Beware the Ghost of the Grand-Veneur!

You're stealing through the Forest of Fontainebleau at dusk, a thick carpet of pine needles and fallen leaves muffling your footsteps, your breath rising in wispy clouds of white. The full moon peaks through the mist, bouncing off menacing piles of boulders, deepening shadows that obscure the dangerous maws of caves and the beasts that lurk within them. Owls hoot, frogs croak, unseen vermin skitter through the underbrush. Suddenly, new noises pierce the night: the thudding of hooves, the barking of dogs. The sounds grow louder and louder as they approach. The long, sad cry of a horn shreds the air, and before you appears a hunter, dressed in black, mounted on an all-black steed. A pack of dogs, eyes flaming like coals, mill, snarling and yapping, about the horse's legs. As the horse rears, forelegs flailing, the hunter stares down at you with blank, black eyes. He blasts his horn again, and as quickly as they appeared, horse, rider, and dogs vanish into the mist, leaving no trace of their presence but the chill that settles deep in your heart.

The Fantôme du Grand-Veneur, the Ghost of the Head Huntsman, has just appeared to deliver a grave warning: something dire is about to happen. Your own death, most likely. Heart pounding in terror, you flee, wishing you'd never set foot in the forest.

The ghost of the Grand-Veneur, also known as "le Chasseur Noir" (The Black Hunter), has been appearing in the Fôret de Fontainebleau, the dense forest of oak and pine that surrounds the château, for centuries. Tradition holds that the ghost is the spirit of a royal huntsman who was assassinated during the reign of François I and now roams the forest during the night with his pack of dogs. He appears during times of trouble to foretell tragic events. Numerous kings, including François himself, Charles IX, Henri IV, and Louis XIV, reportedly encountered him. The phantom announced an early death to Louis XVI and the assassination of the duc de Berry. Napoléon I received a visit on the eve of his abdication.

In a letter dated September 25, 1598, the diplomat Jacques Bongars recounts how the Chasseur Noir appeared to Henri IV during a hunt and warned him to "mend his ways":

On dit que le Roi retournant de la chasse en sa maison de Fontainebleau à dix heures du soir a entendu un chasseur qui faisait grand bruit. On assure même qu'il appelait ses chiens par leur nom (...) Le Roi étant entré dans le Château, fit venir les plus vieux des habitants du Bourg, pour savoir d'eux ce que ce pourrait être. Ils lui répondirent qu'on voyait paraître quelquefois, au milieu de la nuit, un Chasseur à cheval, avec sept ou huit chiens, qui courent la forêt, comme en chassant sans blesser personne. 


They say that the King, returning from the hunt to his home at Fontainebleau at ten o'clock at night, heard a hunter making a great noise. People swear he was calling his dogs by name... The King, having entered the palace, summoned the oldest inhabitants of the town, to learn from them what it might have been. They told him that sometimes people saw appear, in the middle of the night, a hunter on a horse, with seven or eight dogs, galloping through the forest as if hunting, without hurting anyone.

The Chasseur Noir appeared to Henri IV once again, this time with grave consequences. The king was hunting deer in the woods, and had stopped to dine with his mistress Gabrielle d'Estrées and several courtiers. The sound of dogs and horns arose nearby. The king sent his man Bassompierre to investigate. A quarter of an hour later, Bassompierre returned, greatly shaken. The Chasseur had spoken to him, telling him to warn the king that if he didn't repudiate his mistress that very day, a great misfortune would befall her. The king laughed off the Chasseur's prediction. Three days later, Gabrielle d'Estrées died of hideous convulsions.

Either the Grand-Veneur truly had prophetic powers, or his myth served as a convenient cover for a poisoning plot. The latter seems more likely.

In any case, don't ignore the Grand-Veneur's warning, should he appear in your path!

*****

Sources:

"Qui était vraiment le Chasseur Noir de la forêt de Fontainebleau?" BFMTV, 07/23/2017.
"Petit Promenade en Foret de Fontainebleau" Rando sac au dos--par Bleausard, 3/9/14
"La légende du chasseur noir de la forêt de Fontainebleau," Fontainebleau-Photo.

Royal Frolics: Choosing the "Queen of the Bean" at Epiphany

The Feast of the Epiphany occasioned much merriment--and expense--at the French court during the Renaissance. The tradition of sharing a galette des rois--a cake containing a concealed bean--traces back to early sixteenth century celebrations of Twelfth Night. The person who found the bean in his or her piece of cake became the de facto ruler for the duration of the festivities. Whereas in England the choice of a "king," or Lord of Misrule, predominated, across the channel it was the election of the "Queen of the Bean" that evolved into an elaborate ritual.

