The Cathédrale Saint-Pierre of Poitiers

The Cathédrale Saint-Pierre of Poitiers.

In the historic heart of Poitiers, where Roman roads once crossed and medieval kings held court, rises one of France’s most striking Gothic churches: the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre. Begun around 1162 under the patronage of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II of England, it reflects a turning point in architecture. Instead of the soaring spires of northern cathedrals, Poitiers offers a wide, hall-like interior—three nearly equal naves supported by massive clustered columns.

Step inside and you feel the difference immediately. The space is broad and luminous, more like an immense hall than a vertical climb toward heaven. Light spills through an exceptional set of 12th- and 13th-century stained-glass windows, among the oldest and best preserved in France. One masterpiece shows the Crucifixion flanked by detailed scenes from the lives of saints, its blues and ruby reds still glowing after eight centuries.

Music once filled this stone volume as richly as color does. The great organ, with pipes dating to the 18th century and a case adorned with delicate carvings, is among the finest in western France. Beneath it, carved choir stalls from the late Gothic period—intricate scenes of foliage, animals, and everyday life—give a surprisingly earthy counterpoint to the cathedral’s solemnity.

The building also tells of power and politics. Its foundation coincided with the Angevin empire of Henry II and Eleanor, whose marriage linked England and much of western France. Later centuries added chapels, sculptures, and restorations, but the core remains a proud witness to that rich medieval moment.

The interior of the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre

Young Bordeaux: Open, Curious, and Surprisingly Fluent in English

On an ordinary weekday in November, I found myself talking with a few students in Bordeaux. The weather was unusually warm for the season, giving the city a light, almost weightless atmosphere.

What struck me most was how effortlessly they shifted to English the moment I asked if they spoke English. They were open, curious, and happy to talk—and even happier to be photographed. Many carried actual books rather than screens, a small but refreshing reminder that reading in public is still very much alive.

They stood for portraits with an ease and confidence that surprised me. No posing culture, no hesitation—just simple human exchange. I walked away with images that feel honest, warm, and grounded in the everyday rhythm of the city. Sometimes the most ordinary moments offer the clearest glimpse of a place and its people.

The Death of Meleager – A Roman Theme Recast in Medieval Stone

The Death of Meleager — marble relief carved in 11th-century Rome, reusing and reinterpreting ancient Roman motifs of the dying hero surrounded by mourners. Originally part of the Borghese Collection, later set into the façade of the Villa Borghese (1615), and now held in the Louvre Museum, Paris.

The Scene

Carved in marble in 11th-century Rome, this relief — known as The Death of Meleager — belongs to the Borghese Collection and now resides in the Louvre Museum, Paris. Though created long after antiquity, it reinterprets a classical myth that had already inspired countless Roman sarcophagi: the dying hero Meleager, surrounded by mourning women.

Meleager reclines on a couch, his body still strong but lifeless. Two women bend over him in grief — one supporting his shoulders, the other touching his face — while a third sits aside, her head veiled and her hand raised to her brow in a timeless gesture of sorrow. At the foot of the couch, a small dog waits faithfully beside a fallen helmet and shield, reminders of the hero’s warrior life. The figures are enclosed within deep niches, suggesting both an architectural setting and a tomb-like space.

The Meaning

In classical myth, Meleager’s death followed the Calydonian boar hunt and his fatal conflict with his own kin. Yet in this medieval version, the story has been transformed: no longer a mythic tragedy, but an image of human mortality. The sculptor, working in a Roman workshop of the 1000s, drew directly from ancient prototypes — perhaps even reusing a fragment of a Roman sarcophagus from the 2nd century CE — but gave it new devotional gravity.

Where ancient art emphasized heroic death, this version speaks in the visual language of compassion and lament. The gestures are quieter, the faces more introspective. The ancient Meleager becomes here a universal symbol of the dying man, surrounded by those who remain.

Reflection

Inserted into the façade of the Villa Borghese (Rome) in 1615 and later transferred to the Louvre, the relief bridges more than a millennium of art and faith. It shows how medieval artists continued to look back to Rome, not to revive its mythology, but to inherit its humanity. In this marble scene — the fallen hero, the grieving women, the silent dog — the boundaries between myth, memory, and prayer have dissolved.

