The Megalomania of The Barely-Not-Ugly

While I am writing this, the French President is still regaling the world with his post-climacteric erotic antics. I'd rather see slugs copulate, but it seems that a majority of the the people of this world are unaware that those beyond midlife have sex as well.

Lack of dignity is the antithesis of style, so why this mentioning?

It is because, when I was searching for pictures of one of the great style icons of the last century, Jacqueline Kennedy, Cecilia Sarkozy kept popping up at an undue number of times.

The comparison made me angry and when I'm angry I'm usually at my most effective. So I started to do my own little bit of research and here are some of the results:



The Sarkozys at an informal occasion.



The Kennedys at an informal occasion.





Cecilia at an official occasion and yes, I suppose we CAN be grateful that she at least shaved her armpits.



Jackie at an official occasion.





Cecilia in - no lie - formal evening dress.



Jackie in formal evening dress (Oleg Cassini). Btw. it's worthwhile comparing husbands as well.





Cecilia in ... well, whatever.



Jackie in Cassini.

Can somebody enlighten me what ON EARTH makes the international shmock brigade compare that insipid, wan, nondescript, scruffy woman with her teeth running down her throat with the most glamorous, sparkling, stylish, beautiful woman who ever graced the stage of international politics? Or describe that mediocre, bedraggled couple as "glamorous"? (60,300 Google hits for "sarkozy" and "glamorous"!)

Does one have just to be slimmer than Angela Merkel? Prettier than Golda Meir? Younger than Madame DeGaulle? Is that really enough? Wow! The media must have ADORED Maggie Thatcher - the sex symbol! But then, Maggie was so boring. Thought she had a job to do. As did all the many other two-timed wives in the Elysée. They were no feminists, after all.

Is it forgotten already that Jacqeline with her several academic degrees kept her mouth firmly shut about politics whereas Cecilia, the drop-out student, thought making a good impression at her husbands side wasn't enough for HER HER HER HER?

Forgotten already that Jackie remained the picture of dignity in the face of "Jacks" horrific womanizing (alright, she fleeced Old Joe Kennedy mercilessly in exchange, but at least she kept her side of the bargain) whereas this woman is now publicly whining about her sordid, boring, middleaged, petty bourgeois marital problems?

Will the world find it worthwhile to exhibit Cecilias dresses forty years after her entry into the Elysée?

As Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg put it: "For me and for those who knew my mother, she will always be a part of us, and of our lives, and she will always grace the history she helped to make. With her own sense of style, she interpreted these values and represented President Kennedy and America in a way that captured the world and still does."

What history did Cecilia Sarkozy help to make?

There is plenty of evidence in the Internet that the Sarkozys did dot just suffer such a preposterous comparison gladly, but that they positively encouraged it:



And we, the public? Are we all out of our minds that we swallow something like that without demur? Gosh, I even don't like the Kennedys and I'm more than just a bit critical when it comes to their political heritage, but THAT comparison shows how far we have gone down the drain towards yobbofication already.

Lilli Palmer (1914 - 1986)


If I HAD to name THE most beautiful and stylish actress ever it would be neither Audrey Hepburn nor the young Elizabeth Taylor and certainly not Grace Kelly, it would be Lilli Palmer.

I suspect that few who are not avid cinéastes will remember her. Her international career didn't last long enough for the following generations to remember.

Lilli Palmer was born Lilli Marie Peiser in Posen (now Poznan) on May 24, 1914. Her father was Dr. Alfred Peiser, a respected doctor and surgeon (his doctoral thesis supervisor was Konrad Röntgen, no less), her mother, Rose Lissmann, had been a stage actress before her marriage. Lilli had had a classical training for the stage, namely with Ilka Grüning (a leading stage actress in Germany before 1933 and internationally best known for her brief appearance as a refugee in Casablanca) and Lucie Höflich, another stage household name, in Berlin. 1932 Lilli came out with her debut at the Hessische Landestheater in Darmstadt. Because of their Jewish parentage, in 1933, her parents wisely sent Lilli and her sister Irene (later to become the actress and singer Irene Prador) away and abroad. The girls went to Paris and 1934 Lilli went to London where she got her first (tiny) film appearance in Hitchcock's "Secret Agent" in 1936.

