TAPROOT TEXTS, DEFINED

If ever there was a taproot text – in John Clute’s terms, a fantasy that branches out into a thousand other fantasies – this is it (referring to the Curdie and Irene diptych by George MacDonald).
Unknown lecturer, Glasgow University (2010s).

Encyclopedia of Fantasy (John Clute, 1997)
Taproot Texts

Only in the last decades of the 18th century, when (at least in the West) a Horizon of Expectations emerged among writers and readers, did a delimitable genre now called Speculative Fiction (Fantasy, Science Fiction, etc.) appear. Before that there were writings which included the Fantastic – and such works can be described as taproot texts. To exemplify: The presence of the sylph Ariel and of Prospero's staff in William Shakespeare's The Tempest (performed circa 1611; 1623) do not make that play a fantasy or spec-fic, according to this criterion; The Tempest, however defined generically, may contain elements of the fantastic, but these elements did not govern its audience's sense of its generic nature: it was, first and foremost, a theatrical play. On the other hand, Goethe's Faust (1808) clearly reveals its author's consciousness that he is transforming a traditional story containing supernatural elements into a work mediated through – and in a telling sense defined by – those elements. For our purposes, The Tempest is best conceived as a Taproot Text and Faust as a proper fantasy.

The notion of the Taproot Text seems necessary – or at least desirable – for at least two reasons. The first is that a Water Margin of not easily definable intentions marks what we may now read as an irreversible impulse towards fantasy and proto-science-fiction. over the last decades of the 18th century, and it seems advisable to have a blanket term available to use in order to distinguish relevant texts composed or written before those we can legitimately call fantasy or science fiction. The second is that, because almost any form of tale written before the rise of the mimetic novel could be retroactively conceived as ur- or proto-fantasy (or ur-/proto-sci-fi, etc.), it seems highly convenient to apply to works from this Ocean of Story a term – i.e., "taproot" – which emphasizes the heightened significance of the text mentioned. When we refer to a text as a TT, in other words, we describe one that contains a certain mix of ingredients and stands out for various reasons – not excepting quality.

The list of Taproot Texts, therefore, may be long, but it is by no means endless; and a clear degree of qualitative judgement will be apparent in any individual cataloguing. Beyond those already mentioned, some other texts seem to fit the taxonomical needs for which the term was devised.

Relevant texts from classical literature include Homer's Iliad and Odyssey (composed by the 8th century BC); Hesiod's Theogony (composed 8th century BC), Aesop's Fables (composed before 560BC) (> Aesopian Fantasy); certain works of the Greek playwrights, like Aeschylus's Prometheus Bound (produced before 456BC) and Sophocles' Oedipus Rex (produced before 406BC); Ovid's Metamorphoses (circa AD1), Lucius Apuleius's The Golden Jackass (before AD155) and most of the surviving works of Lucian of Samosata.

Relevant early modern texts (from the turn of the Renaissance onwards) include Dante's The Divine Comedy (before 1321), Giovanni Boccaccio's Decameron (before 1353), the various Chivalric Romances and epics that mass together around the Matters of Britain (Arthurian cycle) and France (Carolingian cycle), including works like Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (written circa 1370) (> Gawain) and Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur (1485) ed Thomas Caxton, some episodes of Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales (before 1400), Luigi Pulci's The Greater Morgante (1470; exp 1483), Orlando Innamorato (1487) by Matteo Maria Boiardo (1434-1494), Lodovico Ariosto's Orlando Furioso (1516), François Rabelais's Gargantua and Pantagruel (1532-1564), the Nights (1550-1553) of Gianfrancesco Straparola, Luis de Camoes's The Lusiads (1572), Torquato Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered (1581), Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queene (1590-1596), Christopher Marlowe's Dr Faustus (written circa 1588), A Midsummer Night's Dream (performed circa 1595; 1600) and other Shakespeare plays, Miguel de Cervantes's Don Quixote (1605-1615), the Pentamerone (1634-1636) of Giambattista Basile, John Milton's Paradise Lost (1667), John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress (1678) (>>> Pilgrim's Progress), Charles Perrault's Tales of Times Past or of Mother Goose (coll 1697), the various versions of The 1001 Nights (> Arabian Fantasy), Alexander Pope's The Rape of the Lock (1714) and Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels (1726). The list could be considerably extended, but there is a distinction to be made: huge quantities of work can be treated as being of backdrop interest only; these titles cannot. 

Cricotirotomía.

Cricotirotomía.

