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August 30, 1918:  Fanny Kaplan Becomes One of History’s Greatest Footnotes

Fanny Kaplan is not the kind of name with any historical portent.  In my old neighborhood, I might have known six of them, all friends of my grandmother.  None of these elderly yentas would be thought of as Fanny the Great.  So, who is the Fanny Kaplan?   This one killed Vladimir Lenin.  That sounds more erotic than it actually was.  Comrade Kaplan actually shot Lenin.

She was a Socialist Revolutionary, a political party more radical than the Bolsheviks.  It advocated land distribution to the peasants and terrorism.  The Socialist Revolutionaries (let’s be informal and call them the SR) had been in the forefront of resistance to the Tsar–when the Bolsheviks were debating dialectic materialism and playing chess.  Furthermore, the SR were just as defiant of Bolshevik tyranny.  The SR certainly were more popular than Lenin’s gang.  Russia had an election for a constituent assembly in November 25, 1917.  With their agrarian platform in a land where 90 percent of the people were peasants, the SR won more than half the seats in the assembly.  By contrast, the Bolsheviks came in a distant second.  When the Assembly met in January 1918, the Bolsheviks simply disbanded it.  The SR had the votes but the Bolsheviks had the guns.

Actually, the SR had guns, too.  They attempted an uprising in July 1918.  The Bolsheviks crushed it, but the SR still had recourse to political assassination.  On August 30, 1918 in Moscow, Lenin was shot twice by Fanny Kaplan.  One bullet did no worse than hitting his  shoulder, but the other lodged in the neck.  He did not die; by contrast, Kaplan’s execution was an immediate success.

However, the Russians were afraid to remove the bullet in Lenin’s neck.  At first, ignoring the bullet seemed an effective therapy.  Lenin seemed just as effective a tyrant as ever, leading the Reds to victory in a Civil War and initiating an agrarian policy of land distribution which he shamelessly stole from the SRs.  (From their ability, to his needs…)  Nor had Lenin lost his sense of fun; he sometimes ordered a Politiburo meeting to be conducted in English, German or French.  Speaking Russian just wasn’t enough of an intellectual challenge.

But then Lenin began suffering from headaches and insomnia.  He was physically deteriorating; the bullet in his neck clearly was threatening his life.  So Lenin finally agreed to an operation. No doctor in the Soviet Union had the skill or the nerve; a German specialist performed the surgery in April 1922.  The bullet was successfully extracted, and Lenin no longer had headaches and insomnia.  However, there may have been one side effect; he had a stroke in May.  He seemed to recover from it, but then a second stroke in December left him partially paralyzed.  In March 1923, a third stroke left him mute and bedridden.  He died in January 1924.

So, Fanny Kaplan killed Lenin, even if it took five years for him to realize it.

August 24, 1572

Catherine de Medici was having a bad week.    First, she had to organize the wedding of her daughter Margo to Henri de Bourbon, King of Navarre.  Even with her connections, the Queen Mother couldn’t get a better date for Notre Dame Cathedral than August.  Who would want to be in Paris then?  (Be sure to triple the order on the Church incense.)   Then, there was a matter of finding a cleric willing to do mixed marriages.  Royal marriages required at least an archbishop, but none seemed to approve of a Protestant bridegroom.  Fortunately, someone in the groom’s family was still Catholic and he was a Cardinal.  Of course, there was always the challenge of seating.  The Guises hate the Montmorencys, and neither wanted to be near Huguenots.  Finally, at the last minute, she had to plan the massacre of the Protestant guests.

Catherine was almost as surprised by this development as the Protestants would be; and it was all the fault of that Henri de Guise, Duc de Lorraine.  Two days earlier, on August 22nd, a Guise employee had attempted to assassinate the Huguenot leader Gaspard de Coligny.  Perhaps Guise had his reasons: he was the leader of the militant Catholics and his father had been assassinated by a Huguenot.  An Italian would never begrudge anyone a vendetta, but Catherine did not appreciate Guise’s sense of timing.  It rather disrupted the ecumenical mood of the wedding festivities.  At least Coligny had survived, and Catherine and her son–King Charles IX–had paid a visit to the invalid.  But that good will gesture did not satisfy the outraged Huguenots.