Further Reading

• J. Elsner, Art and the Roman Viewer: The Transformation of Art from the Pagan World to Christianity

• C. Metzler, Sculpture in Rome, 1000–1150

• M. Greenhalgh, The Survival of Roman Antiquities in the Middle Ages

What Makes the French…French?

Walk a French morning and the country explains itself. A queue at the bakery, neighbors greeting each other, a radio debate about schools and secularism, a tricolor over the prefecture, a poster for Saturday’s march—none of it exceptional, all of it telling. France isn’t one grand essence but a choreography of daily rituals.

Start with language. French is a public craft as much as a mother tongue: teachers weigh words, TV hosts fence with phrasing, and a simple tu or vous places people at a measured distance. Labels that protect names of cheeses and wines show how vocabulary guards landscapes too. Clarity and beauty aren’t luxuries; they’re civic habits.

Then the republic—felt more than proclaimed. National curricula, competitive exams, big public services: the state is not shy about being visible. Laïcité sets the tone of shared space: religion respected, institutions neutral. Most days the rule feels like background calm; sometimes it sparks an argument about the line between expression and equality.

You taste the country in its timing. Lunch is part of the day’s architecture; markets return like a heartbeat; “terroir” ties flavor to place and patience. Even so, France is modern to the bone: TGVs stitch distances, hypermarkets and click-and-collect keep families on schedule. Big principles—liberty, equality, fraternity—share a house with big conveniences, and they argue over dinner.

Public disagreement isn’t a crisis here; it’s a civic sport. People strike, march, write op-eds. Café talk can sound like a seminar, and essays remain a popular way to think in public. Form matters too: a letter begins “Madame, Monsieur,” a meeting ends “Bien à vous.” Style isn’t pretense; it’s a language of respect.

Beneath it all hum a few live tensions: universal citizenship vs. visible group identities; Paris’s pull vs. the pride of the periphery; secular neutrality vs. personal expression; terroir vs. global brands; a protective state vs. entrepreneurial zest. None is settled—and that’s the point. To “read” France, watch where routine meets principle: the school gate at 8:30, the roundabout lined with chain stores, the market at noon. In those ordinary theaters, the country becomes legible—practical, argumentative, elegant, and stubbornly itself.

Robert the Magnificent and His Vow to the Sea

Robert the Magnificent of Normandy portrayed on the Genealogical Chronicle of the English Kings.

In the early 11th century, Normandy was still a young duchy—rich, restless, and ruled by a man whose life reads like a Norse saga. Robert I of Normandy (c. 1000 – 1035), remembered as Robert the Magnificent, was the son of Duke Richard II and the father of William the Conqueror.

Though only in his late twenties when he took the ducal mantle in 1027, Robert quickly earned a reputation for daring and spectacle. He kept the feudal barons in line, encouraged trade along the Channel coast, and cultivated ties with the great abbeys that dotted Normandy. Yet his most enduring story began not in a council chamber but on the open sea.

A Storm, a Vow, and Three Chapels

Legend tells that Robert was caught in a violent storm while crossing the Channel. As waves threatened to swallow his ship, he prayed to the Virgin Mary, promising that if he survived he would build three chapels of gratitude along Normandy’s coast. He reached land safely, and the vow became action:

1. La Délivrande, near Caen – Today a celebrated Marian shrine (Basilique Notre-Dame de la Délivrande), it grew from a humble chapel into one of Normandy’s oldest continuous pilgrimage sites.

2. Notre-Dame de Grâce, Honfleur – Perched high above the Seine estuary, this chapel became a sailors’ sanctuary. Generations of fishermen and explorers—from cod fishermen bound for Newfoundland to long-distance captains of the Age of Discovery—left ex-votos (model ships, plaques, and prayers) in thanks for safe voyages.

3. Notre-Dame de Salut, Fécamp – Built on a windswept cliff, this chapel doubled as a beacon for shipping. Even when religious wars ravaged it and its roof collapsed, the faithful of Fécamp rebuilt and returned. To this day departing vessels salute the site with three blasts of their horn, asking for “good wind and a safe return.”

Together these three sanctuaries stitched a spiritual safety net along Normandy’s maritime frontier—a chain of devotion and seamanship that long outlasted the duke who inspired them.

A Duke Larger than Life

Robert’s life ended as dramatically as it began. In 1035, during a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, he died suddenly—likely of illness—at Nicaea on the return journey. His young illegitimate son, William, would grow up to become William the Conqueror, reshaping European history.

