I
finally made it to two French chateaux in Ile-de-France I should have visited
months ago. I got out of bed a little
before 7:00, and bought an all-day Ile-de-France transportation pass from the
Gare de Lyon, in central Paris. I took
the RER southeast, well outside the city limits, and after about 40 minutes of
Kindle-bliss, I hopped off the train, into a light drizzle at the town of
Fontainebleau. I easily found the bus
waiting outside the station, jumped on, riding for just a few stops, and piling
out with the rest of the riders at the stop aptly named “chateau.”
From
the outside, Fontainebleau doesn’t look particularly impressive. It has a fairly broad park (it was raining,
so I didn’t explore too much), but except for its size, and a particularly
fancy entry staircase in the shape of a broad horseshoe, it could be just
another 17th- or 18th-century
bourgeois mansion, kind of like Cheverney. But no, the Chateau de Fontainebleau is a
royal residence, and an impressive one, too.
Although the original keep on the site dates from the 12th
century, the current edifice dates mostly from the time of Francois I (i.e.
from the early 16th century), and is the only French royal residence
left entirely intact. It isn’t as
monstrous as Versailles, as grand as the Louvre, as picturesque as Chenonceau,
or as imposing as Chambord, but it’s certainly one of the most interesting
castles I’ve visited, and all the more worth the visit after seeing how the
Italians preserve their historic monuments.
The
tour of the chateau begins with the apartments of Napoleon I, who made the
castle his principal residence. For this
reason, they have a lot of his junk: one begins to wonder who conserved all of
it, all of these years, and why it was not all lost. The man certainly had a lot of ornamental
swords, ceremonial outfits, and sets of shaving supplies. He even had one of those cool forks which
have joints in the handle, so that campers can stick them in their backpacks
without impaling themselves on the tines -- except that Napoleon’s were made of
gold, and campers’ aren’t. Some Napoleon
fan even saved his traveling chamber pot.
No, there was some pretty cool stuff there, that made me think of my
Mother, the costume historian -- the suit that Napoleon wore to his imperial
anointing, as seen in David’s famous painting, for instance. Later in the tour of the museum, I was also
surprised to find his throneroom -- complete with a throne, the identical twin
of which I’ve seen in the Napoleon III apartments in the Louvre, golden bees
and all. Napoleon was into these bees:
you can see them embroidered onto many of his royal outfits, if you look
closely enough at paintings of him. The
irony is that these golden bees were symbols of French royalty; the French
Revolution really had come full circle!
One of the greatest ironies was in the commemorative book made for his
anointing ceremony (a lot like the programs for college graduations, but in
hardcover), which gave the date of the ceremony as Frimaire, Year XII of the
Republic, using the Revolutionary calendar to date the ascension of the Consul
to his status as Emperor, and thus the end of the French First Republic. Now we’re on the Fifth, which still hasn’t
exceeded the length of the Third, even… What form of government will the French
have when our grandchildren are our age?
Despite
the Napoleonic aspects of the visit, there is a very literal royal (Vallois as
well as Bourbon) stamp upon the house -- because the various residents
literally stamped and carved their initials onto all available space, wall and
ceiling! Francois I loved the letter F,
and placed it, along with his other personal symbols of the salamander and the
triple fleur-de-lis, all over his house.
His son and successor, Henri II, made the finishing touches on certain
rooms, including one of the main dining rooms, and had the prerogative,
therefore, of covering the surfaces with the letter H, with interlocking
crescent moons (his own personal emblem), and the initials C and D, for his
wife and mistress, respectively (just like at Chenonceau). There was also an AA who made her mark at
Fontainebleau (no, not you AA, but feel better!), namely Anne of Austria, mother
of Louis XIV, especially in one of the two chapels (she was a deeply religious
woman, after all). I saw just a few
back-to-back block Ls, too, characteristic of the biggest L of them all. His successor, Louis XV, left a completely
different kind of royal L behind: cursive, and, when paired, facing the other L
head-on. Although it seems as if I’m
rambling, I’ve never seen so many royal initials displayed so prominently in
any chateau. I think that all of these
people were trying to make a point: they owned this space.
