In the late 1980s and early 1990s I worked for Boydell & Brewer, an academic publisher that specializes in scholarly works on medieval history and literature. It might well have been here that my curiosity and interest in historical nicknames and how people got them was rekindled.
Certainly, were it not for my dear friends ‘Hamish the Catalyst’ and ‘Frances the Splendid’, The Good, the Bad and the Unready would still be a jumble of anecdotes in my head. It was they (as well as ‘Anthony the Motivator’, who at our first meeting told me to write a book, though I doubt he was thinking of one like this) who encouraged me to stop talking about the thing and actually sit down and compile it. ‘Robbie the Affable’ and ‘Carol the Charming’ of the Fox Reformed, and several of my friends from St Mary’s Church, Stoke Newington, meanwhile, egged me on and plied me with fine wine.
I am grateful to the staff of the British Library and the University of Sussex Library, where much of my research was conducted, and to all my colleagues and students at Brighton College who have been subjected to my occasional ramblings on the subject. Special mention must go to my Upper Fifth religious studies class of ‘Lexy the Loon’, ‘Jonno the Mad’, ‘Jo the Great’, ‘Bobcat’, ‘Andrew the Eagle’, ‘Joshua of the Four Kinds of Love’, ‘Sophie the Sophisticated’ and ‘Sam the Sensational’ –maverick, hilarious and A∗ in equal measure. I am also indebted to publishing supremos ‘Simon the Shaken but not Stirred’, ‘Martin the Midwife’ and ‘Sophie the Great Overseer’, who, in their different ways, have brought this work to fruition. Thanks, too, to ‘Kate the Considerate’ and ‘Caroline the Thoughtful’ for their careful reading of the manuscript.
‘Kai the Wonderful Princess’, my wife and best friend, has cheerfully read various drafts and gently suggested how I might put bounce and clarity into leaden and convoluted prose – all of this in the midst of the challenges of an intercontinental commute between England and South Africa. My deepest gratitude, however, goes to Harry, who has been by my side throughout the entirety of this project. Without his companionship and constant demands to go for walks on Brighton Beach and the South Downs, this work would have been finished in half the time but with half the fun.
[A]
Charles the Affable
Charles VIII, king of France, 1470–98
Sickly, short and very, very ugly, Charles was not admired for his physical attributes. But the people of fifteenth-century France looked beyond the bulbous black eyes, the immense nose and the pockmarked face, and liked what they found. Here was a young monarch who was not only genial and charming (more charming to women than his wife Anne, the duchess of Brittany, would have wanted), but also a cavalier man of adventure.
Charles the Affable
Charles was known for cooking up madcap schemes, and one of them was claiming to be the rightful heir to the kingdom of Naples. To realize this absurd ambition, he borrowed pots of money and signed disastrous treaties, eventually arriving in Italy amid outlandish pomp and ceremony in February 1495. After only a few weeks, however, a bemused coalition of regional leaders (including the pope) had had enough of his pretensions and drove him back to France. In retreat Charles, who during this time was called by some ‘Flagellum Dei’ or ‘the Scourge of God’, barely escaped with his life after the battle of Fornovo where he proved himself to be a brave, if not tactically astute, leader of men.
Back home, ‘the Scourge of God’ spent much of his time playing tennis or, when it rained, reading legends and romances. And it was while watching a game of tennis at his chateau in Amboise that tragedy struck. Charles went to use the latrine and smashed his head against the lintel of the low doorway. He returned to the tennis match seemingly none the worse for his collision, only to collapse and die later that day. Charles was only twenty-eight, and an entire nation mourned the loss of, if not a great ruler, an approachable, fun-loving dreamer of a man with a zeal for justice and a love for his subjects. The chronicler Philip de Commynes summed up the general opinion of Charles when he wrote that ‘he was but a little man, both in body and understanding, yet so good natured that it was impossible to meet a better creature.’
