The Misunderstood Guillotine

It is summer in Paris, and the year is 1793. A throng of people twists and turns through narrow streets as shouts of happiness and shouts of glee echo against buildings that are lit by a June afternoon’s bright sunshine. There is a palpable beat of anticipation. There is a tremor of excitement as the people are carrying pikes, pots, sticks, and drums. The smell of meat roasting on open spits mixes with a more immediate and pungent smell of sweat… this is a carnival of death and the gathering men, women and children are vying for the best view, the best seats, and the quickest way toward the merchants selling ale and bread before the main attraction begins. There is a glint of sun catching the guillotine’s blade; it is a crescent blade, and sharp, and is already stained red from the previous day’s festivities. Hundreds of pairs of eyes are drawn toward the guillotine, raised atop its own platform… here is the “Razor,” the “Madam Scythe,” and below, being marched toward their death, a group of white-clad prisoners who are also squinting against the bright sun.
This is an Era in French History that included the French Revolution and Robespierre’s own “Reign of Terror” – I think it’s interesting to look at the instrument of this terror, the Guillotine, and try to understand what its original purpose was meant to be. Of course, it is a pretty cool little contraption that chopped off a person’s head whenever someone else thought this should have to happen, you know, but it was originally designed with a more humanitarian slant (sorry) in mind.
Before the invention of the guillotine, political prisoners (and thieves and brigands and such) were being put to death in a variety of painful ways. A man could be drowned, strangled, hanged, put to the wheel (too ghastly to even go into) or burned at the stake. The method of decaptitation involved an executioner with what was sometimes a dull sword or a dull axe, and it was necessary to repeatedly “chop” at a person’s neck. This often resulted in suffocation from a crushed windpipe or the loss of blood… it was also made worse if a person flinched or moved just before the strike fell.
Influenced by the “Enlightenment,” in which a man’s ability to “Reason” an “Rationalize” gave rise to new methods in Science and Philosophy -– it would be a French physician who set out to eliminate cruel and inhumane forms of punishment. Antoine Louis (primarily) would develop an easel-like structure which would allow victims to lie on their stomachs, face-down, while above them a crescent-shaped blade was being moved upward by a series of pulleys. The blade would fall quickly, severing a person’s head, and within 10 seconds they could be pronounced dead. Oh, wait. I forgot that a basket was nearby to catch the fallen (um, decapitated) head. This was important. And, in an Enlightened effort, this new tool was tested on animals, more animals, humans, and then more humans.
The guillotine was opposed by many intellectuals of the time who feared the growing power of the state; interestingly, Robespierre was himself an opponent to the tool. Others, like the artist Marat, (you know him, he was murdered in his bathtub) approved of the state’s right to use the threat of death against its enemies. I guess Robespierre, architect of the “Reign of Terror,” came to agree with him – between the summers of 1793 and 1794, the guillotine was dispatching nearly a hundred people every day.
What is interesting is that the guillotine was intended to become a humane tool used for executions. It was certainly a more humane method than dropping a rock-bound person in water or burning them at a stake, don’t you think? Unfortunately, the guillotine, in war-torn France, became a grim machine that symbolized all that the repressive and violent revolution had become. During Robespierre’s “Reign of Terror” as many as fifty thousand people would lose their lives to the constantly falling blade. That included King Louis XIV and his (perhaps) dim-witted wife, Marie Antoinette. The nobility, however, constituted only a slim fraction of those who were killed. It was more likely that the blade would find a member of the new “burgeoise,” or a worker, or a half-starved peasant… possibly those same people who found themselves in the early summer crowds.

Dining with the Peasants

Okay, so imagine you are a person living in medieval England around the year 1100.
You are a peasant, working a manor-field, and your back is hurting from constantly spading strips of hard-packed earth. You can see the manor-house in the distance, and you see the sun falling over towers and catapults made from stone. You’ve been working since the first slivers of pink sun broke the horizon this morning… now it is past mid-day and you’re starting to wonder what you will have for dinner. Already the smell of meat turning on a spit has wafted through the air. Your stomach churns.

In 1100, unfortunately, you were living on the edges of starvation. You could expect to reach your thirtieth birthday if you were fortunate; having survived many bleak, harsh winters you were adept at scavenging for things like nuts, berries, roots, herbs, nettles, and wild grasses. You probably also realized the importance of bark from the forest trees… this could be ground into a fine powder and mixed with your meager supplies of flour. Sometimes you would make a cake from this bark-flour and it would be warmed over a bed of hot rocks.