Only
a small portion of the chateau is on display to visitors, but there is a great
deal of art and furniture, even in this section. The collections also have a historic
dimension: I saw the table where, according to lore, Napoleon signed his
resignation in 1814. I did not see
where Louis XIV issued the Edict of Fontainebleau, which revoked the famous
Edict of Nantes of his grandfather, Henri IV, (it had given legal recognition
and protection to Huguenots). To be
honest, that was the only event I had previously associated with Fontainebleau,
so missing this, wherever it might have been, was a slight disappointment. Nevertheless, there was so much to see at
Fontainebleau! There is the same array
of royal bedchambers, chapels, wall and ceiling paintings, fine furniture, art
objects, dining rooms, dancing halls, busts of famous Roman dudes, allegorical
art, biblical art, classical art, seasonally-themed art, etc., at Versailles:
for better or for worse, my eyes are just beginning to glaze over. I
It
was nearly 3:00 pm by the time I left Fontainebleau. I boarded the train in the direction of
Paris, uncertain of whether or not I would stay on or get off when the train
stopped at Melun, the closest railway station to Vaux-le-Vicomte. I hadn’t eaten, and was tired from my visit
to Fontainebleau; then I realized that I might never visit France again for
years, and I thought about what I know certain friends and Mothers I know would
do if they were in such a situation had such an opportunity to visit another
chateau, and I felt my legs, of their own accord, stand me up and walk me to
door, when the train stopped at Melun.
One
reason for my hesitation was that I knew that the only ways to access
Vaux-le-Vicomte are 1) by car, 2) by shuttle, and 3) by taxi. I don’t have my own car here, and the shuttle
only runs on Sunday, so I knew that I would need to take a taxi, in order to
make it across the highway, and reach Vaux-le-Vicomte. It was a 20-euro ride each way, according to
the taxi driver waiting by the train station, a cost which I would normally not
pay to access a single castle (this was in addition to the cost of my train
ticket and of the entrance fee itself), but I reminded myself that I would kick
myself for years for passing up the opportunity if I didn’t jump for it now,
and that I had swallowed many such fees in Italy. Louis would have taken a taxi, had he been
around today.
Vaux-le-Vicomte,
like so many other chateaux in Paris, boasts that it inspired Versailles. In my honest opinion, very few of these
claims are sincere this, and, what’s more, encourage teleological thinking in the
history of architecture and landscape architecture. Vaux has a very real claim to inspiring
Versailles, though. For those of you unfamiliar
with the story, Nicolas Fouquet, superintendant of finances under Louis XIV
during the Sun King’s minority, hired the architect Vau to design him a
splendid mansion. The place had
extensive gardens, which Fouquet hired the most important gardener (what we
would now call a landscape
architect), André Le
Notre, to design, and included the world’s first fountains that shot the water
upward in a jet (you need good engineering for that). Fouquet was the friend, patron, and protector
of many of the artists and intellectuals of the day, most famously, of La
Fontaine and Moliere. The Cardinal de
Mazarin, who called the shots for the young king much as the Cardinal de
Richelieu called the shots under Louis XIII (think The Three Musketeers)
died in 1661, and Louis eagerly rose to take the reins of the kingdom fully in
hand. At this time, Fouquet’s job gave
him immense power over the finances of the kingdom: every single bill approving
the use of royal funds required his signature, thus giving him a tremendous
veto power. He had also been close to
Mazarin. In 1661, he invited the king,
and everyone who was anyone in the French court, to a gigantic party at his
house, a kind of open house. Moliere had
even prepared a new comedy-ballet especially for the occasion, Les Fâcheux (and by “prepare” I
mean “write, direct, choreograph, and lead in”). Louis didn’t take the party the way Fouquet
had intended -- though it was nominally in honor of him, Louis considered such
an evident display of wealth and power to be a threat. Also somewhat in fear of seeing Fouquet
become a new Mazarin or Richelieu, Louis had him arrested by none other than
the Sieur d’Artagnan (yes, back to The Three Musketeers again -- he was
a real person), and belligerently pursued his trial. It was no longer a time when a king could
straightaway order the execution of an innocent man, and so, the trial dragged
on. During this time, papers were
discovered in Fouquet’s possession, indicating that Fouquet had fortified his
fortress of Belle-Ile, to withdraw to, with his family, should fall from favor,
as he did. After three years or so, he
was imprisoned, too few judges having voted for execution, and he died in
prison in 1680. Louis got his wish, and
the post of superintendant of finances was abolished, and Louis had to sign
every spending bill -- every one -- himself. Fouquet’s job was unofficially taken by
highly-efficient and quasi-despotic Jean-Baptist Colbert, who became
Comptroller-General of Finances. My Mother can tell you
all about this guy, and his economic policy, and how he kidnapped
lacemakers.
