Download The History of France – Part 1, the View from America

The History of France (Part 1) – The View from America
From the Dark Ages to the Age of Discovery
Of all the European nations that contributed to the rise of the United States, only England can claim a
greater part than France. Even Spain, which sent Columbus, populated Latin America with its offspring,
and very nearly dominated the entire continent, does not play as pivotal a role in the history of America.
France’s contribution is manifold. First, during the Dark Ages, it was the Franks who safeguarded Europe
from Asian and Arab invaders, and who forged a Western Empire to begin Europe’s renewal, without
which there would have been no history of America to tell. It was the French who absorbed and civilized
the Vikings, before deflecting their boundless energy to England, where they forged the kingdom that
would grow into our mother country. Thankfully, France was uncoupled from the Holy Roman Empire—
largely a Frankish creation—and the French kings proceeded to forge a more secular, national domain,
directly opposed to England, and simultaneously positioned in contradistinction to the feudal-Christian
aggregate of Germany and the zealous Catholic regime of Spain. This crafting of a unified domain was a
lengthy affair, spanning the entire Capetian Dynasty (987-1328) and the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453),
from which France emerged as a genuine national entity.
This is as much as can be said of France before the Age of Discovery. Without question, its most
impressive, immediate role in American history followed in the wake of Columbus’s fateful voyage. But
that is a later story. To study France’s early history is to establish an intellectual context for understanding
its evolving cultural identity and attendant role in shaping the world. The task of understanding this story
should be viewed as preparation for the difficult task of dissecting the direct role that France would later
have in affecting the fate of America and Europe.
We can begin an American history of France by thanking the French, most heartily, for having
saved Europe, America’s mother continent, on two occasions. For these efforts, one can excuse
all later affronts. The Franks, along with the a host of Germans and the last viable remnants of
Rome’s armies, so bloodied the nose of Attila the Hun at the Battle of Chalons in 451, that in
nearly one swoop, his Asiatic horde was repelled and the West was preserved as a cultural block.
The name of the Frankish hero, Merowig was adopted by the Merovingian dynasty, which then
took over France, and began to rebuild after the collapse of Rome. And if this weren’t enough to
be thankful for, it was these same Franks, still nominally fighting for the house of Merowig, who
in 732, at the Battle of Tours, thwarted the Muslim advance into Europe. This time, the
champion of Europe was Charles Martel, who crushed the religious crusaders of Islam, and drove
them back across the Pyrenees. Twice France saved Europe, which is to say, in no uncertain
terms, that on two pivotal occasions it pushed history forward, toward the good, toward America.
However, it has never been in the nature of the French to take two steps forward, without taking
at least one back! In the wake of the European victory at Chalons, the Franks were the dominant
power in northeastern France, and according to the custom of tribal warriors, the spoils were
distributed according to the military contribution and relative might of the various lords. In this
war torn setting, the strong man reigned supreme. His “sovereignty” was based on the ability to
raise armies, with his adjutants swearing oaths of fealty, in exchange for land dispositions, called
“feuds.” It was a system of bridled aggression, held together only by the standard of respect for
force, which historians have called “feudalism.” It was perhaps the only way to avoid total
anarchy in an immoral world, but it condemned the non-violent sustainers of life—the farmers—
to the subordinate status of serfdom.
The early development of feudalism is in a way a “pre-historic” phenomenon, insofar as the Dark
Ages have not willingly given up their meager store of information about the politics of our
barbarian ancestors. It is sufficient for historical purposes to assert that feudalism, so pervasive in
various forms throughout European history, did first begin to develop during the period after the
fall of Rome. Many of its aspects evolved as society grew out of a tribal context, and its
systematic implementation was centuries in the making. However, the basic system of a warrior
aristocracy, bound by personal loyalty was in place from the early stages of the Merovingian
dynasty.
Christianity was also established early on as the dominant moral framework. It was the primitive
superstitious mind of the Merovingian leader, Clovis, that foisted Christianity onto the French as
the state religion. Battling the Germans at Tolbiac in 486, Clovis felt his cause was lost, and in a
moment of pitiful desperation, pledged himself to the Christian God of his wife, if He should
grant victory. Victory did indeed come—and it was a great loss for Europe. Christianity took
hold of the Frankish mind to such an extent, that it was only with papal approval that the next
dynasty of Frankish rulers, the Carolingians, were willing to supplant the “do nothing”
Merovingians ancestors of Clovis in 751.
Europe was safe from the Muslims thanks to the Carolingians, especially Charles Martel, but it
wasn’t safe from its own contradictions. In a prodigious, if fleeting, burst of crusading virility,
the greatest of the Franks, Charlemagne, slashed his way to a nearly pan-European empire. In
800, he was annointed “Emperor of the Romans” by the Pope. But his empire faded as quickly
and barbarously as it arose. To speak of it as a “Carolingian Renaissance,” as medievalists are
wont to do, is nothing short of blasphemy! The Dark Ages were most certainly still dark.