You were happily resistant to things like dirty water, tainted meat, molded bread, the cold, the heat, and (for the while, until 1348) fleas and rats. You lived close to the land, even if it was not yours, and aside from the “sport-hunting” of the nobility in the forests… you came to poach in those same wilds in order to preserve your very own existence.

If you were able to get meat it was usually in the form of rabbit or deer. (The word “venison” comes from the Latin root “venor” which means to hunt) You might choose to roast the rabbit or deer meat over a large spit; you might also choose to make a pie from the innards of the deer. Unlike your future generations of descendants, you were used to eating extremely lean meat. There was no real fat to be had, and you might count yourself lucky not to have a high cholesterol count.

Sometimes you might get a chicken… but poultry was reserved as a luxury food for the nobles, so you would have to take care in your poaching habits. The nobles were able to make a watery chicken broth and chicken soup from their stock. And you could smell it, sometimes, when you were working in the manor-fields. Probably best to turn to the teeming forests and look for things like pigeons and other game birds.

Bread was your mainstay, as long as there was enough grain to be harvested. And you also had a staple food with your pigs, as long as they remained fed on the grains you could give them.

You might also catch a fish now and then, and things like eels, pikes, minnows and lampreys were common. These were more like slimy snakes with the raw taste of oil and water, but you might find a way to eat them when mixed with your flour cakes.

You might also find a very able way of complimenting foods when you considered the common drinks known as “Mead” and “Ale.” If you preferred Mead (and who doesn’t) you were taking in very sweet mixture of fermented honey and water. Mead was also made with things like clove, ginger, and various fruits or berries that could be found. If you preferred Ale, you were drinking a beverage that was safer, even, than water. Grains could be mixed with water and soaked for days to make the brew, and like Mead, mixtures of herbs could be added. Because of the natural fermentation processes, these mixtures tended to have a powerful alcoholic punch.

The nobles may have had wine, but you preferred your Mead and Ale with your buffet of rabbit roast, deer pie, eel, and flour cakes. Wine was kept in rotting wooden barrels, anyway, and the thick, almost meal-like consistency was not the way to wash down your dinner. Not after you’d spent the whole day toiling in the manor-fields, right?

The Death of William's Sons

My friend LK said he was left feeling “flat” after the Athens post; I said that it was only a quickie, and that he should enjoy those, but he shook his head in utter disagreement.
We can take a look at couple of William the Conqueror’s sons, how’s that? They had good times.
And most excellent deaths… oh, yes.


In the Era following the conquest of Saxon-England by the Normans you had the reign of William I – we know him as William the Conqueror – from 1027 to 1087 AD.
Richard I would have been king, but died young.
William II became king of England in 1087.
Henry I became king of England in 1100.
It is an interesting time in the study of History because you’ve got the transition of England into one of the strongest of the new “kingdoms” in Europe, and also the very strong personality of William I, himself. You begin to see changes in English law, in politics, and the centralization of a king’s authority over distant shires and regions. You also see an intense period of the building of fortifications and institutions as William the Conqueror attempted to cement, with bricks and stone, his absolute control. He is an interesting character, of course, and maybe later I’ll post about his heroics in the Battle of Hastings or his “Domesday Book” – but for this post (LK!) I want to tell you about his immediate sons, and their almost immediate deaths.
Richard I was William the Conqueror’s second son. It is possible that his older brother, Robert II, was responsible for his death. There is scant history here, but young Richard was killed in a hunting accident in 1081. He was hunting a deer, he was attacked by a deer, he was mauled by a deer… little is known of what actually happened to him while he was in the “King’s Forest,” but I can tell you that he went in alive, and came out dead. Signs posted might have said “You aren’t in Sherwood Forest anymore” but I’m not sure that Richard could read them, anyway.
William II, also known as “William Rufus,” was William the Conqueror’s third son.
He was chosen over his older brother, Robert II, who had warred with his father and was under suspicion for the unusual death of Richard. As King, William II was unpopular with the people, and he displayed an extremely violent temper. He was aggressive, quick to fight, and eager to war – he was ruthless in his battles against his brother, just as he was ruthless with any of his own nobles who would not bow down to him. It is also suggested that he was gay… I believe this is true, but it’s not terribly important. More interesting are the circumstances surrounding his death. Like Richard, William II was an avid Huntsman. He, too, went into the “King’s Forest” (hunting grounds stocked exclusively for the nobles) and was soon separated from his hunting party. He was found dead, days later, with an arrow in his chest. It is possible that he was shot by his companion that day… but given the fact that everyone in his hunting party was an excellent marksman, it is probably not true that William’s death was an accident. I have a hunch that it was his younger brother, Henry, who plotted this out. We’ll talk about him next.
Henry I would become King TWO DAYS after William’s death. In a twist, Henry was also known as “The Lion of Justice.” He was perhaps more able to be a “King” of England, and he formed a Charter of Liberties whereby kings, themselves, were subject to laws. He also appointed the first officials in the shires, known as “Shire-riffs,” or “Sheriffs.” His own son would have followed him to the throne, but in a family plagued with strange tragedies, young “William III” drowned in the English Channel. It would be left to Henry’s daughter, “Matilda,” to carry on after her father’s death… and in 1135 he would die from eating too much fish. Well, okay, it wasn’t because he ate too many fish; it was because the fish he DID consume had been poisoned. No trek to the woods for this King. Nope. Instead, Henry the Lion of Justice was poisoned (most probably by his own daughter) and England would be plunged into a war of succession pitting Matilda (grand-daughter of William I) against Stephen of Blois (the grandson of William I).
In the years following the death of William the Conqueror’s sons England would find itself embroiled in the “Nineteen Years War” and a bitter struggle between Matilda and Stephen. Both would have each other imprisoned, and both would escape in dramatic fashion. This Era after the death of William’s sons was traumatic, and it is often referred to as the “Nineteen Year Winter” in early English History. With the death of Stephen’s own son “Eustace” in 1153, Matilda’s son “Henry” would become the next king.

