Award-winning author Suzanne Adair's blog | Author Suzanne Adair

Flogging: A Common Form of Corporal Punishment in the 18th Century

Posted on October 4, 2014 by suzanneadairMay 5, 2015

Have you been watching the excellent adaptation of Diana Gabaldon’s historical novel, Outlander, on the Starz channel? I have, and I also belong to an Outlander Facebook discussion group. Since my first book was published, readers have told me that my series appeals to fans of Gabaldon’s books because of certain settings and themes. Redcoats, war, 18th century, amoral characters, civilians in peril—hey, what’s not to like? So many interesting issues and points have emerged from the Outlander episodes that I’ve decided to explore some of them here on my blog.

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Early in season one of Outlander, viewers were shown the scarred back of character Jamie Fraser—the result of his being flogged with a cat-o’-nine-tails by a wacko, sadistic British officer. From all the research I’ve done into the American Revolution, I knew about the cat and the kind of damage it could do. Flogging permanently disfigured a person’s back. The makeup job done to actor Sam Heughan’s back to represent the scarring looked like what I expected, accurately depicting the traumatic damage.

But outrage, disbelief, and horror exploded in comments from members of the discussion group. Most had no idea that flogging with a cat could produce such trauma. Even after a flashback of the gruesome event was shown in episode six, the outrage, disbelief, and horror persisted. I wondered why there was such a disconnect about flogging.

Many people of my generation and earlier were spanked or “switched” if they were naughty children. That level of corporal punishment is mild compared to flogging, but if it’s a viewer’s only point of reference, the flogging in Outlander comes as a huge, horrific surprise. Also, in first-world countries, corporal punishment of children and criminals has been downplayed for several generations in favor of other forms of punishment.

Plus, in the last century, especially the first seven decades of the 20th century, I think that Hollywood’s depiction of “good guys” played a crucial role in the development of these mistaken beliefs about flogging. These Hollywood heroes had stiff upper lips when it came to pain and could unrealistically “take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.” For all their trouble, villains seldom got more than a grunt out of these superhuman hero characters. The following two examples show you what I mean.

Errol Flynn portrayed many swashbuckling heroes on the Silver Screen. Here he is in the movie “Against All Flags.” His character, a Navy officer, is receiving twenty lashes on deck while the crew watches. It’s a ruse that his superiors concocted to convince everyone that he’s in disgrace so his reputation will precede him, and he can credibly infiltrate the villains’ operations. Aside from being a bit sweaty and emitting an occasional grunt of annoyance, Flynn’s character takes those twenty lashes in stride. He then moves on to getting dressed, hunting down the bad guys with sprightly energy, and (because he’s Errol Flynn) seducing a defiant and lovely woman. In reality, twenty lashes was a rather light sentence that might be delivered for minor crimes; often soldiers and sailors received at least fifty lashes. But those twenty would have torn the skin on a man’s back repeatedly. He’d have bled through his shirt, assuming he could have tolerated the pain of fabric rubbing his injured back. For several days afterward, he’d have been far too stiff and sore to gallivant around and seduce women, and he’d have carried scars from the flogging for the rest of his life.

Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock are considered icons and hero figures almost five decades after the debut of classic Star Trek on primetime TV. This image, which provides excellent fodder for those who write slash fanfic, shows Kirk and Spock in a jail cell right after futuristic Nazis have flogged them in the episode “Patterns of Force.” To break the lock on their jail cell, Spock stands on Kirk’s freshly-flogged back so he can reach a light bulb and activate a laser-producing gizmo in his wrist. All Kirk does is grunt a little and kvetch about how the Nazis did a thorough job on his back. The two then escape the cell, beat up some Nazis who try to restrain them, and steal their uniforms. In reality, the “thorough job” any Nazi (c’mon, a Nazi, folks) would have done on Kirk and Spock would have resulted in shredded skin on their backs and incapacitation for both men.

Flogging with a cat-o’-nine-tails was a common, flexible punishment for 18th-century soldiers and sailors convicted of a wide range of infractions. The experience that men received from flogging varied, as the whip could also be made of leather, and the knots could contain sharp objects like metal spikes to inflict an additional level of damage.

