Chinon

January 28—Today, I stood in the ruins of a hall that was already twice as old as the United States is now, back in 1429, when Joan of Arc came there. The legend says that she recognized the Dauphin (later King Charles VII) among three hundred gentlemen who were pretending to be he, and that it was there that she began to convince him that he was the legitimate heir to the throne of France, and that it was his duty to take it. We had magnificent weather for our excursion—the first such day in a couple of weeks—and we trotted off gaily to Chinon. This magnificent tenth-century ruin is exquisite: not much restored but still immense, grandiose, and haunted by many old ghosts. If one believes the legend, Richard the Lion Heart came here to die. Richelieu chose it for his residence. Rabelais was born in the neighborhood. A fascinating place.

Yes, we had fun, in addition to the joys of our missionary ministry. For example, we did indeed make it to Chinon. More than once. It would only be four decades later that I would learn of this castle’s historic rôle as my Uncle Richard Coeur de Lion Plantagenet’s principal and favorite treasure city. I knew this was his; I didn’t yet know that he was my kin. It would’ve mattered. I knew also, and appreciated somewhat vaguely, that the Chinonnais was home to the great Rabelais, some of whose work I’d already encountered. Here’s Elder Parker, among those evocative ruins.

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