Saturday, January 7, 2023

PART 2: VOLTAIRE, THE CALAS MYSTERY FACTS, TRIAL: IS THE PEN STILL MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD? By Kimberly Thorn

 

Although we did learn some about Voltaire in the introduction, I do not feel that I paid the proper homage to this man.  We know he wrote many letters and plays during his career but more importantly was his involvement in the Calas Case.
Ian Davidson wrote that, “what became famous as the Calas affair, which was one of the most dramatic turning points in Voltaire’s life; it was also a key moment in the history of penal reform in Europe.”  As Davidson continued, “he set out to challenge the verdict in the Calas case and in the process found himself launched, at the age of sixty-eight, on a new vocation, as a campaigner for justice” (Davidson 317).  

Jean Calas was a 65-year-old cloth merchant who lived with his family above his shop in Toulouse.  His religious belief was not the same as was the national religion in France.  (Remember, in Voltaire’s time there was an absolute monarchy, so the king ruled supreme because it was believed that the king was king because he was appointed by God).  However according to gossip at the time, one of Jean’s sons, Marc-Antoine was thinking of converting to the national religion.  On the night of October 13, 1761, Jean, his wife, their two sons, Marc-Antonine, Pierre, their servant, Jeanne and a friend of Pierre’s Gaubert Lavaysse were at dinner at the Calas home, again above the shop.  After dinner, Marc-Antonine got up from the table and went downstairs to the shop.  It was thought that he was going for a walk, so when he didn’t return, no one thought it was odd.  No one else left the upstairs until Jean went with a light to show their visitor downstairs to the shop for him to leave.  It was when Jean and Lavaysse got to the shop that they found Marc-Antonine dead.  Realizing that he had been murdered, the Calas family called the authorities.  (Who remember, work solely for the King).  Magistrate David de Beadrigue arrested the entire Calas family that was there.  He listened to the gossip and thought that the Calas family killed Marc-Antonine to keep him from converting religions.  To complicate the matter further, the Calas family changed their story.  At first, they said that they found his body on the floor.  Then they said they found him lying by a rope that had been hanging between two double doors.  Finally, they came clean with the authorities to say that they were trying to hide the fact that it may have been a suicide, as Marc-Antonine would have a dishonorable burial.  Unfortunately for them, the change in story, along with the fact of the gossip or Marc-Antonine changing religions and the fact that in 1761 France, there was no presumed innocent until you are found guilty.  Instead, you were presumed guilty and the trial’s purpose was to find guilt.  The one accused had no way of knowing what their charge was, were not allowed to be present during questioning, or to even know what questions were to be asked to prepare any kind of defense.  While Calas had an attorney, the attorney was only allowed to make inquiries outside of the courtroom.

Even though, during the trial, there was no proof of the gossip of Marc-Antonine’s changing religions and there was no evidence that Calas had anything to do with his son’s death, he was executed, and his family lost everything.  “On 9 March 1762 the court decided, by a narrow majority, that Jean Calas should be broken on the wheel, exposed for two hours, then strangled and thrown on a burning pyre,” (Davidson 319).

Voltaire sprang into action just three weeks after Calas was executed.  Voltaire’s response to fight back was a three pronged one.  He planned to respond by: “delving into the facts of the trial, pulling strings with influential people at court and finally, mobilizing public opinion.” (Davidson 322).  
Next time we will delve more into what exactly Voltaire did with just his pen and words, to change the life of the Calas family and penal system.  But for now, I leave you with Voltaire’s feelings on the Calas injustice. 
Nothing more than that justice should not be as dumb as it is blind, that it should speak, and say why it condemned Calas.  What horror is this, a secret judgement, a condemnation with explanations!  Is there a more execrable tyranny that that of spilling blood on a whim, without giving the least reason?  It is not the customer, say the judges.  Hey, monsters!  It must become the custom!  You owe an accounting to men for the blood of men. As for me, I do not ask anything more than the publication of the trial procedure.  People say that this poor woman [Mme Calas] must first get the documents sent from Toulouse’ but where will she get them?  Who will open the clerk’s den? In any case, it is not just she who interest me, it is the public, it is humanity.  It is important or everybody that such decisions should be publicly justified. (Davidson 323). 



Reference:
Davidson, Ian.  Voltaire: A Life: Pegasus Books, LLC.  New York, NY.  2010.

Saturday, December 31, 2022

HAPPY NEW YEAR! By the Sand in Our Shorts bloggers


All of the writers of the "Sand in our Shorts" blog wish all of our readers a wonderful year to come! We've put together some of our favorite poems to curl up with on a cold winter's day, so grab a blanket and a warm cup of cheer and enjoy!

Maria Hudgins: My favorite poem is "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert Service.

"Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee . . ."

Saturday, December 24, 2022

TROPES, CLICHÉS, AND STEREOTYPES, OH MY! A CHRISTMAS STORY UNDER THE LOOKING GLASS. By Guest Blogger Charles “Chuckie” Farkus


Be careful kid, "You'll shoot your eye out!"
What a great opportunity this is for me to set the record straight. When I heard that the Sand in Our Shorts blog had a holiday opening designed to give its regular contributors a chance to enjoy the holiday with family and friends, I jumped at the opportunity. Do you know what it’s like to be the younger sibling of a famous movie villain, like Scut Farkus in A Christmas Story? Well, I do. And I have tales to tell.

Seems that everyone remembers my evil big brother. Yeah. Green eyes, yellow teeth, coonskin cap. That’s who I’m talking about. (He grew up to be a police officer, you know.) But then there’s me, baby brother Charles “Chuckie” Farkus. We also lived on Cleveland Street, two houses down from Ralphie and Randy Parker, next door to the Bumpasses. I was best friends with Randy. I looked like a tick and couldn’t put my arms down on the way to school, either. But do you hear about me and my challenges? No.

And what a rotten movie it is, filled with tropes, clichés, and stereotypes. You know, things like “You’re gonna shoot your eye out,” the Italian word Fra-gee-lay, sticking your tongue to a frozen flagpole, and my favorite, Christmas dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Oh, please! The writers ought to be ashamed.

So tell me, what’s your favorite or, better yet, least favorite, thing about A Christmas Story? And don’t worry if you haven’t seen it. You can check your channel guide for where to find the next marathon, 24-hours-a-day, “wash-Ralphie’s-mouth-out-with-soap” barf-o-rama.   

Oh, by the way, there’s a sequel—A Christmas Story Christmas. I’m not in that one, either. I can hardly wait to watch it—NOT. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just sit her enjoying a piping hot cup of Ovaltine, as I check the blog every few minutes for your comments.   

Saturday, December 17, 2022

IF MYSTERY WRITERS WROTE CHRISTMAS SONGS by Yvonne Saxon


If you let a mystery writer loose with the lyrics of a Christmas song, you might end up singing something like this:

On the first day of Christmas, my mystery gave to me, crime scene tape strung on my Christmas tree.

On the second day of Christmas, my mystery gave to me, two inheritance fights, and some crime scene tape strung on my Christmas tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my mystery gave to me, three funny sidekicks, two money fights, and that yellow tape up on my Christmas tree.

Saturday, December 10, 2022

A WRITER'S CHRISTMAS PARTY by Maria Hudgins

Our local Sisters in Crime group—we call it Mystery by the Sea because we live in coastal Virginia—met for lunch at Carrabba’s for a pre-holiday party. 

What, you ask, do writers talk about when they are just having fun? I made mental notes as I ate my lasagna. We talked about new babies, new contracts, and fresh writing opportunities. Who wants a roommate for Malice Domestic, who did NaNoWriMo this year, who is letting their hair go natural? Do you have a picture of your new dog/cat? We spent a long time on the crucial topic of Best First Sentence. Believe it or not, there was some support for “It was a dark and stormy night.” We came to no consensus of course but had a lot of laughs.

One thing we did NOT talk about was money. We all know we’re in the wrong profession for getting rich and that’s okay. I’m convinced that the few writers
who do get rich, do so almost by accident. It’s occasionally a side benefit but not a goal. We write because we are writers.

This group has been together for about twenty years, and a few original members are still with us. Most, however, are new blood. We celebrate as each newbie gets that first story published. There is no jealousy among us because we are not competing. We may all become wildly successful. Or not.

We exchanged ideas and recommendations for online resources that offer the kinds of help we need. One of our members is venturing into the world of script writing and she recommended an online program that I may check out myself. A few new books are generating talk in the mystery genre, and we mentioned some without, of course, giving away any endings.

 

We all agreed that the pandemic has had a bad effect on each of us even though most of us work best alone. Other people are where ideas come from. Without human contact we are like tailors without cloth. We need that human contact. As I listened to my fellow writers, I felt like l was rejoining the human race.  

We were a bit loud at times. Fortunately, we met at 11:30 before the lunch crowd hit so we had the place pretty much to ourselves for a while. The manager came over and talked to us, but he didn’t mention the noise. He was just being friendly. I have no idea how our server made sense of our orders. We asked her irrelevant questions, changed our minds (I’ll have what she’s having), and ordered more than we could eat, prompting us to call for a veritable snowstorm of white Styrofoam boxes.

If you are looking to join the writing community yourself, I suggest you shop around in your own community. You’ll probably be surprised that there are people like you close by. And check out online groups, too. You are not alone.

 

Saturday, December 3, 2022

QUOTH THE RAVEN “NEVERMORE.” OR DID HE? By Michael D. Rigg

"Once upon a midnight, dreary...."
Okay, you got me. Edgar Allan Poe’s fantastical Raven really said “Nevermore,” at least in the famous poem. Of course, the Raven and the nearly-napping-guy were figments of Poe’s fertile mind. He created them. So, if Poe quoted the Raven, the Raven must have said it.

But can we make the same assertion about actual historical figures? Did various people utter the pithy, wisdom-laden sayings attributed to them? Quoth the Raven, “Maybe, or maybe not.”

In grade school, many of us learned of George Washington’s commitment to honesty. When confronted by his father about chopping down a cherry tree, six-year-old George confessed his horrific, axe-wielding deed and declared, “I cannot tell a lie.”

Saturday, November 26, 2022

SURRENDER, DOROTHY by Guest Blogger Judy Fowler


Intimidating words. Plucky Dorothy Gale—the protagonist in Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz—isn’t scared off for long. Eventually, she’ll confront her fear of witches because she wants to go home.      

In parts of my life, I’m like Dorothy. When my own “Over the Rainbow” dreams of singing on Broadway and writing books met with setbacks, I threw my support behind my husband’s acting career. All I asked for—if he made it—was a house in Beverly Hills where I could write. This never materialized. I went back to school and bought myself a house in Virginia Beach.

I could have done that earlier, but—like Dorothy—I had to learn it for myself.

SANTA'S JOURNEY THROUGH TIME by Teresa Inge

Any kid can tell you where Santa Claus is from—the North Pole. But his historical journey is even longer and more fantastic than his annual,...