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There were two general reactions to my assertion that the young Henry VIII was attractive. The more charitable among you think that I should sue my opthalmologist. The more cynical readers suspect that I am a royalist sycophant groveling for an invitation to a high tea at Buckingham Palace.

Of course, both assumptions could be right; but so am I!

Henry VIII was not born looking like Charles Laughton. The young king actually was handsome, a gift from his mother: Elizabeth of York. She was a beauty, the gift of her parents: Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville. They were regarded as the best-looking people in England! Elizabeth Woodville had to be a beauty; to have her, Edward IV caused a civil war.

She was a widow, with children, and only from the minor nobility; worse, her late husband and her family had been supporters of the rival Lancastrian dynasty. The lusty Edward IV wanted her as a mistress; she refused his advances and insisted on marriage. At that very time, Edward had commissioned his chief supporter, the Earl of Warwick, to negotiate a marriage with the sister-in-law of the King of France. Warwick, the most powerful noble in England, had successfully negotiated that marital alliance when he learned that Edward had eloped with the Woodville widow. “The Kingmaker”, as Warwick was known, was humiliated and furious; he then switched his allegiance and considerable forces to the Lancasters. Warwick succeeded in ousting Edward and restored Henry VI to the throne in 1470. A year later, Edward returned. Warwick was killed in battle and Henry VI was imprisoned in the Tower of London. The deposed King apparently fell on several daggers while in chapel.

In any case, handsome Edward IV and beautiful Elizabeth Woodville produced seven children. (He also acquired a pack of greedy in-laws and two stepsons who could have been role models for Udai and Qusay Hussein.) Edward died in 1483, thinking his young son Edward would succeed him. Unfortunately, the regent of England was Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Although the late King’s brother, he was also Warwick’s son-in-law and had always resented the Woodville queen and her upstart family. Uncle Richard had other plans.

And the war over Elizabeth Woodville so divided the Yorkist party that the illegitimate Welsh branch of the Lancastrian line would soon kill its way to the throne. When the illegitimate half-second cousin, once removed, Henry Tudor ascended to the throne, he required a legitimate princess for some resemblance to respectability. The eldest daughter of Edward IV sufficed quite nicely.

Today is the season premiere of HBO’s “Rome“.  The show purports to show the decadence of ancient Rome; it actually illustrates the decadence of modern television.  Thirty years ago, a brilliant, morbidly funny “I Claudius” dealt with the intrigues and vices of the Caesar family.  (John Hurt made a rather endearing Caligula: a monster with childlike sense of wonder.)  By contrast, the HBO series is a true spectacle, with remarkable sets and ample nudity; it also has none of the insightful wit of “I Claudius.”  I would not recommend Rome unless you are a history addict; in which case, this series is the cultural equivalent of Methadone.

You probably have seen a number of promotional articles on Rome.  I saw one that warned the reader “spoiler alert” that the article would divulge the plot development.  It may be a surprise to the PR staff at HBO, but I suspect most of us already know the plot.  Mark Anthony runs off with Cleopatra, Octavian defeats them and takes over the Roman Empire.  Oh yes, all the characters are now dead.  (After 2000 years, that is an actuarial certainty.) 

Speaking of obituaries, I just heard the death knell for the English language.  A radio commercial for the University of Chicago offered a literature course that would teach the “enplotment” of the classics.  Yes, “enplotment”: feel free to scream.  The greatest thread to intelligible English is not immigrants or slackard youths: their pidgin mutations actually add a vigor that keeps a language alive.  No, the danger to English is from those who use language as a cryptic incantation, whose obscurity presumably measures its importance. 

We have come to expect this verbal opacity from government: bureaucrats would rather you didn’t know what they meant.  MBAs try to avoid the intelligible, for fear it might be incriminating.  Sociologists offer jargon when they have nothing to say.  Of course, the Human Resources, in its crusade to surpress any hint of joy and light in the world, torture language into an impenetrable code of verbational nounalizations.

But I didn’t expect such linguistic atrocities from the English Department of the University of Chicago.  No, not those tweedy intellectuals.  They are the type of people who have read all of Proust, who actually understand James Joyce.  Of course, that is only what they claim.  Emplotment?  Now I wonder. 

On this day in 86 B.C., the Roman leader Gaius Marius died.  Being an excellent general, enlightened reformer, and unimaginatively heterosexual, he would never merit a series on PBS or HBO.  Marius never even got a supporting role in a Hollywood epic.  Because of his poor sense of timing, he lived too late for Hannibal and too soon for Spartacus.  (It is Marius’ unique misfortune that Hollywood insists on historical accuracy only where he is concerned.)

Nevertheless Marius has a vicarious glamour.  He married into a family of aristocratic underachievers named Caesar.  With Uncle Marius’ help, young Gaius Julius would amount to something.

