December 20

1811



Alongside Guy Fawkes and Robin HoodRebecca Riots and Captain Swing help to make English history replete with wondrous tales of heroes – who never actually existed. The real Guy Fawkes is revealed on Nov 5 of this blog, and the truth about Robin Hood will be outed later; Rebecca Riots should really be "The Rebecca Riots", an event not a person: protests against poll taxes which took place in Wales between 1839 and 1843 (and see also March 31 and especially June 15: riots against poll taxes are an English tradition!); the "Rebeccas" were all men dressed as women in the vain hope of going unrecognised by the police. 

Captain Swing was a disguise too, a false name in a series of complaining letters, at around the same time as the Rebecca Riots (1839-1843). The complaint was low wages, but it soon extended to the introduction of horse-powered threshing machines, which cost the men their jobs. The riots swept across Kent and Sussex, with more than six hundred imprisoned, five hundred sentenced to transportation, nineteen executed, and nine hanged.

Captain Swing was a "Luddite", a term still in use to describe those who are unwilling to accept the replacement of human wage-slavery by robots and computers. The original Ludd was described in an article in "The Nottingham Review" on December 20th 1811, though no historian has yet found any evidence to support its authenticity, and the truth is: it was probably made up. The article described Ludd as a weaver from Anstey, near Leicester, and recounted how, at some time in 1779, as a consequence of being whipped for idleness, or possibly in reaction to being mocked and taunted, he smashed two knitting frames in a "fit of passion". So he entered history. 

That same year, in his "History of Nottingham"John Blackner recorded the tale of one Edward Ludnam, who was instructed by his father, a framework-knitter, to "square his needles"Ludnam responded by taking a hammer, and "beat them into a heap". As Blackner reports it, news of the incident spread, and whenever frames were sabotaged, people would jokingly say "Ned Ludd did it" – Blackner fails, however, to explain how Ludnam became Ludd, or indeed why, later on, Ludnam would be remembered as LudlamLudlum, and even Nuddlam. All we can say for certain is that the name became as if sewn on, and that, by 1812, frame-breaking had become a form of industrial sabotage so widespread that the term "to strike" derived from it; the organized frame-breakers became known as the Luddites, their letters and proclamations were signed by "Ned Ludd""Captain Ludd", and even "King Ludd", though there was no actual leader, or not by that name anyway.



As the legends grew, 
Ned Ludd quickly became transformed into a latterday Robin Hood, with his rag-and-bobtail army ensconced in Nottingham's Sherwood Forest, and acts of industrial sabotage carried out as far afield (as far afactory would be more accurate) as York. The historian Eric Hobsbawm has wittily described their strategy of machine wrecking as "collective bargaining by riot", though in fact they never rioted, they merely wrecked, until the 1812 Frame-Breaking Act, and the Malicious Damage Act of the same year, made it a capital offense (Lord Byron, in his maiden speech in the House of Lords, defended the rioters and sought, by means of words alone, to sabotage and wreck the bills – he failed). Once the laws were in place, the authorities brought pre-Trades Unionism to a rapid end, employing more soldiers to the purpose than were in the field against NapolĂ©on. Nothing of the sort was seen again in England until Margaret Thatcher took on the miners in the 1980s.




The concept of 
Ludditism remains alive today, though it is difficult to imagine check-out ladies at Walmart, or burger-waitresses at MacDonalds, smashing the self-pay tills or the robotic serving arms in protest at the further reduction in their terms of slavery. The simple fact is, that the development of technology at current pace will enable the replacement of human beings in every facet of working life by the end of the 21st century, liberating us from slavery and enabling us to dedicate our time to sport, art and leisure, just as that great visionary Karl Marx predicted (not sure how we'll pay the bills though)










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The Argaman Press

February 28




1533, 1663, 1531, 1929


1533

And then there are the ways in which the historic turns into the merely quaint: this entry in my 2008 diary for example, which I now look back on (and it's barely a decade) as though I had written: "hitched up my donkey this afternoon to a wooden box I made, with some wooden wheels. I wonder if it might catch on as a new mode of transport." The real entry reads:

