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The Exorcist





While he was a student at Georgetown University, William Peter Blatty saw an August 1949 article in The Washington Post, “Priest Frees Mt. Rainier Boy Reported Held in Devil’s Grip” by Bill Brinkley. He stopped to read the article on what we now call the exorcist stairs. In mid-1949, several local newspapers in Washington and Maryland had published anonymous reports (probably written by the family's pastor, Luther Miles Schulze) of possession and exorcism happing in Prince George County in Maryland.

The feature in the Washington Post was a more detailed account of the exorcism that was performed on a fourteen-year-old boy from Cottage City, Maryland (3807 40th Avenue) named Roland Hunkeler. According to the story, the boy’s family, the Hunkeler family, started hearing strange rapping and scratching noises from his bedroom walls, objects would fly across the room, and his bed moved while he was asleep.

The boy’s mother, somewhat of a hysteric, had convinced herself that all of these things were the work of her recently deceased Aunt, Mathilda Hendricks, who was a spiritualist and had taught the boy, Ronald Hunkeler, how to communicate with spirits through a Ouija board.

She sought the help of a Protestant minister but when he proved ineffective, she turned to the Jesuit communities of Washington, D.C., and St. Louis. A priest and a lay scholar in church history visited Roland where they allegedly saw a shaking bed, flying objects, and the boy speaking in a guttural voice and exhibiting an aversion to anything sacred. Based on that report the local Archbishop granted permission for an exorcism. However, the Jesuits insisted that before they became involved that they wanted the boy subjected to medical and psychiatric examinations, all of which failed to find anything abnormal that might explain the allegedly paranormal phenomena.

The Jesuits assigned Father William Bowdern to perform an exorcism (He would conduct twenty exorcisms in all) on March 9, 1949. Assisting him was Father Bowdern Father Walter, Father Raymond Bishop who would later publish his twenty-nine-page diary of the incident.

The last member of the team was Father Walter Halloran.

Halloran was 26 years old when received the assignment. He was then, and remained, the most skeptical member of the exorcist team, doubting that Roland was possessed. Halloran was Minnesota, the oldest of nine children. A high school and college football star, he was ordained in 1956. A volunteer chaplain in the United States Army, he received paratrooper training and took duty in Vietnam where, he said later, he saw more evil in a day than in the entire Roland Hunkeler exorcism case. Halloran was awarded two Bronze Stars for heroism while under fire.






When asked by a church historian in an interview on whether the boy had been possessed, Halloran said "No, I can’t go on record, I never made an absolute statement about the things because I didn’t feel I was qualified." However, friends recalled that he "expressed his skepticism about potential paranormal events before his death."

Almost all of the exorcisms were conducted at Georgetown University Hospital, a Jesuit-owned hospital. During the exorcism, because of his wild behavior, Roland was bound in restraints, which he slipped out of and used, broke a bedspring from under the mattress, and used it to slash one of the priests' arms. According to Father Halloran, during the exorcism, various marks appeared on Roland’s. Another priest reported that during the Litany of the Saints, Roland’s mattress began to shake and that at a later point, Roland broke Halloran's nose. But Halloran never heard the boy's voice change, and he thought had the ability to suddenly speak Latin, but rather Roland merely mimicked Latin words he heard the clergymen say during prayers. As to the odd marks were found on the boy's body, Halloran later made a point that he failed to check the boy's fingernails to see if he had made the marks himself.

Author Mark Opsasnick, who did an extensive study of the case, including interviews with Roland’s neighbors and friends, concluded that "the boy had been a very clever trickster, who had pulled pranks to frighten his mother and to fool children in the neighborhood" and suggested that Roland was simply a spoiled, disturbed bully who threw deliberate tantrums to get attention or to get out of school.

Furthermore, almost all of the commonly accepted information about this story is based on hearsay, is not documented, and was never fact-checked. Opsasnick also questioned the story of Hughes' attempts to exorcise the boy and his subsequent injury, saying he could find no evidence that such an episode had actually occurred. In fact, most of the symptoms of possession were "childishly simple" to fake.

