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I wanted to write about the Fourth Crusade.  I just didn’t realize how much I had to say.  Well, if you were looking for some summer reading, here it is.    If it is any relief to you, I have almost exhausted myself on the Byzantine Empire.  Almost….

And to save your eyesight, I am using a more generous font.

History is replete with villains.  Indeed, but for their capers and crimes, history might be little more than statistics.  But the evil genius, although a staple of Hollywood, is actually rare.  Who had that diabolical brilliance to ensnare, manipulate and destroy his way to triumph?  Many thought that they did–and history records all the failed efforts.  During the Peloponnesian War Alcibiades managed to betray both Athens and Sparta as well as some neutral countries, and yet he was smugly certain that he would always maneuver his way to power and adoration;  two countries claim credit for his assassination.  For a more recent example, take a look at Berlin in 1945; the Thousand Year Reich lasted about as long as a production of the Ring Cycle.  Evil geniuses do not make mistakes, especially suicidal ones.

So, who are indisputable examples of evil genius?  If you have not immediately thought of Otto von Bismarck, you just aren’t trying.  Then there is Vladimir Lenin: visionary, ruthless, and  a brilliant improviser.  Who else would have conned Imperial Germany into subsidizing the Bolshevik Revolution?  (Yes, Stalin and Mao were evil and cunning, too; but Lenin also had the unique distinction of being sane.)  I think that Alexander Hamilton belongs on this list; so did everyone who knew him.

But these are familiar fiends.  I want to introduce you to such an extraordinary monster that he seems like an outtake from “Dr. Who”:  an elderly, blind invalid animated by greed and warped patriotism.  I have just described Enrico Dandolo, the most infamous and successful doge in the history of Venice.    Dandolo (c. 1110-1205) achieved his greatest triumphs in statecraft and perfidy when he was in his 90s.  He would make Venice the mistress of the Mediterranean, creating a commercial empire that would last three centuries.  His triumphs turned out to be a catastrophe for Western Civilization,  but foresight is not a real concern for a blind nonagenarian.

Even in the 12th century, Dandolo was an old family name in Venetian society; and Enrico had a distinguished career as a diplomat.  When he became Doge in 1193, it might have been regarded as the Republic’s retirement gift.  But he was not the retiring type; and neither was Venice.  The city state was thriving, its ships transporting Crusaders to the Middle East and importing oriental luxuries to Europe.  This trade was not quite duplicitous because the chivalrous Christians were slaughtering the Moslems of Syria and the Holy Land, but not the Venetians’ commercial partners in Egypt.  However, the Fourth Crusade was planned as an attack on Egypt, and Venice found herself in a bind: how could it protect Egypt while transporting an invading army?    A lesser man might have been stymied and perhaps succumb to ethics; the Doge had no such problems.  In 1201, Venice and the Crusaders reached a binding agreement; however, the Crusaders couldn’t have imagined how binding it would be.

Venice agreed to transport 13,500 knights and squires, their horses, along with 20,000 foot soldiers, and provide nine months worth of food.  In return, the Republic would be paid 85,000 silver marks, the mark being the equivalent of a half pound.  If any of the Crusaders were literate, they should have read the contract’s fine print.  That sum was non-negotiable.  If no one showed up for the Crusade, Venice would still be owed that amount.  And strangely enough, the courts of Europe were soon pervaded with the most discouraging reports about the impending Crusade.  Somehow the Egyptians had been warned of the impending attack, and were preparing for it.  Furthermore, questions now were raised as to this Crusade’s mission:  Egypt was not the Holy Land, and so carnage there offered no spiritual redemption.  When, in 1202, the Crusaders were to assemble in Venice, less than a third of the anticipated number arrived.

Nevertheless,  they still were expected to pay that 85,000 silver marks.  The Crusaders might as well have taken a vow of poverty, selling and pawning whatever they could; but their earnest destitution only scrapped together 50,000 marks.   Venice took that as a down payment but its ships stayed anchored; and the Crusaders were stranded.  (They were camped on the Lido, but in 1202 they were about seven centuries early for the tourist season.)  An army of idle and exasperated Crusaders could have been a danger to the city, but Dandolo found  a way to divert them.  It just so happened that Venice was at war with Hungary; would the Crusaders like a little gainful employment?  Anything they could loot from Hungarian towns and corpses would help pay their debt to Venice.  Once that was settled, the Crusade could set sail.  The Pope had threaten to excommunicate anyone responsible for this misuse of the Crusade; but Venice didn’t care and the Crusaders really didn’t have a choice.

Their expedition would attack the Adriatic port of Zara.  Prior to its departure, the force was to be blessed at San Marco’s.  The sacraments presumably mitigated the irony that the Crusaders were about to sack a Catholic city.  The mosaics and icons of San Marco would have been second-rate Byzantine, but that still would have surpassed anything the Crusaders had seen back home in France and Germany.  That alone would have awed them, but it was merely the backdrop.  For a blind man, Enrico Dandolo still had a wonderful sense of spectacle, and he was about to steal the show.  Addressing the assembly of Venetians and Crusaders, the Doge declared:

“I myself am old and feeble; I need rest.  My body is infirm.  But I know that no man can lead you and govern you as I, your Lord, can do.  If therefore you will allow me to direct and defend you by taking the Cross…I am ready to live and to die with you and the pilgrims.”