Tumbada sobre una mesa de madera, de esas para el despiece, una muchacha de unos trece años se debatía en espasmos agónicos. Era blanca de piel, blonda de pelo y de gráciles formas en esbozo. Toda ella se agitaba igual que el vendaval, como si la habitaran por dentro los demonios. A pesar de estar sujeta por varios familiares daba grandes manotazos y recios patadones al aire. Su rostro se contraía en una mueca infausta que traducía la imposibilidad de respirar, como si una garra invisible lo impidiese trincándole el gaznate. (…)Después, todo se sucedió en segundos: antes de salir el último curioso ya había palpado con mi dedo la semilla del fruto enclavada en su garganta. Lo estaba tanto, que el rápido intento de desencajarla fue baldío. La niña, cianótica, trémula, se debatía entre la vida y la muerte dando sus últimas boqueadas inútiles, decrecientes, de merluza de altura al sol sobre un banasto. Sin dudar, centré la barbilla de manera que enfrentara el yugulo esternal, extendí fuertemente el cuello y hundí el escalpelo en su piel por debajo de la nuez, profundizando hasta la tráquea. Despreciando la sangre que brotaba de la herida, metí en ella dos dedos y los separé. Se escuchó una gran sibilancia: el sonido de un fuelle de fragua al ser pisado para avivar el fuego, la furia del aire al resoplido del delfín. Sentí lo mismo que una brisa benéfica corriendo entre mis dedos, vida en forma de aliento inhalado con avidez por la chiquilla que revivió en tan sólo un instante. La muchacha, con ansiosos movimientos de su pecho, aspiraba por la tráquea hendida cada vez con más ímpetu, intentó resarcirse del tiempo que durara su ahogo y compensar así la falta del espíritu vital que coloniza el aire. El color no a sus mejillas como el azul al cielo tras la lluvia y at mucho los ojos. Sus padres no daban crédito a lo que iban viendo: se miraban llorosos, se mordían los puños santiguaban. Para ellos, cristianos renegados, se trataba de i resurrección o de un milagro. Ya resuelto el problema, fue fácil: empujé con un dedo desde dentro, desencajé el hueso que había provocado el incidente y lo saqué por la boca entreabierta. Lo mostré prendido entre dos dedos, en silencio como un trofeo de guerra. Ahora la pequeña respiraba por boca y por nariz sin el menor problema. (…) La herida no sangraba lo esperable. En sus labios sanguinolentos, de manera simétrica, babeaban dos conductos vasculares de pequeña entidad. No lo hacían a impulsos, como la sangre que brota de una arteria, sino de forma perezosa igual que el manantial a punto de agostarse. Eran sin discusión pequeñas vénulas de sangre negruzca, densa e impura.

—Enciende el mechero y pon a calentar la punta de un punzón —le pedí.

Actué con rapidez desde que vi que el acero estaba al rojo blanco. Enjugué la herida con un paño, identifiqué los puntos sangrantes y, tomando el punzón por el mango, los cautericé. Luego monté en una aguja de acero curvilíneo un hilo de seda y di un punto a la tráquea. El conducto que lleva el aire a los pulmones se mostraba blanquecino al fondo de la lesión, recordaba a la espina opalescente y cartilaginosa de los calamares. La niña respiraba normalmente y estaba casi en calma, con su madre sujetándole los brazos. (…) con la piel, suturándola con puntos separados tras dejar una mecha de gasa empapada en vinagre diluido. La niña me miraba con sus ojos de color azulino indeciso, llenos de pasmo, soportando el dolor, agarrada con su mano izquierda a mi cintura. Al terminar coloqué un pequeño apósito de gasa en la herida y empaqueté mis cosas. María, tranquila, respiraba con pausado ritmo, asida a su madre mano con mano. (…)—María puede levantarse y caminar si lo desea. Que no juegue en la calle pues podrían lastimarla. Que coma normalmente. Mañana volveré para hacerle una cura.

La niña se atragantó, por eso estaba inquieta, agitada y cianótica (color azulado de labios, dedos ) no podía respirar por que tenía una obstrucción de la vía aérea así que le realizó una cricotirotomía.

La cricotirotomía es un tratamiento de una emergencia médica que consiste en la realización de una incisión a través de la piel y la membrana cricotiroidea para asegurar la vía aérea de un paciente durante ciertas situaciones de emergencia, como una obstrucción de la vía aérea por un objeto extraño o una inflamación, un paciente que no sea capaz de respirar adecuadamente por su cuenta, o en casos de traumatismo facial grave que impidan la inserción de un tubo endotraqueal a través de la boca.

Tras realizar la incisión sacó el hueso de fruta que provocó el atragantamiento, la niña ya podía respirar. Finalmente la suturó (le cogió puntos) y le tapó la herida.

Actualmente también se realiza esta técnica: se realiza una incisión y se coloca un sistema estéril que viene previamente preparado para colocarlo.

LA GATTA CON GLI STIVALI RACCONTA...

