Patum Peperium

Odd-Jacket Friday

Man About Mayfair
Sir Basil Seal

Like most of you, here at the Seal house we often resort to using film or book quotes while speaking to each other, mainly because none of us has any real conversation, and because it is pretty funny when you can
come up with a good one. You all know that each of us has some shared quotes, usually from films, which are applied when certain situations, or topics come up...We seem to have a few films where we have taken
many quotes...Plus, your list will vary depending on if there are children in the home, and how old they are...Anyway, here are a few of ours, and I want you to tell me where they came from, and to share some of yours:

Why Shouldn't The Ladies Have All The Fun?

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

Last week, Old Dominion Tory posed a delightful question, Why Should All The Ladies Have The Fun? To illustrate his point, ODT wrote:

Yesterday, Christine, Lorraine, and Mrs. Peperium engaged in a discussion about the crushes they had with “the fictional and the dead.” Theirs was an admirable list that included such luminaries G. K. Chesterton, Hillaire Belloc, Sherlock Holmes, Saint Thomas More, and Lord Peter Wimsey. Evelyn Waugh and Monsignor Ronald Knox apparently are of particular delight to these ladies as evidenced by the fact that Mrs. Peperium and Christine have a standing lunch date with the former every Wednesday at the Savoy Grill and only Monsignor Knox is allowed to cut-in on the dance floor.

Admittedly, what ODT writes of as fun is not perceived to be fun by most of the world. But to us, in in the world that is Patum Peperium, it is most fun. Once, a long time ago, (May 2005) a faithful reader of Patum Peperium as well as faithful reader of Jane Austen, PG Wodehouse, Waugh, and many, many more, frml, penned a lovely comment that perfectly encapsulates what we strive for at Patum Peperium :

Birthdays and Bright Young Catholic Things

Ex Ossibus
Father M.

In the land of Patum Peperium the feast of the Beheading of John the Baptist is a day of great rejoicing as it is the birthday of its Crown Prince, Little Bertie. Separated by many miles I was unable to partake of his Thomas the Tank Engine gateau anniversaire. Rather, I was invited to celebrate the natal anniversary of Dawn Eden here in the nation's capital.

Basil Seal had, at one point, encouraged me to explain to our favorite chastity author/blogger a little bit about the humor of Patum Peperium and Miss Eden's birthday seemed like the perfect opportunity. If memory serves, the famous Alice von Wonderland was able to move about her surroundings in the rabbit hole by eating something and then drinking something else. Perhaps comestibles would heighten the senses and allow a whiff of the old Peperium mojo to pervade Eden? What to eat? Some of Mrs. P.'s Scottish oat cakes, naturally. What to drink? While Black Velvet seems to be the official drink of Patum Peperium I thought perhaps tea might be in order. What kind of tea? Christine endorsed Assam so off I went to find Assam at the local "Whole Foods". Please note that while "Whole Foods" will valet your SUV they will not purvey Assam. Trust me-- they don't know their Assam from a hole in the wall. I was directed upon request to the tea aisle. There, rising before me, like a Canaanite altar to Baal, was an entire wall of tea: Teas to loose weight or gain health. Teas with names like Sleepy Time and Zinger, Fruity "Free and Lemon Bliss" alas, no Assam. There was even something called "Republic of Tea" which on principle was completely unacceptable. Most likely there had, at one time, been a tranquil Kingdom of Tea and then some socialist tempest-in-a-teapot came to pass and infused the Teas with a bureaucratic Tea welfare state where no one gets to spout off and everyone gets steamed, hence, no Republic of Tea for me. No Sir. I settled on a nice variety box of recognizable teas and shook the dust from my capped-toed shoes.

Off next to the local Barnes & Noble. Barnes & Ignoble is more like it. Past the shelves of self-help books, new age banalities, celebrity tell-alls and latest Oprah's Book Club offerings there was a meager, nearly abandoned section called, "Fiction and Liturature". The goal was to find Miss E. a copy of the "Complete Works of Saki". There was nothing under Saki so I looked for his real name, H.H. Munro. Nothing there either. Surely, I thought, he must be required summer reading in the high schools and requisite beach reading on the smartest shores so there must have been a run on Saki. Shaking, I went to the "B's". Surely, they must have a Beerbohm in here. Anything Beerbohm at all would do. It was not to be. Over to the "C's" Unbelievable! "Um, we don't stock that but we can order it," said the multiply-pierced orifice sounding out this impossible phrase. "It's an emergency. Could you check again, please?" Immediately sensing the end of the world or at least of literacy, I began frantically spelling B-e-e-r-b-o-h-m then S-a-k-i then M-u-n-r-o then C-h-e-s-t-e-r-t-o-n. "Nope, not here. We can order these and you'll have them in four to six weeks." Finally I found one, lone P. G. Wodehouse, "Enter Jeeves: Sixteen Early Stories." It would do very nicely.

