In a discussion with TheCollector, Jill Cook, Keeper of the Department of Britain, Europe, and Prehistory at the British Museum, tells us about her latest book, “Ice Age Art Now” by British Museum Press. The conversation explored the concept and nature of Ice Age art, its connection to modern art, the enduring nature of emotion in art, some questions about future research, and more.   The full video interview is available at the end of this article.   An Artistic Renaissance During the Ice Age? Drawing of a young reindeer, ca 14500 years old. Credit: © The Trustees of the British Museum   “Ice Age Art Now” focuses on a specific period of the Ice Age, spanning from 24,000 to 12,000 years ago. While there is art predating this period, Cook explains that this timeframe was chosen because it aligns best with the British Museum’s collection and also marks the beginning of a remarkable renaissance in image-making.   This artistic flourishing occurred after a period of intense cold, known as the Last Glacial Maximum (around 20,000 years ago). During this time, ice sheets extended far south across northern Europe, sea levels were significantly lower, and the climate was extremely dry due to much of the world’s water being locked in ice. This led to a scarcity of water for animals, forcing them and the people who followed them to migrate south. Consequently, Central and Northern Europe became largely uninhabited, with humans on the verge of extinction in the region. As the climate began to warm around 18,000 years ago, people started to repopulate their former territories, following the animals. By 14,000 years ago, some even reached Britain, which was still connected to mainland Europe by a land bridge.   Mamoth spear thrower, ca 14,500 years old. Montastruc, France. Credit: © The Trustees of the British Museum   Archaeological records from this period show bone, antler, ivory, and stone pieces adorned with drawings and sculptures. A key characteristic of this later Ice Age art is its emphasis on patterns and drawing, primarily depicting animals and demonstrating a strong connection to nature. Cave painting, which had been ongoing, continued into this period. However, particularly interesting is what’s happening outside of the caves:   “What’s happening outside is this amazing love of drawing using a stone engraving tool, we call burin, which was held like a pencil. In their drawings, the humans depict the animals around them, reflecting how very much part of nature at this time people were. They draw realistically, or they abstract, sometimes they sculpt.”   “The need to make art is the same” Photo of Jill Cook   Cook explains that “there’s no singular birth of art”. Art emerges globally and at different times, “where it is needed, where it is wanted.” This fundamental human urge to create is a constant across history:   “The need to make art is the same as it’s always been amongst us as people with emotions and feelings. It arises in order to provide all sorts of senses of identity, of heritage, of connection, status, power, of spiritual well-being as well as acknowledging and connecting with the spiritual world and the realms of the cosmos. So any or all of these things might apply at any time. What we’re looking at during the Ice Age is those things expressed in the knowledge of the world of the time. So, when you talk about perspective in the late Ice Age art, it’s not perspective in the sense of an architectural perspective as you have it in the historic Renaissance, but definitely, you have the position of animals one to another, which showed distance and composition within a landscape. So, what is drawn will depend on your economic, social, historic context. The reasons for doing art remain very much the same.”   She further explores the idea of art as a language. Much like today, art back then, through various patterns and symbols, communicated certain meanings, “just as if you or I were wearing a t-shirt with a sports logo on it, we would recognise that”. However, after a few thousand years these meanings are lost to us, but still we surely know  that through their art, the Ice Age humans “are communicating something.”   The Modernists and Ice Age Art The Impressionists and many other modern artists, such as Picasso, Matisse, Miro, and others, found inspiration in Ice Age art.   “When the Cave of Altamira was discovered, it was doubted as a fake. The accusation was that it had been done by a mediocre impressionist. But then, as more art on cave walls was discovered, it was realised that it was really a genuine thing. So 20th-century artists began to look upon these works and see in them the sort of liberation they were looking for from the historic conformities of art. They could see art without frames, they could see art without outlines, they could see the blurring of lines and effects produced by wash.”   Grief in Ice Age Art Seashell beads, ca 14500 years old. The beads are said to come from the Grotte des enfants (Children’s cave) at Balzi Rossi, Italy. Credit: © The Trustees of the British Museum   The Ice Age feels “ages” away, but humans were humans back then and are humans now, and one constant of the human experience is the experience of emotions.   “As human beings, those very basics of emotions and feelings are the same. Anatomically the same, our brains are the same. The endorphins and the hormones that govern what happens in our lives are the same. “   According to Jill Cook, recognizing emotions such as grief or love in the art of the period is challenging. Still, she does feel a strong connection when contemplating the ornaments adorning the bodies of children who have died of malnutrition and been buried with the jewellery they had worn in life.   “I can imagine it [the parents’ grief], but I cannot prove it because I don’t have a signed piece of paper saying that this was made by Mr. and Mrs. Flintstone after they buried their children. I can know that they have both scurvy and rickets and a four-year-old and a two-year-old child. They’re wearing quite thick animal skin clothing, so sunlight doesn’t reach their skin. They also have scurvy, which is a lack of vitamin C and that’s because there is a lack of green stuff for fruit and vegetables. So they have a dietary deficiency and that’s brought about by the climate in which they’re living… So these children pass away from basically natural causes, but the way they are so tenderly placed in their grave and the way their jewelry is placed upon them is a communication about the feelings of both the children and the adults. It’s a reference of care, of heritage, of identity, of grief, of love.”   Oh wow! Isn’t that Ice Age artwork lovely? Drawing with three mal alpine Chamois, with one male on the left, one female next to it, and another male below, ca 18,000-17,000 years old. Montastruc, France. Credit: © The Trustees of the British Museum   When asked about her favorite object, Cook highlights a large stone with three drawings of chamois, an “extraordinary composition” that uses the rock’s natural shape as the landscape:   “Chamois live in little herds of females, and the males are lonesome. They just live on their own except when they need to mate, which happens in around September…So what we’re seeing in this picture is a male chamois doing his alpha male ‘here I am’ posing, and the female all ready for it to happen. So it’s a lovely scene, but the fascinating thing is the way the shape of the rock has acted as the landscape. So no drawings of rocks or trees or grass or anything like that, but just the shape of the rock. The shape of the rock has been used to carry these drawings…it’s a lovely piece of almost like a field guide to these animals at that time.”     Cover of “Ice Age Art Now” by Jill Cook   Cook’s main hope for her book is that people will be able to enjoy the Ice Age images. She believes that despite its important role, archaeology can sometimes provide data that feel sterile. She encourages readers to look at Ice Age art and say, “Oh wow, isn’t that lovely?” just as one might be moved by a Renaissance painting without knowing every detail of its creation.   Looking ahead, Cook believes the why questions about Ice Age art are pointless. Instead, research should focus on “how was that done? Where is it? What is it? When was it?” She’s excited about non-destructive scientific analyses of paints to trace the work of a particular image maker, as well as fingerprinting techniques, which have allowed for the identification of five artists from over 30,000 years ago in the Sauve Cave. She also foresees AI playing a role in assessing patterns, revealing more about ethnicity and heritage. Cook concludes: “We’re not done yet. We’re not even started yet. So, you know, we’ve got to keep at it.”   “Ice Age Art Now” by Jill Cook is available from British Museum Press.   Watch the full interview here:

