Chateaux II: Return to the Loire!

Back to the Loire Valley, but this time, with EDUCO! The rendez-vous was at 7:45 in the 6th arrondissement, so I got up around 6:00, and trotted off to catch the bus. I slept through most of the bus ride out; at noon, we arrived in the village of Amboise, home of both the royal chateau of the same name, and Clos Luce (Da Vinci's house, if you remember that entry). We had until 1:30 to stroll through the town and eat lunch. I had made a sandwich the night before, which I ate as a checked out the ramparts of Amboise, even managing to take a picture of its funny-shaped exterior, from below. Still during lunch hour, I took a stroll to Clos Luce's Da Vinci Park, taking the opportunity to examine several of the gadgets, and listen to several parts of the Leonardo-guided tour, that I hadn't before. Particularly interesting was an explanation of his study of the "human machinery," and of his recognition of the similarities between a cow's stomach and our own, and a frog's nervous system, and our own; at one time, he had ten cadavers, which he had dissected.

I met back with the rest of the EDUCO students (and had a bit of a discussion with our guide about Gothic Flamboyant architecture), and we all visited Clos Luce as a group. I hadn't noticed it the first time around, but there is a secret underground passageway leading from the chateau of Amboise to Clos Luce (it's closed to visitors), which Francois I used to furtively visit da Vinci. I also hadn't noticed that Marguerite de Navarre had her own bedroom at Clos Luce, for her visits to her brother's hired genius.

Most people don't know about Marguerite de Navarre (aka Marguerite d'Angouleme), and I think that it's only fair that I introduce this exceptional woman. Queen of Navarre, and older sister of Francois I of France, Marguerite was a highly-social, highly-astute woman, best remembered today for her great work of literature, the Heptameron (modeled on Boccaccio's Decameron), a collection of seventy "framed" stories. However, she was a true Renaissance woman, and seemed to be everywhere, meeting everyone there is to meet in the Renaissance (her friendship and fascination with da Vinci is a perfect example of this). Apparently a quick thinker, she wrote while traveling in her carriage. A purveyor of tolerance, she offered shelter to the much-persecuted Protestants. Her statue now stands in the Jardin Luxembourg, and you can see my photo of it on Facebook.

After trotting around the Parc da Vinci, where I played the tour guide for a few of my friends, we hopped back on the bus, and traveled to one of my favorite chateaux -- Chenonceau, the queens' chateau with the two magnificent gardens. Again, I noticed a few things I hadn't before, such as the massive mother-of-pearl cabinet offered as a wedding present to Henri II and Catherine de Medicis by the Republic of Venice, and the Flemish tapestry illustrating this happy event. Our guide seemed to recognize my general interest for all of the history surrounding us, and happily chatted with my friend Ade and me about the furniture, paintings, architecture, and tapestries. As I've mentioned before, there is absolutely nothing like visiting a chateau with a historian, nothing like it at all.

Next stop was wine-tasting at Pere Auguste, a family-owned winery that produces Touraine wine. The business is fairly small, and it was one of the owners who gave us a tour of the presses and fermenting tanks. I nearly had a moment of confusion, due to the identical pronunciation of the words for "rooster" (coq) and "grapeskin" (coque). There were fruitflies in the winery, which was a bit unnerving, but the wine was quite good. There were four qualities -- white, red, rose, and sparkling -- and I'll admit that I preferred the Rose, but wasn't too wild about the red. The wine cost 15 Euros for three bottles, which is a very good deal in France, and the winery made quite a good revenue that day from the American tourists!

Back on the road, we arrived at the countryside hotel where we were to spend the night. We had rented out an entire building, where we were three-to-a-room. There were only five male students who had come on the trip, however, so Nick and I jumped to grab a double together (there are a few more boys who didn't show up, but yes, EDUCO is almost all girls, and every current staff member is female). After about 10-15 minutes just to put our things away, and find out in which room the cute girls were staying, we headed over to the dinner room, where we had a far, far better meal than I think anyone had expected. The sole vegetarian got an omelet and courgettes to go with his fusilli, but it was a good omelet. After dinner, our guide led us in some French drinking songs, "Les Chevaliers de la Table Ronde," and "Buvons un coup, buvons en deux."

Soon after dinner, the party started. I hadn't realized it, but many of my classmates had purchased wine in order to consume it that night, together. I couldn't contribute much, but my friends were more than happy to share. We had a pretty good time, sitting together in the middle of a field, and playing various games designed to divulge our sexual lives. I managed to teach Dead Monkey to the rest, which went over surprisingly well. I had a very good time, and didn't get trashed.

Next morning, up at seven. Not fun, after a night like that! Still, Nick and I stumbled over to the breakfast room, beating the rest of the bleary-eyed crowd. Before long, we hopped back on the bus, headed for Blois.

