Rozala of Italy, Countess and Regent of Flanders, and Queen of the Franks

Rozala of Italy, countess and regent of Flancers, then queen of the Franks (married 1 April 987)

The year of Rozala of Italy's birth is not certain--she seems to have been born near the middle of the tenth century, likely between 950 and 960. She was the daughter of Berengar II of Ivrea, who ruled as king of Italy during this same decade. Her mother was Willa of Tuscany, daughter of Boso, margrave of Tuscany.*

Detail from a late-fifteenth
century manuscript portrait
of the counts of Flanders
and members of theirfamilies
buried in St. Peter's Abbey,
Ghent

According to at least one contemporary chronicle, Rozala and her sister were "brought up in the imperial palace by the empress after being brought to Germany." (Although it seems clear that Berengar and his wife had two daughters, the name of Rozala's sister is unknown.)

Given the dates suggested for Rozala's birth, the Holy Roman Emperor would have been Otto I. As a younger man, Berengar, then margrave of Ivrea, had led a revolt against his uncle, who was king of Italy--the unsuccessful Berengar had been forced to flee, winding up in then King Otto of Germany's court, where he spent several years. Thus Berengar's decision to send his daughters to Otto's imperial court makes political sense.

According to several contemporary chroniclers, it was the emperor who arranged Rozala's marriage to Arnulf II, count of Flanders. Again, however, the dates of this marriage are not clear. According to the Annales Elnonenses Minores (Minor Annals of Elnon, Latin chronicles of the Abbey of Saint-Amand), the marriage took place about 968. By contrast, in his history of medieval Flanders, the historian David Nicholas claims that the marriage took place in 976, when Arnulf reached the age of majority. (Arnulf had been born c. 960, making him sixteen in 976). 

Before Arnulf's death on 30 March 987, Rozala had given birth to two children, a son named Baldwin, born in 980, and a daughter, Mathilde, whose date of birth is unknown. After Arnulf's death, Baldwin succeeded his father as count of Flanders, with Rozala acting as regent for her minor son. 

Early in 988, Rozala was married for a second time, to Robert the Pious, the son and "co-ruler" of Hugh Capet, king of the Franks. (To reinforce his kingship, Hugh Capet advocated for his son's "co-kingship," a way of reinforcing the legitimacy of this new dynasty.) The marriage was evidently a way of rewarding the Flemish for their support when Hugh seized power in 987. As for Rozala--hstorian Jean Dhondt has argued that the widowed Rozala would likely have been "pushed" (poussée) into this marriage by her Flemish advisors, fearing that Flanders, assailed on all sides by more powerful neighbors, would crumble.

Fifteenth-century manuscript
containing portraits of
the counts of Flanders
(Ghent, Ghent City Museum
 [STAM], Inv. 779)

At some point, Rozala's name seems to have been changed, never mind all the variations in the spellings of Rozala (Rozela, Rosala, Rosela, for example). 

According the author of the contemporary Vita Sancti Bertulfi (Life of Saint Bertulf), after her marriage to Robert, Rozala became Suzanne (or Susanna or Susanne): "after the death of Prince Arnulf, she married Robert, king of the Franks, and was called Susanna" (post mortem Arnulfi . . . principis, Roberto Regi Francorum nupsit et Susanna dicta). As research by the Foundation for Medieval Genealogy illustrates, however, contemporary records refer to Rozala as "Susanna" before her marriage to Robert.

No matter when Rozala became Suzanne, her second marriage would not turn out well for her. By 991, Robert had separated himself from Rozala/Suzanne. During the brief years of their marriage, Rozala/Suzanne had not borne a child, and according to Robert (and many accounts of Robert's complicated marital disputes), that was because she was too old.

Here's where Rozala's date of birth becomes crucial. The exact birth date of Robert "the Pious" (got to love his soubriquet) is also unknown--if you look at the entry in Wikipedia, for example, the date is given as "c. 972." This date reflects the conclusions of many historians, including the nineteenth-century Chrétien Pfister, in his Études sur le règne de Robert le Pieux (996-1031): while Robert's exact date of birth is not clear, he was known to be "about sixty" when he died on 20 July 1031, suggesting he was born about 970. Pfister also claims that, when Robert separated from Rozala/Suzanne (Pfister says this occurs in 989), the young man was "in his nineteenth year." 

But how old was Rozala when Robert decided he had to get rid of her? She had married Arnulf of Flanders (born c. 960) in 976, when he was about sixteen. Would Rozala have been similarly aged (born c. 960), or a decade older (born c. 950)? In other words, would Rozala have been about sixteen years old, like her husband, when she was first married, or would she have been twenty-six?

More critically for Rozala/Suzanne, how old would she have been when Robert claimed that she was too old to bear children? In his Histories, the monk Richerus of Reims says that poor Robert is "in the prime of his youth" when he marries, while his wife was "too old" (and also Italian . . . ). For his part, Pfister sniffs at the marriage between Rozala, "the old widow" (la vieille veuve), and Robert. The young king hasdbeen tied to an aged crone, a woman who was much older than he (beaucoup plus âgée que lui) while he is a man "in the springtime of youth" (dans le printemps de sa jeunesse). By the mid-twentieth century, historian Alexander Vasiliev would casually refer to Rozala as an "elderly widow" at the time of her marriage. 

What can we say about the characterizations of Rozala/Suzanne and her marriage? If we use the earliest suggested date for Rozala's birth, 950, she would be some twenty years older than Robert, who was born in 970. If she was born around the year 960, she would have been about ten years older than he was. If Robert was eighteen or so when he married, Rozala could have been anywhere between twenty-eight and thirty-eight. 

More recently, Dhondt has suggested a likely date of around 962 for Rozala's birth: "She was at least ten years older than Robert, perhaps fifteen" (Elle avait aux moins dix ans de plus que Robert, peut-être quinze). In Dhondt's view, the age difference was not a relevant consideration for Robert's father, Hugh Capet, who had arranged his son's marriage solely for its political advantage, the alliance giving the Franks a level of influence and authority in Flanders. Interestingly, Dhondt suggests that the union may never have been consummated. 

But whatever Rozala's age at the time of her second marriage (and whether it was ever consummated), once Robert's father, the "senior" king, Hugh Capet, died in 996, Robert formally repudiated Rozala and divorced her. Even though he had ended their marriage, Robert kept a significant part of her dowry, including the castle of Montreuil in Ponthieu.** 

According to Richerus of Rheims, when Robert wouldn't return the castle to her, Rozala built another one nearby. (I really hope Richerus is right about this.) After her separation from Robert, she returned to Flanders, where she was reunited with her son, Baldwin IV, who had by now reached his age of majority. Although Robert managed tp lee[ Montreuil-sur-Mer, Baldwin managed to recover several of the territories that had been given to his mother on the occasion of her marriage, including Artois and Ostrevant. Rozala also became one of Baldwin's "principal advisors." A charter dated 26 June 995 notes that, along with her son Baldwin, "Queen Susanna" (Susanna regina) made donations to St. Peter's Abbey (Ghent), for the soul of her daughter, Matilda. On June 1003, she made several grants of land to St. Peter's. 

In the Annales Elnonenses, Rozala's death is recorded in 1003. A Latin poem in memory of her death says that she died on 7 February, but if the date of the charter granting land to St. Peter’s Abbey is correct, then Rozala cannot have died in February. A date of 13 December 1003, recorded in another contemporary annal, is also possible. As with her birthdate, then, the exact date of Rozala’s death is uncertain. 

Rozala of Italy, countess of Flanders (and briefly queen of the Franks) is buried in St. Peter's Abbey, Ghent, next to her first husband. 

