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Several Of The Most Famous Stories From The Thousand And One Nights Did Not Originally Belong In The Collection

By
thehistorianshut
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It is believed that what would become The Thousand and One Nights originated in ancient India. By the 9th century, a vast collection of Indian stories, written in Sanskrit, had been carried west where Persian and Arab scholars translated the tales and gave them new life. Over the next centuries, Middle Eastern scholars and storytellers reshaped the collection, edited the preexisting stories, and added new tales to the compiled text. This process of revision and growth continued until the 15th or 16th century. By then, The Thousand and One Nights had largely become the text as it is known today, give or take a few stories. Yet, the westward journey of The Thousand and One Nights was not yet over.

A French scholar and antiquarian named Antoine Galland (c. 1647-1715) fortuitously came across a manuscript of The Thousand and One Nights, which he translated (with quite a bit of artistic and editorial license) for readers in Europe and its colonies. This task occupied his time from the year 1704 until his death in 1715—some of his volumes even had to be published posthumously. Interestingly, several of the most famous stories in Galland’s edition of The Thousand and One Nights did not come from the manuscript he discovered. The beloved tales of Sindbad the Sailor, Ali Baba, and Aladdin are among the so-called orphan or apocryphal stories that were spliced into the original collection by Galland.

Sindbad the Sailor was a fictional character with his own stand-alone series of adventures dating back to the 8th or 9th century. Antoine Galland found a manuscript of these Sindbad tales and published a translation in 1698. It was during his translation and publication of the Sindbad stories that Galland was tipped off about the existence of The Thousand and One Nights text. Upon receiving this information, he evidently came to the false conclusion that the Sindbad adventures he had just translated were a piece from The Thousand and One Nights that had somehow, over time, become separated from the rest of the compiled stories. Therefore, when he obtained and started translating the Nights, he added the tales of Sindbad, apparently thinking that was where the accounts of the sailor’s adventures belonged.

After adding Sindbad to the Thousand and One Nights, Galland began to wonder if there were other tales missing from the manuscript that had been removed and lost from the collection. While such thoughts were on the translator’s mind, a Syrian friend of his by the name of Hanna Diyab brought to Galland’s attention the existence of other stories that had been allegedly circulating in Syria and Turkey. Antoine Galland copied these stories from his Syrian friend and included them in his translation of the Nights—among the tales Galland learned from Diyab were ‘The Story of Aladdin, or the Magic Lamp’ and ‘The Story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.’ Cynical and pessimistic observers have suggested that Galland might have included these later tales in his translations not because of ignorance or misinformation, but because of pressure from his publishers and the demands of his ravenous readers. Whether or not the tales of Sindbad, Aladdin and Ali Baba truly belong in The Thousand and One Nights, their popularity with Antoine Galland’s European readers has solidified their place in the collection ever since.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Magic Carpet, by Ivan Yakovlevich Bilibin (1876-1942), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

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The Torture Of Cuauhtémoc, Painted By Leandro Izaguirre (c. 1867-1941)

By
thehistorianshut
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This pain-evoking painting was created in the year 1892 by the Mexican painter, Leandro Izaguirre (c. 1867-1941). It depicts a shameful event that occurred in the aftermath of the fall of the Aztec capital city of Tenochtitlan in 1521. The two men with their feet over the fire are the artist’s representations of the captured Aztec Emperor, Cuauhtémoc, as well as the Aztec leader of the city of Tacuba. As shown in the painting, the two Aztec noblemen were questioned and tortured by Spanish conquistadors, who hoped to discover through interrogation the whereabouts of hidden treasure. Bernal Díaz del Castillo (c. 1492-1584), one of the conquistadors present for the conquest of Tenochtitlan wrote of the incident:

“They tortured Guatemoc [or Cuauhtémoc] and the lord of Tacuba by burning their feet with oil, and extorted the confession that four days before they had thrown the gold into the lake, together with the cannon and muskets they had captured from us when they drove us out of Mexico. The place Guatemoc indicated was the palace in which he had lived, where there was a large pond, from which we fished up a great golden sun like the one that Montezuma had given us, and many jewels and articles of small value which belonged to Guatemoc himself” (The Conquest of New Spain, chapter 157).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Hesiod

By
thehistorianshut
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Hesiod (flourished c. 8th century BCE)

“The tongue’s best treasure among men is when it is sparing, and its greatest charm is when it goes in measure.”

