Thursday, March 18, 2010
Things in History You Should Know: Charlotte Corday
As originally published in the Meliorist.
~
Assassins are largely either assholes or not on speaking terms with reality. Often both. When we think of John Wilkes Booth nowadays, we do not think of his famed skill as a Shakespearean actor. Nay, we think, “Man, he was an almighty asshole for assassinating Lincoln.” So allow me to express my admiration of and wish to high five Charlotte Corday, slayer of Jean-Paul Marat!
Once upon a time, there was a revolution. A French one. They saw what the Americans did with theirs and were like, “Dude. We want some of that. Only more hardcore.” The country was bankrupt, the peasantry (the Third Estate, if you will) was sick of being oppressed by the nobility and the clergy, so why the hell not? The kick-off in 1789 went pretty well considering, but in 1793, it had all gone to hell.
The Legislative Assembly had fallen the previous year, with massacres occurring fast on its heels. Louis XIV, now known as Citizen Capet, was executed in January, and his wife and children were still imprisoned. The Committee of Public Safety formed in April, signifying the victory of the radical Jacobins over the republican Girondists. And who was egging on all this? You guessed it: Marat!
Here is where Corday enters the picture. Born of a minor aristocratic family, educated in a convent, and a big fan of Rousseau and Plutarch with an extra helping of Voltaire, she knew what she was about. Things she was for: the Girondists. Things she was against: executing deposed monarchs, violent and bloody civil war, and assholes like Marat who thought that item number two was fantastic so long as it ensured the survival of his version of what the revolution should look like. Corday’s thought processes thus went that if she took down Marat, with all his lovely rhetoric in his lovely little newspaper (called The Friend of the People, because it sounds more cuddly that way), further violence could be prevented.
Well, she was wrong on that front, but you can’t blame a woman for trying. She skedaddled off to Paris on July 9th and bought herself a kitchen knife with a six-inch blade as soon as she got there. And man, if you’ve ever sliced your finger open whilst chopping vegetables, you know what those suckers can do. Also, it could fit snugly into Corday’s corset – you know that’s what all the fashionable revolutionaries were doing anyway. She wrote a nice letter explaining why she was going to knife some punk and on the 13th, and went out in the fresh afternoon air to do it.
She called on Marat at his home at noon, asking for an audience on grounds that she knew of some fiendish Girondist hijinks and oh, did she mention that she had some names to give him? Enemies of the state and what have you? Scintillating stuff. But she was turned away by his wife, Simonne Everard, because her husband was busy having a bath. So she came back several hours later. Marat was still in the bath, Everard still didn’t want to let her in, but he decided that the business of revolutionizing could not wait and had her brought in.
Corday spilled the artificial beans while Marat wrote it all down. (He was still in the bathtub, but had a plank placed across it as a writing desk.) They had a good, long chat, finishing with his pleasant statement that everyone she named was totally going to have their heads chopped off. Then Corday had to ruin their burgeoning friendship by taking out that kitchen knife and going all stabby on him. Marat called out for Everard, but it was too late and he was made holey by Corday’s attentions.
Needless to say, she didn’t get away and she was put on trial. And, well, they didn’t really believe in long, drawn-out trials in that day and age. Not being overly impressed with her statement that “I killed one man to save 100,000,” they quickly decided that hey, the guillotine might be a fine place for her! So they shoved her neck under the blade on July 17th, a mere eight days since she left for Paris and a mere four since she went all Brutus on Marat’s ass. She was ten days shy of twenty-five.
Alas for Corday, Marat achieved martyr status and the Reign of Terror got into full swing. A whole motherlode of people got guillotined over the course of two years – estimates run as high as 40,000. Oops.
So, do we congratulate Corday for her courage in taking out someone who really was doing his level best to decrease the peace and effectively willing to go to her death for it as such a young age? Or do we condemn her for the violence that her actions sparked, even if it was unintentional? Do we have a glass of wine and marvel at how f*cked up that entire revolution was?
The answer is: yes.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
History Makes Fantasy Better
Well, it does.
