Usse & Langeais

For my last full day in Tours, I had reserved a spot on a tour to two chateaux I hadn’t yet visited, Usse and Langeais. I was in a fairly small group, which included a Mexican, a Brazilian family, the French driver, and another American, a student somewhat older than me.

Usse was much more of a tourist attraction than a real historical monument; its claim to fame is that its architecture inspired Charles Perrault to write “Sleeping Beauty” in the 17^th century. There is even a rumor, the validity of which I am uncertain, that it was built only a few hundred years ago by a wealthy member of the bourgeoisie, who completely fabricated the chateau’s previous history, in order to grant it a sense of age and dignity.

According to the chronology provided by the chateau, the first resident was a Viking warrior, Gelduin (aka “the devil of Saum”), who built a wooden fortress on the land in 1004 (which seems a little bit late for the age of the Vikings). Succeeding him were the counts of Blois, and in the 17^th and 18^th centuries, the Valentinay family, who had close connections to the French royal family. The current edifice was built over several centuries, and an adept student of art history, while staring at the façade, can even distinguish three distinct periods (I am not a student of art history). Suffice to say that though there are many characteristically-Gothic vaulted ceilings, there are also classically-inspired pillars, and even a 17^th-century staircase.

The castle had accumulated a pile of odds and ends from different periods and lands. There were weapons from India, including one specially-designed for the hunting of tigers; there was a 17^th-century Italian cabinet with 49 hidden drawers; there was a series of 18^th-century tapestries from Brussels, depicting a drawn-out version of the battle between David and Goliath; there was a lacquered Louis-Quinze cabinet.

Usse’s history was likewise eclectic, with some stories sounding more fantastic than historical. For instance, upon descending to the cellars, which resembled a stereotypical medieval dungeon, I read a placard announcing that in the 17^th century, the Marquis de Valentiney had used them to practice alchemy. Louis XI apparently enjoyed hunting in the region, and Haile Sellassie, emperor of Ethiopia and the Rast Afari, was the most recent monarch to stay in the King’s Bedroom. Still the most interesting part of the chateau is the chapel, constructed in 1528 in Renaissance style. Dedicated to the virgin Saint Anne, who I think was Mary’s mother, the chapel still gleams white, in spite of the half-millennium that has passed. The source of this eternal youth is the building material, a variety of local stone known as tuffeau.

The next castle, Langeais, was as absorbing and historically interesting as Usse was shallow and scrambled. Mom, if you visit one chateau in France, it should be Langeais, which advertises itself as the best-furnished in the Loire Valley, and includes a room dedicated entirely to costume history. To give a brief chronology: the keep dates from 994; in 1428, Charles XI ordered most of the old construction razed, because it had been occupied too often be invaders; and in 1465, Louis XI raised a new castle, which bore the appearance of a military fortress, but was truly built as a royal residence. On December 6^th, 1491, the castle witnessed the secret marriage of Charles VIII to Anne of Bretagne, and in 1904, Jacques Siegfried, an industrial magnate, having restored the castle and provided it with historically-accurate furniture, donated it to the public. M. Siegfried, apparently captivated by the tale of the clandestine royal wedding, insisted that Langeais be dedicated to the event, and the characters behind it. One can read, for instance, what Anne wore for her wedding: a white silk dress fringed gold, and a heavy cloak of ermine, bordered with black squirrel fur (I think I translated all of that correctly). The escutcheons and initials of the famous couple (who had never met) also decorate not only much of the furniture, but many of the tiles of the floor.

There is more to see at Langeais than at any other chateau I have visited, except Chambord, which is colossal. In one room, the table is laid for a feast, which, in the castle’s heyday, might have lasted ten hours. Unlike the modern French, who since the time of at least Louis XIV have eaten fruit at the end of a meal, the medieval French ate fruit at the beginning, believing that it opened and prepared the stomach for what was to come (the medieval menu was more acidic than the modern). There would be entertainment of all sorts during these massive parties; and if I understood the passing guide correctly, Langeais once had some pretty impressive gadgets installed in the dining room, for the purpose of entertaining diners. M. Siegfried made certain that the castle was well-furnished with fabulous late-medieval tapestries, mostly of wool, but a few of silk. Many had religious scenes, and one particularly lavish one depicted an enormous number of scenes from the bible: in one portion of the foreground, for instance, Abraham received royal guests, while in the background, was bound his son. Meanwhile, other rooms are reconstructed as bedchambers, with an eye to historical accuracy: for instance, the curtains of one room are knotted, which was the sign that one made to indicate that the owner was expecting and welcoming visitors.

