Highnames & Bynames
Astute
student of history that I am, I have figured out why
monarchies have not been doing too well, lately. It has
nothing to do with sweeping historical processes such as
the Enlightenment or Hegelian Dialectics or the
guillotine. Quite simply, kings don't have really good
nick-names anymore —or 'bynames,' as they are properly
termed.
In the history of
Naples, there are a few monarchs with fine, regal
by-names: Robert Guiscard
really meant Robert the Resourceful; then, there
was Robert the Wise, crowned
king of Sicily and Naples in 1310; and Alfonso the
Magnanimous (1396-1458, photo insert), the one who
wrested the Kingdom of Naples from the Angevins in 1442.
Other than that, Neapolitan monarchs have been stuck with
trifling nicknames. Ferdinand IV (later Ferdinand I)
(1751-1825) had two: Re
Nasone and Re Lazzarone. The first one means
King Big Nose (Naso+
the augmentative suffix –one).
The second requires some explanation: Lazarus is the
patron saint of lepers, and, by extension, all miserable
outcasts. Neapolitan members of the "great unwashed
peasant masses" were thus called lazzaroni. In an age of rigid social
stratification, it was not a derogatory term —it was a
description. Ferdinand was a notorious simpleton and
vulgarian, and he enjoyed hanging around with the common
folk down at the port. He was popular, and both names were
terms of endearment bestowed on him by the Neapolitan
masses. He was, thus, the Great Unwashed Peasant King; it
was an expression of solidarity with the people, and he
took no offense at that term or the one about his nose.
His grandson, Ferdinand II (1810-1859), was
nicknamed "Bomba"(bomb) as a result of his bombardment of
Messina during the political unrest in 1848. And his son,
the last King of Naples, Francis
II was known as "Bombalino"—Little Bomb. All of
these examples were nicknames but not true by–names—not
Someone THE Something!
There hasn't been Anyone the Great in a long, long
time: Alexander, Alfred, Peter, Frederick, Katherine and,
of course, Charles the Great (commonly known by the
Frenchified version, "Charlemagne"). Now that was a name
fit for royalty! I bet you could call them that, too. O
Great One! Your Greatness! O Generous Dispenser of
Greatosity! or maybe, simply, Oh, Great! They couldn't
possibly have minded.
Or Leo the Wise and Charles the Noble. Those were names!
"Yes, Your Wiseness"; "You Bet, O Noble One!" —and in the
case of our Neapolitan, Alfonso, "Count on it, Your
Magnanimosity!" Those old rulers knew that 21st–century
history students would have attention spans roughly equal
to the reign of Harvey the Short Lived, and would not
remember complex items like Vth or IIIrd or XXIst, so they
tacked on little memory boosters.
Charlemagne's grandfather wasn't taking any chances
on not being remembered. He was called Charles Martel
—Charles The Hammer! Imagine that! The Hammer! When they
were choosing Dark Age kings in the eighth century, they
went right around the group:
"OK, which one of you guys wants to be king? Robert
IV?…Got any experience, Bob? Junior League jousting coach,
huh? Let's see …"
Then suddenly from the gloom in the back of the tent comes
that rich Dark Age baritone of command:
"They call me...'The
Hammer'!"
Forget 'Will you open the envelope, please.' End of
discussion, right there. I'm not so sure you could
actually call him that, though. I mean, do you really want
to pal around with someone called The Hammer? What happens
if this guy has some Thor-like flashback and starts
flailing about in a fit of Royal Peevishness? You get one
tankard too many of the Good Grape into someone called The
Hammer and you can put some serious dents in Ye Olde Royal
Happie Hour, and that's the sooth. His son was Pepin the
Short! O, Great One! —definitely. Your Wisehood!—yes. And
maybe even, under specially contrived circumstances, O,
Most Hammering One! But, Hey, Shorty!—I don't know.
A bit on either side of the year 1000 we have
Charles the Bald, Charles the Fat, Charles the Simple and
Charles the Pious. I recall that two of those terms refer
to the same person; thus, one of them was either The Bald
& Fat, The Fat & Pious, The Pious & Simple,
The …let's see… carry the 2 … well, you can work out the
rest.
And what can you say about Louis the Child? If I am
intercalating all the leap years in my Dark Age calendar
correctly, this guy was an adult whom they called "The
Child". Go figure. "Is'm widdle queenie's gweat big
kingie-boo? Yes'm is!" On that note, maybe
we'd have to ask Mrs. Ethelred the Unready about the real
story behind her husband's name.
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