1821: A Year in Review
As far as my mental timeline is concerned, 1821 means the beginning of the Greek War of Independence, which I first became aware of thanks to Lord Byron, the baddest of all the bad boys of Romantic poetry. (This does not make me unique. Byron also introduced many of his European contemporaries to Greek aspirations for independence from the Ottoman Empire. His death at Missolonghi* led to an outpouring of pro-Hellenic support.)
Eugene Delacroix’s Massacre as Chios was used to raise money to fund the rebellion.
By the beginning of the nineteenth century, Greeks had been part of the Ottoman empire for roughly four hundred years. For much of that time, they had enjoyed a privileged position. Educated Greeks dominated the Ottoman administration and Greek merchants had a near monopoly on trade in the Turkish Mediterranean.
Privilege is not the same thing as independence, however.** In the late eighteen century, vague discontent turned into Greek nationalism thanks to two international movements. Romantic Hellenism created an interest in ancient Greek mythology and literature throughout Europe, bringing with it a belief in ancient Greece as the birthplace of democracy, and contemporary Europe.*** At the same time, the revolutionary ideals of the American and French revolutions led nationalist groups across Europe to dream of new states based on shared languages and culture rather than imperial provinces shaped by the political maneuvering of the great imperial powers.
The Greek war of independence began on March 25, 1821, with an unsuccessful raid into Moldavia by a group of Greek expatriates who belonged to a secret society dedicated to liberating Greece from Ottoman rule. Two weeks later, a popular uprising convulsed the Peloponnesus. The Turks retaliated viciously.
At first, European governments, which were not by and large supporters of nationalist aspirations on the American and French model , were hostile to the Greek cause. European popular opinion was not. Philhellenes rallied to the cause of Greek independence. They organized balls, breakfasts, and exhibitions to raise money to help the rebels. Women donated their jewels to the cause. Young men followed Lord Byron’s example and volunteered to serve with the rebel army.
Public opinion finally swayed political power. Britain, Russia, and a reluctant France forced the Ottomans to accept Greece as an independent nation in October 1827.
It turns out that Europe’s monarchies had reason to be twitchy about independence movements: it was a hot issue in 1821. Peru, Guatemala, Mexico, Panama, Santo Domingo, El Salvador, and Venezuelan all proclaimed their independence from Spain.
But wars of independence weren’t the only thing that happened in 1821. (What a surprise!) Here are some of the highs and lows, in no particular order:
- Egypt invaded and conquered the Sudan, with a nod of approval from Britain —basically the opposite of a war of independence.
- French linguist Jean-François Champollion published his work on deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics using the Rosetta Stone. (An event that caught my imagination as a very young history nerd.)
- English scientist Michael Faraday discovered electromagnetic rotation, the principle behind the electrical motor. (An event that did not catch my youthful imagination, alas.) He went on to make other discoveries that allowed electricity to become a powerful new technology rather than a science nerd party trick. Obviously more important than deciphering hieroglyphics in the broader scheme of world history.
*From fever, not on the battlefield. Just so we’re clear.
**Revolutions often begin among the relatively privileged who aspire to more rather than among the poorest of the poor.
****Lots there we could unpack, but we will leave it for the moment.
Treasures in the Paper Pile,Pt 2:Joanna of Flanders, also known as Jeanne la Flamme
In recent weeks I’ve been working my way through some of the paper stashes that have accumulated in the corners of my office in anticipation of the arrival of a new desk which will give me room for two computer screens. In the course of sorting, I’ve run across a couple of women warriors I had forgotten about.
Previously I introduced you to Jeanne the Hatchet. Next up, Joanna of Flanders, who fought for first her husband’s and later her son’s claims in the War of the Breton Succession. The war was a sideshow in the Hundred Years War between the French Valois dynasty and the English Lancastrian dynasty over the control of France, which had begun in 1337.* In 1341, England and France were in a period of fragile truce, and the War of Breton Succession became a proxy for the larger conflict.
The conflict began in 1341, when the Duke of Brittany died without a direct heir. There were two rival claimants for the lands and title: his half-brother John of Monfort (aka the husband of Joanna of Flanders), whose claims were supported by the English, and Charles of Blois (aka the husband of Joan of Penthièvre, niece of the late duke), whose claims were supported by the French king, Philip VI (aka Charles of Blois’s nephew). **
After obtaining a safe conduct from Philip, John of Monfort traveled to Paris to make his case. (You can see that this won’t end well, right?) Philip, who was not an impartial observer, did not honor the safe conduct. He imprisoned John, and declared Charles of Blois the Duke of Brittany.
Joanna continued to battle in his absence. In the process, she earned the nickname Jeanne la Flamme, or fiery Joan. Some of my sources claim it was because of her determination. Others claim that she rode out of the besieged town of Hennebont with a troop of her men and set the enemy camp on fire. When it became clear that she was losing ground against de Blois’s troops, she sailed to England, where she succeeded in gaining help from Edward III.
