FinermanWorks

We Americans tend to misuse the word “massacre”.  When five rowdies in Boston get shot by British troops defending themselves, that is remembered as the Boston Massacre.  When seven members of the Moran gang are gunned down by their Capone rivals, that is the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.  Now, really, do seven corpses even add up to a  misdemeanor?  A massacre should amount to a mass of dead.  The St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre certainly meets that standard; in 1572 as many as 30,000 French Protestants discovered the disadvantage of being the chosen elect.  (In fact, the appalling number left the English at a loss for words–so they borrowed one from the French:  massacre.)

But on this day in 1778 there really was a massacre in the Wyoming Valley in northeastern Pennsylvania.  A raiding party of some 600 Tories and Iroquois attacked the settlements there.  The Patriots–as they fancied themselves–(and Rebels by the British definition) had only half of that number in their militia.  But their commander, a Colonel Zebulon Butler, decided to attack.  Frederick the Great would have done the same thing; Napoleon probably would not because at the time he was only nine.  However, both Frederick and a grown-up Napoleon might have used more tactics than just blind audacity.  So Zebulon Butler is not remembered as a military genius.  He was lucky enough to survive the battle and manage to avoid being captured.  About twenty of his men were also that fortunate.

The Tories and the Iroquois did take prisoners; they just didn’t keep them.  The British commander counted 273 scalps, but he did curtail his troops’ tonsorial enthusiasm.  The civilians of the Wyoming Valley were not harmed.   Of course, the late and defoliated milita men had been their husbands and sons; so they were not exactly grateful to the Empire.  The British had gained a minor victory and major notoriety. 

Indeed, the lurid story of the Wyoming Valley Massacre spread well beyond Pennsylvania.  Thomas Campbell, a Scotsman who could empathize with anyone hating the English, wrote an epic poem recounting the life and losses of a witness to the massacre:  “Gertrude of Wyoming”.  Stop laughing.  At the time (1809), that seemed like a serious title. The poem really was very popular.  It must have been a favorite of Ohio Congressman J.M. Ashley; in 1865, he proposed a bill naming a stretch of the Great Plains for a valley in eastern Pennsylvania.  The choice of Wyoming was irrelevant, incongruous and absurd, but it stuck.

Mark Sanford mentions King David as his role model.  To spare him having to associate with a Jew, I recommend these paragons of Victorian hypocrisy. 

Scandal Number One

Charles Parnell (1846-1891), the leader of the Irish representatives in Parliament, was a veritable kingmaker. Shifting his bloc to the Tories or the Liberals, he could determine who would be Prime Minister. However, Parnell was not quite so adroit in his personal affairs. A Captain O’Shea noticed that his wife’s younger children seemed to resemble Mr. Parnell, and the indignant husband began divorce proceedings. Mr. Parnell’s name was conspicuous in the accusations.

A certain Church prominent in Ireland does not approve of divorce. Parnell only outraged the Church further when he married his divorced mistress. From pulpits and in the Irish press, Parnell was condemned. With his status as a pariah, he was abandoned by the Irish members of Parliament. Under the strain, Parnell died soon after of a heart attack.

“The Uncrowned King of Ireland“, Parnell had been a proponent of Home Rule for this country. He alone seemed capable of controlling the sectarian rifts between the Ulster and Catholic Irish members of Parliament. Prime Minister Gladstone needed that solid Irish bloc to support his bill for Irish Home Rule. Without Parnell’s leadership, the Ulster members joined with the Tories and blocked the passage of Home Rule. The best chance for a peaceful integration of Ireland into the United Kingdoms was lost, and the consequence was to be rebellion and civil war.

Parnell might have been consoled to know that he would portrayed by Clark Gable in a Hollywood saga.  Unfortunately, it also was Gable’s worst role.

Scandal Number Two

Sir Charles Dilke (1843-1911) might have been a likely Prime Minister. Unfortunately, the Liberal star in Parliament was accused of being a little too liberal with other men’s wives. Balancing both his wife and his married mistress were not the problem; any Victorian gentleman could manage that. However, Dilke found himself dragged into a divorce court, accused of adultery with his mistress’ married daughter.