Trained soldiers and sailors were a valuable military investment in the 18th-century, thus the desired outcome of flogging wasn’t usually the recipient’s death. That meant that often the flogging was delivered by a boy who didn’t have the upper body strength of a man. (Here’s an update/correction on that statement.) Floggings were usually made public. The recipient’s company mates were required to turn out and watch him be flogged. The experience bonded all of them in a grisly way. After a flogging, the man was far less likely to screw up again because his mates were keeping him in line—and keeping themselves in line. I show this briefly in chapter thirty-five of my book Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution.

One more point about flogging. While it was considered punishment, the flogging that Jamie Fraser received in Outlander also demonstrated the psychological effectiveness of torture—and I don’t just mean torture of Jamie. We’re used to thinking of most forms of torture as a way to get someone to divulge information, right? But torture is actually not too effective at that. Studies have shown that when people are tortured, they say anything to make the agony stop. Most of the time, the information they spill is useless.

So if the torture wasn’t just for Jamie (who actually withstood it and didn’t give the loco villain what he wanted), who was it for? It was for the townsfolk who were witnessing the flogging. If you watch the episode, notice their reactions. The villain turned the flogging into a weapon of terror and made it public to keep the civilians in line. And he delivered the flogging himself to give it a personal touch.

Flogging, corporal punishment in the #18thCentury, and #Outlander http://bit.ly/1rV2zSR #history #AmRev

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The Winner of Pirate Vishnu

Posted on September 15, 2014 by suzanneadairSeptember 15, 2014

Deborah Andolino has won a copy of Pirate Vishnu by Gigi Pandian. Congrats to Deborah Andolino!

Thanks to Gigi Pandian for a peek at what’s beneath Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. Thanks, also, to everyone who visited and commented on Relevant History this week. Watch for another Relevant History post, coming soon.

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San Francisco’s Graveyard of Gold Rush Ships

Posted on September 9, 2014 by suzanneadairSeptember 9, 2014

Relevant History welcomes USA Today bestselling mystery author Gigi Pandian, who spent her childhood being dragged around the world by her cultural anthropologist parents. She writes the Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mystery Series and the forthcoming Accidental Alchemist mysteries. Her debut novel, Artifact, was awarded a Malice Domestic Grant and named a “Best of 2012” debut by Suspense Magazine. The follow-up, Pirate Vishnu, is now available.
For more information, check her web site, and look for her on Facebook and Twitter.

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Have you ever strolled through downtown San Francisco? Then chances are you’ve walked directly above a sunken ship.

I write a treasure hunt mystery series about a San Francisco-based historian who solves present-day crimes linked to historical treasures. When I learned about this secret history of San Francisco, it was too good not to include in a book!

A Little-Known Legacy of the Gold Rush
When the California Gold Rush began in 1848, scores of men flocked to the sleepy town of San Francisco. Within a few years, the population exploded from several hundred to tens of thousands. People came from all over the world, and California became the 31st state of the Union in 1850.

Much of the population arrived not by wagon train, but by sea. More than 500 ships were abandoned in Yerba Buena Cove as crews went in search of fortune. Most of those ships never sailed again.

In the decades following the Gold Rush, several waterfront expansion bills were passed. As the land was filled in, the abandoned ships remained where they were—with landfill added on top of them. What was once Yerba Buena Cove became today’s financial district. To this day, the buried remains of Gold Rush-era ships are often discovered when new construction begins.

Sunken Ships Repurposed
Many of those abandoned ships had a more interesting fate than being trapped beneath our feet.

San Francisco was short on supplies, such as wood, as the city population boomed, so people got creative. Making use of the numerous abandoned ships, men took apart the ships for timber. Some enterprising individuals even set up businesses inside the moored ships, such as banks, hotels, jails, and saloons.

The city’s red-light district, the Barbary Coast, sprung up in this downtown area, so saloons were in high demand. The Old Ship Saloon is one such example of a ship-turned-saloon that still stands. Established in 1851 in the remains of the Arkansas (a ship that ran aground in 1949) the pub is currently a popular spot to grab lunch or a drink.

