Norman Douglas on the subject of Mentonwrites in passing that the Riviera seems to have produced no persons of note other than Andrea Doria and Gaby Deslys.
Clearly a joke that left them in the aisles in 1922, but hers was not a name I was familiar with. My wife, given the name without context, thought she might have been be one of Yves St Laurent’s muses. Good guess, but wrong.
She was a dancer and and chanteuse and one of the most notorious stage presences of her day. The Madonna of the aughts and teens, making up for modest innate talent with colossal work ethic and a flair for publicity. A multi-millionaire at the time of her death, she hung her numerous hats on the Corniche (229 Avenue Kennedy, Marsailles) in the sort of place that might entice even Gerard Depardieu back to France. Continue reading →
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. Perhaps no surprise that a Napoleon could come out of there. For overall toughness and misfortune in love, however, we can argue that Sampiero has the marshal beat.
He was born a commoner and a reduced lower aristocratic mother. With a background like that, the military was a natural. He apprenticed as a soldier at age fourteen.
He was good at it, too. He led Corsican mercenaries for France’s house of Valois during the Italian wars and was more successful than not. The money was good, too. By 1547, he was a colonel and rich enough to marry Vanina D’Ornano. He was forty nine. She was fifteen. Continue reading →