The idea of having a last name (surname) is a relatively recent phenomenon. In the Middle Ages, when most people in western Europe lived in small villages, surnames weren’t necessary. You’d be Hans the Elder or Mary the Butcher’s daughter or One-armed Tom. And kings and queens often had cognomens—names appended before or after their first name. You’re probably familiar with the famous ones like Catherine the Great, William the Conqueror, Ivan the Terrible, Richard the Lionhearted. But I had fun uncovering some of the more obscure—and entertaining, at least to me—royal nicknames. Some are a little harsh, like Charles the Simple, Conan the Fat, and Louis the Sluggard, and others are perplexing, like John the Posthumous or Michael the Minus-a-Quarter or Ragnar Lodbrok the Hairy-Breeches. I suspect the meanings of some of those attributions were lost in translation. Anyway, here’s a sampling:
Charles the Affable
Baldwin the Bald (he doesn’t look that bald, but then, artists were under pressure to render their employers in the best light possible)
John George the Beer Jug
Bloody Mary
Alfonso the Chaste
Otto the Crazy
Friederick the Handsome
And my favorite, Ethelred the Unready
You’d think umbrellas would have existed for ages—or at least as long as people living in rainy climates have been wearing fancy clothes. Parasols have been around forever, but not so much umbrellas.
According to the book I’m reading, Accessories of Dress, the first Englishman credited with carrying an umbrella was Jonas Hanway, a well-known traveler and philanthropist, who in 1780 stepped out carrying a large umbrella he’d brought back from China. People stopped and stared. Cab drivers shouted disparaging comments at him, but within his lifetime, umbrellas became a common accessory in rainy England.
There was a pretty awe-inspiring obelisk of titles that have been banned for one reason or another.
The seniors get first dibs on volunteering, and before our amazed eyes the hypnotist calls a group of them onto the stage and puts them into a hypnotic trance. Then, through the powers of suggestion, he gets them to do all kinds of hilarious stuff in their post-hypnotic state, like barking or shouting stuff when he gives them a verbal cue. And every year, more than a few members of the audience also get hypnotized, or at least fall into a trance-like state in their seats, just watching him.
Nightcaps—knitted wool or silk stocking caps– were worn from the fourteenth to the nineteenth century, until the arrival of central heating. Before the fourteenth century, people probably slept naked, according to Elizabeth Ewing in Dress and Undress: A History of Women’s Underwear—and they all slept together, for warmth. Which must have been awkward when one had house guests.
In the seventeenth century, wigs for men became wildly popular in most of Europe. Most men shaved their natural hair, so wearing a cap at night would have helped keep the head warm. Fires went out at night, even in homes with lots of servants, so bedrooms could be very, very cold. The rest of your body could stay covered under the blankets, but your head was exposed to the chill. Think how unpleasant it would have been to step out of bed to use your chamber pot. A nightcap would make a lot of sense.
