Versailles and more

Madame Henriette, daughter of Louis XV

Catherine Delors — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 08:53:11 GMT

Anne-Henriette de France, thanks to her beautiful portrait by Nattier, sparked the idea of this series on the daughters of Louis XV and Marie Leszczynska.

She was born on August 14, 1727, minutes after Madame Elisabeth. The sisters, as is obvious from their respective portraits, were fraternal twins. They had quite different personalities as well. Henriette was as reserved as her twin was assertive and outgoing. Louis XV was very attached to both of his elder daughters.

The first trauma of Henriette's life came when her twin left Versailles for Spain, apparently forever. A second ordeal came when Henriette fell in love with her second cousin, Louis-Philippe, Duc de Chartres, future head of the Orléans branch of the royal family.

Young Louis-Philippe too was in love with Henriette, and asked for her hand. Yet Louis XV, fond as he was of his daughters, never let his paternal feelings stand in the way of dynastic considerations. The Spanish Bourbons had been outraged by the abrupt dismissal of the little Infanta-Queen when Louis XV had married Marie Leszczynska, and the marriage of Madame Elisabeth with a son of the King of Spain had been designed to soothe any lingering bad feelings.

The Spanish Bourbons considered then (and their descendants still do to this day) their claims to the throne of France superior to those of the Orléans, who were more distantly related to Louis XV. Allowing Madame Henriette to marry an Orléans would thus have reinforced that branch's claims to the throne in case the King died without a male heir, since Salic law prevented women from inheriting the French crown.

I hope I am not being too arcane here, but I believe it is helpful to put things into context, since another Orléans, the grandson of Madame Henriette's rejected suitor, would indeed become King of the French under the name of Louis-Philippe in 1830.

As for Henriette, she had no choice but to resign herself to her fate. Unlike her twin, she was never on friendly terms with their father's mistress, Madame de Pompadour. She sought and found solace in her music and took lessons from the leading viole de basse (cello) player of the time, Jean-Baptiste-Antoine Forqueray. Her affection for that instrument was memorialized by Nattier. She was also very close to her younger brother, the Dauphin Louis-Ferdinand.

She died on February 1752, at the age of 24, from smallpox. Madame Campan, who joined the Court fifteen years later as a reader to Henriette's surviving sisters, notes in her Memoirs that the memory of the late princess was still very much alive at Versailles decades after her death. "This princess had had much influence over the King," writes Madame Campan, "people would say that, had she lived, she would have taken pains to entertain him within his family, that she would have followed the King in his little journeys, and would have presided over the suppers he liked to give in his private apartments." Madame Campan alludes here to the influence of Madame du Barry, the last of Louis XV's mistresses, in the waning years of his reign. Maybe indeed Madame Henriette would have prevented the emergence, much to the discredit of the monarchy, of that new favorite.

The Duc de Chartres married one of the descendants of Louis XIV and his mistress, Madame de Montespan. It was a most unhappy union, from which was born another Louis-Philippe, future Duc d'Orléans, future Philippe Egalité. Yes, the very man who would vote in 1793 for the immediate execution of his cousin Louis XVI...

Hydrangeas, Queen Hortense, hortensias

Catherine Delors — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 12:00:00 GMT

My thanks go to Felio, a reader of this blog, who is a florist by trade and gave me the idea of flower-themed posts. The first that came to mind were hydrangeas, because my paternal grandmother, gardener extraordinaire, used to grow them in the mountains of Auvergne.

Needless to say, they are not hardy enough to resist that harsh climate, but my grandmother was not the sort of person to let such details stand in the way of her gardening wishes. Every fall she would dig up her hydrangeas, wrap the roots in burlap sacks and keep them in the cellar for the entire winter. Then by the end of the following spring, she would plant them again and soon they would be reborn in all the splendor of their huge pink blossoms.

Hydrangeas are called hortensias in French, and I often read that they were so named by Empress Joséphine in honor of her daugher Hortense de Beauharnais, Queen of the Netherlands (right.) Joséphine was indeed a passionate botanist and cultivated hydrangeas in her gardens of Malmaison.

But the Hortense connection, romantic as it sounds, can't be true. Hydrangeas were discovered in China by the French physician and naturalist Philibert Commerson. He introduced them to the King's Garden at l'Ile Maurice (Mauritius) in 1768 under the name Hortensia opuliodes, and Hortense de Beauharnais was born in 1783...

Hortensia simply means in Latin "garden plant," an apt if prosaic name. Yet it is to Joséphine's cultivation of hydrangeas at Malmaison in the very early 19th century that the plant owes its initial popularity, which has spread worldwide and has never abated.