A serious investigation into the case by author Thomas B. Allen wrote that "the consensus of today's experts" that "Robbie was just a deeply disturbed boy, nothing supernatural about him".

The medical community seemed to agree.

A psychiatric team that reviewed the case stated that Roland more than likely suffered from mental illness. And (Meaning the Priests in the exorcism and the Peter Blatty) “Those involved saw what they were trained to see. Each purported to look at the facts but just the opposite was true — in actuality, they manipulated the facts and emphasized information that fit their own agendas”

Another psychiatrist who reviewed the case wrote “Nothing that was reliably reported in the case was beyond the abilities of a teenager to produce. The tantrums, "trances", moved furniture, hurled objects, automatic writing, superficial scratches, and other phenomena were just the kinds of things someone of Roland’s age could accomplish, just as others have done before and since. Indeed, the elements of "poltergeist phenomena", suggest nothing so much as role-playing involving trickery.

The Doctor also dismissed stories of the boy's prodigious strength, saying he showed "nothing more than what could be summoned by an agitated teenager" and criticized popular accounts of the exorcism for what he termed a "stereotypical storybook portrayal" of the Devil.

Father Halloran died in 2005 and was the last of the exorcist team to survive. Ronald Hunkeler died on May 10, 2020. According to Father Halloran, Ronald Hunkeler. went on to lead "a rather ordinary life."

Roland (As a high school senior)



 

procrastinate and eloquent


The word eloquent comes from the Latin verb loquī, which means "to talk or speak." (The adjective loquacious describes a person who is skilled at or has the inclination for talking.) Expression of the self can be seen and not heard, which gives meaning to eloquent as an adjective for nonverbal impressive acts.



 The word procrastinate comes from the Latin prefix pro-, meaning "forward," and crastinus, "of tomorrow." The word means moving or acting slowly so as to fall behind, and it implies blameworthy delay especially through laziness or apathy.

The Paris Review Podcast Returns

  

The Paris Review Podcast Returns

With our acclaimed podcast, The Paris Review gives voice to the sixty-eight years of our archives. Season 3 launches today, with the release of episode 19, “A Memory of the Species.”

We open with a recording of the literary critic Richard Poirier in conversation with  Robert Frost for the poet’s 1960 Art of Poetry interview, from issue no. 24. Next, the Italian poet Antonella Anedda and her translator Susan Stewart discuss Anedda’s poem “Historiae 2,” published in issue no. 231. The American vocal ensemble Tenores de Aterúe then reimagines the poem as a song in the folk tradition of Anedda’s native Sardinia. And Yohanca Delgado reads her story “The Little Widow from the Capital,” from issue no. 236, in which a chorus of Dominican women living in a New York apartment building gossip about their new neighbor’s talents for embroidery and witchcraft.

Listen now at theparisreview.org/podcast or wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes will arrive every Wednesday in November. And don’t forget to catch up on Season 1 and Season 2.

The Paris Review Podcast is produced in partnership with Stitcher.

Paul Desmond




 

Dave Brubeck


 

Stan Kenton


 

Mort Sahl, revolutionary comic who influenced comedians from Lenny Bruce to Dave Chappelle, dies

  


BY DENNIS MCLELLAN

OCT. 26, 2021 UPDATED 4:44 PM PT

Mort Sahl, who revolutionized stand-up comedy in the mid-1950s with his insightful political and social satire, has died at his home in Mill Valley, Calif., at 94.

Sahl, whose on- and off-stage preoccupation with a conspiracy theory on the assassination of President John F. Kennedy slowed his career in the late 1960s, died Tuesday, a family friend overseeing his affairs told the New York Times.

At a time when brash comics in suits and tuxedos typically were telling jokes about their wives and mothers-in-law, Sahl shattered the stand-up stereotype, beginning at the hungry i, a small, brick-walled basement club in San Francisco’s North Beach district.

