E = mc2: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences

INTELLIGENCE — Photo by David Bruce, used under Creative Commons License. (Inscription carved by Roger Babson at Dogtown Common, Gloucester, Massachusetts, about 1930)

Presented to the Club by David Noyes on Monday evening, November 26, 2018



NEWS FLASH from the front page of the Boston Globe May 21, 2018:



“Massachusetts ponders hiring a computer to grade MCAS essays. Each year, students generate more than six million essays requiring a small army of graduate students, educators, and other professionals to read and score them — a laborious task that takes most of the summer. In an effort to speed up the delivery of the MCAS results to schools and families, the state Department of Elementary and Secondary Education is exploring the option of replacing human test scorers with a computer program. This technology would help the state deliver the results in the summer instead of the fall so that schools could analyze the results and make any necessary adjustments before the school year begins. “



Yes, that’s correct. It’s possible that no human eye would ever see a student’s effort. Can you imagine the Board of Trustees of the Nobel Prize Committee submitting their choices for the Literature Prize to the same algorithm!



Last year Martin gave an intriguing, thought provoking, yet somehow, disquieting presentation about Artificial Intelligence. Tonight, I would like to discuss: Native Intelligence.



I can distinctly remember being in seventh grade, studying what was then called “New Math”. (To this day, I really can’t explain what was “new” about it) We had a two-inch thick paper back workbook with lessons, examples, and problems to be solved. I can even remember our teacher — Mrs. Mansfield. She was spry, agile, and always impeccably dressed. But we took turns guessing what color her otherwise naturally white hair was going to be on Monday morning. Sometimes it had a slight pinkish tone — other times a blue pattern. Once, I recall her head having a distinct green halo.



I soon discovered that I had a knack for this subject and relished the challenge. But I was also struck by how non-universal that experience was. For the first time, I recall being mystified that another student struggled to understand a concept which seemed so obvious to me.



And, at the same time, I fumbled with saxophone lessons and reading music. Too late, I discovered as a high school freshman, that the exam process for high school band was a three-minute solo performance, (in front of the rest of the band, no less), of the John Phillips Souza march we were currently practicing in preparation for football halftime festivities. WOW, how embarrassing! Also, a freshman was always chosen to be the band secretary — whose requisite duties involved making sure every player had the correct music, in the correct order of performance — a thankless job if ever there was one. And, by tradition, the position generally was bestowed upon the worst performer. In this case—yours truly.



I used to read that the aptitude for Math and Music went hand-in-hand, but not so in my case.



All of which brings me to a discussion of the theory of multiple intelligences.



This proposal was first introduced as a radical concept in 1983 by Howard Gardner, in his book, Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences.



Gardner is best known in educational circles for this theory — a critique of the notion that there exists but one human intelligence that can be assessed by standard aptitude testing. He is currently the Hobbs Professor of Cognition and Education at the Harvard Graduate School of Education. Among numerous honors, Gardner received a MacArthur Prize Fellowship in 1981 and a Fellowship from the John S. Guggenheim Memorial Foundation in 2000. Many teachers, school administrators, and special educators have been inspired by Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences as it has allowed for the idea that there is more than one way to define a person's intellect. Thirty-eight years after the book was written, the theory is still enthusiastically, but not universally, embraced.



As John Maynard Keynes, the famous Nobel economist said: “The real difficulty in changing any enterprise lies not in developing new ideas, but in escaping from the old ones”.



At the end of the 19th century, France passed a law mandating education for children ages six to fourteen. Amongst others, Alfred Binet was appointed to the Commission for the Retarded. The task was to develop a test that would provide data to distinguish those children who could benefit from remedial help. With the aid of a young medical student, Theodore Simon, in 1905 a new test for measuring intelligence was introduced — the Binet-Simon Intelligence Scale. German psychologist William Stern then used the test to create the well known IQ — the tested mental age divided by the chronological age times 100.

Then in 1916, Lewis Terman, a psychologist at Stanford University, created a version for use in the United States and it became known as the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale. The U.S government recruited Terman to oversee the use of the IQ test for military recruiting for World War I. The recruits were given group intelligence tests which took about an hour to administer. Testing options included Army Alpha, a text-based test, and, Army-Beta, a picture-based test for nonreaders. (Parenthetically, I find it astounding that in 1916, there were so many illiterate men). 25 percent could not complete the Alpha test. The examiners scored the tests on a scale ranging from "A" through "E".

Recruits who earned scores of "A" would be trained as officers while those who earned scores of "D" and "E" would never receive officer training. After the war Terman and his colleagues pressed for intelligence tests to be used in schools to improve their efficiency. With administration to over 1.7 million recruits, and with the backing of the government, the Stanford-Binet test became widely accepted across the country. In part, the excitement about testing was that intelligence was now quantifiable — just as easy as measuring one’s height or weight.

Unfortunately, the test was also advanced by those in the Eugenics movement. Given the perceived importance of intelligence and with new ways to measure intelligence, many influential individuals, including Terman, began promoting controversial ideas to increase the nation's overall intelligence. These ideas included things such as discouraging individuals with low IQ from having children and granting important positions based on high IQ scores.

Throughout the remainder of the twentieth Century, countless people have pursued the best way of defining, measuring, and nurturing intelligence. IQ tests are only the tip of the cognitive iceberg. Such tests as the Scholastic Aptitude Test, the American College Test, the Miller Analogies Test, the Graduate Record Exam, etc., are all based on technology originally developed to test intelligence. Even assessments that are focused on measuring achievement (as opposed to aptitude) strongly resemble traditional tests of intelligence.



Gardner admits that the pressure to determine who is intelligent and to do so at the earliest possible age is not likely to disappear anytime soon. But he says that the standard testing for college acceptance, gathers a homogeneous collection of “SAT minds”. And his theory presents a radically different view of the mind, recognizing many different cognitive strengths, and contrasting cognitive styles. He asks the question: “Why does the contemporary construct of intelligence fail to take into account large areas of human endeavor?”



Gardner defines intelligence as a biophysical potential to process information that can be activated in a cultural setting to solve problems or create products that are of value in a culture. This skill allows one to approach a situation where there is a goal to be obtained and to locate the best route to that goal. The problem might be anticipating a move in chess, creating a musical score, repairing a car, or running a successful political campaign.



Gardner, using a set of eight criteria, defines seven intelligences:



1. Musical Intelligence



Musical intelligence entails the skill in the performance, composition, or appreciation of musical patterns.



Think in our local place and time: Emanuel Ax, Yo-Yo Ma, John Williams, James Taylor. Enough said!



2. Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence



Bodily-Kinesthetic intelligence entails the potential of using one’s whole body or parts of the body to solve problems.



So include any of the dancers at Jacob’s Pillow, but especially choreographer Martha Graham whose dramatic and expressive performances defined artistry in movement. “Dance is the hidden language of the soul”, she once told the New York Times.



But also, include your favorite mechanic, electrician, or plumber.



Or, consider Roger Clemons, arguably the best pitcher of his generation. But, if you ever heard him speak, you knew he should stick to his day job!



Of course this particular intelligence, most readily translates into financial gain. Lebron James’s new contract will pay him a record $500,000 per game. But even the bench players will make the minimum yearly salary — $1.3 million. For Baseball the minimum is $545,000. For Hockey it’s $650,000. By comparison, the principal oboe player for the Boston Symphony Orchestra was paid $270,000 in 2017.



But, I can’t resist my favorite sports salary story: Babe Ruth was negotiating his salary with Col. Jacob Rupert, owner of the New York Yankees, in 1930, at the height of the Depression. Ruth was told his demand for $80,000 per year was outrageous, since President Hoover was making $75,000. Ruth replied: “What the hell does Hoover have to do with it? Besides, I had a better year than he did!”



3. Logical-Mathematical Intelligence



Logical-mathematical intelligence involves the capacity to analyze problems logically, carry out mathematical operations and investigate issues scientifically. Mathematicians and scientists define this intelligence.



This area of intelligence is the foundation of current IQ testing. In gifted individuals the process of problem solving can be remarkably rapid. And, perhaps, a solution is discovered even before its step-by-step proof is articulated.



