Category Archives: History

Stars, Stripes and Turkeys

A century or so ago, Thanksgiving seems to have been commemorated as one of our most patriotic holidays, on a par with Independence Day.  Its gradual transition from custom to national holiday was definitely accelerated by wars:  the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, and World War II all brought official recognition of a day of collective and public thanks-giving in November.  In 1789, George Washington signed a proclamation designating November 26 a day of national Thanksgiving, and in the midst of the Civil War President Lincoln proclaimed that the last Thursday of November be “set apart as a day of thanksgiving and praise”.  During another time of national crisis, just after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Congress gave its official seal of approval for the last-Thursday holiday in an act that was signed by President Roosevelt on December 26, 1941.  Along with wars, the constant flow of immigration no doubt also motivated the celebration of Thanksgiving as a unifying, national (and also increasingly secular) occasion, and the postcards below really reflect that message.  They are all from the first decade of the twentieth century, a peak period for European immigration into the United States, and the vast postcard collection of the New York Public Library.

The New York Public Library also has a large collection of historic restaurant menus, many of which are digitized, allowing you to chart changing culinary traditions.  The standardization of Thanksgiving fare and the official recognition of the holiday definitely go hand in hand.  Having spent several Thanksgivings in Britain, I found this menu cover from the 1906 Thanksgiving Day Banquet put on by the American Society in London particularly appealing, and it also reflects the language of both Washington’s and Lincoln’s earlier proclamations, which called for the national day of Thanks-giving to be celebrated by Americans everywhere.


Political Pumpkins

Here is the first of a series of Thanksgiving-related posts, although this particular one doesn’t really have much to do with the holiday at all:  only pumpkins.  There is something about the pumpkin–the word, the shape, the associations–that renders it particularly suitable for satire and caricature, political and otherwise.  You can place a pumpkin in a scene and immediately send forth a message, without words.  The image conjures up nativist, patriotic associations for Americans, while the Cinderella connection and sheer rotundity seem to be the central message of European illustrations.  I put “pumpkin” in the search engines of some of my favorite digital archives and this is what I got, in chronological order:

First off, a too-easy “pumpkin”:  poor Daniel Lambert, the largest man in Britain, who was forced to put himself on display out of extreme poverty in the early nineteenth century.  He died at age 39 and 739 pounds in 1809.

Two pieces of political ephemera from the Library of Congress:  a sheet music cover of the “Know Nothings Quick Step” dated 1854, featuring the American symbols of pumpkin, turkey and badger framing the “European invaders” who were so threatening to the anti-Immigration Know Nothing Party, and a Civil War-era pictorial envelope of former General George McClellan, who ran against Abraham Lincoln in the 1864 presidential election after being relieved of his military duties; I assume this is a pro-Lincoln piece.

An 1871 caricature of French Third Republic minister Ernest Picard, from the collection of the Victoria & Albert Museum in London.

Finally, two illustrations from Puck Magazine (1871-1918), always a source of great historical images:  “Uneasy Turks” from 1908 (a time of popular revolution in Turkey not unlike the “Arab Spring”) and “Thanksgiving:  a study in Proportion” from 1912.  The latter seems to be a rather modern commentary on the trivialization of the holiday:  a very small church is dwarfed by material symbols of the day’s amusements:  feasting (pumpkin and turkey), entertainment (theater mask), and sports (golf clubs, shotgun and riding crop).


Double Vision

This past weekend, I attended a nice event at the Salem Athenaeum for Salem collector Nelson Dionne’s new book Salem in Stereo. Victorian Salem in 3D. It’s a gorgeous little book, full of Salem stereo views which one can peruse with the included prismatic viewer. We did just that, as Mr. Dionne regaled us with tales from his lifetime of collecting and plans for future projects.  The book was published by HARDY HOUSE Publishing of Salem, and is available at their website.

So many stereo view cards survive, that America must have been “stereoscopic nation” in the later nineteenth century–and after.  The steady improvement of viewers after the invention of the new technology in the 1830s enabled everyday Americans to build stereo view collections for the purposes of both entertainment and education.  One could travel the world through the lenses of a stereoscope, and there are lots of charming “parlor stereographs” showing people doing just that.