We're well aware of the standard ur-setting that fantasy authors tend towards - medieval, quasi-European. Probably akin to either a) Tolkien's Middle Earth or b) Robert E. Howard's Conan stomping grounds. Or a violent, pointy-eared offspring of the two. Or urban fantasy. These works are not to be dismissed out of hand, for a skilled author can make even the most cliche premise awesome with the right sort of zazz. (If you'll forgive the term.)
But you know, honestly, if an author even keeps the magic and just uses another place or era for the basis of the setting, she or he can make their story plenty more interesting even if they're not the most fantastic of authors.
Steampunk is an excellent example of this, especially as I firmly consider the subgenre to be fantasy, not science fiction. (The only reason most examples of it are shelved with the scifi is because it wouldn't exist without Jules Verne and he's been grandfathered into the larger genre because they didn't know the stuff in his books was impossible at the time. I make an exception for Neal Stephenson's Diamond Age because it's actually set in the future.) Victoriana can be used without the steampunk tropes, though, and used effectively.
Why limit yourself to just the nineteenth century, though? Authors, both would-be and otherwise! You have the entire march of history to work with! With many fine historians and archaeologists having done the lion's share of work providing you with the details of practically any past world that catches your fancy, it's worldbuilding made easy.
Imagine, if you will. Paleolithic fantasy. Canadian fantasy (and no, I don't mean urban fantasy set in Ontario, with respects to Charles de Lint). Russian. African. Motherlovin' Aztec. Or Inca. Or Mayan. The mere thought of such settings sparks my imagination and distracts me from projects I'm already determined to see to completion.
History can even make the standard setting better, giving one a better sense on the grand scope of it - how things kept happening, how technologies kept evolving, even if according to our stereotypes, they spent a long time standing still on that front. They were using cannons during the Hundred Years' War, remember. The art of shipbuilding was continuously adjusted until they had vessels that could make a transatlantic crossing, remember. Firearms cropped up in the 1300s, remember. And the moveable type printing press? Fifteenth century!
What did they eat? Where did they live? What was their philosophy? Their religion? Their livelihood? What did they celebrate? What was their government? Their view of their own history? Their ideal man? Their ideal woman? Every culture, both past and present, had and has their own answers to these questions and even one differing answer can make one hell of a story. Read about them, learn, and be inspired.
To finish, here is a brief and woefully incomplete list of otherwise-settled fantasy novels.
Steampunk:
Boneshaker, by Cherie Priest
Mainspring, Escapement and Pinion, by Jay Lake
Court of the Air, Rise of the Iron Moon, Kingdom Beyond the Waves and Secrets of the Fire Sea, by Stephen Hunt
Whitechapel Gods, by S.M. Peters
Asia:
Green, by Jay Lake
The Tales of the Otori series, by Lian Hearn
Middle East:
In the Night Garden and In the Cities of Coin and Spice, by Catherynne Valente
North America:
The Thirteenth Child, by Patricia C. Wrede
The Sharing Knife series, by Lois McMaster Bujold
(Note: It would be nice to find some fantasy based on Native history without the colonials sticking their noses in. Anyone know of any?)
Elizabethean:
Midnight Never Come, by Marie Brennan (Its sequel, In Ashes Lie, is set during the Restoration.)
Ink and Steel and Hell and Earth, by Elizabeth Bear
Regency:
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke
The Magicians and Mrs. Quent, by Galen Beckett
Victorian: (Not quite steampunk!)
Freedom & Necessity, by Steven Brust and Emma Bull
France:
The Cardinal's Blades, by Pierre Pevel
The Privilege of the Sword, by Ellen Kushner
The Phoenix Guards and Five Hundred Years After, by Steven Brust (well, it's a pastiche of Dumas)
Greece:
Lavinia, by Ursula K. Le Guin
Also, practically everything written by Guy Gavriel Kay, with the exception of The Fionavar Tapestry. I say this even though I've mixed feelings about his work; many people with good taste enjoy it, so there you are.
My challenge to my readers (I know of two of you) is this: think of a history book you've read. Or an anthropology or archaeology book, if you're fancies run that way, for they certainly can be included in the larger thrust of my argument. Think of a fantasy story that could be written based on that book. Imagine how awesome it could be. Beccarae, I'm thinking specifically of The Ghost Map for you, because I know it could be amazing. Write your ideas down if you want to and have the time.