By the way, after repudiating Rozala, Robert "the Pious" had a long and sordid marital career. He entered into an incestuous marriage with Bertha of Burgundy, then repudiated her, then married Constance of Arles--who was eighteen when he was thirty-two. Hmmm. Although she did give him children, he wanted to get rid of her too . . .  

You may also be interested in reading a bit about Rozala's father, Berengar II, who had his own adventures in marriage, attempting to force the widowed Adelaide of Burgundy whom he was holding captive, into marrying his son, Rozala's brother Adalbert. 

All I can say is: traditional marriage! Yikes!

*One of the most reliable sources I've found is the genealogical information made available by the Foundation for Medieval Genealogy, which I've linked to several times throughout this post. 

**In "Sept femmes et un trio de rois," Dhondt examines why this marriage would have been politically advantageous for Hugh Capet. He also provides documentary evidence for why Rozala was likely born before 962 (when her father was dethroned), and he suggests that it would have been highly unlikely, even given his political considerations, that Hugh would have forced his son into a marriage with a woman who was too old to bear an heir.  

Susannah Arne Cibber, "the Priestess of Sensibility"

Susannah Marie Arne, "the Celebrated Mrs. Cibber" (born 14 February 1714)

Susannah Marie Arne, born in Covent Garden, was the daughter and granddaughter of members of the Worshipful Company of Upholsterers. Her father and grandfather both held numerous offices in the guild and in their parish, St. Paul's. But, while members of the Arne family were at times quite successful tradesmen, they also gambled, suffered from bankruptcy, and found themselves in debtors' prison.

Susannah's father was Thomas Arne, described as "a wily naive man with a taste for the exotic." Although he had followed in his father's profession, there does not seem to have been much family feeling--in her biography of Susannah Cibber, Mary Nash notes that, while Thomas Arne "kept a rich Christmas" with his wife and small son (named Thomas Arne) in 1713, Arne's own father--another Thomas Arne--was "dying of cold and hunger nearby, a debtor in Marshalsea prison."

An ivory medallion (c. 1729)
with a portrait of Susannah Arne,
about age fifteen 
(National Portrait Gallery, London)

Susannah's mother, born Anne Wheeler, was a midwife. Less than two months after the death of the elder Thomas Arne in debtors' prison, Anne gave birth to his granddaughter. Susannah was born on 14 February 1714. (Anne Wheeler Arne had eight children between 1710 and 1718--or, at least, eight babies were baptised during these years. Only three survived: Susannah, her elder brother, Thomas, and a younger brother, Richard.)

Despite Thomas Arne's status as a man of trade, he had "audacious and visionary" plans for his children--for his son, another Thomas Arne, he planned a university education and a career in law, for his daughter, education as a gentlewoman and a "brilliant marriage" that would be made possible by the "huge dowry" he would be able to provide.

While her older brother went to Eton, Susannah was educated at home, where she was instructed in French, drawing, penmanship, and music. More surprisingly, she was also instructed in Latin. And Susannah was reared by her mother in the Catholic faith. 

By 1729, her father's finances were faltering. The younger Thomas Arne had to leave Eton, and instead of the university education his father had planned, he was apprenticed to a lawyer. But the younger man did not see a future in law for himself--he preferred music and set about cobbling together a musical education that would lead to a different life. 

With a rich dowry no longer a possibility for Susannah--and seeing his son's successes as he pursued a career in music--Thomas Arne seemed to regard his daughter's musical talents as the best means not necessarily to a successful career but to a successful marriage. 

With the musical and theatrical contacts the younger Thomas Arne had developed--and some funding from his father--Susannah's brother and his new associates, John Frederick Lampe and Henry Carey, rented the New Theatre in Haymarket in 1732 and set about presenting their own "New English opera," Amelia, featuring Lampe's music and Carey's libretto. Thomas Arne arranged for his sister's professional debut, with the eighteen-year-old Susannah playing the title role in the production--set in a Turkish harem, the opera tells the story of a faithful Christian woman who saves her husband, somehow, by pretending to sacrifice her virtue to the sultan who has captured and enslaved him. 

Detail from the playbill for Amelia

Although a critical notice described Amelia as a production "by a set of Performers that never appeared before upon any Stage," it was a success. In Nash's words, Amelia "exceeded anything its composers or even old Arne could have foreseen." 

Most important to Amelia's success was Susannah Arne's voice. Her technique as a singer would later be much criticized, but the noted composer and musician Charles Burney was able to articulate her particular effectiveness as a performer. Her voice was, he said, a "mere thread," and her "knowledge of Musick" was "inconsiderable," but "by a natural pathos, and perfect conception of the words, she often penetrated the heart, when others, with infinitely greater voice and skill, could only reach the ear." And she was also, in his estimation, "the most enchanting actress of her day": 

he considered [Susannah] as a pattern of perfection in the tragic art, from her magnetizing powers of harrowing and winning at once every feeling of the mind, by the eloquent sensibility with which she portrayed, or, rather, personified, Tenderness, Grief, Horror, or Distraction.

Such success and recognition were still to come. After Amelia, Susannah Arne appeared in her brother's "pirated version" of Handel's Acis and Galatea.* This seemed to be taken as something of a betrayal by Lampe and Carey. They continued presenting works in the Haymarket theater, while the younger Thomas Arne, with his father's support and his sister on stage, moved to Lincoln's Inn Fields. He staged two English operas; the first, Teraminta, closed after three nights, the second, Britannia, after four. Undaunted, Thomas Arne proclaimed himself "Proprietor of English Opera" and began staging his own work, beginning with Rosamond, a setting of Joseph Addison's 1707 libretto, and then his own works, the Opera of Operas and Dido and Aeneas.

By 1733, Susannah Arne had met George Frederick Handel, and she performed the role of Jael in his English oratorio, Deborah. She had also met the actor and theater manager Theophilus Cibber, son of the actor-manager, playwright, and poet laureate, Colley Cibber. Handel and the Cibbers would play significant roles in Susannah's life and career.

A long friendship and musical relationship developed between Susannah and Handel, who took great pains with the young woman. Susannah did not read music, so he instructed her in every note. Their partnership would continue for many years--she performed in his Acis and Galatea, Esther, and Alexander's Feast. She also sang solos at the premiere Messiah on 13 April 1742. She would perform the role of Jael in Deborah, the role of Micah in Samson, and various roles in Hercules, Saul, and L'Allegro. 

Susannah would marry Theophilus Cibber, but their partnership was much less successful. As manager of the Drury Lane theater, he would seem to have been an attractive match for Susannah Arne--it was certainly one her father promoted. But the younger Cibber's physical presence--in Nash's words, his "pitted cheeks, skewed nose, cabriole legs, squints, grimaces, eye-poppings, and sour ambiance of last night's debauchery"--all "horrified her."

By all accounts, Theophilus Cibber was as horrible a man as his unfortunate physical appearance suggests. He was cruel and debauched, but he pursued Susannah Arne, and her father pressured her to become Cibber's (second) wife. In an extraordinary act of foresight, Susannah's mother, Anne, and her brother, Charles Wheeler, had pre-nuptial articles drawn up that would protect Susannah and her earnings. Her uncle would act as Susannah's executor, her salary paid into a trust in her name that he would invest for her. If she predeceased her husband, the trust would pass to her children and be administered for them; if she had no children, it would go to her family. And Cibber signed them. The two were married when Susannah Arne was just twenty years old. (Theophilus Cibber had been born in 1703, so he was only a decade older than Susannah, as objectionable as their pairing might have been otherwise.)

