The city feels less like a postcard and more like something still being discovered
Beneath the forecourt of Notre-Dame de Paris, archaeologists are digging not merely through soil but through time itself — uncovering the Roman city of Lutétia, medieval cellars, and the slow, layered logic by which one civilization builds upon the bones of another. A fourth-century coin bearing the face of Emperor Constantine and pottery fragments marked with symbols no one yet understands have emerged from depths of up to four meters, offering what specialists call a rare chance to rewrite the early history of Paris. Cities, it turns out, do not replace their pasts — they bury them, and occasionally, the buried past speaks back.
- Hundreds of artifacts have surfaced within days of digging, filling fifteen boxes with material from soil undisturbed for decades — the pace itself signals how much has been waiting.
- Medieval pottery bearing undeciphered symbols and a coin stamped with Constantine's profile have unsettled what specialists thought they knew about the city's Roman and early Christian layers.
- The excavation cuts through eras like a vertical timeline — fifty centimeters down touches one century, four meters down reaches another — forcing the team to work slowly against the risk of losing context forever.
- Archaeologists are now inside the cellars of medieval houses that once crowded the cathedral square, inching toward the Roman foundations that predate Notre-Dame by nearly a thousand years.
- The project, already called 'the excavation of the century' by the French press, is reframing Paris not as a fixed monument but as a city still in the act of being discovered.
While visitors queue to climb Notre-Dame's bell towers, archaeologists are moving in the opposite direction — downward, into a rectangular trench cut into the cathedral's forecourt, just steps from the tourist barriers. In recent weeks, the dig has produced hundreds of objects: a fourth-century coin stamped with the profile of Emperor Constantine, fragments of medieval pottery marked with symbols no specialist has yet decoded, and a steady accumulation of material that maps Paris across nearly two millennia.
Lucie Altenburg, who oversees Paris's archaeology unit, described it as a genuine turning point in how the city understands itself. Within days of breaking ground, the team had filled fifteen boxes with finds. The first artifacts appear just fifty centimeters below the surface; four meters down, the work continues, each layer belonging to a different era.
The phenomenon is not unique to Paris. Cities everywhere are built atop their own ruins, the ground rising with each generation. Rome's soil has climbed roughly nine meters since the empire's fall. Athens, during metro construction ahead of the 2004 Olympics, unearthed tens of thousands of objects now displayed in the stations themselves. The earth beneath a city is a library — if you know how to read it.
When Notre-Dame was consecrated in 1163, the surrounding square was dense with medieval houses. The archaeologists have now reached the cellars of those dwellings. Deeper still lie structures from the fourth century, when the city was known as Lutétia and its center occupied the left bank. After Rome's collapse, the population retreated to the Île de la Cité and fortified it with stone salvaged from earlier buildings. The excavation is tracing that transition, layer by layer — revealing not a finished city, but one still in the process of becoming.
While tourists queue to climb the bell towers of Notre-Dame, archaeologists work in the opposite direction—downward, into the earth, chasing Paris as it existed two thousand years ago. The cathedral's forecourt has become an open dig site, a rectangular trench bordered by barriers and crossed by wooden walkways, just steps away from the visitor lines. In recent weeks, the excavation has yielded hundreds of objects that map the city's layered past: a coin from the fourth century stamped with the profile of Emperor Constantine, fragments of medieval pottery marked inside with symbols no specialist has yet deciphered, and countless other pieces of the city's material life.
Lucie Altenburg, who oversees Paris's archaeology unit, called it a rare moment. "This is an opportunity to work on something that will genuinely change how we understand Paris," she told the Associated Press. The French press has dubbed the project "the excavation of the century," and the scale justifies the name. Within days, the team had filled fifteen boxes with material from soil that had remained untouched for decades. The first artifacts appear just fifty centimeters down. Four meters below the surface, the work continues, each layer a different era.
Paris is not unique in this regard. Cities everywhere are built atop their own ruins, the ground rising as each generation constructs over the last. Rome's soil has risen roughly nine meters since the empire's collapse in the fifth century. When Athens prepared for the 2004 Olympics, construction of the metro system triggered the largest excavation in Greek history, unearthing tens of thousands of objects that now line the walls of the stations themselves. The ground beneath a city is a library, if you know how to read it.
When Notre-Dame was consecrated in 1163, the entire square surrounding it was crowded with medieval houses. The archaeologists have now reached the cellars of those dwellings. Deeper still lie structures from the fourth century and beyond. A twenty-two-year-old archaeology student named Yasmine Benali stood behind the barriers watching the work unfold. "You can see the layers here," she said. "Medieval Paris, Roman Paris, maybe even older. It makes the city feel less like a postcard and more like something still being discovered."
The Roman finds hold the most value for the team, precisely because they are the deepest, the oldest, and the least understood. In that era, the city was called Lutétia, and its center lay across the river on the left bank. When Rome collapsed, the population retreated to the Île de la Cité, the island where Notre-Dame would eventually rise, and fortified it with stone walls salvaged from earlier buildings—a practical recycling of the past. The excavation is revealing how that transition happened, layer by layer, stone by stone.
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This is an opportunity to work on something that will genuinely change how we understand Paris— Lucie Altenburg, Paris archaeology unit director
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does this dig matter now, specifically? Notre-Dame has stood for nearly a thousand years.
Because the fire in 2019 created an opportunity. The restoration work opened the ground in ways that wouldn't normally happen. You don't get to excavate under one of the world's most important buildings very often.
What does a fourth-century coin tell you that documents don't?
It tells you someone was here, spending money, living a life. Documents are written by the powerful. A coin is evidence of ordinary circulation, of commerce, of the city functioning.
The medieval pottery with unmarked symbols—why can't anyone read them?
We don't have a key yet. They might be maker's marks, or ownership marks, or something ritual. The fact that they're still mysterious is actually important. It means there's more to learn.
You mentioned the city rising nine meters in Rome. How does that happen?
Destruction, rebuilding, decay, new construction. Each time a building burns or collapses, people clear the rubble and build on top of it. Over centuries, the ground level rises. Paris is doing the same thing.
What does this tell us about how cities survive?
That they're resilient through forgetting and rebuilding. When Rome fell, people didn't abandon the site—they retreated to the island, reused the stones, started again. The city survives by burying its past and building on it.