“This Gentle, Charming Mule”: an 1852 compliment to Elizabeth Greenfield

I’m used to all sorts of odd, arcane and sometimes offensive language in my researches: still if the type had been any blurrier, I would have been certain I was reading something wrong. As it was, I read it several times because I could not believe I was reading it right. A black writer, printed in a black newspaper, described Miss Elizabeth Greenfield, the celebrated black songstress and former slave, as “this bird, this gentle charming mule, whose mellow warbling notes had made leaves flutter.”

What on earth?

The context of the article wasn’t too hard to find. In 1852, in Cincinnati, Ohio, black concert-goers with purchased tickets were turned away by white concert-hall managers from their attempt to hear a performance by Miss Greenfield. One wrote to The Cincinnati Atlas about his experience, and this found its way as a reprint into The Voice of the Fugitive, edited and printed by former slave Henry Bibb in Windsor, Canada, (April 8, 1852).

But in trying to decipher the phraseology, I couldn’t find much to go on. The writer admired Miss Greenfield: he was himself black; he clearly did not mean any racial insult. The term which naturally suggested itself to my thinking was that this might be a common corruption of mulatress, widely used at the time to indicate a woman of mixed black-and-white parentage. There were several problems with this, however.

Photographs of Miss Greenfield showed a woman of quite dark complexion, not one who would typically be described as “mixed.” Secondly, hours of searching 19th century slang collections never indicated that “mule” had been used to represent any group of African-Americans, even though the word mulatto was itself derived from the Spanish or Portuguese words for mule. If “mule” was a racial term or designation, it must have been lost, and this would be unusual. Such words tend to stick around and travel down through generations.

I began to wonder if the word had been coined as a personal epithet, as Miss Greenfield was also called “the Black Swan.”

A quick internet search for her as “the gentle mule” turned up nothing, seemingly. But algorithms are strange things. Somewhere, in connection with “the black swan,” and “Elizabeth Greenfield,” a result appeared which discussed British songbirds. And behold:

The hybrid offspring of a canary and a finch is called a mule.

The writer, himself a Victorian and altogether familiar with the Victorian custom of keeping songbirds as pets in captivity, had dubbed Miss Greenfield a songbird!

Mystery solved.

It only needs be added that Miss Greenfield had no control over who was admitted to, or turned away from, her concerts. As an apology to her own, she gave several performances in black venues after the incidents came to her knowledge.

Faith and practice

I’m still feeling my way into this blog–how personal is it, or how professional?  How formal or informal, funny or serious?  Am I talking about writing, or tangential things?  Is it okay if I want to be scholarly one day, and silly the next?  Or do I just spill whatever’s on my mind, that wants to be shared?

At the moment, I do have something on my mind, in the place where my Christian faith and my writing (general historical fiction market) intersect.  As an active member of a writer’s forum, I meet literally hundreds of people, writing in every genre, from every viewpoint.  People from every background gather to exchange experiences and opinions–sometimes on topics that are far more personal than professional.  Troubles, secrets, deep hurts, are shared in the password protected anonymity that such a forum offers.  Tell your own heartaches, and you’ll get promises to pray for you, suggestions on Near Eastern meditation practice, and atheists sending you good vibes.  Mostly, it’s an incredibly positive experience, whether you give or receive.

Other times, being the “listener” breaks your heart.  Too many writers come in dragging loads of confusion, pain, guilt, depression, despair and worthlessness.  Of course, we are not counselors or psychologists.  We say that over and over.  We tell fellow writers, get professional help.  See your doctor.  Call a hotline.  We offer virtual hugs and try to slap emotional Band-Aids on things that can’t be fixed.  Sometimes, having tried all our best advice, we just helplessly watch.  And sometimes people leave–disappear from the forums, taking their pain with them, and leaving us to wonder: did we do enough?

I don’t know.  I pray over every person I answer, and I still don’t know.  But in a recent tragedy–a far too common tragedy of a human being collapsing under a crushing weight of self-loathing and loneliness–collapsing just slowly, day by day and week by week–I’m struck at the horrible irony of watching someone die inside for feeling that no one wants them, when the God I know wants them with such relentless love and pain that He died before they were ever born because He does not want to spend eternity without them.

Which leads me here, to post a note, or a reminder.  You may not need it.  You may feel it has nothing to do with the business of writing books.  But it happens to be where my faith meets my work as a writer, and I address it here to anybody whose heart is breaking in the dark.

when you are dying inside3

If you know someone who needs this, feel free to pass it on.

*Original image, no permission needed for reblogging, free sharing, or personal use.  Commercial use is not permitted.  Just share, with love.

On books: Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian


Entrance to a cave used by Bar Kochba rebels

Admittedly, this is not my usual reading.  At the moment, I’m more likely to be stuck in mid-eighteenth century issues of the Gentleman’s Magazine, or some obscure volume on English shipping and ports.  But having picked up William Horbury’s Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian (2014), I’m glad I did, since it opened a whole new world of historical possibilities to a fiction writer.