Buried Treasure
I’m a history buff, which is why I wanted to write a mystery series featuring a history professor. I was once on the academic path myself, but left a PhD program for art school to follow my creative passions—but adventurous academics wouldn’t stay out of my head!

I’m always on the lookout for interesting treasure ideas with real historic backdrops. I live in the San Francisco Bay Area and frequent the waterfront area. The rich history sparked my imagination. With so many abandoned ships, so many desperate men, and so much wealth from the gold fields…Thus one of the seeds was planted for Pirate Vishnu.

In my fictional take on true San Francisco history, historian Jaya Jones always thought the first member of the Indian side of her family to come to the U.S. had perished in the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906—until she discovers a treasure map related to one of the Barbary Coast saloons that was once a ship. Told in alternating chapters in the present day and the early twentieth century, the book follows the adventures of a ship-builder immigrant and his treasure.

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A big thanks to Gigi Pandian. She’ll give away a paperback copy of Pirate Vishnu to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available within the United States and Canada.

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The Winner of Timber Rose

Posted on August 30, 2014 by suzanneadairAugust 30, 2014

Sharkbytes has won a copy of Timber Rose by Janet Oakley. Congrats to Sharkbytes!

Thanks to Janet Oakley for a look at how pre-WW1 women climbed mountains in long skirts. Thanks, also, to everyone who visited and commented on Relevant History this week. Watch for another Relevant History post, coming soon.

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Climbing Mountains in Skirts

Posted on August 19, 2014 by suzanneadairAugust 19, 2014

Relevant History welcomes Janet Oakley, historian and award winning author of historical fiction. Her book Tree Soldier won the 2012 EPIC ebook award for historical fiction and the 2013 grand prize for Chanticleer Books Reviews. Another long work, The Jossing Affair, won first place in historical fiction Chanticleer Books Reviews. Janet has essays in the “Cup of Comfort” series, writings in the Clover Literary Rag, and historical articles on Washington State history. Timber Rose is the prequel to Tree Soldier. When she’s not writing, Oakley can be seen wearing petticoats and teaching 19th-century life, hands-on, to kids. To learn more, check out Janet’s blog and follow her on Twitter and Facebook.

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I have always loved to camp and tramp. From a very early age, I went tent camping with my family all over the Northeast and eventually the West. It was always a magical time (admittedly, miserable if it rained too much), for to be in nature was for me instructional and energizing.

I never thought much of how these places came to be until I was an adult. When I needed a paper for a university class, I began to pay attention to the stories my mom told me of the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) in Idaho where she grew up. The CCC made trails, planted trees, and built cabins, ranger stations, and fire look-outs back in the 1930s. My historical novel Tree Soldier, about a CCC camp in the North Cascades of Washington State, came out of my research. Its prequel, Timber Rose, explores the work of earlier, pioneering people who built an appreciation for the wilderness and the need to preserve it.

The Pacific NW and the Birth of Hiking Clubs
The North Cascades, the setting for Timber Rose, is a beautiful, rugged area in the north of Washington State. Until 1889, the state was a territory. Formed in 1852, it was one of longest held territories seeking statehood. Though it became a state, Washington had over 2.25 million acres in the federally held Pacific Forest Reserves. In 1897, the Forest Bureau was created by an act of Congress, with Gifford Pinchot as head. Eight years later (1905) 63 million acres of forest nationwide was transferred from the Interior Department to the Agriculture Department. At the same time, the modern Forest Service was created. The Pacific Forest Reserves on the east side of Puget Sound became the Washington National Forest.

Against this dry history, inspired by the writings of John Muir and other nature writers, some amazing things happened. In 1890, a group of climbers, which included 21-year-old Fay Fuller wearing blue flannel bloomers and a boy’s boots with caulks, climbed Mount Rainier. The following year a group of climbers made it to the top of Mount Baker (Mount Kulshan in my novels) in the North Cascades. In the next couple of years, wilderness enthusiasts organized. In 1894, on the summit of Mount Hood, Oregon, the Mazamas was formed. Of its 105 members, a good portion were women.