According to Robert Knecht in his book The French Renaissance Court (p. 75-76), it was custom at the court of François I to chose not only a Queen of the Bean, but a bevy of eighteen ladies to attend her. The women wore beautiful new clothes, which the King provided: undergarments of crimson velvet with slashed sleeves held together by gold clasps and outer garments of grey satin fringed with velvet and lined with mink. Matching belts, necklaces and bracelets complemented the attire; the Queen wore a plumed bonnet atop a long golden or silver snood adorned with precious stones. When it was time for supper, the Queen of the Bean rose from her seat next to the true queen, Eléanore, and took the King's hand. The monarch led her and her ladies into the hall where two tables had been set. The Queen of the Bean sat above Queen Eléanore, the dauphin's wife Catherine de' Medici, and the King's sister Marguerite de Navarre at the shorter table; the King joined the eighteen attendants at the second table. During the meal, the Bean Queen was served with the ceremony normally reserved for the real queen, who surrendered any precedence during the twenty-four hours of her rival's reign.

One wonders just how random the choice of the Queen of the Bean was, especially since at the court of François's son, Henri, the king himself chose her name. In 1550, the Venetian ambassador describes how Henri II came into the queen's chamber to pick a name out of a hat. However, Henri discarded several names before announcing that of a "young, really beautiful and most charming" lady who belonged to the circle of his sister Marguerite. The young lady touched his hand and retired to dress "honorably." At dinner, Henri sat in the middle of the shorter table, flanked on his right by the Queen of the Bean and on his left by his mistress Diane de Poitiers. The real queen, Catherine de' Medici, sat next to the Queen of the Bean, along with the king's sister; the cardinal of Lorraine, the duchesse de Guise, and the Constable of Montmorency sat beside Diane. A ball followed the banquet. The next day, the King escorted the Queen of the Bean into Mass before the real queen; after Mass, everyone dined in the same order as on the previous evening, then watched a joust in the palace courtyard. The feast concluded with another banquet and a final ball, which brought the Queen of the Bean's short reign to a memorable end.

[Photograph courtesy of Gorrk, Wikimedia Commons.]

This article was originally posted on January 6, 2010.

"Musical Frescos" at Fontainebleau

The Château of Fontainebleau is presenting a series of concerts dedicated to illuminating the history of the château and reviving the memory of the great kings who counted it among their favorite residences. The "Musical Fresco" scheduled for August 29 centers on François I and includes four separate concerts commemorating different aspects of the king's persona:

Le roi galant et le roi mécène -- Rêver d’amour et d’Italie
Le roi conquérant -- François Ier et Charles Quint
Le roi chrétien -- La Réforme musicale
Le roi chevalier - -François Ier et les guerres d’Italie, de la victoire de Marignan à la défaite de Pavie

Gallant King and Patron King -- Dreaming of love and of Italy
Conquering King -- François I and Charles V
Christian King -- Musical reform
Warrior king -- François I and the Italian Wars, from the victory of Marignan to the defeat at Pavie

Each of the concerts will feature Renaissance music performed by noted Baroque ensembles on period instruments.

The Château's official Facebook page provided this historical vignette as context for the "Conquering King" concert [translation mine]:

"François I received his rival Charles V in all magnificence at Fontainebleau from December 24-30, 1539. In order to dazzle the emperor, the king organized fantastical skirmishes and tournaments at the palace gates and erected a temporary triumphal arch. François concluded the palace visit in his private gallery (he alone kept the keys, of which he was so proud), decorated by Rosso. In this picture, the two protagonists arrive in Paris after their stay at Fontainebleau. The Christmas celebrations of 1539, with the meeting between the two most powerful sovereigns of Europe, certainly count among the most brilliant of the sixteenth century at Fontainebleau."

An unforgettable moment in the château's history---and a perfect backdrop for a historical novel, wouldn't you say? ;)

December 5: Death of a King

On this day in 1560, King François II died at the young age of sixteen. François was the eldest son of Henri II and Catherine de Medici (and therefore grandson of his namesake, François I). He had become king only the year before, when his father Henri died after a freak jousting accident that lodged a lance splinter in his eye and brain.

François had never been a robust child; small for his age, he suffered from eczema and a chronic ear infection that ultimately caused his death. In mid-November 1560, a large swelling appeared behind his left ear, indicating the inflammation was spreading to nearby bone and tissue. Fever and violent fits took hold; prescribed bleeding and purgations further weakened his body. The infection formed an abscess in his brain and, in the absence of antibiotics, nothing could be done to save him. François fell unconscious on December 5 and passed away by nightfall, a month short of his seventeenth birthday.

His wife of two years, Mary Queen of Scots, had nursed him tenderly throughout the ordeal. A year older than François, Mary had been raised at the French court with him since the age of five. The two shared a strong bond of friendship and love, although it remains uncertain whether François's underdeveloped physique had prevented them from actually consummating their marriage. Mary was devastated by François's death, which dramatically changed the course of her life. Although she could have remained in France with her estates and status intact until she found another royal husband, Mary chose to return home to her kingdom of Scotland. Little did she know that her choice would ultimately lead to her own death at the hand of Elizabeth I of England.

In Which I Reveal My Project, Process and Aspirations

Today I am participating in the Monday Blog Tour about writers' projects and processes. Many thanks to poet and YA science fiction writer LJ Cohen for tagging me!

1. What am I currently working on?

At present, I am putting the finishing touches on agent-suggested revisions to my historical novel set at the opulent court of François I in the winter of 1539. As François's arch-enemy Charles V of Spain arrives for a crucial state visit, three women--a painter, the king's mistress, and an artist's model--become embroiled in a web of rivalries that threatens the very peace of France. Narrated from the alternating perspectives of painter, patron and painted, the novel plumbs the world of the court artist and exposes the forces that transform the worthiest of ambitions into the most vicious of rivalries.