For instance, Einstein could imagine and postulate the existence of gravitational waves rippling through the fabric of space-time in 1916, but it would be a full century before LIGO (Laser Interferometer Gravitational-wave Observatory) could confirm their existence.



4. Linguistic Intelligence



Linguistic intelligence involves sensitivity to spoken and written language, the ability to learn languages and the capacity to use language to accomplish goals. Lawyers, speakers, writers, poets are among the people with high linguistic intelligence.



The written expression of language is brought to us by our favorite authors. And so, readers interpret and enjoy text using their linguistic intelligence.



One of my favorite Maya Angelou quotes: “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”



5. Spatial Intelligence



Spatial intelligence features the potential to recognize and manipulate patterns of wide space (such as pilots), as well as patterns of more confined areas (including artists, architects, and sculptors).



Even with the advent of GPS making map reading skills obsolete, this is the intelligence required to drive a car. Although I see advertisements indicating parallel parking, perhaps the most difficult part of the road test for obtaining a driver’s license can be done automatically by pushing a button!



Spatial problem solving is required for playing chess. The visual arts use of space falls into this category of intelligence. Think of our member Norman Rockwell. And, sadly, the now absent Calder mobiles from the Berkshire Museum! Calder once said that when all goes well, “a mobile is a piece of poetry that dances with the joy of life and surprise”.



6. Interpersonal Intelligence



Interpersonal Intelligence is the capacity to notice distinctions among others — in particular, contrasts in moods, temperaments, motivations, and intentions. A skilled adult can read the desires of others, even when they might not be apparent. This highly honed skill appears in religious or political leaders, salespeople, teachers, therapists and, yes, even parents.



7. Intrapersonal Intelligence



Intrapersonal intelligence is the knowledge of the internal aspects of oneself—access to one’s own feelings, one’s range of emotions and the ability to draw on that as a means of guiding one’s own behavior.





Since the publication of his book delineating these seven intelligences, Gardner fully expects that other intelligences could be entertained. In subsequent books he has discussed whether Naturalist Intelligence, Spiritual Intelligence, and Existential Intelligence meet his criteria. Although when asked if there is cooking intelligence, humor intelligence, or sexual intelligence, he facetiously replies: I can recognize only the intelligences that I possess”.



Despite describing the independence of these seven intelligences, Gardner acknowledges that nearly every cultural role requires several intelligences. Dance, for instance, requires bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal and spatial intelligence. Politics demands interpersonal skill, linguistic and logical aptitude (OR maybe not!).



We are familiar with the John F. Kennedy quote from April 29, 1962 given at a gathering honoring seven Nobel Prize winners:

“I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent, of human knowledge, that has ever been gathered together at the White House, with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone.” Kennedy continued: “Someone once said that Thomas Jefferson was a gentleman of 32 who could calculate an eclipse, survey an estate, tie an artery, plan an edifice, try a cause, break a horse, and dance the minuet”



Gardner suggests that there is a long-standing bias towards testing; after all, for most of us in Western Society, intelligence is a capacity that can be measured by a set of short questions and answers. Gardner asks: “Couldn’t the same method be used to assess a new approach to intelligences?” However, the challenge of measuring someone’s understanding of him or her self or other people does not lend itself to measurement with a short-answer instrument — similarly with bodily-kinesthetic intelligence. Can a person express him/her self effectively in public? Can a person remember his/her way around a place, visited a while ago? Faced with an important decision, can a person reflect on previous experience and make a good decision? These capacities are central to intelligence and yet do not lend themselves to brief assessments. Gardner proposes a host of computer simulations that could be constructed, but realizes the impracticality of such evaluations for general use.



Colleges and Universities have tried for decades to discern the “whole” person in their admissions process. Have you been following the story of the high-stakes case accusing Harvard of discriminating against Asian-Americans? A group calling itself Students for Fair Admissions brought suit against Harvard for excluding Asian Americans based solely upon race. Harvard had fought the release of its proprietary admissions process, but ultimately had to reveal its secrets to the Court. The plaintiffs contend that Harvard’s own Office of Institutional Research found that Asian-Americans would comprise 43 percent of an admitted class if admissions officers considered only academic qualifications and should make up 26 percent of the class even when extracurricular activities and personal ratings are considered. Yet, Asian-Americans only made up 19 percent of admitted students for the year being evaluated — 2013. The Justice Department has weighed in saying that Harvard’s reliance on personal traits — such as kindness, leadership, and courage (in other words an attempt to measure something other than SAT scores), hurts Asian-American students who often receive lower interview scores from Admissions officers than other applicants. On campus, it has forced students to confront uneasy and intensely personal questions about racial diversity, privilege, and their place at an Ivy League institution. Unlike previous affirmative action lawsuits that hinged on whether a race-conscious admissions process benefitted black and Hispanic students, while hurting white students; this case pivots on a minority — Asian-American applicants.  Stay tuned.



Of course, it is tempting to think of particular intelligences as good or bad; and it is undoubtedly better to have more of certain intelligences than to lack them. However, no intelligence is, in itself, moral or immoral. Intelligence can be put to either a constructive or destructive use.



Before he became the Unabomber, Ted Kaczinski was a gifted mathematician. He went to Harvard on scholarship at age 16 and, in 1967, became the youngest assistant professor of mathematics ever at the University of California, Berkeley. But mathematics was unimportant to him, he later said. It was just a game he was good at. Indeed, he fiercely resented his mother’s insistence that he was a genius. In 1969, Kaczynski abruptly fled academia.



Sixteen bomb attacks, killing three people and injuring 23, were ultimately attributed to him. Tracking him was one of the longest and most expensive manhunts in FBI history. Kaczynski’s bombs were handcrafted, impossible to trace, and became more sophisticated and deadly with time. He carried out this cold trail of terrorism for sixteen years. If not for the actions of his brother David, the Unabomber might still be a fugitive and active bomber.



At trial the government sought the death penalty, breaking an agreement made with David Kaczynski to forgo it. Ultimately, Ted Kaczynski pleaded guilty rather than insanity in order to avoid being labeled as mentally ill; and received four life sentences. In a report for the 50th reunion of his class at Harvard, Kaczynski gave his occupation as “prisoner.” Under “awards,” he listed his life sentences.



And, in the category of the misuse of Interpersonal Intelligence, we are all too familiar with the sexual abuse scandals embroiling elite Prep schools, athletic programs such as USA Gymnastics, and The Boy Scouts of America. Most recently, this past summer a Pennsylvania Grand Jury wrote a searing report that Bishops and other leaders of the Roman Catholic Church in Pennsylvania covered up child sexual abuse by more than 300 priests over a period of 70 years, persuading victims not to report the abuse and law enforcement not to investigate.



The report found more than 1,000 identifiable victims, and is the broadest examination yet by a government agency in the United States of child sexual abuse in the Catholic Church. The report said there are likely thousands more victims whose records were lost or who were too afraid to come forward.

“Despite some institutional reform, individual leaders of the church have largely escaped public accountability,” the grand jury wrote. “Priests were raping little boys and girls, and the men of God who were responsible for them not only did nothing; they hid it all. For decades.”

The grand jury said that while some accused priests were removed from ministry, the church officials who protected them remained in office or even got promotions. Church officials followed a “playbook for concealing the truth,” the grand jury said, minimizing the abuse by using words like “inappropriate contact” instead of “rape”; and not informing the community of the real reasons behind removing an accused priest.

“Tell his parishioners that he is on ‘sick leave,’ or suffering from ‘nervous exhaustion.’ Or say nothing at all,” the report said.

Constructive and positive use of intelligences does not happen by accident. Deciding how to deploy one’s intelligence is a question of values.



Human beings possess a range of capacities and potentials that can be put to productive use. Individuals need to understand and subsequently deploy their multiple intelligences in productive ways in varying societal roles. Even though intelligence testing is likely to be with us for the foreseeable future, and standard testing of the full gamut of intelligence is not feasible, what matters is the use of intelligence to carry out tasks for the greater good. Accordingly, we should be assessing people’s intelligence by how successfully they carry out valued tasks; or, to paraphrase Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart: “I admire it when I see it.”