The Mazamas played an important part in developing trails and shelters in the Washington National Forest. They formed a branch of the club in Seattle and took on Mount Baker in 1906. Catherine Montgomery, a founding faculty member of the Normal School in Bellingham, WA, was on that climb. She would later be called the mother of the Pacific Crest Trail that runs from California to the Canadian border.

Two years after the Forest Service came into being, the Seattle branch of the Mazamas split off and became The Mountaineers, whose aims were “to explore the mountains, forests, and water courses of the Pacific NW…” They played a major role in the greater outdoor community.

Not Held Back by Petticoats
From the 1890s on, women hiked and climbed in the Pacific NW. Though bound by fashion that corseted and skirted them on the main street, they were ingenious in getting around a few rules. In some instances, they wore bloomers but many times they went in their skirts, with knickerbockers underneath. Or just wool pants. In 1909, when a number of women climbed Mount Rainier during a suffragette convention in Seattle, group leader Cora Smith Eaton compiled a list of what to bring:

1. Sleeping Bag, consisting of three bags, one inside the other.

Waterproof shell, of kahki (sic) or rubber or parafined (sic) canvas or oiled silk.
Double wool blanket bag.
Comfort padded with wool bats, the comfort folded and sewed together as a bag.

2. Tramping suit:

Bloomers or knickerbockers.
Short skirt, knee length, discarded on the hard climbs.
Wool wait or jumper.
Sweater or heavy coat.

3. Three pairs of cotton hose.
4. Three pairs of boys’ wool socks to wear as the second pair of hose to prevent chafing.
5. Mountain boots to the knee, with heavy soles, heavy enough for hob-nails, and these must be placed in soles before starting, using 3 1/2 eighths Hungarian nails in the instep as well as the heels and soles.
6. Lighter shoes, like tennis shoes, for camp.
7. Gaiters to wear with the light shoes.
8. Chamois heel protectors, worn next to the skin, or adhesive plaster, to prevent blistering the heel.
9. Two winter undersuits, ankle length and long sleeves.
10. Two lighter undersuits, ankle length and long sleeves.
11. One dark colored night robe or pajamas.
12. Hat, lightweight, with medium brim.
13. Mosquito head net or bee veil.
14. Smoked goggles.
15. Heavy gauntlet gloves.
16. Three bandana handkerchiefs.
17. Rubber poncho, or slicker coat.

The climb was successful. On the summit, the group placed a flag with the AYP (Alaska-Yukon-Pacific fair) symbol with a Votes for Women banner underneath.

No Slouches at Home
Many of the women who climbed came from the middle class. Wives of UW faculty or professors themselves, local enthusiasts from logging communities around the mountains, or business owners. Dr. Cora Smith Eaton was one such woman. The first woman to practice medicine in ND, she came to the northwest for a suffragette convention in 1907. She climbed Mount Hood and later moved to Seattle. She was one of the co-founders of the Mountaineers. Another, Mary Davenport Engberg, ran a pharmacy in Bellingham, WA with her husband. She was an active outdoorswoman who made numerous expeditions to Mount Baker, naming a number of its features, including Bastille and No Name Glaciers. She was also an accomplished violinist and conductor. She started a 65-piece orchestra.

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A big thanks to Janet Oakley. She’ll give away a trade paperback copy of Timber Rose to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available within the U.S. only.

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The Winner of Cup of Blood

Posted on August 17, 2014 by suzanneadairAugust 17, 2014

Norma Huss has won a copy of Cup of Blood by Jeri Westerson. Congrats to Norma Huss!

Thanks to Jeri Westerson for the engaging discussion about legends surrounding Christ’s blood and other holy relics. Thanks, also, to everyone who visited and commented on Relevant History this week. Watch for another Relevant History post, coming soon.

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Bloody Good Relics

Posted on August 5, 2014 by suzanneadairAugust 4, 2014

Relevant History welcomes back L.A. native Jeri Westerson, who combined the medieval with the hard-boiled and came up with her own brand of medieval mystery she calls “Medieval Noir.” Her brooding protagonist, Crispin Guest, is a disgraced knight turned detective on the mean streets of fourteenth century London. Jeri’s novels have been shortlisted for a variety of industry awards, from the Agatha to the Shamus. She is president of the Southern California chapter of Mystery Writers of America, and speaks all over the southland about medieval history, including as a guest lecturer at the Bowers Museum in Santa Ana and Mt. San Antonio College in Walnut, CA. To learn more about Jeri’s books, watch a series book trailer, find discussion guides, and read Crispin’s blog, check out Jeri’s website. Friend Jeri on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter and Goodreads.