Alaric-Cotin see Frederick the GREAT
Alexander II see Ptolemaic KINGS
Charles the Alexander of the North see Charles the MADMAN OF THE NORTH
Philip the Amorous
Philip I, king of France, 1052–1108
Philip was ‘amorous’ in the same way that Nero was ‘naughty’. Contemporary chroniclers unanimously condemn this obese and indolent monarch who was above all a man of conspicuous immorality. His hostility towards the reforming elements of his Church, demonstrated by his plundering of monasteries, caused much ecclesiastical alarm. His political duplicity, meanwhile, was renowned. According to William of Malmesbury, Philip came ‘hiccoughing’ and ‘belching from daily excess’ to the side of Robert CURTHOSE in support of his claim to the English throne, but was swiftly bought off by William RUFUS and merrily ‘returned to his feasting’. But his moral nadir came when he abandoned his wife Bertha of Holland to live openly with, and then marry, Bertrada of Montfort, wife of Fulk the SURLY. In 1095 the Council of Clermont, comprising 200 bishops and headed by Pope Urban II, demanded that Philip leave Bertrada. The amorous Philip refused, and the Council excommunicated the king. Curiously, almost all the bishops in France supported his liaison with Bertrada, hoping, perhaps, that even though he already had one male heir in the shape of Louis the FAT, a second marriage might doubly safeguard the royal succession.
Frederick the Antichrist see Frederick the WONDER OF THE WORLD
Albert the Astrologer
Albert III, duke of Austria, 1349–95
As well as a scholar of theology and mathematics, Albert was an expert on the meaning of the movement of the stars, and much preferred the quiet of his study and the solitude of his garden to the noise and splendour of the court. However, appearing at court was an essential part of his duties, and there he was better known as Albert with the Tress’ or Albert the Braided’ because he wore a lock of his wife’s hair (scurrilous rumours held that it belonged to another woman) entwined with his own. Stemming from this symbolic act of devotion, the Society of the Tress, not unlike the Order of the Garter, was established.
Alfonso the Astronomer
Alfonso X, king of Castile and León, 1221–84
Medieval Spain’s most culturally significant contribution to the history books was the worldwide dissemination of classical knowledge and Muslim learning. At a host of monastic centres and seminaries, most notably the School of Translators in Toledo, ancient Jewish and Muslim works of astronomy, botany, law and medicine were assembled and translated for the first time. The Toledo centre was at its peak of creativity during the reign of Alfonso, who was known as ‘the Astronomer’ because he sought to improve the planetary tables created by the ancient astronomer Ptolemy. The results of this massive undertaking were in part published as the Alfonsine Tables’. Unfortunately, they proved to be no more accurate than the original versions.
Chroniclers also dub Alfonso ‘the Learned’, ‘the Philosopher’ and ‘the Wise’ because he was the only true philosopher-king to grace the throne of Castile. During his reign, serious study of history and the arts was encouraged for perhaps the first time in Western Europe, and his personal scholarly interests were considerable and diverse: as well as works on astronomy, he compiled a history of Spain, a sweeping history of the entire world prior to the birth of Christ, and a book on board games including chess, draughts and backgammon.
Edgar the Atheling see Edgar the OUTLAW
Philip Augustus see Philip the MAGNANIMOUS
Auld Blearie see Robert the STEWARD (under NOBLE PROFESSIONS)
The Austrian Wench see the BAKER AND THE BAKER’S WIFE
Ivan the Awesome see Ivan the TERRIBLE
[B]
William the Bad
William I, king of Sicily, 1120–66
William was actually a ruler of considerabl
e merit. It was the island’s barons, including the contemporary historian Falcandus, who, purely out of malice and envy, titled him ‘Guglielmo il Malo’, spreading rumours of bacchanalian banquets and excessive sexual indulgence.
During the reign of his father, Roger II, the island aristocracy had vociferously complained that they had not been allowed to build castles without his consent. This policy, they claimed, strained their authority over their tenants. As Roger had intended, it also prevented them from seriously considering rebellion against him. And so, when Roger died, the barons conspired to revolt against their new monarch and grab more independence for themselves.
