Following a slightly wet walk after my long rail journey, I arrived just before 23:00 at this Accor hotel in Lyon. As an aside, this part of the city expanded rapidly in the nineteenth century due to the advent of the railway, so there were numerous accommodation options around here. More importantly, there was a particularly friendly welcome from the receptionist, it’s always positive to arrive somewhere slightly damp and for them to pretend to look pleased to see me.
Arriving at this time meant that the bar was still open and I was able to get my welcome drink which was the always reliable Grimbergen Blonde beer.
I arrived shortly after England had been knocked out of the World Cup. That might have explained the receptionist’s friendliness, perhaps he assumed I was in need of emotional support. Fortunately, I’d already reached the acceptance stage of grief by then.
The room was the old style Ibis design, but I was quite content with that. The hotel was one of the cheapest Accor options in the city, which is primarily why I had chosen it. It was also near the railway station and I had correctly judged that there was a reasonable chance that the train might be late and I didn’t want a nighttime trek across a new city.
The view from my room the following morning. It was, somewhat astonishingly, still too hot. France had remained committed to this policy throughout my visit other than when I was on a train when the temperature collapsed and it poured with rain.
The online reviews for the hotel are rather mixed, with complaints about the air conditioning, room size and the general lack of luxury. Personally, I’m perfectly happy to trade room size for a lower price, so that never really concerned me. Heat in hotel rooms is something I complain about with impressive regularity, but on this occasion the air conditioning worked perfectly well and cooled the room to a temperature that didn’t provoke a lengthy blog post about it.
I wasn’t in the hotel for long enough to offer a comprehensive review, but it quietly did everything I needed it to do. The room was clean, there were no noise disturbances either inside or outside the hotel, and every member of staff I encountered was friendly and helpful. For an inexpensive overnight stay near to the centre I thought that it was all rather lovely.
As my riveting blog is getting behind once again, I feel the need to speed through a few posts. This is Le Mans railway station and I needed to get to Lyon for my flight the following day, and as this was France I confidently assumed the railway would provide a calm and civilised end to the trip.
The railway station is from the late nineteenth century, but this extension has been added to the front to give more space.
It was too hot, which I might have mentioned, so I had my tropical Fanta to get me by.
I didn’t understand this at first, I just noticed that on the left it said that my train was delayed by an hour and it had doubled the number of trains going to Lyon. I went to find a staff member and he helpfully explained that the train was delayed by an hour and that it would be departing from Platform 2 but that I could safely leave the station and return a bit later. The stress levels of that were beyond me, so I took my increasingly warm Fanta to another platform to have a sit down.
And then for a few minutes, my train entirely disappeared from the boards. I considered this to be sub-optimal.
Although I had been told that the train was departing from Platform 2, this was the first time that it appeared on the board. I decided that I’d better go to the platform to see what was happening.
And the train to Lyon was at Platform 2, so I was most confused.
It was evident that something strange was happening as there were plenty of passengers who were on the train, but others were milling about. I decided that I needed to find an adult and I located the train guard. The guard explained, in perfect English and with admirable calmness, that only half my train had arrived. The other half was still somewhere in France and would be along in about ninety minutes, which was longer than the boards said, but he said it would definitely be arriving. He mentioned my seat was in the half that hadn’t arrived, so I went to sit in the heat with my Fanta to wait.
To my great annoyance, after days of it being too hot and needing to rain, it then started to pour down with rain. So several of us decided to find a dry spot on some steps.
A little over ninety minutes late, the other half of the train came sweeping into view.
It’s fair to say that I was pleased to see this train. It meant that I would be getting to my hotel without any further issues.
There’s my carriage and the double decker train looked really rather classy.
I was talking to the guard on this part of the train and she checked my ticket and was explaining where to go when a dog jumped up at us. The dog looked bloody vicious, but it was muzzled. The guard looked genuinely furious that a passenger decided it was appropriate to bring such a dog on the train and at this point the dog was out of control, barking and frightening other passengers.
My seat was a window seat and there was a laptop sitting on the aisle seat and I did wonder whether the dog owner would be seated there. I would have obviously gone to the guard to ask to be moved, but it transpired a passenger sitting nearby had just randomly left it there.
It soon became evident that the train staff had absolutely no intention of that dog being allowed back onto their train. Transport police, guards and others came to protect the public and there were some cheers when it was evident that the passenger wasn’t being allowed back on. I’m pleased to say that this was last bit of drama of the trip.
There’s a lot wrong with SNCF and the prices for rail travel really didn’t seem to be cheaper than the UK. But, the train was clean, there were power outlets, there was plenty of space for my laptop and it was a comfortable environment.
