Something horrible began to take shape in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692. And no one can tell why to this very day. But at the beginning of the year, a group of girls led by Elizabeth Parris, the nine-year-old daughter of the local reverend, and her cousin Abigail Williams, 12, began to have "fits." Conveniently enough, this started when they were discovered having their fortunes told by Tituba, the family servant. Dr. Griggs diagnosed them as "bewitched," and the destruction began.
Questioned as to the identities of their persecutors, the girls named Tituba, Sarah Good, and Sarah Osborne (called Goody in address, short for Goodwife), who were thrown into jail. On March 1, the Meeting House became the scene of the show. The three women went to trial, and, as each was questioned by the judges, the girls and some young audience members screamed in agony and flailed wildly about on the floor. While the two Sarahs kept their wits about them, denying all, the black woman knew her position was even more precarious. So she concocted what the prosecutors wanted to hear--stories of meeting with the Devil, signing his book, dancing naked in the forest, and consorting with other "witches" in the village. The snowball was rolling.
Soon, many others were arrested, most of them older women who had caused some sort of difficulty for their neighbors at one time or another. Men and women were questioned. Could they say the Lord's Prayer without stumbling? Quote the Ten Commandments? Recall particular passages from the Sermon on the Mount? Women were undressed by their former friends and searched over for "witch's tits," any unusual growth or mole which might allow a "familiar" to suckle. No humiliation was too great. And anyone who was considered suspect was imprisoned. Eventually, volunteers loaned barns and sheds for makeshift jails, as more than 150 people were locked away.
The group of girls had expanded, and in June an official court of Oyer and Terminer, with the power to issue warrants of execution, had been created to try the cases. Generations from a single family were awaiting their day before the tribunal. Both Martha Corey and her equally cantankerous husband Giles, who had not minded her arrest in the least, were accused. Sisters, cousins, grandmothers, mothers, and daughters were all supposedly amongst the Devil's minions. A pregnant woman could, however, "plead her belly," which meant delaying her trial or execution until after the birth. In the end, this would literally save lives.
Only the women who refused to sign confessions were brought to trial. The first to be found guilty, while the girls wallowed and howled, was Bridget Bishop, and her sentence was death by hanging. She was followed in quick succession by Martha Cory, Sarah Good, Rebecca Nurse, and many others. All were taken to the Gallows Tree for execution, and their land was confiscated, just as that of those who had confessed.
The exception to this process was the redoubtable Giles Cory. When he refused to sign his life away, the decision to torture him came down from the tribunal. The old man, who was 80, was placed on the ground with a door laid over him. That fixture was topped with one large rock after another. While his body broke, his spirit did not. His last words were "more weight," and his land stayed in the family. He died an innocent man.
Eventually, anything can go too far. In 1693, the girls were already being doubted because of their reliance upon "spectral evidence," or visions. They often claimed that their tormentors appeared to them in another form or in their rooms at night, when they could not possibly have done so. During the hearings, they cried out that those sitting in full view of the court were sticking them with pins or whispering in their ears.
Then they did the unthinkable. They accused the wife of Governor Phips, claiming that she too was a practicing witch. It was like the sound of a needle scratching across a record, as the proceedings ground to a halt. They had overextended their reach.
But the damage, deliberate or not, was profound. Of those arrested, 19 women had been hanged (Tituba survived). Cory had lost his life. Even a dog has been taken to the Gallows Tree and executed as a "familiar." Of the women never tried, five had died imprisoned. The madness had spread, though not so dramatically, to nearby villages. And the power of the great Puritan theocracy was dead. Now those who follow this religion call themselves Congregationalists. Even Nathaniel Hawthorne, whose ancestor John Hathorne had been one of the original Meeting House magistrates, changed the spelling of his name to disguise the connection. But he could not change the tone of his subject matter to do the same.
So were these girls just vicious? Perhaps, but there are other arguments. Most were from wealthy families who believed that God smiled more brightly upon those with the most property. They may have been encouraged to pursue the owners of valuable land, which would be put up for sale upon their confessions. Some point out that the majority of the "afflicted" were pubescent, which could mean that hormones and sexual repression played a role. Others argue that they simply became addicted to the attention and celebrity, for people came from far and wide to observe, And, as the staples of the Puritan diet were bread and beer (yes, beer), the theory that the wheat crop was contaminated by ergot has been suggested. This could mean that they actually had pain and hallucinations, but so would many others. There simply is no satisfactory answer.
The fact remains, of those murdered 12 never confessed. They had "every hope of Heaven." to quote Arthur Miller. Over the following years, some excommunications and convictions were reversed or overturned, but not all. And the term "witchhunt" has passed into popular idiom to describe any unjust accusation.
Before 1692, twelve lives were taken for "practicing witchcraft" in Massachusetts, and still others were lost in the United States afterward. Chadwick Hansen argues in Witchcraft in Salem, the seminal work on the subject, that white magic was practiced in the guise of superstition, just as people still avoid black cats, walking under ladders, stepping on cracks, and the number 13. But the next time you level an accusation against your neighbor, remember that one of you is getting farther from Heaven. How can you be sure which one?
V K
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
When the Donners Were Done For
"Never take no cut offs, and hurry along as fast as you can."
Virgina Reed, aged 13.
In the 1840's, after gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill in California, there was a tremendous rush to the West. And one wagon train in particular carved out a name for itself on the journey. Let's face it, everyone wants to know what happened, and why, to the Donner Party. So here we go.
The family was the hub of several others, including the Breens, the Kesebergs, the Reeds, and the Murphys, belonging to a band headed for California. The beginning of the trip for these 32 people was in Independence, Missouri, which seems innocuous enough. But it was already May, 1846, unusually wet, and they did not reach Fort Laramie, in Wyoming, until the end of June. Still, at that point they were only one week behind schedule.
This is where things became calamitous. Donner had a copy of Lansford Hasting's guidebook to the west, which outlined a "cut off" through the Wasatch Mountains much further south. It was designed to take weeks off the journey, and James Reed became interested.
In July, the group elected George Donner captain and within a month were on the Hastings Cutoff. Most people walked, with only the infirm or infants riding in the wagons. But this was rugged country, and, unknown to potential settlers, the "guide" had never taken this route, only speculating on its feasibility. To put it bluntly, though they were in virgin territory, their little band was screwed.