Two major uprisings followed, in the second of which William’s chief minister, Maione di Bari, was stabbed to death and his corpse torn to shreds by a Palermo mob. Soon, however, the rebels fought among themselves and William regained power. Continuing, unsurprisingly, to exclude the troublesome barons from the government, William became an active patron of letters and the sciences, and gained a reputation for religious tolerance by welcoming members of both the Christian and Islamic faiths into his court. All in all then, ‘William the Bad’ was rather good.
The Baker and the Baker’s Wife
Louis XVI, king of France, 1754–93
Marie Antoinette, queen consort of France, 1755–93
On 6 October 1789 Louis and his Austrian wife, Marie, distributed bread to a starving mob at Versailles. This may have earned them the nicknames ‘the Baker’ and ‘the Baker’s Wife’, but not the admiration of a republic which four years later sent them to the guillotine.
A more apposite trade-related nickname for Louis was ‘the Locksmith King’, since at Versailles he converted a room into a metalwork shop where he would merrily tinker away for hours on end, making locks and mending clocks. Louis was a tubby, short-sighted man who also enjoyed reading English periodicals and colouring maps – hardly the sort, one might think, to engender the vitriol of a people. And yet, since he could prohibit any decree submitted to him, he was nicknamed ‘Monsieur Veto’ by the republicans, and eventually lost his head.
The unpopularity of Marie, the daughter of Maria the MOTHER OF HER COUNTRY, began when she was unable to produce any children for an expectant France. Even though the cause was found to be a medical condition of Louis’s, which prevented conception (quickly rectified by minor surgery, after which Marie gave birth to a daughter), the public denounced her, not for lack of fertility but for lack of loyalty. Rumours became rife that she was having a number of affairs (at least one with another woman), and a fake autobiography of hers was circulated which claimed she was a whore.
The French, moreover, blamed ‘the Austrian Wench’ for the country’s financial woes, calling her ‘Madame Deficit’ and holding her personally responsible for propelling the country to near bankruptcy. Come the Revolution, Marie – branded ‘Madame Veto’ for reasons outlined above – could do no right, and public animosity against her reached boiling point after her supposed comment ‘Let them eat cake’ when told that her people had no bread. Her jailers vindictively separated her from her infant son (whose cries she could hear from the cell below) and stuck the head of her best friend, the Princess de Lambelle, on a pole and paraded it in front of her.
Marie was bored with the formal French court, which couldn’t match its livelier Austrian counterpart, and she may have been occasionally indiscreet, but she was certainly not callously unpatriotic. Nevertheless, she followed her husband to the guillotine.
Charles the Bald
Charles II, king of France, 823–77
Was Charles the Bald really bald, or was his nickname, as some have suggested, not descriptive but sarcastic, signifying instead that Charles was actually rather hirsute? There are nine portraits of Charles the Bald, and in them he is generally depicted as having a heavy-jowled face, a square chin, a big nose and a long, thin, imposing moustache. Furthermore, there is a small painting of him on what is commonly accepted to be his throne in which he boasts a full head of hair as well as a moustache.
The chronicler Lupus of Ferrières noted that Charles was a devout man and a devoted husband, and another contemporary nickname of his was ‘the Most Christian King’.
Constantine the Bald
Constantine III, king of Scotland, d.997
Like his hair, Constantine’s reign was very short. Chronicles suggest he ruled for a mere two years between kings Kenneth II and Kenneth III, possibly killing the former and being killed by the latter.
Edward the Bankrupt
Edward III, king of England, 1312–77
Parliament dubbed Edward ‘the King of the Sea’ because he supported the navy when they defeated the French and Spanish fleets at Sluys and Winchelsea respectively Merchants knew him as ‘the Father of English Commerce’ for promoting trade and enabling foreign businesses, especially from Holland and Belgium, to set up shop in England. Unfortunately for him, the rest of the world nicknamed him for his financial ruin when he defaulted on his debts after heavy losses in the Hundred Years War.