  The Aeneid was written at the end of the 1st century BCE, in the aftermath of numerous civil wars, the fall of the Roman Republic, and the emergence of Augustus as the principal power in Rome. In this landscape, Augustus, the adoptive son of Caesar, strove to present himself as the bringer of peace, prosperity, and a new golden age. Virgil uses the Aeneid to highlight the importance of Augustus and create a blueprint for Roman values and identity. However, a closer look at the Aeneid suggests Virgil’s attitude towards Augustus and the Roman Empire may have been ambiguous.   Casting a Light on Augustus Augustus of Prima Porta, Roman, c. 1st century CE. Source: Vatican Museums   The Aeneid glorifies Augustus, the Roman ruler at the time the Aeneid was written, by describing him and his family in a flattering manner and by associating Augustus with Aeneas, the hero of the Aeneid. From the beginning of the epic, in book one, Augustus’ family is referred to by Jupiter, the king of gods, who alludes to Augustus’ existence as being a direct consequence of Aeneas’ success in the Aeneid: “From the fairest stock shall be born a Trojan Caesar, destined to bound his rule by the Ocean and his fame by the stars – Julius, a name come down from the great Iulus.” Augustus’ lineage is emphasized by the repetition of “Ilius,” referring to Augustus’ adoptive father, Julius Caesar. This, by extension, provides legitimacy to Augustus through his familial connections.  The Aeneid’s introduction, therefore, succeeds in presenting and associating both the hero of the epic, Aeneas, with the “hero” of the moment, Augustus.   Augustus is again noted in book six, which essentially comprises a literary parade of the “best men” of Roman history. Here, Augustus is described by Anchises, the father of Aeneas, as a messiah-like figure: “Here is the man whose coming you so often hear prophesied, here he is, Augustus Caesar, son of a god, the man who will bring back the golden years of the fields of Latium.” The pageant also describes Augustus’ family members. Caesar, his adoptive father, is described as the son of a god, and Marcellus, Augustus’ heir at the time, who sadly died aged only 19, is the “Sword of Rome.” Furthermore, Augustus is clearly presented as a continuation of Aeneas’ line because Caesar’s genealogy is clearly traced back in this scene of book six, to Aeneas’ son Ascanius.   Detail of the bronze statue of emperor Tiberius, 37 CE. Source: J. Paul Getty Museum   Lastly, in book eight, Augustus is literally the centerpiece of Aeneas’ shield. The description of a shield is a custom found in other epics, such as the Iliad, because it is associated with heroism. On Aeneas’ shield, Augustus is depicted as the victor of the Battle of Actium against his foe, Mark Antony, in 31 BCE. This battle enabled Augustus to gain sole power over the Roman Empire. Augustus and his lineage are once again acclaimed: “from his radiant forehead there steamed a double flame and his father’s star shone above his head.” Beyond presenting Augustus as a central and military figure, Virgil’s description of the shield also legitimizes Augustus through his presentation of recent history. Indeed, Augustus is presented as being “backed by the senate and the people” in opposition to the exotic barbarism of Mark Antony, “who is backed by a foreigner’s wealth and international forces […] Every conceivable monstrous god, even barking Anubis points weapons at counter-blasting figures of Neptune and Venus.” In the Aeneid, Virgil, therefore, propagates the Augustan narrative that the battle of Actium was a fight against hordes of barbarians by civilized Romans rather than a civil war.   Aeneas: A Reflection of Augustus  Iapyx removing an arrowhead from Aeneas’ leg, with Aeneas’ son, Ascania, crying beside him, Fresco from Pompeii, c. 1st century CE. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Augustus is legitimized by being associated with Aeneas. They have many commonalities. For example, both have the same divine background and are from the same family. Both are founders, as Augustus presented himself as founding a new golden age for Rome, as can be seen in public art such as the Ara Pacis. Both are also famous for their “piety” and the importance they placed on paternal bonds. Augustus was regarded as his father’s avenger after Caesar was violently assassinated, which the scholars argue was widely considered legitimate since his filial duty (pietas) required it.   Furthermore, and perhaps more importantly, Aeneas is seen as a ruler despite himself. He “yields” to the people and the gods who desire him to rule, in opposition to his true wishes. Augustus also sought to be regarded as a man for whom rulership was a public service rather than a ruler servicing personal ambition. Indeed, in Res Gestae, Augustus’ self-written political testament, he described himself as being chosen by the people: “the people elected me consul.” Therefore, the mirroring of Aeneas and Augustus emphasizes how they are legitimate in terms of fulfilling their fate—as divinely chosen leaders—while still acting within the framework of Roman political beliefs, as servants of the people of Rome.   Encouraging Certain Values Aeneas and Anchises (“Aenea in parentum pietas”) from Ovid’s Metamorphosis by Antonio Tempesta, 1606. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   The Aeneid also encourages values and a sense of identity for Romans. This promotes social cohesion and encourages behavior that suits the ideology of the new regime. For example, Aeneas’ reputed “piety” is also a trait that is a key means to control a population. Indeed, it is ultimately a behavior of respecting greater powers, whether it be a father, a god, a state, or an emperor. It is a positive way of describing a mindset that is in opposition to personal and intentional choice and decision, which would be necessary for challenging the status quo.   Another trait that is glorified in the Aeneid is self-sacrifice. Notably, the usual pattern for heroes in antiquity was that they had a great propensity to create suffering for their community through their heroic acts, for example, Achilles. Aeneas, in contrast, symbolizes the sacrifice of the individual for the many. Promoting self-sacrifice and associating it with glory and heroism therefore encouraged Romans to view whatever suffering the Roman Empire might cause them as being in alignment with their great national hero, Aeneas. Indeed, if a Roman man wanted to be a hero like Aeneas, he must be deferential and sacrificial. Those values are not necessary for individual happiness but for political security and success.   Roman Soft Power The Fleet of Aeneas Arrives in Sight of Italy, by Master of the Aeneid, c. 1530-1535. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Beyond personal values and behavior, the Aeneid also offered the Romans their own epic to rival those of the Greeks, who had created the Iliad and the Odyssey. Indeed, one could argue that the Aeneid is an example of “soft power,” presenting a new heroic model. Additionally, it presents the Romans as winners. In the Greek epics, Achilles dies, many Greek heroes are cursed by the gods, and Odysseus only returns to his original homeland after losing all his men.   In contrast, Aeneas survives along with the vast majority of his followers and creates a new empire. It is also important to note that Aeneas’ Trojans, who had been defeated by the Greeks in the Iliad, are also the ancestors of the Romans. It is they who win in the end. Therefore, the Aeneid can be perceived as a consecration of the Romans entering “the big leagues” both politically and culturally.   The Underworld: An Ambiguous Political World Aeneas and the Sybil in the Underworld, by Jan Brueghel the Elder, 1600. Source: Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest   The values Virgil encourages in the Aeneid are pushed to the extreme through the moral dimension of the underworld, where good morals and self-sacrifice are rewarded through living in Elysium. In contrast, those who sought only personal gain and went against the good of the state were condemned to perpetual punishment and enslavement. Arguably, Virgil is preying on human fears of the incertitude of the afterlife to create a moral order for the living, one which best serves the powers that be.   Alternatively, some scholars have argued that Aeneas’ route of departure from the underworld undermines all of Virgil’s flattery. Indeed, Virgil describes two exits from the underworld: “one is called the Gate of Horn and it is an easy exit for true shades, the other is made all in gleaming white ivory, but through it the powers of the underworld send false dreams up to the heavens.” Virgil describes Aeneas walking through the ivory gate, the gate of “false dreams.” This may suggest that despite all his flattery, Virgil is insinuating that Augustus and his empire harbor “false dreams.”   The Victims of Rome Dido and Aeneas, by Rutilio Manetti, 1630. Source: Los Angeles County Museum of Art   Indeed, Virgil’s depiction of the Roman Empire is not all rosy. Time and time again, Virgil points us towards the victims of Roman success. Perfect examples are Dido and Carthage. Dido, the queen of Carthage, is presented as a sympathetic creature whose love for Aeneas and hospitality for the Trojans, the ancestors of the Romans, is betrayed by Aeneas. Her curse in book four foreshadows Hannibal’s threat to the Roman Republic and the subsequent Roman destruction of Carthage:  “Arise from my dead bones, O my unknown avenger, and harry the race of Dardanus.”   By presenting the conflict with Carthage in such a light, Virgil chooses to show Carthage, the ancient enemy of Rome, as a victim unfairly treated. The second half of the Aeneid is set in Italy, where, once again, the Romans bring destruction to their host. This time, it was in the form of a war, mirroring the social wars that occurred less than 100 years before the Aeneid was written.   By emphasizing moments like these, Virgil is highlighting the injustices of the Roman Empire. However, one might argue that this is, in fact, a politically conciliatory move. Augustus created the Colonia Iulia Carthago in 29 BCE to reconcile the Carthaginians and Romans after the Punic wars. Similarly, at the end of the Aeneid, the fates of Italians and Trojans, the ancestors of the Romans, were joined when Juno, the defender of the Italians, reconciled with Jupiter, the defender of the Trojans. Virgil may, therefore, have been attempting to reduce the animosity and aggression between historic enemies by presenting former enemies of Rome as more sympathetic figures.   An Undermining Ending? Aeneas Defeast Turnus, by Luva Giordano, 1634-1705. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The Aeneid does not finish on a positive note. Aeneas loses his famous “piety,” forgets his father’s wise counsel of showing clemency, and is instead consumed by furor and kills a suppliant, Turnus. This loss of control is made all the more clear by Turnus’ pleading speech, which recalls the advice of Aeneas’ father. Turnus states: “You have seen me defeated and stretching out my hands to you.” Perhaps this is just a cautionary comment that Virgil leaves to Augustus, just as Anchises did to Aeneas: “You, Roman, remember to rule the people with power (these will be your arts), to establish the traditions of peace, to spare the defeated, and subdue the proud.”   Ultimately, despite whatever criticisms can be found, Augustus must have found the Aeneid to his liking. After all, Augustus refused Virgil’s posthumous demand that his manuscript of the Aeneid be burnt. Instead, Augustus chose to publish it widely. Indeed, the Aeneid has become a political testament, propagating a certain vision of Roman nationhood, identity, and values, far outliving the Roman Empire.

  The ancient Egyptians were known for disliking, or even despising, foreigners. In art and texts, they often depicted their closest neighbors—the Libyans, Asiatics/Canaanites, and the Nubians. Of those, they perhaps had the most complex relationship with the Nubians. The Egyptians routinely raided and colonized Nubia. Eventually, the Nubians adopted many aspects of Pharaonic culture and melded it with their own, which in turn united the two peoples in many ways. From an early time in Egyptian history, Nubians immigrated to Egypt as mercenaries, slaves, merchants, and eventually as rulers over both lands. The Egyptianization of the Nubians was not a simple process, and traditional Egyptian attitudes toward the land to their south never truly disappeared.   Nubia & the Nubians Faience Nubian Head, New Kingdom Egyptian, 19th or 20th dynasty, c. 1295-1075 BCE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York   The Egyptians and Nubians were descended from different cultural-linguistic groups and had different ethnic and racial features. The Nubians were often shown in the artistic evidence as tall with broad shoulders, dark skin, and sub-Saharan facial features. Egyptian men, on the other hand, were usually depicted as shorter with a reddish-brown complexion, while Egyptian women were depicted with an olive complexion. Despite these physical differences, the history of the Egyptians and Nubians was intertwined.   It should be pointed out that there was a difference between the Nubian states to Egypt’s south and the Nubian people. The latter often migrated to and integrated themselves into Egyptian society, while the former was usually opposed to Egypt. When the Egyptian state was weak, a Nubian state was often powerful and vice versa, so the power dynamics between the two peoples ebbed and flowed. But what constituted the land of Nubia was often less clearly defined than identifying who the Nubian people were.   Nubian Prisoners of War from the Temple of Abu Simbel, Egypt, 19th dynasty, c. 13th century BCE. Source: Copyright Jared Krebsbach   The Egyptians generally referred to the land south of the second cataract of the Nile River as “Kush,” or “Wretched Kush.” Most of the important Nubian cities—such as Kerma, Napata, and Meroe—were located in Upper Nubia, which is in the southern portion of the land. The people were referred to as either Kushites or “Nehesy,” while sometimes Kush was called Ta-Sety, which is Egyptian for “Bowland.”   “Nubia” is more commonly used today to refer to Kush and its people as “Nubians,” primarily due to people who came to the area later. The origin of the term, though, may be traced back farther, to the ancient Egyptian word for gold—nebu.   Nubian States Satellite Map of Nubia and its Major Sites. Source: Wikimedia Commons   In order to understand the influence and impact that Nubians had in Egypt, it is important to understand the dynamic nature of Nubian states within the Egyptian state. Generally speaking, when the Egyptian state was weak, the Nubians were strong. This was first observed during Egypt’s Second Intermediate Period (c. 1750-1650 BCE) when the Egyptian Delta was conquered by the foreign Hyksos people. As Egypt was divided, the Nubians built a sophisticated and powerful state that was based in the city of Kerma. The Kerma state controlled the entire Dongola Reach of the Nile River as far north as Aswan. After the Egyptians regained control of the Delta, expelled the Hyksos, and established the 18th dynasty of the New Kingdom, Nubian power regressed.   Nubian power returned when the New Kingdom collapsed and Egypt entered the Third Intermediate Period. A new Nubian dynasty formed in the 9th century BCE, making the city of Napata their capital. This would be the Nubians’ greatest dynasty and will be discussed more thoroughly later in this article. Finally, as the Egyptians came under Ptolemaic rule in the 3rd century BCE, a Nubian kingdom rose to prominence in the southern, Upper Nubian city of Meroe. The Kushite royal cemetery was transferred from el-Kurru to Meroe at this time and the Meroitic empire lasted from the 4th century BCE to the 4th century CE.   Evidence of Nubians in Egypt: Old and Middle Kingdoms Marble head of a sphinx, possibly representing Amenemhat I, c. 1981-1952 BCE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York   As the power of the two states ebbed and flowed, a reasonable flow of people took place between the two lands. Although the movement of Egyptians into Nubia is better-known thanks to textual evidence, there is art historical and textual evidence that indicates Nubian migration into Egypt was not insignificant. But Nubian immigration to Egypt was spurred by Egyptian activities in Nubia as well as periods when the Egyptian state was weak.   Egyptian activities in Nubia began in the late Predynastic Period (c. 3500-3100 BCE), documented through rock drawings. Contact increased significantly in the Old Kingdom (c. 2686-2125 BCE), primarily in a peaceful manner through trade and mining. The Nubians had access to ebony and spices in sub-Saharan Africa, while the land of Nubia was rich in gold, silver, electrum, granite, and other stones the Egyptians used to build their temples and tombs. It is likely that a trickle of Nubian merchants and elites made their way into Egypt at this time, yet it was after the Old Kingdom collapsed that greater numbers emigrated from Nubia.   Stela of Nenu, Egyptian, First Intermediate Period, c. 2100-2040 BCE. Source: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston   During the First Intermediate Period, the power of the Egyptian state was challenged by regional governors. This was also the period when an influx of Nubian mercenaries entered Egypt. The Nubian mercenaries probably went north, where their services were desired in the midst of the political instability. The Nubians were particularly known for their bow abilities, as evidenced by the numerous artistic representations as well as one of the Egyptian words for their land. The tomb of Set-ka in Aswan features a group of black-skinned bowmen who were clearly Nubians.   A limestone stela from Gebelein is another interesting piece of evidence for Nubians living in Egypt during the First Intermediate Period. The stela belonged to an ethnic Nubian named Nenu, who is depicted as a Nubian. His wife is shown as an Egyptian, while their three sons have the darker Nubian color. There are examples of Nubians in Egypt being depicted as Egyptians, but Nenu’s stela is one of the rare cases where an otherwise Egyptianized Nubian is depicted as an ethnic Nubian.   Wooden statuette of a foreign woman carrying a child on her back, Egyptian, Middle Kingdom, 12th Dynasty (c. 1985-1773 BCE). Source: National Museums Scotland, Edinburgh   The geopolitical situation changed again when Egypt entered the Middle Kingdom (c. 2055-1650 BCE). The Egyptian state was strong and looked south to exploit Nubian resources, but it also had to contend with an influx of migrants from its north. The Canaanite/Asiatic migrants primarily settled in the Delta, although migration also continued from the south. Despite many of the Nubian migrants being Egyptianized by the Middle Kingdom, Egyptians still viewed themselves separately from non-Egyptians in general. A small wooden statuette from Beni Hassan demonstrates the Egyptian fascination with the “other.” The statuette is of a woman, labeled “foreign,” carrying a child on her back. The origin of the woman is unknown; the yellowish-brown color suggests she is from the Levant, while her facial features could possibly signal Nubia. Regardless, the statue, which was discovered in a tomb, indicates that the Egyptian people were well aware of their non-Egyptian neighbors in the Middle Kingdom.   As the demographics of the Delta began to change, the Middle Kingdom pharaohs focused their energies on exploiting and even colonizing Nubia. Amenemhat I (ruled c. 1939-1909 BCE) began the process by establishing a series of forts along the Nile River south of the first cataract. Contact between the two people deepened as a result.   Egypto-Nubian Relations in the New Kingdom Relief in the Karnak Temple showing Thutmose III slaying Canaanite captives from the Battle of Megiddo, Egyptian, c. 15th Century BCE. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The Canaanites who migrated to the Egyptian Delta in the Middle Kingdom conquered the region in the Second Intermediate Period, establishing the Hyksos Dynasty. The tides turned again, though, when Amose (ruled c. 1550-1525 BCE) vanquished the Hyksos, creating the 18th dynasty, and the New Kingdom in the process. The political situation in Egypt proved to be most inauspicious for the Kerma state. The Nubians were aligned with the Hyksos, so after the revitalized Egyptians expelled the Hyksos they turned south toward their old rivals.   Thutmose III (reigned c. 1479-1425 BCE) is often viewed as Egypt’s “Caesar” or “Napoleon” for his numerous military campaigns. Although most of those documented campaigns were in the Levant, he also led forces into Nubia. Thutmose III was able to establish direct Egyptian control as far south as the third cataract of the Nile River, while the Egyptians claimed official rule as far as the fourth cataract. After building more forts and developing trade routes, the Egyptians could claim influence in Nubia as far south as what is today central Sudan. Nehi, the viceroy of Kush under Thutmose III, commissioned an inscription that detailed the types of commodities he collected for the pharaoh.   Egyptian soldiers leading a line of Nubian prisoners of war, Horemheb’s Tomb in Saqqara, New Kingdom Egyptian, c. 1323-1295 BCE. Source: Copyright Jared Krebsbach   “Bringing the tribute of the south countries, consisting of gold, ivory, and bony, [by] the hereditary prince, count, wearer of the royal seal, sole companion, satisfying the heart of the king at the Horns of the Earth, having access to the king, pleasant to the divine limbs; companion, approaching the mighty sovereign, vigilant for the lord of the palace, king’s-son, governor of the south countries, Nehi.”   The official Egyptian narrative toward Nubia and Nubians in the New Kingdom took an even more militant tone. The temples and tombs of Seti I (ruled c. 1294-1279 BCE) and Ramesses III (reigned 1184-1153 BCE) routinely depict the Nubians as military enemies of Egypt. Seti’s tomb, in particular, is known for having some of the best-preserved images of Nubians, Libyans, and Canaanites. Other notable New Kingdom examples include the tomb of Horemheb (ruled c. 1323-1295 BCE) in Saqqara, where Nubian prisoners are being beaten. King Tutankhamun’s (reigned c. 1336-1327 BCE) wooden chest, which depicts dozens of Nubians killed by the pharaoh, also reinforces the idea of the Nubians as enemies. Yet, Egypto-Nubian relations in the New Kingdom were more complex than that.   Egyptian soldier abusing a Nubian prisoner of war, Horemheb’s Tomb in Saqqara, New Kingdom Egyptian, c. 1323-1295 BCE. Source: Copyright Jared Krebsbach   The primary source evidence indicates that Nubians continued to live in Egypt, and some even thrived. An ethnic Nubian named Mahirper was buried in the Valley of the Kings, which would have been a great honor for any Egyptian. Mahirper was a soldier, but more importantly, he was one of the king’s fanbearers. Among the many valuable items archaeologists retrieved from Mahirper’s tomb was a copy of the Book of the Dead. The Book of the Dead was a common collection of spells circulated during the New Kingdom that were intended to help the deceased transition into the afterlife. The owners often had their likeness added in pictures to the text. In Mahirper’s version, he is depicted wearing Egyptian clothing but with the skin color and facial features of a Nubian. It remains a mystery if Mahirper was proud of his Nubian ancestry and wished to be depicted as such after his death or if the artist simply portrayed him as he saw him. By the late New Kingdom, Nubian influence was likely heavy in Upper Egypt, especially around Thebes.   The Colonized Become the Colonizers Granite Statue of King Shabaqa, 25th dynasty, c. late 8th century BCE. Source: British Museum   The collapse of the New Kingdom ushered in Egypt’s final intermediate period, the Third Intermediate Period. The Third Intermediate Period was marked by Libyan-descended dynasties that took control of the Delta and Lower Egypt. Many of the Libyan dynasties were contemporaneous with each other, while in Thebes, the priests of the god Amun became autonomous. The Theban priests also developed close ties with a new and powerful Nubian dynasty to the south.   The new Nubian dynasty began with Kashta (reigned c. 760-747 BCE), who ruled from the city of Napata. Kashta consolidated his power base in Nubia and maintained connections with the Amun priests in Thebes, but it was under the rule of his successor Piye (ruled 747-716 BCE) when the Nubians turned the table on the Egyptians.   In 728 BCE, in response to the Tefnakht’s—the ruler of the Delta city of Sais—attempts to gain greater control over Egypt, Piye invaded. The campaign was recorded on the “Victory Stela of Piye,” which was discovered in modern times in the ruins of Napata/Gebel Barkal. Piye then returned to Napata after making the Libyan chieftains of Egypt submit to his rule.   Nubian Royal Necropolis of Meroe, Nubian, c. 3rd century BCE to 4th century CE. Source: UNESCO   Egypt was then ruled by four more Nubian kings, which became known as the 25th or Nubian Dynasty. Shabaqa (ruled 716-702 BCE) had to reinvade Egypt to assert Nubian control, allowing his successor Shebitqu (reigned 702-690 BCE) to become involved in political intrigues in the Levant. The Nubian warrior-king, Taharqa (ruled 690-664 BCE) attempted to expand Egypto-Nubian influence further in the Levant but was met by heavy Assyrian resistance. The Assyrian King Ashurbanipal (reigned 668-627 BCE) finally had enough of Nubian interference in the region, so he invaded Egypt in 664 BCE. The Nubian-Egyptian king at the time was the ephemeral Tanatamani (ruled 664 BCE). Ashurbanipal took Memphis, sacked Thebes, and drove Tanatamani from Egypt, thereby ending Nubian rule permanently in the land.   Nubia and Egypt Reconstruction of the “Four Races,” Tomb of Seti I, Valley of the Kings, Thebes, 19th dynasty, c. 13th century BCE. Source: Theban Mapping Project   The Nubian people had a long and complicated history with Egypt and the Egyptian people. Although the Nubians were one of the traditional three enemies of the Egyptians, the evidence shows that was not always the case. Nubians immigrated to Egypt and became Egyptianized to a certain extent, while Egyptians regularly dealt with Nubian merchants and elites in Nubia. Eventually, the Nubians conquered Egypt under the pretense of bringing order and to venerate the Egyptian god Amun. Clearly, the Nubians played an important role in the development of pharaonic history.