It is impossible to leave the topic of hortensias without mentioning the Hortensia Diamond. It was purchased by Louis XIV and, unlike the Hope Diamond, is still part of the French Crown Jewels. It is often displayed in the Galerie d'Apollon, the most gorgeous hall in the Louvre.

Was the Hortensia Diamond, over a century after entering the royal collections, named after the plant, or Queen Hortense? Frankly I don't know, but I will note that its exquisite color is reminiscent of the pink shade of hydrangea blossoms.

And speaking of shades, hydrangeas also come in blue. The blossoms of the same plant can turn from pink to blue, or the reverse, if you modify the soil's acidity.

Sir Anthony Van Dyck, gentleman-paynter

Catherine Delors — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 02:52:15 GMT

I couldn't resist using the antiquated spelling. For that was Sir Anthony's full title: Principalle Paynter in Ordinarie to their Majesties.

I visited the beautiful exhibition dedicated to Van Dyck at the Musée Jacquemart-André in Paris.

First a short biography of the artist (here, in this self-portrait painted in his early twenties.) Born in 1599 in Anvers, young Antoon van Dyck was noticed for his precocious talent, and he became, at the age of 19, first assistant to the great Rubens. He soon leaves for Italy, where he meets with much success as a portraitist. Then he returns to his native Netherlands to pursue his career.

But his fame spreads through Europe and King Charles I of England invites him to London. During the following years Van Dyck, now knighted and Sir Anthony, will paint numerous portraits of the royal family and the British aristocracy. In 1641 he comes briefly to Paris at the request of Louis XIII. But his health deteriorates and he returns to London where he dies at the age of 42. He is buried in Saint-Paul's Cathedral.

The exhibition, as can be expected from the Jacquemart-André, is beautifully set up. The walls are covered with velveteen in jewel tones. Far from competing with the paintings displayed, the warm colors and soft texture enhance the 17th century feel of the show. This makes for a pleasant, comfortable, intimate viewing experience. For an idea of the feel of the exhibition, see these stills and videos.

As for the works themselves, I was astounded by the maturity of displayed by Van Dyck as early as his early twenties. These are not only beautiful pictures. Van Dyck peers into the minds and souls of his models.

The exhibition also highlights the limitations of Van Dyck's range: unlike his master Rubens, he lacks a sense of drama, and the lone religious painting in the show has a flat, rather uninspired feel compared to the sharpness of the portraits.

Van Dyck gave all the measure of his virtuosity with the court paintings of his English period. Van Dyck had reached his highest ambition: knighted, he had married a noblewoman and become a gentleman, not only a gifted craftsman. He was the official painter of the royal family, as illustrated by this study (below) for a double portrait of Princesses Elizabeth and Anne, daughters of King Charles I.

Yet I somehow prefer his earlier, more insightful Dutch period, illustrated by this beautiful portrait of Maria de Tassis (right.) No wonder it was selected for the poster of the exhibition.

The show comprises 40 paintings and a dozen drawings. It does not purport to cover all of the work of Van Dyck, but remains a fascinating introduction to a great artist.

And this is also an opportunity to (re)discover the Musée Jacquemart-André. Any 18th century lover will browse there for many hours. The Jacquemart-André itself will be the subject of another post here very soon.

A prayer for a child, by Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire

Catherine Delors — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 07:45:53 GMT

Thanks to Ellen, of Ellen and Jim have a blog, too through her Eighteenth Century Worlds Yahoo Group, to which I belong, and which I highly recommend. This is a poem written by Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, about the child (by her lover Charles Grey) she was forced to give up.

Unhappy child of indiscretion,
poor slumberer on a breast forlorn
pledge of reproof of past transgression
Dear tho' unfortunate to be born.

For thee a suppliant wish addressing
To Heaven thy mother fain would dare
But conscious blushes stain the blessing
And sighs suppress my broken prayer.

But spite of these my mind unshaken
In present duty turns to thee
Tho' long repented ne'er forgotten
Thy days shalllov' d and guarded be.

And should th'ungenerous world upbraid thee
for mine and for thy father's ill
A nameless mother oft shall assist thee
A hand unseen protect thee still.

And tho' to rank and wealth a stranger
Thy life a humble course must run
Soon shalt thou learn to fly the danger
Which I too late have learnt to shun.

Meanwhile in these sequestered vallies
Here may'st thou live in safe content
For innocence may smile at malice
And thou-Oh! Thou art innocent.

