It seems that every dynasty has that one monarch somewhere down the line who gets to define the house. Sometimes it is due to greatness – and indeed the number of monarchs with that epithet probably all qualify – and sometimes it is for another quality. Sometimes it is for a specific deed, guiding the family and realm through a rough period or one of prosperity.
Charles Albert of the House of Savoy sort of breaks this mold. He didn’t enlarge the realm of Piedmont-Sardinia during his reign from 1831-1849. He wasn’t the monarch to liberalize the kingdom with the issuance of a constitution. He wasn’t especially great, nor was he bad or insane or even eccentric. He didn’t rule for a long time, nor an especially short one.
And yet here in Turin, the capital of that once-kingdom and the seat of the House of Savoy, the majestic royal palace is decorated to be what it would have been during the reign of the very Charles Albert. Victor Amadeus II was the first member of the dynasty to be titled as King, but the story here isn’t his. No, it is Charles Albert, the king best known for almost doing something cool.
First, a bit of history. The founder of the Savoy dynasty was Umberto I, who in 1003 (yes, we are going a long way back) acquired the county of Sabaudia, which would in time come to be known as Savoy. A series of slow territorial acquisitions and shrewd alliances over the next few centuries would lead to a slightly larger county, and the elevation of that to a duchy by the Holy Roman Emperor.
Most of the Duchy of Savoy was conquered by France in 1536, so when Emmanuel Philibert came to power in 1553, he allied himself with the House of Habsburg, France’s main rival, to try to regain his duchy. (The Habsburgs at the time held Austria, Spain, and the Netherlands.) It worked, and after defeating the French, he moved his capital here to Turin.
Territory would continue to be enlarged slowly. Access to the sea was gained and a port built at Nice. For a short period, the house was given the Crown of Sicily, but then exchanged that (European politics are fascinating) for elevation of their rule of Sardinia to kingdom status, and from that point in 1720, rulers were styled as kings of Piedmont-Sardinia. (The original county territory was by then called Piedmont since the Savoy lands had spread beyond.)
Napoleon conquered the area (other than Sardinia) on his march through, and when France was finally defeated in 1814, the territory was enlarged to include the former Republic of Genoa. (Click here to read about the late history of Genoa leading to the Napoleonic Wars.)
In 1831, Charles Albert ascended the throne of Piedmont-Sardinia, inheriting it from a rather distant cousin who had no heirs. His rule wasn’t especially noteworthy until 1848, when he decided that with Austria – the local superpower to whom Piedmont-Sardinia technically still owed allegiance – undergoing liberal revolution, he could take advantage of that to unite Italy with himself as king of the entire thing.
Like I said, he almost did something cool. Between bad luck, a few mistakes mainly having to do with supply lines, and broken promises by the Pope and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies to help, Charles Albert lost. In 1849 he abdicated, and then promptly died in exile in Portugal.
(It is actually Charles Albert’s son, Victor Emmanuel II who would lead Italy to victory over Austria and unification in 1861. You can read about that, called the Risorgamento, here.)
So it’s sort of a weird thing that the Royal Palace is presented as it was during Charles Albert’s time, and that his name is the one that has come to define the House of Savoy. But here we are.
If you do one thing in Turin, the Royal Palace should be it. Admission includes the palace itself, decorated to look as it would have during the reign of Charles Albert, the royal armory, and several museums housed in various portions of the palace building. These range from the Savoy family’s extensive art collections to an archaeological museum that focuses on Roman remains found here.
And if you needed more, the palace actually sits on top of a Roman theatre (admission also includes this visit, but not when it is raining, sadly for me) and contains the Chapel of the Holy Shroud, built to house that famous relic. (The shroud itself is no longer on display.) It’s truly a vast, diverse, and overwhelming visit.
A visit begins in the Royal Palace itself. Originally built in the 1645, it underwent expansions and renovations as the family gained importance and wealth. And from then until the end of the Savoy monarchy in 1946 (the family still exists but they are no longer kings and queens of Italy), it was one of the primary residences of the dynasty, especially prior to Italian unification and the subsequent move of the united capital from Turin to Rome.
Charles Albert, coming from a distant branch of the Savoy family, opted for a decorative style that focused on his lineage to famous rulers in the past, although he wasn’t a direct descendent of most of them. (Charles Albert’s line descends from the fifth son of Charles Emmanuel I, who was the Duke of Savoy way back in 1630!) Even the palace’s main entryway features statues of Charles Albert and Emmanuel Philibert, reaching all the way back to the 16th century Savoy rulers to provide legitimacy.
From here, a series of ever-more-splendid rooms leads ultimately to Charles Albert’s throne room. This room was once the queen’s bedroom under prior rulers, and Charles Albert’s opulent style can be seen quite well in his additions of a lot of gold and red brocade.
The highlight of this portion of the palace is the royal armory, a magnificent room (a series of rooms, actually, but those after the first are more plain) that once connected the palace to the family’s nearby castle, but now just ends after the armory. I’ve visited a number of similar rooms in similar palaces and this is one of the best.
Then it is a swing through some of Charles Albert’s public spaces. The dining room was once a divided chamber that he enlarged, while the ballroom is his total invention.
Each room is luxuriously decorated, many featuring Charles Albert’s initials in various places, and all according to his specific desires.
Before entering the museum portion of the Royal Palace, visitors are allowed to partake in the incredible Chapel of the Holy Shroud. Completed in 1694 (and reopened in 2018 after being damaged by a 1997 fire), this stunning stone-domed chapel was constructed to house the Holy Shroud, said to be Jesus’ burial shroud and said to have an outline of his face in blood. Acquired by the House of Savoy in 1453, it is one of the most sacred artifacts in Catholicism, and while the authenticity of the shroud is debatable, its being a pilgrimage-worthy artifact is not.
(Note: the shroud itself is no longer on display. It is kept instead in a box inside the neighboring cathedral, protected from light and the elements.)
A visit to this point can easily take a couple hours, and one still hasn’t been to the museums, which exist on several levels and contain a labyrinth of rooms. And that is to say nothing of the palace grounds, although my rainy January day didn’t allow for an exploration of those. It is overwhelming, probably needing multiple days to truly see, or at least one completely full one. (I am not sure if admission allows one to leave for lunch and return.)
Just outside the palace, 19th century Turin is on display. From the royal theatre to a series of arcades that offer sheltered walks between here and the Po River (the king could use the upper floor so as not to have to debase himself to be seen in public), it is a remarkable central component of what was once a capital city.
After visiting the Royal Palace in Turin, I came away impressed by Charles Albert of the House of Savoy. What a king he must have been! But then in my supplemental research, I ended up somewhat disappointed.
Charles Albert didn’t actually do anything of importance. His reign was one of gradual reform à la what was happening everywhere in 19th century Europe, and there was even some personal resistance to that. And it ended in a war, one he and Piedmont-Sardinia lost.
But I guess he was a solid decorator, and a terrific art collector. And hey, his son would unite Italy.
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