During his state visit to Great Britain, President Emmanuel Macron made one of his trademark decisions: a move that will have a huge impact in the media but is a disaster in substance. He has decided, on his own initiative, to lend England the historic masterpiece that is the Bayeux Tapestry, which recounts the epic story of William the Conqueror from Normandy to Great Britain. This “strong gesture” intended to “make an impression” is just another manifestation of the crassness of the man and his cavalier treatment of French heritage: the tapestry, an extremely fragile work of art, should not be moved under any circumstances. The legacies of history are preserved, honoured, and restored, but they are not there to serve as a vehicle for the mediocre propaganda of an inflated ego in need of recognition.
In France, Macron’s surprise announcement has stunned the world of history and heritage: the French president intends to loan the Bayeux Tapestry, also known as the “Queen Matilda Tapestry”, to the British Museum for a year. This artefact is unique in the world and requires the utmost care. More than a “tapestry” in the strict sense of the word, it is in fact a 11th-century embroidery, made on a roll 50 cm high and nearly 70 metres long at the request of Matilda, wife of William of Normandy, recounting in minute detail her husband’s expedition from the Normandy coast to England—an epic journey that ended with the Battle of Hastings, won by Norman troops over English troops.
There is no equivalent to the Bayeux Tapestry. Its size, the fineness of its execution, and its exceptional state of preservation make it a unique historical document. The tapestry has been on display in the Norman town of Bayeux since 1983 under very strict conditions of humidity, light, and protection from external damage, with strict controls on visitors allowed to view it. The Bayeux Tapestry is one of those objects whose deterioration would represent an irreparable loss to world heritage. It has also been listed in UNESCO’s Memory of the World Register since 2007.
But such considerations do not bother the man whom the French have taken to calling, with contempt, Jupiter I—above the law, above men, for better and especially for worse.
Since Jupiter I lost all political power with his lamentable choices, he has been desperately searching for reasons to get himself talked about. Foreign policy occasionally offers him a playground where he can remind the world that he exists. Recently, his state visit to Great Britain gave him the opportunity to get himself talked about again. Without missing a beat, a stroke of genius blossomed in his overworked brain: What if I offered to lend the Bayeux Tapestry to the British?
True to form, Macron decided alone, ignoring advice and warnings. Just recently, a scientific report analysed the condition of the Bayeux Tapestry in depth and came to the unequivocal conclusion that the tapestry must not be moved under any circumstances. “As studies progressed, it became clear that the tapestry was too fragile to be moved over a long distance and that any further handling would pose a risk to its conservation,” concluded the Normandy cultural affairs department just five months ago.
Didier Rykner, art historian and editor-in-chief of La Tribune de l’Art, a media outlet that specialises in alerting the public to the excessive damage suffered by French heritage due to the negligence of our leaders, took up the issue. He took the time to contact the Normandy region authority and the Culture Ministry, to remind them of these warnings, which strongly advise against any movement of Queen Matilda’s masterpiece. “Ask the Élysée” was the only response he got. But the Élysée is not responding to his inquiries. Translation: This is a sovereign decision by Jupiter I, which cannot be challenged even by the most competent authorities. People are now talking about #bayeuxgate.
In addition to heritage considerations, there are a few wounded national pride issues. After all, the tapestry recounts the victorious invasion of the French-speaking Normans over the English. Do they need, a thousand years later, to get their hands on this piece of our national history? And is the British Museum really the ideal interlocutor in this matter, given that it houses, among other things, the Rosetta Stone, which enabled Champollion to decipher hieroglyphics and was shamelessly stolen by the English during the Napoleonic Wars? There are symbolic affronts that are not easily forgiven.
But such considerations have no hold on Jupiter I.
What can we expect from a man who declared at the beginning of his first term that there is no such thing as French culture? Since becoming President of the Republic, Macron has shown a certain consistency in demolishing French heritage for the sake of his personal image. It is not enough for him to empty the state coffers through his disastrous management of public finances or to throw open the borders: he is gradually destroying essential parts of French history and heritage.
The list of his misdeeds is long. After the appalling transformation of the Élysée Palace’s Salon Pompadour into a garish lounge decorated in contemporary art that completely destroys the spirit of the place, and the sacrifice of the stained-glass windows of Notre-Dame in favour of a contemporary creation that came out of nowhere, we recently learned that he plans to attack the Louvre with a pharaonic project that poses a serious risk of damaging the foundations of the medieval royal palace of King Philippe-Auguste. Today, he has set his sights on the poor Bayeux Tapestry, which has done nothing to deserve this.
Macron is not content with weakening France’s image; he is literally destroying its material heritage. But while laws can be changed and policies reversed, some things, once lost, are lost forever, with no hope of return. Who will stop him before he commits the irreparable?
Wherever Macron Goes, Heritage Dies
Bayeux tapestry, “Harold swearing oath on holy relics to William, Duke of Normandy.”