Wearing a V-neck sweater and an open-collared shirt — and clutching a rolled-up newspaper — the dark-haired USC graduate with hooded eyes and a wolfish grin fearlessly zeroed in on Cold War-era targets such as President Eisenhower, Sen. Joseph McCarthy and the notorious House Un-American Activities Committee.

His casual, conversational style would influence a generation of comedians, from Lenny Bruce to Dave Chappelle.







Sahl, who frequently punctuated his punch lines with a dry, staccato laugh, spoke in a language that a writer for the New Yorker magazine in 1957 described as “a unique cross between a philosophy paper and the argot of modern jazz.”

Indeed, Sahl might leaven his monologues with allusions to the Oedipus complex or references to monotheism and then preface a new target by saying, “Dig this” — or, more often, “Onward!”

A 1960 New Yorker profile of Sahl enumerated the “persons, places, objects, institutions, and ideas” he disparaged during a 45-minute monologue, beginning with Charles de Gaulle and followed by Eisenhower, segregation, comedian Shelley Berman, trade unions, the film “Marty,” jazz, New York City, Berkeley, playwright Samuel Beckett, newspapers, coffeehouses, sandals, J.D. Salinger, soiled raincoats — and 62 other subjects.

“I don’t tell jokes, I give little lectures,” Sahl would tell his audiences. He’d generally conclude his shows by asking, “Are there any groups I haven’t offended?”

“He was a force of nature, a whirlwind whose ideas defined him; behind each joke lurked a sharply etched, cynical worldview,” Gerald Nachman wrote in his 2003 book “Seriously Funny: The Rebel Comedians of the 1950s and 1960s.”

Before Sahl, “it was heretical, even career suicide, for a comedian to discuss politics, much less to cut up a sitting president onstage,” wrote Nachman. While Will Rogers and Bob Hope were comfortable, non-offensive establishment figures, Sahl was straight grenade fire.

“When Rogers or Hope did political material, their jokes weren’t meant to wound or to make anyone squirm; Sahl’s were, and did,” Nachman said.

Moving on from the hungry i to clubs such as Mister Kelly’s in Chicago, Basin Street East in New York and the Crescendo in Los Angeles — as well as showrooms in Las Vegas and Miami — Sahl was in the vanguard of a new generation of comedians.

“He was like Charlie Parker in jazz,” said Woody Allen, an early fan. “There was a need for a revolution — everybody was ready for the revolution. He totally restructured comedy.”

Sahl was known to devour numerous newspapers and magazines every day to keep his topical act up-to-date. As for his ideological leanings, Sahl told the Associated Press in 2007 that he remained what he always was: “an independent, populist radical.”

During his heyday in the 1950s and early ’60s, Sahl recorded several pioneering live stand-up comedy albums, starred on Broadway in a short-lived revue, “The Next President” and played small roles in several movies and television shows.

A jazz connoisseur whose friends included Stan Kenton, Dave Brubeck and Paul Desmond, Sahl served as co-emcee of the first Monterey Jazz Festival with Dizzy Gillespie in 1958 and was master of ceremonies of the inaugural Playboy Jazz Festival in Chicago in 1959.

He even donned a tuxedo and co-hosted the 1959 Academy Awards show, along with Laurence Olivier, Jerry Lewis, David Niven, Tony Randall and Hope, who referred to Sahl as “the favorite comedian of nuclear physicists everywhere.”

Sahl’s stock as a political satirist was so high that Joseph P. Kennedy asked him to write jokes for his son’s 1960 presidential run, which Sahl agreed to do while stressing that — as a rule — he did not endorse candidates.

 

Indeed, the bipartisan Sahl joked on television during the race that the senior Kennedy had told his son John: “I’m putting you on an allowance. You’re not allowed one more cent than you need to buy a landslide.”

Sahl didn’t waste time targeting the new Kennedy White House.

 

But Joe Kennedy viewed the comedian’s continued potshots at his son as disloyalty and, according to Sahl, the Kennedy patriarch applied pressure to have him silenced. And when he didn’t, Sahl wrote in “Heartland,” his 1976 memoir, “the work began to dry up.”