Madame Elisabeth, Duchess of Parma, daughter of Louis XV

Catherine Delors — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 06:19:59 GMT

This is the first post in the long promised series on the daughters of Louis XV and Marie Leszczynska. I feel the best way to meet these fascinating ladies is in chronological order.

On August 14, 1727, Queen Marie Leszczynska gave birth to twin girls, the first born being Marie-Louise-Elisabeth, known as Madame Elisabeth, or simply, as the King's eldest daughter, Madame. Louis XV, who was only seventeen, had of course been hoping for a male heir, but he was nonetheless delighted by the birth of the girls. "People said I could not have children," he went around repeating, "and see, I made two!"

Elisabeth is his darling, his Babette. She has never been considered pretty, but she is bright, vivacious, willful. Yet dynastic politics lead Louis XV to arrange her marriage to her cousin, Philippe de Bourbon, younger son of the King of Spain. It is considered a mediocre match for a Fille de France ("Daughter of France") to marry a foreign prince unlikely to succeed to any throne, but Louis XV wants to reinforce the family ties with the Spanish Bourbons.

The bride is only twelve, and she is heartbroken when she must leave Versailles and her twin, Madame Henriette. "Tis forever, my God, tis forever," she sobs in the arms of her sister. Indeed it was often true at the time: as a rule a princess, once married abroad, never set foot again in her native country. That is, for instance, what happened to Marie-Antoinette. But, as she shall see, Madame Elisabeth will never allow herself to be bound by rules applicable to ordinary princesses.

Once in Spain, Elisabeth is not unhappy with her husband, a kind and self-effacing man, but she does not get along with her mother-in-law, Queen Isabella Farnese, another strong personality. Elisabeth is only fourteen when she gives birth to her first child, a girl named Marie-Isabelle. Elisabeth finds the Spanish Court dull after Versailles, and she is too ambitious to be satisfied with her position as wife of the King's younger son. She intends to find her husband a throne of his own, preferably far from the Spanish court and her mother-in-law.

Her wishes come true when the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, at the conclusion of the War of Austrian Succession, makes available the Duchy of Parma, a small independent state in northern Italy. Elisabeth, alone, hastens to Versailles to make sure her father intervenes to secure the Duchy for her husband. Louis XV obliges.

This portrait by Nattier, representing Elisabeth, then 23, with her daughter Marie-Isabelle, is painted during this Versailles stay. Louis XV is delighted to see his dear Babette again, and the young woman is in no hurry to leave for her new Duchy of Parma.

At Versailles, Madame Elisabeth allies herself with the rising star of the time, her father's mistress, Madame de Pompadour. This causes tensions with her siblings, who hate the favorite, but Madame Elisabeth puts ambition ahead of personal preferences.

After ten months in Versailles, she must, if only for the sake of appearances, leave to join her husband in Parma. There she gives birth to two more children, a boy, Ferdinand, and another girl, Marie-Louise, in January and December of 1751, respectively.

In her new Duchy, Elisabeth promotes French style, gives her son French tutors who espouse the values of the Enlightenment, and tries her best to emulate Versailles in her little Italian court. The following year, she is distraught when she receives the news of her sister Henriette's death from smallpox. Elisabeth had remained very close to her twin in spite of their differences over Madame de Pompadour. A grieving Elisabeth leaves for Versailles for another one-year stay, before reluctantly returning to Parma.

She comes back again to Versailles a few years later, in 1757, to better arrange an alliance with Empress Maria Theresa. Elisabeth hopes to obtain from the Empress the appointment of her husband as Governor of the Austrian Netherlands. To strengthen her alliance with Austria, she negotiates the marriage of her elder daughter, Marie-Isabelle (the little girl in the Nattier portrait, who is no longer a little girl, but now a bright, beautiful teenager) with the heir to the Austrian throne, Archduke Joseph, future Emperor Joseph II.

Unfortunately Madame Elisabeth falls ill. Her mother, Queen Marie Leszczynska, nurses her, but soon it becomes clear that the princess, like her twin sister a few years earlier, has contracted smallpox. She dies at the age of 32 in her beloved Versailles.

To conclude this post, I chose a family portrait painted in Parma (below.) Elisabeth is seated on the sofa, next to her husband. After her death, no one, least of all himself, would think of another throne for hapless Philippe de Bourbon. But the marriage arranged by Elisabeth between their eldest daughter, Marie-Isabelle (standing, with a sheet of paper in her hands) and Archduke Joseph would indeed take place. Joseph would fall passionately in love with his bride, but she would never return his feelings. Marie-Isabelle would die three years later, yet another smallpox victim.

