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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