A Simple Shack
Onzain, France
April 19, 2000
Châteaux in the Loire are like churches in Italy or dessert on a cruise ship. They are plentiful, spectacular and, eventually, overwhelming.
And sometimes all at once. Such was the case today, at the grandest and gaudiest of the great Valois vacation homes.
Most prominent places are personified by their occupants. William Randolph Hearst left no doubt who owned his ostentatious castle. Monticello is an architectural reflection of its harmonious, orderly, scientific sage. Even the Biltmore owes less to the Victorian proclivities of its time than to the Renaissance tendencies of its owner.
We plan to visit Versailles next week, and expect an exorbitant manifestation of Le Roi Soleil. Today, at the magnificent Château de Chambord, we experienced the contrived glory and unrestrained ego of Le Roi Grand Nez. This simple shack radiates all the nuance, subtlety, and reserve for which its exuberant monarch…the Teddy Roosevelt of French kings…was known.
François I ascended the throne in 1515, joining a triumvirate of young, virile, forceful rulers navigating the tumultuous cross-currents of early 16th century Europe. Charles V governed Spain and Austria as Hapsburg head of the Holy Roman Empire. Henry VIII was the new Tudor King of a precocious, eager England. Meanwhile, in Rome, the Medici pope Leo X facilitated the humanistic inclinations of these competitive kings.
But below the surface, an undertow swirled, and threatened to drown Christendom. Within a couple years, Luther would nail his theses to the Wittenberg door. Calvin would gather congregants in Geneva, and inspire Huguenots in France. The Turks were sharpening their swords, and headed west. Kings and Emperors vied for prestige, and strove to exude it. Chambord was one way François chose to do so.
This morning, after a reprise of our casual breakfast at our own château, we made the thirty minute drive northeast. The weather and country are beautiful, with rolling fields of green or gold causing us to stop several times for impromptu photos. Fortunately, given what we were about to see, I didn’t use all the film.
As we rounded the bend, Chambord, despite advance warning of its immensity and audacity, surprised us by its size and scope. The exterior evokes the flash, flair, and flamboyance of its patron prince. Likewise, the interior includes sparks of brilliance amid an overall dearth of depth. The place betrays the energy, brilliance, and impulsivity of its hyperactive sovereign.
It is an elaborate Renaissance design on a conventional feudal layout, with a central “keep“ and four corner towers. The internal composition of the keep reinforces its Italian influence. The floor-plan is a Greek cross, each side opening to adjacent rooms in a manner previously unknown in France.
Unknown in any prior place or time was its central feature, for which the castle is now best known. Many speculate (tho’ none have proven) that Leonardo da Vinci designed the great double-helix staircase, on which the King’s Queen and his mistress could pass without their awkward awareness of the other’s presence.
From where the rooms converge at the center of le donjon, these interwoven stairs rise from the base of the palace toward the crowning terrace at its ornate roof. Like most other visitors, Rita and I played the predictable game. We traversed every step, in opposite directions, yet never crossed paths. Only thru one of a few window-openings did we briefly see each other.
The keep constituted the entire castle till Charles V exchanged François for his sons (including the future Henri II) as POWs in Madrid during their war for Italy. Once freed, rather than waste precious resources ransoming his newly-imprisoned kids, the King resumed work on his fancy château. A couple two-story galleries soon extended from the center, connecting the keep with new towers on each corner. Outer walls girdled the enlarged grounds, keeping wild game out and sycophantic guests in.
The estate is dazzling and dizzying. Architectural elements are often intricate and ingenious, but don’t always appear to belong on the same structure. Every tower and chimney seems different from every other. They suggest little symmetry, and their profile is more that of a modern metropolitan skyline than the top of a rural Renaissance retreat.
François usually kept royal residence at Amboise or Blois. He built Chambord as a hunting lodge, but never saw it finished. He rarely saw it under construction either. Apparently, he was there on only six more occasions than Rita and I now have been. And, in some sense, I don’t blame him.
Italian Renaissance design is not always suited to the cool climate of north central France. The vast, stone interior of high ceilings and large windows was tough to keep warm. Plus, the remote location required long supply lines, and that guests bring or bag their own food. In a sense this was high-end camping in a very luxurious tent.
But the King built it less as a home than as a showpiece, like a bride buying an ornate gown despite knowing she’d only wear it once. Late in his life, he put it to use, hosting an amazed Charles V, and provoking the intended envy of his lifelong rival. To some inevitable extent, it had the same effect on us.
After climbing the signature staircase, we took our time strolling the many rooms, extensive courtyard, and spacious terrain of this extraordinary château. Ornamental rugs and reverential paintings cover the walls of many quarters. Intricate patterns enliven pillars, pilasters, and pediments. The royal “F” alternates with François’s symbolic Salamander as stone emblems in carved relief, reminding everyone who is in charge.
By the time we left, we were astounded.
Not only at the grandiose enormity of the edifice or the audacity of its design. But also, considering the extensive resources extracted to build this manor and the vast territory dedicated to the hobbies of its lord, that a revolution didn’t come sooner.
JD
