Rulers, diplomats, and dictators who never opened their mail.

Gertrude Bell took a first at Oxford before Oxford gave women degrees, climbed ten new Alpine routes in a single season, and in March 1921, in a Cairo hotel, picked Iraq's king.

On rainy mornings, a Georgian peer walked miles to the sea to swim while his liveried footman, on the peer's orders, rode dry in the empty carriage behind him.

He painted a sign over the back door reading THIS WAY TO THE EGRESS, and patrons walked through it expecting a beast.

A Greek priest's daughter, taken by raiders at fourteen, spent the next forty-six years running the Ottoman Empire from behind a latticed screen above the Imperial Council.

In 1920, an Albanian delegation walked into the League of Nations looking for a king and asked the nearest plausible Englishman.

What happens when colonists canonize a dead chief they never asked, dress up in bucktail hats, and dance "in the style of those people" while actual Native delegations watch from the docks?

Alexander von Humboldt, the most celebrated scientist alive, wrote to the dictator of Paraguay personally. Francia made no answer. For nine years.