So Catherine and her royal councilors had to come to a decision.  (Charles rarely dared to have his own opinion.)  Of course, in theory, they should punish de Guise.  But De Guise commanded his own army, the Holy League; he was the most popular man in France and especially adored in Paris, and he was allied to Philip II.  Any action against de Guise could lead to widespread rebellion, war with Spain and even some excommunications from Rome.   So justice was out of the question.

As an alternative strategy the Crown could do nothing, as if the assassination attempt had never happened.  But that would infuriate the Protestants and start a civil war in France.  The whole point of the marriage between Margo and a Huguenot leader was to maintain peace among the antagonistic religions.  However, there was a third way, one that would avert such a war: massacre the Huguenot leaders before they had a chance to rebel.  Most of them happened to be in Paris for the wedding.  There would never be a more convenient time and place to kill them all.  And Catherine felt that she was only being fair.  If the Huguenots had been the majority in France, she would have organized a massacre of the Catholics.

So, on August 24, early in the morning, the Duc de Guise got a second chance to kill Gaspard de Coligny.  The Royal Guard had also been given a list of Huguenot victims.  Some of them were wedding guests at the Louvre; of course, it would have been rude and messy to slaughter them in their beds.  So they were dragged into the courtyards.  Catherine was quite willing to dispose of her new son-in-law Henri de Bourbon, but for once King Charles stood up to his mother.  The King felt that his brother-in-law should be offered the choice of conversion or death; as it turned out, Henri proved more pragmatist than Protestant.  At the first opportunity, however, Bourbon escaped Paris and reverted to Calvinism.  If the popular lore can be believed, Catherine would spend the rest of her life (another 16 years) trying to poison him.

Now, the massacre had been intended to be a society affair.  These were  “de” people  and worth killing; but the population of Paris hated to miss out on the carnage.  They began an unrestrained slaughter of every Huguenot: man, woman and child.  Thousands were killed in Paris, and as the news spread through France, it was viewed as an invitation.    Until early October, the massacres continued.  The number of victims can only be estimated, and the estimations might reflect a certain bias.  Whereas the Encyclopedia Britannica cites 50,000 dead, the Catholic Encyclopedia concedes maybe 1100 dead in Paris and perhaps 15,000 in all of France.  (The Catholic Encyclopedia also insists that the killings were the work of Machiavellians, not real Catholics.)

Despite all that enthusiastic slaughter, there were still ample surviving Huguenots to plunge France into civil wars that lasted until 1598.  Catherine de Medici did not live to see its outcome; however, undeserving, she died of natural causes in 1589. King Charles died in 1574, perhaps accidentally poisoned by his mother.  The Duc de Guise was assassinated in 1588, but surprisingly not by a Protestant.  Only Henri de Bourbon was left–and he now was the King of France.  Of course, to attain the throne, he had to re-convert to Catholicism; but he did grant an edict of tolerance to his former fellow Huguenots.

So the massacre’s only lasting effect was its infamy.  According to the Church Calendar, August 24th is the feast day of Saint Bartholomew.  But since 1572, St. Bartholomew’s Day is not remembered for a feast.

Judging from his name, Helmuth von Moltke was not the type of person whom you would want to manage a hospice or be a party planner (especially bar mitzvahs). Surprisingly, you would not want him to manage your World War. You would expect a Junker to have unjustified arrogance but not unwarranted caution, yet Helmuth did. And as the Chief of the German General Staff in 1914, he inadvertently saved France.

The Franco-Prussian War had been a leisurely affair, six months of continually humiliating the French. But that was in 1870-71, when the Germans were engaged in an one-front war and were led by a genius. (Otto von Bismarck may have been the model for Lex Luthor.) In 1914, Germany had a two-front war and was led by a blustering dolt. (Wilhelm II may have been the model for George Bush, except Wilhelm spoke excellent English.)

France and Russia made an odd couple, the equivalent alliance of Wallace Shawn and King Kong, but they shared a hatred of Germany. Anticipating a two-front war, the German General Staff planned a strategy to defeat France before the lumbering Russian army could even reach the border. Named for its architect, the von Schlieffen Plan was a timetable of conquest. France now had to fall in six weeks; and to accomplish that, Germany had to outflank the French by attacking through Belgium. Von Schlieffen wanted every possible resource to be in the German force striking through Belgium: any available soldier, any ambulatory male, boy scouts, the heaviest sopranos from Bayreuth. “Strengthen the Right Wing” was Schlieffen’s dogma and probably his politics.

