“The Leopard”, by Giuseppe Di Lampedusa, Archibald Colquhoun, and Gioacchino Lanza Tomasi

186 pages, The Folio Society

The Leopard by Giuseppe Di Lampedusa (and, in a fashion, by the English translator of this edition, Archibald Colquhoun) is situated during the time of the Italian re-unification, the rise of Garibaldi and his Red Shirt movement and the decline and subsequent transformation of the feudal nobility in the late 19^th Century. Di Lampedusa was himself a descendent of one the noble families, and the story that he narrates is ostensibly that of his grandfather. The Leopard is the symbol of the family of which Prince Fabrizio, the principal character in the novel, is the head. The novel reminded me of a couple of other such works, one of which is surely Century in Scarlet by the Hungarian writer Lajos Zilahy. Both deal with more or less the same theme, though from somewhat different sides: namely, the coming into being of modern nation states in the 19^th & 20^th Centuries, and the identities of two nations that were probably at the far end of the nation forming processes that were set into motion a century or more earlier in some of the other European states. I am not sure how comprehensive the novels are from a sociological or political point of view, but both do provide the nearest equivalent in a literary form.

Both the novels are very straightforward in nature and though written in the 20^th Century, they are in the nature of the 19^th Century novel, with a linear narrative structure and few complexities in terms of the underlying ideas they seek to communicate. The style is closest to Balzac’s, more in case of The Leopard than perhaps Century in Scarlet, and is the story of Prince Fabrizio who is forced to relinquish the control of his estates in the light of the advance of Garibaldi’s republican forces. His ambitious nephew Tancredi moves over to the new forces, calculatedly marrying the daughter of a rising rich, though uncouth merchant Don Calogero who is eager to establish a lineage for himself by marrying into the family of a noble, in the process spurning Fabrizio's own daughter's hand. “Unless we ourselves take a hand now, they'll foist a republic on us. If we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change”, he informs his uncle, even as he looks at his uncle with the “affectionate irony that youth accords to age”. That Prince Fabrizio aids and abets his nephew in his cunning endeavors speaks much of the Prince's own instinct for survival: “The bourgeois revolution climbing his stairs in Don Calogero's tail coat”, as the Prince thinks while observing Don Calogero in his house.

And historically speaking he is right: the decline of the nobility is complete and the power has shifted decisively in favor of the commercial bourgeoisie, with the corresponding shift from the monarchy to a republic and the ideological shift from the church – when the nobility's land is ostensibly “the patrimony of the poor” – to the republican ideals. With the story being as simple as that what holds the reader is the author’s effusive description of some of the lesser known areas of Europe, Sicily, in this case. Added to that is the author’s deep insight into human nature, which renders the novel a universal appeal and finally his smooth, delectable, almost tropical prose. His metaphors are particularly imaginative and I suppose that probably owes something to the richness of the original language itself.

There are a number of insightful sentences that are a delight for a reader. Though the novel may beg comparison with, say, a 'War and Peace', to say nothing of a novel like Mario Vargas Llosa’s The War of the End of the World which is far more complex in the treatment of a similar theme. Nevertheless, The Leopard establishes itself as a minor classic of the 20^th Century and hence an important novel to those trying to understand the evolution of nations in an era that seems to be dissolving a number of attributes of what have been associated with the nation and national identities.

“Defenders of the Faith: Charles V, Suleyman the Magnificent, and the Battle for Europe, 1520-1536”, by James Reston

432 pages, Penguin Press, ISBN-13: 978-1594202254

Defenders of the Faith: Charles V, Suleyman the Magnificent, and the Battle for Europe, 1520-1536 by James Reston is a wonderfully entertaining reading experience that focuses on a number of leaders at a crucial historical nexus: the protestant movement is beginning to gain force (Martin Luther and Zwingli); absolutist nation-states are replacing the more loosely controlled feudal empire (Francis 1, Henry 8, et al.); and the Ottoman Empire is reaching the limits of its expansion and about to begin its decline. The great virtue of this book is that it tells it all in an enthralling story, with bits of analysis thrown in, vivid characterizations that some argue is novelistic, and an evocation of what it might have felt like to live at that time. For what it is worth, I enjoyed every single page like it was a film. This is popular history par excellence, for the general reader and not the scholar. If the reader knows this and has the right expectations at the start, it is great fun. If the reader expects something more academic, they will not find it here.

