George Sand (née Armandine Aurore Lucille Dupin)

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George Sand aged 60, photo by Nadar

George Sand (1804-1876) was the pseudonym of perhaps the most famous French female writer of the 19th century, a lady of strangely contrary ancestry known as Aurore. With royalty on one side of her family and street vendors on the other, Aurore knew controversy from the very beginning of her life and never stopped embracing it, as she flouted social conventions to take the lovers she chose, dress as she pleased, and do what she wanted.

Aurore’s father was the grandson of the Maréchal de Saxe, who was himself the illegitimate son of the King of Poland. Despite this glowing heritage, he married Antoinette Sophie-Victorie Delaborde, believed to be a former prostitute and certainly descended from a humble background, as her grandfather was a street hawker. Her father died while Aurore was young, and her paternal grandmother, who was the Châtelaine of Nohant, raised her on her large estate in Berry, which would become the scene of many of Aurore’s novels.

After a disillusioning marriage to Casimir Dudevant in 1822, Aurore unofficially separated from her husband in 1831 to embark on an affair with young writer Jules Sandeau, with whom she collaborated on articles for Le Figaro as well as her first novel, Blanche et rose (1831). These joint works were published under the pseudonym J. Sand, but when she began to write independently with the publication of Indiana (1832), Aurore adopted the alias by which she is remembered today.

Once she had left her husband, who she officially divorced in 1835, Aurore began a string of affairs of varying duration and importance, and the list of her lovers features many a famous name, from Alfred de Musset to her most well-known and longest-lasting companion, famous composer Frederic Chopin. Unfortunately, a growing dispute between the two former lovers, thought to have been exacerbated by Aurore’s supposed characterisation of Chopin in her novel Lucrezia Floriani (1846), led to Aurore refusing to attend Chopin’s funeral in 1848. Aurore has often been depicted as bisexual, thanks to a highly publicised relationship, presumed to be lesbian in nature, with the beautiful stage actress Marie Dorval, but it is only certain that she was a passionate lover who had many different partners, often much younger than herself, and who valued highly the concept of love.

There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.

-George Sand

Aurore reinforced her reputation as someone heedless of society’s opinion through her choice to wear men’s clothing, which she claimed she did for pragmatic reasons – it was more comfortable and cheaper than conventional lady’s attire. However, it’s likely she did it partly so as to be able to gain access to the parts of the city – and life – that were usually barred to her sex. This desire to escape her social milieu and find out the truth of life, in all its forms, was a defining trait of Aurore and is reflected in her work, which often features cross-rank relationships and explores taboo topics such as sex, sexuality and even incest.

What a brave man she was, and what a good woman.

— Ivan Turgenev

Though she had a prodigious output, numbering nearly 50 novels and around a dozen plays, Aurore is most known for the books written in a later period of her life, referred to as ‘rustic novels’, that draw heavily on her experience of the countryside at her estate in Nohant, which she inherited after the death of her grandmother and which became her permanent home. These often focus on encouraging a sense of compassion for the poor or working classes, a theme on which Aurore was vocal not only with her fiction, but with various political essays, even going so far as to create her own newspaper so as to publish her opinions more easily. With her strong views on the need to end class divides and her support for women’s rights, combined with her severely unconventional behaviour, Aurore was frequently criticised for being too manly or too opinionated for a woman. However, despite her many detractors, Aurore enjoyed the praise and respect of many of her contemporary intellectuals, who were able to recognise her valuable attributes of determination, fearlessness and innate kindness as more important than following the superficial demands of the era.

Guard well within yourself that treasure, kindness. Know how to give without hesitation, how to lose without regret, how to acquire without meanness.

-George Sand

Aurore died peacefully on her estate at Nohant in June of 1876, aged 71. She remains buried in a private graveyard there, though in 2003 it was proposed that her body be moved to the Panthéon, which houses the remains of important French figures such as Balzac and Louis Braille.