But things grew worse for Sahl’s career after John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1963.

In 1966, while hosting a talk show on KTTV Channel 11 in Los Angeles, Sahl heard a news report that New Orleans Dist. Atty. Jim Garrison claimed to have discovered evidence that Kennedy’s assassination was the result of a conspiracy — contrary to the Warren Commission’s conclusion that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone assassin.

Sent to New Orleans to interview Garrison, Sahl wound up volunteering to help him in his investigation. Off and on over the next few years, Sahl worked for free as a deputized member of Garrison’s assassination investigative team.

His association with the controversial group so damaged Sahl’s reputation that it cost him TV, recording and club jobs. His gross income, he later wrote, went from up to $1 million a year to $13,000.

When he did perform, Sahl often generated laughs by reading excerpts of what he considered “the more ludicrous aspects” of the Warren Commission report and sometimes brought all 26 volumes of the report onstage with him.

“I had them on the stage so people could see the physical size of the deception,” he told the Rocky Mountain News in 2001. “A lot of people did not want to hear it. But I thought it was the end of the country. But you know, this country never ends. It’s like a bad television show that they keep picking up for the next season.”

The Warren Commission report, Nachman wrote in his book, “so traumatized him that he never recovered his footing and still struggles against an ancient stigma that he’s a head case.”

But the Nixon administration and ensuing Watergate scandal provided a new trove of material and helped turn the tide for Sahl.

“When I made fun of Eisenhower, the college audiences thought that I was making chaos out of order,” he wrote in his memoir. “Twenty years later the college audiences are asking me to bring order to chaos: Tell me what it means, man.”

 

Sahl had a stint writing screenplays and contributing to various films and continued to offer his caustic and satiric insights on America. In 1987, he returned to Broadway for a few weeks in 1987 with a one-man show, “Mort Sahl on Broadway!” Late in life, he taught a class in critical thinking at Claremont McKenna College.



An only child born to an American father and a Canadian mother, Sahl was born May 11, 1927, in Montreal. After a series of moves, the family settled in Los Angeles when Sahl was 7, and his father became an administrator for the FBI.

A member of the ROTC while a student at Belmont High School during World War II, the 15-year-old Sahl lied about his age and joined the Army, a patriotic move that ended two weeks later when his mother tracked him down at Ft. MacArthur in San Pedro.

After graduating from high school, Sahl enlisted in the Army Air Forces and served with the 93rd Air Depot Group in Anchorage, where he edited the post newspaper and reportedly spent 83 consecutive days on KP duty for publishing insubordinate comments about his commanding officer.

“A few months under the heel of authority,” Sahl said of his time in the military, “killed it for me.”

After his discharge in 1947, Sahl attended Compton College on the GI Bill and then transferred to USC. He earned a bachelor’s degree in public administration in 1950 and was working on a graduate degree when he dropped out.

Over the next few years, he made a number of stabs at show business. He and a friend rented a theater, where Sahl wrote and staged experimental one-act plays. He also made his first brief foray into stand-up comedy in strip clubs under the unlikely name Cal Southern.

“I did all the stuff other people were doing,” he recalled in 1989. “I got a tie and a coat, and I talked about the movies and did imitations of movie stars. I didn’t dare to talk about what was really on my mind. That took a while. That takes some trust.”

While working as a used car salesman and a messenger, he wrote an unpublished novel and several short stories. He also attempted to sell material to other comedians, who told him his offerings weren’t commercial enough.

After his girlfriend, Sue Babior, left to attend UC Berkeley, Sahl headed north. He and Babior married in 1955 and divorced two and a half years later but not before she suggested that he audition at the hungry i.

The small club featured only singers and musicians at the time, but owner Enrico Banducci agreed to give Sahl a shot in late December, 1953.

 


Although he received the requisite laughs, having filled the club with his Berkeley friends on his opening night, Sahl faced a far less accepting crowd the next night: The audience booed and yelled, and pelted him with peanuts and pennies.