_______________



Material for this essay was derived from several books by Howard Gardner, including: Frames of Mind, Intelligence Reframed, and Multiple Intelligences. Also, The Boston Globe, The Smithsonian Magazine, National Geographic, and works my Maya Angelou. 

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Van Gogh's Irises: How much is a painting worth?

Presented to the Club by David T. Noyes in December 1988

I would like to ask you to think about the items on the
following list. Can you identify what they have in common?

1. Two
   F-16 fighter jets


2. The
   Town of West Stockbridge, Mass.


3. 3,448
   Williams College students


4. the
   largest private estate in the United States — the 250 room Biltmore House
   on 12,000 acres in Ashville, N.C.


5. The
   City of Pittsfield


6. The
   entire world’s mining production of mercury for one year

We’ll come back to this list in a moment.

A little over a year ago, on November 11, 1987, the art
auction house of Sotheby’s in New York City auctioned a painting depicting a
garden of blue irises painted in 1889 by Vincent Van Gogh. It was lot number
twenty-five in a ninety-four piece evening. A crowd of 2,300 people had
gathered in the cramped bidding room with intense anticipation; and at 7:55
p.m., Irises was brought on stage. The bidding started at fifteen million
dollars. At thirty million, only two bidders remained. The price then passed
forty million, the previous highest price paid for any painting. The bidding
finally concluded at forty-nine million dollars. The total elapsed time: three
minutes, thirty seconds!  Including the
ten percent buyer’s commission, the total price came to fifty-three million
dollars, or in real money — eight billion yen!

 Now, let’s get back to the list. That same fifty-four
million dollars could buy or support any one of those items. That is: the two
fighter planes; the appraised value of all the property for the town of West
Stockbridge; room, board and tuition for 3,448 Williams College students; the
Biltmore House; the municipal budget for the City of Pittsfield for one year;
or one year’s supply of mercury.

How did the painting come to be available? It was owned by
John Whitney Payson, who inherited it from his mother, Joan Payson. Mrs.
Payson, perhaps best known as the owner of the New York Mets, had purchased
Irises in 1947 for $84,000 — not a small sum in those days — and kept it in a
treasured place above the fireplace mantel in her New York apartment. When she
died in 1975, John Payson made it the centerpiece of the Joan Whitney Payson
Gallery of Art at Westbrook College in Maine. The appraised value at that time
was less than one million dollars. But, as the cost of insurance soared, he
felt he had less ability to support the college and other charities. In
addition, the change in the tax laws permitted only a deduction for the
original cost of the charitably donated property. Thus, he decided to sell
rather that donate the painting to Westbrook.

Not everyone was happy with the decision. Art critic Edgar
Beem had called Irises “the only world class painting in the entire state of
Maine.” He went on to say, “the rich are the custodians of culture, and we get
what they give us. I’m not sure how to change that, but they are not to be
applauded." Beem suggests that Payson’s choice to liquidate an asset already
provisionally installed in the public domain, represents a significant loss to
the public and is not recoverable. In fact, of the four Van Gogh paintings sold
at action last year, only one is currently accessible.

To prepare for the sale, Irises was exhibited in Tokyo, New
York, London, Geneva, and Zurich. The painting travelled seventeen thousand five
hundred miles in four weeks at an estimated cost of five hundred thousand
dollars. Advertising was used extensively. John Rewald, the reigning scholar on
Impressionism, was quoted as saying, “If a museum could have one painting by
Van Gogh, Irises is what it should get.” He described the coloration as “an
incredible tour de force”.

None of the experts was prepared for what happened that
evening. David Nash, Sotheby’s director of fine arts, expected Irises to bring
between twenty and forty million. He felt it was superior because of its unique
composition rather that being one of a series of canvasses. Philippe de
Montebello, the director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, said: “I feel like
a fossil awakened in another era. The commission alone exceeds the Metropolitan’s
total art purchase funds. I feel so removed from the phenomenon, I can only
watch in amazement”.

The financial precedent had been set by the sale of three
Van Gogh paintings during the previous nine months. Portrait of Adeline Ravoux
sold for thirteen and three quarters million dollars; The Bridge at
Trinquetaille for twenty million; and the previous record holder, Sunflowers,
for thirty nine million, nine hundred thousand dollars. The price for the Sunflowers
painting, also completed in 1889, had been felt to be an aberration. It was one
of a series of seven Sunflower paintings and this particular one was not in
good condition. Its yellows had lost much of their original intensity. However,
Yasuda Fire and Marine Insurance Co., the eventual high bidder for Sunflowers,
had a special interest in purchasing the painting. Van Gogh had considered
Japan the site of Utopian culture and had admired Japanese wood-block prints. Furthermore,
Sunflowers had been painted in the same year that Yasuda was founded. Perhaps
they were trying to restore a sense of national heritage, since another
Sunflowers painting had been destroyed by the bombing of Yokohama during World
War II. The sale of Irises, however, proved the price to be no fluke.

Why do we have such fascination with Van Gogh? He was born
in Holland, the son of a minister. At age sixteen, he began working for his
uncle, who was an art dealer in Hague. Shortly after his transfer to the firm’s
London office at the age of twenty, he was fired. Two years later, he entered
missionary school but was expelled for sassing a teacher. At the age of
twenty-seven, he took up painting and began by depicting coal miners and
peasants in his native Holland. Vincent moved to Paris to live with his brother
Theo at the age of thirty-three in 1886. He frequented Julien-Francois Tanguy’s
paint shop, which had become a meeting place for a whole generation of young
artists. Van Gogh then moved to Arles in the south of France with the hope of
starting an artist’s colony. This dream was destroyed when, in 1888, Gauguin
left after only two months. They were both fiercely competitive men who drank,
whored, and argued. The final straw for Gauguin apparently occurred on
Christmas Eve, 1888, when Van Gogh cut off part of his left ear.

It was after this episode that Van Gogh was hospitalized off
and on. The final fifteen months of his life were the only ones spent in
asylums. First, in Saint-Remy, which still exists as a private mental hospital
and where descendants of these Irises still thrive! Finally, in Auvers-sur-Oise
where, on a beautiful summer day, he walked out into a wheat field, set his
easel against a haystack, and proceeded to shoot himself in the side. As you
might guess from his lifetime of failures, he missed any vital organ. He
dragged himself back to his attic room and lingered in pain for two days before
dying at the age of thirty-seven. He had sold only one of his paintings, and
that for a small sum which he immediately gave to a streetwalker for a meal. All
his support, even the money to buy his paints, had come from his brother, Theo.
Fortunately for posterity, Theo’s wife kept all Vincent’s letters (some twelve
hundred pages), paintings, and drawings.

Forget the notion that Van Gogh’s paintings were “mad.” Whatever
his illness may have been — and epilepsy seems to be the most probable, whether
exacerbated by absinthe, glaucoma, digitalis poisoning, or syphilis — the fact is
that it did not directly affect his work. A typical series of attacks lasted
from two weeks to a month. It must be emphasized that between these attacks he
had long periods of absolute lucidity where he was complete master of himself
and his art. He categorized his work describing handling, color, and design;
this allows us to understand his intentions more clearly that those of any
other impressionist.

It is generally acknowledged that Van Gogh changed the face
of art. Unlike impressionists who painted pretty pictures in delicate colors
with fine brush strokes, Van Gogh used violent strokes to lay on thick layers of
intense color. Quoting from one of his letters: “I am always in the hope of
making a discovery then, to express the love of two lovers by a wedding of two
complementary colors, their mingling and their opposition, the mysterious
vibrations of kindred tones. To express thought of a brow by the radiance of a
light tone against a somber background. To express hope by some star, the
eagerness of a soul by a sunset radiance.”

Monet once remarked: “How did a man who loved flowers and
light to such an extent and rendered them so well, how then did he still manage
to be so unhappy?” Picasso once wrote: “Why do the Dutch mourn Rembrandt, they
have Van Gogh?”