"The newly-installed Kindle on my i-Phone has turned me into a digital bookworm, augmenting the thousands of books on my physical bookshelves by providing me access to tens of thousands more in cyberspace. What I am particularly treasuring is the ability to download out-of-copyright classics for free and have any of them that I wish to in the palm of my hand at any time. So I stand, in the check-out at the grocery store, or sit in a coffee bar waiting for a friend, or fill the time until the bus, the plane, the train is due to leave; or simply lie in the bath or in the darkness of my bedroom, knowing I cannot fall asleep in one, but safely can do in the other, because the machine will automatically switch off. The entire world of literature at my disposal, literally at the click of a thumb. A moment of Aristotle. The discovery of Disraeli as a novelist ('Tancred' is my favourite; better than 'Sybil'). A poem by Robert Service or Siegfried Sassoon. Books I have never got around to reading, but should have - 'Vanity Fair', Turgenev's short stories, 'The Three Musketeers', Coleridge's 'Biographia Literaria' - all free..."

Ah, what it is to be an enthusiast!

The last sentence of that diary entry added one more book, "Epigrams" by Michel de Montaigne, whose birthdate it happens to be today, and who might have been copying Pessoa when he wrote:
"We should set aside a room, just for ourselves, at the back of the shop, keeping it entirely free and establishing there our true liberty, our principle solitude and asylum. Within it our normal conversation should be of ourselves, with ourselves, so privy that no commerce or communication with the outside world should find a place there."
What he goes on to say is more mundane, not worth the quoting (though the inference of the quoted remark is precisely my paragraph which preceded it: Montaigne would have been a Kindleholic). A few pages later he becomes quotable again, referencing Cicero:
"Remember the man who was asked why he toiled so hard at an art which few could ever know about. 'For me a few are enough; one is enough; having none is enough.' He spoke the truth. You and one companion are audience enough for each other; so are you for yourself… You should no longer be concerned with what the world says of you, but with what you say to yourself. Withdraw into yourself, but first prepare yourself to welcome yourself there."
Isn't that the most wonderful way of phrasing it! "Withdraw into yourself, but first prepare yourself to welcome yourself there." A warm bath, and a good book. D.H. Lawrence called it "Art for my sake", but I think the Montaigne is actually bigger. Not just Art, but Life itself.


Michel Eyquem, to give him both his first names, and very much the aristocratic de Montaigne, uttered what I regard as the most profound line ever uttered by wise man and by fool: 
"I have never seen a greater monster nor a greater miracle than myself".
The pulchrasaurus, perfectly defined.
"There is a plague on Man, the opinion that he knows something."
Including this, of course. Including this.

As a writer, I rather enjoy this one too, from his essay "On Some Verses of Virgil":
"Any topic is equally fertile for me. A fly will serve my purpose; and God grant that this topic I have in hand now was not taken up at the command of so flighty a will! Let me begin with whatever subject I please, for all subjects are linked with one another."
The opening phrase is arrogant, of course, but just. It offers a good description, too, of the method of this blog-book. But it also leads, or at least risks leading, to Beckett's Lucky in "En Attendant Godot", the thinking-machine that simply requires a Pozzo to press the start button. Nonetheless "he spoke the truth".




Harold Bloom, in his essay on Montaigne, insists on spelling Virgil
Vergil - as though he were the Sidney Poitier character in "In The Heat Of The Night". But he too spoke the truth - Publius Vergilius Maro the full Latin.

