The Tudor Autopen

Henry VIII’s signature

On 30th December 1546 King Henry VIII lay dying, bloated beyond recognition and in excruciating pain from a festering wound on his leg, the result of a jousting accident years before. When his councillors brought him the final revision of his will he was too weak to hold a pen. So the document was signed using the dry stamp, a Tudor version of the autopen which has become so controversial recently. The dry stamp was a mechanism screwed onto paper to make an impression of the king’s signature, which was then inked over by one of his officials. Henry had authorized the use of this device in 1545 as his infirmities grew more severe.

Jefferson’s Polygraph Machine

Our current autopen issue is just another of the baseless scandals “trumped” up by President Trump and his acolytes to serve his interests. If autopen signatures on the pardons issued by President Biden can be declared invalid, then Trump is free to charge all his enemies with imaginary crimes. In fact many presidents as far back as Thomas Jefferson, including Trump himself, have used some type of autopen to sign official documents. Jefferson called his Polygraph Machine “the finest invention of the present age.” Richard Nixon, Lyndon Johnson, John F. Kennedy, and many other presidents routinely used an autopen. The question of its legality was definitively answered during the George W. Bush presidency in a 2005 memo from the Office of Legal Counsel. The challenge to Biden’s autopen signatures is unlikely to change history. But the case of Henry VIII’s will was of far more consequence for the history of the English monarchy.

Henry’s complicated marital history and mercurial temperament had necessitated passing three different Succession Acts during his reign. The first two disinherited his daughters Mary and Elizabeth, declaring them illegitimate because his marriages to their mothers Catherine of Aragon and Ann Boleyn were invalidated, by divorce and treason respectively. The third Succession Act of 1543 named Edward, his longed for son by third wife Jane Seymour, as his heir. Mary and Elizabeth were declared legitimate after all and reinstated to the succession order if Edward died childless. If all three should die childless, an unlikely outcome that would actually come to pass, then the succession should follow Henry’s last will. The act included the fateful language that the succession order in his will would be valid if “signed with his most gracious hand.”

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Beyond Blue and White

The first thing I want to say about this new addition to my bookshelf is that I absolutely adore the cover. I don’t believe in judging a book by its cover, but I do judge book covers. I follow the Best Book Covers of the Year lists and pass my own judgements on the latest design hits and misses. When will the cliche of the “young woman seen from behind” covers be over? The current fashion is for splashes of garish color and odd images designed to shock or defy explanation. In contrast this cover is an inspired fusion of subject and image. The perfect Delft blue color, of course, and the woman-shaped shard of Delftware have an instant visual appeal and tell the story of the book’s contents – the revelation that many of the famous Delft potteries of the 17th and 18th centuries were owned and managed by women.

Genevieve Wheeler Brown is a decorative art advisor who stumbled on this story by chance when she was asked to appraise a large collection of Delftware stored in the New York headquarters of a women’s art organization. When she stepped into the room, untouched for decades, she was amazed to find a superb collection of over seventy-five blue and white Delftware objects, an overwhelming display of beauty and craftsmanship in a myriad shapes and sizes. This treasure, she learned, had been acquired in the Gilded Age when a fashion for collecting Delftware had obsessed wealthy New York socialites. Brown soon became obsessed herself with researching the history of Delftware.

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Charlotte Bronte and Elizabeth Gaskell

I first read Elizabeth Gaskell’s Life of Charlotte Bronte when I was a teenager, newly enraptured by the Bronte sisters’ novels and the romantic bleakness of the Yorkshire moors. I remember the spell cast by the opening chapter as Gaskell takes us on her journey to visit Charlotte in Haworth. It is as though the reader is her companion on the Leeds and Bradford railway line to Keighley, then by carriage four miles to Haworth, past farms and workmen’s cottages and up the steep hill to the church, the parsonage, and the graveyard “terribly full of upright tombstones.” Gaskell, herself a novelist, paints an evocative picture of the landscape and atmosphere. We hear the horses’ hooves slipping on the paving stones of the steep street and breathe the “dim and lightless” air full of smoke from the clustered chimneys. I hadn’t read many biographies before and had expected it to start with Charlotte’s birth. I was so impressed with this way of leading the reader first into the world of the subject that my young self decided all biographies should be like this, that Elizabeth Gaskell had set the standard by which all others should be judged. It was one of the most memorable reading experiences of my life.