Lastly, we stopped in a vineyard in sight of a third chateau. Luynes, build in the 14^th century, was one of the last fortresses built in the Loire Valley, and saw some action during the Hundred Years’ War, the English even managing to capture it for some time. Luynes is privately owned, and the proprietors actually inhabit it, which seems absurd to me, at least in the wintertime. The current owners also own the hundred-year-old vineyard in which we stopped, and from which the other passengers began to sample.

For a moment, some current events. Today, I spent about six hours at the Louvre, prepared to meet Bruno tonight, took my first run in Paris, and finished reading Moliere’s Avare. I am never going to have enough time to do everything there is to do in this city!

~JD

“Apres mes chevaux, vous etes la personne que j’aime le plus” [After my horses, you are the person whom I love the most] (Moliere, l’Avare, Act III sc. I).

Azay-le-Rideau

Today, I took the bus to Azay-le-Rideau, another chateau in the Loire Valley. Like so many other chateaux I have visited, Azay-le-Rideau passed through the hands of Francois I, although he only slept there for two nights (he also spent an afternoon there). I arrived just in time for the guided tour -- in French, naturally, but French for genuine francophones, rather than the slow, simple French of the genial professor of civilization at the Institute. Therefore, I’m not entirely certain that I correctly understood everything he said: I have decided, for this reason, not to copy from my notes certain facts, such as the construction of the façade by purple elephants, and the secret passageway to San Francisco.

In 1510 Gilles Berthelot, an important courtier at the courts of both Charles VIII and Francois I, acquired the old stronghold of Azay, and decided to build himself a new castle in its place, in the Italian style. Berthelot was not a nobleman, but a banker, and when the bankers suffered royal persecution -- prosecution, of course, I mean -- in 1528, and his personal protector at court was executed, Berthelot fled, and Francois I happily took possession of the chateau, handing it over to Antoine Raffin, whose family possessed it until you-know-what in 1791. The state has owned Azay-le-Rideau since 1901. A token of its original owner, the façade still bears a pair of prominent sculpted Gs, for Gilles. Now converted into bathrooms and a gift shop are the old stables. There were originally two: one for workhorses, the other for riding-horses. Horses, and thus the buildings they inhabited, were an enormous mark of prestige.

With all of the campaigns in Italy of Charles VIII, continued by Francois, Italian architecture had begun to interest the French, especially the bourgeoisie, of which Berthelot was a member. While there are many Italian features of architecture in Azay-le-Rideau -- such as pillars and pilasters in classical orders, and a square staircase -- there are many older features as well. However, one Italian feature in is evident: the preeminence of the design of the inside over the design of the outside. It may seem obvious to us that, seeing as houses are meant to be lived in, living space is more important than outward appearance, but this has not been the architectural consensus in all times and places. For this reason, a few parts of the façade are irregular on the outside, because the living spaces they covered took priority. Unfortunately, Berthelot never finished the chateau’s exterior, and for this reason, there are many empty niches; however, he remembered to include a salamander, symbol of Francois I. The two towers that flank the main building are also somewhat newer.

The 2^nd floor (in France, the 1^st) contains the bedchambers of the residents, as well as the party room: for this reason, the guides call it the floor of nobility. The party room (the word is used somewhat differently chez JD) is still available for rental, for a mere 3,000 Euros a night. The decorations of the whole floor are quite magnificent, many dating from the 16^th century. There were several magnificent tapestries depicting biblical scenes; particularly good was the tapestry showing the Queen of Sheba’s visit to King Solomon. Other tapestries showed the complete love-affair of Cupid and Psyche. Unlike the el-cheapo tapestry from Amboise, these tapestries had many characters (all of whose hands were visible), and what were once vibrant reds. Imported from Mexico, red dyes were quite precious. The quickest-fading color on tapestries, apparently, is yellow. Many of the tapestries were wholly Gothic in style; what differentiates a Gothic tapestry from a Renaissance tapestry? A Medieval Gothic tapestry depicts many people, but no perspective; a Renaissance tapestry depicts relatively fewer people, but puts them in perspective (I believe it was Brunelleschi who developed perspective).