In the mid-1940s she arrived on Broadway and in Hollywood with then-husband Rex Harrison, and was instantly transformed into a leading lady. She starred in Broadway productions as Anne of a Thousand Days, The Four Poster, and Bell, Book and Candle and in such films as Fritz Lang's 1946 production Cloak and Dagger and the 1947 melodrama Body and Soul with John Garfield. Her best Hollywood production was the film-version of The Four Poster (1952), in which she co-starred, again, with Harrison and strongly showed what would become the key to her following international success: worldliness and sophistication plus a bewitching sense of humour.

She returned to Germany in 1954 for the musical comedy Feuerwerk in which she performed a magic rendition of the already popular song "Oh mein Papa" and showed the world that she could sing as well.


She further reinforced her reputation as a top international star, and from that time, she alternated between European- and American-made films, in­cluding, but not limited to, Mädchen in Uniform (1958), But Not for Me (1959), The Pleasure of His Company (1961), The Counterfeit Traitor, Adorable Julia (both 1962), Operation Crossbow (1965), Oedipus the King (1968), De Sade (1969), The Boys From Brazil (1978), and her last film The Holcroft Covenant in 1985. Her witty, insightful 1975 auto-biography, "Change Lobsters and Dance," (in German "Dicke Lilli—Gutes Kind" – Fat Lilli—Good Child) turned out to be a bestseller. With subtle humour that didn't spare herself she told the itinerary and getaway of a once much-chaperoned, now virtually homeless, girl from an upper middle class family to the nightclubs of Paris, the film studios of London and later, together with her English husband Rex Harrison, to Hollywood's brazen demimonde. Only in a few brief asides she mentioned what happened to her Jewish family who had remained in Germany, such as her beloved aunt who jumped out of the window (and to death) when the Gestapo came for her, and her account of the eerie feeling that got hold of her when she first returned to her former "fatherland" is striking.

Lilli wasn't spared the dark side of the glamour. After a sex scandal, in which starlet Carole Landis committed suicide supposedly because of her doomed love of Lilli's husband Rex Harrison, their marriage deteriorated. About that, Lilli wrote later in her biography: "What does one wear to the funeral of one's husband's mistress?" Harrison, a notorious philanderer, had an affair with British actress Kay Kendall and divorced Lilli to marry the terminally ill Kendall with hopes of a re-marriage to Palmer after Kay's death, but that never came to pass. He later decreed that after his death part of his ashes should be spread on Lilli's grave and so it happened.

In 1958, Lilli married Argentinian actor-heartthrob Carlos Thompson, later to become a serious writer, to whom she stayed married until her death and the marriage was said to be inordinately happy. Thompson commited suicide in 1990, supposedly because he couldn't get over the loss of his wife.

Lilli Palmer's last work was not in film but in the TV mini series "Peter The Great" in 1986, where she starred together with, among others, Maximilian Schell, Vanessa Redgrave, Omar Sharif, Trevor Howard and Laurence Olivier. She died from cancer on 27th January that same year, aged 71. Life had been kind to her, at least in one respect: Germany's most beautiful daughter remained beautiful until the end.

The "fatherland" honoured her with a postage stamp.

Musings on Dogs and Style

Are dogs stylish? I guess that is a matter of opinion and style ought to be the last consideration when getting one but of course it is ONE consideration.

As I said in an earlier entry, The Queen, having been brought up among great pieces of art and taking them for granted, must be pretty oblivious of aesthetic aspects or she wouldn't have Corgies.

How did I become aware of any aesthetic aspect? It was when I moved from West Germany to where I am living now. The almost-a-drawing-room was 80% finished with all furniture where it belonged, rugs, curtains and most pictures in their places. Then there was my old smooth-coated Weimaraner lying on a sofa, very quiet, already starting to feel ill. (He had to be put down a couple of days later because of kidney failure.) Then it occurred to me: That wonderful animal lightened up the room. Ennobled it. Elevated it to a level it never reached before and will never reach again.

