windar
Teller of Tales
What? Every one of those idiots should be voted out of office!!!!
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
Vignettes from Barb’s ancestral past
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
fallenmystic
Tribune
Do female slaves count as "women"? I hope not...
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Near Tournai, the Austrian Netherlands.
The fifth year of the Austrian Succession War.
The evening of May 10th 1745.
“Is that the King’s tent, Miss Moore!”
“Just along the Scheldt! Yes, Mylord, there it is!”
The Duke of Cumberland looked again through his monocular, with a satisfied smile on his face!
“Are you sure, he is there!?”
“Definitely, My Lord! The king arrived a few hours ago! He has come straight from Versailles! I saw his carriage arrive!”
“Splendid! And you say he brought his son with him!”
“Yes, My Lord, definitely!”
“Splendidly splendid, Miss Moore! The last time a King of France and his son were together on a battlefield, was in 1356! Poitiers! One of our greatest victories ever! We chopped their army to pieces! We captured the king and his son and two thousand nobles! This is a good spell for us! History is on our side! What else have you seen?”
“Maurice de Saxe!”
“De Saxe! That man is ill! What is he doing there!”
“He is the commander of operations! He only reports to the king!”
“Now that is jolly good splendid! The French have put their fate into the hands of an oversexed, bedridden German noble bastard! They must be really desperate!”
“There are indeed a few high nobles in the King's inner circle, who dispute de Saxe’s authority, because of his state of health. But apparently, the king fully trusts him!”
“Now tally ho! If the French nobles bicker before going into battle, their case is lost in advance! We British, we have learned only to bicker after we lost a battle! So, obviously, we bicker very rarely anyway, Miss Moore!”
“Sure, My Lord!”
“Anything else, you… picked up, Miss Moore?”
“Apparently, the French field commanders have orders, to never, never, shoot first, in case of a frontal confrontation!”
“Oh! Awesomely splendid! I will convey to my field commanders the order to shoot first, but, of course, only after having proposed the French to do so on our troops! After all, we British must behave in a gentlemanly way in all circumstances, even towards some poor sods we are about to butcher at point blank, right!? Once we shot our way through these frog-eaters, that king would better run as fast as he can, or I’ll get him by his pompous ass! Thank you, Miss Moore, I will certainly reward you generously, for your valuable information. And, of course, tomorrow evening, you are invited in my tent to celebrate our victory! We shall make it a..private celebration, wouldn’t we,… Barb?”
“Absolutely, My Lord!” Miss Moore replied the invitation, politely bowing before she left the tent.
In the camp hung the nervous calm of the evening before the battle. Soldiers were cleaning their weapons and equipment, on which their life could depend on, the next day. Little was said. They were mostly in thoughts.
Scotsmen! Highlanders! How many would still be alive, within a day? The poor devils! They were among the bravest soldiers in the world, but what would they do against the deadly trap, de Saxe had set for them? A valley, an inviting open space, yet its floor being too hazardous and accidented terrain for cavalry. Once the infantry would get across, they would be on their own. At the end of the valley : the French headquarters, with Louis XV himself present. Did the king realise that de Saxe had insisted on his presence on the battlefield (“Sire, your presence is worth fifty thousand men!”), to use him as an irresistible bate for Cumberland? Bill Cumberland, who, in all his self-complacency, mistook himself for the new Duke of Marlborough and thought the battle already won.
Cumberland was clearly so self-confident, that he was ignoring the basic rules of battle preparation : check your opponent. Here was one reason for Barb, not to return to Cumberland’s tent the next evening : she had given ‘estimations’ of the French strength of only the half they really were (and these figures suited Cumberland’s previous estimations, som he believed them). She had not mentioned a word about the many French hiding in the woods on the high grounds. Nor about the redoubts built on both sides of the valley, also on high grounds, with riflemen and artillery. The village of Fontenoy, Cumberland thought he could simply walk in, was a fortified place either! Let his troops shoot themselves through the French line infantry, once they will break through and storm the king’s headquarters, they will be in the valley of death. Cannon to the left of them, cannon to the right of them, cannon in front of them! Pounded from three sides, on their flanks from above, with hot steel! Marksmen everywhere on their flanks! At the end of the valley the finest French cavalry awaiting them (and the British cavalry not able to intervene from their positions). And last but not least, several thousands of vengeful men from the Irish Brigade, impatiently waiting to prick as much as possible Brits on their bayonets!