There were quite a few pieces of highly-prized furniture, including a French tortoiseshell cabinet, and 1620 Portuguese ebony cabinet, and a 16^th-century Spanish cabinet. The latter were part of a huge craze in the early 16^th century -- all of the nobles had to have their Spanish cabinets. I wasn’t quite certain about this, and the guide gave me a very exasperated why-do-you-anglophones-need-to-bother-my-tour look when I asked about it, but one Spanish cabinet was involved in some sort of poisoning plot in the reign of Francois I. One room was filled with portraits of several generations of French monarchs, from the late middle ages through the early modern period. One particularly striking full-length portrait of Louis XIII had an unusual history: it had originally depicted a different patron, who decided not to pay. Therefore, the artist simply repainted the face, and sold it to the king. Louis XIII himself inhabited the chateau for some time, while he was ill, but was eventually restored by means of some cherry syrup. Meanwhile, the 3^rd floor, meanwhile contains a real historical treasure: the degree of skill in the carpentry of the roof was an enormous novelty at the time, at least according to the historian of carpentry who recently visited the chateau.

On the way out, I learned that Balzac had visited the chateau, and it had served as the model for the setting of one of his stories, in which he depicted the castle as a jewel. I had to leave fairly quickly, in order to catch my bus back to town. Tomorrow, I plan to visit another chateau, perhaps Villandry. Misaki, with whom I sat at the guinguette last night, described Azay-le-Rideau as mignon, meaning cute. This is a good way to sum up the castle: it is not enormous like Chambord, as beautiful as Chenonceau, or as historically fascinating as Notre-Dame de Chartres, but it is an important part of the pattern of the chateaux of the Loire Valley.

~JD

“Aux coups d’Etat ‘type 18 fructidor’ succedaient les coups d’Etat de droite (’22 floreal’) suivis, eux-memes, par une deuxieme vague jacobine, contemporaine des evenements de prairial an VII” [The coups d’Etat in the style of Fructidor 18^th were succeeded by rightist coups (22 Floreal), which were themselves followed by a second wave of Jacobinism, contemporary to the events of June 1799] (Denis Woronoff, La republique bourgeoise, p. 181).

Chez Leonardo da Vinci

In my final excursion with the Institute of Touraine, I visited the Chateau Royal d'Amboise, and the nearby Chateau Clos Luce. The latter was the home of Leonardo da Vinci for the last few years of his life, and the latter was the home of his benefactor, Francois I. The chapel of Amboise, moreover, contains da Vinci's tomb.

Only a very small portion of the Chateau d'Amboise remains. Moreover, what remains is one of the more incongruous and unusual portions of the castle (thank goodness we have a 16th-century sketch of what the castle once looked like). Amboise is not far from Tours, only a 20-30 bus ride away, and standing on the ramparts, it was just possible to make out Tours's Cathedral Saint-Gatien on the horizon. The ramparts, in fact, offered a fantastic view, evidence of the chateau's original military purpose. The castle was originally built for defense, and the oldest remaining portion of the castle was constructed by Charles VIII (r. 1483-1498): he built in a late-Medieval style Gothic style, throwing symmetry to the winds.

Charles loved tapestries, and the chateau still contains some of his tapestries, as well as some of his furniture. In the Middle Ages, the higher one's status, the higher one's living space; monarchs had the unlucky obligation to occupy the upper floors of the frigid stone castles, which are so wonderful to visit in the summertime. Hence, the need for tapestries, which served as insulation first, and decoration second. Ornamental tapestries, however, were quite expensive, and a fairly large demand grew, among the not-so-wealthy, for cheaper tapestries. For this reason, a reduced-cost tapestry industry began to prosper in La Marche, a region of central France southeast of Tours. We saw one such tapestry in Amboise today, depicting a Roman triumph. How exactly can one identify it as reduced-cost? There are several clues: the triumph includes only one trumpeter and one dog; there are very few bright colors, and absolutely no red; the background is largely the natural color of wool; and very few hands, which are very complex shapes, are in view.