Now look closely at the two little children to the left. The boy is Ferdinand, who would succeed his father as Duke of Parma, and would be dethroned by Bonaparte during the French Revolution. See how he is dressed in a suit of bleu de France ("French blue") embroidered with the fleur-de-lys of the French monarchy. The painting thus stresses the maternal ancestry of the heir. Of all of Louis XV's grandchildren, he was the closest to the King, who would exchange with him a sustained and most interesting correspondence. Like his elder sister, he would marry one of Marie-Antoinette's siblings, Archduchess Maria Amelia. He is the ancestor of the Bourbon-Parme branch of the French royal family.

The little girl , Marie-Louise, would marry her cousin King Carlos IV of Spain and be immortalized as Queen Maria Luisa in Goya's famous portraits. Note how she has seized her brother's sword and firmly refuses to give it back. This was a family of strong women...

Chenonceau: a fairytale come true

Catherine Delors — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 02:00:25 GMT

I stumbled upon this gorgeous post by Judith at Paris Atelier on Chenonceau, the "Château of the Ladies".

Memories of France's great Renaissance ladies, Queen Catherine de Médicis, her rival Diane de Poitiers, her daughter-in-law Mary Queen of Scots (and of France) are indeed forever attached to the place.

But Chenonceau did not sink into oblivion after the Renaissance. In the 18th century, it was the country residence of Louise Marie-Madeleine Dupin (left, by Nattier.) Daughter and wife of bankers, famous for her intellect and beauty, Madame Dupin hired Jean-Jacques Rousseau as her secretary, and he spent years there. Voltaire and Montesquieu were also her guests at Chenonceau.

If you have the good fortune of visiting the Loire Valley, please don't miss this small marvel. The art collections are on a par with the architectural and historical interest of the place.

Enjoy!

November 11, Marshal Foch and the Treaty of Versailles

Catherine Delors — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 03:14:17 GMT

This is a federal holiday in the United States, and a national holiday in France. In both countries it commemorates the anniversary of the armistice that ended World War I, and honors the sacrifice of all veterans.

So today is the 90th anniversary of the November 11, 1918 armistice, signed at 11 am French time in the railway carriage of the Allied Supreme Commander, Marshal Foch. The train had stopped in a clearing in the forest of Compiègne, north of Paris. Here is Foch, second from the right, in this photograph taken immediately after the signing.

Months later, on June 28, 1919, a formal peace treaty would be signed at Versailles (again Versailles!) after tense negotiations.

Foch felt that the Treaty of Versailles gave Germany far too much opportunity to rearm. He famously stated: "This is not peace. This is an armistice for twenty years." Twenty years indeed! 1939 marked the beginning of World War II. One has to give Foch credit for some prescience. But at Versailles in 1919 politics overwhelmed the better judgment of clear minds. To this day we live with the legacy of this momentous agreement.

Let us never forget the lessons of history...

Marie-Antoinette and the Affair of the Necklace

Catherine Delors — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 00:13:02 GMT

Thanks to Elizabeth for her excellent post at Scandalous Women on the infamous Affair of the Necklace. The retelling is detailed and accurate, and even the deliberate tabloid style is true to the atmosphere of that tremendous scandal that further damaged the Queen's image a few years before the Revolution.

Marie Leszczynska, France's Polish Queen

Catherine Delors — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 06:29:23 GMT

As promised, I will post a series of entries about Mesdames, the daughters of Louis XV. But it seems impossible to write about them without first introducing their mother, Queen Marie Leszczynska.

Talleyrand, the Bishop turned diplomat extraordinaire, said of her that "her virtues had something sad about them that failed to inspire sympathy." That has remained the judgment of history, which remembers her as a dour, charmless, rather stupid but innocuous figure. This is, in my opinion, most unfair.

True, Marie Leszczynska was not destined to become the Queen consort of France. Her father, Stanislas Leszczynski, had been briefly Kind of Poland from 1704 to 1709 before being dethroned and sent into exile by one of the many convulsions in that country's history.

Stanislas Leszczynski, an intellectual, kindly man, had limited ambitions for his daughter. He would have been happy to give her hand in marriage to any French Duke. But her dowry was so meager as to be considered nonexistent, and no candidates of suitable rank were in sight for Marie.

As for Louis XV, then fifteen, he had been engaged since his childhood to his cousin, seven-year old Spanish princess Marie-Anne-Victoire de Bourbon. The marriage was considered such a sure thing that Marie-Anne was called the Infante-Reine (the "Infanta-Queen.") She had lived in Versailles since the age of three.

