#also we did do the Rouen Cathedral

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

Site where St. Jeanne d’Arc was martyred, Rouen, FR

[josefavomjaaga]

Marie Louise on the road (12)

We left the imperial tourists in Middelburg after a delightful (if a bit wet, thanks to Eugène and Bessières) afternoon at the ocean. Marie Louise continues:

Friday 11th May

On the 11th, the weather was dreadful all day. That did not prevent the Emperor from going a second time to see Flushing. I remained in bed with a good fever.

Now look at what you’ve done, Eugène and Bessie!

I don't know what happened to my iron health, it's all gone.

Beg your pardon, Madame, you’ve been talking about nothing but your precious health failing ever since you left Vienna in March!

I'm sure I owe it to the doctors who did nothing but drug me during the whole trip. [...]

Bessières and Eugène: Absolutely. We’re sure it was them!

Doctors: It was either drugging her or listening to her wailing...

Samedi 12 mai

On the morning of the 12th the Emperor held council. It is really not our fault that we heard everything, because the salon was near my room and the Emperor was of an awful intensity.

And the fact we pressed our ears to the door had nothing to do with it at all!

According to Catherine of Württemberg, Napoleon at this meeting once more dreamt of an expedition to England. His bad mood and subsequent shouting may also be explained by bad news from Holland: smuggling still going on and secret peace negotiations behind his back through Fouché and Ouvrard.

I was still feverish all night, and as I was very tired and the weather was terrible, I did not leave until two o'clock to take a carriage ride around the town [Middelbourg]. [...] On my way home I found the Queen of Westphalia in a very bad mood because I had not taken her with me, but she annoys me. She keeps asking me "Do you still love the Duchess of Montebello?" I have known her for two months and I have become quite attached to her. I couldn't help answering the Queen: "Sister, I don't change my friends like my underwear". What she told me there was a Queen's words. It is said that we don't know how to be really attached, but I am willing to show that there are exceptions in our ranks.

Apparently, this unexpectedly close friendship of a Habsburg princess and the cold and reserved daughter of some obscure gentry family did already raise some eyebrows this early on. But of course Catherine had her own reasons why she could not understand how Marie Louise would be this close to any of her ladies:

It is also true that the poor Queen is very unhappy with her friends. No sooner does she have one than the King makes her his mistress, and that is hardly the way to stay attached to them.

Which also explaines Catherine’s attitude towards the countess Liverstein two days earlier, as the countess apparently had just replaced another of Jérôme’s mistresses who had been sent home to Cassel. Apparently Jérôme mistook the household of his wife for his personal harem.

In the evening, the Viceroy led the Duchess of Montebello to engage in some contraband [...]

Eugène?!

Napoleon: Tu quoque, fili?

[...] and see the bell tower of the cathedral church which is said to be very old.

I love the combination. Apparently, buying smuggled goods was something you could easily do while on a sightseeing tour through town. And I assume the duchess was sure that the viceroy of Italy at least would not visit any »maisons closes«. He could invite the ladies to his place.

It was decided that we would leave the next day regardless of the weather. I am very happy because although the island is certainly very attractive, I did not feel very comfortable to be obliged to stay four days in the same clothes.

In the evening we received the authorities, who are not very numerous and most of whom do not know French.

And this is where Marie Louise ended her diary, despite the fact that the journey continued for two more weeks. Maybe she did not have the time to resume it, or it was left behind in one of the many accidents that seem to have been a natural part of Napoleon’s travels. The imperial couple went via the chateau de Laeken on to Bruxelles next, and in the following two weeks (among other towns) to Ostende, Lille, Calais, Boulogne, Dieppe, Le Havre, Rouen and finally returned to Saint-Cloud on June 1st.

Despite her many complaints, she seems to have won a mostly positive first impression of the country, according to Savary. And she had probably also learned what to expect of her impetous husband, and that it would be a good idea to always have some fresh undergarments with her when travelling in his company.

An abridged and edited version of Marie Louise’s diaries was first published by Frédéric Masson. An English translation can be found here: The private diaries of empress Marie Louise. The first complete edition, with many additional footnotes, was published by Charles-Éloi Vial and is, as far as I know, only available in French: L’adieu à l’empereur.

These volumes actually contain some more travel journals, from 1813 (to Cherbourg) and from Rambouillet to Vienna after the fall of the empire in spring 1814. But while probably more interesting for the historian, they’re far less entertaining. Despite the duchess’s valiant efforts Marie Louise by that time seems to have picked up enough Parisian court etiquette to not write down things all too inappropriate.

[the-romantic-lady]

Can you talk more about Edmund? I always wanted to know more about him than I know.

YES, I CAN. I love that boy. His death is so incredibly tragic but we have some interesting tidbits from his life too. First, we know that his parents were head over heels for him. When he was born, his father literally booked Rouen Cathedral and the font that was used to baptize Rollo the Viking for the service. I mean come on...Getting christened in this:

That's what I call privilege. It was a very lavish affair and some historians think that his father was setting him up to be a French lord of sorts. He grew up basically like a twin to Edward. They always did everything together. He was also closely raised with his sister Elizabeth. I wonder if the Duke of York was doing that to compensate for the fact that he was separated from his sister and never had a brother. He seemed to learn from his experiences to better it for his children (I love that man honestly). Anne, Edward, Edmund and Elizabeth had a French nanny. When he was king, Edward was known to speak very good French and I am sure Edmund would have been similar. The boys were essentially French.

When he was 8, his father made him the Chancellor of Ireland which ummm... ok. He was present at all councils which makes me laugh. Imagine an 8 year old just sitting there confused lol. To me, it seems that Richard, Duke of York was trying hard to find some land and power for Edmund. Richard Duke of York had lands in France that he intended for Edmund but once Somerset lost France, there was no chance of that so he turned to Ireland where he was Governor.

At 8, Edward and Edmund were also put into knightly training in Ludlow Castle under Richard Croft. Its always interesting to me how Richard, Duke of York never send any of his children to other noble households. He raised his children himself which was rare. I digress. My favorite thing from this time are the two letters that Edmund and Edward wrote to their father. It is so incredibly sweet and just reminds us of how human they were. If you are interested in the letters, I have copies of both and would love to share and discuss them.

By 1459, when all hell had broken loose, Edmund pretty stuck with his father. Also in October 1459, he properly met his younger siblings for the first time, which is so odd to me lol. But yes, he fled to Ireland with his father. When his father made the claim to the throne, Edmund was present but I would love to know what his reaction was. He seems absent in the sources. There is a source that says that Edward was told to tell his father to negotiate with the council instead of planning his coronation. Edmund was never mentioned.

Unfortunately, in December 1460, he was killed and his body treated with so much cruelty. I will never understand why any of that was necessary but of well. I sometimes wonder how Edward must have felt. That was his literal companion of 17 years just dead. I would have lost it. Edward must have channeled his anger into more important things and managed to destroy the Lancasters. Edmund was reburied with his father 1476. Edward cried when he saw his father's effigy but I wonder how much of those tears were for Edmund. A brother and companion he was never able to bury. I will never understand why he had to be killed. We don't know the exact circumstances but if the Clifford story is true then why Edmund? York was the criminal so he should have bore the consequences. Poor Edmund was fleeing. Ugh, it makes my blood boil. Some sources say that when he was dead, his arm was reaching out for the chapel. Meaning he was still attempting to reach it and save himself. How tragic :(.

History would have been so different if he had lived. I often think that he would have been the mediator in the York brothers. George would be less ambitious and he likely had no deference to Edward. He could be blunt without being jealous like George or having a hero complex like Richard. Someone Edward really needed. And I really hope that his father never found out that his son had died in such a cruel way because of him. That is a very sad way to leave the world.

Also, an interesting tidbit about Edmund's appearance:

"While this battaill was in fightyng, a prieste called sir Robert Aspall, chappelain and schole master to the yong erle of Rutland ii. sonne to the aboue named duke of Yorke, scace of y age of. xii. yeres, a faire getlema, and a maydenlike person…."

He was apparently very soft and feminine looking. Although it must be said that the quote is from Edward Hall who definitely never met or saw Edmund and even gets his age wrong. However, he might have heard about him when he questioned around. He is also the source that desrcibes Edmund’s mother, Cecily, being a woman small of stature but high of honour. This also says something of Edmund's appearance and character:

"By the side of the Duke fought his second son, the young Chancellor of Ireland, whose years had not past their teens, but who, under a fair and almost effeminate appearance, carried a brave and intrepid spirit."

This is from the historian Hume who studied Irish archives and likely Hall too and he gets Edmund's age right! So we might assume that this was said about Edmund. Which makes him even more vulnerable in my mind. Poor boy. Gosh, I tear up just thinking of him.

Anyway, this is way too long! I hope I didn't bore you :D and you learned something new about Edmund. Let me know about your thoughts and opinions.

[queenfredegund]

MEROVINGIAN REGINAE | Fredegund Regina († 597)

Third principal wife of Chilperich I Rex, to whom she bore five sons, Chlodobert Rex, Samson Rex, Dagobert Rex, Theodorich Rex and Chlothacar II Rex, and one daughter, Rigund Regina. As Chilperich’s wife, she may have lived between several civitates, such as Rotomagus (Rouen), Parisius ( Paris), Sexonas (Soissons) or Brennacum (Berny).

According to Gregorius of Tours, she was already his favourite even before the wedding with Galswintha Regina in 567, and despite the fact he had to put aside his whole women and concubines for this wedding, including his first chief wife, Audovera Regina, he quickly took her back near him. Even if we do not know exactly when or why, it must have been because she bore him her first son Chlodobert Rex, much to the anger of Galswintha Regina, who felt outraged by her presence.

“[...] promittens per legatus se alias relicturum, tantum condignam sibi regisque prolem mereretur accipere. [...] Quae cum ad Chilpericum regem venisset, cum grande honore suscepta eiusque est sociata coniugio; a quo etiam magno amore diligebatur. Detulerat enim secum magnos thesauros. Sed per amorem Fredegundis, quam prius habuerat, ortum est inter eos grande scandalum.

He told the messengers to say that he promised to dismiss all the others, if only he were considered worthy of marrying a King’s daughter of a rank equal to his own. [...] When she reached the court of King Chilperic, he welcomed her with great honour and made her his wife. He loved her very dearly, for she had brought a large dowry with her. A great quarrel soon ensued between the two of them, however, because he also loved Fredegund, whom he had married before he married Galswinth.”

DLH, IV 28. De uxoribus Chilperici

After the death of Galswintha Regina in 568, she officially became Chilperich’s new chief wife and gave birth to all of his other children. Basing on the sources, he apparently remained faithful to her and did not take other significant concubine. Fredegund seemed to have been very popular and loved by the people, and was also known as being a good administrator and landowner, as she was able to raise money and numerous gifts for her daughter’s dowry.

“Sed et mater eius inmensum pondus auri argentique sive vestimentorum protulit, ita ut videns haec rex nihil sibi remansisse potaret. Quem cernens regina commotum, conversa ad Francus, ita ait: ‘Ne potitis, viri, quicquam hic de thesauris anteriorum regum habere; omnia enim quae cernetis de mea proprietate oblata sunt, quia mihi gloriosissimus rex multa largitus est, et ego nonnulla de proprio congregavi labore et de domibus mihi concessis tam de fructibus quam tributis plurima reparavi. Sed et vos plerumque me muneribus vestris ditastis, de quibus sunt ista quae nunc coram videtis; nam hic de thesauris publicis nihil habetur’.

Her. mother added a vast weight of gold and silver, and many fine clothes. When he saw this, King Chilperic thought that he had nothing left at all. Queen Fredegund realized that he was upset. She turned to the Franks and said: ‘Do not imagine, men, that any of this comes from the treasures amassed by your earlier kings. Everything you see belongs to me. Your most illustrious King has been very generous to me, and I have put aside quite a bit from my own resources, from the manors granted to me, and from revenues and taxes. You, too, have often given me gifts. From such sources come all the treasures which you see in front of you. None of it has been taken from the public treasury’.”

DLH, VI, 45. De nuptiis Rigunthae, filiae Chilperici

However she had to face the death of almost all her sons: Samson in 577, Chlodobert and Dagobert in 580 during the Plague of the Gauls, and then Theodorich in 584. The same year, her husband was brutally killed, leaving her alone with her last son, Chlothacar II Rex, who was barely 4 months, and her daughter Rigund Regina, at that time on the road to marry Reccared, heir of Toledo. She seized the royal treasure and took refuge in the Basilica Saint-Étienne de Paris, claiming the role of regent over the regnum Neustria, and placing herself under the protection of Guntchramn Rex and Bishop Ragnemod of Parisius.

“Interea Fredegundis regina iam viduata Parisius advenit et cum thesauris, quos infra murorum septa concluserat, ad aeclesiam confugit adque a Ragnemodo fovetur episcopo.

Meanwhile the widowed Queen Fredegund arrived in Paris. She took with her that part of her treasure which she had secreted within the city walls, and she sought sanctuary in the cathedral, where she was given protection by Bishop Ragnemod.”

DLH, VII, 4. Quod Fredegundis in aeclesia confugit

As Guntchramn was having doubts on the parentage of her baby, she summoned an assembly of 3 bishops and 300 nobiles who all attested of her honorability and officially named the baby Chlothacar. 

“Interea Fredegundis regina iam viduata Parisius advenit et cum thesauris, quos infra murorum septa concluserat, ad aeclesiam confugit adque a Ragnemodo fovetur episcopo.

Meanwhile the widowed Queen Fredegund arrived in Paris. She took with her that part of her treasure which she had secreted within the city walls, and she sought sanctuary in the cathedral, where she was given protection by Bishop Ragnemod.”

DLH, VII, 4. Quod Fredegundis in aeclesia confugit

She also managed to save her daughter, who was taken as an hostage by Dux Desiderius after the new of her father’s death, and threaten to be taken in marriage by force by the pretender Gundovald.

“Fredegundis autem his diebus Chuppanem in Tholosano direxit, ut scilicet filiam suam exinde quocumque modo possit eruere. [...] acceptam Rigundem a loco illo reduxit, non sine grande humilitate adque contumilia.

At this time Fredegund sent Chuppa into the Toulouse area to bring home her daughter Rigunth by hook or by crook. [...] so he took Rigunth, humiliated and insulted as she was, and brought her home instead.”

DLH, VII, 39. Quod idem emisit qui Brunechildem lederet

Facing multiple oppositions because of her new position, she managed to secure herself with various allies among the nobiles and neutralized her major opponents, such as Bishop Praetextatus, who resented her for many years. As a regent, she was known as being fearless and cunning, rendering justice, and even challenging her brother-in-law Guntchramn on some matters, such as negociations with Hispania while he strictly forbidden it, or with Brittany in 586. 

“Sed et Warocum nuntios dirigit, ut, qui adhuc captivi in Brittaniis de exercitu Gunthchramni regis retenebantur, pro huius vita absolverentur. Quod ita Warocus implevit.

[S]he sent messengers to Waroch, ordering him to set free the prisoners from King Guntram’s army whom he was still holding in Brittany. Waroch did as he was told.”

DLH, X, 11. De infirmitate Chlothari iunioris

Despite their mutual hostility, they pursued diplomatic relationship and she was regarded as the true leader of the west regnum during the whole minority of Chlothacar, even leading military expeditions with him. She was also a pious woman, who made several donations to churches and basilicas.

“Sed cum eum Fredegundis, mater eius, disperatum vidisset, multum pecuniae ad basilicam sancti Martini vovit, et sic puer melius agere visus est.

When Fredegund, the mother of Lothar, saw how desperately ill he was, she vowed that she would donate a great sum of money to the church of Saint Martin.”

DLH, X, 11. De infirmitate Chlothari iunioris

She eventually died of natural causes in 597, in Parisius and was buried near her husband into the Basilica Sainte-Croix-et-Saint-Vincent (actual abbey of St. Germain-des-Prés), in Parisius (Paris). Her grave, which had been identified thanks to a later tombstone, had been moved during the 19th century in the Basilica of St. Denis, where it is still nowadays.

“Anno secundo regni Teuderici Fredegundis moritur.

The second year of Theuderic’s reign, Fredegund dies.”

Chron, IV, 17. De Fredegunde, quod Parisius invasit, et pugna contra Teudeberto

Fredegund’s grave in St. Denis

Detail of the tombstone

[raeynbowboi]

Dating Disney: The Hunchback of Notre Dame

It’s been a while since I’ve done a dating Disney, so this is a return to form. Except this one is going to be super easy because the date is spelled out very clearly in the book. The story begins on January 6, 1482. This is even mentioned directly in the lyrics of “Topsy Turvy” which states “ Scurvy knaves are extra scurvy | On the 6th of January | All because it's Topsy Turvy Day.” So our story is set at Notre Dame in Paris, France on the 6th of January, 1482. The film opens on January 6th, and there are about 2-3 nighttime scenes when Quasi and Esmeralda discuss their palms, Quasi and Phoebus go looking for Esmeralda, and the Battle of Notre Dame, though it’s uncertain if the Battle takes place at night or if the smoke of Paris burning makes it seem like night time. So the film ends on either January 8th or January 9th, 1482.  Now, it’s time to compare to actual history.

The Cathedral of Notre-Dame

Notre-Dame de Paris is a catholic cathedral whose construction began in 1163. The structure was largely completed in 1260, but the model we know today was finished in 1345. Each of the rose windows were installed between 1225-1260. Still, the structure as shown in the film would be consistent with our 1482 setting.

Le Palais de Justice

The Palace of the City was constructed in 1240 and saw reconstruction from 1857-1868.

The Romani People

From what I’ve found thus far, it seems the Romani people migrated from North-Central India and first appeared in France around 1419, so thus far, still accurate. Due to the cultural drift of over four centuries, it’s unclear if the Romani of the time knew their Indian roots or deliberately hid it, but most Romani that entered Europe referred to themselves as having Egyptian origins. It seems the majority of Romani people who entered France earned the moniker of “Bohémien” due to arriving in France with letters of protection provided by Sigismund of Luxemburg, The Holy Roman Emperor, and King of Bohemia. The slur of G*psy is inaccurate and anachronistic, as it is the English name for the Romani derived from their believed Egyptian heritage. However, the Romani did not arrive in England until 1514. So they should be using the term Bohémien or Égyptien[ne]. instead. Because of their nomadic nature, the Romani needed a lifestyle that could travel with them. Romani women often read fortunes and sold herbal medicines, which that Catholic Church lumped in as witchcraft, causing the Romani people to become distrusted by Christians as devil-worshiping exotic foreigners come to leech off of “good God-fearing society” and tempt the white man with their devilish tricks and sorcery. This likely has a major impact on why most pop culture depictions of the g*psy stereotype almost exclusively are women, as the men did not partake in these practices, and thus do not have the same mystic witch parallels that the women have. Still the idea that the Romani are lying thieves who beg for money and swindle people affects all Romani, even to this day. Please note, this information is based on what I could find in my research, and is not infallible, all encompassing, and there may be further details regarding the history of the Romani people in Paris that I simply did not have access to.

The Gargoyles

The Gargoyles don’t exist. That’s literally the only way you can watch this movie is if you pretend they’re all figments of Quasi’s imagination. They bog down the film, put the tone in a choke hold, and chew the scenery. They’re also single-handedly responsible for most, if not all of the anachronisms in this film. Just pretend they aren’t real, and maybe you’ll be able to preserve your sanity. Pulling pianos and poker chips out of fat air. But the playing cards aren’t totally inaccurate. The patterns we recognize today as the standard 52 card deck emerged in Rouen, France in the 15th century. So the cards might be a newer invention, but they likely would have existed in 1482.

Phoebus only needs to brandish a sword for the guards to instantly recognize him as their captain. While I don’t remember the exact year this became a standard, it was relatively common practice in Medieval Europe for only soldiers, guards, and nobility to carry arms, while peasants were strictly prohibited.

