Versailles Palaces: Grandiose, (Merely) Grand, and Petit

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Even the Sun King himself sometimes tired of the over-the-top splendor he had created at Versailles. He heard Mass daily in his spectacular Royal Chapel, around 10:00.

Louis XIV by Rigaud, Public Domain

I read somewhere that courtiers attending mass were seated such that they looked at the King in his elevated gallery. Right now I can’t verify that, but it makes some sense. The chapel was built and carefully decorated to celebrate the association between Louis XIV and his namesake, the only French king who became an actual saint: Louis IX, AKA St. Louis the Confessor.

Grand Trianon, Azurfrog, Creative Commons Share Alike Attribution

Louis XIV was anything but saintly in his younger years. He built a smaller palace, the Grand Trianon, as a private retreat where he could take his mistresses and closest friends. It originally had a facade of blue and white porcelain tiles, following the rage for Delft tiles. But the tiles deteriorated quickly. The Grand Trianon was rebuilt in red marble. By the time it was finished, in 1688, the Sun King had repented of his wild youth and “secretly” married the Marquise de Maintenon.

Louis XV, the successor to the Sun King, built himself a smaller palace yet: the Petit Trianon. Not many tourists make the trek to see it.

Marie Antoinette famously frolicked with her friends in the Petit Trianon. It’s my personal favorite at Versailles.

Louis XIV ended up spending a lot of time away from Versailles altogether, once he had all his nobles gathered there where he could control them. Instead he went off to the absolutely charming chateau that he gave to the “secret” wife who tamed him in his old age.

Madame de Maintenon, Public Domain

It seems that even an absolute monarch with the world at his feet eventually can settle down. Madame de Maintenon came in for a lot of criticism for taking the King away from the goings-on at Versailles, but I like to think the two of them were very happy together.

I wrote about the beautiful Chateau de Maintenon in these previous posts:

https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/05/07/chateau-de-maintenon/

https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/09/03/castle-or-cott…in-the-details/ ‎

https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/05/15/louis-xiv-a-very-thirsty-king/

Versailles: Crowded Splendor

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Galerie des Glaces, Myrabella, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike

Why bother to stay overnight in the town of Versailles? Most people do Versailles as a daytrip from nearby Paris. The picture above shows the best reason to spring for an overnight. It’s the Hall of Mirrors, built by Louis XIV in 1678 and crammed with people ever since. On one memorable day, after an overnight in Versailles, I managed to appear early at the entry with ticket already in hand. Success! I had arrived early enough to be THE VERY FIRST PERSON to walk the length of the glittering room. I was so awed that I didn’t take a picture. The one above was taken by a person with more presence of mind.

This picture above was taken about 20 minutes later. On busy summer days–which I would avoid– tourists shuffle along almost shoulder to shoulder. But once in my life, I had the place all to myself. I doubt that even the Sun King himself had that privilege, unless he managed to do it late at night after courtiers had turned in.

The King invented two ceremonies which bookended his day: the Lever, when invited courtiers watched him get up, and the Coucher, when he was tucked in for the night under his grand canopy festooned with ostrich feathers. Like everything else Louis XIV did, these ceremonies inflated his ego and made people think they were lucky to even be in his presence. Trouble was, he made his bed and then he had to lie in it. In actual practice, the King sometimes did get up way early to go hunting, but Louis XIV valued ceremony so much that he would return to bed in order to properly get up all over again.

It’s hard to appreciate the overwhelming scale of the Palace of Versailles–and the Sun King wanted everyone to be overwhelmed.

I do better getting off to the side and lingering over some details, like this corner of the Hall of Mirrors.

Images of the Sun King are everywhere. He could have invented the modern term “self-esteem.” He famously remarked, “L’Etat, c’est moi,” meaning “The State, it is me.” That worked out pretty well for him, but not so much for his offspring.

Louis XIV also once remarked, “Apres moi, le Deluge.” That loosely translates as, “After me, all hell breaks loose.” He had that right. His descendants managed to hold on to their riches and absolute monarchy for only two generations before the Revolution changed everything.

