A Vigil in the Valley

Blois, France

April 23, 2000

Dimanche de pâques

After a peaceful pastoral respite of small villages, open space, and fine wine, we returned yesterday to the mischievous world of connivers, scoundrels, chiselers, and crooks. We delved back into politics!

Like overstaying our welcome at another’s family reunion, we’re really getting to know the Valois clan and its assortment of influencers, underminers, and hangers-on. Perhaps more than we’d like. We joined many of them today, in one of their principle towns and at their most important château.

We stopped briefly by Blois a few days ago, for a bite of food and change of pace after being overwhelmed at Chambord. Time was short and we were tired. But we were here long enough to climb a few of its steep hills and many staircases. 

Among them was the Denis-Papin stairs, which brought us over four landings, from the lower to the upper town. The view of city, river, and countryside was extensive and exhilarating. We knew we’d be back.

Another guest at our hotel suggested we approach the town from the left bank of the Loire. Blois could then greet us from behind the river, with a welcoming panorama of sundry spires against the sky, and an arched stone bridge across the water. 

We crossed LePont Jacques-Gabriel, then somehow found a place to park, and our way to le Place du Château. Here Joan of Arc had her soldiers dismiss their loose women, and take their Holy Communion, before leaving to save Orléans in 1429.

I am fascinated with European history, and particularly that of France. Our companion on this trip has been a two-volume Story of France, written in 1909 by Thomas Watson (neither the golfer nor the former head of IBM). 

I bought them earlier this year at a used bookstore in Madison, GA, and they were well worth the meager price. Even Rita, who was understandably turned off history by high school text books that read like instruction manuals for a DVD player, has enjoyed letting the narrative of these books enhance her experience in this country.

We have detected a pattern in these Loire citadels. Most were originally built on strategic sites to facilitate a medieval fortress. As time and technology rendered their military merits obsolete, many of these castles were renovated or rebuilt. 

Their covetous Kings lavished upon them the substance of their subjects, and the palaces were awash in the glamour of a Renaissance wave. They were also coated in a thick film of ducal duplicity and monarchical machinations.

At Château de Blois, the tide came in several phases. It rose initially in the 13th century, bringing with it the Tour du Foix, and a feudal hall where the Estates General met in 1576 and 1588. By the shrewd maneuvering of a conniving comtesse, the fortress passed to royal hands, falling first into the lap of the Orléans branch of the Valois dynasty.

As we explored their extended family tree, we found ourselves in a confused tangle of branches. We eventually emerged from the thicket, and were comforted by the familiar face of Louis XII, who we met a few days ago in Amboise.

We recalled that Louis became King after his cousin Charles VIII gave his life to a lintel. He brought his court to Blois, bringing Charles’s widow as well as his crown. Anne de Bretagne thereby remained, or became again, the Queen of France, once more bringing Brittany as her dowry. 

It was Louis and Anne who commenced the construction, carvings, and courtyard that characterize the château complex today. The King’s equestrian statue surmounts a flamboyant Gothic entrance to a new two-story brick and stone edifice they built between the feudal castle and the Tour de Foix.

The porcupine was emblem of the king and, with his and Anne’s initials, is a decorative motif sprinkled across the château and town of Blois. This prickly symbol was below the statue, and we walked under both to enter the château. The castle was adored by their daughter, Claude de France, and would become property of her husband, François I, cousin and successor to her father.

Never one to be outdone or overshadowed, the new king soon added his own wing. The structure is as elaborate as one might expect of this lavish sovereign. It backs against the ramparts, and offers many windows to relieve internal darkness and exterior monotony. 

The style nods to Italy, but with considerable French caprice. Symmetry is scarce, and decoration varies from one window and balcony to the next. Architectural elements are elegant and rich. The glorious Façade des Loges graces the outer court, and features a superb spiral staircase within a magnificently carved octagonal stairwell. 

François may have been frustrated by insufficient space to expand his château. After his Italian architect completed this new wing and well at Blois, the king sent him across the river, where his fancy ran free at Chambord. 