  • From Hesiod’s Works and Days (between lines 699-733), translated by M. L. West (Oxford World Classics, 1988, 1999, 2008).

Emperor Wu Was A Reckless Big Game Hunter

By
thehistorianshut
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Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty (r. 141-87 BCE) had a lot of hobbies that he was passionate about—he enjoyed sending armies to conquer foreign lands, and took great delight in collecting exotic horses; he sent agents to search for supernatural beings, and gave patronage to scholars who purported to do research into immortality.  Besides these military and religious pursuits, the emperor had a much more down-to-earth obsession that he relished. Like many other royals across different cultures and eras, Emperor Wu was a great enthusiast of hunting.

While the armies of the Han Dynasty were hunting humans, the emperor could be found in his private parks, tracking down fearsome big game animals. Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), Emperor Wu’s palace secretary and Grand Historian, wrote that the “the emperor delighted in shooting down bears and wild boars in person and galloping after the various wild beasts” (Shi Ji 117). Emperor Wu apparently enjoyed these hunts to such an extent that he lost all restraint and threw himself, without any inhibitions or precautions, into chasing and killing the mightiest beasts in the imperial forests. The emperor’s carelessness during these expeditions worried many of the courtiers and vassals of the Han empire, who disapproved of the emperor putting himself at such great physical risk. Their fears were reasonable, as many rulers from history lost their lives during hunting accidents against formidable opponents, such as wild boars.

Among the emperor’s entourage for some of these dangerous hunts was the poet, Sima Xiangru (c. 179-117 BCE), one of the courtiers who disapproved of the emperor’s reckless behavior. The poet eventually could no longer be silent about his concerns and ultimately took the bold step of submitting a letter to the emperor in which he criticized the ruler for putting himself at needless risk. His letter was quoted by the aforementioned Grand Historian:

“Now Your Majesty delights in racing through the dangerous mountain defiles and shooting ferocious beasts. But should you suddenly encounter some creature of extraordinary size and strength, should some startled beast spring out from an unexpected quarter and charge down upon the vehicles of your attendants, your carriages would have no room to wheel about, nor would your men have time to employ their skill and, though they might have the strength of Wu Hu and the skill of the archer Feng Meng, they would be powerless to aid you” (letter of Sima Xiangru, quoted by Sima Qian in Shi Ji 117).

Sima Xiangru ended his letter by begging the emperor to consider his advice and to take more measures to ensure his personal safety during his hunts. He ended the letter with these words of wisdom: “An enlightened man sees the end of things while they are still in bud, and a wise man knows how to avoid danger before it has taken shape. Misfortune often lurks in the shadowy darkness and springs forth when men are off their guard” (letter of Sima Xiangru, quoted by Sima Qian in Shi Ji 117). Emperor Wu, who was a great fan of the poet’s published works, reportedly did not take offense to the critique of his behavior. Yet, Grand Historian Sima Qian did not make explicitly clear if Emperor Wu actually took the poet’s suggestions to heart.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Shanglin Park, painted by Qiu Ying (1494–1552), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

Sources:

  • The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

Odin Battling The Fenriswolf On Ragnarok, Painted By Emil Doepler (1855–1922)

By
thehistorianshut
-

Using gritty earthen colors and warm shades of red and orange, the German artist Emil Doepler painted the above apocalyptic battle. The scene was inspired by Norse mythology’s end-time battle of Ragnarok, when the gods of Asgard were prophesied to battle it out to the end with their many foes—including giants, denizens of Hel, and the ever-troublesome Loki. For this painting, Doepler focused on one particular duel that occurred during the epic battle. In the center of the image is the Norse god, Odin, who is shown raising his magical spear, Gungnir, high above his head in preparation for a strike. His opponent, the snarling beast painted in hues of browns and greys, is the fearsome mythological monster known as the Fenriswolf, also called Fenrir. Unfortunately, Odin would eventually lose the fatal duel. As told by the medieval Icelandic politician and scholar, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), “The wolf will swallow Odin, and that will be his death” (The Prose Edda, Gylfaginning, chapter 51). Yet, the wolf would not be able to relish his victory for long, as he, too, would be slain by the end of Ragnarok.

For more information on the Fenriswolf, read our article, HERE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson, translated by Jesse Byock. New York: Penguin Books, 2005.