  The tale of Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII’s fiercest queen, is as captivating as it is shocking. Despite Henry’s efforts to erase her from history as if she were Nefertiti instead of a woman in the modern era, Anne’s legacy persists — she was, after all, mother to the monarch who ruled over England’s golden age.   Anne left behind both Elizabeth and a range of portraits in which she’s donning her recognizable “B” necklace. This iconic piece of jewelry not only symbolizes Anne’s bold identity but also holds an intractable place in fashion history.   Caught in Love: The Jewels From Henry to Anne Anne Boleyn in her “B” necklace, Hever Castle Portrait, 1550. Source: The Tudor Travel Guide   Anne Boleyn, the eldest daughter of the ambassador to the highest court of Austria, was no ordinary woman, and she certainly didn’t let Henry VIII have his way in the manner of many other starstruck women he wooed. Their relationship, tumultuous and electrifying, was as much a power struggle as it was a romance.   Anne knew how high the stakes were in the game of love and power, and she played it well. After all, Anne not only told Henry “no” several times, she fled to the country hoping that his affections would fall on someone else. This however was a case of absence making the heart grow fonder, and Henry simply switched his courtship from one of intense face-to-face interactions to one of notes and gifts.   Henry’s love letters weren’t just sweet nothings; they were wrapped in gold and studded with gems, physical manifestations of a king’s obsession. Anne, ever the fashionista, understood the value of these gifts. They were more than symbols of love — they were tokens of influence.   Anne Boleyn, 16th century. Source: National Portrait Gallery, London   Among her arsenal of jewels was the famous “B” necklace, an audacious declaration of her identity and status as well as an item long assumed to have belonged to her before King Henry made his bid for her heart. This wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was a bold statement, a way of saying, “I am Anne Boleyn, and I will not be forgotten.”   In a world where women’s identities were often swallowed by those of their husbands, Anne’s choice to flaunt her maiden initial was nothing short of revolutionary. It wasn’t just about vanity; it was about legacy. It also said something of her developmental years in the French court, where Anne served as a Lady in Waiting in tandem with Françoise de Foix, Countess of Châteaubriant, herself a fashion-forward icon and symbol of scandal.   Henry’s gifts, too, were strategic, like so much of his maneuvering they had a double meaning. By bestowing Anne with jewels that once graced Catherine of Aragon, he wasn’t merely giving, he was taking away — dismantling his former marriage and setting the stage for his new queen.   The woman he’d been married to for over two decades had been found wanting and in her place would stand Anne, younger, more cosmopolitan, and raised to move in political circles. Anne, who was never accepted by Catherine of Aragon’s daughter Mary, certainly wore the latter’s mother’s jewels in her suddenly diminished presence.   It’s Not Yours, It’s the Crown’s Henry VIII, Hans Holbein the Younger, 1537. Source: Google Arts & Culture   Anne Boleyn may have captured Henry’s heart, but her hold on the crown’s jewels was always tenuous, much like Catherine’s was. In the ever-shifting world of Tudor politics, jewelry was never just personal — it was political, made for seeing and being seen. When Anne’s star fell, it wasn’t just her head that rolled; her jewels were swiftly reclaimed by the crown, stripped from her as easily as the clothes she had once worn. Both of which, gems and pricey gowns, would go on to adorn the next of Henry’s consorts, the plainer and less quick-witted Jane Seymour.   It was said that Anne had needed no ornaments to shine, her intellect spoke through her dark eyes, but, according to one foreign ambassador, Jane had needed all the sparkling accouterments she could get. The crown’s message was clear: these weren’t Anne’s treasures; they were the monarchy’s, and they would adorn the next queen, and the one after that, all the way down through the line of Henry’s shorter and shorter marriages.   The “B” necklace, that bold emblem of Anne’s identity, vanished into the shadows. Where it ended up next has been cause for speculation and rumor nearly since the day Anne herself was sloppily buried in a shallow grave without a prepared casket or memorial to be had. Whether it still exists or was lost to history, the fate of Anne’s jewels reflects the harsh reality of her life at court — one minute a queen, the next, a cautionary tale.   Anne Boleyn in the Tower, by Edouard Cibot, 1835. Source: French Ministry of Culture   Henry’s swift reclamation of Anne’s jewels was more than just an act of repossession, it was an attempt to erase her, to control how she would be remembered — or forgotten. But Anne was no ordinary queen, and her memory, much like the pearls she once wore, proved impossible to completely bury. The jewels might have been absorbed back into the royal coffers, but the legend of Anne Boleyn remained, forever entwined with the symbols of her former glory.   Henry would grow to find out that, much like her falcon badge that had been etched into the very walls of the King’s favorite palaces, there was no erasing Anne Boleyn. Did he come to accept this? Is this perhaps why there are whispers that he made efforts in later years to buy back pieces of Anne’s estate that had wandered afar?   After Death, Jewelry Lives On Glass pillow, site of Anne Boleyn’s execution, photo by Jess Nyveen. Source: Flickr   Anne Boleyn may have been executed, but the jewels that once graced her neck lived on, haunted by the memory of the woman who wore them. These weren’t just trinkets, they were relics, each piece whispering of the ambition, charm, and ruthlessness that defined Anne’s brief yet impactful 1,000-day reign. After her state-ordered demise, her jewelry didn’t simply disappear — pieces were redistributed, recycled, and, perhaps, revered in secret by those who dared to remember the woman who had once brought a king to his knees.   There are whispers that the pearls from Anne’s “B” necklace found their way into the Imperial State Crown. If true, this would mean that a part of Anne still resides at the heart of British royalty, hidden in plain sight. It is a tantalizing thought — that despite Henry’s best efforts to erase her, Anne’s legacy endures, even in the jewels that continue to adorn England’s queens. Another tale is that Anne gave the treasured “B” necklace to her sister, Mary, who would save it for an older, more socially aware Elizabeth.   