As the king’s signature salamander proliferated within that grand palace, so it also crawls across this smaller château. The similarities end there. The rooms here are more warm, colorful, and impressive than those in the cold, sparsely furnished hunting lodge. Blois bears some of the feminine influence that Chambord conspicuously lacks.

The chambre of Catherine de Médicis, who we met at Chenonceau, is as picturesque, disturbing, and mysterious as the Queen regent herself. Hundreds of carved panels conceal secret compartments accessible by a pedal recessed in the plinth. I felt like we were in an Agatha Christie novel, a James Bond movie, or a game of Clue.

That feeling was reinforced when we entered the Council Chamber of her son, King Henri III. When the Estates General met at Blois in 1588, it sided with Henri, Duc de Guise. He was known more casually as “Scarface”, and more formally as a threat to the king.

So King Henri handled Duc Henri in a respectable, refined, Renaissance way. He had him clubbed, stabbed, and hacked to bits. As we looked at the floor, we instinctively stepped away from the ostensible scene of the crime.

The Valois dynasty died with Henri III. The Bourbons who followed returned royal power to Paris, and Blois faded from favor. Louis XIII exiled his mother, Marie de Médicis, here before giving the place to his brother, Gaston d’Orléans. His eponymous wing is the fourth and final piece of the puzzle by which this palace is constructed. It was never completed.

We emerged from the dark rooms and stark history of the château, and into a vibrant spring afternoon. This provided an ideal opportunity to explore the Royal Gardens, created by Louis XII, finely arranged, and loaded with lilies, irises, and a large assortment of aromatic flowers.

Another wonderful garden awaited in Vieux Blois. Les Jardins de l’Évêché adjoins Saint-Louis Cathédral and its adjacent Ancien Évêché, the former palace of the Bishop, and now the Town Hall. We walked slowly thru these 17th century “Jardins Remarquables“, marveling at the blooms and terrace that overlook the luxuriant Loire landscape.

From the gardens, we lost ourselves in the cobblestone streets of Vieux Blois. They are charming and beautiful, epitomized by the Rue Pierre de Blois and the Rue du Puits Châtel, which offers strategic staircases and scenic views. 

Within this old city center, three sublime churches caught our attention. The last delivered one of our more rewarding hours.

Built in the 12th century and crammed amid narrow streets in the shadow of the château, Église St-Nicolas was once a Benedictine Abbey church. The exterior is quintessentially Gothic, with a monumental gargoyle guarding one side of an exquisite rose window. Ornamental arches adorn three portals that welcome the Faithful to a luminous sanctuary brightened by artistic stained glass.

Of a later age and different style is the Église St-Vincent de Paul. Gaston d’Orléans provided funds to complete this church in the 17th century. Three levels of Doric and Corinthian columns epitomize the Baroque influence common to Jesuit churches in the early centuries of that new order. The extravagant symmetry and consistency, inside and out, stands in contrast to the patchwork château just across the gardens.

Our final stop of the day was Cathédral Saint-Louis de Blois, where we spent the remainder of the evening. The church first rose in the 12th century, but what we see today came 300 years later. It blends styles from both periods. Gargoyles, pinnacled buttresses, and pointed gables honor the Gothic heritage of the original church. The tower, dome, and pediment betray Renaissance influence. 

In 1678 a storm destroyed the nave. By 1700, the current Gothic version was complete. We settled in at the back. After wallowing this afternoon in Valois violence, it was time to soothe our souls. 

The church was full, and dark. The sun had set, and scaffolding obscured parts of the triforium and clerestory. The stain glass windows were being replaced or repaired. I hid my head, and was grateful for the darkness, when I learned the originals succumbed to American bombs in World War II. 

From behind us, out the corners of our ears and eyes, came low chanting and dim light. Altar boys entered carrying candles. Following were a couple priests, and a mitre covering the Bishop of Blois. They proceeded slowly, down the long nave and aisles that extend to the sanctuary, with no transept cutting across. 

In flickering light and solemn French, the Bishop blessed the Faithful, and began the reverential rites of the Easter Vigil. In the old church we were mesmerized as voices rose. The lights came up at the singing of the Gloria, and the great organ heralded the good news to faithful flock. 

JD