2) How does my work differ from others in the genre?

With a Ph.D in sixteenth-century French, I hope to offer a depth of research and a sensibility that will bring the early modern world fully alive. I present a broader, continental perspective on the ever-popular Tudor era by focusing on the court of François I, Henry VIII's personal and political rival, a man as equally fascinating and ambitious as the English king. François dreamt of transforming France into a New Rome of art and culture, and my novel centers on his efforts to build at Fontainebleau a palace to rival the glories of Italy. My work will appeal to readers with a penchant for France as well as readers of Tudor fiction who are looking for something different.

3) Why do I write what I do?

A life-long lover of France and French culture, I want to share the fascinating things I've learned in the course of my academic studies with a general audience. As a reader, I am always eager to find historical fiction set in early modern France, and am usually disappointed in my search--this rich period has hardly been plumbed! As a writer, therefore, I am following the advice writers so often hear--to write the books I myself would love to read. (Of course, I hope others will love to read them, too!)

4) How does my writing process work?

I've written two complete manuscripts, and the approach was slightly different for each. In my first manuscript, every character, with one exception, was a fictional creation. Wanting to explore the challenges that faced a woman with literary aspirations in the sixteenth century, but having no interest in writing a fictionalized biography, I took a historical situation and setting and, using the poet Louise Labé as a model, created my own cast of characters and plot. (Note--Not the best of strategies in a historical fiction market that thrives on books about "marquee" figures.) With my current manuscript, I changed tactics--nearly every character is historical, as well as the dramatic events I recount. I was lucky to discover during my research a happy coincidence of character, situation, and conflict that provided the framework of a plot whose gaps and motivations were just begging for elaboration.

As for my day-to-day writing process, it's pretty consistent and definitely far from glamorous. Once I drop my son off at school each morning, I sit in front of my computer writing and revising until it's time to pick him up in the afternoon. I work again in the evening after he's in bed. I write linearly, working from a loose outline, and am a slow, perfect-it-as I go kind of writer. No pantsing or go-with-the-flow first drafts for me! My outlines are fluid, however, as I often discover new ideas and possibilities as the story progresses and the characters develop. I am lucky to have the support of several dedicated writer friends, with whom I often check in during the day via email or Facebook as we work towards our separate goals. They help keep me on track, as does my husband, who has read every word in every draft of both novels and provides invaluable input on what does and does not work. I am sure he's as eager as I am to begin the submission process!

5) Nominate two authors to continue the Blog Tour.

I nominate Arabella Stokes, writer of sassy romance fiction with a Southern flair, and Laura Bradbury, a fellow francophile who has written a memoir about leaving a prestigious legal career to renovate a decrepit, revolutionary-era ruin in Burgundy. Their installments will appear on their blogs on Monday, April 14. You can read LJ Cohen's tour contribution here. Thanks again for the opportunity to participate and share a glimpse of my writerly world.

September 12: Birthday of "le grand Roi"

François Ier by Jean Clouet. Oil on oak panel, circa 1530

Five hundred and nineteen years ago today, a son was born to a count of a minor branch of the house of Valois. François d'Angoulême became heir presumptive to the French king, Louis XII, only when it became clear Louis himself would have no sons. On his deathbed in 1515, Louis married his daughter Claude to her cousin, making François King of France at the age of twenty. François ruled for thirty-two years, during which time the French court blossomed, power became centralized, and France competed with England and Spain for control of the Continent. François reformed the judicial system, established French as the realm's official language, and sponsored exploration of the New World. He enticed Italian artists and artisans to France, supported writers and scholars, and designed and built elegant palaces throughout the kingdom. His sons and grandsons ruled France through the end of the century. Known for his joie de vivre, his exquisite taste, and his embrace of the chivalric code of honor, François is revered by the French as le grand roi François.

Feuilleton on Fontainebleau

photo credit: Marilane Borges

This week, channel France 2 is running a feature serial about the château of Fontainebleau. Today's installment focuses on the private apartments of Napoleon, although it includes a beautiful segment shot in the galérie François Ier. Straightening the cord across a velvet-upholstered armchair whose wooden back boasts a carving of François's salamander emblem, the security guard reminds viewers that the chairs which line the gallery are authentic period pieces, quite valuable and fragile. The Fontainebleau segment begins at the 28:25 minute mark. Just before it, starting at 25:24, is a segment on the old city of Lyon and its Italianate architecture. Hmmm, the settings of my two novels, back to back on French television... is it a message from the gods? One can hope. :)

Here's the link to the video, in French. Enjoy!

Fontainebleau: More than a Castle

Say the word "Fontainebleau" and most people immediately think of the château outside Paris favored by both François I and Napoléon. Few realize that Fontainebleau also designates one of the largest and most popular forests in France. The fôret de Fontainebleau covers approximately 110 square miles in the department of Seine-et-Marne, southeast of Paris. Over 13 million visitors a year hike the forest's 200 miles of paths.

