It was a perfect day to spend indoors, at the Louvre, looking at Dutch paintings: cold, dreary, wet, and miserable. At least there aren't any dikes to overflow, here in Paris. On my way, I finally stopped by the large domed building which I pass every day on my way to the Sorbonne, having finally decided that I ought to figure out exactly what it was. It turns out that it is the Val-de-Grace church, equipped with a benedictine monastery. The founder of Val-de-Grace is none other than Anne of Austria, wife of Louis XIII, who founded the monastery in thanks for the birth of a son (guess who that was). When Louis XIV was seven years old, he laid the first foundation stone of the edifice: the AA motif on the walls still recalls the original patroness. Mass was in session at the time, but the church is open to visitors most days of the week, and moreover, has become the museum of military health.
In any case, I had agreed to meet up with Nick later that afternoon, to visit the galleries of the Louvre together, but I had about three hours to spend alone with the Dutch paintings. I had told myself ahead of time that I was only going to look at paintings I enjoyed, but I nevertheless stopped to look at the 15th- and 16th-century religious paintings and portraits of dead important people. One of them, van Eyck's "The Virgin of Chancellor Rolin," from 1444, was apparently quite famous. It depicts Philippe le Bon (comte de Bourgogne) kneeling and praying before the Madonna: it's the background, depicting a sort of heavenly cityscape of Jerusalem, that makes the piece so famous, I think. However, for a while, there really isn't anything in these earlier Dutch paintings that interests me. But it's around 1580 that you begin to see some of the detail, such as the grime under Saint-Jerome's fingernails, that makes the Dutch paintings so interesting to look at. Beggars appear in certain compositions, and war makes its appearance as destructive brutality, alongside more glorious images. This is the age of the early Brueghels, a multi-generational clan of painters. I saw Jan "Velvet" Brueghel's masterpiece, depicting one of the battles of Alexander the Great; however, I far preferred a four-part series depicting the essences of the four classical elements. I particularly liked looking at "Fire," a scene of dwarven blacksmiths hard at work underground; in the foreground are piles of the masterpieces which they have crafted: suits of armor, metal urns, tools, jewelry, etc. This is one of the wonderful aspects of Dutch paintings: the piles of stuff which often clutter their foregrounds! I often wonder how they painted many of these, such as "Fish Merchants at their Stall." Did they paint from real models, or from books, or out of their heads? I wonder exactly how anatomically correct all of these fishy wares are...
In any case, I quickly got into the Rubens, the Van Dyck, and their contemporaries. There was even a double portrait of the two Dutch masters, isn't that neat? Perhaps my favorite part of this section was the Hall of the Medicis. Marie de' Medici, the wife of Henri IV, commissioned a 24-piece series of paintings chronicling her life's story, which now take up the entire hallway. To us, the idea seems ridiculously egotistic, and even laughable; at the time, though, it must have been a grand series of paintings. The story begins before her birth, showing the Fates spinning out her destiny, and different episodes include her marriage, coronation, reception of the regency when Henri IV leaves for war in Germany, her acceptance of the regency upon his untimely death, her diplomatic missions, etc. The episodes are highly romanticized -- one canvas doesn't even contain any human beings, only the classical Greco-Roman gods deciding the destiny of France and Spain. At the end of the epic, I was more impressed with Rubens than with Marie de' Medici!
