An Irishwoman's Diary

"Have you seen the tapestry?" they asked us. Well, no, we hadn't. It was, like, way down our list of things to see

"Have you seen the tapestry?" they asked us. Well, no, we hadn't. It was, like, way down our list of things to see. Had I ever said I was a culture vulture? "You must see the tapestry." Almost everybody mentioned this must-see artefact. And, not wanting to appear like a philistines, it became obvious that we would have to go. We were in the neighbourhood, after all. Right, let's get down there and view this famous tapestry. On arrival at the medieval Chateau of Angers, home of kings and knights and royal dynasties, we climed the turret steps to the top of the castle. We walked along the ramparts, gaaed across the river Maine, which flows into the Loire, and felt exhilarated. We saw the sloping fields in the mist and imagined what it must have looked like all those centuries ago with squires and minstrels passing each other on the drawbridge, making their way in and out of the chateau.

Pardonners, nuns - the Chaucerian images were coming thick and fast. It was bracing and cold up there. What a place to live. Forget the 20th century. Get me back there to the days of mice in your bustle, squealing pigs in the kitchens and a sword under your pillow. Royal troops and skulking dairymaids. It's enough to give you the shivers.

Angers is the capital of the French province of Anjou, and its castle was once owned by the great Plantagenet family. Henry II, the most famous of all the Plantagenets, was king of England. "Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?" he said of the soon-to-be murdered Thomas a Beckett. Henry was the spouse of the formidable and beautiful Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Eric Cantona

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The Anjou connection comes up in the newly released film Elizabeth, in which the former footballer Eric Cantona plays the taciturn French ambassador, whose job is to get the Virgin Queen herself to marry the Duke of Anjou - who, in the film, turns out to be a transvestite.

Anyway, there we were up on the ramparts, looking down on Angers, one of the bigger towns in the Loire region of France, and thinking about all this history. Way down there was the moat, now dry and home to a couple of grazing deer.

We went down the curved steps again and bowed our heads as we went under the low archway and into a lofty royal chapel where the duchess knelt to say her prayers. It must have been cold, surrounded by all that stone.

Outside again we wandered around the pathways that wound around the ornamental gardens. We looked up at the strong defensive walls. Time seemed to stand still.

We followed the arrows and came finally to the large door that leads into the hall which houses the oldest and largest medieval tapestry in the world - as the leaflets told us. The gallery where it hangs on display was built in 1952 on the site of missing buildings, in particular the ancient kitchens, in order to show the public the whole monumental hanging.

We pushed the door in and there it was, stretching for 103 metres. We took a few minutes to adjust to the low light, scrunching up our eyes to look. Yes, it's very long. Yes. Curious. Images of dragons, serpents, devils, angels, explosions, clouds and harps and scripts and monks and little animals start to dazzle us. The colours are slightly muted but still vibrant in the semi-darkness. The images are in pink, blue, red, brown, russet, green, white. All kinds of colours to portray all sorts of scenes - seductions, battles, death, gore, learning and retribution.

In 1373, King Charles V, the King of France, lent an illustrated manuscript of the Apocalypse of St John, the last book of the Bible, to his brother, Louis I, the Duke of Anjou, who lived in the Chateau of Angers. Louis decided he'd like a work based on this manuscript to hang in his sitting-room - sorry, his great hall. He was a duke after all. And the work, the great Tapestry of Anjou, was duly commissioned and woven over a period of about 10 years. Then it was presented to the duke. But eventually it was passed from royal hands to those of the church, and finally it was to end up, a century later, neglected and scattered. Some pieces had even been used as horse blankets in local stables. Five centuries on, the work has now been restored to its rightful place in the chateau.

Three men appear on the invoice for the tapestry: the painter, Hennequin of Bruges; the trader or intermediary, Nicolas Bataille; and the worker of the loom, Robert Poincon. It exceptional because of its dimensions and also its stylistic and technical qualities, all testimony to the ambition of its royal patron.

It illustrates one of the most difficult texts in Christian literature. The images are also rich in information about the social and political context of this end of the 14th centry when the Hundred Years War was still raging. It comprises 70 separate paintings and it is 4.5 metres high.

Scenes of war

Having broken the tapestry barrier, as it were, we decided to to see the works of Jean Lurcat in the Musee Saint-Jean on the other side of the river. Here was another series of tapestries, created after the second World War and the destruction caused by the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and also in response to the medieval tapestry at the chateau. The images include entrails, bones, heads, gaping mouths and eyes all shot out in a spiralling maelstrom of destruction. This powerful group of tapestries by Lurcat was about to be sent to Japan, we were told, for exhibition there. It must be there now.

At this stage, we were so overcome by the disturbing and haunting images from the misty past and the chilling reminders of the apocalyptic events in Japan, that we were close to tears. It's not easy being a culture-vulture sometimes. It can be emotional and upsetting.

We sat at the foot of the ancient steps in front of the cathedral and soaked up the night air. All those frightening and soulful eyes from the canvases of two artists separated by about 600 years seemed to close in. Yes, we had seen the tapestries.