As they crossed the Great Basin of the Salt Lake Desert, they began to lose animals and people due to hard going and a lack of preparation. They sent two men on ahead to Sutter's Fort for supplies, walked through treacherous mountain territory, and, in August, they finally reached a trail that settlers had used before. Unfortunately, they had gone 125 miles out of their way--mostly on foot.
And the damage was done. James Reed was banished for killing another man. Struggling travellers were being left by the side of the road. It seemed there was always more desert. Division and infighting were the standards. And in October, they were in the Truckee River Valley of the Sierras (now Reno) when the worst snowstorm in recorded history began as they ran out of supplies. California dreaming does not start to address this issue.
The party was forced to camp. They had arbors, tents, cabins, shanties, and lean-tos. George Donner cut his hand while trying to repair a broken axle and would die of an infection, his wife Tamsyn by his side. Others would succumb as well, with starvation being the culprit.
In December, ten men and five women made up a contingent known as the Forlorn Hope. They trudged through several feet of snow in an effort to make it across the pass, but it was useless. Soon they were snow blind and exhausted, drawing straws to see who would be cannibalized.
Among them, Franklin Graves was the first to die, instructing both his daughters to use the body for sustenance. The day after Christmas, Mary and Sarah did so in shame and through their tears. This was only the beginning.
By mid-January, 1847, most families in the camp had consumed human flesh, and William Foster had killed two Indian guides of the Forlorn Hope solely for that purpose. He and the survivors made it back to the settlement only to find themselves no better off. But the two who had gone on to Sutter's Fort had not forgotten them.
So it was that on February 19th, a rescue party arrived to take some of the survivors to safety over the ridge. On March 1, the outcast James Reed was reunited with the surviving members of his family when he, too, rode into the camp. The last person taken out was Lewis Keseberg, who was surrounded by the half-eaten bodies of former companions. He had developed quite a taste for them.
No one knows how many were eaten, but almost half the party died. It is amazing what people will do when their hope is truly forlorn. Virginia Reed encouraged her cousin back East to come to California, where she could find a husband easily enough. But she gave the aforementioned stipulation. She also stated that she was thankful that her family alone had not eaten anyone else.
Keseberg opened a successful restaurant. Maybe that is why it is called a "twist" of fate. Go figure.
V K
Virgina Reed, aged 13.
In the 1840's, after gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill in California, there was a tremendous rush to the West. And one wagon train in particular carved out a name for itself on the journey. Let's face it, everyone wants to know what happened, and why, to the Donner Party. So here we go.
The family was the hub of several others, including the Breens, the Kesebergs, the Reeds, and the Murphys, belonging to a band headed for California. The beginning of the trip for these 32 people was in Independence, Missouri, which seems innocuous enough. But it was already May, 1846, unusually wet, and they did not reach Fort Laramie, in Wyoming, until the end of June. Still, at that point they were only one week behind schedule.
This is where things became calamitous. Donner had a copy of Lansford Hasting's guidebook to the west, which outlined a "cut off" through the Wasatch Mountains much further south. It was designed to take weeks off the journey, and James Reed became interested.
In July, the group elected George Donner captain and within a month were on the Hastings Cutoff. Most people walked, with only the infirm or infants riding in the wagons. But this was rugged country, and, unknown to potential settlers, the "guide" had never taken this route, only speculating on its feasibility. To put it bluntly, though they were in virgin territory, their little band was screwed.
As they crossed the Great Basin of the Salt Lake Desert, they began to lose animals and people due to hard going and a lack of preparation. They sent two men on ahead to Sutter's Fort for supplies, walked through treacherous mountain territory, and, in August, they finally reached a trail that settlers had used before. Unfortunately, they had gone 125 miles out of their way--mostly on foot.
And the damage was done. James Reed was banished for killing another man. Struggling travellers were being left by the side of the road. It seemed there was always more desert. Division and infighting were the standards. And in October, they were in the Truckee River Valley of the Sierras (now Reno) when the worst snowstorm in recorded history began as they ran out of supplies. California dreaming does not start to address this issue.
The party was forced to camp. They had arbors, tents, cabins, shanties, and lean-tos. George Donner cut his hand while trying to repair a broken axle and would die of an infection, his wife Tamsyn by his side. Others would succumb as well, with starvation being the culprit.
In December, ten men and five women made up a contingent known as the Forlorn Hope. They trudged through several feet of snow in an effort to make it across the pass, but it was useless. Soon they were snow blind and exhausted, drawing straws to see who would be cannibalized.
Among them, Franklin Graves was the first to die, instructing both his daughters to use the body for sustenance. The day after Christmas, Mary and Sarah did so in shame and through their tears. This was only the beginning.
By mid-January, 1847, most families in the camp had consumed human flesh, and William Foster had killed two Indian guides of the Forlorn Hope solely for that purpose. He and the survivors made it back to the settlement only to find themselves no better off. But the two who had gone on to Sutter's Fort had not forgotten them.
So it was that on February 19th, a rescue party arrived to take some of the survivors to safety over the ridge. On March 1, the outcast James Reed was reunited with the surviving members of his family when he, too, rode into the camp. The last person taken out was Lewis Keseberg, who was surrounded by the half-eaten bodies of former companions. He had developed quite a taste for them.
No one knows how many were eaten, but almost half the party died. It is amazing what people will do when their hope is truly forlorn. Virginia Reed encouraged her cousin back East to come to California, where she could find a husband easily enough. But she gave the aforementioned stipulation. She also stated that she was thankful that her family alone had not eaten anyone else.
Keseberg opened a successful restaurant. Maybe that is why it is called a "twist" of fate. Go figure.
V K
Friday, December 31, 2010
A New Happy New Year!
If you are wondering what all the hubbub is about, that's understandable. But this is a holiday that has been celebrated since ancient Babylonian times, more than 4,000 years ago. So even they believed that the changing years were worth acknowledging in the most magnificent ways.
They practiced a fertility ritual, lasting eleven days and beginning with the Vernal Equinox--the onset of Spring. When the world around these people came to life again, they engaged in various forms of debauchery that we would be hard-pressed to match. Even resolutions originated with them and were incredibly popular in their culture. This seasonal occasion continued until the Romans assumed control of the major civilizations.
Then they celebrated New Year's in March until 153 BC, when the Senate declared January 1 as the day of acclaim. Many argue that this took place because it was the month of the god Janus. He had two faces, one looking forward and one looking backward. Janus was also the guardian of doors and gates, thus going out and coming in.
