Category Archives: France

Three Slugs and a Cabbage: Celebrating Andre Le Notre, Master Gardener

Actually, I should make that “trois escargots et un chou.” That was the tongue-in-cheek coat of arms chosen by the great French landscape architect, Andre le Notre, when a grateful King Louis XIV ennobled him.

Le Notre was born into a family of gardeners; his family lived in a house in the Tuileries, in the very shadow of the Louvre when it was still a royal palace. He was a humble man; he always called himself “just a gardener.” He never wrote any treatises on his work; he let his gardens speak for themselves. He developed the French formal garden into a sublime art form and an expression of the most current scientific thought as well.

Le Notre worked on the formal gardens at Chantilly, Vaux-le-Vicompte, Fontainebleau, and many other chateaux. His work culminated in the spectacular grounds at Versailles. A more modest example of his work is at the Chateau de Maintenon, home of the King’s final and “secret” wife.

While wandering in this beautiful manicured garden, I could hardly bear to think of my raggedy yard at home. Then I came upon a photo of the staff employed to maintain even this small and modest French formal garden, and I felt better!

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

A Father’s Day Salute

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During my recent trip to Washington, DC, many veterans were in town for the 70th anniversary of D-Day. I am privileged to be related–by marriage–to one of those veterans, Walter Halloran. He is my daughter-in-law’s grandfather. He was featured in the June issue of “Minnesota Monthly.” Walter entered the Army after the attack on Pearl Harbor, at the age of 19. He had some experience as a commercial photographer, so he was put to work as a combat photographer. (One of the interviewers for becoming a combat photographer was a young Ronald Reagan). That was how he found himself as one of about 160,000 troops on the beach at Normandy on D-Day.

Army photo, Public Domain

His camera, an unwieldy Bell and Howell Eyemo, was wrapped in plastic. It had only one lens, a fixed-focus. The crossing on the boat was miserable, cold and wet, with no place to sit and soldiers vomiting from seasickness. Some of the exposed film was to be picked up by boat or plane, but some of it had to actually be sent by carrier pigeon. When his landing craft hit the beach, Walter found himself in deep water. One of the two pigeons in a cage strapped to his back drowned.

He scrambled onto the beach and immediately flopped onto his belly facing the sea. His mission was to photograph soldiers as they landed. He downplays the danger, but as a soldier lying still, he was a prime target for enemy guns. He and other combat photographers just sent off their film without having a chance to look at the images, so he was never sure exactly what he had captured on film.

Walter went on to fight and photograph all through the rest of the war. He was awarded the Silver Star for saving the life of a major by carrying him to an aid station under fire and insisting on immediate treatment. Another day, armed with a pistol, he singlehandedly pursued, captured and held a German soldier who turned out to have valuable information. He photographed the Battle of the Bulge and the liberation of Buchenwald. In 2007, Walter was awarded the French Legion of Honor for his service in World War II. Like many veterans I have known, Walter lives very much in the present. He is more interested in the doings of his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren than in his own past accomplishments. He never brings up his service, but when asked about it, he exudes a quiet, modest pride in doing what he considered to be his duty. I am fortunate to know him. I am grateful to veterans like Walter, and to the many men who never came home to enjoy life with their own families.

The link to the most recent article about Walter, by Charlie Maguire, is at

http://www.minnesotamonthly.com/media/Minnesota-Monthly/June-2014/Ripple-Effect-Photographing-Normandy-Beach-at-D-day/

The link to a 2007 article is at http://www.twincities.com/allheadlines/ci_7746690

Jean de Noailles: A Hero of the French Resistance

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The Allied forces that liberated Europe from Nazi rule received a lot of help from members of the Resistance in various countries. Jean de Noailles was one of them. I came upon a family photograph of him when I recently visited the Chateau de Maintenon near Chartres in France.

(I wrote about this chateau in two previous posts, “Chateau de Maintenon” and “Louis XIV: A Very Thirsty King”). The de Noailles family still occupies the chateau they inherited from the “secret” wife of King Louis XIV. They are justifiably proud of their lineage–in fact, a very grand gallery displays large portraits of various illustrious ancestors.