After escaping the guards, we see Djali smoking a pipe. However, this is inaccurate, as Tobacco was a discovery of the New World, and Columbus sailed the Ocean Blue in 1492, a decade after this movie. Granted, he never landed in America, but that’s besides the point. Tobacco would not yet be available in Europe. I suppose it’s possible the pipe could be used to smoke something else, but going by Occam’s razor, I’ll have to chalk this up as an anachronism.

Captain Phoebus is called from “The Wars” to be Frollo’s peacekeeper in the City of Paris. These wars are never given a name, so I took a look at a list of wars involving France and see what Phoebus may be referring to. What he may be referring to is the Bergundian Wars of 1474-1477. But as you may notice, that conflict would not be congruent with the year. The Mad War also involved France, but that war began in 1485, three years after the film. France was involved at the Battle of Guinegate in 1479. But again, none of these wars would be on-going during the film. So, maybe they’re referring to one of the many crusades? Unfortunately, the only Crusades happening in 1482 is the Reconquista, which was a period lasting 781 years from 711 - 1492 during which time, Christians fought the Islamic powers in the Iberian Peninsula to reclaim the peninsula for Christianity. Not exactly “wars” so much as a period in Medieval history. Beyond that, France was not directly involved in this conflict, though I suppose a pious enough Christian could have joined the fight to reclaim the peninsula. However, this is the only conflict. The Hundred Years War between England and France ended in 1453 leaving no other outstanding conflicts for Phoebus to be referring to.

Setting: Paris, France Kingdom: Kingdom of France Period: Late Medieval Period Starting Date: January 6, 1482 Ending Date: January 8 or 9, 1482 Language: Middle French

[knittastically]

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 28

POSS/PROB NSFW, Depends on your POV. THE DECISION IS YOURS

This is a looooong  Chapter be warned.

Thank you all for your patience this chapter has been a long time coming but serious Family issues took precedence, as indeed  they should. It is likely that this will be the last chapter for a little while. However I am not abandoning the idiots just yet and have several ideas for future chapters. By way of a change I might have a dalliance with the rather lovely John Porter.

Raymond de Merville did not die on a beach in Ireland, of course he didn’t. He made it back to Rouen and has decided to marry a feisty little baggage called Isabé.

A fiction, based hardly at all on a fiction, with the addition of some other fictional characters and one or two real ones

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6 Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10

Part 11   Part 12   Part 13  Part 14  Part 15 Part 16   Part 17  Part 18

Part 19    Part 20   Part 21  Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25   Part 26       

Part 27

You can also find all chapters here on AO3

If you want in or out of the Tag List (at the bottom of the page) just let me know via message and it’ll be done in a flash.

Squinting against the first vicious rays of sunlight, my head pounds. Not for a moment did I think I would spend my wedding night sleeping in a hard chair. My back and neck are stiff. Ribs and chest ache from the effort of screaming, yelling and crying, and each time I swallow my throat burns. Raymond was right, I did not close my eyes that night but not in the way he insinuated. I need something to drink, to slake my thirst and ease my throat but there’s nothing to hand, more fool me! The water ewer and basin are in pieces on the floor, the cups are God knows where; as for wine all that’s left is a dark stain on the wall ending in a sticky puddle glueing potsherds to the floor.

The bedchamber looks like a battlefield and most things that could be used as a missile have been. The footstool is upended in the corner, food is scattered on the floor, and along with my shift, my wedding gown is a crumpled, wine stained, rag flung under the table. Turning stiffly, I look across to where Raymond is sprawled face down across the mattress, his head is turned away from me and one of my shoes lies next to him on the pillow. It was the last thing I threw at him but I missed; it bounced off the wall, and all night it has laid where it fell, bastard I hate him! Raymond mumbles in his sleep but barely moves, and the distance between chair and bed might as well be a chasm between us.

My eyes prick with tears as I remember him speaking the words that bound us together. His beautiful eyes sparkling as starting with my thumb, he placed the ring over it and then each finger as he declared. “In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Finally, he placed it over my ring finger with the words; *Lo te esposy, Molher* and slid it gently down over the knuckles. Then drawing me towards him he whispered. “Mon amour, Mon coeur, Ma Vie." "The words are inscribed inside the ring Isabé, never forget them.” Despite his large, calloused, soldiers’ hands, his touch was gentle as he cupped my face, his lips soft and warm as he brushed them against mine, but his eyes, oh God, his eye sparkled and flashed, speaking silently of things to come.”

I pull my cloak tightly round me; not for warmth, just the comfort of it. My eyes are gritty, and with a sigh I lean back in the chair praying for sleep. I am in that drowsy half world between sleeping and waking, and I feel as if I am floating.

“Mon Amour, Mon Coeur, Ma Vie:” The soothing words slide into my ears as I feel the gentle brush of lips and beard against my forehead. “Raymond?” “Shhh my love, hush. He settles me down into softness and slides in beside me.

“Fuck” I feel him jolt, then something hits the floor...the shoe 

Earlier

Raymonds fingers snag a little on the delicate fabric of my gown as he slides his hand oh so slowly up the inside of my leg and as he presses a kiss to my knee, I feel the heat of his mouth through the silk of my wedding gown. A slow, easy, confident smile settles on his lips as he hesitates for a moment before brushing the tips of his long fingers up along the crease of my hip and hidden from view cups his hand gently over the mound of soft flesh between my thighs. It was the lightest touch, but my breath catches, and my eyes widen as I hold his look hoping to stare him down and conceal the fact that I burn for him. He is so sure of himself I swat his hand away and hiss at him  “You are too forward My Lord, are you trying to claim a husbands rights before you are my husband, be I careful I don’t say no to you and leave you on the Cathedral steps.”

“Mon Coeur, we both know that I have already claimed a husbands rights in part, and I don’t recall any complaints from you.” The slight breeze ruffles his unfashionably short hair, Raymond is ever the soldier and doesn’t subscribe to the longer, sleek styles favoured by the courtiers. His broad smile reaches his eyes and settles into creases around them; eyes full of mischief. “Chérie, be careful” He warns me with a low growl that it’s a mistake to dare him, because where I am concerned, he will always take up the challenge.

“I said nothing.” “Perhaps not in words my darling, but your eyes, they say a great deal” He smirks at me. “Now we should go, it would not do to keep His Grace waiting.” And as he mounts up on Diable, Mattieu barks out the order to the escort and we make our way into the city and towards the Cathedral.

“Raymond why couldn’t we have married in the family Chapel?”

“I should have preferred that Chérie, all this overblown nonsense just for show but protocol demands that the Baron de Merville marries in the Cathedral, in full view of everyone. Perhaps I should have eloped with you that would have been easier still.”

“Pfft, eloping is a young man’s game, I wouldn’t have wished to put such a strain on an old soldier” His eyebrows fly almost to his fringe, then he raises just the left one. “Most considerate of you.” He drawls, “I shall ask you in the morning whether you still believe me to be an old man or not.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile, and heat rising in my cheeks isn’t entirely due to the sun beating down. It is only as we are being greeted by His Grace that I realise Raymond has called himself Baron.

Archbishop Robert III Poulain waits before the great West Doorway of what is no more than a glorified building site. A raging fire 9 years ago saw to that and not much remains of the once magnificent Cathedral; a few stones here and there, some of the columns and the Tour Saint Romain. I catch sight of Henri and he blows me a kiss it’s the sign we agreed and I heave a sigh of relief.

We stand before His Grace as he blesses us with Holy water and begins the ceremony. **“Raymond Christophe de Merville vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Pelletier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?”**

Now is my moment, and taking a deep breath, I draw myself to my full height, which is to say the top of my head is somewhere near Raymonds shoulder and I speak out in as firm a voice as I can manage. “Your Grace, Pelletier is not my name.” Surprise registers on his face and he gapes a little as he looks from me, to Raymond, to The King and back again to me. I hear the gasps and muttering of the congregation nearest to us.

“Isabé, what are you up to.?”  Raymond hisses. “Don’t worry.” I slip my hand into his, gently squeezing his fingers, it gives me courage and I continue.

“My name was created to protect me.” Archbishop Poulain regards me through narrowed eyes, I hesitate and wonder if I am doing right but it is too late now, and I plough on. “The name I wish to have recorded is Isabé Aaliz Fournier – Bouvier” Those nearest to us gasp, the significance of birth and ancestry is not lost on them, and both men are well known. Blanche, Henri and of course Sebastien are the focus of everyone’s attention; Sebastien Fournier smiles at me whith such a look of pride and joy on his face. Henri nods, Blanche presses her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss, she is the one who will have to bear the gossip and tittle-tattle, yet she has agreed to this.

“I love you, my beautiful, fearless Lioness.” Raymond raises my hand to his lips.

The sun beats down hot and unrelenting and my heart is pounding so much I can hear it.

“What are you waiting for Poulain?”  The King’s words ring out above the commotion. “Record the name and continue with the ceremony.” and with his voice only a little shaky the Archbishop begins again.

“Raymond Christophe de Merville, vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?” It’s credit to Raymond than when he answers his voice carries only the faintest hint of a laugh

“Volo”

His Grace still glowering asks in a sharp voice. Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier, vis accípere Raymond Christophe de Merville hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?

“Volo”

I smile up at Raymond as he removes the small gold ring from the little finger of his right hand, it is blessed by the Archbishop, returned, and Raymond speaks the words which make me his wife.

We are married in law and all I want is for us to leave now, to escape from the clamour of the guests and the heat of the day but the Nuptial Mass must be endured, and it is interminable. At last we kneel as the canopy is lowered over us, a pristine white veil the size of a bed sheet; sheilding us from everyone but God, and as we prostrate ourselves on the cool newly swept  floor, it is held only inches above us. We are now one body, one flesh and protected by the Almighty. I’d rather be protected by Raymond; he is a far more ruthless bodyguard. As we wait for the final blessing, he shuffles closer to me and not caring whether anyone sees him strokes his hand down over my back, though the whole congregation must surely have heard my squeak of surprise as he squeezes my arse. I glare across at him, his face is a picture of innocence as he whispers. “Soon, Mon Coeur, Soon.” “You are shameless My Lord” I hiss back at him, but my feigned annoyance doesn’t stop the heat I feel.

The moment we stand to make our way to the great door, a blur of dark hair and blue gown speeds towards Raymond. “Papa,” With a squeal, Nicolette launches herself at her father and  he sweeps her straight up into his arms, beaming at her. “Papa, can I ride home with you on Diable?” he kisses her cheek. “Oh, little sparrow I don’t think that is a good idea.” The corners of her mouth turn down as she frowns at him, then wheedles. “Please Papa, please.” “Sweetheart, you know he is an ill-tempered brute and with these crowds he might not behave.”

From the corner of my eye I see Eleanor pushing her way towards us, ignoring the contemptuous, disapproving looks of her “Betters”. “Nicolette, that is not the way to behave in church child.” Her boisterous daughter flashes her a mutinous look then settles herself against Raymond, then twines her arms around his neck as she nuzzles her nose into his beard and kisses him “But he likes me Papa and I’m not scared of him, I feed him apples.” I hear the slightly strangled noise in his throat as he croaks. “Eleanor?”

“Don’t look to me on this Raymond.”

“What have you been up to you little imp, the truth now hein.” She drops her head and pouts; Raymond catches my eye and I press my lips together in an effort not to laugh. “I just go to the stables and hide until the boys go away, then give them to him, it’s alright I do it just the way you showed me with my pony, and he doesn’t hurt me, it tickles my hand when he takes them.” She giggles. “He puts his head down and lets me stroke him.”

“Christ and all his saints, I’ll have the hides of those idiot stable lads.”

“No Papa, I go in and hide until they’ve gone away.”

“Oh, she is definitely her father’s daughter Raymond.” I grin at him he gives me “That” look, rolling his eyes at me

“Sweetheart, he’s dangerous.” He kisses the tip of Nicolette’s nose. “Not with me.” Nicolette sets her mouth in a tight little line and juts her chin out.

“Nor me.” I remind him quietly as I rest my hand lightly on his arm. “Now stop trying to frighten her and let her ride with you.” I wink at Eleanor; her smile is warm and genuine.

“Before you go Madame.” Eleanor steps towards me. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“For God’s sake then ask me Eleanor, there is no need of formality, it is Isabé to you” I drop a sisterly kiss to her cheek. The wife acknowledges the "Sometime Mistress," she and Nicolette have my friendship and protection.” let the hypocrites think what they like.

“Isabé, when his Majesty leaves here, I am ordered travel with him to Paris and then I go South. I have no idea how long my commission will take me away from home and from Nicolette; would you be willing to care for her whilst I’m away?” “Of course Eleanor, don’t worry on that score. Besides, I think she would run rings around her Grandfather in a very short time” “Between you and me, Isabé she already does.” I lay a hand on her arm. “We shall take great care of her;" Raymond is standing beside me and I smile up at him in time to catch the look that passes between them and it unsettles me.

By the time we reach the Chateau, I fell hot, sticky and more than a little crabby; people have been crowding around us pressing and shoving and I am glad the Hall is cooler, sweet with the scent of herbs and decked out in as much finery as could be gathered together. The colourful banners sway in what little breeze comes through the doors. Every table is covered with a linen cloth, cleaned and bleached until it is pristine white and the best of the household table ware is set on it, heaven knows where it was dug it out from, but I suspect most of it hasn’t been used in years.

Fournier strides over, and I move to embrace him, I know that all eyes are on us, but he catches hold of my right hand and bows to me. His voice is solemn but his eyes twinkle. “Welcome, Madame de Merville.” Quietly he adds, “Daughter” Protocol has been preserved,

“Forgive me for yesterday…. Father, I…” He cuts me off quietly, “Daughter, there is nothing to forgive.” And with a broad smile he steps back, turns to face the high table and slams the point of his staff to the floor to bring everyone to order as Philip Augustus King of France takes his place as guest of honour.

Du Four has surpassed himself, and my Father has likely bankrupted the household. A wedding feast is a costly business but when The King is guest of honour, then you had best be ready to ignore the expense and simply raid the coffers. Imported wines and the best Ales flow freely, attentive pages make sure that cups are never drained. Dish after dish of food is served all bathed in rich sauces thickened with almonds or cream and flavoured with herbs or expensive spices, dried fruits, lemons and bitter oranges. When you feed a king, then there is no budget.

But I have little appetite, excitement and nerves have seen to that and so I only manage to pick at one or two mouthfuls. A stream of guests keeps me occupied as they offer gifts and congratulations and my face aches from smiling politely. Raymond coaxes me to eat, offering me choice morsels speared from his own platter. “Isabé” he strokes my leg “I wish you would eat something, because I can promise that you will need your strength, you won’t close your eyes before daybreak.” His voice is husky and seductive as he offers me another titbit, this time from his fingers, brushing them gently against my lips, coaxing me to part them.

I see the wolfish glint in his eyes, he is playing me the bastard. Too little food and a little too much wine, makes me reckless and two can play at those games. I keep my own eyes firmly fixed on his as he pops the morsel into my mouth. Closing my lips around the tips of his fingers, I gently suck the rich sauce from them. Does anyone notice? I don’t care if they do. Even bolder now, I slide my hand up the inside of his leg, barely ghosting over the fabric, but he feels it.  Up and up to the join of hip and thigh until I can go no further, still our gaze is locked, still he is daring me, and I take the challenge, rippling my fingers over his groin. There it is, that soft rumble in the back of his throat, as his eyes widen, then flutter closed for a moment: suddenly he slaps his large hand over mine. From beneath his heavy-lidded eyes he watches me for a moment and catches his lower lip between his teeth biting hard. Then he leans across to me. “Mon Coeur, you had best be careful what games you choose to play, because if you keep teasing I’ll not wait to get you into bed, I’ll haul you behind the screens passage and fuck you where we stand no matter who sees.”

Oh, and he would do it, I know he wood and though his voice is no more than a whisper, it is as hot as hellfire, I turn away and reach for my wine, the cup shakes in my hand as I take a mouthful. I am served right; I should know better than to dare him. There are times when I can barely withstand Raymond’s powerful heat, it makes me wary and wanton in equal measure, as I glance back at him, he is grinning, I still can’t hold his look so I bury my face in my wine cup once more, and thank God I am rescued by His Majesty.

“You know Madame, not once did I imagine I should ever see Raymond married, except of course to his chosen profession”

“Not even when the redoubtable Eleanor Forrestier crossed his path Sire?

“Not even then, nor even after the birth of their daughter, despite scandalising everyone by living as man and wife. Somehow the thought of marriage didn’t seem to appeal to either of them.” He smiles reassuringly at me; does he sense, I wonder, that deep down I still have fears and misgivings concerning them?

“Well Sire I can see how a life  in your service that is dedicated to diplomacy, espionage, and assassination wouldn’t easily lend itself to marriage, particularly if both husband and wife are employed in the same profession.” My voice is sharper than I’d intended, but Philip choses to ignore it, other than to raise a brow. He steeples his fingers, pressing them against his lips as he watches me closely. His smile broadens.

“But then, he came across you Isabé, and…” A string of foul oaths to my right interrupts the conversation, and I turn in time to see Raymond trying to get out of his seat. I hadn’t realised he was so drunk, though no doubt he’s had years of practice hiding the effects when it was necessary to do so; but tonight he has failed and has managed not only to entangle himself in his cloak but has somehow caught the hem of it firmly around chair.                                                  I snigger as he tries to free himself; glowering at me, he wobbles, trips and lands flat on his arse with chair on top of him. I try not to laugh, but it’s impossible, the shock on his face is comical. I hold my breath waiting for the tirade, but he just blinks, clearly confused as to how he ended up on the floor. Then starts to giggle like an idiot, whilst an unfortunate page tries to haul him back onto his feet. No easy task as the lad is slight, no taller than I am, and Raymond is flailing around like a cat on ice. Finally, he is upright.

Swaying, he points at me, leers and pokes me on the breast. “Soft” he slurs, then adds in a whisper, which is anything but. “Need to piss, will come back and we’ll dance.” He turns away too quickly, sweeps around in a full circle and looks mightily confused when he sees me still in front of him, rather than the exit to the kitchen. With careful, over deliberate steps he shuffles himself about then lurches through into the screens passage, presumably heading for the courtyard. I shudder, God help him trying to negotiate his layers of clothing.

“Your husband seems to have a liking for the wine tonight Madame de Merville.” I hesitate for a moment; the sound of my new name is still very strange to my ears.

“Indeed, sire too much of a liking it seems,  and forgive me, but I think what you really mean is that he’s as drunk as a fiddlers bitch, if he drinks any more I should think he will have difficulty in raising a smile let alone much else this night; though at the moment Majesty I am more concerned that he will stamp my feet to a bloody pulp whilst we are dancing. I look away, oh God my tongue has run away with me and I will no doubt be disgraced by my over familiarity.

Even over the racket, anyone close by, hears me. Conversation tails away, Gaultier presses his lips into a tight thin line fighting a laugh. His Grace the Archbishop splutters into his wine cup, then frowns at me clearly shocked by my impertinence. “Isabé Aaliz”, Maman gives me my full name; a clear sign she is displeased, and Philip Augustus just stares at me. Then I see the twinkle in his eyes: his lips twitch, curl, then widen into a smile as he throws his head back, and he slaps both hands down flat on the table as he roars with laughter. “God and all his saints, but Raymond will have his work cut out with you Madame.” Then he whispers, “Now I know why the hard-bitten bastard fell for you Isabé; you are definitely the woman for him.”

He takes my left hand and raises it to his lips; then plucks the exquisite brooch from his own cloak and pins it to mine; the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed it marks me out as being in the King’s favour. Philip’s smile is broad and genuine, it’s clear that he has a real affection for Raymond. “Oh, and what a wife, quick, clever and beautiful: He is my Wolf Isabé, my eyes and ears, the guardian of my peace and dispenser of my justice. I appoint you "Keeper of my Wolf," keep him well, I wish you both long life, great happiness and God willing an heir.”