The Holmes viewer and a stereoscopic shop, both 1870s, and a stereograph advertisement for the Underwood & Underwood Patent Extension Cabinet, 1902, all Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division.

Big events and city scenes, like those included in collections such as that of the Salem shopkeepers Guy & Brothers, definitely comprised a majority of published stereographic offerings, but consumers clearly wanted more whimsical and domestic scenes as well:  weddings, domestic scenes (staged and otherwise), picnics, children and pets (just like videos today).  For some reason, sleeping children and cats were particularly popular, but you can find virtually anything by accessing the Robert N. Dennis Collection of Stereoscopic Views (over 72,000 images) at either the New York Public Library Digital Gallery or the Library of Congress.


Folder for Guy & Brothers Stereo View Collection and Whipple & Smith’s view of Winter Street in 1873 above; the “light keeper’s daughter”, Charlestown, Massachusetts, and sleeping children and cats cards below, along with a lone cat on a tree stump, somewhere in the Adirondacks in 1915.





Armistice Day

As the enormity of loss in the Civil War created Memorial Day, the traumatic experience of World War One, the “Great War”, led to Armistice Day, celebrated in Great Britain and the Commonwealth countries as “Remembrance Day” and in the US as Veterans Day after 1954.  Remembrance Day is marked by a two-minute collective silence, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, and the placement of poppies, representing both blood (death) and life in Flanders’ fields.

I can understand why Armistice Day was changed to Veterans’ Day in the United States, as the term “Armistice” specifically refers to World War I and a more general name was needed for the national holiday after World War II and the Korean War.  But the wars of the first half of the twentieth century were “total wars” demanding contributions and sacrifice on the part of the entire population, so I think I prefer the even more-inclusive “Remembrance Day”.  The posters below, from 1917-1918 and the Library of Congress, illustrate how the home front supported the war front during the Great War.

Eat less, waste nothing, fill in for the boys, buy war bonds and stamps; even children had their part to play:

The Food Will Win the War message/mission must have been a drumbeat, enforced by ration cards like the examples below.  The second card is from the impressive archive of local collector and historian Nelson Dionne.

Mr. Dionne also sent along this amazing photographic collage by commercial photographer Leland Tilford of the new draftees of Salem leaving for the war, so determined. Many of these young men would be dead within a few years, either from the conflict itself or from some disease contracted on the field, in the trenches, or in a military hospital.  When browsing through the Report of the Commission on Massachusetts’ Part in the World War, Part II:  The Gold Star Record of Massachusetts (1929), it was immediately apparent just how many soldiers from Salem (over half the casualties I surveyed) died from an unidentified “disease”, most likely the deadly post-war flu pandemic.

When the soldiers of the Great War returned, if they returned, it was to a grateful nation, parades, and the first national programs for veterans.  Unfortunately, the Great War was only the first World War, and as the twentieth century produced more wars and more veterans, Armistice Day evolved into Veterans Day, a day of reflection and remembrance.

Scenes from a post-war world:  Department of Labor poster and “Back to the Farm” (with a prostheses) exhibit, 1918-1919 (Library of Congress) and an Armistice Day parade on Tremont Street in Boston, 1929 (Boston Public Library).


Guy Fawkes, Then and Now

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November.  Today is an important British holiday:  Guy Fawkes Day, commemorating the foiling of the 1605 plot hatched by a group of Catholic conspirators to blow up the House of Lords upon the occasion of the opening of Parliament, when King James I and his family were in attendance.  Even though the plot was led by a zealous English Catholic named Robert Catesby, his accomplice Guy Fawkes somehow became more identified with the conspiracy.  The unsuccessful plot (and its holiday), along with the earlier attack of the Spanish Armada and the machinations of the later Stuarts, fueled English anti-Catholicism for quite some time.

Two early seventeenth-century broadsides from the British Museum:  the Conspirators and their fate; God points out Guy Fawkes as he approaches the House of Lords.

