History has a funny way of playing favorites. You've heard of the sun kings and the conquerors, but what about the guy who actually built the machinery of the modern state? I'm talking about Philip V of France, also known as "Philip the Tall." Honestly, if you walked into a 14th-century tavern and asked about him, you'd get a mix of respect and deep suspicion. He wasn't the loudest king, but he was probably the smartest one in the room, and he definitely knew how to work a loophole.
He was the middle child. You know how that goes. Philip wasn't supposed to be king. His older brother, Louis X, had the throne, but Louis died suddenly in 1316, leaving behind a pregnant widow and a young daughter named Joan. This is where Philip basically looked at the law, saw a gap, and drove a royal carriage through it.
The Great Succession Heist
When the baby—John I—was born, he only lived for five days. Sad, sure, but for Philip, it was an opening. He didn't just want to be a regent; he wanted the crown. The problem? Joan, his niece. There wasn't really a hard rule saying girls couldn't rule France, but Philip wasn't about to let a child (and a girl at that) stand in his way.
He dug up an old, dusty code from the time of Clovis called the Salic Law. Originally, it was just about who got to inherit land, but Philip’s legal team "interpreted" it to mean women couldn't inherit the throne. Ever. It was a massive power move. He got himself crowned at Reims in 1317 while most of the nobility was still scratching their heads. This one decision didn't just make him king; it eventually triggered the Hundred Years' War because it messed up the family tree so badly that England's Edward III eventually claimed he was the rightful heir.
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Managing the Chaos
Philip inherited a mess. Famines were hitting Europe hard. People were hungry, angry, and looking for someone to blame. Despite the drama of his coronation, Philip V was actually a bit of a policy nerd. He was obsessed with efficiency. He created the Chambre des Comptes (the Court of Finances) to keep track of where the money was going. Before him, the royal treasury was basically a "vibes-based" operation. He wanted cold, hard numbers.
He also had this wild idea that every town in France should use the same weights and measures. Imagine trying to buy a pound of grain in Paris and getting a different amount than in Lyon. It was a nightmare for trade. Philip tried to standardize it, along with the currency. He was basically trying to build a single market 700 years before the EU was a thing. Did it work? Sorta. The nobles hated it because it took power away from them, but it showed he was thinking decades ahead of his time.
The Dark Side of the Reign
It wasn't all spreadsheets and legal reform. Philip’s reign had some truly ugly moments. In 1320, a weird movement called the Pastoureaux (the Shepherds' Crusade) broke out. It started as a "holy" quest to fight in Spain but quickly turned into a violent mob that attacked royal officials, lepers, and Jewish communities.
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Philip's handling of the Jewish population was, frankly, opportunistic. His father had expelled them, his brother had invited them back (because the economy crashed without them), and Philip used them as a piggy bank. He’d protect them when he needed their taxes and squeeze them when he needed cash. In 1321, during the "Leper Scare," rumors flew that lepers were poisoning wells at the behest of the Jews and the King of Grenada. It was a medieval conspiracy theory at its worst. Philip didn't do much to stop the violence; instead, he used the chaos to levy massive fines on Jewish communities to fill the royal coffers.
A Marriage in the Crosshairs
You’ve gotta give it to Philip for loyalty, though. In 1314, a massive scandal hit the royal family—the Tour de Nesle affair. His two sisters-in-law were caught in adultery. His own wife, Joan of Burgundy, was accused of knowing about it and keeping it secret. She was locked up in a tower. Most kings would have ditched her to save face. Not Philip. He stood by her, fought for her release, and eventually got her cleared by the Paris Parlement.
Whether he loved her or just didn't want to lose her massive dowry (the County of Burgundy) is still debated by historians like Jim Bradbury. But they stayed together, and he showered her with gifts, including the property of Jews he’d confiscated in Burgundy.
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Why Philip V Still Matters
Philip died young. He caught dysentery and a fever in 1322 and was gone by January 3rd. He was only about 29 or 30. Because of the very law he used to take the throne—the Salic Law—his own daughters couldn't succeed him. The crown went to his younger brother, Charles IV.
So, what’s the takeaway here?
Philip V was a man of contradictions. He was a legal usurper who brought order to a chaotic administration. He was a sensitive husband who could be cold-blooded toward his subjects. Most importantly, he professionalized the French government. He moved the needle from "feudal lord" to "national monarch."
If you want to understand French history, don't just look at the big names. Look at Philip. Here’s how you can dive deeper:
- Check the Lineage: Look up the "Cursed Kings" (Les Rois Maudits) series by Maurice Druon. It’s historical fiction, but it captures the vibe of Philip’s era perfectly.
- Study the Law: Research the Salic Law and how it was used again in 1593. It’s the backbone of why France never had a ruling Queen Regnant like England's Elizabeth I.
- Visit the Source: If you’re ever in Paris, visit the Basilica of Saint-Denis. Philip is buried there, and seeing the effigies of the Capetian kings puts the scale of his ambition into perspective.
He wasn't a saint, and he wasn't a monster. He was a man who saw a system breaking and tried to rewire it while standing on the third rail.