One last walk around old Honfleur and we pointed the Saxo south toward the
Loire Valley. Actually, we initially drove east, toward Paris, but turned south
onto N154 near Louviers, a place that caught our attention because there is a
small town in Colorado of the same name.
Plans to visit the great cathedral at Chartres were scrapped due to a relentless
rain. As much as we had been looking forward to visiting this popular town and
cathedral, that experience would be best postponed for a drier day when decent
photos of the cathedral are possible. Passing the city, we glimpsed, through the
wet air, what may be the most famous cathedral in Europe. It seemed to be waiting
for us— unfortunately, it would have to wait a little longer.
From Chartres, our original plan had been to head due south, directly toward
Blois, along a series of small, but scenic, roads. Due to the heavy rain,
however, we decided that it would be safer to stay on the major, better
maintained, roads, and headed toward the nearest Autoroute. We picked up the
A10 about 35 km north of Orléans, and followed it into the ancient city of
Blois, which would be our home base for the next two nights. Driving distance
from Honfleur to Blois was about 350 km, and took about six hours in the
inclement weather.
Blois
We arrived in Blois at about 2:30 pm on this wet afternoon, and soon spotted a sign
directing motorists to the train station. The Hôtel Le Savoie is
located less than a block from the station, and we were checked into our room within
twenty minutes of entering the city.
A Brief History of Blois
Historians and travelers alike regard the region around Blois and Amboise as the
heart of the Loire Valley, one of the most visited regions of France due to the
heavy concentration of Chateaux, Renaissance-era palaces of the French
aristocracy. Located approximately midway between the much larger towns of Tours
and Orlèans, Blois is also roughly equidistant from the two most popular
Loire Valley chateaus, Chambord and Chenonceau. The history of this small town is
long, complex and full of intrigue and violence.
The narrow, steep and winding streets, transected by well-worn stone staircases, hint
at the medieval origins of Blois. During the early portion of the Middle Ages, the
town, along with the surrounding area, was controlled by the Counts of Blois,
one of the most powerful dynasties in feudal France. The fortunes of Blois and its
rulers were often more closely related to events in England than those in France.
Early developments were propitious. A son of one of the Counts of Blois
married the daughter of William the Conqueror and their son became King Stephen of
England. Upon the death of Stephen, however, the English Crown fell into the hands of
a competing French feudal state ruled by the Counts of Anjou. These bitter
enemies of the Counts of Blois founded the Angevin dynasty of Britain, which included
King John, of Magna Carta fame, and King Richard the Lionheart. The last Count of
Blois, Guy de Châtillon, was captured by the English during the opening
battle of the Hundred Years War and held hostage in London for 25 years. He
eventually ransomed his freedom by selling his vast Loire Valley estates, and Blois
soon became the property of the French Monarchy.
The future king Louis XII was born at Blois in 1462 and, upon his succession to the
throne, this city on the Loire became the official royal residence. It was his
successor, Francois I, however, that transformed Blois, along with much of the Loire
Valley, into an extraordinary symbol of French Renaissance culture. The splendor of
the Loire palaces is eclipsed in French history only by that of Versailles and the
court of the "Sun King," Louis XIV.
Francois I, with his love of art and architecture, embodied the golden age of the
French Renaissance. Like his predecessor, Louis XII, he expanded the Château
de Blois. Eventually, however, Francois lost interest in both the palace and the
town. The magnificent royal residence at Chambord became his obsession. Following the
death of his wife, at the age of 25, he spent very little time at Blois— some
accounts suggest that he never returned. During the reigns of his successors, the
political significance of the town repeatedly rose and fell, although it steadily
prospered and expanded due to its connections with the royal court.
The period of royal prestige in Blois was occasionally disrupted by turmoil.
Substantial damage was inflicted on the town during the 16th century
Wars of Religion, a conflict between Protestants and Catholics that also had
important implications concerning the succession of the French throne. The
Château de Blois was also the setting for a series of murders that
profoundly influenced French history.