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My medieval mysteries always involve a religious relic or venerated object. And so part of my job is to explore relics and make the mythical real. Some of my “favorite” relics (in that they get a lot of attention) are the blood relics. My protagonist Crispin Guest, a disgraced knight turned detective, has a favorite oath: “God’s blood!” Yes, in the medieval period, swearing took on a whole different quality. But it is “God’s blood” and that of his saints that we want to explore.

Holy grail, Batman!
Joseph of Arimathea plays an important role in most Christ blood relics, either capturing the blood and sweat in a cup while Jesus hung on the cross (and here is where the complicated grail history begins and what we see in Cup of Blood, my latest medieval mystery, released 25 July 2014) or later keeping some as he cleaned the body before burial.

I must first explain the unlikelihood of such an event from the Jewish Pharisee that Joseph was. Surely he was aware of the blood prohibitions, of touching blood and bodies that would make him unclean to enter the temple. This would be a horrific situation for a priest of the temple, his being unable to enter it until he underwent many days of ritual bathing before he was declared clean again. The thought of even saving blood must have been completely foreign. But let us, for the sake of argument, assume that Joseph—for whatever reason—had the idea to preserve some of Jesus’ blood. What did he do with it from there?

If we were to follow the grail legend, then we would end up at Glastonbury in the southwest region of England, which gave rise to its co-mingling with the Arthurian legends (a complicated cross-pollination from the stories commissioned by Marie of France, Countess of Champagne and daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine in the twelfth century to include a love triangle. She had Chretien de Troyes, her court poet, invent Lancelot. Chretien also wrote the unfinished poem Perceval le Gallois, the keeper of the grail—and it only gets more convoluted from there).

The bloodier the better
But if we were to follow other blood legends, we might end up in Constantinople. During the fourth crusade it is said that the Holy Blood of Christ made its way from Constantinople to the Basilius chapel in Bruges on 7 April 1150. The relic consists of coagulated blood kept in a 12th century style rock-crystal flask. Since 1303, the relic was carried around the city walls in procession, called the Holy Blood Procession, which is still celebrated today.

Westminster Abbey was presented with Christ’s blood by King Henry III of England on 3 October 1247, that the king had received from the Masters of the Knights Templars and Hospitallers and the patriarch of Jerusalem. It was encased in a crystal vase. The Bishop of Norwich preached a sermon, promising an indulgence of six years and one hundred and sixteen days to anyone who venerated the relic (that is, six years and one hundred and sixteen days less in Purgatory). Unfortunately, it never made Westminster the pilgrim stop that Henry had desired. In fact, it was not lost on the populace that Henry was desperately trying to compete with the French king who a year later, dedicated his Sainte Chapelle with relics from the holy land, among them the Crown of Thorns, the Holy Lance, a portion of the sponge soaked with vinegar, purple vestments with which Jesus was mocked, and a sepulchral stone. In Hailes Abbey, not too far from Westminster, larger crowds came to see their vial of Christ’s blood. But when Hailes’ blood was scrutinized in the 16th century by Henry VIII’s examiners, it was reported that the vial consisted of not Christ’s blood but of honey mixed with saffron coloring. Yet another account says it contained oft-replaced goose blood. Whatever was in it, this vial, along with the one at Westminster, was disposed of by the Reformation’s agents.

Bleeding out
One of the more famous blood relics belongs to Saint Januarius or as he is known in Italy, San Gennaro. Born in Naples in 300 AD, he was a Bishop of Beneveto around the time of Emperor Diocletian, who was particularly nasty to Christians. While offering spiritual support to imprisoned fellow Christians, Januarius was himself arrested. The prelate, Timoteo, put Januarius through several gruesome tortures—thrown into a furnace, tried to tear his limbs apart on the wheel—but he seemed to come out of them unscathed. Finally, Januarius and his fellow prisoners were condemned to be torn apart by wild beasts. When this also proved useless, Timoteo ordered Januarius to be beheaded.

