Queen Adelaide of Aquitaine
Mother of the Capetian Dynasty
939 – 1006

 

“FOR A WOMAN credited with birthing the first of an entire dynasty that has lasted a thousand years, and seeded progeny throughout Europe, I’m amazed at the relative dearth of material about you online,” I said when first in contact with Adelaide, my 31 times great grandmother.

 

The queen agreed. “Men would literally be nowhere without us. But the lack of scrutiny does afford some measure of anonymity for our own actions. That can be useful.”

 

“I know what you mean. We do often accomplish more behind the scenes. But tell me your story. What was it like being queen of France?”

 

At that, Adelaide gave me a look, her face flushing with a flash of anger nearly as red as her gown, and sighed at my 21st century ignorance.

 

“When I was born, France did not yet exist. Nearly 150 years before me, the empire of Charlemagne was divided by the Treaty of Verdun into 3 parts called West Francia, East Francia, and Middle Francia. If you are confused, you know how they all felt in 843, long before I was alive. I was 42 years old when West Francia became the Kingdom of France in 987, although it had somewhat different borders than you know of today.”

 

 I’ll have to put some maps in the endnotes, I thought.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, feeling a bit intimidated and intending to do just that. Adelaide wore her royalty more seriously than Bathilde. I quickly realized I couldn’t joke around as much with her. She was an intimidating presence.

 

“I was the daughter of William the Third of Aquitaine and Gerloc Adele of Normandy — two neighboring states that still liked to think of themselves as mini kingdoms. My grandfathers were Ebalus Manzer, a great great grandson of Charlemagne, and Rollo the Viking. We took nobility seriously in our family. You should interview Ebalus and Rollo,” she suggested in a tone that was more of a directive.

 

“Yes ma’am, I will do that in future.” Well, they did both sound like interesting stories.

 

“Between marriages and wars, there was always some kind of merger or fight going on between these families. My husband Hugh was also descended from Charlemagne, so there was no escape for me from the duties of the nobility. Not that I would have wanted to escape, for I was born to be queen.”

 

“This lineage is important to you still? What does it matter now, more than a thousand years later?” I knew it was the wrong question as soon as it left my mouth.

 

“My dear,” the queen said, not trying very hard to hide her condescending royal attitude. “Bloodlines are what tell you where your place is in the world. Bloodlines tell the world how you must be accommodated. If you do not know your personal family history, how can you possibly assert your authority in order to protect your people, your possessions, and your property?”

 

Adelaide’s voice was a notch below haughty, and she got her point across. It was a different time back then, with a very different attitude towards rights and responsibilities. Listening to her, I  thought that here was one of the roots of white privilege. I suppose if you are born into status and power like hers, you don’t question it. A thousand years ago there was no consciousness of the concept of noblesse oblige — a term not even coined until the 19th century meaning that the privileged had a responsibility to help those less fortunate — and very little of it still left now.

 

Adelaide had moved on. “Nonetheless, Hugh was not exactly in a line of succession to become ruler. In fact, we were elected king and queen by a group of Frankish magnates at the behest of the archbishop of Reims, Adalberon.”

 

“Elected?” I exclaimed. “How modern.”

 

Adelaide frowned at the comparison.

 

“In those days archbishops, standing in for the Pope wielded enormous influence. He was assumed to be inarguably the sole representative of divine authority on earth, regardless of how much sovereign majesties like to claim that as well. So the archbishops were as powerful, sometimes more powerful, than the noble classes.

 

“The whole relationship between the papacy and the inherited political kingdoms at the time was fairly incestuous. There was always intrigue and finagling going on. One side propped up the other for hundreds of years. So powerful archbishop Adalberon persuaded the minor rulers of West Francia that if election was good enough for a pope, it should be good enough for a king. They did this when there wasn’t a clear line of succession for inheriting the throne.”

 

“Extraordinary,” I muttered, hoping she’d ignore my astonishment. She did.