Among the various cultural traditions of the day was the use of the baby to represent rebirth, which started in Greece around 600 BC. There it was associated with their god of wine, Dionysus. Forced to surrender to this particular tradition, Christians adopted the infant as part of a Nativity scene, now associated specifically with Christmas. But it maintained a more secular connection as Baby New Year, which became especially predominant in the cartoons and advertisements of the Victorian Era.
As for other customs, even the Babylonians believed that you could influence your luck with start of year pursuits. The Romans and Greeks began the practice of the toast for good health and prosperity. Drinks literally contained a piece of cooked bread to absorb the acidity, therefore establishing the name of the activity.
In the US, upcoming fortune became linked to pork, black-eyed peas, and cabbage. While many argue that hog and legumes have long been considered promising portents, and cabbage represents the green of money, the explanation is probably much simpler. If one is already fortunate enough to have a pig to kill in winter, access to leafy vegetables in cold months, and enough peas for eating and planting, then they have luck to celebrate and likely more to come.
"Auld Lang Syne" is a Celtic song meaning "Old Long Ago." Like other such tunes, it is so ancient that its origins are indeterminate, but Scottish poet Robert Burns is given credit for setting established words to the music, which was formally published after his death in the late 1700's. It is a melody of farewell to times and people and events of the past, be they good or bad.
So let's drink a cup of kindness yet to 2010, bid it farewell, and turn a forward-looking face toward 2011. Happy New Year to all. May each day be better than the one which preceded it.
V K
They practiced a fertility ritual, lasting eleven days and beginning with the Vernal Equinox--the onset of Spring. When the world around these people came to life again, they engaged in various forms of debauchery that we would be hard-pressed to match. Even resolutions originated with them and were incredibly popular in their culture. This seasonal occasion continued until the Romans assumed control of the major civilizations.
Then they celebrated New Year's in March until 153 BC, when the Senate declared January 1 as the day of acclaim. Many argue that this took place because it was the month of the god Janus. He had two faces, one looking forward and one looking backward. Janus was also the guardian of doors and gates, thus going out and coming in.
Among the various cultural traditions of the day was the use of the baby to represent rebirth, which started in Greece around 600 BC. There it was associated with their god of wine, Dionysus. Forced to surrender to this particular tradition, Christians adopted the infant as part of a Nativity scene, now associated specifically with Christmas. But it maintained a more secular connection as Baby New Year, which became especially predominant in the cartoons and advertisements of the Victorian Era.
As for other customs, even the Babylonians believed that you could influence your luck with start of year pursuits. The Romans and Greeks began the practice of the toast for good health and prosperity. Drinks literally contained a piece of cooked bread to absorb the acidity, therefore establishing the name of the activity.
In the US, upcoming fortune became linked to pork, black-eyed peas, and cabbage. While many argue that hog and legumes have long been considered promising portents, and cabbage represents the green of money, the explanation is probably much simpler. If one is already fortunate enough to have a pig to kill in winter, access to leafy vegetables in cold months, and enough peas for eating and planting, then they have luck to celebrate and likely more to come.
"Auld Lang Syne" is a Celtic song meaning "Old Long Ago." Like other such tunes, it is so ancient that its origins are indeterminate, but Scottish poet Robert Burns is given credit for setting established words to the music, which was formally published after his death in the late 1700's. It is a melody of farewell to times and people and events of the past, be they good or bad.
So let's drink a cup of kindness yet to 2010, bid it farewell, and turn a forward-looking face toward 2011. Happy New Year to all. May each day be better than the one which preceded it.
V K
Saturday, December 25, 2010
The Life and Times of Brandy Nan
A while back, the lullaby "Rock-a-bye Baby" and its origin with the Stuart dynasty was our topic. We also mentioned that James II had two daughters, Mary and Anne. When William and Mary took the throne in the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the assumption was that the Stuart line was still secure, but the couple would die without an heir. This, then, brought Queen Anne into the equation.
The youngest daughter born to James and Anne Hyde. she assumed the throne in 1702 at the age of 37. Don't think for a moment that she had been biding her time, wondering how things were going to work out. This very active woman had already been married to Prince George of Denmark for almost 20 years. She had spent a large part of her childhood in France with her grandmother and an aunt, even making trips to Holland and Scotland. And when her sister died during a smallpox epidemic in 1694, the assumption was that Anne was next in line to inherit upon William's death. He was an in-law and cousin, but had been only a co-ruler and was not a direct Stuart descendant. There was an understanding of her position.
She had also become deeply involved in the two most significant relationships of her life, though some might argue that there were three. The predominant person in her circle was her husband, with whom she obviously had a special bond. Anne Stuart holds the record for the number of pregnancies for one monarch--at least sixteen, though many historians argue eighteen. It would seem that this made for a lively household, but such was not the case. Only five of the children survived their first days, and four of those died around the age of two. The Duke of Gloucester, little William, provided the sole source of any real hope. But there were rumors that he suffered from hydrocephalus, and the boy died at the age of eleven in 1700. Say what you will, but this woman, whether standing or reclining with the consort, gave her all for her country.
The other truly important person in the queen's life was her best friend, Sarah Churchill--Lady of the Bedchamber, wife of the great war hero John, Duke of Marlborough (created so by King William), and ancestor to both Winston Churchill and Princess Diana. Her relationship with Anne was chronicled by witnesses and recorded in their letters. So close were the pair that formalities were set aside. Sarah was "Mrs. Freeman," as opposed to the Duchess, and Anne became "Mrs. Morley," not Your Majesty. Seldom has a relationship between two women in such different stations existed. Churchill kept secrets, soothed wounds, and offered advice. Her lack of artifice could be disarming. It was known that she believed the queen "meant well and was not a fool, but . . . [was not] wise, nor entertaining in conversation." Sarah's heavy-handed meddling in the affairs of the queen, their numerous quarrels (including an accusation by Churchill that the ruler was a lesbian), and her lack of understanding at the loss of Prince George all led to the dissolution of the friendship, at Anne's instigation, in 1710.
The third attraction that drew much attention was that of the Stuart monarch to alcohol. Friends and detractors alike referred to her as "Brandy Nan," in honor of her favorite drink, which she consumed prolifically. In determining the possible reasons she failed to produce an heir, scholars discuss a myriad of options from lupus to diabetes to rhesus incompatability. But what of fetal alcohol syndrome or the effect of the wine on diabetes if she was afflicted with the disease? At any rate, brandy did not do for Nan what Nan did for it.
