I've recently started reading The Greatest Traitor, The Life of Sir Roger Mortimer, Ruler of England 1327-1330, by Ian Mortimer. I'm a big fan of Ian Mortimer, having read his Time Traveler's Guide to Medieval England: A Handbook for Visitors to the 14th Century several years ago. He writes about some obscure history in a really accessible and conversational way, which I love.
In short, the story of Roger Mortimer is a little interlude in the history of the monarchy that doesn't often get the attention it deserves. Basically, he was a nobleman based out of Wales, born in 1287. His life was pretty normal and uneventful until around 1322 when he revolted against Edward II.
So Edward II. Poor Edward II. What can we say about Edward II?
He was sandwiched in between two great warrior kings, Edward I and Edward III. He was the father of Edward III? He was well educated, and intelligent, and also had very bad judgment. He may or may not have had sexual relations with his dear friend Piers Gaveston. Whatever their relationship (ie sexual or not) he loved Piers to the exclusion of others, and he risked much of his kingdom to keep Piers happy, rewarding him with land and titles that the nobles didn't think he deserved.
(Actually, I've just found a really great blog that started from a person wanting to salvage Edward II's reputation, so I'm going to have to do some reading on that, to see if my mind is changed.)
So the court was political and there were lots of factions. To say the least.
And Mortimer comes along, and he's all, "yeah, this king sucks, I'm going to join the movement to rebel, and we're gonna kick some ass."
Except he got caught and was imprisoned in the Tower of London. From which very few people ever escape. In fact, Roger Mortimer was one of the very few people who have escaped. At the time of his escape, he was the first. He escaped by drugging his guards thanks to the help of a sympathetic guard, escaped through the kitchens and across the river, and eventually to Dover and then France.
Where he wound up taking as his mistress... wait for it... the Queen of England, Isabella, who was also sick of her husband and laying low in France. Her young son, Edward III would eventually join the couple, and they would plot to invade England.
Poor Edward II (that's really all I can say about him now - Poor Edward II) is captured and imprisoned. There are rumors that he was never killed, but somehow managed to live out his life in obscurity in Italy. But he was most likely killed. There are other rumors that he was sodomized by a hot poker, a token to his supposed relationship with Gaveston. No one really knows for sure.
What we do know is that for several years, until Edward III came of age and got sick of being a puppet for Isabella and Mortimer, Roger Mortimer essentially ruled England. He wasn't a king, he had no royal blood, but he was the ruler.
Eventually Edward III plotted his death, with a bunch of his equally-fed-up friends, and in the middle of the night they went through a tunnel in Nottingham Castle that went straight to Isabella's rooms, the door of which was conveniently left open by a sympathetic guard (sympathetic guards were very useful to have around) and Edward III came in with his buddies, swords drawn, and caused a bit of a scene.
Mortimer was subsequently taken to Tyburn, despite Isabella's pleas, and hanged like a traitor. They didn't take him down for several days so everyone could get a good look.
Other than when Oliver Cromwell ruled as Protectorate, I can't think of any other times since 1066 (other than Regency's) when someone without royal blood has so clearly ruled England as a king himself. That in itself makes him an interesting guy to study.
choral music, libraries, history, travel, pens, cats, books, marriage, (in)fertility, stillbirth, and a premature midlife crisis. So many projects, so little time...
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well
I've had several signs pointing me to the writings of Julian of Norwich lately. She was a fourteenth century anchoress and Christian mystic, who, when she was 29 years old, was deathly ill. While on her sickbed, she had sixteen visions of Christ, starting when she saw the garland wreath in her room literally bleed, the way Christ's crown of thorns would have made Him bleed.
After she had her visions - and survived her illness - she wrote about them, and was the first woman to publish a book in the English language, right around the same time as Chaucer, Revelations of Divine Love. She also devoted her life to meditation on her visions, and became an anchoress in Norwich.
Another famous anchoress was Hildegard von Bingen, who is famous for being the first woman to publish her music compositions. Anchoresses were nuns who wanted to completely shut themselves away from the world, and devote their lives solely to meditation and prayer. So they literally walled themselves in a small room attached to the abbey, and there was a little slit where they would receive meals, and communion, and they could view the services. They were regarded as very wise and learned women, and people would often stop outside and ask them for advice, or a blessing.
There is a festival in Norwich celebrating Julian now, Julian Week, which features lectures and information about this amazing woman.
I've been reading her Revelations (there are several versions in print, and available at my favorite place, Oyster) and I'm struck by something really wonderful, and I think, part of the reason why I was led to her (there are no accidents in life - or books).
In all her visions, she saw all kinds of stuff - she saw Jesus, she understood sin, she got her divinity, but she never saw hell. There was no hell at all that she saw. There was only everything being Well. That was the key message that she got: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
This wasn't particularly a popular opinion with the Church, the Pope, etc. But she saw what she saw, and even though she had moments where she doubted how real her visions were (between Showings 15 and 16 especially) she never doubted that she was spoken to by God, and what she was was a Divine message.
So here's how she came to understand it, after meditating on it for 20 years. There is a part of all of us that is connected to God, that is part of God, the infinite energy of the universe, the Source of life, etc etc. God would never send part of Himself to hell, and anyway, even Satan himself (if he even exists, which I haven't seen in her writings yet) had once been an angel, and is still part of God. Then there's the part of us which is human, which messes up, and which hurts people (and ourselves). That part suffers enough from our actions. The part of us that is part of God is what is sustained after we die.
I like Julian. She articulated answers to some of my most burning questions like 750 years ago.
“[God] is our clothing. In his love he wraps and holds us. He enfolds us for love and he will never let us go.”
“The soul is immediately at one with God, when it is truly at peace in itself.”

Another famous anchoress was Hildegard von Bingen, who is famous for being the first woman to publish her music compositions. Anchoresses were nuns who wanted to completely shut themselves away from the world, and devote their lives solely to meditation and prayer. So they literally walled themselves in a small room attached to the abbey, and there was a little slit where they would receive meals, and communion, and they could view the services. They were regarded as very wise and learned women, and people would often stop outside and ask them for advice, or a blessing.
There is a festival in Norwich celebrating Julian now, Julian Week, which features lectures and information about this amazing woman.
I've been reading her Revelations (there are several versions in print, and available at my favorite place, Oyster) and I'm struck by something really wonderful, and I think, part of the reason why I was led to her (there are no accidents in life - or books).
In all her visions, she saw all kinds of stuff - she saw Jesus, she understood sin, she got her divinity, but she never saw hell. There was no hell at all that she saw. There was only everything being Well. That was the key message that she got: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
This wasn't particularly a popular opinion with the Church, the Pope, etc. But she saw what she saw, and even though she had moments where she doubted how real her visions were (between Showings 15 and 16 especially) she never doubted that she was spoken to by God, and what she was was a Divine message.
So here's how she came to understand it, after meditating on it for 20 years. There is a part of all of us that is connected to God, that is part of God, the infinite energy of the universe, the Source of life, etc etc. God would never send part of Himself to hell, and anyway, even Satan himself (if he even exists, which I haven't seen in her writings yet) had once been an angel, and is still part of God. Then there's the part of us which is human, which messes up, and which hurts people (and ourselves). That part suffers enough from our actions. The part of us that is part of God is what is sustained after we die.
I like Julian. She articulated answers to some of my most burning questions like 750 years ago.
“[God] is our clothing. In his love he wraps and holds us. He enfolds us for love and he will never let us go.”
“The soul is immediately at one with God, when it is truly at peace in itself.”
Thursday, July 31, 2014
The Week in Books: More Bernard Cornwell
In among all the angst associated with us losing our building that Jonathan built last year, I've been immersed in the adventures of Uhtred of Bebbenberg, which has been a lovely distraction. I've been staying up past my bedtime to see what adventures he'll have next.

Throughout the series we see Uhtred torn between his loyalties. On one hand, he loves the Danes who raised him like a son and trained him to be a great warrior. He loves their gods, and he loves their lifestyle. On the other hand, he's a Saxon, and Alfred is his king. And, what he really wants is to go back and capture Bebbenberg from his thief of an uncle. And what his king, who now respects him above all other warriors (while also keeping him on a tight leash because he questions Uhtred's loyalty) wants is to unite all the English speaking kingdoms into a united England, and repulse the Danes back to their lands of ice and winter.
The best thing about these books is that all the battles he writes about really happened. Alfred really did want to unite the kingdoms into England. He really did build the first navy. He did constantly have to fight battles to protect his lands and his people, and he had to fortify his towns with burghs (walled defenses). And we just see all this unfold through Uhtred, a fictional character, and what he wants.
The writing is compelling and pulls you in. If I didn't have a daughter, I'd devour them in a long day on a weekend. Alas, Hannah pulls me away, and I go kicking and screaming to change her diaper, or feed her, or pay attention to her rather than Uhtred (the nerve of her!).
The first six books were all on Oyster. The seventh, since it's not backlist, isn't yet, and so that's a good enough reason for me to take an enforced Uhtred break.