Von Schlieffen had been the chief of staff of the German Army until his retirement in 1906. His position and plan were left to von Moltke, who began fretting over a possible flaw in the strategy. While the German army was attacking from the North, what if the French charged to the east–overwhelming Alsace and reaching the Rhine. Yes, it was a distinct possibility that the French could take Muhlhouse, while the Germans took Paris. It would seem that the Germans would still be ahead in that trade, but Moltke did not want to take any chance. So he reassigned forces from the Northern strike force to the apparently imperiled Rhineland.

On this day in 1914, Germany invaded Belgium. Britain, honoring a treaty with the attacked country–and appreciating an excuse to fight–then declared war on Germany. The British navy was the greatest in world, but its dreadnoughts could not navigate the streams that led to Berlin or Munich. (Coastal Hamburg, however, could have been leveled.) As for the British army–less than a tenth the size of Germany’s, it was literally a joke. Otto von Bismarck once was asked how he would respond if the British army landed in Germany; he replied “I would have a policeman arrest it.”

Von Moltke shared that contempt for the British army. When asked if he should order the German fleet to the English Channel to block the British transport of its army to France, von Moltke dismissed the idea as if it were an insult to the German army. “Let the English come. The German army will defeat them, too.” So, the German navy did nothing, and the unimpeded British fleet transported 140.000 men to France. However, von Moltke had forgotten the strict nature of the von Schlieffen timetable; 140.000 British troops really had not been factored into the Teutonically-precise schedule. Worse, the Russians were not cooperating either. Their lumbering horde was two weeks ahead of German predictions. So von Moltke now was transferring army corps to the Russian Front. (The troops were sent from Belgium; von Moltke left untouched the well-rested forces in Alsace.) He really was entitled to the Croix de Guerre. Paris was saved, the Western Front held, and von Moltke finally noticed a problem. At least, he had the good manners to have a breakdown.

Von Moltke’s ineptitude cost Germany the war, at least a quick victory. But we shouldn’t be grateful to him. We might have been much better off if the von Schlieffen Plan had succeeded, and the world had been spared the ensuing horrors. The Hapsburg Empire actually was rather endearing, and wouldn’t we be happier if the Turks were still occupying Syria, Lebanon and Iraq? As for the Second Reich, just remember the alternative–and the German voters’ taste in chancellors.

Von Moltke ruined it for everyone.

June 4, 1989: Tiananmen Square

Tiananmen Square is the cultural center of Beijing. It is on the itinerary of every tour of China’s capital. The government-approved guide would point out the monuments, museums and edifices that make Tiananmen the showcase of Communist China. Along this great public square is the National Museum, and the Great Hall of the People–where foreign dignities are honored at state dinners that seat 5000 people. Of course, there is the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong, the founder of Communist China; the “Great Helmsman” himself envisioned Tiananmen as the glory of the People’s Republic. If entire neighborhoods were demolished in 1958 to create the world’s largest public square, Mao was not one to suffer details. History would justify the cost. That is the rationale of tyranny and, sadly, it often proves correct. When faced with the prospect of losing political power, the successors of Mao would show the same ruthless resolve in crushing the pro-democracy movement: the massacre in Tiananmen Square.

“Power grows out of the barrel of a gun.” That may be the only principle of Mao’s that his successors still observe. The “Chairman” may have been a capable general and an intimidating tyrant but he was an absurd administrator. The mundane mechanics of government actually offended him. Instead he offered maxims, but inspiration does not grow crops or run industries. And too often his visions proved illusions. For example, he imagine that China could industrialize if every family had its own blast furnace: make your own steel in the backyard. The idea was ridiculous but no one dared ignore his command. Of course, this “Great Leap Forward” was a disaster, squandering manpower and resources. Worse, agriculture was neglected and resulted in a famine; thirty million people starved.