On publication in 1857, two years after Charlotte’s death, the Life was an immediate bestseller and has remained in print ever since, considered a classic of biography. What I did not know until recently, when I read a new book on the subject, is that on first publication Gaskell’s Life faced a storm of controversy causing major problems for the author and publisher.

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Jane Austen’s Favorite Authors

Portrait of Jane Austen by her sister Cassandra

Almost everyone reads Jane Austen at some point in their lives, but what did Jane herself like to read? She left plenty of clues in her own books. Many of her characters express their opinion of books in a way that gives us insight into their personalities. For instance in Northanger Abbey Catherine Morland, about to imagine herself the heroine of her own Gothic adventure, declares:

I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho, when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I remember finishing it in two days — my hair standing on end the whole time.

There are further clues in Austen’s letters to friends and family, who often exchanged opinions on the authors of the day. Austen even used the opinion of a book as a test of character. In a letter to her sister Cassandra Fanny Burney’s novel Camilla is the test for one new acquaintance:

There are two Traits in her Character which are pleasing; namely she admires Camilla, & drinks no cream in her Tea.

In Jane Austen”s Bookshelf rare book collector Rebecca Romney follows these clues in a quest to find and read books by Austen’s favorite authors. She hunts for editions that date to Austen’s lifetime and has a book expert’s eye for beautiful bindings, which she describes in loving detail. And to her surprise she thoroughly enjoys most of these books, finding them worthy of sitting alongside Austen on her bookshelf. Her reading raises a question: why have these women authors been mostly forgotten, while Austen is remembered as the only great woman writer of her time, the only one worthy of inclusion in the Canon of enduring classics? Romney finds answers in the writings of nineteenth and early twentieth century literary critics, almost all male. 

As I read about these authors and their books I began to compile my own reading list for the rest of the summer; The Mysteries of Udolpho is already downloaded to my Kindle. But I found the life stories of these women as compelling as any novel, and marveled at their ability to write despite the sometimes shocking travails they endured.

Meet Jane Austen’s favorite authors:

Frances Burney (1752-1840)

Frances Burney began writing as a teenager and published her first novel, Evelina, in 1778. It is a coming-of-age story of an orphan girl who leaves the countryside for London and her experiences there in the search for happiness. Evelina follows the tradition of Samuel Richardson’s Pamela (1740) and Henry Fielding’s The History of Tom Jones (1749) but is distinguished for its emotional complexity and vivid portrayal of the heroine’s interior world. The book was an immediate sensation. Even the king and queen read it. Samuel Johnson, the most famous literary critic of the day, said he could recite entire scenes from memory and declared “Henry Fielding never did anything equal.” It was from Burney’s second novel Cecilia that Austen borrowed the phrase Pride and Prejudice. Rebecca Romney tracks down the exact sentence:

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Kings and Commonwealth: a concert for our times

Does a concert of 16th and 17th century music have any relevance to our present moment?

The last thing I could have imagined as I sat in my high school classroom laboring over a test about the Rump Parliament was that decades in the future, in a far country, I would attend a concert featuring a ballad about the Rump Parliament. The Rump Parliament you ask? Well it’s one of those obscure English history topics like rotten boroughs or Lambert Simnel that you would be expected to know about for an exam. Hearing the popular ballads of the time would certainly have made it more interesting.

Long before newspapers, magazines, and media, street ballads were a form of political commentary and satire. The Folger Consort drew on these sources for their May concert Kings and Commonwealth, music of the English Civil War. 