LA GATTA CON GLI STIVALI RACCONTA...

La nostra Gatta con gli stivali, dopo che Straparola per primo pubblicò la sua storia, venne rinarrata da Giambattista Basile, ma il finale era così triste che la gatta se ne andò. 

Cammina cammina, dopo aver lasciato il mio padrone a Napoli, non mi fermai da nessuna parte se non per riprendere fiato, e dopo una sessantina d’anni arrivai a Parigi. Ero stremata,  non  avevo più voglia di aiutare nessuno, né di andare a chiacchierare con i re. Come dice un proverbio citato da Basile, a far bene agli asini si prendono calci. Il peggio è che non avevo più voglia nemmeno di cacciare: digiunavo spesso, come capita ancora ai gatti abbandonati. 

Allora capitava anche a tanti poveri francesi, mentre il loro Re Sole era ricco da non dirsi. Viveva nella Reggia di Versailles, tra feste in maschera e giochi meravigliosi. 

Pensate che una volta capitai da quelle parti, e salita su un albero vidi una battaglia navale nelle vasche del parco, con bastimenti in miniatura, sui quali il Re Sole e i suoi cortigiani guerreggiavano per divertimento… A un certo punto vidi arrivare una bella carrozza, che si fermò al cancello. Ne scese un elegante signore che guardò nella mia direzione e mi chiamò: il cortese invito.

Era Charles Perrault, architetto e narratore preferito di sua maestà! Mi disse che il Re Sole amava le fiabe, e che la mia era una delle sue preferite.

- Vi prego - concluse - di farmi l’onore di essere mio ospite. Caro amico, sarà mia premura ordinare al cuoco di prepararvi i vostri piatti preferiti, inoltre vi farò confezionare un paio di morbidi stivali e un cappello piumato. Monsieur, mi accompagnerete a caccia nelle riserve reali, n’est pas? In breve tempo potrete recuperare le forze e sarete più affascinante che mai.

Su quella splendida carrozza  dimenticai i calci ricevuti a Napoli e ricominciai a credere nelle favole, ricordando un proverbio di Basile: fa’ il bene e scordatene. Ma perché Perrault mi chiamava Monsieur? Forse non curando più la mia pulizia avevo perso tutta la mia femminilità. 

Maître chat!

Mi fece cenno di salire sulla sua carrozza, e per quanto fossi polverosa e male in arnese mi diedi un contegno, cosa che noi gatte e gatti sappiamo sempre fare. Insomma, feci un inchino e accettai 

Grazie a Perrault, che conosceva sia Straparola che Basile, la mia fiaba aveva viaggiato più veloce di me, e senza saperlo ero diventata uno dei personaggi più famosi del mondo. Quelli che non conoscono la mia storia raccontata da Straparola nel Cinquecento e da  Basile nel Seicento, credono che mi abbia inventato Perrault, e di fatto il mio padroncino non è conosciuto né come Fortunato né come Cagliuso, ma col nome che gli ha dato il narratore preferito del Re Sole: il Marchese di Carabas, voilà! 

Anche se mi dispiace che pochi ricordino che la mia fiaba italiana circolava in Europa già da un secolo e mezzo, sono grata a Charles Perrault, che mi ha fatto indossare quel bel paio di stivali, veramente confortevoli.

Quando gli feci notare che ero una gatta, una femmina, mi disse che ormai, dopo che ero entrata a far parte della sua raccolta di fiabe, Les Contes de ma Mère l'Oye, per tutti ero e sarei rimasta il Gatto con gli stivali, un maschio. Per qualche giorno non mi sentirono parlare e nemmeno miagolare, ma poi mi sono adattata, ricordando che non ero la prima a cambiare sesso nel mondo delle favole: Tiresia, il più grande indovino dell’antica Grecia, era nato maschio, poi era stato trasformato in femmina, poi era ridiventato maschio. Io ho fatto il contrario: femmina a Venezia e a Napoli, sono diventata maschio a Parigi, per tornare femmina a Firenze, in questa tabtale, pur essendo ancora conosciuta come gatto maschio in quasi tutto il mondo.

Nella favola di Perrault ero ancora un’eccellente cacciatrice, pardon, un cacciatore, anche perché con quegli splendidi stivali potevo andare dappertutto. Ormai camminavo solo sulle zampe posteriori ed ero cortese come se avessi parlato col Re Sole in persona.  

