I’ve always liked the gardens—from my first
visit after graduating from college. There’s something about its carefully
laid-out plantings, its graveled paths and its sense of space that makes me
wish I lived nearby so I could walk through it all the time.
Here’s a sampling:
There are a lot of these corridors of trees.
During late Spring and through Summer, they’re lush; right now, kind of spare,
though this one is clinging to leaves:
In addition to the usual pigeons and a bunch of
seagulls, there were several of these birds:
Kind of like pigeons on steroids; I couldn't help but think about roast squab. It may or may
not be a stock dove, whatever that is when it’s at home. I shall have to ask
some of my birder friends.
The central pool, where in warmer weather
little kids sail toy boats, is ringed by a concatenation of statues of powerful
women in French legend and history. Here are a few of them.
Valentine de Milan, duchesse d’Orléans,
1341-1408:
Valentina was a member of the powerful Visconti
family of Milan. She was shopped around on the marriage market before being wed
to Louis, second son of Charles V of France and eventual duc d’Orléans.
I don’t know the significance of the book she’s
carrying, except that she was a patron of the poet Eustache Deschamps and the
mother of another, Charles d’Orléans.
Marguerite d’Angoulême, 1492-1549, on the other
hand, was an intellectual powerhouse, whose mother, Louise of Savoie (16 when
she gave birth to Marguerite) was also brilliant.
So, I don’t know why she isn’t holding
something bookish; although that is rather a pensive pose. Actually, Marguerite got her brother, François I, in trouble
during his reign, due to her Protestant leanings, which she articulated quite a
bit. Her first marriage, to Charles d’Alençon, paired her with a kind but practically
illiterate man. Her second was to Henri II de Navarre. Marguerite was a
tremendous patron of arts and letters.
Marguerite d’Anjou, 1430-1482, was the wife of
Henry VI of England, who was not the brightest bulb on the tree. But in his
name, and that of her son the Prince of Wales (who I presume is the boy clinging to her), she was a ferocious leader of
Lancastrian forces when the Wars of the Roses broke out.
Following the defeat of her army (which she led
on the field) at Tewksbury in 1471, and the death of her only son, Marguerite
was imprisoned by Edward IV, and eventually ransomed by Louis XI.
But here’s the depiction that just puts me in
awe, Marie de Médicis, 1575-1642; look at the determination on that face:
Marie was married to Henri IV (the king of
Navarre who famously converted to Catholicism in order to ascend the throne of France
because “Paris vaut une messe”). It
was a marriage for dynastic purposes, which she fulfilled by producing several
children who lived to adulthood. But it was hard on her because Henri pretty
much flaunted his mistresses. Following his assassination, Marie was regent for
her son, Louis XIII, but came into conflict with the other great influence on
Louis, Cardinal Richelieu. Marguerite died in exile, scheming against the
cardinal to the end.
Now, this is something I found interesting:
Marie’s was the only name plate I saw to be so
adorned.
I liked this guy stretched out under one of the
queens, reading a book in the sun:
However formidable these women might have been
in life, they cannot escape avian attentions in this incarnation. I noticed
this attempt at defense on several of the statues:
And you can see why it’s needed:
And why I love Luxembourg.