An Athens Quickie

Here is a quickie on Athens, to compliment the quickie on Sparta – I think we’re having fun, right? Even if Gyros are almost five dollars now?
Athens was a mirror opposite of Sparta. I would say they were character foils, but Athens was given to a frequency of warring with her neighbors, often times playing the role of aggressor… and because I like the guys from Sparta better, well, I will just say Athens was a mirror opposite
During the “Classical Era” (500BC to 325BC), Athens was a fertile ground for public life, public culture, and an emerging group of thinkers who would forever change Western History. Just take a look at these guys and you will sense what I mean when I say that this Era was a seed-bomb for future centuries. Oh yeah. You reap what you sew.
You’ve got Sophocles, Aeschylus, and Aristophenes.
You’ve got Herodotus and Thucydides.
You’ve got Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle.
You know these guys. If the Spartans were rock-stars in leather, these guys were the rockin’ thinkers in sandals and white-draped togas.
Sophocles is famous for his Greek Tragedy – he was writing the “Oedipus” plays around 430 BC, and by this time, already, a tradition of dramatic plays was being performed for audiences of thousands. Aristophanes, a contemporary, was writing political plays that, disguised as comedy, satirized well-known men inside the city of Athens.
Herodotus wrote about the History of the wars between the Greeks and the Persians, and his contemporary, Thucydides, wrote a detailed account of the Peloponnesian Wars between Athens and Sparta. He is one of my personal favorites.
Socrates is well-known, if not from Bill & Ted, then at least from his own trial, where he was found guilty of corrupting Athens’ youth. Before he calmly swallowed hemlock he gave us his famous ideal, “Knowledge is virtue.” He is also known for constantly professing his ignorance when saying “I know… that I do not know.”
His student was Plato, and Plato was one of the most important philosophers we have ever known. Plato gave us a Theory of Forms, and he is famous for his “Apology” and “Dialogues.” Unlike his mentor, Plato was fond of censorship and believed only a small group of people might benefit from his teachings.
His own student, Aristotle, is THE most important philosopher… that’s my opinion, of course, but I’m a student of History, you see, so I’m not supposed to make judgements like that. Just trust me that Aristotle was the most important and it will be fine. Aristotle was also a teacher, and he wrote many hundreds of “Treaties” dealing with things like politics, ethics, poetry, botany, physics, metaphysics, astronomy, rhetoric, logic, and philosophy.
I think it’s amazing that we find these great thinkers together in the same time and place.
Athens was gold when compared to its mirror-mate, Sparta. It was a gold mine for thoughts and ideals and was also the very heart of what we understand a “democracy” to be. Life in the “Polis” inside Athens was a remarkably free and dynamic one. And Athens gives us our first glimpses of what a popular form of government might look like. Compared to militaristic Sparta, yeah, I’m giving Athens some gold stars. You remember this when you discover “Oedipus” or “Antigone” sometime. Or when you watch Bill & Ted.