Ma la cosa più importante che mi ha dato Perrault non sono gli stivali: è la mia avventura con l’orco. Perrault doveva conoscere delle storie in cui una creatura piccola e astuta come me sconfigge un essere grande e prepotente come l’orco. Di certo una molto simile alla mia si trova nelle Mille e una notte, la raccolta araba che fu tradotta da Antoine Galland proprio a Parigi, prima del 1715, l’anno in cui morì il Re Sole. (Da La Gatta racconta, pp. 21-30)

GUNS CHANGED THE WORLD II: WINDOWS INTO WITHIN

In a previous post, published in July a few years ago, I wrote on how firearms (especially cannons) used by the Crown of European realms in the late Middle Ages brought on an epic wave of hinterland expansion and the early modern rebirth of the Flächenstaat (hinterland state/territorial state), with all the complex organization and military hierarchy that it needs to thrive:

"One (state) that is too large is capable of self-defence in what is necessary; but then it is a nation: for it will be very difficult to accommodate a form of government to it: for who would choose to be the general of such an unwieldy multitude, or who could be their herald but a stentor?"
Aristotle, unwisely objecting against the idea of Flächenstaat. Note the use of "nation": is he referring to a territorial state, to a large people bound by blood (instead of by a government) (id est, the concept of ethnos or ethnic group often translated as "nation", for instance in the KJV), or both? He is actually referring to a large people bound by blood, but not by government (the concept of ethnos), moreover, prone to anarchy due to lack of government. Just like the vernacular usage of "nation" as synonymous with hinterland state (territorial state) or Flächenstaat.

In the Middle Ages, Saint Thomas Aquinas weighed the pros and cons of the Flächenstaat, which he called "province" ("provincia"). He said that, on one hand, (agreeing with Aristotle), such a vast expanse of land would be very hard to rule. And that, on the flip side, a "province," the larger it was, the more difficult to be invaded by enemy armies (consider, for instance, the case of Russia, the largest state on Earth, 80% or 90% hinterland, which has successfully withstood Swedish, French, Japanese, and German invasions thanks to its redoubtable size among other factors). Long story short, he said the same things as Aristotle, but putting more emphasis on the military potential of the "nation"/"province" (difficulty to invade and capability of self-defense) than on the difficulties of ruling a large country with a numerous population. Was he being prophetic, even a little?

Still in the Middle Ages, later on...
When a certain alchemist friar brought about a sudden, devastating explosion in his lab, little did he know about the revolution he had unleashed. Many decades later, Renaissance rulers, to reaffirm their power against defiant feudal lords, brought cannons against the walls of their insufficiently guarded castles, fortresses, and holdfasts. The triumph of the Crown in all those lands was both total and quite obvious, expanding the hinterland of the kingdoms to heights not seen since the Age of Empires, centuries ago (The same happened in Westeros, although, instead of cannons, for rule of cool, there were dragons... Well, actually, the first cannons in the West were dragon-shaped, both to scare the enemy and for rule of cool!).
In other words, cannons brought about the expansion of the state hinterland and the establishment of the Flächenstaat. As a result, confident royals could move their courts to the outskirts of their capitals, with larger palaces and elegant gardens; while the ends of the realm were secured by militarized and fortified (with star-shaped fortresses and lots of cannons) outpost communities: these were the world's Küstrins, the Saint-Jean-de-Luzes, the "frontier towns" so often heard of in fairytales. The establishment of a professional officer class (instead of mercenaries), with the rank system so familiar to us nowadays (ensign, lieutenant, captain, and so on), was as much in consonance with the spirit of warfare that pervaded the West as the rise of firearms, of the territorial state, and of outpost communities (the latter two, like the professional hierarchized officer class, had already existed in the empires of yore), as well as the rise of diplomacy and inter-realm alliances. Like the one who has seen the storm clouds from afar and puts on a raincoat and umbrella, every realm was all geared up for both offensive and defensive warfare. This panorama of militarism echoes the similar "armed calm before the storm" that preceded the World Wars during the Belle Époque. The realms of the West were, then, also preparing up to the teeth for the upcoming and all-pervading storm of war. For an all-pervading storm of war that would last Thirty Years, and that would shape the human geography of the world we now know.

For more information, I advise you to consult:

The Shield of Achilles: War, Peace, and the Course of History, by Philip Bobbitt.

Recommended because of its exploration of developments in warfare and the early modern rebirth of the territorial state/nation/Flächenstaat as concepts that go hand in hand. 

This post will continue to deal with firearms and how they changed the face of the world during the Early Modern period. In this case, we will also cover hand-held guns, whether pistols, arquebuses, or flintlocks, as well as cannons. For we will see how gunshots opened windows into a realm which the Church had cursed and barred, and ultimately establish connections between these gunshots and the current Western rise of feminism, free love, and alternative lifestyles... (self-expression values already known and accepted in the first empires, but lost to the advent of monotheistic religions)...