There were a number of developments at this time that created fundamental precedents, all inter-related. First, the northern German states were ready to exit from the yoke of the Catholic Church. They were developing the means (predominantly military) to do so and found their intellectual justification in the hands of a great firebrand, Luther, who supplied them with arguments and powerful writings that spread via the movable-type press. Second, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V sees himself as the defender of the Catholic orthodoxy, underpinning as it did (via the Pope) his legitimacy as the pre-eminent secular lord of a vast feudal empire that was supposed to be spiritually united. However, he also had the task of defending all of Christendom, which preoccupied much of his career. He also had to fight the Pope from allying himself with Francis 1. Third, in Suleyman, you have the last Turkish leader-conqueror of genuine genius. His armies were advancing into Europe, fighting the Shiite "heresy" in Persia, expanding into Northern Africa, and developing naval dominance of the entire Mediterranean. Suleyman takes Hungry and threatens Vienna. Fourth, you have proto-nation states in Britain and France, whose kings are consolidating power in narrower borders in ways that will enable them to forge armies far stronger than the loose feudal coalitions of knights and mercenaries under the command of Charles V. The chivalric era is clearly on its way out, to be replaced by tightly disciplined armies under unified command, armed with firearms and canons for blanket-area killing rather than only swords and pikes for individual-style combat.

While Charles V wanted to burn Luther at the stake, he had to allow the Protestants time in order to unite Christians to repel the Turks. Once he turned his attention back to Northern Germany, it was too late to dislodge them either militarily or against their deeply engrained beliefs. Meanwhile, Henry VIII wanted to divorce Catherine of Aragon (who also happened to be Charles V's niece), but faced bureaucratic delays (of special dispensation from the Pope) due to the wars over control of Italy, first by Francis 1 and later by Charles V; eventually, Henry went his own way, opening England to Protestantism in the next generation. This was context that I didn't know. Reston weaves these developments together as if in a novel. While I am familiar with much of the history already, it was a delicious re-telling of events that served as a review of things I began to study long ago.

Warmly recommended. Books like this make history fun, helping to spark a young mind to further inquiry in more seriously academic sources. It does end a bit abruptly, even arbitrarily, but after most of the action had set forces in motion that we feel to this day. This is a perfect snapshot in time.

“March or Die: France and the Foreign Legion”, by Tony Geraghty

416 pages, Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers, ISBN-13: 978-0006365372

March or Die: France and the Foreign Legion is a must-read for any casual or studious reader of military history. While France's army and ability to defend itself is often the subject of jokes, there is no joking about the die-hard and resolute history of its Foreign Legion. Aside from French officers and French NCOs, the bulk of the Legion's ranks, especially in the mid to late 19th Century onwards, consisted of Germans, Swiss, Austrians, Italian, Brits, Americans, and other foreigners. From the classic last stands of Cameroon and Diên Biên Phu, to the occupation of Algeria and Morocco, the gallantry and hardship of the Legion is spelled out in all its glory. The Legionnaires were not French by blood, but gave their blood for France in a myriad of exotic and dangerous foreign and colonial settings. In WWI, the Legion was the only arm of the French military that did not mutiny. In reciprocity, France often ignored its mercenaries or gave the Legion less than their due, in typical French fashion.

A very good read, packed full of information and well-organized. Gives much more insight on the French political theater and how it affected the Legion, then I had expected. It was a niece touch, as it takes the book into the “why” instead of just reciting the plain history of the Legion. The writing does lack a bit of passion, and also seems too clinical in its descriptions of the various high points of the Legion. It is also guilty for giving the who, when, where, and why, but does not provide enough details. Very good index, bibliography, and some plain maps in the back of the book for further research if you are interested. This book is an excellent read, and makes a good companion to other books on 19th Century colonial wars, most of which focus on Britain.