The Gunpowder Plot (along with its Day and Bonfire Night) have strict historical associations but have also been used in more metaphorical (and secular) ways in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, to raise a collective patriotic awareness of any attack on Britain.  No one could have been more threatening to Great Britain than Napoleon in the early nineteenth century, and so here he is strung up alongside “Guy Faux” in a Thomas Rowlandson print from 1813.

Two centuries later, Guy Fawkes seems to have evolved from a seditious conspirator against Britain to a rebellious liberator for Britain, or at least the British people (and even the global 99% around the world).  This remarkable development is largely due to the V for Vendetta comic books in general and 2006 film in particular, which broadcast the “Guy Fawkes mask” around the world and made it a symbol of popular movements.  Guy Fawkes masks are clearly playing a prominent role in Occupy London, and not only on Guy Fawkes Day.  It certainly is an interesting time to be a historian!

Occupy London protesters with their masks in October, from the Time Out blog and Ed London Photography.


Witch City: the Paper Trail

Throughout the (almost) year that I’ve been writing this blog, a consistent topic and theme has been Salem’s transformation into “Witch City”, either through private marketing efforts like Daniel Low’s “witch spoons” and Frank Cousins’ branded products and photographs, or through public campaigns like the city’s official schedule of  “Haunted Happenings”.  We’ve seen it all:  from witch creams to witch plates.  It seems like an appropriate time to showcase the “Salem Witch” postcards that must have blanketed the nation throughout the twentieth century, even though these postcards are not selling Halloween, they’re selling Salem.  As time went on, however, the two things became increasingly connected (and now it seems like they’re inseparable!)

I’m relying on the Salem vintage postcard seller Iconic Postcards for this first postcard because I do not possess it and I think it really encapsulates the early “Witch City” message.  It’s not from Germany, but from local publisher W.B. Porter.

The “ye olde” language is utilized in the first of a succession of more standardized witch images, as if to capitalize on both Salem’s colonial and witchcraft associations.  And while the language changes over the decades, from the turn of the century to the 1930s, the image remains the same.  This is basic branding.

And now from the other direction……… two witches from Germany, including an interesting “stamp witch”, and one published by G.W. Whipple of Salem.

These are the standard “Salem witch” postcards, but of course there were lots of other paper witches in circulation, in the first half of the twentieth century and beyond.  Here are some of my favorites, beginning with two “adaptations” forwarded to me by local historian Nelson Dionne.  The first pair is the famous painting The Witch of Haarlem by Frans Hals, recast as the “Witch of Salem” (which strikes me as a very brazen move!), while the second shows one of illustrator Frances Brundage’s most famous Halloween cards adapted (rather sloppily) for Salem. Finally we have a rare 1908 German card showing several Salem witches, and a (relatively) recent card marking the worst day (September 22, 1692) in the history of the Salem Witch Trials.

Frans Hals, Malle Babbe, the "Witch of Haarlem", c. 1630


German Witches

It is very interesting to me that Germany was at the absolute center of the “witch craze” of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and the creation of a commercial Halloween/witchcraft culture several centuries later.  No area experienced more witchcraft trials in the early modern era than the German-speaking lands of central Europe, and no country contributed more to the modern conception of Halloween than Germany.  It’s a very Salem-like connection between tragic history and contemporary consumerism.

The most credible estimates for the number of executions for witchcraft between 1450-1750 are in the range of 40,000 to 60,ooo people across Europe, with southern and central regions of Germany accounting for between 17,000 and 26,000 executions, as compared to between 5000-6000 executions for all of France, around 1000 executions for England and Wales, and a mere 50 estimated executions in Spain, where there was little religious diversity to fuel the fires.  The intense witch-hunting in Germany, especially between 1580-1630, has led its leading historian to assert that “witchcraft is as ‘German’ as the Hitler phenomenon, and will similarly occupy our attention for a while longer”. (Wolfgang Behringer, Witchcraft Persecutions in Bavaria:  Popular Magic, Religious Zealotry, and Reason of State in Early Modern Europe, 1989 & 1997).