It was obvious that Barb would not return to Cumberland’s tent, because she would not have to answer nasty questions afterwards, and because there would be no victory to celebrate if everything went according to de Saxe’s plan, and because…
Whatever they said about de Saxe, yes, he suffered from health problems. He had worked out his battle plan most of the time from his bed. But despite his state of health, de Saxe’s energy, leadership and tactical genius were not affected. Nor was the other virtue he was reputed for In whole Europe, his unsatisfiable desire for women. Barb herself had found out. She and de Saxe had designed their cunning plan to deceive the unexperienced and too self-confident Cumberland, and to lure him straight into de Saxe's battleplan. Barb had experienced on the occasion, that de Saxe's personal artillery was still in good working order. She had thereby allowed de Saxe to see what Cumberland better would not see, otherwise he would have become suspicious : the traces of whip marks on her back.
Dublin, Ireland, 2 years earlier…
“Condemned to 20 lashes with a bullwhip, stripped down to the waste, in public, for throwing a rotten egg to a soldier of His Majesty : Barbara O’Moore!”
Mná na hÉireann. When an Irishwoman is out for revenge, she is as deadly as a whole brigade.
The fifth year of the Austrian Succession War.
The evening of May 10th 1745.
“Is that the King’s tent, Miss Moore!”
“Just along the Scheldt! Yes, Mylord, there it is!”
The Duke of Cumberland looked again through his monocular, with a satisfied smile on his face!
“Are you sure, he is there!?”
“Definitely, My Lord! The king arrived a few hours ago! He has come straight from Versailles! I saw his carriage arrive!”
“Splendid! And you say he brought his son with him!”
“Yes, My Lord, definitely!”
“Splendidly splendid, Miss Moore! The last time a King of France and his son were together on a battlefield, was in 1356! Poitiers! One of our greatest victories ever! We chopped their army to pieces! We captured the king and his son and two thousand nobles! This is a good spell for us! History is on our side! What else have you seen?”
“Maurice de Saxe!”
“De Saxe! That man is ill! What is he doing there!”
“He is the commander of operations! He only reports to the king!”
“Now that is jolly good splendid! The French have put their fate into the hands of an oversexed, bedridden German noble bastard! They must be really desperate!”
“There are indeed a few high nobles in the King's inner circle, who dispute de Saxe’s authority, because of his state of health. But apparently, the king fully trusts him!”
“Now tally ho! If the French nobles bicker before going into battle, their case is lost in advance! We British, we have learned only to bicker after we lost a battle! So, obviously, we bicker very rarely anyway, Miss Moore!”
“Sure, My Lord!”
“Anything else, you… picked up, Miss Moore?”
“Apparently, the French field commanders have orders, to never, never, shoot first, in case of a frontal confrontation!”
“Oh! Awesomely splendid! I will convey to my field commanders the order to shoot first, but, of course, only after having proposed the French to do so on our troops! After all, we British must behave in a gentlemanly way in all circumstances, even towards some poor sods we are about to butcher at point blank, right!? Once we shot our way through these frog-eaters, that king would better run as fast as he can, or I’ll get him by his pompous ass! Thank you, Miss Moore, I will certainly reward you generously, for your valuable information. And, of course, tomorrow evening, you are invited in my tent to celebrate our victory! We shall make it a..private celebration, wouldn’t we,… Barb?”
“Absolutely, My Lord!” Miss Moore replied the invitation, politely bowing before she left the tent.
In the camp hung the nervous calm of the evening before the battle. Soldiers were cleaning their weapons and equipment, on which their life could depend on, the next day. Little was said. They were mostly in thoughts.
Scotsmen! Highlanders! How many would still be alive, within a day? The poor devils! They were among the bravest soldiers in the world, but what would they do against the deadly trap, de Saxe had set for them? A valley, an inviting open space, yet its floor being too hazardous and accidented terrain for cavalry. Once the infantry would get across, they would be on their own. At the end of the valley : the French headquarters, with Louis XV himself present. Did the king realise that de Saxe had insisted on his presence on the battlefield (“Sire, your presence is worth fifty thousand men!”), to use him as an irresistible bate for Cumberland? Bill Cumberland, who, in all his self-complacency, mistook himself for the new Duke of Marlborough and thought the battle already won.