Eventually, I arrived at the section on Rembrandt and his circle -- only to find that I really don't like the Rembrandt selection at the Louvre. Now that I've seen the original "The Night Watch" in Amsterdam, perhaps my standards are too high, but there was really only one painting that really impressed me, a 1660 self-portrait titled "Portrait of the artist with an easel." It has that truly Rembrandt je-ne-sais-quoi to it; half of the painting is obscured in shadow, and it is the way that the visible part emerges that makes it so wonderful to admire. Around this time, I looked at my watch, and realized that I only had a little while left in the galleries before I met Nick. I sped up, and made it at last to the final Dutch room, where I found the work of my other favorite Dutch painter, Vermeer. The Louvre owns two Vermeer paintings; one of them, the iconic "Lacemaker," is currently on loan in Philadelphia. The other, "The Astronomer, or rather the Astrologer," painted in 1668, is less well-known, but no less beautiful. It has light shining in through the window; what could be better? The folds of the tablecloth, the details of the globe, the sketches on the book before the scholar: all are detailed and accurate. Scholars now think that it is likely that Vermeer used a device known as a camera obscura, lent to him (?) by his friend Van Leeuwenhoek (yes, the same guy we learned about in Bio glass when learning the history of the microscope), which allowed him to trace his subjects. Perhaps this is true, I don't know; however, if Vermeer owed the quality of his work exclusively to a camera obscura, why can't anyone else paint like him? Camera obscura or not, Vermeer will never cease to interest me (fun fact: according to Wikipedia, the subject of "The Astronomer" could be Van Leeuwenhoek, who might even have commissioned the painting).
I headed outside into the light drizzle, and Nick found me while I was in the middle of taking the picture of a newly-engaged couple, who had asked me to take a photograph of them in front of the glass pyramid (very common). He and I bopped around the the 17th- and 18th- century French sculptures, before heading over to the Mesopotamian and Iranian antiquities. We found the famous Code of Hammurabi, one of the western world's most ancient of legal documents, and also a stele of "Baal of the Lightning," one of the Mesopotamian gods who features prominently in the Tanakh. Sitting down for a moment, I happened to look at some Iranian pottery, dating from around 1200 B.C.E. -- only to notice the very same aspects found in "Orientalizing" Greek pottery! The connection is now so obvious; the stylized flower blossoms interspersed with rows of stylized animals in profiles is clearly the same! I always knew that "Orientalizing" indicated eastern influence, but I had never before seen any examples of that eastern influence; now I have.
We meandered through the French painting section. We saw the famous "Turkish Bath" painting my Indres, which represents quite well the Ottoman harem in the European mind (note: when we think "harem," the image we conjure up of naked empty-headed hedonistic beauties surrounded by fierce eunuchs is that of the late Ottoman harem; a "harem," in, say, Middle Kingdom Egypt, was a completely different institution). The painter was 82 when he finished this work, which seems a little old, to me, to still be obsessed with naked women. That's the job of people my age, isn't it? We moved on, and Nick pointed out the only Impressionist paintings in the entire Louvre; there are only about eight of them, with a Monet and a Renoir, as well as a few Pissaro. The collections of the Louvre are just too old, for the most part, to have any significant possessions later than the mid-19th century. We also saw an extremely eye-catching 1780 painting of "The Eruption of Vesuvius" by an Austrian artist, and we kept on running into more portraits and busts of Diderot. Near the end of the visit, we came across a computer monitor that showed us how art historians analyzed paintings, using a portrait of Madame de Pompadour as a model. We both realized that, as much as we enjoy looking at certain paintings, we're never going to be able to read a painting like that. Good grief, those art historians even read the titles of the books on the shelves, and pick out complimentary shades of blue in completely different parts of the painting!
So, I'm all done with my work. Time to hit up the museums while I still can! Mom and Dad arrived yesterday, and we met for dinner; today, we visited the Musee Carnavalet together; and tomorrow, when they return from Versailles, we're eating dinner again together.
~JD
"L’Etat fixe les prix et les cours de la monnaie, achète la production, contrôle la circulation des biens et des hommes" [The state fixed the prices and the weights of the coinage, purchased finished goods, and regulated the circulation of goods and of men] (Jacques Mathieu, La Nouvelle-France, p. 150).
Showing posts with label Henri IV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Henri IV. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Chateaux II: Return to the Loire!
