The history of gay rights is blotched with all sorts of setbacks and failures, one of the worst occurred in Britain in 1885. The proximate cause was an addendum to The Criminal Law Amendment Act proposed by the MP Henry du Pre Labouchere. Originally the 1885 law was designed to address the problem of under age prostitution. It raised the age of consent to sixteen and criminalized attempts to pimp young girls.
The editor of “Truth”, as well as a member of Parliament, Labouchere was a seriously rich man. He had inherited not one but two banking fortunes, being connected to the Baring Bank founders, and he had had a chequered career. Labouchere was a republican who detested the royal family, a liberal, almost a radical, where politics were concerned, but this ex- diplomat, financier, and semi-professional gambler turned politician, had his prejudices. He was anti-semitic, convinced that women were,”mentally flighty” and therefore should not have the vote, and he detested homosexuality. Continue reading →
This biography done in the early 1990’s is an arresting variation on the little sonata usually played by Christopher Marlowe’s biographers. Their performances are almost always tuned to the minor key of Marlowe’s early death (at 29) and the tragedy this posed to English letters. Charles Nicholl decided to play things in a different mode altogether and the suspenseful true crime narrative he composed is jaunty and percussive instead of a dirge for a dead poet. Continue reading →
If he doesn’t appear in any of the Flashman books, he should have. Of all the outrageous soldiers of the 19th century, Du Pin is one of the most notorious and, like Flashman himself, appears to have been everywhere.
He was born at Lasgraisses in the shadows of the Pyrenees, attended Ecole Polytechnique in Palaiseau and was enrolled as an officer in the French Army. His first few years were uneventful, but that changed for good once he was sent to Algeria in 1842. Made a name for himself a year later in the battle of Smalain the 1847 capture of Abd-el Kader, and featured in the panoramic painting of the event of the sort so beloved of the 19th century patriots. (Full marks if you can make him out.) Promoted to Major by 1851, he was off to fight in the Crimea in 1855 (French cavalry made no such nonsensical cavalry charge into any valleys of death). Four years later he was in Italy, leading a cavalry division and helping the locals break away from the Austrian Empire. Along the way he picked up a pair of Legions d’Honneur and and some other decorations for bravery. Continue reading →
Said to be the inspiration for one of Karl May’s characters, von Slatin is one of those characters who make us feel utterly inadequate.
Born the son of a Jewish convert to Catholicism near Vienna, he was in the commercial academy when his father died rather suddenly. By chance he heard of an opening at a German bookstore in Cairo. The sheer unlikelihood appealed to him, and he was off to Egypt.
All thoughts of bookselling left him as he joined Theodore von Heuglin, explorer and ornithologist into the mountains of Dar Nuba in Sudan. Rough times and much rebellion in the area at the time, and Europeans were few. Before he was through, von Slatin met such luminaries as botanist Dr Eduard Schnitzer (aka, Emin Pasha on his conversion to Islam, later to relieve Henry Morgan Stanley) and General Charles George Gordon. Continue reading →
Von Breydenbach was a rich man, a doctoral graduate of the University at Erfurt, the canon of Mainz who had, by his own accounts, lived a somewhat loose life, wicked enough that he thought a pilgrimage to the Holy Land would do his soul some good. So in April of 14, 1483 he gathered his friend the artist Erhard Reuwich of Utrecht and with a few of other titled and moneyed traveling companions, set off to see the sights of the Middle East.
The trip itself was pretty standard tourist fare for the time. Venice first, as Venice had regular water connections with the Muslim Levant. There they spent any number of days waiting for the ship to be ready, time he spent in seeing the local sights, then as a now spectacular. Once at sea it was to the Venetian held territories of Modon, where he met Gypsies, whom he describes not as being Egyptian (never mind India), but from the nearby town of Gippe. Stood to reason, of course. Continue reading →
The Wall Street Journal last Saturday did an appreciation of Firdausi, author of the Persian epic the Shahnamen Book of Kings. He’s a well enough known name (that is to say, I’ve actually heard of him), but who is the best of the Arab poets?
“My parents were Israelites, and I was nurtured in the faith of my ancestors… I am an American, a sailor and a Jew.”
– Commodore Uriah P. Levy, USN
It’s reasonably well known that Thomas Jefferson for all his cleverness was a complete duffer with household finance and died in debt, his estate sold off for pennies on the dollar.
A scandal, really, and as the government at that time did not take much interest in history in general or historical artifacts in particular, the lands and buildings of Monticello were more or less allowed to go to wrack and ruin. Continue reading →
Back in the day, the day being any time between, say, 1520 and 1600, the way to the heart of the Turkish sultans was through clockwork. Makes sense. When you have the wealth of the world at your disposal, you want the unusual and the unique. Toys, essentially, the fiddly wind-up spring machine types that whirred and turned and chimed and bonged. Fortunately for Europe, there were men who excelled in this kind of trivia.
As with anything that is not a mere commodity, the novelty value had to gear up over time. A simple one handed pocket watch becomes a bore, and so further complications – second hands, moon phases, twittery birds – have to be grafted onto the basic work. By the turn of the seventeenth century, it would take something very complicated indeed to turn the head of a jaded potentate. And as at that time, Britain, not yet fully engaged with its eventual empire, was still wooing the sultans in hopes of profitable trade arrangements for the Levant Company, the gift had to be spectacular indeed.
Do poets write poems to loose women anymore? Do they even exist anymore, les grandes horizontales? One reads about high rent hookers occasionally, but really, only in connection with low rent politicians or even lower rent entertainers. We do not as a rule, however, know their names, or see their pictures in the papers, or even (at least in my provincial circles) hear their names spoken in whispers behind raised hands. I suppose the last of the breed was Pamela Harriman, and as she tended to marry the men, well, that almost disqualifies her. And what are we to make of her becoming an ambassador? Of course standards have slipped in recent decades, but I mean to say – can you imagine the likes of Madame du Barry presenting her credentials at the Court of St James? Doesn’t bear thinking on. Continue reading →
Her grandfather was Lord Byron, her father the Earl of Lovelace, her mother Ada Lovelace, who is credited (not quite accurately) as the first computer programmer for Babbage’s calculating machine. With that kind of pedigree, anything was possible.
She grew up on her father’s considerable estate at East Horsley Park, home-schooled in languages, mathematics, and violin. She learned drawing from John Ruskin. As befits a proper country blueblood, she found her real passion from a young age was horses (indeed, it was said that she could jump a mount well into her seventies). This meshed nicely with her husband’s passion for the Middle East. It was about the only thing on which they could make a real partnership. Continue reading →