But at the very least, just think about it.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Quick note before bed. (11:57)
I'm starting in on Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War. After that, Herodotus' Histories. Why? Because giant ants will wait for no man. Suetonius' Lives of the Caesars next? I won't read it for accuracy, but what the hell.
A proper update will come in the morrow, but before that, here's what happened in 1157, according to Wikipedia!
" * January 12–March 16 – Caliph Al-Muqtafi Successfully defended Baghdad against the coalition forces of Sultan Muhammad of Hamadan,and Atabeg Qutb-adin of Mosul
* Albert I of Brandenburg begins his ruthless program to pacify the Slavic region.
* June 11 – Albert I of Brandenburg, also called, The Bear (Ger: Albrecht der Bär), becomes the founder of the Margraviate of Brandenburg, Germany and the first Margrave.
* August 21 – Sancho III and Ferdinand II, the sons of King Alfonso VII of Castile, divide his kingdom between them upon his death.
* October 23—Battle of Grathe Heath: A civil war in Denmark ends with the death of King Sweyn III. Valdemar I of Denmark becomes king of all Denmark and restores and rebuilds the country.
* Henry II of England grants a charter to the merchants of Lincoln (approximate date).
* Henry II of England invades Wales and is defeated at the Battle of Ewloe by Owain Gwynedd."
A proper update will come in the morrow, but before that, here's what happened in 1157, according to Wikipedia!
" * January 12–March 16 – Caliph Al-Muqtafi Successfully defended Baghdad against the coalition forces of Sultan Muhammad of Hamadan,and Atabeg Qutb-adin of Mosul
* Albert I of Brandenburg begins his ruthless program to pacify the Slavic region.
* June 11 – Albert I of Brandenburg, also called, The Bear (Ger: Albrecht der Bär), becomes the founder of the Margraviate of Brandenburg, Germany and the first Margrave.
* August 21 – Sancho III and Ferdinand II, the sons of King Alfonso VII of Castile, divide his kingdom between them upon his death.
* October 23—Battle of Grathe Heath: A civil war in Denmark ends with the death of King Sweyn III. Valdemar I of Denmark becomes king of all Denmark and restores and rebuilds the country.
* Henry II of England grants a charter to the merchants of Lincoln (approximate date).
* Henry II of England invades Wales and is defeated at the Battle of Ewloe by Owain Gwynedd."
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Things in History You Should Know: Wolfe Vs Montcalm
Originally published in the Meliorist. Pretty picture snagged from Wikipedia, bless their hearts.
~
The thing you must remember about James Wolfe and Louis-Joseph de Montcalm, aside from being the two generals who were involved in the Battle of the Plains of Abraham, which ended in French-owned Canada being taken over by those dastardly Brits, is that they both kind of sucked. The truth is that the destiny of our nation was decided in a race to prove which of these dudes was more incompetent than the other.
First, let’s look at the broader conflict here. This battle in question took place during the French and Indian War, which was in itself a sideshow to the Seven Years’ War. Basically, the latter came because it been a full eight years since the last European war and everyone was bored. The former actually broke out before it, because, you know, colonials, and lasted from 1754 to 1763. Effectively, it was World War Beta.
Enter Montcalm and Wolfe.
Montcalm, commander of the French forces in North America since 1756, was a major general of the noble class and thus would’ve been one of those up against the wall when the Revolution came. He had a pretty miserable time in New France. Sure, he wasn’t a complete dud militarily speaking, but he missed his family, no one would give him any of the crap he needed to actually do his job, and he and the governor hated each other’s guts.
This had something to do with the fact that Governor de Vaudreuil kept pointing out that guerrilla tactics had been working out pretty well so far for both the French and Native troops. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to keep doing something that works, rather than that European stuff?
Montcalm thought this was a stupid thing to think and Governor de Vaudreuil was a stupid person for thinking it. Also, that every Canadian official sucked and was corrupt and ugly. Probably smelled, too. All in all, though, Montcalm would have probably been a better guy to hang out with that Wolfe.
The thirty-two year old, who’d been in the military since he was a pup, was a very fastidious sort of man who would inspect the lavatories to ensure that those laggardly troops had been cleaning them to a sparkly finish. He suffered from rheumatism and dysentery and all sorts of fun things, making him such an irritable prick that his subordinates wanted nothing to do with.