Back to the Loire Valley, but this time, with EDUCO! The rendez-vous was at 7:45 in the 6th arrondissement, so I got up around 6:00, and trotted off to catch the bus. I slept through most of the bus ride out; at noon, we arrived in the village of Amboise, home of both the royal chateau of the same name, and Clos Luce (Da Vinci's house, if you remember that entry). We had until 1:30 to stroll through the town and eat lunch. I had made a sandwich the night before, which I ate as a checked out the ramparts of Amboise, even managing to take a picture of its funny-shaped exterior, from below. Still during lunch hour, I took a stroll to Clos Luce's Da Vinci Park, taking the opportunity to examine several of the gadgets, and listen to several parts of the Leonardo-guided tour, that I hadn't before. Particularly interesting was an explanation of his study of the "human machinery," and of his recognition of the similarities between a cow's stomach and our own, and a frog's nervous system, and our own; at one time, he had ten cadavers, which he had dissected.
I met back with the rest of the EDUCO students (and had a bit of a discussion with our guide about Gothic Flamboyant architecture), and we all visited Clos Luce as a group. I hadn't noticed it the first time around, but there is a secret underground passageway leading from the chateau of Amboise to Clos Luce (it's closed to visitors), which Francois I used to furtively visit da Vinci. I also hadn't noticed that Marguerite de Navarre had her own bedroom at Clos Luce, for her visits to her brother's hired genius.
Most people don't know about Marguerite de Navarre (aka Marguerite d'Angouleme), and I think that it's only fair that I introduce this exceptional woman. Queen of Navarre, and older sister of Francois I of France, Marguerite was a highly-social, highly-astute woman, best remembered today for her great work of literature, the Heptameron (modeled on Boccaccio's Decameron), a collection of seventy "framed" stories. However, she was a true Renaissance woman, and seemed to be everywhere, meeting everyone there is to meet in the Renaissance (her friendship and fascination with da Vinci is a perfect example of this). Apparently a quick thinker, she wrote while traveling in her carriage. A purveyor of tolerance, she offered shelter to the much-persecuted Protestants. Her statue now stands in the Jardin Luxembourg, and you can see my photo of it on Facebook.
After trotting around the Parc da Vinci, where I played the tour guide for a few of my friends, we hopped back on the bus, and traveled to one of my favorite chateaux -- Chenonceau, the queens' chateau with the two magnificent gardens. Again, I noticed a few things I hadn't before, such as the massive mother-of-pearl cabinet offered as a wedding present to Henri II and Catherine de Medicis by the Republic of Venice, and the Flemish tapestry illustrating this happy event. Our guide seemed to recognize my general interest for all of the history surrounding us, and happily chatted with my friend Ade and me about the furniture, paintings, architecture, and tapestries. As I've mentioned before, there is absolutely nothing like visiting a chateau with a historian, nothing like it at all.
Next stop was wine-tasting at Pere Auguste, a family-owned winery that produces Touraine wine. The business is fairly small, and it was one of the owners who gave us a tour of the presses and fermenting tanks. I nearly had a moment of confusion, due to the identical pronunciation of the words for "rooster" (coq) and "grapeskin" (coque). There were fruitflies in the winery, which was a bit unnerving, but the wine was quite good. There were four qualities -- white, red, rose, and sparkling -- and I'll admit that I preferred the Rose, but wasn't too wild about the red. The wine cost 15 Euros for three bottles, which is a very good deal in France, and the winery made quite a good revenue that day from the American tourists!
Back on the road, we arrived at the countryside hotel where we were to spend the night. We had rented out an entire building, where we were three-to-a-room. There were only five male students who had come on the trip, however, so Nick and I jumped to grab a double together (there are a few more boys who didn't show up, but yes, EDUCO is almost all girls, and every current staff member is female). After about 10-15 minutes just to put our things away, and find out in which room the cute girls were staying, we headed over to the dinner room, where we had a far, far better meal than I think anyone had expected. The sole vegetarian got an omelet and courgettes to go with his fusilli, but it was a good omelet. After dinner, our guide led us in some French drinking songs, "Les Chevaliers de la Table Ronde," and "Buvons un coup, buvons en deux."