Bloom also makes the claim for Jewish lineage in Montaigne: two references in the "Essays" to his mother, Antoinette de Louppes, who he insists was originally Antonieta de Lopes, herself of Spanish-Jewish origins, but married into a prominent Toulouse family when the Jews were expelled from Spain in 1492. Given the spiritual-metaphysical link to Freud and other Jewish thinkers, perhaps this should not have surprised me. But it was the Lopes that caught my interest, because I was writing a novel at the time (here), about a historical Lopes of the same period, likewise of Spanish-Jewish, though even more of Portuguese-Marrano origins, Queen Elizabeth's personal physician and the model for Shakespeare's Shylock, Roderigo Lopes. Could it be?

To which the answer, after some research, proved to be yes -, and
Michel and Roderigo were cousins. Upon leaving Spain at the time of the expulsion of 1492, Michel's mother had frenchified her name to Antoinette de Louppes - and strangely, the book version that I just got from the library has her French name, but it's in the original Spanish in the copy I downloaded to my Kindle.






1663

I cannot write about Montaigne and not also write about his "adopted daughter", the extraordinary Marie le Jars de Gournay (1565-1645):

Born into an impoverished family, entirely self-educated, including fluency in both 
Latin and Greek, she so impressed Montaigne that he named her his "fille d'alliance" - "adopted daughter" is not actually a very precise translation, but it’s the one generally... adopted. The trouble is, Christians and post-Christians don’t have an equivalent to
Montaigne’s intention, and most of them don’t even know that he was Jewish. In Hebrew, when a learned man acquires a student, a Talmid, or in this case a Talmidah, they do so with a "Brit", which is a "covenant", a formal agreement. So "fille d’alliance" is as close as you can get in French to "Bat Brit", and "research assistant" or even "intern", would therefore be more accurate as a contemporary equivalent.

And why have I dated this as 1663, when she died in 1645. Because that was how little time it took, not even two decades after her death, for Jean de la Forge to include her as one of "the seventy most famous women of all time", in his book “The Circle of Learned Women”. Sadly very few men since then have even so much as remembered her. Find out what Montaigne and de la Forge saw in her, in her own write on Sept 14.






1531

Nor can I write about Montaigne without noting that, at this very moment of extraordinary humanist philosophising, the Catholic church was also going through some defining activities of its own, albeit on a rather different scale, and not necessarily with the aim and intention that actually came out of it. 

It was today in 1531 that Andrea Alciato's "Emblemata" was first published, in Augsburg, and from the church's perspective it was simply the creation of a clear set of codes and instructions for the use of Christian "emblems", whether in fresco or liturgy, in theological tract or...

It is the "or" that earns the book its place on this page. Because the book led many a non-Catholic, myself amongst them all these centuries later, into fascinating new avenues of Art. One hundred and four emblems were illustrated and explained, ninety-seven of them Alciato's drawn renderings of woodcut illustrations by Hans SchäufeleinSo successful was it that the form quickly became a genre, both as "book of illustrations" as a replacement for the now obsolete "illustrated parchment", and even more the idea that an artist might make woodcuts, or turn other people's woodcuts into pictures.


Which brings me, just a few years later, to the extraordinarily talented  Georgette de Montenay (1540–1581), creator of the first book of Christian emblems ever published by a woman: "Emblemes ou devises chrestiennes" was brought out in Lyon between 1567 and 1571 - an awesome site covering her life and work here (but you have to keep on clicking its internal links); and several illustrations here, including a much larger version of the adjacent (which I am sure is meant to be the Tower of Babel and not just Ecclesiastes 1:3; and did you spot the Michelangelo "borrow" in the top left corner?)



1929


A decade and more ago (the pun, actually the double-pun, is sadly inevitable), I was living in Toronto, and among the several splendid buildings that were being put up at the time, to enhance the city's aspiration to be taken seriously as a cultural centre, the good 
Jack Diamond, when not refurbishing and expanding my school at ridiculously low cost, was building the city's magnificent Opera House, while his old Jewish friend Ephraim Owen Goldberg, now known as Frank Gehry, was doing something rather less conventionally traditional or traditionally conventional, to the AGO, the Art Gallery of Ontario: "a landing-pad for an alien spacecraft", was the generally favoured description, though most people presumed that the spacecraft, in the end, had crashed.