Jean de Noailles would have been the 9th Duke, but he died before his father. During World War II, he was an active member of the French Resistance. Born in 1893, he was arrested by the Gestapo in 1942. he was imprisoned and tortured first at their Paris headquarters on avenue Foch, then sent to Compiegne in France, then to Buchenwald-Flossenburg, and finally to Bergen-Belsen. He died there just a few days before the camp was liberated at the end of the war. By all reports, he never handed over any useful information to the Nazis. They may have kept him alive in hopes of eventually getting information, or they may simply have been reluctant to actually execute a member of a noble family. (In Germany, the ruling Wittelsbachs were placed in a concentration camp, but given private lodgings and more food than the run of political prisoners).

What would make a Duke risk his life to resist tyranny, when so many ordinary French people went quietly about their lives during the war, and so many cooperated enthusiastically with the Nazis? When I ask that question, I have to ask what I would have done. We can be grateful to those who did give their lives in the cause of freedom.

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

D-Day Seventy Years Later

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Last week I was fortunate to be in Washington, D.C. on the 70th anniversary of D-Day: June 6, 1944. On that momentous day, troops from several nations made their brave surprise landing on the beaches of Normandy. The Europe we know today–in fact, the whole world we know today–would have been very different without the selfless sacrifices of the millions who fought, in Normandy and elsewhere. Many veterans were in Washington for the occasion. At the Lincoln Memorial, I watched a scene that I saw repeated over and over all week long.

A very frail elderly veteran in a wheelchair paused for a moment in the entrance to the Lincoln Memorial chamber, with the Washington Memorial in the background. One after another, total strangers stopped to thank him for his service. His family graciously thanked those who greeted him and allowed strangers to take pictures. I was moved to tears.

Nearby, at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, similar scenes played out. Volunteers slowly pushed aging veterans along The Wall, pausing for quiet conversations. Overhearing some conversations, I was reminded that many military families have lost loved ones in several different wars over the years.

Park rangers, as always, stood ready with well-worn books containing the names of the dead. On the Vietnam Memorial wall, the fallen are listed in the order in which they fell. Stepladders are at the ready. A park ranger will climb a ladder and carefully make a rubbing of the name of one of the fallen on request.

I’ve been to the beaches of Normandy. It is hard to grasp the carnage that took place there. Few of those who were actually present are still alive. Their memory will endure.

Two Weddings in Honfleur

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Sometimes a tourist gets an unexpected window into contemporary local culture. That is what happened a few years ago, when I visited Honfleur. It’s a charming and well-preserved harbor town on the Normandy coast. As far as I could tell, the town escaped bombing in World War II.

One of the major things to see in Honfleur is St. Catherine’s Church, actually a cathedral dating from the 15th Century. It is the oldest surviving wooden church in France.

When we arrived, a wedding was taking place. Uniformed members of the local fire and rescue brigade milled about, both inside the church and outside. Tourists were allowed to enter and stand quietly in the back of the sanctuary. We watched the ceremony for awhile. It appeared that both the bride and groom were members of the brigade. Most of their guests were in uniform. Their ceremony went on and on, with the groom, then the bride, then various other people making lengthy speeches once the ceremony itself seemed to be over. The bride looked as though she might give birth very soon, and from what I could understand of the speeches, the couple had gone through a lot of hardship and received a lot of help from their community. Finally, the bride and groom left, to applause and shouts of congratulation. Outside, they were greeted by waiting colleagues, each holding up a helmet for them to pass under.

During the ceremony, I noticed caterers busy hauling in tall potted trees and beautiful floral arrangements. The instant the fire-and-rescue bride and groom were outside, the caterers went to work transforming the sanctuary into a floral bower.

Outside, the fire-and-rescue bride and groom were driven away in a waiting fire engine. The square was immediately filled with very posh-looking people, a completely different crowd from the one that had just left. All the women wore huge elaborate hats.

Suddenly a discreet sedan pulled up to the front door of the church. A spectacularly beautiful bride emerged, wearing a designer dress and veil–decorated with ostrich feathers! In the not-too-distant past, ostrich feathers were only seen at a Royal Court gathering, and only royalty and nobility were allowed to wear them. Was the bride a Duchess or a Countess? Was she marrying into a noble house? Be that as it may, I have never seen a more elegant bride anywhere.