Soon after dinner, the party started. I hadn't realized it, but many of my classmates had purchased wine in order to consume it that night, together. I couldn't contribute much, but my friends were more than happy to share. We had a pretty good time, sitting together in the middle of a field, and playing various games designed to divulge our sexual lives. I managed to teach Dead Monkey to the rest, which went over surprisingly well. I had a very good time, and didn't get trashed.
Next morning, up at seven. Not fun, after a night like that! Still, Nick and I stumbled over to the breakfast room, beating the rest of the bleary-eyed crowd. Before long, we hopped back on the bus, headed for Blois.
I'd like to retract every negative statement I made about the royal chateau of Blois in my last entry on the town (published about six weeks ago). Although I maintain that the town feels like a tourist trap, and that the Maison de la Magie just across the way is a cheesy swindle, the only fault I have with Blois is that photography is forbidden, and my only quarrel with our tour of the chateau is that it was too quick. The chateau is absolutely fantastic, architecturally, because there are four distinct historical building periods discernible to the naked eye, even to me. Standing in the central courtyard, one look at the red-brick 15th-century Italian-style Gothic flamboyant wing constructed under Louis XII, turn ninety degrees to see the amazing 16th-century Renaissance wing ordered by Francois I, and turn another ninety degrees to see the unfinished 17th-century Classical wing ordered by Gaston, duc d'Orleans. When Gaston was in the midst of construction, his brother, Louis XIII, had a son; suddenly, Gaston was no longer heir to the throne of France. His allowance being cut off in such an abrupt fashion, he lacked the funds to complete his architectural plans, let alone demolish the older sections of the castle, as he had planned. For this reason, the conglomeration exists as it does today. Blois has been fabulously and meticulously restored with paintings, tapestries, and furniture, almost as well as Langeais. The castle is the site of a famous murder, that of Henri II's brother, who during the wars of religion was supported by the ultra-catholic faction; with the support of the first estate and a large section of the third, he was likely to become king. Henri disposed of him, summoning him to his (Henri's) presence, where he (the duc) would be without his customary bodyguard. Months later, in a fabulous boomerang effect, Henri II was himself assassinated. This event was followed by the War of the Three Henris (I'm not kidding about this), leaving, finally, Henri IV, founder of the Bourbon dynasty, and author of the Edict of Nantes, as king, in the last decade of the 16th century. Naturally, Henri IV was assassinated only a few years afterward... You can also see the secret cabinets, concealed in the wall, where Catherine de Medicis hid important documents of state, etc. (no, not poison).
Next up was another castle I had not visited, the Chateau de Beauregard. To be honest, it's nothing more than a hunting lodge, owned by Henri II's secretary of state. The building itself is not terribly interesting, historically, nor particularly beautiful; the grounds are abundant, but none too interesting. The floor and walls of the upstairs gallery, however, are the real treasure trove of the chateau. The floor is finely decorated with delft porcelain tiles, depicting a 16th-century army on the march, each row of tiles depicting a soldier bearing different arms. The walls, meanwhile, are covered with dozens of portraits, depicting the principal actors in French politics, reign-by-reign, from the time of the Hundred Years' War until the time of Louis XIV, the sun king. Our guide gave us a rapid explanation, explaining who was who. Many of the historical personages were not even French; Francois I was situated beside Suleiman the Magnificent, and Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire.
Following the tour was one of the most sumptuous and gourmet meals I believe I have ever had, and certainly the nicest I have had in the last few year. We sat in the Orangerie, and enjoyed plate after plate of fine French food -- couscous, tomato, quiche, salad, wine, cheese, good bread, decent red wine, strawberries in wine, etc. There was good company too (I sat with some very cool people, including all four of the other male students on the trip), and though several unforeseen events did occur, they served more as conversational topics than as anything capable of ruining a meal. The first was the fat spider I spotted floating in my wine, after I had taken no more than a couple of sips. The second was the fact that, unlike at the hotel where we stayed the night, the Orangerie had not prepared a vegetarian meal in advance for me, so they just threw together an omelet (surprise, surprise), but at least they didn't complain. When David found a lock of hair in his salad, we assumed that it was meant for me, who had had the temerity to mention the spider.
The waitress had kindly brought our whole table a new jug of wine after the arachnid incident, and so I drank a little bit more than I should have; I still felt a buzz when we arrived at Chambord, the great pleasure-house of Francois I. The chateau is so vast that in my two visits, I still haven't seen everything, but I did notice a few points of interested that I had missed on my first round. The first was the office, complete with furniture, where Louis XIV had dictated the repeal of the Edict of Nantes (he signed it at Fountainbleu). I had also missed the beds of Louis and of the king of Poland, and one of the three titanic ceramic stoves installed by the Marechal of Saxe (all three men were proprietors, at one time or another). I also visited the rooms dedicated to the Compte de Chambord, so-called Henri V, reading about the man on whose shoulders so much royalist hope rested, the "miracle child" born after the assassination of his father.
We sadly had very little time to visit the chateaux, but the trip was amazing. I dozed for part of the bus ride back to Paris, and also played Contact with the other students. Now I'm back, class has begun at La Sorbonne, and I'm (finally) making some French friends. Hope all is well with you.
~JD
"Enfin le regime egalitaire -- qui serait l'acte de tolerance --les deux confessions placees sur le meme pied, le culte de l'une et l'autre librement exerce partout cote a cote, la participation a la vie publique assuree a tous -- cette solution n'est pas plus realisable, les esprits et les moeurs s'y opposant; et c'est l'explication majeure des difficultes rencontrees par Henri IV pour retablir la paix a l'interiuer de son royaume"[By the end, the establishment of an egalitarian regime -- in other words, an act of tolerance, the two sects placed on equal footing, both cults freely exercised everywhere, side-by-side, participation in public life guaranteed for all -- this solution was no longer possible, with feelings and mores in such opposition; and this is the major explanation of the difficulties encountered by Henri IV in bringing peace to the interior of his kingdom] (Robert Mandou, Introduction a la France moderne, 173-174).
I met back with the rest of the EDUCO students (and had a bit of a discussion with our guide about Gothic Flamboyant architecture), and we all visited Clos Luce as a group. I hadn't noticed it the first time around, but there is a secret underground passageway leading from the chateau of Amboise to Clos Luce (it's closed to visitors), which Francois I used to furtively visit da Vinci. I also hadn't noticed that Marguerite de Navarre had her own bedroom at Clos Luce, for her visits to her brother's hired genius.
Most people don't know about Marguerite de Navarre (aka Marguerite d'Angouleme), and I think that it's only fair that I introduce this exceptional woman. Queen of Navarre, and older sister of Francois I of France, Marguerite was a highly-social, highly-astute woman, best remembered today for her great work of literature, the Heptameron (modeled on Boccaccio's Decameron), a collection of seventy "framed" stories. However, she was a true Renaissance woman, and seemed to be everywhere, meeting everyone there is to meet in the Renaissance (her friendship and fascination with da Vinci is a perfect example of this). Apparently a quick thinker, she wrote while traveling in her carriage. A purveyor of tolerance, she offered shelter to the much-persecuted Protestants. Her statue now stands in the Jardin Luxembourg, and you can see my photo of it on Facebook.