In 1344, John Montfort escaped or was released from prison, depending on who you read, and returned to the fight. After his death in 1345, Jeanne continued to fight for her son’s claim to the duchy. (There is reason to believe that Jeanne of Penthièvre also led troops in the war. In fact, it is sometimes called the War of the Two Jeannes.) The war finally ended in 1364, when Charles de Blois was killed in the battle of Auray and Jeanne of Penthièvre was forced to sign away the title of Duchess of Brittany which she had held for almost twenty years and content herself with being the countess of Penthièvre. The Montforts remained in control of the duchy of Brittany until 1547, when Brittany was unified with France.
Jeanne of Penthièvre actually enjoyed a happier ending to the story than her rival. By some accounts, Joanna of Flanders was declared to be mentally ill and confined to a castle in England by order of King Edward. A favorite way over the centuries to dispose of a troublesome woman.
*A war that ended with the help of another woman warrior, Joan of Arc. You might have heard of her.
**At first glance it would seem to a modern history buff that John of Monfort had the stronger claim, but succession in the medieval period was not a clear-cut a matter of primogenitor. The dead Duke had disliked John of Monfort and the other children of his father’s second marriage and named his niece, Joan of Penthièvre, as his successor. Then—because why make things simple—the Duke reconciled with John the year before he died and made a will naming John of Montfort his heir. This is the kind of thing that makes for great mystery novels and difficult transfers of power.
From Trench Warfare to Trench Coat? *duh*
I was happily taking notes about the transformation of the Chicago Tribune’s Army Edition into that paper’s Paris Edition in the years after World War I —a subject I’ve spent quite a bit of time on during the last couple of years. I wasn’t expecting to learn much that was new, but I have kept the library book as long as the generous policies of the Chicago Public Library will allow and I wanted to capture any information I might need going forward.*
Then I read these words: “money-making ads for woolen underwear, trench coats, and portable bathtubs.” I had clearly read them before because I had marked the section with a sticky note. And yet, this time it hit me. Trench coats. Trench warfare. And once again, I was off down the research rabbit hole.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the term “trench coat” first appeared in 1914. And there is no doubt that the trench coat evolved into the form we know it today during World War I, when British officers wore it, well, in the trenches. But it wasn’t entirely new.
The first ancestor of the trench coat appeared in 1820, when an English inventor named Thomas Hancock and a Scottish chemist named Charles Macintosh treated long cotton coats with rubber and marketed them as “macks”. They were not entirely successful. The same characteristics that kept rain out kept sweat in. The rubberized material was smelly even before it got sweaty, and it had a tendency to melt in the sun. Even with those drawbacks, “macks” were popular with military officers and the huntin’ and fishin’ set who wanted to stay dry.
Inspired by the obvious market for waterproof outdoor wear, textile manufacturers continued to develop better materials. By the mid-1850s, two manufacturers, Aquascutum and Burberry, had succeeded in developing fabrics that both repelled water and breathed and used them to create high-end gear for outdoor sports. The Burberry fabric, known as gabardine, proved particularly successful. (One Burberry’s ad for a waterproof gabardine fishing suit touted its “practical impermeability to wet, cold winds, and fish hooks.”) Unlike other waterproof materials, it was made by coating the thread prior to weaving rather than coating the completed fabric. Gabardine outerwear was popular with aviators, explorers and adventurers as well as outdoorsmen. When Sir Ernest Shackleton went to Antarctica in 1907, his team wore Burberry coats and carried tents made of Burberry gabardine.
When the first Anglo-Boer War began in 1899, many British officers unofficially adopted Burberry’s knee-length gabardine coat in place of the regulation wool great coat, which were long and heavy. Half-way through the war, Burberry became an official supplier to the British Army and created a coat made to military specifications: the Tielocken. It looked a lot like the classic trench coat, complete with a double breasted front and a tied waist belt.
By 1914, the Tielocken had evolved to meet the needs of trench warfare.** It was short enough that it wouldn’t trail in the mud, with a slightly flare below the belted waist that made it easy to move in. The belt had D-rings to hook accessories on, It had a small cape across the shoulders that allowed water, to drip off, large deep pockets to hold maps, flasks, and other necessities, and and cuffs that could be tightened for further protection. Some coats had a removable liner, that could serve as bedding in a pinch. And just in case anyone forgot that the trench coat was an officer’s prerogative, straps across the shoulders were a convenient place to display epaulettes with the rank of the wearer.
Swashbuckle, anyone?
*For anyone who’s interested, the book is Ronald Weber’s News of Paris: American Journalists in the City of Light Between the Wars. It is both well-researched and delightful to read. For my purposes, it has lots of details about being a working journalist in the 1920s and 1930s and vivid sketches of some of the men who crossed Sigrid Schultz’s path.
** Or at least the needs of officers. Enlisted men were still issued the traditional wool great coat, which was warm but badly designed for trench warfare. In fact, men often cut off the bottom of the coats so they wouldn’t drag in the mud. Rank also had its disadvantages. Once the German realized that trench coat meant officer the distinctive silhouette made it easier for snipers to pick them off.