Thwaites and Co.

Over at Active History, Katie McGee draws our attention to an anniversary which had not crossed my mind: the passing of Reuben Gold Thwaites (1853-1913), general editor of the famed Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents.  Good catch!  A minor correction, though, is required.  The year in question was not "the same year of the final publication of his seventy-two volume" magnum opus; the final seventy-first, seventy-second and seventy-third volumes were all published in 1901.
 

The Challenge : Transcribing and translating the original Jesuit Relations and related documents.

Katie sums up very well the remarkable value of the Thwaites edition of the Jesuit Relations, but I can't resist adding a few thoughts of my own.  My first has to do with the care that should be exercised in relying on this source.  The quality of the English translation of the French, Latin and Italian text is excellent overall, but this is not to say that it is perfect.  There are a number of small but consequential mistranslations, which in some cases have echoed unchecked through the secondary literature.  Best to always refer back to the transcriptions of the original language, which thanks to a solid editorial vision can be found on the page opposite the translation.

Another thought: why not take this opportunity to foreground the man behind the book?  I would bet you, dear readers, that among even the most dilligent users of the Thwaites edition of the Jesuit Relations, there are very few who know anything about Thwaites' background.  Born at Dorchester, Massachusetts, he was interestingly enough the son of two Yorkshire immigrants -- not one of those Boston Brahmins, like his elder Parkman.  At age thirteen, young Thwaites moved with his parents to a farm in Omro near Oshkosh, Wisconsin. After working as a farmhand and going to public school, he taught elementary classes and instructed himself in a range of collegiate subjects.  Later he spent a couple of years as a special student at Yale, where he studied English lit, economic history, and international law. 
 
Thwaites had begun to write for newspapers in Wisconsin.  He became a staff member of the Oshkosh times, and soon moved on to Madison to serve as city editor and later managing editor of the Wisconsin State Journal.  He married in 1882 and the following year had a son, Frederick, who incidentally would go on to teach geology at the University of Wisconsin.  Thwaites for his part could not resist the call of Clio.  He was persuaded to become assistant corresponding secretary of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, and then its secretary in 1887. 


The Man : Reuben Gold Thwaites.  That is
a dandy necktie, I must say.  What the picture
doesn't show is that Thwaites was known for
taking off his shoes and easing into a pair of
slippers upon arriving at the office every morning.

Thwaites revealed himself an energertic and visionary administrator, on top of being an erudite scholar and a fluent writer and editor.  Louise Phelps Kellogg, who served as senior research assistant at the Historical Society, described him as “never too busy to discuss the value of placing a comma correctly.”  Another acquaintance declared: “Energy, thy name is Thwaites”.  Because of his command of the subject matter, good nature and sense of humour, he elicited a measure of devotion that his successors at the head of the Historical Society apparently found difficult to match.  He died suddenly on October 22, 1913, a day before his society's annual meeting. 

Now, I would also bet you that it occurs to rather few users of the Thwaites edition of the Jesuit Relations that behind the man there was a veritable legion.  A quick glance at the title pages of the first and last volume of the series reveal the identity of some of these collaborators.  Besides Thwaites, who is credited as general editor, we find the names of several other editors: Finlow Alexander, Percy Favor Bicknell, John Cutler Covert (all for the French), William Frederic Giese (Latin); and of translators: Crawford Lindsay, William Price, Hiram Allen Sober (French), Mary Sifton Pepper (French and Italian), John Dorsey Wolcott (Latin).  Emma Helen Blair served as Assistant Editor, and Victor Hugo Paltsits as “Bibliographical Advisor”.  Edward P. Alexander, in The Museum in America: Innovators and Pioneers, allows us to add a seemingly uncredited name to the list, that of Annie Amelia Nunns, who eventually became Thwaites’ executive secretary, and whose work,  Alexander reports, involved toiling on the Relations “long hours, often at night”.  Louise Phelps Kellogg surely contributed something to the project as well.  Surveying the front pages of the other seventy-one issues might reveal other names.  It is interesting to note the number of women among these collaborators working in the shadows of the great man.  Some of them, like Blair and Kellogg, were formidable historians in their own right.

On this hundredth anniversary, then, three cheers for Thwaites and Company!

P.-F.-X.

The Royal Proclamation at 250

October 7th marks the 250th anniversary of the Royal Proclamation of 1763.  Some readers may recall the worries, expressed earlier this year, that the anniversary would go by unnoticed.  While the Canadian Government has not deigned to make any commemorative effort, other parties have thankfully stepped up to the plate.  Quite a few of them, actually.