What, then, of the Van Gogh legend? His lack of success in
his own day, his high minded principles about art exhibitions and sales in the
face of today’s embarrassment of riches, his sympathy for the poor and working
class — these go largely unmentioned. What does surface is a fascination with
sensational prices and with the art market as theatre. The pictures are
eclipsed not by the terms of the Van Gogh legend but by the behaviors they inspire
in the international works of private fortune. Consider these comments Vincent
wrote to his brother Theo in June 1890, just one month before he died. “I think
that all the talk of high prices paid for Millets, etc., lately has made the
chances of merely getting back one’s painting expenses even worse. It is enough
to make you dizzy. So, why think about it? — it would only daze our minds. Better,
perhaps, to seek a little friendship and live from day to day.”

Epilogue [from Wikipedia]: About three years after the 1987 sale, Irises was sold for $53.9 million to Australian businessman Alan Bond, but Bond did not have enough money to pay for it. Irises was later re-sold in 1990 to the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles, where it remains. Irises is currently (as of 2012) tenth on the inflation-adjusted list of most expensive paintings ever sold and in 25th place if the effects of inflation are ignored.

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Neapolitan Children Bathing: The stories of John Singer Sargent and Robert Sterling Clark

Neapolitan Children Bathing, by John Singer Sargent

Presented to the Club by David T. Noyes on Monday evening, December 5, 2016



Can you remember when the only building housing the Clark
Art Institute was the stark, austere, imposing, lonely, marble fortress set
back from the street on a knoll in Williamstown? After moving to Pittsfield in
1981, Sue and I made many trips to take in Sterling Clark’s collection. There
was no food service at the Museum in those days, so we might grab lunch at the
(now defunct) Howard Johnson’s, or have a sandwich at Papa Charlie’s Deli on
Spring Street. No visit was complete without admiring this small painting—also
titled Innocence Abroad; or Boys on a Beach, Naples, painted in 1879 by John Singer Sargent.

This 11” x 16” canvas shows children enjoying a beautiful
sunny day at the beach. Two boys—one with a towel over his face, the other on
his stomach with his head propped up on his hand—lie near two other, much
younger boys standing. The boy at the center, wearing water wings, looks as
though he is trying to get up the courage to wade into the rolling surf. Out in
the water, a head bobbing above the rolling waves shows us a swimmer. The only
interruption of the blue sky is the sailboat on the horizon. The smallest
child, still showing the chubbiness of babyhood, looks outward engaging the
viewer, thereby inviting us into their realm. The use of a completely frontal
stance became a hallmark of Sargent’s painting as he felt this gave a more
powerful image and made a more direct connection with the viewer. The children
are all relaxed, and self absorbed—the very epitome of childhood innocence.

During those early years in Pittsfield, we frequently made
family trips to Cape Cod to stay and visit with my parents at their cottage
with a view of the water. Naturally, the beach was the favorite place to be—accessed
via a simple walk across the narrow road passing by the front porch. From the
moment I first saw this painting, I imagined that the two younger boys were our
sons, Todd and Tyler, as they were exact likenesses. When I dropped off the
postcards to Harold to be included with the regular reminder mailing, Audrey
immediately said: “Is this a picture of your family?” “Exactly!” I smiled.

In fact, The Boston Globe’s Pulitzer Prize winning art
critic, Sebastian Smee, was similarly struck by this painting. In a June, 2015
article he writes: “This small stingingly bright canvas always stops me at the
Clark, where it hangs amid great works by 19^th-century painters,
most of them French. It evokes a world far from the Clark’s undulant campus. The
stark light and satisfying spiritual click of standing on your own shadow
reminds me of my own childhood in Australia, much of it spent on all-but vacant
beaches like this one.”

This painting, by John Singer Sargent, when he was just twenty-two
years old, was his third work to appear in America. The owner lent it to the
National Academy of Design in New York City for its 1879 exhibition where it
was applauded as “delightful, happy, and sparkling” and commended for its
subtlety of color. The tremendously positive reaction reflected the important
status given to children in post Civil War America; they were signs of purity
and innocence, as well as hope for the future.

Although Sargent is considered an American artist, he was
born in Florence, Italy in 1856. His father, Fitzwilliam Sargent, was born in
Gloucester, Mass. He graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with a
degree in Medicine 1843. For ten years, from 1844 until 1854, he worked as a
surgeon in Philadelphia. Eminent in his profession, he published works on minor
surgery. John Sargent’s mother was Mary Newbold the daughter of John Singer, a
well to do Philadelphia merchant and successor to a prosperous business he
inherited from his father.

As a child, Mary had travelled to Italy. Such was the magic
of that country, that after four years of marriage, she persuaded her husband
to give up his practice and in 1854 they moved to Florence. Fitzwilliam Sargent
had, by virtue of his practice in Philadelphia, made a good living. But Mary
was sufficiently well off that he did not have to work to support the family.

Fitzwilliam expected his son would have a naval career, but
at age 12, John’s mother recognized his artistic talent and his schooling soon reflected
that. The conventional curriculum of Greek/Latin and Mathematics was supplanted
with music and foreign Languages, where, he excelled.

In October 1874 at the age of 18 he entered the studio of
Carolus Duran, then the foremost portrait painter in Paris. Sargent himself
always recognized his debt to the teaching of Duran. At the height of his fame
he commented that “Carolus Duran couldn’t actually do it himself---but he could
teach it”. When asked, for example, how he avoided false accents in
portraiture, Sargent said: “you must classify the values. If you begin with the
middle-tones and work up and down from there towards the darks and lights—so
that you deal last with your lightest lights and darkest darks—you avoid false
accents. That’s what Carolus taught me.”

In 1876 he sailed to America and experienced his first visit
with the United States. There is no hint of the impression he received. He was
an American by parentage, born and educated in the Old World, steeped in the
culture of Europe, and now, at the age of twenty, he was introduced to his
native country for the first time. The contrast must have been sharper than it
would be today. The great American collectors had not really begun the
piecemeal transfer of European collections of art. It was only by visiting
Europe that one could obtain any idea of the history of painting.

In 1878 his picture “En Route pour la Peche” received
honorable mention at the Salon.

In 1882, two of Sargent’s pictures in the Salon, were
singled out by the critics for unqualified praise. One critic wrote of the
portrait: Mrs. Austin---“one does not know which to admire most, the simplicity
of the means which the artist has employed or the brilliance of the result
which he has achieved” Another critic wrote that El Jaleo was the most striking
picture of the year. And so at the still quite young age of 26, Sargent, an
American by virtue of his heritage, was being hailed in Paris as the author of
the two most outstanding pictures in the Salon. He was soon receiving as many
commissions as he could execute, charging for a full length portrait----8,000
francs, for a half length—five thousand, and for his subject pictures and for landscapes,
anything from two to four thousand francs.

No French artist was more admired by Sargent than the French
Neoclassical artist, Jean—Auguste--Dominique Ingres who became most famous for
his portraits from the early to mid nineteenth century. Yet the two artists
were quite dissimilar. Ingres painted with serenity in his delineation of form,
and with repose and beauty in his lines, but often shunned the agitation and
movement of light. By contrast—Sargent was forcible in his execution, concerned
with the play and reflection of light, and on the look-out for the intricate
aspect of things; highlighting an art that is alert, vibrant, and vital with
color and the spirit of life. But underneath all that, there remains the
draftsmanship, the genius for composition and the fluent strength and elegance
of the line of the French master—it was these virtues that Sargent never tired
of extolling.

And those skills are dramatically apparent even in this
early painting. It would appear to be a simple, casual representation of a day
at the beach. But the painting was developed from several pencil sketches and
four preliminary oil studies on panel, all of which seem to have been painted en plein air. Sargent puts three of the
boys off center, and crops the legs of the figure in the foreground. The
shining grey-white sand, surf, and translucent water wings contribute reflective
surfaces so that soft golden hues can define the children’s bodies, with
puddles of grayish purple forming their shadows. The overall effect is one of
warm sunshine that charms the viewer.   