As the queen aged, her body became tremendously worn out--pregnancies, stress, and alcohol all did their part. She developed a severe case of gout and grew extremely overweight. Her last years were spent on a wheeled slant board, which served as a makeshift wheelchair because she could no longer move about on her own.
When she died of a stroke in 1714, Queen Anne was only 49 years old, but she was so large and depleted that the unwieldy body had to be placed in an especially large and rather misshapen coffin. "Brandy Nan" had lived through the loss of all her immediate family members, including as many as 18 children. She had travelled the world, been widowed, lost the comfort of her closest friend, and weathered wars and political storms. Yet, despite her best efforts, there was no Stuart to continue the dynasty. The British were forced, after a bit of a crisis, to turn to Germany. There, they chose distant cousins, the Hanovers, to assume the throne. George I became king that year.
A queen is a queen, but she is also a woman after all. The political intrigue might have been manageable, but Anne Stuart, youngest daughter of the deposed James II, abused her body with alcohol and risked it with innumerable pregnancies. The emotional and physical trauma she suffered was profound. While James had believed he ruled by "Divine Right," it seems that his daughter survived so long only by the luck of the draw.
Even her doctor said, "sleep was never more welcome to a weary traveller than death was to her." She was interred in Westminter Abbey. May she rest peacefully at last.
VK
The youngest daughter born to James and Anne Hyde. she assumed the throne in 1702 at the age of 37. Don't think for a moment that she had been biding her time, wondering how things were going to work out. This very active woman had already been married to Prince George of Denmark for almost 20 years. She had spent a large part of her childhood in France with her grandmother and an aunt, even making trips to Holland and Scotland. And when her sister died during a smallpox epidemic in 1694, the assumption was that Anne was next in line to inherit upon William's death. He was an in-law and cousin, but had been only a co-ruler and was not a direct Stuart descendant. There was an understanding of her position.
She had also become deeply involved in the two most significant relationships of her life, though some might argue that there were three. The predominant person in her circle was her husband, with whom she obviously had a special bond. Anne Stuart holds the record for the number of pregnancies for one monarch--at least sixteen, though many historians argue eighteen. It would seem that this made for a lively household, but such was not the case. Only five of the children survived their first days, and four of those died around the age of two. The Duke of Gloucester, little William, provided the sole source of any real hope. But there were rumors that he suffered from hydrocephalus, and the boy died at the age of eleven in 1700. Say what you will, but this woman, whether standing or reclining with the consort, gave her all for her country.
The other truly important person in the queen's life was her best friend, Sarah Churchill--Lady of the Bedchamber, wife of the great war hero John, Duke of Marlborough (created so by King William), and ancestor to both Winston Churchill and Princess Diana. Her relationship with Anne was chronicled by witnesses and recorded in their letters. So close were the pair that formalities were set aside. Sarah was "Mrs. Freeman," as opposed to the Duchess, and Anne became "Mrs. Morley," not Your Majesty. Seldom has a relationship between two women in such different stations existed. Churchill kept secrets, soothed wounds, and offered advice. Her lack of artifice could be disarming. It was known that she believed the queen "meant well and was not a fool, but . . . [was not] wise, nor entertaining in conversation." Sarah's heavy-handed meddling in the affairs of the queen, their numerous quarrels (including an accusation by Churchill that the ruler was a lesbian), and her lack of understanding at the loss of Prince George all led to the dissolution of the friendship, at Anne's instigation, in 1710.
The third attraction that drew much attention was that of the Stuart monarch to alcohol. Friends and detractors alike referred to her as "Brandy Nan," in honor of her favorite drink, which she consumed prolifically. In determining the possible reasons she failed to produce an heir, scholars discuss a myriad of options from lupus to diabetes to rhesus incompatability. But what of fetal alcohol syndrome or the effect of the wine on diabetes if she was afflicted with the disease? At any rate, brandy did not do for Nan what Nan did for it.
As the queen aged, her body became tremendously worn out--pregnancies, stress, and alcohol all did their part. She developed a severe case of gout and grew extremely overweight. Her last years were spent on a wheeled slant board, which served as a makeshift wheelchair because she could no longer move about on her own.
When she died of a stroke in 1714, Queen Anne was only 49 years old, but she was so large and depleted that the unwieldy body had to be placed in an especially large and rather misshapen coffin. "Brandy Nan" had lived through the loss of all her immediate family members, including as many as 18 children. She had travelled the world, been widowed, lost the comfort of her closest friend, and weathered wars and political storms. Yet, despite her best efforts, there was no Stuart to continue the dynasty. The British were forced, after a bit of a crisis, to turn to Germany. There, they chose distant cousins, the Hanovers, to assume the throne. George I became king that year.
A queen is a queen, but she is also a woman after all. The political intrigue might have been manageable, but Anne Stuart, youngest daughter of the deposed James II, abused her body with alcohol and risked it with innumerable pregnancies. The emotional and physical trauma she suffered was profound. While James had believed he ruled by "Divine Right," it seems that his daughter survived so long only by the luck of the draw.
Even her doctor said, "sleep was never more welcome to a weary traveller than death was to her." She was interred in Westminter Abbey. May she rest peacefully at last.
VK
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Henry as a Husband
"Divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded, survived."
This is a little rhyme that English children have learned for hundreds of years to commemorate the fates of the six wives of Henry VIII. He was the second monarch in the great Tudor dynasty, of which much can be said. But the word "boring" will seldom, if ever, enter the conversation, especially where the mistresses of the castle are concerned.
Henry married for the first time in 1509 at the age of 17. His bride was the six years older Catherine of Aragon, a beautiful, fair-haired Spanish princess, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, and the widow of the prince's older brother, Arthur. The union sealed an alliance between their two countries, but the teenage husband did not love the confused bride. Even so, for 24 years, she was a popular consort, renowned for her beauty and her lack of grandiosity. She also bore a daughter, Mary, but produced no male heir.
Then the young--and fertile--Anne Boleyn entered the picture, which did not bode well for her queen. This young woman (her age is uncertain) was intelligent, charismatic, and the sister of the king's mistress. She was a shining star at court, and it was inevitable that she too should attract his attention. But Henry was Catholic, and divorce was verboten. In addition, he had received a papal dispensation to marry Catherine. Things were getting complicated.