Before I can reply a page sidles up to me.” Madame, a message for you from the Seneschal, he regrets the intrusion, but he requests your assistance with an urgent matter” Frowning I scan his face. “Urgent?” “Yes Madame, it something he insists only you can resolve.”

Raymond, it can only be Raymond, blind drunk, and belligerent or slumped in a heap somewhere, sleeping it off and snoring like a hog, well he can damned well wait.

“You may tell the Seneschal I shall be there as soon as I can.” The lad is flustered. “Madame I am to say the Seneschal begs your pardon, but it is something that must be done straight away.” With shrug I turn to Philip.

“Majesty, I beg you to excuse me, it seems….”

Go, Isabé and when you return, then honour me with a dance.” He waves me away with a broad grin. I drop him an untidy curtesy, I have never really mastered that art, then follow the page towards the kitchens. The heat, smell and noise is enough to almost knock me flat and I stand in the doorway, peering through the smoke and steam, Fournier is not in the kitchen, nor is he in his makeshift office, I can’t see him amongst swearing, sweating pot boys and kitchen maids. Du Four is bellowing at the top of his voice, but he catches sight of me and jerks his head towards the door, yelling “Outside Madame.” I push my way over to the door, but Fournier is nowhere to be seen.

A strong arm snakes firmly around my waist, as a large hand is clamped firmly over my mouth, stifling my strangled scream, and in a panic I thrash and squirm to free myself “Hush my love, hush, be still.” The voice, the familiar chuckle, it’s Raymond, my first thought had been Théo. He presses his lips to my temple and as he sets me set down wrapping his arms more gently around me, I am conscious of the hard-muscled chest rising and falling against my back. It dawns on me that he isn’t slurring his words and relief gives way to anger as I twist around. “You aren’t drunk at all you bastard” I confront him punctuating the words with smacks to his chest. Raymond laughs “Forgive me my darling, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just needed to get you out from the hall and this seemed the best way.”

He lowers his voice, to a seductive growl and it washes over me. “This is our wedding night Chérie and I’m not fool enough to render myself drunk and incapable; you see I intend to give you my absolute attention and nothing is going to hinder me in that.” His mouth is a feather touch on mine, he flicks his tongue against my lips, and I can’t help the mewl that escapes me. I know well    what that tongue can do and can already feel heat flaring in my belly. “As for the other question, there is no way on this earth that we will spend our first night together to the accompaniment of a drunken rabble, prancing around outside our chamber, singing filthy songs and yelling even filthier jokes to encourage us.” Another kiss, his tongue flickers against mine. “Nor do we have need of the Archbishop, sprinkling Holy water and muttering incantations over the bed.” The third kiss and he scrapes his teeth over my lower lip and whispers against my mouth. “Because I am sure we can devise a suitable benediction of our own.” There is no mistaking the desire I his voice, but we have been missed, and the rowdy guests are already spilling out into the courtyard, and are dammed if they are going to be denied the traditional wedding night revels. “To bed, to bed, to bed.” The chanting grows louder, and the cry goes up. We have been seen Raymond is ready to fly.

“Chérie, hold tight to my hand, stay close by and when I say run, then run like hell.”

I catch sight of His Grace, walking towards us Philip is beside him, the guests are getting closer yelling and singing, Raymond grips my hand and growls, “Now, Isabé, move, now!” turning quickly he drags me along with him. I gather my skirts up out of the way and even though he shortens his stride, I struggle to keep pace with him as we dash across the courtyard; Raymond slows, dips and lifts me up slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Before I even have chance to settle, he quickens his pace and with his arms wrapped around my thighs to keep me steady, runs towards the exercise yard as I bounce up and down on his shoulder. My veil and hair hang down and as I grip his belt with my right hand, I wriggle to get more comfortable’ “You have a very nice arse Raymond.” I yell up at him “very nice not an old man’s arse at all nice and firm.” I can’t help but giggle as I stroke my other hand over his backside then squeeze, hard. He missteps slightly and growls. “Behave woman, else I shall wallop yours and you’ll not sit down for a week.”

The laugh bubbles up in me. “Pfft I doubt I shall be doing much sitting My Lord.” Without answering he sets me down beside the massive gates leading to the exercise yard, shoves open the wicket and pushes me inside. I hear the door being slammed and barred shut behind us as we head for the tower in the far corner and I wonder what the hell we are doing going into a storeroom; when my eyes become accustomed to the dim light, I realise it’s not a storeroom, it’s a sally port. Guillaume is waiting inside for us with his own horse and Diable, who is snickering and pawing at the ground. The floor slopes downwards to another doorway directly opposite; it’s as high and wide as the one we have just entered, large enough for a mounted horse to pass straight through from one side to the other without the rider even lowering his head.

“All is ready as you ordered Monseigneur, Matthieu is out there and waiting.

“Thank you, Guillaume” Raymond heads through the second door to speak to Matthieu and has soon as he is gone, Guillaume whispers to me.

“Isabé I beg you if you can’t love him, then for my sake be kind to him, he deserves that at least, but I hope you can love him and love him well.” Before I can answer Raymond has returned and without a word lifts me up onto the stallions back and springs up behind me, as soon as he has gathered the reins up in his right hand, he clamps his left arm around me and with the slightest kick to the horse we are off. “Are you happy Mon Coeur?” His lips are soft against my temple and I purr a “Hmmm” in reply, as I lean back against him and close my eyes, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s gait and the sway of our bodies. But as we pass through the city and finally through Western gate, I realise that this must have been well planned, we are not challenged by any of the watch or the guard despite it being long past curfew. And I know that for protection we are being followed by Guillaume and Matthieu, because occasionally, I hear other horses behind us, not too far distant.

It seems Blanche and Henri have given over the Manor to us and in turn they will occupy our chamber at the Chateau. The guest chamber is newly decorated, the bed is piled with pillows and draped with the best of the household linens and coverlets, the walls have been freshly lime washed. Lanterns with beeswax candles are placed around the room casting patches of soft light on the walls and floor; trays of food and wine have been set out and the well-wishers from the household have left, all that is except for Jehanne. She busies herself pouring scented water for me to wash, then sets too detaching the necklace she has used as a jewelled fillet to secure my veil. Raymond lounges against the far wall and glances out of the window, not that there is much to see in the dusk.

“Jehanne you may leave that; my wife has no need of you now.” There is a tenderness in his voice as he says, “my wife”, but Jehanne only looks up sharply and stares at him, from her expression, you’d think Raymond had asked her to strip naked and juggle candle spikes.

“M’amselle Mercier I am asking you to leave, I am perfectly capable and more than willing to help Madame disrobe, I’m sure you understand.” He winks at her; she sets her jaw and squares up to him feet planted slightly apart, hands on hips

“Raymond forgive me, but Jehanne is not your servant to dismiss, even though she is now part of your household.” “My love.” He smiles indulgently. “We have no need of Jehanne, these rough hands will do just as well. He strokes his fingers down my cheek.

“Monseigneur, tonight most of all, it is right and proper that I am here to help Madame.” Jehanne is on her high horse, her tone is cool, polite, and completely lacking in any respect whatsoever.

“Jehanne.” Raymond steps towards her. “Tonight, of all nights I have no mind to allow anyone other than myself to help my Bride disrobe. The choice is yours, go now, else I shall sling you over my shoulder and dump you on your backside out in the corridor.” Raymond growls at her, but it is not very. The time for curfew has passed, but no one stops us as we make our way through the city threatening, and she will not give.

“I have my duties. Monseigneur” and as she steps towards me again, Raymond hefts her up off her feet and shrieks like a doused cat; he strides towards the door and as promised carries her out: her face is purple with fury. “Descoteaux, to me now!” he bellows and immediately I hear the Captain thudding up the stairs, just in time to see his Lord setting Jehanne down on her backside. “Take this baggage away man, and tell whoever is to bring our food in the morning to knock then leave it outside the door.” Stifling his laughter, Mathieu helps Jehanne to her feet, and before he can answer Raymond, the chamber door is slammed shut.

He sees me struggling to unpin the necklace Jehanne used as a fillet, it is fixed so securely to my veil and the band beneath, that if I continue to worry at it, I’ll likely tear the delicate fabric. “Isabé let me.” He is careful, deft and practiced, of course he is; I wonder how many times he has done the same for Eleanor, he lays the necklace on the table, then unpins the veil from the band. “Chérie,” He draws me towards him, and threads his fingers through my hair, his lips are warm and soft against mine. “Mon Coeur,” he whispers. “I have some news that you should hear, though I doubt you will like it; I had planned to tell you this tomorrow but there is no easy way and I suppose sooner is better than later.” He smiles at the anxious look on my face. “Sweetheart, I have an assignment from His Majesty, a week from tomorrow I must leave Rouen and travel to Paris, where I shall take command of the Kings forces and then travel South.” He flashes me a rueful smile as he pours two cups of wine handing one to me.

I can only stare at him and feel a knot forming in my stomach. “Be calm Isabé.” I tell myself, “Be calm you are not a silly girl you are the bride, if not yet the wife of Raymond De Merville.” But it seems my heart is hell bent on ignoring my head.

“You must think I’m an idiot Raymond. Now I understand the look that passed between you and Eleanor, when she asked me to take care of Nicolette.” I had meant my words to be cool and calm, but I sound like a petulant child.

“What?” Cocking his head on one side his face smooths and slides into a benign mask.

“There.” I poke him in the chest and step back. “There, is the, inoffensive, calm expression of the King’s Ambassador, I see what the two of you are about now, conniving and scheming. You promised, me, the pair of you that you would not fuck each other in your bed Raymond, but I grant there was no mention made of any other.” As I raise my hand to wallop his face, he grabs my wrist stalling the blow; his fingers digging hard into my flesh. When he speaks, he is considered and careful, as if he is trying to make Nicolette understand something. “No, Isabé, you do not see; you do not see at all.”

“Then forgive me for being stupid and help me to grasp what you mean, My Lord; what stamp of man waits until his wedding night to tell his Bride that he is leaving in a week to travel South, and with his bloody Mistress.” I wrench my arm free and as I step back, he steps forward, his eyes burning like blue fire, we are almost toe to toe, he towers over me, but he lets go a breathy grunt as I slam my balled fists into his chest.

“Don’t you dare tell me that you hadn’t planned all along to keep her as your Mistress you scheming bastard. No, you have taken great pains pretending to put her aside, just to mollify little Isabé.” I aim my fists at his chest again, but this time he grabs at both my wrists.

“Shut up Isabé, I made a promise and so did Eleanor, as I stand by mine, so she will stand by hers.”

“You can’t tell me that your paths won’t cross Raymond, if you do, I shan’t believe you.”

“Mother of God, listen to yourself woman!”

“Let go of me you arse.” Twisting and turning, I try to wrench myself free of him, but he tightens his grip on my wrists. “I said let go, if you think I’m spending my wedding night with you, then you had best think again, you are lying, conniving shit.”

I’m in no mood to play the Lady, I scream and curse him with every barrack room oath I have ever heard Hénri use. He loosens his grip slightly and as I yank my arm away, I aim a kick at his shins for good measure; he shifts smartly to one side  so I miss, of course.

His eyes are even darker now, I know that look, he is fiercely angry, and though his voice is low it sends a shiver down my spine; calm, angry Raymond is enough to chill my blood, and I step back quickly.

“There is no plan between us Madame. “I have my assignment, Eleanor will have hers, our paths may cross but it is unlikely and that is an end to it, she will be well on her way before I even leave Rouen.

“So, you say. His Majesty says jump and you ask, “How High” then run off South to fuck Eleanor up, down and sideways. Well do it and get a bastard son on her and name him heir into the bargain. It will save me the trouble of it all. You should have married her she would make you a far better wife than I will.” I will not let the tears fall no matter how much they sting and burn; I refuse to let him see me weep because of her. Suddenly he lunges at me and grabs at my shoulders hauling me forward until I slam into his chest. Pressing his forehead to mine, he is so close that I can’t see his features only the furrows and frown lines on his brow. His eyes glitter, but not with anger, with sadness and I feel the heat of him through my gown.

“I have no need to get a son on Eleanor, nor even on you Isabé, I already have a son.” He breathes out the words like the last whisper of a dying man, nonetheless, they are as solid as a punch to my stomach. I can’t speak, my heart is pounding and as he steps away the words slowly seep into my brain. Raymond’s face is so pale in the soft light, that his scar seems even more livid against his ashen skin, and realise from his shocked expression that he had not intended to tell me about his son; at least not yet.

The keening starts deep in my chest, rises and when it escapes, the howl of a wounded animal echoes around the room. I lurch towards the table, grab anything within easy reach and launch it at him, apples, chunks of bread, platters. Few of them connect as I hurl them, but I need to smash, break and destroy something, anything to help release the anger and pain. “My God you bastard, you conniving, scheming, lying bastard.” The words drop from my mouth like venom.

“I did not lie to you Isabé”

“Bollocks!” I step toe to toe with him. I swear I see the slightest grin ghosting across his lips, but when I blink it’s gone. “So you did not lie, but were you ever going to tell me I wonder?” I have to tilt my head back a little to stare him in the eyes. Or were you just going to keep quiet, until the day a strapping young man strides into the Chateau, demanding his right of inheritance. Strutting around while I smile graciously, forced accept that any son, I may bear you is disinherited.  Am I to sit there like some silly, obedient little fool as the bastard is made heir while the household looks on in pity?” There is no answer from him.

“Where is he Raymond” I growl at him. “Is he in Rouen with his whore of a mother or have you hidden the bastard elsewhere, Paris perhaps? “Answer me Raymond. You miserable prick, damn you ANSWER ME!” I snatch up the ewer then send it crashing to the floor, sprays of water and shards of pot spatter over Raymond’s boots. The wine jug is next  and as I grab for it, Raymond lunges across, but I snatch it out of his reach, slopping some of the contents down my wedding gown. An arc of wine shimmers in the candlelight as the pot sails past him and smashes to pieces against the wall, staining the new plaster.

In a flash, he has me whirled around and pinned against the table, knocking the breath from me. “A warning Isabé, I beg of you, for your own sake, never, never  speak of them in that way again, you know nothing of it”  His voice is breathy and cracked, his eyes full of such pain, and sadness as he blinks furiously, and I realise he is blinking back tears, but my heart won’t soften “They have names, they are Theodora and Christophe and I have neither seen, nor heard of them for over five years.” With a deep shuddering sigh, he scrubs the palms of his hands up and down over his face and back up through his hair making it stick out at wild angles, and he looks every one of his forty-eight battered, hard fought, years.

“I am going to bed Isabé.” His voice is barely a whisper, he seems broken as he stretches out his hand to me. I answer him so quietly I doubt he hears, “If you think I’m going to lie with you, wedding night or no, then you had best think again Raymond; you would have no joy of it, and you would be as well to shove your pizzle into a knot hole than force me.” Oh, he hears me, and grabs arms digging into the flesh above my elbows. “You are my wife Isabé, mine in body and soul; my property to do with as I wish, and no one would condemn me if took you against your will. But think on this; whether drunk, sober or crazed, I have never, in my life forced a woman against her will and never shall.

He is hurting, I can see it in his eyes, but for a second, there is such tenderness there as he strokes his fingers down my cheek, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before he turns away. I watch him for a moment as he starts to undress, then turn my back. The bed creaks as he slides beneath the covers and I sneak a glance and he is laying on his side with his back to me. In a last act of pettiness, I fling my shoe at him, it bounces off the wall and lands beside him; he doesn’t even flinch. Arsehole.

 NOW                                                   

The sun has moved, and a soft light filters into the room. With a loud, unladylike yawn, I stretch to ease my aches, my headache has gone, and I feel better than I had expected to. As I lay back against the pillows, I remember strong arms, soft kisses and gentle words. Raymond! at least he cared enough to rescue me from the chair. I catch sight of him, arms folded legs crossed at the ankle, he is leaning against the wall by the window; and my breath stalls in my throat as I stare wide eyed. Except for his bandage, he is naked and I can’t stop myself looking him over from head to foot and back again, then down once more following that narrow line of hair that tracks a path down his belly, to the dark thatch below. Though I am still furious with him, it doesn’t keep me from staring with more than a little lust. Oh, there is no mistake, he is impressive even at rest. I catch him as he watches me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, a gentle smile lifting one corner of his mouth; Soft light plays on the curves and planes of his broad shoulders and chest, and the lean, hard muscled limbs of a fit, fighting man. Gods saints, he is much more than handsome, he is beautiful.  

Shifting his stance, Raymond holds his arms a little away from his body, palms towards me. The gesture of a supplicant seeking absolution for his sin of omission, and I am the only one who can grant him forgiveness. We need to settle this or live in a bitter sham of a marriage without love or respect, and barely enough politeness for appearances sake. Flinging the covers aside, I slip from the bed and start to cross the room to him. 

“No, let me speak Isabé.” He holds his hands up as a barrier. “Can you forgive this stupid old fool, I had not meant to hurt you, but I have lived too long using secrets as my protection.” He inhales a deep breath, and I wait.

“I will not lie, there is a place in my heart which is held secure for Theodora and Christophe, it is locked to everyone else, even to you Mon Coeur, and, I will never give up trying to discover what became of them. This time when I step forward, he doesn’t stop me. 

“Raymond, I should know better, you are not some idiot youth still wet behind the ears, you have had a hard, dangerous life, you have a past. It was naïve of me to think otherwise. There is room in everyone’s heart for any number of people Raymond, but you must promise that whatever space is left in yours, belongs to me.”I settle my right hand gently against his chest twisting my fingers gently amongst the hairs.

Stretching up on tiptoe, I slide my hands over his cheeks up into the longer hair on his head. Threading my fingers through it I draw his face towards me. My kiss is not tender, it’s fierce and needy as I push myself hard against him and as he groans into my mouth I unlace one hand from his hair and I slide it between us a, laying it almost along the length of him. It would take a hand much larger than mine to cover “La Bite.”

“Have I married a shameless baggage?”

“It will be your good fortune if you have, My Lord” With a deep, rumbling laugh he lifts me up, bracing his arms beneath my backside as I wrap my legs around him, I am greedy for him; Raymond knows it and picks his way carefully through the potsherds and missiles of the battlefield that is our chamber to carry me to bed; or so I think. The bed may be close, the table is closer, and he sets me down on the very edge, and shoving aside those things I didn’t hurl at him, he sends them clattering to the floor as I wrap my legs even more tightly around him. “Raymond!” Laughing and wriggling against him, I pretend to push him away in indignation, but he holds me firm. “You could at least have carried me to the bed.”

“Well it’s a step up from a stable my darling, and at least you won’t get straw stuck in your hair.” he kisses the soft skin beneath my ear then nips it for good measure. I smack his head. “No, but I’ll likely get splinters in my arse.”

His voice is a low murmur, washing over me. “Then my penance shall be to pick them out for you and kiss each wound to soothe it” “Oh that voice, I'm certain he could simply talk me to ecstasy.” I shiver as he skims his hands down over the curve of my hips, over my thighs and he frowns a little as his fingers gently track the long scar.

“Does it still give you pain Chéri?” he clips at my lips with soft kisses.

“Not so much, just sometimes when I have walked too far, or have stood for too long.”