Charlemagne’s grandsons, feudal barbarians in full measure, warred against each other, splitting
France from its German conquests in 843. And the Vikings exported their own special brutality
from Scandanavia to the continent to extinguish hope for yet another century.
Only in 911 were the Vikings tamed. Their leader, Rollo, was made Duke of Normandy, in
exchange for converting to Christianity and behaving like a good feudal vassal. Still, to be king
of France was an unenviable position, when Hugh Capet, the Count of Paris, was elected to the
role in 987. The king had almost no land, and thus no means to raise his own army. He was
completely dependent on the whim of his feudal lords, who were much more powerful than he
was. One is astounded, when looking back with the power of hindsight, at this humble beginning
of the proud Capetian Dynasty (987-1328). It seems almost nothing. And yet, with the
uncontested passing of the kingship to Hugh Capet’s son Robert II in 996 (no one else wanted it!)
a powerful royal house was born.
This is an appropriate moment to recapture the broader meaning of this narrative. Our first aim is
to understand the rise of France as a component of the rich tapestry of American history, which
extends back beyond easily perceptible boundaries. In this connection, to know early French
history is to worship Merowig and his allies for not letting Europe become a part of Asia, and to
lionize Charles Martel for net letting it be absorbed by Islam! From such cultures, America
would have never emerged. Also, we recognize Clovis and later Catholic rulers of France as key
promoters of the Christian religion, the deep imprint of which is still felt in the West. A not
unrelated objective in knowing France in her youth is to achieve an informed perspective on her
later actions. The mature French nation acted in unique and decisive ways on the European and
world scene. Its uniquely nationalistic participation in the Reformation, colonial wars against
England, and, of course, the French Revolution, are but a few of its leading roles in history. And
all derive in large part from the peculiar rise of the French monarchy.
In keeping with the happily conflicted French character, the first phase of the Capetian rising was
a decline. William “the Conqueror” of Normandy claimed the throne of England in 1066, thus
establishing a troubling scenario. He was both an independent king and (nominally) a vassal of
the French king. The relationship between Normans and French kings remained fairly stable
because the French monarchs were too weak to antagonize the Normans, and the Normans, for
their part, were too busy cementing control over England to notice the French rulers. But English
possessions in France gradually expanded under the Plantagenet Dynasty of England. Henry II
married Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152, and thereby obtained her lands in France. Including
English fiefs, this meant that the English king controlled over half of France, while the French
kings ruled a mere island of territory around Paris.
In this context of apparent weakness the French kings displayed their remarkable talents. Having
already aggrandized his feudal position by a carefully calculated war against rebellious barons in
the northeast, Louis VII found favor with the Church by harboring the English archbishop
Thomas Becket during his dispute with Henry, and by providing a refuge to the Pope in his
conflict with German Emperor Frederick I “Barbarossa.” Louis’s son Philip II “Augustus” took
full advantage of the ambition of Henry’s sons, whom he supported in their civil wars against
their father. Finding Henry unable to control his vast domain in France, Philip then confiscated
what lands he could in Auvergne (south central France). The centralization of France was
underway. The final step taken during Philip’s reign was to wrest control of Normandy and
neighboring fiefs from John I, whose small-mindedness was a boon to both France and England.
The pretext was John’s purloining of another feudal lord’s fiancée. When John refused a
summons by Philip to answer charges, he forfeited his lands. The wars that followed changed
nothing, as John could not muster a continental force to displace the increasingly popular Philip.
His citizens celebrated the Battle of Bouvines against John and his German allies in 1214 as a
national victory.
To their credit, the French kings never took more than they could manage. When Philip’s
territory expanded, he adapted the machinery of government to ensure uniformity of
administration. He established the office of baillis, to look after the king’s interests in all the
districts of his land. By rotating the appointments regularly, he kept the offices under close
control and prevented anyone from attaining tenure or creating a local power base. Also to his
credit, Philip took the productive towns under his wing, granting them royal charters, at the
expense of their feudal lords. He supported the growth of the University of Paris, which would
later host Thomas Aquinas. Serving both his interest and those of the Church, Philip initiated a
crusade in the south of France against a heretical group called the Albigensians. The final
victory in this struggle would go to Philip’s successors, leading to further religious and political
unification in France, under the person of the King.
By the end of the Capetian Dynasty in 1328, the Kings had schemed, extorted, and snatched their
way to a unified domain encompassing more than three fourths of France. And their control of
this territory surpassed all feudal standards. Theirs was a uniform, centralized regime by design
and implementation. At times paternal and benevolent, as under Louis IX, “St. Louis”, who
developed the court system, and then tyrannical and absolutist, under Philip IV “the Fair”, its
growth and intensification as a cultural institution continued. So much so, that Philip was able to
use a national assembly—France’s first “Estates General,” or parliament—in support of his bid to
tax the Church. Even the French clergy was as much French as Catholic by this point. Seeing the
general will polarized in favor of the king, it accepted Philip’s defiance of the Pope with regard to
taxation for state purposes. The ultimate expression of his power came when he had the Papacy
itself removed from Rome and resettled at Avignon. Now even Europe’s undisputed moral
authority was subject to the King of France.
