This morning, I read of a Frankish Queen. Of course, in my limited worldly experience, I had never heard of a Frankish Queen.
Was it perhaps, the country of Frank? Home of the Hotdog? Or maybe it is the empire where everyone is “open, honest, and direct in speech or writing, especially when dealing with unpalatable matters.” They’re all frank.
As it turns out, it is neither of these. At least not on the surface. No. Instead, it is the country of Francia. Francia, also called the Kingdom of the Franks, or — as I read — the Frankish Empire. A town with a lot of names.
It was the largest post-Roman barbarian kingdom in Western Europe. It was ruled by the Franks during Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. To put a time frame on it for all of us, the Kingdom of Franks existed from 481 through 843.
It is a large portion of Europe, as you can see if you Google a map of Francia. It is the predecessor of the modern states of France, Belgium, The Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Germany.
They must have had a big fuss or some sort of argument in the 800s. As they came up with something called the Treaty of Verdun in 843. After that good treaty was penned, West Francia became the predecessor of France, and East Francia became that of Germany. My ancient ancestors hailed from East Francia. I am part Frank, it would seem.
It has quite a history, and I am always amazed when I sift through the pages of information dating back to those years. In this case, from the 400s to the 800s. Someone was taking notes back then, and someone was keeping them.
Anyway, I only bring this up because of today’s date. July 12. During this date throughout history, many events have occurred, millions of people born on this date, and millions died here too.
Alexander Hamilton was one of those deaths (1804). The Secretary of the Treasurer, shot by the Vice President, then, Aaron Burr. But I’m not telling that story today. Or the story of Alexander Cartwright, the inventor of modern baseball. He passed in 1892. Or Gertrude Bell, a British Archeologist, working in Jordan and Iraq. She took her own life in 1926. And not even Edward Lee Howard who mysteriously fell and broke his neck in 2002. He was a CIA case agent and Soviet spy, if that helps explain the neck.
No, none of these. Today, instead I am writing of a Frankish Queen. Her name was Bertrada of Laon. Married to Pepin the Short. She was also the mother of Charlemagne the Great. The thing that struck me most about her, was that sometimes she was referred to as “Bertha Broadfoot.” And it makes me wonder just how broad they were.
No one knows for sure. In all that history, they forgot to write down the reason why Queen Bertrada was called Broad Foot. But I can only imagine what a fetching couple she, and her husband, Pepin the Short, might have been. And how in the world, the union of those two, produced someone as large as Charlemagne the Great. But. In those days, the names sort of called it like it was.
When I was young, I had extremely large feet for my body. Most of us in our family do. Our feet are long, not wide. I used to bemoan the fact, because I wasn’t like the other girls, with their little petite peds. My parents would consistently tell us to be thankful that we had a good foundation.
So it might have been with Bertha Broad Foot. The Queen who could not be toppled. Or maybe she was in charge of smashing the grapes. Either way, it is large.
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“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large — I contain multitudes.”
― Walt Whitman
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“And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.”
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
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“The Universe is very, very big.
It also loves a paradox. For example, it has some extremely strict rules.
Rule number one: Nothing lasts forever.
Rule number two: Everything lasts forever.”
― Craig Ferguson, Between the Bridge and the River
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