While in Paris, he frequently saw Degas, Renoir, Sisley and
Pissarro, but was most friendly with Claude Monet whom he believed had a
greater influence on art than any other modern painter. When Sargent discussed
genius on painting, he said there were four painters who possessed genius in a
superlative degree: Rembrandt, Titian, Tintoretto and Raphael. When asked his
opinion of Velasquez joining the group. He added that no painter exceeded
Velasquez in technical skill, but that he was less gifted in his power to
interpret “spiritual qualities”.

Sargent moved to London in 1885—more out of distaste for
Paris than preference for London. He leased the studio that had previously
belonged to James Abbott McNeill Whistler, another American, but European
portrait painter.

“Those who watched Sargent painting in his studio noticed
his habit of stepping backwards after almost every stroke of the brush on the
canvas. And the track of his paces so worn on the carpet that it simulated the
path sheep make through heather. When confronting difficulty, he had a sort of
battle cry of “Demons, Demons” with which he would dash to and fro at the
canvas”

During the winter of 1887-1888 he sailed to Boston where he
exhibited twenty of his pictures. His work was hailed for its sincerity, and
its brilliant variation from the stereotypical conventions of the day. Henceforth,
his reputation in America was assured.

From this point forward in his career, he no longer chose
subjects from the humbler walks of life. Destiny prescribed for him the role of
a portrait painter of the social world. He had brought the tradition with him
from Paris; he had grown up in an age when, having your portrait painted, was an
expected part of the fashionable life. In London he carried on the tradition. He
was unaffected by the changes taking place in Paris in the character of
subjects which the rising Impressionist artists were painting. The work of
Sargent now came from a study of the eminent, the rich and the successful. He
painted the world of which Henry James wrote. His migration to England put an
end to his interested outlook in the peasant life and folk
subjects----fisherwomen by the sea, dancers in Spanish cabarets, Parisians in
the Luxembourg Gardens, Venetian water-carriers, or, even, Boys on a Beach!

Conditions in England decided the direction of Sargent’s
genius. He was turned away from his experiment in Impressionism, and his
leanings towards common subjects. As the chronicler of the fashionable world,
like Van Dyck in his day, or like the 18^th century English portrait
painters Sir Joshua Reynolds and Thomas Gainsborough in theirs, he established
within a few years an undisputed supremacy.

Few artists have been more consistently applauded in their
lifetime than Sargent, few have seen their work maintain throughout many years
greater popularity with the public. There had never been a moment since 1875
when his pictures had not found a ready market, there had never been a year
when he didn’t have more commissions than he could execute. Critics, after the
first hesitations, and with few exceptions, consistently eulogized his
paintings; dealers had been resolute in their acquisition; fellow artists had
acclaimed him; and the public, had made him their favorite. The prices realized
by his pictures at auction rose steadily during his lifetime. And in July 1925,
237 of Sargent’s oil paintings and drawings sold at Christie’s for 170,000
pounds—there was no parallel for such a sale at that time.

Robert Sterling Clark purchased this painting from the son
of the original owner in 1923 when he was forty-six.

The person whose fortune made all of Sterling Clark’s
collecting and high living possible was Edward Cabot Clark. The four grandsons:
Sterling and Stephen and their brothers, Edward and Ambrose could not have been
who they were without the incredible wealth from Edward’s phenomenal business
success. When he died in 1882 his net worth was 50 million dollars. The origin
of the family fortune is due to Edward Clark’s alliance with the sewing machine
developer—Isaac Merritt Singer.

Singer would become infinitely better known than Clark—in large part because
his name was on every one of the machines that entered first American and then
international households. These engineering
inspirations were a result of Singer’s inventiveness, but turning those
qualities into such a vast fortune was the genius of Edward Clark.

Edward Clark was born in 1811 in Athens, New York. His
father had a successful pottery business and Edward grew up in comfortable
circumstances. At the age of twelve he began four years of education at the
Academy in Lenox Massachusetts. He then went on to graduate from Williams
College at the age of nineteen in 1831. (He would later become a trustee and be
awarded an honorary Doctorate.) Edward apprenticed for three years at the law
firm of Ambrose Jordan in Hudson, New York, and was then admitted to practice
law--setting up a practice in Poughkeepsie. He
married his boss’s daughter and then moved with his father-in-law, in 1836, to
New York City. Soon thereafter “Jordan and Clark” gained the reputation as New
York City’s most prestigious law firm. (It probably helped that Ambrose Jordan
was the state’s attorney general!)

Isaac Merritt Singer was also born in 1811, in Pittstown,
New York. He grew up in poverty and left home at the age of twelve. He
apprenticed in a machine shop, and began to make a good living because of his
mechanical ingenuity. Singer stood six feet four inches tall and had a massive
build, cutting quite an imposing figure. He married Catherine Haley and had two
children with her.

He fancied himself quite the actor, and especially enjoyed performing
Shakespeare. In 1839 while working with his brother in Illinois digging a
waterway, he got his first patent: a machine for drilling rock. With the two
thousand dollars he received, he formed his own travelling theater company. He
was now known as Isaac Merritt and his actress mistress, Mary Ann Sponseler,
was known as Mrs. Merritt. He ultimately had eleven children with her. (He also
had an additional child from a third woman, Mary Eastwood Walters, during this
time) The troupe ran out of money and
Singer moved to New York with an idea for a machine that would carve wood-block
type. Here he sought the help of the Jordan and Clark law firm.

Ambrose Jordan found Singer “too personally distasteful to
represent”. But he must have seen some value in retaining him as a client
because he referred him to his son-in-law. Edward Clark helped Singer obtain
the patent in 1849 and Singer assigned Edward three-eights of it in lieu of
paying legal fees.

Sewing machines had existed since at least 1790 when Thomas
Saint had received a patent for one in England. A French tailor, Barthelemy
Thimonnier improved the machine in 1829. In 1846 Elias Howe received a patent
for his sewing machine. Singer’s improvement was to have the machine make
stronger stitches in a perfectly straight line. He received a patent in 1851
and went into a financial partnership to start the Jenny Lind Sewing Machine Company.
(Named after Swedish soprano then touring the United States.)

However, Elias Howe felt that Singer’s machine was
sufficiently close to his own that he began legal proceedings for patent
infringement. Singer once again turned to Edward Clark. Still penniless, Singer
ultimately agreed to give Clark half ownership and the right to take control of
the new company: I.M. Singer & Company in exchange for legal services.

What is interesting about the patent litigation is that
Singer had, indeed, violated the law and infringed on one of Elias Howe’s
patents. When Howe pressed for a settlement of twenty-five thousand dollars, he
did so because of Singer’s use of the eye-pointed needle in his new machine. Although
Howe had not invented that device, he did own the patent. Everything else about
Singer’s machine was an advance over Howe’s, but the use of the needle without
authorization was illegal. The settlement reached in 1854 awarded Howe a
royalty from all Singer Machines. Edward’s genius was in keeping the settlement
from being more onerous and in mitigating the effects of Singer’s criminality.  

For the next decade, Clark oversaw every aspect of the
business while Singer basked in the role of resident genius. Edward was
concerned with appearances and got Singer to decorate the black machines with
gold ornament. He had the idea of selling machines to minister’s wives for half
price so that they would introduce them to their sewing circles. During the
recession in 1856, Edward pioneered the idea of an installment plan whereby for
five dollars down and three dollars a month, customers could reach ownership of
the machines. He also developed and expanded the European market to a degree
previously unprecedented in American Manufacturing.

Clark also became embroiled in the management of Singer’s
personal life. He and Mary Ann Sponselor, whom most took to be his wife, lived
opulently in a grand house on lower Fifth Avenue. But Singer now had an additional mistress, Mary
McGonigal with whom he had five more children! Singer lived with her as Mr. and
Mrs. Matthews in a separate house in New York. The sewing machine buying public
disdained Isaac Singer for his scandalous ways, and it was in the interest of
the company to clean up his reputation. It fell to Edward to negotiate Singer’s
divorce from his legal wife, Catherine Haley. Clark assumed that Singer would then
marry Sponselor, but he was too loyal to “Mrs. Matthews”. One day when Singer
was out with Mrs. Matthews, they accidentally came upon Mary Sponselor who
unleashed a public tirade for all to hear.