Images of conspiratorial witchcraft in early modern Germany are lurid, much more lurid than the hexentanz (witches’ dance) and hexentanzplatz (witches’ dancing place/floor) postcards issued in huge numbers from the mid-nineteenth century onwards, although there are similar motifs and themes.  Below is an illustration of the hexentanzplatz at Trier from a 1594 Flugbatt (“flying pamphlet”) about the massive witch trials in that city (which may have resulted in as many as 1000 executions between 1581 and 1593) and a hexentanzplatz postcard from about 400 years later.  As you can see, the earlier image is of an orgy-like witches’ sabbat, while the later image is of an equally fantastic, but much less nefarious, dance.

The other difference between these two images is that the one below refers to an actual place:  the Hexentanzplatz is a mountain plateau in the Harz Mountains of north central Germany.  Located in modern-day Saxony-Anhalt, it is a site that has long been associated with pre-Christian rituals, along with the nearby Brocken, the highest peak in the mountain range and another supposed sabbat site.  As interest in German folklore intensified in the nineteenth century, so too did interest in this region, and it became the site of a mountain-top hotel, an open-air theater, and Walpurgis Night (April 30-May 1) festivities.  So this postcard is both an expression of the popular interest in witchcraft as well as a form of advertising.  More Hexentanzplatz postcards from the 1890-1930 period are below, some a bit more commercial, some a bit more creative, and all featuring witches.

And here are two images of Brockenhexen, witches flying to Brocken mountain for the Sabbat:  the first is a commercial postcard from the 1890s, the second an illustration from an 1878 article in Harper’s Magazine (via the New York Public Library Digital Gallery).

These German witches actually have nothing to do with Halloween; they flew to the mountains on Walpurgis night, the transition between spring and summer.  But their images were easily relevant to another pre-Christian seasonal holiday, Halloween, especially given the German dominance of the postcard publishing industry before World War I.  In fact, 75% of all postcards disseminated in the United States before 1914 were printed by one of Germany’s 30 postcard manufacturers, either under their own auspices or in collaboration with an American publisher.  Americans wanted their witches to be on Halloween postcards, along with other symbols of the holiday, and Germans responded to this demand, generally with images of much less menacing withes than the Brockenhexen. Here are three more witches “made in Germany”, including one flying over a very familiar place.


Flying Waldensians

We’re about halfway through my Magic & Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe course and I haven’t even got to the witch trials yet, most likely much to my students’ frustration.  For foundation, I drag them through centuries of medieval history and theology to get them to understand the initial connection between witchcraft and heresy.  I could probably accomplish this task in a much shorter time, simply by presenting the image below in full context.

These flying women are included in the marginalia of the manuscript version of Martin le France’s long poem Le Champion des Dames (The Champion of Women), dated circa 1440.  You will notice that they are identified as “vaudoises” at the top, which could generally refer to witches, but more likely is a specific reference to the Waldensians (Waldenses, Vaudois), a heretical sect who existed on the fringes of medieval Christian society from their emergence and almost-immediate condemnation in the later twelfth century.  The Waldensians were essentially reformers, emphasizing the authority of the Bible over the Church, but their zealous preaching led to their gradual demonization by branding them as disciples and servants of Satan.  The Waldensians of the later middle ages, like the witches of the early modern era, were said to worship their master at inverted/perverted “sabbats” in which they are envisioned paying homage to a goat/devil.  Another text from the mid-fifteenth century, Johannes Tinctoris’s Traite du crisme de Vauderie, includes a graphic illuminated image of a Waldensian sabbat—note the flying figures in the sky.

Martin le France and Johannes Tinctoris MSS at the Bibliotheque nationale de France.

The association of a well-known heresy and witchcraft through the sabbat demanded some sort of travel mechanism, as everyone knew that demonic rituals were held in faraway places–the inaccessible “blue mountain”, the dense Black Forest, the isolated “field of the goat” (Akelarre in the Basque Country).  What better way to get there than on a flying broom?  The alluring image of dangerous and demonic agents utilizing a familiar household object to reach their secret destinations immediately caught on, and remains very much in play today.