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

Affordable Europe: La Ferme du Chateau

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Over the years I’ve grown more adventurous in places I find to stay. The internet has made it easier. When I first started traveling, I used to pore over guidebooks, trying to read between the lines of outdated reviews. Of course there were rarely pictures. Now, a huge selection of lodging is easily accessible to anyone with a computer or even a smartphone. And I haven’t yet even dipped into Airbnb.

A few years ago, I needed a place to stay in Versailles. You couldn’t drag me back to either of the two places I’d stayed before. One time, I scored a halfway-decent last-minute rate at the very grand Trianon Palace Hotel. My room, in a modern annex, was a lot like like an elevator shaft: tall and narrow, cramped, with a sliver of window looking out at the parking lot. True, there was a luxurious spa with a pool, and the breakfast buffet (included) was spectacular. But I was not sorry to leave. Another time I stayed at one of the better older hotels in town, and found it dated, cramped, noisy, and still pretty expensive. Plus the employees were surly, even for France.

Third visit was the charm: I reserved a couple of nights at a 16th-century farmhouse which had been in the same family for several generations. It was only a few minutes’ drive outside Versailles, in the little farming community of Garancieres.

I found myself in an enormous room under hand-hewn ancient beams.

There was only one other guest room. Service was personal and the room had everything I could want.

Breakfast was served in a charming farmhouse parlor. The lovely owners spoke very minimal English, but breakfast was delicious and efficiently served up.. A friendly dog and cat wandered past. Outside, the air smelled of fresh-mown hay.

I guess I could get used to 5-star hotels, as easily as the next person. But there are downsides: snooty fellow guests, snooty employees looking for tips, a lot of time spent waiting for waitstaff to get on with the business of feeding impatient tourists like me. When in Versailles, I want to beat the crowds into the palace. I guess folks willing to pay 5-star prices like to linger and enjoy the expensive ambiance.

I just looked up La Ferme du Chateau–it’s still in business, and I’d stay there again in a minute. In fact, maybe I will! Time to start dreaming of France.

Easter in Venice: One to Remember

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Easter this year may not be the greatest in my memory. I’ve been down for the past week with a bad case of respiratory flu–the one that we all heard the flu vaccine did not protect against. Just when I thought I’d made it through the winter without getting anything, the virus knocked me flat. I can’t really complain, though. After all, I know one person who ended up in ICU for two weeks with this crummy virus. I’m getting better, but I may not even make it to church on Sunday. I don’t want to expose anyone.

Anyway, I’m contenting myself with memories of my most spectacular Easter ever: in Venice, several years ago. We got up super-early and hurried through almost-empty streets to the Basilica of San Marco, built in the 11th century and packed with pilgrims and tourists ever since. We were actually worried about getting seats. No problem! We breezed in the side entrance and found we could sit wherever we wanted.

What a perfect time to be there! Typically, tourists wait in long lines, then get about 10 minutes to shuffle through the darkened cathedral, peering up in a vain effort to see the spectacular 12th and 13th century mosaics. Once in awhile some lights come on, and attendants periodically call for silence. Most times, I’d rather look at the mosaics in a book.

But during all of the many services on Easter Sunday, the interior of San Marco is brightly lit. And worshippers get to sit down! This is why the best way to experience a church or cathedral that’s a tourist magnet is to actually attend a service. Although we could not understand a word of the Easter service, we felt entirely welcome. There were even some printed copies of the sermon in English–at least we thought it was the sermon. Even in translation, it was hard to decipher. But no matter.

We spent a wonderful hour soaking up beautiful sacred music, mysterious (to us) words, and an ambiance of golden light. We ventured to take a few photos, seeing that other congregants were doing so discreetly. Mostly, though, we loved having time to gaze up at the 8,000 square meters of breathtaking mosaics depicting events from the New Testament and lives of various saints.

I’ll never forget the warm beauty of the mosaics in San Marco.

As a bonus, the Pala d’Oro, a golden altarpiece usually covered, was wide open and brightly lit. The Easter experience at St. Mark’s was so spectacular that we actually went back for another service later in the day. The streets were getting crowded, and we figured we might never have this chance again.