Yet Robert’s own legacy is more than dynastic. His votive chapels stand as monuments to a ruler who linked faith and the sea, transforming a desperate prayer in a storm into three centuries-old beacons that still guide sailors and pilgrims alike.

Notre-Dame de Salut, Fécamp.

Further Reading

• David Bates, Normandy Before 1066

• Elisabeth van Houts, The Normans in Europe

The Expulsion of Paradise at the Abbey of Mont Saint-Michel (France)

Adam and Eve expelled from Paradise, mid-16th century, Abbey church of Mont-Saint-Michel, France.

Inside the abbey of Mont Saint-Michel, a mid-16th-century Caen-stone relief compresses the drama of Genesis 3 from the Bible into a single, charged scene. At the right side rises a tree full of apples. Coiled around its trunk clings a devilish figure, part human, part serpent, its horned head leaning toward Eve as one clawed hand offers the forbidden fruit. Adam stands close, torn between resistance and desire.

To the right, the consequence unfolds with striking force. A powerful angel strides forward, wings spread and sword raised, driving the pair out of the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve shrink under the heavenly command: shoulders bent, arms crossed over their bare bodies, faces averted from the paradise they can no longer enter.

Carved during the French Renaissance, when sculptors combined late-Gothic sharpness with new attention to anatomy and movement, the relief captures in one sweep the temptation, judgment, and expulsion that mark the beginning of human history. More than five centuries on, the stone still brims with the urgency of that first exile.

As clouds gather ...

Horses near Belloy-sur-Somme (France).

As clouds gather over the Somme at dusk,
horses graze in fading amber light,
manes stirring in the hush before rain—
a quiet strength holding the day’s beauty
while the first dark drops wait in the sky.

Jeanne d'Arc (Joan of Arc) at the Threshold of the house where she was born

Kneeling Joan of Arc—the statue of a prayerful Jeanne d’Arc that crowns her birthplace door—armor stilled, sword at rest: a warrior pausing before action.

Meet Jeanne d'Arc (Joan of Arc; 1412 - 1431) first, not astride a horse but on her knees. The statue shows a young fighter in prayer: gauntlets folded, sword quiet along the thigh, the plates of her armor stacked like the ribs of a bell. Her face is steady, hair falling in waves, a small ruff softening the steel. It’s a later homage to her memory, yet the essentials are pure Jeanne—courage and devotion sharing the same body.

Now place her where she belongs: above the door of the house where she was born, in Domrémy. The second image records that doorway—a modest entrance that once carried this very sentinel on its keystone. In a village of ordinary stone, the townspeople crowned an ordinary threshold with a praying soldier, as if to bless every departure that began there.

Print of the doorway of Joan of Arc’s birthplace, Domrémy-la-Pucelle (france): a tiny Gothic canopy with the royal fleurs-de-lis with flanking heraldic shields.

Look closely at the signs above the door. A tiny Gothic canopy frames three shields (escutcheons). The central one bears the three fleurs-de-lis of the French kings—the emblem of the crown whose cause Joan championed. The flanking shields each repeat a single fleur-de-lis, echoing loyalty to France. Beneath them runs a narrow motto band (blurred in the print), a ribbon of words that once made the message explicit: this house remembers the Maid and the monarchy she helped restore. The canopy’s pointed, chapel-like form borrows the language of churches, turning a domestic doorway into a small shrine.

Together, statue and portal tell the story better than any plaque. From this humble house stepped an extraordinary girl. And before the charge and the banners, there was this: a pause for prayer on the threshold—readiness gathered in stillness—then the open road.

Picasso Arrives in Paris

“Picasso llegando a París con Jaume Andreu Bonsons” (Paris, May 1901) - seen in Berlin.

In May 1901, a 19-year-old Pablo Picasso arrived for the second time in Paris — no longer the carefree prodigy who had first come the year before, but a young man changed by grief. Just months earlier, his close friend Carles Casagemas had taken his own life, an event that would haunt Picasso for years and give birth to his Blue Period.

This moment of return is captured in his drawing “Picasso llegando a París con Jaume Andreu Bonsons”, executed in colored wax crayons on card. The work shows Picasso beside his friend Jaume Andreu Bonsons, another Catalan painter, as they enter the city that would shape modern art. Their faces carry both determination and fatigue — the look of two young men stepping into a new chapter, carrying memory as baggage.

