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  Today, dueling is relegated to the realms of film, television, and literature. It conjures up fantastical images of swashbuckling heroes and villains who might grace the pages of an Alexandre Dumas novel or appear on screen during the latest Ridley Scott historical epic. However, the practice of dueling was seen by many as a legitimate means to satisfy one’s honor between the 17th and 19th centuries in parts of Europe and North America.   The Origins of Dueling Judicial duel between Marshal Wilhelm von Dornsberg and Theodor Haschenacker in the Augsburg wine market in 1409, c. 1544. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The contexts in which dueling emerged as a distinct practice during the Early Modern period were surprisingly varied. At the heart of continental Europe in countries like France, Germany, and Italy, dueling had its roots in Medieval practices of judicial combat and chivalric ideals. In some parts of medieval Europe, trial by combat was a legally legitimate means to settle a dispute.   In most of these countries, judicial combat was banned in the final decades of the medieval era. In France, for example, the last legal duel occurred in 1547 during Henry II’s reign, but the French king then issued an edict against the practice in 1550. Nevertheless, prohibitions failed to curtail the practice. Duels could no longer be fought to officially settle legal disputes, but men would continue to settle their scores with the sword and, later, the pistol.   In England, the practice of dueling appears to have been a continental import rather than a direct medieval legacy. According to historian Donna T. Andrew, dueling in England during the 15th and 16th centuries was mostly conducted by gangs and criminals before its adoption by the gentry in later periods.   In Russia, dueling in its modern context was also a continental European import. The Russians did not adhere to the chivalric code, but a form of judicial combat known as the pole was conducted, largely without the social class constraints that went with dueling in central Europe. However, in the Early Modern period, it was European military officers employed in Russian service who popularized dueling. One of the first was fought in 1666 between two Scotsmen, General Patrick Gordon and Major Montgomery.   In North America, dueling was, of course, brought over by the European colonists, the first of which was fought between Edward Doty and Edward Lester in 1621.   Why Were Duels Fought? The Duel After the Masquerade by Jean-Léon Gérôme, c. 1857. Source: Walters Art Museum, Baltimore   Duels were highly personal affairs, and the reasons they were fought varied between combatants. Still, the historical record does indicate certain recurrent themes between many duels.   According to one academic paper, duels were primarily “a system for the distribution of respect.” Typically, this meant preserving or enhancing one’s reputation and honor. The offended party might demand that the perpetrator face him in a duel if he had been accused of dishonesty or cowardice, or perhaps insults had been made to the offended party’s family, or a female relation or spouse had been accused of sexual impropriety.   Beyond social standing, duels were also sometimes fought over more tangible gains. These typically included land ownership, appointments to government positions, market shares, and even a woman’s hand in marriage.   Honor Culture: A Sociological Explanation Duel by Ilya Repin, 1897. Source: Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow   To the contemporary mind, a potentially fatal clash for the sake of reputation and honor will likely be utterly alien, but the social context in many Early Modern and Modern societies was vastly different. Sociologists sometimes refer to these social contexts as moral cultures, in which relatively consistent social behaviors and attitudes can be observed.   Dueling tended to occur most frequently in “honor cultures.” As sociologists Bradley Campbell and Jason Manning explain, “In honor cultures, it is one’s reputation that makes one honorable or not, and one must respond aggressively to insults, aggressions, and challenges or else lose honor. Not to fight back is itself a kind of moral failing.”   Reputation had very real, tangible consequences for individuals. In societies where business was conducted on a personal basis, and information about an individual’s financial standing and trustworthiness was relatively opaque, reputation was everything. A reputation for being dishonorable could preclude an individual from taking out loans or forging business deals. Therefore, men were quicker to issue a challenge if their honor was questioned.   Ironically, this moral culture, in which sensitivity to insult was very high, did not encourage men to speak carefully and withhold insults as one might expect. Competition for respect was especially fierce, and emerging successfully from a duel could enhance one’s honor and social standing.   What Happened During a Duel? A Duel 1776 by James C. Kulhanek, 1976. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Naturally, the procedure for dueling varied across time and place and even between individual combatants. A commonality, however, was that dueling practices in most countries were gradually refined to be more “gentlemanly.” Unrestrained violence was frowned upon in cultures where dueling took place. Certain conventions of decorum and “proper” social behavior were expected.   Duels typically took place at dawn or dusk in a secluded space since, in most cases, they were illegal. Both combatants would choose “seconds” who would procure surgeons, supply weapons, and arrange a time and place for the duel to take place.   