Famous works:

La petite fadette (1849)
Lélia (1833)

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Portrait of George Sand (1838 – Eugène Delacroix)

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On Productivity

Did you write anything today? Make anything? Do your homework or catch up on readings or study for a test? Practice piano?

If the answer to all those questions is no, and you’re anything like me, you feel guilty about it. After all, everyone knows how life works: if you want to get good things out of it – if you want to be able to play an instrument or speak a language or graduate with good marks or make money – you have to put the hours in. And god knows I want to be able to do all those things, preferably at the same time. At the same time, though, I don’t want to live under the burden of a hundred self-imposed and unrealistically expectations when I could – and probably should – be proud of what I can already do. That leaves us with the same timeworn issue that so often rears its ugly head – how do we find the right balance?

Obviously, there’s no tried-and-true, step-by-step guide to finding that equilibrium that works for anyone and everyone, or else, as the saying goes, we’d all be doing it.

That doesn’t mean there’s not a few tricks for figuring out whether you need to step down or step up, though.

The first is easy – ask. Look to the people you respect, people who you consider seem to be striking an alright balance themselves and who know you. It’s difficult to judge your own efforts, and particularly so when we’re so constantly inundated by other people’s results. Though everyone you know might only be doing one noteworthy thing – getting an award at uni, or a promotion, or just being really excellent at making their own dresses – the cumulative effect of seeing so many people’s sole achievement ends up making it seem like everyone can, and does, do everything better than you.

Asking the people around you whether or not you seem to be holding your own against the onslaught of Other People’s Achievements can help give you back some of the perspective you might be missing. Frequently, we underestimate ourselves by downplaying our own accomplishments – over time, they come to seem so naturally a part of you that you forget other people would find them impressive.

Consider your goals. In the end, we want achievements because we imagine they’ll make us happier. But the work involved to attain them can end up making us unhappier than the joy we gain from having them. Acknowledging that, no, you can’t do everything – and certainly not all at once – is vital, because you need to be able to consider the achievements you’re aiming for and whether the end-goal is, ultimately, worth the work. Not everything is, and the goals that matter most are different for everyone.

Some achievements, like graduating, might be reasonably necessary to your future. But if it’s something you’re doing only for the sake of being able to do it, well, don’t stress about not having practiced or studied if you were doing something else that brought you pleasure. Just ask yourself, every time: will you gain more enjoyment, in the long run, by being ‘productive’ for an hour or by procrastinating? After all, you can still enjoy your life to the full without a list of achievements as long as your arm – more so, even, than if you constantly torture yourself with remembering what you haven’t done.

Don’t waste your time. Often, when we do have to do something, we waste our time stalling and being distracted. Three hours at home rarely means three hours of uninterrupted leisure, let alone productive work. Instead of trying to get your work done in bite-size intervals, dedicate the necessary time to it – give yourself instant objectives, like finishing a book this week, practicing for a full half hour today, or not getting up till you’ve written 500 words, and stick to them. It really is easier to get things done if you give them your full attention, and it leaves you with more time to spend doing absolutely nothing productive, but with one important difference – you don’t have to feel guilty about it.


It will still never be easy to judge how well you’re doing. But if you’re content with the way you actually spend your days, and with how people see you, there’s no point worrying about amassing achievements to your name. Just try to consciously enjoy every moment that you can, and when you can’t escape the necessity of some boring or difficult work, keep in mind the reasons you’re doing it. Finding the balance will still be tricky, but at least you’ll be a little more aware of what you need to be weighing up.

 

The Latin Quarter (5th arrondissement)

Perfect for those with more time than money, especially if you’re eligible for free entry into museums and monuments, the Latin Quarter is generally considered the domain of students, hosting as it does the original university of Paris, the Sorbonne. 