Only weeks after this arrival, Picasso held his first major exhibition at Ambroise Vollard’s gallery, marking the start of his Paris years and his rapid transformation from promise to legend.

Seen today, “Picasso llegando a París” feels like a hinge between innocence and maturity — a fragile record of friendship, resilience, and the moment when the artist’s personal sorrow began to turn into art.

The Siege of Dijon (1513)

Siege of Dijon by the Swiss on 1513, Musee des Beaux Arts de Dijon.

Step close to the tapestry and let your eyes travel from left to right. It reads like a film strip: many moments stitched into a single scene. The label calls it Le Siège de Dijon en 1513—a Flemish work from the early 16th century. What it shows is not one picture but a sequence: the arrival of the Swiss and Comtois allies of the Empire, the city’s desperate answer, and the deal that ended the crisis.

Left edge — the enemy gathers

A sloping meadow swells toward Dijon’s walls, thick with soldiers and gear. You can count the pikes and halberds like a comb. Drummers beat time beside a forest of lances and standards—look for cantonal banners, including the bear of Bern—and a ring of tents marks the commanders’ camp.
At the foot of the walls, early field guns squat on wooden carriages; gunners touch fuses while others haul gabions and mantlets into place. A breach opens where the batteries bite at the masonry. It’s busy, brutal work, but the tapestry keeps its poise: even the fallen are arranged like notes on a staff.

Center — faith on the ramparts

Now the mood pivots. Two slender architectural posts frame the drama on the walls: a procession pouring along the battlements. Clergy in embroidered copes, acolytes with thuribles and processional crosses, city magistrates in long gowns—everyone moves as one. At their heart is the talisman Dijon trusted when the cannons spoke: the statue of Notre-Dame de Bon-Espoir (Our Lady of Good Hope), carried high as if the rampart itself had become a church aisle.
This is the moment the city remembered most. On 12 September 1513 the statue was borne around the defenses; the tapestry freezes that turn of the story, letting incense and prayer counterweigh powder and shot.

Look up at the skyline behind them: Dijon becomes a dense stage set of towers, steeples, and tiled roofs—not a map-accurate view but a civic self-portrait. Heraldic cartouches and small shields float in the sky like captions, reminding you that this is not just any city under siege; it is Dijon, capital of a wounded but defiant Burgundy.

Right edge — words stop the war

The procession flows toward a gate scene crowded with officials and envoys. Here comes the second turning point. On 13 September, before the Porte-Neuve, the governor Louis II de La Trémoille negotiated an accord with the besiegers. The tapestry shows the choreography of a settlement: hands extended, a parchment displayed, soldiers leaning in while the artillery still points outward. To either side, skirmishes sputter on—ladders raised, muskets leveled—because peace rarely arrives all at once. But the center of gravity has shifted from weapons to words.

How the tapestry tells the tale

• It uses continuous narrative: the same wall carries the viewer through days of history without a cut.

• The palette—cool blues, pale straw, and rose—is typical of South Netherlandish weaving, with silk highlights that once flashed like armor in the sun.

• The millefleurs ground (sprinkled with small plants) domesticates the battlefield, as if to insist that this is still the Burgundian countryside, even under threat.

• Everywhere, contrasts: tents vs. towers, drums vs. bells, gun smoke vs. incense. Steel doesn’t dominate; it competes with ritual, and ritual holds its ground.

What to look for up close

• The bear standard among the Swiss—small but unmistakable.

• Gunners ramming charges and lighting fuses; wheelbarrows and carts stacked with shot.

• The reliquary-like canopies above parts of the procession, turning the wall-walk into a sacred route.

• Faces peering from windows and rooflines, tiny witnesses woven into the cityscape.

• The border’s fruit and foliage, a reminder that life continues at the very edge of war.

In a single woven breath, this tapestry carries you from assault to supplication to agreement. It is less a snapshot than a civic memory palace: Dijon under siege, Dijon in prayer, Dijon making peace—three rooms of the same house, unlocked as you walk along the wall.

Pilgrims of the Bay (Mont-Saint-Michel, France)

Pilgrims of the Bay (Mont-Saint-Michel, France)

Riquewihr (France)

Riquewihr, France.