In time, the royal courts abandoned the Loire Valley and returned to Paris. When
the center of power shifted to Versailles, Blois was all but forgotten. During the
French Revolution, the neglected palace was ransacked and vandalized as a hated
symbol of privilege. Another revolution, this one in transportation, also had a
detrimental impact on the town. The advent of the railroad triggered a major decline
in river trade and traffic, and Blois suffered serious economic damage. A small
industrial base was established in the vicinity in the 19th century, and
today Blois is a city of 50,000, mostly working class, inhabitants.
A Walk In The Rain
Unfortunately, this rainy afternoon would be our only opportunity to explore the
town. The following day was committed to visiting the nearby Chateaus of Chambord and
Chenonceau, which we expected to be the highlight of our visit to the Loire Valley.
So we put on our rain jackets and ventured out into the very wet streets of Blois.
Although we were staying a few blocks from the edge of the historic core, the old
city is sufficiently compact that most places of interest are within comfortable
walking distance, even in the rain. We circled the area around the train station
while carefully correlating street names with those on the map. Once we were
confidant that we had our bearings, we headed east on the Avenue Jean Laigret,
a large boulevard leading from the station to the old palace. We soon arrived at
Place Victor Hugo, a small park created shortly after Louis XII transformed
Blois into a royal residence. The park was in the shadow of the centerpiece of the
town, the former royal palace, the Château de Blois.
We decided to postpone a visit to the palace until later in the afternoon. We wanted
to see more of the town while we still had a reasonable amount of light. We followed
the Rue Porte-Côté and the Rue Denis-Papin downward, toward the
river. After passing countless shops, small hotels, and restaurants, we crossed the
18th century Pont Jacques Gabriel onto the opposite bank of the
Loire. This bridge, named after its designer, is regarded by many Loire Valley
aficionados as the most beautiful on the river. I can't judge the validity of this
belief because I haven't seen all, or even most, of the competitors for this title.
I have noticed, however, that this particular bridge is an enormously popular subject
of postcards, calendars, book covers, and souvenir items (coffee cups, refrigerator
magnets, etc.). The bridge is somewhat unusual in that it is a multi-arch span that
rises in the center, so that each arch is a different size than its neighbor. The
backdrop of the city certainly enhances the aesthetic appeal of the bridge. The
classic view of Blois is from the spot we were standing— the city in the
background, with the bridge and river in the foreground. For centuries, travelers
arrived at Blois from the river, and the Pont Jacques Gabriel, or its medieval
predecessor, was the path by which they made their entrance into the city.
From the river, the layout of the town is clear. Most of old Blois is nestled
between two small hills, one crowned by the palace, now on our left, that we passed
earlier, and a second dominated by the Cathédrale St-Louis, on our right.
Most of old Blois existed between these imposing symbols of church and state, which
are evident from virtually every part of the historic portion of the town. The
visibility of the palace and church was intended to remind the inhabitants of the
supremacy of King and Pope. A small river once ran between the two hills and through
the town. Like many rivers in European cities, it has been built over and essentially
reduced to the status of a sewer. Blois has a dramatically different appearance from
the river than from the hills. From above, the town has a distinct dark blue
appearance because the view is dominated by the slate roofs of the buildings below.
From the river, however, both the dark roofs and light facades are visible due to
the steep incline of the streets, resulting in a "two-toned" appearance.
As we recrossed the Pont Gabriel, and returned to the north bank of the
river, the rain began to diminish. The sun didn't shine, but the streets did dry
out a little. From the bridge, we climbed the hill to the other prominent Blois
landmark, the Cathédrale St-Louis. This cathedral was reconstructed
during the reign of Louis XIV after the original was severely damaged in one of the
most violent storms ever to strike the Loire Valley. Parts of the older structure
survive. The base of the tower is more than 800 years old, and the crypt is more
than 1000 years old. We did not visit the interior of the Cathédrale
St-Louis. Instead, we walked through the 18th century gardens next
to the cathedral. The location of the Jardins de l'Evêché near the
crest of the cathedral-dominated hill, offers commanding views of the river and the
western portion of the old town. From the gardens, we wandered westward along a
series of small winding streets with old and tightly packed houses, and found our
way back to the palace.