At the hour of the duel, the seconds would explain the rules to both parties and would make a final attempt to broker a peace between the two duelists. After the first sword exchanges had been given or shots fired, the seconds were supposed to try and mediate again, although this rarely happened. If one of the duelists was killed, his second was then expected to absolve his opponent of guilt and pardon him for the death of his friend.   Legality  The Duel in the Snow, 1888. Source: Wikimedia Commons   In many parts of Europe, dueling was illegal, but this largely failed to curtail its practice. Moreover, duelists often escaped being held guilty of murder, largely due to permissive public attitudes.   Strict adherence to the gentlemanly procedure of dueling was essential in case the participants were brought before the law. In England, for example, “When a duel had been properly fought, juries refused to find the duelists or their seconds guilty of murder,” and they often got away with a lesser charge of manslaughter.   However, juries were far less tolerant of duelists whom they perceived to have fought improperly or ignobly. For instance, when Major Campbell killed Captain Boyd in 1807 during a duel without the presence of seconds or the pardon and absolution of his dying opponent, Campbell was found guilty and executed by hanging.   The Evolution of Dueling Weapons Muzzle loading percussion lock dueling pistols. Source: Philadelphia Museum of Art   A diverse array of weapons were used by duelists over the centuries. Swords were preferred by most until the 18th century in most countries. Various swords were used according to personal preferences and local customs, including sabers, broadswords, and claymores. Swords generally became faster and nimbler on the battlefield as firearms negated the use of armor, and these military trends inevitably influenced duelists’ preferences, too.   According to historian Stephen Banks, swords were the preferred dueling weapon in England until about the 1770s, although an experimental pistol duel was fought in 1711. From around the late 18th century and throughout the 19th, most duels were fought with pistols.   Sometimes, a duel was fought with more than one weapon. In 1759, during a duel in Ireland fought between Colonel Barrington and Mr. Gilbert, the combatants fought each other on horseback, armed with pistols, daggers, and swords. They both missed with their pistols and drew their swords. Gilbert’s horse was killed in the ensuing melée, and he was thrown to the ground. Barrington then pressed his dagger to Gilbert’s throat, prompting the latter to concede defeat. The pair then made amends and became friends.   Dueling in the Military  Le général comte Fournier Sarlovèze by Antoine-Jean Gros, c. 1800-1812. Source: Musée du Louvre, Paris   Dueling was common in the military. One of the most famous examples is the dispute between two Napoleonic French officers, Pierre Dupont de l’Étang and François Fournier-Sarlovèze, which sparked dozens of duels between 1794 and 1813.   According to fencing master Nick Evangelista, the rivalry between the two men was sparked when Dupont was ordered to deliver a “disagreeable message” to Fournier, who took out his anger on the young messenger. Eventually, the decades-long dispute was “resolved when Dupont was able to overcome Fournier in a pistol duel, forcing him to promise never to bother him again.”   More colorful dueling anecdotes can be found in the memoirs of a Scottish Highlander in the British army, Serjeant Donald Macleod. Macleod, who was 103 years old when his memoirs were published, had been an accomplished duelist throughout his career in the British Army in the 18th century.   During one such encounter, Macleod was accompanied by two women when they were insulted by a German soldier. Macleod drew his sword, causing the soldier to flee, but a German captain felt shamed by his countryman’s cowardice and issued a challenge to Macleod. The Highlander proved to be the more able swordsman but bore no grudge against the brave German and avoided landing a killing blow. He struck first at the German’s leg, slicing off part of his calf muscle, but the captain persevered until he was struck in the arm and rendered incapable of wielding a sword.   According to the memoir, “The officer was assisted to his quarters; and, wounded as he was, he insisted on Macleod’s accompanying him home, and drinking with him; which they did very plentifully. They both cried and kissed at parting.”   Opposition  An Interrupted Duel by Marcus Stone, 1868. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Dueling, despite its prevalence in some societies, was not without its critics. The English philosopher and statesman Francis Bacon was a prominent member of the Jacobin anti-dueling campaign and wrote in 1614 that dueling was a “desperate evil.” Across the English Channel, Cardinal Richelieu, the Chief Minister of France, similarly described dueling as a “pernicious evil” and a “disastrous madness.”   Later, in 1778, the Scottish writer, philosopher, and judge Lord Kames expressed his opinion that “the frequency of duels, in modern times, is no slight symptom of degeneracy.” Similar sentiments were expressed in the following century, with one American commentator writing in 1855, “Dueling as everybody knows, is a relic of the Dark Ages… in the present state of civilization it cannot be justified.”   The Duel between Sir Toby and Sebastian by George Clint, 1832. Source: National Trust   Vocal criticism, or indeed legal prohibition, was not, however, enough to prevent dueling. Even those who opposed the practice sometimes found themselves compelled to fight duels.   