But Banducci let Sahl continue, and within a few months the outspoken comic was generating standing-room-only crowds.

Through the years, Sahl’s brand of humor remained unchanged.

When George W. Bush became president, Sahl pushed Eisenhower, Kennedy and Nixon aside and zeroed in on a new target.



“He’s born again, you know,” Sahl told a crowd in 2007, referring to the president newfound religious fervor. “Which would raise the inevitable question: If you were given the unusual opportunity to be born again, why would you come back as George Bush?”

Sahl was married and divorced three times. His only child, Mort Jr., died from a drug overdose when he was 19 in 1996.

That's bogus

  In the early 19th century, a "bogus" was a machine used to make counterfeit coins. No one knows for sure how this coin-copying contraption got its name, but before long bogus became a name for funny money or for a fraudulent imitation of any kind. The more common "phony" adjective followed.

 Mirage comes from the French verb mirer ("to look at"), which is related to mirror. Mirer, itself, is from Latin mīrārī ("to wonder at"), the ancestor of the commonly seen admire, miracle, and marvel.


Listen to this guys sing.....he had a magnificent voice but it was always (Almost) drowned out by the background sounds, too bad, he was raised a church singer





 

I can only write in silence but for those of you who can write otherwise, here you go....

  

MUSIC FOR WRITING, CLASSICAL MUSIC EDITION #1

A few songs to inspire some writing, set a tone, or anything else:

Prospero’s Magic, by Michael Nyman (1991) - there’s something so haunting and emotional about this, please listen to it

 String Quartet No. 3 in F Major, Op. 73: III. Allegro non troppo, by Dimitri Shostakovich/Dmitrij Sjostakovitsj (1946) - this piece makes me nervous, but in a good way

 Piano Concerto No.22 in E flat, K.482: 3. Allegro - Andante cantabile - Tempo I, by Mozart (1785)

Cello Sonata in G Minor, Op. 19: II. Allegro scherzando, by Sergei Rachmaninov

** OPPORTUNITIES FOR PLAYWRIGHTS ***



Carlo Annoni International Playwriting Prize accepts plays on any topic affecting the LGBTQ+ community, and the promotion of diversity in love, society, politics and culture.
We dedicate the 2022 Carlo Annoni Prize to all those individuals that fight to see their right to love respected both in Italy and in the world, and to those experiencing discrimination because of their identity.

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Harper Productions: The Fright Before Christmas
We’re looking for six original short horror plays to be performed at The Space this December 11th. The night will be MC'd by drag queen extraordinaire, Lady Aria Grey, and each performance will be judged by our panelists and the audience (and, yes, there will be prizes!). 

***
ellipsis… literature & art is the annual literary journal published by the students of Westminster College since 1965. We accept original English language submissions in poetry, short fiction, creative non-fiction, drama, and art. Submit poems in one document, please. 

*** FOR MORE INFORMATION about these and other opportunities see the web site at https://www.nycplaywrights.org ***


*** CLASHES WITH PLAYWRIGHTS ***

FRANK CHIN v MAXINE HONG KINGSTON

The literary dispute is more than an academic parlor game. Educators from Stanford to Yale are debating the values of non-white thought. Literature reflects a culture, defines a people. In this sense, the struggle between Chin and Kingston is a literary battle for the soul of Asian America.

“Maxine and Frank are brilliant writers,” said Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston, the co-author of “Farewell to Manzanar” and a close friend of Kingston. “It’s sad this has all happened.”

The children of immigrants, Kingston and Chin both were born 50 years ago in the Year of the Angry Dragon. Both studied literature at UC Berkeley during the Days of Rage and plunged into the politics of the era. Both envied each other’s early writings.

Chin was the first to rise to literary stardom. After he founded the Asian American Theater Company in San Francisco, his groundbreaking plays, “Chickencoop Chinaman” and “Year of the Dragon,” debuted Off Broadway in the early 1970s. Critics from the New Yorker to the Village Voice praised his theater for its power, originality and humor. The playwright raged over the fragile psyches of Asian-American men and against the Charlie Chan and Dr. Fu Man Chu stereotypes. He railed against meek minorities who swallowed the racist images of Asian males as eunuchs or yellow devils.