Later on Easter morning, we wandered past the English Anglican Church. The doors were wide open and people were still filtering in. In we went. The place was austere compared to San Marco, but we could understand all the words. Afterward, smiling church ladies, stationed at a table in the foyer, offered small paper cups to us. All churches have smiling church ladies and I love them. I happily accepted the little cup–lemonade, I thought, just like at home. Outside, next to the sparkling Grand Canal, I took a sip and stopped in my tracks. It was champagne!

Am I planning another trip to Venice? Maybe someday, during whatever passes for the off season these days. I think I would like Venice in the dead of winter. But I keep readiing that floods are becoming more and more frequent–tourists slosh around in rubber boots and balance on temporary boardwalks. The city, built on pilings in the lagoon, is slowly sinking even as ocean levels rise. There are high hopes for a new system of water control gates on the sea floor.

But there’s little hope for stemming the relentless tide of tourists. Residents have left the city, moving steadily to the mainland over the past generation. It is just too hard and expensive to live in the beautiful and unique medieval city. I just read that on a summer day, tourists outnumber residents 600 to 1. Venice is becoming a victim of its own glorious success, first as a world naval power, and now as a tourist magnet. Of course I’d have attended George Clooney’s wedding, but sadly my invitation must have been lost in the mail.

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

A Vegetarian in Paris

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In most parts of Europe, it’s a little tricky to be a vegetarian. This display window in Amsterdam celebrates the joys of pork. My traveling life would be easier if I were a carnivore. I could grab a hot dog anywhere and never slow down.

But in some ways, it’s easier to be a vegetarian in Europe than in the town where I live most of the time. In my Colorado ski-and- ranching town, beef cattle on the hoof turn into beef steaks on the grill when they’re about 18 months old. In these parts, a ranch kid as young as eight commonly chooses and fattens a calf for market for over a year. The child feeds the animal grain and walks it in the fields to develop muscle tissue. In early fall, the child leads the resulting steer, weighing about 1200 pounds, into the show ring at the county fair. The steer wins a ribbon and basks in thunderous applause. Then the child bids a tearful farewell to the animal as it’s sold to the highest bidder. Local restaurants post photos of the winning animals they’ve purchased. It’s the circle of life here.

I have the greatest respect for ranchers and their traditions. But I just don’t eat meat. When I first moved here, I politely declined a chicken casserole at a community event. “I’ll just take some rice,” I said. The server gave me a blank look. “I’m a vegetarian,” I explained.

“But this is chicken!”

“I know,” I said, as people behind me in line fidgeted. “I don’t eat meat.”

The server was completely mystified. “But this is chicken!” She was still shaking her head in disbelief as I walked away with my plate of plain rice.

Obviously I am not much of a foodie, unless being a connoisseur of omelets counts. In Paris, every cafe serves an omelet and no one raises an eyebrow. The humblest establishment can whip up an excellent omelet quickly, and it almost always can be ordered with vegetables.

Ethnic restaurants, Indian or Asian, do have vegetarian items on their menus. But they also tend to have unfamiliar sauces and spices. I’m reluctant to risk indigestion on a trip. I’m pretty cautious even though the menus are enticing.

So aside from omelets, my fallback, especially in France, is the ever-delicious crepe. In France in particular, entree crepes are made with a substantial buckwheat batter. They’re called “galettes.” Actually, I’d cheerfully eat galettes or crepes every day if I could.

Crepe with Greens

Crepe with Ratatouille

Of course all these light, healthy meals leave plenty of room for my favorite:

Crepe with Chocolate and Caramel

In the United States, there was once a chain of restaurants called the Magic Pan which served only crepes. You could walk in and find all crepes, all the time! Too bad they’re gone. It’s just one more reason to travel to France every chance I get!

Bob Marley and the Dutch Golden Age

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What does Bob Marley, the legendary reggae musician who rose from grinding poverty in Jamaica, have to do with the over-the-top wealth of the great trading city of Amsterdam? A lot, it turns out. I just watched a fine documentary called Marley, streaming on Netflix. The film, directed by director Kevin Macdonald and released in 2012, must be the definitive life story of the musician. He somehow rose from extreme poverty to superstardom. Bob Marley died of cancer at age 36, in 1981. But his music lives on, and the family he left behind continues what he started.