Today is the birthday of Luise Rainer. She is 100; that is about 50 times the length of her career.  Miss Rainer is certainly the worst actress to win two Academy Awards. Her specialty–and sole claim to talent–was the ability to smile while crying.

The public quickly tired of her–and she has been relegated to trivia for more than sixty years. I do pity her if only because she was married to Clifford Odets. I wonder if he was as bombastic at breakfast as he was in his writing.

“Hear the glory of the cornflakes, children of the earth, the gifts of honest toil…”

She probably wondered if she should have stayed in Germany and taken her chances with Hitler.

Miss Rainer won one of her Academy Awards in the most ludicrously cast film in history: “The Good Earth.” If you recall–and what a waste of your synapses if you do–the Japanese complained about the Chinese actresses in “Memoirs of a Geisha.” When “The Good Earth” premiered, the Chinese were somewhat preoccupied being annihilated by the Japanese. But imagine how the Chinese might have reacted to being portrayed by Paul Muni, Luise Rainer and Walter Connolly….

Wang Muni: Do you know that it is impossible to hold a bagel with chopsticks? No wonder this country has famines!

Olan Rainer: Dahling. Vould you mind putting the nightsoil on the crops? I just did mein nails.

Uncle Connolly: Top of the morning to ya! Now I want you to be remembering to vote for Tammany Tong.

On this day in 532 the citizens of Constantinople protested against a corrupt and tax-loving government by burning down half of their city. The rioters displayed a remarkable unity; they were composed of two political factions–the Greens and the Blues–who usually hated each other. These two parties had evolved from the fans of two competing chariot racing stables; green and blue were the identifying colors of the respective teams.

However, the Byzantine personality (Greek pedantics + Christian theology – Hellenic charm) would not be content with just rooting for a sports team. The fans organized into political parties with vying interpretations of the Trinity. Of course, each interpretation of the Trinity would have a militia to expound it. Between the Greens and the Blues, Constantinople was always on the verge of a riot; but the Imperial government was usually adroit at balancing the factions, playing one off against the other.

The Emperor Justinian should have been a master of this statecraft. He had an amused contempt for mankind and had a genius for cultivating the vices in others; he literally brought out the best in your worst. Appreciating their “talents”, Justinian would appoint thieves to be treasurers, hucksters as diplomats, and elevated an actress to empress. Yet, this wily Emperor misjudged the temper and the patience of Constantinople’s factions.

The two rivals joined forces, and they give their alliance a name: Nika. It is the Greek word for victory. In a week of rage, half of the city was destroyed. Demonstrating their new-found ecumenism, the Nika rioters even burned churches. Yet, the rioters did not attack the Palace. Since the Imperial Guard was content to hide in the barracks and avoid any dangerous exertions such as defending the city, the rioters respected the army’s privacy.

Revelling in their power the rioters now proposed a new emperor, a reluctant but pliant noble named Hypatius. The “old” emperor was free to flee the city: the rioters had left him unimpeded access to the port. Indeed, Justinian was about to take that itinerary. He had called an imperial council of his few remaining supporters to plan the evacuation. However, this ignominious flight was scorned by the Empress Theodora.

Still very much the actress, she declaimed, “For one who has been an emperor it is unendurable to be a fugitive. May I never be separated from this purple, and may I not live that day on which those who meet me shall not address me as mistress. If, now, it is your wish to save yourself, O Emperor, there is no difficulty. For we have much money, and there is the sea, here the boats. However consider whether it will not come about after you have been saved that you would gladly exchange that safety for death. For as for myself, I approve a certain ancient saying that royalty is a good burial-shroud.”

If the Empress was prepared to fight and die for the throne, the men of the court were shamed into being just as heroic. (The court eunuchs probably were still eager to leave.) Although the Imperial army was unreliable, several of the loyal officers had personal retainers who would follow orders. These troops numbered no more than a thousand, but they were an elite force of veterans. The rioters were in the tens of thousands but they were an undisciplined mob and, worse for them, oblivious to the danger. The Nika rioters had gathered at the Hippodrome, the social center of the city. It was a great place for a celebration but an even better place for a massacre.

The Hippodrome’s entrances were all at one end of the stadium. The troops seized the gates and then proceeded to scythe the trapped mob. Thirty thousand were killed; the Nika Riot was crushed. The hapless Hypatius was captured. He pleaded his innocence and Justinian believed him; however, Theodora still insisted on an execution.

As for Justinian, he did not view the riots as a warning but rather as an opportunity. First, he would have to raise even more taxes to rebuild the city. More importantly, Constantinople now would be rebuilt his way. For example, the rioters had destroyed the old church of Hagia Sophia. Justinian envisioned the new church to be a monument to him.

And it still is.

What will the President say tonight?

A. “We are sending 20,000 more troops to Iraq, so they will be safely out of the crossfire between Rosie O’Donnell and Donald Trump.”