In 1804, former Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton was challenged to a duel by US Vice President Aaron Burr. Burr bore a longstanding political grievance against Hamilton and finally challenged him after evidence emerged that the latter had privately expressed a “despicable opinion” of him. Hamilton wrote that his “moral and religious principles” were “strongly opposed to the practice of dueling,” but he nevertheless felt compelled to face Burr to preserve his own and his family’s honor. On June 27, the two men faced off with pistols, and Hamilton was shot and killed.   Decline & The Rise of Dignity Culture Duel in a Tavern by Jan Czesław Moniuszko, 1896. Source: National Museum in Warsaw   The practice of dueling declined at differing paces across Europe and North America. In most cases, legal prohibitions and moral campaigners failed to instigate change. Rather, broad changes in culture and beliefs precipitated the decline and eventual disappearance of dueling.   It is worth again turning to a sociological explanation. Dueling was prevalent in “cultures of honor,” but as these gave way to “cultures of dignity,” the practice became increasingly anachronistic and counter-cultural. In dignity cultures, people are expected to shrug off insults and offenses and likewise to refrain from offending others. People typically no longer respond to offenses with violence but instead seek compromises. If this fails, they may instead seek the intervention of the law. Dueling and violent retribution, however, are an anathema in dignity cultures.   In many parts of Europe, dueling largely ceased by the mid-19th century. In England, for example, the last recorded duel occurred in 1852 between two exiled Frenchmen. A few years later, the last notable duel on US soil occurred in 1859 between two politicians, David C. Broderick and David S. Terry. The last recorded duel in Canada was resolved bloodlessly in 1873 when both men reconciled after it was revealed that their seconds had loaded their pistols with blanks to prevent either one from killing the other.

  No ghost story has been told, retold, reworked, and reinterpreted in Mexico and the rest of the Spanish-speaking Americas as that of La Llorona. La Llorona, or “Weeping Woman,” is a folktale about a young woman named Maria who drowns her children and herself in a river after her husband abandons them. According to the legend, La Llorona’s spirit is damned to stay on Earth forever, so she continues to wander around rivers, wailing and looking for her lost children.   The Legend and Its Variations  Maria Mercedes Coroy in Jayro Bustamante’s 2019 film La Llorona. Source: Criterion   The La Llorona folktale has numerous variations. Often, La Llorona is depicted as a woman who dishonored her family by becoming pregnant by her lover, thus losing their support and acceptance. Some renditions attribute the drowning of the children to an accident while the heartbroken mother was crossing the river after being abandoned by her husband, while others depict it as an act of revenge against the husband and the family that had turned their backs on her. Nonetheless, the version depicting La Llorona as a murderous figure is the most widely recognized. Despite the plethora of interpretations, one element remains constant: the ghost of La Llorona, trapped on Earth due to her wrongdoings in life, often appears near rivers, weeping for her children, and an encounter with her ghostly figure means misfortune or death.   Generation after generation, Mexican children have been raised with a deep-seated fear of La Llorona as a malevolent ghost and tormentor of little children who misbehave. The legend has been used for other purposes as well, such as to caution young women against premarital relations or to warn men of the dangers of being lured in by female sexuality. Many retellings of this myth can be found in the book entitled La Llorona: Encounters with the Weeping Woman.   Origins and Literary Retellings Stone statue of Cihuacóatl, 1325–1521 CE Source: Library of Congress   While you may see modernized incarnations of the ghost of La Llorona, particularly during Day of the Dead and Halloween celebrations, this tale goes back centuries. Some scholars have traced La Llorona’s origins to pre-Hispanic mythology, particularly the Aztec tradition and the goddess Cihuacóatl, who is associated with childbirth, motherhood, and fertility. Interestingly, both figures are associated with small children and infanticide.   Other proposed sources include an indigenous legend about a supernatural being who seduces men when they are out in the woods or fields by themselves. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, some scholarly approaches have tried to claim a European, and in particular Spanish, origin for La Llorona, noting the presence of European values and traits in the tale.   As with any other great folktale, we may never know La Llorona’s true origins. However, one thing is certain: La Llorona’s figure has been enriched and immortalized through numerous variations across centuries and regions, seamlessly adapting to local traditions and contexts.   La Malinche by Ramón Canto, 1883. Source: La Salle University   When it comes to literary retellings, the legend of La Llorona has been ubiquitous throughout Latin American, and particularly Chicano, literary traditions. For example, in American writer Rudolfo Anaya’s 1984 re-telling of La Llorona as a short novel, the weeping woman is depicted as La Malinche, or Malintzin in the Aztec tradition, an enslaved indigenous woman who became a key figure in the conquest serving as the primary interpreter for the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés.   