But
Vaux-le-Vicomte lives on. Unfortunately,
the dome was under construction, but I could visit Fouquet’s private quarters,
as well as the main castle, and the very extensive gardens. Although they have some decent historical
background, and some OK art, the visits are neither particularly informative,
nor do they offer particularly memorable artwork. Still, in many ways, it is easy to see how,
if you took Vaux, and stretched it out until it was the size of Chambord, it
would turn out looking something like Versailles. The castle has good background information on
Fouquet’s trial, and has done a good job identifying all of the artists,
mathematicians, playwrights, poets, etc., who depended upon him. The Fouquet family emblem was a squirrel
rampant, which is depicted in painting and tapestry across the house. Apparently, when Colbert seized some of
Fouquet’s tapestry’s after the latter’s disgrace, arrest, and imprisonment, he
had the embroidery of the squirrels removed, and his own emblem, that of a
snake, replace it. The ceilings and
walls of the house were painted by Charles Le Brun, who went on to work at
Versailles, just like Le Notre. Not all
of the ceiling paintings are finished, though: in one case, there’s nothing but
an oval with clouds. Perhaps some muse
or allegory was planned to actually feature in the painting, but Le Brun never
had the opportunity, because Fouquet was arrested first? It seems likely.
The
castle also had a temporary exhibit on Le Notre, and the various gardens he
designed. He ended up being ennobled by
Louis, and even had the opportunity to design his own coat of arms. His design
featured a cabbage, and three silver snails. He was a very modest guy, and everyone at
court liked and admired him -- he had no enemies. I really wish someone who
studies landscape architecture and such had been with me to appreciate (and
explain to me) the 3D models.
It
was nearly 6:00 pm when I finally left the castle proper, and walked out to the
gardens. I had a nice walk around the
statues, which are, unfortunately, not in good repair. Lack of maintenance has caused some of them
to become so covered with moss and lichen that that they are no longer
recognizable as the figures from Greco-Roman mythology which they once represented. It would be a good place to have an enormous
royal party, which was probably the point.
When
I left the castle, at about 6:40 pm, I realized that there were no taxis
waiting. I don’t think that there was
any way for visitors who hadn’t driven to Vaux to make it home. I realized that I either had to ask another
tour group for a ride, or be stranded.
The group leaving right behind me was speaking English, and I asked me
if they could drop me off in a town with a train station, it didn’t matter
where, exactly, on their way back. I
realize that this probably wasn’t the safest thing to do, but they were
friendly, and didn’t begrudge me the seat, or, as far as I can tell, redirect
much from their route (they were driving in the opposite direction of Melun,
which was only 10 minutes away). I took
the train back to Paris, took the Metro back to the d’Artagnan, and, the next
morning (i.e. today, Tuesday), took the SNCF train back to Tours, to stay at the
hostel there until I leave on August 8th.
I’m
sorry that I’ve relocated again, but I was not entirely safe in my hostel in
the 20th arrondissement, according to what the Rabbi’s wife told me
on Shabbat. So now, I have 8 days to
relax, read… and write! I’ve got about
19 pages of my thesis written, and hope to have finished the 1st
draft by the time I arrive back home in Ithaca.
I’m
thinking of you all!
~JD
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