Cumberland was clearly so self-confident, that he was ignoring the basic rules of battle preparation : check your opponent. Here was one reason for Barb, not to return to Cumberland’s tent the next evening : she had given ‘estimations’ of the French strength of only the half they really were (and these figures suited Cumberland’s previous estimations, som he believed them). She had not mentioned a word about the many French hiding in the woods on the high grounds. Nor about the redoubts built on both sides of the valley, also on high grounds, with riflemen and artillery. The village of Fontenoy, Cumberland thought he could simply walk in, was a fortified place either! Let his troops shoot themselves through the French line infantry, once they will break through and storm the king’s headquarters, they will be in the valley of death. Cannon to the left of them, cannon to the right of them, cannon in front of them! Pounded from three sides, on their flanks from above, with hot steel! Marksmen everywhere on their flanks! At the end of the valley the finest French cavalry awaiting them (and the British cavalry not able to intervene from their positions). And last but not least, several thousands of vengeful men from the Irish Brigade, impatiently waiting to prick as much as possible Brits on their bayonets!
It was obvious that Barb would not return to Cumberland’s tent, because she would not have to answer nasty questions afterwards, and because there would be no victory to celebrate if everything went according to de Saxe’s plan, and because…
Whatever they said about de Saxe, yes, he suffered from health problems. He had worked out his battle plan most of the time from his bed. But despite his state of health, de Saxe’s energy, leadership and tactical genius were not affected. Nor was the other virtue he was reputed for In whole Europe, his unsatisfiable desire for women. Barb herself had found out. She and de Saxe had designed their cunning plan to deceive the unexperienced and too self-confident Cumberland, and to lure him straight into de Saxe's battleplan. Barb had experienced on the occasion, that de Saxe's personal artillery was still in good working order. She had thereby allowed de Saxe to see what Cumberland better would not see, otherwise he would have become suspicious : the traces of whip marks on her back.
Dublin, Ireland, 2 years earlier…
“Condemned to 20 lashes with a bullwhip, stripped down to the waste, in public, for throwing a rotten egg to a soldier of His Majesty : Barbara O’Moore!”
Mná na hÉireann. When an Irishwoman is out for revenge, she is as deadly as a whole brigade.
Here is where I started giggling and never stopped until the end
Marvelously done! Bravo!
Last edited:
Of course, Barb had revived the Power from Maurice de Saxe.Here is where I started giggling and never stopped until the end
Marvelously done! Bravo!
And she had her revenge.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Great manip, Madiosi!
Showing off my tongue dexterity??Great manip, Madiosi!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Like Cleopatra's nose has changed the face of the world, so has Barb's tight little!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
February 1846.
Kalisz, the border between Congress Poland and Prussia.
Why did it take so long? The Prussian official was already in his office for twenty minutes.
Waiting on a wooden chair, she tried to hide her calm. But deep inside, she was anxious that someone would recognize her. A celeb, a socialite, and now on the run for the authorities. In this stage, the Russian border guards were still authorized to arrest her. There was a coming and going of guards from both countries, and from people waiting for their visa too! Anytime, she feared, one of them would address her,…
Finally, the Prussian official, a man in his fifties with a protruding belly, a heavy moustache, and an impressive blue uniform, returned.
“Fraulein… Moor!? Barbara Moor!?”
Suddenly she realized he was calling her name. Make no mistakes now!
“Moore! Jawohl, that is me!”
“You can pass the border! Here is your visa! Entschuldigung for letting you wait, but we do not see American passports every day, here! Gute reise, nach Paris, Fraulein Moore!”
“Danke Schön, Herr Hauptmann!”
****
In early 1846, the Prussian partition of Poland had seen an uprise. It had been crushed, but it also had stirred political unrest in the Austrian and Russian parts of Poland. In the Russian part (‘Congress Poland’), repression had been harsh.
On April 26th 1846, the following news item appeared in the French newspaper ‘Le Progrès’ (translated from French).
“--This beautiful madame de K…. , who underwent the trial of the knout in Warsaw, for having, according to the Gazette d’Augsbourg, corresponded with the propaganda in Paris, is Mme de Kalerdgi, the proper niece of M. von Nesselrode. This noble woman did not get this ignoble punishment for having corresponded with the propaganda in Paris, but for having helped the escape of M. count Dombrowski, the husband of one of her youth friends.
Countess Orloff, the aunt of the minister, was only whipped, for having received at her home people with bad thoughts. But the devotion to friendship of Mme de Kalerdgi, made her deserve the knout properly. If we give the names of these nobility victims, it is to show that the Tsar’s knout can hit innocence, grace, beauty, devotion, everything respectable and sacred, everywhere, like in Russia.”