C. The speech is cancelled because the public would rather hear Larry King’s tribute to Yvonne de Carlo.

On this day in 1776, Common Sense was published. The pamphlet was a best-seller, so you can easily imagine that Thomas Paine received a number of lucrative offers to dramatize his work.

Of course, everyone had an idea how to improve the original. David Garrick envisioned a theatrical epic, starting with the depiction of the Boston Tea Party. His version, however, had 200 ships, the naval bombardment of Boston and the subsequent destruction of the British navy.

Pete Beaumarchais wanted to change the title to “Common Senses“, as an indication of the sensual liberation of America. In this bedroom farce, the colonies would be depicted as a pubescent woman with a repressive father. Of course, the young woman’s tutor is handsome and French.

Mozart offered to write the opera if he could find a free week.

Although Thomas Paine was grateful for the free lunches, he declined the offers. He was hoping that Ben Franklin would invent movies.

No, Eric Cartman hasn’t lost weight.  You just mistook President Bush’s speech for an episode of South Park.  Our new and improved strategy in Iraq will be to increase the number of targets, so that the Iraqis will run out of ammunition.  The President got this idea from a Randolph Scott western…or was it a Ben Stiller movie?  The sooner the Iraqis use up their arrows (or dodge balls), the sooner the President will win.

Of course, finding the voluntary targets might be a challenge.  The Neo-Cons would love to fight in Iraq, but they are preoccupied helping the President open your mail.  (They summarize the long letters and explain any big words.)  The Administration was planning to ship over illegal aliens; however, they are now all claiming to be gay. 

(Alexander the Great and T.E. Lawrence proved that wasn’t a handicap in the Middle East, but the Commandude hasn’t seen those movies.)  

So, any volunteers?

January 8, 1499

Let’s congratulate Louis XII and Anne of Britanny on their wedding anniversary. The customary gift (after the 75th anniversary) is formaldehyde. It was a second marriage for both, and the groom deserves special congratulations for surviving his first father-in-law: Louis XI!

If Karl Rove has a French role model, it must be Louis XI. One of the greatest dirty tricksters of history, his intrigues and machinations earned him the epithet “The Spider King“.

Louis XI was a genius at undermining his rivals, real and hypothetical. He fomented civil war in England, subsidizing the Lancasters and Tudors in their dynastic struggle that exhausted France’s oldest enemy. He undermined the Duchy of Burgundy, igniting a series of rebellions that eventually destroyed both the Duke and his vast duchy; and Louis managed to acquire many of the fragments. (He did fail to coerce the orphaned heiress of Burgundy to marry his son; she preferred the good-looking Hapsburg boy to the son of her father’s killer.)

However, his nastiest strategem was how he dealt with his second cousin, the Duke of Orleans. The Duke, the other Louis, was a virtuous and careful man, so he did nothing to justify even a suspicion of treason. Yet, his mere existence was a potential threat to the King and his young heir. If England could have dynastic wars, why not France. Louis XI wanted to eliminate even the potential for a threat. If he couldn’t blatantly kill the Orleans line, he did have a way to sterilize it.

The King had a daughter Jeanne who was crippled and incapable of having children. In most cases, the handicapped children of royalty and the aristocracy were sent off to the church, where they could be forgotten. The Spider King, however, had a more practical idea. He forced the Duke of Orleans to marry Jeanne. What could the Duke do? A refusal would have been treason.

That should have been the end of the House of Orleans. When Louis XI died in 1483, he was succeeded by his son Charles VIII. Charles coerced another orphaned heiress, Anne the Duchess of Brittany, to marry him. None of their children survived 15th century medicine, however; and when Charles died in 1498, guess who succeeded him? The next in the succession was the Duke of Orleans, now Louis XII.

(So, the nastiest trick of Louis XI really didn’t work; but you have to marvel at its evil.)

The new King wanted his marriage annulled and divulged all the conjugal challenges before Pope Alexander VI. Since the Pope had six children, he saw no reason for a king to be celibate. Jeanne was obliged to announce her retirement to a convent. The now bachelor King married the widow of Charles VIII. As it turned out, Anne of Britanny had one leg shorter than the other. However, this handicap could be surmounted…ahem. Their union produced at least some healthy daughters. (Louis XII would be succeeded by his son-in-law Francis I.)

Queen Anne died in 1514, and political considerations obliged Louis XII to marry again. But this time, the middle-aged man was presented with a healthy, very pretty teenage bride: Mary, the younger sister of Henry VIII. Louis was delighted–finally. But, to quote Shakespeare, “how strange desire should so outlive capacity”! Louis was dead within four months: the diagnosis was over-exertion.

It had to be an amusing funeral. Louis definitely was laid to rest.

p.s. The teenage widow returned to England where (unprecedented in this narrative) she then married someone she actually loved. And she lived happily ever after–until she died at the age of 37. Even true love couldn’t conquer 16th century medicine.