FinermanWorks

I have an Irish sister-in-law; there is one in every Jewish family. She attended a parochial school named for a St. Norbert, but all she apparently learned there was how to smoke. In an ecumenical attempt at conversation, I asked her about the school’s namesake. She had no idea. The nuns never told her.

That seemed a surprising sin of omission. I am the product of Chicago’s public schools; I never had a day of chemistry, but I did learn that my grade school was named for an alcoholic poet, and my high school for an unindicted city politician. Why were the students of St. Norbert spared the life of their saint? Perhaps Norbert had never existed. The early Christian missionaries often were better at marketing than theology. To convert pagans into parishioners, an eager evangelist might grant the local deity a complimentary sainthood. A number of gods made this leap of faith; Ireland’s St. Bridget is the altar ego of the goddess Bridget. What if the heathen Visigoths had a favorite troll named Norbert?

Of course, Norbert also could have been embarrassing real. The medieval idea of a saint may be the modern definition of a psychopath. Spain particularly encouraged pyromaniacs to enter the clergy. If Norbert were an apostle of the Inquisition, that would be difficult to reconcile with the right-to-life movement. The saint’s anonymity intrigued me. I enjoy history for its gossip, and I expected that Norbert had some to offer. Since I was not prepared to decipher Latin or infiltrate the Jesuits, I confined my research to whatever I could find in my Britannica. It is an older edition, where the subjects are arranged alphabetically rather than by the University of Chicago’s notion of macropedia and micropedia. In Volume 16, mushroom to ozonolysis, Norbert awaited me.

I already had a vicarious knowledge of saints, the sum of college courses, European museums and Hollywood movies. The earliest saints are the most fascinating, if only because Rome went to such creative lengths to accommodate their martyr complexes. Being ripped apart by lions, flayed alive, or sauteed could make anyone interesting. If the Emperors had condemned the Christians only to dodge traffic on the Via Appia, no one would have aspired to so embarrassing a death. The sect might have been remembered as a circumcision-free Judaism.

With the triumph of Christianity, however, there was no one to persecute aspiring saints, so they had to do it to themselves. Medieval annals recount the epics of hermits who were able to subsist for fifty years on their own bile. The Church, though, had outgrown its preoccupation with religion and had discovered its true vocation: management. Even in the Middle Ages, someone was needed to count the silverware on the Round Table. As the sole source of literacy in western Europe, the Church produced the bureaucrats that made Alfred the Great and Char le magne.

One of these indispensable bureaucrats, with their pinstriped habits and button-down cowls, was Norbert. In the late 11th century, a younger son of German nobility had a choice of two vocations: the Church or to wait for his older brother to die. Norbert showed considerable patience. Since the eldest son was required to be a warrior, the first born often was the first dead. Norbert placed his faith in the Crusades and the constant feudal wars, but his brother selfishly survived them. Many German knights did not; however, Norbert lacked the charm or the inclination to marry a rich widow.

In 1115, at the age of 35, Norbert reconciled himself to entering the Church. As an aristocrat, he was spared an apprenticeship of parish work and anointed the medieval equivalent of a management consultant. He inspected monasteries in France and Germany and wrote critical reports on the monks’ lack of discipline. No one would have found a hairshirt in Norbert’s wardrobe, but that was not the point. He was a consultant, not a role model.

As an alternative to piety, Norbert preferred to ingratiate himself with the Pope. The Pope was praised as the true and supreme ruler of Christendom. Norbert also gave the same assurances to the Holy Roman Emperor, the Pope’s worst enemy. The Holy Roman Emperor, who actually was a German king with a pretentious title, had the ethnic tendency to invade other countries, and papal Italy was on his itinerary. His Holiness wished to keep his kingdom in this world as well as the next, so he would choreograph rebellions in Germany. This developed into a monotonous cycle of invasion, excommunication, civil war, and insincere treaties. Christendom could not accommodate both the Pope and the Emperor, but Norbert could. He applied extreme unction as a first impression rather than as a last rite.

Whether he was trusted or tolerated, the very civil servant was rewarded in 1126. Both Rome and the Emperor agreed that Norbert was an innocuous choice to be Archbishop of Magdeburg. Norbert died in 1134, but the Church did not bother to canonize him until 1582. Rome had not belatedly discovered his sanctity; it simply wanted to irritate Magdeburg for becoming Protestant. The Lutherans, though, could not have been as offended as Norbert would have been. As a prudent careerist, he never would have committed himself or his relics to a particular dogma. There were two sides to the Reformation, and Norbert would have been on both of them.

