So, I said I was going to tell the story about the bad man from Italy, didn’t I?
First off, though, I don’t need to say that this isn’t meant to reflect on modern day Italians, do I? I don’t need to say that, right? I’ve been paid a lot of compliments over the past few days, which have included being called ‘nauseating’ and ‘off the rails,’ and I wouldn’t want to blot my copybook by being thought xenophobic. I have nothing against Italians. As long as that’s understood, read on.
Some time in the 1570’s, Robert Dudley decided to organise a grand party for Queen Elizabeth II at Kenilworth Castle. It seems he was making a final attempt to woo her into marriage, and what better way to impress a virgin queen than with a firework display? All those new-fangled rockets climbing all the way to heaven (which is best heard in a Welsh accent, for some odd reason,) and then bursting with symbolic potential. Yes indeed, boyo (the Welsh accent again.) Robert Dudley was evidently a man ahead of his times.
So, where best to go for a pyrotechnics expert? Italy, of course. Italy was the cradle of the Renaissance, and the Renaissance was about more than just art. So an Italian master of fireworks was sent for, and he duly arrived with his bag of tricks.
But what did this Renaissance Man, this shining example of the cream of civilisation, want to do for the crowning glory of the display? Rockets bursting with erotic potential? No. Catherine wheels? Hardly – unfortunate choice of name. Sparklers for the revellers to wave whilst dancing a merry minuet? No. What he wanted to do was fire live cats and dogs from canons. Fortunately, he was persuaded to abandon his plan.
One up for the barbarians, I say.
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