Feminist Reinterpretations  La Llorona statue in Mexico City, Source: Library of Congress   In the latter half of the 20th century, there was a movement toward feminist reinterpretations of La Llorona. In recent decades, Latin American and Chicana feminist writers have portrayed La Llorona as a figure of female agency and emancipation, offering alternative perspectives on this ghostly character. Chicana author Ana Castillo, for instance, briefly introduces the figure of La Llorona in her acclaimed novel So Far From God, in which the mythical ghost befriends one of the female characters to inform her of the death of her beloved sister. Rather than a terrifying ghost lurking by rivers waiting for a chance to attack, La Llorona is portrayed in a positive light, as a companion to La Loca, a character endowed with healing powers and a deep connection to the supernatural. Castillo questions the long-held negative view of La Llorona’s figure, asking:   “Who better but La Llorona could the spirit of Esperanza have found, come to think of it, if not a woman who had been given a bad rap by every generation of her people since the beginning of time and yet, to Esperanza’s spirit-mind, La Llorona in the beginning (before men got in the way of it all) may have been nothing short of a loving mother goddess.”   This approach by Castillo echoes the modern tendency to rework La Llorona’s figure as a decolonizing and feminist figure in contemporary works.   La Llorona by Jenny Hart, 2005. Source: Smithsonian American Art Museum   Similarly, Sandra Cisnero’s collection of stories entitled “Woman Hollering Creek and Other Stories,” which refers to the eponymous creek in Texas inspired by the legend of La Llorona, bases one of her stories on the folk tale in a contemporary context telling the story of a woman in an abusive marriage. By weaving stories of women living on the U.S.-Mexico border throughout the collection, Cisneros substitutes La Llorona’s ghostly cry with those of silenced women who are finding their own voices in contemporary contexts of patriarchal norms, injustice, domestic violence, and abuse.   La Llorona’s Appearance in Cinema A scene from Jayro Bustamante’s film La Llorona. Source: LA Times   La Llorona’s haunting story has graced movie screens both in Hollywood and Latin America. The 2019 Franco-Guatemalan production of La Llorona by filmmaker Jayro Bustamante is quite noteworthy. The award-winning film revisits the figure of this mythical ghost in the horror genre. By inserting La Llorona into a turbulent contemporary setting in modern-day Guatemala, Bustamante addresses questions about collective memory, injustice, and indigenous rights in a captivating narrative. The film revolves around the trial of a former official accused of genocide against the indigenous Mayan population during the Guatemalan Civil War in the 1980s. Against the backdrop of political turmoil and trials, La Llorona emerges as the spirit of an indigenous woman who lost her children to the atrocities of the Guatemalan army. La Llorona’s ghostly figure becomes an embodiment of unresolved traumas of the past and a poignant reminder of Guatemala’s ongoing struggles for justice and reconciliation.   As the film touches on a sensitive topic many prefer not to discuss, Bustamante decided to disguise his discussion of it in the horror genre, taking artistic liberties in his interpretation of the legend while maintaining the seriousness of the topic at hand. In the director’s words, the film’s “real intention is to kill the dictator, the almighty alpha male, that system of oppression we have not abandoned.” To do so, Bustamante chose a female figure that has been vilified for centuries.   Hollywood has not shied away from the adaptation of this Latin American tale for the big screen. Co-written and directed by Michael Chaves, The Curse of La Llorona transports viewers to 1973 Los Angeles, where Anna, a social worker, investigates a case of child endangerment. Amidst the investigation, she finds herself entangled in a series of supernatural events revolving around the terrifying figure of La Llorona. As Anna joins together with a local priest to fight the curse of La Llorona, the stakes get higher until, ultimately, the protagonist has to rescue her own children from the clutches of La Llorona. While the film caters to a broad audience and remains true to its horror roots, it showcases the Hispanic experience by weaving intricate details of this haunting folk tale into the narrative.   A still from The Curse of La Llorona, 2019. Source: Vanity Fair   Another film in the horror genre inspired by the figure of La Llorona is the Argentinian Mama, produced by the award-winning master of the genre, Guillermo del Toro, and directed by Andy Muschietti. Released in 2013, the film is based on Muschietti’s 3-minute short. Taking inspiration in La Llorona’s tale, the film creates a terrifying yet touching story on motherhood, loss, and grief. Mama stays true to Guillermo del Toro’s belief in the power of the horror genre to make an impactful social commentary. When a young couple, Lucas and Anabel, take in their long-lost nieces, who were raised in complete isolation from society, they have to handle a supernatural being whom the girls call “Mama.” As the film unfolds, Anabel realizes that Mama is not a product of the girls’ imagination but an evil supernatural force that has latched onto them. Anabel’s investigation leads her to the tragic story of a 19th-century woman who leapt off a cliff with her newborn. Unaware that the baby’s body hit a tree and never reached the water with her, Mama, just like La Llorona, has been trapped on Earth looking for her lost child. The ending of the film is both moving and heartbreaking.   Illustration of the Weeping Woman who legend says appeared in Tenochtitlan in 1509. La Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España, or “Florentine Codex,” by Bernardino de Sahagún, 16th-century. Source: Library of Congress   La Llorona, a one-of-a-kind figure in Latin American folklore that has been around for ages, is in no hurry to leave. Her ghostly figure continues to be reinvented and repurposed in the arts, cinema, literature, and popular culture. An inspiration for numerous retellings and adaptations, La Llorona’s malevolent figure has recently been seeing fresh reinterpretations that question the vilification of this ghostly figure and reconstruct her as one of agency, empowerment, and justice.