John Faber the Younger's drawing
of Susannah Cibber, c. 1736?
(British Museum)

Now performing under the name of "Mrs. Cibber," Susannah found in her husband's father another mentor. Colley Cibber saw in her "the makings of a great tragic actress" (Donnelly); with his training and support, she had "one of the most famous careers as a tragedienne in the 18th century." She made her debut as a tragic heroine at the Theater Royal, Drury Lane in 1736, under her father-in-law's tutelage. (And, happily for her brother, he became the house composer there.)

A scandalous disruption in her personal life soon overshadowed Susannah Cibber's success and popularity on stage. There are various accounts of her relationship with a wealthy (and married) man named William Sloper. Did her husband, Theophilus, "pimp his wife" to Sloper? (Cibber was known to encourage his wife to be "more friendly" to "gentlemen-admirers" like Sloper who helped support his household.) Were the three engaged in some sort of ménage à trois? (At some point, they seemed to have lived in the same house, though William may have taken rooms there as a kind of border, since Theophilus Cibber needed the money--during this period he was in and out of debtors' prison.) Or did Sloper, "a friend of the family and a man of good position," sympathise with a desperate Susannah Cibber, and things just happen? (Sloper had asked Cibber's permission to teach Susannah backgammon, and Susannah was supposedly his wife Catherine's favorite actress.) 

Whatever brought the pair together initially, Theophilus Cibber sued William Sloper in 1738, accusing him of "Assaulting, Ravishing and carnally knowing Susannah Maria Cibber, the plaintiff's Wife." Because of Sloper, Cibber had "lost the Company, Comfort, Society, Assistance, & etc. of his Wife." In her biography of Susannah Cibber, Mary Nash offers an extended account of the relationship between Susannah, Sloper, and Theophilus Cibber as well as a thorough analysis of the court case (click here). You can also read the documents in the case for yourself, The Tryal of a Cause for Criminal Conversation between Theophilus Cibber, Gent., Plaintiff, and William Sloper, Esq., Defendant (this account was published soon after the verdict was delivered, but it continued to be republished for decades; click here for an edition from 1749). 

Cibber was "successful" in his case--but awarded only the paltry sum of £10 instead of the £5000 he had sought. Because Susannah Cibber would neither leave Sloper nor return to the stage, Theophilus sued again, nine months later, this time seeking £10,000--again, he "won" his case, but was awarded only £500. 

In the mean time, Susannah Cibber had given birth to Sloper's child. Susannah and Sloper eloped with their daughter, Susannah Maria, withdrawing from society. In Nash's words, "Susannah, Sloper, and their child had disappeared for two years." 

Susannah Cibber, 1749
portrait by Thomas Hudson
(National Portrait Gallery, London)

Susannah Cibber made a triumphant return in November 1741--in Dublin. There, at his invitation, she joined Handel. In December, she appeared on stage in a production of The Conscious Lovers--and over the course of the next few months, appeared in fifteen productions. 

More important, though, she began rehearsals with Handel. His Messiah would premiere in Dublin--and Susannah Cibber's performance of "He Was Despised" seemed to have been so powerful as to begin the restorationn of her reputation. One listener, a clergyman, is said to have exclaimed, "Woman, for this thy sins be forgiven thee." As Nash notes, the "soloists" in the Messiah "are not given identities," but "everyone" who heard Cibber sing identified her with Mary Magdalene. Handel had "put the account of Christ's degradation and physical suffering into the mouth of a fallen woman."

By 1742, Susannah Cibber was back in London and once more on stage. Theater historian Elaine McGirr claims that Cibber carefully crafted her return, by the roles she chose to perform, playing characters "designed to strengthen public opinion in her favour," roles that would "reinforce her reputation as a woman more sinned against than sinning." 

She marked her return to the stage on 22 September playing Desdemona. Her career from that point on was a success, and she made something of a specialty in playing wronged wives. From 1744 through 1765, Susannah Cibber was, after actor-producer-writer David Garrick, the highest paid actor in London (Donnolly). And on 17 March 1752, she presented her own work, an adaptation of Germain-François Poullain de Saint-Foix's one-act comedy, L'Oracle, on a benefit night at Covent Garden. (During the two years that she was "out of sight," Susannah and Sloper may have been in Paris--Saint-Foix's play debuted there in 1740-41.)

After the season that ended in 1763, Garrick left the Drury Lane theater for a respite, and Susannah Cibber retired with William Sloper and their daughter to West Woodhay, Sloper's estate. Garrick returned to England and the Theatre Royal in 1765. He endeavored to get Cibber to return the stage, even visiting her and Sloper at West Woodhay. Despite her failing health, she promised Garrick she would. She left West Woodhay on 29 November and reached her London home the next day. 

On 5 December, Susannah Cibber played opposite Garrick in John van Bruh's The Provoked Wife. An old friend saw her performance that night: "it was the last, and I am sorry to say, the worst performance in her life." 

After the end of the play, she returned to her home. She died there on 30 January 1766 and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster, not far from Aphra Behn. 

After Susannah's death, William Sloper returned to West Woodhay with their daughter. Although many sources have nothing to say about Susannah's daughter, Susannah Maria, called Molly, Nash notes that the young woman inherited her mother's fortune and, at age twenty-eight, married a clergyman. She died in 1765.

As for William Sloper. He was elected to parliament in 1747 and again in 1754. He resigned in 1756 when he was appointed Lord of Trade, a position he held until 1761. He died three years after his daughter, in July 1768. 

By the way, William Sloper's wife, Catherine, was still alive when he died. After her husband's death, as his widow, she moved back to West Woodhay. Along with her daughter-in-law (married to William and Catherine's's son, Robert), Catherine "destroyed every letter, picture, every momento, every piece of evidence of the thirty-year incumbency of Susannah Cibber." She lived until she was ninety years old, dying in 1792. Can't say I blame her for this . . . But then she had William Sloper's grave opened and buried herself at his side. That's creepy.

There are many sources, printed and electronic, for Susannah Cibber's life and work. I've linked to some of them here, including Mary Nash's biography, The Provoked Wife: The Life and Times of Susannah Cibber. Published in 1977, it is available through the Internet Archive. 

*Through my university, I have access to Molly Donnelly's biographical essay on Susannah Cibber in Grove Music Online, quoted here. 

Mary of Guelders, queen and regent of Scotland: "nubilus et formosa"

Mary of Guelders, queen and regent of Scotland (born 17 January 1433)

The woman who would become queen of Scotland on 3 July 1449, Marie de Gueldres, or, in English, Mary of Guelders, was the daughter of Arnold, duke of Guelders, and Catherine of Cleves. Through her mother, Mary of Guelders had close ties to the Burgundian court--Catherine of Cleves was the daughter of Marie of Burgundy (who became duchess of Cleves through her marriage to Adolph I, duke of Cleves). 

Through her maternal line, then, Mary of Guelders had illustrious connections. The duchy of Burgundy was a wealthy and powerful state, and one of the most culturally advanced in western Europe. Her grandmother, Marie of Burgundy, was the daughter of Philip the Fearless, duke of Burgundy, and the elder sister of Philip the Good, who succeeded his father of duke of Burgundy--thus Philip, duke of Burgundy was Mary of Guelders's maternal great uncle. 

(The Cleves connection is also interesting, in particular to those who love Tudor history, because of one of her descendants--Mary of Guelders's mother, Catherine of Cleves, was the great aunt of Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII's third wife--the one he divorced.)

Although Guelders was a vassal state of the Holy Roman Empire during this period, it also had critical ties with Burgundy, and Philip of Burgundy offered the duke of Guelders not only his support but a bride, his greeat niece Mary. Despite these marital ties, Arnold of Guelders would have an uneasy relationship with Burgundy, and Duke Philip eventually turned against him. 