London, April 28th 1846. The Red Lion Inn.
“Did you read that, Mr. Sharpe? De Kalergis, under the knout! That’s hot news!”
“I tell you this, Mister Loxuru! I was there!”
“Really!? How could you miss the scoop!?”
“Censorship, Mr. Loxuru! The Russian authorities kept us, journalists on the leash! No uncontrolled news about the uprise was allowed to get across the border. Yet, they wanted to show a real statement, so, they invited a foreign reporter to the execution of Maria Kalergi’s punishment! But then, they kept me in house arrest. So, unfortunately, the Gazette d’Augsbourg’ and ‘Le Progrès’, and not ‘The Pictorial Times’ were first, since they managed to smuggle it out before I was allowed to leave the country! But we have something in compensation for our readers!”
“What, Mister Sharpe?”
“This! The illustration, giving an accurate account of Madame Kalergi’s flogging!”
“Was it so accurate, Mister Sharpe?”
“It was the way it went! She was sitting on her knees, tied to that pole. There were actually, besides policemen and judicial officials, a few onlookers too. The door to the streets was open! There is only one detail that is incorrect!”
“Which is?”
“She was not stripped down to the waste! She was completely naked! The authorities wanted to push the humiliation as far as possible! But we have to take care of our reader’s feelings.”
“That must have been some…show, Mister Sharpe!”
“It certainly was, Mister Loxuru! But I will inform you about the details in a more private environment! My excitement could get out of control, you see!”
“But tell me, Mister Sharpe! According to our information, on the supposed day of the flogging, Maria Kalergis had already fled Congress Poland, on her way to Paris! The day before the flogging, to be exactly, she has entered Prussia through the Kalisz border crossing. I have heard she is staying in Dresden since!”
“That is true, Mister Loxuru! Because, actually, the woman whose flogging I witnessed, was not Maria Kalergis!”
“Who was it, then?”
“A certain Barbara Moore, an American traveler, who was in Warsaw at the time!”
“How did she get into trouble?”
“Barbara Moore had got well acquainted with Maria Kalergis. When Kalergis had become into trouble for helping a friend out of Poland, Moore had lent her identity to her, allowing her to flee the country in turn. Barbara Moore thought, that being an American would protect her, and that she would get away with an admonishment and a fine, that Kalergis would refund her afterwards. But the Russian authorities were absolutely not amused and found her guilty of rebellion, obstruction of law and conspiracy, and therefore, she got twenty lashes on her bare body!”
“So, if I understand, the woman on this illustration is not Maria Kalergis, then why… publish it as Kalergis’ punishment?”
“Kalergis and Moore seemed to have been look-alikes. But whom of our readers has ever heard of a certain Barbara Moore? Yet, an illustration of the flogging of a famous and intellectual socialite like Maria Kalergis, that will sell some edition! Our readers want to read juicy stories about such celebs!”
“I see! But what will Kalergis think about it?”
“Kalergis is still stuck in Dresden, she is more bothered about getting her papers in order and she still risks arrest and extradition to Poland, so, she better keeps quiet! I hope to publish the illustration in our edition of May 2nd!”
Kalisz, the border between Congress Poland and Prussia.
Why did it take so long? The Prussian official was already in his office for twenty minutes.
Waiting on a wooden chair, she tried to hide her calm. But deep inside, she was anxious that someone would recognize her. A celeb, a socialite, and now on the run for the authorities. In this stage, the Russian border guards were still authorized to arrest her. There was a coming and going of guards from both countries, and from people waiting for their visa too! Anytime, she feared, one of them would address her,…
Finally, the Prussian official, a man in his fifties with a protruding belly, a heavy moustache, and an impressive blue uniform, returned.
“Fraulein… Moor!? Barbara Moor!?”
Suddenly she realized he was calling her name. Make no mistakes now!
“Moore! Jawohl, that is me!”
“You can pass the border! Here is your visa! Entschuldigung for letting you wait, but we do not see American passports every day, here! Gute reise, nach Paris, Fraulein Moore!”
“Danke Schön, Herr Hauptmann!”
****
In early 1846, the Prussian partition of Poland had seen an uprise. It had been crushed, but it also had stirred political unrest in the Austrian and Russian parts of Poland. In the Russian part (‘Congress Poland’), repression had been harsh.