Lucan

By
thehistorianshut
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Lucan (c. 39-65)

“I’ve in mind to reveal the causes of great matters,
and the deed is immense: to expose what drove
a people to arms, raving, what struck peace
from the globe. Fates’ hateful sequence: the mighty
don’t stand long. A grave downfall, excessive weight:
Rome couldn’t bear herself.”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book I, between lines 70-80), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

Vicar Richard’s Bizarre Noon Encounter With A Mystic Woman

By
thehistorianshut
-

A man named Richard of Caister was the vicar of the church of St. Stephens in Norwich, England, from 1402 until 1420. In addition to his occupation as a clergyman, he was an author, a poet, and a man generally known for piety and good character. On a Thursday in 1413 or earlier, Vicar Richard was conversing with an acquaintance in St. Stephens around noon when the doors of the church suddenly opened and a quirky woman walked inside. The new arrival, dressed totally in black, was physically weak and feeling faint (from a recent childbirth, the Vicar would soon learn), but despite her sickly state, she was driven on by a strong sense of determination. She demanded to see Vicar Richard, claiming to have an important message for him from the highest authority.

Richard of Caister invited the woman to sit down and talk, and when she accepted the invitation, the proverbial flood gates were opened and she began to tell the clergyman not just the message she was meant to deliver, but her whole life story. The woman’s name was Margery, originally of the Brunham clan, but married into the Kempe family. Born and raised in King’s Lynn within an influential and wealthy family, Margery confessed to the Vicar that she had been an overly proud and greedy woman in her youth. She went on to tell of her marriage, and subsequent childbirths (she would have fourteen children in her lifetime), of which several births were troubled and life-threatening for her. During those feverish near-death experiences, Margery Kempe began seeing and hearing all sorts of spiritual beings, ranging from demons, to saints, and even the Trinity personas of God. Jesus, so Margery claimed, eventually forced the demons to stop appearing before her, and forgave her sins, but there was a catch to the deal—he told her to become a vegetarian, which she did in 1409. She soon found that there was no off-switch for her new attunement to the spiritual realm, and she continued to have regular visions or visitations from God, as well as other miscellaneous mystical experiences that would hit her without warning, often leaving her weeping. In the latest of her divine conversations, she claimed, God had told her to come to St. Stephen’s to deliver a personal message to the Vicar.

Margery Kempe, in a narrated autobiography she later produced, recorded the message that God reportedly had her deliver to the Vicar: “say that I greet him warmly, and that he is a high, chosen soul of mine, and tell him he greatly pleases me with his preaching, and tell him the secrets of your soul, and my counsels that I reveal to you” (The Book of Margery Kempe, I.17). After telling the Vicar about her life, Margery began talking about her goals, including her desire to form a pact of chastity with her husband (which she would do by the end of 1413) and her wish to wear a special white wardrobe, as well as her other religious ambitions, such as taking communion every Sunday and being able to confess to anyone she might choose.

Eventually, Margery and the Vicar began discussing theology, including conversations on what she had been learning during her otherworldly visions. During these conversations, one of Margery Kempe’s mystical experiences came on in full force. She (referring to herself as “this creature”) described the experience to her scribe for the autobiography about her life:

“While she conversed on the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, she heard so terrible a melody that she could not bear it. Then this creature fell down, as if she had lost her bodily strength, and lay still for a long while, desiring to put it aside, and she could not. Then she knew indeed by her faith that there was great joy in heaven, where the least point of bliss surpasses without any comparison all the joy that ever might be thought or felt in this life” (The Book of Margery Kempe, I.17).

While Vicar Richard was understandably surprised and amazed by the antics of the eccentric woman who had barged into his church that day, he did not judge her unfavorably. Whereas many of Margery’s peers in the 15th century would call her a fake or a heretic, Richard of Caister encouraged her spiritual journey. In fact, he became a defender of the burgeoning mystic, eventually advocating on her behalf when the Bishop of Norwich ordered for Margery to be interrogated in 1413.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Beata Beatrix painted by the 19th-century artists Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Ford Madox Brown, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

Sources:

Pericles’ Funeral Oration, By Philipp Foltz (c. 1805–1877)