Over at Active History, a splendid series of short essays introduced by Tom Peace looks at the Proclamation from various angles.  In Winnipeg the anniversary was marked by four days of lectures and activities organised by the University of Winnipeg, the University of Manitoba, and several other partners.  A related lecture was given at the University of Winnipeg.  A round-table was held in Boston.  The Union of Ontario Indians will be holding a ceremony and launching a publication.  Thomas Mulcair, leader of the Opposition, hosted a commemorative event with Aboriginal leaders at his residence on the eve of the anniversary.  The Land Claims Coalition is holding a day-long symposium on the subject at the Canadian Museum of Civilization.  The CMC will have a copy of the document on display for a month or so.  The Assembly of First Nations is hosting a morning press conference (and Shawn Atleo, its head, has been giving interviews on the subject). 

Actually, saying that Candian Government has not deigned to make any effort is not entirely fair, for  Aboriginal and Northern Affairs Canada is involved in a few of these events.  It was a partner of the events held in Winnipeg, for instance, and Minister Bernard Valcour minister will be attending the Land Claims Coalition symposium.  But its involvement appears to have been entirely reactive.

Oh, and by the way, Idle No More activists have planned a global day of action (#Oct7Proclaim).

P.-F.-X.

Thinking about Harper, Talon, Louis XIV, and Acadian Peasants

I don't know if anyone else noticed this, but last month Toronto Star publisher John Cruickshank, in an opinion piece criticical of Prime Minister Steven Harper for his willingness to allow the sale of a portion of the country's telecommunications spectrum to the Americans, writes: "What is the Prime Minister trying to achieve with this degree of market manipulation not seen since Intendant Jean Talon ran New France for Louis XIV more than four centuries ago? He says he is trying to make the free market more effective."  What a dubious and bizarre comparison.

In a more expansive but equally provocative vein, Greg Kennedy published a piece entitled "Lessons from the past: 'So What is Government for Anyway?'" over at Active History.  In it Greg, who teaches at the Université de Moncton and has accordingly the great merit of being one of the very rare Anglos to teach French colonial history en français, muses about the difference between the role of government and the burden of taxation in the French colonial context and in our own day.  He does not take the current PM to task, but rather the system writ large.  His assessment is rather pessimistic:

Obviously, I am not arguing that we should return to this bloody and bloody-minded period of our history.  [...]  But Louis XIV’s answer to what government is for would have been very straightforward.  The sovereign (in this case, the king) was the protector and chief magistrate of the realm.  The sovereign defended the country from foreign invaders and preserved civil order.  The sovereign made laws that regulated trade, business, and industry.  The sovereign even protected the realm’s forests and waterways.  The sovereign ensured that everyone had access to justice.  And that was about it.  Local communities largely administered themselves and the inhabitants looked after each other.

 

How much have we really evolved since Louis XIV?  In getting rid of the bad of the Old Regime, what good things have we lost?  Today’s Canadian state has become so ponderous that it seems both to decide everything for us and to never be there when we need it.  A modern Canadian prime minister in a majority government enjoys legislative and executive power of which Louis XIV could only have dreamed.

 He concludes:

As an historian of the early-modern period, I think we should re-evaluate what government is for because an illiterate peasant (at least, a male, Catholic, French one) at the height of Louis XIV’s absolutist regime enjoyed a lighter and more transparent tax regime, better access to justice, and more autonomy at the community level than Canadians today.  Because modern liberal democracy has made us helplessly, hopelessly, horribly free.  And as incapable as infants.

Oh, those were simpler times!  I don't know what to make of this -- and, judging by the lack of response on the usually comment-rich Active History, other readers have had the same difficulty.  Greg, surely you must be pulling our collective leg?  Sure, people back in the day were more self-reliant.  But if you really want to go down that radically critical road, it seems to me that we should seek our inspiration not among Acadian peasants, but rather in small-scale societies of hunter-gatherers like the Mbuti of the Congo : in a not so distant past, they had no government, or social differentiation for that matter, and no taxes.  Now, they were capable folks!

I'm reminded of Hobbes' famous passage on what he saw as the natural condition of mankind: "In such condition there is [...] no knowledge of the face of the earth, no account of time, no arts, no letters, no society, and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death, and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."  One doesn't have to endorse all of Hobbes' oeuvre to see that there's something here.  I'll take a ponderous government over the limited possibilities of your Early Modern Acadians any day, thank you very much.  And, since jumping across centuries is the name of our game, I might as well pull Churchill into the mix: "Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time." 

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go chop down a tree and shoot a deer to remind myself that I'm still somewhat more self-reliant than my infant child.  Somewhat.  I'll be sure to have an ambulance -- paid for by Greg's taxes, of course -- on standby in case I chop or shoot myself in the foot.

