Eight hundred years ago, a fox changed a language forever. Before that, the French word for fox was goupil, evolved over a thousand years from the Latin vulpes. Then in the twelfth century an unknown poet wrote a long narrative poem, Roman de Renart, starring a fox named Renart. The poem became wildly popular across medieval France — told in taverns, performed at market fairs — until children called every fox they saw by his name. Gradually renart, later spelled renard, replaced goupil. By the fifteenth century goupil had all but vanished from the language.
Of all the animals in literature, the fox has always been the one closest to us. Unlike the lion, which stands for royalty, or the lamb, which stands for innocence, the fox has never been a single symbol. It is cunning yet tender, dangerous yet lonely. For two and a half millennia we have been projecting ourselves onto it. This essay traces that spectrum:
Renard, the app, is named after that last fox. What Renard is.