On April 26th 1846, the following news item appeared in the French newspaper ‘Le Progrès’ (translated from French).
“--This beautiful madame de K…. , who underwent the trial of the knout in Warsaw, for having, according to the Gazette d’Augsbourg, corresponded with the propaganda in Paris, is Mme de Kalerdgi, the proper niece of M. von Nesselrode. This noble woman did not get this ignoble punishment for having corresponded with the propaganda in Paris, but for having helped the escape of M. count Dombrowski, the husband of one of her youth friends.
Countess Orloff, the aunt of the minister, was only whipped, for having received at her home people with bad thoughts. But the devotion to friendship of Mme de Kalerdgi, made her deserve the knout properly. If we give the names of these nobility victims, it is to show that the Tsar’s knout can hit innocence, grace, beauty, devotion, everything respectable and sacred, everywhere, like in Russia.”
London, April 28th 1846. The Red Lion Inn.
“Did you read that, Mr. Sharpe? De Kalergis, under the knout! That’s hot news!”
“I tell you this, Mister Loxuru! I was there!”
“Really!? How could you miss the scoop!?”
“Censorship, Mr. Loxuru! The Russian authorities kept us, journalists on the leash! No uncontrolled news about the uprise was allowed to get across the border. Yet, they wanted to show a real statement, so, they invited a foreign reporter to the execution of Maria Kalergi’s punishment! But then, they kept me in house arrest. So, unfortunately, the Gazette d’Augsbourg’ and ‘Le Progrès’, and not ‘The Pictorial Times’ were first, since they managed to smuggle it out before I was allowed to leave the country! But we have something in compensation for our readers!”
“What, Mister Sharpe?”
“This! The illustration, giving an accurate account of Madame Kalergi’s flogging!”
“Was it so accurate, Mister Sharpe?”
“It was the way it went! She was sitting on her knees, tied to that pole. There were actually, besides policemen and judicial officials, a few onlookers too. The door to the streets was open! There is only one detail that is incorrect!”
“Which is?”
“She was not stripped down to the waste! She was completely naked! The authorities wanted to push the humiliation as far as possible! But we have to take care of our reader’s feelings.”
“That must have been some…show, Mister Sharpe!”
“It certainly was, Mister Loxuru! But I will inform you about the details in a more private environment! My excitement could get out of control, you see!”
“But tell me, Mister Sharpe! According to our information, on the supposed day of the flogging, Maria Kalergis had already fled Congress Poland, on her way to Paris! The day before the flogging, to be exactly, she has entered Prussia through the Kalisz border crossing. I have heard she is staying in Dresden since!”
“That is true, Mister Loxuru! Because, actually, the woman whose flogging I witnessed, was not Maria Kalergis!”
“Who was it, then?”
“A certain Barbara Moore, an American traveler, who was in Warsaw at the time!”
“How did she get into trouble?”
“Barbara Moore had got well acquainted with Maria Kalergis. When Kalergis had become into trouble for helping a friend out of Poland, Moore had lent her identity to her, allowing her to flee the country in turn. Barbara Moore thought, that being an American would protect her, and that she would get away with an admonishment and a fine, that Kalergis would refund her afterwards. But the Russian authorities were absolutely not amused and found her guilty of rebellion, obstruction of law and conspiracy, and therefore, she got twenty lashes on her bare body!”
“So, if I understand, the woman on this illustration is not Maria Kalergis, then why… publish it as Kalergis’ punishment?”
“Kalergis and Moore seemed to have been look-alikes. But whom of our readers has ever heard of a certain Barbara Moore? Yet, an illustration of the flogging of a famous and intellectual socialite like Maria Kalergis, that will sell some edition! Our readers want to read juicy stories about such celebs!”
“I see! But what will Kalergis think about it?”
“Kalergis is still stuck in Dresden, she is more bothered about getting her papers in order and she still risks arrest and extradition to Poland, so, she better keeps quiet! I hope to publish the illustration in our edition of May 2nd!”
Holy shit! Great great great grandmother Barbara did that? The Moore family tree is getting Moore interesting with each new discovery!
Another winner, Loxoru! Keep em coming.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Thank you!
Inspired by an old thread of me :A Noblewoman Under The Knout (1846).