  In 987, Hugh Capet, the most powerful nobleman in Northern Francia, was appointed to head the French Monarchy as king of the Franks. Upon his accession, he ruled directly only a sliver of land from Paris to Orleans and could claim only superficial loyalty (let alone fealty) from the nobles who dominated the vast majority of Francia.   Hugh Capet and the Capetians Hugh Capet, 18th Century, Source: National Galleries Scotland   How did the Capetians raise the French monarchy to become the most powerful crown in Christendom? Luck played an important role. From the accession of Hugh Capet in 987 to the death of Philip IV in 1314—a span of 327 years—eleven Capetian kings held the throne.   This meant that each king ruled for an average of 30 years and throughout this period, direct father-to-son succession was never broken. This was remarkable in the context of medieval Europe. The Capetians laid the perfect groundwork on which to establish a sacral royal line.   It must be remembered that patrilineal succession and the emphasis on a royal bloodline was not a given for medieval polities. Hugh Capet was appointed by the nobility, as was the Holy Roman Emperor. But with every Capetian king who acceded to the throne and ruled for many years, their legitimacy as a bloodline was cemented, and the Capetian lineage came to monopolize the throne.   Mighty Nobles: The 11th Century An impression of the medieval French nobility armed for battle, Source: Flickr   Capetian longevity is particularly important when examining the 11th century. This period saw weak kings struggle to assert themselves as supreme among a host of mighty nobles. Yet, from the ascension of Robert II (son of Hugh Capet) in 996, to the death of Louis VI in 1137, France was ruled by just four kings. In England, over the same period, eleven different kings held the throne. Thus while powerful noble families rose and fell, French kings gradually cemented their legitimacy through the stability they provided.   Gauvain et le prêtre, from Lancelot Du Lac, by Chretien de Troyes, 15th century, Source: Nobility.org   Hugh Capet had made his son, Robert II (reigned 996-1031), junior king whilst he was still alive to secure the succession. Robert reigned during a period in which the power of the French Crown was at its nadir, and though he gained the territory of Burgundy for the   Capetian House he was unable to substantially move the dial with regard to monarchical power. Nevertheless, Robert helped enhance the image of the Crown through legends of his piety.   Known to posterity as “Robert the Pious,” he was said to have given generously to the poor and to churches, and he was a firm supporter of the Cluniac reforms and the Peace of God movement. He was said to have healed lepers with his touch, and this helped inspire the later belief that the French king could heal scrofula with his touch.   The reign of Robert’s successor Henry I (reigned 1031-1060) is often seen as the low point for the French monarchy, as he struggled to raise his head above his powerful nobles, including the counts of Anjou and Blois, and the Duke of Normandy. In Normandy Henry at first supported a young Duke William to suppress rebellions against his rule in the 1040s. This changed in the 1050s as Henry grew weary of William’s expansionism.   The king thrice invaded Normandy in 1053, 54, and 57, but was thrice defeated. William would of course go on to conquer England, making the neighboring duke of Normandy a king in his own right, and thus a powerful threat to French kings.   Noble leaders of the First Crusade, Source: medium   Under Henry I’s successor Philip I, the bureaucracy of the Crown grew and developed, while the king skillfully managed his relations with his nobles. Yet the defining event of his reign, and indeed of the age, saw the French monarch play no role. When Pope Urban II preached the First Crusade in 1095, Philip was in a state of excommunication from the Church due to his repudiation of his wife. Rather than trying to recruit the French king for this great venture, at the same council at which Urban preached the crusade, he reaffirmed Philip’s excommunication, ensuring that the king could not travel to the holy land.   The French king was not needed—for the army that captured Jerusalem in 1099 was led by mighty French nobles. Raymond, count of Toulouse, Robert, Duke of Normandy, Godfrey of Bouillon, Robert of Flanders, Stephen of Blois, and Hugh of Vermandois (Philip’s brother), to name the most prominent.   It says a great deal that such a perilous and important venture was not deemed by the Pope to require the participation of the French king, and that Philip’s nobles alone could provide the leadership and manpower to perform one of the great military feats of medieval Christendom. Yet things would soon change. By the time of the Second Crusade, the participation of the French king would be crucial to the entire enterprise.   The Angevin Challenge: The 12th Century Plantagenet land holdings in France (red), in the 12th century, Source: Wikimedia Commons   From 1108 to 1180 the Franks were ruled by two King Louises (note again the length of the reigns!), under whom the power and status of the monarchy continued to steadily grow. It seemed as though the monarch’s territorial lordship was to take a great leap forward when Louis VI arranged for his son to marry the only daughter and heir of William X, Duke of Aquitaine. Eleanor brought with her the vast duchy that encompassed much of South-Eastern France.   