In 1528, François I decided to renovate the old medieval castle at Fontainebleau. He not only rebuilt the palace, but increased the grounds attached to the domain through a series of purchases and appropriations. By 1537, the royal forest covered 51 square miles. The forest was rich with game: deer, boar, lynx, wolves, martens, and over two hundred species of birds. Being an avid hunter, François spent countless hours pursuing his prey through stands of oak and beech trees and around the huge boulders that litter the site. To care for his beloved forest, François created the honorary position of Grand Forestier, the official who oversaw the corps of horse guards and that patrolled and managed the domain.

Forêt de Fontainebleau by Karl Bodmer. Etching, 1850

Countless boulders make the forêt de Fontainebleau a favorite spot of rock climbers today. The area was once covered by a sea, which deposited a deep layer of white sand. Over the millennia, this sand compressed into the long chains of rocky plateaux and oddly shaped boulders that characterize the landscape. The forest soil contains up to 98% sand; in places, there are dunes. Because of this high sand content, no streams are visible in the forest, only ponds where water gathers in hollows in the massif. The palace itself is built of this durable local sandstone.

Artists, photographers, writers and poets have long found inspiration in the forest's rocky wilderness. While early painters used the forest as a backdrop for hunting scenes, Camille Corot was one of the first painters to make the forest itself the subject of his paintings. Claude Monet, Renoir, Sisley, Cézanne, Seurat all painted there. Rousseau and Millet formed what is known as the école de Barbizon at Fontainebleau in the mid-nineteenth century. Photographers followed the painters, and numerous writers, among them Hugo, Stendhal, Sand, Balzac and Proust, visited the forest or evoked it in their works.

In the Forest of Fontainebleau by Paul Cézanne. 1880

Several scenes of my current novel take place in the forêt de Fontainebleau. In this one, Anne d'Étampes, King François's mistress, hurries to a rendez-vous deep in the woods:

       The path plunged beneath the canopy of new leaves, eager as Anne to escape the shimmering May sun and the scrutiny of the palace’s countless windows. The horses’ hooves drummed a steady beat on the ribbon of packed earth, cleared of debris and hazards in perpetual readiness for the royal hunt. Wasted effort on the groundskeepers’ part, of late; the pain in François’s belly had kept him from the saddle for more days now than she cared to count. She’d left him in his library in thrall to a desiccated scholar who claimed to hear the music of the celestial spheres. Would that François’s ears might detect the note of falsity in the man’s bombastic claims.
       She rode alone, save for the groom who followed a few lengths behind and knew better than to chatter. Late, she prodded her mare to pick up the pace. The grotto lay a fair distance away, and she knew he wouldn’t wait if she were slow to arrive. Why he refused to meet her in some secluded corner of the gardens instead of here in the godforsaken woods, she’d never understand. Riskier there, yes, but at least they’d be surprised by a pair of impatient lovers and not a pack of peckish wolves.
       Maybe she’d still beat him there. Curses on the chaplain for delaying her. She much preferred to be the first to arrive at any appointment; not only did it give her time to collect herself, but it allowed her to play on the inconvenience of being made to wait. Rushing, she almost missed the fork in the trail that lead to the grotto. This spur was but a narrow crevice between the trees, little more than footpath really, strewn with stones and knobby roots that slowed the horse to a careful walk. The groundskeepers hardly bothered to maintain it, for an army of hunters, horses, and dogs could never pick its way down the steep slope without landing in a jumbled heap. She only knew of the spot because François had taken her there once, in the early days, when they'd made a game of sneaking off alone. She was surprised when the painter suggested it. 
       Giant boulders loomed ahead, perched one atop the other in improbable piles that always made her uneasy to stand beside. She dismounted. “Wait here,” she told the groom, who took her reins and led the horses to nibble at a nearby bush while he pared his nails with a knife. No worries that he’d spy—she paid him plenty to ignore what she didn’t want him to see, and knew enough about him to ensure her wouldn’t tattle if he did fail to look away.
       She descended the last few feet of the path, slipping precariously on loose gravel, to stand on a large, flat rock that could have been the stage of a Roman amphitheater. On three sides, the tumble of carmel-colored rocks created a honeycomb of nooks and small caves, openings camouflaged by ropes of of ivy and tangles of exposed roots. Pine trees vied with a massive oak for light, casting deep pockets of shade on brittle drifts of last autumn’s leaves. Anne shivered. If one were a hunted beast, this must surely be the safest place in the domain to hide. She peered at the maw of the nearest cave, half-expecting to find yellow eyes of a forest cat staring back. 
       A pebble landed at her feet. Another tapped her shoulder. Shielding her head with her arm, she had turned to flee when a chuckle stopped her. “Leaving so soon, Aphrodite?”

Click here to watch a stunning video of the fôret de Fontainbleau in winter. It's no surprise that Fontainebleau and its domain were François's favorite palace. He spent more time there than anywhere else save Paris.