Jewelry, in the Tudor court, was never just for show. It was currency, power, a means of communication in a world where actions often spoke louder than words, a world in which one’s station was a God-granted right. Anne’s jewels, even after her death, continued to carry the weight of her story, of her family legacy. Whether they were melted down, remade, or passed down through secretive hands, each piece carried with it the ghost of Anne Boleyn, a reminder that some women, no matter how hard you try, can never be forgotten.   From Mother to Daughter Queen Elizabeth in Coronation robes, copy of 1559 original. Source: The National Portrait Gallery, London   Anne Boleyn’s legacy didn’t die with her, it was passed down, quite literally, to her daughter, Elizabeth I. The connection between mother and daughter, though severed by Anne’s execution, was immortalized in the jewelry that Elizabeth wore. It is believed that some of Anne’s pieces, including her iconic “B” pendant, may have been inherited by Elizabeth. For a queen as calculating and image-conscious as Elizabeth, wearing her mother’s jewelry was more than an act of sentiment — it was a statement.   The “AB” pendant, featured in some portraits of Queen Elizabeth, is a clear nod to her Boleyn heritage. In a court where every detail was scrutinized, this was no casual choice. By wearing her mother’s initials, Elizabeth wasn’t just honoring Anne’s memory, she was asserting her lineage, reminding everyone that she was the daughter of a queen who had once redefined the power dynamics of the Tudor court. If looked at closely, Elizabeth’s famed teenage portrait depicts her in a necklace with a golden badge from which drips three very familiar pearls, pearls quite similar to the ones that once graced Anne’s famed “B” necklace. Did Elizabeth change the setting but keep the valued pearls together in memory of her mother?   Elizabeth was nothing if not strategic, and her choice to embrace her mother’s legacy, rather than distance herself from it, was a masterstroke. In a world where women were often defined by their male relatives, Elizabeth’s decision to wear a pendant bearing Anne’s initials was an act of defiance, a declaration of independence, and a subtle yet powerful assertion of her right to rule. Through the jewelry she wore, Elizabeth ensured that Anne Boleyn’s story would live on, not just as a tragic figure but as the mother of one of England’s greatest monarchs.   Keeping Their Names Katherine Parr, 16th century. Source: The National Portrait Gallery, London   Anne Boleyn and Katherine Parr were women who understood the power of identity in a world that sought to strip it away. For Anne, her “B” necklace wasn’t just a piece of jewelry — it was a banner proclaiming who she was before Henry, a bold declaration of her own name in a court where women’s identities were often subsumed by those of their husbands and his ancestors. Wearing that initial wasn’t just an act of vanity; it was a statement of defiance, a way of saying, “I am Anne Boleyn, and my time will come.”   Katherine Parr, Henry’s sixth and final wife, also understood the importance of name and identity. A learned woman, she used her signature as a means of asserting her independence and intellect. Katherine’s jewelry, much like Anne’s, carried symbols of her identity—her initials and her family crest—reminders that she was more than Henry’s sixth wife. In fact, it was she who included her maiden initials after her royal signature, a silent but unignorable way to be more than Henry’s Queen.   Still Searching: Where’s the B Necklace? Mary Tudor, by Master John, 1544. Source: The National Portrait Gallery, London   The fate of Anne Boleyn’s “B” necklace is a mystery that continues to captivate historians and treasure hunters alike. Despite countless theories and endless speculation, no one knows for sure what happened to this iconic piece. Was it dismantled, its pearls scattered across the royal collection? Or did it survive, hidden away in some forgotten corner, waiting to be rediscovered?   Some of Anne’s treasures were given, not to her own daughter, but to Henry’s other child, Princess Mary. Inventories, however, do not suggest that the “B” necklace was one of them. Mary must have felt a shocking supremacy. As Anne had once paraded in front of her wearing her own ill-used mother’s gems, now Mary could don her reviled stepmother’s finery posthumously in front of the very daughter that was bastardized after Anne’s execution.   However, many believe it was another wife, Henry’s last wife, who convinced him to release several pieces of Anne’s estate jewels from his coffers so that Elizabeth could have these mementos of her mother. Katherine Parr was famously attached to Elizabeth, a veritable second mother, and it is easy to imagine that she would have advocated for Elizabeth’s cause to have something of her mother’s to hold on to.   The search for the “B” necklace is more than just a hunt for a lost piece of jewelry — it is a quest for a connection to one of history’s most compelling figures and her short time as England’s most prominent woman. Whether it’s hidden in a royal vault, lost to history, or still adorning the head of British royalty, the mystery of the “B” necklace ensures that Anne Boleyn’s story is far from over. Even in death, Anne remains a figure who defies easy categorization, her legacy as elusive and yet meaningful as the jewels she once wore.   All Over the World: How We Still Honor Anne in Jewelry B Necklace Replica. Source: Historic Royal Palaces   Anne Boleyn may have lived over 500 years ago, but her influence is still felt today — especially in the seemingly unrelated worlds of fashion and faith. The “B” necklace, once a symbol of Anne’s defiance and independence, of her wealth in her own right, has transcended its original context to become a modern-day emblem of feminine strength and resilience.   From high fashion runways to popular television series, Anne’s style continues to inspire, proving that she is more than her terrible and untimely death at the hands of someone meant to love her. In recent years, the “B” necklace has made a comeback, worn by women who see in Anne a kindred spirit — someone who was unapologetically herself, even in the face of overwhelming odds.   Actresses like Natalie Portman and Jodie Turner-Smith have brought Anne’s story to life on screen, each donning their own version of the famous pendant, reminding us all that Anne’s legacy is as relevant today as it was in the 16th century. Her story is one of a Protestant reformer, a woman willing to break with convention (she showed her hair in that French hood, something women hadn’t done in the courts of England for years), who did it all while turning heads each time she passed by.   The enduring appeal of Anne Boleyn’s jewelry lies in its symbolism. These pieces are more than just accessories; they are statements of identity, staying power, and feminist rebellion. By wearing a “B” necklace, women today connect with a legacy of unapologetic ambition, of motherhood through trials unfathomable. In this way, the jewelry associated with Anne Boleyn serves as a bridge between the past and the present, a reminder that history is never truly forgotten as long as we continue to honor and reframe it.

