"A Vile Country": Dr Johnson on Scotland and Scots

The writer Samuel Johnson, AKA Dr. Johnson (1709-1785), is best known today for his celebrated Dictionary of the English Language. First published in London in 1755, it is often called "Johnson's Dictionary." The dictionary was warmly received and proved highly influential in shaping the modern English language. (Image: Johnson in 1775, by Sir Joshua Reynolds)

Some of Johnson's definitions were witty. His definition of lexicographer poked fun at himself: "a writer of dictionaries, a harmless drudge that busies himself in tracing the original and detailing the significance of words."

Other definitions conveyed his prejudices. An example is monsieur: "a term of reproach for a Frenchman." Johnson, in common with many English folk at the time, had no love for the French, with whom they were often at war. 

The English were almost as contemptuous of the people of Scotland, with whom they had been united in 1707 into a new country, Great Britain. The Union was an uneasy one for many years. 

Several rebellions arose in Scotland seeking to restore the exiled Catholic Stuarts to the throne of both kingdoms, occupied since 1714 by the German Hanoverians, Georges I and II.

The last and most dangerous of these "Jacobite" Risings began in 1745. An army made up mainly of Highlanders led by Prince Charles Stuart ("Bonnie Prince Charlie") defeated a Hanoverian army at Prestonpans. 

The Jacobites quickly seized Edinburgh, and marched into England. They came within striking distance of London at Derby before turning back and facing final bloody defeat at Culloden Moor in April 1746. It was the last battle fought on British soil. (Image: Battle of Culloden, by David Morier, 1746)

The Highland army's incursion into central England had terrified and outraged many English people, including Johnson, himself a sentimental Jacobite. 

The English viewed the Highland Scots with their plaids and Gaelic language as uncouth, dirty, and savage. The romantic Highlander of the novels of Sir Walter Scott would not appear until decades later. The cartoon below, "Sawney in the Boghouse," gives an indication of how contemporary Englishmen viewed the barbaric Highlander. 

Johnson shared these views. Perhaps it is not surprising that he used his dictionary to convey them. His definition of oats is classic: "a grain which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland is used to support the people."

Here, Johnson was parroting the conventional English view of the Scots as an impoverished and oppressed people, who might, if given their way, reduce the English to the same level. That view had some merit: Scotland was poorer than England, and its political system was more authoritarian at that time. 

Yet the idea that Scots could impose an authoritarian system on England was far fetched. Incidentally, many American colonists shared that view, which contributed to the drive for independence. 

The American cartoon below, from 1775, shows Scots Lord Bute and Lord Mansfield tyrannizing Americans. backed up by the Catholic Church (the monk) and the British army. 

It was a conspiracy theory worthy of QAnon. Bute had been out of politics for ten years by this point. Chief Justice Mansfield had no say over colonial policy, but he had declared slavery in England illegal in 1773, which made him a tyrant for American slaveholders. 

Johnson eventually softened his views on Scotland and its people, though he always enjoyed a dig at them. His circle of friends came to include some Scots he admired, including poet James Beattie. His best friend in his later years was Scots lawyer James Boswell, 9th Laird of Auchinleck. (Image: James Boswell, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 1785)

In 1763, Boswell went to London, hoping to get a commission in a Guards regiment and enjoy the capital's culture (and women). He was quickly exposed to anti-Scottish sentiment. 

In his journal he recorded how he went to Covent Garden Theater one evening to see a comic opera. Just before the overture began, two Highland officers entered, the crowd began to chant, "No Scots! No Scots! Out with them!" 

Boswell was outraged. The officers had just returned from the successful siege of Havana. At that moment, he wrote, "I hated the English. I wished from my soul that the Union was broke and that we might give them another Battle of Bannockburn.... The rudeness of the English vulgar is terrible."

After this encounter, it may come as some surprise that Boswell sought out the acquaintance of two Englishmen men famed for their anti-Scottish prejudices: John Wilkes and Johnson. 

Except for their antipathy to Scots, the two can hardly have been more different. Wilkes was a libertine radical and a demagogue. Johnson was straight-laced, pious, and socially conservative.  

Wilkes was "very civil" to Boswell when they met. He even invited Boswell to call on him. Boswell's first meeting with Johnson was less auspicious: 

Johnson: I understand, Sir, that you are from Scotland.

Boswell: I am indeed, but I cannot help it.

Johnson: That, Sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help. 

This was how one of the most famous friendships in British history began. Johnson and Boswell became boon companions, eating, drinking, and conversing together. 

"Bozzy" would later write a biography of his friend, The Life of  Samuel Johnson (1791). Many critics consider it the greatest biography ever written in English.

The pair spent many an evening in animated conversation with other members of Johnson's circle. The "Club" as it is sometimes known, was the idea of Johnson's friend, painter Joshua Reynolds. (Image: A Meeting of the The Club. Johnson is second from left, Reynolds is third, with ear trumpet.)

 

Its members included some the greatest minds of the day including actor David Garrick, orator Edmund Burke, and writers Oliver Goldsmith and Richard Sheridan. Scientist Joseph Bank and historian Edward Gibbon also attended meetings from time to time. Another Scot, Adam Smith, was a later member. Johnson never liked him because he contributed little to the conversation. 

Boswell recorded many of the exchanges at these meetings. On occasion, Johnson's prejudices against Scotland rose to the surface. A famous such occasion was when the group was discussing "noble prospects" or beautiful views. Johnson quipped, "the noblest prospect a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England."

Here, Johnson, joking or not, was reflecting a very real concern in England at the time. Many people complained that a plague of greedy, half-starved Scots was invading their country, snapping up plum jobs and rich heiresses. People often compared the Scots immigrants to a plague of locusts, as reflected in this cartoon of 1796, "A Flight of Scotchmen":

The poet Charles Churchill, a collaborator with Wilkes, wrote a pastoral in which he characterized Scotland as a land where half-starved spiders preyed on half-starved flies. 

