I once had a French teacher whose family was Corsican. Among the family possessions was a dagger, on one side of which blade was engraved Vendetta, on the other, Morte.
Hardboiled, the Corsicans. No surprise that a Napoleon could come out of there.
And while Napoleon had to prove himself to the rest of the world, Sampiero Corso was concerned only with his own country and his own people. Keeping it local, as it were, which is a sensible scope for any political leader.
He was born a commoner in 1498 near Bastelica. Then as now, the army was a means to advancement, and a little less now than then, fighting as a mercenary under foreign flags was a respectable career path. He started out on that path at age fourteen.
Treason doth never prosper. What’s the reason? If treason prosper, none dare call it treason
Old joke, and a good one. The other night we were trying to remember whose it was. Too light hearted for Milton. Too old timey for Dr. Johnson. Not quite good enough for Shakespeare, but about that period.
It was John Harrington.
He was one of your basic old Etonians who went on to Cambridge. He was also the godson of Elizabeth I, which connection helped him get a minor place at court. He was witty, or close enough for courtly work. Seemed to have a taste for dirty jokes. They must have been utterly filthy – the story is they got him exiled to Kelston, near Bath.* Well, the jokes, and the stuff insulting the government in general Continue reading →
We got a copy of A Royal Affair the other week, drawn in mostly on the basis of the costume drama appeal. It’s good stuff, and the more I watched it, the more I wondered how much the film makers had fiddled with the truth. I mean to say, American movies that tear their stories from yesterday’s headlines are almost invariably poppycock.
The Danes, as it turns out, are a bit better at the whole thing, and if you want to avoid spoilers, stop now and get yourself the video. This post isn’t going anywhere.
So – Struensee was a precocious son of a German superintendent (much like a bishop) of Schleswig-Holstein. He trained in medicine, getting degreed at a young age, and spent his off hours rebelling against the stodgy doctrines of his elders. Continue reading →
Francois Coty is known for the cosmetics giant he created, and less happily for his politics, which in the France of the 1930s leaned considerably to the Right. But his real legacy may not be his political bent, nor yet his fabulous success in the world of cosmetics, but his innovations in the field of business.
For political historians Coty is the man who bought newspapers in France during the waning of the Third Republic, including the right wing L’Ami du Peuple, and who also flirted with Mussolini and his Fascist regime. The Manichean politics of the 30s have cast a long shadow over the rest of his life, and perhaps that is a shame, because the Ligurian Corsican from Ajaccio, was a great businessman. He became a multi-millionaire in a matter of two years after creating his first real perfume: La Rose Jacqueminot, and never looked back. Continue reading →
He was born in Caithness, son of Olaf, who was murdered in 1135 by Olvir Rosta, who a year previously had lost a minor sea battle and carried a grudge. Olvir’s method of restoring his self esteem was the burning Olaf’s house down while Olaf was still in it. This is how cycles of violence start, and neglecting to take out the nineteen year old Sweyn was an oversight that was going to cost Olvir.
That would come later. In the meantime, the boy (who, curiously, took his surname from his mother Aslief) gets his first mention at the 1135 yuletide revels at the household of the earl of Orkney. It seem the Earl’s cup-bearer had grabbed some of Sweyn’s holiday grog, an act that Sweyn did not take in the spirit of the season. He stewed for a day or so, then brained the fellow. Continue reading →
I was digging around a Scottish root of the family tree and reading about the ill-fated Clan Gunn (great-grandfather Harry Nelson of Stirling, and so a member) when I came across a reference to the Highland Clearances and the evil Countess of Sutherland.
Highland Clearances were one of those suspiciously neutral phrases so disliked by George Orwell. But an “Evil Countess”? Not a lot of wiggle room with that kind of talk. It was irresistible. I had to know more.
The countess in question turns out to be Elizabeth Gordon, only child of the 18th earl of Sutherland and his wife. One of those households so yearned for by young readers of children’s books where the parents exit early and both freedom and responsibilities are put on tiny shoulders. In Ms Gordon’s case, the title came to her just after her first birthday. Already we can see where this story is going. Continue reading →
The one difficulty in Brideshead Revisited (okay, there are a lot of difficulties in Brideshead Revisited, but I’m only interested in one of them) is the question Sebastian Flyte’s charm.
We are assured that he has it, repeatedly, but somehow it never quite gets off the page. Now Waugh is some kind of writerly genius, and Sebastian is based on the real thing, but in this exercise, the author is coming up against a writing challenge even harder than describing sex without sounding absurd. Charm, like certain jokes, is evanescent.
As with Sebastian, so with Alfred. That he had charm and by the bucket-load is widely attested, and his CV ticks all the boxes for any romance writer’s dashing leading man. His father, a general for Bonaparte,* was considered the best looking man in the army and a dab hand at warfare. While the general was off expanding and defending the empire, Alfred was raised by his maternal grandmother, another good looking and elegant wit, Anne Franchi, aka Madame Craufurd, mistress of Duke of Wurtemberg among others. (Of her it is written “there is considerable mystery about this good lady’s career”. But I digress.) Continue reading →
We sometimes take for granted that whole first amendment thing and forget that the price of a loose pen has at times been more than a mere libel suit. Take for example the case of Niccolo Franco, a bit of a wastrel, certainly too clever by half, and yet not quite clever enough to keep himself out of trouble.
He was born in Benevento in 1515 of a good family and given all the advantages that a modest but reasonably prosperous family of that time and place could give. He was quick to take it all in, mastering Latin, as one does, chiefly to get at the racier bits of Martial, Petronius and Catullus, also as one does. He combined his flair for language with a taste for the low life and contention. A good time for him was a brothel with free flowing wine and loose women and petty (and even not so petty) criminals. Continue reading →
No picture of the fellow seems to have survived, which is appropriate, given the man’s furtive nature.
He was born in Freehold, New Jersey and was of an elevated enough class to be come a lieutenant in the American Revolution, serving as paymaster to a New Jersey Regiment. Salesmanship seems to have come naturally – he was allegedly able to talk some English prisoners of war into signing up.
With America’s tiresome British ties eventually cut, he went west. Land grants were something of an early GI bill perq for veterans, and the aftermarket proved an opportunity for the young and ambitious and unscrupulous. Imlay got a position as a surveyor, which made him well placed indeed for gaming the system. Continue reading →
Read at any length about the Vietnam war and you will come across accounts of American GIs ditching their M-16 rifles in favor of Kalashnikovs, a weapon better suited to abuse and jungle life. It’s not the first nor probably the last time this sort of thing has happened. Back in World War One, there was a similar problem with the Mark III Ross rifle, the brain child of Sir Charles Henry Augustus Frederick Lockhart Ross.
Ross was born at Balnagown, Scotland, one of those Downton Abbey type estates, encompassing 350,000 (eventually 366,000) acres and 3,000 tenants. He inherited the Baronetcy at age eleven, making the lucky pre-teen the largest landowner in Scotland. Continue reading →