  Monasteries helped shape medieval Europe in ways that often go unnoticed today. Beyond their religious role, they influenced learning, politics, and art across the continent. Of the thousands built between the 5th and 15th centuries, more than 500 still stand; some in truly jaw-dropping locations, either tucked in remote valleys, perched on vertiginous cliffs, or sprawled beside rivers. This guide takes you through six of the most remarkable and includes practical tips to help you get the most out of each visit. First, though, a quick question.   Just How Influential Were Monasteries in Medieval Europe?   Visit an old European monastery today, and you might find it hard to believe that these were among the most powerful institutions of their time. Monks didn’t just pray and keep to themselves; they owned land, ran farms, brewed beer, offered medical care, and educated entire generations. In many areas, they held more sway and respect than local lords and were involved in everything from settling disputes to hosting royal guests.   Monasteries were also responsible for preserving knowledge before universities existed in Europe. Monks were the ones copying ancient texts, running libraries, and writing down local history. Although all monasteries had plenty of power, some were more prominent than others, actively driving some of Europe’s most pivotal historical events. Westminster Abbey, for example, hosted William the Conqueror’s coronation in 1066, helping him secure his claim to the English throne. Over in France, Cluny Abbey led sweeping church reforms that spread across much of Europe.   Now, let’s dive into the most marvelous of the lot.   1. Mont-Saint-Michel – France Locals say the sea rushes in “as quickly as a galloping horse.” With a tidal difference of up to 14 meters (46 feet), the causeway connecting Mont-Saint-Michel island to the mainland can disappear completely in a matter of hours. Photo of Mont-Saint-Michel at sunrise by Lynx1211 via Wikimedia Commons.   Few places feel as surreal to walk through as Mont-Saint-Michel. Rising from tidal flats off the coast of Normandy, the island has drawn pilgrims since the 8th century. At its peak, it was one of Europe’s most important monastic sites, both for its spiritual reputation and near-impossible location. Built layer by layer over centuries, the abbey sits high above a maze of narrow streets, stone staircases, and centuries-old buildings that cling to the rock below as if through sheer will alone.   The mix of Romanesque and Gothic architecture tells a story of ambition and devotion, with abundant military strategy thrown in for good measure. During the Hundred Years’ War, the abbey was never taken by English forces, partly because of its fortified position and wild tides. After the French Revolution, it served as a prison; metal bars are still visible on some of the windows today.   Insider tip   For a quieter, more atmospheric experience, book a night in one of the small B&Bs on the island so you can explore after the crowds have left. Pure magic.   2. Meteora Monasteries – Greece In Medieval Europe, the Meteora monks used rope baskets and winches to haul up supplies, and sometimes themselves, before staircases were carved centuries later. Photo of Meteora Monastery by Stathis floros via Wikimedia Commons.   In central Greece, massive stone towers rise from the earth like fingers pointing to the sky. Perched on top are the monasteries of Meteora, built by monks who wanted to live closer to heaven and farther from danger. They began settling here in the 11th century. By the 1500s, two dozen monasteries were doing a precarious balancing act on these cliffs.   Today, six remain standing and are operational, each with its own chapel, courtyard, and centuries-old frescoes. Getting to them involves a bit of a climb (especially the Holy Trinity monastery), but the experience and views are worth every step. Even with more visitors these days, Meteora still feels like a world apart, especially if you take the quieter hiking trails between the sites.   Insider tip   The trail from Kastraki to the Holy Trinity Monastery offers a peaceful approach with spectacular views and fewer visitors than the main routes. Get Holy Trinity out of the way first, and you’ll be much more likely to visit the other five by day’s end.   3. Westminster Abbey – England Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin are both buried in Westminster Abbey, making it one of the only churches in the world where science and faith quite literally share the floor. Photo of Westminster Abbey by Thomas Dahlstrom Nielsen via Wikimedia Commons.   Right in the heart of London, Westminster Abbey is packed with more royal and political history than almost any other church in Europe. It started as a Benedictine medieval monastery in the 10th century and grew in influence over time, eventually hosting the coronations of English monarchs. The current Gothic structure mostly dates from the 13th century and holds centuries of royal burials, major ceremonies, and national milestones.   Inside, you’ll find graves and memorials for kings, queens, poets, scientists, and soldiers. Some areas feel more like a museum than a church, especially Poets’ Corner, where names like Chaucer, Dickens, and Austen are all honored. Even with the crowds, there’s something a bit special about standing in a place that has witnessed so many turning points in British history.   Insider tip   If you join the weekday Highlights Tour, you’ll get access to areas like the Chapter House and Jerusalem Chamber, which are not accessible with the general admission tickets.   4. Maulbronn Monastery – Germany This UNESCO-listed medieval monastery in Germany might not be a “classic medieval stunner” but it still has a working wine press built by monks, so if that’s not enticing enough, then what is?! Photo of Maulbronn Monastery by Paula Soler-Moya via Flickr.   Tucked in the German countryside, this 12th-century monastery is one of the best-kept examples of Cistercian architecture in Europe. A reform branch of the Benedictines, Cistercians built simple, functional monasteries without flashy decorations and drenched in natural light. Maulbronn is exceptionally preserved, and you can still walk through the cloisters, church, dining hall, and garden areas, getting a real feel for how the monks lived day to day.   Over the centuries, this medieval gem evolved from an understated monastery into a boarding school and cultural hub. Unlike many medieval sites that have crumbled or been over-restored, Maulbronn’s lived-in feeling (it’s still used for concerts) makes visiting incredibly rewarding.   Insider tip   Make time for lunch in the old monastic bakery at the entrance, where you can try traditional Maultaschen, a local dish first cooked by monks here.   5. Santa María de Ripoll – Spain This Catalonian monastery was once called the “cradle of Catalan culture” and played a key role in shaping written language in Medieval Europe. Photo of Santa María de Ripoll’s extraordinary main entrance by Angel M Felicismo via Wikimedia Commons   Set in a small town at the feet of the Pyrenees, Ripoll Abbey played a significant role in early medieval Spain. It was founded in the 9th century and became known for its scriptorium, where monks copied and illustrated thousands of important texts in Latin, Greek, and even Arabic. At a time when books were rare, Ripoll’s library was one of the most impressive in Europe.   The church you see at Ripoll today was mostly built in the 11th century and shows off the solid, rounded style of early Romanesque architecture. Its main entrance is covered in detailed stone carvings of biblical scenes, animals, and patterns. They’re so full of symbols that art historians have been kept busy for generations. The atmosphere is quiet here, and the town around it moves at a much gentler pace, giving you time to take it all in without the rush often felt in larger cities.   Insider tip   If you visit in the late afternoon, the light hits the stone carvings just right, bringing out details you might miss earlier in the day.   6. San Fruttuoso Abbey – Italy This medieval monastery on the Ligurian coast was once hidden so well by cliffs and sea that it was used as a pirate hideout in the 16th century. Photo of San Fruttuoso Abbey by GiuF80 via Wikimedia Commons   Hidden in a cove between Camogli and Portofino, San Fruttuoso feels like a secret that somehow slipped through the Italian Riviera cracks. For foreigners, at the very least. Built by Benedictine monks in the 10th century, the abbey once housed the remains of Saint Fructuosus and later became the burial site for the Doria family, a powerful Genoese dynasty. Over the years, it also served as a fishing village, a hideout for pirates, and even a small industrial workshop.   Today, it’s only reachable by boat or by hiking through the Portofino Regional Park. The abbey itself is small and peaceful, but the setting is what makes it unforgettable. Waves roll beneath the arches, and verdant green hills rise into the sky just behind the buildings. Add in the underwater Christ of the Abyss statue just offshore, and it’s easy to see why so many travelers fall in love with the place.   Insider tip Arrive on the first ferry of the day and bring your swimsuit. The beach clears out in the late afternoon, and the cove becomes incredibly peaceful. Just check the time for the last ferry back.