HERE BE DRAGONS, it is written among writhing marine monsters, most of them reptilian, in the Atlantic Ocean of the maps of yore. These words and pictures are pretty much a testament of the medieval West's conservatism. The Mediterranean is secure (storms and pirates aside) and the hub of the former Roman Empire, mare nostrum. The Baltic fills the same slot of secure trade and travel waters up north. But the vast, endless ocean without any more land in sight for leagues is scary and uncanny, mysterious, dangerous. No surprise that Classical lore had Hercules chisel the following words on both sides of the Straits of Gibraltar: NON PLUS ULTRA, Not Beyond. An expression of preferring security to risk-taking comparable to the dragons on the maps.
Metaphorically, we could also say that the view of every person was as determined by constraints and fear of the unknown, the potentially dangerous, as the view of Earth itself: the words NON PLUS ULTRA branded with fire on our skin, and beyond, far deeper, HERE BE DRAGONS. Ever since the twilight of empires, the fanatical powerhouses of monotheistic religion, whether Seljuks or bishops (a zealot by any other name remains a zealot), condemned the flesh and the physical body, in all of its senses (sensualism, indulgence, erotism, beauty, and the existence of the organism), as sinful and cursed. And thus, countless interdictions arose and self-expression values were lost: this was the dawn of dark ages of patriarchy, machismo, heterosexism, fear of research, and... sexuality for pleasure and dissection for anatomical research were considered both crimes by the Crown and sins by the Church. There were dragons within us, like there were dragons in the vast ocean, did the authorities want us to believe. Stay within the limits and you will be safe; venture outside, beyond those limits, and you will never return alive...

It took firearms to banish all of those fears and take the NON out of NON PLUS ULTRA.
Nowadays (and slightly ironically), the motto of Spain is still PLUS ULTRA, "Beyond." It was the first reigning Habsburg, Charles V, who set this updated retelling of the Gibraltar inscription in stone. As a young archduke, he was advised by the court physician, Luigi Marliano, as soon as Charles had come of age, to pick such an encouraging and then subversive motto. PLUS ULTRA referred at first to Charles V's endeavour to expand the Habsburg reach both through New World colonialism and struggle against other European powers (France being the foremost). The realm's hinterland had to expand beyond its established limits, PLUS ULTRA, a call of conquest for vital space, of defiance and subversion, of daring to confront the establishment.
These were days when not only the Habsburgs were defying the establishment, but also many others: Francis I Valois with his excessive bon vivant mentality and reluctance to deny himself every pleasure, Henry VIII Tudor with his defiance of the Church's views on divorce and breakup with Catholicism, Martin Luther in his crusade against indulgences and pardons whose actual purpose was to sponsor the orgies of the Curia... Even the then-active generation of writers like Rabelais, Cervantes, and Shakespeare, whose characters (unlike the "children" of their predecessors) are the first ones (since the twilight of empires) in Western literature to be so life-like that every reader across the centuries, me included, falls head over heels for the illusion that they're real people, who have lived and planned and thought and felt and fought and loved and suffered and been pleased in real life (by the way, these authors also break the fourth wall). Or the Mannerist artists who were first in centuries to paint Venus in the nude, without hiding her sensual curves in her hair or in her limbs: leaving the formal, emotionless, ice-cold, beautiful yet uncannily non-human rationality of the Renaissance... for a more organic, emotional, appealing, throbbing streak of art, one that feels, breathes, twinkles, writhes, throbs, is ecstatic, reaches out across the fourth wall. PLUS ULTRA.

In terms of sacred plastic art, which then also spread to the profane (and of literature, at least in the Catholic South), the Council of Trent (held in Trento, conveniently at an equal distance between Austria and the Papal States!), the starting gun of the Counter-Reformation, marks the watershed of the transition from uncannily beautiful characters to lifelike ones. One of the decisions reached at Trento was the use of sacred art as propaganda, and it was for this reason the characters pictured and described in words (first sacred, then profane as well) grew so true to life that sculptures from this era appear to be real people and paintings appear to be photos: even this era's depictions of supernatural characters like angels, demons, merfolk, centaurs, and reptilian humanoids appear to exist in real life. The same can be said about the written-word supernatural characters in the works of, for instance, Shakespeare.

LITERATURE - US LIBRARY OF CONGRESS

I should have done this commentary on this mural from the US Library of Congress as part of last year's fourth centennial events, but, alas, I was kept too busy with other things to do.

Anyway, better late than never, they say...