A Spartan Quickie

(I promised something more on Texas, and I posted it last Friday, but after re-reading it I thought the *Struggle for Texas* deserved more than a one-blog posting. Perhaps even more than ten postings -- so with apologies to my man Santa Anna, I retracted my Friday post)

We can always talk about the Greeks – they’re a bunch of fun. We remember them from early World Civ class, don’t we ? And the Greek-Fest ? (Amy, where’s the Loukoumades?) So, take a moment to consider Sparta in 650 BC. If you were unlucky, you were one of the thousands of unfree laborers taken forcefully from Messenia. These were the “Helots” with whom Sparta warred constantly. These poor people (the Helots, that is) were forced into a harsh slavery that provided them with only a threadbare, minimum quality of life. If you were lucky, you were born Greek *AND* you survived a quick inspection at birth. This was an overall Greek practice, but was particularly employed by the Spartans. If a newborn was deemed unfit (no hair on the head, extra toes, extra fingers, or even a birthmark) it would be abandoned to the hillsides. This, effectively, meant that an infant would be sacrificed to the wolves. (Good luck to me, I was born a “blue” baby in ’71 sometime) But – Sparta. Here was a militaristic state, rugged and disciplined, and given to the ideals of harsh training, harsh loyalty, extreme toughness, and a grit-determined strength. Children were given only a glimpse of their childhood – at age 7, boys were taken from their families and sent to live with a “herd” of other boys ranging through age 18. This would be their new life (for the rest of their life) in a professional military state.
Spartan training was intense, and young boys were expected to develop a tolerance to extreme pain. Broken bones were mended, swords were wielded, military drills continued, and soon these children were being sent into the forests of Messenia to make their own way… indeed, they were abandoned, in small groups, and left for months at a time. Here they made their way by hunting, foraging, raiding, stealing, and sometimes murdering any of the “Helots” they might come into contact with. (Yeah, this was even before the “Lord of the Flies” !!)
Spartan boys were also given to older men who “sponsored” them – homosexuality was not an uncommon reality for the Greeks. It is not surpsising that Spartan society was so open with this; it seemed to be a part of their outlook on the state, itself. Spartans, after all, viewed themselves as “true Greeks” and it is not surprising that a theme of “die for Sparta!” would allow for a group of herded young men to seek solace in one another. (I’m being careful here, you know I am)
Anway, these young Spartan soldiers were permitted to become full members of the military at age 20. They could marry at age 30, and were expected to serve Sparta (ahem) from the ages of 20 through 60. There was an intensive two-year training period from age 18-20, but little is known of this. If a young man was lucky enough to survive, he could expect to be pressed into the military immediately.
I'll post later about Athens, the home of art, literature, drama, and philosophy, but for now I want to sit back and think of the movie *300* and the scantily-clad Spartan warriors in those leather skirts. Oh, yeah. And, of course, I will remember their historical importance. It's not just the skin, you know!! Spartans were the rockstars in Ancient Greece.