Head on one side, he grins like a naughty little boy as he strokes his hands back up the insides of my thighs, barely touching the skin as he eases them apart slightly; and when he brushes his fingers oh so gently against those dark curls, I shudder and his name bubbles out of my mouth in a curious little squeak.  “Christ Jesus, but you are beautiful, Isabé”

I’m sure he means it; I hear the desire in his growl; but still I must fight down my fears and uncertainties about Theodora and Eleanor. Those fears fade a little when he kisses me, and I realise from his feral look that he is hungry for me. But he is a master of control, and in his own sweet time, he tracks a path down my body, searching out those sweet. sensitive places as he peppers my skin with gentle kisses, nips and sweeps of his tongue. Chuckling with the simple joy of hearing me mewl, sigh and purr out his name. My nipples are tight and aching before he even sets his mouth to one, tracing lazy circles with his tongue raking it with his teeth, caressing and nipping the other with his fingers, lavishing attention on both and as I thread my fingers into his hair, he bites harder, strong teeth leaving marks of love and possession, I can barely think straight, the ache and heat between my thighs is raging and I feel the wetness there.

“Raymond” Whimpering his name, I unhitch my legs completely from around his waist parting them, inviting him. I know where I want that clever mouth and talented tongue to be, I know what it can do, and that thought alone sends that sweet ache searing through me again.

“Tell me what you need my beautiful isabé.” His hands flutter over my body, his touch sends fire through me.

“Your mouth, I need your mouth” I stutter and sob out the words. Eyes sparkling he shoots me a wicked grin. He understands, though he pretends not to. Stroking back my hair he drawls into my ear. “My Mouth, then tell me hein; where is the ache you need me to ease?” he kisses the soft skin between ear and jaw, “Is it here, my sweet?” He slides his lips down my neck. “ Or here?” A nip to my collarbone, “Perhaps this is the place.” Lowering his head further he licks at my left breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. I am wriggling against the table keening in desperation as he laces the fingers of one hand into my hair, twisting it tight as he pulls my face towards him. I open my mouth to his and then a sweet shock almost lifts me from the table as he gently trails one finger down between my thighs and slowly slides it inside me. I can hear how wet I am, and he sets a slow, easy, rhythm that matches the dance of his tongue against mine.  A second finger follows, then a third stretching, stroking, coaxing.

“Is this what you need Isabé, is this what you want my sweet wife, does it please you my love, or do you need more from me?” he whispers against my lips. Incapable of speech, I dig my fingers into his shoulders, then rake them hard down his chest, over his nipples, stroking down to his cock, trailing my fingers over the velvety skin. Sweet retalliation as swears, shudders and groans his head lolling back a little. But he snatches my hand away.

“No Isabé, there will be time enough for you to discover my needs and desires but for now.” He drops to knees and looks up at me his eyes burning. “For now, you are everything.” I see the smile on his lips before he dips his head and at that first soft breath, that first teasing kiss my, back arches and my hips snap forwards, but nothing stalls him. Delicate teasing kisses, his beard rasping against tender flesh, as he sucks, laps and scrapes with his teeth; growling out his pleasure. He holds me steady and I whine his name, as again he slides one finger then another inside me setting up that sweet aching rhythm matching the teasing of his tongue. I am burning, but not in hell, though the heat of me is enough to set fire to the air, I am certain of that.

As the tightness settles deep in me, I clench myself; Raymond is relentless with his tongue and fingers. I claw at his scalp, grabbing at his hair as if doing so will stop me flying away, my thighs tense and begin to shake, I am gasping as if there is no air in the room.

“Come for me my darling, break your chains, fly, show me passion, show me your soul.”

I scream oaths, words of love of love and Raymonds name, they bounce from the walls, as I fracture and fall, but not just once. He shatters me again and again before he puts me back together with soothing words. I cling to him as he gentles me with soft caresses, if he leaves go of me I know I shall float away. My shoulders heave as I gasp for breath, sweat trickles between my breasts and long strands of hair stick to my damp skin. Wrapping his arms more tightly around me Raymond holds me steady and whispers; “I am not finished with you yet.” I taste myself on his lips as he kisses me; I barely have strength to wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me and carries me to bed. For certain my own legs would not hold me, they tremble too much.

“We are in no way finished my sweetheart” he settles me among the pillows, Languor has settled in my bones and I watch him from beneath half closed lids, as he slips his arms beneath my thighs, lifting them over his own, and as he settles himself, I catch him licking his lips. Raymond is so tender, and with gentle movements he presses  little by little, pause by pause until he is deep within me. I push my hips upwards wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper still. A long rough sigh of pleasure swirls around and he stills for a moment searching my face. “What’s wrong old man have you tired so quickly?” His eyes fly wide open “You, my darling wife may come to regret those words.” I stop his mouth with my fingers, and wiggle my hips. “Oh, I do hope so, Raymond I do hope so.”

He hovers over me, his forearms either side of my head as a broad smile lights his face. The lines of sorrow and pain have disappeared, replaced by love in the deep, blue fire of his eyes. He is giving me time; my husband is in no way lacking and I remember overhearing a kitchen maid whispering to her friends, she had it on good authority that. “Sieur Raymond is hung better than his stallion.” and I bite my lip trying not to snort. Raymond frowns a little mistaking the sound for one of pain. “Isabé, Mon Coeur, for God’s sake, say if I am hurting you”   I reach a hand up to his face, laying my palm against his cheek. “Raymond, my love I won’t break, though I might bend a little.” There, I’ve said it. “ My Love." I have said it, and meant it.

I hear a clatter and thud somewhere in the distance as our breakfast is set down in the passage and  Raymond bellows towards the door.  “Take it away, it will be long past breakfast before we are done.” I hear a girlish giggle as the housemaid picks up the tray and scuttles off, no doubt to give a lurid account that “Monseigneur and his Lady are “Putting the devil into hell.”

In the shadows of the Chateau stables two figures stand close together, for all the world they look like lovers embracing, but one mistake, one unwary move and the embrace will prove fatal for one of them.

“Be still Fontaine, the knife is exceedingly sharp, a sudden move and it will easily pierce your skin, and should you try to harm me, you would get no further than the courtyard; there are bows trained on you. Her words ghost against his cheek as low and soft as a lover’s. He holds his breath, shifts slightly and feels the point of the dagger press hard against him, it has pierced his clothes, now it pricks against the skin of his groin and he winces. “This is a warning to you Théo, when you travel South, I shall be there watching you every step of the way though you will be hard pressed to see me.

“Do you think I'm frightened by threats from de Merville’s Whore, I am not travelling South bitch.” The point of the double-edged dagger is pushed a little farther and he hisses in his breath.

“Oh’ but you are Fontaine, less chance for you to conspire against the King, with that bastard John Lackland and if you even look sidewise at Monseigner Raymond or Isabé beefore we leave I will slice you into ribbons and feed you to the pigs. Now be a good boy and run back to your Maman” Eleanor stands aside to let him pass and as he walks by she adds. “You might want to tell her, His Majesty knows her trade and recommends she retires, she'll understand. I suggest she takes his advice for if she persists, then one day they'll be fishing her body out of the Seine.” As he turns to look back at her, Eleanor has the pleasure of seeing his face grow pale. 

“I’ll see you dead before I’m done, Fontaine you bastard!”

When I wake, Raymond is sprawled on his back still sleeping, the fingers of his left hand are tangled in my hair; I am curled against him, my left arm is draped over him and my left thigh pins his legs to the bed. Taut and firm beneath my cheek his stomach rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breathing. If Raymond is asleep then a certain part of him most certainly is not. I giggle to myself as I shift a little and trail a finger down the thick vein along the back of his cock and press my lips together to hide a snort as it twitches upwards. Very gently I curl my hand around him, caressing the velvety softness to set up a gentle rhythm, pulling the skin a little further back each time I stroke my hand up and down him. “You witch Isabé.” His voice is a sleepy, guttural, whisper, and as I brush my lips against the tip of him, his hips snap upwards and he curls his fingers even more tightly in my hair.

Now, it is my turn; and my revenge will be so very sweet.

*I marry you wife* this is later medieval French from the region of Bordeaux, taken from a record held in the cathedral there. It is from a much later date, but I just wanted to create the sense of a service which would have been conducted in a mixture of Latin and Old French

**Do you take (bride's name), here present, for your legal wife according to the rite of our holy mother, the Church?**

[wagihyoussef]

Architecture and the Sculpture Effect of Natural Light

Abstract

Visual form depends upon three variables: light, the position of the beholder, and the particular relation with the environment. We empirically reinterpret the image into an idea of corporeality, and this defines the form of the space within. We thus grasp its spiritual import, its content, and its meaning. Windows form the rhythmical articulation of light and dark in the façade, which determines the character more directly than the sum total of all columns, ornaments and cornices. To see architecture means to draw together into a single mental image the series of these dimensionally interpreted images that are present to us as we walk through interior spaces and round their exterior shells. It is light that first rounds out mathematical precision and space consciousness to the freedom, independence and law of architectonic creation.

Keywords: natural light, stimulus, visual attention, primary form, plastic effect, beauty

Introduction

We look at what we want or need to see, unless our visual attention is redirected by the focus selector to a distracting stimulus in the visual field. Such a stimulus need not be the brightest thing in view. The information content of the stimulus is also important in determining its relevance and consequently its inherent attractiveness to the mind’s eye.  Visual activity is highest in a very small area of the retina called the fovea. Under normal conditions patterns of light falling on the fovea are reported to the brain in much finer detail than the visual information falling on other parts of the retina. This innate differentiation between central and peripheral vision. High luminous (brightness) of the background tends to dominate the visual field causing the eye to reduce the amount of light which it lets fall onto the retina, thus interfering with the perception of the person. When lightly illuminated elements of the visual field are unrelated to our needs. They distract us from our conscious activities which can be both annoying and dangerous. Recent research on the visual cortex of the brain shows that the brain sees most clearly in terms of edges. 

Le Corbusier deliberately defined architecture not in Vitruvian terms as good planning, sound construction and pleasing appearance, but in terms of the sculptured effects of light and shade, in the masterly correct and magnificent play of masses brought together by light. Our eyes are made to see forms in light; thus cubes, cones, spheres, cylinders or pyramids are the great primary forms which light reveals to advantage. They are not only beautiful forms, but the most beautiful. Before 1750 it was well known that the Greeks had made their windows narrower at the top than at the bottom. This arrangement could be seen in such Roman ruins as the round temple at Tivoli. The Greek fanatics did not use windows at all but admitted light through the doors of their temple. To them, light meant brightness which had to impress. The impressionists realized the importance of ambient light, which fills the air and is reflected from objects, and radiant light, which is the province of the physicist. Monet’s paintings of the cathedral at Rouen, all depicting the same façade but under different conditions of light are as explicit an illustration of the role of ambient light in vision as one could expect to find. 

Throughout history designers have attempted to introduce light in a way that the observer will be conscious of the effect of the light while the light source itself is played down in the architecture composition. For example, windows were placed at the base of a dome to light this large structural element. The brilliant dome then became a major focal center and serving as a huge reflector. The dome, not the windows, became the apparent primary light source for the interior space. Similarly, the windows in some interiors were placed so they were somewhat concealed from the normal view of the observer and the observer’s attention was focused on a brightly lighted adjacent decorative wall. In both cases, the objective was to place the emphasis on the surfaces to be lighted while minimizing any distracting influence from the lighting system itself.

For medieval thinkers, light is the principle of order and value. The objective value of a thing is determined by the degree to which it participates in light. Seeing is not a passive response of the pattern of light, rather it is an active information seeking process directed and interpreted by the brain. Visual sensory data are coordinated with incoming contextual information from the other senses related to the past experiences of a comparable nature and given attention or not depending on whether incoming stimulus is classified as signal or noise. It is the information content and context of a stimulus not its absolute magnitude which generally determines its relevance and finally its importance. This in turn largely determines what we look at and what we perceive. The eye searches the visual environment automatically for signals which supply information relevant to the satisfaction of activity or biological needs, and figure objects with these characteristics tend to attract the visual attention automatically. 

Light in Gothic Architecture

For the 12th and 13th centuries, light was the source and essence of all visual beauty. St. Victor and Thomas Aquinas both ascribe to the beautiful two main characteristics: consonance of parts, or proportion, and luminosity. The stars gold and precious stones are called beautiful because of the quality. In the philosophical literature of the terms no attribute is used more frequently to describe visual beauty than lucid, luminous, clear. This aesthetic preference is vividly reflected in the decorative arts of the time with their obvious delight in glittering objects, shiny materials and polished surfaces. According to the Platonizing metaphysis of the Middle Ages, light is the most mobile of natural phenomena, the least material, the closest approximation to pure form. Light is the mediator between bodies and bodily substances, a spiritual body, embodied and is present in the earthly substances. For as St. Bonaventure asks, do not metals and precious stones begin to shine when we polish them, are not clear window panes manufactured from sand and ashes, is not fire struck from black coal, and is not this luminous quality of things evidence of existence of light in them. In architecture history, the large stained-glass windows of the Gothic period are probably the most obvious example of this approach.

Early Gothic structure was of course closely related to the question of space, light, and plastic effects in the Gothic period we learn about. In Amiens we are not forcibly pulled to the east as is the case in Baroque churches, since the lighting is evenly diffused from one end to the other. The sanctuary is backed by an ambulatory which is lighted by the window of the radiating chapels that are barely visible from the west. In Cathedral Le Mans France, the clerestory lighting the inner aisle and the light pouring in from the side chapels all combine to produce a lavish yet organized richness which every part is necessary for either function or structural reason. The Gothic light is filtered through the pores of the walls. The stained-glass windows of the Gothic replace the brightly colored walls of Romanesque architecture. They are structurally and aesthetically not openings in the wall to admit light, but transparent walls. The stained-glass windows seemingly deny the impenetrable nature of matter, receiving its visual existence from an energy that transcends it. Light which is ordinarily concealed by matter appears as the active principle and matter is aesthetically real only in so far as it partakes of and is defined by the luminous quality of light.

The Gothic may be described as transparent diaphanous architecture. The gradual enlargement of the windows as such means that no segment of inner space was allowed to remain in darkness undefined by light. The side aisles, the galleries above them, the ambulatory and chapels of the choir became narrower and shallower, their exterior walls pierced by continuous rows of windows. Ultimately, they appear as a shallow, transparent shell surrounding nave and choir, while the windows if seen from the inside cease to be distinct. They seem to merge, vertically, and horizontally into a continuous sphere of light, a luminous foil behind the tactile forms of the architecture system. The window opening is a void surrounded by heavy, solid framing. In the Gothic window, the solid elements of the tracery float, as it were, on the luminous window surface, its pattern dramatically articulated by light.

The Window

Natural light projects natural shade. The perception of form occurs through the variation in brightness and darkness. Time in the aesthetics of architecture is the parameter which refers to the duration of the aesthetical experience, and as a consequence of that duration to the bodily movement of the beholder, who takes successively different standpoints around and through the object observed. Visual form is controlled by the polarity of one image-like perception. When the beholder is forced to take different standpoints to grasp the whole, the visual form is a result of many images. Visual form depends upon three variables: light, the position of the beholder, and the particular relation with the environment. We empirically reinterpret the image into an idea of corporeality, and this defines the form of the space within. We thus grasp its spiritual import, its content, and its meaning. From whatever side we take light we ought to make an opening for it, as it may always give us a free sight of the sky. The top of that opening ought not to be too low, because we are able to see the light with our eyes. 

Windows form the rhythmical articulation of light and dark in the façade, which determines the character more directly than the sum total of all columns, ornaments and cornices when seen from a distance. All decorative forms sink back into the mass of reflecting wall and the dark fleck of the windows which reflect no light. On the inside neither paint, wall, ceiling nor door can match the window. It stands among them like something alive among dead things and has within it the power to make the room large or small. The window is employed exclusively as a part of the façade, as if it is consisted of a kind of embellishment similar to columns or woodwork. It no longer has the shape or size which the room requires to illuminate it, but rather must attune itself to the rhythm of the façade. It is no longer positioned where it is needed in the room, but rather where it is needed in the façade.

We must not strive to increase the intensity of light, but a gentler light is worth striving for, and more colored light must be the watchword. The living quality of architecture depends upon sensuous seizure by means of touch and sight, upon the terrestrial cohesion of mass, upon the super-terrestrial liberty of light. It is light that first gives movement to mass and sublimates it to a super sensuous expression of dynamic and rhythmical agitation. It is light that first rounds out mathematical precision and space consciousness to the freedom, independence and law of architectonic creation. The outer walls collect light in order to let it penetrate fully through its openings. However, a traditional wall pierced with windows almost belongs to a past period. The transparent or opaque screen fitted between floor and ceiling is taking its place. To see architecture means to draw together into a single mental image the series of these dimensionally interpreted images that are present to us as we walk through interior spaces and round their exterior shells. 

Architecture Image

Architecture image is one unified mental image. The intensity of light must be as uniform as possible throughout the interior. Throughout the exterior, gradation of light when present are subtle. There is no sharp contrast and the darker areas are always bright enough to allow clear vision. Colors bring the structure lines into a sharp relief against the seeming wall. Strong bright reflections are avoided even when the material is bronze or gold. Painted colors spread as uniform surfaces. The color detaches ornament from its frame and separates a capital from its shafts. The colors are set down separately in small areas. Architecture image is determined as we walk through the building. The architecture image is unique. It is always the same no matter whether it is seen from many different angles. It is identical with the actual complete form. There is not temptation for us to walk around the building because we realize at once that it can offer us no surprise. Coordination of the individual images and simplicity of the total image, these are architecture produced in the interior by radiating lines of circulation. We can stand anywhere and yet feel ourselves in possession of the whole. The architecture of the first phase presents only one image. The second phase is contrast. Uniformity of illumination gives way to increasing contrast of light and dark areas. The introduction of lunettes is a result of the need of light on the vault. The need increases for a ceiling that is bright, unfolding a zone of light rather than a dark enclosure. It is a symptom of the second phase that skylights were considered for the ceiling. 

The distinction here does not lie in a different degree of intensity of light but solidity in the way light is disrupted. Such sudden transition from bright to dark to bright are also characteristic of the individual details. The uneven illumination subordinates the vague isolated vistas to those that are clear, the optically dull, the optically interesting. The corporeal forms exist only to carry the visible phenomena. They serve light not the reverse. They appear to suffer under the influence of light and shadow reflections and colors, and the distractions of the perspective view insofar as they might be separated, and they appear to be torn apart insofar as they belong together. Masses and spaces are pushed into one another, and since they always seem to be incomplete, we cannot imagine how they would be perceived from another viewpoint.

Baroque Architecture

In Bernini’s sculpture the problem of light and therefore the distribution of plastic surfaces in terms of their values as reflection of light, was from the very beginning one of his principal preoccupations. An architecture expression of the investigation of luminous values can be seen very clearly in the profiles of the base of his Apollo and Daphne and in the altar aedicula of Santa Bibiana. It is in fact from scenography that Bernini derived his effects of a closeup hidden light that makes the surfaces of his subject and that in the Baroque era was indeed defined as “Luce alla Bernina. With the memorial inscription for Urban VIII on the internal façade of Santa Maria in Aracoeli and the apse of San Lorenzo in Damaso, his use of light became revolutionary. Instead of hiding its source behind a screen, it takes its place in the visual field of the spectator. This direct incident light is used as an essential ingredient of the architectonic design. It is not adopted merely to enliven flat diagrams as were the diaphanous surfaces of stained glass in Gothic cathedrals, but rather its function is the integration of a plastic discourse. This progressive sensibility to the problems of light in architectonic terms can be traced from its first pronouncement in the altar of Santa Bibiana.

In Boromini’s work the perspective colonnade constructed in the Pallazzio Spada proved that through the geometric curves, space can be molded as a resextensa contracting and dilating it; on the other hand to rest his control over light in its function as determining factor of the effect of depth as shown in the series of embrasures originally opened in the structure to admit a direct lateral illumination through the perspective treatment of splayed openings, a theme introduced in Rome by Sangallo in the courtyard of Palazzo Farnese. The sensitizing of the mass in terms of its role as either reflection or obstruction of the light flow radically transforms the dynamics of the relationship and leads to an absolute plastic continuity of the architectonic members to a rigorously logical connection of the elements clarified in every point with insistent precision.