1759. September. The month of reckoning.
Why then? Because afterwards, the St. Lawrence would freeze up and Montcalm would have shit all to worry about until spring, aside from living through a Quebec winter. Wolfe decides that the best option was to be all sneaky-like.
This was the plot: the 4800-strong British forces would take a lovely night-time boating trip, climb up a cliff, knock out the teeny tiny garrison that was up there, and get ready to kick some ass. Sounds clever, right? It was. It also had some great, glaring flaws in it.
Such as, how did Wolfe propose to retreat if the plot went pear-shaped, given that there was a cliff and a river behind and below them? This would be a very likely conundrum to be faced with if Montcalm and his officers been on the ball with keeping a proper watch, which would have allowed them to put a kibosh on the landing party well before the entire lot of British soldiers could clamber up the hill and make ready.
Or maybe get the guy who was supposed to patrol in those parts another horse after his got nicked. Or not shift a regiment over from the north side (where our action occurs) to the east side. Or not dismiss an escapee from the attacked garrison as a crazy person. You know, stuff like that. Thus, you understand me when I say that Wolfe’s plan was ludicrous and Montcalm was just sloppy enough to make it work.
After that, given that they had the better ground and better unit cohesion – Montcalm’s tactics didn’t mesh well with the militiamen, you see – the 4,800-strong British defeated the 4,400-strong French defenders. Wolfe still got that romantic death on the battlefield he was gunning for, although probably his troops weren’t all that distressed about it. Montcalm was also wounded and died later that day, probably wishing he had never come to the stupid country to begin with.
It was all over for a French-owned Canada after the battle, even though the war technically sputtered on for another few years. Since then, the Plains of Abraham have morphed from simple farmer’s field to battlefield to political powder keg. This has included Francophones painting this as the end of the entire frickin’ world and Anglophones bestowing upon Wolfe the Custer treatment (i.e., he was the best ever guys, really). His inadequacies as a leader? Never happened!
This became especially obvious just this past year during the 250th anniversary commemoration. A re-enactment was proposed, then cancelled because of threats of violence from radical separatist groups who didn’t learn a dratted thing from the FLQ Crisis. Then there was the controversial decision to read out the FLQ Manifesto during the festivities, along with 149 other relevant documents from Quebec’s history. In both instances, the unwashed masses on both sides went wild, sending frothing letters to the editor and what have you.
I, for one, am proud to have as part of my country a province from which sprung Unibroue. Try their beers! They are very nice.
Monday, March 8, 2010
You'll pry my historical fiction out of my cold, dead hands.
I've read this little article on the Globe and Mail recently, which is an interview with Claire Harman. She likes to write biographies on Jane Austen. Asks the interviewer, "Jane herself has been turned into a fictional character. How do you feel about taking real figures and imputing behaviour, emotions and language to them?"
Responds Harman, "As a biographer, I find it a bit dodgy. Why not just make the characters totally fictional? It's hard enough writing biography and getting the facts right. If you've got something to say about a character, you could manage it in another way than suggesting the possibility that it happened."
Ha ha ha. Yeah.
Don't get me wrong. I see where she's getting at. Yes, maybe historical figures such as Jane Austen would be pissed that people are projecting their murder mystery solving or vampire fantasies onto her. But seriously? This shit's as old as literature and it ain't ever going away. Why? Because it's pretty fucking entertaining.
Take, for example, that hack Alexandre Dumas. Take his treatment of Cardinal Richelieu in The Three Musketeers, to say nothing of the holy man's treatment in the various adaptations of the novel. In real life, he was not a nice man, true. But he was a not-nice man in service of the king and pretty firmly so. He liked power, but he used it to benefit Louis XIII and France. But let's face it: he makes a fine villain.
And what of Shakespeare? He surely wouldn't stoop so low as to debase the memory of deceased individuals solely to further his own writing - oh wait! He did! With a whole whackload of history plays! I'm sure Richard III would be pleased as punch over being portrayed as a murderous hunchback. Oh wait, we don't care. Because Richard III is an awesome play.
