I Tartary
Let’s get this out of the way first. The so-called Tartarian empire is a joke. Why? Well for one thing, the Tartars are not—excuse the understatement—what you would call “craftsmen.” In terms of Tartarian architecture, a tent formed by laying a tarp over a pair of horses would be considered ornate.
If you read through the annals of their history you’ll notice that the Tartars were constantly fetching tinsmiths from France or wherever to build the simplest things like drinking straws for them. Creating a global civilization was out of the question.
On the other hand, the Tartars were great at destroying things, which activity describes their actual involvement with the Ancient Regime. Some people call this cutesy form of poetic injustice inversion.
The way the propaganda works is there’s the official narrative first of all, and then, because a certain percentage of people will spend more than two minutes thinking about the official narrative and then not believe it, there’s the official conspiracy narrative. Which in this case is Tartaria.
The two alternatives are formed to compass the public mind between artificial conceptual bounds that keep the discussion limited to curated and harmless points of controversy.
Or in other words, if the members of a conspiracy-theory forum on the web were to wrangle over the global tartary theory in a discussion spanning six thousand pages, they would thereupon be further rather than closer to their object, epistemologically speaking.
II Romans
No, the global civilization we’re talking about—with its semi-utopian blend of fantasyland architecture, “steampunk” technology, and pastoral innocence—was what is called the Roman Empire but which was in fact essentially Germanic (Franco-gallic) throughout its halcyon period. Germans are good at building things.
Of course, the Western Roman Empire has been pushed back into the mists of prehistory. Only its awkward and sanctimoniously-denominated nephew has been admitted to the modern history party, a hazy non-entity lurking behind England and France with an envious grimace.
The “Holy Roman Empire” appears hazy in the orthodox annals because a lot of its history is predicated of the allegedly totally different Ottoman Empire instead. But the Ottoman Empire, up to the seventeenth century, was just another term for the Holy Roman Empire which again was the same thing as the Eastern Roman Empire. Otto, after all, is a German name and Otto I and Otto II happened to have been Holy Roman Emperors. Maybe that’s the reason the Janissaries were Christians…
This is borne out in the treaty of Magdeburg of 1583, which carries the signatures of both Maximilian (“Most Serene Roman Emperor”) and Mehmet IV (“Most Christian Holy Roman Emperor”) and settles territorial possessions belonging to the latter in the Brazilian provinces of Bahia and Minas Gerais.
The two halves of the Roman Empire evidently ruled in more or less cooperative fashion, simultaneously, although various constitutent parts thereof were pried out of its control, here and there, little by little. This centuries-long scheme of annihilation can be observed in its execution quite precisely by looking for the flaming red castles in the consecutive maps published by cartographers party to the conspiracy such as Ortelius, Mercator, Blau, and so forth.
Caliph-ornia
Obviously the Ottoman strand of the empire ultimately fell under Islamic control, an event that from a different aspect points to the imperial ascension of Russia, which, you may recall, was built on the Eastern Roman model—and from which a series of intense battles between the two powers commenced. This was followed by the tag-team Crimean war on Russia, for which nobody even bothered to hazard a pretext, and then the Russo-Japanese war (in which the latter was heavily subsidized by the Western Powers) followed by the Russian Revolution. For now though, I’m just going to focus on North America.
III France and England
A lot of confusion in terms of understanding history proceeds from various forms of linguistic sleight-of-hand. For instance, we’re conditioned to regard the following word-pairs as more or less synonymous:
Anglia (England) vs Britannia (Britain)
Gallia (Gaul) vs Francia (France)
Portugallia (Portugal) vs Lusitania
But are they? Even if we look strictly at formally ratified treaties, it’s hard to figure out who’s who; usually the text on offer has been translated from parliamentary Latin into something like BBC-Pidgin English, a process that entails an irreversible reduction in lexical resolution.
Thus we learn, for instance, that the Whitehall Agreement of 1686 between “Great Britain and France,” according to the English version given in Fanshawe’s European Treaties, was brokered between the Most Serene James II by Grace of God King of France and Great Britain and the Most Christian Louis XIV by Grace of God King of France…
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