Next up I'm reading the writings of Julian of Norwich, a Christian mystic contemporary of Chaucer, whose Revelations of a Divine Love was the first book to be published in English by a woman.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
The Perfect Crime of the 1870's
I've been reading The Men Who United the States by Simon Winchester, a history of the US told through the elements of wood, metal, water, fire, and air, which is an interesting lens through which to view history. The wood chapter, for example, was all about when wood was the primary material; the homes the early colonists built, the boats they used to explore, right up to the Lewis and Clark expedition, which did truly unite the states in ways they never could have imagined.
The metal chapter had a story in that I've never heard before, the Great Diamond Hoax of 1872. So two guys walk into a bank in San Francisco, and they say they want a safety deposit box. They have a bag of jewels, and they say that they found them all in some land, they won't say where, but the jewels are so plentiful that you can scrape your boot, and hit amethysts, rubies, and diamonds. They're just everywhere, just waiting to be picked.
Of course all the prospectors in San Francisco want to know more. They had the jewels appraised, and even Tiffany got in on the action saying they were real and valued those stones at $150k. People say they want to see this magical jewel field, and so the guys take people, blindfolded, to the spot. Eventually a company is formed to prospect for more of the jewels once geologists verify that the jewels are real and the land is really full of them. The two original prospectors, Philip Arnold and John Slack become original shareholders of the company, and their shares are worth $300k each.
Eventually, word of all this gets to Clarence King, a government geologist, who smells a rat. The probability of all these jewels being in the same spot is so rare, he just can't believe it. He goes to SF, asks one of the geologists who verified the field of diamonds and jewels was real. The guy said he traveled for a day and a half by train, and then by horse for 2 days. Everyone had assumed that the field was in Arizona, but King looked at railway line timetables, and guessed that a day and a half by train would put them somewhere in present day Wyoming or Utah or somewhere around there. He got all Sherlock Holmes and asked about what the weather was like, trying to figure out whether the guy had gone across the Rockies or not.
The one distinguishing landmark the geologist had remembered was a dome shaped mountain. He also thought that they had traveled south from the railroad station. King guessed that the station was in Wyoming, and went there. Sure enough, the station managers reported that there had been a rush of activity at the same time the men were having everyone come out to see the diamond field. King traveled south by horse, and saw the dome shaped mountain. He eventually found the field, and the jewels. And he saw that they had all been planted.
Turns out the guys had bought $35k worth of cast-off jewels in Brussels and London and planted them there, literally digging the holes and burying them. Meanwhile, back in SF, the two prospectors decide that running a company isn't for them, and they'd like to cash out and go back to a quiet life of prospecting, please. So they get their $300k each, and go back to Kentucky. Eventually the whole scam comes out, and people lost a crap-load of money. The guy who owned the bank in SF wound up eventually committing suicide and his body was found floating in the bay.
The story of the planting, the swindling, and the eventual way it was solved needs to be made into a film; seriously, I have no idea why this isn't a movie yet. It's freaking fascinating!
The metal chapter had a story in that I've never heard before, the Great Diamond Hoax of 1872. So two guys walk into a bank in San Francisco, and they say they want a safety deposit box. They have a bag of jewels, and they say that they found them all in some land, they won't say where, but the jewels are so plentiful that you can scrape your boot, and hit amethysts, rubies, and diamonds. They're just everywhere, just waiting to be picked.
Of course all the prospectors in San Francisco want to know more. They had the jewels appraised, and even Tiffany got in on the action saying they were real and valued those stones at $150k. People say they want to see this magical jewel field, and so the guys take people, blindfolded, to the spot. Eventually a company is formed to prospect for more of the jewels once geologists verify that the jewels are real and the land is really full of them. The two original prospectors, Philip Arnold and John Slack become original shareholders of the company, and their shares are worth $300k each.
Eventually, word of all this gets to Clarence King, a government geologist, who smells a rat. The probability of all these jewels being in the same spot is so rare, he just can't believe it. He goes to SF, asks one of the geologists who verified the field of diamonds and jewels was real. The guy said he traveled for a day and a half by train, and then by horse for 2 days. Everyone had assumed that the field was in Arizona, but King looked at railway line timetables, and guessed that a day and a half by train would put them somewhere in present day Wyoming or Utah or somewhere around there. He got all Sherlock Holmes and asked about what the weather was like, trying to figure out whether the guy had gone across the Rockies or not.
The one distinguishing landmark the geologist had remembered was a dome shaped mountain. He also thought that they had traveled south from the railroad station. King guessed that the station was in Wyoming, and went there. Sure enough, the station managers reported that there had been a rush of activity at the same time the men were having everyone come out to see the diamond field. King traveled south by horse, and saw the dome shaped mountain. He eventually found the field, and the jewels. And he saw that they had all been planted.
Turns out the guys had bought $35k worth of cast-off jewels in Brussels and London and planted them there, literally digging the holes and burying them. Meanwhile, back in SF, the two prospectors decide that running a company isn't for them, and they'd like to cash out and go back to a quiet life of prospecting, please. So they get their $300k each, and go back to Kentucky. Eventually the whole scam comes out, and people lost a crap-load of money. The guy who owned the bank in SF wound up eventually committing suicide and his body was found floating in the bay.
The story of the planting, the swindling, and the eventual way it was solved needs to be made into a film; seriously, I have no idea why this isn't a movie yet. It's freaking fascinating!
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Old Music Thursday: Ensemble Cinquencento and the Hapsburgs
If any of you are into early music, and you have sirius radio, there is a wonderful program, which I'm sure I must have mentioned before, called The Millennium of music, on Symphony Hall, channel 76, at 11am eastern/8am pacific on Sunday mornings. I generally catch it when I'm on my way to the lake. The host, Robert Aubry Davis, has a wonderful voice and a passion for early choral music (he started a channel on XM called Vox, which was cancelled when Sirius bought XM - their loss). I always learn something new on his program, or discover a new composer to start a love affair with.
This week the program was on the Ensemble Cinquencento, and their new album, Amorosi Pensieri. They are a German group who have focused largely on sacred music of the Renaissance, but with this new album, they are turning towards more secular music from the Hapsburg Court.
The Hapsburg Monarchy ruled the area around what we would think of as Germany or Austria from the end of the 13th century until WWI ended, which is an amazing lineage. But their heyday was in the Renaissance, when they were often elected to be the Holy Roman Empires, and they had a vibrant court in Vienna and Prague, and they were everywhere; taking turns ruling Spain, the Low Countries, you name it. They were the major force of the Renaissance, and they had a court that matched their vibrancy, supporting dozens of composers and artists.
If you're interested in this kind of music, Hyperion, a label out of the UK, has an amazing selection, which is now available via download. This particular album is here: http://www.hyperion-records.co.uk/find.asp?f=Amorosi+Pensieri&vw=dc
Or, you can get a taste of the music with this complete album of Philippus de Monte, a famous sacred and secular composer who was a shining star of the Hapsburg empire. I'll definitely be adding these albums to my playlists.
The Hapsburg Monarchy ruled the area around what we would think of as Germany or Austria from the end of the 13th century until WWI ended, which is an amazing lineage. But their heyday was in the Renaissance, when they were often elected to be the Holy Roman Empires, and they had a vibrant court in Vienna and Prague, and they were everywhere; taking turns ruling Spain, the Low Countries, you name it. They were the major force of the Renaissance, and they had a court that matched their vibrancy, supporting dozens of composers and artists.
If you're interested in this kind of music, Hyperion, a label out of the UK, has an amazing selection, which is now available via download. This particular album is here: http://www.hyperion-records.co.uk/find.asp?f=Amorosi+Pensieri&vw=dc
Or, you can get a taste of the music with this complete album of Philippus de Monte, a famous sacred and secular composer who was a shining star of the Hapsburg empire. I'll definitely be adding these albums to my playlists.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
The Week in Books: Island of the Lost
Another fantastic Oyster find, I devoured Island of the Lost: Shipwrecked at the End of the World by Joan Druett this past week. It's a true story about two simultaneous shipwrecks on Auckland Island in the 1860's (though they never met each other, being on opposite ends with a mountain range in between them).
Auckland Islands is an archipelago south of New Zealand, so they are sub-antarctic. The main inhabitants are seals, during their mating season, and when the calves are very young. There are also some edible roots, and some mussels and other bits of seafood. So really, it's not a place where you want to be shipwrecked.
The first shipwreck, the Grafton, was in stark contrast to the second, which arrived about 8 months later. The first was made up of five men who excelled in teamwork and problem solving. One of them, a Frenchman named Francois Raynal, actually managed to build a forge with stuff they salvaged from the wreck, and was able to make a mold for nails. They were shipwrecked in summer, so had some time to build a cozy cabin with a fireplace, make some nice beds, use seal blood for making ink to write journals, and use salt they salvaged to salt meat enough to last them through winter. They had a lifeboat they could use for hunting, worked amazingly really well together, and managed to thrive in their environment, coming up with one plan after another for escape.
The second, the Invercauld, had 25 men and wrecked on the other side of the mountain. Six of them died right away, leaving them with 19. They wound up splintering apart into groups, one of which may have resorted to cannibalism. The captain completely lost touch with reality, and had a pretty major freakout. The officers pulled rank on the regular sailors, one of whom seemed to be the only one with any brains in the bunch. It was a complete contrast with the first group, which had such a strong bond. This group was losing people left and right, and not seeming to come up with any ways to make shelter or find food.