Crucifixion

Léonard Limousin (c. 1504 - c. 1577)

French court painter under François I and Henri II

Crucifixion (1553)

Enamel on copper

(Note François's portrait in lower left, his motto lower center, and monograms around the central oval) 

Silk and Spectacles in the Place des Vosges

photo: AINo

Place des Vosges, the centerpiece of the Marais district on the Right Bank of the Seine, was one of the few architectural undertakings of King Henri IV, who ascended to the throne in 1589 and eventually brought an end to France's religious wars. Originally named Place Royale, the square was intended to be a revenue-producing site, dedicated to the manufacture of silks and other textiles. The four-story red brick buildings that line the square were designed to house factories on the second and third floors. The ground floor shops, accessible through sheltered arcades, would sell the goods manufactured upstairs; factory workers and shop staff could live in dormitories and apartments on the fourth floors, under the eaves.

In tandem with its commercial purpose, Place Royale would provide Paris the public setting it lacked for the grand processions and elaborate spectacles that marked important events like royal births and marriages. Accordingly, the square was paved with cobblestones, and two pavilions were built for the royals' viewing pleasure. The Pavilion du Roi,

photo: Bruno befreetv

marked with Henri's monogram,

photo: Bruno befreetv

was erected on the north side of the square, and the Pavilion de la Reine anchored the south.

Construction, begun in 1605, proceeded to a rapid conclusion by 1612. However, the notion that the buildings would house factories died along with the king when Henri was assassinated in 1610. His wife Marie de Médici, regent to his young son Louis XIII, abandoned the manufacturing project and allowed the elegant buildings to be subdivided into residences for the wealthy. Later in the century, an equestrian statue of Louis XIII was erected in the center of the square.

This statue remained in place for 150 years, until it was destroyed during the Revolution--along with the square's royalist name. The new moniker, Place des Vosges, commemorated the first district that raised a volunteer army to repel the Prussian invasion. Fifteen years after the restoration of the monarchy in 1814, a new statue of Louis XIII--the one presently gracing the square--was installed.

photo: Mbzt

Place Royale was built on the site of the Hôtel des Tournelles, a royal residence dating back to the fourteenth century. The residence comprised a collection of buildings and pleasure gardens spread over a twenty acre estate. François I's mother, Louise de Savoie, had lived there, and his mistress Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly later used it as her Parisian residence. Henri II, François's son and heir, held his coronation there in 1547 and granted its use to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers. It was at the Hôtel des Tournelles in 1559 that Henri II died after a horrific jousting accident. His widow, Catherine de Médici, had the buildings demolished several years after his death. The space was used as a military training ground for many years until Henri IV dedicated it to his innovative project.

Hotel des Tournelles and surrounding area around 1550. Published map of Paris.

[The information about Place Royale's commercial origins comes from Alex Karmel's delightful book,  A Corner in the Marais: Memoir of a Paris Neighborhood (1998).]

Exhibit on Mannerist Painter Rosso Fiorentino

The Morgan Library and Museum in New York City is holding an exhibit on Renaissance painter Rosso Fiorentino, one of the main characters in my novel-in-progress. Fantasy and Invention: Rosso Fiorentino and Sixteenth-Century Florentine Drawing runs through February 3, 2013, and features one of only three paintings by Rosso in the United States, his Holy Family with Saint John the Baptist (1520). Twenty drawings by other Renaissance artists, including Andrea Del Sarto, Agnolo Bronzino and Giorgio Vasari, complement the painting.

Rosso is considered a leading proponent of the Mannerist movement. Born and trained in Florence, he made a name for himself in Rome before coming to France at the invitation of François I in 1530. He spent the next decade as the French King's Director of Artistic Work, overseeing the expansion and decoration of the château de Fontainebleau. The ornate Galérie François I at Fontainebleau is Rosso's best known extant work. Well-read and richly rewarded by King François, Rosso lived as a wealthy gentleman at Fontainebleau until his mysterious death in 1540 at the age of 46. The New York Times has written a review of the exhibit that includes some details about Rosso's sensational, troubled life.

I'm thrilled to see his work on exhibit here in the United States. He deserves to be better known by the general public. I've previously posted about Rosso and the galérie, his Descent from the Cross, his Pièta, and the Royal Elephant.

"François I: le Rois des rois"

I just watched and want to share with you "François I: le Roi des rois," an episode of France 2's television series Secrets d'histoire. First aired in August 2011, the episode is available for viewing on the internet. It boasts beautiful photography of François I's châteaux, interesting anecdotes about his life and relationships, and critical insights into his reign by leading French historians and writers. Definitely worth watching, even if you don't speak French. You can find it, divided into three parts, on Dailymotion: part 1, part 2, and part 3. I was greatly pleased to see that Monique Chatenet, an historian who has written definitive works on Fontainebleau and the sociological role of architecture in the establishment of François's kingship, contributed to the show.

Check out the official Secrets d'histoire website for other episodes of interest, posted in their entirety.

A December Surprise

Imagine for a moment that only two years after the 9/11 terrorist attack, President Bush announced that he was inviting Osama Bin Laden to pass through the United States on his way to Canada. Not only would the President guarantee America's worst enemy safe passage, he intended to organize parties and receptions at each of the cities along the route, culminating in an extravagant gala at the White House, which was being completely redecorated for the event. And, by the way, no politics would be discussed at all during the visit, for fear of forcing Bin Laden to make, for politeness's sake, concessions he otherwise would never consider.