That woman further accused Dilke of infecting her with syphilis. Dilke denied any involvement with his mistress’ daughter. The evidence was circumstantial. Both had the disease but not necessarily from each other. Furthermore, she seemed to have had a number of intimate acquaintances.

The Court acquitted Dilke of this particular adultery, but the press and public opinion did not. His prospects for leadership were ruined.

And Dilke’s scandal never even merited a movie.

The death of Gale Storm left many of you wondering, “Who?”  The rest of us were pondering her  degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon.  My wife actually challenged me to make the link, and since it is a recession I have nothing better to do. 

Being an antiquity, I actually remember “The Gale Storm Show” in which she played the social director on a cruise ship.  (The ship apparently had no casino or 24-hour buffet because the passengers’ only entertainment was listening to Miss Storm sing.)  Her costar on the show was Zasu Pitts–who despite looking like a gargoyle’s homely sister–played the ship’s beautician.  Miss Pitts was in silent films, one of which was “The Marriage March” with Erich von Stroiheim.  (He married her for her money, she married him for his title; raw sensuality was not a major factor.)  We know von Stroiheim from “Sunset Boulevard” with William Holden.  Along with 800 other actors, Holden took a paycheck for “The Towering Inferno”.  Robert Wagner was in that, too; he also was one of the few actors who didn’t do a nude scene in “Wild Things”.  And guess who played a crooked detective and one of the love interests for the omnisexual Matt Dillon?  So, Gale Storm–Zasu Pitts–Erich von Stroiheim–William Holden–Robert Wagner–Kevin Bacon:  five degrees.

That is too tenuous.  Most of China’s population is five degrees from Mr. Bacon.  Let’s try again.

I actually saw Gale Storm in a movie, “Tom Brown’s School Days”.  The headmaster of Rugby was played by Sir Cedric Hardwicke.  You will remember him as the likable old pharoah in “The Ten Commandments.”  His unlikable son was played by Yul Brynner.  (The two probably quarreled over accents; Hardwicke believing that Pharoahs should sound British, while Brynner thought they had Russian accents.)  With the aforementioned Russian accent, Mr. Brynner gunned down Eli Wallach in “The Magnificent Seven”.  Mr. Wallach was in “Mystic River”, the only one in the cast who did not try to sound South Boston Irish.  (Even Laurence Fishburne tried.)  And guess who played a crooked detective in that film? 

So:  Gale Storm–Sir Cedric Hardwicke–Yul Brynner–Eli Wallach–Kevin Bacon.

Four degrees–and I quit.

p.s.  And let’s not forget the historic significance of this day.  Lieutenant John Tolkien would have a very exciting summer and, in some way, he would be writing about it for the rest of his life.

http://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2008/07/01/douglas-haigs-stroll-in-the-country/

In honor of the 456th birthday of  Johan Frederick, Elector of Saxony and “Champion of the Reformation”, let’s discuss the man who didn’t kill him. 

Charles V–Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain, Archduke of Austria, Grand Duke of Burgundy and general landlord of Christendom–must have felt very good in 1547. Aside from his damn gout, everything was going his way.   His chronic enemy–Francis I–was preoccupied with dying of syphilis. His greatest threat–the Ottoman Empire–was pinned down in a war with the Persia. (The Turks had seized three of Persia’s western provinces, but discovered that it is easier to invade Mesopotamia than to hold it.) Yes, the Council of Trent was bugging Charles to crush the Protestant heresy–but so what! He had never been particularly fond of Popes and Cardinals; indeed, he had tolerated Luther for being less offensive than the Medici Popes. No, the Church’s most powerful parishioneer would move against the Protestants only when–and if–he was ready; and Charles, having his father’s Flemish temperament rather than his Mother’s Spanish one, first had to be provoked.