The train was only at around 65% occupancy and I didn’t have anyone next to me during the journey. The service was fast, efficient and peaceful. One thing I’d never really appreciated before is just how empty much of France is. There were long stretches where the only signs of civilisation were the occasional road, farmhouse or distant village. It’s a reminder of just how densely populated much of England really is.
Safely into Lyon with my now empty bottle of Fanta.
And there was torrential rain.
I was entitled to 25% Delay Repay, which is rather less generous than the UK system. The claim form took me about forty-five minutes to complete, which struck me as an impressively inefficient way of compensating passengers for having already lost time. Still, if it eventually appears in my bank account, I’ll forgive them. Eventually. But, I was pleased to get to Lyon in time as the alternative would have been an overnight Flix Bus and that would have displeased me.
Just a quick post about the north door at Le Mans Cathedral. It’s hard not to be quite impressed about the architecture and perspective here. I’m not a student of medieval architecture, but those are clean lines with no unnecessary faffing about being added to the whole arrangement. There’s some evidence of former wall paintings still visible which would have made it look a little more artistic, but bearing in mind that this is one of the more minor entrances to the cathedral, it was worth pausing to look at. And, also, it gave me a chance to cool down as it was too hot.
Although on the subject of perspective, the whole cathedral is beautiful and seems perfectly proportioned.
The Ascension Window in Le Mans Cathedral is rather lovely, but the guidebook told me that it was not simply another attractive piece of medieval stained glass. Dating from the beginning of the twelfth century, it is regarded as one of the oldest stained-glass windows still occupying its original place within a religious building, making it one of the most important surviving examples of early stained glass in France and indeed Europe. Only the two central sections of the original composition survive, showing the Virgin Mary and the Apostles watching Christ ascend into Heaven, although the figure of Christ itself has been lost. The window has therefore survived for roughly nine centuries while retaining enough of its original imagery to remain intelligible, which given the number of wars, arguments, drunken residents and the like is all really quite impressive.
Later abstract panels were added by Max Ingrand in 1956, allowing the medieval fragments to remain displayed as part of a complete window. The window is therefore not entirely medieval, but it is very much a survivor, preserving enough of its original imagery, colour and setting to give an impression of what the medieval worshippers would have seen. Given that I thought it was quite impressive, and I’ve visited Greggs so I know decadence, it must have been seen as really quite the thing at the time.
Standing quietly beside Le Mans Cathedral is a monument that makes even the oldest parts of the church seem like relatively recent additions. The Pierre Saint-Julien is a prehistoric standing stone, or menhir, erected during the Neolithic period around five thousand years ago. It originally stood elsewhere in Le Mans before being moved to its present position in 1778 after its original site was destroyed.
In the photo, it’s that lump of rock in the bottom left and I didn’t take a better photo at the time as I thought that it was a weathered statue of limited interest. Some impressive archaeological skills on display there…. Over the centuries the stone has acquired a variety of names and legends, including the Pierre au Lait, the Stone of Blood and Gargantua’s Stone, reflecting the layers of folklore that have accumulated around it.
I think it’s rather lovely that at some stage, someone thought they needed to put this historic stone somewhere, so they popped it in the corner of one of France’s great cathedrals.
The beautifully named Cathedral of Saint-Julien is like me, very delicate and subtle. This building very much towers above the medieval streets and is part of the Cité Plantagenêt. It’s one of the finest cathedrals in France and it is dedicated to Saint Julian of Le Mans, traditionally regarded as the city’s first bishop during the third or fourth century. When building the cathedral in the early thirteenth century, the church got the permission of the King to move the city walls to ensure that their new structure surprised and delighted with its size. There are also strong links with the Plantagenets, as Geoffrey and Matilda were married here in 1128 and the baptism of Henry II (the English King between 1154 and 1189) took place in 1133.
I spent quite some time meandering around the cathedral, partly because there is a great deal to see and partly because it offered some welcome respite from the rather enthusiastic French summer temperatures outside. There will therefore follow, much to the delight of my two loyal blog readers, rather more posts about the cathedral than anyone strictly requested. Fortunately, it turns out that when a building has been evolving for the best part of a millennium, it generally manages to provide enough material to justify that level of enthusiasm. And, I might not have mentioned the heat, but it was so hot that I spent at least fifteen minutes fanning myself with the cathedral’s guidebook.
I rather like medieval religious art and I accept that I should probably get out more. There is often such an intensity of devotion behind these works that even a relatively small panel can carry considerable weight. This painting of Saint Agatha, attributed to the Sienese master Pietro Lorenzetti and dated to around 1315, is considered a work of national importance and has even acquired its own Wikipedia page, which is perhaps the modern equivalent of canonisation. Lorenzetti was one of the great painters of medieval Italy, although the history of this particular panel becomes uncertain after it left Siena. It eventually entered the collection of the Musée de Tessé in 1863, having travelled rather further than most fourteenth-century wooden panels could reasonably have expected.