Their story was gripping. I figured they had to have figured out a way to get off, or be rescued, because the story talks about testimony later on, but I had to keep reading to find out the way they escaped. It was fascinating reading about the strength of humanity when pushed up against the wall.
Auckland Islands is an archipelago south of New Zealand, so they are sub-antarctic. The main inhabitants are seals, during their mating season, and when the calves are very young. There are also some edible roots, and some mussels and other bits of seafood. So really, it's not a place where you want to be shipwrecked.
The first shipwreck, the Grafton, was in stark contrast to the second, which arrived about 8 months later. The first was made up of five men who excelled in teamwork and problem solving. One of them, a Frenchman named Francois Raynal, actually managed to build a forge with stuff they salvaged from the wreck, and was able to make a mold for nails. They were shipwrecked in summer, so had some time to build a cozy cabin with a fireplace, make some nice beds, use seal blood for making ink to write journals, and use salt they salvaged to salt meat enough to last them through winter. They had a lifeboat they could use for hunting, worked amazingly really well together, and managed to thrive in their environment, coming up with one plan after another for escape.
The second, the Invercauld, had 25 men and wrecked on the other side of the mountain. Six of them died right away, leaving them with 19. They wound up splintering apart into groups, one of which may have resorted to cannibalism. The captain completely lost touch with reality, and had a pretty major freakout. The officers pulled rank on the regular sailors, one of whom seemed to be the only one with any brains in the bunch. It was a complete contrast with the first group, which had such a strong bond. This group was losing people left and right, and not seeming to come up with any ways to make shelter or find food.
Their story was gripping. I figured they had to have figured out a way to get off, or be rescued, because the story talks about testimony later on, but I had to keep reading to find out the way they escaped. It was fascinating reading about the strength of humanity when pushed up against the wall.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Old Music Thursday: The Fasch's
Everyone who has studied even a smidgen of music has heard about the Bach clan. Johann Sebastian and his son Carl Philipp Emanuel (known as C.P.E. to increase his street cred). There's also the Strauss's, another prolific musical family. One lesser known family of musical note (ha ha, note, get it?) are the Fasch's.
Johann Friedrich was born in 1688 in Buttelstedt Germany. He studied in Leipzig (where the great Johann Sebastian was working, too, and, incidentally, the hometown of my dad) and wrote a prolific amount of concertos, cantatas and symphonies. The music he wrote was never printed in his lifetime, and he's largely forgotten today, though at the time he was highly regarded by his contemporaries. Johann Sebastian Bach actually made copies of some of his manuscripts to preserve and study them.
His most popular youtube offering is his trumpet concerto, below, which seems to show up on any anthology of trumpet music produced. There was a great album from 2013, Overtures in G Minor, D Minor and G Major, with Paul Dombrecht on oboe, that was all Fasch. Incidentally, this group is becoming a favorite of mine for all their early music recordings.
https://play.spotify.com/album/3zXQXQSItExg1zVVydwfW4
He also appears with one of my other favorites, Telemann, in a lot of Baroque anthologies.
Like the Bach's he gave birth to a musical son, Carl Friedrich Christian who was born when his dad was almost 50, and founded the Sing-Akademie zu Berlin, which still exists today as a musical society (which Mendelssohn apparently wanted to become the director of in later years).
So the next time you're at a dinner party and some classical music snob is going on about the talent of the Bach family, you can come right back at them with the talent of the usually-overlooked Fasch's.
Johann Friedrich was born in 1688 in Buttelstedt Germany. He studied in Leipzig (where the great Johann Sebastian was working, too, and, incidentally, the hometown of my dad) and wrote a prolific amount of concertos, cantatas and symphonies. The music he wrote was never printed in his lifetime, and he's largely forgotten today, though at the time he was highly regarded by his contemporaries. Johann Sebastian Bach actually made copies of some of his manuscripts to preserve and study them.
His most popular youtube offering is his trumpet concerto, below, which seems to show up on any anthology of trumpet music produced. There was a great album from 2013, Overtures in G Minor, D Minor and G Major, with Paul Dombrecht on oboe, that was all Fasch. Incidentally, this group is becoming a favorite of mine for all their early music recordings.
https://play.spotify.com/album/3zXQXQSItExg1zVVydwfW4
He also appears with one of my other favorites, Telemann, in a lot of Baroque anthologies.
Like the Bach's he gave birth to a musical son, Carl Friedrich Christian who was born when his dad was almost 50, and founded the Sing-Akademie zu Berlin, which still exists today as a musical society (which Mendelssohn apparently wanted to become the director of in later years).
So the next time you're at a dinner party and some classical music snob is going on about the talent of the Bach family, you can come right back at them with the talent of the usually-overlooked Fasch's.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Stupid movies and chastity belts
In the evenings after Hannah goes to sleep, J and I have half an hour of "us" time. Mostly we play Diablo together, but the past few days we've been watching Robin Hood: Men in Tights in installments. Suddenly it's 1993, and there are references to Arsenio Hall which I actually understand. And Carey Elwes is still hot. The movie is a parody of the Kevin Costner movie Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves, and is silly and goofy and pretty stupid much of the time, but has some hilarity that is worth sitting through the stupid.
One of the things that I'd forgotten about the movie is that Marian has a chastity belt. I got to wondering whether these things were actually real or not. I've never read anything about them. Turns out that not only are they real, and they were used during the Renaissance (so, unsurprisingly, this movie is off with its timeline as it's based in the medieval period) but they are still used today (largely in the bondage scene, but still).
At the time, they were ostensibly used to prevent rape. But they also made it difficult for women to do anything without getting the key from her patriarch. Catherine de Medici is supposed to have worn one that was exhibited in Paris. In later years, chastity belts were actually marketed to young women entering the workforce as a way to ensure that they could easily rebuke predatory advances made by their bosses or coworkers.
There are, in fact, still versions of chastity belts being sold to young women. Last year a company called AR Wear (stands for Anti-Rape) had a successful indigogo campaign to create shorts that have a steel plate in them, so that when things turn sour after a night of clubbing, you have some extra protection. They even suggest that parents might want to get them for their daughters. I can just see the look on their faces at Christmas.
I don't know how I feel about this "chastity belt" shorts thing. On one hand, I have a daughter who will someday grow up into a young woman, and I know the statistics. On the other hand, I am going to enroll my daughter in martial arts classes when she is old enough, and teach her how to defend and empower herself without needing to wear steel shorts, which seem like unnecessary weight and discomfort, and a bitch to launder. It's like the whole thing where if we stop traveling and stop going places, then the terrorists win. It seems like, if you need to wear steel shorts to go out, then the rapists win. At the same time, there is something to be said for protecting yourself in advance, and not, you know, going to, say, Iran wearing a USA flag shirt, and talking crap about Islam.
So I have managed to turn a stupid Mel Brooks movie into thoughts about feminism and the history of the chastity belt. Because I'm a nerd like that.
One of the things that I'd forgotten about the movie is that Marian has a chastity belt. I got to wondering whether these things were actually real or not. I've never read anything about them. Turns out that not only are they real, and they were used during the Renaissance (so, unsurprisingly, this movie is off with its timeline as it's based in the medieval period) but they are still used today (largely in the bondage scene, but still).
At the time, they were ostensibly used to prevent rape. But they also made it difficult for women to do anything without getting the key from her patriarch. Catherine de Medici is supposed to have worn one that was exhibited in Paris. In later years, chastity belts were actually marketed to young women entering the workforce as a way to ensure that they could easily rebuke predatory advances made by their bosses or coworkers.
There are, in fact, still versions of chastity belts being sold to young women. Last year a company called AR Wear (stands for Anti-Rape) had a successful indigogo campaign to create shorts that have a steel plate in them, so that when things turn sour after a night of clubbing, you have some extra protection. They even suggest that parents might want to get them for their daughters. I can just see the look on their faces at Christmas.
I don't know how I feel about this "chastity belt" shorts thing. On one hand, I have a daughter who will someday grow up into a young woman, and I know the statistics. On the other hand, I am going to enroll my daughter in martial arts classes when she is old enough, and teach her how to defend and empower herself without needing to wear steel shorts, which seem like unnecessary weight and discomfort, and a bitch to launder. It's like the whole thing where if we stop traveling and stop going places, then the terrorists win. It seems like, if you need to wear steel shorts to go out, then the rapists win. At the same time, there is something to be said for protecting yourself in advance, and not, you know, going to, say, Iran wearing a USA flag shirt, and talking crap about Islam.
So I have managed to turn a stupid Mel Brooks movie into thoughts about feminism and the history of the chastity belt. Because I'm a nerd like that.
Monday, July 7, 2014
Favorite Places in England: Golden Cap, Dorset
I regularly read Dorset Life on my ipad. It's a local magazine all about Dorset, which I first picked up on a trip to Bournemouth a few years ago. Completely opposite to men who read Playboy "for the articles," I freely admit to reading Dorset Life for the pictures.
In each issue they have a Dorset walk, and some history, and some other fun features. Right now, they're doing a feature looking at "Dorset's Jurassic Coast - Bexington to Lyme Regis" and a highlight is the Golden Cap. Incidentally, the Jurassic Coast exposes a continuous sequence of Jurassic, Triassic, and Cretaceous rocks, spanning 185 million years of history.