And we all know of the myriad treatments of the tale of Robin Hood and their nuanced treatment of King Richard I, who left England for years and years to go off warring in the Holy Land because he didn't give a shit about that country and liked killing things, and Prince John, whose initial problems were largely caused by Richard's screwing off and leaving behind a whole hell of a lot of debt. Because even crusades cost money, go figure.
The point I'm getting at here is that as far as fiction goes, historical purity doesn't matter. The worst case scenario is that the consumer of said fiction goes away with an inaccurate picture of a historical personage without a burning desire to learn the real story. This is not, to my mind, appreciably worse than them not knowing about that personage in the first place. The best case scenario? They think, "Oh! That character was cool! And s/he was based on a real live person! I will read about it." In which case, they might seek out a nicely written biography and educate themselves. People like Harman might even get an uptick in sales. Everyone wins.
(Has this happened to me? Yes. That is why I get every book on Sir Francis Walsingham, badass Elizabethean spymaster, that I can lay my grubby mitts on.)
So bring on the historicals, the mysteries, the horrors, the comedies the Roosevelt-in-Space serials. It's all in good fun and far be it for us to be bitching about other people's reading habits when it's lovely that they're reading, period. Better that than supposed non-fiction that has only a glancing relationship with reality. Alison Weir, I'm looking at you, you hack.
I'll go breathe now.
Responds Harman, "As a biographer, I find it a bit dodgy. Why not just make the characters totally fictional? It's hard enough writing biography and getting the facts right. If you've got something to say about a character, you could manage it in another way than suggesting the possibility that it happened."
Ha ha ha. Yeah.
Don't get me wrong. I see where she's getting at. Yes, maybe historical figures such as Jane Austen would be pissed that people are projecting their murder mystery solving or vampire fantasies onto her. But seriously? This shit's as old as literature and it ain't ever going away. Why? Because it's pretty fucking entertaining.
Take, for example, that hack Alexandre Dumas. Take his treatment of Cardinal Richelieu in The Three Musketeers, to say nothing of the holy man's treatment in the various adaptations of the novel. In real life, he was not a nice man, true. But he was a not-nice man in service of the king and pretty firmly so. He liked power, but he used it to benefit Louis XIII and France. But let's face it: he makes a fine villain.
And what of Shakespeare? He surely wouldn't stoop so low as to debase the memory of deceased individuals solely to further his own writing - oh wait! He did! With a whole whackload of history plays! I'm sure Richard III would be pleased as punch over being portrayed as a murderous hunchback. Oh wait, we don't care. Because Richard III is an awesome play.
And we all know of the myriad treatments of the tale of Robin Hood and their nuanced treatment of King Richard I, who left England for years and years to go off warring in the Holy Land because he didn't give a shit about that country and liked killing things, and Prince John, whose initial problems were largely caused by Richard's screwing off and leaving behind a whole hell of a lot of debt. Because even crusades cost money, go figure.
The point I'm getting at here is that as far as fiction goes, historical purity doesn't matter. The worst case scenario is that the consumer of said fiction goes away with an inaccurate picture of a historical personage without a burning desire to learn the real story. This is not, to my mind, appreciably worse than them not knowing about that personage in the first place. The best case scenario? They think, "Oh! That character was cool! And s/he was based on a real live person! I will read about it." In which case, they might seek out a nicely written biography and educate themselves. People like Harman might even get an uptick in sales. Everyone wins.
(Has this happened to me? Yes. That is why I get every book on Sir Francis Walsingham, badass Elizabethean spymaster, that I can lay my grubby mitts on.)
So bring on the historicals, the mysteries, the horrors, the comedies the Roosevelt-in-Space serials. It's all in good fun and far be it for us to be bitching about other people's reading habits when it's lovely that they're reading, period. Better that than supposed non-fiction that has only a glancing relationship with reality. Alison Weir, I'm looking at you, you hack.
I'll go breathe now.
12:15 AM Secret Update!
This is what happened on December 15th, according to Wikipedia:
" * 1467 – Troops under Stephen III of Moldavia defeated the forces of Matthias Corvinus of Hungary in present-day Baia, Romania.
* 1791 – The first ten amendments to the United States Constitution, collectively known as the United States Bill of Rights, were ratified.