The National Maritime Museum in Amsterdam holds 500 years of the seafaring history of the city. Last time I was in Amsterdam, in the fall of 2013, the city was celebrating the beginning of the canal system that allowed a great trading center to be built on hundreds of islands and swampy ground adjoining the North Sea. Kids try sailors’ hammocks and pretend to eat in the officers’ mess. A restored ship docks outside in the harbor. Inside the museum, displays chronicle the glorious history of Dutch seafarers.

But there is a darker story, During my visit, the Maritime Museum hosted a stunning exhibit that frankly exposed the shameful secrets of the slave trade that contributed heavily to the city’s wealth.

On a video inside the exhibit, a lady abolitionist scolds those who profit from the slave trade. She looks quaint, but brave. It took many years of determined efforts by people like her to put a stop to the slave trade.

The profits that built the canal rings and the grand houses on Amsterdam’s canals came largely through trade in products from Dutch colonies–sugar, coffee, cacao, tobacco. Production of these lucrative products required slave labor. The slaves were shipped from West Africa to the Dutch East and West Indies as part of the “triangular trade” that poured huge riches into Portugal, France, England and Holland.

Triangular Trade, Creative Commons GNU Free Documentation License

Ships would pick up cargoes of slaves in Africa and deliver them to work on plantations in the Caribbean. From those islands, the ships would load up on products such as sugar, indigo, cotton, and coffee. In the ports of Liverpool, coastal France, Lisbon, and Amsterdam, the ships would in turn load up on manufactured goods like textiles, utensils, gunpowder, guns and alcohol. These products, scarce in Africa, fetched high prices for merchants and shipowners. And another cycle began. The “Middle Passage,” between Africa and the Caribbean (and also the Americas) inflicted unimaginable misery on those captured and used as slaves.

Bob Marley’s ancestors arrived in Jamaica as slaves and remained there after slavery was finally abolished. They were “free” to live in poverty. He grew up making music in his little hardscrabble town in the hills, using homemade instruments along with the odd guitar. Eventually he and his friends were able to parlay their musical talent into world fame, but he died young.

The Amsterdam exhibit appeared to be a momentous occasion in Dutch history. The entrance was separated from the rest of the museum by heavy doors, and carried warnings that the exhibits were graphic. Schoolchildren in somber groups were taking in the exhibit. There was very little of the running and jumping and joking that usually go along with kids on a mandatory school field trip. The adults were equally serious.

In Amsterdam, I visited some of the grand canal houses built by wealthy merchants and bankers. I strolled the beautiful, tranquil canals. I marveled at the treasures of the Rijksmuseum. It was good to also acknowledge some of the painful history behind the Dutch Golden Age.

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

English: Modified version of en::Image:World map.png, which was created by John Monnpoly
Date	21 September 2005 (first version); 2007-05-26 (last version)
Source	Modification made by SimonP. Transferred from en.wikipedia
Author	SimonP at en.wikipedia
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Maria Christina: She Even Got the Canova!

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The Augustinian Church, adjoining the Hofburg Palace in Vienna, contains one of the saddest and most grandiose memorials I’ve ever seen. It occupies a huge section of wall space in the family church of the Habsburgs. It was exquisitely sculpted by the great Italian artist Antonio Canova in 1805 and remains one of his most famous works. A procession of downcast mourners slowly climbs the stairs toward an open doorway with nothing but darkness inside. Gazing into the void of that black space is truly terrifying.

A tearful lion lies beside the doorway, disconsolately resting his mighty chin on his paws. A handsome male angel leans on the lion’s back, clearly overcome with grief. The whole structure is in gleaming white marble. Canova’s funeral monuments were mostly for Popes and Venetian nobles, plus a small one for the British war hero Horatio Nelson. Most people agree that the monument in the Augustinian Church in Vienna is the grandest and most beautiful of them all.