But young Louis XV is sickly, and suddenly falls gravely ill. The Duc de Bourbon, head of the Conseil de Régence, represents that it is urgent for the King to sire an heir. Obviously for this purpose the little Infanta-Queen, at seven, will not do. The girl is thus unceremoniously shipped back to Spain. Years later, she will indeed become Queen, though of Portugal instead of France.

The choice of the Duc de Bourbon falls on Marie Leszczynska, a young woman of 22, the perfect child-bearing age. The match is greeted at first with incredulity and derision, both in Versailles and in foreign courts, where many a princess feels personally slighted by the unlikely choice of a "mere Polish young lady" as Queen of France. Vicious rumors spread through Versailles: Marie is ugly, she is epileptic, she is so deformed that she cannot bear children, she suffers from a purulent skin condition...

But Louis XV, when he meets his bride, is immediately delighted by her, a rare occurrence in royal marriages of the time. She is no stunning beauty, but she is comely, in all the glow of youth and health. At fifteen he has already reached sexual maturity and consummates the marriage with enthusiasm. His Queen is his first love, and she returns his feelings.

Less delighted with the bride, however, are the courtiers of Versailles. They sneer at the new Queen, poke fun at her age, her looks, her gowns, her French diction (it is native, as she has been given French governesses since childhood, but not deemed refined enough for Versailles.) She puts up graciously with all of this and, unlike her successor Marie-Antoinette decades later, finds help in her strict adherence to the étiquette, which at least protects her from the rudest of the courtiers' slights.

Two years after her marriage, she gives birth to twin girls. Eight more children, the Dauphin Louis-Ferdinand, the much awaited male heir, then another boy and six more girls, follow in the next ten years.

At least Marie is no longer faulted for being barren, but at age 34, after ten children and nine pregnancies, she has lost her youthful looks. Louis XV (right, by Boucher) is no longer a smitten teenager, he is now a handsome young man, with the same sexual appetites as his great-grandfather Louis XIV. He is still fond of his wife, but she is beginning to look like an old lady to him. Their age difference is beginning to matter. He takes a first mistress, then a second, then many more.

Marie, however, is still very much in love with her husband, and experiences bitter pangs of jealousy. The worst comes when Louis XV asks his wife to accept his chief mistress, the Marquise de Pompadour, as a lady-in-waiting. Again Marie puts up with her situation with grace and dignity. She greets her rival with all the appearances of friendliness, and seeks refuge in a small group of friends, picked for their religious leanings and intellectual affinities with her. She gathers them in the private apartments allocated to her within the Palace of Versailles (the Petit Trianon is then reserved for Madame de Pompadour's use.) Every autumn her parents visit her for a few months.

Marie Leszczynska also finds comfort in artistic pursuits. She paints in watercolors and is passionately fond of music, all tastes she transmits to her daughters. She invites the famous castrate Farinelli to France to give her singing lessons.

Notwithstanding the low esteem of the courtiers, she is beloved by common people. She had once retorts, when told that she doesn't dress smartly enough: "I do not need gowns when the poor have no shirts." We are very far from the "Let them eat cake" (falsely) attributed to Marie-Antoinette.

Queen Marie's death at the age of 65 is a disaster for the monarchy. It deprives the royal family of its most popular member. Her great rival, Madame de Pompadour, also a woman of taste and intellect, had already died a few years earlier. Louis XV is thus left to his own devices after the successive deaths of his mistress and wife. He resorts at first to a host of common prostitutes, which has at least the merit of relative discretion, then to the publicly flaunted services of Madame du Barry, a former courtesan who does little to enhance the dignity of the final years of his reign.

So what remains of Queen Marie Leszczynska? A few portraits, including this beautiful work by Nattier (below) and very little else. Her private apartments at Versailles were destroyed during Marie-Antoinette's remodeling of that part of the palace. The gilded furniture in the rococo style we see in the Queen's Bedchamber, however, is still the one made for Marie Leszczynska (the current silk hangings were woven for Marie-Antoinette decades later)

There is much more to say about Queen Marie, but this will be the topic of other posts...

French purple and Marie-Antoinette

Catherine Delors — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 14:15:41 GMT

For a daily visual treat I subscribe to Paris Breakfasts, and today Carol has a post titled Le Pourpre et le Noir. As I note in my comment, First Lady Carla Bruni-Sarkozy often wears purple, and the popularity of the color this year in France is probably no coincidence.