Unfortunately for Louis, his marriage, as well as the Second Crusade which he led to the Holy Land in 1147, would end in failure. Eleanor would move on to marry Henry of Anjou, and thus Louis’ reign witnessed the rise of the Angevin Kings when Eleanor’s husband became Henry II of England in 1154. This left the French king overshadowed within his own realm by the King of England, who held lordship over Aquitaine, Normandy, Anjou, Maine, and Poitou—lands constituting the entire western half of France and far more extensive than those ruled directly by Louis.   Henry did perform homage to Louis for his French lands—something not commonly done in the 11th century—yet it was clear who the dominant figure was. This antagonistic relationship between the Capetians and the Plantagenets would prove a formative one for the French monarchy. Louis made numerous attempts to dent the power of Henry II, but by Louis’ death in 1180, the Angevin Empire remained a menacing foe for the King of the Franks.   Henry II of England, 1597-1618, Source: National Portrait Gallery, London   It is worth at this stage examining how the influence and the sacrality—rather than the territorial power—of the French Crown had developed since the accession of Hugh Capet. The remarkable longevity of Capetian kings has been mentioned, but it should also be stressed that in almost 200 years (since 987) there had been an unbroken patrilineal succession to the French throne. This had infused the very blood of the monarch with a sense of legitimacy and power; in a chaotic landscape, the Capetian kings had become a rock of stability.   The move away from an elective monarchy had begun to raise the king far above his nobles since the lords no longer had a role in bringing the ruler to sovereignty (as in the Holy Roman Empire) and thus the king could in some ways ascend beyond the vicissitudes of noble factions.   The altar at the Royal Basilica of Saint-Denis, Source: World History Encyclopedia   The sacral power of the Crown was becoming formidable by the late 12th century. Kings were anointed upon ascending to the throne with the holy oil that was thought to have been brought to earth through divine intervention in order to baptize Clovis in the early 6th century.   Capetian kings emphasized their sacrality through their links to Charlemagne, Clovis, and Louis the Pious—all rulers who were closely associated with the Catholic religion. The kings maintained strong relations with the Pope and came to develop their own symbols of divinity. Under Louis VII (who was himself deeply pious) St Denis became embedded as the patron saint of the monarchy, and the Abbey of St Denis came to be the resting place of the Capetians.   In this abbey, the Oriflamme was kept, a sacred banner that was taken up by the king in times of crisis and used to rally his subjects to war. The origins of the Oriflamme are obscure, but in the early to mid-12th century it came to be closely associated with the king and would be used in the coming centuries in times of crisis as a symbol of the monarchy’s sacral leadership.   The Turning Point: Philip Augustus  The coronation of Philip Augustus in the late 12th century, from Chronique de Saint-Denis, 14th century, Source: Medievalists.net   Philip II, nicknamed Augustus due to his being born in August, ascended to the throne upon the death of his father Louis VII in 1180. His rule would witness the collapse of the Angevin Empire and the transformation of the monarch from “king of the Franks” to “king of France.”   From the outset, Philip saw that the great weakness of the Plantagenet Dynasty lay in the fractious relationship between Henry II and his sons, and he sought to exploit this by allying with the rebellious Richard the Lion-Heart. Henry died in 1189, by which time Philip had expanded and strengthened his hold on royal lands in the Ile-de-France, as well as overseeing the completion of the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, a city that underwent great expansion during his reign.   Philip followed his father in embarking on a crusade to the Holy Land, traveling to the Middle East in 1191 to take part in the Third Crusade. Philip was joined by Richard, now King of England, and together they laid siege to and captured the port city of Acre. Philip fell gravely ill soon after this achievement, however, and returned to France.   Though Richard has soaked up most of the glory from the Third Crusade, Philip’s participation was vital to the capture of Acre. Moreover, crusading was the ultimate achievement for a medieval ruler—the uniquely medieval mix of piety and martial glory that resonated from participation in a crusade was potent. Whatever the end result, every Capetian monarch that went on crusade injected further luster into the French kingship—and the close association that the French king would have with the activity of crusading only enhanced the status of the Crown.   Richard the Lionheart, 18th century, Source: the National Portrait Gallery, London   Another crusade took place during Philip’s reign—this time within France itself. The Albigensian Crusade began in 1209 and saw northern lords, at the instigation of the papacy, descend upon the region of Languedoc in southern France and subdue great parts of it in an attempt to root out the Cathar heresy and destroy the lords who abided with it. By the 1220s the counts of Toulouse were eclipsed by the Capetian royal house as the foremost power in the south—and the reach of the monarchy across France had been greatly extended.   