When Mao died in 1976, the governance of this schizophrenic China–a world power with a hand-to-mouth economy–was left to a committee of old veterans, men who had survived both war and the Chairman’s temper. Some remained true Communists, but a prevailing majority saw that China’s prosperity required pragmatism rather than dogma. In the words of China’s new leader, Deng Xiopeng, “It doesn’t matter whether a cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice.”

China was still primarily an agrarian society, so the first reforms were in agriculture. Allow private property, permit initiative and profit, and you could turn peasants into farmers. In a decade, the average rural income had tripled. To industrialize China required a more drastic deviation from Mao and Communism: foreign capital. The coastal provinces became “special economic zones” luring foreign business with the promise of western products at Chinese wages. In 1980, the minimum wage in the United States was $3.10 a hour; that would have been a week’s wage in China. But the undershirts made in China were indistinguishable from those woven in South Carolina. Its profits encouraged the Chinese government to permit further commercial initiative. The Chinese themselves now were permitted to go into business. The aspiring entrepreneur, craftsman or merchant had the opportunity to prove his worth in the marketplace. In effect, the Chinese people had economic freedom. So began the boom that continues to propel China.

Yet these new policies would raise issues and create divisions in the Chinese society. Within a decade of these economic reforms, the college students were wondering why there were no political reforms. Was freedom permitted only in economics? That seemed illogical and unjust. The Party leadership was aware of this growing dissension but was unsympathetic. Deng Xioping equated democracy with chaos. Within the leadership, there had been one supporter of democracy: the Party’s General Secretary Hu Yaobang. Deng fired him in 1977 and chose Zhao Ziyang as the new General Secretary. Zhao represented the second generation of Chinese leaders, not an old guard revolutionary but a pragmatic bureaucrat. Deng trusted him to pursue prosperity while preserving the political order.

So the economy boomed and the dissent grew. Ironically, this status quo ended with death of Hu Yaobang in April, 1989. The advocate of democratic reform remained a hero to college students. They held memorial services that also were political protests. On April 26th, the Communist Party’s official newspaper printed a front page denunciation of the students: “Their purpose was to sow dissension among the people, plunge the whole country into chaos, and sabotage…stability and unity.”

The vitriolic accusations only incited a rebellious reaction. On April 27th, thousands of students from Beijing University marched on Tiananmen Square and occupied it in the name of democracy. There, amidst the monuments to Chinese Communism, the student protestors set up their camp. They made no provisions for sanitation, so their shanty town soon became squalid. To the dismay of the Communist leadership, the heart of Beijing was both a democratic forum and an open sewer.

Deng was not in a conciliatory mood. “We do not fear spilling blood, and we do not fear international reaction.” Zhao, however, remained a pragmatist. He noted that the popular sentiment of Beijing sided with the students; perhaps the party should accept a more democratic system. If he could end the impasse, the party leadership would agree to some concessions. On May 12th, the front page of The People’s Daily printed Zhao’s proclamation of human rights and a promise of a democratic China. However, Zhao also urged the students to their Tiananmen demonstrations and return to classes.

But the students only increased their demands for democratic reforms. On May 13th, 3000 went on a hunger strike. Their militancy undermined Zhao; by May 17th, he has been stripped of power. But he made one last appeal to the protestors, visiting them on May 19th and pleading with them to leave. They ignored him and the following day’s declaration of martial law. The students had a blithe confidence in the righteousness of their cause and in the support of Beijing’s populace. How could the People’s Army fight against the People?

As a symbol of democracy and a tribute to its defenders, local artists had constructed a statue of foam and paper mache. It was transported in pieces to Tiananmen and assembled there on May 29th. The statue, 33 feet tall, of a woman defiantly bearing a torch was named “The Goddess of Democracy.” Five days later, the statue was crushed by a tank.

On June 3rd, there were 10,000 protestors encamped in Tiananmen Square. Late that night, in armored vehicles and on foot, some 15,000 soldiers converged on the square. They had hoped that the late hours would give them the element of surprise, but it was too large a force for stealth. An alarmed populace swarmed into the streets, trying to block the troops. But the soldiers had orders to take control by any means necessary. There was insufficient tear gas to disperse the crowds; there were enough bullets. The suppression continued throughout the following morning. Hundreds were killed, thousands wounded. The exact numbers may never be known; bonfires reportedly burned bodies. Although the events are known as the Tiananmen Square massacre, most of the bloodshed occurred in the streets leading there. In the Square itself, the encamped protestors were driven out at gunpoint but without casualties.