Januarius’ old wet-nurse Eusebia, gathered his blood into vials, and his body and head were wrapped and hidden until the time that Christianity was no longer persecuted. Eusebia was now free to display the glass vials of the martyr’s dried blood, and for the first time, they became liquid. Januarius was one of the many honored saints in Italy for many centuries, but there is no mention of his blood or it’s “liquefaction” until 1389. By then his skull and blood had come to rest at the Real Cappella del Tesoro di San Gennaro, located near Pozzuoli. And to this day, on 19 September, the feast day of Saint Januarius, his blood relics are displayed with much praying, novenas, and other celebrations. If the blood liquefies, it is signaled by the firing off of cannons.

Certainly in Crispin’s era of the late fourteenth century, such things were well venerated. And much money could be made for the church or monastery that housed such a relic, paid by the pilgrims who came to see them. No wonder my detective remains skeptical as to the authenticity of such objects. And that, and a few murders, keeps him embroiled deeply in the mysteries.

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A big thanks to Jeri Westerson. She’ll give away a trade paperback copy of Cup of Blood to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available within the U.S. only.

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The Missionary Wife, or “Grilled Alive in Calcutta”

Posted on July 29, 2014 by suzanneadairJuly 28, 2014

Relevant History welcomes Joanne Dobson, a mystery novelist and scholar of American women’s literature. Her six-book Professor Karen Pelletier mystery series won an Agatha nomination and a Noted Author of the Year award from the New York State Library Association. The Kashmiri Shawl is her first venture into the genre of historical fiction. A retired professor of American Literature, Joanne is a specialist in Emily Dickinson and other nineteenth-century American women writers. Currently she teaches in National Endowment for the Humanities and Fulbright Fellowship International summer programs at Amherst College. She also teaches Creative Writing at the Hudson Valley Writers Center. For more information, check her web site, and look for her on Facebook and Twitter.

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The Kashmiri Shawl, my latest novel and first historical, was inspired by at least three different sources: a National Geographic article, believe it or not, on nineteenth-century narrow-gauge Indian railroads; the life of Emily Chubbuck, the third wife of Adoniram Judson, famed nineteenth-century missionary to Burma, who returned to New York when widowed and resumed a successful career as writer and poet; and—Jane Eyre.

You remember Jane Eyre, don’t you? The novel wasn’t all about Jane and Mr. Rochester. Jane had another suitor. In what has got to be the lamest marriage proposal in the history of the English language, Jane’s pious cousin, St. John Rivers, commands her to marry him and to come with him to India: “God and nature,” he intones, “intended you for a missionary’s wife…you are formed for labour, not for love. A missionary’s wife you must—shall be. I claim you—not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign’s service.” In other words, she’s not beautiful and he doesn’t love her. But she would be a great little mission worker. “Jane, you are docile, diligent, disinterested, faithful, constant, and courageous…your assistance will be to me invaluable.”

Jane turns him down. I don’t blame her, and I find her reason interesting: “If I were to marry you, you would kill me. You are killing me now.” But almost immediately she deflects the cause of her certain death away from the man himself and onto India: “I am convinced that go when and with whom I would, I should not live long in that climate.” Her death would be implicit in her role as missionary wife. And St. John’s sister backs her up: “’Madness,’ she exclaimed upon hearing of his proposal, “you would not live three months there, I am certain…Think of the…incessant fatigue: where fatigue kills even the strong; and you are weak.’” Jane would be “grilled alive in Calcutta,” Diana concludes.

I came away from my reading of Jane Eyre with the assumption that the Indian climate was even deadlier than Jane’s would-be husband. What, I asked myself in a frenzy of inspiration, would have happened to Jane if she’d said yes to St. John Rivers and gone to India as his wife? And thus was born Anna Wheeler, the protagonist of The Kashmiri Shawl—a missionary wife (and poetess) fleeing her own “deadly” husband by train through a lethal Indian landscape.