The gesture was magnificent:  the ancient invalid would be a crusader.  The motive behind it was equally breathtaking;  the shameless scoundrel intended to hijack the Crusade by taking command of it.  (He didn’t have any apprentice evil geniuses to delegate the heist.)  The expedition embarked in early November, and Zara was conquered a week later.  The Crusaders then expected to sail on to Egypt, but the Doge preferred to winter at Zara.  Since it was his fleet, no one was going anywhere without him.  In the meantime Dandolo was negotiating a new enterprise–and different direction–for his Crusade.  A Byzantine prince wanted to rent it.

A Byzantine Bargain 

Alexius Angelus was the son of the deposed and imprisoned Emperor Isaac II.  To be honest, Isaac deserved to be deposed.  His ten year reign (1185-1195) had been a disaster.  The man was an incompetent tyrant.  He levied ridiculous taxes but usually collected rebellions instead.   Bulgaria revolted over a special tax to pay for an imperial wedding.  The Emperor’s inability to crush the Bulgars only encouraged other provinces to rebel.  During Isaac’s short reign the Empire lost Bulgaria, Serbia and Cyprus.  Faced with reduced revenues and loathing responsibility, the Emperor came up with an unique cost-saving measure.  He out-sourced the Byzantine navy.  The maritime burdens now would be bourne by Byzantium’s former colony and long-time ally…Venice.  (And Venice didn’t mind at all; apparently maritime powers like being handed monopolies.)  Yes, catastrophe is a Greek word, and Isaac’s long overdue ouster came at the hands of his own brother Alexius.

The usurper merely blinded and imprisoned Isaac.  When Isaac had seized the crown, he had his predecessor tortured to death; but that deposed emperor was only a cousin.  If exemplary a brother, the now anointed Alexius III proved just as incompetent.  At least, he had less of an empire to lose.   Through his ineptitude, however, he managed to alienate Byzantium’s most useful ally.  Alexius thought that the Venetians were becoming too powerful.  Of course, he was right; but did he have a practical alternative?  Rebuilding the Byzantine fleet would have been the solution, but that would have required leadership, ability and effort.  Alexius would also be spending money on ships rather than himself: out of the question!  But the Emperor imagined that he had a clever idea: renege on the Treaty with Venice, instead allying the Empire with the two maritime cities of Pisa and Genoa.  In theory, their two smaller fleets would replace the void left by Venice.  And that certainly was a theory.  Now Byzantium had neither a fleet nor an adequate surrogate, but it did have a new enemy.

But here was a Byzantine prince offering Venice a restored alliance, the added incentive of 200,000 silver marks, and an invaluable diversion from Egypt.  The Crusaders were promised 50,000 silver marks of that sum and the cancellation of their debts to Venice.  Alexius further pledged to supply 10,000 soldiers for the Crusade once his father was back on the throne.  Of course, this reinforced Crusade would logically attack the Moslems conveniently adjacent in Anatolia and Syria.  Why bother with an unnecessary detour to Egypt?  And to coax the Catholic Church into removing its excommunication of the Crusaders, Alexius promised to reunite the Greek Orthodox Church with Rome.  So Dandolo had achieved a complete diplomatic triumph; now all he needed was a military one to match it.  But he had to accomplish what the Huns, the Persians, the Arabs, the Bulgars, the Vikings and the Russians had to failed to do:  take Constantinople.

The Roman Emperor Constantine had chosen the site as his capital because it was so easily defended.  A peninsula, protected by water on three sides and the world’s most formidable walls on the fourth, Constantinople defied attack.  Even the sea walls circuiting its harbors and coast were daunting.  Constantinople was not just intimidating but humbling, the greatest city in Christendom.  Its beauty reflected a thousand years of wealth and art.  In the 10th century, Russia  converted to Orthodoxy because “if God existed He had to live in Constantinople”.   At the time of the Fourth Crusade the rich, sophisticated metropolis had a population surpassing 300,000.  Paris would have had a population of 80,000–and without the erudition and hygiene; and don’t even ask about London.

At least, Venice had some semblance to culture–which it acquired primarily from the Byzantines.   The Adriatic city had been a imperial subject until the tenth century and remained a valued ally (at least until Alexius III).  San Marco was originally a Greek Orthodox church and is a replica of the second most prominent church in Constantinople.  Aside from the cultural hand-me-downs, Constantinople conferred one of its greatest favors on the ducal families of Venice:  an imperial princess as a bride.  The Doges did not quite merit a sister or daughter of the emperor, but a niece or a cousin still was considered a munificent offering.  One Byzantine princess introduced to Venice a sophisticated new eating utensil, which we call the fork.  So the Venetians knew Constantinople, and felt a mixed reverence and envy.

On June 24, 1203, the Venetian fleet anchored off Constantinople.  In two different ways, it was an inspiring sight.  The warriors from Western Europe beheld the most magnificent city imaginable, and the sailors from Venice saw no fleet to challenge them.  The great Byzantine navy no longer existed,  and the Pisan and Genoese proxies proved equally absent.  There still were towers that guarded the straits and harbors, but the garrisons also seemed to vanish at the approach of the Venetians.  Alexius III didn’t inspire much heroism.

By mid-July, the Bosporus was just another Venetian lagoon.  But behind its walls, Constantinople remained defiant.  To successfully attack the triple-line of fortifications guarding the city’s landside, the Crusaders would have needed a miracle:  specifically, one that rushed by two centuries the development of the cannon.  (And an excommunicated army couldn’t count on that.)  But the city’s sea walls were not so uniformly impregnable.  The imperial palace, built along the Black Sea, had lower walls so not to interfere with the scenic view.  Those sea walls were not much higher than the prow of a Venetian ship.  In fact, it was possible to swing from a Venetian mast on to the Byzantine ramparts–although a knight in full armor probably shouldn’t have tried.  So, on July 17, 1203, guess where the Venetian fleet attacked?