And the English world turned upside down. Anne introduced her lover to revolutionary thinkers, like Martin Luther. And when the Pope refused several requests to terminate his marriage. Henry eventually broke with the papal realm completely, creating himself head of the newly-minted Church of England. As such, he granted his own annulment. None of this went smoothly, for obvious reasons. It was a religious rebellion, and much political wrangling was involved. But in the end, Catherine was declared "our beloved sister," as per her marriage to Arthur, and she and Mary were shipped off to a convent in the countryside. A very pregnant Anne was declared wife and queen in June of 1533.
Despite her fertility, the young woman also failed to provide a male heir, and she most definitely lacked both serenity and submissiveness. While the first-born child would become the great Queen Elizabeth, Henry could not foresee this. He loved the mother well, but not long. After false pregnancies, miscarriages, and stillbirths, he lost interest, and his roving eye fell upon another.
In early 1536, the king declared that his queen was not only a witch--she was guilty of incest. True, she had a small growth, which was the beginning of a sixth finger, on one hand, and her clothes were cut to fit accordingly (thus Queen Anne sleeves). There were also rumors of a third nipple, and these things could be used against her in any accusations of black magic. But her relationship with her brother, George, could be viewed as no closer than that of any other siblings. In March the pair were arrested and convicted of incest and treason against their ruler. The following May, Anne Boleyn was beheaded. Having seen numerous executions become absolute butchery, she asked for a French swordsman, knelt upright as he instructed, and was murdered with a single blow.
Ten days later, the incredibly impatient Henry married a lady in waiting, Jane Seymour, who produced the longed for son the very next year (this would be Edward VI). But the difficult birth ended the shy and meek woman's life. With three wives dead, the monarch mourned only the bride who had given him a son, brief though their union had been.
In his search for a mother to rear the boy, Henry next chose Anne of Cleves, a small Protestant region considered important if there were war with Catholic Spain. Holbein had presented a portrait of the young woman, which depicted her as pleasing enough, and she and the ruler of England were married. But Henry felt no physical attraction. Calling the girl "The Flanders Mare," he soon filed for an annulment. She smartly testified that the marriage had not been consummated, as though it would have mattered, and the union was dissolved. Another "King's Sister" was given a grand estate as a parting gift. Thank you for playing.
Within weeks, hungry Henry was united in wedlock once again. That same year of 1540, he married a courtier and Boleyn cousin, Catherine Howard--his "rose without thorn." Here, he believed, he had found the perfect wife, intelligent but pure and submissive. But the rose dished it out better than her husband. The palace was filled with her lovers, former and current, including her secretary, whom she had originally planned to marry. And the brazen woman made little attempt to hide the affairs. She could have been no more than 22 upon her execution just two years after becoming the queen. Such was a dangerous occupation indeed, especially for a very prickly pear.
Now in his fifties, but already old, sickly, tired, and a bit chastened, Henry VIII married the widow Catherine Parr in 1543. She was much younger, but possessed of great intelligence and charm. Her maturity also made her quite capable of having a civil argument with anyone in court, including her willful husband. She was very liberal, but unlike Anne Boleyn, she did not change the political or religious views he espoused. The king had originally spotted her working in the manor of daughter Mary Tudor. Unbeknownst to him, she had already fallen in love with Thomas Seymour, uncle to the little prince, and it is likely that their relationship continued throughout the royal marriage.
But our Catherine was, this time, a survivor. Henry VIII died in January of 1547. He was 55 and a half years old, grossly overweight, extremely self-indulgent, possessed of a cruel streak, exceedingly childish, and rumored to be syphilitic. His sixth queen had reunited him with his daughters, and, while Edward VI assumed the throne first, all three of the Tudor children would reign successively.
So Parr escaped the marriage with her life, and Seymour became her fourth husband. This, however, was a misstep. She became pregnant for the first and only time in her 35 years, gave birth to a daughter, Mary, in August, 1548, and died a few days later of puerperal fever. Her widower had become involved in court intrigue, and most likely an affair with the young Princess Elizabeth, The result of all this was his execution the following year. Their little daughter soon disappeared from public records.
The moral of the story seems to be that if you survive the Tudor roundabout, get off and leave the fairgrounds. Had Catherine Parr retired to country life as a young widow, she might have lived a long and happy life. But the Tudor luck, or lack thereof, was contagious. Even in death, her body was disturbed several times before the early 19th Century, when she was interred in a final resting place.
Did she really survive? One might say yes, they all did, for they live in rhyme, legend, myth, and history. Then again, life as a mate of Henry Tudor was nothing less than a game of roulette.
VK
This is a little rhyme that English children have learned for hundreds of years to commemorate the fates of the six wives of Henry VIII. He was the second monarch in the great Tudor dynasty, of which much can be said. But the word "boring" will seldom, if ever, enter the conversation, especially where the mistresses of the castle are concerned.
Henry married for the first time in 1509 at the age of 17. His bride was the six years older Catherine of Aragon, a beautiful, fair-haired Spanish princess, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, and the widow of the prince's older brother, Arthur. The union sealed an alliance between their two countries, but the teenage husband did not love the confused bride. Even so, for 24 years, she was a popular consort, renowned for her beauty and her lack of grandiosity. She also bore a daughter, Mary, but produced no male heir.
Then the young--and fertile--Anne Boleyn entered the picture, which did not bode well for her queen. This young woman (her age is uncertain) was intelligent, charismatic, and the sister of the king's mistress. She was a shining star at court, and it was inevitable that she too should attract his attention. But Henry was Catholic, and divorce was verboten. In addition, he had received a papal dispensation to marry Catherine. Things were getting complicated.
And the English world turned upside down. Anne introduced her lover to revolutionary thinkers, like Martin Luther. And when the Pope refused several requests to terminate his marriage. Henry eventually broke with the papal realm completely, creating himself head of the newly-minted Church of England. As such, he granted his own annulment. None of this went smoothly, for obvious reasons. It was a religious rebellion, and much political wrangling was involved. But in the end, Catherine was declared "our beloved sister," as per her marriage to Arthur, and she and Mary were shipped off to a convent in the countryside. A very pregnant Anne was declared wife and queen in June of 1533.
Despite her fertility, the young woman also failed to provide a male heir, and she most definitely lacked both serenity and submissiveness. While the first-born child would become the great Queen Elizabeth, Henry could not foresee this. He loved the mother well, but not long. After false pregnancies, miscarriages, and stillbirths, he lost interest, and his roving eye fell upon another.
