In May 2016, I went on a trip with my parents between Paris and Saint-Malo in Brittany. I chose to drive through the Loire Valley to see a few lesser-known châteaux (how many times can you see Chenonceau, Blois or Chambord, even though they’re all stunning). On that warm May day, I chose to visit Château Le Lude for two main reasons. The first is that it was right on the way between Le Mans, where we were staying for a few days, and Fontevraud Abbey, which we wanted to visit. The second reason I wanted to visit the château was its unusual name, which reminded me both of someone I once knew and of an amusing story about the Catholic Church (but for that, you’ll have to stick with me or scroll to the end of the article…)
In any case, after a few hours of driving along the roads of the Loire Valley, we arrived at the sleepy village beside the château. Imagine my surprise when we got to the château gates and discovered they were locked. Anyone else would have cursed the French, called them antisemitic, wished the château’s owner an encounter with a broken eclair, and then gotten back in the car and driven off. I, on the other hand, decided to go try the local tourist office. And here’s something you should know: it doesn’t matter how remote or even boring the village you’re visiting is. As long as a single pebble once found its way into Louis XIV‘s shoe while he was out for a walk nearby, a tourist office will spring up there as if by magic. And sure enough, to my great relief, the tourist office stood right there in the sleepy village square, and wonder of wonders, it was actually staffed.
I asked the tourism clerk why the château was closed that day, and she told me it was closed for rehearsals taking place in the château gardens. An average person would have repeated the litany from the previous paragraph (curses, accusations of antisemitism, broken eclairs, and so on) and driven off. I, however, nonchalantly pulled out my Francophiles Anonymous business card and said, with a bit of nerve, that I’d been sent to document the château and simply had to get in. And indeed, my broken French, the pretty logo on the card, and her desire to get rid of me and get back to her day’s work, did the trick. She picked up the phone to the château, and after a short call, told me we could only walk in the gardens since the château itself was locked. Well, I thought to myself, that’s not bad either, and off we went to the château.
And then, as we entered the château gardens, the following scene unfolded before our eyes:
https://www.facebook.com/FrancophilesAnonymes/videos/593485770813944/
It turns out that in Le Lude there’s a group of people who perform Renaissance dances in period costume, and that very day they had decided to rehearse for a show that’s held from time to time at the château. For anyone curious to see what it actually looks like, here’s a video from one of the Renaissance festivities held in town back in 2014:
So after chatting with these friendly people, I went off to stroll through the lovely gardens of the château, which let me walk all the way around it and see every wing. What I discovered is that, unlike most châteaux I’ve visited, which follow one consistent style, every wing of Château Le Lude is built in a different style, and yet there’s still an overall harmony to it. To understand how this fascinating château came together, it helps to know its history.
The story of Château Le Lude
Château Le Lude sits between Le Mans and the city of Tours, and it’s considered the northernmost château in the Loire Valley. Construction began in the 10th century, and its strategic location made it a prime target for conquest during the Hundred Years’ War. In 1457, Jehan de Daillon received the château, and during the 16th century his descendants began transforming it from a military fortress into a pleasure château in the Italian style fashionable at the time. Since the Daillon family was close to the kings of France, quite a few monarchs stopped at the château, enjoyed royal hospitality there, and left their mark on it.
During the 18th century, the château passed to Joseph Duvelaer, one of the owners of the East India Company, who, after a long journey in the East, returned to the château and brought his Chinese wife there, which was a huge novelty at the time. His niece, the Marquise de la Vieuville, built the last wing, in the 18th-century style, giving the château its final form. Luckily for us, she also managed, together with the townspeople, to save the château from the vandalism of the French Revolution, so it survived almost completely unscathed. Her descendants continued to maintain the château, and it remains in their hands to this day. Since it’s a private château, it isn’t always open and has limited visiting hours, so I recommend checking the château’s website to make sure it’s open, to avoid any disappointment. In any case, if you’re in the area, I definitely recommend visiting to enjoy the architectural variety and the lovely gardens.
And now for an amusing anecdote connected to the château’s name
At the Vatican, there’s a cardinal whose job is essentially to modernize the Latin language so it keeps up with the 21st century. One day, this cardinal received a letter asking him to come up with a Latin term for the concept of a strip club. Our cardinal friend thought about it for a long time and eventually found his solution. He recalled that in ancient Rome, the arenas featured not just gladiators but also acrobats and dancers known as ludi. From that moment on, the cardinal decided that, in Latin, a strip club would be called: Ludus Nudus!