And leading the attack was Enrico Dandolo himself, standing on the prow of his ship and holding the banner of Venice.  Of course, he was blind to the dangers, and the Byzantine archers proved to be equally blind.   But the Doge’s stance and luck inspired his forces forward.  Within a few hours, the Crusaders held Constantinople’s northern walls and had begun their customary rampage; they were especially fond of arson.  The Byzantines looked to Alexius III for leadership, and then they were just looking for him.  That night he fled the city, abandoning his family but remembering to take the imperial treasury.   The following day the Byzantine imperial council decided that Isaac II had been the rightful emperor all along, transporting him from prison back to the throne.  Since the Crusaders’ sole goal was the old emperor’s restoration,  the war now was over.  Of course, there remained the matter of payment….

Isaac was dismayed to learn of his son’s lavish promises, but he could hardly renege.  Indeed, his consent was superfluous.  The Crusaders had insisted that Alexius be named co-emperor; that way his word was law and so were his debts.  In the best of times, 200,000 silver marks would have amounted to one seventh of the Empire’s gross national product.  (That would be equivalent to $2 trillion dollars in the American economy.)  And this was not exactly a great year for Constantinople.  The treasury had been embezzled; and the provinces, whether in rebellion or confusion, were withholding their revenues from the capital.  So, Isaac II and Alexius IV actually ruled only over Constantinople itself.  Even with new taxes and confiscating silver plates from the city’s churches, the Emperors barely paid half the amount they owed.  But until they paid the rest, the Crusaders were staying in Constantinople–as the Byzantines’ guests, of course.

Unfortunately, the Crusaders did not endear themselves to their hosts.  Crude, unwashed and enthusiastically violent, the “Franks” (the Byzantines’ generic term for the western louts) disrupted daily life in Constantinople.  As tourists, their itinerary was one brawl after another.  It must have thrilled the Byzantine citizenry–the accosted women and the beaten shopkeepers–that their exorbitant taxes were paying for these assaults.   In fairness, the Crusaders were just as sick of Byzantines–those arrogant, decadent deadbeats.  Many of the Crusaders wanted to leave; if the Byzantines had no more money or tolerance, what was the point of remaining?  But the Crusaders couldn’t leave without the Venetian fleet, and Dandolo was intent on staying.

He knew that a continued occupation would lead to war; but that was exactly what he wanted!  The Doge was encouraging the Crusaders to overthrow Isaac and Alexius, and take control of the Empire itself.  However, the army’s commanders were inconveniently ethical.  Yes, the Emperors turned out to be  inept disappointments but they still were allies, so the Crusaders would not betray them.  That lukewarm loyalty surpassed the Byzantines’ regard for their co-emperors, those despised collaborators with the West.  The growing Byzantine outrage would provide Dandolo with his war.

Byzantine patriots found their champion in Alexius Ducas, a noble who overthrew Isaac II and Alexius IV in January, 1204.  Being only a cousin, he had no compunction about killing them.  Although adhering to that annoying nomenclature–Alexius V!–he had more originality as a ruler.  For the first time in two decades, the Empire had a dynamic and inspiring leader; unfortunately, there was not much left to that empire.  Still, the bankrupt city found the resources and resolve to rebuild and rearm itself.  The seawalls breached by the Crusaders were strengthened and heightened; now they will higher than Venetian masts.

Of course, the Crusaders were also preparing for war; but they were more intent on how they would divide up the loot and the empire. It took a month of negotiations between the Venetians and Crusaders, and you know who wheedled the advantages.  The Republic would get three/eighths of the spoils and the same proportion of the empire; first pick, naturally.  There would be a new emperor; Dandolo graciously excluded himself from consideration.  But Venice would have the deciding voice in the selection.  With the pact concluded, all that remained was the necessary carnage.

The Venetian ships attacked on April 9th.  To their surprise, they were repelled.  Imagine what Alexius V could have done with money and a navy.  But the amphibious attacks continued.  By April 11th, the Crusaders had scaled a section of the sea walls and then seized a city gate.  As the night fell, they only controlled a small section of Constantinople; to level the rest of the city, the Crusaders started fires.  By the end of the next day, half of the city was smoldering; but Byzantine resistance had collapsed.  Alexius V ceded the city, fleeing to northern Greece where Alexius III had absconded.  The Fifth hoped that with his ability and the Third’s money, the two could rally the Byzantines.  The old usurper treated his guest like family–blinding him.

Constantinople was shown less mercy.  According to the etiquette of medieval warfare, upon taking a city the victorious troops were entitled to three days of pillage, rape and vandalism.  And here was the richest city in Christendom at their mercy.  Three days really weren’t enough.  The rape of Constantinople became a contest between the Venetians’ discerning thefts and the Crusaders’ carefree destruction.   The city’s hippodrome was as much a museum as a stadium.  Atop the track’s starting gate was an exquisite collection of ancient bronze horses.  Crusaders might have used them as target practice; but the Venetians claimed them first.  Those bronze horses are still on display in Venice, a symbol of the Republic’s glory.

With centuries of accumulated art, the Orthodox churches were tempting prey; the more discerning nobles and the Venetians tried to save the jewel-encrusted icons and relics before the foot soldiers smashed them for the pretty stones.  Yes, the art was still stolen but at least survived; much of it is now seen  in the churches and museums of western Europe.  (Relic forgers would add a cachet to their frauds, claiming the works were taken from Constantinople.)  No such deference was shown the imperial tombs; the corpses of emperors and empresses were stripped of jewelry and then flung away as garbage.  And no one thought of saving the Library of Constantinople.  The illuminated manuscripts were possibly worth stealing, but who cared about those thousands of old scrolls?   They were in Greek!  Even the literate soldiers could decipher only half of that alphabet.  Just who was this A-p-i-z?-t-o-t-something?  So the  last extant collection of ancient literature, including the complete works of Aristotle, simply made a glorious bonfire.