The program began with a Tudor Prelude, a reminder that it was the excesses of tyrannical kings that led to the Civil War. By chance I had just watched the final episode of Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light ending with Thomas Cromwell’s execution. Now I was treated to a broadside ballad celebrating his demise. Hilary Mantel created a sympathetic portrait of Cromwell in her novels. But at the time of his death Cromwell was a despised figure, hated for confiscating the wealth of the monasteries to enrich the king and himself, and for turning away from the Catholic faith. These themes come up in the ballad Trolle on Away, as well as distain for his humble origins.The meaning of the word trolle is obscure but may be related to a Middle English word for rolling or trundling an object, suggesting dragging Cromwell to his fate. 

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The Bells of Belgium… and Frederick, MD

Dear Readers: I was SCOOPED by The Washington Post! I had almost finished writing this when I opened the paper one morning and saw an article on the front page of the Metro section about the carillon tower in Baker Park, Frederick. Quite a coincidence! But I wrote mostly about Belgium so I just decided not to go on at length about the Frederick tower and refer you to the Post instead. It is a great article, though it omits the Belgian connection.

Bells in the Ghent Belfry

In 1626 Francesco Belli, traveling with Italian Ambassador Giorgio, wrote home from Flanders:

The bells in these countries serve for music; their timbre is so sweet and their harmony so complete that they express and include all the notes of the voice.

Two hundred and fifty years later Robert Louis Stevenson and a friend traveled through Belgium by canoe following the rivers and canals from town to town. In his account of the journey, An Inland Voyage, he recalled their starting point in Antwerp:

On the other side of the valley a group of red roofs and a belfry showed among the foliage; thence some inspired bell ringer made the afternoon musical on a chime of bells. There was something very sweet and taking in the air he played and we thought we had never heard bells speak so intelligently or sing so melodiously as these.

These are just two of the awed travelers who recorded their impressions of Flemish bell towers in diaries, letters, memoirs, and travel books from medieval times to our own day. One dubbed the region “The Land of Singing Towers,” another described journeying through Belgium as following “a chain of melody.”

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Adventures in Unreal Estate

Last summer I fell down a rabbit hole into the topsy-turvy world of Unreal Estate. It would be more accurate to say I jumped down the rabbit hole. It was sudden and impulsive but it had been a long time coming. And, appropriately for a librarian, it all happened because of a bookcase. Let me explain.

My daughter is a nurse who works with the elderly. She has seen her share of falls or sudden illness crushing a senior’s quality of life. A three storied house with steep stairs was no place for us as we aged she insisted, and we resisted. Every now and again she would send me a listing for a house for sale in Foxfield Village, a senior community near her home in Middletown. It would be perfect, she claimed, single level living and so near the grandchildren. 

Quite an inducement. But there was always something wrong with the house. One seemed quite nice on the inside but the yard was a blank expanse of lawn, front and back. Not a twig or a leaf of any kind to be seen. How could I leave my garden full of flowering trees and shrubs and perennials for this sad bleak plot? There was always something. We had upgraded to stainless appliances, how could we go back to old white ones? My younger self would be appalled at my design snobbery. But I admit to it. We don’t always become better people as we age.

Then one Thursday last August she sent a listing that seemed to check all the boxes. Small but pretty garden, stainless appliances, and a glass enclosed porch, perfect for my heat and insect intolerance. There was just one problem. The open plan living space didn’t seem to have a wall long enough for my bookcase. I pored over the photos in search of an angle that would show a wall. None appeared. This was a nonnegotiable. 