Tyranny had prevailed. Yet on June 5th, one gesture of defiance stirred the world. In Tiananmen, the crowds looked on as tanks patrolled the square. A single man, wearing a white shirt and carrying shopping bags, darted in front of a tank and stopped it. The tank attempted to move around him; he blocked it. One man against a tank; the impasse lasted several minutes. He could have been run over or gunned down, but the tank’s crew refrained. Perhaps they too respected courage. Two men eventually hustled him away. Were they his friends or the police? We don’t know his identity or his fate, just his heroism.

The world denounced the massacre and, in a month, it was business as usual. After all, in the words of the U.S. State Department, the executions and arrests were China’s “internal affairs.” The leaders of the student movement were put on a “Wanted” list of criminals. At least 1500 were arrested for their “counter-revolutionary” activities. Zhao Ziyang lived under house arrest for the rest of his life; he died in 2005.

Today, China has the second largest economy in the world; so history apparently has justified the cost of Tiananmen. But even now, the Chinese government forbids public discussion of the “turmoil.” Yet, the truth still has its advocates. In his “June Fourth Elegies” author Liu Xiaobo wrote:
“Beneath the forgetting and the terror/this day’s been buried…In memory and bravery/this day lives forever.”
(Translation by Jeffrey Yang)

Liu Xiaobo received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2010. He is currently serving an 11-year prison sentence for “inciting subversion of state power.”

May 25, 1895: Oscar Wilde was convicted of “committing acts of gross indecency with other male persons”.

Yes, when accused of being a Sodomite, Wilde sued for libel on the rationale that he really was more of a Gomorrahite. It is an interesting defense: two different cities and apparently two different positions. Given the British standards of dental hygiene, gomorrahy could even be justified as desperately needed flossing. Unfortunately, at his trial Wilde invoked every ancient Greek but Hippocrates. So he was imprisoned for Homer-sexuality.

And here is a tribute to a vilified Victorian who might have won a libel case…

The Edward Bulwer-Lytton Anti-Defamation League

If Miley Cyrus considers marrying Warren Buffett, she should ponder the fate of Catherine Howard. On this day in 1542, Miss Howard–the all-too-nominal Mrs. Tudor–made history and the coroner’s report. The young lady had ignored the risks of adultery when married to Henry VIII. It was an act of treason and the punishment was a fatal form of divorce. Henry had gotten rid of Anne Boleyn that way. She actually had been innocent, but English Law did not permit divorce on the grounds that Boleyn was an annoying bitch. (She definitely was guilty of that). However, five men–including Anne’s own brother–were tortured into confessions of all sorts of orgies with Anne as the center attraction. That “evidence” convicted Anne Boleyn; of course, her lovers had to be killed as well. The Tower of London and executioners had a great year in 1536.

In the case of Catherine Howard, she really was guilty. Gee, how could a teenage girl want anyone other than a gross, gout-ridden syphilitic 50 year-old? Nevertheless, she should have been especially wary of the risks of being Mrs. Tudor; the late Anne Boleyn was her first cousin. Howard and her handsome young lover were caught, tried and executed. In an act of vicious pettiness, the Crown also executed a man who had “dated” Catherine before her marriage.

If Catherine Howard wanted a role model, a good choice would have been Mary Boleyn. The older sister of Anne had been the mistress of both Francis I and Henry VIII and, aside from the syphilis, was no worse for the experiences. Mary understood the requirements of being a royal mistress: say yes, look grateful, and know your place. A king’s mistress is entitled to certain perks: jewelry, cushy jobs for her parasitic family and, if she should add to the family tree, a title of nobility for the royal bastard. But the prudent mistress does not make demands on the King and certainly would not cheat on him.

A prudent mistress is also a good loser. When Henry tired of Mary Boleyn, he followed etiquette and arranged a good marriage for her. She outlived her ambitious sister and reckless cousin. Furthermore, Mary, as Lady Carey, produced her own dynasty, and some of her descendants distinguished themselves among the fox-hunting classes. A great-great-great-etc. grandson named Winston had talent as a writer–among other things. And one of Mary’s living descendants is named for Anne Boleyn’s daughter and has the very same job.