Dawn's party was at a new Asian place in downtown Washington. Needless to say, all the Bright Young Catholic Things were there and the list of employers of the birthday revelers read like a directory of the defenders of the faith. The blogosphere was represented as well with such luminaries as American Papist and The Musical Monk. Dawn was very touched by the gift especially the half-dozen oat cakes courtesy of Mrs. P. After promising to read the Wodehouse, she introduced me around to her friends as a priest writing for "one of those Anglophile blogs like Andrew Cusack and Man about Mayfair." I was struck by the youth and the Faith of the group. There were two priests, three seminarians and much orthodox Catholicity and perhaps even a tiny bit of Anglophilia....

Happy Birthday, Dawn! Many thanks for all the good work you are doing.

Arms and the Historian

The Eccentric Observer
Old Dominion Tory

A few months ago, Mr. Peperium posed a question to me about military history. He asked if military experience was necessary for a historian if he or she wished to tackle military history.

Initially, I thought he was being mischievous. Then, however, a memory emerged from the rambling full Cape that is my mind. In the late 1990s, I watched a television interview with Sir John Keegan (probably in support of his book Fields of Battle: The Wars for North America). During it, the interviewer asked Sir John if he had served in the military. He replied that he had not because of a congenital health problem. Why, I wondered then, had the interviewer thought it necessary to ask a military historian of John Keegan’s stature if he had served in the military?

Correct me if I am wrong, dear readers, but military history seems to be the only historical discipline in which the author’s first-hand experience with a subject concerns people, even if only in passing. Indeed, some authors of military history seem to know that the question “Did you serve in the military?” lurks in the minds of many in their audiences and, often unbidden, they describe how they served or explain why they did not.

If you think that an intimate acquaintance with a subject is an essential ingredient to effective history, allow me a few questions. Should a political biography be kicked to the curb solely because the author had not served in political office? Are a MBA and time managing an automobile factory the prerequisites for someone who wants to write a history of General Motors? Should books about an event in diplomatic history be eschewed if their authors have never been accredited diplomats?

Anyone demanding that authors of works on political, economic, and diplomatic history have first-hand experience within these fields would be considered a fool—and rightly so. The same rule should apply to military history. Limiting the writing of military history to only those answered the call to the colors would remove from the canon of military history such authors as Douglas Southall Freeman (Lee’s Lieutenants), Russell Weigley (The American Way of War and Eisenhower’s Lieutenants), John Terraine (Mons: The Retreat to Victory and To Win a War: 1918, The Year of Victory), John Ferling (Almost a Miracle), and the aforementioned Sir John Keegan (Six Armies in Normandy). Those who assert that only soldiers can understand soldiers should give up their copies of any works by Navy veterans Bruce Catton and Thomas Fleming. If some think that a few years on a warship is the basic qualification for a naval historian, then they hereby disqualify the likes of Samuel Eliot Morison and Theodore Roosevelt.

To write effective military history, authors do not need military experience. They do, however, need to have a few traits.

First, they need scholarly rigor. In short, they must be determined to do the necessary spadework in archives and libraries.

Second, they must be conscious of their audience’s limitations. Not everyone reading a book about, say, World War I will understand that, on the Western Front, an advance of eight miles was a great accomplishment because of the battlefield’s conditions and the fact that armies of the time marched. Authors must accept that they’ll need to explain certain facts and provide background.

Third, they need to realize their own limitations. If I were to write an account of an attack by an American armored division in Normandy, I would be sure to ask experienced historians and soldiers if I was on the right track with my research, evaluations, and writing.

Fourth, they need charity. Now, we often can easily see what someone should have done in a war. Whether they are on a battlefield or on the bridge of a ship, however, commanders make decisions under conditions of incredible stress and confusion. Moreover, their orders were executed under the same conditions.