In early 1536, the king declared that his queen was not only a witch--she was guilty of incest. True, she had a small growth, which was the beginning of a sixth finger, on one hand, and her clothes were cut to fit accordingly (thus Queen Anne sleeves). There were also rumors of a third nipple, and these things could be used against her in any accusations of black magic. But her relationship with her brother, George, could be viewed as no closer than that of any other siblings. In March the pair were arrested and convicted of incest and treason against their ruler. The following May, Anne Boleyn was beheaded. Having seen numerous executions become absolute butchery, she asked for a French swordsman, knelt upright as he instructed, and was murdered with a single blow.
Ten days later, the incredibly impatient Henry married a lady in waiting, Jane Seymour, who produced the longed for son the very next year (this would be Edward VI). But the difficult birth ended the shy and meek woman's life. With three wives dead, the monarch mourned only the bride who had given him a son, brief though their union had been.
In his search for a mother to rear the boy, Henry next chose Anne of Cleves, a small Protestant region considered important if there were war with Catholic Spain. Holbein had presented a portrait of the young woman, which depicted her as pleasing enough, and she and the ruler of England were married. But Henry felt no physical attraction. Calling the girl "The Flanders Mare," he soon filed for an annulment. She smartly testified that the marriage had not been consummated, as though it would have mattered, and the union was dissolved. Another "King's Sister" was given a grand estate as a parting gift. Thank you for playing.
Within weeks, hungry Henry was united in wedlock once again. That same year of 1540, he married a courtier and Boleyn cousin, Catherine Howard--his "rose without thorn." Here, he believed, he had found the perfect wife, intelligent but pure and submissive. But the rose dished it out better than her husband. The palace was filled with her lovers, former and current, including her secretary, whom she had originally planned to marry. And the brazen woman made little attempt to hide the affairs. She could have been no more than 22 upon her execution just two years after becoming the queen. Such was a dangerous occupation indeed, especially for a very prickly pear.
Now in his fifties, but already old, sickly, tired, and a bit chastened, Henry VIII married the widow Catherine Parr in 1543. She was much younger, but possessed of great intelligence and charm. Her maturity also made her quite capable of having a civil argument with anyone in court, including her willful husband. She was very liberal, but unlike Anne Boleyn, she did not change the political or religious views he espoused. The king had originally spotted her working in the manor of daughter Mary Tudor. Unbeknownst to him, she had already fallen in love with Thomas Seymour, uncle to the little prince, and it is likely that their relationship continued throughout the royal marriage.
But our Catherine was, this time, a survivor. Henry VIII died in January of 1547. He was 55 and a half years old, grossly overweight, extremely self-indulgent, possessed of a cruel streak, exceedingly childish, and rumored to be syphilitic. His sixth queen had reunited him with his daughters, and, while Edward VI assumed the throne first, all three of the Tudor children would reign successively.
So Parr escaped the marriage with her life, and Seymour became her fourth husband. This, however, was a misstep. She became pregnant for the first and only time in her 35 years, gave birth to a daughter, Mary, in August, 1548, and died a few days later of puerperal fever. Her widower had become involved in court intrigue, and most likely an affair with the young Princess Elizabeth, The result of all this was his execution the following year. Their little daughter soon disappeared from public records.
The moral of the story seems to be that if you survive the Tudor roundabout, get off and leave the fairgrounds. Had Catherine Parr retired to country life as a young widow, she might have lived a long and happy life. But the Tudor luck, or lack thereof, was contagious. Even in death, her body was disturbed several times before the early 19th Century, when she was interred in a final resting place.
Did she really survive? One might say yes, they all did, for they live in rhyme, legend, myth, and history. Then again, life as a mate of Henry Tudor was nothing less than a game of roulette.
VK
Monday, December 13, 2010
A Fork in the Road
Not too long ago, we talked about the celibate Shakers, and of course every coin has a flip side. In direct opposition to the beliefs of that sect would be those of the Oneida Community. This particular organization was founded in the early 1830's by a Dartmouth scholar named John Humphrey Noyse.
Here was a different sort of man with a unique set of convictions. He taught his followers that Christ had returned in the year 70 A.D., and the Kingdom of God was at hand. His Oneidans lived a communal existence, sharing small village homes, stores, and churches (though they had no regular service). While Noyse had been defrocked in college, losing his ministerial license, he simply continued to preach without it.
Sermons dealt with their way of life and the issues of the group. He was the undisputed leader in this new paradise, where men and women practiced "complex marriage." This meant that, while some unions were legal in the eyes of the state, the great man himself arranged or approved all others, and no couple was monogamous. Women who no longer menstruated were expected to introduce young men to the mysteries of sex, and young girls willingly gave their virginity to much older males under the same principle. Any couple who desired each other approached Noyse for a yea or nay, and he coined the term "free love" to describe these spontaneous unions. In his eyes, every man was married to every woman.
The Oneidans used two other very unusual practices for their day and time. Birth control was achieved to some degree by sex without ejaculation. This was by no means a full-proof system (so don't get any ideas) as it was not possible in every planned instance. Accidents will happen. This became part of the canon when the preacher decided that if a man "spilled his seed" without procreation, it was no different from the "senseless" act of masturbation.
In addition, the new kingdom demanded a new people, so the members practiced eugenics. Noyse often chose the best "breeders" to produce children, not for the sake of love but for appearance, intelligence, and strength. At any rate neither parent would claim the offspring; the child would be placed in a communal nursery and cared for by women assigned to work there. This seems almost ant-like rather than human, but remember that in a communal society, no one claims ownership of anything--or anyone.
While the Oneida Community was loosely ruled by committee, all were expected to cooperate joyfully. Those who exhibited bad attitudes or other undesirable traits that detracted from the atmosphere were subjected to communal criticism. This was a process of shaming, where the offender was placed in the center of a meeting hall or church while the audience pointed out all of his or her unpleasant characteristics. This was justified in the name of improvement, though the reactions were not always positive.
Among the Noysians, women worked, served, loved, and lived on an equal par with men. Quite often, they wore pants under short skirts. And while the communities were originally farming establishments, Oneida became renowned for its tableware. The spoon you just put into your sink may very well have been designed by one of these "hippies" over 200 years ago. Their silver provided a healthy income that allowed them to live on their own terms.