 

“It was a short reign, only from 987 to 996 when King Hugh died. And in reality, the Duchies of Normandy and Burgundy, and of course Brittany, were so independent that they were barely part of West Francia more than geographically. This concerned Hugh, for he had a vision of a larger, more united country, little time to make it so, and too many other political players — including uncles, nephews, brothers — to bring into line with his thinking. Everyone who had power was determined to keep it. And many were the squabbles between the minor territories of the Franks that Hugh had long been involved in.

 

“I had almost as much influence over Hugh’s decisions as I wanted. He listened to me, trusted my counsel, not unlike some of your powerful presidential wives,” she said with eyes that willed me to think of Eleanor Roosevelt and Hillary Clinton. Early in our reign, I insisted that he put his succession policy into law so that only our sons would inherit his legacy and ensure the continuation of the Capetian dynasty. In fact, it was my idea that our son Robert be coronated as soon as possible, even before Hugh’s death.”

 

“Could there be two kings at one time for the same territory? Would that be confusing to their subjects?  Who would be in charge really?” I asked, ignorant of the fractious infighting between families and dynasties of the time.

 

“Well, that is what archbishop Adalberon said, and he was strongly opposed to the idea. But Hugh and I devised a plan that made sense. You see, Barcelona was still part of West Francia at the time, and the Moors in Spain were threatening to claim it for their own desires to once again advance across the Pyrenees. Hugh planned a campaign to go help the count of Barcelona fight them off. With that plan, he could argue that should he be killed on that expedition, West Francia would not be left in yet another line-of-succession mess if Robert was already coronated. The plan worked, and Adalberon backed down.”

 

“Hugh made lots of enemies because he was a reformer, or I should say, we were. I pushed him as much as he pushed himself. We wanted to standardize the monetary systems. One hundred fifty forms of currency was ridiculous. Fiefdoms issued their own coins in honor of their duke or vassal or whoever was their leader. And coinage changed with each death and rise of new ruler. Some of the abbeys created coins too, just to keep the Pope in our pockets. Hugh strongly agreed with me on reforming that, but sadly not much was done in his short reign.

 

“And there must have been at least a dozen languages spoken.  Every little fiefdom with its petty rulers had its own laws, and dialects. Hugh and I agreed that to make a strong country, there needed to be uniformity in all these things.”

 

I could identify with that aspect of Adelaide’s personality and way of engaging her life and times. I too could often see how to make the changes that would make things better for all. I just never had her absolute power to get people to carry out my vision.  Maybe only a little of her determined spirit had been passed down the bloodline.

 

“That must have been just overwhelming to tackle those basic structures of organizing and standardizing a monarchy. How did you manage it all?” I asked.

 

“When the sovereign issues a decree, it is supposed to be followed without question. It’s not like Hugh and I were doing the work ourselves. We saw the need, made the plan, issued the orders, and sometimes the landowners were relieved to have less chaos. Sometimes they argued and fought with us, but the crown usually won, eventually.”

 

“Did you have any regrets being Queen of the Franks? Anything you wished you had done differently?”

 

Adelaide was a difficult woman to really get to know. She wore her position of power like a shield and wielded it like a sword, seeming always on alert to go into battle over something.

 

Adelaide was quiet for a few minutes, her eyes closed when searching her mind over her long ago life. When she came back to the present of the interview, her face held no sadness, only sharp edged acceptance.

 

“I could have intervened and talked our son Robert out of his ill-fated marriage to Bertha of Burgundy, for it was not worth the trouble it caused. Hugh did not approve either, for she was not only a widow with two children, but also Robert’s second cousin.”

 

Inside, I laughed at my ancient ancestor parents disapproving of their son’s choice of spouse, for I had had the same experience with mine. The situational similarity was uncanny.

 

“We predicted the Church would have a problem with this, and we were right. They excommunicated him. And not only by one pope, Gregory V, but by his successor Sylvester II as well. It was a scandal I feared the Capetians would not overcome.”

 

“But they did,” I said. “The Capetian dynasty ruled in France until the Revolution in the 19th century. And even today, members of the House are ruling Spain and Luxembourg.”

 

“Yes,” she smiled with satisfaction. “As a family, we persisted.”