Divide and Consent

While no one begrudged the soldiers such fun, their leaders were preoccupied with matters of state–at least a more elevated form of grave robbing.  Even conceding the independence of Bulgaria and Serbia, the Byzantine Empire still was a large realm.  It encompassed half the Balkans, the area we would recognize as Greece, Macedonia, Albania and Thrace.  As the Venetians certainly knew, the Empire also held the Crimea and, through it, the market of Russia.  Byzantium ruled western Anatolia; the Turks had yet to conquer and rename it for themselves.  But now the Crusadists were to divide up that empire.  Venice claimed three-eighths of it,  and Dandolo knew exactly what he wanted.  Of course, that included the prime real estate of Constantinople itself.  Venice demanded possession of the Golden Horn, the main harbor of Constantinople; how else would it monopolize the city’s trade?    But Venetian venality also had an aesthetic side.  Since their church of San Marco was merely a replica of Constantinople’s second best church, the Venetians now seized the best:  Hagia Sophia.  It would be a Catholic Church with a suitable–meaning Venetian–archbishop.  (The Pope would queasily accept the new archdiocese, acknowledging a faith accompli.)  As for the rest of Byzantium, Venice claimed every major seaport from the Adriatic to the Crimea, the Ionian Islands and Crete.  The Republic would control the eastern Mediterranean and the Black Sea; one could sail from Italy to Russia coasting along the Venetian Empire.

What was left of the Byzantine Empire still required an Emperor, and it was agreed that a Crusader would have the throne.  Two candidates vied for the crown.  An Italian marquis had distinguished himself  for his leadership and character; furthermore, he was related by marriage to Byzantine royalty.  The Venetians had consistently outwitted him, but his ethics and independence were a nuisance.  No, Venice wanted an affable stooge and found its ideal candidate in a Flemish count.  Hail Baldwin I.   The new emperor was duly crowned at Hagia Sophia in mid-May, just enough time to clean the horse manure from the basilica.  Those equine souvenirs were not an intentional affront but a logistical byproduct.  The Crusaders and the Venetians had agreed to bring their plunder to Hagia Sophia, where the loot  would be inventoried and then distributed.  The total haul was an estimated 900,000 silver marks.  (Yes, the Venetians would get their 3/8ths–plus yet another 50,000 silver marks to settle the Crusaders’  debts.  There must be something very devious about bookkeeping in Roman numerals.)  But how do you tote a thousand years’ accumulation of treasure and art?  Trains of horses and mules carried the loot into Hagia Sophia, and then carried it out.  So, for one fetid month, the greatest church in Christendom was also a stable.

As Emperor, Baldwin was entitled to one quarter of the Empire and the fealty of his vassals, the recipients of the remaining three-eighths.  In turn, those vassals would distribute their estates to their retainers who then would dole out morsels to yet a lower tier in the social registry.  Feudalism was great for heraldry but a very dubious form of government.  With this tenuous chain of command, any efficiency was miraculous;  even loyalty was a pleasant surprise.  And if Feudalism was to work at all,  there actually had to be land to award.  But that wasn’t the case in Byzantium.

All the provinces were in rebellion.  A number of Byzantine princes had somehow survived family gatherings; two now established themselves as emperors in Anatolia.  A third, with charming modesty, was merely the Despot of Epirus (alias Albania).   That reprobate Alexius III held northern Greece.  In Thrace, the Byzantines were forming an alliance with the Bulgars; Orthodox barbarians were preferable to Catholic ones.  While in the safety of Constantinople, the Crusaders were free to confer dukedoms upon each other.  But taking them was another matter:  they had to fight their way there and earn their  titles.   Of course, being Crusaders  they welcomed slaughter.

In Greece, they usually won.  There would be Dukes of Athens  and Kings of Thessalonica, and Alexius III would be a fugitive again.   However, Epirus remained Byzantine; its mountains and poverty discouraged conquest.  Trying to hold Thrace, Emperor Baldwin died a prisoner of the Bulgars.   As for Anatolia, the Crusaders had to concede it to the Byzantines.  Invading the peninsula required a navy, but the Crusaders no longer had one.  The Venetians had immediate need of their fleet to transport their Byzantine loot– including 75 tons of gold and silver–back home.  After that, the fleet would be fighting for control of Venice’s  newly acquired territories.  It seems that the only passive Byzantines were in Constantinople; Crete would take eight years to conquer.

But however fierce the provinces’ resistance, without Constantinople the Empire ceased to exist.  Its fragments were rump states of Greeks and Crusaders, warring with each other and among themselves.  In 1261 one of the Greek states would regain the city of Constantinople but it could not reunite and revive the Empire.  Constantinople became  just one more enclave among the patchwork of Balkan states.  It would not challenge the empire that Venice had created.  The Republic would maintain its mercantile supremacy for three centuries, finally driven from the seas by the growing naval power of the Ottoman Empire.