In the thread ‘Sasha under the Knout’, Pkindenhaag posted some historical pics of knouting, among which this one. In fact, this drawing has two little stories, first of all for me personally, secondly for the strange little story that seems to be behind it. 1. My personal history with it. My...
cruxforums.com
twonines
LIMERICUS
The whole distaff side of the Moore family seems to carry that amazing gene which renders them vulnerable to severe whipping at the slightest excuse.
She does seem to have a tendency to wander into battlefields wearing very little in the way of, er...camouflage...
Shock and distraction is a better tactic, I always thinkShe does seem to have a tendency to wander into battlefields wearing very little in the way of, er...camouflage...
Migoz2
Senator
It has always worked so well for you..........Shock and distraction is a better tactic, I always think
Spike Sharp
Guard
A mistake she often makes!
Oh, and by the way, Mr Loxuru, you never paid for that last round! Do you think we journalists are made of money?
I was flat broke having chased Barb Moore all around Europe. Mind you, I can't pretend it wasn't worthwhile!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Especially watching her tight little under the knout, I suppose!I was flat broke having chased Barb Moore all around Europe. Mind you, I can't pretend it wasn't worthwhile!
I still owe you a round, but you still owe me your promise to reveal me the details of Barb's flogging! That makes us even!
A mistake she often makes!
Oh, and by the way, Mr Loxuru, you never paid for that last round! Do you think we journalists are made of money?
I was flat broke having chased Barb Moore all around Europe. Mind you, I can't pretend it wasn't worthwhile!
Couple of boozers, these two. I’ll try to ignore them. Details on my knouting indeed! Geeze!Especially watching her tight little under the knout, I suppose!
I still owe you a round, but you still owe me your promise to reveal me the details of Barb's flogging! That makes us even!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
No one understood, why Pamela Moore, a cousin of Barbara Moore, desperately wanted to travel to Europe. It was 1915. There was a war going on at the other side of the Atlantic. A journey at sea had become deadly dangerous, because of submarine warfare and mines all around, which all did not check a ship’s flag before coming into action.
But cousin Pamela was undoubtedly endowed with the stubbornness, characteristic for the Moore women.
“I want to see Paris, before the Huns have burned it down!” cousin Pamela had firmly stated. “And then, I got to Italy! That country is not at war! I want to see the Antique and Renaissance art treasures, before I start raising a family, since there will no more be time for travel, then! And I cannot wait for years anymore!”
So, niece Pamela left New York on May 2nd 1915, a little bit disappointed, since she had wanted to depart a day earlier and on RMS Lusitania. But her cousin Barbara, who had helped her at the booking, had confused Cunard with White Star line, and so, Pamela travelled on a smaller liner from the latter company.
On May 10th 1915, the Moore family got a cable that niece Pamela had safely arrived at Le Havre, France.
On May 21nd 1915, another cable : “Paris was wonderful! I leave with a night train to Italy this evening!”
On May 23rd 1915, Italy declared war to the Central Powers.
No more news had been received from cousin Pamela since.
The Moore family obviously got worried. Through diplomatic ways, they tried to find out what had happened. In vain, unfortunately.
Things worsened of course, as the war drew on, and the US joined the Allies. Because, actually, the only hint they got, was a message from a certain Mr. Theodore Henry Tree, a high official from the American Embassy in Paris, who recalled that, in May 1915, a certain Miss Pamela Moore had informed about getting a visa for a week in Vienna. She would thereby travel through neutral Italy. Mr. Tree recalled having warned her that tension was building up between Italy and Austria-Hungary, but that Miss Moore had insisted she would like to visit Vienna. He could however not confirm that she had really made the trip.
Was Pamela stuck in Vienna, the border with Italy being closed behind her? But she was an American, it would take almost two years before the US was at war with Austria? It still would have been possible for her to return to Italy or France across Switzerland?
The other worrying element was a piece of propaganda, the attention of the Moore family had been drawn on, after the US had joined the war against the Central Powers. A propaganda piece, depicting cousin Pamela as a victim of war atrocities, allegedly committed by the Austrian Army.
Finally, the war ended, and in the summer of 1919, as soon as a peace treaty had been signed, Barbara Moore took on a voyage to Europe, hoping to find out what had happened to her cousin Pamela. Her first destination was the embassy in Paris for a meeting with Mr. Tree, and next, an address in Montmartre, where she was received by an artist.
“This is a work from your hand, Monsieur?”
“Sure, mademoiselle, I recall her clearly. I met her at the Lapin Agile. A remarkable woman! Pablo, who incidentally was in Paris, immediately fell on her! He had a strange influence on her!”