In 1442, during this period of conflict, the nine-year-old Mary of Guelders left her father's court and was sent to Burgundy, where she was placed in the care of Isabel of Portugal, Philip of Burgundy's third wife. There, under the carae of the remarkable duchess, Mary of Guelders received not only an excellent education, but she could also witness and learn from the political acumen and administrative experience of Isabel of Portugal. 

A possible marriage for Mary of Guelders with Charles, count of Maine, was suggested when she was about twelve years old. A member of the cadet branch of the ruling Valois family, Charles was the son of Yolande of Aragon, daughter of the king of Aragon and duchess of Anjou--the alliance was most likely proposed by the younger Charles's cousin, Charles VII of France. But after Arnold of Guelders informed the duke and duchess of Burgundy that he could not provide the dowry required for his daughter, that match failed to be made. 

But in in 1446, the possibility of a marriage to the king of Scots, James II, arose. While this suggested alliance has been ascribed to the king of France, Charles VII, historian Rosalind K. Marshall notes that "it seems much more likely that the original idea and the initial delicate negotiations were achieved through a network of female connections." 

A sixteenth-century depiction
of the marriage of 
Mary of Guelders and
James II of Scotland
(Lambeth Palace MS 316);
in the manuscript, Mary
is misidentified as "Margaret,"
though she is correctly said to 
be the daughter of the
"Duke of Gelders"

The king of Scotland's mother, Joan Beaufort, was related to Isabel of Portugal (I can't work out the exact relationship--Isabel of Portugal's mother, Philippa of Lancaster, was John of Gaunt's daughter by his first wife, Blanche of Portugal, while Joan Beaufort was the daughter of John of Gaunt's son, John Beaufort, by his third wife, Katherine Swynford.) 

Joan Beaufort, queen of Scotland, died in 1445, however, though it was "not long after" her death that "soundings were being taken" about the potential of an alliance between Scotland and Burgundy. 

By June of 1446, Scottish ambassadors were in Guelders, when Mary of Guelders may have been visiting her father. The next year, Arnold of Guelders was known to be discussing the possibility of the marriage. 

In 1448, James II of Scotland wrote to Charles VII of France, asking the king for advice about a bride--and the king of France suggested Mary of Guelders. But, as Marshall claims, "[n]o doubt" the king of Scotland already knew that Mary was "the chosen bride." 

I have examined the political connections among royal and aristocratic women in the late-medieval and early-modern periods myself, and although I love the idea that the marriage between Mary of Guelders and the Scottish king is the result of the "delicate negotiations" between women, there really is no evidence. One of Isabel of Portugal's great interests as duchess of Burgundy was arranging influential marital alliances, but Marshall notes only that the queen of Scotland and the duchess of Burgundy "were almost certainly in touch with each other." While the potential of a marriage might have been raised by the two women, the death of Joan Beaufort in 1445 would seem to make her role in bringing the alliance to fruition unlikely. 

Meanwhile, as Scottish historian Callum Watson notes, the French king was "a kind of international marriage broker for the Scots during the 1440s":  

It was thanks to King Charles that James II's other sisters were married off to such luminaries as the Duke of Brittany, the Archduke of Austria, the Lord of Veere, and the Count of Geneva. When the time came, Charles also encouraged Philip to apply pressure to Mary's father to accept a match between his eldest daughter and the Scottish king. The union was hugely appealing to the Scots as it provided the royal administration with connections to the courts of Burgundy (through her uncle), Gueldres (through her father), and Cleves (through her mother).

Whoever was responsible for the marriage, the treaty for the marriage was was agreed upon by Philip of Burgundy and James II on 1 April 1449. (And Philip of Burgundy paid the dowry for Mary of Guelders.) In the treaty, Mary of Guelders is described as "young and beautiful" (or, in the Latin of the document, nubilus et formosa). Suitable preparations for Mary of Guelders's wedding to James II of Scotland were soon made. She left for Scotland on 9 June 1449, arriving in Leith, just north of Edinburgh, on 18 June. Her marriage to the nineteen-year-old king took place on 3 July 1449.

Not much is known about Mary of Guelders for more than a decade after her marriage. As the Scottish antiquarian David Laing wrote in the nineteenth century, "During the eleven years that intervened between the . . . marriage of Mary of Gueldres in Scotland with James II in July 1449, and her husband's death, her name is not so much as once mentioned in connexion with any public event."

During this period, as James II's queen, Mary of Guelders received gifts and grants. She made charitable donations. As queens were expected to do, she appeared in parliament to intercede with her husband for those seeking his favor and forgiveness. She gave birth to a short-lived son in 1451, then to another son and heir, who would become James III, in 1451. Two daughters and three more sons followed. So, between her marriage and her husband's death in 1460, Mary of Guelders gave birth to seven children. 

The ruins of Roxburgh Castle
(photograph from 1936)

Mary of Guelders may have been present when her husband besieged and took Blackness Castle in 1453 (the siege and recapture of the castle occurred during the king's conflict with the Douglas clan). 

But the queen was not present in 1460, when James II attempted to retake Roxburgh Castle, held by the English. Nor was he so lucky. He was injured by a piece of shrapnel, but it wasn't from a weapon belonging to the English forces--he was standing too close to one of his own cannons, which backfired. He died on 3 August as a result of his injury.

Nevertheless, the siege of the castle continued. On learning of her husband's death, Mary of Guelders, traveled with her nine-year-old son from Edinburgh to Kelso, near Roxburgh, making sure that the Scots "finished her late husband's work." The castle fell on 8 August, and  James III was crowned at Kelso Abbey on 10 August. Mary of Guelders had Roxburgh Castle razed.

Mary of Guelders, queen of Scotland, would die just three years after her husband, but during this brief time, she was regent for her son, now James III, with the advice of a regency council. Although these men seemed to believe there was "little good" in handing over the "keeping of the kingdom  a woman," the new regent acted ably. 

Later historians would conclude that she was feeble-minded and/or promiscuous--these are assessments of female rule that have appeared consistently throughout my entries on female rulers in this blog. But the reality is (see here and here, for example) that she acted competently in her role as regent, despite disruptive factions in Scotland and pressures from the contending parties in the Wars of the Roses in England. 

Notably, Mary received Margaret of Anjou, in 1460, after Henry VI's queen was forced to flee England. The two women may have considered a marriage between the Lancastrian heir, Edward, and Mary, the eldest daughter of Mary of Guelders. Mary of Guelders again offered shelter to Margaret of Anjou and Henry VI after their defeat at the battle of Towton in 1461, and the Lancastrian pair stayed in Scotland for a year before the political situation in England made the situation too difficult for the dowager queen. 

At this point, Mary of Guelders arranged for the deposed English king and queen to leave Scotland--she paid them to go. At the same time, she seems to have entertained the possibility of a marriage with Edward IV, the Yorkist king who had replaced Henry VI. But nothing came of that, and when Margaret of Anjou returned to Scotland once more, in 1463, the Scottish queen assisted her again before Margaret left in July of that year, seeking assistance in Burgundy.

Mary of Guelders, queen of Scotland, died soon after Margaret of Anjou's departure--according to Bishop Leslie, the queen died on 16 November of 1463--she is known to have become ill in the fall--but the date is recorded by the Exchequer Rolls of Scotland as 1 December 1464, with the year clearly an error. (Her funeral was not held until June 1464.) The December date is conventionally given for her death.

In addition to her political roles, as regent, Mary of Guelders undertook a "programme of building works" that would "articulate and define her power and status." As part of this her architectural program, she founded a hospital on Castle Hill in Stirling and founded the Trinity College Church and hospital in Edinburgh: 

Queen Mary dedicated her foundation to the praise and honour of the Holy Trinity, the Virgin Mary, St Ninian—to whom she appears to have had an especial dedication—and all saints.39 The buildings included a perpetual college, or collegiate church, which was designed to secure masses for the souls of the queen, her deceased husband, and their families in perpetuity. Mary chose the church as her preferred burial location. 