Literature depicts a varied group of male and female figures sitting or standing. Apollo, the God of Letters, sits in the foreground of a Greek temple surrounded by a company of maidens (the Muses) reading an ancient scroll. On the right, are the muses of Comedy and Tragedy, the former reclining against a printing press. In the foreground a woman instructs two children in the rudiments of learning. On the left a dreamy poet reclines and reads the Homeric epics beside a bust of Homer while his muse hovers above him. Next to him a standing figure of Fame holds out a crown of laurel above the head of a seated poet who is deep in thought. Below are the names of countries notable for their contributions to literature: Greece (furthest on the left, below the Homeric reader and the muse of epic, symbolizing Homeric/classical-era literature), Italy (in the middle, below Apollo and most of the muses, excluding those of epic and the performing arts, symbolizing Renaissance/late medieval literature), and England (furthest on the right, below the muses of the performing arts and the printing press, symbolizing Shakespearean/early modern literature).

The painting is by William de Leftwich Dodge.
Wall plaques, clockwise from the northwest corner, bear the names: LITERATURE, Greece, Italy, England. Their arrangement from left to right mirrors the subjects of the allegories above; a mise-en-scène not left at all to chance.

SWEDISH HISTORICAL SITE

http://www.tidhjul.n.nu/bok-ii

THE RISE OF THE TERRITORIAL STATE

"One (state) that is too large is capable of self-defence in what is necessary; but then it is a nation: for it will be very difficult to accommodate a form of government to it: for who would choose to be the general of such an unwieldy multitude, or who could be their herald but a stentor?"
Aristotle, unwisely objecting against the idea of Flächenstaat. Note the use of "nation": is he referring to a territorial state, to a large people bound by blood (instead of by a government) (id est, the concept of ethnos or ethnic group often translated as "nation", for instance in the KJV), or both? He is actually referring to a large people bound by blood, but not by government (the concept of ethnos), moreover, prone to anarchy due to lack of government. Just like the vernacular usage of "nation" as synonymous with hinterland state (territorial state) or Flächenstaat.

In the Middle Ages, Saint Thomas Aquinas weighed the pros and cons of the Flächenstaat, which he called "province" ("provincia"). He said that, on one hand, (agreeing with Aristotle), such a vast expanse of land would be very hard to rule. And that, on the flip side, a "province," the larger it was, the more difficult to be invaded by enemy armies (consider, for instance, the case of Russia, the largest state on Earth, 80% or 90% hinterland, which has successfully withstood Swedish, French, Japanese, and German invasions thanks to its redoubtable size among other factors). Long story short, he said the same things as Aristotle, but putting more emphasis on the military potential of the "nation"/"province" (difficulty to invade and capability of self-defense) than on the difficulties of ruling a large country with a numerous population. Was he being prophetic, even a little?

Still in the Middle Ages, later on...
When a certain alchemist friar brought about a sudden, devastating explosion in his lab, little did he know about the revolution he had unleashed. Many decades later, Renaissance rulers, to reaffirm their power against defiant feudal lords, brought cannons against the walls of their insufficiently guarded castles, fortresses, and holdfasts. The triumph of the Crown in all those lands was both total and quite obvious, expanding the hinterland of the kingdoms to heights not seen since the Age of Empires, centuries ago (The same happened in Westeros, although, instead of cannons, for rule of cool, there were dragons... Well, actually, the first cannons in the West were dragon-shaped, both to scare the enemy and for rule of cool!).
In other words, cannons brought about the expansion of the state hinterland and the establishment of the Flächenstaat. As a result, confident royals could move their courts to the outskirts of their capitals, with larger palaces and elegant gardens; while the ends of the realm were secured by militarized and fortified (with star-shaped fortresses and lots of cannons) outpost communities: these were the world's Küstrins, the Saint-Jean-de-Luzes, the "frontier towns" so often heard of in fairytales. The establishment of a professional officer class (instead of mercenaries), with the rank system so familiar to us nowadays (ensign, lieutenant, captain, and so on), was as much in consonance with the spirit of warfare that pervaded the West as the rise of firearms, of the territorial state, and of outpost communities (the latter two, like the professional hierarchized officer class, had already existed in the empires of yore), as well as the rise of diplomacy and inter-realm alliances. Like the one who has seen the storm clouds from afar and puts on a raincoat and umbrella, every realm was all geared up for both offensive and defensive warfare. This panorama of militarism echoes the similar "armed calm before the storm" that preceded the World Wars during the Belle Époque. The realms of the West were, then, also preparing up to the teeth for the upcoming and all-pervading storm of war. For an all-pervading storm of war that would last Thirty Years, and that would shape the human geography of the world we now know.

For more information, I advise you to consult:

The Shield of Achilles: War, Peace, and the Course of History, by Philip Bobbitt.

Recommended because of its exploration of developments in warfare and the early modern rebirth of the territorial state/nation/Flächenstaat as concepts that go hand in hand. 