To illustrate this post I chose a portrait of Marie-Antoinette by François-Hubert Drouais, painted in 1773, when she was eighteen and still the Dauphine. This is to my knowledge the only of her many portraits where she is represented in a purple dress, with matching neck and hair ribbons. The black lace streamer in the background leads me to surmise that she may have been wearing some form of demi-deuil (light mourning.)

This was many years before Madame Vigée-Lebrun became Marie-Antoinette's favorite artist, but Drouais, then the Court painter, captured the young woman's steady gaze and determined expression. If you have more information on this lovely painting, please chime in!

"A new American dream"

Catherine Delors — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 02:46:15 GMT

Today this is the headline of the - usually very staid - French newspaper Le Monde. A historic election indeed, but, as noted by Richard at Le Fleur de Lys Too, hardly the first time we had African-American or female candidates running for the Presidency or Vice Presidency.

So this blog salutes trailblazers Frederick Douglass and Victoria Woodhull!

And for more information on Victoria Woodhull, see this post at Scandalous Women.

A tale of two White Houses

Catherine Delors — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 07:59:54 GMT

As the race for the White House draws to a close, I would like to call your attention to this picture of the Château de Rastignac, in south-western France.

Let us look at a brief chronology:

Late 1780s: the Marquis de Rastignac makes (now lost) plans for the construction of a new château on his estate near Bordeaux.

Spring 1789: Thomas Jefferson, Ambassador of the United States to France (and great amateur of fine wine) visits the Bordeaux region.

Summer 1789: the onset of the French Revolution puts the Marquis de Rastignac's building projects on indefinite hold.

1801: Jefferson is elected President of the United States. He supervises plans for the construction of the South Portico of the White House.

1809: the construction of the South Portico is completed by the time Jefferson leaves office.

1812-1817: the Marquis de Rastignac belatedly builds his château (above.)

1814: British troops set the White House ablaze during the War of 1812.

1824: The White House is rebuilt without major architectural changes.

So what happened here? We have three possibilities. First, the resemblance between the South Portico and the Château de Rastignac could be a coincidence. Second, Jefferson could have seen the plans of the future Château de Rastignac during his 1789 Bordeaux visit, and remembered them once he was President. Or the Marquis de Rastignac could have seen a picture of the White House after it was completed in 1809 and before it was destroyed by the 1814 blaze, and used it as an inspiration for his château.

Certainly the South Portico follows the Palladian style, so popular with the 18th century Bordeaux aristocracy. And Jefferson was much influenced, at Monticello and in Washington, by the architecture and art he had admired in France. But, unless the original plans for the Chateau de Rastignac are somehow recovered, we may never be sure...

The 2nd of November 1755: birth of Marie-Antoinette

Catherine Delors — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 10:35:33 GMT

On that day was born in Vienna, at the Palace of the Hofburg, Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna von Hapsburg-Lothringen, fifteenth child of the Holy Roman Emperor Francis I Stephen (né François-Etienne de Lorraine) and his wife Empress Maria Theresa.

Within the imperial family the little Archduchess was called "Antonia" or "Antoinette." Eighteen years later she would become Queen of France under the name of Marie-Antoinette.

Here she is as a baby (lying in the gilded cradle at the center of the picture) surrounded by her parents and siblings. This was painted in 1755, when she could not be more than two months old. It must be the earliest of her many portraits.

Martin van Meytens, official painter of the Viennese Court, made several versions of this life-size picture of the Familia Augusta, the imperial family, represented here on the terrace of the Palace of Schönbrunn. From time to time van Meytens produced updated versions to include the newest additions to the ruling couple's increasing brood.

This particular version was purchased during the 19th century by King Louis-Philippe and is now in the Versailles collections. There exists a later version that includes Marie-Antoinette's younger brother, little Archduke Maximilian Franz.

Chrysanthemums and All Souls' Day

Catherine Delors — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 00:14:19 GMT

As noted in an earlier post Halloween is barely noticeable in France. The same cannot be said of All Saints' Day, La Toussaint (November 1st) and All Souls' Day, the Day of the Dead, the Jour des Morts (November 2.) La Toussaint is a national holiday.

This is a time for families to bring fresh flowers, mostly chrysanthemums, to the tombs of their departed loved ones, much as in the 19th century painting below. Cheerful mum blossoms are everywhere in Paris now.

I remember how surprised I was when I moved to California to note that these flowers have no funeral connotation in the United States. They grew to amazing masses of pink, red and gold in my Los Angeles garden (indeed chrysanthemum means "gold blossom" in Greek). But in France they are the flowers of the dead.

I am particularly fortunate this year because one of my uncles from Normandy will be celebrating his 80th birthday this week-end. A wonderful occasion for a family reunion, and for a visit to my grandparents' tomb there.