Saint Agatha was one of the most widely venerated saints of the Middle Ages. According to tradition, she was martyred in Sicily during the third century after rejecting the advances of a Roman official and refusing to abandon her Christian faith. Here she holds the palm of martyrdom, while her composed expression contrasts with the deeply unpleasant fate described in her legend. Medieval artists often preferred to emphasise a saint’s spiritual victory rather than dwell on the physical details of their suffering, although it is fair to say that restraint was not always a universal feature of medieval religious imagery. Some artists were perfectly willing to ensure that nobody left the church uncertain about what martyrdom involved and there are some rather, er, bloody versions of the beheading of John the Baptist.
Anyway, I’m not sure if it has been restored, but it’s in decent condition and I thought it rather glistened in the heat of Le Mans.
This is the Ibis Budget located near to the city’s university and it was very keenly priced, just a little above £30 including breakfast. It’s opposite a Carrefour supermarket which pleased me, until I got there and discovered that it was a national holiday. France had once again arranged its calendar without consulting me which is entirely sub-optimal. Anyway, it’s a functional and budget Accor hotel with a shaded and seemingly functional pizza machine at the front. I’m waiting for my friend Richard to get one of those (as in get a pizza, not get an entire pizza vending machine), we nearly did in Germany, as he likes investing in side quests like seeing what pizza from a random kiosk is like.
The staff member at check-in only spoke a little English but with my little French we muddled through. She was keen to tell me that the hotel didn’t have air conditioning and I’d better note that it was exceptionally hot when I was there in mid-July. Anyway, I was very brave and I did mention that, but I think that that was lost in translation. The room was as cold as they could have made it with the shades drawn, but it was still hot.
The breakfast arrangement was basic, but my priority was the option of chilled drinks. They were clearly struggling with the heat to try and keep the food items cold, but they did as good a job as I think they could have done.
Fruit, bread, jam, some pretty inedible cheese, bread, croissant, orange juice and coffee. I wouldn’t note that it was exceptional, but this was a very cheap stay so I can’t say that I was disappointed.
Online feedback for the hotel is relatively high, although it’s evident some guests weren’t surprised and delighted by the lack of air conditioning. The team members were friendly, the room was clean and the breakfast was entirely adequate for the price, but I don’t think Richard would have been very impressed. It’s easy to get to the hotel as it’s right by the end of a tram line and I’d stay here again, although perhaps I might wait for the winter months so that the temperature is a little more optimal.
Although this Portrait de famille, painted around 1805, is attributed to an artist from the circle of Jacques-Louis David rather than to David himself, it reflects the influence of a painter whose political journey was almost as remarkable as his artistic career. A committed revolutionary who was excited and delighted by the French Revolution, he voted for the execution of Louis XVI, became closely associated with Robespierre and produced some of the Revolution’s most iconic images. Following the fall of Robespierre, David himself was imprisoned, yet somehow managed to reinvent his career once again after his release. He’s like Robert Jenrick, but with artistic talent.
His greatest political transformation (I mean David and not Jenrick) came under Napoleon Bonaparte. Rather than painting revolutionary martyrs, David became the official artist of the new Emperor, producing vast works celebrating Napoleon’s rule, including the famous Coronation of Napoleon. This portrait belongs to that period, when David’s influence dominated French painting. Although depicting an apparently ordinary family, its restrained composition, clarity and quiet dignity reflect the ideals that David had done so much to establish. A country that had gone through turmoil needed some form of normality I suppose.
David’s political fortunes changed once more after Napoleon’s defeat in 1815. Regarded as too closely associated with both the Revolution and the Empire, he chose exile in Brussels rather than remain in restored Bourbon France, where he spent the rest of his life. The painting itself is rather lovely as well, it’s a warm and convincing family scene produced in the artistic orbit of a man who had painted revolutionaries, emperors and nearly every political settlement in between.
This article appeared in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago this week and relates to the court cases that had been heard in Walsingham. I can’t find out anything about Rose Crask, she doesn’t appear in any records that I can find.
As for the details of this case, this was a period of different moral values, although the court cases at the time show that breaches were not uncommon. At the time a woman described or charged as a “lewd woman” was usually being treated as sexually immoral, disorderly or involved in prostitution, although it can relate to any of them.
The label might be applied to a woman found soliciting, keeping company with known prostitutes or criminals, living outside accepted domestic arrangements, behaving indecently in public or repeatedly coming to the attention of parish officers and magistrates. It was a broad and highly moralistic description, reflecting a period when poor and unmarried women were closely policed and could be punished as much for their reputation and way of life as for any clearly identified criminal act. Indeed women in general at this time could be invisible, which has transpired to be the case for finding out anything more about Rose.