GUNS, BOOKS, LIQUOR, AND REVOLUTION

In the late Middle Ages, the most powerful rulers in the Western world decided to expand their power onto the closest independent areas: the larger the realm, the harder to invade. The completion of this view of conquest was facilitated partially by the baby boom that followed the Black Death, partially by some powder brought from the East. A powder that, combined with lead and fire, could pierce even the stoutest bulwarks and breastplates.
At the same time, books started to be published at lightning speed in workshops, no longer handwritten over the course of years in secluded and sacred scriptoria, no longer the privilege of the Church, but also at the disposition of nobles and commoners.
And some alchemists looking for the so-called water of life discovered they had, in its pursuit, discovered an inflammable liquid, that turned out to be a far stronger drink than those already known: this liquid could be used as a weapon and as a painkiller.
The known world was on the brink of revolution. Guns, books, and liquor were to change the lives of the hot shots and their subjects alike. Forever.

EXIT, PURSUED BY A BEAR

Nowadays, every English speaker knows the line "Exit, pursued by a bear". William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale, Act 3 Scene 3.
In The Winter's Tale, one of Shakespeare's last romantic comedies, a courtier is chased on stage (and presumably devoured offstage) by a brown bear on the coast of Bohemia.
Since the Kingdom of Bohemia is analogous, sociohistorically, with our days' landlocked Czech Republic... that scene may betray that Shakespeare, who appeared so clever (peppering his works with French and Latin), was somewhat ignorant when it came to geography.
Most people in our days are unaware of the Bohemia/Czech Republic analogy, which they clearly overlook.
However, it's the bear that catches their attention (by the way, brown bears are not that out of place in Bohemia/the Czech Republic).
Now, on stage, should it be two actors in a suit (like the cow in Jack and the Beanstalk pantomimes) or a live brown bear to appear?
Something tells me that a live brown bear would be used in Stuart times.
When Shakespeare was young, actually, the performing arts weren't considered high culture. Which explains why he debuted in front of an audience of peasants and artisans, in an arena-like theatre in suburban London. That theatre, the Globe, also resembled a cinema, aside from a sports arena.
To entertain themselves, courtiers hunted for big game in the woods. During the reign of Elizabeth I, a modality known as bear-baiting was especially popular at court: the bear was drugged and captured alive, then brought to the palace, then pitted against bulldogs in a fight to the death. That was Tudor high culture.
With the change of reign and dynasty, Shakespeare's reputation reached the royal halls... and thus, tragedies like Macbeth and Othello were written for King James and his nobles. The performing arts had started to attract the elite.
Though there were still old-fashioned courtiers who would rather see a brown bear against a half-dozen bulldogs rather than a great general strangling his beloved spouse.
With these preferences in mind, and the royal favour on his side, it was not hard for William to get a live brown bear for the first premiere of The Winter's Tale.

CAVALIER/ROUNDHEAD RESOURCES

For History class:


How and why the war broke out


What the war was like (as a musical!)


What the war did to improve medical science



The years, the battles, Charles, Cromwell, Chopin, Python

The Oliver Cromwell Song
(from Monty Python Sings)

The most interesting thing about King Charles the First is 
that he was five feet six inches tall at the start of his reign, 
but only four foot eight inches tall at the end of it. 

Because of...

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England
Puritan. 
Born in 1599 and died in 1658 

(September) 
Was at first 

only 

MP for Huntingdon
But then 

he led the Ironside Cavalry at Marston Moor 

in 1644 and won.
Then he founded the New Model Army 
and praise be! beat the Cavaliers at Naseby 
and the King fled up north 

like a bat! to the Scots.

But under the terms of John Pym's Solemn League and Covenant, 
the Scots handed King Charles the First over to...

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England 

and his warts
Born in 1599 and died in 1658 

(September)
But, alas! disagreement then broke out
Between 

the Presbyterian Parliament and the military 
who meant to have an Independent bent and so
The Second Civil War broke out
and the Roundhead ranks 

faced the Cavaliers 

at Preston, Lancs
and the King lost again, silly thing
(Stupid git)

And Cromwell sent Colonel Pride to purge the House of Commons of 
Presbyterian Royalists, leaving behind only the Rump Parliament...

Which appointed a High Court at Westminster Hall
To indict Charles the First of - tyranny 
Charles was sentenced to death, even though he refused to accept
That the court had 

jurisdiction 
(Say goodbye to his head!)

Poor King Charles laid his head on the block 

- January 1649 -
Down came the axe, 

and in the silence that followed 
the only sound that could be heard was the solitary giggle, of...

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England
Born in 1599 and died in 1658 

(September)
Then he smashed 

Ireland
Set up the Commonwealth 

and more
He crushed the Scots at Worcester, 
and beat the Dutch at sea in 1653 

and then
He dissolved the Rump Parliament
And with Lambert's consent 

wrote the Instrument of Government
Under which Oliver was Protector at last.

The end.

