Ribald Classic: The Bloody Bey's Silver Cup
January, 1968
It is night; outside the windows of my dear Château Monte-Cristo, snow is falling, and I add another log to the fire. My shiver, at this moment, does not come from the bleakness of the weather but from my memory of a tale heard long ago on another evening. I recall the handsome face of General Yusuf as, with infinite sadness, he told me that story.Being partly Italian by ancestry and having served in more than one European army, the general followed our social customs to a degree--and thus it wa...