Barbarossa
Frederick I, king of Germany and Holy Roman Emperor, c.1123–90
Barbarossa
According to his biographer, Rahewin, Frederick was ‘shorter than very tall men, but taller… than men of medium height’. From this somewhat vague description, Rahewin then goes on to mention the physical detail that brought about the emperor’s nickname: we are told that as well as having golden curly hair, piercing eyes and a cheerful face, Frederick sported a barba rosa – a reddish beard.
Frederick was a warrior king, and was known as ‘the Father of His Country’ for his military campaigns for the German cause, including no fewer than six invasions of Italy and his spearheading of the Third Crusade against Saladin the CHIVALROUS SARACEN. In June 1190 Frederick unexpectedly died when he was thrown from his horse as he was crossing an ice-cold river in Anatolia. Even though the water was only waist deep, Frederick’s armour weighed him down and he drowned.
A well-known legend, however, has it that Frederick is not actually dead, but merely ‘asleep’ with his knights in a subterranean castle in Thuringia. There he sits at a marble table, waiting to be woken to restore Germany to her former glory. He has been waiting a long time. Some say that his red beard, now snowy white, has grown through the table and touches the floor. Others state that his beard already wraps twice around the table and that he will wake up when it has made a third circumference.
Magnus Barelegs
Magnus III, king of Norway, c.1073–1103
In 1098 Magnus made a visit to his Scottish territories and was impressed by what he saw, so much so that on his return to Norway he was often seen strolling through the streets of Trond-heim in complete Highland dress – kilt, sporran, the works. His subjects were impressed by what they saw, and the skimpiness of his outfit gave the son of Olaf the Quiet’ his nickname. In August 1103 Magnus returned to Britain to see how his son Sigurd the CRUSADER was faring, and he was killed in a skirmish while foraging for food in a bog, his bare legs knee deep in mud.
Boleslav the Bashful
Boleslav V, prince of Poland, 1226–79
In the thirteenth century the princes and princesses of Poland enjoyed only limited authority, owing in part to a unified Church that played free and easy with threats of excommunication. All they could do was live a good, devout life and possibly be beatified or indeed canonized for their Christian example. Two such holy people were Kinga, the daughter of Bela IV of Hungary, and Boleslav V, who, though married, upheld their mutual vows of virginity.
Among her many good deeds, Kinga founded a church for Franciscan nuns from the Order of the Poor Clares. Bolesla]v, meanwhile, built the Franciscan friars a chapel in Cracow, and issued a charter of liberties to the region’s Jewish population. For her ministry, the Church elevated Princess Kinga to ‘the Blessed Kinga’. For his work, and possibly because of his sexual abstinence, the Church gave Boleslav the nickname of ‘Wstydliwy’ meaning ‘the Bashful�
� or ‘the Chaste’.
William the Bastard see William the CONQUEROR
Beaky see Arthur the IRON DUKE
Arthgal the Bear
Arthgal, first earl of Warwick, fl. fifth century
Arthgal, first earl of Warwick, supposedly strangled a bear with his bare hands, and the Warwick coat of arms sports a bear in recognition of this achievement.
George the Beau of Princes
George IV, king of England, 1762–1830
During his dissolute youth and equally dissolute middle years, before he succeeded to the throne of the occasionally insane FARMER GEORGE, the Prince of Wales – raconteur, bon viveur and source of scandal – was known as ‘the Beau of Princes’. In his later life his nicknames were less flattering.
At the age of eighteen George was already, by his own admission, ‘rather too fond of women and wine’, enjoying a series of brief affairs, including one with the actress Mary Robinson and another with Lady Melbourne. In 1784 he met his one true love, a Roman Catholic called Maria Fitzherbert, whom he married a year later, although the union was kept a secret and later declared invalid because at that time marrying a Catholic made one ineligible for the throne.
In his twenties ‘Prinny’, as his friends called him, had become a heavy drinker and prolific gambler, and it was to pay off his huge debts that he agreed to marry his cousin Caroline of Brunswick. The marriage was a complete failure. Describing her as ‘the vilest wretch this world was ever cursed with’, George absolved her of all marital duties, and the couple separated.
The Good, the Bad, and the Unready: The Remarkable Truth Behind History's Strangest Nicknames Page 2