But, no; maybe the landscape was not so lethal. In researching The Kashmiri Shawl, I was struck to find actual missionaries and their actual wives in India enthusing in letters home about the beauty and healthiness of the local climate. As early as 1812, Ann Hasseltine Judson, Adoniram’s first wife, wrote home reporting that they had come close to land and that the sight “was truly delightful…the fertile shores of India—the groves of orange and palm trees…the smell which proceeds from them is fragrant beyond description.”

In a letter from Mynpoorie in the early 1850s, the Reverend John E. Freeman reports that his wife, “Lizzie…enjoys excellent health, and looks fresh and cheerful. We ride daily, labour hard, and all goes smoothly and happily.”

Lizzie Freeman, herself, reports that she “walked this morning five miles. The cool bracing air and exercise gave me a fine appetite and red cheeks…I feel quite as well as in my best days at home.”

In early May 1857, Maria Campbell, at Fatehgarh, writes to her brother, “It is now very warm, you would say hot, but has been a very healthy season.”

Unfortunately, in actual history, Maria Campbell’s “healthy season” was soon to turn deadly for her and Lizzie Freeman and the other missionaries then at the Fatehgarh Mission. They were among the multitudes killed on both sides during the horrific Great Uprising of 1857, more familiarly known as the Sepoy Mutiny. Their fates, however, had nothing to do with anything lethal in the Indian climate.

So, no: Neither Jane Eyre nor Anna Wheeler has to be “grilled alive in Calcutta.” In fact, Anna finds herself “translated” in delightful ways by India. “The weather… was Biblical, hot and dry in season, with the scent of spices in the air. She loved the lilt of the languages…she took pleasure in the beauty of the people and their graceful ways…she loved the chants and bells and drums of festivals in the temples; she could not get enough of the cardamom, turmeric, and saffron, the mangoes and pomegranates.” She thrives in India. And so, too, might have Jane Eyre.

But, Reader, I’m truly glad she married Mr. Rochester, instead.

*****

A big thanks to Joanne Dobson!

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The Winner of The Doppelganger’s Dance

Posted on July 22, 2014 by suzanneadairJuly 22, 2014

Jody has won a copy of The Doppelganger’s Dance by Libi Astaire. Congrats to Jody!

Thanks to Libi Astaire for the story about the Great Synagogue in Georgian London. Thanks, also, to everyone who visited and commented on Relevant History this week. Watch for another Relevant History post, coming soon.

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The Night the Royal Dukes Visited the Synagogue

Posted on July 15, 2014 by suzanneadairJuly 15, 2014

Relevant History welcomes Libi Astaire, author of the Ezra Melamed historical mystery series set in Regency England. The series has received accolades from the Jewish Book Council, and the first book, The Disappearing Dowry, received a Sydney Taylor Notable Book Award from the Association of Jewish Libraries. To find out more about the series, or to read an excerpt from the latest mystery, The Doppelganger’s Dance, check Libi’s web site and look for her on Facebook.

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When I was young, one of my favorite Broadway musicals was Bye Bye Birdie, the show that chronicles the excitement of a small Midwestern town when a rock and roll star comes to visit. What does rock and roll have to do with Regency England? Not much at first glance. But I did think of Bye Bye Birdie the first time I came across an account of a visit that set Regency London’s Jewish community all aflutter.

On the night of Friday 14 April 1809, three of England’s Royal Dukes—the Dukes of Cumberland, Sussex and Cambridge—attended the Sabbath Evening Services at London’s Great Synagogue, which was the central place of worship for England’s Ashkenazic community. This wasn’t the first time that a member of the Royal Family had visited a London synagogue, but such an honor was a rare occurrence. The fact that there would be three of them—and at a time when the Emancipation of the Jews was being hotly discussed in drawing rooms and coffee houses throughout England—was enough to send the small community into a whirlwind of frenetic activity as they made their preparations to welcome these influential visitors.

A Royal Welcome
The first time around, Jews didn’t do so well in Britain. William the Conqueror invited Jewish merchants from the Continent to settle in England, since he needed someone to act as his financiers, but the Jews were expelled from the country in 1290 by King Edward I.