As the ceremony was about to get under way, I sidled over to the church door, hoping to sneak a look at this very fancy event (my invitation must have been lost in the mail). Alas, uniformed men stood guard, gazing sternly at anyone who approached the door. Where we had been welcome at the working-class wedding, the fancy society wedding was another story. The two weddings gave us a very clear view of how the social classes mix–and don’t mix–in France. We wandered off into the town, content with having seen two sides of French life.

Evensong at Chartres

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Chartres in medieval times was a pilgrimage site because it was believed that the bodies of early martyrs had been tossed into a deep well on the premises of what is now the Cathedral. Various churches were built on the site over the centuries. Around the year 876, the church was given a treasure: the “Sancta Camisa,” believed to be a tunic or shawl worn by Mary at the time she gave birth to Jesus. Over the succeeding centuries, this relic became an attraction for pilgrims in its own right. Was there any truth to the legend? Recent scientific studies have established that the fragile garment dates from the 1st century. It is now kept in a lovely side chapel of the Cathedral.

I always think the best way to see a great cathedral, or any church that is a tourist destination, is to attend a service. Even when I can’t understand much or any of the language spoken, it’s an opportunity to sit in quiet contemplation while listening to beautiful music and being immersed in a sublimely spiritual place.

When I recently visited Chartres, there were two services, almost back to back: a Mass and Evensong. I attended both. Mass is an ancient and beautiful ritual. Although it is not in my religious tradition, I have always felt entirely welcome attending Mass.

Evensong is almost equally old. At Chartres, many people from various religious traditions are there to study. They are invited to prepare and participate in the Evensong service, which is mostly chanted and sung. I could be wrong, but it seemed to me that Evensong participants did not necessarily have to be Catholic. About a dozen people, both men and women, filed in wearing pristine white robes.

At Chartres, believers and non-believers seem equally welcome to experience the peace and loveliness of a place that has been a spiritual haven for many centuries.

The American Colonel Who Saved a Cathedral

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The 12th-century Cathedral in Chartres, France draws the eye from many miles around. Its two towers are among the highest structures in that part of France, and they have beckoned pilgrims for many hundreds of years.

On August 16, 1944, American forces were approaching the city of Chartres on their way to help liberate Paris. They were under heavy fire, and commanders assumed the Germans must be spotting their approach from one of the cathedral’s towers. So an order was given to shell the Cathedral. An American Colonel, Welborn Griffith, questioned the order. He volunteered to go behind enemy lines to investigate. Only one enlisted man went along on this dangerous mission. After searching the Cathedral and climbing the towers, Colonel Griffith signaled that the church was clear of the enemy; the bombardment was cancelled and the town taken, but not without a fight.

Colonel Griffith was killed in the ensuing firefight in Leves, just on the outskirts of Chartres. Some of the locals saw him fall. They covered him with blankets, flowers, and with an American flag until his body could be taken away. The locals had pieced together the facts of his heroic action that saved their beloved Cathedral from destruction. In gratitude, they placed a plaque with his name on the spot where he fell.

However, the name on his dogtag confused them. His name was recorded as Griffith Welborn, not Welborn Griffith. For nearly 50 years, his family had no idea that he had saved one of the world’s most important and beautiful Cathedrals. Finally, in the 1990s, a local amateur historian discovered the mistake and contacted the Colonel’s descendants. Some of them traveled from the United States to Chartres, where during a ceremony honoring him, the strains of “The Star Spangled Banner” echoed through the magnificent Cathedral. Today, a park in Leves honors Colonel Griffith. He is featured in one of the explanatory displays within the Cathedral, which expresses profound gratitude to him and to the other Americans who served alongside him.

On this Memorial Day, when Americans solemnly honor their war dead, I think of heroes, both famous and obscure, who have given their lives for the cause of freedom.

Daily Life in a Chateau

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Occasionally, the private family quarters of a castle or chateau are open to tourists–for an extra fee, of course, and during very limited times. I never miss a chance to get behind the grand state rooms and see how real people might actually live.

I had such a chance a few years ago at Cheverny, one of the most beautiful chateaus in the Loire Valley of France. Many chateaus have been taken over by the French state, but some families have been able to hold onto theirs. Cheverny is one of them. Gone are the days when the agricultural lands around a chateau could pay for its upkeep. Nowadays, the money mostly comes from tourist dollars.