Her intention was to be buried at her foundation rather than with her husband at Holyroodhouse. As Rachel Delman and Jill Harrison note, this decision "demonstrated that she had ample wealth to afford an impressive burial site indicative of her queenly status": 

It was also a tangible expression of a woman’s personal choice and agency over where and how she and her family were to be remembered at a time when female agency was limited due to the patriarchal power structures of medieval society. The foundation demonstrated Mary’s charity on a grand, public scale through its sophisticated architectural design and its prominent original location on a busy thoroughfare frequented by pilgrims and visitors travelling to and from the continent.

Unfortunately, Mary of Guelders's collegiate church was dismantled in 1954 in order to make way for a railway--the "buildings’ royal significance and the feelings of their nineteenth century supporters appear to have been ignored," and the "powerful narrative" of Mary of Guelders "was forgotten."

For a bit of a happier note, something of a "revival" of the Trinity, see Rachel M. Delman and Jill Harrison, "Reviving the Trinity: Making Mary of Guelders’ Fifteenth-Century Built Legacy Relevant in TwentyFirst Century Scotland," Royal Studies Journal 12, no. 1 (2025), here. I've linked to quotations from this article, above. If you have access, I also recommend Rachel M. Delman's "Mary of Guelders and the Architecture of Queenship in Fifteenth-Century Scotland," Scottish Historical Review 102, no. 2 (2023),  https://doi.org/10.3366/shr.2023.0611. 

I've also linked here to Rosalind Marshall's Scottish Queens, 1034–1714, published in 2003. For what seems to be a revised version of this book, click here.

Fiona Downie's 2006 She is But a Woman Queenship in Scotland 1424–1463 is also forthcoming in a new edition.

Theutberga, Queen of Lotharingia? Not Queen of Lotharingia? Married? Not Married? Wife? Not Wife?

Theutberga, Rejected Queen (died 11 November 875)

I get so tired of hearing about "traditional marriage," as if there is such a thing, in the first place--a single, unchanging, ideal form of union between one man and one woman. Anyone who waxes rhapsodic about "traditional marriage" knows absolutely nothing about its history. And even if "traditional marriage" were actually a thing, a single, unchanging institution, it is not some model to which any woman should aspire .  . . This blog--now some 620 essays long--offers scores of examples of the variety, follies, and horrors of marriage and the way the ever-changing notion of marriage has been used to women's disadvantage.

Centuries into Christian marriage (the "tradition" most of those who extol its virtues seem to assume is universal), Theutberga and Lothair II offer yet one more example of how "traditional marriage" isn't a goal to which anyone, much less anyone female, should aspire.

The kingdom of Lotharingia during the
reign of Lothair II

Poor Theutberga. She was the daughter of Boso the Elder, count of Turin, and his wife, a woman named Engeltrude, about whom nothing seems to be known. 

Theutberga's father was a powerful Frankish nobleman, member of a dynasty that medieval historian Constance Bouchard has called "the most successful in their rise to power of any lineage of their time." In their rise, the Bosonids relied not only on military strength but "matrimonial strategies that guided their ascent to a position of political power." Nice tradition, huh?

Such "matrimonial strategies" were mutually beneficial, at least for the men arranging them and agreeing to them. Historian Paul Heidecker explains what each party to these arrangements had to gain:

These marriage alliances clearly had a dynamic of their own. The kings looked to gain powerful allies, but those allies themselves gained in importance through the marriage connection because, temporarily at least, they were closer to the center of power, the king. If they made good use of that position, they became attractive prospects for a future marriage alliance.

To further such ends, one of Theutberga's brothers, possibly named Boso, was married to Engeltrude, the daughter of Matfried, count of Orléans, an important counselor in the court of Lothair II's father, the emperor Lothair I. Contemporary sources do indicate that Theutberga had two brothers--but the name of this one is conjectural. This alliance does not seem to have worked out well, however. As another example of "traditional marriage," Engeltrude abandoned her husband and ran off with one of his vassals, for which she was excommunicated.

Theutberga's sister, who may or may not have been named Richild, was married to Biwin (or Bouvin) of Gorze, a Frankish nobleman, their marriage documented in contemporary sources that identify Biwin's wife as Theutberga's sister. Biwin had significant relationships not only with Lothair I but with Lothair I’s father, Emperor Louis the Pious. Theutberga's niece, named Richild, possibly after her mother, was the second wife of Charles the Bald, king of West Francia, who eventually became emperor of the Carolingians. So, yay! Good one!

As for Theutberga's role in the Bosonid marital strategy. In 855, she was married to Lothair II. It would be interesting to know how old Theutberga was at the time of her marriage--I can find no certain dates for the births of any of Boso the Elder's children, though he himself seems to have been born around the year 800. The most reliable genealogical information I have been able to find is at the Foundation for Medieval Genealogy, which relies on contemporary chronicles, annals, legal documents, and correspondence--the FMG suggests a date of birth between 820 and 825 for Theutberga's brother who may (or may not) have been named Boso. These dates suggest Theutberga may have been around Lothair's age when she married.

What did Lothair II hope to gain from this alliance? As the king of Lotharingia, Lothair would have secured the political and military support of Theutberga's family, in particular of her brother Hubert (or Hucbert or Hugobert), count of Valois and duke of Transjurania (or Upper Burgundy, an important Carolingian duchy).* Hubert had also seized control of the strategically located (and wealthy) Abbey of Saint-Maurice in Valais, becoming "lay abbot." (A lay abbot controled the abbey and received its the revenue, but wasn't a clergyman.) And, obviously, marriage to the king of Lotharingia, who was also the son of Lothair I, the Carolingian emperor, was certainly advantageous to Hubert. (By the way,  Charlemagne (had his own hair-raising relationship to the institution). But nowhere will you find any discussion of the “strategic benefit” to Theutberga of this marriage, about which she almost certainly had no say whatsoever.

The year 855 was a significant year for both Theutberga and Lothair. It was not only the year of their marriage, but Theutberga lost her father, who died in 855. As for Lothair II--in that year, his father also died, and the younger Lothair succeeded him as king of Lotharingia. And 855 was also the year in which Lothair's first son was born--unfortunately, however, it was not Theutberga who was that boy's mother, nor was that boy Lothair's heir. Hugo was the son of Lothair's mistress or concubine, whichever word you prefer, a woman named Waldrada. As Pierre Riché notes, this was no problem, at least at first, for Lothair--who had his "advantageous marriage" even as he "kept his cherished mistress." Riché offers no opinion about how this might have affected Theutberga.

In his Histoire de Waldrade, a nineteenth-century history of Lothair’s marital mess, Alfred Auguste Ernouf claims that Lothair was "married against his inclination" (marié contre son inclination) and that he had "a profound aversion to his legitimate wife" (une aversion profonde contre sa femme légitime). Poor Theutberga--was she inclined to this marriage? Might she have had an aversion to Lothair? Who cares? Ernouf also claims noble connections for Waldrada, perhaps to pretty up Lothair's relationship with her, though such claims seems fanciful--and no evidence for these connections exist. 

Canon tables from the beautiful 
Gospels of Theutberga, 
a manuscript likely owned by her
(now owned by the Metropolitan Museum of Art,
New York)

Whatever Lothair's feelings about Theutberga may have been at the time of their marriage, she bore him no legitimate children--or at least not quickly enough. He hardly gave her a chance to fulfill her role as a queen, because by 857, Lothair had decided the heir he needed would never come and he had to have his marriage to Theutberga annulled. 

And he not only wanted to be rid of Theutberga, he wanted to have his illegitimate son legitimized, and he wanted to be married to Waldrada, who seems to have been his mistress for some time. In her analysis of the long battle over the annulment, Rosamond McKitterick offers political reasons beyond Lothair's "attachment" to Waldrada--he had no legitimate heir and two uncles "breathing down his neck" and staring at his kingdom "with beady eyes." He needed an heir (as soon as possible, it seems) in order to "preserv[e] his inheritance." 

As grounds for the annulment he sought, Lothair claimed that Theutberga had not been a virgin at the time of her marriage and that she had carried on an incestuous relationship with her brother, Hubert. This relationship began before Lothair's marriage to Theutberga, her husband asserted--despite the fact that Lothair himself had acknowledged her virginity on the morning after the two had consummated their marriage and that he had waited two years before seeking an annulment. 

Lothair claimed that Hubert and Theutberga had engaged in some kind of "unnatural" act, one "that men are used to do with men"—so technically she was a virgin at the time of her marriage. Thus Lothair attempted to save face and explain away at least one of the inconsistencies in his argument for annulment. And then, eschewing logic (and the facts of reproduction), Lothair claimed that Theutberga had aborted a child she had conceived with her brother through these "unnatural" sex acts.**

And so Lothair launched himself into a process that would end only with his death. Immediately after Lothair made his claims about her, Theutberga and Hubert, who had taken up arms against Lothair after the scandalous charge of incest, fled to the court of Charles the Bald. There Theutberga sought protection and refuge. In 858, Lothair agreed to a trial by ordeal in order to settle the matter. This legal procedure involved Theutberga--or, rather, her champion--plunging a hand into boiling water. Theutberga’s representative survived this trial, thus “proving” Theutberga’s innocence. 

 

Not having received quite the "judgment from God" that he expected, and after imprisoning Theutberga, Lothair finally got the confession that he sought when he claimed that Theutberga had admitted her sins. Two of his archbishops not only obligingly declared that his marriage was annulled, they retroactively decided he had been married to Waldrada all along. 

But when the two, Archbishop Gunther of Cologne and Archbishop Theutgaud of Trier, traveled to Rome to present all this to Pope Nicholas I, he rejected their decision, de-archbishoped the both of them, and told Lothair he had to take Theutberga as his lawful wife.

But Lothair could not be forced to accept Theutberga as his wife--instead, he imprisoned her, and at some point, perhaps driven to despair, perhaps hoping to get herself out of the marriage, the imprisoned queen "confessed" her guilt to her husband's confessor, who wrote down her admissions of guilt and presented them to a council held at Aachen in 860.  

At first Theutberga refused to confess to her sins but, perhaps under threat of torture, she finally made a public admission and was sentenced to penance. The bishops agreed to Lothair's separation from his wife, and Theutberga was sent off to a convent. Lothair resumed living with Waldrada, but, unfortunately for him, his obliging bishops weren't as obliging as he hoped--they did not grant him the right to remarry. And they sent the whole matter off to the scholar Hincmar, archbishop of Rheins, for his opinion. 

Hincmar produced an extended treatise, On the Divorce of King Lothar and Queen Theutberga (De divortio Lotharii regis et Theutbergae reginae [for selections, click here]). Hincmar was asked whether a woman could still be considered a virgin if she had performed the kind of "unnatural" sex act that Theutberga and Hubert were supposed to have committed. He was also asked whether a woman could become pregnant yet still be a virgin. Real conundrums. Hincmar does not seem to have been sympathetic to Lothair: after considering the questions with which he had been presented, the scholar concluded "that with witchcraft the female vulva could attract sperm without copulation, but he did not accept that her [Theutberga's] guilt had been established as prescribed in canon law; he did however say that a man’s lover (in this case Waldrada) could by sorcery prevent the man from impregnating a woman, so he recommended the exorcism of Lothar rather than divorce from Theutberga."

Hincmar further stated that, among other things, the trial by ordeal had settled the case; that even if Theutberga were guilty of adultery, that was grounds for separation, not divorce; that, if guilty, Theutberga might be sent to a nunnery, but Lothair could not remarry as long as she were alive; that the secrecy of Theutberga's confession, if made, had been violated; that Hubert had not been examined by the bishops; and that the bishops had not condemned Lothair for his adultery with Waldrada. 

Text page from 
the Gospels of Theutberga

Undaunted, Lothair called another synod. In 862, this obliging group of bishops and archbishops agreed that there were grounds to annul his marriage on the grounds of incest, which they did. (Poor Lothair--he had cited the dangers of "incontinence" in his appeal to them and had lamented his state, living without a wife and with a concubine! His soul was in peril because he couldn't live without religiously sanctioned sex!) With this decision, Lothair married Waldrada and had her declared queen.

Still, Lothair couldn't rest. He called together another synod, this one in Metz, in 863. This group declared that Lothair had been married to Waldrada all along. Theutberga, with the support of Charles the Bald, appealed once again to the pope, still Nicholas I, who had the matter investigated. The pope ultimately decided in favor of Theutberga, had the two bishops who had earlier been involved in the synod at Aachen dismissed, removed the clerics who had made the judgment in Metz dismissed as well, and told Lothair he had to be reconciled to his queen--Theutberga, not Waldrada, to whom he had not been married.

Furious, Lothair would go to Rome and besiege the pope. That didn't work, nor did the threats he made against Theutberga's life or her own appeals to the pope to end her marriage and allow her to retire to a convent. Pope Nicholas would not relent--nothing would convince him to allow Lothair to marry Waldrada or to declare their children legitimate. He even went so far as to suggest that Theutberga's "sterility" had been caused by Lothair's adultery. Even if Theutberga were dead, Lothair would not be able to remarry.

There matters stood until Nicholas died in 867. Thinking the new pope, Adrian II, might be more amenable to him, Lothair traveled to Italy, hoping for a favorable decision. Theutberga, too, addressed the new pope, hoping he would free her from her marriage. But Adrian was not eager to issue a decision, although Lothair was confident that the pope would eventually rule in his favor.

In the end, Adrian never had to decide. On his way back to Lotharingia from Rome, Lothair II died on 9 August 869 in Piacenza. His eldest child with Waldrada, Hugo, was declared illegitimate and thus unable to inherit--the kingdom of Lotharinia was to be inherited by Lothair's brother, Louis, but ultimately it went to Charles the Bald. Since Louis was in Italy, Charles the Bald rushed off to Lotharingia and had himself "crowned and anointed" as king. 

As for Theutberga. Let us hope she found peace. She retired to the Abbey of St. Glossinde in Metz. She died there on 11 November 875. 

It's not clear what happened to Waldrada--she is no longer mentioned in contemporary records after Lothair's death. Because so little is known about her, it is hard to say whether her relationship to Lothair was one she consented to willingly or whether she was attached to Lothair as he was to her. What were her options? The pair seems to have had a number of children, but the fate of only one, Bertha, is well documented. She married Theobald, count of Arles, the son of Theutberga's brother, Hubert. Yikes!! Traditional marriage!

Lothair's divorce is much discussed, researched and analyzed in work by many great scholars, some of whom I have linked to here. The details and chronology of events vary significantly in their accounts, and I have done my best to produce a reasonable summary here. These sources vary in the word they use to describe the separation Lothair desires, employing both "annulment" and "divorce." In canon law, these are not the same, and I am not always sure which is technically correct at each step of Lothair's process. For an accessible version of Lothair's effort to divorce Theutberga, "The Marriage of Lothair and Theutberga," click here. This essay appears in Encyclopedia.com, usually a reliable resource, but I can't find an author. For a longer read, see Karl Heidecker, The Divorce of Lothair II: Christian Marriage and Political Power in the Carolingian World, trans. Tanis M. Guest. 