Jewish War examines the three notable conflicts which mark the end of Judea as the homeland of the Jews: the war of Vespasian (AD 66-70), the war of Quietus (AD 115-117), and “the Last War,” better known as the Bar Kochba revolt (AD 132-136).  It’s a book that has been described as “encyclopedic,” and it is certainly a dense read.  Yet Horbury’s precision and detail make his analysis convincing as he examines each piece of available documentary and archaeological evidence to form a narrative often different from earlier ones that were less complete.

One of the most fascinating episodes pictured in this book is the War of Quietus.  This conflict, which arose between Jews and Greeks in Cyrenaica, Cyprus, and Egypt, brings eerily familiar echoes of genocidal conflicts more familiar to us: of Bosnia and Rwanda.  It left whole regions devastated, and must have created an infinite casualty list of psychological traumas and tangled human feelings.  Horbury’s approach favors complexity over simplicity: he avoids blanket statements for the causes of the conflict, and acknowledges that there is not only one historical “Jew,” or historical “Greek.”  Rather, his writing leaves the impression that motives are as varied as individuals, and that human beings are not so different now than two thousand years ago.  At the same time, given his complete treatment of the available evidences, his Jews, Greeks, and Romans can easily become living actors in a writer’s imagination.

Jewish War is, regrettably, an expensive scholarly book ($100-130 for the cheapest), and may become harder to obtain in coming years.  Interlibrary loans, however, can provide copies, and I can well recommend it as worthwhile for anyone intrigued by this period in history.

Photo Credit: Udi Steinwell, CC by 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19672598

Blank pages

Just one monkey

Having a keybooad keyboard doesn’t make wiring writing go any faster.  It just means you type a lot of stuff over again.

I’m discovering, as many writers probably have, that there’s an appalling difference between writing a scene that someone may read, someday, in its most polished form, perhaps; and coming up with a blog post right this minute now.

All those bright ideas?  Wispy as the mist gathering over the field outside my window.  All that interesting research?  I can’t think of one clever thing to say about The History of Underclothes or James Boswell on the Grand Tour, or the fact that I was reminded this morning of a rich, tragic, firsthand resource on Scotland’s Rising of the ’45 as contained in three volumes of The Lyon in Mourning.

I’m not an archivist or an academic, with oodles of fun things that pop up at work.  I don’t work in a museum (though it would be a dream job!).  I’d hate to try to teach anyone else how to write, when–only last night–it dawned on me that my opening scene wasn’t working because I needed to bridge the emotional gap between my reader and the hero.  *facepalm*

But a blog isn’t a monologue.  It’s about starting a sort of dialogue, and making connections with readers.  And here, I’m floundering.  Because it begs the question, where can you and I connect?  What would we talk about, if we were in the same room?  What would you want to know, if you could ask me?

So please, come in, sit down, and let’s visit.  I’ll try to answer any serious questions posted in the comments section.


Reading the encyclopedia

… which happens to be one of the earliest ever published in Britain, and made me drool when I found it, and found out I could have a copy.

Chambers’ Cyclopaedia was printed in 1728, ran to over 2000 pages, and was contained in two volumes.  This edition still exists today, online and for free at the very useful Archive.org.  (Hint, if you want it all, you will need to download the two volumes separately.  There are also two supplemental volumes.)


A quick snap of an entry to be found here:

DOWER or DOWRY: … “is properly the Money, or Fortune, which the Wife brings her Husband in Marriage, to have the Use of it, during her Marriage, towards supporting the Charge thereof.”

But don’t think marriage comes cheap.  At least not in early 18th century England.  The author next gives us an idea of what’s expected.

“At present, in Germany, the Women of Quality have but very moderate Fortunes. For Instance, the Princesses of the Electoral House of Saxony have only 30000 Crowns: … those of Brunswic[k] and Baden, only 1500 Florins; besides a Sum for Cloaths, Toys, and Equipages.”

So there you have it, ladies!  Pay your expenses up front.  And remember to save enough for your toys.


Double your followers…

… by mowing the lawn.  I started out to mow yesterday, with one pair of parent barn swallows swooping around me, snapping up the bugs I kicked up.  Ended with two pairs of birds diving in and out, often just ahead of the mower.  So, who really needs Twitter?


I don’t have pictures of the present crop that the busy parents are raising, but this brood, almost ready to fly, was kind enough to pose a few years ago.

Starting a blog….

Just because, you know, sometimes it’s fun to talk about writing and research and all the odd little things about this business.  Warning: I don’t have an MFA in writing.  You probably won’t find any earth-shaking advice here.  And you may get an earful on gardening from time to time, which has absolutely nothing to do with any of my novels.  But if you’d like to drop in, you’re very, very welcome to join me.  And with that–we’re open!