  Few monarchs have caused so much controversy among historians as Charles VI of France (r. 1380-1422). Charles VI is perhaps most well-known for his losses during the Hundred Years’ War and for turning the tide in favor of the English. However, should we be looking at his reign in a more sympathetic light? Charles was known to suffer from “bouts of madness,” so this has to be taken into account when looking at the man behind the king. This article will explore Charles’s reign and how it transformed French history.   Early Life and Regency Coin of Charles VI of France, 1380-1422. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Charles was born on December 3, 1368, in Paris. He was the eldest son of Charles V, King of France (r. 1364-80), and his wife, Joanna of Bourbon. He was born into the House of Valois.   Charles’s father died when he was aged eleven, and his coronation took place at Reims Cathedral on November 4, 1380. Because he was not yet old enough to rule in his own stead, he was instead classed as a minor, so he had others ruling for him until he was deemed old enough to rule by himself.   Charles’s uncles ruled France during his minority, and while the age of majority was 14 in France, Charles did not terminate the regency until he was 21 years old, eventually ruling in his own right by late 1388, eight years after he inherited the crown.   The uncles who ruled for Charles were three of his father’s brothers (John, Duke of Berry, Louis I, Duke of Anjou, and Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy), and his maternal uncle, Louis II, Duke of Bourbon.   Interestingly, Louis II, Duke of Bourbon, his maternal uncle, was relatively unimportant during the regency phase because he was not a part of the royal bloodline like the others were, and he had also shown signs of mental illness—suggesting that this was a hereditary trait that Charles would also suffer with in his later life.   Charles VI’s Mental Illness Episodes Charles VI seized by madness in the forest, from Froissart’s Chronicles, c. 1450. Source: BnF   Charles first experienced mental illness episodes in his mid-20s, sometime in the early 1390s, shortly after he had begun to rule France in his own stead.   In 1392, Olivier de Clisson, one of Charles’s friends and advisors, was the victim of an attempted murder by a man called Pierre de Craon, who took refuge in Brittany. John, Duke of Brittany, was unwilling to hand Craon over to face the king’s justice, so Charles organized a military expedition to do so.   Contemporaries reported that Charles seemed disconnected in his speech and was in a “fever” at the start of the campaign, eventually setting off with an army on July 1, 1392. A sudden shock from the noise of a lance being dropped against a helmet almost flicked a switch in Charles’s mind, and he immediately rushed to attack his own knights.   Unfortunately, Charles killed a knight known as the “Bastard of Polignac” and several other men in the fight. He eventually fell to the ground and went into a coma. He was taken to nearby Creil Castle, where it was hoped that the “good air” would cure him from this episode.   A year later, Charles was struck with another episode when he forgot his name, did not know that he was king, and did not recognize his wife when she came to visit him.   Saint George and the Dragon, by Bernat Martorell, 1434-5. Source: RKD Images   In 1395-96, Charles claimed that he was, in fact, Saint George, once again recognizing all the men of his household, but not his wife nor his children. Charles was also reported to run wildly through the corridors of his home, sometimes smearing himself in his own faeces. To protect anyone else from seeing, the entrances were walled up.   Perhaps the most famous of Charles’s mental illness episodes was around 1405, when he refused to bathe or change his clothes for five months. In addition, he also had iron rods sewn into his clothes because he thought that he was made out of glass and would shatter if anyone else touched him. This condition came to be known as the “glass delusion.” It is easy to see why Charles was known as both Charles the Beloved and Charles the Mad.   The Regency of Isabeau The Coronation of Charles VI, from Grande Chroniques de France, c. 1450. Source: Gallica Digital Library   From 1393, when it became apparent that Charles was unfit to rule, his wife Isabeau acted as Queen Regent of France. Philip the Bold, who had acted in Charles’s minority as regent, had a great influence on the queen, but the king’s younger brother, Louis I, Duke of Orleans, also began to have more of an influence on her. It was even rumored that he and the queen were secret lovers.   This rivalry between Philip the Bold and Louis I, Duke of Orleans, would escalate, eventually leading to outright civil war in the years to come.   The Bal des Ardents and Expulsion of the Jews The Bal de Ardents, from Froissart’s Chronicles, c. 1470. Source: British Library   During Isabeau’s regency, on January 29, 1393, she decided to hold a masked ball, which became known as the Bal des Ardents (Ball of the Burning Men).   Dancers were invited to perform in the court, in front of Charles VI and Queen Regent Isabeau, dressed as wild men, in shaggy costumes made from linen and animal furs.   Louis I, Duke of Orleans, arrived late to this ball and used one of the torchbearer’s torches to get a look at the dancers in the dark. His torch ended up catching the costume of one of the dancers, who was immediately set on fire. Panic spread, and so did the fire.   Four of the dancers died, and many of the knights who helped to put out the flames were badly burned.   Some historians have claimed that this episode also led to debilitations in Charles VI’s mental health; in seeing something so horrifying unfold in front of his eyes, it is easy to see why this could have further damaged his mental stability.   Charles VI of France, 1450. Source: Picryl   The following year, in 1394, largely unprompted, Charles issued an edict to expel the Jews from France. He claimed that they were involved in corruption and that Christians deserved to be cleared of their debts.   The aim was to send the Jews to the frontier of the kingdom so that they could find refuge in foreign countries. This was just another sad episode in medieval Europe’s antisemitic history that proved that the Jews could be blamed as a scapegoat for any wrongdoing.   This was one of the rare popular moves by Charles VI, which was perceived well by the public—partly because many of them were indebted to the French Jews and partly because the Black Death was in living memory for many French citizens, and the Jews across Europe were blamed for it, accused of poisoning wells. For many people, this felt like justice was served against this already historically oppressed community.   The Burgundian-Armagnac Civil War The Armagnac-Burgundian Civil War, c. 1484. Source: Gallica Digital Library   During the reign of Charles VI, the Burgundian-Armagnac War began. Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, died in April 1404. John the Fearless took over, and a feud with the Duke of Orleans (whose supporters would become the Armagnacs) escalated even further, leading to civil war.   The Duke of Orleans was murdered in Paris in 1407, and war broke out. When questioned about the murder, John the Fearless did not deny his responsibility in the murder of Orleans. Orleans’s son, Charles of Orleans, turned to his father-in-law, Bernard VII, Count of Armagnac, for support against the Burgundians (John the Fearless’s faction).   This would result in one of the most bitter civil wars in French history, the Burgundian-Armagnac Civil War, which would last from 1407 until Charles’s death in 1435.   The Hundred Years’ War The Battle of Agincourt, by Enguerrand de Monstrelet, c. 1450. Source: BnF   Obviously, the biggest war that Charles VI and his ruling faction had to contend with was the ongoing Hundred Years’ War with England, which had been raging on since the 1330s.   By 1415, feuds between the ruling Valois family and the Burgundians led to anarchy and chaos in France, something which the English king, Henry V, capitalized on at the incredible English victory at the Battle of Agincourt on October 25, 1415.   This defeat for the French was humiliating and solidified England’s position for the coming years as the most powerful force during the Hundred Years’ War.   It would go from bad to worse for Charles, however, when he was forced to sign the humiliating Treaty of Troyes in 1420, which acknowledged that Henry V’s heirs would succeed to the French throne as well as the English throne, while Charles’s heirs would step aside. In the treaty, Charles’s daughter Catherine was also betrothed to Henry, and she bore him a son a year later; the boy would become the future King Henry VI of England.   However, Henry V died just a few short weeks before Charles did, leaving behind the infant Henry VI, which, according to the Treaty of Troyes, meant that he would become King of France on Charles’s death.   As such, Henry’s coronation was held in Paris, but Charles’s son, who would become King Charles VII of France, never gave up his fight for the throne, and the Hundred Years’ War would once again turn in favor of the French during his reign.   Charles VI’s Death and Legacy Charles VII, by Jean Fouquet, c. 1445-50. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Charles VI died aged 53 on October 21, 1422, in Paris. His life had been one of struggles with mental illness—possibly schizophrenia—which he may or may not have inherited from his mother’s side of the family.   His reign was a tragic one—corrupted uncles took advantage of him, and feuds between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians incapacitated the king’s reign.   In modern times, Charles would have been well looked after, possibly even cured, but unfortunately, he is only remembered for his mental illness episodes and for leading France into spiralling into civil war amidst the Hundred Years’ War.   Rulers like Charles VI need to be looked upon with empathy for their conditions for a fair assessment of their reigns: would France have fared better if he had not suffered from his mental illnesses? Undoubtedly, yes.   However, history is not a case of ifs and buts; rather, it is a case of what happened, and here’s why.   Charles VI should perhaps be more well remembered by the epithet “the Beloved” rather than the demeaning “the Mad”—but this is up to the reader to truly decide.

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