Hop off the Metro at Saint Michel (line 4) to start exploring the Latin Quarter’s twisting streets. Taking the ( ) sortie, you’ll find a small labyrinth of narrow streets that seem to host nothing but tourist restaurants offering shockingly cheap 3 course menus, kebab stores and the occasional window of a crêpe store. Skip the restaurants unless you’re desperate for a very tiny serve of bouef bourguignon; if you really need to grab some energy before starting your adventure, pay a visit at Crêperie Genia to take advantage of their super-cheap formule – one savoury crepe or panini, one sweet crepe and a drink for 5 euros or less. If books are your thing, walk straight down rue de la Huchette and cross the road to find the world-famous bookstore and its attached café, Shakespeare and Co. In any case, continue down rue Saint-Jacques, perhaps with a quick detour to see Eglise Saint-Severin and eventually you’ll reach Boulevard Saint-Germain.

To the right, there’s the Musee de Cluny, the national museum of the Middle Ages. It’s mostly housed in a hotel particulier with foundations from the 14th century, and is partially built on the ruins of an ancient Roman bathhouse. It’s free to EU residents under 26, and known for its tapestry collection La Dame et la Licorne (The Lady and the Unicorn). Continuing straight ahead, though, you’ll pass by the Universite Paris-Sorbonne and arrive at rue Soufflot, from which you’ll immediately noticed the impressive dome of the Pantheon. If you avoid being distracted by the beautiful rose-shaped ice creams of Amorino Gelato, which has numerous outlets around the centre of Paris – you may have noticed it in the twisting streets near the Notre Dame, the Pantheon is well worth your time. This imposing state mausoleum built in the late 18th century holds the bones of many a famous name, from Voltaire to Marie Curie to Louis Braille and is free entry to EU residents under 26.

 


If you’re above the age limit and not up for paying entry prices, glance to the left of its stately façade to find the asymmetrical front of 16th century Eglise St-Etienne-de-Mont. Note the intricately carved bridge above the altar, known as a rood loft – it’s the only church remaining in Paris to feature one. There’s also, for those still eager to pay their respects to a tomb or two, the remains of mathematician Blaise Pascal and dramatist Jean Racine.

 

Once you’re done with the church, hop back to the right-hand side of the Pantheon and follow the signs for rue Mouffetard, a haunt of university students jampacked with cafés, boutiques, bars and small restaurants. If you didn’t pick something up at the very start, be sure to try the enormous and excellent value crepes at au P’tit Grec.

At the sight of the large church on your left, take rue Daubenton and follow it faithfully until you find a building that seems a little out of place in Paris: namely, the Oriental-looking tower that signals you’ve arrived at the Grand Mosque. It’s only 3 euros entry fee to visit the beautiful gardens, or you can settle for nibbling on rich honeyed pastries and mint tea in the garden. There’s a full restaurant available, but the oriental cakes are truly delicious.

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Inside the gardens of the Grand Mosque – note that appropriate clothing is required, and you may have to wrap a makeshift skirt around your legs to gain entry!

Once you’ve regained your forces, move your focus to what lies just across the road. You can examine some exotic animals close up at the Musée d’Histoire Naturelle (free for young EU residents), or if you prefer your beasts living and breathing, make your way through the delightful Jardin des Plantes to the far left corner, which houses a menagerie you can visit. It’s a gorgeous place to picnic or just soak up the sunshine, and the Grand Serres (greenhouses) in the centre present fascinating mini-ecosystems – if you’re willing to pay the entry fee, you can visit a tiny patch of New Caledonia, the tropics and the desert all in one hour!

Exiting the Jardin des Plantes will leave you facing the Seine, from whence you may choose to stroll along its calm banks or perhaps to cross the Pont d’Austerlitz to get to the 4th or 12th arrondissements.

 

 

On science, and why we should respect it

We’ve all sighed in resignation, spluttered in indignation or rolled our eyes in straight-out derision when someone reveals a belief we find ridiculous, like that chlorophyll supplements are re-energising or that wifi causes cancer. Our dismissal of their crazy notions feels righteous, because, after all, we have science on our side – only fools argue with facts. Science is the one institution that should be wholly trustworthy, based as it is on evidence, on only believing in results we can see and recreate.