Maria Christina

This masterpiece honors a woman who never did much of anything: Archduchess Maria Christina, favorite daughter of Empress Maria Theresa. After her death at age 56, her husband (flush with wealth lavished on the couple by the Empress) commissioned the monument.

Who is buried in Maria Christina’s tomb? No one. She is actually buried in the Imperial Crypt along with the rest of the Habsburgs. But apparently her husband, with the blessing of her mother, wanted everyone who attended church at the Augustinian to be reminded of her loss.

I can’t help thinking of Marie Antoinette, the unfortunate younger sister of Maria Christina. After her beheading, she was unceremoniously thrown into a common pit along with other victims of the Terror in Paris. Reportedly, when Maria Christina heard of her sister’s gruesome death, she remarked, “She never should have married.” Of course Marie Antoinette had nothing to say about whether or whom or when she married, unlike the more fortunate Maria Christina.

Why did Maria Theresa favor one daughter so highly, out of all her 16 children? Was Maria Christina possibly the most intelligent? If Maria Christina had been the daughter sent off the France, might she have been intelligent and strong-willed enough to persuade Louis XVI, a bit of a dim bulb, to accept some reforms before mobs marched on Versailles? Failing that, might she have persuaded Louis XVI to decamp to a safe haven until things cooled down at home? As it was, he ignored many chances to escape. When he finally decided to make a run for it, the carriage he chose was a huge lumbering vehicle that stuck out like a sore thumb on the rural roadways of France. The royal family was captured and hauled back to prison in Paris.

A previous post about the Augustinian Church is at:

https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/12/01/habsburgs-hatc…and-dispatched/ ‎

Previous posts about Marie Antoinette are at:

https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/03/21/another-tragic…rie-antoinette/ ‎

https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/12/02/marie-antoinet…dow-treatments/ ‎

Maria Theresa was not the most fair or loving mother, but she had her good points. I wrote about her at:

ttp://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/04/16/maria-theresa-…-lean-in-woman/

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

Maria Christina: The Sister Who Got Everything

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A few months ago in the Albertina Palace and Museum in Vienna, I came upon a small painting that showed the wreck of a carriage–an unusual subject for such grand surroundings. The caption explained that the wreck was an event in the life of the palace’s one-time occupants, Archduchess Maria Christina and her husband Albert of Saxony. The couple became Duke and Duchess of Teschen and joint governors of the Austrian Netherlands on their marriage. They received an enormous dowry, too, from the bride’s famously parsimonious mother, Empress Maria Theresa.

Maria Christina

Who were these fortunate people, and why was their carriage wreck such a big deal? Having a painting of a private misfortune, which the victims survived nicely, was the 18th century equivalent of a Facebook post about a fender-bender. And the 18th century was a time when almost no one had access to anything remotely like Facebook. The answer lies in family favoritism.

Empress Maria Theresa, who ruled the Austro-Hungarian Empire for 40 eventful years, produced 16 children. It seems that she only liked one of them: Maria Christina, who happened to be born on Maria Theresa’s own birthday. Every other sibling was used as a pawn in the empire’s political ambitions. They were all packed off to strategic foreign marriages, preferably with either royal cousins or other monarchs who might be able to help the far-flung empire. The unluckiest sibling was Marie Antoinette, shipped off to France as a teenager to marry the doomed Louis XVI and lose her head.

Prince Albert

But Maria Christina was allowed to marry the man she loved, Albert, a minor princeling with no wealth and no throne. Her doting mother kept Maria Christina close, in Vienna, and built her a magnificent palace right next door to the Hofburg, seat of Austrian royalty.

Maria Christina’s portrait in the Albertina Museum shows her posing (smugly, if you ask me) with her lapdog. In contrast, Marie Antoinette, on arrival all alone at the border of France, was forced to strip down and leave behind every article of Austrian clothing because she became the property of the French state. No one told her, until the last moment, that she also had to leave behind her beloved little dog.

Years later, Maria Christina paid her kid sister a visit in France. I completely understand Marie Antoinette’s reaction. I’ve read that Marie Antoinette retreated to her private mini-palace at Versailles, the Petit Trianon, and pointedly did not invite her big sister along.

Sibling rivalry? There we have it, on a grand scale.