What would your reaction be? SURPRISE, surely, if not outrage.

Such must have been the reaction of the French populace when they learned that their King, François I, had invited the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, to pass through France on his way to Ghent in 1539. Charles V and François had been mortal enemies for over a decade, ever since Charles captured François at the Battle of Pavia in 1525 and held him hostage for more than a year, releasing him only after receiving a huge ransom, François's two sons as hostages, and the king's pledge to marry his sister Eléonore. Seemingly perpetual war broke out between the two monarchs after François returned to France, with François determined to regain both his honor and the duchy of Milan, lost at Pavia. The campaign of 1536-38 was particularly devastating to France, with Charles invading and laying waste to huge portions of Provence. Encouraged by the Pope to unite against the Turk, the monarchs entered an uneasy truce in the summer of 1538. Then, in 1539, when Charles needed quick access to the Low Countries to suppress a rebellion there, François, to the consternation of many, invited the emperor to pass overland through France rather than travel by sea.

Of course this overture had political motives. François hoped to obtain through friendship what he had failed to win through war. In an effort to secure Charles's promise to marry his daughter to François's youngest son and grant the couple Milan as a dowry, François spared no expense or effort on this extraordinary visit. He met Charles in person in southwestern France and traveled with him north all the way to Paris. Cities along the route staged elaborate entries; François entertained his royal guest at his finest châteaux with feasts and jousts and pageants. A month of sumptuous December festivity left the sober, somber Spaniards aghast at the French king's extravagance. As promised by the connétable de Montmorency (the chief promoter the king's new strategy), the subject of Milan was never broached directly while Charles was on French soil. Showered with expensive gifts and words of affection, Charles departed, promising to reach a decision regarding the proposed marriage soon.

And what decision did Charles reach? Surprise, surprise -- the wily emperor decided to keep Milan and marry his daughter elsewhere, humiliating François a second time and ensuring continued war between France and the Empire for years to come.

Surprised to see his strategy fail in such stupendous fashion, the connétable de Montmorency could hardly be surprised to find himself disgraced and banished from François's court.

And you -- don't tell me you're surprised that I think this a splendid setting for a historical novel!

*******
This post is my contribution to my writing group's new weekly topic challenge. Author Susan Spann, author of the forthcoming ninja detective novel CLAWS OF THE CAT (Thomas Dunne, 2013), will propose a topic on her blog each Monday and we each of us will respond. Marci Jefferson (author of THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND, St. Martins, 2014) posted her response on Susan's blog. Amanda Orr, working on a novel set in New Orleans, "the poor man's Paris," posts about a surprise 9-months-in-the-making and its effects on her writing. Feel free to join in and post your link in the comments below!

A King and his Books: The Libraries of François I

"Roi chevalier" (warrior-king) though he was, François I might just as readily--and appropriately--have claimed the title "Roi lecteur" (reader-king). François's love of books contributed not only to the blossoming of the literary arts in sixteenth century France but to the foundation of the crown jewel of French letters, the Bibliothèque nationale (National Library).

Engraving of an anonymous miniature showing 

Antoine Macault reading his translation of Diodorus Siculus 

to François I and his sons

Educated according to humanist principles, François spent his youth reading the works of the ancients in Latin, as well as poetry and chronicles composed in French. Determined to see his kingdom achieve the intellectual and artistic renown Italy enjoyed, he supported the literary arts once he ascended to the throne, patronizing, among others, the poet Clément Marot and composing some two hundred poems of his own (Knecht, Francis I, 84). So great was François's love of letters that he created the post of lecteur du roi, an attendant whose chief duty was to read aloud to the king, particularly at mealtimes. Whenever François traveled, two chests filled with works of Roman history and French romances accompanied him.

François loved to collect books and manuscripts as much as to read them. Initially, he housed his books in a library at the château de Blois. Antonio De Beatis described this library in 1517:

[I]n the castle, or rather palace, we saw a library consisting of a sizeable room not only furnished with shelves from end to end but also lined with book-cases from floor to ceiling, and literally packed with books--to say nothing of those put away in chests in an inner room. These books are all of parchment, handwritten in beautiful lettering and bound in silk of various colours, with elaborate locks and clasps of gilt [quoted in Knecht, Renaissance Warrior and Patron, 471-72].

In 1518, the Blois collection included 1,626 volumes, of which forty-one were in Greek, four in Hebrew and two in Arabic. Throughout his reign, François expanded these holdings, commissioning agents to travel to Italy and the Near East to seek out and purchase rare books and instructing his diplomats to buy or copy all the Greek manuscripts they could find.

After the death of his wife Queen Claude in 1524, François began to assemble a second library at the château de Fontainebleau. He dedicated the third floor of his private wing, directly above the famed gallery decorated by the Italian artist Rosso Fiorentino and the bathing suite, to this library. In 1544, François moved the entire Blois collection, now numbering 1,890 items, to Fontainebleau, combining them with the few hundred books and manuscripts already there.

Library at Fontainebleau. 

Photo credit: Sébastien Bouthillette

Contemporaries marveled at the magnificence of the library's decoration, the quality and rarity of its holdings, and the hospitality with which visiting scholars were welcomed to consult them.

