FIXATIONS : Club Medieval : Orange County Man’s House Is His Castle

Fabian Jiroux has a stained-glass unicorn set into his front door, the sole external indication of the unique, cluttered world within.

Jiroux collects books, antiquarian and otherwise, adding up to some 4,000 volumes. Then there’s the medieval seals, reproduction helmets and a slew of other Middle Age items. He hoards old art prints, British coronation programs, painted eggs, Royal Doulton character figures, military miniatures he hand-paints and Ken dolls . Then he has more than 600 military and police uniforms, including a fur-lined leather 1920s Navy balloonist’s long coat and a complete French highway patrol get-up.

Though it’s a sunny day and the drapes are open, the antiquity and utter density of stuff in the house seems to absorb the light, giving the place a dark, cloistered feel.

“My friends joke that they can’t decide if, when the earthquake comes, the house is going to explode or implode. Will the weight draw it in or push it out?” Jiroux said with a giggle that suggested he might rather enjoy either prospect.

Jiroux, a retired Newport High history teacher who continues to teach at the private St. Andrews Church school in Newport Beach, may be able to laugh at his obsessions, but he still pursues them relentlessly. He haunts some 54 thrift shops between the Mexican border and Long Beach, and also makes jaunts to Europe. Among his carry-ons returning from his last trip was a reproduction 16th-Century Polish Hussar’s helmet, which had to look interesting on the security X-ray.

Upstairs, we pass a bathroom where the shower is packed solid with firefighters’ uniforms. Then, “Here’s a nice contrast,” he notes, pointing to a Soviet Army hat set at a jaunty angle atop the carved head of a 12th-Century saint.

As we turn a corner into his hobby room, Jiroux says, “By the way, here’s the castle.”

Indeed.

Nearly filling the room is the heart of Jirouxdom, a painstakingly handmade half-inch-to-the-foot vision of a medieval castle, abutted by a cathedral and monastery. Sprawling over an industrial-grade tabletop, the many-halled castle has a working portcullis and drawbridge, and a pipe organ with a built-in tape recorder that plays period religious music and Scripture readings.

On each of the buildings, one of the antiqued walls is cut away to reveal rooms with real stone floors, walked on by a township’s worth of hand-painted knights, serfs and royalty. Each room has furnishings and devices handmade by Jiroux. One, a chest topped with a statue of an angel, is crafted of 42 pieces of wood and fits easily in the palm of the hand. A similarly delicate 13th-Century weaving loom has a bit of cloth started on it.

The trappings in the cathedral are changed to match the ecclesiastical season, currently in Pentecost. The castle ceilings, not even visible unless one crouches, are fabulously ornate. On this tiny scale Jiroux has crafted a reality so complete and fully realized that it makes the drab houses and strip malls outside seem the clumsy counterfeits of life.

His fascination with things medieval began as a child, growing up on the grounds of an Eastern university with Gothic architecture. He’s been building his own miniature gothics since. One tower of his present castle was built 30 years ago, the rest of it within the 25 years he has lived in his house.

The castle has never been exhibited because Jiroux dreads the thought of disassembling it. It doesn’t go unappreciated, though. He’s a fabulous cook, according to his friends, and the 66-year-old bachelor doesn’t want for company at his dinner parties. He also hosts a dinner for each of his art history classes. And all who come to his house wind up touring the castle. Most recently, his Siamese cat has found a cozy place to sleep on it, knocking a lot of nobility flat in the process.

There are still towers to be built and rooms to be remodeled. He doesn’t see ever calling it finished.

“I figured I’ll be dead by the time I do that,” he said, “I sometimes think I stay alive to keep this going. And lately there’s nothing I spend so much time thinking about as trying to figure what the hell do you do with something like this. Where does it end up? I’m not young anymore. I have a will that covers giving it to friends, but that’s just passing the question on to them.”

Does he ever have regrets, thoughts of the things he might have done instead of this solitary pursuit?

“No, that doesn’t bother me at all, because the most enjoyable days of my life I’ve spent with this.”

The most intensive period of work on the castle were the five years he spent nursing his invalid mother before her death. “For a long while I had to just sit and wait on her needs. I put an intercom in to her bedroom and spent whole days working here, listening to the intercom.

“Did you see the name?” he asks, indicating the walls and turrets he built, “All castles have names.” And there, inscribed by the drawbridge is this one’s: La Paraclet.

“La Paraclet is the medieval word for the Holy Ghost as the comforter and the consoler,” he explained. “It was a wonderful escape during that time when my mother was sick. I accomplished an awful lot on it during those days. The castle has always been my comforter and consoler.”

Once its name sinks in, this castle starts looking mighty sad and beautiful. The intricate detail of this tiny world speaks of a spirit’s immersion: the tranquil courtyard; the bird’s nests in the towers; the ant-sized cats, chasing yet smaller mice; the individual, near-microscopic pickles in a larder barrel; the worn rugs and tapestries; the fantastic manticore nearly out of view caged in the dark recess of the dungeon. The consoler.