On this day in 1776, George Washington proved himself to be an immoral secular humanist by ruining a British Christmas party. While the Hessian garrison in Trenton, New Jersey was celebrating the birth of Jesus by compressing the 12 days of Christmas into one hangover, the irreverent Continental army crossed the Delaware River and attacked. We all know the painting of that Freemason Washington standing in a boat as his men rowed to battle. Of course, truly devout Americans would have walked upon the water.

Yes, the Americans won that day, but the Continental Congress should have disavowed such godless cheating. Why wasn’t George Washington court-martialed for his impiety? In fact, as an apology to Jesus, we should have called the Revolution off.

October 25, 1415:  The Battle of Agincourt

On this day in 1415, a beleaguered CEO offered these team-building thoughts to his “stakeholders”:

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother …

Stirred by such speech, you too might well overlook the fact that your newfound brother makes 300 times more than you, and that he is the buffoon who put you in such a desperate plight.

In fact, the battle of Agincourt was decided by French incompetence, not English poetry. Outnumbering the English by approximately three-to-one, the French could have used any number of tactics to win the campaign: flanking, envelopment, siege….There was only one possible way that the French could have lost the battle of Agincourt. That would be a full-frontal cavalry assault in constricted terrain, leading to an impassable traffic jam of horses and easy shooting for English archers.

Of course, who would be that stupid? Oh, oui.

However, I will concede that Henry V could not have made that glorious St. Crispin’s Day speech.  First, it would have been in Middle English–which no one ever understood.  Furthermore, the speech–in that form–would never have survived the departmental approval procedure.  Before delivering the St. Crispin’s speech, Henry–or his speechwriter–was required to submit a draft to the legal department and human resources.

In 1415, that editorial inquisition was in the hands of Lord Chancellor Beaufort and the King’s brother, the Duke of Bedford.

Beaufort:  “We few, we happy few…”  Too many pronouns, too many adjectives.  “We” is too vague a term, too easy to misinterpret.  A positive and specific identification is necessary, if only to avoid trademark disputes in future treaties. “Few” has a negative context, as if the English army were conceding an inadequate number for this campaign.  If Henry survives the battle, he would never survive the litigation.  Come up with a more positive description of our army’s size.

Bedford:  And “Happy”?  Really, that is unprofessional and inappropriate to a war.  If we must have an adjective, let’s make it a serious one.   And “band of brothers?”  I am the king’s brother and I have no idea what that means.  Is he promising everyone can be a duke like me?

Beaufort:  Carried away by alliteration, completely irresponsible.   There has to be a concise and practical definition of the relationship between the king and his soldiers.

Bedford:  “For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother …”

Is he criticizing our healthcare policy?  We certainly do cover wounds–at least battle-related ones–and the men will receive appropriate bandages rather than this unsolicited affection.  You know, that could actually be viewed as a form of harassment….

So, on October 25, 1415,  Henry V assured his beleaguered men:

“This adequately numbered English army, this proactive English army

This armed association

For anyone who, in this specific time period, should acquire a work-related decoagulating condition

Would be entitled to appropriate coverage from this association.”

And if Henry said anything more, no one was listening.

Henry IV was very disappointed in the Percy clan. It was a powerful family in Northern England and very useful to a conniving usurper. After helping him seize the English throne and kill the rightful (if preposterously incompetent) King Richard II in 1399, however, it turned out that the Percys could not be trusted. The rapacious family actually expected every title and estate that Henry had promised them. Didn’t they understand politics? Apparently not. The Percys rose in rebellion, having suddenly realized that Henry was an usurper. The now legitimatist nobles were supporting the royal claims of the Earl of March–who happened to be related to the Percys by marriage.

Of course, Shakespeare covered this topic–in iambic pentameter–in Henry IV, part I. So you know that the rebels were led by the dashing teenage jock, “Hotspur” Percy but he was killed at the battle of Shrewsbury in a climactic duel with that reprobate teenager Prince Hal. Well, not quite….