Even as François acquired Latin and Greek manuscripts, the printing industry flourished in France. In order to keep up with the flow of books spilling off presses at home and abroad, the king issued the Ordinance of Montpellier in December 1537. This royal decree ordered all printers and booksellers to deposit with the royal library a copy of any printed book put on sale in the kingdom. Although it does not appear to have been strictly enforced, the Montpellier ordinance is considered to be the first law of legal deposit enacted anywhere.

In 1567, some twenty years after François's death, the royal library, now consisting of 3,650 titles, was brought to Paris, where it became the nucleus of the Bibliothèque nationale. Ultimately, the books François loved and collected nourished the intellectual curiosity of an entire nation, for generations.

Sources:
A. Franklin, Précis de l'histoire de la Bibliothèque du roi, aujourd'hui Bibliothèque nationale (Paris, 1875).
    http://www.archive.org/stream/prcisdelhistoir00frangoog#page/n11/mode/2up
R. J. Knecht, Francis I (Cambridge UP, 1984)
----,  Renaissance Warrior and Patron: The Reign of Francis I (Cambridge UP, 1994)

Fontainebleau, Then and Now

My work in progress is set at the Château de Fontainebleau, François I's favorite residence, which features in the above image. This depiction comes from one of the eight Valois tapestries woven in Spain in the 1580's. These tapestries portray court festivities from the second half of the sixteenth century during the reigns of François's grandsons. They present an enigma to scholars, in that no one is certain who commissioned the works nor who owned them, thus rendering a definitive "reading" of the tapestries difficult. Catherine de Medici, François's daughter-in-law and the mother of three French kings, figures prominently, dressed in her signature widow's black, in all but one of the tapestries. Other members of the French court, including her daughter Marguerite de Valois and François, the duc d'Anjou, can also be identified. One theory about the tapestries holds that Catherine de Medici, who masterminded the festivities depicted in them, ordered the commemorative series as proof that the courts of her sons were as prestigious and magnificent as those of François and her own husband, Henri II.

The tapestry pictured above shows entertainments staged at Fontainebleau in 1564 during King Charles IX's royal progress. A large lagoon lies along the southern exposure of the château, flanking the grande allée leading to the main entrance, the Porte Dorée (the three story tower-like structure on the far right). This water feature permitted the staging of mock sea battles and other maritime adventures, such as the tapestry's rescue of damsels from an enchanted island. The tapestry captures the wooded ambience of Fontainebleau, where François loved to hunt boar and deer. Despite the countrified setting, however, Fontainebleau became a showcase of French Renaissance art and decoration. It features Francois's breathtaking gallery as well as an immense ballroom completed by Catherine and her husband Henri. Unfortunately, later centuries' renovations destroyed many of the château's sixteenth-century structures and much of its Renaissance decoration. However, the lagoon, now known as the Carp Lake, and the Porte Dorée, as well as the gallery, are still recognizable today.

photo credit: Patrick Giraud

Too big for the Christmas stocking...

This FRANCE TODAY article on gift giving opens with the example of Henri II giving the château of Chenonceau to Diane de Poitiers and François I presenting the fortress and village of Dourdan to Anne de Pisseleu. Modern generosity seems a bit lacking in comparison, wouldn't you say? I know I'd love to find a château under my tree this Christmas!

The Art of Pleasing the King

The Getty Museum in Los Angeles recently acquired a sculpture dating from 1543, commissioned by François I from the artist Francesco Primaticcio. The 22" statue, depicting conjoined heads facing in opposite directions, probably sat atop a pillar and may have been fashioned in homage to François's mistress, Anne d'Heilly. Anne was an ardent admirer of Primaticcio, who became artistic director of Fontainebleau after the death of his rival, Rosso Fiorentino, in 1540.

In my current novel, set in 1539, Anne openly champions Primaticcio (known to the French as "Boulogne") as he competes against Rosso, King François's favored artist. In this scene, Anne exploits Boulogne's envy for her own ends:

Anne was winnowing the gossip her ladies had gathered when Boulogne threw open the door.

“Mille pardons, madame.” The painter's heavily accented words belied the sketchiness of his bow. He displayed his arms, bent upright at the elbows, as the excuse for his tardiness: “It takes time to wash the stuff of my labors from my hands.”

The cleanliness of Boulogne’s hands never failed to amaze her; unlike Maistre Roux, whose extravagant dress only accentuated his paint-rimed nails and unkempt hair, Boulogne was a model of fastidiousness. Slight as a switch and hardly a thumb’s length taller than she, every pleat of his somber tunic neatly tucked into a plain leather belt, the master painter might have passed for a simple clerk, save for the dusky pearl, large as a swallow's egg, that dangled from one ear. With his bulging eyes and reedy voice, Boulogne found himself dismissed by courtiers without consequence, by ladies without longing. But his hands—those slender, fluttering hands that never bore the stain of his toil—attracted Anne like no others. François’s hands ruled a kingdom, but Boulogne’s held time in their thrall.