But the Protestant princes of Northern Germany were flouting imperial authority. They were confiscating the Church’s property and appointing Protestants to bishoprics, defying Charles’ edicts to respect the rights and privileges of the Catholic Church. The Princes further aggravated the Emperor by forming a defensive alliance in 1531, the cacophonously named Schmalkaldic League. Charles was insulted but not endangered; so he could wait.

In fact, Charles waited 15 years; and in 1546, the timing was right. Saxony was the bastion of Protestantism. It had provided sanctuary and support to the young Professor Luther. Saxony’s prince Johan Frederick (Happy Birthday) had founded the Schmalkaldic League. Now, however, Johan Frederick was threatened by the usurping designs of an ambitious cousin. And guess who Charles decided to support? Of course, the Schmalkaldic League rallied to the support of Johan Frederick and, in effect, declared war on the Emperor.

The Northern Princes may have had religion in common, but apparently little else. They were still trying to coordinate their forces when the Emperor’s much larger army descended upon them at Muhlberg in 1547. The battle was short, decisive, and not the most encouraging affirmation of the Reformation. The Schmalkaldic League proved to be as ridiculous as it sounded.  Johan Frederick of Saxony was captured, threatened with death and forced to cede his sovereignty and most of his lands to his annoying cousin.

The Protestant Princes once again were mindful of etiquette: the Emperor always takes precedence. Charles’ sovereignty was reestablished, but the Emperor sensed that his victory had limits. Any attempt to eradicate Protestantism would be prolonged, very bloody and probably impossible. (His great-grandsons would fight a Thirty Years War to learn that.) Charles was content with a political victory rather than a theological chimera.

Johan Frederick had to be content with his life. His cousin reigned in Saxony and that branch of the family would continue to do so until 1918. The dispossessed Prince–now a mere duke–and his descendants were reduced to ruling over a few motley towns and estates. Their little realm was known by its most prominent properties: the town of Coburg and the duchy of Gotha.

And in time, the family of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha would acquire a few more properties to alleviate the loss of Saxony. The job in Brussels helped, and the position in London is pretty prestigious.

Greed knows no borders, and 1720 was a vintage year for it.  French investors had succumbed to the prospect of gold mines in Louisiana; for a short while, they had even become rich–on paper.  English investors were envious and eagerly sought a stock that would make them all rich, too.  So they placed their hopes and Pounds in the South Sea Company, a British business that could claim a lucrative privilege.  The Crown had granted the Company a monopoly on trade with South America.  The gold and gems, the spices, even the parrots–all the treasures of a continent–were ceded to the South Sea Company.  Its investors were certain of a fortune.

There was only one drawback to this wonderful monopoly; the wrong Crown had granted it.  Spain controlled most of South America.  The British did not even have Guyana at the time.  So the South Sea Company had to convince Spain to honor the British monopoly, and its timing was not opportune.  Britain and Spain had just recently ended an 11 year-long war;  England’s 

express aim had been to oust the Bourbon King from his throne.  The South Sea Company evidently hoped that Felipe V had either a good nature or a bad memory.  He had neither.  In fact, Spain restricted the Company’s trade in South America to one ship a year.   

Even worse for the Company, the trade proved disappointing.  The British had hoped that the South Americans would want African slaves, but there really was not much of a market for them.  The Spanish already had the entire population of Latin America for serfs. 

Those were the dismal facts and mediocre returns on the Company’s ledgers, but the Stock Market could ignore such minor details.  In  January the company’s stock was trading at 128 Pounds, but investors began bidding it up.  In March the stock’s price rose to 330 Pounds.  There was no real reason for that increase, but the gain only incited further demand for the stock.  The other investors couldn’t be wrong, and no one wanted to be the last to buy the stock.  The buying frenzy continued.  By August, the stock price was 1000 Pounds. 

Of course, very few people actually had that kind of money; they were buying on credit–which is effortless until you have to pay it back.  Some creditor must have tactlessly asked for repayment, and suddenly no one wanted to pay 1000 Pounds for a 100 Pound stock.  That set off a cascade of selling.  By December the stock price was 124 Pounds.  Reality had its belated say in the market. 