Philip gave mild encouragement to the Albigensian Crusade but did not himself take part. His attentions were focused upon northern France. Philip invaded Normandy in 1193, but his offensive to conquer Plantagenet holdings in France was halted by Richard’s return from crusade and captivity.   Richard’s death in 1199 saw his younger brother John inherit the Angevin lands but John was unpopular with the nobility in England and France (who were already discontented by the heavy taxation of Richard’s reign) and lacked Richard’s military experience.   A section of fortifications at Carcassonne, a major stronghold in the Albigensian Crusades, Source: World History Encyclopedia   Philip saw John’s weakness and applied pressure. He captured the mighty castle of Richard I, Chateau Gaillard, in 1204 and Normandy soon fell to Philip as a result. He used his new access to the coast to develop the first French royal navy. The death of Eleanor of Aquitaine in the same year saw many of the major nobles in the South-East turn to Philip rather than acknowledge the lordship of John.   Meanwhile, Philip consolidated royal authority over the rest of his principalities by demanding homage from lords great and small and by developing the royal administration.   Philip was also aided in his reign by his strong relations with the mighty Pope Innocent III. Indeed this was a consistent strength for the French monarchy—relations with the papacy were strong for the majority of the Middle Ages, which generated strong legitimacy and authority for the rulers who became known as Rex Christianissimus by the 15th century.   A manuscript impression of the Battle of Bouvines, from the Chroniques de Saint-Denis, 14th century, Source: Magna Carta Project   Philip’s crowning achievement came in 1214 at the Battle of Bouvines. Here the French king faced a mighty coalition of those discontented by his rise—including the German Emperor Otto IV, King John of England, and major Flemish nobles.   On July 27, Philip met the coalition army in battle near the modern-day French/Belgian border and decisively defeated it. This victory utterly broke Philip’s enemies. John, though not present at the battle, now lost hope of regaining his northern French lands and his coalition’s defeat was a major factor in bringing on the baronial revolt that would produce the Magna Carta.   Philip died in 1223 and was succeeded by his son Louis. There is no better testament to his reign and its impact on the French kingship than to study his title before his accession and upon his death. Philip was, as his predecessors had been since Clovis, Rex Francorum—“King of the Franks.” Yet during his reign, he became Rex Franciae—“king of France.”   This apparently subtle change was a profound shift. It symbolized that the king’s authority did not come from the people, but was rather tied to the realm itself. Baking his authority into the land and the state made the monarch’s power more durable and profound.   The Saintly King and the Golden Age Louis IX on Crusade, by Emile Signol, 1844, Source: French Ministry for Culture   Philip Augustus’s greatness came from his superb political instincts and brilliant opportunism. His hard-nosed skills helped expand the Crown’s land holdings and political power to new heights—yet it was his grandson who brought the French Crown a unique potency that elevated it beyond that of any other European sovereign.   The death of Philip’s son Louis VIII in 1214, after just three years on the throne, saw the formation of a regency led by his wife Blanche of Castile. Blanche ruled with great success, helping to consolidate royal control over the south of France following her husband’s campaigns in the Albigensian Crusade, and she made a considerable impression on her son, who would always have the utmost reverence for his mother.   Louis IX (reigned 1214-1270) is a difficult king to comprehend because soon after his death he was made a saint, and thus his life quickly became a blur between the heavenly and the earthly—the real man rapidly ensconced in a thick cloud of legend and symbolism. Yet it is clear that Louis was a man of intense piety, who consciously shaped his life around the Christian story and for whom religion was his ultimate guiding force.   Louis collected relics (including what was thought to be the original crown of thorns from Constantinople), dressed and ate modestly, and had himself whipped as an act of penance. He was generous to the poor and regularly washed the feet of paupers. He twice embarked on crusades to North Africa and visited the Christian lands in the Middle East. These adventures were utter failures—but still enhanced his prestige. Indeed, Louis’ reputation abroad was such that he was regularly called upon to arbitrate disputes between foreign rulers.   Louis IX and his mother Blanche of Castile, from a 13th-century manuscript, Source: Wikimedia Commons   Louis was more than just a symbolic figure—he undertook substantial domestic reforms touching everything from coinage to administration to the law. His overhaul of monarchical government in France helped to settle and solidify the gains made since Philip Augustus and established the monarchy as the unquestioned center of authority, government, and prestige in most of what we recognize today as France. He promoted concord between his subdued barons and oversaw a remarkably peaceful reign. His strong diplomacy saw him secure lasting agreements with the English and Aragonese monarchs to stabilize France’s borders.   Louis’ importance to the French monarchy was profound. His legacy as the model of a Christian king imbued his successors with a divine legitimacy that they could lay claim to simply by being his heirs. His reign was seen as the gold standard to which any Christian monarch should aspire.   