Singer responded by storming into the house on Fifth Avenue
and choking Sponselor, and one of their daughters who tried to intervene, into
an unconscious state. Before legal action took place Singer fled to England,
accompanied by Mary McGonigal’s nineteen year old sister Kate.

Again, Clark was concerned that women would not buy a
machine linked to adultery, wife beating, and illegitimate children. He
persuaded Singer to give up any active management of the firm and incorporated
Singer Manufacturing Company. Together they would still be equal owners with
20% of the stock sold to key employees. Singer agreed as long as Edward could
not be president while Singer was still alive. Edward, however, managed to retain
considerable influence as Chairman of the Board.

When Edward died in1882, he left an estate worth fifty
million dollars! Although he had three sons, only the youngest, Alfred, was
married, with four children—Edward Severin (nicknamed Rino), Robert Sterling
(whom the family called Robin), Frederick Ambrose, and Stephen Carlton. I’ll
skip over Alfred’s life, which may be worthy of Club Paper on its own.

Sterling Clark studied engineering at Yale, and then joined
the U.S. army Ninth Infantry Regiment. He fought in the Spanish American War
that captured the Philippines, and in China to help stifle the Boxer Rebellion
in 1901.

With that international background and no concerns about
having to make a living, he moved to Paris in 1910, at the age of thirty-three.
There, he bought a three-story house a short walk from the Arc de Triomphe. He
frequented the most famous art galleries in Paris, London, and New York City. Sterling
collected art the way he drank fine wine (Burgundy being his favorite) and ate
good food (he wrote his own cookbook)—with an appreciation for his own sense of
quality. He trusted his own artistic judgment—no one else could tell him what
was good or bad, what would rise or sink in value, or what might add balance to
his collection.

In 1919, now forty-two, he married Francine Clary, an
extremely pretty former actress in the Comedie Francaise. She already had an
illegitimate child when they met. Sterling regaled in doing the unexpected. This
was the sort of thing Isaac Singer might do—not a member of the Clark dynasty. His
three brothers, along with their wives, were appalled.

Then, in the early 1920’s tensions began mounting over the
children’s inheritance. The various Singer trusts were organized in such a way
that the benefits only accrued to the next generation via direct family
lineage. Sterling’s brothers Ambrose and Edward had no children while Stephen
had four. Thus when Sterling died his “share” would be given to Stephen’s
children. At a meeting of the brothers with their trust financial manager in
1923, Sterling and Stephen came to a physical altercation. This was the
beginning of a rift that would never heal. This feud became public when the New
York Times reported in 1927 that Sterling was suing the family trust, valued at
some eighty million dollars! Sterling lost. He never spoke to any of his
brothers again. His diary entries over the next twenty-five years persistently confirmed
the ongoing contempt he had, especially for Stephen and his wife, Susan.  

Meanwhile, Sterling had been planning for the ultimate
disposition of his collection. His initial idea focused on Cooperstown, N.Y.—the
site of the Clarks‘ summer family compound. But after World War II, he opted
for building a museum to rival the Frick in New York City. In 1945 he bought
three buildings on the corner of Park and Seventy-Second Street for that purpose.
However, five year later, he changed his mind, following a visit to
Williamstown. He bought one hundred acres of woods and field to build the
Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute. He felt the setting reminded him of
the paintings of Winslow Homer. He and Francine were convinced that a
“crossroads museum” would entice summer tourists who might never get to a big
city. They also chose the college town because it was far from an urban center
that might be a target for atomic bombs. The construction of the museum included
reinforced concrete designed to withstand an atomic explosion one-tenth of a
mile away. The three million dollar building was faced with marble—a tribute to
ancient Greek monuments. Sterling died from a stroke at age seventy-nine, just
one year after opening the museum. He left an estate that was worth eighty-four
million dollars (the equivalent of half a billion dollars today) which would
allow his collection to be seen free of charge.

Of course, we know that the Clark Art Institute is no longer
a single building, and, also, that it’s no longer free! It has become much more
than a small rural museum, as witnessed by last year’s Van Gogh exhibition, and
this year’s “Nudes from the Prada” presentation. Yet, I never fail to seek out
Sargent’s simple, refreshing image of children at the beach whenever I visit
the museum. Do any of you have an artwork that has so persistently spoken to
you?

Material for this essay is taken from:

John Sargent by
Evan Charteris, Charles Scribner’s and Sons, New York 1927

The Clarks of Cooperstown,
by Nicholas Fox Weber, Alfred A. Knopf, 2008

American Painting and
Sculpture at the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute, by Margaret
Conrads, Hudson Hills Press, Inc., 1990

-->

“John Singer Sargent’s Neapolitan Children Bathing”,
Sebastian Smee, The Boston Globe, June 2, 2015

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La Moria Grandissima: the Black Death of the 14th Century

Presented to the Club by David T. Noyes on Monday evening, Dec. 1, 2014

Current news reports are filled with alarms of the Ebola virus. In the recent past, we have been warned about SARS, AIDS, Mad Cow Disease, Lyme disease, and multiply drug resistant bacteria such as MRSA. But tonight, I’d like to take you back 670 years to the mid fourteenth century to the most infamous scourge of all time—La moria grandissima. This is what the medieval Europeans called the Great Mortality, medieval Muslims named the Year of Annihilation, and modern history refers to the Black Death.



First, some definitions. The incidence of a disease is the number of new cases of a disease that occur over a defined time period. An epidemic, then, is defined as occurring when the incidence of a disease escalates beyond what would normally be expected in a given population.  The term pandemic means that a given disease has extended to more than one continent.



There are Common Source Epidemics, usually coming from a contaminated water or food source. This was the case of the cholera outbreak seen in Haiti after the catastrophic magnitude 7.0 earthquake in January of 2010. Or many of you may recall the Pittsfield, Massachusetts “Beaver Fever” Giardiasis outbreak over the three months beginning November, 1985 through January of 1986, when there were 703 confirmed cases of the disease originating from the contaminated City reservoir. (As an aside, Harold Hutchins did a paper of the same title that year—but, true to Monday Evening Club tradition, the subject turned out to be a discussion of the pre-American Revolution trapping industry in the upper Midwest!)



But, the topic tonight is Host-to-Host Epidemic. These are infections that are transmitted from person to person—either directly (such as the common Flu) or through a vector. A vector is an organism that serves as the intermediary, transmitting agent of the pathogen (such as mosquitoes, fleas or ticks).



The reservoir is the organism that sustains a pathogen for the long term. In this case, consensus is that the Plague originated amongst marmots living along the steppe in Central Asia in what is now Kazakhstan, the Gobi desert of China and the northern Himalayas. Marmots are related to prairie dogs and are part of the squirrel family. They burrow and live in underground nests. They weigh 6 to 15 pounds and their fur is widely prized for its use in making warm, attractive clothing.



Enter the vector.  In this case it’s the Indian rat flea, Xenopsylla cheopsis.  As with mosquitoes, only the female bites the host and can spread the infection. This flea seems to prefer rodents, which is why it so easily spread from the marmot population to the ubiquitous Black rat, Rattus rattus. But as the local domestic rat community dies off, the fleas’ alternative become whatever warm blooded mammal is in the vicinity.



The black rat likely first evolved in India, sometime before the last Ice Age, 2.6 million years ago. It can weigh four to twelve ounces and has incredible powers of reproduction. It is also know for its agility. It can jump three feet from a standing position, fall from a height of fifty feet without injury, scale a vertical wall, and squeeze through a hole as small as a quarter of an inch. The word rodent derives from the Latin verb, rodere, meaning “to gnaw.” Rattus can eat its way through lead pipe and adobe brick.



And what makes the flea such a vicious and effective vector? In an uninfected flea, the blood it withdraws from its host goes directly to its stomach, satisfying its hunger. But in an infected flea, plague bacteria build up in the foregut, producing a blockage. This means that no blood is reaching the stomach so the flea, chronically hungry, bites constantly. Because undigested, infected blood can’t get through the blockage in the foregut, the flea proceeds to vomit plague contaminated blood as it bites one host after another, thereby spreading the disease. Considering that fleas can jump several feet, the rapidity of the spread of infection is easily explained.