My terriers keep me young and they are wonderful working dogs. They love the human race with an indiscriminate and totally uncalled-for passion. Nobody would accuse them to ennoble a place, although they certainly make it more homely, even though they do horrible things of all sorts to one's furniture and other belongings and all that in countless different ways. But I guess to suffer that with good grace is, in a way, another expression of style. Excessive tidiness is frightfully lower middleclass anyway.

Rex Whistler (1905 - 1944)

This magnificent self portrait, painted 1940 on the first-floor balcony of 27, York Terrace, Regent’s Park, celebrated the arrival of Whistler’s first uniform. He had been commissioned into the Welsh Guards as Lieutenant 131651. At the age of 35, he had been eager to join the military.

Whistler was killed in action four years later in Normandy as a tank commander at the age of 39. In his relatively brief career, a series of witty, story-telling murals had established Whistler as a singular figurative artist. One, who must, so the experts say, had he lived, have gone on to rival Hockney and Freud.


Rex (Reginald John) Whistler was born at Eltham, Kent in 1905. Drawing well from an early age, it wasn't easy for him to stick to the discipline of a formal education. However, he completed his first big commission at the age of 22: a huge mural in the restaurant of the Tate Gallery, which, on that strength, earned the epithet of 'most amusing room in Europe'.

Later he carried out other mural commissions, including his masterpiece, the 58 foot Claudian fantasy at Plas Newydd, Isle of Anglesey.

Painted between 1936 and 1937, the mural is also full of love – for the family as a whole, but most of all for Lady Caroline, the beautiful eldest daughter. Whistler's love for Lady Caroline – who married someone else – is revealed in the coded references he includes in his Arcadian and Romantic view of a coastal landscape.



He also painted portraits, landscapes, and witty sketches for advertising, but was perhaps best known for his exquisite book illustrations (in such titles as Gulliver's Travels or Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales) and for his fine theatre designs. He worked together with Gielgud, de Valois, Cochran and others on productions as diverse as Fidelio, Victoria Regina, The Rake's Progress or Wake Up and Dream.



When war broke out, he was eager to join the army though he was already 35. He was commissioned into the Welsh Guards as Lieutenant. His artistic talent was greatly appreciated in the military and he was able to find time to continue some of his work. In 1944 he was sent to France following the D-Day Landings. In July he was with the 2nd (Armoured) Battalion in Normandy as the invasion force was poised to break out of the salient east of Caen. On the 18th of July, his tank drove over some felled telegraph wires, which became entangled in its tracks. He and the crew got out to free the tank from the wire when a German machine gunner opened fire on them, preventing them from getting back into their tank. Whistler dashed across an open space of 60 yards to instruct its commander to return the fire. As he climbed down from the tank, a mortar bomb exploded beside him and killed him straight away. He was the first fatality suffered by the Battalion in the Normandy Campaign.

The two free tanks of his troop carried out their dead commander's orders before returning to lay out his lifeless body beside a nearby hedge. Whistler's neck had been broken, but there was not a mark on his body.

Which is, after all, a little comfort.

Aesthetics and Efficiency



Captain Count Wilhelm Starhemberg with his Hungarian half-bred Athos, winner of the long-distance race Wien-Berlin 1892. 592 km in 71 hours and 26 minutes.

Nobody can fault this. It's just perfect! Everything. The posture of horse and rider, the uniform, the tack. Not an unneccesary thread, not an unnecessary strap, not a single movement without advancement. It oozes style. But then, such a test would naturally favour the most economical performer.


I took the picture, which was painted by Julius von Blaas (1845-1923), from the great book "Pferde unter dem Doppeladler" by Martin Haller Hildesheim 2002, ISBN: 3-487-08430-9.

