Word: courtier
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...Sometimes they are ironically lowly: a rustic straw bag done in gold-and-silver-inlaid iron, or a common rice bowl. Some convey (at least from inside a glass case) a feeling of sacerdotal calm rather than ferocity, like a wonderful 17th century helmet in the form of a courtier's hat, rising like an inverted keel some two feet above the head and decorated in a tortoiseshell pattern of black and honey-colored lacquer. Others seem not to be there--a helmet, for instance, covered with a wig of animal hair to mimic a young man's coiffure, thus...
Will the Baby Boomer's Monte Carlo stash someday rival the $60 million Borg is alleged to have there, or will he become just another tennis courtier, serving (and volleying to) its true monarchs? The problem of predicting arises from the ambiguities inherent in any Wimbledon victory and from the mysteries inherent in reading any adolescent's psyche. Since the U.S. Open ceased using grass, and since the major players pretty much abandoned the Australian Open, the computer rankings on which Wimbledon's seedings are based do not have adequate input regarding abilities on what is now the exotic tennis...
...years, Hua's web of erotic and financial alliances unravels. Wealthy lovers tire of her imperiousness; the gigolo she supported (and whose exertions Zhang overheard that first day) has found younger flesh to exploit. She can't pay the tailor bills, yet Zhang remains her faithful couturier and courtier, flattering Hua on her waist size, whispering compliments to a woman in need of them and, finally, secretly, paying for the dingy hotel room she's forced to move into. Gratitude, or desperation, leads her to ask, "Do you have a wife yet?" "No." "How about me?" It is an eloquent...
...honour accustomed to a different mode of conducting business to be trifled with, and as I may say, to be jockied by such a finesse. But we must for a time submit," he advised at one aggravating juncture. In fact, ego massaging and wheel greasing and string pulling--the courtier's repertoire--came easily to him. He was no innocent abroad; he was no more bawdy Poor Richard than he was the self-correcting killjoy of his autobiography. What he was instead was himself, gravitas and raffishness combined, always a winning combination in Paris. The censors approved Poor Richard...
Franklin paid the price for his French posture, which he made appear comfortable when it was at times excruciating. By the end of the mission he had reason to complain of Congress, and it of him. After eight years in France, he seemed more the courtier than the father of self-reliance. His flaws had been on full display in Paris, where his detractors--burning with impatience while the wheels of European diplomacy ground at their stately pace--had had plenty of time to dilate upon them. In an uncharacteristically self-indulgent mood, he grumbled that Congress had shown little...