Château de Blois
The area around the palace seemed deserted and we assumed that the château was
closed. We were about to settle for a picture of Carolyn standing in front of the
château when, just as she was posing for the shot, we noticed a lone couple
enter one of the buildings through a large, but artfully obscure and unmarked door.
A peculiar characteristic of Europeans is that they are not particularly fond of
signs. Its almost as if they think that signs are for stupid people.
One advantage to visiting in the "off season" is that we virtually had the place to
ourselves. No crowds at all. When we bought our tickets we were told that the palace
would be closing within an hour. The receptionist told us, however, that she would
remember us if we wanted to use our tickets again the next day.
Standing in the inner courtyard, the surrounding palace forms an odd assortment of
buildings. A mixture of Late Gothic, Flamboyant, French Renaissance and Seventeenth
Century Classical, the component buildings are anything but harmonious. I have always
preferred a mixture of architectural styles, whether viewing a single complex or an
entire town, so I found that the absence of continuity did not detract from the
aesthetic appeal of the château. It is an interesting display of the evolution of
style over time. Each wing represents the prevailing architectural style of the
period in which it was constructed. An entire graduate-level course in French
architecture could have been conducted in this single courtyard.
The self-guided tour begins in the Louis XII wing, built in the early 1500's and
decorated with colored patterns of brickwork. This section has numerous red brick
chimneys and intricately carved dormer windows. Tucked in a corner next to the Louis
XII wing, is the Salle des États-Généraux, the oldest room in the
château and the only surviving remnant of the classic medieval palace originally
built by the Counts of Blois in the 13th century.
The Francois I wing joins the Salle des États-Généraux at a
right angle to the Louis XII wing. An external spiral staircase constructed of
stone rivals the Pont Gabriel bridge as one of the most photographed objects
in Blois. Such staircases were a common element of French Gothic architecture. The
best view of the Francois I wing, however, is from outside the palace. The
outer facade of this wing consists of a series of balconies and arcades designed in
the Italian Renaissance style. It was along this outer wall that the common citizens
of Blois would occasionally glimpse members of the royal court.
An event of profound political consequence occurred on the second floor of the
Francois I wing. During the Wars of Religion, the reign of King Henri III,
a Protestant, was threatened by the de Guise brothers, leaders of an extremist
Catholic faction. On the orders of Henri, two of the three brothers were murdered
while attending a state event at the château. The civil unrest that followed
culminated in the murder of the King within a year and the end of the Valois line
of French rulers.
Perpendicular to the Francois I wing is the 17th century Gaston
d'Orléans wing. Gaston was the constantly conspiring brother of
King Louis XIII and the arch adversary of the powerful and infamous
Cardinal Richelieu. Eventually, he was banished from the royal court at Paris
and exiled to Blois. He was lucky. Most of his accomplices were executed. The legacy
of his years at the château was the construction of what many consider to be a
perfect example of French Classical architecture.
Unlike the cold and empty palaces of Chambord and Chenonceau that we would visit the
following day, the château at Blois was authentically furnished with paintings,
tapestries and furniture, including some pieces of historic significance.
At one time, the inner courtyard of the château was surrounded by ramparts, the
remains of which are still evident in some places. An impressive chapel in the
courtyard is actually the apse of a much larger church that was demolished several
centuries ago to make room for the Gaston d'Orléans wing.
The Mean Streets of Blois
After dinner (another cheese pizza), we took the "scenic route" back to the hotel,
exploring the old and crooked streets of Blois while steadily navigating in the
general direction of the train station. As we emerged from one particularly dark
and and deserted alley, we noticed that we were no longer alone. We had
a stalker— a small gray cat.