How is, it, then, that even in the educated echelons of society, we’re still in constant disputes of how much we can trust science, or which science to trust?

It’s true that science is all about being willing to rewrite the accepted rules if any contrary evidence is found to disprove them, and that there’s been more than one occasion where science hadn’t advanced enough to recognise the dangers in something it touted as perfectly safe, like that time when we thought putting radium in chocolate and makeup was a wonderful idea.

But the idea of people outside the scientific community refusing to believe the testimony of experts is not only ridiculous, but dangerous. Yes, challenging ideas and questioning assumptions is important. Yes, further research may change currently accepted facts. That does not excuse the cherry-picking of what scientific truths you may or may not believe in, a phenomenon becoming all too common in a socio-political culture insistent on allowing everyone their ‘voice’, regardless of qualifications.

Of course, people are generally not consciously trying to promote ‘alternative facts’. Sometimes their misbeliefs are rooted in partially-understood concepts where context or disclaimers have been conveniently forgotten, or their information comes from a source with enough graphs and statistics paired with information written in professional-sounding terms to appear trustworthy, despite not necessarily following appropriate scientific method.

While this isn’t too much of an issue if it’s your neighbour warning you that drinking tea will make you anaemic (it won’t, not by itself) or a single housewife not buying GM food for her family, it can have much wider consequences and become a grave issue. On an individual level, extreme diets founded on inaccurate information, like the Paleo lifestyle, can be personally dangerous, not to mention expensive. GM food is vilified worldwide, potentially undermining the vital role it could play in managing famine and unpredictable harvests. Climate change obviously affects the future of literally every living being, and suffers hugely, just like Tinkerbell, from people not believing in it.

Problems like global warming urgently need to be addressed, and for that they to be acknowledged and funded. When significant proportions of the population, or even just individuals significant in decision-making, do not trust the science and facts laid out before them, these problems do not receive the attention and support necessary for them to be resolved.

Most of us have constant access, grace of the internet, to almost all the knowledge of the human race. Our actions, small though they may seem, can affect our health, the lives of the others, and even the fate of the planet. We need, perhaps now more than ever before, to be encouraging trust in experts and in science. We need to be criticising those who propagate information from unreliable sources or incomplete facts, even if it regards a relatively minor topic, because we cannot allow the belief of inaccurate ideas to become normal. Every time we ignore a qualified scientist so as to interpret information in a way more pleasing to our personal ideologies, we are making it that much easier for dangerous misinformation to become widely believed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Woman of the Week: Suzanne Valadon (née Marie-Clémentine Valadon)

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Self-portrait (1927)

‘Suzanne’ Valadon (1865-1938) was born as the bastard Marie-Clémentine Valadon, and only acquired the name by which we know her today as an adult, when her work as a live model for the artists of Montmartre earned her the nickname derived from the biblical story, Susanna and the Elders. She graduated from modelling to using models herself as a painter and artist, and became known for the individuality lent to her work by her female perspective, although she is, somewhat sadly, perhaps best remembered as the mother of Impressionist painter Maurice Utrillo.

Though born in Bessines, Suzanne moved to Paris as a small child. She began to work when she was just 11, finding various jobs including waiting tables and factory work, until she ended up performing as an acrobat in a circus around the age of 15. Though she wanted to continue in this line of work, a serious back injury obtained from a fall whilst on the trapeze prevented her from pursuing this passion, and she turned instead to modelling.

Her first known employer was Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, with whom it is generally assumed she had some kind of romantic or sexual relationship. However, she also had a relationship with Miguel Utrillo, beginning in 1881, and it was he who eventually claimed paternity of the illegal child that Suzanne gave birth to in 1883. Maurice Utrillo, as he became known, was raised largely by his grandmother as Suzanne continued to model and started her career as an artist.