P.-F.-X.

Treaty Watch: 1713-2013?

Anyone interested in marking the 300th anniversary, this week, of the Treaty of Utrecht?  So far, the lone voice in the desert has been Gregory Kennedy's.  Over at Active History, the Université de Moncton professor, who specializes in the history of colonial Acadia and the French Atlantic, makes an interesting case for the treaty getting its commemorative due.

Allegory on the Peace of Utrecht-Rastatt, After Paolo de Matteis (1662-1728)
Oil on canvas.  Private collection, Hamburg

After eighteen months of negotiation, on 11 April 1713, diplomats from all over Europe concluded in the Dutch city of Utrecht a peace treaty which brought an end to the decade-long War of Spanish Succession.  This treaty had enormous consequences for the states involved, as well as for their overseas possessions.  To compensate for its war losses in the Old World, France was forced to make major concessions in the New.  The edges of New France were clipped, to the benefit of Great Britain. 

Hudson Bay's fur-rich drainage basin and lucrative trading posts, a theatre of war where the French had actually proved victorious, were relinquished.  France similarly abandoned its colonial claims to Newfoundland, though its fishermen would long retain certain access rights along the northern and western shores.  As usual, Acadia had shown  itself vulnerable, with its capital, Port Royal, falling in 1710 to a fleet launched from Boston.  By the terms agreed upon at Utrecht, Acadia was officially ceded to Britain.  Disputes relating to the boundaries of that territory allowed France to maintain a presence on its continental half (today's New Brunswick and northern Maine), but the Acadians, a majority of whom lived on its peninsular half (today's Nova Scotia), thereby became British subjects.  The Treaty of Utrecht was thus a prelude to the Acadian's expulsion, four decades later.  The loss of Acadia and Newfoundland was also crucial insofar as it ushered another momentous geopolitical development: the establishment of an outpost at Louisbourg, on Île Royale (Cape Breton Island), which would soon evolve into an imposing fortress and North America's fourth busiest port (after Boston, New York, and Philadelphia).

So who will be commemorating the Treaty of Utrecht?  Those of you who have guessed "not very many people" have guessed right!  On this side of the Atlantic, at least.  For back in the Old World, they are making quite a fuss about it.  The city of Utrecht, fourth largest in the Netherlands, is "celebrating" (their word) the treaty with a spectacular cultural programme.  To get a sense of the spirit in which Utrechters are commemorating the Vrede van Utrecht, have a look at this immensely amusing promotional video on Youtube.

In Utrecht a few cultural events have been leading up to the anniversary over the last few years, but the festivities will really begin on April 11th with concerts, theatre, and a grand fireworks display: a modern take on the celebrations which followed the signing of the treaty in 1713.  Among the offerings, the University of Utrecht will hold a series of three conferences, the second of which deals with "Colonial Legacy".  Legacies, that is, related to the Dutch colonial empire and the question of slavery: in 1713 the Dutch West Indies Company lost its asiento right, the right to export slaves into the Spanish colonies; 1863, another anniversary year, marked the abolition of slavery by the Dutch.  New France, understandably so but unfortunately for us New Francophiles, does not loom large in Utrechter minds.  Readers curious about the city's full commemorative offering can find its programme online.  Oh, to be young and in Utrecht in 2013!

Photo: Royal Dutch Mint.

To mark the occasion, the Netherlands' Royal Dutch Mint have launched three new coins, one gold, one silver and the other silver-plated.  The aim here is to pay tribute to not only the Treaty of Utrecht, but "to all peace which shapes the world".  Why not?  These coins have additional significance as they will be the last to bear the effigy of Queen Beatrix, who will abdicate later this month in favor of her eldest son.   I'm not a huge fan of the design, though, as it loses much of its clarity and eloquence in the scaling-down to coin size.

The Treaty of Utrecht will also be commemorated by a few communities on the Franco-Belgian border (Franco-Austrian until 1815, then Franco-Dutch until 1830), which in certain places has stood since 1713.  Chief among them is the town of Comines, which found itslef bisected between the two states but which over the centuries nevertheless managed to maintain a cordial cohesion in spite of the divide.  The Belgian paper L'Avenir has the story here, and the French La Voix du Nord here.

Not everyone's in such a celebratory mood about the boundaries established in by the Treaty of Utrecht, however.  Since it was on that occasion that Great Britain acquired Gibraltar, some are predicting that the 300th anniversary will result in a new round in the ongoing sovereignty dispute and a rise in tensions between Spain and the UK.  For more on that, see here and here.

I've yet to find a single word uttered in the Canadian or American media about the imminent anniversary...