It's the highest piece of coastline on the south coast (626 feet high), and offers views for miles, which would have been important around 1000 years ago. The first Viking raid on England (which wasn't really England then, since it was a collection of kingdoms like Mercia, Wessex, etc) was in the 8th century on the Dorset coast, so they probably would have used the high point to watch for Vikings coming across the "narrow seas."
If you head down the western slope, there's a stream called St. Gabriel's Water, and a little upstream are the ruins of the 13th century St. Gabriel's church. The water goes back into the sea at a secluded beach that was used by smugglers for centuries to bring in contraband goods.
Completely unrelated, other than the viking connection to Dorset, apparently Viking warriors used to file their teeth. To look tough. Or have dental bling. According to skeletons found in a Dorset grave, these guys filed their teeth to have horizontal marks, possibly to scare their enemies. It just sounds painful to me.

It's the highest piece of coastline on the south coast (626 feet high), and offers views for miles, which would have been important around 1000 years ago. The first Viking raid on England (which wasn't really England then, since it was a collection of kingdoms like Mercia, Wessex, etc) was in the 8th century on the Dorset coast, so they probably would have used the high point to watch for Vikings coming across the "narrow seas."
If you head down the western slope, there's a stream called St. Gabriel's Water, and a little upstream are the ruins of the 13th century St. Gabriel's church. The water goes back into the sea at a secluded beach that was used by smugglers for centuries to bring in contraband goods.
Completely unrelated, other than the viking connection to Dorset, apparently Viking warriors used to file their teeth. To look tough. Or have dental bling. According to skeletons found in a Dorset grave, these guys filed their teeth to have horizontal marks, possibly to scare their enemies. It just sounds painful to me.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Random July 4 Fun Facts
So of course this weekend Americans are celebrating our freedom, our independence, our right to eat burgers and hot dogs and march in parades and buy new stuff at the 4th of July sales. But here are some fun facts about the July 4th holiday that I learned while reading the Bill Bryson book, Made in America (I adore Bill Bryson, for the record, and actually still have a letter he wrote to me in response to a letter I wrote to him, around 2001).
First off, the first draft of the Declaration of Independence was submitted to the Continental Congress on June 28, and they fiddled with it for a few days making some changes that Jefferson didn't really much like. They finally voted on the idea of Independence on July 2, and that's the date that most people thought would be celebrated in the future.

Interestingly, most colonies early on didn't particularly want to rebel or form a "more perfect union," but rather wanted to get more rights and have their grievances addressed by the King. It was Thomas Paine who wrote Common Sense in 1776 and got people fired up over independence. John Adams said that without it, the "sword of Washington would have been raised in vain." Paine made a habit of inciting revolutions, as he moved to France and wrote Rights of Man in 1791, which had the distinction of also fomenting the proletariat, and then getting him thrown into jail by Robespierre.
Jefferson had to take out some stuff about slavery because the Southern representatives were pissed off about it. An original draft read, "he has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life & liberty in the persons of a distant people, who never offended him, captivating & carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither."
Jefferson was guilty of plagiarism, probably. But it's ok. Everyone copied stuff back then. George Mason was a representative to the Virginia convention in 1776, and in June he published The Rights of Man, which starts off, "THAT all men are by nature equally free and independent, and have certain inherent rights, of which, when they enter into a state of society, they cannot, by any compact, deprive or divest their posterity; namely, the enjoyment of life and liberty, with the means of acquiring and possessing property, and pursuing and obtaining happiness and safety."
Richard Stockton, a lawyer from Princeton, recanted a year after signing the Declaration of Independence. He was captured by the British, thrown in jail, and wound up recanting and swearing an oath of allegiance to King George.
Random weirdness - both Jefferson and Adams died on July 4, 1826, exactly 50 years after the Declaration was adopted. That's spooky.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Old Music Friday
I wish I could say that when I'm in the car I only ever listen to Sirius channel 76 - Symphony Hall - and never ever listened to Hits 1 with Nicole and the Morning Mashup (and I wish I could say that I didn't know that Nicole just had a baby, or that I was more familiar with the saga in the Ukraine than with Sypder Harrison's voice...).
But I digress...
Anyway, a few days ago I was sitting on the 210 freeway, and switched over to Symphony Hall where they were doing their regular Baroque show, and I was happy to hear music by two baroque English composers I hadn't known before.
Matthew Locke (https://play.spotify.com/search/matthew%20locke) was born around 1621 and trained in the choir of Exeter Cathedral under the direction of Edward Gibbons (brother to Orlando, one of the Renaissance Grandaddies). He was buddies with Orlando's son, Christopher, and partnered with him to write the score to Cupid and Death, a masque by James Shirley, and their score is the only surviving soundtrack for a dramatic work from that era. In 1673 he published a treatise on music theory, Melothesia, and in the introduction he was credited as being the "Composer in Ordinary to His Majesty, and organist of her Majesty's chapel" He was also Composer of Wind Music and Composer for Violins (he was succeeded in office by Purcell).
Christopher Simpson (https://play.spotify.com/search/christopher%20simpson) was born around 1602 in Yorkshire, and was the son of a Catholic theater manager. He fought in the English Civil War on the Royalist side, and then became a music tutor.
He's most famous for his music for viols, having written several books on how to play, and all his surviving works are for the viol or a viol ensemble. The viol or viola da gamba looked like a modern day cello, but had six strings rather than four, was tuned in fourths with a third in the middle like a lute, rather than in fifths, had frets, and several other differences)
Both of these composers are going into heavy rotation on Spotify for me.
But I digress...
Anyway, a few days ago I was sitting on the 210 freeway, and switched over to Symphony Hall where they were doing their regular Baroque show, and I was happy to hear music by two baroque English composers I hadn't known before.
Matthew Locke (https://play.spotify.com/search/matthew%20locke) was born around 1621 and trained in the choir of Exeter Cathedral under the direction of Edward Gibbons (brother to Orlando, one of the Renaissance Grandaddies). He was buddies with Orlando's son, Christopher, and partnered with him to write the score to Cupid and Death, a masque by James Shirley, and their score is the only surviving soundtrack for a dramatic work from that era. In 1673 he published a treatise on music theory, Melothesia, and in the introduction he was credited as being the "Composer in Ordinary to His Majesty, and organist of her Majesty's chapel" He was also Composer of Wind Music and Composer for Violins (he was succeeded in office by Purcell).
Christopher Simpson (https://play.spotify.com/search/christopher%20simpson) was born around 1602 in Yorkshire, and was the son of a Catholic theater manager. He fought in the English Civil War on the Royalist side, and then became a music tutor.
He's most famous for his music for viols, having written several books on how to play, and all his surviving works are for the viol or a viol ensemble. The viol or viola da gamba looked like a modern day cello, but had six strings rather than four, was tuned in fourths with a third in the middle like a lute, rather than in fifths, had frets, and several other differences)
Both of these composers are going into heavy rotation on Spotify for me.
Monday, April 7, 2014
To the Faire
Yesterday Mommy Daughter Culture Day turned into Family Culture Day when Dad tagged along and we all went to the Renaissance Pleasure Faire in Irwindale.
Ok, let me say this to start with:
Going to a Renaissance Faire, seeing Queen Elizabeth traipsing around in her finery, and the knights in their armor, in the middle of the desert when it's 90 degrees and the sun is beating down on you - well, it's just weird (even if it is the oldest one in the country)
But Renaissance Faire's are, by their very nature, weird.
You get a bunch of creative types together, who are all geeky into various things that could be cataloged in the "Renaissance" drawer, throw some modern-bawdy-Shakespeare into the mix, and make someone Queen Elizabeth, and you've got a recipe for weirdness.
I spent the day being snarky and pointing out that dressing in RPG video game types of costumes wasn't Renaissance. Someone was playing a harpsichord, and I had to point out that it wasn't actually invented in the Renaissance.
It seems kind of like the Renaissance Faire is a summer stand in for Halloween. You dress up like a freak, you act goofy, and it's not supposed to actually be authentic.
But I'm a stickler for authenticity. Which means that, as much as I love it, I will never actually be at home in a Renaissance Faire. I pick on the accents (why is a Lady in Waiting speaking like she's from Truro? Surely she would have lost that by now). I pick on the clothes (I see zippers!). I pick on the music (trying to Celtic-ize pop music and call it "Renaissance" does not work for me).
So why do I even go?
Maybe I wish I could be that carefree. That blatantly disregarding of rules. And just have that much fun without caring that I'm wearing zippers. I mean, who cares, right? Do I want Hannah to grow up being so rigid? I hope I can let some of the German-ness out of me. Going to Renaissance Faire's are a good practice for that.
Ok, let me say this to start with:
Going to a Renaissance Faire, seeing Queen Elizabeth traipsing around in her finery, and the knights in their armor, in the middle of the desert when it's 90 degrees and the sun is beating down on you - well, it's just weird (even if it is the oldest one in the country)
But Renaissance Faire's are, by their very nature, weird.
You get a bunch of creative types together, who are all geeky into various things that could be cataloged in the "Renaissance" drawer, throw some modern-bawdy-Shakespeare into the mix, and make someone Queen Elizabeth, and you've got a recipe for weirdness.