Parliament, especially the members who had lost money, insisted on an investigation.  As it turned out, the Company had bribed a number of government officials; apparently Crown monopolies are not granted solely on merit.  The directors of the Company had their estates confiscated; one government official went to prison.  And with that stern retribution, nothing like this has ever happened again. 

Reflecting on the market scandal, Isaac Newton said, “I can calculate the motion of the heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people.”  Having lost 20,000 Pounds, he was speaking from experience. 

The absurdity inspired Jonathan Swift to write:

The Nation too, too late will find

Computing all their Cost and Trouble

Directors Promises but Wind

South Sea at best a mighty Bubble.

And, thanks to Swift, we now describe such financial lunacy as a bubble.

June 28, 1914: Belgrade

The Serbian Press Secretary opened the news conference with this statement.

“The Serbian government was sad to learn that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife the Archduchess Sophie shot each other today. We wish that they had found a more peaceful way to solve their marital problems.”

I will now answer your questions.

Reporter: Eyewitnesses report that the couple was assassinated by a terrorist linked to Serbia. Is the Serbian government denying any connection to this terrorist organization?

Spokesmanvic: There have been so many assassinations and it is just pointless and malicious to allege that this government had any knowledge, link or responsibility for the murder of President McKinley.

Reporter: The Austrian government is accusing Serbia of supporting terrorists.

Spokesmanvic: Look, this “event” probably was a carjacking that got out of hand. If the conspiracy-paranoids in Austria need a culprit, they should accuse Mexico. There is no question that the Mexicans killed the Archduke Maximilian, and a Chicano street gang may have killed Franz Ferdinand as a member initiation.

Reporter: I’m Clive Murdoch of the Melbourne Swagman. Got me a two part question. Is it possible that the assassination was the work of bolshevik-anarchists and do you have nude photos of the Archduchess for our page three?

Spokesmanvic: Yes and no. And those were excellent questions.

Reporter: Do you feel that the controversial, iconoclastic studies of Freud and the provocative, scathing plays of Arthur Schnitzler offer any predicative insights into the psychology and actions of pre-post-modernist Vienna?

Spokesmanvic: You’re from The New York Times, aren’t you? Yes, the Austrians want to kill us. Interestingly enough, they also want to kill Freud and Schnitzler.

Obituary I

It is day 87 of the coverage of the death of Michael Jackson.  Since his posthumous appointment as America’s Good Will Ambassador, Mr. Jackson has visited 47 countries.

It is a tribute to America’s plastic surgeons as well as Michael’s stamina that the decomposition has been minimal.  No one really is going to notice a disintegrating pancreas.  Ambassador Jackson has been credited with the disarmament agreement with North Korea.  Kim Jung Il was a big fan, and was willing to make any concession to have Mr. Jackson’s visit.

Iran has been omitted from itinerary, but Ayatollah Khamenei tried not to seem hurt.  “Who wants that Jew anyway?  He is no Petula Clarke!”

Obituary II

Alas, on this day in 363, Julian the Apostate was killed.  Ruling the Roman Empire from 361 to 363, Julian was the last pagan emperor and the first management consultant.

Since 312, the Empire had been operating on a new managerial system called Christianity. The prototype of Total Quality Management, Christianity provided the benefits of monotheism without circumcision. It also offered eternal retirement benefits, which proved very popular among the meek.

Constantine imagined that Christianity would be a cohesive and subservient force for the government. Instead, the Christian sects were fighting each other when they weren’t persecuting everyone else. Christianity certainly did not discourage fraticide in the Imperial family. Constantine’s sons killed each other off, leaving the throne to cousin Julian. Having barely survived the carnage, he was not impressed with Christianity.