Most of the chateau was built by Francois I, whom we have already met; he began the construction of Chambord, he was a friend of Ronsard's, and he might have had sex with Diane de Poitiers. His additions made Amboise the first Italian-Renaissance-influenced chateau in the Loire Valley. Classically-influenced pillars, a greater attention to symmetry, and less cluttered detail are all Renaissance signatures.

The best part of Amboise is the late-Gothic chapel. The current building was the private chapel of the king and queen; the old chateau once included not only a main church, but also a monastery. The stained glass is colorful; the vaulted ceiling seems more rib than arch; and to the left of the entrance is Leonardo da Vinci's tomb. The photo, which embarrassingly includes my shadow, will be on Facebook presently (note: I have already uploaded my second batch of photos, though, to the same album). There was a large group of Italian tourists behind us, waiting to squeeze in (it was a private chapel, remember).

Sadly, very little remains of chateau, a victim of Revolutionary budget cuts.

Just a brief stroll down the street of Amboise, under 10 minutes from the royal chateau, is the much smaller chateau of Clos Luce, which is not very remarkable, except for the fact that it was the home of Leonardo da Vinci, one of the most famous artists and thinkers who ever lived. There are really two aspects of his old home; the chateau and the grounds. The chateau is fairly small, and there is very little original architecture or furniture to enlighten one about its famous occupant. One can see the gallery where Leonardo threw his parties, complete with fireworks, but that is really it. Downstairs are replicas, constructed by IBM, of a collection of his different inventions. Da Vinci was fascinated with motion, and his sketchbook bears out this fact.

Da Vinci was finished with painting by the time he retired to Clos Luce in his sixties. Although he continued to work very hard as an architect, city planner, and landscape architect for Francois I, the few paintings produced by him while in Amboise were the work of his apprentices' hands. Francois I granted da Vinci the land, and gave him sufficient money to do as he pleased, although da Vinci was not fabulously wealthy. Francois was a great fan of artists, in the Italian tradition; he paid visits to Ronsard at the Priory of Saint Cosmo (rather than the other way around; see earlier entry for Ronsard info), and called da Vinci his father. Displayed downstairs in Clos Luce, on the wall behind the model of a water-raising device, is the text of da Vinci's 1482 letter to Ludovico Sforza, in which he describes ten of the inventions with which he can furnish an employer. Everything he lists is either a war machine or manipulates water in some way: he describes bridges, siege engines and siege techniques, armored chariots, and the like.

Outside, these dreams of his are realized. The people of Amboise have done a beautiful thing: they have taken their history and made it public, inviting, charming, and free of charge. The da Vinci park, just behind the chateau, contains da Vinci's inventions of the size he intended. I have walked over a turnstile-bridge he designed, and seen children playing on da Vinci's tank, helicopter, treadmill, Archimedean water-screw, and more. I have seen happy tourists transverse the stream in da Vinci's paddleboat (cost: 2 Euros for a boat, which holds up to five; the second good deal I have seen since I have arrived in France). Periodically, one can listen to audio recordings of passages from da Vinci's notebooks, available in one of 4 languages, and performed by excellent voice-actors. There is absolutely nothing crass about the entire park; the landscape without the models would be phenomenal, as would the models without the park. In the da Vinci Park, people can touch, see, hear, and understand intellectual history in a way that is inviting, informative, and genuine.

Oh, yes, and I forgot where the bus was on the way back, and was about 6 minutes late. I had a fantastic conversation with the professor on the way back, about teaching history.

~JD

"Pour nombre de deputes, le drame de Thermidor fut, comme le proces du roi, celui de leur conscience. En condamnant des hommes qui incarnaient la Revolution, ils reniaient une cause qu'ils avaient eux-memes servie" [For numerous delegates, the drama of Thermidor was, like the trial of the king, one of conscience. In condemning the men who embodied the Revoltion, they were repudiating a cause which they had themselves served] (Marc Bouloiseau, La Republique jacobine, p. 248).