The comparative poverty of Scotland was a subject Johnson often returned to in conversation. During a discussion on the danger of invasion in Scotland, he asked: "What enemy would invade Scotland, when there is nothing to be got?"

Warning an Irish friend against uniting in a union with England: "Do not make a union with us, Sir. We should unite with you only to rob you; we should have robbed the Scots if they had anything of which we could rob them."

Scotland, unlike England at the time, provided a basic primary education to most children in a system of parish schools. Johnson was not impressed: "Knowledge is divided up among Scots like bread in a besieged town, to every man a mouthful, to no man a bellyful." Learning in Scotland, he concluded, was widely diffused, "but thinly spread." 

Boswell, irked by Johnson's refusal to concede the existence of highly educated Scots, mentioned Lord Mansfield, Chief Justice of the Court of King's Bench. Johnson denied that Scotland derived "any credit from Mansfield, for he was educated in England. Much may be made of a Scotchman if he be caught young."

Asked by a Scot what he thought of Scotland, Johnson replied, "it is a very vile country, to be sure, Sir." Taken aback, the Scot retorted that God had made it. "Certainly, he did," Johnson agreed; "but we must always remember that he made it for Scotchmen, and comparisons are odious, Mr. S-------; and God made hell."

Arthur Lee of Virginia once remarked that he could not understand why some Scots had settled in a barren part of America. Johnson thought the answer obvious: "Why, Sir, all barrenness is comparative. The Scotch would not know it be barren."

Having Boswell as a close friend gradually softened Johnson's views on Scots if not Scotland. In 1773, Bozzy convinced Johnson to make a trip to Scotland, including a tour of the Hebrides, or Western Isles. 

Johnson complained about some things, notably the weather, roads, and some of the inns and food. But he praised much as well, especially Scottish hospitality: 

"At the tables where a stranger is received, neither plenty nor delicacy is wanting.... he that shall complain of his fare in the Hebrides, has improved his delicacy more than his manhood.... If an epicure could remove by a wish, in quest of sensual gratifications, wherever he had supped he would breakfast in Scotland."

The Hebrides in particular impressed Johnson.. The pair visited Skye, Iona, Mull, and other islands. Johnson recorded feelings of awe on his visit to Iona, where Irish missionaries established the first Christian foothold in Scotland in the 6th century.

After returning to London, both men wrote accounts of their journey. Still in print and quite readable today, the books inspired many others to make similar trips. One could argue that they (and Walter Scott) helped lay the foundations of later Scottish tourism. 

Johnson later told Boswell that the trip "was the pleasantest part of his life..." High praise indeed for a man who wrote that "when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life." Perhaps Bozzy made a difference after all.

Further Reading:

James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson (London, 1791)

____________, Boswell's London Journal, 1762-1763 (New Haven, 1950)

____________, The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson(1785)

Samuel Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language (London, 1755)

_____________, A Journey to the Western Isles of Scotland (London, 1775)

 

 

    

"The Atheist is Dying!"

In August 1776 a noted Scots philosopher lay dying of abdominal cancer in his home in Edinburgh. As news spread of his imminent demise, crowds gathered in the street outside his house, crying "The Atheist is dying! The Atheist is dying!" 

David Hume, for that was his name, was a genial, kindly man whose written works had made him many admirers and more enemies. One of the great philosophical skeptics, Hume had undermined many conventional beliefs, including the then popular "argument from design" used to prove God's existence. 

In his Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, he argued that it was just as likely that the world had been designed by many gods or none at all, by an incompetent god, an infant god, even an animal or vegetable god, as by the omnipotent deity of the Bible. There was no irrefutable evidence for any of these possibilities. (Image: David Hume, 1754, by Allan Ramsay)

In suggesting the possibility that the world and its lifeforms could have been the result of accident rather than intelligent design, Hume anticipated Darwin's principle of natural selection. 

Hume had aroused the ire of the Presbyterian clergy with his arguments against miracles, the afterlife, and the impossibility of proving the existence or nature of God. They had even considered bringing charges of infidelity against him. 

Many modern critics claim that Hume was an agnostic but contemporaries considered him an atheist, or at least anti-Christian. He argued all religion arose from fear, "from a dread of the unknown." He declared that polytheism had some advantages over monotheism from a societal point of view.

He was fond of relating that "the best theologian he had ever met was an old Edinburgh fishwife who, having recognized him as Hume the atheist, refused to pull him out of the bog into which he had fallen until he declared he was a Christian and repeated the Lord's Prayer." 

James Boswell, who later wrote the acclaimed Life of Dr. Johnson, visited Hume a few weeks before his death. The much younger Boswell recorded an account of their exchange. (Image: James Boswell, 1765, by George Willison)

"I found him alone, in a reclining posture in his drawing room. He was lean, ghastly, and of an earthy appearance. He was quite different from the plump figure which he used to present. He seemed to be placid, even cheerful. He said he was just approaching to his end." (Image: David Hume, 1766, by Allan Ramsay)

Boswell, a conventional Christian with a robust libido, hoped to get Hume to confess his faith. Hume replied that he had long ago rejected belief in any religion, and that "the morality of every religion was bad." He went on to say that "when he heard that a man was religious, he concluded that he was a rascal, though he had known some instances of very good men who were religious."

Boswell asked Hume if he persisted in rejecting belief in an afterlife, with death staring him in the face. Hume answered, "it was a most unreasonable fancy that we should exist forever." Boswell left him "with impressions that disturbed me for some time." 

Hume died in his home on St Andrews Square, New Town, on August 25, 1776. He was buried at his request in a tomb on nearby Calton Hill. He wished it to be inscribed with only his name and dates. 

The tomb, designed by his friend the architect Robert Adam, sits next to a statue of Abraham Lincoln, memorializing the sacrifices of Scottish soldiers who fought for the Union in the American Civil War.

 

Atheist or not, Hume is today a celebrated figure in Scotland and globally. Since 1995, a statue of Hume in classical garb has resided on the Royal Mile, across from St. Giles Cathedral. I suspect he would have appreciated the irony of that. 

It has become a custom for visitors to rub his big toe on the right foot for good luck, which is why the original bronze shows through. That is also ironical, because Hume of course rejected belief in luck as ignorant superstition. I touched the toe myself, however, just in case.

Image: Edinburgh High Street, with the Hume Statue and St. Giles.

Further Reading: Charles Weiss and Frederick Pottle, eds., Boswell in Extremes, 1776-1778 (London, 1970)

You are What you Eat

In 1747, the French physician and philosophe Julien Offray de la Mettrie published a book entitled Man: A Machine  (L'Homme Machine). It is little known today, but in it La Mettrie proposed an idea we are very familiar with nearly 300 years later: You are what you eat. He argued human beings (and all living things) were machines, fueled by the digestion of food: 

"The human body is a machine which winds its own springs. It is the living image of perpetual movement. Nourishment keeps up the movement which fever excites. Without food, the soul pines away, goes mad, and dies exhausted ... But nourish the body, pour into its veins life-giving juices and strong liquors, and then the soul grows strong ... What power there is in a meal! Joy revives in a sad heart, and infects the souls of comrades." (Image: La Mettrie)

La Mettrie was a philosophical materialist. He held that everything in the universe was made up of matter. Spirit was a figment of overheated imaginations. Spirit did not exist, which meant no angels, no demons, no ghosts. The soul was merely the animating principle arising from matter, and animals as well as people had souls. 

La Mettrie conceded that God "might" exist but it didn't matter because He did not interfere in the world. Today, most people would call La Mettrie an atheist, and he did used that term to describe his position. He was also a hedonist. He argued that happiness was the sole purpose of life. People should indulge in pleasurable activities as much as possible, including eating fine food, drinking, and sex.

Atheism was a rare stance in even in the Enlightenment, but it had a long history. The Roman poet Lucretius espoused materialism. Some of La Mettrie's fellow philosophes advanced atheistic arguments, notably Baron d'Holbach and David Hume. (pictured below). But most of the philosophes, atheist or not, denounced La Mettrie's claim that hedonism should be the main goal of human life.

Other philosophes, called deists, rejected La Mettries's materialism. They argued that God definitely existed and had created a good world, but then left it to operate according to His benevolent natural laws. 

Deists and atheists alike fell afoul of religious and secular authorities. Deists were often denounced as atheists for rejecting key Christian doctrines. 

Like other philosophes, La Mettrie had to move about for his safety. He fled France to the more tolerant Netherlands. After the publication of Man: A Machine, things got too hot for him there. He found refuge in Prussia at the Court of Frederick the Great. Voltaire, perhaps the best known of the philosophes, also fled there in 1750.  (Images: Frederick and Voltaire)

But let's get back to eating. La Mettrie argued that the food one ate determined one's personality, disposition, intelligence, and behavior. Diet explained why some people were more savage than others: 

"Red meat makes animals fierce, and it would have the same effect on man. This is so true that the English who eat meat red and bloody, and not as well done as ours, seem to share more or less in the savagery due to this kind of food...."

As another example of how food effects behavior, La Mettrie related the story of a Swiss judge who "when he fasted, was a most upright and even a most indulgent judge, but woe to the unfortunate man whom he found on the culprit's bench after he had had a large dinner! He was capable of sending the innocent like the guilty to the gallows." 

Interestingly, modern studies of sentencing indicate the opposite: that judges tend to give more lenient sentences after eating and harsher ones when hungry. But either way, there seems to be a corelation between eating and sentencing.

Diet could even affect the intelligence of whole nations, according to La Mettrie. "One nation is of heavy and stupid wit, and another quick, light, and penetrating. Whence comes this difference, if not in part from the difference in foods....? 

La Mettrie was well versed in the science of his day, but his argument about food was hardly scientific. His evidence was anecdotal and stereotypical. 

Yet no one today would deny that diet can have enormous effects on mental and physical health. Medical and dietary science has linked poor diet to all kinds of illnesses and dangerous conditions. 

La Mettrie's death was utterly ironic. He died in 1751 of a gastric disorder, followed by a fever and delerium. Some versions say he ate a huge amount of a pheasant and truffle pate pie at one meal to show off how much he could consume. Others claim that the food that had gone bad. 

As he was dying, priests allegedly gathered in his room, hoping to get him to confess his faith in God. At one point, he cried out "Christ!" in his agony. The reverend fathers advanced eagerly towards his bed. Alas, he disappointed them. "It was just a manner of speaking," he said, smiling. 

Frederick the Great gave the eulogy at La Mettrie's funeral. He called him "a good devil and medic but a very bad author." A decidedly mixed encomium. 

The holiday season is upon us. Be careful what you eat. 

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November: The Guy, Trump, and the Gunpowder Plot

November 5th, 2024 is the American Date with Destiny. Ironically, it coincides with the annual commemoration of the uncovering of the Gunpowder Plot in England in 1603. Had the plot succeeded it could have led to the overthrow of the government of James VI and I, the first monarch to rule the whole of the British Isles, and the deaths of the king, the members of Parliament, and many others. The plotters were either executed or killed in a firefight. Now Americans must decide the fate of Donald Trump, who tried to overthrow the US government on January 6, 2021. 

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November,

Gunpowder Treason and Plot. 

I know of no reason why Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot. 

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent 

To blow up King and Parliament.

Three-score barrels of powder below

To prove Old England's overthrow;

By God's Providence he was catch'd

With a dark lantern and burning match.

And what should we do with him? Burn him!

[Image: The Discovery of the Gunpowder Plotters, as fancifully imagined by Henry Perronet Briggs, 1823]

The nursery rhyme above, or variants of it, has been part of British culture since the 17th century, as has the custom of Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night. On November 5, effigies of "The Guy" are burned in bonfires all over the UK. 

The Gunpowder Plot referred to was designed to blow up Parliament during its opening session on November 5, 1605, when the king and all the members were present. Fortunately for them, the barrels of gunpowder and Guy Fawkes were discovered in the cellars the evening before. Fawkes was an explosives expert and a Catholic who had been fighting for Spain and his faith against England and Protestantism.

The idea of burning "the Guy" in effigy is reflected in the rhyme's last line: "And what should we do with him? Burn him!" On the night the actual plot was foiled, the government ordered the lighting of bonfires to celebrate the King's (James I's) deliverance. It's not clear when or why burning the Guy first became a part of the celebration. At first, revelers burned effigies of the Pope. 

Burning "The Guy" eventually became a tradition in later years, though it's not clear why Fawkes was singled out. He was only one of fourteen conspirators led by Robert Catesby. Their goal was to destroy the Protestant ruling elite with one blow and restore Catholicism in Britain. 

[Below: A contemporary Dutch image of some of the Gunpowder Plotters. Fawkes is third from the right. He is named here as "Guido" Fawkes, the name he took when fighting for the Spanish.]

The real Guy Fawkes was not burned to death. He and several co-conspirators were hanged, then cut down and drawn (disembowelled) while still alive, and finally quartered. This was the traditional punishment for High Treason. Fawkes managed to avoid the worst part. He threw himself off the scaffold, breaking his neck. He was dead when they cut off his privates, removed his guts, and chopped his body in pieces. 

The reason for this horrific proceeding, other than sheer sadism, was to teach a political lesson. Various body parts were hung up about the kingdom to warn people with similar ideas of their possible fate. The other plotters were killed resisting arrest. 

In 1606, Parliament passed an act making November 5 a day of thanksgiving. The celebrations often led to attacks on Catholics. This was true in British North America as well into the 19th century. But with the influx of Catholic immigrants in the 19th century, Halloween gradually replaced Bonfire Night as an autumn celebration in the USA. 

In the UK the act establishing a day of thanksgiving was repealed in 1859 out of concern for Catholic sensibilities. But by then the lighting of bonfires on November 5 had become a firmly embedded tradition in most British communities. 

Bonfire Night gradually became more focused on general fun and a bit of mischief. During the late 19th century effigies of the Guy generally replaced ones of the Pope on the bonfires. Lewes in East Sussex continues to burn an effigy of Pope Paul V, who was pope in 1605. 

[Below: Guy Fawkes Night at Windsor Castle, 1776]

In many communities, children made The Guy, who was then processed to the place of "execution." The children would cry out "Penny for the Guy!" I recall doing it myself in Scotland as a child. I had no idea of the history of the tradition, and my mother was Catholic.  

[Below: Procession of a Guy, 1864].

[Below: Children with their Guys, Chirk, Wrexham, Wales, 1954]

Today Bonfire Night is a purely secular social event accompanied by fireworks and enjoyed by people of all religions and none. Few observers are likely to know the religious and political origins of the tradition.  

In a strange turn of events, many people now view Fawkes as a counter-culture hero for attacking the Establishment. Protestors often wear Guy Fawkes masks. "Guy Fawkes was the only man who ever entered Parliament wit honest intentions" is a common saying nowadays.

Those who romanticize Fawkes should be aware that had the 36 barrels (2500 tons) of gunpowder under Parliament been detonated it would have destroyed everything up to 500 meters from the center of the explosion, killing hundreds of people. 

In the UK, this November 5th will be Bonfire Night as usual, with fireworks and the burning of a Guy effigy. In the US it will be a chance for the voters to rid the country of another traitor. Hopefully, peacefully, and without a lot of explosions. 

If you enjoyed this post and would like to become a follower of my blog, just click on the blue "FOLLOW" button on the right side of the first page. Below there you can also find my previous posts. Thanks!

  

Trumpelstiltskin: A Grim Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a poor stockbroker named Jack Hammer. He was poor because he was a terrible predictor of stock futures. Verging on bankruptcy, he decided to employ his most valuable asset: his beautiful and intelligent daughter. 

One day at a brokers' meeting, he bragged to everyone that his daughter’s investment predictions were amazingly accurate.
Most of the brokers laughed and ignored him, given his record of stock predictions. But one man there did not: the Chairman of the Brokers’ Association. He came over and grabbed Hammer by the lapels of his jacket. 

“I would like to put your daughter's ability to the test. Bring her to my mansion tomorrow." He winked. "I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to such a nice girl. Don't worry, I'll protect her whether she likes it or not.”

Hammer hurried home, cursing himself. His daughter was smart and had marvellous boobs, but knew nothing about predicting stock futures. 

She was horrified at his news. “This is insane! What am I going to do?" she asked, polishing her nails. "I don't know anything about this stuff.” 

Her father tried to calm her. “Just do your best. The worst thing the Chairman will do is fire you. He loves firing people.” Hammer feared something worse but decided to keep that to himself.

When the girl arrived at the Chairman’s gilded mansion, a servant led her to a room. It contained a bed and a desk. Behind the desk sat the leering Chairman, a porky man with a weird orange cast to his face, as if he had washed it in Cheetos. He sported a red tie that hung well below his waist.

He pointed to a pile of papers on the desk. “Rank these 10 stock prospectuses from first to worst. You have until tomorrow morning. If you get it right, I'll keep you on. If you get it wrong, you'll be fired.” 

Relieved, the girl replied, “I know. My Dad told me that.” The Chairman laughed. “I guess he didn’t tell you that here fired means fried, barbecued.”

He went out and locked her in the room. She looked around the room. Another door led to a bathroom with a golden toilet. Returning to the desk, she picked up the first prospectus. It was written in a language only brokers and investment lawyers would understand, the better to fleece the sheeple. 

She threw it down and began to cry. Just then, the door opened, and a little man entered. He looked like a Keebler Elf, but much less cute and far more chubby. In fact, he looked like a Mini-Me of the Chairman, from his strange orange glow to his tiny hands. The small man doffed his red cap, and bowed. “Good evening, my pretty young lady. Why do you weep so?”

She stifled a sob, pointing to the pile of reports. “I’ve got to rank these prospectuses from worst to first, or the Chairman will roast me. And I don’t know anything about stocks.” 

“No worries, my dear. I can help you. I know more than anybody about everything. But what will you give me if I succeed in saving you from the Chairman’s barbecue?”

“I will let you kiss me,” the girl said with modest reluctance. The little man looked downcast. “Only first base? OK, it’s a start.” He went over to the pile of prospectuses and began looking through them. Within minutes he had arranged them in what he said was the correct order. He bowed and grinned. “I’ll be back for my reward tomorrow,” he said, and left.

The next morning at the crack of dawn, as the girl slept, the Chairman entered the room. He grabbed up the prospectuses wordlessly and left. About half an hour later, he returned, and woke the girl. He was rubbing his tiny hands together and his eyes had a weird glint. “My dear, you’re a genius at this. An astonishing performance.”

“Can I go home now?” the girl asked. “Home? Not yet, my pretty. I have another test for you.” He led her into another room, filled with piles of prospectuses.  “Rank these in the correct order by morning. Only 100. Piece of cake for you, I bet.”

The Chairman left. The girl began to cry, and cry, and cry. Her tears had almost soaked the prospectuses when she felt a tug on her sleeve. The little man in the red cap dried her tears and kissed her. 

“Now, my precious, would you like some help with this task?”  She nodded. “What will be my reward?” “Second base,” she said, drying her tears. The little man finished the task in no time at all and left.

The next morning the result was the same. The Chairman praised her brilliance, but said he had another test for her. “A mere 1000 this time, my precious.” That night the little man came again, and collected his reward. The girl begged for his help and promised him third base.

All went well again, but as you can guess, the greedy Chairman insisted on another test: 10,000 prospectuses. If she succeeded, he said, he would make her his wife. 

“But you’re already married,” she said. He laughed. “No problem, my dear. You can be my mistress until I get rid of her -- a few million for a divorce settlement will do the job. You know how these immigrant women are. And I'll deduct the pay-out from my taxes.”

Before the girl could reply, the Chairman left. She began to cry again, a veritable flood. The little man soon appeared and collected his third base reward. "I'll help you one last time," he said, "but only in return for a home run." The girl hesitated. After all, she valued her honour. She began to cry again. 

The little man stamped his foot impatiently. He took some pity on her. “OK, he said, I’ll do this task for you. After that you’ll have three chances to guess my name. If you fail, you must reward me with a home run.” The girl hesitated, thought about roasting on the Chairman’s grill, and agreed.

When the Chairman checked the girl’s results the next morning, he repeated his usual praise. “I’m off to file the divorce papers now," he said, and pecked her on the cheek. 

That night the little man returned as promised. He put his tiny hands on his rather broad hips. “Well, what is my name?” The girl went through every name she could think of, from Aaron to Zachariah. “Not my name,” the little man said each time, and left.

The next day the girl begged the Chairman’s permission to go out shopping, for lingerie. “Of course, my sweet, but you must come back, or I’ll roast your father." She headed straight for a local bookshop to get a book of names. You know, the kind prospective parents get.

While she was perusing one of these books, a handsome young clerk sauntered up and asked if he could help her. She could tell immediately that he was the empathetic type, because the next thing he said was, “I have a degree in the humanities.” 

She explained her difficulty. His face clouded in outrage. “Don’t worry. I have a cunning plan,” he said. He explained it to the girl, who smiled and nodded. When the little man returned that night, she read out every name in the book. “Not my name” he said to each and left.

The third night, the little man appeared again, wearing a triumphant, lusty grin. “This is your last chance. What’s my name?” The girl replied, “Barrington?” The little man laughed. “Not my name.” The girl smiled. “Well, how about Trumpelstiltskin?” 

The little man's orange face turned red with anger. He stomped up and down. “You cheated, you harlot. How did you find out? The devil must have told you, or Nancy Pelosi.” At this point, a closet door opened with a loud creak.

The handsome young man stepped into the room, holding a gun. “I’ve been on to you for some time, you disgusting piece of slime. I may work at the bookstore, but that’s a clever disguise. I’m actually Dick Spacy, a private dick. I was hired by some of your previous victims. When this young lady told me her story, I knew I had you. One of my assistants followed you yesterday. He heard you singing that silly song about baking and brewing, and rejoicing that no one knew your name. But you made a fatal mistake. You foolishly revealed your name at the end of the song. By the way, that song won’t make the Top 40.”

While the young man expounded on his brilliance, he failed to notice that Trumpelstiltskin had moved closer to the young girl. With a lightning movement, Mr. T grabbed her left arm and pulled her in front of him, so that her posterior faced the young man. An astute move. It left Dick staring helplessly at that dazzling part of her anatomy. 

But the little fellow forgot about her other arm. The girl raised it above his head. It was holding a hammer. With amazing force, she brought it down on his skull. It cracked open like a poorly made knockoff Faberge egg. He dropped into a pool of blood.

As Dick and the girl checked to see that Trumpelstiltskin was down for good, the room door opened, revealing the portly frame of the Chairman. He looked at the body on the floor. “Villains! You have killed the second greatest genius in human history! Next to me, of course.”

“But he was using you to get his way with this girl,” Dick said.  

“Balderdash! We were working together on this caper. We arranged this whole thing. I didn’t give a junk bond about her predictive skill, which was non-existent. I was after something else." He pointed to the corpse. "So was he. Poor fellow. He should’ve stuck to call girls."

“And you dare call us villains!” Dick said. He stepped forward to grab the Chairman by the throat. But he slipped on the bloody floor and stumbled to his knees. The Chairman grabbed a poker from the fireplace and raised it to hit Dick. As he did so, a hammer whistled through the air, followed by a loud crack. The Chairman fell forward, noiselessly, landing on Mr. T.

Dick got up, fixed his hair, and hugged the girl. “Mission accomplished. I saved you from these villains, as I promised.” He pointed toward the bed. “Now it’s time for my reward.” As he moved toward the bed, the hammer came up and down again. Dick crumpled and fell to the floor.

The girl surveyed the bloody scene with more satisfaction than the circumstances called for. She turned towards the audience.* “I know you’ve been dying to know my name. I'm not called Armanda Hammer for nothing."    

*NB. I forgot to mention that this was a play. 

  







 

The Peasants Strike Back

The people had had enough. Endless war, a deadly pandemic, and stagnant wages had pushed them to the edge of revolt. The actions of a selfish oligarchy took them over it. I could be writing about the present time in many places, but the events in question took place in 14th century England.

England had been at war with France almost continuously since King Edward III laid claim to the French throne in the 1330s. Historians call the conflict the Hundred Years War, though no one called it that at the time, obviously. 

The fighting had favoured the English in the early going. They won several lopsided victories, notably at Crecy in 1346 and at Poitiers ten years later. In a treaty of 1360, they gained control of large parts of France. In the 1370s, however, the war resumed, and the French won back what they had lost and more. (Image: Battle of Crecy, 1346. From the Chronicles of Jean Froissart)

In 1376 England's greatest warrior, Edward the Black Prince, died of a lingering disease. He was also heir to the English throne. His father Edward III died the following year. The crown passed to his son, ten-year-old Richard II. During the next few years, actual power was in the hands of councils dominated by overmighty nobles, including Richard's uncles. (Image: Richard II, portrait in Westminster Abbey, 1390s)

In order to pay for the French war, the government raised taxes. It introduced a new tax, a regressive poll tax. Attempts to collect the tax in May 1381 triggered a massive popular uprising. The causes of the revolt go far beyond hatred of the particular tax, however. Unrest and tension had been growing for decades. At its heart was the response of the ruling classes to the effects of the plague pandemic later known as the Black Death.

The plague arrived in England in 1348, having made its way along trade routes from the Far East. By 1349 it had killed between 40 and 60 per cent of the population. Plague returned in 1361, killing off another 20 per cent or so. One effect of this massive mortality was a severe shortage of labour. Peasants and other workers saw an opportunity to improve their condition. They demanded higher wages and an end to serfdom and other injustices.

The landed classes, the lords and gentry who dominated Parliament, responded with the Statute of Labourers (1351). It essentially froze wages at their pre-plague levels. Although not entirely successful, it worked well enough to arouse widespread anger at the government and the aristocrats that controlled it. The sense of injustice contributed to the popularity of egalitarian ideologies.

The revolt broke out in Essex on May 30 with an attack on tax collectors. It spread quickly to Kent and much of the Southeast. The rebels, who included artisans and local officials, burned court records and emptied the jails. Thousands of Kentish rebels marched on nearby London, led by Wat Tyler and a radical priest, John Ball, whom the rebels had released from prison.

At Blackheath, near London, Ball famously exhorted the rebels to fight for equality. "When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?" he asked. "From the beginning all men were by nature created alike, and our bondage or servitude came in by the unjust oppression of evil men ... now the time is come, appointed to us by God, in which ye may ... cast off the yoke of bondage, and recover liberty." (Image: John Ball encouraging the rebels; Wat Tyler is in red at front left. Chronicles of Jean Froissart)

On June 13, sympathetic citizens admitted them into the capital. Together, they destroyed the Savoy Palace, residence of the king's hated uncle John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. They attacked the jails, burned buildings, and killed a number of government officials, including the Lord Chancellor and Lord High Treasurer. Richard II fled to the safety of the Tower of London.

On the 14th, Richard met the rebels' representatives at Mile End and granted most of their demands, including the abolition of serfdom. On the following day he met them again. On this occasion, a confused melee broke out, and a member of the king's party killed Wat Tyler. (Image: The Death of Wat Tyler, Chronicles of Jean Froissart)

In the confusion that followed, Richard managed to calm the rebels and assure them he was on their side. "I am your captain, follow me," he is alleged to have said, and led them away from the scene. Meanwhile, the Lord Mayor of London rallied a militia and confronted the rebel forces. Richard urged them to disperse to their homes, which most did.

The rebellion continued in other locales, but the king's supporters suppressed it during the next few weeks and months. Richard rescinded his promises for change, including the abolition of serfdom. Most of the rebel leaders were hunted down and executed, along with about 1500 others.

The Great Revolt, or Peasants' Revolt, as it is more conventionally known, failed to win the rebels' immediate demands. Yet, the fright it gave to the ruling orders did help bring change. The poll tax was abandoned. Nothing like it was imposed again until the premiership of Margaret Thatcher (1979-1990), who forgot the lesson of 1381. It aroused mass protests, first in Scotland, then in England. It was replaced in 1993 by the Council Tax.

Subsequent Parliaments were reluctant to raise taxes, making it difficult for the government to pay for campaigns in France. Serfdom was not abolished but it gradually died out over the next few decades, as landowners commuted labour services into money rents.

Wages also rose, in spite of the Statute of Labourers. Economic laws of supply and demand proved stronger than the laws of Parliament. Between 1350 and 1450 wages nearly doubled. The 15th century has sometimes been called the Golden Age of the English Peasant. Unfortunately, these gains were largely lost by population growth in the 16th century.

The Peasants' Revolt has continued to fascinate historians, writers, artists, and musicians into our own times. In 1888, the artist, writer, and designer William Morris published a novel about the Great Revolt, A Dream of John Ball. The work centres on Ball and his egalitarian ideology. Below is one of Morris's illustrations for the novel.

In many respects the situation of the UK today resembles that of 1381. The combination of disasters: Brexit, Covid pandemic, the Ukraine war, and an out of touch government has produced economic crises and widespread industrial unrest. Will it all lead to another mass revolt? We will see. 

George III and the Mad Business

George III is often referred to as “Mad King George.” But for most of his 60-year reign (1760-1820), the longest in British history to that time, he did not show signs of madness. Some biographers speculate that he had a brief attack of mental illness in 1765, but the evidence is far from conclusive. (Image: George III, 1771, by Johan Zoffany)

His first confirmed episode of what contemporaries called madness at the time was in 1788, 28 years into his reign. This is the event portrayed in Alan Bennett’s play The Madness of George III and the film based upon it, The Madness of King George. 

There is an amusing story behind the title change from the play to the film. Bennett relates it in his introduction to the film’s screenplay. American investors in the film project objected to the play’s title. Why? Because Americans would look at it and think, “I didn’t see the Madness of King George parts one or two, so why should I go see part three?”  

Those who have seen the film or play know that George recovered his wits after a few months, a period known as the Regency Crisis. The crisis threatened to bring down the Tory government of William Pitt the Younger. 

 The reason is that many MPs, mostly opposition Whigs, were demanding that the king’s eldest son George, Prince of Wales, be installed as regent to rule in his father’s name. The king himself furiously opposed the idea. The image below shows the Tory and Whig leaders "pulling for a King." George III is restrained in a chair in the rear, a pawn in the struggle for power. 

The Prince at the time favoured the Whigs, who believed he would help them gain power. The king’s recovery ended that prospect and the Tories remained in power for most of the next thirty-four years. (Image: George, Prince of Wales, later George IV, c. 1789, by Mather Byles Brown)

George suffered attacks of his illness in 1800 and 1804, but recovered quickly. In 1810, the disease returned. He believed it was triggered by the death of his youngest and most beloved daughter, Princess Amelia. This time, he conceded the need for The Prince of Wales to act as Regent. 

On this occasion, the disease became permanent and progressed to dementia. In addition, the king was now blind from cataracts, losing his hearing, and in great pain from rheumatism. He had become Percy Shelley’s “old, mad, blind, and dying king.” (Image: George III, by Henry Meyer, a sketch done during the king's last years)

Despite his various health problems, George III clung to life for another ten years, dying at age 81 in 1820. Upon his death, The Prince Regent became king as George IV (1820-1830). His twenty years as Regent and King are still referred to as the Regency Period. 

Biographers and Historians of Psychiatry have long debated the nature of George III’s illness. In the late 1960s, psychiatrists Ida Macalpine and Richard Hunter argued that George suffered from a genetic metabolic disorder called porphyria, which among other things, can cause one’s urine to turn dark red or purple. Bennet’s play and film emphasizes the king’s dark urine and the bumbling doctors who think it unimportant. 

Other researchers have questioned the porphyria diagnosis. They argue that the king showed symptoms of psychoses such as dementia, mania, and manic-depressive or bipolar disorder. A study of his hair in 2005 revealed that he had consumed large amounts of medicines or cosmetics containing arsenic, a poison that might have precipitated his disease.  

Interestingly, George III was attacked on several occasions by people later declared insane. In 1786, a woman named Margaret Nicholson tried to stab him with a small dessert knife. The king easily fended of the blow and told his attendants to treat her kindly. “The poor creature is mad. Do not hurt her. She has not hurt me.” (Image: Contemporary print showing Nicholson's attack on the king)

In 1790 he reacted with similar sympathy when John Frith, who believed he was St. Paul, threw a rock at the king’s coach. A third assailant, James Hadfield, tried and failed to shoot the king in 1800 at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. The king seems to have been unperturbed by the incident. He fell asleep during the interval. 

All three assailants were sent to Bethlem Hospital for the Insane, Hadfield after being declared not guilty due to insanity during his precedent-setting trial for treason. (Image: Contemporary print showing Hadfield's attempt to shoot the king).

Further Reading: 

Ida Macalpine and Richard Hunter, George III and the Mad Business (London: Allen Lane, 1969) 

Victoria Howard, “George III and His Madness,” Crown Chronicles, “9 April, 2015 https://thecrownchronicles.co.uk/history/history-posts/george-iii-and-his-madness/ 

"What was the truth about the madness of George III?” https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-22122407

America's Last King, George III, was Far Better than Trump.

The July 4th holiday in the US always produces some reflections on America's last king, George III. Most of them celebrate the overthrow of a tyrant, allegedly a mad tyrant at that. 