The Mitford Sisters

Here I give you a whiff of the six Mitford sisters, five of which came to either prominence or notoriety and thus became part of 20th century history:

The parents of the Mitford sisters, David Bertram Ogilvy Freeman-Mitford, 2nd Baron Redesdale and his wife Sydney Bowles, were described as handsome, eccentric, cold and remote. The Mitford children (six girls and a boy) grew up in relatively moderate circumstances deep in rural Oxfordshire. The parents didn't believe in education for girls, specifically not in formal schools. Lady Redesdale run a chicken farm, the return of which was duly invested in her daughters' scant education. The children were brought up by a nanny who, as it happens so often in English upper-class families, provided their only stability and warmth. A string of hapless governesses was employed to convey what little knowledge the parents thought girls needed. Contact with other children was very limited because Lord and Lady Redesdale were of the opinion that this might overexcite the girls. According to Jessica Mitford, Lord Redesdale wouldn't receive any "outsiders" such as "Huns", "Frogs", Americans, Africans and any other "foreigners", which included other people's children, most friends of the girls and almost all young men. An exception was made for some (but by no means all) relatives and some choice red-faced and tweed-clad neighbours.

This cruel and eccentric environment was mirrored by the girls from an early age. Merciless bullying among them was rampant, an "art" at which specifically the oldest sister Nancy excelled, a precocious sign of her later whip-lash tongue, for which she became famous as a writer.

The parents split up after more than 35 years of marriage over the crucial question whether Adolf Hitler would be welcome as a son-in-law and whether a German invasion was appreciated or not. Lord Redesdale was against, his wife all for it.

Exasperated, he left her and moved to the tiny Scottish island of Inch Kenneth near Mull, about the only bit of estate that had remained in the family, and from where he returned only after the war.

Nancy and Peter Rodd's wedding.

Nancy (1904 – 1973), the first born, became a celebrated writer, biographer and novelist. No lesser co-brain than Evelyn Waugh called her "an agitator - agitatrix, agitateuse? - of genius".


Her best known novels are the autobiographical The Pursuit of Love (1945) and Love in a Cold Climate (1949). I specifically enjoyed The Blessing (1951), in which the devious child of a broken-down Anglo-French aristocratic marriage plots to prevent a reconciliation between his parents, which convincingly undermines the politically correct belief that children are little innocents who never recognise that their bread is sometimes more thickly buttered on the separation side. Nancy's famous line (I quote from memory): "I like children. Specifically when the cry, because then somebody comes and takes them away" fits this bill perfectly.

She edited the extremely witty and funny Noblesse Oblige (1956), a delightfully eccentric analysis of aristocracy, Englishness and language. Here, she famously helped to originate the famous 'U', or upper-class, and 'non-U' classification of linguistic usage and behaviour, all with an amusing tongue-in-cheek twist.

Nancy 1969.

In private matters she was less successful. In 1933, after a long but doomed engagement to homosexual Scottish aristocrat Hamish St Clair-Erskine, whom, so she erroneously thought, she would be able to lead to and keep on the straight and narrow, she married The Hon. Peter Rodd, the youngest son of the 1st Baron Rennell. The marriage to the cold and self-centred Rodd was not a success. Nancy and Peter Rodd, then separated for many years, divorced in 1958. At the end of WWII, Nancy moved to Paris, partly to be near French soldier and politician Colonel Gaston Palewski (Charles de Gaulle's Chief of Staff), with whom she had had an affair in London during the war. The largely one-sided thing lasted fitfully and ended unhappily when Palewski married somebody else in 1969.

Nancy Mitford died of Leukaemia in 1973.

The second Mitford child was Pamela (1907 – 1994). She was the only one of the sisters to remain in comparative obscurity. A dedicated country- and horsewomen, docile Pamela married a man as unlikely as the research spectroscopist and Oxford professor Derek Jackson. Enormously rich in his own right (he was, for example, a co-owner of the rag The News of the World), he had, among other things, devised the concept of the tin foil strips, which, dropped over the bombing target, rendered the German air raid defences inoperative. However, he served not just behind the scenes but rose to Wing Commander in the rank of Lieutenant Colonel during the war.

Pamela's and Derek's mutual interest had been horses and dogs, which remained the case even after they divorced.