She shook off an image of the painter's hands on her skin. If she’d ever entertained thoughts of pursuing the experience, François’s thinly veiled threats had banished them. “Don’t let them dry," she warned Boulogne, ”for your reprieve will be short. The King grows impatient with the unfinished state of the pavilion.”

Boulogne flicked his hands in the air, unleashing a plaint that accompanied them to her private chamber. “It is not I, but the Florentine who delays us! I paint the ceiling bice, he tells me it must be smalt. ‘Change those primroses to carnations,’ he orders, ‘the satyrs to centaurs. And the sky, we’re no longer looking north, but south. Those constellations are wrong, wrong, wrong!’ I erase and adjust and cater to his whims while he dines with the king and turns His Majesty against me. Le Roux treats me worse than a lackey, I who trained at the side of the great Giulio Romano in the Palazzo Te!”

Anne’s hands settled on her waist. “Le Roux’s primacy might seem unassailable, yet there is a way to win the king’s favor, if you’re willing to try.”

“And what way is that?” His tirade had displaced a lock of lank hair; he smoothed it back behind his ear. “The royal bedchamber, the baths, these very walls—I’ve surpassed myself with each new task, yet still His Majesty overlooks me.”

“It is simple. You must offer the king something Le Roux cannot.”

He contemplated her, his lips pursed, dark eyes intent. “Something tells me you have discovered what this thing is.”

“Of course,“ she said, her eyes never leaving his. “A portrait. Of me.”

Boulogne snorted. “With all due respect, madame, Maistre Clouet has taken your likeness many times.”

What she envisioned had no comparison to the elder Clouet's staid renderings. She placed a hand on Boulogne's arm. “A portrait of me,” she repeated, and paused to lean in close. “Bathing.”

(copyright Julianne Douglas, 2011)

Young Turks

In 1520, Suleiman the Magnificent became sultan of the Ottoman world, which stretched from Hungary to Baghdad to the Eastern Mediterranean. He was only 26 years old. At the time of his accession, the leaders of the western world's three superpowers, France, the Holy Roman Empire (which included Spain and the Netherlands), and England, were just as young: François I (born the same year as Suleiman, 1494), was 26; Charles V (born in 1500) was only 20; Henry VIII (born in 1491) was eldest at 29.

To put this in perspective, imagine a world whose supreme leaders were the likes of Zac Efron, Justin Timberlake, Elijah Wood and Daniel Radcliffe (all born in the 1980's).

Scary thought, isn't it?

Of course, unlike the celebrities listed above, François, Charles, Henry and Suleiman had all been groomed since childhood in preparation for kingship. They were well-educated, trained in the arts of war and governing, and counseled by seasoned statesmen and diplomats, many of whom had served previous monarchs. Convinced of their divine right to rule, these kings knew it was their duty to serve the best interests of their people.

Still. Nowadays we consider a politician "young" at forty. But twenty?

Men in their twenties are notorious for "strutting their stuff," vying with each other to claim that "top dog" status. François, Charles, Henry and Suleiman did compete directly with each other not only for territory, but for wealth, possessions, and influence. As they fought each other for chunks of Europe, they strove to construct the most magnificent palaces, employ the most accomplished artists and maintain the most cultured courts (Henry and François dug deep into their countries' coffers to outshine the other's extravagance at the Field of Cloth of Gold in 1520; François pulled the stops again in 1539 when Charles traveled through France on a state visit). They competed for the same offices (Charles beat out François in 1519 for the title of Holy Roman Emperor) and spheres of diplomatic influence (especially papal alliances). They raced to beat the others in exploring and colonizing the New World and monopolizing trade routes. They might have shared a woman or two (rumor has it that François might have been friendly with a young Anne Boleyn). Henry and François even wrestled each other for fun in front of the court at Cloth of Gold (François won handily, I might add).

I attribute much of the vim and verve of the first half of the sixteenth century directly to the youth and raw masculinity of these four rulers. How many battles were motivated not by the best interests of the country, but by a desire to beat the other guy? How many paintings and statues were commissioned in order to claim the title of supreme patron of the arts? How many religious dissenters were persecuted in order to prove oneself the staunchest defender of the faith? How many alliances were shifted or broken in order to make life difficult for one of the others? How many miles of silk and leagues of ribbon were cut and sewn in attempts to set the trends for all of Europe? One wonders.

Kings of their countries, these four men clawed and tussled to become King of the Hill.

Imagine how celebrity rags would have read.

Sixteenth Century Quote of the Week

"He [François I] liked it [Fontainebleau] so much that he spent most of his time there . . . all that he could find of excellence was for his Fontainebleau of which he was so fond that whenever he went there he would say that he was going home."

Jacques Androuet du Cerceau (1510-1584), French architect

Les plus excellents bastiments de France (1576)

A Genoan Jewel

The Villa del Principe, a Genoan villa begun in 1529 by Andrea Doria, an admiral who fought at various times for both François I and Charles V, now houses a stunning collection of Renaissance art. Caravaggio's "Flight to Egypt" is the centerpiece of the collection, which includes paintings by Titian, Bronzino and del Piombo. The villa itself has been painstakingly restored to its sixteenth-century splendor. This article gives a brief history of Doria, the house, and the artwork within it.