Finally, you need a sincere appreciation of the subject and the men and women who people it. Those who write military history always need to be mindful of its importance on the grand scale of human history. However, they must never lose forget that war is not just a tale of strategy, technology, and logistics. At its core, it consists of many captivating stories of people, all of which are tinged with tragedy, who left all that was familiar and loving, and, on some strife-torn field, stood in the day of battle.

“...Such a Terribly Wasting Fire”

Poet's Coroner
Mr. Peperium

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Phillppians 4:8

Today in the Peperium house we observe the anniversary of the Battle of Brawner Farm. In brief, at around 6:30 PM, August 28th, 1862, while on their way to what would become the Second Battle of Bull Run, a brigade of Wisconsin and Indiana regiments was surprised by a division of Stonewall Jackson’s Second Corps, Army of Northern Virginia. According to Alan T. Nolan’s figures, 2,100 Federals confronted four brigades of Rebels, about 5,200 men. If you’re dividing 5,200 by 4 and getting about 1,300 muskets per Rebel brigade, you’re probably wondering about the discrepancy in size between the Northern and Southern units. The answer is simple: these Confederate brigades had been whittled down by camp disease, desertions and battles. The Midwestern boys knew all about camp diseases and desertions, but this was their first time under fire. At an average range of 70 yards, they went toe-to-toe with Jackson’s veterans in a stand-up fight that lasted a little over two hours. Two other regiments joined the fight, upping the Union total on the field to some 2,900 men, of which 912—or almost a third—fell.

This battle, being the baptism of fire of the only all-Western Brigade in the Army of the Potomac, and the unit being about two weeks away from earning the name they would forever after be known by, the Iron Brigade, my Midwestern patriotism has always been stirred by their story. I secretly hoped that our son would be born on this anniversary (he missed it by one day). Over the years I’ve collected several books on the subject, and as I pulled them off the shelves this morning I realized that re-telling the tale was beyond my poor powers to add or subtract. So I will just let the men speak for themselves.

Bullets from front, and right flank—the air full of them—whistling by our ears—scratching our clothes—burning our faces—bullets seemingly everywhere.

Cole says that he was beside young Stickney during the fight, and the first intimation he had that he was wounded was Stickney’s remark: ‘There, my little finger is gone; but I can still shoot yet.’ In a few minutes he remarked: ‘I am shot through the arm; but I can still shoot yet.’ In, perhaps, five minutes more he (Cole) looked around and saw Stickney’s head fall over on his shoulder, and he jumped and caught him, and found that he was dead; just shot through the head.

Our men on the left loaded and fired with the energy of madmen, and a recklessness of death truly wonderful, but human nature could not stand such a terribly wasting fire. It literally mowed out great gaps in the line, but the isolated squads would rally together and rush up right into the face of Death.

I galloped down the line of our regiment, crying ‘Cheer! Boys, cheer! As loud as you can holler’ ‘Call out Bully for Sigel’ ‘three and a tiger for the reinforcements.’ [There were no reinforcements; this officer was trying to deceive the enemy]

Could you have seen the men of this brigade stand up in line on the night of the 28th of August, not a man skulking or wavering, breasting the terrible fire of nearly a whole division of the enemy, until their ranks were fearfully thinned, and until the enemy had ceased firing, you would have been as proud of them as we were.

They shot me three times through the leg tore a piece of bark from my left hand and cut off my shoulder strap near the cartridge box. But they didn’t do me any serious injury.

Every man in my company seems a hero and when a corporal whom I had disliked quietly says during the battle, ‘Captain, my gun’s so foul I can’t get another cartridge down; can you find me another?’ I felt like embracing him.

He's The Real Ginger, Alright

Paul Johnson declares The Roger has spent his time well (And Hilton Kramer too.):

Sir Basil Goes Over The Top

With his usual aplomb and stiff-upper-lipishness, Sir Basil affixed the keen bayonet of his wit to the high-calibre weapon of his Public School-trained intellect and sallied forth to pen our official 10,000th comment.

Wait, now when my mother told me I was obnoxious and disliked, I thought she meant it as a compliment...Was I wrong? - Basil Seal

Not quite Garden Party Only, but close.

* Attention ladies, Sir Basil has returned from his summer holidays. Do go chat him up a bit. If you are really good at it, he might even send you an email in return.

