The Cathedral’s Shadow

A Tale of Revolutionary-Era France

Chartres, 1798

Awash in spring radiance, the town was at its best. There was a serene glow over the cobblestone streets and bustling marketplace. A carriage pulled up in the main square, its wheels clattering to a halt. The driver, a man of middle years with a swarthy complexion and a weathered face, hopped down from his box with practiced ease. He strode to the carriage door, opening it with a flourish. His only passenger, a man who seemed lost in thought, stepped out and blinked distractedly in the bright sunlight. This man scanned the familiar yet distant surroundings, handed a few coins to the driver without a word, then turned his gaze towards the looming presence of the cathedral that dominated the skyline, a sense of unease settling over him as he took in the scene.

He took in the scene, walking the streets, the warm sun seeping through his clothes, with the rhythmic clatter of horse hooves jangling in his ears. The streets of Chartres were alive with activity that day. Women in simple dresses bustled about, their petticoats swishing as they moved between market stalls. Their bonnets, adorned with ribbons and lace, shielded their faces from the sun. Men in breeches and waistcoats, some with tricorn hats perched jauntily on their heads, conversed animatedly, their voices blending into the hum of the marketplace.