Conclusion

Louis Kahn said that every space intended to be dark should have just enough light from some mysterious opening to tell us how dark it really is. Each space must be defined by its structure and the character of its natural light. The structure is synonymous with the light which gives image to the space. The glare is modified by the lighted wall and the view is not shut off. 

[timeoutotour]

Overcast Clouds, 19°C

42 Rue de la Croix Bonnard, 28000 Chartres, France

Saturday 15th June 2019

We had a good and exceptionally quiet night at the France passion site , I say night, because at dawn, the resident farm cockerel began to exercise its capacious lungs and alert all the other cockerels in the surrounding area that it was time for them to make sure we did not oversleep. We did manage to snooze off again if only for a little while but we had to be in nearby Chartres by 1115 for our vets appointment so could not spend too much time lazing in bed. The vets practice was located in an out of town shopping centre which at least made parking very easy. The young lady vet was very friendly and spoke quite good english. She seemed to give Annie a thorough examination and passed her fit to travel. The terms of the pet passport scheme meant that we now had to cross back over to the UK in not less than 24 hours and not more than 120 hours from the time and date stamped in the passport so thoughts turned toward booking a crossing. After the visit to the vets , I dropped Rhian off in the centre of Chatres and I drove to an aire just outside the city to park up and take a break. Annie and I then enjoyed a riverside walk back into the city where we met up with Rhian outside the truly magnificent gothic cathedral. We , and Rhian in particular have visited several Cathedrals during this tour. The structures are absolutely incredible and an amazing legacy to the craftsmen that built them so many centuries ago. Whilst waiting for Rhian to join me outside the front of the cathedral it was a little ominous but also I suppose reassuring to see a team of six heavily armed soldiers seemingly guarding the cathedral frontage as if aware of some imminent threat. When Rhian arrived, I decided to check out the cathedral interior and found it to be even more impressive and opulent than the facade which was saying something ! Annie and I left Rhian to explore the cathedral further and do some more browsing whilst I decided to make back to the van. I confess to getting a bit lost by following my usually accurate nose instead of the usually accurate google maps. At one point I ended up in a gated community with no apparent way out other than by crashing a private function. Annie and I were both tired so it had to be done. I casually opened a gate marked 'Private' and strolled through a garden , past a marquee full of diners and just when I thought I had made it , a man shouted at me , telling me I was on private land. I played the dumb english tourist card , which I do rather well, but far from admonishing me as I was expecting , the very kind french gentleman not only walked with me to unlock the gate to my freedom but also offered me some food from their BBQ, which, with hindsight I foolishly declined. Whilst awaiting Rhians call to pick her up my thoughts then turned to our Eurotunnel crossing and after speaking with my uncle Tom in Canterbury we decided on a crossing next Wednesday morning with a probable overnighter at theirs before travelling home Thursday. I had decided on an overnighter just north west of Rouen which had been recommended to us only the other day. I was to say the least not happy when we arrived to find that the aire was closed and was hosting some kind of village fete. To be fair , the municipality had laid on a temporary alternative site in a field nearby but it was heavily oversubscribed and looked as if it would turn into a quagmire with a little rain. I decided on a plan B which was a little car park aire in a small town about twenty minutes away. The few spaces available were all taken but I would not have stayed anyway, the old gut feeling thing telling me all was not well. Plan C , another short drive away outside a village was just the ticket and had services on site too. We now have three full days here in Normandy before our crossing and we look forward to exploring this region a little more during this time. Rain has also started to fall . I'm so pleased I decided not to park in the field

Bonsoir

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[yeoldontknow]

It Was The Night: 1

Author’s Note: welcome to part 1! this is hopefully going to be a short mini series that remains uncomplicated (she says, writing 3 more parts and adding to them as she queues this omg) enjoy! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: drama; historical au; romance; suspense Rating (this part): G Word Count: 2,046

I.

In the summer of 1826, the very last of my relatives surrendered mind, body, and soul to the hands of consumption.

As any typical eight year old girl, the true meanings of anguish and despair were lost on me. Often I regret, in my old age, to admit that I did not mourn the loss of my Great Aunt Thérèse. Nor did I not, as many children do, grieve out of a twisted sense of fear for my lack of parentage or even for myself. Instead, I felt a small pang of longing whenever I craved the warm arms of reassurance, or perhaps, when I fancied myself a pirate and sought a crew for my ship. I coveted, at times, those large families, filled with siblings and wild imaginations, like the other children at my school.

Her absence, I found, had commenced long before the withering of her body or the slow decay of her lungs. I remember her now less as a person and more as pieces of an ideal, images woven together throughout time to construct a memory of love, the sensation of care, the fleeting notion of safety. She appears to me now as a shadow, something hollowed, a thing I yearned for but eventually moved beyond, carrying with me instead not the soft touch of her hands but the rigidness of the posture she ingrained within me.

In the end, Aunt Thérèse became a memory of authority, a rule I was meant to follow rather than a family member to love. Instead, my sense of protection and comfort had been projected onto a tattered stuffed elephant named Claude, a birthday gift from Aunt Thérèse to love once she had become too weak to spare a fragment of emotion. Or, rather, when she decided that loving me was too strenuous, my existence a burden of charge rather than a pleasure.

Without any sort of family to love me and no kind neighbors to take me in, even as an extra hand for work, I was taken, by the state, from the fields of Berentin to a monastery in Rouen for lost and disadvantaged children. They always used the word “disadvantaged,” as though “orphan” was somehow shameful, as though it was my fault I had been so abandoned. 

I don’t believe I ever forgave dear France for dressing the term in false clothes, for attempting to force my young self into a sort of ignorance regarding the sad reality of my situation. Perhaps, even more, for attempting to gloss over the true position of my station in the new city I was meant to call home. Though in truth, I doubt I would have needed such language when there were older, more tormented children at St. Christie’s to remind me just how lost we all were.

Companions at the monastery were arduous to come by, my predilection for continued, silent observation ostracized me. My playfulness took shape in the form of imagined personas and universes, alternate worlds I felt lingered just beyond my small reach. The noise and gregarious loudness of pranks and teasing did not suit me, my version of gaming born out of compulsory solitude in golden fields. And so, suddenly surrounded by children my age, I found myself profoundly lonely rather than merely alone.

As part of our keep, it was mandatory we all sang in the choir for church  mass. We were to learn music, the traditional hymns and prayers, and were given the opportunity to master a separate instrument to broaden our musical education with papacy approved contemporary pieces. With few friends and little to entertain me beyond my daily chores, I devoted myself to my studies, quickly finding that my skills in languages and biblical translation lent themselves to the language of sight reading. It was, as to be expected, not long before I was the most advanced child in the choir, as well as in the chamber orchestra with my selected instrument, the violin.

Words escape me now, dissipating at the memory of my first touch of the ebony and tiger wood instrument. In the days of my youth, I called it fate, the current of pleasure and excitement that flowed through me as my fingers grazed over the body. Nor can I describe the thrill of longing that pressed against my heart at the sound of the bow against the strings. Instantly, I felt bonded to it, as though its voice was my own. Between us an understanding had been birthed, the music my voice, the body of wood my body - firm, unyielding, desperate to be heard and loved.

And so, by the time I was ten, I had received more solos in place of the older, more experienced girls. This, of course, was a way for one to be noticed by both the church, the public, and by children with little control over their envy. In the wake of my solos, I found my already terribly lonely childhood to be impossibly lonesome. Children teased me, threatened to shatter my instrument out of envy and jealousy. Not long after this, I took to sleeping with my instrument, terrified to wake one morning and find it gone from me, warped and broken at the hands of someone else.

My talents placed me in a bitter spotlight but they also, for reasons beyond me, caused my skills to be noticed by one Monsieur Park. I shall never understand why he chose me, why he was so profoundly adamant in his opinions, but his presence at our mass resulted in my life being changed, irrevocably.

In all my years, I seem to be unable to forget the gleaming pattern of the buttons on his waistcoat the first, and only, time he stood before me. I had given a rather whole-hearted performance of Je Chanterai that left me with clenched fists and shaking hands, eyes wet with the words of Psalm 89:1 echoing in my mind behind the lyrics on my tongue. When mass completed with its usual major chord extravagance, I shuffled, with bowed head, toward the doors of the monastery quarters when a man with strong fingers and pure white hair stopped me and Father Ezekiel in our path.

Almost immediately I sensed the conversation was not for my engagement, that much was clear by the way the stranger spoke in clipped words to Father, so instead I busied myself with the gold of his buttons. I’d never seen a man dressed in such finery, not even on the modest men who did not wear the cloth of God, and certainly not in Berentin. Mine was a humble upbringing, featuring muslin dresses and shoes of thin leather. My wealth had been given to God the moment I entered the world. Yet here was a man, draped in silks, satin tights that glistened beneath the stained glass windows, and a posture so severe I imagined him grounded to the Earth where he stood.

And the buttons, sparkling under the watchful eye of Mary, remained at my eye level as though they were made solely for me and, for the first time, I felt the slow burn of desire.

That evening it was explained to me I would be departing the next day for Le Palais Comédie Français in Paris, by far the most distinguished theatre in the country with a legacy extending well beyond my comprehension of my own bloodline. I was to join their choir, earn a working wage as a member of staff, a wage I would not be given access to until I reached an age suitable for marriage, at which time I would be given the opportunity to audition for the Opera or take my earnings as a dowry should a suitor ask for my hand in marriage.

Having spent the last year expecting to be a child of the church, having spent the last ten years being passed from adult to adult, I adamantly protested the notion, instantly felt the crippling weight of an uncertainty that had never before gripped me. In my mind, I saw myself as a transient thing, something that neither belonged nor existed within France. Forced into a somewhat nomadic existence, I had no sense of self, no sense of home, no sense of safety, and all over again I was being forced to shift my understanding of the world to meet the expectations of men far older than I. My cries proved to be futile, and, the next day, I boarded a sleek, black coach with the most incisive looking horses I had ever seen, and left to start my new life as a choirgirl popular.

Monsieur Park did not let me bring my violin, stating I would not need it. The monastery did not let me take Claude, stating there would be a child in my place who would need it more.

I sniffled as we passed through village after village, though I did not regard Monsieur Park, not directly. Allowing his domineering, stoic frame into my field of vision felt painful, thrust upon me the responsibility of questions and conversation that felt heavy, imposing, far too important for the uneasy silence that had settled in the carriage, and so I chose to watch the world as it passed. Of the trees, I asked my questions, begged their roots for answers. In that moment I envied them, their stability, their strength, their stillness. How I wished my skin would be bark, my feet claws that could bury their talons into the Earth, and proudly declare that I shall be unmoved.

It was not long before the fields and woods between villages became narrow streets, the canopy of foliage traded for a skyline dotted with domes of cathedrals. Quickly, I learned Paris is a city of distractions, bewildering and loud. We passed through market centre, slowly and pressed between homes, people, stalls, and even in the carriage the intense aroma from the fishmonger permeated the finery of the small space. Monsieur Park buried his nose in his ascot, while I and the other girls pressed ourselves to the windows. My fingers idly clutched the velvet of the curtains, clinging to their softness and their tangibility as I struggled to process all I saw before me.

Mine had been a quiet life, one filled with the silence of prayer and the cadence of hymns, entertainment held only within our music lessons and the transcription of bible verses. Never before had I been confronted with such cacophonous activity, my skin swimming with the stimulation of voices just beyond the window. All at once, I was enamoured with it. The noise of the city was difficult, yet thrilling, my heart pulled suddenly towards the chaos of anonymity and the firmness of identity. All my life, i had been told that the city was a Godless place, wracked with sin and debauchery, and little else. But, to me, the city felt vibrant, thriving, so alive that its soul pressed against the carriage in desperation to be touched.

And, here, even the women seemed strong.

It was the gold of the Opera House I saw first, perhaps because the only time I had seen such a glimmer of wealth was on Monsieur Park’s waistcoat. This, I think, was the moment he became synonymous with the opera, draped in gold and firm, just as the building itself. But those small circles were eclipsed in proportion of the gold lining the top of the Opera, gleaming in the light of the sun. Beside me, a young girl who had been weeping feel silent, awed by the sheer beauty of the architecture. Extravagance had been limited in Rouen, even in the construction of its buildings, and all at once I felt myself a heretic.

I found I coveted this life, felt a surge of pride that this was to be my home, although looking back I fear it was not the life that thrust upon me the sensation of ardor. After many years of rumination on the subject, I imagine it was the prospect of being chosen for a life, for being offered freedom and choice and chance.

It was not the life that brought me joy, but the prospect of one altogether.

[hydecurator]

Christian Narrative Painting

Those of you who took an Art History survey course undoubtedly learnt the name of Giotto. Between 1303 and 1306, he decorated the Arena Chapel in Padua, Italy with frescos that narrate the life of Christ. This artistic and architectural commission fulfilled the principal functions of religious art outlined in my previous posting. It provided a setting for the performance of the liturgy; it provided a visual education in the fundamental Christian narrative and tenants of the faith; and it was an expression of power, wealth, and status. The chapel was commissioned by Enrico Scrovegni (d.1336), a notable Paduan businessman whose wealth and status derived from money lending. Termed usury by the Church is was a tainted profession. Scrovegni sought to earn merit for his soul through this act of religious patronage as well as from the masses said for him and his family daily at the chapel’s altars. The beauty of the chapel’s decoration was as much a statement of his taste, wealth, and social status as it was a gift to God and the Virgin Mary, to whom the chapel was dedicated.

Giotto told the story of Holy Week, from Christ’s entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday to His appearance to Mary Magdalene following his resurrection on Easter Sunday, in twelve episodes. Giotto’s style was revolutionary. With simple, volumetric figures that convincingly occupied a definable space, he created dramatic tableaux that narrated the events clearly, concisely, and with great emotion.

Giotto (Italian, 1267-1337), The Last Supper, 1303-05, The Arena Chapel, Padua. Wikimedia Commons.

Two scenes mark the events liturgically commemorated on Maundy Thursday: Christ’s last supper with his disciples, and His washing of their feet. It is tradition in Britain on Maundy Thursday that the Queen distribute specially-minted maundy money, in lieu of washing feet, which her medieval forebears once piously did. The Pope still imitates Christ’s act of humility.

Giotto (Italian, 1267-1337), Christ Washing the Feet of His Disciples, 1303-05, fresco, The Arena Chapel, Padua. Wikimedia Commons.

Leonardo da Vinci (Italian, 1452-1519), The Last Supper, 1495-98, fresco, Santa Maria delle Grazie, Milan. Wikimedia Commons.

Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper (1495-98), must be one of the most famous religious paintings ever created. The painting performs several functions. Firstly, it narrates the apostles’ reaction to Christ’s announcement that one of them will betray him. With Christ seated in the middle of a long refectory table, silhouetted against an open window surmounted by a semi-circular pediment (Leonardo’s subtle introduction of a halo), it places Christ dogmatically at the center of the Eucharist. And finally, as it was painted on the walls of the monks’ dining hall at the monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie, Milan, it reminded the monks that they were Christ’s latter-day disciples. Their community meal was a meal in communion with Christ and his followers. [As a side note, The Hyde’s St. James the Less from the workshop of El Greco comes from a series depicting Christ and the twelve apostles originally commissioned for a Spanish monastic dining hall.]

Domenikos Theotokopoulos "El Greco,” (Greek, active in Italy and Spain, 1541-1614), St. James the Less, ca. 1595, oil on canvas, 34 5/8 × 30 in. The Hyde Collection, Glens Falls, New York, Gift of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.18.

The most popular defense of religious art throughout the Middle Ages and Renaissance was that written by Pope Gregory the Great, ca. 600: “What writing (scriptura) does for the literate, a picture does for the illiterate looking at it, because the ignorant see in it what they ought to do; those who do not know letters read in it.” Pictures provided the clergy with the means of teaching an illiterate congregation Biblical stories, stories of the lives of the saints, and other essential truths. It was even possible to catechize the viewer and to convey doctrine through images.

As one walks through The Hyde, there are many examples of religious narrative art. Most have been excised both from their narrative sequence and context. Take, for instance, the jewel-like piece of twelfth-century stained glass that hangs in the main stairs of Hyde House. It depicts Christ’s presentation in the Temple. We can surmise that it was part of an Infancy cycle that depicted Christ’s birth. 

Anonymous (French), Presentation of the Christ Child in the Temple, ca. 1195, stained glass ( 24 7/16 x 23 in.), The Hyde Collecction, Glens Falls, New York, Bequest of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.112. Photo credit: Michael Fredericks.

In storage, there is a second stained glass panel removed from the cathedral of Saint-Ouen, Rouen, France that depicts Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday and presumably came from a window depicting His Passion.

Anonymous (French), Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, ca. 1325, stained glass (20 1/16 x 13 5/8 in.), The Hyde Collection, Glens Falls, New York, Bequest of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.114. Photo credit: Michael Fredericks.

Narrative sequences commonly filled the predella or base of an altarpiece. They were invariably related to the life of the saint honored in the altarpiece above. The dimensions of the Annunciation (ca. 1492) panel by Sandro Botticelli (1445-1510) in the Music Room suggest that it was part of a predella, presumably from an altarpiece dedicated either to the Virgin Mary or to Christ’s infancy.

Sandro Botticelli (Italian, 1444-1510), Annunciation, ca. 1492, tempera on panel, 11 1/2 × 15 1/4 in. The Hyde Collection, Glens Falls, New York, Gift of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.10. Photo credit: Joseph Levy.

Across the room, the rectangular panel by Tintoretto depicting St. Helena Finding the True Cross is also a predella panel. The mother of the Roman emperor Constantine (272-337), St. Helena  (ca. 248-328) was famous for her discovery of the buried cross upon which Christ was crucified, and for her founding of churches in the Holy Land, particularly those of the Nativity and Ascension.

(Jacopo Robusti) Tintoretto (Italian, 1518-1594), The Discovery of the True Cross, ca. 1560-1570, oil on canvas (12 1/2 in.) The Hyde Collection, Glens Falls, New York, Gift of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.48. Photo credit: Steven Sloman.

The Dance of Salome (ca. 1480) by Matteo di Giovanni di Bartolo (1435-1495) is also a predella panel. It likely brought to a conclusion episodes from the life of St. John the Baptist.

Matteo di Giovanni di Bartolo, (Italian, ca. 1435-1495), The Dance of Salome, ca. 1480, tempera and gold leaf on wood panel (17 1/4 × 20 3/4 × 2 3/4 in.), The Hyde Collection, Glens Falls, New York, Gift of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.28.

Matteo derived the scene’s composition from Donatello’s bronze font in the Baptistry in Siena (ca. 1427). The scene provided Donatello (1386-1466) with the opportunity to flaunt his ability to create the illusion of recession through the new technique of linear perspective. He created the image of three spaces, one behind the other, each connected through an open arcade. In each he set a different event. In the far distance, John’s head is carried from his cell by the executioner; in the middle room, musicians play; and in the foreground space, a servant presents Herod with the severed head. 

Donatello (Italian, 1386-1466), Feast of Herod, 1423–1427, bronze, Battistero di San Giovanni, Siena, Italy. Photo credit: I. Sailko.  Commons.wikimedia.org

Matteo simplified the arrangement. He kept the arcaded division of spaces but removed the figures from all but the foreground scene. Rather inexplicably, he introduced across the front plane of the panel free standing columns. While they complete the architecture of the banqueting room, they disrupt the narrative, which is undoubtedly why Donatello employed artistic license and omitted them. Matteo’s servant rushes forward on bended knee in the center of the panel, but his outstretched arms are obscured by a column and the platter with the saint’s decapitated head seemingly levitates on its own. Matteo allows the rational of the architectural setting he so proudly created to disrupt the visual denouement of his narrative.