To save the Empire, Julian tried to reinvent Paganism.But as a graduate of the best schools in the Empire, Julian felt that Paganism needed intellectual dignity: fewer orgies, more seminars. So the Emperor preached Neo-Platonism, a unique combination of philosophy and animal sacrifices. His religion would appeal to the masses’ minds rather than to their fears and hopes.His approach certainly had cerebral appeal. Pagans had fun, Christians had solace but Neoplatonists had metaphysics. There weren’t many converts. The Christians resented Julian, while the pagans were just bewildered. (The Jews liked him because he wasn’t persecuting them.)

Unfortunately, Julian did not have a chance to promote his metaphysical, synergized paradigm. While leading the Roman army against Persia, he was killed in battle. We still don’t know by which side.

On this day in 1876, George Armstrong Custer thought he had a brilliant idea to propel his Presidential campaign. He would wipe out an Indian encampment on the Little Big Horn River. Such a glorious victory would overshadow the other contenders for the Democratic nomination. Unfortunately, Col. Custer seemed to have underestimated the number of Indian braves or Tilden supporters at the Little Big Horn. 

He didn’t live to regret it. Neither did half of the Seventh Cavalry.

If ever a blundering buffoon deserved to be portrayed by Adam Sandler, it was Custer. Hollywood, however, has usually depicted him in heroic glory. Perhaps the most entertaining and definitely the least accurate depiction was in “They Died With Their Boots On,” a 1941 deification starring Errol Flynn.

In that saga, Flynn deliberately sacrificed himself against at least 5000 Sioux who, if unimpeded by Custer, would have rampaged through the nation, ruined the Philadelphia Exposition and scalped Alexander Graham Bell.

Now if I correctly recall…the Sioux were made all the more dangerous and sinister by having Eric von Stroiheim and Peter van Eyck play the Indian leaders Sitting von Bulow and Crazy Horst.

The Seven Years War could more accurately be called the Nine Years War; les Canadiens and His Majesty’s Virginia Militia were fighting for control of the Ohio Valley some two years before they had the formal permission of Paris and London.  In addition to its disputable length, the conflict could really be called the First World War.  While it might be a rebuff to our North American ego, our front was minor.  In fact, the French were reconciled to losing l’Amerique on the battlefield.  The French colonists in North America were outnumbered 20 to 1 by the British, and with Britain’s mastery of the sea, there was no hope of sending reinforcements to the embattled Canadiens.   Nonetheless, the French had a strategy.

The British navy did not control the Rhine, and so a hundred thousand French soldiers were ordered to march into Germany and seize Hanover from the British royal family.   Then, at the eventual peace negotiations, the French would exchange Hanover for the return of Canada.  Unfortunately for this French strategy, Hanover was protected by the nephew of George II, and he happened to be a military genius.  The man really was entitled to be called Frederick the Great.   Of course, the Prussian King was facing French generals who were chosen by their ability to flatter Madame de Pompadour.

Nonetheless, there was a third front–where the natives really were Indians–and the French had overwhelming odds in their favor.  Suraj ud Daulah, the Nawab (Viceroy) of Bengal, was not a genuine Francophile; he was not drinking his chai from Limoges teacups and none of his wives were wearing the latest from Paris.  Yet, he did have one trait that endeared him to France:  he hated the English.  Although the chosen successor of his grandfather, Suraj did have envious cousins (Well, who doesn’t?)  and there were inevitable conspiracies and attempted rebellions.  The East India Company, British imperialism’s corporate front on the subcontinent, had supported a losing claimant to Bengali rule, and the victorious Suraj was a vindictive winner. 

Within two months of ascending to the Bengali throne, the 23 year-old Suraj attacked the British fort at Calcutta.  According to folklore and British propaganda, on June 20, 1756 146 British prisoners were placed in a cell, 14 feet by 18 feet.  The next morning, only 23 prisoners were still alive.  This prototype and inspiration for airline seating is remembered as “The Black Hole of Calcutta”. 