Riquewihr is a beautifully preserved medieval town located in the Alsace region of northeastern France, nestled between the Vosges Mountains and the famous vineyards of Alsace. Often referred to as one of the "most beautiful villages in France," Riquewihr is renowned for its half-timbered houses, cobblestone streets, and vibrant flower displays, all set within its 13th-century fortified walls.

Dating back to the Roman era, Riquewihr became prominent during the Middle Ages, flourishing as a winemaking town. Its well-preserved architecture reflects centuries of history, with structures from the Renaissance era and the Middle Ages standing side by side. The town's rich viticultural tradition remains strong, producing some of the finest Alsace wines, particularly Riesling.

Riquewihr’s charm, history, and location along the Alsace Wine Route make it a popular destination for visitors seeking both cultural and gastronomic experiences in one of France's most picturesque settings.

The Pérusse des Cars family and Les Cars (France)

Le Château des Cars, Les Cars (France).

The Pérusse des Cars family, known since the 11th century, is one of the oldest noble families in France. Their rise to prominence came through service to the Viscounts of Limoges and the French kings, as well as strategic marriages and skillful estate management. Members of the family held prestigious positions and played important roles throughout French history, including during the Revolution and the Restoration.

After the Revolution, notable figures like Louis-Marie de Pérusse des Cars and his brother Jean-François continued to serve royal causes, with the latter becoming a duke. The family’s influence continued through Louis-Nicolas and his descendants, who were involved in military, diplomatic, and economic activities, modernizing their estates, especially the La Roche de Bran domain in Montamisé. Their loyalty to the Bourbon monarchy remained a cornerstone of their legacy.

The family also had deep social ties in Montamisé, contributing to the local economy and establishing schools and religious services for the community.

The church in Les Cars (Eglise de la Nativite-de-la-tres-Sainte-Vierge, France), founded in the 12th century, following the donation of the village of Les Cars to the Saint-Martial monastery in Limoges by the Dean of the Saint-Yrieix monastery. It was initially dedicated to Saint Mary Magdalene, later changing its dedication to the Nativity of the Holy Virgin.

David and Goliath — Vengeance in Stone (Vézelay, France)

David and Goliath, Romanesque capital (12th c.), Basilica of Sainte-Madeleine, Vézelay, France. David, standing on foliage, uses Goliath’s own sword to behead the giant. Goliath falls backward, still armored.

High among the capitals of the Basilica of Sainte-Madeleine in Vézelay, a violent and vivid drama unfolds in limestone: the biblical clash between David and Goliath, captured at its blood-soaked peak. (I Samuel 17:48–51)

The capital tells its story in two acts. On the side (a modern reconstruction), we glimpse the moment before the climax: young David raises his sling, ready to face the Philistine warrior. But it’s the front face of the capital that delivers the blow.

Here, the drama bursts into action. The small, clean-shaven David — nimble and determined — stands balanced on what may be stylized foliage. With one foot he pushes the giant back, while with both hands he lifts an enormous sword and brings it down on Goliath’s neck. The giant is mid-fall, his arms flailing, his bulky frame dressed in heavy chainmail and a conical helmet. A stone — the one from David’s sling — remains lodged in his forehead. From Goliath’s belt hangs an empty scabbard. It is his own sword, now wielded by his young killer.

The sculptor doesn’t give us a passive victory. He gives us movement, tension, and theological weight. David is not merely triumphant; he is chosen, active, righteous. Goliath is not just big — he is blind to the deeper power at work.

Vézelay’s basilica is best known for its monumental tympanum and pilgrimage history, but capitals like this one reward slower, closer looking. They reveal a world where every gesture is meaningful, every figure purposeful — and where even the coldest stone can cry out the clash of faith and force.

Soustons (France)

Église Saint-Pierre de Soustons.

Soustons is a picturesque commune located in the Landes department of southwestern France. Nestled amidst verdant forests and pristine lakes, its history dates back to ancient times. Originally inhabited by the Aquitani, a tribe of early settlers, the area witnessed Roman influence, as evidenced by archaeological remnants. During the Middle Ages, Soustons developed as a strategic locality, marked by the construction of fortifications and the growth of agriculture. Its name is thought to derive from the Gascon word "soustons," meaning "below the hill," reflecting its geographical setting. Over the centuries, Soustons evolved from a modest village to a vibrant community, deeply connected to the cultural and natural heritage of the Landes region.