More...

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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE v ROBERT GREENE

Let me tell you about something that happened to Shakespeare around the time that he turned 30. There was a writer of prose fiction named Robert Greene. He also specialized in writing about the criminal underworld in London. He wrote a book very near his death called A Groatsworth of Wit, and in it he surveys the literary scene in London. He’s basically turning out pulpy gossip about different writers, and towards the end, he mentions a newcomer—not by name. 

Later in the paragraph he refers to this person as “the only shake scene in the country,” but when he starts out, he goes after this guy as “an upstart crow, beautified in our feathers.” He is actually borrowing a line from Horace. Horace once described another poet as a crow decorated with other people’s feather. 

Greene was taking out after Shakespeare and basically accusing him of plagiarism—of stealing other people’s pretty stuff—their feathers. It is interesting, of course, that Greene was stealing Horace’s line to talk about Shakespeare stealing other peoples poetry. There’s a number of other insults that get leveled at Shakespeare in the few sentences that Greene turns out. He accuses him of plagiarism, and he accuses him of bombast, of copying Christopher Marlowe’s style. We all know Marlowe as the author of Dr. Faustus, of Tamburlaine. He also made a very weird attempt to put a bit of Virgil’s Aeneid on stage in a play called Dido, Queen of Carthage.

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LILLIAN HELLMAN v MARY MCCARTHY

Who would guess that by uttering a few harmless words you could trigger lawsuits in the millions, a furor in the literary world, and a Broadway show?

Nora Ephron’s play “Imaginary Friends,” about the feud between Mary McCarthy and Lillian Hellman, opens this week at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre. The play centers on an incident that occurred on my old PBS show, in 1979. I always enjoyed having McCarthy as a guest. She was lively, witty, opinionated, and striking on camera. And there was her smile, hilariously immortalized by Randall Jarrell, in “Pictures from an Institution”: “Torn animals were removed at sunset from that smile.”

My notes for the program that night read, “Miss McCarthy asked if you’d let her say a few words about a young writer she feels is underrated.” During the interview, in an attempt to be clever, I asked McCarthy to name some _over_rated writers, thinking that she would take that as her cue. Instead, she answered the question, mentioning John Steinbeck, Pearl Buck, and, finally, Lillian Hellman, “who I think is tremendously overrated, a bad writer, and a dishonest writer, but she really belongs to the past.”

“What’s dishonest about her?” I asked.

“Everything,” McCarthy replied, smiling. “I said once in some interview that every word she writes is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘the.’ ” There was an “ooh” and a laugh from the audience, but otherwise the moment passed innocuously. After the taping, the network’s lawyer—paid to anticipate litigation—did not utter even his occasional “Dick, we may have a problem.” Instead, he said, “Nice show.”

During breakfast the next morning, my assistant called. “Have you seen the papers?” she said. “Hellman is suing Mary McCarthy, PBS, and you for two and a quarter million.”

“And me?” I replied, in a prepubescent squeak. The other phone rang, and the familiar whiskey-and-cigarettes baritone rasped, “Why the hell didn’t you defend me?”

“I guess I never thought of you as defenseless, Lillian,” I managed.

“That’s bullshit. I’m suing the whole damn bunch of you.” In that, at least, she proved a woman of her word.

I had been to dinner at Lillian’s, and she, too, had been on my show. She was a sharp and entertaining guest—an eager appearer, arriving early, looking as if she’d just stepped out of Elizabeth Arden. No one was neutral about Lillian. She had a famous friendship with Dorothy Parker, yet to Jean Stafford she was “Old Scaly Bird.”