Painting: La Toussaint, by Emile Friant, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Nancy.

Did you notice the new blog header?

Catherine Delors — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 15:07:31 GMT

And do you like it better than the Fragonard?

I picked a detail of Jean-Antoine Watteau's Embarquement pour Cythère, "Embarkation for Cythera." Wretched translation, I must say. Why not simply "Setting sail for Cythera?" Cythera in Greek mythology is the birthplace of Aphrodite, goddess of love. Hence the cherubs hovering over the scene. This would mean that the men and women we see here are on a pilgrimage to the source of carnal love.

Or are they? I have heard some art historians argue persuasively that the painting should have been called "Setting sail from Cythera." So this would actually be an allegory of leaving Cythera, of falling out of love. This analysis makes sense. See how the three couples to the right of the picture, below, represent three different stages of detachment. See how the woman in the light brown dress turns around and looks longingly behind as she is ready to leave.

Watteau's art has a unique quality. It doesn't depict real places or real persons, but dreamscapes inhabited by women in extraordinary shimmering satins - no one has ever painted satin like Watteau - and men dressed like actors of the commedia dell'arte. The result is a visually stunning representation of something that only exists in the artist's imagination. Watteau (1684-1721, a life cut short by tuberculosis) was a surrealist two centuries before the concept was invented.

So why did I take the liberty of flipping this gorgeous, iconic painting for the header? Very simple: my blogging software doesn't allow me to move around the blog title and subtitle, and they tragically obstructed the three couples. Forgive me, Watteau...

I forgot to spell out the Premio Dardos Award rules...

Catherine Delors — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 10:39:23 GMT

If it's all right with you, we shall blame this oversight on my excitement on receiving the award myself. So here we go, dear awardees:

The rules of this award are as follows: show the image of the award on your blog, link back to the blog that gave the award, and nominate 15 other blogs that you consider deserving the same.

And don't forget to post the rules when you nominate other blogs!

A new award for this blog!

Catherine Delors — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 14:01:53 GMT

It is called a Premio Dardos Award and is given "for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing." Wow! Thanks to Vic at Jane Austen's World for bestowing this award! She says that "Catherine Delors’ lush blog is addictive." Lush, addictive... I am barely legal.

When you think I only started this blog nine months ago. Yes, just the time of a pregnancy. Some of you will remember the faraway days when it was called Writing with a foreign accent. Though the name has changed, I have tried not to lose the French accent. And I have been rewarded with an increasing flow of visitors and the friendship of fellow bloggers, without whose help this endeavor would have gone nowhere. To all, my heartfelt thanks.

Now comes the great part: I have to designate fifteen blogs I deem deserving of the award. This time I have decided to focus on history, especially the 17th and 18th centuries, and historical fiction. Here we go, in alphabetical order:

Baroque Explorations: fellow writer Sandra Gulland's 17th century research blog.

Ellen and Jim Have a Blog, Too: Ellen shares her passion for 18th century art and literature. Large helpings of Jane Austen. Already nominated by Vic, but there's no such thing as too many awards when you deserve them.

Fashion is My Muse: no doubt about that, Ingrid.

Historical Boys: yes, men can do it too. Bravo, CW!

Historical Tapestry: the news on historical fiction.

History Buff: Michelle Moran is one.

Paris Breakfasts: the food, Carol's pictures... Sinful.

Reading, Raving and Ranting: Susan tells you everything you wanted to know about those creepy English rulers, but were afraid to ask.

Reading the Past: Sarah is the voice of historical fiction in the United States.

Tanzanite's Book Covers: the good, the bad, and the ugly (the latter two somewhat overrepresented.) Never, ever fails to cheer me up.

Tea at Trianon: for Elena's outstanding knowledge of French history.

Unusual Historicals: beyond Tudor.

Van Gogh's Chair: I have discovered, too late alas, that I should have been an art historian like Sheramy.

Wonders and Marvels: no, wait! I should have been a medical historian like Holly. Or maybe it was all right to go to law school after all.

Writing the Renaissance: last (sorry, Julianne, this is alphabetical) but not least, the French Renaissance blog.

Halloween in France

Catherine Delors — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 09:44:51 GMT

There was an attempt ten years or so ago to introduce the French to Halloween. It met at first with some success, born out of curiosity, but now the only signs of the holiday in Paris are EuroDisney posters in the metro, and elaborate decorations in the windows of a few high-end chocolatiers.