Next was the only boy, Thomas (1909 – 1945). Educated at Eton, Thomas died without issue. He was killed in the war in Burma through the bullet of a Japanese sniper. The title eventually went to Lord Redesdale's brother.

Diana (1910 – 2003) was the third daughter. The opinions whether she or Deborah was the most beautiful of the girls differ. Diana Mitford married Bryan Guinness, scion of the immensely rich aristocratic beer-dynasty and heir to the title of Lord Moyne, when she was 19. When she was 22, she took her two children, left her husband and "nailed (her) colours to the mast" of the heavily married (to Cynthia, daughter of the former Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon) British Fascist leader Sir Oswald Mosley, 14 years her senior. Mosley never intended to leave his loyal and long-suffering wife and his idea of two "wives" shocked even the debauched social circles in which he and Diana were moving.

Sir Oswald's wife conveniently died in May 1933 and grief-stricken Oswald promptly embarked on an affair with his youngest sister-in-law, whereupon Diana went to Germany, taking Unity with her. While there, they attended the first Nürnberg party rally and returned again for the second rally the next year. Unity introduced Diana to Hitler in March 1935. They were his guests at the 1935 rally and, in 1936, Hitler provided a Mercedes-Benz to chauffeur Diana to the Berlin Olympic Games.

She continued to be Mosley's public mistress despite his endless affairs with other women.

1935, Diana was divorced from Bryan Guinness, who had pleaded guilty and provided "evidence" of his "adultery", as a man of his class was bound to do. In 1936, Mosley and Diana were married in a clandestine civil ceremony in Berlin, with Hitler and Goebbels attending. They made the marriage publicly known only after their first child was born in 1938.

During WWII, she and Mosley were interned at London's Holloway Prison under, thanks to Winston Churchill, relatively comfortable circumstances, their two small children went to live with Diana's sister Pamela Jackson. 1943, after two years, they were both released on grounds of Sir Oswald's health and placed under house arrest until the end of the war. Diana remained married to Mosley - and a dedicated Nazi - until the end.

She wrote two books of memoirs, A Life of Contrasts (1977), and Loved Ones (1985), as well as a biography of the Duchess of Windsor, whom she had befriended when they were neighbours in post-war Paris where she and Mosley went to live.

Diana Mitford (The Honourable Lady Mosley) died at the age of 93 as one of the many elderly victims of the heat wave that struck Europe in summer 2003 and with which the French had been unable to cope.

Unity (left) and Diana (right), at the September 1937 Nürnberg Nazi Party rally.

The next in line, Unity (1914 – 1948), is, to me, the least interesting, most one-dimensional of the sisters, although she was (and still is) the most notorious one. Plainly obnoxious and fairly dim, she always got her way by sheer disagreeableness and even managed to unnerve her battleaxe of a father by staring him down. Different from her sisters', her eccentricity and obstinacy was not the means to an end or to express creativity, but its own reward. She loved to hurt and to wind people up for hurting's and winding up's sake. It started with releasing her pet rat in ballrooms as a deb and ended with becoming the world's first "polit groupie" to one of the nastiest dictators in history.

Hitler, Unity Mitford and SA Obergruppenfuhrer Franz von Pfeffer, Bayreuth, 1936.

At almost six foot, she was impressive at best, frightening at worst. (The accounts of her attractiveness differ considerably.) One of the girls who did the season with her described her as "cold because she'd never known love", but then, that would have applied to her sisters as well.

Unity's season had, not too surprisingly, ended without an engagement in sight and, bored, she did exactly what her parents had told her not to do, namely to see her ostracised sister Diana. There she met Oswald Mosley and fell for him and his cause hook, line and sinker and when she expressed the wish to learn German, her unsuspecting parents, delighted and relieved that the notoriously useless Unity had finally expressed interest in something, let her travel to Munich. That was in 1933 and the rest is history.