But the law did not. Noyse was jailed more than once, not just for his words, but also for his actions. In 1879, he was charged with statutory rape. Before he could be arrested, he fled to an Oneida factory in Canada, never to return. He continued to control the communities, large and small, by letter and messenger until his death in 1886.
John Humphrey Noyse was returned to Oneida, New York, and buried in the communal cemetery at the insistence of those who had relied upon him so diligently throughout most of his life. By this time, complex marriage had started to fall apart, and the organization was breaking under the strain of social pressure. As they bowed to convention, they also organized the factories into Oneida LTD, a joint stock company, which would practice a more traditional form of business.
Ironically enough, this utopia was very attractive to radicals. Both Charles Guiteau, who assassinated President Garfield, and Leon Czolgosz, who killed President McKinley, spent many hours under communal criticism. Apparently, they did not take it constructively.
VK
Here was a different sort of man with a unique set of convictions. He taught his followers that Christ had returned in the year 70 A.D., and the Kingdom of God was at hand. His Oneidans lived a communal existence, sharing small village homes, stores, and churches (though they had no regular service). While Noyse had been defrocked in college, losing his ministerial license, he simply continued to preach without it.
Sermons dealt with their way of life and the issues of the group. He was the undisputed leader in this new paradise, where men and women practiced "complex marriage." This meant that, while some unions were legal in the eyes of the state, the great man himself arranged or approved all others, and no couple was monogamous. Women who no longer menstruated were expected to introduce young men to the mysteries of sex, and young girls willingly gave their virginity to much older males under the same principle. Any couple who desired each other approached Noyse for a yea or nay, and he coined the term "free love" to describe these spontaneous unions. In his eyes, every man was married to every woman.
The Oneidans used two other very unusual practices for their day and time. Birth control was achieved to some degree by sex without ejaculation. This was by no means a full-proof system (so don't get any ideas) as it was not possible in every planned instance. Accidents will happen. This became part of the canon when the preacher decided that if a man "spilled his seed" without procreation, it was no different from the "senseless" act of masturbation.
In addition, the new kingdom demanded a new people, so the members practiced eugenics. Noyse often chose the best "breeders" to produce children, not for the sake of love but for appearance, intelligence, and strength. At any rate neither parent would claim the offspring; the child would be placed in a communal nursery and cared for by women assigned to work there. This seems almost ant-like rather than human, but remember that in a communal society, no one claims ownership of anything--or anyone.
While the Oneida Community was loosely ruled by committee, all were expected to cooperate joyfully. Those who exhibited bad attitudes or other undesirable traits that detracted from the atmosphere were subjected to communal criticism. This was a process of shaming, where the offender was placed in the center of a meeting hall or church while the audience pointed out all of his or her unpleasant characteristics. This was justified in the name of improvement, though the reactions were not always positive.
Among the Noysians, women worked, served, loved, and lived on an equal par with men. Quite often, they wore pants under short skirts. And while the communities were originally farming establishments, Oneida became renowned for its tableware. The spoon you just put into your sink may very well have been designed by one of these "hippies" over 200 years ago. Their silver provided a healthy income that allowed them to live on their own terms.
But the law did not. Noyse was jailed more than once, not just for his words, but also for his actions. In 1879, he was charged with statutory rape. Before he could be arrested, he fled to an Oneida factory in Canada, never to return. He continued to control the communities, large and small, by letter and messenger until his death in 1886.
John Humphrey Noyse was returned to Oneida, New York, and buried in the communal cemetery at the insistence of those who had relied upon him so diligently throughout most of his life. By this time, complex marriage had started to fall apart, and the organization was breaking under the strain of social pressure. As they bowed to convention, they also organized the factories into Oneida LTD, a joint stock company, which would practice a more traditional form of business.
Ironically enough, this utopia was very attractive to radicals. Both Charles Guiteau, who assassinated President Garfield, and Leon Czolgosz, who killed President McKinley, spent many hours under communal criticism. Apparently, they did not take it constructively.
VK
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
A Being So Gentle and So Virtuous
There have been innumerable political scandals down through the years, but one of the first to involve romance and gain national attention concerned the marriage of Rachel and Andrew Jackson. This was a real love story. And it caused the seventh president more than his share of sorrow.
The pair met when the frontiersman moved to Nashville in 1788 and became a boarder in the Rachel Donelson home. The owner's daughter, also named Rachel, was already married to Captain Lewis Robards, but their union was notoriously unhappy. She was very naive and had chosen a man she did not yet know well. She soon discovered that her new spouse was bossy, irrational, and ill tempered. In a nutshell, he treated her cruelly, and the girl was experiencing some difficulty in holding the relationship together. Then Old Hickory, as he was known, entered the picture,
Here was a man popular for his gallantry, bravery, and heroism. Jackson was of Irish descent, had been orphaned at an early age, remained steadfast in his affection for his mother, and, though hot-headed, behaved respectfully toward women. Upon observing Robards' treatment of the young woman, he quite naturally felt pity for her. But this quickly developed into something much stronger. He not only wanted to rescue Rachel from her troubles, he found himself falling deeply in love with her. And she returned his affection wholeheartedly.
But here is where the story, though not the outcome, derails. While they seemed the perfect match--Mrs. Robards was known to smoke a corncob pipe or dip snuff, while her paramour was a hard bitten loner who took on all comers and had already killed more than one man in a duel over principles--a major dilemma presented itself. How were the pair to get her husband out of the picture? Marriages just were not undone at this point in time, at least not in the hills of Tennessee.
But it seems, as well as anyone can tell, that, after one particularly vicious incident in 1789, the captain abandoned his wife and said he would petition the legislature for a bill of divorcement. Hard to believe that it took a literal act of congress to undo a marital union, but such was the case. So he rode off into the sunset, leaving the young lovers on their own. Within a couple of years, the accepted belief is that Jackson heard somehow that the bill had passed, and he and Rachel married while still in their early twenties.
But this was not the happy ending it should have been. Robards' continued involvement in affairs pertaining to Rachel's property soon made it obvious that the divorce was not final. So she and Andrew Jackson, though living together as loving husband and wife all along, were not legally married until January of 1794, after she finally obtained the first legitimate divorce in Tennessee. The couple quietly renewed their vows, but this did not settle the issue. The groom was a political man, well-known throughout the nation. And his wife was condemned as a bigamist.