Ironically, that too was a consequence of Enrico Dandolo’s brilliant machinations.  Since the rise of Islam, Byzantium had been Christendom’s bulwark against Moslem invasions of Europe.  It had thwarted the Arab attempts and, though losing eastern Anatolia,  it had halted the Turkish advance.  Yet solely for Venice’s profit, Dandolo had destroyed Byzantium and Christendom’s strongest defense.  Now  the Turks only faced two smaller feuding principalities in Anatolia and assorted chaos in the Balkans.  Just as the Venetians thrived in the absence of Byzantium, so too would the Ottomans–and their empire would be ruled from Constantinople.

Enrico Dandolo died in 1205.  You’d think that in his last days he would have returned to Venice to bask in the adulation of a dazzled Republic.  He was not only the greatest doge in the city’s history but the founder of its empire.  If only in Venice, the man deserved a triumph.  But Dandolo stayed on in Constantinople, eschewing the celebrations because he had an empire to manage.  Besides Venice could not give the ailing nonagenarian what he really wanted:  the last laugh.  He wanted to be buried in Hagia Sophia, the site of his greatest and most infamous achievement.    And there he remains, his last and ever-lasting affront to the Byzantines.

I am learning to appreciate pornographic spam.  At least, it is grammatical and intelligible.  None has yet offered to enhance my pensive.

In sorry contrast, consider these messages.  Here is one from devoted reader Accutleroorie:

Converting Measurements Online

The Internet has made it easier to switch sundry measurements. Unprejudiced be appropriate online and type the measurements you after to convert. You pleasure see not too sites. Click one.

You will see fields with labels like “cm to in”, “in to cm”, mm to cm” etc. Reasonable put down the figure you necessitate to change. Click “work out” or “change”. The results will-power be displayed. There are also online calculators you can use.

Worse, I think that this was plagiarized from my television owner’s manual.

And I just heard from my enthusiastic reader Gearldine Delashmutt:

a lot far more webmasters ever before determine all your things internet websites prefer to offer you folks may fit appropriate in preparing to check back

Yes, please do check back and I’ll teach you how to spell Geraldine.  In your case, Ms. Delashmutt, crime doesn’t pay, and high school evidently didn’t either.

I obviously don’t have a criminal mind, despite being in public relations, so I don’t understand the point of this illiterate messages.  Am I supposed to be lured by “Gearldine” to divulge my credit cards or social security number?  I am not offering my editorial services to aspiring felons–other than MBAs–but why don’t you sociopaths just plagiarize my work.  

Really, you are likely to get more readers/victims with this lead:

Today is the 196th anniversary of Waterloo. As you can imagine, I have spent the day comforting Catherine Deneuve, Carol Bouquet, Juliette Binoche and Eva Green. (All right, try to imagine it.)

Besides, the name Eugene Finerman seems somewhat more plausible than Gearldine Delashmutt.

p.s.  And since it really is the anniversary of Waterloo: https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/06/18/waterloo-or-lieu-2/

In Dublin, Manhattan and the more pompous English departments, this day is commemorated with intentional incoherence as a celebration of James Joyce and the setting of “Ulysses”.  June 16, 1904 is when “stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead” and entered Cliffs Notes.

The appropriate form of celebration would be subversive erudition.  For instance, go to Mass and proclaim “Carrion Liaison”  (which theoretically could describe transubstantiation).  See if you get away with the pun or if a Jesuit punches you in the mouth.  The only real danger is if your emergency room physician is the sibling of a programmer at HBO or Showtime.

Because then the next Bloomsday would be celebrated with the premiere of  “Ulysses“–starring Larry David and Lucy Lawless…

On tonight’s episode Leo suspects that his circumcision was performed by Jack the Ripper.  He insists that Scotland Yard investigate.  Arthur Balfour (guest star Ricky Gervais)  thinks of a way to get Leo out of the office.   Back in Dublin, Molly gives a  “Yes I said yes I will Yes” to William Butler Yeats, Barry Fitzgerald and the touring D’Oyly Carte Company.  She does turn down Kaiser Wilhelm II; this will have repercussions.

Stereo Simulcast in Latin, Greek and Middle English–all at once.

Is being me a chronic condition?  Apparently so.  A friend just reminded me of an incidence from 40 years ago.  A group of Hispanic activists stormed into the college newspaper office.  They demanded to know why the Daily Illini was not giving more coverage to Hispanic issues.  A certain features writer quipped, “We supported the Moors.”

The activists didn’t get the joke…or the additional coverage.

And now the latest manifestion of my condition. 

I recently wrote a magazine article about the Salem Witch Trials.  Now, there are some valuable lessons to be learned from this story.  You certainly can see that America has a long tradition of sanctimonious hypocrisy.  (Most of the victims happened to be political opponents or commercial rivals of Salem’s leading family.)  And if a clique of  Mean Girls can terrorize 17th century Massachusetts, you should be amazed that you somehow survived high school.  You might also have some premonitions of Sarah Palin’s presidency.

But I saw intriguing similarities between “The Crucible” and “Bye Bye Birdie.”  They both center around hysterical teenagers, and if Paul Lynde isn’t a witch who is?  “What’s the Matter With Kids Today” is applicable to either show.  And imagine Dick Van Dyke as Cotton Mather performing an exorcism to “Put on a Happy Face”! 

Peter Sellars is called a genius for coming up with ideas like this.  I’d be lucky to get a Brooks Brothers’ straitjacket.   

p.s.  Let’s not forget the historic significance of this day:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/06/15/king-johns-involuntary-gift-to-us-2/

HBO, BBC2 Make Deal To Turn Robert Graves Novel ‘I, Claudius’ Into Epic Miniseries

Unfortunately, this is not a headline from 1975.  That was when “I, Claudius” was produced for television, and the series was merely a masterpiece.  The life of the Caesar family was the blackest of comedies. Sian Phillips as the Empress Livia stole the show and committed every other crime as well.  John Hurt made Caligula an endearing monster; he had a childlike wonder at all the abominations he could perpetrate.  Then, there was Derek Jacobi in the title role:  our stammering, slobbering, limping hero who uses his handicaps to pose as as a negligible fool,  masking the keen mind that sees all and narrates the sordid story. 