Accurate to a fault with the architectural logic of his constructed space, Matteo, probably unintentionally, recorded a fact about Renaissance interiors that we might otherwise overlook. Large halls were used for multiples purposes. At mealtimes, tables were set up and removed shortly afterwards. It is clear that Herod’s dining table is a board on trestle legs. The table in Leonardo’s Last Supper is of similar construction. Tables, benches, and chairs were collapsible as we see in these instances.

It is debatable how visible predella panels were to the congregation, as it was often kept at some distance from an altar by choirstalls and screens. The predella rested upon the top of the altar. It functioned as a stand to elevate the altarpiece’s main panel above the heads of the officiants. Candlesticks, liturgical vessels like the chalice and paten, and the bodies of the officiants would have obstructed one’s view. Predella scenes were most clearly visible to the officiants. It is interesting to note with regard to this image that the Baptist’s beheading had long been interpreted by the Church as a precursor both to Christ’s execution and the presentation of the host on a paten during the Mass. With this particular scene, the priest looked upon an antecedent to his own actions.

The most popular Biblical stories were frequently illustrated in a single scene rather than as part of a narrative sequence. The Adoration of the Magi was a very popular story throughout Europe during the Renaissance and Baroque. Artists gave free range to their imagines as th ey depicted eastern wise men in exotic clothing accompanied by strange animals and large entourages. Collectors enjoyed have such visually pleasing paintings to look at all year round. The Hyde’s example, painted by an unknown Mannerist artist in Antwerp is typical of the type commonly found in the homes of well-to-do merchants in that city.

Antwerp Mannerist, after Jan de Beer (Flemish, ca.1475-ca.1528), Adoration of the Magi, ca. 1520, oil on oak panel, 29 x 25 1/4 in. The Hyde Collection, Glens Falls, New York, Gift of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.2. 

An Old Testament story not so well know today hangs over the stairs in Hyde House. It is Paolo Veronese’s Rebecca at the Well (ca. 1570). According to the story in Genesis (24: 1-28), Abraham sent his servant to find a wife for his son Isaac. The servant asked God for a sign to indicate he had found the right woman. Rebecca gave it when the servant asked for water. In return, he gave her jewelry, which Veronese has her delightedly display on her wrist. 

Paolo Caliari Veronese (Italian, 1528-1588), Rebecca at the Well, ca. 1570, oil on canvas (28 1/8 × 31 3/4 in.) The Hyde Collection, Glens Falls, New York, Gift of Charlotte Pruyn Hyde, 1971.57. Photo credit: Steven Sloman.

This painting was not part of a narrative cycle, but rather a stand-alone image. If it graced a home rather than a church, it was likely intended to instruct a young girl or wife in the virtue of accepting patriarchal authority. For in the Renaissance, Rebecca was a role model for the good wife. She was maidenly and accepted the choice of husband made for her. Described as “very fair to look upon,” artists took full advantage of the opportunity to paint beautiful young Rebeccas, blond and bedecked in bling.

Finally, the Crucifixion was undoubtedly the most frequently painted Biblical event. I shall examine the power of that imagery in a future post.

[troop2017]

When I wrote my last post we were newly in France with the 1st set of closures put in place (i.e. non-essential shops and business closed), but with the local elections set to go ahead the following day.  We felt fairly confident that our plan of making it to a site in the South of France and sitting out any further measures, should they occur, was still achievable…

Obviously this isn’t what happened!  However, it was a couple of days before this became clear – and it was rather sudden!

So I thought I’d give you a whistle-stop summary of our whole trip in just the 1 post!  So here goes…

Days 1 & 2:  Friday 13th & Saturday 14th March 2020 (perhaps there was a clue here?)

We arrived in Dieppe aboard a pretty empty ferry after a slightly bumpy crossing, and shared the Aire with a number of other vans (mostly French), before taking a walk around Dieppe (already socially distancing ourselves) and then spending a 2nd night in the same Aire.  (I wrote a post covering this already – click on the link above)

Day 3: Sunday 15th March 2020

We made the decision to use proper sites rather than free aires ‘just in case’, thinking that we would be able to stop on a site once we were there, and also to go further than we had originally planned.  So I looked through the trusty ACSI book and found a site in Sully sur Loire, about 100 miles south of Paris, Camping le Jardin de Sully  (You’ll be able to see my review here when I’ve written it!)

For us this was a long journey being 200 miles as we normally aim for under 100 miles.  Little did we know at this point that we would be driving almost 900 miles in total in the next 5 days before we made it home…

The campsite was lovely, and pretty empty, although there was another English couple in their caravan who were heading home via the tunnel because they had medical appointments and wanted to ensure they got home for them.

The French were out and about in droves taking walks along the river, and even in the evening the youngsters were congregating in their cars in car parks as they couldn’t go to cafes and bars.  We know this as we went out for a walk in the evening once, or so we thought, everyone else had gone home!�� We were able to avoid these groups and walked for a few miles, crossing the bridge and finding the chateau (and the town Aire) and several closed bars and restaurants.  It looks like a lovely little town and we have no doubt that we will one day return to explore the area by cycle (the cycle path system is very good)

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Day 4: Monday 16th March 2020

We had been thinking of staying here for a 2nd night, but in the end decided to crack on further South.  On checking out I told the lady what we were hoping to do – in hindsight it would have been nice if she’d mentioned that President Macron was due to address the nation that evening with an important announcement.  But she didn’t, and we had contacted 2 campsites that both said they were fully open… So we headed off further South.

225 miles further south to be precise to Vielle Brioude, south of Clermont Ferrand and Issoire.  We chose to take the toll motorway this time, as we were going so far.  Then I forgot to press the button when paying to explain that we were a camping car (the rate will be changed if you do this).   In my defence I was intent on seeing if my Halifax Clarity card would work this time (as it didn’t the previous day when we used a short section of toll, and I’d had to use my debit card); and I just completely forgot…  It probably cost us about 15Euros, maybe 20…   I won’t forget again!

Just before our destination we stopped at an Intermarch to get some essentials, and top up with fuel.  The supermarket was very busy with several items unobtainable, but we managed to get everything that we needed, and set off again to find the campsite.

A couple of wrong turns and slightly unsuitable roads later we found it, Camping de la Bageasse, which looked much nicer in the photos than in reality!!

We were the only unit there (although there were a couple of chalets in use), and once we’d chosen our spot and found electricity that worked (by now our fridge had stopped working on gas), we settled down for the evening.

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In the evening the lady from reception came to see us to explain that the campsite was possibly to close in the morning after the president’s address.  Instead of waiting we spent the evening trying to book a ferry home.  We had problems with booking the DFDS ferry from Dieppe, and thought that we’d managed it, only for the site to crash on us again.  So we booked a ferry into Portsmouth on Brittany (at an extra £100).  In the morning though I had an e-mail from DFDS confirming our booking!

Thankfully Brittany Ferries were brilliant and cancelled our booking with an immediate full refund.  The receptionist also confirmed that the site was indeed closing and anybody on it being asked to leave.

Day 5: Tuesday 17th March 2020 (midday lockdown)

Approximately 425 miles to go, but 2 days to do this (our ferry was Thursday at 05.30am – changed from 6.30pm Wednesday foc by DFDS Ferries).

We chose to avoid the toll motorway this time as we had a bit of time.  But it did seem to take forever; so we ended up doing the last 30 miles or so on the toll; I remember to press the button this time and saved 9 Euros.  We were stopped once, just after midday, at a routine checkpoint on a roundabout – a show of our ferry booking and my ‘nous allons au bateau pour aller chez nous’ did the trick, and we were soon on our way with a smile and a ‘bonne route’.

We were then held up driving through a small town where we had to pull into a car park.  There were 2 other British vans in there with us.  A French lady also pulled up and started talking to me – I did pretty well, in that we sort of understood each other and she told me what had happened (sadly a little boy had run out into the road and been knocked over), but she just kept moving closer and closer to me!  In the end I had to run into the van saying my tea was getting cold!  (nb: I don’t understand why the police in France need to carry massive guns when attending a traffic incident in a small rural town though..)

I’d found a likely overnight stop in Mery sur Cher, west of Vierzon, and we were so happy when we made it there.  Absolutely perfect spot behind the village car park, but with a toilet, electricity, security lights and little individual pitches as well as the normal amenities.  The barrier had been removed meaning it was all free as well (although we would happily have paid).  I hadn’t been so happy in days!

Day 6: Wednesday 18th March

The traffic increased as we made our way further north, although eerily quiet as we drove through Orleans.  Driving past Chartres I was, again, amazed at the size of the cathedral – you can see it from miles away and I must see it in reality 1 day!

From Rouen the traffic really picked up, and once in Dieppe we managed to get a little lost as we had never approached from this direction before 😦  This time we were 1 of only 3 vans in the Aire – we think most people turned up late and waited in line at the port.

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Day 7: Thursday 19th March 2020

An early start (4.15am) to catch the 5.30am ferry.  We were pretty much at the back of the queue (see main photo – which doesn’t really show just how many motorhomes there were).

An uneventful journey home.  2 members of staff were operating the coffee machine for everybody as you got on (free), but there was no food being served.

All in all we were pretty happy to get home, although obviously absolutely gutted that all we had achieved in our week away was 2 fairly long walks and over 900 miles driving…

If things improve in the next couple of months however we will head off again, even if it’s only for a few weeks.

Stay safe everyone – and remember, this too shall pass and normal life will resume.  Maybe at that point we’ll all be a little more grateful for our normal freedoms 🙂

European Tour cut short by Coronavirus Crisis When I wrote my last post we were newly in France with the 1st set of closures put in place (i.e.

[themoneybuff-blog]

How much I spent during two weeks of travel

I like to travel. Over the past decade, I've probably made an average of two international trips per year. But you know what? Never once in that time have I tried to track how much I spend while exploring the world. Sure, I log my numbers in Quicken (as I do for everything), but I've never analyzed the cost of an individual trip. This month, I flew to Europe to hang out with my cousin Duane again. He and I enjoy traveling together. Because I was curious, I decided to be diligent about tracking my expenses for this trip. Note, however, that I didn't try to do anything different. I didn't adjust my normal behavior simply because I knew I'd be reporting to GRS readers. I did what I always do. I spent in ways that felt normal to me. I don't need a fancy hotel, for instance. Neither does Duane. We're happy with cheap, simple lodging. And because most of the time we don't book rooms in advance, we don't hunt for the best deal. When we decide to stop for the night, we look for a place to stay. When we find something reasonable ($50 per person per night is our target) and available, we book it. We don't continue to search. We'd rather use our time to explore our surroundings. On the other hand, we're both willing to splurge on food from time to time. Our rooms aren't important to us, but what we eat is. Similarly, we'll pay to see special sites, but mostly we're happy visiting free museums and/or walking around a city. We don't pay much for tours, etc. So, how much did I spend for two weeks in Europe? Let's find out!

Chateau Chenonceau in France's Loire Valley Booking Flights This trip was sort of spontaneous. Remember, Duane has throat cancer. We expected our trip in December to be the last adventure we had together. But his health has held steady and his doctor is making hopeful statements that he might be around for Christmas! so we decided to make another trip. Generally, I try to book flights several months in advance. I feel like I find cheaper options that way. This time, though, I didn't book my flight until April 19th, less than a month before our trip. Also, I'm fussy about flights. It's not that I need to sit in business class I'm perfectly happy in coach but I don't like layovers. I'm willing to pay extra for a direct flight. Unfortunately, when I searched for flights from Portland to Paris, I couldn't find any direct flights. I could, however, find a non-stop to London. I like London. It's a pleasant city. What if, I thought, I flew to London a few days early and used that time to get some work done? Then I could take the Chunnel train across to Paris to meet Duane when he arrives. So, I booked a flight to London. It cost me $996.63 and each leg took roughly 10.5 hours. (I don't know how much Duane paid for his plane ticket. I think it was around $600, but he had to fly from Portland to Las Vegas to Los Angeles to Paris and it took him almost 24 hours. Yuck. I'm happy to pay a premium to avoid crap like that.) I made a small mistake when booking my ticket. In the past, I've always traveled economy. That's what I thought I was doing this time. Nope. Apparently, there's a new(-ish) airfare class called basic economy. This is a massive screw you from the airlines to their customers. It's a little bit cheaper, but you're not allowed to make any changes to your ticket once you've booked. No option to upgrade. Plus, you board dead last. And you can't choose your seat. And if you check a bag as I did for my return flight it costs a ton. Edinburgh I flew into London with no real plan for the first few days. Brandon (the Mad Fientist) had invited me to visit him and his wife in Edinburgh, Scotland, but I felt like I oughtn't do it. I felt like I should stay in London and work. When I landed, though, I changed my mind. Is it still okay if I come up to see you? I asked. Sure! Brandon said. So, I hopped on Trainline (an awesome app that Duane and I used to buy train tickets during our December trip) and booked a ticket from London to Edinburgh. Cost: $101.92. While waiting for my train at Kings Cross station (and watching the tourist throngs at Platform 9-1/2), I withdrew 200 for spending money, which is about $252.31. I used this cash to buy things like coffee and snacks and souvenirs. I brought home 141.15, which means I spent 58.85 (or about $74.24) cash while in the U.K. I had a great time hanging out with Brandon and Jill. They showed me everyday life in Edinburgh, one of my favorite cities. They put me up in their spare room, took me to pubs, and we wandered together through the streets and the parks. While there, I spent: $45.76 at Brewdog for beer and snacks. (Did you know that low-alcohol beer like 0.5% to 2.0% is a thing in the U.K.? I wish it was a thing here in the U.S. I'd buy it.)$17.74 at Whiski Bar for an hour of music and Scotch.$9.91 at Cairngorm Coffee, where Brandon and I spent a morning working.$33.78 at Mother India restaurant, where the three of us had a fine meal of Indian tapas. In all, I spent a total of $283.35 during my three nights in Scotland.

Picnic in the Meadows with the Mad Fientist and friends Paris When it came time to meet Duane in Paris, I was faced with a choice. Originally, I had intended to take the train from London to Paris. But when I looked at times and prices to get from Edinburgh to Gare du Nord, I didn't like what I saw. The trip would take about 12.5 hours and the total cost would be over $350. Yikes! You should book a flight on EasyJet, Brandon suggested. I've never used EasyJet, but I looked into it. For $199.45, I could fly from Edinburgh to Charles de Gaulle airport (CDG) in Paris in less than two hours. I booked a ticket. Then, using Chase Ultimate Rewards points, I booked one night at the Hotel ibis, which is attached to CDG terminal 3. My cost: 7718 Chase points. In Paris, I paid 17.99 for a one-day train pass, which gave me unlimited access to all Metro and RER routes. (The metro lines are the subway and local trains. The RER routes are the commuter trains that run deeper into the suburbs, going places like Versailles and the airport.) I also withdrew 200 in cash (about $222.50) to use for incidental expenses, such as snacks and souvenirs. While I waited for Duane's flight to arrive, I visited Notre Dame to see what it looked like after the fire. (I was startled to note that when the wind was right, you could smell the ashes!) I bought an extra travel shirt. And I met my friend Amy for champagne and charcuterie. (Amy lives in Houston but happened to be in Paris for work.)

Amy, J.D., and random amused French woman At around 18:00, I returned to the airport to pick up our rental car. I was worried this might not go smoothly, but I was wrong. Estelle, the young woman at the Avis counter, was amazing. It didn't take long for her to get met set up with a Peugot 208. Plus, she was kind enough to phone ahead to our hotel to let them know we'd be a little late. I booked the car with British Airways points. My cost: 16,600 Avios a bargain! As I was finishing at the rental car, Duane cleared immigration. Perfect timing! We hopped in our little car, braved Paris traffic and made our way to the garden spot of Giverny. In Giverny, we checked into our B&B (booked with 8154 Chase points), then hurried to the only restaurant in town that was still open. Duane spent 51.00 on our dinner of duck breast and red wine. During two nights in and around Paris, I spent $199.45, 17.99, 8154 Chase points, and 16,600 Avios (BA points). Duane spent 51.00. Normandy The next morning, Duane and I started our driving tour of northwest France. I'd been worried that all French drivers would be like the ones in Paris. They weren't. On the country roads, people were much more mellow. Thank goodness. (I drive like an old man. I hate speeding and tailgating.) First, we toured Rouen, the town where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. We saw our first cathedral of the trip, visited the (free) Museum of Fine Arts, and browsed the weekly market. Duane and I both enjoy markets. We're happy to pass time looking at fruits and vegetables and meat and fish. For real. Plus, this gave us a chance to buy cheap food for the road. I picked up a paper sack filled with twenty baby chorizo sausages, for instance, and it cost only 5. (I think there were more than 20 sausages in the bag too. That thing lasted me almost the entire trip, and I was eating several sausages per day.) In the afternoon, we drove to Honfleur with no plans about where to stay. The first hotel we visited was perfect: cheap and efficient. I paid 100.00 to book a room. Duane spent 54.00 on our dinner at a local pub. On our second day, we meandered along the coast. We stopped to taste calvados (an apple brandy made in Normandy), nibbled goat cheese in Deauville, and stopped to visit the Grand Hotel in Cabourg, the site of Proust's famous memory-inducing madeleine.

Buying goat cheese and bacon in Deauville In the late afternoon, we reached Bayeux. Our first hotel choice was booked, but the second had two cheap rooms available. We paid 49.00 each. For dinner, we chose an expensive restaurant (I can't remember why) that cost Duane 94.00. After dinner, we wandered around town. It was a magical evening in mid-spring. We happened to hit the city during its festival of lights, and when we stopped by the cathedral, an American choir was performing a concert. We stopped in to listen. In the morning, we visited the Bayeux Tapestry, a 70-meter long work of art that's nearly 1000 years old. In dozens of scenes, it depicts the Norman conquest of England. People think I'm joking when I say this, but I'm not: This tapestry is like a very early comic book. (And, in fact, the drawings used to plan tapestries like this are referred to as cartoons. No joke.) This visit cost me 19.00.

Seriously, the Bayeux Tapestry is like a primitive comic book While in Bayeux, we visited Omaha Beach and the nearby American Military Cemetery. After that, we drove backroads to reach Mont-Saint-Michel, one of the most famous tourist sites in all of France (and formerly one of the top three destinations for Christian pilgrims). This island used to be isolated from the mainland by ocean tides. Now there's a causeway that leads to it, but even that sometimes floods over (as it did during our stay). I used 14,538 Chase points to book a room on the island, and I'm glad we did. During the day, the place is packed. After 18:00, the crowd disperses and things become peaceful. It's fun to wander the ramparts with nobody to disturb you. Here, Duane paid 89.00 for dinner. During our time in Normandy, I spent a total of 168.00 and 14,538 Chase points. Duane spent 286.00.

Mont-Saint-Michel at high tide Brittany The next morning, after a quick tour of the Mont-Saint-Michel abbey, Duane and I packed up to drive to Brittany. (The island actually sits on the border between the two regions.) As we entered Brittany, we got our first taste of fuel prices in France. To put 38 liters (about 10 gallons) in the Peugot 208, I paid 60.00. Holy cats! That's nearly $7 per gallon, or about twice what we pay here in the States. In the early afternoon, we stopped for a couple of hours in the walled city of Dinan, which is built on a hillside overlooking the river Rance.