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My Favorite Reading of 2024

My bookcase made a successful transition to my new house

FICTION

Caledonian Road by Andrew O’Hagan.
How could I resist a book billed as the Dickens of contemporary London? It did not disappoint. The city itself is a main character and according to the GuardianThe London that emerges from its 600-odd pages resembles a vast, rotting carcass picked over by carrion.” That doesn’t sound very appealing, but the book is constantly entertaining and mordantly witty. The central character is middle aged writer and academic Campbell Flynn who rose from humble beginnings to celebrity, but whose life is now spiraling out of control. Around him swirls a cast of characters high and low, from aristocrats to human traffickers, working class students to Russian oligarchs. We can’t help but root for the hapless Campbell as he is snared in a plot of corruption and scandal he can’t escape. The usual suspects of the English class system and hypocritical politicians get a merciless drubbing.

Creation Lake by Rachel Kushner.
Like Birnam Wood, on my favorites list last year, Creation Lake is about a radical environmental group, this time in rural France near a cave where Neanderthal remains were discovered. But unlike the gardening collective of that novel, Le Moulin plans violence. An American spy-for-hire, a woman using the undercover name Sadie, infiltrates the group. Kushner successfully combines the suspenseful plot of a thriller with a serious novel of ideas. Sadie becomes fascinated with letters from Bruno, a legendary activist who inspired the founders of Le Moulin. He believes that Neanderthals had a superior way of life, in harmony with nature, and that Homo Sapiens has gone tragically astray. Is Sadie’s mission to disrupt Le Moulin’s violent plans or to entrap them by urging them on? Where do her true loyalties lie? This novel was deservedly short-listed for the Booker Prize.

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Marvelous Margaret Cavendish

Marvelous is my word. The word most often used by her contemporaries in the 17th century was mad. Mad Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, was a marvel of contradictions. Painfully shy yet hungry for fame, barely educated yet a prolific author whose complete works fill twenty volumes, given to fits of melancholy yet possessed of a supreme self-confidence.

My ambition is not only to be Empress, but Authoress of a whole world.

She published poetry, fiction, plays, and essays on philosophy, science, and government. One of the most notorious and colorful characters of her day, she was renowned for her satirical wit and eccentric dress. In an age when women revealed a great deal of bosom Margaret went further. Attending the theatre in 1667 she wore a dress so low-cut that “her breasts were all laid out to view” according to one breathless report, with “scarlet trimmed nipples.” Among her favorite accessories were nipple tassels and black velvet philosopher’s hats. She “took delight in singularity” wrote an admirer. Samuel Pepys mentions her in his famous diary:

The whole story of this lady is a romance and all she do is romantic… her dress so antik.

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In Vlaamse Velden (In Flanders Fields)

By happenstance this month I watched a Flemish TV series about a family in World War I and read a book by a Flemish author who discovered his house was occupied by an SS officer in World War II. Both were set in Ghent, my mother’s home town, where I spent many happy childhood times and have visited often throughout my life. Both offered a fuller context to the stories passed down to me about my own family’s experiences in the World Wars.

I watched the ten episodes of In Vlaamse Velden on PBS Passport, in Flemish with English subtitles. It was lovely to hear Flemish, a language that surrounded me in my childhood. I felt good when I was able to pick up familiar words and expressions, even some entire sentences, but I did need the subtitles. The series tells the story of Dr. Boesman, a gynecologist, his wife Virginie, sons Vincent and Guillaume, and daughter Marie. Each experiences the war in a different way, illustrating the complex and divided loyalties of the Flemish people during German occupation.

Dr. Boesman believes the Germans will win and that he may at last gain a professorship at the University of Ghent, till now denied to Flemish speakers. The class divide between Flemish and French speaking Belgians is exploited by the Germans who claim a cultural kinship with the Flemish Independence movement. The language divide also compromises the effectiveness of the Belgian Army. The officer class are French-speaking while most of the enlisted men are Flemish and cannot understand their orders. Vincent Boesman plays a crucial role in his unit, translating for the officers and winning promotion. A scene where Vincent’s unit travels towards the front on bicycles underscores the inadequacy of the Belgian forces. Meanwhile free-spirited younger brother Guillaume deserts the army, but is captured by the French and pressed into service. His war experiences will profoundly change him.

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