* 1864 – American Civil War: Union troops essentially destroyed the Army of Tennessee, one of the largest Confederate forces, at the Battle of Nashville.
* 1942 – World War II: The Americans engaged Imperial Japanese forces at the Battle of Mount Austen, the Galloping Horse, and the Sea Horse in the hills near the Matanikau River area on Guadalcanal during the Guadalcanal Campaign.
* 1964 – The six-month long Canadian Great Flag Debate effectively ended when the Canadian House of Commons voted to replace the de facto national flag of Canada, the Canadian Red Ensign, with an official one designed by historian George Stanley, the Maple Leaf Flag (pictured)."
The more you know.
" * 1467 – Troops under Stephen III of Moldavia defeated the forces of Matthias Corvinus of Hungary in present-day Baia, Romania.
* 1791 – The first ten amendments to the United States Constitution, collectively known as the United States Bill of Rights, were ratified.
* 1864 – American Civil War: Union troops essentially destroyed the Army of Tennessee, one of the largest Confederate forces, at the Battle of Nashville.
* 1942 – World War II: The Americans engaged Imperial Japanese forces at the Battle of Mount Austen, the Galloping Horse, and the Sea Horse in the hills near the Matanikau River area on Guadalcanal during the Guadalcanal Campaign.
* 1964 – The six-month long Canadian Great Flag Debate effectively ended when the Canadian House of Commons voted to replace the de facto national flag of Canada, the Canadian Red Ensign, with an official one designed by historian George Stanley, the Maple Leaf Flag (pictured)."
The more you know.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Canada's National Anthem: A Controversy!
There is a kerfuffle in regards to the proposed alteration to the lyrics of our believed national anthem. Our citizenry up in arms! Blood in the streets! Etc!
Firstly, the proposed change: "in all our sons' command" -> "dost thou in us command." It scans a bit weird, but - wait! No! Enough of this political correctness run amuck!
Well, except for the fact that "dost thou in us command" was used in the original 1908 version. And it wasn't even our national anthem until 1980 - prior to the year, there was a debate between that, God Save the Queen, and the Maple Leaf Forever. And the fact that it was changed in 1980 to add references to God.
Some got pissed about that then, with a bit more cause. Some of the some continued singing the old lyrics and the rest? They sung the new ones and most forgot that a change had been made to begin with. Certainly, our generation has come under the impression that the anthem is writ in stone and is sancrosanct.
It's not. And if it's changed, it'll mean for us a short period of adjustment before we forget there was even a change to begin with.
There are reasons to be angry with the proposed change, although it more has to do with the sentiment behind the measure than the content of the measure itself. "Women of Canada," they are saying. "Forget about the national childcare program we scrapped! Or our measures against women seeking equity! And the murdered aboriginal women! And the fact that our definition of 'women's health' doesn't include access to safe abortions! We can change three words in a symbolic gesture and that will make everything all better!"
And for that, I flip the Conservative government the bird, for that is exactly the sort of condescending nonsense that landed Sarah Palin the vice presidential nominee gig.
Firstly, the proposed change: "in all our sons' command" -> "dost thou in us command." It scans a bit weird, but - wait! No! Enough of this political correctness run amuck!
Well, except for the fact that "dost thou in us command" was used in the original 1908 version. And it wasn't even our national anthem until 1980 - prior to the year, there was a debate between that, God Save the Queen, and the Maple Leaf Forever. And the fact that it was changed in 1980 to add references to God.
Some got pissed about that then, with a bit more cause. Some of the some continued singing the old lyrics and the rest? They sung the new ones and most forgot that a change had been made to begin with. Certainly, our generation has come under the impression that the anthem is writ in stone and is sancrosanct.
It's not. And if it's changed, it'll mean for us a short period of adjustment before we forget there was even a change to begin with.
There are reasons to be angry with the proposed change, although it more has to do with the sentiment behind the measure than the content of the measure itself. "Women of Canada," they are saying. "Forget about the national childcare program we scrapped! Or our measures against women seeking equity! And the murdered aboriginal women! And the fact that our definition of 'women's health' doesn't include access to safe abortions! We can change three words in a symbolic gesture and that will make everything all better!"