Why did Halloween flop in France? I believe it goes to the origins of the holiday itself. The name is a contraction of All Hallows' Even, the Eve of All Saints' Day. And in the Catholic calendar, All Saints' Day, the Toussaint, immediately precedes, and is associated with the Day of the Dead, when families go pray on the tombs of their ancestors. I will post on the Toussaint later this week.

In France, this is a time to remember departed loved ones, not gorge on candy or have fun with scary costumes. This is in my opinion the true reason why Halloween couldn't succeed in France: it was deeply anticlimactic.

Does it mean you can't find pumpkins in France? Certainly you can. My grocery store has plenty of them, but they are not suitable for jacks o'lanterns: they are sold by the slice, to make soup. A very easy recipe: dice the flesh, boil with some potatoes and an onion. Add salt and spices to taste. Blend when cooked. Light, delicious, and the color is gorgeous.

Farewell, Mr. Hillerman

Catherine Delors — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 02:34:17 GMT

I never had the privilege of meeting Tony Hillerman, but I knew him through his books. I immersed myself in the adventures of his two Navajo cops. Wonderful characters: experienced, level-headed, secular Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn, opposed to rookie Detective Jim Chee, who had such a hard time mixing his police duties with his ongoing training as a medicine man, and such a knack for discovering exactly the wrong love interest.

Tony Hillerman, like all great writers, knew how to share his passions with his readers. His affection for the Navajo Nation and the other native inhabitants of the Four Corners was matched by his love for the immense open spaces of the Rez, the Hopi mesas, the pueblos, the wonderful painted walls of Canyon de Chelly. I should add that he was as popular in France as in the United States.

Today Tony Hillerman died at the age of 83, and it feels like the loss of a friend.

A pink ribbon for Anne of Austria

Catherine Delors — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 12:51:06 GMT

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. A reminder to all of us that, when it comes to cancer, vigilance, early detection and aggressive treatment are key to survival.

This brings us to Anne of Austria. Like two of her successors, Queens Marie-Thérèse (wife of Louis XIV) and Marie-Antoinette, she was a Hapsburg. Daughter of King Philip III of Spain, Ana Mauricia married King Louis XIII of France when they were both fourteen. It was by all accounts an unhappy union, marked by grave personal and political disagreements. Louis XIII disliked his wife and shunned her bed for months or years on end.

The royal couple would briefly reconcile on occasion, but all of Anne's pregnancies ended in miscarriages. Her situation at Court became still more precarious when France and her native Spain found themselves at war. The Queen's secret correspondence with her brother, now Philip IV of Spain, was discovered, and she was accused of conspiring with the enemy. This is the backdrop for The Three Musketeers: the defense of a beleaguered Queen against the wily and all powerful minister Cardinal de Richelieu.

Now should I mention the part my region of Auvergne played in Anne's destiny, and that of France? Anne had reached middle-age, and it was considered highly unlikely that she would ever bear a child. So she went to Auvergne, took the waters in Vic (the setting of the first part of my novel, Mistress of the Revolution) and like my heroine Gabrielle, and me, attended the pilgrimage of Notre-Dame de Consolation in the nearby town of Thiézac. If you happen to visit the beautiful Church of Thiézac, you can still admire a lace altar cover donated by Anne in gratitude. For the miracle did happen: in 1638, at age 37 and after 23 years of a childless marriage, Anne gave birth to a healthy boy, named Louis-Dieudonné ("Godgiven.") Another son, Philippe, ancestor of the Orléans branch of the royal family, was born two years later.

Her relationship with her elder son was - and remained till her death - one of mutual adoration. I, for one, find the physical resemblance between mother and child striking. Louis-Dieudonné was only four when his father died and he became Louis XIV. Anne became Regent of France. Her late husband had tried to limit her role after his death (he apparently disliked and distrusted her till the very end) but she had the provisions of his will stricken by the Parliament - meaning Court of Appeals - of Paris.

Assisted by a new minister of her own choosing, Cardinal de Mazarin, she was an able ruler. Some French historians even speak of her "political genius." What is sure is that she defeated the Fronde, a revolt of the nobility and the people of Paris against the Crown (a strange foreshadowing of the French Revolution.)

Then Louis XIV came of age, married Anne's niece, assumed power, transformed the modest château of Versailles into the royal palace we know. Anne retired to the abbey of Val-de-Grâce in Paris, where she died in 1666, at the age of 64, from breast cancer. At the time the only thing her physicians could have done for her was to alleviate her pain, but they insisted that she undergo useless and barbaric treatments and surgeries.

Yet another reason to count modern medicine among our many blessings.