The British navy was ever at the service of its corporate friend, and Calcutta was soon back in the portfolio of the East India Company.  But a chastened Suraj was still an enemy, and the Company was resolved to be rid of him.  As befits an empire, the Company had its own army.  Led by Robert Clive, a force of 3000 men–1000 Britons and 2000 native troops–marched into Bengal with the goal of overthrowing the Nawab.  Suraj probably did not feel too threatened; he had 50,000 men as well as fifty cannons from his new French friends. 

On June 23, 1757, Suraj’s army surrounded Clive’s meager force at a mangrove swamp near the village of Plassey.  Ironically, Clive had to be constrained by his war council from attacking.  Such confidence was not simply British arrogance; the Company had taken the precaution of bribing most of the commanders in Suraj’s army.   Of the 50,000 soldiers Suraj thought he had, 45,000 actually were just spectators.  The Nawab definitely had a personnel problem.  His own uncle already been hired by the Company as the next Nawab. 

Suraj had to be quite disconcerted to see most of his army ignoring him.  Although his loyal troops still outnumbered Clive’s force, the Nawab now had more to fear from his generals.  With the enemy before him and traitors around him, Suraj decided to retreat; at least, he tried.  He did succeed in escaping the rout, but nine days later he was captured by soldiers of the new Nawab.  I think that you can imagine the nature of Suraj’s retirement package: abrupt.

For all the royal trappings, the new Nawab really was just an employee of the East India Company.  In return for British support, he had ceded the control of Bengal to the Company.  When he was just an ambitious courtier, he had not minded promising to pay 2.5 million Sterling to his British sponsor; but when he was an alleged sovereign, he rather resented the looting of the Bengal treasury.  Ingratitude is a bad attitude in an employee; the Company replaced him after three years, hiring his son-in-law instead.  But he turned out to be capable and conscientious, so he had to be fired, too.

Out of a British sense of protocol and pageantry, Bengal would continue to have Nawabs for another century; but there was no question as to who really ruled.  And Bengal was only the first province.  The rest of India would soon be part of the Company.

p.s.  For more on this topic:  http://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/01/22/etiquette-and-empire/

http://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2008/03/22/how-to-run-an-empire/

“On this day in 1854, the British Parliament abolished feudalism in Canada.”

But for that, the Governor-General might have had the right to sleep with any bride on her wedding night. However, that would have made an interesting episode on “Anne of Green Gables.”

In fact, Parliament’s act was really meant for Quebec and the French populace. Les Canadiens still maintained a seigneurial system. After its conquest of Quebec, Britain found herself with 100,000 new and less than loyal subjects. Expelling them all would have been impossible. (Acadia only had a population of 7,000–and it was conveniently on the coast.) The British, showing surprising–even unprecedented–tact, allowed their conquered French subjects a generous autonomy.

The day to day affairs in the villes were left to the local chieftains and bullies: the usual cabal of landowners and priests. In fact, these Canadien dignitaries now enjoyed more power than the bureaucrats of France had allowed them. They were able to control and maintain their conservative, seigneurial society well into the 19th century.

That accommodation did keep les Canadiens loyal to Britain. Given their conservative temperament and comfortable arrangement, they certainly were not tempted to join the American radicals in their rebellion against Britain. And the French Revolution and Napoleon would have been abhorrently liberal to them. This was a society where the pulpits and church-run schools equated Voltaire with the Anti-Christ.

By 1854, however, Britain felt that Quebec was ready for the 19th century–or at least the 18th. Of course, Parliament’s noble sentiments required shrewd application, and the Crown played a skillful political game. The Byzantines may have invented the strategem of “divide and conquer” but the British made an art of it. There were two powers controlling the Canadien society; the British would undermine one while embracing the other. Britain’s affection for the Catholic Church would have amazed any Irishman, but it was the official and conspicuous policy in Quebec. The Church would have the first word and final say in local matters. For all practical purposes, a priest was an alderman and the bishop was the mayor.

In view of this accommodation, the Church agreed that it was un-Christian to have serfs. The landowners would simply have to regard their farm workers as better than livestock.