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

Charles and Diana’s Royal Honeymoon (Gone Wrong)

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The royal yacht “Britannia” was in active use from 1954 to 1997. That made it available for the now-notorious honeymoon of Charles, Prince of Wales, and his bride, Diana Spencer, in 1981.

Photo from Daily Mail article cited below

From the published photos, all looked blissful. But as we all know many years later, trouble was already brewing in the royal marriage.

The young couple had the use of the only two-person bed on the yacht, in what was usually used as a guest room for distinguished visitors. I think the matrimonial bed was–dare I say it?–queen-sized.

Crew members made do with narrow triple-stacked bunks far down in the bowels of the ship. Still, serving on the Royal Yacht was a plum position in the British Royal Navy.

Crew members got to rub shoulders with royalty. During her honeymoon, a sometimes-bored Diana hung out belowdecks with sailors, all of them no doubt starstruck by the charming and beautiful 20-year-old princess.

Photo from the Daily Mail article cited below

The fictional spy James Bond is “officially” a commander in the Royal Navy–an indication of the very high status of the British Navy, to this day. I wonder how he would feel about serving the Princess of Wales with “half a shandy” from the officer’s mess? I can’t imagine it. Instead, I’m sure he would wangle an invitation to dine with royals in the formal dining room onboard.

After dinner, Mr. Bond might suavely lean on the grand piano in the salon, listening to the young Princess play.

Was she any good? I guess we’ll never know. I wish she were alive to see how her sons turned out. Actually, I wish she were alive just for her own sake. The sailors who served the royal couple were given access to a set of photographs of the honeymoon. Some of them were only recently published.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2057550/Prince-Charles-Princess-Diana-unseen-honeymoon-pictures-Royal-Yacht-Britannia.html

Join me next time for more explorations into the art and the fascinating history of Europe and the British Isles!

When “Britannia” Ruled the Waves

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A short bus ride from central Edinburgh, the royal yacht “Britannia” is permanently moored and efficiently packaged as a prime tourist site. It’s one of the best ways for a mere commoner to ponder British royalty, past and present.

The ship was in active use between 1954 and 1997, when the expense of maintaining it was deemed too high and the Queen had to find other ways of sailing. In its heyday, the ship served as a floating official residence where the queen entertained heads of state. She could anchor her yacht anywhere on the globe and summon leaders to come to her. Hardly anyone turned down the invitation. The salon above was furnished in the height of stodgy royal elegance for its time. (In their inner sanctums, do royal Brits now go in for sleek HGTV-inspired square lines and neutral colors? I’ll have to wait for my invitation to a cozy afternoon tea with the Duchess of Cambridge to find out).

The Queen had her own stateroom, of course, with a handy bedside desk. Visitors can peer at her twin-size bed through a window, but nobody gets to bounce on Her Majesty’s bed.

Prince Philip’s adjoining stateroom is more masculine, but less businesslike. I’ve read that when staying at various palaces, the Prince always demanded that the personal bathroom he was to use be freshly painted a particular shade of pink, even if it was usually painted blue. (Can’t remember the source). Onboard the “Britannia,” I think he had the exclusive use of a bathroom that no one else used, so there was never a need to pitch a fit about the color of the walls.

For onshore jaunts, a Rolls Royce was always at the ready. Who’s going to drive? Not the Queen. A crew of 21 officers and 250 yachtsman stood ready to serve the royal family’s every whim.

There’s a lot to ponder on the Queen’s yacht. As an American, I always wonder how Brits put up with the lavish lifestyles of royalty. But then, how do we put up with the huge income disparities that seem to get wider every day in our own country? I’m sure that in the world of yachts, the Queen’s “Britannia” does not stack up as impressive, especially nowadays. But a visit gives a rare glimpse into royal life. Whenever they had the chance, the royals used set off on their boat and lived life on a smaller scale than they were used to in palaces. Clearly they enjoyed the close quarters and the more modest digs. Clambering around the boat as a tourist somehow makes the royals seem more like ordinary mortals. Maybe on the boat they enjoyed pretending they were more or less like the rest of us.

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