You may be interested in a podcast from History Extra: "Lothar II vs Theutberga: A Marriage Scandal that Shook the Ninth Century" (click here). If you can't listen to it at that link, search wherever you usually find your podcasts--the History Extra series is available on Apple, for instance, and the episode is #1929. 

For more information about the Gospels of Theutberga, illustrations from which are included here, you may wish to read Steven van Putten and Charles West's discussion of the ninth-century manuscript, "Inscribing Property, Rituals, and Royal Alliances: The ‘Theutberga Gospels’ and the Abbey of Remiremont" (click here). Although the manuscript was produced in Metz and was "traditionally" associated with the Abbey of Sainte-Glossinde, there is "only a shaky association" of this beautiful Gospel book with Theutberga, though "the book almost certainly resided in the library of a female monastery in the later ninth century [likely the convent of Remiremont], and . . . it likely played a role beyond that of mere treasure or memento of a powerful patron." Their best guess about who should be associated with this glorious book? Waldrada, who some scholars believe entered the convent of Remiremont at some point in the 860s . . . 

The manuscript, which had been in private hands, was auctioned by Christie's in July 2015, puchased for just under almost £2 million by the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York). You may view the entire manuscript at the museum's website (click here).

*Hubert was also married, though I haven't been able to find out the name of his wife, the most detailed and reliable (?) source being the Foundation for Medieval Genealogy. 

**Some historians suggest this may have been anal sex, others like Heidecker, a kind of sex "between the thighs."

Mrs. Greening, An Inspiring Teacher

Myrtle Lillian Greening, Simi Valley High School (CA) English Teacher 

I had lunch this week with a friend and colleague I've known for nearly fifty years. Fifty years, and we are still finding out interesting new things about one another. At one point during our long conversation, he suddenly asked, "Did you always want to be a university professor?" 

My answer was no. And as I've thought about his question over the last few days, I'm pretty sure I would never have gone to college, much less become an English professor, without Mrs. Greening. She changed my life. 

Mrs. Greening, 
photo from my high-school yearbook,
The Pioneer (1968)

No one in my family had ever been to college—my mom always claimed to be the first person in her family ever to have graduated from high school, and while she said quite a few things that later proved to be, well, not quite true, I believe her, about this at least. And although he said nothing one way or another, I learned long after his death that my dad had never finished high school. 

When the idea of college came up, my mom was insistent that if I were really college material, somebody from a college or university would come knocking on my door and hand me an invitation. As far as taking the SATs (and paying to take a test?) or filling out a college application (and paying to apply?)—she wouldn't hear of it. No way. I think my mom really expected me to get a job and start working once I graduated. 

But Mrs. Greening encouraged me, and she helped me navigate the many difficulties I encountered. Because of her, I managed to take the SATs. This was an expensive exam for me, when I was earning fifty cents an hour babysitting! I applied to college too. I was accepted. And, thankfully, I got a scholarship that meant I could go.

I visited Mrs. Greening a couple of times once I started college, at least in the first year or two. But after that, I lost touch. I never forgot her, but I wish now with all my heart that I had let her know what I was doing—I owe her so much. In fact, I owe her the profession that I had for nearly forty years and, really, the life I have lived since I met her.

Mrs. Greening didn't think much of me when I first showed up in her twelfth-grade English literature class in the fall of 1967. I was too busy fooling around with my best friend, Karen Ley. On one particular day very early in the school year, we were elbow wrestling at the small table we shared in Mrs. Greening's classroom, and she was furious! 

Mrs. Greening, 
photo from my high-school yearbook,
The Pioneer (1968)

And this was when we were supposed to be reading Beowulf too. Later, long after that day when Mrs. Greening yelled at me in class, I thought of her often when I was reading Beowulf in Old English in a graduate seminar at the University of Washington. While pursuing my Ph.D., I decided to become a medievalist, and even now I consider Beowulf the most complex and moving work of literature I have ever read.

But in the first days in Mrs. Greening's class, I wasn't all that interested in the poem that would come to mean so much to me. I did fine—I remember Mrs. Greening being very surprised at the first essay I wrote for her, clearly not expecting too much of me. But, then, we read Hamlet.

I still remember the day in class when everything changed. It was very early in our reading of the play—the first scene, in fact. It's midnight, and a guard, Francisco, is waiting to be relieved by his replacement, Barnardo, who arrives right on time. The two are on the battlements of Elsinore Castle, cold and fearful—they've seen a ghost. Then Marcellus arrives, bringing with him Horatio, who thinks this ghost is all a "fantasy." Marcellus has brought Horatio along to wait with them, to see whether the apparition will appear again. It does come, a ghost that looks like the king who has just recently died . . . 

So far, simple enough. But then, after he sees the ghost for himself, Horatio says, "It harrows me with fear and wonder" (1.1.44). 

The Dell paperback Hamlet
we read in the fall of 1967--
I still have my copy

We had been reading slowly in class, everything pretty straightforward to that point, though I do remember some discussion about Francisco's jittery "Stand and unfold yourself"—the unusual verb choice, "unfold," is underlined in my copy of the text. (I still have the copy of Hamlet we used in our class, a Dell paperback that cost 35 cents!) 

But when we got to "It harrows me"—I remember Mrs. Greening explaining to us what a harrow was, making her fingers into the sharp tines of the tool made for cultivating a field, her hand dragging those tines through the air so we could imagine the metal teeth ripping up the earth. It was electric. And here I am, nearly sixty years later, with that scene in Mrs. Greening's classroom still fresh in my mind.

I have been able to find out a little bit about Mrs. Greening's life in the last couple of days using genealogical resources. Myrtle Lillian Palmer was born in Reeds, Jasper County, Missouri on 16 January 1918. That would have made her fifty years old when she was my twelfth-grade English teacher. 

In the 1920 US Census, when she was two years old, she was listed as the youngest of six children, the family living in Jasper County, Missouri, where her father Richard's occupation is listed as "farmer."

By the time of the 1930 Census, taken when Myrtle Lillian Palmer was twelve years old, she was living in Reeds, Jasper County, Missouri, in a household headed by her mother, Mira (from Elmira). The census taker writes "none" for Mira's occupation. Just the youngest two of Mira's children are still living with her in the home, Myrtle and her older brother. While there is no sign of her father, Richard Palmer, living with them—Mira is the head of the household—Mira indicates that she is married. I can't find Richard Palmer in this census.

By 1940, Mira (spelled "Myra" by the census taker) is living alone, now in Sarcoxie, Missouri, and says she is divorced. She lists her occupation as "seamstress," a job she has had for the last forty weeks. I can't find Richard Palmer in the 1940 Census either, but in the 1950 Census, he is living alone in Sarcoxie Township, Missouri (this census form says Sarcoxie is "1 3/4 miles from Reeds)." In the census, he says he is divorced.

But by the time of the 1940 Census, when her mother is living alone, working as a seamstress, Myrtle Lillian Palmer was no longer in Missouri. On 15 October 1938 in Los Angeles, California, Myrtle Lillian Palmer married Edward Frank Greening—she was just twenty years old. I would love to know how a very young woman got herself from Missouri to California. I haven't been able to find out anything,

Searching the various volumes of the Los Angeles City Directory, available online, I've been able to find listings for a "Palmer, Myrtle E." as early as 1924, working as a stenographer, but clearly this couldn't be the Myrtle Palmer I'm looking for—my Myrtle Palmer would have been a child. I check all the LA city directories from 1924 on, right through the 1930s, and I can't find the right Myrtle Palmer, Myrtle L., and after a few years, that other Myrtle, Myrtle E., disappears. 