St. Norbert was remarkable. Unscrupulous yet boring, he deserves to be the patron saint of middle management. Today St. Norbert is best remembered for his anonymity; but if you seek his shrine, just go to any corporation and count the number of vice presidents.

As you may recall–and I will certainly remind you in any case–I am writing a series of articles on “The Milestones of History” for Boss Magazine. In the latest issue, you can read my history of the Berlin Wall. (To spare you the suspense, I am opposed to the Wall but I ain’t that fond of the Germans, either.)

Here is a link to the magazine: http://www.dixonvalve.com/fgal/publications/Boss_Fall_2007_DIXBOS.pdf

My article is on page 20, but I would recommend the rest of the magazine as well.

I believe that I have found a second poem by the late Chidiock Tichborne, one that was more upbeat, life-affirming and suitable for Catholic sockhops. It would have been rated at least a 90 on Vatican Bandstand.

Here it is.

Every time I think that I’m the only one who’s lonely
Someone calls on me

(No doubt a disguised Jesuit)

And every now and then I spend my time in rhyme and verse
And curse those faults in me

(Let’s face it: as a conspirator, he stank.)

And then along comes Mary

(Obviously, the Queen of Scots)

And does she want to give me kicks,

(Either a stable of horses or a chorus line of nuns–with the Catholic gentry you never know)

And be my steady chick

(Expecting that from a thrice married monarch is a true expression of faith.)

And give me pick of memories

(Apparently he wants a knighthood and a sainthood)

Or maybe rather gather tales of all the fails and tribulations
No one ever sees.

(Actually, the English secret service had the complete transcript–which explains Tichborne’s life expectancy.)

When we met I was sure out to lunch

(He evidently was eating at French, Spanish and Italian restaurants–theologically and sensibly to avoid English cooking.)

Now my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch.

(The empty cup could refer to communion or the space in his codpiece after he has been disemboweled. In either case, Mary was worth it.)

Anyone named Chidiock Tichborne would be used to martyrdom. He certainly did not improve his prospects by plotting to assassinate Elizabeth I. Basketball had yet to be invented so Catholic Youth organizations sponsored extra-curricular competitions to put Mary Stuart on the English throne. Chidiock signed up with the Babington team, a group of conspirators who would have inspired the Keystone Kops. The Babington gang had mastered the game of trash talk; they let everyone know that they intended to kill Elizabeth. They put in it writing–tactless and incriminating messages to Mary, Loyola University alumni newsletters–and they even put it in painting. The Babington boys commissioned a group portrait. They refused to be ignored.

Of course, that is not the best approach to a conspiracy. The Babington boys were arrested, tried and executed in 1586. All they managed to accomplish was to incriminate Queen Mary; she was tried and executed the following year.

While awaiting his death, the 28 year-old Tichborne proved that he was a better poet than plotter. His only known work, it is all too appropriately called “Tichborne’s Elegy.”

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made;
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

The Elizabethans did have a superior way of saying “Hey, dude. Bummer.”

In my meanderings through the internet, I have found a website that provides an unique, shamelessly pompous yet essential perspective on British history: www.thepeerage.com

As an alternative to O.J. and Britney, enjoy a better class of gossip. For example, there is Sir Robert de Neville (1291-1319), known as the Peacock of the North. In a quarrel over money, he and his brother Ralph killed their cousin Richard FitzMarmaduke (which would really be a great name for a Peacock of the North). And these Nevilles were underachievers: a century later, the family would be choreographing the War of the Roses. As prolific as they were treacherous, they provided a number of ancestors for the current royal family. (See Cecily Neville for details!)

The website is wonderfully snobbish. For example, Harold MacMillan–a mere Prime Minister– is included primarily because he married the daughter of the Duke of Devonshire. You can read all about her ancestors, but nothing about his. Those MacMillans may have been rich–publishing, you know–but they were trades people. And Lady Antonia Fraser must have the website’s editors reaching for a brandy. Her people–Earls of Longford, the Pakenhams–have 77 entries on the website. Her first husband was of good–albeit Scottish–stock: the Frasers. They may have been Highlanders, but at least they were the chieftains. However, her second husband is—well–unsuitable. He is Harry Pinter, the son of Hyman the tailor. Mr. Pinter does have a Nobel Prize in Literature, but those pushy types would.