Myrabella, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
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During his state visit to Great Britain, President Emmanuel Macron made one of his trademark decisions: a move that will have a huge impact in the media but is a disaster in substance. He has decided, on his own initiative, to lend England the historic masterpiece that is the Bayeux Tapestry, which recounts the epic story of William the Conqueror from Normandy to Great Britain. This “strong gesture” intended to “make an impression” is just another manifestation of the crassness of the man and his cavalier treatment of French heritage: the tapestry, an extremely fragile work of art, should not be moved under any circumstances. The legacies of history are preserved, honoured, and restored, but they are not there to serve as a vehicle for the mediocre propaganda of an inflated ego in need of recognition.
In France, Macron’s surprise announcement has stunned the world of history and heritage: the French president intends to loan the Bayeux Tapestry, also known as the “Queen Matilda Tapestry”, to the British Museum for a year. This artefact is unique in the world and requires the utmost care. More than a “tapestry” in the strict sense of the word, it is in fact a 11th-century embroidery, made on a roll 50 cm high and nearly 70 metres long at the request of Matilda, wife of William of Normandy, recounting in minute detail her husband’s expedition from the Normandy coast to England—an epic journey that ended with the Battle of Hastings, won by Norman troops over English troops.
There is no equivalent to the Bayeux Tapestry. Its size, the fineness of its execution, and its exceptional state of preservation make it a unique historical document. The tapestry has been on display in the Norman town of Bayeux since 1983 under very strict conditions of humidity, light, and protection from external damage, with strict controls on visitors allowed to view it. The Bayeux Tapestry is one of those objects whose deterioration would represent an irreparable loss to world heritage. It has also been listed in UNESCO’s Memory of the World Register since 2007.
But such considerations do not bother the man whom the French have taken to calling, with contempt, Jupiter I—above the law, above men, for better and especially for worse.
Since Jupiter I lost all political power with his lamentable choices, he has been desperately searching for reasons to get himself talked about. Foreign policy occasionally offers him a playground where he can remind the world that he exists. Recently, his state visit to Great Britain gave him the opportunity to get himself talked about again. Without missing a beat, a stroke of genius blossomed in his overworked brain: What if I offered to lend the Bayeux Tapestry to the British?
True to form, Macron decided alone, ignoring advice and warnings. Just recently, a scientific report analysed the condition of the Bayeux Tapestry in depth and came to the unequivocal conclusion that the tapestry must not be moved under any circumstances. “As studies progressed, it became clear that the tapestry was too fragile to be moved over a long distance and that any further handling would pose a risk to its conservation,” concluded the Normandy cultural affairs department just five months ago.
Didier Rykner, art historian and editor-in-chief of La Tribune de l’Art, a media outlet that specialises in alerting the public to the excessive damage suffered by French heritage due to the negligence of our leaders, took up the issue. He took the time to contact the Normandy region authority and the Culture Ministry, to remind them of these warnings, which strongly advise against any movement of Queen Matilda’s masterpiece. “Ask the Élysée” was the only response he got. But the Élysée is not responding to his inquiries. Translation: This is a sovereign decision by Jupiter I, which cannot be challenged even by the most competent authorities. People are now talking about #bayeuxgate.
In addition to heritage considerations, there are a few wounded national pride issues. After all, the tapestry recounts the victorious invasion of the French-speaking Normans over the English. Do they need, a thousand years later, to get their hands on this piece of our national history? And is the British Museum really the ideal interlocutor in this matter, given that it houses, among other things, the Rosetta Stone, which enabled Champollion to decipher hieroglyphics and was shamelessly stolen by the English during the Napoleonic Wars? There are symbolic affronts that are not easily forgiven.
But such considerations have no hold on Jupiter I.
What can we expect from a man who declared at the beginning of his first term that there is no such thing as French culture? Since becoming President of the Republic, Macron has shown a certain consistency in demolishing French heritage for the sake of his personal image. It is not enough for him to empty the state coffers through his disastrous management of public finances or to throw open the borders: he is gradually destroying essential parts of French history and heritage.
The list of his misdeeds is long. After the appalling transformation of the Élysée Palace’s Salon Pompadour into a garish lounge decorated in contemporary art that completely destroys the spirit of the place, and the sacrifice of the stained-glass windows of Notre-Dame in favour of a contemporary creation that came out of nowhere, we recently learned that he plans to attack the Louvre with a pharaonic project that poses a serious risk of damaging the foundations of the medieval royal palace of King Philippe-Auguste. Today, he has set his sights on the poor Bayeux Tapestry, which has done nothing to deserve this.
Macron is not content with weakening France’s image; he is literally destroying its material heritage. But while laws can be changed and policies reversed, some things, once lost, are lost forever, with no hope of return. Who will stop him before he commits the irreparable?
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