The family still lives at Cheverny, on the top floor, putting up with a constant stream of tourists walking through their ancestral home. After seeing some of their private rooms, I could see why it was worth the trouble to them. With so many ancient and beautiful properties turned into luxury hotels, golf clubs or exclusive spas, I admire noble old families who do whatever it takes to preserve their history and share it with others.

The private bedrooms at Cheverny were cozy and colorful, with views out over the gardens and grounds.

One room had the wedding dress of a family member on view–from the 80s, from the look of it.

Another room displayed the antique toys that generations of the noble family had played with.

The grand state rooms on the floors below still remain, and the family uses them when the tourists have cleared out. Still, I imagine the family is happy to climb the ancient stairs to their cozy private rooms at the end of the day.

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

A Meal Lost in the Translation

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The photo above shows what happens when I think I understand the language, but I really don’t. My high-school and college French goes only so far. In larger cities, most establishments that deal with tourists have someone who can speak English. In smaller towns in France, it almost seems a point of pride with the locals that they only speak French.

It is not easy to be a vegetarian in Europe, and the language barrier does not make it any easier. One day last fall in the Alsatian town of Colmar, just on the border between Germany and France, I tried to order a vegetarian version of the local favorite: tarte flambee. It’s more or less a pizza, with little or no tomato sauce. I read the entire menu and questioned the waitress as best I could. I settled on a tarte which I thought would be covered with Muenster cheese. The tarte arrived and I sat staring at it in shock. It was covered with what looked like about half a pound of shaved ham–very fine ham, but I don’t eat ham.

When I called the waitress back, the entire small restaurant fell silent. Forks hung in midair as locals stared in disbelief at the woman who didn’t want any meat. “Madame,” the waitress exclaimed, “C’est Muenster!” Meekly, I pushed all the “Muenster-Ham” toward the center and ate around the edges.

All over Europe, it seems that more and more people speak English. I think it is a school requirement in some countries. France seems to be the exception. Granted, the French have a proud cultural heritage they want to protect. I also suspect they don’t want to speak English because they figure that English-speaking visitors will correct their pronunciation or grammar. They are certainly quick enough to correct my French.

I am far from fluent, but I pride myself on getting by. One of my proudest moments as a tourist was the time a French-speaking person in Paris asked me for directions and seemed to understand my answer. At least he went off in direction I pointed. I just have to make sure I never give anyone menu advice.

Join me next time for more adventures exploring art, history and daily life in Europe!

Louis XIV: A Very Thirsty King

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Louis XIV by Rigaud, Public Domain

When Louis XIV, aka the Sun King, decided to build the palace to end all palaces at Versailles, he was as interested in the grounds as in the palace itself. He envisioned a paradise of gardens, 50 fountains, many interconnected canals and little wooded glens. All this took a tremendous amount of water–which the landscape of Versailles did not have. But he was the King, and ALL the water in the land was his by right. So he set his engineers to work changing the course of every river he could get his hands on.

Versailles, Copyleft Free Art License

It was impossible to operate all or even very many of the fountains at the same time, even as they were being built. Workers developed a system of tracking the king and warning other workers with whistles, so that whenever the king strolled into view of a particular fountain, water could gush forth.

By 1685, Louis had exhausted all the nearby sources of water. By this time, he had taken up with Madame de Maintenon–whose Chateau happened to sit directly on the River Eure. Never one to do things by halves, Louis ordered his engineers to divert the water 50 miles from Maintenon to Versailles. And he wanted the job done in grand fashion, as the Caesars had done it. So a viaduct was begun. During the year 1685, 10,000 troops were pressed into service for the grand building project. In 1686, 20,000 troops were hard at work. Unfortunately, Louis had embarked on one of his many wars, and it was hard to justify using 1/10 of his entire military force to water his gardens. He was short of cash, too. The project was abandoned, still 18 miles short of Versailles.

Today the viaduct is a romantic ruin that only adds to the charm of the Chateau de Maintenon.

The River Eure runs undisturbed, and the Chateau’s gardens are well watered. Louis XIV had to do without, for once in his long life.

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