I spent the day being snarky and pointing out that dressing in RPG video game types of costumes wasn't Renaissance. Someone was playing a harpsichord, and I had to point out that it wasn't actually invented in the Renaissance.
It seems kind of like the Renaissance Faire is a summer stand in for Halloween. You dress up like a freak, you act goofy, and it's not supposed to actually be authentic.
But I'm a stickler for authenticity. Which means that, as much as I love it, I will never actually be at home in a Renaissance Faire. I pick on the accents (why is a Lady in Waiting speaking like she's from Truro? Surely she would have lost that by now). I pick on the clothes (I see zippers!). I pick on the music (trying to Celtic-ize pop music and call it "Renaissance" does not work for me).
So why do I even go?
Maybe I wish I could be that carefree. That blatantly disregarding of rules. And just have that much fun without caring that I'm wearing zippers. I mean, who cares, right? Do I want Hannah to grow up being so rigid? I hope I can let some of the German-ness out of me. Going to Renaissance Faire's are a good practice for that.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Geeking out on Richard III
I've been watching the Trial of Richard III on youtube - there is no end to the geekiness.
What, you might ask, is the Trial of Richard III?
Let's start at the very beginning...
1480's. Wars of the Roses. Medieval England is in shambles as one family has been tearing itself apart for several decades.
Edward IV is king. When he got married, he made a love match with a commoner, Elizabeth Woodville. Kind of a big deal at the time. Lots of people thought she bewitched him. He died suddenly leaving two small sons, neither of whom were old enough to rule on their own. Edward had a brother, Richard. Richard wants to become king. So Richard takes both boys and puts them in the Tower of London, for their "protection". He says he's going to prepare them for their coronation, but really he's plotting to take the throne. Which he accomplishes by saying that Edward had a precontract before he married Elizabeth (he gets a bishop to agree to this). Therefore his marriage with Elizabeth would be invalid, and the children would be illegitimate.
Ergo, Richard would be king.
He has Parliament agree to it, and he gets himself crowned, and it's all good.
Except for the princes in the tower. Witnesses say that they saw them playing in the courtyard for several months, but then there was a raid trying to rescue them. They were moved deeper into the Tower, and not allowed to play outside any longer. Eventually no one saw them at all, and they were presumed dead.
So the obvious choice is Richard, right? In the late 17th century bones were found under a stairwell which match the size of the princes, and so everyone assumed that he had murdered his nephews, and that was that.
But it wasn't that simple. There were a lot of people who had something to gain by the two princes dying. Edward IV had another brother, the Duke of Clarence, who had a son. He would have benefited. Margaret Beaufort, the mother of the eventual Henry VII definitely benefited.
The bodies were never found, and one would assume that they would have been paraded around to show that they had died, especially to snuff out pretenders (there were several during the reign of Henry VII who said they were the younger prince who escaped from the tower - in the absence of DNA evidence there wasn't really any way to prove it either way).
Elizabeth Woodville even reconciled with Richard III, and there was talk that her oldest daughter Elizabeth of York would marry him (she eventually married Henry VII). She asked another son who was with Henry in exile to come home to the court of Richard. Would she have done that when she suspected Richard of killing her two sons?
So yeah, there's a lot of weird evidence both ways, and not a lot of answers.
So in the 1980's Channel 4 in the UK had a trial of Richard, where they had historians argue it out in a courtroom with a jury and lawyers.
I won't tell you what the verdict is. But the 22 videos on youtube are pretty compelling. Plus, the 80's hair is awesome.
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLE2FB948FC7CE8C2A
What, you might ask, is the Trial of Richard III?
Let's start at the very beginning...
1480's. Wars of the Roses. Medieval England is in shambles as one family has been tearing itself apart for several decades.
Edward IV is king. When he got married, he made a love match with a commoner, Elizabeth Woodville. Kind of a big deal at the time. Lots of people thought she bewitched him. He died suddenly leaving two small sons, neither of whom were old enough to rule on their own. Edward had a brother, Richard. Richard wants to become king. So Richard takes both boys and puts them in the Tower of London, for their "protection". He says he's going to prepare them for their coronation, but really he's plotting to take the throne. Which he accomplishes by saying that Edward had a precontract before he married Elizabeth (he gets a bishop to agree to this). Therefore his marriage with Elizabeth would be invalid, and the children would be illegitimate.
Ergo, Richard would be king.
He has Parliament agree to it, and he gets himself crowned, and it's all good.
Except for the princes in the tower. Witnesses say that they saw them playing in the courtyard for several months, but then there was a raid trying to rescue them. They were moved deeper into the Tower, and not allowed to play outside any longer. Eventually no one saw them at all, and they were presumed dead.
So the obvious choice is Richard, right? In the late 17th century bones were found under a stairwell which match the size of the princes, and so everyone assumed that he had murdered his nephews, and that was that.
But it wasn't that simple. There were a lot of people who had something to gain by the two princes dying. Edward IV had another brother, the Duke of Clarence, who had a son. He would have benefited. Margaret Beaufort, the mother of the eventual Henry VII definitely benefited.
The bodies were never found, and one would assume that they would have been paraded around to show that they had died, especially to snuff out pretenders (there were several during the reign of Henry VII who said they were the younger prince who escaped from the tower - in the absence of DNA evidence there wasn't really any way to prove it either way).
Elizabeth Woodville even reconciled with Richard III, and there was talk that her oldest daughter Elizabeth of York would marry him (she eventually married Henry VII). She asked another son who was with Henry in exile to come home to the court of Richard. Would she have done that when she suspected Richard of killing her two sons?
So yeah, there's a lot of weird evidence both ways, and not a lot of answers.
So in the 1980's Channel 4 in the UK had a trial of Richard, where they had historians argue it out in a courtroom with a jury and lawyers.
I won't tell you what the verdict is. But the 22 videos on youtube are pretty compelling. Plus, the 80's hair is awesome.
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLE2FB948FC7CE8C2A
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Old Music Tuesday, Lent Edition: Palestrina 3, The Sixteen

Anyway, I digress.
I haven't done much on Old Music lately, and I think a great way to remedy that is with The Sixteen's Palestrina albums. Palestrina is the granddaddy of early music. He got this title by being a prolific composer of amazing liturgical music throughout the 16th century, but it also helped that he lived until he was almost 70.
The Sixteen have several albums of Palestrina's music out, and this one is specifically music for Lent and Easter. It opens with an 8 part Stabat Mater, which would have been sung at the beginning of Holy Week. The Stabat Mater is one of the most interesting parts of liturgy for me. It literally translates to the Sorrows of Mary, and depicts Mary's sorrow at watching her son being crucified. The opening words, "Stabat Mater dolorosa" mean the sorrowful mother stood, and it goes on from there, meditating on the pain that Mary felt watching her son on the cross. Sometimes it seems morbid to me to think that most of the Western world (and much of the rest of the world) is based on a religion where the holiest week in the liturgical year starts with a mother watching her son die.

But then I think about these beautiful motets, and about how the greater message is that God understands the suffering of humanity. Until very recently life for most people was hard. Like, "I'm really hungry and who knows whether I'll be able to eat and I've had to go through hard labors four times because there's no such thing as reliable birth control, and I'll probably have to again and chances are if I do, I'll probably die, because women die in childbirth all the freaking time, and probably at least two of my kids won't make it to adulthood anyway, and oh yeah, the plague is coming back, and there's probably going to be another war soon because it's been fifteen years and the king is getting antsy, so, you know, that will f*ck up my life to no end, but there's nothing I can do about it, and my clothes are so freaking itchy because they're just homespun and feel like sandpaper, and yeah, have I mentioned that I'm hungry," kind of hard.
Of course I'm sure most people didn't really think about it. Just like I'm sure that in five hundred years people will talk about how hard life in the 21st century was, when people had to cook their food, or diet to lose weight, or go to Target to go shopping, or something. It's how life was, you didn't know any different, you didn't know it was even possible for clothes to not itch, and so you just went on about your business, burying your children and grieving for those who died in the plague as best you could, and knowing that your time was probably going to come sooner rather than later, and scratching your back a lot.
![]() |
Denise Poncher Before a Vision of Death |
These kinds of motets, like the Stabat Mater, were part of that meditation, showing that God knew and understood our pain, and that even the Holy Saints and the mother of Christ knew what it meant to watch a child die.
They are incredibly moving to listen to with that context, and especially then followed up by the music from the rest of Holy Week, which celebrates the Resurrection, and reminds people that there is salvation available and an eternity of goodness, where the plague and medieval warfare can't touch them.
Additionally, by the time Palestrina was writing, there was another force at play in the Catholic church - the Counter Reformation. The Reformation started when Martin Luther famously nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the All Saint's Church in Wittenberg in 1517. At first Rome was like, "yeah, whatevs; so some guy in Germany has a stick up his ass. We're Rome, we don't care." But then England got in on it, and so did most of Northern Europe, and before you know it the Pope is feeling just a tad bit threatened.
And thus comes along the Counter Reformation, the Council of Trent, and the re-branding of the Catholic church as a little less into usury, bribery, and canoodling with one's daughters (along with a giant FU to the reformers through a not-so-nice Inquisition). Thanks in part to the long-living Palestrina, the Roman church was able to do all this with a great soundtrack.