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MARTIN MCDONAGH v CONOR MCPHERSON

McDonagh was given the ridiculous press line as a “bad boy” of theater long ago, not just for his decidedly bleak, violent, profanity-laced plays, but for the candid interviews he gives (when he gives him), and also, that one time he told Sean Connery to fuck off. Recently, he was lamented in The New Yorker as a racist for a few of the characters in Behanding. Trouble follows the guy’s work. Either he can’t get away from it, or he relishes it.

Count this one as a vote for the latter: he used said New York Times interview to slam the (also Irish and critically lauded) playwright Conor McPherson.

In an interview four years ago Conor McPherson, a Dublin writer of similar stature, questioned how Irish he really was. “More like stage Irish,” he told me.

Mr. McDonagh responded to this comment with a flash of anger, disregarding a pledge he had made minutes before to give up harshly judging other living writers in the press, firing off one of those hilariously belligerent rants that his characters are known for and that can’t possibly be printed here. Translated from the profane to the mundane, he said he was going to beat up Mr. McPherson next time he saw him.

More...

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BEN JOHNSON v GABRIEL SPENCER

On September 22, 1598, playwright Ben Jonson killed a prominent young actor named Gabriel Spencer in a duel near Hogsden Fields in Shoreditch, London. No one knows for certain what the duel was about, but two years earlier Spencer had stabbed a man to death in a brawl and was let off after pleading self-defence.

The cause of the duel most probably stemmed from a scandal in 1597 when Jonson co-wrote a satirical play with Thomas Nashe called The Isle of Dogs in which Spencer appeared.

The Privy Council declared the play to be seditious and ordered the arrest of the entire company, The Earl of Pembrooke’s Men.

Only Jonson, Spencer and another actor were taken into custody and they spent eight weeks in Marshalsea Prison. The Earl of Pembrooke’s Men was forced to disband, meaning that Spencer had to find a new company of players. Presumably, he blamed Jonson for the whole mess.

More...

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HEDI TILLETTE DE CLERMONT-TONNERRE v SIR DAVID BARCLAY

Sir David Barclay has lost a lawsuit he filed in France against a little-known playwright who wrote a theatrical work that the British billionaire alleged hewed too closely to his rags-to-riches life story.

The decision is a setback for Mr Barclay, one of the twins who own the Telegraph newspaper and properties including London’s Ritz hotel.

Civil judges in the French city of Caen on Tuesday ruled that Mr Barclay did not adequately prove that the artist Hedi Tillette de Clermont-Tonnerre had invaded his privacy and defamed him by performing the play Two Brothers and the Lions.

They based the decision in part on a technicality that Mr Barclay never had a live performance recorded, but also wrote in the decision that the artist’s right to free expression outweighed the alleged harm to the billionaire.

Although Mr Barclay was seeking €100,000 in damages and a ban on further performances, the court ruled instead that Mr Barclay must pay roughly €56,000 in damages to Mr Tillette de Clermont-Tonnerre, his publisher, and the theatres that backed the production to address the harm the lawsuit did to their respective reputations. He will also have to pay for a statement to that effect to be published in two French newspapers and two magazines.

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OSCAR WILDE v MARQUESS OF QUEENSBERRY

In the late 19th century, Oscar Wilde was one of the most celebrated writers in England. A member of London’s High Society, an extravagant personality and the author of successful books such as The Importance of Being Earnest and Dorian Gray. To this day, the books are still considered all-time classics.

Although he was married and had a child, Wilde was gay, which at the time, was not altogether acceptable. In fact, to act on it was a crime.

In 1895, he was involved with Lord Alfred “Bosie” Douglas, the son of the Lord Alfred “Bosie” Douglas Marquess of Queensberry. The Marquess was so incensed about this affair with his son, that he became intent on destroying Wilde. He put in place an evil and cunning plan. Wilde walked straight into it.

The Marquess left his calling card with a hall porter in Albermarle Club, an establishment where Wilde often dined. He told the porter to hand it to Wilde. The card said this: “To Oscar Wilde, posing as a somdomite.” While his spelling was not so good, and no-one who read it understood it, it had the desired effect on Wilde. It set in motion an unstoppable train.

More...

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