“What do you mean, Monsieur?”
“In a few days, he has turned her from a somewhat conservative, although adventurous American young woman, into an activist determined to help ending the war, and in such a way to create a better world. She has turned to an ideology, which has evolved to what we call now, and fear now : Bolshevism!”
“We have been told, she wanted to Vienna!”
“It is possible. She saw the Double Monarchy as the weakest link of the old world. If it would fall, the rest of Europe would go down with it, and on its ruins, the proletarian paradise would be built up!”
“So it is not impossible, that she has joined a clandestine Bolshevik movement, to start agitation against the Austrian government!”
“Is it possible, Mademoiselle Moore, and that she got arrested by Austrian police! It was war, Mademoiselle! Such agitators were mostly executed for high treason! Pole hanging.”
Barbara shivered. That Mr. Tree in the embassy had also coined that option, although he was not aware of cousin Pamela’s alleged ‘conversion’ to Bolshevism. Mr. Tree had explained with more detail how it went. Mostly, the trials were by court martial, with little communication of verdicts to the public! Sentenced inside prison, and immediately getting walked to the hanging pole. No more words or time wasted! There was a row of poles in the prison courtyard. The condemned were stripped naked, put with their back against a pole, hands tied in front. A thin noose, attached to a rope running over a pulley on top of the pole, was put over their neck. Then, the rope was pulled from behind, and the condemned was slowly strangulated. Their minutes long banging of their feet and legs against the pole, reechoed loudly against the walls of the courtyard, and could be heard by all prisoners in their cells. A nasty prospect for those whose trial was scheduled for the next days. Mr. Tree had told it with an unmistakable Arkansas accent, making it sound even more morbid. But, as he had said, there were no indications that there had been a Pamela Moore executed that way.
“According to sources, this drawing, made by you, was based on finds of similar drawings in Austria. It is told, they depict real facts, real atrocities, committed during the war!? Could this cruelty have been the fate of my cousin? That’s really her, on this drawing, there is no doubt about it”
“No, Mademoiselle! Your cousin has most likely not been crucified! Actually, permit me to tell, that your cousin had a somewhat… strange kink, as they call it. She insisted to act as a model for me..”
“A model, Monsieur Steinlen?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Moore. She insisted on posing naked for me, posing like a crucified woman, in different positions! It excited her, really. When she left to Italy, she has taken a few drawings of her with. She has paid me for them! It looks like, at least one of the drawings has been separated from her and has appeared somewhere in Austria. Aparently it has started its own life. That story that the find in Austria depicts a real crucifixion of a woman in Serbia is false! All the drawings have been made here, by me! What does it tell about her real fate, I don’t know!? With the copy I had kept with me, I wanted to make a ‘Crucified Belgium’, but then, the invasion of Serbia occurred, and depicting her as a crucified Serbia better suited the propaganda needs of the moment!”
(Théophile-Alexandre Steinlen (1859-1923) : 'Crucified Serbia' (1916)).
But cousin Pamela was undoubtedly endowed with the stubbornness, characteristic for the Moore women.
“I want to see Paris, before the Huns have burned it down!” cousin Pamela had firmly stated. “And then, I got to Italy! That country is not at war! I want to see the Antique and Renaissance art treasures, before I start raising a family, since there will no more be time for travel, then! And I cannot wait for years anymore!”
So, niece Pamela left New York on May 2nd 1915, a little bit disappointed, since she had wanted to depart a day earlier and on RMS Lusitania. But her cousin Barbara, who had helped her at the booking, had confused Cunard with White Star line, and so, Pamela travelled on a smaller liner from the latter company.
On May 10th 1915, the Moore family got a cable that niece Pamela had safely arrived at Le Havre, France.
On May 21nd 1915, another cable : “Paris was wonderful! I leave with a night train to Italy this evening!”
On May 23rd 1915, Italy declared war to the Central Powers.
No more news had been received from cousin Pamela since.
The Moore family obviously got worried. Through diplomatic ways, they tried to find out what had happened. In vain, unfortunately.
Things worsened of course, as the war drew on, and the US joined the Allies. Because, actually, the only hint they got, was a message from a certain Mr. Theodore Henry Tree, a high official from the American Embassy in Paris, who recalled that, in May 1915, a certain Miss Pamela Moore had informed about getting a visa for a week in Vienna. She would thereby travel through neutral Italy. Mr. Tree recalled having warned her that tension was building up between Italy and Austria-Hungary, but that Miss Moore had insisted she would like to visit Vienna. He could however not confirm that she had really made the trip.