It's good music to listen to while going through my own trials and tribulations in this sick-house (though I have NyQuil, and our colds aren't life threatening!).
Spotify Link:
The Sixteen – Palestrina Volume 3
Amazon Link:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ABQM4PW?ie=UTF8&tag=wfipubradfroi-20
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Random bits of History Goodness: The Crystal Palace
I first heard the words Crystal Palace used together in a sentence when my voice teacher lived at the Crystal Palace train stop in south London. Yes, I spent a year singing alto musical pieces in a flat in south London once a week. I can murder the female part of Children of Eden's In Whatever Time We Have, but that's a different story.
Anyway, my voice teacher - I think his name was Martin, but I forget. For the sake of memory, we'll just refer to him as Martin from here on out - he lived by Crystal Palace, so I heard the stop called out every week, not knowing much about what it was, other than that it was also a football club.
Then I listened to Bill Bryson's wonderful book At Home, a History of Private Life on a road trip to Sacramento, and in his marvelous way, Bryson managed to give a history of the home tying together tea kettles to salt to Ikea to Crystal Palace.
In 1851 there was a Great Exhibition in London where Prince Albert decided it would be a good idea to have a showcase of all the new and wonderful inventions and industrial achievements of the modern world. Lots of countries, including France, the US, and Egypt attended with over 14,000 exhibits in four categories: Raw Materials, Fine Arts, Machinery and Manufacturers.
Sir Joseph Paxton, an architect and Member of Parliament designed the glass palace, which was possible by recent advances in the technology of both cast iron and glass (cast plate glass invented in 1848, which allowed for cheap and strong large plates of glass) as well as a drop in the tax on glass, which made it cheaper. He decided to have an entire palace made only of glass, including the ceiling, and worked the geometry around it. The plates of glass measured 10 inches wide by 49 inches long, and it took millions of plates to build the entire building, which was 1851 feet long, 408 feet wide, and 128 feet high.

It would have been pretty amazing to look at, and Paxton was knighted by Queen Victoria for his efforts.
After the Exhibition, the Palace was moved at a cost of almost ten times the initial cost to build it. A consortium of businessmen thought it would be an attraction for people to come visit, and they turned it into the world's first theme park with roller coasters, cricket matches, and even 20 FA Cup finals between 1895 and 1914. Part of the grounds included a Dinosaur Park, with models of dinosaurs, before any full fossils of complete dinosaurs were even discovered, though they were amazingly accurate for being mostly guesses.

In November 1936 the whole thing caught fire and collapsed after a small office fire expanded and 400 firemen and 89 engines couldn't put it out. The glow was visible from 8 counties, and Winston Churchill declared that it was "the end of an age."
Nowdays, Crystal Palace is a premiership football club, and I have no idea how they're doing because I only pay attention to Tottenham now, who are apparently just out of the Champion's League thanks to their recent loss to Chelsea. Don't rely on me for any other in depth football analysis. But you can watch this cool video with images of the Crystal Palace if you want to see more.
)
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Before #Occupy: Coxey's Army
Here's a fun fact: Over 100 years before the #Occupy movement, there was Coxey's Army, a protest march from Ohio to Washington in 1894, the second year of a depression that, up until that point, was the worst the country had ever seen (up to 25% unemployment in cities).
I am interested in Coxey's Army for a few reasons. First, it was one of the earliest organized labor protests during the Gilded Age, as people were starting to realize that having lots of manufacturing wasn't any good if your workers were starving. Second, they wanted Washington to help the country out of the depression by starting public works projects. Congress sneered at this at the time - many still believed that unemployment was a sign of disfavor from God, so it would be sinful to mess around with it. Plus, it was an anathema to the prevailing laissez-fair hands-off economic theory. It wasn't until the New Deal Congress in the 1930's, 40 years later, that we saw government take a proactive role in trying to do something about unemployment.
Jacob Coxey was a businessman from Pennsylvania who made money in Ohio and lived a patrician sort of lifestyle breeding horses. Before practical joke names like North West, he even named one of his children Legal Tender. But eventually he became an anti-monopolist, and a politician. He led an "army" of protesters across the Allegheny mountains starting in March 1894, marching to DC, gaining supporters along the way who would bring them food and supplies. The size of the march varied and estimates are between 5,000 and 12,000. Apparently about 2,000 actually got to DC, and just when Coxey was about to start his speech at the Capital building, he was arrested for walking on the grass.
Fifty years later in 1944, Congress gave him the blessing to give his speech. Here's an excerpt:
"The Constitution of the United States guarantees to all citizens the right to peaceably assemble
and petition for redress of grievances, and furthermore declares that the right of free speech shall not be abridged. We stand here today to test these guaranties of our Constitution. We choose this place of assemblage because it is the property of the people. . . Here rather than at any other spot upon the continent it is fitting that we should come to mourn over our dead liberties and by our protest arouse the imperiled nation to such action as shall rescue the Constitution and resurrect our liberties."
Apparently L. Frank Baum was one of the people watching and following the Coxey's Army progression, and many people think that there are political echoes of it in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz as Dorothy, the Scarecrow (American farmer), Tin Man (industrial worker) and Cowardly Lion (William Jennings Bryan) marched to the Emerald City (the Capital) demanding relief from the Wizard (the President).
Coxey's Army is often brought up in the same breath as the Pullman Strike where the workers of the Pullman Palace Car Company (sleeper railway cars) went on strike in 1894. Pullman was one of the first Company Towns, and during the 1893 depression he lowered wages for workers while keeping rents steady and also increasing dividends paid to investors. There were riots and 50,000 striking railway workers, with Grover Cleveland eventually stepping in to break up the strike.
Here's a documentary put together by the Massillon Museum in Ohio and available on youtube.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Cool Women in History: Nellie Taft
I've been reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's The Bully Pulpit: Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Golden Age of Journalism about, well, Roosevelt, Taft, and journalists (as the name would so cleverly imply). Doris Kearns Goodwin was actually my university's commencement speaker the year I graduated, though I don't really remember much about it except for how hot it was.
Anyway, I've been interested in TR for a while after reading about his time as the police commissioner of NYC in Richard Zachs' Island of Vice. He was a Victorian in every sense of the world; upset with himself because he married again after his first wife died, for example, and trying to get rid of the brothels and saloons with the vigor and energy that only a Victorian mixed with a Puritan could muster.
But I do like his brand of Republicanism. If he was running today, I'd totally vote for him. Conserve the resources. Get rid of sweatshops. Balance corporate freedom with humanity and responsibility.
Anyway.
So one of the things I'm loving about this book is learning about the inestimable Helen Herron (Nellie) Taft, wife to William Howard Taft (President after Roosevelt and famous for not a lot except being really fat and possibly getting stuck in a bathtub) (though it didn't actually happen).
Nellie was a badass.
She grew up in Cincinnati Ohio, and her parents were upper-middle-class-trying-to-be-upper-class. She grew up around great wealth, but her father struggled to pay for his sons to go to college, and when it came to be her turn, he said they couldn't afford it, despite her desperate pleas.
The idea of finding a husband and settling down didn't appeal to her. She had been to the White House with her father, a law partner of Rutheford B. Hayes once for an official dinner, and she had decided that she was much more suited to living an exciting life with lots of intellectual challenges than simply being a nice wifey.
She was musical, and practiced the piano 5 hours a day, eventually going to a music college and then she taught at a boys school, much to the chagrin of her mother, who thought it would ruin her socially. It had the opposite effect though, making her a person of interest to all her friends.
She started a literacy Salon where each week she would meet with some friends, and they would talk about books. The young, jovial, recently-back-in-Cincinnati-after-graduating-from-Yale lawyer Will Taft came to one of her Salons, and the two became good friends. It wasn't love at first sight, but rather a growing friendship where they discussed ideas, and Will enjoyed being challenged by her. Eventually he realized that he was in love with her and proposed, which she declined at first. Taft wasn't one to give in easily, and he eventually persuaded her that he would be supportive of her intellectual interests, and not force her into some old fashioned stereotypical role of what a wife should be. She obviously was persuaded, and agreed to an engagement.
When first engaged to Will, he wrote her a letter in which he wondered whether they would ever be in Washington in any official capacity, and then remembered that of course they would - when she became Secretary of the Treasury.
Nellie was the chief driving force behind Will Taft's political rise; she was his campaign strategist and manager, and pushed him further than he ever would have wanted to go on his own. If she had lived today, she probably would be the one running for President.
Sadly her tenure as First Lady was disappointing to her, as she had a stroke in 1909 and was paralyzed on one side. She eventually regained some of her capacity for speech and handled some of her duties again, but she would never be the same.
Her enduring legacy is something that makes Washington famous now - the 3000 cherry trees she planted as First Lady, which blossom every year and are the focus of a huge festival.
Anyway, I've been interested in TR for a while after reading about his time as the police commissioner of NYC in Richard Zachs' Island of Vice. He was a Victorian in every sense of the world; upset with himself because he married again after his first wife died, for example, and trying to get rid of the brothels and saloons with the vigor and energy that only a Victorian mixed with a Puritan could muster.