However, blue blood is not completely incompatible with gray matter. The grandson of the Duke of Bedford, Bertrand Russell, was a Nobel laureate. So was the grandson of the Duke of Marlborough, Winston.

Yet even the less illustrious biographies tell us England’s history. War was the original justification and business of aristocracy. The oldest peerages were won and maintained through martial feats. Scanning the biographies, you will see how often the dates of death coincide with the epochs of England: The Wars of the Roses, The English Civil War, and the Napoleonic Wars. A Pakenham—Lady Antonia’s great-great-great-great-great uncle–died leading the British debacle at New Orleans. Yet, these losses are numbed and even romanticized by their distance. Every noble killed in the War of the Roses at least got two lines of dialogue in Shakespeare. But the World Wars are not remote, and now the dates of death–1914, 1915, 1916, 1917, 1918, 1940, 1941, 1942, 1943, 1944, 1945–have a poignant meaning.

Every family in Britain had its losses. A generation was slaughtered in the First World War. In the British armed forces, one in six was killed. Among the officers, however, the mortality was one in three. The men who led were the first to die. Their family crest was no protection from machine guns. They were born with every advantage and with one responsibility, and they fulfilled it.

No one in 9th century France was literate enough to write a birth announcement, but if you were in proximity to a town crier you would have heard of the birth of a heir to the throne. History would remember the birthday boy as Charles the Simple. Of course, a town crier–the medieval version of a press secretary–would have insisted that the epithet of “Simple” referred to Charles’ straight-forward manner.

However, then that town crier would have to explain the rest of the family’s nicknames. Charles’ father was “Louis the Stammerer”, his uncle “Charles the Fat, and his grandfather “Charles the Bald.” In fact, the Carolingian dynasty was plagued by its epithets. The royal line began with Pepin the Short and ended with Louis the Sluggard. Charlemagne (Charles the Great) was the happy exception among the miserable monikers. Even Charlemagne’s son had the nickname curse. He was known as Louis the Pious, which suggests that he was better at prayers than statecraft. (And his prayers couldn’t have been very efficient because they did not protect France from either his feuding sons or the Vikings.)

At least, Charles the Simple solved the Viking attacks. He simply surrendered. In 911 he ceded northwest France to the Norsemen. The region is still known as Normandy.

MADONNA AT KABBALAH CONFERENCE IN ISRAEL

JERUSALEM – Madonna joined other devotees of Kabbalah, Judaism’s mystical sect, at a Tel Aviv hotel Thursday on the occasion of the Jewish New Year.

Welcome to Hotel Kabbalah!

Your stay begins with a three hour discussion of the numerological meaning of your room number.

Finally, when you leave, pay the bill without any questions. There are some things that must be accepted on faith.

In my meanderings through the internet, I came across a reference to the Roman poet Ovid. Since he is assigned reading in Classics 101 and merits an occasional question on Jeopardy, the man obviously has achieved immortality. That might have been some consolation to a man who was condemned for immorality in ancient Rome. To earn that kind of distinction, one might have had to debauch every vestal virgin and the entire Praetorian Guard, probably on the same night. (Imagine that Viagra Commercial!) Unfortunately, Ovid really was the victim of guilt by association. At worst, he simply was the poet laureate of certain orgies, those of the daughter of Augustus.

But Augustus didn’t approve of family scandals. The Emperor couldn’t prosecute everyone at his daughter’s orgies–that would have been a class action suit–but he could punish the most conspicuous participants. And a celebrity poet made a great example. So Ovid ended up exiled, spending his last years on the Romanian coast of the Black Sea.

Think of the irony: a Roman’s idea of punishment is a East European’s idea of vacation. Imagine if Dostoyevsky had been exiled there instead of Siberia. How would his outlook have changed….

“Crime and Punishment“: In an attempt to demonstrate his superior will, Rodya steals an apple pie from the nice lady baker. Can he live with the guilt, and will he get a tummyache from eating too much?

“The Brothers Karamazov“: Dad and Dmitri are vying for the affections of Grushenka, an adorable stray puppy. Ivan and Alexei debate the existence of Santa Claus; Ivan has serious doubts.

“The Idiot“: Prince Mishkin is so nice that he makes everyone wish that they had epilepsy.

It is the Jewish New Year. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Mel Gibson haven’t wished us away yet.

The stereotype of Jewish intelligence is clearly refuted by our ridiculous calendar. Any attempt at explanation would induce complete befuddlement and possible psychosis. The Jewish calendar is probably just another of God’s zany torments of His Chosen People.