Was Pamela stuck in Vienna, the border with Italy being closed behind her? But she was an American, it would take almost two years before the US was at war with Austria? It still would have been possible for her to return to Italy or France across Switzerland?
The other worrying element was a piece of propaganda, the attention of the Moore family had been drawn on, after the US had joined the war against the Central Powers. A propaganda piece, depicting cousin Pamela as a victim of war atrocities, allegedly committed by the Austrian Army.
Finally, the war ended, and in the summer of 1919, as soon as a peace treaty had been signed, Barbara Moore took on a voyage to Europe, hoping to find out what had happened to her cousin Pamela. Her first destination was the embassy in Paris for a meeting with Mr. Tree, and next, an address in Montmartre, where she was received by an artist.
“This is a work from your hand, Monsieur?”
“Sure, mademoiselle, I recall her clearly. I met her at the Lapin Agile. A remarkable woman! Pablo, who incidentally was in Paris, immediately fell on her! He had a strange influence on her!”
“What do you mean, Monsieur?”
“In a few days, he has turned her from a somewhat conservative, although adventurous American young woman, into an activist determined to help ending the war, and in such a way to create a better world. She has turned to an ideology, which has evolved to what we call now, and fear now : Bolshevism!”
“We have been told, she wanted to Vienna!”
“It is possible. She saw the Double Monarchy as the weakest link of the old world. If it would fall, the rest of Europe would go down with it, and on its ruins, the proletarian paradise would be built up!”
“So it is not impossible, that she has joined a clandestine Bolshevik movement, to start agitation against the Austrian government!”
“Is it possible, Mademoiselle Moore, and that she got arrested by Austrian police! It was war, Mademoiselle! Such agitators were mostly executed for high treason! Pole hanging.”
Barbara shivered. That Mr. Tree in the embassy had also coined that option, although he was not aware of cousin Pamela’s alleged ‘conversion’ to Bolshevism. Mr. Tree had explained with more detail how it went. Mostly, the trials were by court martial, with little communication of verdicts to the public! Sentenced inside prison, and immediately getting walked to the hanging pole. No more words or time wasted! There was a row of poles in the prison courtyard. The condemned were stripped naked, put with their back against a pole, hands tied in front. A thin noose, attached to a rope running over a pulley on top of the pole, was put over their neck. Then, the rope was pulled from behind, and the condemned was slowly strangulated. Their minutes long banging of their feet and legs against the pole, reechoed loudly against the walls of the courtyard, and could be heard by all prisoners in their cells. A nasty prospect for those whose trial was scheduled for the next days. Mr. Tree had told it with an unmistakable Arkansas accent, making it sound even more morbid. But, as he had said, there were no indications that there had been a Pamela Moore executed that way.
“According to sources, this drawing, made by you, was based on finds of similar drawings in Austria. It is told, they depict real facts, real atrocities, committed during the war!? Could this cruelty have been the fate of my cousin? That’s really her, on this drawing, there is no doubt about it”
“No, Mademoiselle! Your cousin has most likely not been crucified! Actually, permit me to tell, that your cousin had a somewhat… strange kink, as they call it. She insisted to act as a model for me..”
“A model, Monsieur Steinlen?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Moore. She insisted on posing naked for me, posing like a crucified woman, in different positions! It excited her, really. When she left to Italy, she has taken a few drawings of her with. She has paid me for them! It looks like, at least one of the drawings has been separated from her and has appeared somewhere in Austria. Aparently it has started its own life. That story that the find in Austria depicts a real crucifixion of a woman in Serbia is false! All the drawings have been made here, by me! What does it tell about her real fate, I don’t know!? With the copy I had kept with me, I wanted to make a ‘Crucified Belgium’, but then, the invasion of Serbia occurred, and depicting her as a crucified Serbia better suited the propaganda needs of the moment!”
(Théophile-Alexandre Steinlen (1859-1923) : 'Crucified Serbia' (1916)).
I don’t know why those stuck up Brits always have to make such a muddle of things. Why not have just one line?
Wow! Another winner from the pen of Loxoru.
Sounds like Pamela Moore may have invented pole dancing. We Moore’s have always been at the forefront of new entertainment trends.
Last edited: