Category Archives: Cathedrals and Churches

Anne of Brittany at Langeais: A Secret Royal Bride

At daybreak on the morning of December 6, 1491, the fourteen-year-old Duchess Anne of Brittany married the 21-year-old King Charles VIII of France in somewhat-rushed ceremony that had to be kept secret until the ink on the wedding contract was dry. And when the provisions of the wedding contract were revealed, there was general shock and awe. The wedding changed the map and the history of France.

The dramatic tableau of life-sized figures in the Great Hall of Langeais Chateau is one good reason to make a stop there, but it’s not the only reason.

The late medieval chateau of Langeais towers above its pretty town on the banks of the Loire. The location has been in the thick of French history since around 992, when Foulque Nerra, Count of Anjou, built a wood-and-stone keep.

The keep is now a ruin in a pretty park above the medieval chateau.

The elevated ground overlooking the River Loire, where the smaller River Roumer feeds into it, was a prime defensive spot because from its heights, whoever held it could fend off any intruders. And there were plenty of intruders.

The Counts of Anjou and Blois were constantly trying to grab chunks of each other’s lands.

According to the chateau guidebook (written by Jean Favier of the Institut de France), whoever held Langeais controlled the middle part of the Loire. Langeais changed hands several times in the years before Foulque died in 1040. His son had to defend it against Blois, just as his father had before him. The Counts of Anjou and Blois were far more rich and powerful than the King of France at the time.

In the 1200s, the Counts of Anjou expanded their territories through judicious marriage (maybe they learned something from the Hapsburgs, who were past masters of this handy skill). Geoffroi Plantagenet extended his territories northward into Normandy. His son, Henry II, married Eleanor of Aquitaine and became King of England.

Beginning in the early 1200s, Langeais became less a military stronghold and more a prize given by the French Crown to various noblemen. The Loire Valley was “discovered” as prime second-home property–which it still is today. Nobles began building bigger and grander chateaux, far beyond the time when they were needed for defense.

Starting in 1495, Louis XI built the castle we see today. By this time, everybody who wanted to do battle had gunpowder and long-range cannons, so high walls with places for archers to hide were of no use against a determined enemy. There were no such enemies, but still, a new castle had to look a certain way. No self-respecting chateau would lack an intimidating drawbridge.

Elegant doorways were required inside the courtyard.

Round towers with pointy roofs grandly topped things off.

Inside, though, the castle deteriorated as centuries went by. It was abandoned during the Revolution. Then it went though a succession of owners who found it a bit much to maintain. In 1838, the town came close to buying it, to house a school, the town hall, and a jail. But it went instead to first one and then another rich owner.

Finally, in 1886, Jacques Siegfried bought it. He was a fabulously wealthy businessman who had already explored the world. He was ready to settle in Langeais and restore the chateau to a Victorian/Romantic idea of a princely late-medieval home. Monsieur Siegfried consulted the best historical experts, so most likely his ideas were pretty accurate.

He commissioned beautiful glazed tile floors based on old designs.

He located beautiful old tapestries for the walls.

Monsieur Siegfried filled the rooms with authentic furniture–most of it portable, as furniture was in the days when nobles and royalty traveled from castle to castle.

I think some of the furniture was built from old illustrations, like this high chair and baby walker.

Medieval castles were drafty; the rich had elevated beds draped with cozy textiles. They also had big bolster-like pillows on which they slept nearly sitting up. There was a belief that lying down all night might cause death. (Presumably the servants and poor folks were too exhausted at the end of the day to have this worry).

The bride on that cold winter morning in 1491 was the “It” girl of her time: Anne of Brittany, heiress of the vast and wealthy lands of Brittany. The groom was the young King of France, Charles VIII. All over Europe, princes and nobles wanted to marry Anne. She was actually married already, by proxy, to Maximilian of Hapsburg, who was in line to become Holy Roman Emperor. But he was busy dealing with revolts in his lands; he dragged his feet in getting together with his bride, and the political winds shifted. Charles VIII did not want to be encircled by his enemies. He was already betrothed to Margaret, the daughter of Maximilian. But Charles’ people talked to Anne’s people, and a deal was struck.

The prize was Brittany, and the French Crown needed it–permanently. So the marriage contract stated that if Charles died without male heirs, Anne would marry his successor–who was also present at the wedding, looking eagle-eyed at the contract. And well he might. He was Duke Louis d’Orleans, who would actually become King Louis XII and marry Anne within a few years.

Of course Anne’s proxy marriage and Charles’s betrothal had to conveniently disappear, and the dispensations had not yet arrived from Rome. But the deed was done once the marriage contract was signed. (Nobody talked about the fact that the bride’s magnificent wedding gown of cloth of gold, trimmed with sable, had been a gift from Maximilian).

A few years after the wedding, Charles was rushing to a tennis match in the Chateau d’Amboise: he whacked his head on the lintel of a door and died. He had no heir. His cousin, the Duke d’Orleans, was already married, but he readily obtained an annulment so that he could marry Anne, as spelled out in her wedding contract. (I have to wonder whether Anne might have secretly thought she was off the hook on the agreement to marry her husband’s cousin. But political needs were stronger than anyone’s personal needs. The inconvenient wife was sent packing in short order, and the new royal wedding took place).

Anne dutifully spent her life trying to produce a male heir, first with one royal husband, then with another. She never succeeded. One report says that she was pregnant about every 14 months, but only two daughters survived to adulthood. (One daughter was Queen Claude, wife of King Francois I. If anything, her royal life was even more trying than her mother’s, and she died at age 24). A touching 19th century enamel, above, depicts one of Anne’s sons, who died as a small child from measles. Anne died of a kidney stone attack at age 36, worn out from constant pregnancies.

Langais was given to the Institut de France in 1904. The dramatic figures of the wedding tableau were made by sculptor Daniel Druet and costume designer Daniel Ogier. I’m not sure when they were made, but I first saw them about ten years ago. Now, the display seems even more impressive.

Four times an hour, the Great Hall darkens, images are projected on the wall, and a narrator tells the dramatic story. It’s in English once every hour. Hopeless Francophile that I am, I went back and listened again, to the French version. Somehow it seems even more dramatic in French.

Langeais is a very pretty town with nice shops and restaurants, plus the beautiful Church of St. John the Baptist.

The church was founded in the fourth century by St. Martin of Tours–the soldier who famously cut his warm cloak in half to give to a naked beggar. The present building was begun in the 900s and modified over the next few hundred years. It still functions as a parish church, and I think it hosts concerts as well.

Langeais would be a good base for another trip to the Loire Valley! Hmmm…

If It’s Friday, This Must be Fontainebleau

I’m continuing a brief rundown of my 9-day chateau blitz in France, with individual posts to come! Above is Chateau de Chambord, which I think of as The Really Big One With the Spiky Roof.

Francois I built Chambord starting in 1519 and naturally stuck his emblem, the flame-spouting salamander, all over the place. It’s a little short on charm but long on history and the Wow Factor.

Chateau de Langeais is a restored medieval chateau/fortress in a delightful town.

Langeais is most famous as the site of a secret wedding that changed French history: Anne of Brittany married King Charles III, uniting her coveted vast lands with the French crown. And she agreed in writing to marry his successor if Charles died (which he did). A dramatic tableau in the actual wedding hall (with narration every 15 minutes, in English once every hour) explains the characters and why this wedding was a very big deal.

Chateau de Villandry is most famous for its gardens, but the chateau has fine art, too. That’s a bust of Francois I in his armor above.

Chateau de Chaumont was the consolation prize given to Diane de Poitiers after Catherine de Medici kicked her out of the sublime Chenonceau. (See previous post, “Diane de Poitiers vs. Catherine de Medici). Diane hardly stayed at Chaumont, but shrewdly developed and farmed the estate to her great profit.

Later, Chaumont became a regular haunt of nobles and artists like Marcel Proust.

Today, Chaumont has fantastic gardens and art installations. When I visited, the chapel was filled with branches, flowers and beautiful found objects.

Chateau d’Amboise towers over the lively town of Amboise, right on the River Loire. Francois I brought Leonardo da Vinci here from Italy, to keep him company during the last 3 years of Leonardo’s life.

Leonardo died in 1519 at the mansion Francois I gave him, Clos Luce, just up the street from the chateau. He was buried on the chateau grounds.

Chateau de Gaillard, down a side street near Clos Luce, is really more of a mansion. But it was the home of the master gardener Charles III brought from Italy to do up his chateau grounds.

Dom Pacello was a monk with a serious green thumb. Among other great ideas, he brought orange trees to France. After Charles III died, Dom Pacello served his successors, Louis XII and Francois “The Builder” I. Today, the family renovating the estate is cultivating many of the 60 varieties of citruses grown by the gardener monk.

Vaux-le-Vicomte was the place that inspired Louis XIV, the Sun King, to go all out in building the Palace of Versailles.

Well, truth be told, it was more appropriation than inspiration. Louis was furious that his Lord High Treasurer, Nicolas Fouquet, had nicer digs than anything the King had at the time. So after a particularly grand blowout party in which Nicolas pulled out all the stops to amuse Louis, Louis turned around and had him arrested and imprisoned for life (overruling the court that failed to convict him). Then Louis made off with the great architect Louis le Vau, the painter and designer Charles le Brun, and the landscaper Andre le Notre, along with all the furniture. He even dug up the bushes.

Nearby Fontainebleau has been the home of French kings for centuries. There’s always renovation going on. But I really could not see the point of a short section of ugly fence right in front of the famous double staircase where Napoleon Bonaparte spoke to his troops after he was forced to abdicate. I think the fence was put there just to discourage selfies.

Napoleon especially liked Fontainebleau. There’s an absorbing series of rooms about him on display right now. Is that one of Napoleon’s outfits above? No. It’s just how he dressed one of his more important servants. The Emperor had style, for sure.

My very least favorite sight on this trip was the Fontevraud-l’Abbaye, where nobles and royalty once retreated to the monastic life. I saw it years ago, and expected it to be more developed for visitors now. It is, but not in a good way, at least for me.

The whole site was a fearsome prison for 150 years, only closed in 1963. The cavernous spaces were filled with prison cells for all that time.

Prisoners did forced labor in complete silence and were subject to terrible abuse. Life expectancy was 8 months. A series of exhibits in the cloister claims all kinds of similarities between prison life and monastic life. I don’t see it. Monastic life was usually (of course not always) a free choice of nuns and monks, and it was based on prayer and contemplation, not subjugation and punishment. I found the exhibit offensive and felt like the place was haunted by the thousands of prisoners who suffered and died there.

It’s true that Eleanor of Aquitaine spent her last days at Fontevraud-l’Abbaye, when it was a very pleasant place, and died there in 1204. Her effigy lies with those of her husband, King Henry II of England, her son, Richard the Lionheart, and Isabella of Angouleme, wife of King John of England. But the monastery was dismantled during the Revolution, and these may not be the actual resting places. Anyway, the space is cold, empty, and unconsecrated.

More serious fans of architecture could spend hours studying the Romanesque abbey, but I probably would not go back.

Kings, queens, nobles and assorted favorites acquired serious real estate over the centuries. Every chateau and abbey and church is one-of-a-kind, like the people who built and lived and worshipped in them. The ones I visited on this trip are just the most famous ones.

I’d like to take another whole trip going to lesser-known and farther-afield chateaux, and also to the churches I didn’t have time for. But I would always carve out a morning to gaze out the leaded-glass windows of beautiful, magical, sublime Chenonceau, draped like a necklace across the River Cher. The kitchens at Chenonceau are even beautiful, and they have that river view.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe!

If It’s Tuesday, That Must Be Talleyrand

Or, Why You Might Not Want to Travel With Me. I’m nearing the end of a 9-day trip to France, and for sure I know I married the right guy all those years ago. He cheerfully drives anywhere, this time from Charles de Gaulle Airport to the Loire Valley and back, with at least two or three stops at sights every day. If you don’t like a slightly hectic travel pace, you might not want to tag along with us.

We based ourselves in tiny Chenonceaux, pretty central for the Loire Valley. (The town’s name ends with an X but the chateau’s name is Chenonceau).

And Chenonceau is the most beautiful and fascinating chateau anywhere, if you ask me. Plus Chenonceau always smells wonderful. Every single room always has fresh flowers, as no doubt they did in the days that Diane de Poitiers and later Catherine de Medici gazed out the leaded-glass windows at the River Cher.

Thanks to the wonders of our Garmin GPS to find places, and my trusty iPhone cellular data to double-check opening times, we covered a lot of ground on this trip. Also, we were seeing some of these places for the second or even the third time. (For us, history never gets old. It just gets more interesting).

Here are a few of my other favorite things from this trip:

Claude Monet’s Gardens and Home in Giverny.

Chateau Azay-le-Rideau: a jewel of a Renaissance castle, recently renovated and sparkling on its own pretty little island.

Chateau de Cheverny: owned by the same family for hundreds of years, plus they have about one hundred happy hunting dogs.

Chartres Cathedral, one of the greatest medieval pilgrimage sites, always spectacular (even though I don’t understand why the interior was recently whitewashed. I have mixed feelings about the very controversial recent “renovation”). I really love the mismatched towers, pretty unique in cathedrals. What were the builders thinking, as the second tower went up? Who gave them permission? Well, it works for me.

Chateau de Blois, layers of history plus a generous serving of murder and mayhem.

And as for Talleyrand? He was the right-hand diplomat of Napoleon Bonaparte, among many other things in his gleefully scandalous life. He pretty much did as he pleased and had a wonderful time. His Chateau de Valencay is lovely in a faded-elegance way, and very entertaining.

Just above, the fairy-tale towers and turrets of Chateau d’Usse.

I have lots more just to list, but I still have a couple of days to see as much as possible. Time to plan what else to see. I’ll finish my trip list later. Naturally, I took a ton of photos and picked up a ton of guidebooks. I’ll post much more about each of these sights and all the rest after I catch my breath. To be continued!

First Day of Spring

I think spring is coming late to England this year. I’ll be there soon, and I’m thinking there might still be snow in the ground. Or flooded spring rivers. Still, I’m hoping for tulips. They were spectacular a couple of years ago.

These were in the gardens of Ann Hathaway’s thatched-roof cottage near Stratford-on-Avon.

The tulips and daffodils were in bloom at Sudeley Castle in Winchcombe, where Richard III’s banqueting hall lies in picturesque ruins, sheltering a Tudor Knot Garden (planted much later, using Tudor designs).

Fruit trees blossomed overhead…

…and in St. Mary’s Church on the castle grounds, angels hovered over the Victorian tomb of Queen Catherine Parr, the last wife of King Henry VIII. (Her coffin was lost for a few centuries following the English Civil War, when the castle was “slighted” by Cromwell’s troops).

I was on the lookout for bluebells in all the woodsy places.

We should have been on the lookout for hidden springtime potholes too. This one caused not one but two flat tires on our rental car. Country roads are narrow, we’re driving on the “wrong side,” and sometimes we have to swerve.

Where I live in the mountains of Colorado, it’s still winter. The moose are finding tender branches to chomp, though.

In the dead of winter, I admired a painting by Fritz Syberg, from 1892. It’s called simply “Spring.”

Birds sing, rivers flow, and trees bud.

The young girl’s face is oddly melancholy. Or maybe she is just thoughtful.

Art should make us think. Travel makes us think too, about the past, about being present in the moment (even if the moment involves flat tires), and about the future. I’m anxious to be off again!

Prince Henrik: The Ungrateful (Royal) Dead of Denmark?

Now I’ve heard the ultimate First-World problem:  what if a man married a queen, naturally expecting that would make him  a king, and had to settle for being a Prince Consort? Not even a King Consort? That is what happened to Prince Henrik of Denmark. A few months before his death, the Prince made world news with his announcement that he would not be buried beside his wife, Queen Margrethe, in the royal tomb that is already prepared.  I wrote a snarky post, which I’m revising now to be slightly less snarky. Especially after reading that he suffered from dementia, I felt that my post was a little mean-spirited.  I do feel some sympathy for his plight, even though I don’t completely understand it. I find the whole concept of royalty in the modern age both fascinating and baffling.


Among other places, the Prince is prominently featured in the spectacular series of seventeen wall-sized tapestries created to celebrate the 50th birthday of Queen Margrethe II in 1990. They actually took ten years to make, so they were finally hung in the Great Hall on her 60th birthday, in 2000.


The Prince gets to wear any number of medals and attend elegant events in the Great Hall. The photo is from a poster in the hall. Snarky comment: Sadly, my invitation to the event must have been lost in the mail.

Another snarky comment: I wasn’t invited to eat in the adjoining dining room, either.


Among other royal perks, there’s a royal yacht. We happened to be in Stockholm last spring when the Crown Prince of Denmark, son of Prince Henrik and Queen Margrethe, sailed in for a visit.


We stood around for quite awhile so that my granddaughters could lay eyes on an actual Prince and Princess. They duly emerged and waved to the small crowd.


The Danish artist Bjørn Nørgaard painted the “cartoons”–the full-size color plans for the seventeen tapestries in the Grand Hall of Christiansborg Palace.


A gift from many Danish businesses plus the state of France, the homeland of the prince, the tapestries depict the entire history of Denmark. They throw in some guesses at the future to boot.

I spent a couple of hours studying and admiring the seventeen tapestries.  They’re by far the best reason to buy a ticket to Christiansborg Palace in Copenhagen.

All through 50 years of marriage, the Prince Consort groused about the slight he suffered. At age 83, a few months before his death, he made his shocking announcement.


As resting places go, Roskilde is pretty nice.


The medieval cathedral has been the resting place of Danish royalty for many generations.


There’s a King’s Door which can only be used by the King and/or Queen to enter. It’s not clear to me whether the Prince Consort was allowed enter through it. I believe anyone is allowed to LEAVE through this special door when it is used for a ceremony like a baptism, or possibly a funeral. Anyway, the bronze doors, polished and patinated to look like gold, replaced carved-oak ones from the late 1800s. They were newly designed and installed in 2010.


Royalty and nobles occupy beautiful chapels. I especially like the ceilings.



The memorial sculptures range from medieval times to the 1950s or so.


Bjorn Norgaard, designer of the magnificent Christiansborg tapestries, was commissioned some years ago to design a modern-yet-traditional monument for the future burial chapel of Queen Margrethe and Prince Henrik. Instead of the typical stone effigies of the great and good, it features their images sandblasted into a large gleaming egg of glass.


But Queen Margrethe will apparently occupy this resting place alone. Before his death on February 14, 2018, I wondered whether the Prince might still get a promotion, and if so, whether it would change his mind. That did not happen. If I had been in charge, I might have found some way to give him the title he wanted, in the interest of peace in the family. But I gather there were constitutional reasons why it could not be done. On the other hand, my egalitarian, practical mind has to wonder why a lifetime of royal luxury wasn’t enough. Wherever Prince Henrik rests, I hope he rests in peace.

A couple of articles about the situation are at:

http://m.startribune.com/denmark-s-french-born-prince-causes-a-stir/438498423/

http://www.theguardian.com › world › … › royal-snub…

A Bad Day for Santa Croce


A Spanish tourist was just killed by a falling stone fragment inside Florence’s Santa Croce Basilica. How could this happen?


Santa Croce is one of the major sights in Florence. The interior is warmly lit and surprisingly peaceful, considering the number of visitors.

People pause to pay their respects at the tombs of the great and good:


Michelangelo…


Machiavelli…

Dante…


Galileo…


Rossini, and many others I feel like I should know.

Santa Croce is said to be the largest Franciscan church in the world, with beautiful Giotto frescoes honoring the humble monk from Assisi. 


St. Francis is believed to have actually founded this church. 

And now, it’s closed while the authorities investigate why an unsuspecting tourist was killed by a chunk of falling stone.

No tourists will be gazing up at the beautiful ceilings for awhile. The faithful will have to light their candles and murmur their prayers elsewhere in the city.

Italy has artistic treasures everywhere, but it seems there is never enough money to properly take care of them, or to accommodate the number of visitors lining up to see them. 

In 1966, the Arno River overflowed its banks, flooding much of Florence. Damage to Santa Croce took years and years to repair. There are still high water marks in the building, and some of the artworks can’t be completely restored. I hope Santa Croce can be made safe again.

No doubt lots of ink will be used as the investigation goes forward. One article about it is at:

https://www.msn.com/en-my/news/world/falling-stone-kills-italy-church-tourist/ar-AAtKeGo.

Easter Time in Helsinki


Helsinki in early April is chilly and blustery.  All the children are bundled up in one-piece snow suits. I was wishing I had one! Finland is not a place for religious pageantry and parades as in Southern Europe.


The Lutheran Helsinki Cathedral is impressive in its grand spaces, but very austere. Aside from Martin Luther gazing skyward, there’s not much to look at. And (at least on an admittedly quick stop) I didn’t see a children’s corner with little chairs, or posters about bake sales, or ladies dusting things, or a single clergy person.


The National Museum of Finland was a much more church-like experience. This pulpit is from the church in Parainen, Finland, dated 1650. At the time, Finland was a frontier to the west of Sweden–and very handy as a buffer between Sweden and Russia. Newly built churches were required to have pulpits. Lutheranism was the state religion of Sweden, and everybody was expected to sit still for it or else.


This pulpit is from the Kalvia Church, around 1726.  I like the cloudy heavens painted on its ceiling just above the preacher’s head.


Wait, there are hourglasses? Four of them? How long is this sermon going to be, anyway? Better not ask.


My favorite item was an altarpiece depicting the Last Supper. It’s from the Ylane Church, dated around 1675.


The faces are friendly and everyone is having a nice time together. There seem to be only 11 apostles. Apparently Judas has already left the building.


Jesus (with spiky sun-ray halo) seems to be holding a child in his lap. So the story is maybe doing double duty here: “Let the little children come unto me.”

The museum also had wonderful religious wood carvings dating back as far as the 1200s. I liked St. Martin on his horse, about to share his warm cloak with a beggar. He was carved and assembled from several pieces of wood around 1320.


I gazed for awhile at the Archangel Gabriel, carved and gilded around 1500.


Then I was back on the friendly but chilly streets of Helsinki, wishing I had a striped snowsuit and a red polka-dotted hat with flower ears.