"Oliver Cromwell" is a song recorded by Monty Python in 1980 but not released until 1989 where it featured on their compilation album Monty Python Sings. John Cleese, who wrote the lyric, originally debuted the song on February 2, 1969 in the radio show I'm Sorry, I'll Read That Again, where it was introduced as "The Ballad of Oliver Cromwell". It is sung to Frédéric Chopin's Heroic Polonaise, and documents the career of British statesman Oliver Cromwell, from his service as Member of Parliament (MP) for Huntingdon to his installation as Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England. The lead vocals, often heavily multi-tracked, are performed by John Cleese, with interjections by Eric Idle.

"Oliver Cromwell" is sung to the first ("A") section of the Polonaise, including the well-known main theme; it does not use the "B" section. The piano introduction is accompanied by a spoken-word introduction, setting a tone of macabre humour ("The most interesting thing about King Charles the First is that he was five foot six inches tall at the start of his reign, but only four foot eight inches tall at the end of it"), as are the subsequent connecting passages. All three instances of the main theme are given a tutti chorus followed by a recounting of the battles and other events of the period; sound effects are added, mostly sounds of battle and of horses. To the interlude is set King Charles I's trial and execution, with rubato adding atmosphere; the only sound effect is implied to be that of Charles's head falling (followed by a solitary giggle from Cromwell).

Contents

  

• 1Battles, events and personages
  • 1.1Introduction
  • 1.2First theme: January 1642 – May 1646
  • 1.3Connecting passage: 1647
  • 1.4Second theme: 1647 – 19 August 1648
  • 1.5Connecting Passage: 6 December – 20 December 1648
  • 1.6Interlude: 2 January – 30 January 1649
  • 1.7Connecting Passage: 30 January 1649
  • 1.8Third theme: August 1649 – 16 December 1653

Battles, events and personages[edit]

Introduction[edit]

• Charles I of England, 27 March 1625 (5'6") – 30 January 1649 (4'8")

First theme: January 1642 – May 1646[edit]

• Oliver Cromwell (1599 – September 1658), Puritan; MP for Huntingdon
• Ironside Cavalry, equipped and trained by Cromwell
• Marston Moor, 1644; Parliamentary victory
• New Model Army, founded by Cromwell
• Naseby, Parliamentary victory (over the "Cavaliers", the Royalist armies)
• Charles I puts himself into the hands of the Scottish Presbyterian army at Southwell

Connecting passage: 1647[edit]

• John Pym's Solemn League and Covenant; this (1643) agreement between Scotland, England, and Ireland respecting the Presbyterian church in Scotland and (ostensibly) committing England to Presbyterianism was influential in persuading the Scots to deliver Charles I to Parliament (in 1647)

Second theme: 1647 – 19 August 1648[edit]

• Cromwell's "warts and all" quote famously reflects on his strength of character
• Second Civil War; the Independent leanings of the Army led to conflict with the Presbyterians in Parliament, a disagreement exploited by the Royalist faction
• Battle of Preston (1648), Lancashire; the final battle of the Second Civil war was an overwhelming victory for the Independents ("Roundheads") over the combined Royalist ("Cavaliers") and Presbyterian armies

Connecting Passage: 6 December – 20 December 1648[edit]

• Pride's Purge; Thomas Pride drove the Presbyterians from the House of Commons leaving the Rump Parliament

Interlude: 2 January – 30 January 1649[edit]

• A High Court of Justice at Westminster Hall indicted Charles I for the crime of tyranny
• Charles refused to accept that the court had jurisdiction over its King, but was nonetheless sentenced to death
• The sentence was carried out by decapitation, 30 January 1649, at the Banqueting House, Whitehall

Connecting Passage: 30 January 1649[edit]

• The headman failed to utter the customary words, "Behold the head of a traitor!"

Third theme: August 1649 – 16 December 1653[edit]

• Cromwellian conquest of Ireland
• Commonwealth of England
• Battle of Worcester; the defeat of the Scottish army of Charles II (proclaimed) ended the English Civil War and sank the Royalist cause
• First Anglo-Dutch War, 1653
• Dissolution of the Rump Parliament
• Instrument of Government, drafted by John Lambert, making Cromwell Lord Protector

Seventeenth-century Marvel AU. Dum-Dum Dugan is a Cavalier driven abroad by Ironsides:
When the soldier (Steve Rogers) had exhausted every story of warfare and battle that he knew, the robbers began offering tales of their own. The man with the red moustaches (Dum Dum Dugan) told of men armed with pikes and halbards and a religion even harder than their iron breastplates, who had swept across his home country, burning and killing whatever they could find, and how he had left his land and gone south with the geese to fight another kingdom's battles in Spain (The Catalan/Roussillon theatre of the 30YW).