She pursued Hitler and followed him like a dog until he finally took notice of her. Hitler, ever the petty-bourgeois, adored the fact that a girl from an English upper-class family should fancy him and indulged her and her every whim, together with, but not limited to, the gift of a lovely flat in Munich (char included) out of which a Jewish family had been thrown. Hitler's entourage unanimously hated her, her insolence and airs and graces and her potential influence. A telling of information informs us that she had to be admonished by an older woman friend that she was not to make fun of and be rude to Himmler's wife.

Living in Germany, mainly in Berlin and Munich, on and off from 1933 to the outbreak of WWII, she met at home everything from raised eyebrows to stern disapproval, but only finally burnt her bridges when she sided publicly with Julius Streicher. Asked by a German diplomat's wife why she was getting involved with people like Streicher and his ilk Unity replied: "They help me get what I want", which sums up nicely her attitude towards life and humankind in general. Three epithets describe Unity best: Nasty, nasty and nasty.

When Britain declared war on Germany in September 1939 and all Britons were forced to leave the country, Unity, rid of her role and her purpose in life, did the only plausible thing and attempted suicide. She shot herself in the head, but only suffered serious brain damage. She was returned to England, all German hospital bills paid for by Hitler, where doctors decided it was too dangerous to remove the bullet, and she eventually died at the age of 33 of meningitis caused by the swelling around the projectile.

Jessica and Esmond Romilly in their bar in Miami (top).
Jessica and Bob Treuhaft at a book presentation in the Seventies (below).


The next sister, Jessica (1917 – 1996), eloped to Spain at the age of 19 with 18 year old Spanish Civil War veteran Esmond Romilly, her second cousin and a nephew of Winston Churchill. Educated at Wellington, Esmond was a journalist who wrote two autobiographies before he was 21 and had attracted media attention as Churchill's 'red nephew'. In Spain he worked as a reporter, along with his friend Philip Toynbee, Arnold Toynbee's son. He and Toynbee collaborated on a journalistic account of the Spanish Civil War. Later, Toynbee wrote Esmond's biography Friends Apart.

Jessica's and Edmond's spitting mad parents did everything, even involving the Royal Navy who sent a destroyer, to make still under age Jessica return to England and only her announcement that she was pregnant made them relent. The young couple was allowed to marry at the British Consulate in Bayonne, both heavily disapproving mothers in attendance.

Jessica never saw her father again, who had cut all bonds and disowned her. He even refused to see her on his deathbed (1958).

Later, the Romillys settled for a brief while in Miami and opened a bar. When Britain declared war on Germany, Esmond Romilly went to Canada to volunteer. He served in the Royal Canadian Air Force and was shot down over the North Sea in 1941 after a bombing raid over Nazi Germany. He was 23. The news of his death were broken to Jessica by Winston Churchill personally.

Jessica went on to live in the USA, took on odd office jobs and worked hard for her living. She married the Harvard-educated lawyer and notorious leftist activist Robert Treuhaft. Lord Redesdale is said to have had one of his legendary earth-shattering tantrums when he learned of the existence of a new son-in-law who was both, a Communist and a Jew. Later, she pursued an extremely successful career as an investigative writer. Carl Bernstein, who wrote the epilogue to Jessica's book The Gentle Art of Muckraking, conceded that her research skills were far above his. Her autobiography Hons and Rebels, which appeared 1960 (and which I haven't read) got much acclaim and throws light on her family and upbringing.

Deborah and Andrew Cavendish's wedding.

The youngest sister, Deborah (born 1920), married Lord Andrew Cavendish, second son of the 10th Duke of Devonshire, when they both were 21. At that time, Andrew was not expected to inherit the title. Because his older brother William (who was engaged to be married to Kathleen Kennedy, sister of JFK), was killed in combat in 1944, Andrew became Marquess of Hartington and 11th Duke of Devonshire after his father's death in 1950.

Deborah Duchess of Devonshire never put a foot wrong. She was considered the most perfect of all Duchesses of Devonshire. There had been ten before her.