But in 1938, I do find Edward Frank Greening in the LA city directory—he's a clerk, renting a place on Oakford Drive. These directories list wives in parentheses, and there's no (Myrtle) following his name, nor is there a listing for Myrtle Greening, in parentheses or otherwise, in 1939 or in 1940. To my great disappointment, this resource provides no helpful information at all. 

I am still left wondering how the woman I knew as Mrs. Greening made her way from Missouri to Los Angeles. In 1930, she was twelve years old, living at home. Eight years later, in 1938, a twenty-year-old Myrtle was in California, having lived there long enough to have met and married. Did she leave Missouri when she was eighteen? Did she travel alone, on a dream or a whim? It occurs to me that one of her older siblings might have moved to California, and she could have traveled west to live with a brother or a sister . . . 

I go back to the online genealogical sources and trace her siblings, four brothers and a sister. One brother moved to Kansas, where he died; another moved all the way to the West Coast, but to Seattle, where he died (and where I am living now). The rest of her siblings stayed put in Missouri. I can find no connections to California among any of them. I check the paternal line, and I can find no links to California associated with Richard Palmer's siblings, his father or his grandfather. I search the maternal line, and I can find no connection to California there, either.

I search for that Myrtle E. Palmer living in Los Angeles in the 1920s—she was born and died in Southern California. I see no links to Missouri or to the Richard Palmer who was Mrs. Greening's father. And just to be sure, I check back through the Palmers in Myrtle E.'s family as well.

Aside from the record of her marriage, I can find no sign of Myrtle Palmer Greening before the 1940 US Census, when she and her husband are living in Los Angeles, renting a house on East 7th Street. Neither one has anything listed under "occupation" or for the "type of industry" in which they are working—I wonder if Edward is in college, or maybe they are both in college, because at some point, Myrtle Palmer Greening did get a college education. 

There is a lengthy obituary for Mrs. Greening's husband, Edward Frank Greening, published in the Santa Rosa Press Democrat after his death in 2003. There he is called an "engineer extraordinaire" and said to have "helped the USA win the Cold War." According to the obituary, his family had moved from New Mexico to Glendale, California in 1921, so that explains how and why he was in California when he married Myrtle Lillian Palmer in 1938. (In case you're wondering, I searched the Glendale City Directories posted online by the Glendale Historical Society, and Myrtle Palmer doesn't appear to have been in Glendale prior to her marriage, at least not based on the information in these directories.)

His obituary indicates that Edward Greening was educated at "LAJC [Los Angeles Junior College, now Los Angeles City College] and USC [University of Southern California]," where his education was "often interrupted by events such as the depression, marriage, child, and World War II." According to the obituary, "he was among the last to be called to serve" during the Second World War, and was "on a destroyer approaching Japan when the [w]ar ended." 

I have no idea where Myrtle Greening was during the war years, or what she might have been doing when her husband was "on a destroyer approaching Japan"—other than knowing she was caring for a child, born in 1941. According to the 1950 US Census (when she was thirty-two), Mrs. Greening was still living in Los Angeles, now on Buffalo Avenue, her husband listing his occupation as a "newspaper carrier." I guess he hadn't become an engineer “extraordinare" yet. The couple had a nine-year-old son. According to the census, Myrtle was "keeping house." You have to love the 1950s—one of the questions is "Did this person do any work at all last week, not counting work around the house?" The census taker writes a big "N[o]" next to Myrtle Greening's name. Eight years later, Mrs. Greening's son graduated from Van Nuys High School. A 30 January 1958 article in the Valley News includes his name among ceremonies honoring those graduating mid-year. His photo also appears  in the 1958 Van Nuys High School Yearbook. So Mrs. Greening was living in Van Nuys at that time. 

But suddenly, after a great deal of digging, I find something—in the 31 October 1960 issue of the Valley News, there is an article titled "Valley Dean's List Honors 22 Students."* And there she is: among the "upper division students" who are honored for their grade-point average. The college she went to, then San Fernando Valley State College, is now the University of California, Northridge, just over the hill from Simi Valley, where Mrs. Greening was teaching in the academic year 1967-68, when I was in her class. This article confirms her residence as Van Nuys. With this lead, I could find the date when Myrtle Greening graduated from college. An article in the Valley State Sundial, dated 26 May 1960, "A Salute To Valley State's 1960 Graduates," lists "Myrtle Lillian Greening, English." 

By the time I knew Mrs. Greening, in the late 1960s, she was divorced. She never spoke of an ex-husband, or even a son. Edward Greening, who received such a lengthy and effusive obituary, had remarried in 1965 and had a second family. Mrs. Greening remained single.

Nor is there any obituary for her, or at least not one that I have been able to find. In fact, I can't find out much about Mrs. Greening's life after I graduated from high school. When she was my teacher, she lived in a small house on Eve Road in Santa Susana (in Simi Valley), which is where she regularly hosted a group of students for evening meetings of the Simi Valley High School Literature Club. 

I cannot remember all the books she introduced us to in Lit Club—I know we read Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie, and I was so knocked out by it that she suggested I read his An American Tragedy. Wow. We also read Upton Sinclair's The Jungle. So she wasn't introducing us to lightweight novels. She's the person who introduced me to J.R.R. Tolkien. I eventually bought the paperbacks published by Houghton Mifflin in the late sixties. I wish I had them now. (I still have Tolkien, in later, fancier editions.)

Looking online, I can easily find the house where we met for Lit Club all those years ago—it's worth nearly a million dollars today, but it doesn't look like much. The two-bedroom bungalow was built in 1956, so it wasn't that old when I spent many long evenings there, but it was very different than the tracts of look-alike houses that were being built on land that had once been walnut orchards or orange groves. The real-estate listing says the house now has an "open plan" that makes it look "larger than what it is." It wasn't open plan in the late sixties, but as soon as I saw the interior of the living room, with its stone fireplace and wood-beam ceiling, I remembered them. The small kitchen and living room, once divided, were warm and cozy. And there was no pool in the backyard either, as there is now.The Zillow listing describes this as "a newer flagstone pool with baja shelf and fountain waterfalls."

I have no idea when Mrs. Greening retired, but I've been able to narrow it down a bit. I found her photo among the faculty in the 1982 Simi Valley High School yearbook, The Pioneer, but by 1985, she is no longer pictured. She would have been sixty-five in 1983, so that makes sense. (There are only scattered yearbooks available online at Classmates.com.) 

Update: I just found a copy of the Simi Valley Star, published on 6 June 1985. On page 6 is a small article, "Retiring employees are recognized." And there she is: Myrtle Greening received a plaque from the Board of Education for her twenty-three years with the district. (So she began teaching at SVHS in 1962, just five years before I was in her class.)

Looking at property records, I can see that the property on Eve Road sold in 1997. According to online records I've been able to access, that seems to have been when Mrs. Greening sold it. But the United States Residence Database, 1970-2004, indicates that she was living in Oxnard, California, in May 1995. She would have been seventy-seven, so maybe it was time for her to let go of that small home on the half-acre lot. Did she want to leave? Did failing health mean she needed to leave? Could she no longer afford the house? Did she move to be closer to friends? I have questions but no answers. 

On 19 January 2000, Myrtle Lillian Palmer Greening died at the age of eighty-two. The Social Security Death Index notes her "Last Place of Residence" as Ventura, California. She is buried in Simi Valley. I hope some of her former students visit her gravesite on occasion. I know the next time I visit family in the area, I will lay flowers there, to commemorate the woman who changed my life.

Mrs. Greening's headstone,
Simi Valley Public Cemetery
(photo from Find a Grave)

*Among this list of students on the Dean's List is another of my high-school teachers, Gloria Gunther. What a surprise!