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 →
There was a blip on the radar screen with the 2012 centennial of his death, and a few translators have pushed through labor-of-love translations, but on the whole he is still remarkably unknown in America. This from a man who was the largest selling author in the German language, bigger than Thomas Mann or Erich Maria Remarque, or – well, everyone, really.
So why the indifference? It’s not as if his work is introspective dark philosophical central European doomsday jobs. He wrote page turners. Good page turners. It can take a little bit to get into the spirit of the thing – we are talking a nineteenth century writer here – but once hooked, you will be hard pressed find the work anything but compelling. He has narrative drive up the wazoo, and could teach pretty much anyone writing thrillers today a thing or two about action. Continue reading →
Our daughter has taken to ice skating in a big way and raised the question of where the sport originated. Google tells us that pre-historic types strapped bones to their feet and trekked across ice with these and some sort of ur-ski poles. Sounds more utilitarian than anything else. As far as free form goes, it was the Dutch who came up with the idea of metal blades and real boots some time in the thirteenth century.
What you see here is the first visual representation of ice-skates. The girl in blue is named Lidwina, from the Dutch town of Schiedam, near Rotterdam. Her father had come from a family that had once been rich and respected but fallen on hard times; her mother had never known any but poverty. Together these two produced nine children, one of them Lidwina, who took an early and serious interest in matters religious. 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 →
I was taken to (subjected to, if you like) the Sound of Music while in single digits, and the one thing I could not understand was how the Austrian Captain Von Trapp could possibly be a naval officer in a land locked country.
Turns out those every mountains he climbed were far from his birth place in the now Croatian city of Zadar on the Mediterranean coast; his choice of a naval career was keeping things in the family, as his father was in the service. He was apparantly up to snuff, served on the armored cruiser Kaiserin und Königin Maria Theresia during the Boxer Rebellion in China . The ship arrived late to the happenings, but soon enough for Lieutenant von Trapp to get decorated for bravery. 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?
The recent graduation of three women in the Marine Infantry School revives the whole women in combat issue, and invariably commentators have brought up the story of Soviet women in WWII and their military accomplishments.
There was in fact precedence from the First World War. Not just individual women (there were several of those), but the entire First Women’s Battalion of Death. The crew was the brainchild of a blooded veteran of the eastern front, one Maria Bochkareva.
She was a peasant woman of Novgorod with a history of unfortunate choices in men. She married at fifteen and when he became abusive, dumped him for companion number two. He was exiled to Siberia for criminal misbehavior, she dutifully walked off to join him. And when he repeated the pattern, and became abusive, she dumped him as well and headed back west. Besides, there was a war on and she wanted to do her bit. Continue reading →
And rather a lot of good, if contemporary accounts are to be believed.
He was the son of slaves who bought their freedom in Maryland and moved east to New Jersey for some peace of mind. The father was of a strict frame of mind:
“I often thought his whole soul was wrapped in the twenty-fourth verse of the thirteenth chapter of Proverbs, which reads, ‘He that spareth his rod hateth his son; but he that loveth him chastiseth him betimes.’ I had no particular love for that passage of Scripture.” Continue reading →
It is a commonplace that our elected officials do not really have their constituents best interests at heart. They neither write nor read the legislation they vote into existence, collecting money from the moneyed interests to whom they are in thrall. Independent minds are few indeed, court jesters at best, no threat to anyone, really.
But then we tend not to elect people like Anthony Henley.
Henley was the eldest son of his namesake, who was himself a Whig MP, a friend of Jonathan Swift, patron of thePurcells, and said to be a great wit and possessed of a £3,000 a year (on top of a marriage settlement of £30,000) , which benefice came to the son in 1711. (That’s the father’s picture you’re looking at – I could find none of the son himself.) Continue reading →
Son of a pawnbroker and initially a pawnbroker himself. The standard objects of failed enthusiasms (musical instruments) or changing tastes (mustache cups) or romance gone bad (old wedding rings) held only so much interest for him. He had a taste for the unusual and put word out among the mudlarks who scoured the Thames at low tide and the navvies who dug the foundations of new construction over old that he would pay cash and ask few questions if they had anything of interest to show him. Continue reading →