Looking from the ramparts of Dinan to the valley below By early evening, we'd reached Carnac on the Atlantic coast. Carnac is famous for its standing stones, a collection of 3000+ domens and menhirs in the region. I love sites like this (and Avebury and Stonehenge in England), so was pleased to visit. (If you've ever read any Asterix comics, you're familiar with the stones of Carnac.) The first hotel we visited had a cheap room available (66.00), so we booked it. Our dinner next door wasan adventure. Brittany, as you may know, is the source of the crepe. It's also the source of the galette (a savory crepe). Crepes and galettes everywhere in this region. Because we like to try local food when we travel, Duane and I decided to eat galettes for our evening meal. You should get the andouille, the restaurant owner told us, smiling. So we did. Well. It turns out that American andouille is not the same as French andouille. French andouille is simply sliced pig intestine that has (ostensibly) been cleaned very, very well. This tastes like ass, Duane said as he ate his galette. He couldn't finish. I did finish, but was a little mortified when I looked up the ingredients later. Our host seemed to take pity on us for being such good sports. When I ordered a glass of calvados after the meal, he gave me a huge pour. I paid 46.00 for our dinner of pig-gut pancakes. During our 24 hours in Brittany, I spent a total of 172.00. Duane spent nothing. The Loire Valley After a quick breakfast of coffee and crepes (12.00 paid by Duane), we made our way to Angers, former capital of the Anjou region. (Angers is the source of both anjou pears and Cointreau liqueur.) Here, we visited our first chateau. Did you know that a chateau is a castle? I didn't not until this trip. Anyhow, the Chateau d'Angers is home to the amazing Apocalypse Tapestry, a 600-year-old visual retelling of the apocalypse story from the Bible's Book of Revelation. Like the Bayeux Tapestry, it reminds me of a massive comic book made from cloth. It cost us 12.00 each to see the chateau and its art. (Duane paid this.)

The Apocalypse Tapestry at Chateau d'Angers In the evening, we experienced our big splurge of the trip. Based on a GRS reader recommendation, I had booked a night for us at the Royal Abbey of Our Lady of Fontevraud, a former monastery founded in 1101. Although many old buildings remain (and guests are free to explore them), the site is no longer an abbey. It's a fancy upscale hotel and a Michelin-star restaurant. Going in, I'd told Duane to ignore the costs for our night at Fontevraud. I'm paying for the hotel and dinner, and it's not part of our trip accounting. Don't try to balance it out, I said. I'm making a deliberate decision to splurge. Our room at the abbey cost us 172.00. Our meal cost 239.00. As I mentioned earlier this week, the food was fine and I'm glad I experienced it. But I wouldn't do it again. In the morning, we traveled country roads to visit another chateau: Chenonceau. We each paid 19.00 to tour the grounds of this beautiful old estate. In the afternoon, we moved to nearby Amboise, where Duane paid 73.00 to book a hotel. We hiked up the hillside, then tasted wine in a cave. We ate dinner at the tiny Restaurant L'Ilot, where the woman waiting tables chided us for not making a reservation then was playfully grouchy the rest of the evening. This meal cost Duane 94.00 because he insisted we order a bottle of wine. The next day, we stopped briefly in Blois to visit the church of St Nicolas. This place is barely mentioned in the guidebooks, but we loved it. During World War II, most of its stained-glass windows were destroyed. They've been replaced by modern windows with modern glass. The results are amazing. When light shines through them, color spreads throughout the church.

The light show from the stained glass at St Nicolas Church We next stopped in Chartres to visit its famous cathedral, which is especially known for its stained-glass windows. And while yes, there are many of them (176!) and they're impressive, I liked the ones in Blois better. During our time in the Loire Valley, I spent a total of 430.00, most of it for my splurge at the abbey. Duane spent 281.00. (He filled the car with gas at one point.) Wrapping Things Up After touring the Chartres cathedral, we didn't know what to do. We found ourselves on the southwest side of Paris, but wanting to reach the northeast corner by the following evening. We couldn't make up our minds, so I simply drove east. Eventually, we reached Fontainebleau, which we decided might be fun to visit. But the town was packed and we were tired. Instead, we drove on until we found a budget hotel (aptly named Budget Hotel), where Duane paid 86.00 for a room. For dinner, we each paid cash at a French fast-food chain. The next morning, we returned our rental car. I was sad to say good-bye to the Peugot 208, which had served us well. Before we turned it in, Duane paid 32.00 to top off the fuel tank. For logistics purposes, I'd used 11,182 Chase points to book us separate rooms at the ibis Hotel once again. (It's handy having this place next to the airport train station.) We each paid 17.99 for one-day train tickets, then we rode into Paris. With several hours to kill, we decided to walk the city. But we didn't walk the downtown tourist core. We've both done that before. Instead, we chose the Coule verte Ren-Dumont, an elevated greenway akin to New York's Highline. From there, we made our way along the canal. This 5k stroll made for great people-watching. Here, we said our good-byes. Duane wandered off to spend time on his own. I met up with my pal Matt Kepnes (a.k.a. Nomadic Matt) for a couple of beers. In the morning, I took an early flight back to London (booked with 4500 Avios and $27.50), then boarded my Delta flight back to Portland. On this final day, I spent a total of $47.48, 4500 Avios, and 11,182 Chase points. (At some point, I withdrew another 200.00 in spending money. I returned home with 102.66, which means I spent 97.34 of that or about $108.41.) Duane spent 86.00 and $19.98. The Bottom Line After all of that, how much did I spend on this trip? Let's crunch the numbers. For two weeks (three nights in Scotland and ten in France), I spent: $996.63 for my flights from and to the U.S.$573.65637.98 (about $710.63)19,336 Chase points21,100 Avios (British Airways points) Converting all of my expenses to dollars, my total cost was $2277.91 plus rewards points. That's an average of $175.22 per night. (I spent $1284.28 plus points if you ignore the flight, for an average of $98.79 per night.) If I hadn't splurged 411.00 for the abbey experience (and instead paid 100 for dinner and lodging that night), my costs would have been 311.00 less. During our nine nights together in France, Duane spent a total of 670.99 (about $747.40) plus whatever his flights cost him (about $600, I think). That's $83.04 per night ($149.71 with his flights). Together, not counting flights, we spent the equivalent of $2031.68 and points for this vacation. Because I've never tracked my trip spending before, I have no frame of reference for our costs. I feel like we did a good job of using money wisely spending only on things that brought us value but who knows? I'm sure plenty of people would spend much less on a trip like this. That would probably require advance planning, though, and half the fun for us is making this up as we go. Here's the thing, though. How much have I been spending simply to live here at home? About $5000 per month, right? (And I'm aiming to get that down to $4000 per month.) When you compare the cost of travel to the cost of simply maintaining my lifestyle here in the U.S., it's shockingly affordable. Cheaper than living in Portland, even. That's food for thought. One final note: In Edinburgh, Brandon showed me how to use Apple Pay. Believe it or not, I'd never done this before. Now, though, I'm hooked. Even back here in Portland, I'm using my phone to pay for things, not my actual credit card. I think this is awesome. Duane is less convinced. But that's a subject for a future blog post

Author: J.D. Roth In 2006, J.D. founded Get Rich Slowly to document his quest to get out of debt. Over time, he learned how to save and how to invest. Today, he's managed to reach early retirement! He wants to help you master your money and your life. No scams. No gimmicks. Just smart money advice to help you reach your goals. https://www.getrichslowly.org/travel-spending/

[butyoutellmeeverytime]

An Update

I’m mostly posting this because I’m bored AF at work and I know no one will read this but I’m mostly just recording it for myself OKAY here we go:

Since September, when I started my job from hell, I’ve been planning a solo trip to Paris. I’d already been thinking about going ever since I knew I’d be taking a gap year, but once I had started my job and knew how much money I was going to make, I decided I was going to make it happen, because I know I will never have an opportunity like this again.

The first thing I did was decide when to go and book an Airbnb. I knew I wanted to do Airbnb because 1) no way am I paying for a hotel in Paris and 2) I was hesitant to do a hostel if I was traveling alone. I know hostels are actually safer than they sound, but I just wanted peace of mind and to know that both I and my stuff were 100% safe. Plus, a single room in an Airbnb really isn’t bad. I decided I would travel in the summer, mostly because there’s no way I’d get enough vacation time to go while I was still in this job, so I would have to go after I quit. Since summer is the busiest tourist time, I wanted to get a good Airbnb booked before the good ones were gone or the prices had gone up. So, as soon as I got my first paycheck, I booked my room in an apartment in the famous Montmartre neighborhood. Nothing quite like seeing a “Congratulations, you’re going to Paris!” message on your screen.

Since then, I’ve been slowly planning out what I’d like to do while I’m there. The OG goal was to see as much art as possible, and in particular, see as much Gothic architecture as possible. The whole point of me going (aside from just having a fab time) was to physically expose myself to the art I wanted to study in graduate school. This meant having to narrow down how many day trips I was willing to take and pay for, as well as how much time in actual Paris I was willing to sacrifice. I will be in France for two weeks, and I finally landed on going to five towns outside of Paris that have Gothic cathedrals: Chartres (which I wrote a research paper on and is my #1 cathedral destination), Reims, Beauvais, Amiens, and Rouen. I will also of course be visiting the Gothic architecture in and around Paris, with Notre Dame, Saint-Denis (the OG Gothic cathedral), and the Sainte-Chapelle. 

With the Gothic art covered, I made a list of all the things in Paris itself I want to do/see. I won’t list everything I’m planning on, but the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre (I’m giving myself 3 days here, because duh), the Musée d’Orsay, Versailles, the Sacre Couer, the Palais Garnier, and the Paris Catacombs give you a general idea. I’ll also be visiting several bookshops, because obviously. 

I’ve done a ton of research on the best way to pay for everything. I’ll be getting a Paris Museum Pass, which gets you into all the museums and several of the monuments (plus you get to bypass the lines, which is a huge plus in the summer). I’ll also get a metro pass, because it also covers some of the trains I’ll be taking (to/from the airport, Versailles, etc.) along with the metro itself. 

It turns out planning a big trip like this is p complicated. Initially I just made a huge jumbo list of everything I wanted to do. It took a long time for me to actually decide when I would do everything. I haven’t mapped out every hour of every day, because 1) that’s no fun and 2) I need to allow myself wiggle room. I’m trying very, very had not to pack too much in. I know I’m going to feel the need to see as many things as I possibly can, but that makes for a very hurried, stressful, and exhausting trip, and that just isn’t what I want this to be. I do want to make the most of my time there, but I also want to enjoy it and not be on the verge of falling asleep/collapsing the whole time. As a result I’ve intentionally scheduled downtime, time to just “explore”, because one of the big charms of Paris is how much there is to discover. It’s a gorgeous city, and I want time to just look around and go into the little shops, rather than having to rush through everything and skip those little things. I want time to sit in a park with a baguette and read a book and people watch for a few hours, you know?

Another thing I thought about early on was plane tickets. At first, I wanted to book my flights asap, assuming that the sooner I bought them the cheaper they’d be. But apparently, international flights are the cheapest about 50 days before the flight. So, as anxious as it’s making me to still not have my flights booked, I’m waiting until April to buy my tickets. I’m also signed up for cheap flight alerts, and the prices haven’t gone up from September to now, which is a good sign. The only worry now is that I won’t get a good seat, but I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I also, rather annoyingly, need to get a new passport. I got one when I was in high school because I was going to the Dominican Republic for a mission trip (lol tbt to my jesus days), but since I was under 16 it didn’t last the full 10 years. I’ve been waiting to get a new one because in November and December I was spending a lot of money on Anniversary/Christmas presents, along with all those goddamn grad school application fees. But, I filled out a new passport application this morning and will call tomorrow to schedule an in-person appointment (which I can do during my lunch break, hoorah). 

I’ve also just been doing a shit-ton of Pinterest research about traveling - traveling abroad, traveling alone, traveling alone as a woman, and traveling to Paris/France. Y’all, Pinterest is a little ridiculous, but it’s also informative AF depending on what you’re looking for. Bless all you 20-something female bloggers. 

One of the best things I discovered from said bloggers was the MyMaps feature from Google Maps. A major problem I was having was visualizing all the things I want to do, particularly in regards to location. I had tried a few times to print out a map of Paris and mark all the places, but there are simply too many things I want to do for them to all fit, unless I print out a giant map (if I include all the restaurants and shops I’m interested in). MyMaps allows you to create your own map, where you can mark all of your places on one map with a little marker, and when you click on it a description pops up. You can add pictures to the description, and I also added hours of operation, ticket/pricing info, and any other relevant tips I’ve found. For the outside-Paris locations, I also wrote down train directions. Plus, you can change the icon and color of each location, which makes it easy for me to quickly identify restaurants, bakeries, cafes, shops, monuments, etc. This will make it really easy for me to look at my map each night and think about where I want to eat/what shops I want to visit the next day. I was so happy when I discovered this, and I literally spent hours putting it together. 

Even if I don’t end up going to every single place I’ve mapped out, it will be helpful to have an organized list of options to choose from. 

I also decided to make a spreadsheet of all my expenses for the trip, since I’m literally paying for everything myself (hooray adulting). I originally had an estimate of about how much everything would cost, but after specifically noting all of it I have a much closer guess. I still can’t be 100% accurate - I still haven’t bought my plane tickets, and food/souvenirs will be different every day - but I’m much closer to an accurate guess. I’m also indicating whether or not each expense has been paid for or not. I am definitely saving money by using the museum pass and the metro pass, so go me. 

Finally, because I truly am an organization freak, I made a list of every single thing I’ll need to do before going - from big things like “book flights” to small things like “buy a power adaptor”. I realized there are a lot of things I’ll have to do that I can’t/shouldn’t do quite yet, so I just want to make sure I know exactly what needs to be done. I don’t want to be on the plane and realize I didn’t do something important. I’m also just really fucking excited about this trip, and I making lists and organizing everything having to do with it makes me happy. It’s taken all my willpower not to start making a packing list - chill dude, your trip is still 4 months away.

As I do more organizing/planning I may post about it here; mostly for myself - both to keep busy at work and to just record this process for myself. But if any of my like 3 followers finds this interesting then woohoo, two birds one stone.

Anyway, bless anyone who was interested enough to read this, kudos for you. I’m going in 118 days and I’m so bloody pumped.

[wikitopx]

From Great Britain, across the English Channel, lies Normandy, France’s northwest region.

If you’re familiar with your English and French history, this location proved to be vital during the age of conquest, when the Dukes of Normandy constantly crossed the channel in order to crown themselves as rulers of England. In more recent history, Normandy’s location came in handy once again for the Allied D-Day operations during the World War II.

But enough history (there’s more of that later), what’s with Normandy? A lot! Normandy has beaches, romantic towns and communes (both inland and coastal), plenty of UNESCO World Heritage sites, great seafood and cheese, and a whole lot of art and music in between. If you’re unsure of where to begin, we picked the top things to do in Normandy, France so scroll down to find out more.

1. Wander in Claude Monet’s House and Gardens

It’s no secret that France has birthed some of the art world’s most revered names. That includes impressionist master Claude Monet. Lovers of his work (and even those who are just mildly curious) are welcome to visit Claude Monet’s House and Gardens in Giverny, northwest of Paris. At this attraction, you’ll get the chance to visit many integral spots, such as his workshop, where he finished Water Lilies. There is also the Japanese-style footbridge in his garden– the star of his other painting, so aptly named The Japanese Footbridge.

For the complete Monet experience, hop on this Viator tour, then make your way to the Museum of Impressionism, where you can also get acquainted with other famous Impressionists.

2. Explore Mont Saint-Michel

The stuff of legends and fairy tales, the island commune of Mont Saint-Michel is unlike any other place in the world. Before, this destination was disconnected from the rest of mainland France by the tide. You can only walk from the mainland to Mont Saint-Michel when the tide is low. Today, thanks to engineering, there’s now a bridge connecting Mont Saint-Michel, making it even more accessible. On a year-round basis, this hamlet only has a total of 60 residents, but it overflows with tourists who are out there to check out the abbey and its winding cobblestone streets. A UNESCO World Heritage site truly worth visiting.

3. Tour the famous Palais Benedictine

When in Normandy, one of the must-visit destinations to include on your list is Palais Benedictine, (also called the Benedictine Palace). Palais Benedictine was once shrouded in mystery. As legends have it, it was the site of a miracle. In the 16th century, a Benedictine monk by the name of Dom Bernardo Vincelli concocted an elixir, which was produced until the French Revolution. The recipe for the elixir was lost until Alexander Le Grand, a wine trader, chanced upon the liqueur’s recipe. If he hadn’t found it, Palais Benedictine wouldn’t still be producing this famed elixir. For the ultimate experience, take an in-depth look at the old distillery, learn more about the history of this Benedictine elixir at the museum, and finally, sample the top-secret blend.

4. Be amazed by nature's beauty at Étretat Cliffs

The small town of Étretat in Normandy’s north coast is most famous for a natural formation; the cliffs of Étretat. Made of chalk, the cliffs of Étretat cut quite an image in the landscape, its white color shining bright against the blues of the English Channel and the carpet of green that covers some parts of the landscape. There are four highlights to the cliffs: the three arches, two of which you can see from various points in the Étretat coast. The biggest, Manneporte, is best seen from the water. Another formation, the L'Aiguille or the needle, juts out from the water and rises to about 90 meters (or 230 feet).

5. Visit Caen Memorial Museum

Caen Memorial Museum was built to serve as a reminder of the true costs of war, whether you’re on the good or the bad side. The museum takes visitors down memory lane, from old European wars and into the world stage. Check out the life-sized dioramas on the Cold War exhibit, the Second World War exhibit, and the recreation of General Richter’s headquarters (part of the D-Day landings exhibit). Outside, there’s the Souvenir Gardens, divided into three (the American, the British, and the Canadian gardens) as a memorial to Resistance fighters and Allied troops who fell in Normandy.

6. Explore Tatihou Island

Tatihou Island off the coast of Normandy in the Cotentin Peninsula is a nice, quiet retreat from the usual hustle and bustle of Normandy’s communes. It’s largely uninhabited, but during the peak season, it thrives with activity. Depending on the time you visit, it can be overrun with tourists or it can be empty, save for you and your group. Tatihou Island is a tidal land- most tours and trips come through amphibian craft. During the low tide, you can check out the oyster beds. If you’re an avid birder, Tatihou Island is a jackpot, with its large population of coastal birds and its ornithological museum. There’s a shipbuilding workshop which you can check out, as well as a botanical garden. There’s also the remains of a bastion fort.

7. Pose for photographs at Honfleur

Still not over your French Impressionist experience? Make your way to Honfleur in northern Normandy and see the sights and townscape that inspired Claude Monet, Eugene Boudin, Gustave Corbet, and Johan Jongkind, who all started the Honfleur school. One minute here and you’ll understand why these painters were so taken by this coastal commune.

Honfleur has several sights to see. There’s Sainte-Catherine Church, which is the largest wooden church in the country. Port d'Honfleur is like the French version of Amsterdam. Erik Satie, a famous French pianist and composer, lived in Honfleur- you can visit his houses while you’re on a walking tour. From the Satie houses, you can make your way to Naturoscape, a greenhouse filled with butterflies.

8. Admire the Norman Gothic architecture of Notre-Dame de Rouen

Notre-Dame de Paris may be more famous, but no other gothic cathedral can come close to the Notre-Dame de Rouen. Built in 1603 and only completed in 1880, this two-towered, two-spired Gothic masterpiece is one of Normandy’s most storied landmarks. The sheer intricacy of its facade’s design alone will leave anyone breathless. Notre-Dame de Rouen also houses the religious relic of Saint Romain, who once served as the bishop of Rouen, as well as the tombs of various Dukes of Normandy. The most notable tomb here belongs to the heart of Richard the Lionheart, the legendary Duke of Normandy who went on to become King of England until his death. Did we mention that Notre-Dame de Rouen is also considered the tallest cathedral in France?

9. Offer prayers at Saint Catherine's Catholic Church

Built in the second half of the 15th century, Saint Catherine’s Catholic Church stands in place of a stone church that was devastated during the Hundred Years War. This time around, the replacement church was made with timber- Saint Catherine’s, the largest of its kind in France. The principal raw material that locals used to construct Saint Catherine’s Catholic Church was wood from the nearby Touques forest. They then used what they know from shipbuilding, resulting in Saint Catherine’s Catholic Church’s unique architecture.