Also, this flea can survive for six weeks off a host—on clothing or food shipments for example—long enough to travel hundreds of miles by sea or overland.



It is also interesting to note that there are over thirty-one different flea species capable of transmitting plague. (By comparison, of all the mosquito genera, only the Anopheles is capable of transmitting Malaria).



Of course, not all diseases become epidemics. As old hosts die off or become immune, the microbe requires new hosts to continue reproducing. It’s possible, then, that in a small town everyone could acquire the disease in such a short time that the process could die out. Historical records seem to indicate that in human populations, the critical mass is about 250,000 people. Thus major epidemics do not seem to occur until cities expand to this density.



Plague is caused by a rod shaped Gram negative bacterium—Yersinia pestis.  It is so toxic that as little as one organism can result in infection.  It has been said to be able to kill most mammals, including camels and lions. But there are also a number of animals resistant to the infection including black bear, skunk and coyote. Most of the time Yersinia pestis and the rodent kingdom live in a state of uneasy coexistence. Animals continue to get sick and die, but there are enough partially resistant rodents to sustain the bacterial population in the community. This phenomenon is termed enzootic.



There are three human manifestations of plague:

A bubo

1. Bubonic Plague is the most common. Within a two, to six day incubation period, the classic bubo, which is a large rapidly expanding growth, appears. A bite in the lower extremities will likely result in the bubo appearing in the groin. Upper-body bites will result in buboes under the arms or on the neck. These can be quite large, severely painful, and physically deforming. Often, victims described hearing a squishing, gurgling sound coming from the bubo as though some alien life form were alive within them.



The buboes may spontaneously rupture and then drain an especially foul smelling fluid. Medieval chroniclers referred to this as the stench of the Black Death.



Contemporary accounts also describe agitation, confusion, staggering gait, high fever and delirium.



This form of plague, if untreated, carries a mortality of 60 percent. The few survivors were quite fortunate in having an immune system capable of handling the bacteria.

Blackened feet of a victim

2. Septicemic Plague occurs when the bacteria proceed to the blood stream. Under these conditions, the blood vessels break and leak blood under the skin turning it deep purple or black--hence the origin of the term “Black Death.” These were known as “God’s tokens” because their appearance meant the victim had developed a fatal case of plague. The untreated mortality for this form of the disease is 100 percent and usually occurs within three to seven days.



3. Pneumonic Plague is the most virulent form of the disease. As the victim begins coughing a bloody froth, the aerosol droplets are highly infectious directly from person to person, avoiding the need for any vector at all. This form carries a 100 percent mortality rate as well—often within hours of developing the cough.



Common nursery rhymes, which have been handed down through the centuries reflected the times:

Ring around the rosies,
A pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes!
We all fall down.

Rosies refer to rosary beads—an effort to ask for divine intervention against the disease. Posies suggest the need for flowers to mask the terrible smell. Ashes were all that was left of a burnt corpse. And to fall down, of course, meant to die.



The mystery of what causes plague was finally discovered in 1894 during a reemergence of the disease in China (sometimes referred to as the Third Pandemic).  Alexandre Yersin, for whom the bacterium is named, was a protégé of Louis Pasteur. He was sent to Hong Kong at the request of the French government to investigate the disease outbreak. He was the first to identify that: “the pulp of the buboes always contains short, stubby bacilli." And perhaps as importantly, he discovered that the same bacteria were present in rodents, thereby outlining, for the first time, a possible method of transmission.

             

So, let’s set the stage for early 14th century. Sometime around 800, Europe entered what’s known as the “Little Optimum”—a period of global warming. Average temperatures increased by over one degree Celsius. Warm weather turned even marginal farmland to productive use. England and Poland became wine-growing countries.  As agricultural productivity increased, living standards rose, and populations increased dramatically. Between 1000 and 1250 the population of Europe tripled. The Continent contained at least 75 million people. It would take four to five hundred years for parts of Europe to regain those population levels following the catastrophe of the Black Death.



Furthermore, as populations grew, trade flourished.  In the year 1000, an Italian merchant had virtually no chance of doing business in England. By 1280 a trader could travel a reconnected European land route through Flanders or through Germany to the Baltics. Or, by water via Gibraltar, to the busy port of London. From the bustling ports of the two rival sea powers of the time, Venice and Genoa, merchant vessels travelled to Alexandria, Aleppo, and Tyre (southern Lebanon), searching for sugar, camphor, ivory, ebony, wax, ambergris, or muslin.



Genghis Kahn, whose name translates as “Emperor of Mankind,” had conquered China and Central Asia in the previous century. His children and grandchildren inherited the Mongol Empire for the Tartars, including all of China, most of Russia, Central Asia, Iran and Iraq. They set up a communications network consisting of messengers capable of traveling 100 miles a day for weeks on end and slower commercial caravans and armies marching to and fro across vast distances. These maneuvers helped to hold this vast empire together.



The recently publicized exploits of Marco Polo informed Europeans of opportunities for buying treasured goods imported via the Silk Road trade route to the Far East. Thus, merchants were inspired to sail through the Bosporus, and on to the Crimean peninsula in southern Russia so as to have access to caravans bringing goods from the cities of Samarkand, Merv, and the emerald city of Hangchow.



But early in the 14th century, the weather changed dramatically throughout the Continent and Asia. Known as the “Little Ice Age”, this change created hardship conditions including scarcity of food resources throughout Europe and central Asia. It is generally thought that what is now referred to as the Black Death, originated near Lake Issyk Kul, Kyrgyzstan, which was a bustling trading center along the route to China. This hypothesis suggests that the Tartar herdsmen were forced out of their traditional pastureland by the climate change in a desperate search for new grazing land. They found themselves on the northern steppe, exposed to the endemic marmot population with its plague carrying bacteria. From the herdsmen, the plague would have spread to Arab, Italian, or Central Asian merchants, Tartar soldiers, or Chinese laborers.



And so the rise of the Mongol Empire and the burgeoning development of the global trading economy, allowed Y pestis to overcome the vast distances and small populations that had previously provided a firewall to its global spread. Each oasis resting spot for caravans likely had a supporting cast of fleas and rats attracted by the abundance of foodstuffs needed to satisfy hundreds of travelers and their horses



From here eastbound travelers could pick up the fast road to China (an eight to twelve month trek); westbound travelers found their way back home via Caffa (now Feodosiya) on the Crimean peninsula.



In 1266, when the Genoese first arrived in southern Russia, Caffa was a small fishing village. Eighty years later, seventy to eighty thousand people called Caffa home. Items for trade included silks from Central Asia, Sturgeon from the Don River, slaves from the Ukraine, timber and furs from the Russian forests to the north. The deep water port was perfectly situated to take advantage of the burst of globalization. And the legendary Genoese mariners were happy to provide the skills required to bring these goods to the West. The port of Caffa was held under a grant from the Mongols.



This arrangement was highly advantageous to the Mongols as it provided a direct link to Italy’s largest commercial center and encouraged trade across all corners of their vast empire. However, tensions and disagreements were a common feature of the commercial relationship, arising predominantly from their religious differences. The Italians were devoutly Christian and the Mongols had been practicing Islam since the 1200s. Furthermore, the Mongols considered the Genoese haughty, proud, and duplicitous.



In 1343 at the Crimean town of Tana, on the mouth of the Don River, tensions turned to violence. A fight broke out between locals and the Italians that left one Muslim dead. Faced with the threat of execution by the Mongols, the Italians fled to Caffa. Here they were given sanctuary. The people of Caffa refused to let the Tartars in and, in the face of such defiance, the Mongols decided to lay siege to the city.