God commanded Abraham to slay his son Isaac. The faithful Abraham prepared to make the sacrifice, But an angel stayed Abraham’s hand. The angel said, “Spare your son, and observe this calendar instead.” And Abraham begged, “Really, it would be easier to kill the boy.”

If the Jewish calendar can’t be intelligible, at least it could be cute. Look what the Chinese have done with a menagerie of symbols. The year of the dragon, the snake…

In fact, we could simply translate the Chinese zodiac into its Jewish equivalents.

The Rat=MBAs and personal injury lawyers

The Ox=Jews in bathing suits in Florida

The Tiger=Hadassah chairlady/family tyrant (Ayn Rand)

The Rabbit=Most of us in gym class

The Dragon=Jewish American Princess

The Snake=Neo-Conservatives

The Horse=Shiksa in-law towering over her husband (Mrs. Henry Kissinger)

The Goat=long-suffering schlemiel who insists on telling you everything that’s wrong with his business and his health.

The Monkey=Show biz!

The Rooster=The family’s most egotistical success (usually married to the Horse)

The Dog=The primary reason we remain a minority group (Pug Dog=sometimes rhinoplasty helps)

The Pig=When it comes to table manners, we are never confused with Episcopalians. (But who worries about the right fork when you are devouring pure cholesterol.)

First, the official version: Vienna is besieged by the Ottomans but an army led by Poland’s King Jan Sobieski routes the Moslem horde and saves Western Civilization.

Once you have dispensed with the grateful tears and a few bars of Chopin (how else do you thank Poland), I will give you the actual history.

There really was a Vienna and an Ottoman Empire, and the latter really was besieging the former in 1683. However, this was not the Ottoman Empire of 1483 or 1583, but the bloated parody of its martial glory. Uma Thurman had become Shelley Winters. This Ottoman army was no longer led by warrior kings; the Sultans–now cretins by birth or choice–rarely could find their way out of their harem. The army was now led by whichever courtier had bribed or connived the command.

The commanding pasha at Vienna was Kara Mustafa. He had an army of 140,000 men, but only a third of them were actual soldiers and their weapons were outdated. The other 90,000 men were basically support staff–and the pasha was enjoying the best coffee and cushions. Setting off from Constantinople in April, the Ottoman army lumbered upon Vienna in mid-July. Since an Ottoman horde was hard to ignore, Vienna had ample time to evacuated the civilian population. There was only a garrison of 18,000 left behind the walls of Vienna.

Even with their geriatric armaments, by sheer force the Ottomans could have taken the city. However, that would have been unprofitable for the Pasha. If Vienna were taken by storm, the Turkish soldiers would be entitled to whatever they could loot. On the other hand, if the city were besieged and starved into submission, then the Pasha would receive Vienna’s treasures. Guess which strategy Kara Mustafa preferred?

There are worse places to siege than Vienna in the summer. The Ottoman army enjoyed a pleasant two months of pillaging the Austrian countryside. However, their vacation ended rather abruptly–on this day in 1683–with the arrival of an allied army led by Jan Sobieski. The Pasha evidently had overlooked that possibility. Worse, although Sobieski’s force was half the size of the Pasha’s, the Christian army was composed of soldiers rather than servants. It turned out that the Turkish army was much faster when retreating than advancing. And, indeed, the Ottoman Empire now would be retreating for the next 250 years.

For his role in the debacle, Kara Mustafa did not receive the Medal of Freedom. He was strangled and then beheaded. (The Sultan was not a complete cretin.)

And was Christendom saved? Well, it never was in danger. The Ottoman Empire had no plans for mosques in Moscow or Turkish baths in Bath. This was simply a turf war between Turkey and Austria, and the winner would get Hungary. Furthermore, if this had been a clash between Islam and Christendom, then Turkey had a very strange ally: the leading power of Western Civilization. You see, the Hapsburgs were fighting on two fronts: in the East against the Turks, and in the West against France. Yes, France and Turkey were allies of long-standing, with over a century of coordinated attacks against the Hapsburgs.

Indeed, while Austria was marshalling and mortgaging its resources against Turkey, there was little left to defend the west bank of the Rhine from Louis XIV. Perhaps the French victories offered some solace to the Turkish Sultan. He may have lost Vienna and then Hungary, but his French buddy now owned Alsace and Lorraine.