Though her career started with Puvis, Suzanne had become a popular model for many other artists, including Toulouse-Lautrec and Renoir, who is attributed as the inspiration behind her nickname. She cultivated strong relationships with many of them, being romantically involved with Lautrec while becoming firm friends with Edward Degas, one of the most ardent advocates of her work. Through her observation of their techniques while they painted her, and with their instruction and influence, Suzanne became a self-taught artist who specialised in the female nude and frank, candid portraits.

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Danse à Bougival (Pierre-August Renoir, 1883) features Suzanne Valadon as the principal dancer

As models, Suzanne frequently used her own mother and son, depicting domestic scenes with a gratifying sincerity that can be found equally in her female nudes. Criticised by some for her bold style, with her figures being accused of being ‘too masculine’, others consider her startling honest treatment of the female form as the evidence of her talent. Although other female artists, such as Berthe Morisot, also favoured female subjects, Suzanne’s lower-class background gave her the liberty to paint nudes where their bourgeoisie roots held them back. Thus, Suzanne provided some of the first widely known representations of the female form produced from a female perspective.

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Catherine reclining nude on a leopard skin (1923)

In 1894, Suzanne became the first woman to ever exhibit at the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts, though it was only after her marriage to stockbroker Paul Mousis in 1896 that her new-found financial stability gave her the time to dedicate herself to her art. It was in the early 20th century that her perhaps most famous tableaux, such as Adam and Eve, Casting the net and The joy of life were finished. These large-scale oil paintings became famous for daring to show men as an object of desire for women, and for being the first pieces by a female artist to focus on sexual pleasure in general.

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Casting the net (Le lancement de fillet) – 1914 (Centre Georges Pompidou)

The subject of these paintings was her significantly younger lover, a painter named Andre Utter who was a friend of her artist son’s. She divorced Mousis in 1913 to remarry Utter, and the three artists lived together in Montmartre, where their former atelier now forms part of the Museum of Montmartre, supporting themselves off their work. By the 20s, though, their relationship had declined, and the pair eventually separated unofficially. Suzanne died in 1938, suffering a stroke whilst painting at her easel and dying in hospital shortly after.

On Provins: Gallic roses and the fairs of Champagne

Where and what?

Have you heard of Provins? I hadn’t, unless perhaps it was mentioned in my hearing but, thanks to my still-imperfect grasp of French accents and pronunciation, filed  under references to ‘Provence’. Which may have led to some confusion if we were talking about how to get there, seeing as Provence is in the south of France, about 4 hours by train from Paris, whereas Provins is a mere 1 hour and 25 minutes by the same vehicle.
That’s how I got there, on a beautifully sunny day in late winter that had us all convinced that spring had arrived early (in fact, winter put its bitter claws back into us a week later, so I was intensely glad to have profited from the sunshine).
To start with, let it be said that I wholly recommend the place in general. It’s quite touristy, but in a more quaint and charming way than Paris, and with largely French visitors – although I do my best to harbour no bias to a particular country and the tourists it may produce, it’s still nicest to be surrounded by people of the country you’re actually visiting when you’re sightseeing.
I had the luck to be there on a market day, so even the ‘new’ part of town was bustling with activity as clothes and books and fresh produce spilled abundantly from fold-up tables in the main street while the market hall hosted butchers’ stalls, baked goods and long rows of fish and seafood lying glassy-eyed on their banks of ice cubes. Although Paris has wonderful fresh food markets, I couldn’t help but appreciate the wholesome simplicity of an average small-town Saturday market, free from any pseudo-traditionalism.

What’s there to see?

In terms of sightseeing, I bought a 12 euro Provins Pass which gave me access to everything apparently worth seeing in the old part of town. That includes, specifically, les sousterrains – ‘the underground’ – one-time quarries converted into storage that stretch beneath the town; the town museum, the small fortified tower (la Tour César) and the somewhat kitschy grange aux dimes (tithe barn) which has mocked-up displays of various tradespeople surrounded by their work – weavers, potters, merchants, etc. Each display is accompanied by a short dialogue between the figure and a very conveniently curious 13th century visitor, giving you a basic understanding of the roles the workers played in a medieval context. The audio is easy enough for kids to follow, but still informative enough to be interesting to adults – assuming you don’t happen to be an amateur medieval expert already.