The Pastry War

(Note: artist is Diego Rivera)
The "Pastry War" is one of my favorites from Mexican History -- and, no, this is not because I enjoy "pastry" shops so much (be nice).
In 1836 the ever-good, ever-bad "Santa Anna" was returning to Mexico from Wash, DC. He had concluded talks with Andrew Jackson and had ceded the Mexican territory of "Texas" to the Americans. (You know what? I will write more in my next post on the battle for Texas. I tend to side with the Mexicans, but I'll report, you decide.) Anyway -- Santa Anna returned to Mexico a worn, ragged, tired old man; he was discredited, disgraced, and taking his last breaths as a leader for the Mexican nation. Indeed, he was replaced by Anastasio Bustamante.
During this time Mexico was a place of civil disorder, political strife, and social discontent. You had the Spanish Elite, those Spaniards who had first "settled" in Mexico under the strong-armed protection of Spain. They mixed with the local Indians and formed a "Mestizo" population. The vast majority of people, however, were the Indian peasants who subsisted, just barely, in densely-packed urban areas or on their own dust-laden farms.
So, too, European and American "foreigners" lived inside Mexico. They were indiv with money, power and prestige, and they were used to having any trivial complaints resolved quickly by the Mexican government. They were resented deeply by the native population, and even by the Spanish settlers, themselves.
So it was that a pastry-chef made a claim that his shop had been vandalized, looted, robbed, and destroyed by Mexican soldiers. His complaint fell on deaf ears. The pastry-chef, appalled at this lack of regard, appealed to his own government for reparations. The appeal actually made it to the court of the French King, Louis-Philippe, who sensed an opportunity for the French government to intervene inside Mexico. The French King demanded 600,000 pesos for the pastry-chef (and other) claims.
By 1838, the French were actually moving large fleets of ships toward Mexico. They were blockading ports from the Yucatan to the Rio Grande, and the French actually seized the very important port of Veracruz. Santa Anna, sensing a chance to regain his national composure, mustered an army of perhaps 3000 men; France, however, gravely outnumbered him with nearly 30,000 men. I mean – really. Take a step back for a second. A pastry chef was this pissed off? His pastry shop was this important??
No. The French wanted to be able to have their cake… and to eat it, too. (Sorry)
Santa Anna, outnumbered 10 to 1, would nevertheless march foolishly against the French; he was wounded in battle and would actually lose his leg. This is another story, too – Santa Anna kept the bloody boot from his amputated leg and claimed he had rightly sacrificed himself for his nation. (Um, yes. That’s very nice, man) -- yikes.
The French were able to force Anastasio Bustamante to pay them 600,000 pesos, and talks were agreed upon whereby the French would remove themselves from Mexico. Had they not agreed… Mexico could have very well found itself in a war for it’s survival.
So next time you hit the pastry shop, you think of the “Pastry War” and the French Intervention in Mexico. I know you think you won’t… but trust me. You will.

Miracle of the Holy Lance

During the First Crusade, a rag-tag army of Christians set out from Europe with a fiery goal of taking back “Holy Lands” that had been claimed by the Turks. There were fully-equipped knights, with red and blue banners flying behind them, their armor glinting in the sun… and many nobles, too, would light out on this quest. These were the fortunate ones who could afford to take with them clothing, food, and supplies for shelter. They were joined by poor farmers, peasants, adventurers, and even criminals; all believed they were on a divine mission, under God’s protection, and it was their purpose to help the Byzantines drive back the ruthless and godless Turks.
It would not take long for such zeal to give way to the reality of the sun; it was relentless, blazing hot, and unforgiving. It took these people several months to march through hostile territories, through burning, scorched countryside, toward a distant Holy Land. And at every step the Crusaders would find themselves beset by ambushes and skirmishes.
These were the young and old who were walking barefoot through extremely hostile terrain… they were beset by hunger, thirst, and the constant heat of an alien landscape. Indeed, many hundreds would die of exhaustion and sunstroke. So much so that the people kept moving and often discarded the dead by a dusty roadside. They were in constant fear of being overtaken by marauders (as had happened with the massacre of “Peter the Hermit’s” own army).
In 1097 AD they were nevertheless a formidable, massive horde as they approached the city of Antioch, the crown-jewel of the Byzantine Empire. Here was a city with a vast amount of wealth, and one that was equally as impregnable with outer walls stretching almost 10 miles, a series of nearly 200 towers, and a massive main tower that stretched 500 feet into the sky. A tired and desperate army settled in for an eight-month seige… one that almost destroyed them. They were starving within weeks, and facing a winter that seemed on the verge of drowning them in torrential rains. The encampments were quagmires, and many hundreds were dying from fever.
One of the peasant Crusaders, a man named Peter Bartholomew, began to have dreams and visions (hmm…) and revealed to the leaders that the actual lance which had pierced Christ’s side during his crucifixion was inside the walls of Antioch. And as word spread, it seemed it was not only Peter who was having these strange visions. It was enough for the leaders to attack the walls, breach them, and pour into the city of Antioch. Heavy fighting ensued, but the Crusading army was overwhelming in their sheer numbers, and many made their way quickly to the Church where Peter had seen his visions. After digging through the damp earth… a piece of rusted iron was discovered. And, miraculously, a spear lay nearby. The “Holy Lance” had been found, it seemed, and it was a divine confirmation of the Crusader’s quest. The capture of Antioch, and the miracle of finding this Holy Lance, were events that shifted the momentum of the Crusade. The rag-tag army was now rejuvenated, regrouped, and they would no longer suffer the ravages of heat, thirst, hunger or fever. They would instead hold the spear before them, as a very real and divine object, as they moved toward a fateful collision with Jerusalem.