Chambres d'hôtes, L'Etoile Argentée, Vitteaux (France)

Chambres d'hôtes, L'Etoile Argentée, Vitteaux (France).

Chambres d'hôtes L'Etoile Argentée in Vitteaux offers a cozy and welcoming stay in the heart of Burgundy, France. Nestled in a charming rural setting, this bed-and-breakfast provides a peaceful retreat for travelers seeking a taste of authentic French countryside life. The guesthouse is known for its warm hospitality, comfortable rooms, and a delightful blend of traditional and modern decor. Guests can enjoy home-cooked meals featuring local ingredients, and the scenic surroundings of Vitteaux, with its historic architecture and beautiful landscape, offer plenty of opportunities for exploration and relaxation.

From Empire to Patchwork: France Between 800 and 1035

The Expansion of the Frankish Realm: From Clovis to Charlemagne (481–814). (Image: Frankish Empire 481 to 814" by Amitchell125, based on work by Altaileopard, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.)

On a cold Christmas morning in the year 800, the great Frankish king Charles—better known as Charlemagne—knelt in prayer before the altar of Saint Peter’s in Rome. Behind him, Pope Leo III rose and placed a golden crown on his head, declaring him Imperator Romanorum—Emperor of the Romans. The coronation shocked even Charlemagne. He had spent decades conquering, legislating, and Christianizing, but now he stood at the head of a reborn Western Empire, heir not just to the Franks, but to Rome itself.

From that moment, Europe—particularly what we now call France—was drawn into a centuries-long drama: the struggle between the ideals of imperial unity and the forces of local power. And by the year 1035, that empire had fractured. France, as we recognize it today, was still embryonic: a map not of one kingdom, but of dozens. The King of France, a descendant of Charlemagne in name but not in power, controlled little more than the region around Paris. Dukes, counts, and bishops ruled the rest, each with his own ambitions, army, and sense of sovereignty.

This is the story of how that transformation unfolded—how an empire of dreams gave way to a kingdom of fiefdoms.

The Empire of Charlemagne

When Charlemagne was crowned emperor in 800, his rule already stretched across most of Western Europe. From the Pyrenees to the Elbe, from the North Sea to central Italy, his authority was unrivaled. But Charlemagne was not simply a conqueror. He was a reformer, a legislator, and a deeply Christian ruler who envisioned a unified res publica Christiana—a public order bound by faith, law, and learning.

He promoted Latin education, standardized weights and measures, oversaw land redistribution, and maintained a network of royal agents (missi dominici) to administer justice in his name. His court at Aachen became a center of cultural and administrative revival.

But Charlemagne’s empire was, at heart, personal. Loyalty flowed through oaths to the man, not institutions. And personal empires, as history has shown time and again, rarely survive long beyond their founder.

Fracture and Inheritance

Charlemagne died in 814. His only surviving legitimate son, Louis the Pious, inherited the imperial crown. Louis was a deeply religious man, but lacked his father’s commanding presence. He spent much of his reign trying to balance power between his sons. His attempts to divide the empire while maintaining unity failed, and after his death in 840, civil war erupted.

The empire was finally split by the Treaty of Verdun in 843. Charlemagne’s grandsons—Lothair, Louis the German, and Charles the Bald—divided the realm into three kingdoms. Charles received the western third: West Francia, the core of what would become modern France. But the empire’s dismemberment had long-lasting consequences.

Charles the Bald, and his successors, bore the title of king, but increasingly lacked control over the land beyond their own demesne. Powerful nobles—many of whom had risen in response to invasions and internal chaos—began to dominate local life. Fortified castles sprang up across the countryside. Power, once centralized in the imperial court, now shifted toward the lords of the land.

The Treaty of Verdun (843): Division of the Carolingian Empire Among Charlemagne’s Grandsons. (Image: "Vertrag von Verdun en" by Ziegelbrenner, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.)

The Viking Factor

Among the most immediate pressures came from the north. In the mid-9th century, Viking raiders—Danes, Norwegians, and Swedes—descended upon the coasts and rivers of West Francia in longships. They plundered monasteries, burned towns, and overwintered in fortified camps. The kings of West Francia were often powerless to stop them.