The outside of the AGO is indeed shocking, and may even leave you wondering if he "borrowed" the idea from the spacecraft that landed safely in the courtyard of the Louvre (click here to see it); inside the use of space is simply fantastic, even better than the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, which he also built - similar in the way it manages to pour light in through every nook and cranny, but the Bilbao doesn't have those staircases and walkways, nor that absolutely gorgeous fir (who builds in fir, for g-d's sake!). Nor does Bilbao have the two great holes that Toronto has, an enormous collection of those two great holes indeed (a Henry Mre sculpture of Trnt would of course require Three Large Hles), though I understand - with deep regrets - that Henry and the Mre are going to remain inside, but the splendiferous bronze "Large Two Forms", which have provided an adventure playground for visiting scoolchildren for decades, have been removed. The other Frankly great among architects, Lloyd Wright, would never have allowed this sacrilege.*

FG was born today in 1929.


November 4



1846


Among the sarcasms and satires and flippancies of my novel "A Journey In Time", there lay a serious purpose, which was to seek an escape from the tribal propaganda which is the history taught in most schools, and to replace it with a teaching of history that advocated harmony among men and women, that celebrated their achievements in that regard, and did so by including the whole world, and not just the narrow limitations of whichever social and geographical boundaries "our school" happened to inhabit. There must, it seemed to me, be a way of writing universal history that included everyone, rather than the endless declarations of "our" superiority and "their" inferiority, and the limiting of history to wars, rulers and legal reforms. In the novel, I chose to write a universal history of my birthdate, June 27; but November 4 offers another approach, which may actually hold out more promise to the novelist than to the historian: a universal history of patents.

On this day:-

In 1846, Benjamin Palmer patented the artificial leg



In 1862, Richard Gatling patented the Gatling gun


In 1873, Dentist John Beers of San Francisco patented the original crown (the "old crown"; new and improved versions have replaced it).




In 1879, a human being named
Elkins patented refrigerating apparatus



In 1879, James & John Ritty patented the first cash register, to combat stealing by bartenders in their Dayton, Ohio saloon




A universal history of patents - why not? I have no idea if it is even possible to undertake this, but would it not be fascinating to know who first came up with, even if they did not formally patent it, the concept of Justice or Truth, the application of red lipstick or black mascara, the use of fried tomatoes in cooking, the complex distillation of whiskey or the fermentation of wine. Perhaps we can build the book right here, on this blog, by adding information in the comments section until we have accumulated sufficient for an anthology.*

*that idea has not been accepted by the patent office as eligible, so you are free to steal/borrow/adapt it as you please.


 


image courtesy of Sara Harris
For the information, November 4 was not limited to patents.


In 1854, a new form of lighthouse was completed, unpatented, on Alcatraz Island
 


In 1890, the Prince of Wales opened the first Underground Station, at Stockwell in London


In 1939, the first air-conditioned automobile (a Packard) was exhibited, in Chicago, Illinois

 


And of course, in 2008, Barack Hussein Obama was elected the 44th President of the United States, which event is a kind of patent - if ever another non "white anglo-saxon protestant (or very occasionally catholic) male" should happen to win the quadrennial auction for the White House, he (can we imagine that it might one day be a she?) will need to acknowledge who the very first one to break that cartel was.





Amber pages



George Edward (G.E; he hated both names and never used them) Moore (Bill to his wife), Analytic philosopher, born today in 1873


Robert Michael Mapplethorpe, photographer, born today in 1946


Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, pro patria mori - one week, just one bloody week, before the armistice - today in 1918


The entrance to King Tut's tomb, discovered, finally, after decades of searching, by Howard Carter, today in 1922.


And the oldest of all un-patented human inventions, eternally repeated, twice on this date:


Soviet forces crushed the anti-communist revolution in Hungary, today in 1956


Iranian militants seized the US embassy in Teheran, today in 1979