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La Tour César (right) with the dome of St. Quiriace church in background

The town museum is essentially just a collection of oddities related to the area, and reminds me strongly of small-town Aussie museums where they don’t really have enough history in the area to justify a whole museum and try to make up for it by dedicating a room to art-deco bathroom fixtures or some random inhabitant’s family tree. There’s zero coherency to the exhibits, with Neolithic stone fragments displayed beneath a Belle-Epoque era painting of someone-or-other and faced by some wooden Renaissance religious effigies. It seems strange, considering their strong links to medieval history, that there isn’t anything more particularly aimed at vaunting this, but I suspect from the emptiness and lack of information on the displays that this might be due to lack of funding.

A taste of history

The foires de Champagne (Champagne fairs) were 6-8 week long affairs that encompassed practically any and all goods – food, precious metals, livestock, cloth, trinkets, spices, whatever the merchants could find and make a profit on. By decree of Count Thibaut IV de Blois, there were 6 held annually, in 4 different major cities of the region: Troyes, Lagny, Bar-sur-Aube and Provins. The regular influx of visitors served to enrich these host cities, and the authorities began to provide guaranteed, free protection to merchants travelling to the cities in order to ensure that these profitable events continued smoothly. Over the 12th and 13th century, the towns grew in wealth and importance, so it makes sense that is this time from which the major buildings and the town’s fairly extensive ramparts date.
These ramparts, of which more than a kilometre’s length of the original 5km exist, are freely accessible. Following them makes for a pleasant ramble down cobbled roads and grassy lanes, with cultivated fields spreading wide on one side while you gaze over the rooftops of Provins on the other. Being there in the very beginning of spring, I revelled in noticing the first brave blooms of field-flowers along the path, even if the glorious sun that had accompanied me through my visit in the town itself was in the middle of setting.

There’s also plenty of houses from later periods, though, and walking through the town’s cobbled streets provides a reasonably picturesque mix of non-descript buildings that are difficult to place chronologically, and pretty examples of half-timber houses from around the 17th century.

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If you truly fall in love with the town, there’s sure to be a half-timber house like this one currently available for purchase

The rose of Provins (rosa gallica officinalis)

The town is also famous for the Provins rose, supposedly brought back to Europe from the Crusades by the local count, Thibaut IV, the same one who introduced regulations to the Champagne fairs. Also known as the Gallic rose,  the hardy flower was used in religious ceremonies and for medicinal purposes up until the late Middle Ages – to aid digestion when made into a syrup, relieving sore throats as a candy, and applied to the skin as a lotion. It’s still popular in dozens of different forms today, and you can find anything from rose-flavoured ice cream to coffee to liqueur in the various shops in the old town. Personally, I can recommend every rose product I sampled myself, which is to say: rose petal jam (excellent on waffles), rose ice cream and rose-infused honey!
All things considered, Provins makes a lovely daytrip if you’re in Paris or its environs, and is well worth a stop if you’re just travelling through the area. Particularly for those with children, who tend to be unimpressed by beautiful cities like Paris and much more interested in clambering over some city walls and sampling sugary pink goodness, it provides a fun and wallet-friendly experience of a small French town with a fair bit of interesting history to keep you occupied.
There’s also a number of spectacles, including regular bird of prey shows held on the ramparts, and medieval reenactments involving horses and knights, but as I didn’t bother coming at the right time I can’t proffer an opinion on them. Check out the Provins tourism site for more information!