I have seen the series six times, so I have memorized almost the entire dialogue.  If there were ever a “Claudie” convention, I would consider going, possibly even in costume.  I do have the legs for a tunic (sorry, no illustrative photos–I am not a congressman) but for sentimental reasons, I’d probably go as Herod Agrippa.  He was charming, droll and quite likely a relative.

So what can be gained by remaking “I, Claudius”?  If HBO is worried about British actors starving, there is a time-honored way to exploit and denigrate a masterpiece.  Make a sequel!  Why not produce “Me, Nero”, the story of a repulsive teenager with delusions of talent? But for the foreskin, it could be a Judd Apatow movie.  Jonah Hill would be perfect.  And if that succeeds, there is “I, Galba”–the story of an irritating coot who becomes emperor; get Randy Quaid’s agent.  After that, there is “Us, Otho”–a badly aging playboy becomes emperor: Charlie Sheen’s comeback!  “We, Vitellius”–a fat has-been with an embarrassing toupee:  where do I start? 

And HBO: there were more than 80 Roman Emperors!  Calculating two seasons an emperor, the network has 160 years of shows.  After that, HBO can start with the Byzantines.  (By 2170, I should be finished with the Theodora script.)

Whatever happened to Eugene?  The more imaginative among you presumed that I had finally worked my way back to sixth century Constantinople and was the comedy hit at the Hippodrome.  (No one does Monophysite schtick like me.)  In fact, I was among the Byzantines, at least one of their modern manifestions:  the American judicial system.  I was on jury duty.

Now, in fairness, our judicial system is only Byzantine in its benumbing convolutions.  You may be asked to sift semantic nuances and calibrate technicalities; so you could end up feeling like a 1200 year old eunuch, too.  (And eunuchs would make excellent jurors, with their enforced disinterest.)  Otherwise, our system is shamelessly democratic: you can sue anyone for any reason.  For instance, if you are appalled by your medical bills, you are entitled to sue the families of General Burgoyne and Lord Cornwallis for losing the Revolutionary War, thus depriving our country of a national healthcare system.  Be warned, however, that under British libel laws, you can be sued for tactlessness–and the word “losing” does have a pejorative tone.

Yet, I wanted to be a juror.  First, who could resist the incentives of $17.20 a day and free lunch?  For a Chicago writer, that is good pay.  But I really wanted the adventure: to witness the dueling lawyers, to participate in the drama of the deliberations, to be the arbiter of justice.  Besides, I wanted to see, when under duress,  if I would become Henry Fonda or Ed Begley Sr.

Of course, the world does not always accommodate my wishes; otherwise, I would also have a few Pulitzers, too.  I have been summoned to jury duty several times but I never before survived the auditions.  In one past case, I was dismissed because I knew someone who had a traffic accident; I imagine that jury finally was composed of Amish 12 year-olds.  A prospective juror must meet the highly subjective criteria of vying lawyers;  if one side likes you, the other shouldn’t.  They object and you are excused.  In this particular case, one side particularly dreaded doctors, MBAs and other latent Republicans.

The judge’s personality will also determine the likelihood of you getting on the jury.  Some judges would not excuse a prospect even if he was scheduled for chemotherapy the next day:  “You know that you are going to die, so why not do something useful in the meantime.”  Their juries are quickly filled, although the judges often include alternates in the event of escapes and suicides.  But on this day, I faced a judge who decided not to force a bride to cancel her wedding.  She also excused a juror who faced impending bankruptcy as well as the person who denounced our  judicial system.  (Once that excuse proved effective, several other people realized they shared the very same sentiment; they had to be excused as well.  Of course, they now are also on the Homeland Security’s watchlist.)

Despite the attrition, 10 jurors somehow were selected.  Guess who was asked to be the 11th?  But I first had to answer a few questions.  It is customary in job interviews to pass oneself off as a soulless drone to satisfy the criteria of Human Resources.  That is just not my custom.  I remember telling a HR inquisitor that I wrote satires; the information actually left her speechless.  (And, yes, I never worked for that firm.)  So here is a partial transcript of the lawyers’ interrogation of this prospective juror.

Lawyer:  Are you related to or do you personally know any doctors?

Eugene:  It is a demographic inevitability.  For example, my father-in-law is a psychiatrist.

Lawyer:  Would that relationship influence your judgement in this case?

Eugene:  I have no problem ignoring him.

Lawyer:  As a writer, would you be bringing any literary perspective or predispositions to this case?

Eugene:  Well, I am not yet working on the script.  I did just write a magazine article on the Salem Witch Trials but I don’t think that there will be an overlap here.

Apparently, both the Plaintiff and the Defense found me equally entertaining.  So did the Court Reporter, who gave me the brightest smile.  Now there was an 11th juror and a class clown.  A twelfth juror soon completed the cast.  We formed an ecletic but very congenial group.  The jury certainly reflected the cosmopolitan character of Cook County:  every race, several accents (Tagalog and Polish), and an age span of three generations.  I was the only juror who could speak with ethnic certainty that our complimentary morning bagels were terrible.