And for that, I flip the Conservative government the bird, for that is exactly the sort of condescending nonsense that landed Sarah Palin the vice presidential nominee gig.
Things in History You Should Know: Richard III
Originally posted here.
~
If you’re up on your Shakespeare, you know this dude: the hunchbacked, conniving Duke of Gloucester who engaged in behaviour not acceptable in polite company, such as murdering practically everyone including his brother and nephews to use their bodies as makeshift stairs so he could reach the throne.
However, like the screenwriters of today, ol’ Billy was very fond of “dramatic license” and wasn’t really concerned with historical accuracy so much as entertaining the masses for money. So it shan’t surprise you at all that the real King Richard wasn’t such a cackling, iconic villain.
For starters, the hunchback? Didn’t have one. Nor was he incredibly deformed and ugly, nor did he come crawling out of his mother’s womb with hair and a full set of teeth. Honestly, how do these rumours get started?
The real Richard was born in 1452, the eighth and youngest child of Richard Duke of York and Cecily Neville. He was but eight when both dear old dad and brother Edmund got themselves killed at the Battle of Wakefield on account of their quarrels with Henry VI – more accurately, Henry’s queen, Margaret of Anjou.
Unlike her husband, she was perfectly sane, realized that she had her son’s interests to protect, and recognized that she couldn’t have rival claimants to the throne running about causing a ruckus. Pity for her that Richard’s brother Edward got it together, seized the throne, and became king at the precocious age of nineteen. They grow up so fast.
Richard didn’t live such a bad life for a few years after that. His brother was king, he got to go live with his cousin, the Earl of Warwick, and had all sorts of fun knightly training. Plus he got made the Duke of Gloucester – good times. Then it all went to shit.
The problem with Edward IV was this: he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Elizabeth Woodville, a Lancastrian widow quite a ways below his station, knew this and took advantage of it. Specifically by demanding marriage before she would make sweet love to him. Edward agreed. They got hitched and kept it secret.
Unfortunately, the Earl of Warwick had arranged a more royal, continental match for him. And when he found out about Woodville, boy, was he ever mad. Enough to enter into an alliance with Margaret of Anjou and the Lancaster faction. Henry VI became king once again and Edward IV was forced to hightail it to Burgundy to seek refuge with one of his sisters and her husband. Richard, then seventeen, took Edward’s side and followed him into exile.
Now, the fifteenth century wasn’t known for its surplus of nobility who would cut their losses and call it a day. Edward found himself some troops, he and Richard crossed back over the English Channel, kicked some ass, and he got to be king! Again! Warwick and the Prince of Wales got themselves killed (no, Richard had nothing to do with it) and Henry VI got murdered in the Tower of London, and Richard may have had something to do with this one – he was constable of the Tower at this time.
Time passed. Richard wedded the very same Anne Neville who was once saddled with the Prince of Wales, Edward and Elizabeth had a couple of boys and a lot more girls, and George got himself executed for being a whiny would-be traitor all the frickin’ time. (No, Richard didn’t off him either.) The Duke of Gloucester serves his brother with loyalty, yadda yadda yadda.
We’ve got Queen Elizabeth and the Woodvilles. The Woodvilles are unpopular. They’ve got the boys – both of ‘em. They want Edward V crowned tout suite so that they can crowd out the official Protector dude, Richard, and continue to enjoy sweet, sweet power. Richard also wants to enjoy sweet, sweet power. Custody of the king and his bro – the so-called “Princes in the Tower” – is seized, the coronation is called off, Richard goes to London, happy day.
Richard supposedly finds evidence that the princes are illegitimate – due to the whole secret marriage thing -disinherits them, gets himself proclaimed king, and becomes Richard III. The princes get lodged up in the Tower of London (you must remember that it didn’t have its horrible reputation yet) and are never seen alive again. All is well in Gloucester land.
Then Richard’s son dies, then his wife dies, then one of his former allies, the Duke of Buckingham, rebels against him and is executed. Then there’s this brat, Henry Tudor, over in France causing trouble…
1485 arrives. The armies of Richard and Henry convene on Bosworth Field in August, but the former falters while charging right for the latter. Henry Tudor is crowned Henry VII and as such, he gets the privilege of writing the history books. Or the history plays, as it were. Richard’s body gets mutilated and chucked in a river.