Rather than wage endless war, King Charles the Simple struck a deal. In 911, he granted land around the lower Seine River to the Viking chieftain Rollo, on the condition that Rollo convert to Christianity and defend the region against future raids. This land became the Duchy of Normandy. Its rulers—originally Norsemen—would become some of the most formidable lords in all of France.

By 1035, the duchy was thriving. Its duke, Robert I (called the Magnificent), had gone on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, leaving his illegitimate son William—still a child—in charge. That boy would become William the Conqueror, and his future conquest of England in 1066 would tie France and England together in centuries of dynastic entanglement.

The Rise of the Feudal Lords

As Normandy emerged, so too did other regional powers. In the southwest, the Dukes of Aquitaine governed vast lands, stretching from Poitiers to the Pyrenees. Aquitaine was culturally distinct, with its own dialect and customs, and its rulers acted with near-total independence.

In the northeast, the Counts of Flanders dominated the economic life of the region, trading with England and the Low Countries. In the center of the kingdom, the Counts of Blois controlled key cities like Chartres, Tours, and Troyes—forming a buffer between the royal domain and the Champagne plains.

And in the rugged land of Anjou, Fulk III, known as Fulk Nerra or Fulk the Black, carved out a reputation as one of the most brutal and effective warlords in France. A brilliant tactician and relentless castle builder, Fulk waged war on his neighbors and expanded Angevin influence across western France. In 1035, he was still alive, nearing the end of his long reign, and preparing to hand power to his son, Geoffrey Martel. This family line—the Angevins—would later give birth to the Plantagenet dynasty, which would rule England and much of France in the 12th and 13th centuries.

A Weak but Persistent Monarchy

All the while, the Capetian kings clung to power. In 987, following the death of the last Carolingian king, the crown had passed to Hugh Capet, Duke of the Franks. Though his election was the beginning of the longest continuous royal line in European history, it was a fragile inheritance. Hugh, and his son Robert II, held sway over only a modest royal domain. Their influence did not extend far beyond the Île-de-France.

By 1035, Henry I had just taken the throne after the death of his father, Robert II. Young and untested, he faced a kingdom dominated by barons who owed him homage in theory, but in practice governed independently. France had a king, but little centralized state.

1035: A Fractured Realm

So what did France look like in 1035?

It was a land of lords, not a unified state. The king ruled in name, but dukes, counts, and bishops wielded true authority. Some were descendants of Carolingian officials; others were former Viking raiders. Local customs, languages, and loyalties often mattered more than the distant king in Paris.

But though fragmented, this was also a time of innovation. Feudal bonds created webs of mutual obligation. The Church expanded its influence, promoting peace and education. Castle-building transformed warfare and society. And the seeds of future conflict—between kings and vassals, between France and England—were being planted.

France around 1035: A Feudal Mosaic of Royal, Ducal, and Ecclesiastical Territories. (Map from The Historical Atlas by William R. Shepherd, 1911 - University of Texas at Austin.)

From Charlemagne to Capet

The year 800 marks the high point of imperial ambition in the West—a moment when one man stood above a continent, cloaked in Roman and Christian authority. The year 1035, by contrast, captures the culmination of disintegration: a time when power was local, fractured, and fiercely contested.

Yet the story does not end there. The Capetians would endure, slowly expanding their power over centuries. The dukes and counts of 1035 would one day become subjects of the crown. And the idea of France—obscured in the patchwork of the early eleventh century—would eventually emerge again, this time more enduring than before.

Further Reading

• The Carolingians: A Family Who Forged Europe – Pierre Riché

• Charlemagne – Roger Collins

• Feudal Society – Marc Bloch

• The Capetians: Kings of France 987–1328 – Jim Bradbury

• The Normans – Levi Roach

• The Plantagenet Ancestry – W.H. Turton

• The Origins of the French Nation – Edward James

The Cathars of Carcassonne

Château Comtal in Carcassonne.

The Cathars were a Christian religious group that emerged in the 12th century in Southern France, particularly in the Languedoc region, challenging the authority and beliefs of the Catholic Church. Known for their dualistic beliefs, Cathars viewed the material world as evil, created by a malevolent deity, while the spiritual world was seen as pure and good. They advocated for a life of simplicity, rejecting wealth, church sacraments, and the clergy’s authority. Their spiritual leaders, known as Perfecti (the "perfect ones"), lived ascetically, embodying the Cathar ideals of purity and rejecting worldly attachments.