As you likely have surmised, we were dealing with a medical malpractice case.  I will spare you the details primarily because I don’t want to be sued by the losing lawyer.  Besides, the case was rather technical;  the jurors were obliged to memorize a patient’s hypertension readings to determine his doctor’s diligence.  Each side presented “experts” to testify.  There is an interesting etiquette when introducing the expert.  Aside from reciting his deifying credentials, the expert must confess how much he is charging for his assistance.  The going rate seems to be $500 an hour, what the juror would make in a month.  The plaintiff’s lawyer will accuse the defendant’s experts of being greedy bastards; of course, the plaintiff’s experts are selfless saints even if they charge the same rate.  Then the defendant’s lawyers will make the same accusations against the plaintiff’s experts.  Remarkably, everyone kept a straight face.  I doubt that Yale or Juilliard produces better actors than our law schools do.

In fact, while taking notes of the evidence, I also found myself writing drama reviews of the lawyers and the witnesses.  Several times during the trial, lawyers would use the rhetorical gambit of forcing a witness to answer a simple yes or no to a complicated question.  The tactic is supposed to incriminate the witness; however, it really only incriminates the lawyer as a devious bully.  One of the $500 a hour witnesses had a real expertise in offending the jurors.  There is something unbearably smug about a man who repeatedly strokes his tie.  The jury would remember him, specifically as a punchline.

On the fifth day of the trial, the lawyers gave their closing summations.  The plaintiff’s lawyer asked us to award his client some $5 million in damages and compensation, including $1.5 million for the loss of a sex life.  Even if the plaintiffs had been Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, I wouldn’t appraise their sex life for that kind of money.  And these people were more on the esthetic level of Zasu Pitts and Sidney Greenstreet.  The jury retired to lunch and its deliberations.  The verdict took barely longer than the meal.

If you ever had any doubts about the jury system, our panel would reassure you of the efficiency and conscientiousness of your fellow citizens.  Everyone had taken their responsibilities quite seriously, keeping meticulous notes of the evidence and giving cogent summations of their findings.  Any questions were addressed and resolved amiably.  The conduct of the jurors was really quite inspiring; of course, that is also because they agreed with me.  (Sorry, but I can’t go an entire paragraph without a quip.)  What was our verdict?  Let’s just say that the plaintiff had a bad day.

The judge thanked the jury and dismissed us.  As we left the courtroom, the lawyers (both sides!) also formed their own reception line to thank us.  I told them that I was available if they ever needed an expert witness in a history or rhetoric case.  Furthermore, they already knew my rate:  $17.20 a day, free lunch and-most important–a captive audience.

And, yes, I would serve on a jury again.  I recommend it!

Can you find the silver lining in a nuclear bomb cloud?  Do you view corruption and crime as alternate creativity?  And are you too lazy for journalism, not clever enough for advertising, and too uncoordinated for three-card Monte?  Then you should consider a career in Public Relations!

Do you have what it takes?  Just take this simple test.  Here is a quote that might be a bit awkward for a certain corporation.  All you have to do is improve the truth!

May 28, 1937:

Volkswagen is founded

On this day in 1937, the government of Germany–then under the control of Adolf Hitler of the National Socialist (Nazi) Party–forms a new state-owned automobile company, then known as Gesellschaft zur Vorbereitung des Deutschen Volkswagens mbH. Later that year, it was renamed simply Volkswagenwerk, or “The People’s Car Company.”

Originally operated by the German Labor Front, a Nazi organization, Volkswagen was headquartered in Wolfsburg, Germany. In addition to his ambitious campaign to build a network of autobahns and limited access highways across Germany, Hitler’s pet project was the development and mass production of an affordable yet still speedy vehicle that could sell for less than 1,000 Reich marks (about $140 at the time). To provide the design for this “people’s car,” Hitler called in the Austrian automotive engineer Ferdinand Porsche. In 1938, at a Nazi rally, the Fuhrer declared: “It is for the broad masses that this car has been built. Its purpose is to answer their transportation needs, and it is intended to give them joy.”

History.com

Goodness, what unpleasant details!  How can Public Relations enhance the story?  Here is an example….

Happy Birthday, You Adorable Beetle!

On this day in 1937, Germany thought of a car as cute as their Steiff stuffed animals. Introduced by a well-known vegetarian with a sweet-tooth (hint, he might be Charlie Chaplin!), the cuddly, affordable little vehicle was called the People’s Car.  And what could be friendlier than that!

So, Happy Birthday, you folksy Volksy!

Oprah’s Last Show

Some 500 motorists on Michigan Avenue were surprised this morning to have their cars confiscated, although most were delighted once told that their vehicles would be melted down to create a giant bust of Oprah.  Once completed, the masterpiece will be planted on the top of the Sears/Willis Tower.  The art critic who thought that the work would look like a giant Pez dispenser is now believed to be in the molten metal, but Oprah forgave him first.

And from the archives…

“OPRAH OPENS SCHOOL IN SOUTH AFRICA”

Following the precepts of its founder, patroness and deity, the Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy offers a curriculum based on Oprah’s adaptation of the Socratic method. The instructor-known as the Oprahator– presents profound and probing questions, and then hugs the students–breaking their ribs. Preoccupied with their pain and trying to breathe, the students can’t get a word in edgewise.

The curriculum of West Point now includes a course on Oprah’s tactics, despite their obvious violation of the Geneva Convention. Of special interest to military historians was Oprah’s conquest of France. (Even the Germans are envious.) As you recall, the manager of Hermes refused to let Oprah in after the store had closed. Oprah then announced her intention to destroy France.

France immediately capitulated. Le President Chirac grovelled, “Heroic resistance to a demanding barbarian is completely out of French character. We will gladly change Hermes’ store hours to collaborate with Ms. Winfrey. We did the same for Hermann Goering, who by the way wore the same dress size as Oprah.”