By
thehistorianshut
-

In the illustration above, the German artist Philipp Foltz (c. 1805–1877) recreated a somber event that was said to have occurred in the ancient city of Athens in late 431 BCE or early 430 BCE. To set the scene, the Peloponnesian War (431-404 BCE) between Athens, Sparta, and their allies, had just begun—the two sides of the conflict spent the inaugural campaign of the war raiding the territory of the other before returning to their own respective cities for the winter. Once the Athenians were back in their territory, they held a public funeral in honor of the first warriors who died in the war. Thucydides, an Athenian general during the Peloponnesian War who later wrote a history about his times, described the funeral:

“In the same winter the Athenians, following their annual custom, gave a public funeral for those who had been the first to die in the war. These funerals are held in the following way: two days before the ceremony the bones of the fallen are brought and put in a tent which has been erected, and people make whatever offerings they wish to their own dead. Then there is a funeral procession in which coffins of cypress wood are carried on wagons. There is one coffin for each tribe, which contains the bones of members of that tribe. One empty bier is decorated and carried in the procession: this is for the missing, whose bodies could not be recovered. Everyone who wishes to, both citizens and foreigners, can join in the procession, and the women who are related to the dead are there to make their laments at the tomb. The bones are laid in the public burial-place, which is in the most beautiful quarter outside the city walls. Here the Athenians always bury those who have fallen in war” (History of the Peloponnesian War, Book two, section 34).

After the burial, an honored speaker then addressed the crowd. That year, it was the Athenian leader, Pericles, who gave the speech. Such is the image that Philipp Foltz (c. 1805–1877) brought to life—that of Pericles delivering the funeral oration to the people of Athens. His speech, from what Thucydides remembered of it, was dominated by talk of Athenian virtue, honor, and their democratic form of government.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • History of the Peloponnesian War by Thucydides, translated by Rex Warner and introduced by M. I. Finley. New York: Penguin Classics, 1972.

Chuang Tzu

By
thehistorianshut
-

Chuang Tzu (lived approximately c. 370-287 BCE)

“If right were really right, it would differ so clearly from not right that there would be no need for argument. If so were really so, it would differ so clearly from not so that there would be no need for argument. Forget the years, forget distinctions. Leap into the boundless and make it your home!”

  • From Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings (section 2), translated by Burton Watson. (Columbia University Press, 1996).

The Failed Conspiracy Attempt Against Emperor Romanos II

By
thehistorianshut
-

In 959, the youthful Emperor Romanos II succeeded his father to rule Constantinople and its sprawling empire. Personally an inept politician and an inexperienced military leader, the best he could do for his empire was to delegate the administration of the state to a man named Joseph Bringas, and to similarly leave the defense of the realm to the Phocas family. Although the emperor’s lieutenants did an admirable job seeing to the needs of the empire, Romanos’ lack of inspiring leadership led to the creation of conspiracies that aimed to change the ruling regime. One such plot occurred as early as the second year of his reign.

Around 960, a cabal of nobles and minor military officials formulated a plan to capture the emperor. The plot might have come to fruition had it not been for a man named Ioannikios who, after being recruited by the conspirators, subsequently revealed the existence of the scheme to the imperial authorities.  The 11th-century historian, John Skylitzes, described the conspirators and their plot:

“The leaders and instigators of this conspiracy were the magister Basil Peteinos and some other distinguished personages, the patricians Paschalios and Bardas Lips; also Nicholas Chalkoutzes. Their plan was to seize the emperor as he was going [to the Hippodrome] the day when there was horse racing, to put Basil on the imperial throne and proclaim him emperor” (Synopsis Historion, John Wortley translation, pg 241).

Upon receiving the tip-off about the plot, the emperor’s officials moved quickly to crush the conspiracy. Joseph Bringas successfully tracked down the members of the plot and had them all arrested before they could act on their plan. The government, understandably, did not treat the conspirators kindly. According to John Skylitzes, “they were arrested by Joseph, condemned and ruthlessly tortured (with the sole exception of Basil). On the day of the horse races they were paraded for public derision, sent into exile and tonsured as monks” (Synopsis Historion, John Wortley translation, pg 242). Interestingly enough, these men were apparently forgiven sometime before the death of Romanos II in 963, and allowed to rejoin society. Basil Peteinos, however, was once again the exception, as he died during his exile.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene of Emperor Leo and Constantine Doukas from a 13th-century manuscript of John Skylitzes’ history, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

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