The rise of Catharism posed a significant threat to the Catholic Church, which responded with a crusade known as the Albigensian Crusade (1209-1229), initiated by Pope Innocent III to eradicate the movement. One of the first major targets of this campaign was Carcassonne, a thriving Cathar stronghold and a center of resistance against the crusaders. In 1209, the city was besieged and fell to the forces of Simon de Montfort, who expelled the citizens and took control. Château Comtal, the fortress at the heart of Carcassonne’s medieval citadel, became a key strategic point for the crusaders as they sought to consolidate power in the region. The castle, once controlled by the Trencavel family—who were sympathetic to the Cathars—was seized and transformed into a royal stronghold, reinforcing the Church’s and the French crown’s dominance over the region.

The crusade continued with brutal massacres and the seizure of other Cathar refuges, including the famous siege of Montségur in 1244, where hundreds of Cathars were burned at the stake. Additionally, the Inquisition was established to root out Cathar heretics, leading to the persecution and execution of countless believers.

By the 14th century, the Cathars had largely been eliminated, but their legacy endures as a symbol of religious dissent and resistance against ecclesiastical authority. Their history continues to intrigue and inspire interest in the themes of spiritual purity, opposition to corruption, and the tragic consequences of religious intolerance. The fortified Cité de Carcassonne, with Château Comtal at its heart, stands as a reminder of these turbulent times.

Le Gros-Horloge (Rouen, France)

Le Gros-Horloge

In the heart of Rouen, Normandy, stands the Grande Horloge, or Le Gros Horloge, a medieval astronomical clock with a rich history. Initially constructed in 1389 by Jourdain del Leche, it lacked a face and was later completed by Jean de Felain. In 1529, the clock was moved to its current location on a Renaissance archway over Rue du Gros-Horloge, featuring two identical dials​.

Le Gros Horloge's dial showcases a golden sun with 24 rays, and a single hand that completes one revolution per day. A smaller sphere above displays the moon phases, while Roman gods represent the days of the week below​.

Throughout its history, the clock has witnessed significant events, including Joan of Arc's execution in 1431 and WWII bombings, which it survived. Electrified in the 1920s and restored in 1997, the clock remains a symbol of Rouen's heritage​.

Today, the belfry houses a museum displaying the clock's mechanics and offering panoramic views of the city, blending historical insight with stunning scenery​

Miracle of the Rose, by Jean Genet

Jean Genet’s Miracle of the Rose (1946) is a semi-autobiographical novel that merges memory, desire, and mysticism with the brutal realities of prison life. Written while Genet was incarcerated in Fresnes Prison in the 1940s, the novel recounts his time at the Mettray Penal Colony, where he was sent in 1926 at the age of 15, and his later imprisonment at Fontevraud l'Abbaye, a former monastery converted into a prison in 1804. Originally founded in 1101 as a religious order, Fontevraud had housed monks, nuns, and even the tombs of Plantagenet royalty before becoming one of France’s most notorious penal institutions. By the time Genet was imprisoned there in the 1930s, it had become a place of harsh punishment, its monastic past casting an eerie presence over the lives of its inmates.

Genet’s troubled youth set him on a path toward crime and incarceration. Abandoned by his mother as an infant, he grew up in foster care before being sent to a reformatory for theft at age 15. His criminal record, marked by theft, fraud, desertion, and vagabondage, led to repeated prison sentences throughout the 1930s. Rather than seeking redemption, Genet embraced his outlaw identity, viewing crime as an act of defiance against a society that had rejected him.

In Miracle of the Rose, Genet transforms these prison experiences into a poetic and almost sacred vision of suffering and transcendence. Central to the novel is Harcamone, a fellow prisoner sentenced to death, whom Genet elevates to a saint-like figure. Through dreamlike prose and nonlinear storytelling, he challenges conventional morality, turning crime, love, and punishment into elements of a spiritual journey. The novel, published in 1946, was one of several works that contributed to Genet’s growing literary reputation. His literary success, along with a petition led by Jean Cocteau and Jean-Paul Sartre, led to his final pardon by President Vincent Auriol in August 1949, securing his release from prison.

Blurring the lines between autobiography and myth, Miracle of the Rose remains one of Genet’s most provocative works, reimagining imprisonment as a space of eroticism, martyrdom, and transformation.

Fontevraud Abbey.