Woman of the Week: Queen Christina Alexandra (née Kristina Augusta Wasa)

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Christina aged approximately 16, between 1640 and 1642 (by Jacob Henry Elbfas)

Queen Christina of Sweden (1626-1689) isn’t one of the few queens that people actually know about, but it certainly isn’t because her life and character don’t merit the recognition. Literally from the moment she was born, Christina was causing scandals. Apparently born with unusual quantities of hair and a ‘strong, hoarse voice’, the birthing attendants initially believed the infant to be a male, which entertained her father, Gustav II Adolf, immensely. ‘She’ll be clever,’ he said, ‘she has made fools of us all!’

 

 

 

In fact, the strange stories about her birth, as well as her reportedly masculine behaviour and appearance, has lead modern historians to theorise that she may have had one or more unacknowledged disorders, such as polycystic ovary syndrome (which can cause hirsutism and obesity), Pervasive Developmental Disorder (encompassing behavioural disorders such as autism), or Disorder of Sex Development (involving abnormal development of sexual characteristics), although her skeleton was judged ‘typically female’ when analysed in 1965.

Having no other children, Gustav arranged for his daughter to be raised exactly as a male heir would have been, from studying statecraft and sciences to learning to fence and hunt bears. It wasn’t surprising, then, that she became known as ‘the Girl King’ when at age 6, she inherited her father’s kingdom after his death in the Thirty Year’s War – even at her coronation, her official title was ‘King of the Swedes, Goths and Wends’.

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Christina depicted on horseback in a portrait intended to gain favour with Philip IV of Spain, in 1653 (by Sébastien Bourdon)

Due to her youth, Sweden was ruled by a Privy Council until she came of age at 18, but Christina attended council meetings from the age of 14, showing a keen interest in politics and diplomacy. She is reported to have spent 10 hours a day at her studies, learning up to 8 languages other than her native Swedish and developing an interest in culture, religion and art that would last throughout her life.

As reigning queen, Christina continued to be an enthusiastic patron of the arts, gathering scholars, musicians and artists to her court, among which were philosopher René Descartes and kabbalist Menasseh Ben Israel, as well as various prominent Jesuits. It was her discussions with these last that finally convinced the young Queen that she should convert to Catholicism – a significant decision, considering that at the time, it was illegal to be Catholic in the country of Sweden. The punishment for such an offence? Only execution.

Nonetheless, Christina was determined. She had already made her first cousin, Charles X Gustav, her heir in 1649, and in 1652, after strong opposition from her advisors, Christina abdicated in favour of her heir, citing her desire to remain celibate as the reason for her decision. Immediately after the ceremonies were concluded, she disguised herself in men’s clothing so as to pass herself off as ‘Count Dohna’ whilst travelling through Denmark, a country still hostile to Swedish monarchy, on her way to Rome.

The true reasons for Christina’s celibacy may not have been purely religious motives, however. Christina’s sexuality remains a mystery even now, as she was rumoured to have romantic liaisons with both men and women but had no public relationships throughout her life. She was conjectured to have had relationships with both Charles Gustav and her long-time friend and bookkeeper, Decio Azzolino, but also with a female friend, Ebba Sparre, who is frequently alleged to have been the Queen’s lover due to the Queen’s description of her as her ‘bed-fellow’, and the intensely emotional letters written between them, which included the Queen declaring that she would always love Ebba.

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Monument to Christina in St Peter’s Basilica, ordered by Pope Innocent XII in 1702

Upon reaching Rome, Christina enjoyed considerable popularity, becoming famous as the monarch who gave up her country for her love of God. She spent the remainder of her life maintaining her extensive patronage of the arts whilst living in Italy and France. Though she made a failed attempt to regain the Swedish throne after the death of Charles X Gustav, Christina ultimately never returned to power and died in relative peace in 1689 in her palace in Rome, leaving her autobiography unfinished. Contrary to her wishes, Pope Innocent XI arranged for her to be buried with great ceremony in the Grotte Vatican beneath the St Peter’s Basilica in Rome, making her the third woman ever to be interred there.