But I do like his brand of Republicanism. If he was running today, I'd totally vote for him. Conserve the resources. Get rid of sweatshops. Balance corporate freedom with humanity and responsibility.
Anyway.
So one of the things I'm loving about this book is learning about the inestimable Helen Herron (Nellie) Taft, wife to William Howard Taft (President after Roosevelt and famous for not a lot except being really fat and possibly getting stuck in a bathtub) (though it didn't actually happen).
Nellie was a badass.
She grew up in Cincinnati Ohio, and her parents were upper-middle-class-trying-to-be-upper-class. She grew up around great wealth, but her father struggled to pay for his sons to go to college, and when it came to be her turn, he said they couldn't afford it, despite her desperate pleas.
The idea of finding a husband and settling down didn't appeal to her. She had been to the White House with her father, a law partner of Rutheford B. Hayes once for an official dinner, and she had decided that she was much more suited to living an exciting life with lots of intellectual challenges than simply being a nice wifey.
She was musical, and practiced the piano 5 hours a day, eventually going to a music college and then she taught at a boys school, much to the chagrin of her mother, who thought it would ruin her socially. It had the opposite effect though, making her a person of interest to all her friends.
She started a literacy Salon where each week she would meet with some friends, and they would talk about books. The young, jovial, recently-back-in-Cincinnati-after-graduating-from-Yale lawyer Will Taft came to one of her Salons, and the two became good friends. It wasn't love at first sight, but rather a growing friendship where they discussed ideas, and Will enjoyed being challenged by her. Eventually he realized that he was in love with her and proposed, which she declined at first. Taft wasn't one to give in easily, and he eventually persuaded her that he would be supportive of her intellectual interests, and not force her into some old fashioned stereotypical role of what a wife should be. She obviously was persuaded, and agreed to an engagement.
When first engaged to Will, he wrote her a letter in which he wondered whether they would ever be in Washington in any official capacity, and then remembered that of course they would - when she became Secretary of the Treasury.
Nellie was the chief driving force behind Will Taft's political rise; she was his campaign strategist and manager, and pushed him further than he ever would have wanted to go on his own. If she had lived today, she probably would be the one running for President.
Sadly her tenure as First Lady was disappointing to her, as she had a stroke in 1909 and was paralyzed on one side. She eventually regained some of her capacity for speech and handled some of her duties again, but she would never be the same.
Her enduring legacy is something that makes Washington famous now - the 3000 cherry trees she planted as First Lady, which blossom every year and are the focus of a huge festival.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
The Week in Books
Shakelton wanted to be the first person to discover the South Pole. Another explorer took that honor from him, and so he decided to do something even more daring - be the first person to cross the entire Antarctic continent. He raised money, got a crew, made a boat (named the Endurance) and takes off the same year WWI starts.
They leave South America in November, and head off. The plan was that another boat would go around the other side of the continent and head inland, leaving supplies for them, so that once they got halfway, there would be rations, etc., for the rest of the journey. The boat is loaded with sled dogs, supplies, etc.
Not very long into it, they find themselves stuck in ice, in the Weddell Sea, the sea east of the peninsula that sticks up. It's frustrating because they can see open ocean far up ahead, but they can't get to it because they're frozen.
They hang out on the boat for almost a year hoping for the ice to melt so they can be on their merry way, but then the ice starts to move and the pressure starts to crush the boat. So off the boat they go, and make camp on the ice floes. They're totally at the mercy of the winds and currents. They try to cross the floes to land, but it's too hard. The ice is too uneven, they wind up making only a mile or two per day, and they're hundreds of miles from land. They take what supplies they can from the boat before it sinks, and they hope that the floe moves in the right direction. Oh, and no one is going to rescue them because they have no radio, no way to send messages, and no one knows the exact route they were taking.
They stay in that camp for several months, and they realize that they need to get off and try to make for land. They get stuck after only something like 20 miles, and so they make camp on another ice floe, where they're at for another several months. Camping on the frozen open sea in the Antarctic. Not particularly a good time. They're cold, they're hungry, they're sick of seal meat, and they can't seem to get dry.
And then shit gets really bad.
Their floe starts melting, and they need to take to the life boats. In the antarctic. And not get swept out to sea. And not starve to death. And not freeze to death in their tiny boats where they get soaked regularly.
I won't say any more because I don't want to give the story away if you don't know it, but there are tons of documentaries on youtube if you're interested in knowing what happens next and don't want to read the book (though you should totally read the book). I'm embedding part one of a good one below. You can follow the links on youtube to the subsequent parts. They had a photographer and movie camera with them, and a lot of the film survived, so we can get a good picture of what life was like for them.
I had a hard time having much sympathy for the Russian research ship after having just finished Shakelton's story. They were tweeting while Shakelton's men were killing sea leopards with ice spears.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Old Music Sunday
One of my favorite early music groups is Stile Antico, a polyphonic vocal ensemble founded in 2001. They have a new album out, The Phoenix Rising, which is getting a lot of regular rotation on Spotify lately. The first song on the album is Byrd's Ave Verum Corpus, which is one of the first pieces of Renaissance music that ever called to me, and is a big part of the reason why I love early music so much.
William Byrd was a composer living during Elizabethan England. He was a Catholic composer, living under a Protestant Queen. And it wasn't just that. It was that for the past 50 years, England had been schizophrenic with regards to religion. Henry VIII, Elizabeth's father, was awarded the title Defender of the Faith from the Pope for a treatise he wrote bashing Martin Luther, just a few years before he decided that the Pope was a waste of time, and he was going to take some of these new Protestant ideas to justify himself being the head of the Church in England and get himself a quickie divorce. But Henry didn't completely embrace Protestantism. He just wanted to be the head of the Church. Protestants (heretics) were still regularly tortured and burned.
His son, Edward, was a child when he was crowned, and so relied heavily on his advisers, who were largely Protestant. So England officially becomes Protestant, and the Catholics go underground. The Protestants have a party, and there is much rejoicing (to quote Monty Python).
Then Edward dies. Next up to bat comes Mary I. Aka Bloody Mary. Her mother was Katherine of Aragon, Henry's first wife, who was a devout Catholic. She's got a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas on behalf of her mother. So guess who's not rejoicing anymore? That's right, the Protestants. They take the place of the Catholics, who had been underground, and go underground themselves. Maybe they just swap houses. Who knows. Anyway, now the Catholics are doing the rejoicing.
Then, a few years later, Mary dies. Oops. Elizabeth, Anne Boleyn's daughter (the second wife, for whom Henry excommunicated himself in the first place), comes up to the plate. Pretty much by this point she's just pissed off at religion in general. She makes a big deal about not putting windows into men's souls, yada yada. But guess who rises in her court? The Protestants. Guess who ain't so popular? The Catholics. Within a lifetime, a Catholic could have gone from being the only religion around (universal - catholic with a small c), to kinda hiding, to seriously hiding, to coming back out, and then having to go back into hiding.
So, that leads us to Byrd.
Byrd was a Catholic. The Ave Verum Corpus is a Eucharistic hymn that translates to "Hail true Body" and starting in the middle ages was sung when the host was elevated (representing the true body of Christ descending to the bread).
A big debate in Renaissance England was whether the Communion bread actually seriously turned into Jesus, or whether it was representative. People died because they believed that the bread really was Jesus. Or wasn't. Lots of people. Burned. Fire creeping up piles straw to where they were bound to a pole, and biting at their feet while smoke swirled around them, slowly scorching their skin until eventually the pain got to be too much to bear and they would mercifully pass out (unless they were lucky enough to have a friend who could provide them a little bit of gunpowder, so they would go faster).
Because they believed the bread turned into Jesus. Or didn't.
So to write a piece about the True Body of Christ during this clusterf*ck of a period was taking a risk. And it doesn't take a lot of imagination to hear the longing, the yearning, the prayer for humanity to chill out about what people believe one way or the other.
Take a listen: (This isn't Stile Antico - I think it's the Tallis Scholars)
Hear it? This is more than a Eucharistic prayer. This is more than the words - O sweet Jesus, O pious Jesus, O Jesus son of Mary, have mercy on me. This is a prayer for Jesus to have mercy on all of us, for what we do to each other in His name. It's just as relevant now as it was then. It's the most longing musical prayer to God that I've ever heard, and even now, after listening to it for 20 years, it still speaks to me.
Now, back to Stile Antico. They're awesome. See their NPR Tiny Desk Concert below, which is also Byrd, but much more happy music.
If you're into this stuff, you can't go wrong with their albums.
William Byrd was a composer living during Elizabethan England. He was a Catholic composer, living under a Protestant Queen. And it wasn't just that. It was that for the past 50 years, England had been schizophrenic with regards to religion. Henry VIII, Elizabeth's father, was awarded the title Defender of the Faith from the Pope for a treatise he wrote bashing Martin Luther, just a few years before he decided that the Pope was a waste of time, and he was going to take some of these new Protestant ideas to justify himself being the head of the Church in England and get himself a quickie divorce. But Henry didn't completely embrace Protestantism. He just wanted to be the head of the Church. Protestants (heretics) were still regularly tortured and burned.