~
If you’re up on your Shakespeare, you know this dude: the hunchbacked, conniving Duke of Gloucester who engaged in behaviour not acceptable in polite company, such as murdering practically everyone including his brother and nephews to use their bodies as makeshift stairs so he could reach the throne.
However, like the screenwriters of today, ol’ Billy was very fond of “dramatic license” and wasn’t really concerned with historical accuracy so much as entertaining the masses for money. So it shan’t surprise you at all that the real King Richard wasn’t such a cackling, iconic villain.
For starters, the hunchback? Didn’t have one. Nor was he incredibly deformed and ugly, nor did he come crawling out of his mother’s womb with hair and a full set of teeth. Honestly, how do these rumours get started?
The real Richard was born in 1452, the eighth and youngest child of Richard Duke of York and Cecily Neville. He was but eight when both dear old dad and brother Edmund got themselves killed at the Battle of Wakefield on account of their quarrels with Henry VI – more accurately, Henry’s queen, Margaret of Anjou.
Unlike her husband, she was perfectly sane, realized that she had her son’s interests to protect, and recognized that she couldn’t have rival claimants to the throne running about causing a ruckus. Pity for her that Richard’s brother Edward got it together, seized the throne, and became king at the precocious age of nineteen. They grow up so fast.
Richard didn’t live such a bad life for a few years after that. His brother was king, he got to go live with his cousin, the Earl of Warwick, and had all sorts of fun knightly training. Plus he got made the Duke of Gloucester – good times. Then it all went to shit.
The problem with Edward IV was this: he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Elizabeth Woodville, a Lancastrian widow quite a ways below his station, knew this and took advantage of it. Specifically by demanding marriage before she would make sweet love to him. Edward agreed. They got hitched and kept it secret.
Unfortunately, the Earl of Warwick had arranged a more royal, continental match for him. And when he found out about Woodville, boy, was he ever mad. Enough to enter into an alliance with Margaret of Anjou and the Lancaster faction. Henry VI became king once again and Edward IV was forced to hightail it to Burgundy to seek refuge with one of his sisters and her husband. Richard, then seventeen, took Edward’s side and followed him into exile.
Now, the fifteenth century wasn’t known for its surplus of nobility who would cut their losses and call it a day. Edward found himself some troops, he and Richard crossed back over the English Channel, kicked some ass, and he got to be king! Again! Warwick and the Prince of Wales got themselves killed (no, Richard had nothing to do with it) and Henry VI got murdered in the Tower of London, and Richard may have had something to do with this one – he was constable of the Tower at this time.
Time passed. Richard wedded the very same Anne Neville who was once saddled with the Prince of Wales, Edward and Elizabeth had a couple of boys and a lot more girls, and George got himself executed for being a whiny would-be traitor all the frickin’ time. (No, Richard didn’t off him either.) The Duke of Gloucester serves his brother with loyalty, yadda yadda yadda.
We’ve got Queen Elizabeth and the Woodvilles. The Woodvilles are unpopular. They’ve got the boys – both of ‘em. They want Edward V crowned tout suite so that they can crowd out the official Protector dude, Richard, and continue to enjoy sweet, sweet power. Richard also wants to enjoy sweet, sweet power. Custody of the king and his bro – the so-called “Princes in the Tower” – is seized, the coronation is called off, Richard goes to London, happy day.
Richard supposedly finds evidence that the princes are illegitimate – due to the whole secret marriage thing -disinherits them, gets himself proclaimed king, and becomes Richard III. The princes get lodged up in the Tower of London (you must remember that it didn’t have its horrible reputation yet) and are never seen alive again. All is well in Gloucester land.
Then Richard’s son dies, then his wife dies, then one of his former allies, the Duke of Buckingham, rebels against him and is executed. Then there’s this brat, Henry Tudor, over in France causing trouble…
1485 arrives. The armies of Richard and Henry convene on Bosworth Field in August, but the former falters while charging right for the latter. Henry Tudor is crowned Henry VII and as such, he gets the privilege of writing the history books. Or the history plays, as it were. Richard’s body gets mutilated and chucked in a river.
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