Obnoxious and Disliked

Poet's Coroner
Mr. Peperium

I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is called a disgrace, that two are called a law firm and that three or more become a Congress. -John Adams in the musical, 1776

According to Gordon S. Wood in his Revolutionary Characters: What Made the Founders Different, John Adams was a man hopelessly out of touch with the political thinking of his time. “For all his intense involvement in constitutionalism and for all his insight into his own and America’s character, “ writes Woods, “Adams never really comprehended what was happening to the fundamentals of American political thought in the years after 1776.”

Mainly it is Adams’ insistence on ranks and classes that put him so far out of the mainstream for Woods. Or rather, his insistence on constitutions based on such ranks and classes. His Defence of the Constitutions of the United States (meaning state constitutions) put forth an English-derived model that divides power between “the one, the few and the many” (i.e.: executive, aristocracy and democracy), at a time when the rising tide of Jeffersonian Democracy, in the words of its ablest spokesman, John Taylor of Caroline, proposed a government “made of individuals”. In other words, every strata of society is represented in every branch of government.

There's Nothing Boston About Pork Butt

Madame's Nightshirt
Mrs. Peperium

Just the other day, Patum Peperium's good friend, The Maximum Leader reminded me that about a year ago, he and I engaged in a delightful discussion of bacon, hams, and ham pillows. To those not in the know, Maximum Leader is our pig man.

A few weekends ago, I found myself completely surrounded by pig. 30 lbs of Boston butt to be specific. I had cooked it very slowly for many hours and it required shredding. Mr. P was keeping me company in the kitchen discussing George Washington as I shredded away. About 5lbs into it, I looked up at him and said, "I need The Maximum Leader." Mr. P agreed and promised if we ever cook 30lbs of pork butt again, Maxy will be an honored guest.

Why Should the Ladies Have All the Fun?

The Eccentric Observer
Old Dominion Tory

Yesterday, Christine, Lorraine, and Mrs. Peperium engaged in a discussion about the crushes they had with “the fictional and the dead.” Theirs was an admirable list that included such luminaries G. K. Chesterton, Hillaire Belloc, Sherlock Holmes, Saint Thomas More, and Lord Peter Wimsey. Evelyn Waugh and Monsignor Ronald Knox apparently are of particular delight to these ladies as evidenced by the fact that Mrs. Peperium and Christine have a standing lunch date with the former every Wednesday at the Savoy Grill and only Monsignor Knox is allowed to cut-in on the dance floor.

Gentlemen of Patum Peperium, I don’t think the ladies should be allowed to have all the fun along these lines. I, therefore, ask you list at least five fictional or dead men or women with whom you would like to have a civilized lunch or dinner or send time with in an amiable pub or at a sidewalk café.

My list (in no particular order):

Winston Churchill—A conservative cliché? Perhaps. But, come now, in Churchill, there is a man who not only enjoys the pleasures of the plate and the bottle (not to mention a good cigar), but who also always at the center of superb and wide-ranging conversations with all sorts of interesting people. One proviso, however: I would want to enjoy dinner with him sometime during the summer and early fall of 1940 in order to ascertain what inspired and buttressed him during this bleak and yet glorious time in the history of Great Britain.

Hillaire Belloc—Spending a long, well-lubricated lunch with the man who wrote appealing paeans to the joys of wine and companionship as well as The Path to Rome, Voyage of the Nona, and James II would be an experience at once warm, fascinating, and humbling.

Robert E. Lee—Admittedly, a man of great personal restraint and a singular sense of duty might not strike some as a man with whom you could enjoy an animated tableside conversation. However, seeing as his example and his character inspired so many men and produced great admiration from his enemies, I’d take the risk to learn something of this great American soldier.

Charles Carroll of Carrollton—The only Catholic to sign the Declaration of Independence, Charles Carroll was the descendant of an Irishman who saw in America immense opportunity, despite the legal strictures on the Church. He also was educated somewhat differently than most of the Founders, spending his early years in France. Discovering some insight to Carroll’s faith and his family shaped him as a man and as a politician would be invaluable.

The Three Musketeers—Could a hearty tavern dinner with these devoted soldiers of the King be anything but a highly spirited affair characterized by good food and wine, boundless conviviality, and warm companionship? And, if it’s followed by some rousing swordplay, well, all the better.