We tried to elude our pursuer by walking faster, but each time we turned around,
the cat was there. Always precisely the same distance behind us, and never looking
directly at us. Whenever we looked back, the cat would pretend to investigate
something in a doorway or peer into a window, never acknowledging our presence,
except, of course, by following us. The odd thing was that at no point did we
actually observe the cat following us. If we looked at the cat as we walked away,
it wouldn't budge until we lost each other in the darkness. But whenever we turned
around, there it was. This cat should consider moving to Virginia and training CIA
agents.
The attachment that this cat felt for us was a mystery. We didn't pet or feed it.
Perhaps, unbeknownst to us, our footsteps frightened off a dog that was about to
induce the cat's demise, at which point the cat decided to return the favor by
escorting us through the mean streets of Blois. Who knows. Cats are mysterious
creatures.
For blocks, the ghostly cat trailed us. As we crossed the busy Avenue Jean
Laigret, however, it suddenly sat down in the middle of the dimly lit
boulevard. In the distance, I watched a stoplight change color and a rush of
traffic bearing down on the little gray cat sitting in the middle of the big
gray street. The cat did not move. Nerves of steel or brains of mush. I don't
know which. Maybe a little of both.
Trying to avert a disaster, I stepped off the curb and motioned toward the cat.
The lead car screeched to a halt just as the cat nonchalantly jumped toward us.
It was official now— we had been formally introduced and the cat was with us.
God forbid that our Boston Terriers every learn about this.
The cat that previously refused to acknowledge our existence, except by silently
stalking us in the shadows, now began to tell us her life story. All the way back
to the hotel, "meow, meow, meow, meow, ...".
I told the manager of the Hôtel Le Savoie about the cat and he wanted
to see it right away. As he opened the door, the cat stealthfully slipped into the
lobby, hissed at one of the resident dogs, and jumped onto a tall chair behind
the receptionist desk.
The manager roused his wife out of bed and they had an animated conversation which
I could only barely follow because they were speaking so quickly. Nevertheless, I
distinctly heard various conjugations of the verb gardez, which means "to
keep," and she was holding the cat like she was its mother.
Although the "cat situation" was still unresolved when we checked out the following
morning, the manager assured me that, even if they gave the cat to a shelter, it
would not be euthanized. He explained that virtually all French animal shelters are
"no kill" establishments.
French attitudes toward animal welfare have improved considerably since the days
when cats were ritually burned during the annual Feast of St John. This practice
was eventually banned in the late 18th century, but within a few decades
the country was wracked by revolution and peasants, despiteful of anything that
even remotely hinted of privilege, tossed the pedigreed dogs and cats of the
persecuted aristocracy onto bonfires at the Place des Greves. Apparently,
only working class animals were welcome in the "New Republic." During this period,
several breeds of dogs unique to France became extinct.
Since the Revolution, attitudes toward animals have improved, yet, even today,
the level of neglect can seem appalling to the American visitor. Every summer
tens of thousands of pets are nonchalantly abandoned by families leaving town
for extended vacations. During our visit, we repeatedly noticed dogs and cats
that were obviously strays. The owners of these animals can afford to make more
safe and secure arrangements for their pets, but simply don't want to be
bothered. When the offending families return, they either retrieve their
abandoned animals, claim an animal abandoned by someone else, or simply adopt
a new animal from the shelter. To their credit, French animal welfare advocates
consider this behavior to be a national disgrace and are struggling to make it
socially unacceptable. Currently, the only defense that French pet owners offer
is to suggest that the Spanish are even worse.
So the past of our little friend from the streets of Blois was a mystery. Was
she abandoned when her family left town? Was she abandoned as a kitten because
someone didn't want to be bothered with finding her a decent home? Who knows.
Hopefully, her luck in finding us, combined with the considerate and responsible
behavior of the Hôtel Le Savoie manager, would mark the beginning of
a better future.
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