Today, this would make for fantastic tabloid fodder, and even then it was well publicized. At one point, as Jackson sat drinking with friends in a country tavern, he found himself defending Rachel's honor, and not for the first time. A stranger remarked on the state of her virtue, or lack thereof, and this led to the inevitable duel. The offender hit the challenger first, but still took a fatal bullet. When the wounded Jackson was questioned as to how he could manage to fire a pistol at all, much less kill someone, after suffering such a severe injury, his reply was simple: "I would have killed him had he shot me in the head." Such were the obstacles the couple faced.
As time went on, the once gregarious Rachel became withdrawn and quiet, refusing to leave their home any more often than necessary. When Jackson instigated the Revolution of 1828 with his presidential race, during which he sincerely presented himself as a common "man of the people," he had no prospective first lady along for the ride. Yet the slander reached a fever pitch. Almost anything negative that could be said of a woman was thrown in her face, including the charge that her mother's boarding house had actually been a brothel. And she chose to remain in Nashville, tending her garden.
In spite of all the mud-slinging, Jackson defeated John Quincy Adams and became the newly-elected Democratic president of the United States. But Rachel had been defeated. This had not been another battle; it was a fully waged war. She had taken ill. and in March, 1825, the night before the Inaugural Ball, she died in her bed, holding her husband's hand.
The president was crushed. This was a love that he had been willing to die for, and now she was gone. At first, he denied the obvious, demanding more blankets be placed upon her body so that she would not catch a chill. When she neither warmed nor woke, Jackson sank into a lifelong grief. He had her entombed in her flower garden, and, in his post-White House years, visited the burial site every morning and every evening.
Rachel's painting hung at the foot of the president's bed so that he could see her face each day, and the monument he had erected in her garden carried a lengthy inscription in tribute. It read, in part, "Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, and her heart kind. . . . Her pity went hand in hand with her benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being able to do good. A being so gentle and so virtuous, slander might wound but could not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms of her husband, could but transplant her to the bosom of God."
So love can be real and true, even when windblown and tossed about on stormy seas. While not all survive in a physical incarnation, they live forever in the hearts of their lovers. Jackson said of Rachel, "Heaven will be no heaven for me if she is not there." He joined her in 1845.
VK
The pair met when the frontiersman moved to Nashville in 1788 and became a boarder in the Rachel Donelson home. The owner's daughter, also named Rachel, was already married to Captain Lewis Robards, but their union was notoriously unhappy. She was very naive and had chosen a man she did not yet know well. She soon discovered that her new spouse was bossy, irrational, and ill tempered. In a nutshell, he treated her cruelly, and the girl was experiencing some difficulty in holding the relationship together. Then Old Hickory, as he was known, entered the picture,
Here was a man popular for his gallantry, bravery, and heroism. Jackson was of Irish descent, had been orphaned at an early age, remained steadfast in his affection for his mother, and, though hot-headed, behaved respectfully toward women. Upon observing Robards' treatment of the young woman, he quite naturally felt pity for her. But this quickly developed into something much stronger. He not only wanted to rescue Rachel from her troubles, he found himself falling deeply in love with her. And she returned his affection wholeheartedly.
But here is where the story, though not the outcome, derails. While they seemed the perfect match--Mrs. Robards was known to smoke a corncob pipe or dip snuff, while her paramour was a hard bitten loner who took on all comers and had already killed more than one man in a duel over principles--a major dilemma presented itself. How were the pair to get her husband out of the picture? Marriages just were not undone at this point in time, at least not in the hills of Tennessee.
But it seems, as well as anyone can tell, that, after one particularly vicious incident in 1789, the captain abandoned his wife and said he would petition the legislature for a bill of divorcement. Hard to believe that it took a literal act of congress to undo a marital union, but such was the case. So he rode off into the sunset, leaving the young lovers on their own. Within a couple of years, the accepted belief is that Jackson heard somehow that the bill had passed, and he and Rachel married while still in their early twenties.
But this was not the happy ending it should have been. Robards' continued involvement in affairs pertaining to Rachel's property soon made it obvious that the divorce was not final. So she and Andrew Jackson, though living together as loving husband and wife all along, were not legally married until January of 1794, after she finally obtained the first legitimate divorce in Tennessee. The couple quietly renewed their vows, but this did not settle the issue. The groom was a political man, well-known throughout the nation. And his wife was condemned as a bigamist.
Today, this would make for fantastic tabloid fodder, and even then it was well publicized. At one point, as Jackson sat drinking with friends in a country tavern, he found himself defending Rachel's honor, and not for the first time. A stranger remarked on the state of her virtue, or lack thereof, and this led to the inevitable duel. The offender hit the challenger first, but still took a fatal bullet. When the wounded Jackson was questioned as to how he could manage to fire a pistol at all, much less kill someone, after suffering such a severe injury, his reply was simple: "I would have killed him had he shot me in the head." Such were the obstacles the couple faced.
As time went on, the once gregarious Rachel became withdrawn and quiet, refusing to leave their home any more often than necessary. When Jackson instigated the Revolution of 1828 with his presidential race, during which he sincerely presented himself as a common "man of the people," he had no prospective first lady along for the ride. Yet the slander reached a fever pitch. Almost anything negative that could be said of a woman was thrown in her face, including the charge that her mother's boarding house had actually been a brothel. And she chose to remain in Nashville, tending her garden.
In spite of all the mud-slinging, Jackson defeated John Quincy Adams and became the newly-elected Democratic president of the United States. But Rachel had been defeated. This had not been another battle; it was a fully waged war. She had taken ill. and in March, 1825, the night before the Inaugural Ball, she died in her bed, holding her husband's hand.
The president was crushed. This was a love that he had been willing to die for, and now she was gone. At first, he denied the obvious, demanding more blankets be placed upon her body so that she would not catch a chill. When she neither warmed nor woke, Jackson sank into a lifelong grief. He had her entombed in her flower garden, and, in his post-White House years, visited the burial site every morning and every evening.
Rachel's painting hung at the foot of the president's bed so that he could see her face each day, and the monument he had erected in her garden carried a lengthy inscription in tribute. It read, in part, "Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, and her heart kind. . . . Her pity went hand in hand with her benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being able to do good. A being so gentle and so virtuous, slander might wound but could not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms of her husband, could but transplant her to the bosom of God."
So love can be real and true, even when windblown and tossed about on stormy seas. While not all survive in a physical incarnation, they live forever in the hearts of their lovers. Jackson said of Rachel, "Heaven will be no heaven for me if she is not there." He joined her in 1845.
VK
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