“ The old soldier has got him a cassock and become a gentle-faced dominie. The sleepy music of bells calling, the pensive air of study, the odour of simple piety, the sober confidence of great possessions, are most impressive. Poitiers has beaten her swords into crosiers and her spears into tuning-forks. Never was there an old age so ripe, so mellow, so becoming. With this for evidence, you may look History in the eyes and swear that you have seen Poitiers in the prime of her full life. ”
Poitiers
Definition and stakes
Poitiers, a historic city in central France, has long captivated writers with its layered past and evolving identity. From Dornford Yates’ evocative portrayal of its tranquil, almost monastic ambiance to G. P. R. James’ contrast between its former grandeur and rural desolation, authors have grappled with its dual essence as both a site of medieval conflict and a quiet provincial hub.
Louisa Stuart Costello laments modernity’s erosion of its ancient charm, while Russell Richardson underscores its lingering atmosphere of repose. These varied perspectives coalesce into a portrait of Poitiers as a place where history and modernity persist in uneasy dialogue, its legacy etched in both stone and memory.
Quotes about “Poitiers”
G. P. R. James,
The Huguenot: A Tale of the French Protestants…
“ It was no longer the city of Poitiers, with its multitudes and its gay parties; it was no longer the château, with its lord and his attendants; it was no longer the country town, with its citizens and its artizans; but it was upon one of those dark brown moors of which so many are to be found on the borders of Brittany and Poitou, under the canopy of heaven alone, and with nothing but the bleakest objects in nature round about. ”
A. M. Williamson,
The Lightning Conductor: The Strange Adventures of a Motor-Car
“ The Route Nationale from Paris to Bayonne, along part of which we've lately travelled, is good nearly all the way. From Dangé to Poitiers is a splendid bit, and up to Poitiers one climbs a considerable hill. It's a cheerful town, with a fine cathedral, and lively streets full of red-legged soldiers, rather weedy and shambling fellows, like most French conscripts. Beyond Poitiers the road is one long, exhilarating switchback-you rush down one hill, climb another, swoop again into a hollow, and so on, the road unrolling itself like a great white tape. ”
