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Headed off for the Foret de Paimpont. For devotees of King Arthur and his knights and the search for the holy grail, this is THE place to come – the Breton version of Somerset. A lot of Arthurian stuff is scattered around including Merlin’s final resting place – apparently. The village of Paimpont is merely a launching pad for the wider area of the forest. We parked up and went in search of coffee at a small bar from where a small hairy head beckoned.
Small puppy in the bar/tabac at Foret de Paimpont
Mirinda sat outside while I entered the depths and using all my Australian charm managed to order ‘duex grande café crème, s’il vous plait’ which the woman behind the smoky bar shortly brought out…much to my relief. I don’t think non-smoking has actually reached Brittany (Mirinda assures me that France has also gone smoke free as well as England) as all the bars I have stuck my head into have been in a fug of cigarette exhaust.
After coffee we split up – I hit the boulangerie for some French bread while Mirinda braved the charcuterie for half a chook. Suitably loaded we ventured into the scary Syndicate d’initiative (a Tourist Information place but with a little ‘i’ rather than the full ‘I’ on the signposts) where Mirinda chatted with a woman who had very little English but who managed to be understood. She sold us a booklet and a map of the area telling us where to go…in the nicest possible way.
In the centre of the town I saw some of our fellow guests at the château as well as a group of English tourists who were discussing how to go into the deli and ask for a chicken. One suggested flapping his elbows and clucking. I’m not sure if this was attempted.
Lake beside Paimpont convent
We had decided to drive out to Trehorenteuc, eat lunch at a picnic spot (incidentally, a ‘P’ on our map means either a Parking area or a Picnic spot) and go for a wander around the sights. However, no sooner had we started driving than the heavens opened and the rain came down in buckets. In fact, the closer we drew to the turn off, the bigger the buckets. I think it was probably Vivian warning us off. Anyway, we made a quick decision and drove on to Josselin.
A perfect little French village (actually Josselin is another “Brittany Small Town of Character”) with a large church and an even larger château dominating it. Delightfully higgledy piggledy houses line the narrow streets as tourists jostle each other for the few remaining seats at the café’s that line the centre square.
We left them to it and visited the church instead. The church is dedicated to a statue that was found in a bramble bush which, apparently, cured the blind child of a farmer – I presume of blindness. The statue has its own chapel and is paraded around the town each September. It’s quite amazing. I mean the statue not the crazy things that people do.
Alabastar frontispiece in Josselin church
Most of the church is a homage to the Rohan family who still seem to rule over this place. Their mark is everywhere. The château is theirs – they still live there like some ancient feudal overlords. Actually the château is magnificent. The façade you see from the garden was rebuilt in the renaissance but the front, overlooking the river is still medieval. The little French student who turned out to be our guide, irritated Mirinda a bit when she asked us to remain on our side of the drawbridge so the previous tour group could complete its talk on the façade. After a while we were permitted to enter the front garden and stand by the well and wait.
Our guide at Château Josselin
Our guide was very good, especially when she was questioned by a rather inquisitive and authoritative wire haired terrier with a very odd bark. Her response was “I never have a dog like this one!” which made everyone laugh and infuriated the dog into uttering even more ridiculous noises. Its owner took it out.
The first place built here on the edge of the River Oust was the Château de Guethenoc back in 1008 but this has long since gone, destroyed completely by Henry II in 1168. The son of the original owner was called Josselin so he renamed the château and the town (because he could) to Josselin. The château we see today was started in 1231 and was a big player in the start of the Hundred Years War. In 1351, Jean de Beaumanoir (a commander working under Charles de Bois) confronted an English captain called Bemborough (working under Jean VI of Montfort). At some point Geoffrey de Bois yelled “Drink your blood, Beamanoir, it will quench your thirst” which has become a famous heroic shout. Anyway, Jean won and took 18 English prisoners – a rare French military victory.
The château then passed to the Clisson family, culminating in the ownership of Olivier IV de Clisson who, at one stage, was the most powerful person in France, after the king. In 1407 the Clissons married the Rohans and they have never left.
Obviously it fell into disrepair (as all of these places do) until around 1835 when the then duke of Josselin decided he’d had enough of living in a dump and started restoration work. The interior was changed a lot but the outside was basically left as it was. Which is good because we have some fantastic decoration to gawp at today!
Most memorable is the family motto A Plus meaning Without Superior. This is massively wrought high on the wall for all to see – as well as a few obvious places inside.
A is for Anne of Bretagne, Château Josselin
Problem with this is that most people when it was originally carved would not have been able to read and nowadays, hardly anyone can understand Latin so you have to wonder. Also a whole row of ‘A’s decorate another part of the façade. These refer to Anne of Brittany and are basically a way of showing off that they knew her. It was through this front that we found out that the emblem on the flag of Brittany is actually the skins of ermine stretched out. Gross.
Once inside, the rooms are pretty much as you’d expect in this sort of place. The family was very keen on itself as the names of them all are dotted around the dining room in a sort of alphabetical Where’s Wally.
Also in the dining room stands a wonderful sculpture of the original Olivier de Clisson atop his mighty steed, his motto beside him, proclaiming Pour ce qui me plest, meaning I can do whatever the hell I like. I’m thinking of having this tattooed on my arm.
Most unexpectedly there is a bust of Alain de Rohan by Rodin which is extremely beautiful. The rest of the rooms (there weren’t that many) all merge into lots of portraits of dead people, scattered, mysterious motifs, rugs big enough to build a house in Farnham on and various outrageous ways to ensure your name is ever remembered.
After a delightful visit with the Rohans we went for a quick cuppa, visited a tacky tourist shop for postcards then drove back to the Château du Pin. We had a lovely day.
One more thing about the Rohans – their remarkable lack of imagination. For some reason the first born was always Alain if a boy and Margueritte when a girl. I guess it would save having to change all the carvings throughout the house. Further study has led to the discovery that St Margueritte is usually shown stamping down on the devil while standing or kneeling in great piety. Those Rohans! Crazy guys. Gotta love ’em.