In recent years, such denunciations of King George have often been expressed by Americans who desire to get rid of Trump. "We removed the tyrant King George in 1776 and we'll get rid of tyrant Trump as well." Bravo, but comparing Trump to George III is a distortion of history. 

Americans succeeded in booting out George III in 1776. They have failed twice to get rid of Trump. Why would a people who  rejected George III 250 years ago accept a virtual tyrant with powers George never had and did not try to get? 

Do the apparent majority of Americans feel comfortable going to bed with a president the Supreme Court has declared immune from prosecution for his acts? Charles I claimed similar powers in 17th century Britain. It cost him his head.

As a historian of Georgian Britain, I reject the claim that George III was a tyrant. In my opinion, the evidence shows that Trump is incomparably worse as a leader and a man than King George was. 

George III had flaws, but an urge to despotism was not one of them. He was sometimes obstinate but he was not a narcissistic sociopath. He remained faithful to Queen Charlotte, his wife of 60 years and mother of his 15 children, poor lady. Unlike most monarchs, he never took a mistress. Maybe it would have been better if he had.

George considered himself a constitutional monarch and took his job seriously. He venerated the (unwritten) British constitution. Unlike Trump, he understood his country's constitution. His father, Frederick, Prince of Wales, ensured he had a solid education in a wide array of subjects, including  politics and constitutional law. As early as age eight George could discuss current politics in speech and writing, in both English and German. He also learned French and Latin. He was the first British monarch to be thoroughly educated in science. 

As king, he was a strong supporter of the sciences and arts. He gave a large portion of his income to charity. He amassed a library of more than 65,000 volumes, and opened the collection to scholars including Samuel Johnson and Joseph Priestley. The collection is now part of the British Library and belongs to everyone.

Frederick, who died before his father George II, prepared his son George to be a "Patriot King," ruling in the interests of his people. Frederick believed, correctly, that the Hanoverian dynasty needed to improve its public image, and he passed that belief on to his son. 

The first two Hanoverian kings were highly unpopular. They preferred their native Hanover to England and spent long periods of time there. Many British people referred to both of them as "German George." 

In contrast, George III was born in Great Britain and considered himself British. At his coronation in 1761, he made much of the fact. "Born and educated in this country, I glory in the name of Britain." He made it clear that Britain and its prosperity would be his first concern. He spent his life of 82 years in the country. [Image: George as Prince of Wales, by Jean Etienne Liotard, 1754]

Initially, George III had little to do with the actions that angered the American colonists. They were devised by the king's ministers and approved by Parliament. The king opposed some of them, notably the Stamp Act of 1765. Part of that was personal. He detested the architect of the Stamp Act, Prime Minister George Grenville. 

In 1766, George was able to push Grenville out. His successor, Lord Rockingham, repealed the Stamp Act with the help of the king and the popular William Pitt. The king's efforts were applauded in the colonies. New York City erected a statue in his honor. 

In the following year, Parliament re-asserted its right to tax the American colonies. The furor the new taxes (Townshend Duties) produced led to all but a tiny tax on tea being repealed. Leaving the tea tax in place was intended to maintain the principle that Parliament could levy taxes on the colonies. (Image: George III by Johan Zoffany, 1771)

The king supported Parliament's right to tax the colonies. But it was Parliament's right, not his. After the Civil War of the 1640s, British monarchs could not levy taxes. That was Parliament's prerogative. 

The Declaration of Independence blames George III rather than Parliament for the conflict that followed, probably because it was simpler than explaining the intricacies of the British political system. The result was a distortion of reality that has become a standard meme of American history.

The Declaration listed 27 grievances against the British government. Most of them began with "He has...", personalizing the conflict into one of the people versus an overbearing king. It is worth noting that perhaps as many as half of the colonists were Loyalists who supported the king's government during the war. 

George III was no warmonger. One of his first actions as king had been to bring an end to the Seven Years' War with France and Spain at a time when Britain was winning victories everywhere. 

It is true that once the American war had begun, he was determined that it end in British victory. He obstinately continued to support the war even after the disastrous British defeat at Yorktown (Oct. 1781), when most of his ministers urged him to give up. A few months later, he agreed and authorized peace negotiations.

Once independence was conceded he accepted, grudgingly, the new relationship with the former colonies. In 1785 he told John Adams, the first American ambassador to Britain, "I was the last consent to the separation; but the separation having been made ... I have always said, as I say now, I would be the first to meet the friendship of the United States as an independent power." 

George III is often referred to as Mad King George, and people persist in connecting his loss of America to insanity. The problem with this view is that he showed no symptoms of mental illness before 1788, five years after American independence.  

British rule in the colonies was often insensitive and infuriating. The frustrations were increased by the immense distance between Britain and America. But no colonies of the time were as loosely governed by an imperial country as the thirteen who declared independence in 1776. They were also highly prosperous.

 

The timing of the revolution had more to do with the removal of the French threat from North America in 1763 than any actions of George III or the British government. Before then, the colonists felt the need for British protection. After then, they didn't. That emboldened them to push for change in the relationship between mother country and themselves. British actions exacerbated an already difficult situation.

The change to independent status made sense, but explaining it as the result of the tyranny of George III is misplaced. In 1785, an American Quaker, Hannah Griffits, provided an interesting perspective on the results of the revolution: 

The glorious fourth -- again appears 

A day of days -- and year of years 

The sum of sad disasters 

Where all the mighty gains we see 

With all their boasted liberty 

Is only change of masters. 

(Image: George III by Allan Ramsay, 1762)

Further Reading: 

John Brooke, King George III (London: Constable, 1972)

Stanley Ayling, George the Third (London, 1972)

Jeremy Black, America's Last King, George III (New Haven; Yale University Press, 2006)

Andrew Roberts, George III (London: Penguin Books, 2023)