I'd like to retract every negative statement I made about the royal chateau of Blois in my last entry on the town (published about six weeks ago). Although I maintain that the town feels like a tourist trap, and that the Maison de la Magie just across the way is a cheesy swindle, the only fault I have with Blois is that photography is forbidden, and my only quarrel with our tour of the chateau is that it was too quick. The chateau is absolutely fantastic, architecturally, because there are four distinct historical building periods discernible to the naked eye, even to me. Standing in the central courtyard, one look at the red-brick 15th-century Italian-style Gothic flamboyant wing constructed under Louis XII, turn ninety degrees to see the amazing 16th-century Renaissance wing ordered by Francois I, and turn another ninety degrees to see the unfinished 17th-century Classical wing ordered by Gaston, duc d'Orleans. When Gaston was in the midst of construction, his brother, Louis XIII, had a son; suddenly, Gaston was no longer heir to the throne of France. His allowance being cut off in such an abrupt fashion, he lacked the funds to complete his architectural plans, let alone demolish the older sections of the castle, as he had planned. For this reason, the conglomeration exists as it does today. Blois has been fabulously and meticulously restored with paintings, tapestries, and furniture, almost as well as Langeais. The castle is the site of a famous murder, that of Henri II's brother, who during the wars of religion was supported by the ultra-catholic faction; with the support of the first estate and a large section of the third, he was likely to become king. Henri disposed of him, summoning him to his (Henri's) presence, where he (the duc) would be without his customary bodyguard. Months later, in a fabulous boomerang effect, Henri II was himself assassinated. This event was followed by the War of the Three Henris (I'm not kidding about this), leaving, finally, Henri IV, founder of the Bourbon dynasty, and author of the Edict of Nantes, as king, in the last decade of the 16th century. Naturally, Henri IV was assassinated only a few years afterward... You can also see the secret cabinets, concealed in the wall, where Catherine de Medicis hid important documents of state, etc. (no, not poison).

Next up was another castle I had not visited, the Chateau de Beauregard. To be honest, it's nothing more than a hunting lodge, owned by Henri II's secretary of state. The building itself is not terribly interesting, historically, nor particularly beautiful; the grounds are abundant, but none too interesting. The floor and walls of the upstairs gallery, however, are the real treasure trove of the chateau. The floor is finely decorated with delft porcelain tiles, depicting a 16th-century army on the march, each row of tiles depicting a soldier bearing different arms. The walls, meanwhile, are covered with dozens of portraits, depicting the principal actors in French politics, reign-by-reign, from the time of the Hundred Years' War until the time of Louis XIV, the sun king. Our guide gave us a rapid explanation, explaining who was who. Many of the historical personages were not even French; Francois I was situated beside Suleiman the Magnificent, and Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire.

Following the tour was one of the most sumptuous and gourmet meals I believe I have ever had, and certainly the nicest I have had in the last few year. We sat in the Orangerie, and enjoyed plate after plate of fine French food -- couscous, tomato, quiche, salad, wine, cheese, good bread, decent red wine, strawberries in wine, etc. There was good company too (I sat with some very cool people, including all four of the other male students on the trip), and though several unforeseen events did occur, they served more as conversational topics than as anything capable of ruining a meal. The first was the fat spider I spotted floating in my wine, after I had taken no more than a couple of sips. The second was the fact that, unlike at the hotel where we stayed the night, the Orangerie had not prepared a vegetarian meal in advance for me, so they just threw together an omelet (surprise, surprise), but at least they didn't complain. When David found a lock of hair in his salad, we assumed that it was meant for me, who had had the temerity to mention the spider.

The waitress had kindly brought our whole table a new jug of wine after the arachnid incident, and so I drank a little bit more than I should have; I still felt a buzz when we arrived at Chambord, the great pleasure-house of Francois I. The chateau is so vast that in my two visits, I still haven't seen everything, but I did notice a few points of interested that I had missed on my first round. The first was the office, complete with furniture, where Louis XIV had dictated the repeal of the Edict of Nantes (he signed it at Fountainbleu). I had also missed the beds of Louis and of the king of Poland, and one of the three titanic ceramic stoves installed by the Marechal of Saxe (all three men were proprietors, at one time or another). I also visited the rooms dedicated to the Compte de Chambord, so-called Henri V, reading about the man on whose shoulders so much royalist hope rested, the "miracle child" born after the assassination of his father.

We sadly had very little time to visit the chateaux, but the trip was amazing. I dozed for part of the bus ride back to Paris, and also played Contact with the other students. Now I'm back, class has begun at La Sorbonne, and I'm (finally) making some French friends. Hope all is well with you.

~JD

"Enfin le regime egalitaire -- qui serait l'acte de tolerance --les deux confessions placees sur le meme pied, le culte de l'une et l'autre librement exerce partout cote a cote, la participation a la vie publique assuree a tous -- cette solution n'est pas plus realisable, les esprits et les moeurs s'y opposant; et c'est l'explication majeure des difficultes rencontrees par Henri IV pour retablir la paix a l'interiuer de son royaume"[By the end, the establishment of an egalitarian regime -- in other words, an act of tolerance, the two sects placed on equal footing, both cults freely exercised everywhere, side-by-side, participation in public life guaranteed for all -- this solution was no longer possible, with feelings and mores in such opposition; and this is the major explanation of the difficulties encountered by Henri IV in bringing peace to the interior of his kingdom] (Robert Mandou, Introduction a la France moderne, 173-174).

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).