After trotting around the Parc da Vinci, where I played the tour guide for a few of my friends, we hopped back on the bus, and traveled to one of my favorite chateaux -- Chenonceau, the queens' chateau with the two magnificent gardens. Again, I noticed a few things I hadn't before, such as the massive mother-of-pearl cabinet offered as a wedding present to Henri II and Catherine de Medicis by the Republic of Venice, and the Flemish tapestry illustrating this happy event. Our guide seemed to recognize my general interest for all of the history surrounding us, and happily chatted with my friend Ade and me about the furniture, paintings, architecture, and tapestries. As I've mentioned before, there is absolutely nothing like visiting a chateau with a historian, nothing like it at all.
Next stop was wine-tasting at Pere Auguste, a family-owned winery that produces Touraine wine. The business is fairly small, and it was one of the owners who gave us a tour of the presses and fermenting tanks. I nearly had a moment of confusion, due to the identical pronunciation of the words for "rooster" (coq) and "grapeskin" (coque). There were fruitflies in the winery, which was a bit unnerving, but the wine was quite good. There were four qualities -- white, red, rose, and sparkling -- and I'll admit that I preferred the Rose, but wasn't too wild about the red. The wine cost 15 Euros for three bottles, which is a very good deal in France, and the winery made quite a good revenue that day from the American tourists!
Back on the road, we arrived at the countryside hotel where we were to spend the night. We had rented out an entire building, where we were three-to-a-room. There were only five male students who had come on the trip, however, so Nick and I jumped to grab a double together (there are a few more boys who didn't show up, but yes, EDUCO is almost all girls, and every current staff member is female). After about 10-15 minutes just to put our things away, and find out in which room the cute girls were staying, we headed over to the dinner room, where we had a far, far better meal than I think anyone had expected. The sole vegetarian got an omelet and courgettes to go with his fusilli, but it was a good omelet. After dinner, our guide led us in some French drinking songs, "Les Chevaliers de la Table Ronde," and "Buvons un coup, buvons en deux."
Soon after dinner, the party started. I hadn't realized it, but many of my classmates had purchased wine in order to consume it that night, together. I couldn't contribute much, but my friends were more than happy to share. We had a pretty good time, sitting together in the middle of a field, and playing various games designed to divulge our sexual lives. I managed to teach Dead Monkey to the rest, which went over surprisingly well. I had a very good time, and didn't get trashed.
Next morning, up at seven. Not fun, after a night like that! Still, Nick and I stumbled over to the breakfast room, beating the rest of the bleary-eyed crowd. Before long, we hopped back on the bus, headed for Blois.
I'd like to retract every negative statement I made about the royal chateau of Blois in my last entry on the town (published about six weeks ago). Although I maintain that the town feels like a tourist trap, and that the Maison de la Magie just across the way is a cheesy swindle, the only fault I have with Blois is that photography is forbidden, and my only quarrel with our tour of the chateau is that it was too quick. The chateau is absolutely fantastic, architecturally, because there are four distinct historical building periods discernible to the naked eye, even to me. Standing in the central courtyard, one look at the red-brick 15th-century Italian-style Gothic flamboyant wing constructed under Louis XII, turn ninety degrees to see the amazing 16th-century Renaissance wing ordered by Francois I, and turn another ninety degrees to see the unfinished 17th-century Classical wing ordered by Gaston, duc d'Orleans. When Gaston was in the midst of construction, his brother, Louis XIII, had a son; suddenly, Gaston was no longer heir to the throne of France. His allowance being cut off in such an abrupt fashion, he lacked the funds to complete his architectural plans, let alone demolish the older sections of the castle, as he had planned. For this reason, the conglomeration exists as it does today. Blois has been fabulously and meticulously restored with paintings, tapestries, and furniture, almost as well as Langeais. The castle is the site of a famous murder, that of Henri II's brother, who during the wars of religion was supported by the ultra-catholic faction; with the support of the first estate and a large section of the third, he was likely to become king. Henri disposed of him, summoning him to his (Henri's) presence, where he (the duc) would be without his customary bodyguard. Months later, in a fabulous boomerang effect, Henri II was himself assassinated. This event was followed by the War of the Three Henris (I'm not kidding about this), leaving, finally, Henri IV, founder of the Bourbon dynasty, and author of the Edict of Nantes, as king, in the last decade of the 16th century. Naturally, Henri IV was assassinated only a few years afterward... You can also see the secret cabinets, concealed in the wall, where Catherine de Medicis hid important documents of state, etc. (no, not poison).