Although there was a small group of crypto-Jews from Spain and Portugal living in England during Shakespeare’s time (I wrote about these refugees from the Spanish Inquisition in my novel The Banished Heart), Jews weren’t allowed to live openly as Jews until the 1650s, when Oliver Cromwell famously decided not to decide if Jews should be allowed back into England or not. Thanks to that loophole, the second chapter of Anglo-Jewish history began.

Some of the Jews who arrived in the late 1600s and 1700s were descendants of Jews expelled from Spain in 1492. These wealthy Sephardic Jewish merchants (Sepharad is the Hebrew word for Spain) had extensive trade connections that made them welcome not only at Cromwell’s palace, but at the royal courts of Charles II and William III.

There was also a sizeable community of Ashkenazic Jews who came from countries such as Germany (Ashkenaz in Hebrew), Bohemia, Holland and even faraway Poland. Although there were some wealthy merchants among their ranks, the Ashkenazic community was mainly comprised of poor Jews escaping the religious persecution that was prevalent on the European Continent.

Not all Englishmen welcomed this influx of foreigners. Indeed, the newcomers faced barriers in just about every sphere. Foreign-born Jews, the majority of the community until the early 1800s, couldn’t own property or engage in foreign trade unless they could afford to pay special taxes. No Jew could become a Member of Parliament, attend an English university or become an officer in the army or navy. Jews couldn’t open a retail business within the area that comprised the ancient City of London. They also couldn’t vote—although that was a privilege denied to many Englishmen and all women. In fact, one reason why some Englishmen were so against Jewish Emancipation was because they feared it would lead to all Englishmen being allowed to vote. (They couldn’t imagine that women would ever demand and get that right.)

Still, England was a tolerant haven in comparison to Europe. And during the Georgian era (1714–1830) the Jews found they had friends in English society, including some in very high places.

A Loyal Response
The royal visit to the Great Synagogue was arranged by Abraham Goldsmid, a wealthy Jewish financier who was friends with several members of the Royal Family, including the Duke of Sussex (Prince Frederick Augustus) and the Duke of Cambridge (Prince Adolphus Frederick).

Although the members of the Great Synagogue had only two weeks to prepare, according to press reports they did admirably. A welcoming service comprised of poems and songs was hastily put together. England’s chief rabbi, Rabbi Solomon Hirschell, was garbed in an elegant white satin robe made especially for the occasion. The synagogue’s interior was also spruced up, thanks to the new crimson velvet curtains furnished by a rising star on the London financial scene, Nathaniel Rothschild.

Then the hour arrived—half past six—and it’s not hard to imagine the community’s excitement as the rumble of the approaching carriages grew louder. When those elegant carriages came to a halt, Jewish children dressed in their Sabbath finery were there to greet the visitors, strewing the path to the synagogue’s entrance with flowers. And when the royal entourage stepped inside the candle-lit sanctuary, they were greeted by a full choir, which sang:

Open wide the gates for the princely train
The Heav’n-blessed offspring of our King
Whilst our voices raise the emphatic strain
And God’s service devout we sing.

Of course, not everyone was pleased with this public recognition of the Jewish community. Thomas Rowlandson, one of the era’s most popular caricaturists, ridiculed the event in a satirical cartoon that very likely reflected the feelings of those against giving Jews (and Catholics) full political and civil rights.

However, the royal visit is considered one of the steps along the path to the Emancipation of England’s Jews later that century. True, it was only a symbolic gesture, but it’s often the symbolic social gesture that paves the way for political and legal change. It’s therefore no wonder that this royal visit was still being enthusiastically discussed by members of the Great Synagogue for many years afterward.

It’s also a matter of pride for the fictional members of the Great Synagogue who are at the heart of my Ezra Melamed Mystery Series. They too remember that great day when the three Royal Dukes came to visit—that is, when they’re not too busy trying to solve the latest “white cravat” crime that is causing an upheaval in their community.

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A big thanks to Libi Astaire. She’ll give away a trade paperback copy of The Doppelganger’s Dance to someone who contributes a comment on her post this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available in the U.S., Canada, and the U.K.

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