P.-F.-X. 

Beardy and Moore on the Royal Proclamation

Back in February, Tom Peace over at Active History was urging Canadians to take the time to mark the anniversary of the Royal Proclamation of 1763.  I naturally jumped on the bandwagon.  Christopher Moore again blogs about the subject, revealing that Regional Chief Stan Beardy, head of the Chiefs of Ontario, has sent a three-page open letter to Prime Minister Stephen Harper about the Proclamation's anniversary, making a case for why it ought to be observed. 

"Canada would not be Canada without the Royal Proclamation of 1763." writes Beardy, "It baffles me why it is not being considered for commemoration, along with several other Canadian milestones.” 

Beardy's letter, dated March 18th, can be found here; a complementary statement released by the Chiefs of Ontario, here.   

P.-F.-X.

 

And what about the Royal Proclamation, while we're at it?

I commented earlier this month on the commemoration, or lack thereof, of the Treaty of Paris of 1763.  Tom Peace has a new post on ActiveHistory which makes a thoughtful case for the importance of commemorating the Royal Proclamation of 1763, especially in the context of the #idlenomore winter we've been having here in Canada.  (Christopher Dummit also offers some insightful comments on his blog, Everyday History).

 "The Harper government should embrace the Royal Proclamation." writes Tom, "Not only is it a foundational – one might even say constitutional – document in Canada’s legal history, it also provides the Prime Minister with an opportunity to demonstrate his apparent concern for First Nations’ priorities."  He goes on to argue, though, that it's not just the government, but everyone, who should be thinking about that momentous document and its consequences.

To Tom's overview of the significance of the Royal Proclamation in the realm of Aboriginal affairs, I would add only a small caveat: let's not forget that this was also a significant milestone in the history of the Canadiens of the time, and their French-Canadian and Québécois descendants.  Just take the name "Quebec", for example.  Before then, it referred to the city alone.  With the Proclamation, a "Province of Quebec" was born, encompassing the whole of the St. Lawrence valley.  To be sure, its boundaries would evolve, and it would be renamed "Lower Canada" and "Canada East" over the following century, but that early label would return with a vengeance in 1867.

P.-F.-X.

Assassin's Creed III

I suppose that it was just a matter of time before I joined my fellow Canadian history bloggers on the "commenting on Assassin's Creed III" bandwagon (see here, here and here). 

For those  unacquainted as of yet with this controversy, Assassin's Creed III is a new video game set in colonial America during the Revolution and the decade leading up to it.  It initially garnered high praise in many quarters for its attention to historical accuracy.  But a few weeks ago a very critical editorial appeared in the Globe and Mail, the gist of which is that the game, produced by Montreal-based Ubisoft, is sinfully ahistorical given its pro-American bent.  The game purportedly "distorts history" and "grotesquely twists the facts" because it implies that Aboriginal peoples rallied to the side of the American colonists during the Revolution.  As is often the case, the reader response displayed more sagacity than the editorial itself.  To summarize the reaction: relax, high-strung editorialist, this is just a video game; its core story revolves around an ancient order conspiring to control the world by means of alien artifacts and time travel, so let's not worry too much about historical accuracy, ok?

A snapshot from one of the game's cinematic sequences.

Tom Peace's piece at Activehistory.ca, which links this peculiar editorial stance to the government's heritage policy, is particularly worth the read.  I will, for my part, confine myself to pointing out that while much of the attention to the game has revolved around its Revolutionary content, the game actually begins during the Seven Years' War.

Indeed, one of the early missions in the game is "The Braddock Expedition".  The player's avatar, an Englishman by the name of Haytham Kenway, has to chase down and kill poor Gen. Edward Braddock.  But wait, there's a good explanation!  You see, it seems that Braddock was a member of the "Templar Order" that pseudohistorical creation bent on word domination.  He also has to be killed to gain the trust of a Mohwak woman by the name of Kaniehtí:io, who promises to show the player the location of an interdimensional gateway in exchange for the elimination of Braddock.  The player later fathers a son with that woman (a character voiced, incidentally, by Kaniehtiio Horn, actress and daughter of Kahnawake political activist and former model Kahn-Tineta Horn and sister to olympic water-poloist Waneek Horn-Miller).

A friend summarized it well: "They really lay into Edward Braddock. I don't think his own mother could love him in this incarnation."  Or, to quote the exchange between the dying Braddock and his murderer, i.e. the player's avatar: "Why?" "Your death opens a door [that portal], it's nothing personal.  Well, maybe it's a little personal.  You've been a pain in my arse, after all."  Poor Edward. 

P.-F.-X.