By 1346, the first reliable accounts of plague appear in Russian reports on the western shore of the Caspian Sea. Within a year the disease arrived at the Crimean Peninsula. When the Tartar army suddenly found itself succumbing to this strange, new disease in huge numbers, it resorted to catapulting the infected corpses into the besieged city, in what is thought to be the first incidence of germ warfare! It was written that: “rotting corpses tainted the air, poisoned the water supply and the stench was so overwhelming that hardly one man in several thousand was in a position to flee the remains of the Tartar army.”



By the spring of 1347 the dying and decimated Tartar army faded back into the hillsides, leaving the remaining, living Genoese finally free to sail from the harbor of Caffa, bringing the pestilence of the Black Death with them. Europeans had no way to know that they stood on the edge of the most lethal catastrophe in recorded history.



Any ship leaving the Crimea had to pass through the Dardanelles and stop at Constantinople—the wealthiest city in Christendom. Thus, sometime in the early summer of 1347, the plague bearing Genoese arrived in the harbor. By the fall of that year there were reports that the city was becoming emptier and emptier as the number of graves increased. Some contemporary estimates suggest that 90 per cent of the city population perished. Royalty was not immune — Ioannes IV, the Byzantine emperor, lost his 14-year-old son to the disease.



From here the plague followed the trade routes. One strain swung northward through Greece, Bulgaria and Romania. A second went southward toward Egypt and the Middle East. A third found its way to Cyprus. And a fourth to Sicily, which is where Plague enters the historical record in Europe.



A local Franciscan Friar, Michele da Piazza, wrote: “In October 1347 twelve Genoese galleys put into the port of Messina.” Apparently, nothing about the vessels seemed suspicious. But almost immediately people began to fall ill. And in ways that no one in Messina had ever seen before. Friar Michele described: “a sort of boil…the size of a lentil, erupted on the thigh or arm, then the victims violently coughed up blood, and after three days of incessant vomiting for which there was no remedy, they died. And with them died not only everyone who had talked to them, but also anyone who acquired, touched, or laid hands on their belongings”.



Messina quickly expelled the Genoese, but it was too late. The contagion had been set loose. These merchant ships were captained by men of innate greed who had personal financial stake in the cargoes they were carrying. And so, despite holds full of dead and dying sailors, their ships continued to sail from port to port selling their wares—spreading disease along the way.



It was the Venetians who developed the process of quarantine—derived from the Italian word for forty. They made ships stay in a restricted area of nearby islands for forty days as a means of clearing their crew for arrival. Of course, forty was a completely made up number and probably derived from multiple biblical references.



It took all of two months for the disease to travel the eighty-one kilometers from Pisa to Florence where the Black Death is well described. One author wrote: “such was the multitude of corpses that huge trenches were excavated in the churchyards in which the new arrivals were place by the hundreds, stored tier upon tier like ships’ cargo till the trench was filled to the top.” Another described the pattern as layering bodies like layering cheese on lasagna. In an age when nothing moved faster than the fastest horse, the Black Death spread throughout the entire European Continent in just a few years.



Sometime in the summer of 1348, the plague jumped the English Channel from Calais to Weymouth, either by soldiers returning from the Hundred Years War or with the aid of commercial shipping vessels. By the following year, half of the English population had perished.



As the plague spread eastward across France, Germany and Switzerland in the summer of 1348, people began to believe that the mortality was a Jewish plot. Christians claimed they were dying because their wells were being contaminated with Jewish plague poison. Plague was not a vengeful act of God or of infected air, but of an international Jewish conspiracy aimed at achieving world domination.



Between the summers of 1348 and 1349, huge numbers of Jews were exterminated. Some were marched into public bonfires, others burned at the stake. Still others were beaten to death or stuffed into empty wine casks and rolled into the Rhine. In some localities, killings were preceded by show trials, but often Jews were killed simply as a preventative measure.



As we have seen so many times over the centuries, blameless, innocent Jews became scapegoats because of superstition, ignorance and fear.



Multiple factors contributed to the rapid spread of the Black Death.



The Great Famine, the collective name for the crop failures associated with the dramatic weather changes of the early 1300s, was devastating throughout the region.  A half million people died of starvation in England, and 10 to 15 percent of the population of Flanders and Germany succumbed for lack of food. Thus young children from this era, who did survive, would have been in their forties and fifties at the time of the Black Death. Their immune systems, likely permanently impaired by the poverty of their nutrition, made them much more susceptible to the disease.



Population centers were producing much more garbage than they could dispose of. The situation was exacerbated by the influx of peasants forced off surrounding countryside by crop failures and loss of pastureland. They brought their livestock with them adding to the unsanitary conditions. Pigs, cattle, chickens, goats, and horses roamed city streets as freely as they did the countryside. Workers in outdoor slaughterhouses would simply pour the blood and offal of their carcasses into the gutters of the city streets where they plied their craft. Of course, this led to an explosion in the population of black rats.



Another urban polluter was the full chamber pot. No one wanted to walk down two flights of stairs, especially on a cold or rainy night. Medieval citizens were supposed to shout: “Look out below!” three times before draining the pots contents out the window. The stench of the city streets was notorious.



Personal hygiene was likewise a contributing factor to the spread of plague. The Greeks considered cleanliness a virtue, and the Romans thought hygiene so important that their public baths looked like temples.  Yet, somehow, early Christians considered bathing a vice. St. Benedict said: “To those who are well, and especially the young, bathing shall seldom be permitted”. Saint Francis of Assisi considered God’s water too precious to squander on bathing. Undressing and changing clothing were also infrequent. One can imagine how easy it was for fleas to thrive under these circumstances.



Yet another factor underlying the spread of plague was war. Few centuries have been as violent as the fourteenth. In the decades before the plague, the Scots were killing the English; the English, the French; the French, the Flemings; and the Italians and the Spanish — each other! In those savage decades, the nature of battle grew bloodier, civilians were attacked more frequently and property destroyed more routinely — all helping to make the medieval battlefield and soldier more efficient agents of disease. Larger armies produced larger concentrations of dirty men and debris, which, in turn, attracted larger populations of rats and fleas.



Not only did the plague seem to strike out of nowhere, but it caused death on a scale that no one had ever seen, no one had ever even imagined was possible. Death not in the hundreds or thousands — but in the hundreds of thousands — in fact millions. Today the Earth’s population is 7.1 billion. The equivalent loss of life calculates to 2.8 billion people! Or, more parochially, the current population of Berkshire county is 130,000 people — so the equivalent loss of life would be 52,000 people dead in this county alone!



According to the Foster Scale, a measure of human disaster similar to the Richter Scale, the medieval plague is the second greatest catastrophe in recorded history. Only World War II produced more death, physical destruction, and emotional suffering says the Canadian Harold D. Foster, the inventor of the scale. Harvard historian David Hebert Donald also ranked the Black Death high on the list of history’s worst catastrophes. However, the greatest tribute to the destructiveness of plague comes from the Atomic Energy Commission which used the medieval pestilence to model the consequences of all-out global nuclear war. According to the commission’s Cold War-era study of thermonuclear conflict, of all recorded human events, only the devastation of the Black Death comes the closest to mimicking “nuclear war in its geographical extent, abruptness of onset, and scale of casualties.”



But this is ancient history, I hear you saying. The Black Death couldn’t repeat itself. We have vaccinations for such deadly diseases as Yellow Fever, Measles, Anthrax, and Influenza. Small Pox has been eradicated from the planet (except for the reserve samples held by the CDC in Atlanta and the Research Institute for Viral Preparations in Moscow—oh, and the six vials of virus accidentally discovered unprotected at the NIH this past summer). Yet, we continue to squander antibiotics thereby promoting resistant bacteria. Might we someday not have any effective drugs to treat such infections? And just suppose, that as the unheard-of-before AIDS virus emerged in 1980, that it could be transmitted by a mosquito. Or imagine that the Ebola virus mutates so that it can be transmitted by airborne particles like the common cold. This is really nothing more than Darwin’s evolution in action. It’s certain to happen sometime—will Medical Science be up to the challenge before it’s too late?



Material for this essay was derived from the following sources:

The Great Mortality by John Kelly

A Distant Mirror by Barbara Tuchman

Plague and Peoples by William McNeill

Viruses, Plagues, and History by Michael Oldstone

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