Raphael Tuck Halloween Postcard from the 1910s.


Past and Future in Ipswich

This past weekend we went up to Ipswich, about 12 miles north of Salem, to take a look at some very old houses and a very new wind turbine.  There is discussion of installing a turbine on Salem’s Winter Island so we wanted to check out the one in Ipswich, and there are lots of other attractions there:  cider doughnuts, beautiful beaches and farms, and the largest collection of First Period houses on the North Shore, perhaps even anywhere in America.  Here are some pictures of the largest and most famous one, the John Whipple House, built by 1677, moved to its present location off Route 1A in 1927, and owned and operated by the Ipswich Museum.

I love the very colonial clam-shell paths to the house and around the period “housewife’s garden”, the super-sloping roof and the windows–all of them.

And now for a contrasting view of the future in Ipswich:  the wind turbine, located on a large coastal DPW lot well out of the center of town.  Though both graceful and green, the turbine is indeed huge; it’s really difficult to see how it could possibly fit on the much smaller lot here in Salem.  There are a couple of shots here for perspective, including one across the marsh from the turbine.  I did not find it very noisy, however, which seems to be the other major issue with its potential siting.

On our way home (well sort of) we stopped at our favorite place in nearby Essex for friend clams:  J.T. Farnhams.  You eat your fried clams sitting on picnic tables overlooking the marsh looking back at Ipswich, and the house below, which I always think is going to be claimed by the marsh but never is.


Best Bats

Even though I don’t jump on the Halloween train here in Salem, I do decorate my house for the season.  I can’t help it; I am an habitual holiday decorator.  And I generally invite people over for Halloween night, not because I want to celebrate, but because I want them to hand out the bags of candy for the hours that it takes to appease the hordes of trick-or-treaters here in Salem while I hang out in the back.  So I like the house to look festive.  My fall decorating theme of the past few years—lots of owls everywhere—has become far too common so this year it’s all about bats.  Unlike most people, I don’t find bats even remotely scary or icky.  To me, they look cute and interesting and unique—a mammal that flies!  So I’m enjoying the various bats around the house; I may even keep them around until Christmas.

My decorating approach is both historically crafty  and acquisitive;  I look for historic images that I might be able do reproduce somehow—cards, garlands, decoupage–and I shop.  Since Etsy has been around I’ve done less and less crafting and more and more buying!  There are lots of digitized historic images of bats available, from the medieval bestiaries, early modern natural histories and nineteenth-century encyclopedias.  Here are some of my favorites, in chronological order.

Pierpont Morgan Library MSS 0081 (circa 1185) and 175 (circa 1500):  two hanging bats and a hybrid man (king?)-bat:

Seemingly very modern, but actually from the seventeenth century, is the Spanish artist Jusepe de Ribera’s Studies of Two Ears and a Bat from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Its motto:  Fulget Semper Virtus (Virtue Shines Forever).

But it’s in the next century that we get the best bats:  the bats of the Georges-Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon (1707-88.  Buffon’s pioneering and lavishly-illustrated (by French illustrator Jacques de Seve) 36-volume Natural History:  General and Particular (1749-88) contains illustrations of all sorts of bats, from long-eared to vampire (first named by Buffon), and as it was a reprinted frequently over the next century-and-a-half  it is a treasure trove for hunters of antique animal images.  Here are some of my favorite Buffon bats from the 1753-54 volumes of the Natural History, via the University of  Strasbourg:

A variety of bats from the 1799 edition of Buffon’s Natural History:


The Etsy seller antiqueprintstore has digitized images of bats from an 1831 edition of Buffon for sale; their postcard-sized prints can be used in a variety of ways.  I post them up on my parlor mirrors, along with the usual seasonal paraphernalia.

Tuesday Addendum:  I wanted to add this great 1919 Salem postcard, generously forwarded to me by the Salem native, author, collector, and researcher extraordinaire Nelson DionneI love it!