His son, Edward, was a child when he was crowned, and so relied heavily on his advisers, who were largely Protestant. So England officially becomes Protestant, and the Catholics go underground. The Protestants have a party, and there is much rejoicing (to quote Monty Python).
Then Edward dies. Next up to bat comes Mary I. Aka Bloody Mary. Her mother was Katherine of Aragon, Henry's first wife, who was a devout Catholic. She's got a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas on behalf of her mother. So guess who's not rejoicing anymore? That's right, the Protestants. They take the place of the Catholics, who had been underground, and go underground themselves. Maybe they just swap houses. Who knows. Anyway, now the Catholics are doing the rejoicing.
Then, a few years later, Mary dies. Oops. Elizabeth, Anne Boleyn's daughter (the second wife, for whom Henry excommunicated himself in the first place), comes up to the plate. Pretty much by this point she's just pissed off at religion in general. She makes a big deal about not putting windows into men's souls, yada yada. But guess who rises in her court? The Protestants. Guess who ain't so popular? The Catholics. Within a lifetime, a Catholic could have gone from being the only religion around (universal - catholic with a small c), to kinda hiding, to seriously hiding, to coming back out, and then having to go back into hiding.
So, that leads us to Byrd.
Byrd was a Catholic. The Ave Verum Corpus is a Eucharistic hymn that translates to "Hail true Body" and starting in the middle ages was sung when the host was elevated (representing the true body of Christ descending to the bread).
A big debate in Renaissance England was whether the Communion bread actually seriously turned into Jesus, or whether it was representative. People died because they believed that the bread really was Jesus. Or wasn't. Lots of people. Burned. Fire creeping up piles straw to where they were bound to a pole, and biting at their feet while smoke swirled around them, slowly scorching their skin until eventually the pain got to be too much to bear and they would mercifully pass out (unless they were lucky enough to have a friend who could provide them a little bit of gunpowder, so they would go faster).
Because they believed the bread turned into Jesus. Or didn't.
So to write a piece about the True Body of Christ during this clusterf*ck of a period was taking a risk. And it doesn't take a lot of imagination to hear the longing, the yearning, the prayer for humanity to chill out about what people believe one way or the other.
Take a listen: (This isn't Stile Antico - I think it's the Tallis Scholars)
Hear it? This is more than a Eucharistic prayer. This is more than the words - O sweet Jesus, O pious Jesus, O Jesus son of Mary, have mercy on me. This is a prayer for Jesus to have mercy on all of us, for what we do to each other in His name. It's just as relevant now as it was then. It's the most longing musical prayer to God that I've ever heard, and even now, after listening to it for 20 years, it still speaks to me.
Now, back to Stile Antico. They're awesome. See their NPR Tiny Desk Concert below, which is also Byrd, but much more happy music.
If you're into this stuff, you can't go wrong with their albums.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Shakespeare's Richard III - aka The Victors Get to Write The Story
Still working on my Shameful Shakespeare Catch-up (shameful because it's shameful that so much of my life has gone by without me reading any Shakespeare at all - it's been since college, which, sadly, was fifteen years ago) and today I read Richard III. I've been so offended with Shakespeare recently, I was thinking I might go for A Midsummer Night's Dream, thinking there would be less to be offended with in that, but I'm due for a history play, and I just watched the documentary on how they found Richard III's skeleton in a car park in Leicester, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.
I expected Tudor propaganda simply because everyone thinks Richard was such a terrible person, and there wasn't any lengthy biography of him written before Shakespeare wrote his play, so that must be where the impression of him came from. I don't blame them; certainly Richard was a ruthless man, and they would have wanted to cement the basis of Henry VII's rule as something guided by God, rather than a lucky Welshman who happened to be able to collect a lot of people who didn't like the unpopular king, and was able to kill him on Bosworth Field.
To understand why the Tudors wanted Henry VII to be seen as the start of this Godly dynasty, you have to go back and have some understanding of the Wars of the Roses. If you really want to get picky about it, you go back to Agincourt, the high point of England's successes in France. Henry V seemed unstoppable in France, and it seemed as if the Norman Conquest of 1066 might finally be avenged 350 years later. Had Henry not died when he did, maybe the French would all be speaking English and would have bad teeth nowdays.
But Henry V died, and his son Henry VI was a minor. He wasn't a strong guy, and he got pulled in lots of directions, depending on who was talking to him at the moment. He wound up losing most of the gains of his father (by the time of the Tudors, 60 years later, all that remained of the great dream of England taking France was Calais, a little fort directly across the English channel).
So Henry VI marries Margaret of Anjou. She's a willful high strung French girl who really doesn't like England, and doesn't care who knows about it. So here's this really powerful woman (who may or may not have had her son via adultery) married to this simpering dolt of an idiot husband who has spells of insanity, is losing land left and right, and is more interested in praying than being a husband to her. She's been Queen Consort since she was 15 years old, she's stuck in a country she hates, and she's rash and takes way too many chances.
Given her husband's incompetence, some people start talking about rebelling. One of those people is Richard, Duke of York. He talks openly. In fact, he has Henry VI declared insane, and he gets himself named the Lord Protector. He even had an agreement drawn up saying that he would become King after Henry VI died. But then he himself died before he had any chance of pressing his case. Interestingly enough, he's the father of Richard III. So, you know, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Ok, so all of this winds up leading to the Wars of the Roses, whereby the House of Lancaster (Margaret of Anjou, Henry VI, their family) fight the house of York (Richard, Duke of York, and his family). There weren't really a lot of battles, most notably Tewkesbury and Barnet, but it did consume people for a generation, and England's economy continued to fail while all the nobles were busy killing each other.
So the Tudors come out of this from left field. Way back when Henry V dies, his widow, Catherine of Valois, marries a squire in her court, Owen Tudor. This is Henry VII's grandfather and the great Queen Elizabeth I's great great grandfather - a squire at court. Catherine and Owen had more children together; half-siblings of the house of Lancaster. Henry VI had them recognized as legitimate as an act of kindness to them, and tried to bring the blended family together. So the Tudors get their royal lineage on their mother's side, and it's fairly tenuous as well, but they start to rise through the ranks of the nobility, and by the time of Richard III, Henry Tudor was seen as a real threat to the Yorkist, and was hiding in the Netherlands or Brittany or somewhere across the Channel.
Richard III was the brother of Edward IV, who was Richard Duke of York's son (and Richard III's brother). He wound up winning the title of King by fighting for it, and had the Lord Mayor of London proclaim him King while Henry VI was far away from the city. The whole thing was really messy.
Edward dies suddenly in 1483 and all hell breaks loose. His children are still minors, and his brother, the future Richard III, is supposed to protect them until they reach the age of majority. Instead, they disappear and Richard becomes King. Yeah, he probably murdered them. It was so much more convenient than simply asking them nicely to step aside.
Richard III becomes King, no one really bats too many eyelashes at the missing Princes (except for their mother, of course), and life seems to go on as normal. But then in 1485, Henry Tudor, not content to let Richard pull this charade, decides that he's going to be King, and he sails from wherever it was he was hiding (Brittany, France, Luxembourg, somewhere) with an army he raised, and he lands in Wales, gathering support as he moves through the countryside. A bunch of Richard's allies, fed up with his hubris, and smart enough to see which way the wind is blowing, switch sides.
Henry beats Richard at the Battle of Bosworth Field, and declares himself King. He marries a Yorkist woman to unite the two rival houses, and he really wants to reign peacefully for a long time. Unfortunately his first son Arthur dies as a teenager (he was named Arthur after the great legendary King, and it shows how much Henry hoped to start a new golden age) and his younger brother Henry, who'd been studying with monks up until now, suddenly has to be groomed to be King.
And then of course Henry the Younger has lots of marriage problems that go on for decades, and each of his three children take turns with the throne, young Edward a disaster, Mary I an even bigger disaster, and then Elizabeth, who refused to marry because she probably had some pretty deep psychological trust issues given her history. So she never had an heir, and never named one.
All in all, when Richard III was written, just after the trouncing of the Spanish Armada, things were looking pretty good for Elizabeth, and the Tudor story. But everyone also knew that the Tudors were probably going to end with Elizabeth, since she had no children. So they wanted to showcase just how awesome the Tudors had been, and make a case for their having taken the throne in the first place, so that after Elizabeth, people wouldn't talk shit about the grandchildren of squires being too big for their britches and becoming King illegitimately. Mostly, they also wanted to avoid another Wars of the Roses, and make everyone remember just how awful some of the monarchs were back then, especially the monarchs who were on the other side of the Tudors.
So given that history, I'm not surprised that in his opening monologue, Richard goes on about how disfigured he is (he wasn't too much, really - his skeleton shows he had scoliosis and had some curvature in his spine, but he was still well enough to wear armor, no small feat, and fight in battle) and how he scares dogs and children. He proposes to a woman whose husband he had killed. He does all sorts of nasty things. I'm pretty sure no one who gets to be King is that publicly ruthless before he's King. Maybe after, but not before.
I'm definitely not joining the Richard III society any time soon, and I'm not really a huge Ricardian, but I do see where they're coming from - Richard wasn't any worse than anyone else from the time, and others did the same sorts of things he did.
Not according to Shakespeare, though. But that's why the victors get to write the history books. And the history plays.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)