10. Appreciate the intricate Bayeux Tapestry

From Honfleur, travel to nearby Bayeux for a chance to see the famous and historic Bayeux Tapestry with your very own eyes. An impressive embroidered wool cloth that measures 50 centimeters (20 inches) in height and 70 meters (230 feet) in length, the Bayeux Tapestry tells the story of the Conquest of England in 1066. Prominent characters of the Bayeux Tapestry include William the Conqueror, Odo de Conteville, Bishop of Bayeux, and Edward the Confessor, who ruled England at the time of the conquest. There are 623 more characters embroidered in the Bayeux Tapestry, along with 37 buildings, and a whole lot of horses. You can find the Bayeux Tapestry at Bayeux Museum.

Read also: Top 10 things to do in Vannes, France

From : https://wikitopx.com/travel/top-10-things-to-do-in-normandy-france-708361.html

[andrewdburton]

How much I spent during two weeks of travel

I like to travel. Over the past decade, I've probably made an average of two international trips per year. But you know what? Never once in that time have I tried to track how much I spend while exploring the world. Sure, I log my numbers in Quicken (as I do for everything), but I've never analyzed the cost of an individual trip.

This month, I flew to Europe to hang out with my cousin Duane again. He and I enjoy traveling together. Because I was curious, I decided to be diligent about tracking my expenses for this trip.

Note, however, that I didn't try to do anything different. I didn't adjust my normal behavior simply because I knew I'd be reporting to GRS readers. I did what I always do. I spent in ways that felt normal to me.

I don't need a fancy hotel, for instance. Neither does Duane. We're happy with cheap, simple lodging. And because most of the time we don't book rooms in advance, we don't hunt for the best deal. When we decide to stop for the night, we look for a place to stay. When we find something reasonable ($50 per person per night is our target) and available, we book it. We don't continue to search. We'd rather use our time to explore our surroundings.

On the other hand, we're both willing to splurge on food from time to time. Our rooms aren't important to us, but what we eat is.

Similarly, we'll pay to see special sites, but mostly we're happy visiting free museums and/or walking around a city. We don't pay much for tours, etc.

So, how much did I spend for two weeks in Europe? Let's find out!

Chateau Chenonceau in France's Loire Valley

Booking Flights

This trip was sort of spontaneous. Remember, Duane has throat cancer. We expected our trip in December to be the last adventure we had together. But his health has held steady — and his doctor is making hopeful statements that he might be around for Christmas! — so we decided to make another trip.

Generally, I try to book flights several months in advance. I feel like I find cheaper options that way. This time, though, I didn't book my flight until April 19th, less than a month before our trip.

Also, I'm fussy about flights. It's not that I need to sit in business class — I'm perfectly happy in coach — but I don't like layovers. I'm willing to pay extra for a direct flight.

Unfortunately, when I searched for flights from Portland to Paris, I couldn't find any direct flights. I could, however, find a non-stop to London. I like London. It's a pleasant city. “What if,” I thought, “I flew to London a few days early and used that time to get some work done? Then I could take the Chunnel train across to Paris to meet Duane when he arrives.”

So, I booked a flight to London. It cost me $996.63 and each leg took roughly 10.5 hours.

(I don't know how much Duane paid for his plane ticket. I think it was around $600, but he had to fly from Portland to Las Vegas to Los Angeles to Paris and it took him almost 24 hours. Yuck. I'm happy to pay a premium to avoid crap like that.)

I made a small mistake when booking my ticket. In the past, I've always traveled economy. That's what I thought I was doing this time. Nope. Apparently, there's a new(-ish) airfare class called “basic economy”. This is a massive “screw you” from the airlines to their customers. It's a little bit cheaper, but you're not allowed to make any changes to your ticket once you've booked. No option to upgrade. Plus, you board dead last. And you can't choose your seat. And if you check a bag — as I did for my return flight — it costs a ton.

Edinburgh

I flew into London with no real plan for the first few days. Brandon (the Mad Fientist) had invited me to visit him and his wife in Edinburgh, Scotland, but I felt like I oughtn't do it. I felt like I should stay in London and work.

When I landed, though, I changed my mind. “Is it still okay if I come up to see you?” I asked. “Sure!” Brandon said. So, I hopped on Trainline (an awesome app that Duane and I used to buy train tickets during our December trip) and booked a ticket from London to Edinburgh. Cost: $101.92.

While waiting for my train at Kings Cross station (and watching the tourist throngs at Platform 9-1/2), I withdrew £200 for spending money, which is about $252.31. I used this cash to buy things like coffee and snacks and souvenirs. I brought home £141.15, which means I spent £58.85 (or about $74.24) cash while in the U.K.

I had a great time hanging out with Brandon and Jill. They showed me everyday life in Edinburgh, one of my favorite cities. They put me up in their spare room, took me to pubs, and we wandered together through the streets and the parks.

While there, I spent:

$45.76 at Brewdog for beer and snacks. (Did you know that low-alcohol beer — like 0.5% to 2.0% — is a thing in the U.K.? I wish it was a thing here in the U.S. I'd buy it.)

$17.74 at Whiski Bar for an hour of music and Scotch.

$9.91 at Cairngorm Coffee, where Brandon and I spent a morning working.

$33.78 at Mother India restaurant, where the three of us had a fine meal of “Indian tapas”.

In all, I spent a total of $283.35 during my three nights in Scotland.

Picnic in the Meadows with the Mad Fientist and friends

Paris

When it came time to meet Duane in Paris, I was faced with a choice. Originally, I had intended to take the train from London to Paris. But when I looked at times and prices to get from Edinburgh to Gare du Nord, I didn't like what I saw. The trip would take about 12.5 hours and the total cost would be over $350. Yikes!

“You should book a flight on EasyJet,” Brandon suggested. I've never used EasyJet, but I looked into it. For $199.45, I could fly from Edinburgh to Charles de Gaulle airport (CDG) in Paris — in less than two hours. I booked a ticket. Then, using Chase Ultimate Rewards points, I booked one night at the Hotel ibis, which is attached to CDG terminal 3. My cost: 7718 Chase points.

In Paris, I paid €17.99 for a one-day train pass, which gave me unlimited access to all Metro and RER routes. (The metro lines are the subway and local trains. The RER routes are the commuter trains that run deeper into the suburbs, going places like Versailles and the airport.) I also withdrew €200 in cash (about $222.50) to use for incidental expenses, such as snacks and souvenirs.

While I waited for Duane's flight to arrive, I visited Notre Dame to see what it looked like after the fire. (I was startled to note that when the wind was right, you could smell the ashes!) I bought an extra travel shirt. And I met my friend Amy for champagne and charcuterie. (Amy lives in Houston but happened to be in Paris for work.)

Amy, J.D., and random amused French woman

At around 18:00, I returned to the airport to pick up our rental car. I was worried this might not go smoothly, but I was wrong. Estelle, the young woman at the Avis counter, was amazing. It didn't take long for her to get met set up with a Peugot 208. Plus, she was kind enough to phone ahead to our hotel to let them know we'd be a little late. I booked the car with British Airways points. My cost: 16,600 Avios — a bargain!

As I was finishing at the rental car, Duane cleared immigration. Perfect timing! We hopped in our little car, braved Paris traffic and made our way to the garden spot of Giverny.

In Giverny, we checked into our B&B (booked with 8154 Chase points), then hurried to the only restaurant in town that was still open. Duane spent €51.00 on our dinner of duck breast and red wine.

During two nights in and around Paris, I spent $199.45, €17.99, 8154 Chase points, and 16,600 Avios (BA points). Duane spent €51.00.

Normandy

The next morning, Duane and I started our driving tour of northwest France. I'd been worried that all French drivers would be like the ones in Paris. They weren't. On the country roads, people were much more mellow. Thank goodness. (I drive like an old man. I hate speeding and tailgating.)

First, we toured Rouen, the town where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. We saw our first cathedral of the trip, visited the (free) Museum of Fine Arts, and browsed the weekly market.

Duane and I both enjoy markets. We're happy to pass time looking at fruits and vegetables and meat and fish. For real. Plus, this gave us a chance to buy cheap food for the road. I picked up a paper sack filled with twenty baby chorizo sausages, for instance, and it cost only €5. (I think there were more than 20 sausages in the bag too. That thing lasted me almost the entire trip, and I was eating several sausages per day.)

In the afternoon, we drove to Honfleur with no plans about where to stay. The first hotel we visited was perfect: cheap and efficient. I paid €100.00 to book a room. Duane spent €54.00 on our dinner at a local pub.

On our second day, we meandered along the coast. We stopped to taste calvados (an apple brandy made in Normandy), nibbled goat cheese in Deauville, and stopped to visit the Grand Hotel in Cabourg, the site of Proust's famous memory-inducing madeleine.

Buying goat cheese and “bacon” in Deauville

In the late afternoon, we reached Bayeux. Our first hotel choice was booked, but the second had two cheap rooms available. We paid €49.00 each. For dinner, we chose an expensive restaurant (I can't remember why) that cost Duane €94.00.

After dinner, we wandered around town. It was a magical evening in mid-spring. We happened to hit the city during its “festival of lights”, and when we stopped by the cathedral, an American choir was performing a concert. We stopped in to listen.

In the morning, we visited the Bayeux Tapestry, a 70-meter long work of art that's nearly 1000 years old. In dozens of scenes, it depicts the Norman conquest of England. People think I'm joking when I say this, but I'm not: This tapestry is like a very early comic book. (And, in fact, the drawings used to plan tapestries like this are referred to as cartoons. No joke.) This visit cost me €19.00.

Seriously, the Bayeux Tapestry is like a primitive comic book

While in Bayeux, we visited Omaha Beach and the nearby American Military Cemetery. After that, we drove backroads to reach Mont-Saint-Michel, one of the most famous tourist sites in all of France (and formerly one of the top three destinations for Christian pilgrims). This island used to be isolated from the mainland by ocean tides. Now there's a causeway that leads to it, but even that sometimes floods over (as it did during our stay).

I used 14,538 Chase points to book a room on the island, and I'm glad we did. During the day, the place is packed. After 18:00, the crowd disperses and things become peaceful. It's fun to wander the ramparts with nobody to disturb you.

Here, Duane paid €89.00 for dinner.

During our time in Normandy, I spent a total of €168.00 and 14,538 Chase points. Duane spent €286.00.

Mont-Saint-Michel at high tide

Brittany

The next morning, after a quick tour of the Mont-Saint-Michel abbey, Duane and I packed up to drive to Brittany. (The island actually sits on the border between the two regions.)

As we entered Brittany, we got our first taste of fuel prices in France. To put 38 liters (about 10 gallons) in the Peugot 208, I paid €60.00. Holy cats! That's nearly $7 per gallon, or about twice what we pay here in the States.

In the early afternoon, we stopped for a couple of hours in the walled city of Dinan, which is built on a hillside overlooking the river Rance.

Looking from the ramparts of Dinan to the valley below

By early evening, we'd reached Carnac on the Atlantic coast. Carnac is famous for its “standing stones”, a collection of 3000+ domens and menhirs in the region. I love sites like this (and Avebury and Stonehenge in England), so was pleased to visit. (If you've ever read any Asterix comics, you're familiar with the stones of Carnac.)

The first hotel we visited had a cheap room available (€66.00), so we booked it. Our dinner next door was…an adventure.

Brittany, as you may know, is the source of the crepe. It's also the source of the galette (a savory crepe). Crepes and galettes everywhere in this region. Because we like to try local food when we travel, Duane and I decided to eat galettes for our evening meal. “You should get the andouille,” the restaurant owner told us, smiling. So we did.

Well. It turns out that American andouille is not the same as French andouille. French andouille is simply sliced pig intestine that has (ostensibly) been cleaned very, very well.

“This tastes like ass,” Duane said as he ate his galette. He couldn't finish. I did finish, but was a little mortified when I looked up the ingredients later. Our host seemed to take pity on us for being such good sports. When I ordered a glass of calvados after the meal, he gave me a huge pour.

I paid €46.00 for our dinner of pig-gut pancakes.

During our 24 hours in Brittany, I spent a total of €172.00. Duane spent nothing.

The Loire Valley

After a quick breakfast of coffee and crepes (€12.00 paid by Duane), we made our way to Angers, former capital of the Anjou region. (Angers is the source of both anjou pears and Cointreau liqueur.) Here, we visited our first chateau. Did you know that a chateau is a castle? I didn't — not until this trip.

Anyhow, the Chateau d'Angers is home to the amazing Apocalypse Tapestry, a 600-year-old visual retelling of the apocalypse story from the Bible's Book of Revelation. Like the Bayeux Tapestry, it reminds me of a massive comic book made from cloth. It cost us €12.00 each to see the chateau and its art. (Duane paid this.)

The Apocalypse Tapestry at Chateau d'Angers

In the evening, we experienced our big splurge of the trip. Based on a GRS reader recommendation, I had booked a night for us at the Royal Abbey of Our Lady of Fontevraud, a former monastery founded in 1101. Although many old buildings remain (and guests are free to explore them), the site is no longer an abbey. It's a fancy upscale hotel and a Michelin-star restaurant.

Going in, I'd told Duane to ignore the costs for our night at Fontevraud. “I'm paying for the hotel and dinner, and it's not part of our trip accounting. Don't try to balance it out,” I said. “I'm making a deliberate decision to splurge.”

Our room at the abbey cost us €172.00. Our meal cost €239.00. As I mentioned earlier this week, the food was fine and I'm glad I experienced it. But I wouldn't do it again.

In the morning, we traveled country roads to visit another chateau: Chenonceau. We each paid €19.00 to tour the grounds of this beautiful old estate.

In the afternoon, we moved to nearby Amboise, where Duane paid €73.00 to book a hotel. We hiked up the hillside, then tasted wine in a cave. We ate dinner at the tiny Restaurant L'Ilot, where the woman waiting tables chided us for not making a reservation — then was playfully grouchy the rest of the evening. This meal cost Duane €94.00 because he insisted we order a bottle of wine.

The next day, we stopped briefly in Blois to visit the church of St Nicolas. This place is barely mentioned in the guidebooks, but we loved it. During World War II, most of its stained-glass windows were destroyed. They've been replaced by modern windows with modern glass. The results are amazing. When light shines through them, color spreads throughout the church.

The light show from the stained glass at St Nicolas Church

We next stopped in Chartres to visit its famous cathedral, which is especially known for its stained-glass windows. And while yes, there are many of them (176!) and they're impressive, I liked the ones in Blois better.

During our time in the Loire Valley, I spent a total of €430.00, most of it for my splurge at the abbey. Duane spent €281.00. (He filled the car with gas at one point.)

Wrapping Things Up

After touring the Chartres cathedral, we didn't know what to do. We found ourselves on the southwest side of Paris, but wanting to reach the northeast corner by the following evening. We couldn't make up our minds, so I simply drove east.

Eventually, we reached Fontainebleau, which we decided might be fun to visit. But the town was packed and we were tired. Instead, we drove on until we found a budget hotel (aptly named Budget Hotel), where Duane paid €86.00 for a room. For dinner, we each paid cash at a French fast-food chain.

The next morning, we returned our rental car. I was sad to say good-bye to the Peugot 208, which had served us well. Before we turned it in, Duane paid €32.00 to top off the fuel tank.

For logistics purposes, I'd used 11,182 Chase points to book us separate rooms at the ibis Hotel once again. (It's handy having this place next to the airport train station.) We each paid €17.99 for one-day train tickets, then we rode into Paris.

With several hours to kill, we decided to walk the city. But we didn't walk the downtown tourist core. We've both done that before. Instead, we chose the Coulée verte René-Dumont, an elevated greenway akin to New York's Highline. From there, we made our way along the canal. This 5k stroll made for great people-watching.

Here, we said our good-byes. Duane wandered off to spend time on his own. I met up with my pal Matt Kepnes (a.k.a. Nomadic Matt) for a couple of beers.

In the morning, I took an early flight back to London (booked with 4500 Avios and $27.50), then boarded my Delta flight back to Portland.

On this final day, I spent a total of $47.48, 4500 Avios, and 11,182 Chase points. (At some point, I withdrew another €200.00 in spending money. I returned home with €102.66, which means I spent €97.34 of that — or about $108.41.) Duane spent €86.00 and $19.98.

The Bottom Line

After all of that, how much did I spend on this trip? Let's crunch the numbers. For two weeks (three nights in Scotland and ten in France), I spent:

$996.63 for my flights from and to the U.S.

$573.65

€637.98 (about $710.63)

19,336 Chase points

21,100 Avios (British Airways points)

Converting all of my expenses to dollars, my total cost was $2277.91 plus rewards points. That's an average of $175.22 per night. (I spent $1284.28 plus points if you ignore the flight, for an average of $98.79 per night.)

If I hadn't splurged €411.00 for the abbey experience (and instead paid €100 for dinner and lodging that night), my costs would have been €311.00 less.

During our nine nights together in France, Duane spent a total of €670.99 (about $747.40) plus whatever his flights cost him (about $600, I think). That's $83.04 per night ($149.71 with his flights). Together, not counting flights, we spent the equivalent of $2031.68 and points for this vacation.

Because I've never tracked my trip spending before, I have no frame of reference for our costs. I feel like we did a good job of using money wisely — spending only on things that brought us value — but who knows? I'm sure plenty of people would spend much less on a trip like this. That would probably require advance planning, though, and half the fun for us is making this up as we go.

Here's the thing, though. How much have I been spending simply to live here at home? About $5000 per month, right? (And I'm aiming to get that down to $4000 per month.) When you compare the cost of travel to the cost of simply maintaining my lifestyle here in the U.S., it's shockingly affordable. Cheaper than living in Portland, even.

That's food for thought.

One final note: In Edinburgh, Brandon showed me how to use Apple Pay. Believe it or not, I'd never done this before. Now, though, I'm hooked. Even back here in Portland, I'm using my phone to pay for things, not my actual credit card. I think this is awesome. Duane is less convinced. But that's a subject for a future blog post…

The post How much I spent during two weeks of travel appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/travel-spending/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[geracaoalpha]

Alpha Interviews: Camila Yunes, the talented curator behind KURA

The big smile and lightness on the way she sees life might be deceiving but Kura’s founder, Camila Yunes, has a lot of experience for such a young curator. She studied architecture at Mackenzie University (São Paulo, Brazil) and Paris Val de Seine’s Graduate School Ecole National d’Architecture. Furthermore, she attended Sotheby’s courses in Contemporary Art and Its Market, How the Art World Works and Foundations in History of Art. Camila worked with sales & liaisons at Continua Gallery and on the production team at Aveline Gallery. She is currently a VIP Representative for The Armory Show and ARCO, and cofounded GoART Art Advising from 2015 to 2018.

Check out her responses to her interview as we prepared the launch of a collaborative line of prints, featuring the works of Patricia Carparelli, Renata Sales and RIZZA. 

What was the first work of art you fell in love with?

The series of Rouen Cathedral by Monet located at D’orsay.

When did you know you wanted to be an artist/curator? When I started working in a gallery here in Brazil, Nara Roesler , the first week I knew this was what I wanted to do for life.

Discussion of educational background/training as an artist/curator I studied architecture, but took a lot of courses at Christie’s and Sotheby’s NY and London ... and yes , practicing , which is the best training.

Who nurtured your journey in becoming an artist/curator?  Who resisted? Nara Roesler has a big influence on this. My mother as she is the one who always took me to art fairs, galleries, museums and my grandfather who had a passion on Collecting art. When I decided to work with it everyone, apart from my mom, didn’t understand it, as art was a hobby, a passion and not something related to work for us.

What is the source of your inspiration for work (source images, literature, daily life, politics, etc)? For sure people, everyone I get to know through the art world is an inspiration and also form everyday life.

What is your preferred medium?  Why? Whatever talks to your soul and creates a feeling of curiosity and uncertainty on me.

Which artists have inspired you? A lot of them but I go crazy with Lawrence Weiner, he says so much in such a sharp way.