Internally, by the end of Louis’ reign, the supremacy of the Crown within France was utterly without question. Indeed, the 13th century as a whole would build up the power of the kingship such that it could survive the devastating storms of the 14th and early 15th centuries—storms that one could argue could have toppled the monarchy itself.   Great Power, Growing Problems  Philip IV, the Fair, by Jean Louis Bezard, 1837, Source: Wikimedia Commons   By the late 13th century, the French King possessed more power than any other European ruler. The full extent of this power would be realized under one of France’s most ruthless monarchs: Philip IV, “the Iron King” (reigned 1285-1314). Philip possessed all the hard-nosed ambition of Philip Augustus, yet wielded a more developed and centralized system of government. He has been admired and reviled in equal measure.   Philip succeeded his father Philip III in 1285, who reigned for 15 years and died on return from his ill-fated campaign into the Spanish kingdom of Aragon. Philip acceded to a throne whose power now far outweighed that of any other French nobleman, despite many realms such as Brittany, Burgundy, and Flanders still retaining a great deal of autonomy.   The Ile-de-la-Cite, the heart of medieval Paris, by Olivier Truschet and Germain Hoyau, 15th century, Source: Wikimedia Commons   The concentration of the monarch’s power was symbolized by his capital, Paris, which at around 200,000 people was the largest city in Western Europe. However, with great power came great costs. Philip now ruled a vast expanse of territory with similarly vast ambitions, yet with the piecemeal expansion of direct monarchical rule an efficient system of taxation had not developed.   Grand ambitions, inadequate taxation: This was to be a continuous problem that would plague the French kings for centuries. Philip was unable to maintain his government via his landed income alone, and demanded the first general taxation throughout France in the late 1290s, to finance his war against Edward I.   This taxation did not become regularized, and almost never made demands of the nobility. When either of these were attempted, Philip was forced to back down in the face of opposition. France was too localized to have a regular system of national taxation that the nobility could contribute to. Kings could raise general taxes only when it seemed clear that necessity demanded it.   It was a drive for money that led Philip to some of the most infamous acts of his reign—namely the banishment of the Jews from France and the bloody destruction of the Knights Templar in the early 14th century. These actions were not driven entirely by the desire for wealth, but this was certainly a major factor. These actions demonstrated the immense power that now resided in the Crown of France, and the ruthlessness with which it could be exercised.   The persecution of the Knights Templar, from the Workshop of the Virgil Master, 15th century, Source: Wikimedia Commons   The French monarchy’s power at the dawn of the 14th century was encapsulated by the fierce dispute that erupted with the Pope. The papacy had long clashed with the Holy Roman Emperors, ever since the development and articulation of ideas about papal supremacy in the later 11th century. It was perhaps inevitable that as the kings of France replaced the German emperors as the most powerful secular lords in Christendom, some form of conflict would emerge, with a papacy that sought total authority over church matters. Further, Boniface VIII (1294-1303) was a particularly assertive and powerful pontiff.   The clash began when the Pope issued a bull in 1296 declaring that kings had no right to tax the clergy within their realm. Matters escalated in the early 1300s over the rights of the king to punish French bishops against the wishes of the Pope and reached its height in 1302 with the papal bull Unam Sanctam—a sensational statement of papal supremacy over all spiritual and even some secular matters. Philip and his ministers decided to bring the conflict to a head.   Philip sent royal representatives to Italy to “secure the peace and unity of the church.” In the Autumn of 1303, French troops and Italian allies seized the 86-year-old Pope, who died a month later.   Following the death of Boniface’s short-lived predecessor, the Gascon Clement V was elected Pope. Clement proved utterly unable to resist the pressure of Philip IV—he moved the papal curia from Rome to Avignon (not technically a part of the French kingdom but very much under its influence) and he appointed nine new French cardinals upon his accession and absolved Philip from all blame for the Boniface affair. For the next 70 years until the Papal Schism, the Roman pontiff would be firmly in the shadow of the French king.   An Uncertain Future Louis X, from the Life of St Louis, by Jean de Joinville, 1330-40, Source: Wikimedia Commons   Thus it was that at the death of his father Philip IV in 1314, Louis X acceded to the most powerful throne in Christendom, his veins coursing with unquestionably sacred and royal blood. Louis sat in a direct patrilineal line from kings that had ruled France for over 300 years in unbroken succession. His blood was sacred: his family chosen by God to rule, blessed with divine favor and elevated above all other Christian rulers. Louis himself was the great-grandson of a saint.   Legend has it that the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Jacques de Molay, put a curse upon Philip and his dynasty as he was burned at the stake in 1314. Though almost certainly fictional, the story illuminates a belief that those looking back upon the aftermath of Philip IV’s reign had; the divine favor that seemed to have belonged to the Capetians suddenly ceased following his attack on the Templar order.