The castle of Blois would be without a rival in France if Fontainebleau
did not exist. The first time we enter that interior court, the
four sides of which each tell the history of a great period of
architecture, we are dazzled by the throng of memories and ideas that
start from these four great pages. The obedient stone, in accordance
with the epoch, has recorded the suspicious precautions, the paternal
confidence, the chivalric enthusiasm and the majestic isolation of the
masters of this royal dwelling. Pure feudalism is written in the mighty
walls of the fortress of the Counts of Blois. The transitional style,
one of the most important examples of which is offered by this castle
of Louis XII., marks the change from the feudal system to the unitary
monarchy prepared by Louis XI. This youthful monarchy, already absolute
though tempered by the great aristocratic individualities, already
glitters and triumphs in this brilliant façade built by the young
victor of Marignan. By the side of this splendid façade, like a severe
master beside a turbulent pupil, the severe profile of the castle,
built by Mansart, suggests the absolute and uncounterpoised monarchy of
Louis XVI.;--unity without diversity, force without grace.
Thus the unknown architect who cut the walls of the mighty fortress
out of the rock for Thibault le Tricheur; and the artists, native in
all probability and therefore unknown, who drew the arabesques of
Francis the First’s stairway; and Joconde, the architect of Louis XII.;
and Mansart, the architect of Gaston of Orleans; and all those bold
stone-workers, unknown to themselves, doubtless, in those four façades
have shown the four chief phases of royal authority. “Monuments are the
true writings of the nations.”
Above the city of Blois, upon a triangular plateau, whence the view
embraces the vast panorama of the left bank of the Loire, formerly
stood a fortress, the origin of which is lost in the obscurity of ages.
It was one of those redoubtable holds in which the great feudal barons
watched for their prey and kept what they captured. It was one of the
most formidable of all, and it is stated that it was never reduced, nor
even besieged. Three narrow ascents, shadowed on either side by high
walls, gave access to it. A double ring of fortifications was in front
of the donjon, which, in case of siege, was the last resort of the
master of this formidable abode. The first enclosure, called the lower
court, or fore-court, to-day forms a courtyard of considerable size, at
the end of which rises the front built by Louis XII. Ruined towers with
thick walls still testify of the precautions taken to defend this first
circuit.
[Illustration: CHÂTEAU DE BLOIS, FRANCE.]
Immense offices, a church the foundation of which dates back from the
Eleventh Century, and which must not be confounded with the chapel that
is to be seen in the present castle-yard, and lodgings for the canons
and servants of this church formed a vast circle of buildings around
this first courtyard where also were to be seen the habitations of the
count’s principal officers. There, in succession, afterwards arose the
house from the window of which Georges d’Amboise, counsellor to Louis
XII., conversed with his master; the house of the Duc d’Epernon, who
favoured the flight of Marie de’Medicis; and that other mansion where,
on June 13th, 1626, Louis XIII. caused the arrest of the Prince de
Vendôme, accused of being concerned in the Chalais conspiracy.
The castle built by Louis XII. now stands on the spot where the second
enclosure began. Access to the latter was gained by a drawbridge thrown
across a moat between two strong towers. Close to this bridge was a
narrow passage communicating with the covered way called the Vault of
the Castle, which has lately disappeared and which led to the _Place
des Jésuites_. It would be rash to pretend exactly to reconstruct
the physiognomy which this second enclosure presented in the Twelfth
or Thirteenth Century. The buildings of the background, vast edifices
raised by the Counts of Blois, of the house of Châtillon, have
completely disappeared and are only visible to-day in the drawings of
de Cerceau. It is on the site of these buildings that Gaston d’Orléans
raised, about 1635, the cold and regular building that bears his name.
It was between the thick walls of this hall and the no less thick
walls of the _Tour des Moulins_ that Francis the First wedged
his _château_ in. If we leave the Hall of the Estates, deferring
till a little later a visit to the elegant edifice of that prince,
and go immediately to the tower that terminates it and connects the
_château_ of Francis the First with that of Gaston of Orleans,
we shall have traversed all that now remains standing of the ancient
strong castle of the Counts of Blois.
The _château_ built by Francis the First, by the abundance and
variety of its ornamentation, crushes the simple abode of Louis XII.
Beside this strong and severe building it produces the effect of a
young bride covered with laces beside the rich but serious and durable
robe of her grandmother.
It was Louis XII., however, who laid the foundations of Francis the
First’s wing. But these foundations had scarcely risen above the
ground when he died. The plan adopted at that time only required one
façade,--that of the courtyard. Francis the First had another building
joined to the original one. When the addition was made, the strong
partition-wall that terminated the first building and to-day separates
the two sides of the edifice was already far advanced, so that it was
necessary to pierce it with doorways that now allow us to appreciate
its thickness. We are told that three years sufficed for the young
victor of Marignan to carry this enterprise to the point at which we
see it to-day. The king’s plan was to add two other wings to the castle
that would thus have formed a perfect square. But Francis the First
lacked the money necessary for the execution of this colossal plan, as
Louis XIV. did afterwards for Versailles. The Field of the Cloth of
Gold and the Italian war had exhausted his resources. During the years
that followed, the many catastrophes that overwhelmed France--the loss
of Milan, the death of Bayard, the battle of Pavia, and finally the
captivity in Madrid,--destroyed Francis’s passion for building,--that
love of the square and trowel that was common to him and all the great
sovereigns of our country. When he returned from captivity, in 1526,
with his head full of fairy-like Arab and Moorish constructions, he
was already dreaming of Chambord, and neglected Blois, in which,
however, had been gathered the money for his ransom. The grand project,
conceived in 1516, was therefore abandoned, and the unfinished castle
of Blois remained as we see it to-day,--a curious and incoherent
assemblage of monuments of divers styles and periods.
We have heard nothing about the _château_ built by Gaston
of Orleans, not that that edifice is without merit, but its cold
regularity disagreeably contrasts with the Renaissance architecture,
so sparkling and prodigal of caprice. It was for the purpose of
completing that correct and wearisome monument that Gaston wanted to
destroy what remains of Francis the First’s wing. He would gladly
have said, like Louis XIV.: “Remove those grotesque piles.” For it
is a singular fact that at that time good taste joined in the same
condemnation the Middle Ages, whose wonders were considered barbarous,
and the Renaissance which had led the arts back to the purer forms of
antiquity. With bare stones and straight lines throughout, yet there
was something of the majestic gravity of Louis XIV. in the work of
his uncle Gaston. In order that the straight line may produce great
effects it must be developed over the immense surface of a Louvre or
a Versailles. At Blois it is only insignificant. This château would
serve for anything,--a museum, a library, or a tribunal, just as well
as the abode of a prince. In 1823, it had a narrow escape of becoming a
prefecture. They were going to pull down what they called the shanties
of Louis XII. and substitute a fine iron grille for them. Francis the
First’s wing found grace in the eyes of the destroyers on condition of
sheltering the household: the kitchens had to be placed somewhere! It
is true that this happened in 1823, only a few years after the Empire.
The work of a period of transition, when tranquillity was succeeding
agitation, this palace of the chief of the Fronde does not possess the
serene power and self-confidence that came afterwards, but we already
feel something in it of the imposing unity and the majestic ennui of
the great reign.