhere in the church, though I imagine it was rather steep. Brought to the cathedral from Constantinople in 1038, the relic was not available to view when we visited, but we could see the highly-ornate late-Medieval niche it once occupied, decorated with a motif of teardrops.
The Cathedral if Notre-Dame de Chartres is magnificent enough for the American historian and philosopher Henry Adams to have dedicated half of a book to it (the other half describes Mont-Saint-Michel, which I visited last week). It is built in a very high medieval Gothic style, and was almost entirely erected only within a 30-year period in the first half of the 13th century. The cathedral is massive: its flying buttresses are heavy, unadorned, and solid, with none of the ornaments of the Renaissance-era double-flying-buttresses of Vendome's church. What is fascinating about Notre-Dame de Chartres is that its construction occurred just as styles were changing, becoming more humanist and realistic. In some decorations, side by side are statues in different styles: while three churchmen blankly stare ahead in rigid poses, the fourth's face is open and expressive, his eyes aimed downward towards the spectator, and his body detached from the masonry behind him, and his feet supporting his full weight, rather than seemingly floating upon a cushion of stone.
The famous facade of Chartres is almost entirely concealed by scaffolding at the moment, which hides the famous representations of learning and wisdom of the classical world: statues of Plato, Aristotle, Pythagoras, Cicero, and the anthropomorphic Liberal Arts adorn this cathedral dedicated to the Virgin. The 11th-century Bishop Fulbert (not to be confused with Fulbert, the church canon, and uncle of Heloise) promoted learning and philosophy in his parish, and his successors inherited this intellectual legacy, representing the theme in their cathedral. A famous circular mosaic maze decorates the floor of one section of the nave, and a now-blank metal plate in the floor of the center of the church once depicted Theseus and the Minotaur, the archetypal (pre-Christian) myth of intellect conquering brute force. The squares formed by the four pillars which mark each transept are 49 feet by 49 feet, because 49 is the square of 7, the number associated with Mary. Mary represents the fusion of earth (which contains four seasons and four cardinal points) with heaven (ruled over by the trinity), and 4 + 3 = 7.
The stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral are phenomenal, although age is beginning to have its effect on them. The glass in some panes is only 5mm thick, and because the panes were fired at a low temperature with a low-sodium staining agent, changes in temperature and humidity have created tiny holes in the panes, turning them black. An extensive restoration process is now in progress: the restored panes are as brilliant and vibrantly colorful as they were 700 years ago. The walls, too, are being restored. Today, with Gothic cathedrals and castles so blackened and mossy with age, it is all too easy to forget that in the Middle Ages, the Gothic style was saturated with light and color. It is also easy to forget the politics of stained glass. In one window, for example, one large circular pane prominently contains a wheel in its composition, and a similar pane just above it just as prominently displays a barrel. Pourquoi? Because these windows were payed for by the wheelwright's guild and the coopers' guild! I wonder how much money these guilds payed, and what the advertising cost amounts to, as an annual rate, over the past several centuries since the windows' construction. The advertisement has endured long after the society has disappeared. One of the chapels, with impressive stained glass, is dedicated to the same Compte de Vendome who began the construction of the church of Vendome which we had visited earlier that day.
Chartres also has a relic, one of the most famous in France, the Veil of the Virgins. The veil, purportedly worn at the annunciation by Mary, is first known of in Constantinople, in the 5th century. In the 8th, Empress Irene gave it to Charlemagne, who passed it on to his son Charles the Bald, who in 876 donated it to the cathedral then standing at Chartres. When the old cathedral burnt down, it was assumed to be lost, but its successful salvage from the wreckage was taken to be a sign that Mary desired a church in her honor to be constructed on the same site. According to the accompanying sign in the Cathedral, "experts" (of archaeology or theology, I don't know) confirm that the veil is indeed made from Middle Eastern silk, and dates from the 1st century.
Our last stop that day was at the Chateau de Chateaudun. Unfortunately, my camera ran out of batteries immediately after I had taken my first photo of the exterior, so I do not have much visual aid to explain this particular castle. The oldest and most prominent part of the castle, the keep, called the "Grosse Tour," was constructed near the end of the 12th century. It is one of the earliest round towers, round towers coming into fashion only as French monarchy began to reconquer lost territory. Later additions were made in the very early 15th century, near the end of the Hundred Years' War, by the Bourbun bastard Dunois. Despite its era of construction, the style of the castle is mostly traditionally French Gothic, although the Italian desire for symmetry had begun to slither into the architect's plans. Still, the newer elements of the chateau are of magical-mystery-fantasy-sleeping-beauty construction. There are heavy asymmetrical triangular vaults, and narrow spiral staircases, though somewhat newer additions contained wider staircases as a sign of prestige, when the castle's military value was declining. The chapel is similar to other chapels constructed in the chateaux with Bourbon proprietors: owning part of the "series" was a way of showing you were a part of the family. The statues of the chapel are very expressive and human, depicting monks, Mary, etc.
Whew, it was good to be back in an air-conditioned apartment at the end of the day! Photos available on Facebook, with captions forthcoming.
~JD
"On proposa meme de massacrer tous les citoyens qui n'adheraient pas au jacobinisme" [There was even a proposal to massacre all of the citizens who did not adhere to Jacobinism] (Marc Bouloisea, La Republique jacobine, p. 94).
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