In related atonement, the French government offered to move the Eiffel Tower to suit Oprah’s feng shui. France then gave Oprah carte blanche. Complying with her demand Napoleon’s Tomb was opened, so that she could give a little fellow a hug. Oprah, however, was disappointed with the accommodations of Notre Dame. The baptism font was too small for a bath and Oprah did not like the scent of the candles.

Hoping to make amends, the Catholic Church arranged to have Jesus as a guest on Oprah’s show….

Oprah: We have so much in common.
Jesus: Yes….
Oprah: I just love your Beatitudes. Let’s hear them.
Jesus: Blessed are the meek….
Oprah: Thank you. I bless you, too. Have you ever tried bathing with scented candles?
Jesus: No. The candles would keep slipping into the Jordan River.
Oprah: I understand you had issues with your father. We’ve all been there. If you feel like crying, I’ll hug you.
Jesus: Well….
Oprah: How many people heard your Sermon on the Mount?
Jesus: 300?
Oprah: Honey, I’ve got that twice that many TV stations. Did you like me better in “The Color Purple” or “Beloved”?

Television certainly knows how to recycle.  Just recently, one of the major networks decided to do its own version of Larry David’s masterpiece of misanthropy  “Curb Your Enthusiasm.”  Of course, in keeping with the network’s standards and practices, the reproduction was diluted, homogenized, sanitized and–shall we say–Unitarian.  The show was cancelled after two episodes. 

And I can barely wait to ignore a new production of “Charlie’s Angels.”  For those of you who are too young to remember the original or had better things to do, “Charlie’s Angels” was most teenage boys’ “therapy” as well as many middle-aged men’s fantasy of a second wife.  The show’s appeal was two-fold, and they were both on Farah Fawcett.  (Really, no one watched for Kate Jackson’s acting.)  There actually was no more than a hint–a clinging outline–but that literal titillation, unprecedented in American television, had millions of males trying to peek down the blouse of a cathode tube.   But that was the Seventies….By today’s standards, “Charlie’s Angels” could be on Nickelodeon.  On cable, even “Anne of Green Gables” is R-rated.  (Do Canadian cows really have silicon implants, and did their national healthcare cover that?)   How can this revived “Charlie’s Angels” compete with that?  Perhaps, it should try a different tact, and loot two Seventies series instead of one.  How is this:  each week, a trio of gorgeous detectives try to save the remnants of an unworthy mankind from annihilation by morally superior robots:  Charlie’s Battlestars!

And if that idea doesn’t earn a fortune, or at least a gift card for Musso & Franks, I have an even better “concept”.  Imagine a series that combines the complacent charm of the Eisenhower Fifties with provocative BBC quality from the Eighties.  And they are practically the same name!  In the 1950s, William Bendix played a blue-collar bumbler in “The Life of Riley”.  Three decades later, Sam Neill portrayed a ruthless British spy of the early 20th century in “Reilly, Ace of Spies.”   So, in “The Life of a Riley, Ace of Spies” we have a series about the world’s most brilliant, deadliest plumber.

Imagine this as the pilot episode.  Riley is assigned to steal the Russian defense plans for Manchuria.  Needing an excuse to get into the Winter Palace, Riley kills Tschaikovsky and uses the corpse’s beard to clog the pipes.  Then free to roam about the Palace, Riley seduces the Tsarina, for both the exercise and to use her to steal the secret plans.  The information ensures that the Japanese will win the Russo-Japanese War.  However, Riley still has to unclog the Palace pipes:  “Wat a revolting development dis is.”

(Casting recommendations for this and future episodes:  Shannon Tweed as Tsarina Alexandra, Lucy Lawless as Edith Wilson, and Kim Kardashian as Eleanor Roosevelt.)

p.s.  Let’s not forget the literary significance of this day: https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2010/05/25/the-edward-bulwer-lytton-anti-defamation-league-2/

President Obama was supposed to give an important speech on the Middle East; at least that is what CNN told me.  Since the alternative was the Bowery Boys Sunday morning feature on Turner Classic Movies, I decided to listen.  The President began talking at 10; the speech started five minutes later.  Those first five minutes were a litany of thanks, hellos, asides, and how abouts….This was a Jewish audience, so the President mentioned who’s son got into Brown, Buddy Sorrell’s bar mitzvah on “The Dick Van Dyke” show and  Abe Vigoda’s 90th birthday.  Perhaps the President hoped that the audience would be so gratified or numbed that it would cede the Palestinians the West Bank and the Hillcrest Country Club. 

We will have to wait and see.

However, I generally find those rambling prologues to be annoying if not subversive.  I suppose that it is good manners to mention everyone at the speaker’s table, but unless the topic of the speech is etiquette it is also stupefying irrelevant.  I presume that the President wanted me to think about the Middle East, but he distracted with some allusion to a “Rosey” Rosenberg playing basketball.  Who and huh?

You have to wonder if the great speeches of history all had these introductory meanderings?  Did Pericles, in his eulogy for the Athenian dead, first praise Nestor Junior High’s spear and flute corps for the evening’s entertainment?  Did Jesus began the Sermon on the Mount with a thanks to the Sigma Chi house at Caesarea Tech for raising 112 shekels with its chariot wash?  Did Lincoln feel obliged to mention that the Gettysburg County Republican chairman was great at horseshoes?  If they did, thank God for editing.

p.s.  Let’s not forget the historic significance of this day (and it will probably be an episode on the next season of The Borgias): https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/05/23/on-this-day-in-1498-2/