Deborah Mitford by Pietro Annigoni

She has been the public face of Chatsworth House, the Devonshires' seat in Derbyshire, for many decades and remains so in her widowhood. She has written several books about Chatsworth and played a key role in the restoration of the house, the improvement of the garden, the development of commercial activities such as the Chatsworth Farm Shop (a business that employs a hundred people), and Chatsworth's other business operations. She has even been known to man the ticket office herself if the need arose.

She became the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire in 2004 upon the death of her husband when her son inherited the title. Andrew and Deborah had been married for 63 years.

Deborah, consecutively The Honourable Deborah Freeman-Mitford, Lady Andrew Cavendish, Marchioness of Hartington, Duchess of Devonshire and Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, is the last surviving one of the famous Mitford sisters.

As all women, with the exception of Pamela, led very public lives, there are plenty of pictures around. To me, the most captivating ones are those of the old women, which clearly show how life had treated them – and they life.

There is, of course, plenty of information on the Mitfords in the Internet. For those with a deeper interest in the history of the 20th century from this particular angle, Nancy's and Jessica's autobiographical books are certainly worth reading, as are, I am sure, and if one can stomach it, Diana's.



Jessica, Deborah and Pamela. In the background Alexander Mosley (son of Diana) and Alexander's wife Charlotte, Editor of 'The Nancy Mitford Diaries' at a book launch party held at The Reform Club on the 23rd of September 1993.







I used apart from some of the above mentioned material a German book Die Mitford Sisters by Karlheinz Schädlich, Düsseldorf 1990, which contains a lot of information (plus some of the pictures shown here), but quite a few irritating errors and mistakes as well. Schädlich quotes extensively David Pryce-Jones, Unity Mitford. A Quest, London 1978.

Charlotte Mosley (Diana's daughter-in-law) wrote: A Talent to Annoy, Essays, Journalism, and Reviews by Nancy Mitford, London 1960.

Published on January 11, 2008.


Looks and Style

Are those two related?

It was an eerie experience I had not too long ago at YouTube.

I was searching for Au fond du temple saint from Bizet's opera Les pêcheurs de perles, the aria for tenor and baritone to end all arias for tenor and baritone.

First, there popped up that performance by Roberto Alagna and Bryn Terfel, which would have been rejected by any self-respecting vaudeville show and that is about all I'm going to say about it, then I stumbled over Placido Domingo and Rolando Villazón and wished I hadn't.

In open-necked shirt and with straggly gray beard, Domingo performed a fair impersonation shtick of Saddam Hussein, whereas Villazón sported a hairdo, that gave an entirely new depth to the epithet "greaseball" and the only good thing about it was that, as one of the commentators at YouTube put it, that Domingo finally sang with the baritone voice God gave him. At the Berlin Waldbühne that was, in July 2006. And better forgotten.

But then I was rewarded for my pains. There they were. At the very bottom of the page. In a recording from 1970. Alfredo Kraus, not even arguably the most underrated tenor in the history of opera and Barry McDaniel, an American baritone who never got the international acclaim he clearly deserved because he chose to work almost exclusively in Germany. Two guys, exceedingly handsome, immaculately groomed in white ties, no popular gimmicks, no tricks. Just pure art. Boring, eh?



All I could think was: what effortlessness, what style, what poise!

So while natural good looks certainly help, they are only marginally related to style.

What made Domingo, by any standard still a good-looking man, let his beard grow until he resembled an old dosser and what Villazón, who is certainly considered handsome by those who are into the Latin Lover thingy, to empty half a bottle of salad oil over his hairdo? What made them both wearing scruffy-looking open-necked shirts under bedraggled-looking suits? Were they dressing down for their audience at the Waldbühne? If yes, I don't want them at football events. On second thought, I don't want them at football events AT ALL. Why, on the other hand, do we feel that Kraus' and McDaniel's performance was so special (apart from their singing)? It wasn't JUST their markedly good looks and not JUST their impeccable grooming and even when that thick red hair had gone scant and grey, the ice-blue, long eyes small and the skin over those spectacular cheekbones saggy, Alfredo Kraus was still the epitome of elegance and style. Can you imagine that man performing at a football event?



It's in the bearing. It comes from within.