Philip’s three sons, however, all died within 15 years, leading to a succession crisis. The
succession had been arranged instead for Philip VI, son of Charles of Valois, Philip’s brother, and
second son of Philip III. However, the English king, Edward III, claimed the throne via his
mother and Philip’s daughter, Isabella. Thus the Valois Dynasty (1328-1589) was born, along
with its bastard sibling, the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453).
As the amazing span of this conflict suggests, the Hundred Years’ War is a vastly complicated
period in history. Because of its complexity, historians—of the intrinsicist variety—usually find
it necessary to apologize for the idea that it was one war that lasted 116 years. Nonetheless, it is
an entirely valid historical concept. It denotes a series of conflicts that are linked by an essential
causal theme within European history. That theme is the separation of France and England into
distinct geo-political units with an accompanying rise of a distinct national cultural identity in
France. When the war began, France and England were politically intertwined, to their mutual
detriment. The war was like a radical surgical operation separating a set of withering Siamese
twins, allowing the two to live much healthier lives as separate entities. It also caused the French
people to detect and cultivate a common identity, in the context of a common fate. When France
entered the war, its union was purely administrative. When it emerged from the war, it was well
on its way to being a genuine cultural organism.
The fundamental cause of the war was the unstable relationship of the two monarchies, both bent
of total control of France. This was dramatically, concretized by the succession crisis of 1328.
And finally, when the two powers came to blows over competing interests in Flanders, northeast
of France, the stage was set for a decisive contest. At every turn the English seemed to get the
better of the French. Edward III won a major victory at Crécy in northern France in 1346, where
the English foot soldiers, armed with longbows decimated the French cavalry. Ten years later, at
Poitiers (not far from the site of Charles Martel’s battle against the Muslims), the English again
triumphed. But every victory earned was hollow, as the far more numerous French simply
retreated to their strongholds to regroup and re-emerge with strength restored for a renewal of the
conflict. The exhausted nations periodically relented, signed truces, and allowed their
irresolvable differences to recede into the background. Each nation saw the succession of five
different kings during the war, and both countries suffered contested successions and internal
feudal strife. Both were hit by the Black Death of 1348. When the conflict regained its former
intensity in the early 15th century, the English again seemed to be gaining. Henry V won the
Battle of Agincourt of 1415, but to no greater end than Edward III so long before him. And then
the tide turned. France rallied around the amazing figure of Joan of Arc, a young girl believed to
be guided by a supernatural inspiration. Joan led the French army in the breaking of the siege of
Orléans in 1429—the turning point of the war. She was captured not long after by the
Burgundians (long time rivals of the kings of France) and turned over to English, who executed
her, but not before she had performed her essential historical role. An emerging French
patriotism was focussed through her person and subsequently leveraged by the kings to achieve a
near total victory for France. Only Calais remained in English hands at the close of the war in
1453.
It is impossible to pinpoint a single moment when France ceased to be a feudal miscellany and
became the single entity. Nor is it necessary to do so. It is enough to identify three sequential
causes of the change, which in essential historical terms yielded the final product. First, the
Capetian kings contrived a political unity out of a disparate patchwork of fiefs, despite English
interference. Second, the Valois kings severed the territory’s political ties to England in the
Hundred Years’ War. Third, during that same war, the French people came to view themselves
as joined by a common bond of nationality. Each was a step in rendering France into a European
power, and into a country that could play a major role in the history of America.
Work remained to be done, however, to secure the kingdom. Two major territorial concerns
remained. In the east, the greater of the two problems was Burgundy. This duchy, sandwiched
between France and the Holy Roman Empire, and incorporating fiefs from both, was ruled by the
ambitious duke Charles the Bold. Charles aspired to join Burgundy to his northern lands of
Flanders and Holland, and forge a central European kingdom similar to that of Frankish Emperor
Lothair I. Louis XI prevented his plans from coming to fruition by underhanded diplomacy and
outright military confrontation. Charles died without a male heir, allowing Louis to seize his
French fiefs in 1477. In similar circumstances, the Duke of Brittany was first harassed militarily
and isolated. Then, at the opportune moment, Charles VIII forced the union of the Breton house
of Monfort to the Valois. In 1491, Brittany was annexed to France.
The French kings were not merely employed in aggrandizing their territory. Bureaucratic and
fiscal centralization accompanied the growth of the kingdom. The king had large revenues and
his army and state were thoroughly advanced among European nations. Possessed of such
advantages, it is sad, in a way, to watch France direct its energies hereafter towards European
conquest rather than to the daring challenge of exploration and world commerce. But France’s
kings had won the license to command the nation’s energies, and theirs was a world of apparent
political advantage, not of visionary schemes. Columbus’s plea to Charles VIII to fund a western
voyage of discovery fell on deaf ears.