Hotspur once had been a teenager; it is a prerequisite when you are 38 years old. That was his age at the battle of Shrewsbury. In fact, he was two years older than Henry IV. Prince Hal actually was a teenager–16–but he did not kill Hotspur. That deed was accomplished by an anonymous archer whose arrow determined the outcome of the battle. Up to Hotspur’s unlucky catch, his forces seemed to be winning; not a knockout decision but ahead on corpse totals. However with the death of their leader, the rebels abandoned the field and Henry IV retained the throne.

But that was Percy luck. Even the competent commanders in the family tended to get killed; and you can imagine the actuarial tables for the inept ones. Here is a brief recitation. Hotspur’s father was killed fighting against the Lancastrians. Hotspur’s son was killed fighting for the Lancastrians. (Changing sides did not improve the family luck.) Hotspur’s grandson was killed fighting for the Lancastrians. Hotspur’s great-grandson was killed in a rent riot. (Now that has to be embarrassing, killed by your disgruntled tenants.)

By some fluke, Hotspur’s great-great grandson died of natural causes at the age of 50. (16th century medicine was as deadly as the warfare.) Of the great-great-great grandsons, one may have died of natural causes; but being a Catholic once engaged to Anne Boleyn, he was definitely on Henry VIII’s “To-Do List.” And his brother was decapitated–as was his son! The 8th Earl of Northumberland–the great-great-great-great-great grandson–was mysteriously shot while in the Tower of London. (It must have been a suicide!)

You have to wonder why the British royals did not simply strip the Percys of their titles and properties, reducing them to fishmongers in Newcastle. Perhaps the Percys offered the Renaissance equivalent of a fox hunt: just catch and kill them. You could also wonder why the Percys did not choose a safer social niche. They must have felt a certain glamour to it all. Whether riddled with arrows or in the midst of their decapitation, they would have gasped “What, and give up show business?”

A year or so ago, the  New York Times had an article on the Duchess of Northumberland. Being egaliterian/vulgar Americans, we would call her Mrs. Percy. After six hundred years, that is definitely job security.

January 14th

On this day in 1943, Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill set the standard for product placement by meeting in Casablanca. Perhaps FDR did owe a favor to Warner Bros., the only Democratic studio in Hollywood. Jack Warner was not deeply imbued with liberal principles; however, he felt compelled to be the political opposite of Republican Louis B. Mayer. Churchill went along with the choice of Casablanca, although he hated being mistaken for Sidney Greenstreet.

While the movie had only been planned as a B-list production, the actual Casablanca Conference was a Hollywood extravaganza. The location alone was thrilling. Here were Franklin and Winston in Morocco, which the Allied armies had just coerced from the Pro-Vichy French. (Warner Bros. would have staged better battle scenes than the French did, but heroics is not part of a collaborator’s charm.) If our leading men could meet in Casablanca, it was reassuringly obvious that that the Allies controlled the Atlantic. You did not see Hitler and Mussolini holding a conference in Havana (and I doubt that Meyer Lansky would have made Hitler feel welcome).

Although the North African campaign was not yet over, an Allied victory there was inevitable. True, the Axis still had four corps in Tunisia, but three of them were Italian and had been trying to surrender since 1941. Despite the proximity of Italy, the Axis was unable to either resupply or evacuate the trapped army there; how many men can fit in a U-Boat? Caught between Allied armies advancing from Algeria and Libya, the remnants of the Afrika Korps and Mussolini’s “Legions of Iron” surrendered in May, 1943.

If the ten day conference at Casablanca was supposed to have a memorable quote, it was “unconditional surrender.” The Allies would accept nothing less. The proclamation was meant to reassure Stalin as well as intimidate Hitler. The Soviet leader had been invited to the conference but he was somewhat preoccupied with an invading German army. The ongoing battle of Stalingrad would turn out to be quite gratifying, but Stalin still needed the Americans and British to open a second front against the Germans.

Of course, the Americans felt ready to land in France; after all the Germans had been such pushovers in 1918. However, the British remembered what pushovers the Germans had been in 1914, 1915, 1916 and 1917; and they definitely had a second wind by 1940. No, the British favored an invasion of Italy; it was conveniently close to North Africa and the Italians were a congenial enemy. Roosevelt agreed. The Second Front would be against the Italians; Stalin must have felt so relieved.