Next up was another castle I had not visited, the Chateau de Beauregard. To be honest, it's nothing more than a hunting lodge, owned by Henri II's secretary of state. The building itself is not terribly interesting, historically, nor particularly beautiful; the grounds are abundant, but none too interesting. The floor and walls of the upstairs gallery, however, are the real treasure trove of the chateau. The floor is finely decorated with delft porcelain tiles, depicting a 16th-century army on the march, each row of tiles depicting a soldier bearing different arms. The walls, meanwhile, are covered with dozens of portraits, depicting the principal actors in French politics, reign-by-reign, from the time of the Hundred Years' War until the time of Louis XIV, the sun king. Our guide gave us a rapid explanation, explaining who was who. Many of the historical personages were not even French; Francois I was situated beside Suleiman the Magnificent, and Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire.
Following the tour was one of the most sumptuous and gourmet meals I believe I have ever had, and certainly the nicest I have had in the last few year. We sat in the Orangerie, and enjoyed plate after plate of fine French food -- couscous, tomato, quiche, salad, wine, cheese, good bread, decent red wine, strawberries in wine, etc. There was good company too (I sat with some very cool people, including all four of the other male students on the trip), and though several unforeseen events did occur, they served more as conversational topics than as anything capable of ruining a meal. The first was the fat spider I spotted floating in my wine, after I had taken no more than a couple of sips. The second was the fact that, unlike at the hotel where we stayed the night, the Orangerie had not prepared a vegetarian meal in advance for me, so they just threw together an omelet (surprise, surprise), but at least they didn't complain. When David found a lock of hair in his salad, we assumed that it was meant for me, who had had the temerity to mention the spider.
The waitress had kindly brought our whole table a new jug of wine after the arachnid incident, and so I drank a little bit more than I should have; I still felt a buzz when we arrived at Chambord, the great pleasure-house of Francois I. The chateau is so vast that in my two visits, I still haven't seen everything, but I did notice a few points of interested that I had missed on my first round. The first was the office, complete with furniture, where Louis XIV had dictated the repeal of the Edict of Nantes (he signed it at Fountainbleu). I had also missed the beds of Louis and of the king of Poland, and one of the three titanic ceramic stoves installed by the Marechal of Saxe (all three men were proprietors, at one time or another). I also visited the rooms dedicated to the Compte de Chambord, so-called Henri V, reading about the man on whose shoulders so much royalist hope rested, the "miracle child" born after the assassination of his father.
We sadly had very little time to visit the chateaux, but the trip was amazing. I dozed for part of the bus ride back to Paris, and also played Contact with the other students. Now I'm back, class has begun at La Sorbonne, and I'm (finally) making some French friends. Hope all is well with you.
~JD
"Enfin le regime egalitaire -- qui serait l'acte de tolerance --les deux confessions placees sur le meme pied, le culte de l'une et l'autre librement exerce partout cote a cote, la participation a la vie publique assuree a tous -- cette solution n'est pas plus realisable, les esprits et les moeurs s'y opposant; et c'est l'explication majeure des difficultes rencontrees par Henri IV pour retablir la paix a l'interiuer de son royaume"[By the end, the establishment of an egalitarian regime -- in other words, an act of tolerance, the two sects placed on equal footing, both cults freely exercised everywhere, side-by-side, participation in public life guaranteed for all -- this solution was no longer possible, with feelings and mores in such opposition; and this is the major explanation of the difficulties encountered by Henri IV in bringing peace to the interior of his kingdom] (Robert Mandou, Introduction a la France moderne, 173-174).
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