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Belshazzar’s Feast, by Rembrandt (c. 1606–1669)

In the painting above, the famous Dutch artist Rembrandt (c. 1606–1669) recreated a Biblical scene from ancient Babylon. His inspiration was drawn from a legendary event that supposedly occurred in 539 BC, the year when independent Babylon would be ultimately conquered by the Persians. As the story goes, Belshazzar—son and co-ruler of Nabonidus (r. 556-539 BC), the last Babylonian king—was hosting a feast on the very day that Babylon fell. This, at least the feast, was mentioned by the Greek scholar, Xenophon (c. 420-350 BC), who wrote that the Persians made their move against Babylon at a time when “a certain festival had come round in Babylon, during which all Babylon was accustomed to drink and revel all night long” (Cyropaedia, 7.5.15). For the rest of the story behind the painting, we have to move to the Biblical Book of Daniel, which described what Rembrandt later chose to paint—Belshazzar’s personal feast and the miraculous writing that was said to have magically appeared in front of the eyes of the banqueters.

As told in scripture, Belshazzar’s psychedelic experience during that feast all began when he unwisely decided to use looted items from Jerusalem as tableware for his party. The Book of Daniel described the Babylonian feast and the otherworldly event that it triggered:

“So they brought in the gold goblets that had been taken from the temple of God in Jerusalem, and the king and his nobles, his wives and his concubines drank from them. As they drank the wine, they praised the gods of gold and silver, of bronze, iron, wood and stone. Suddenly the fingers of a human hand appeared and wrote on the plaster of the wall, near the lampstand in the royal palace. The king watched the hand as it wrote. His face turned pale and he was so frightened that his knees knocked together and his legs gave way” (Daniel 5:3-6).

Such is the scene that Rembrandt recreated on canvas. In the aftermath of seeing the writing on the wall, Belshazzar was said to have summoned the prophet Daniel to translate and interpret the miraculous inscription. The prophet reportedly told Belshazzar that the message said, “MENE, MENE, TEKEL, PARSIN” and he interpreted it as a bad omen for the Babylonian rulers, signifying their downfall (Daniel 5:25-28).  According to the Book of Daniel, the Persians conquered Babylon on the very night that Belshazzar was hosting his uncanny party.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Giovanni Boccaccio

Giovanni Boccaccio (c. 1313-1375)

“Many people imagine, because they know a great deal, that other people know nothing.”

  • The Decameron (Third Day, Fifth Story) by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by G. H. McWilliam. New York: Penguin Classics, 2003.

Gregory Of Tours’ Close Encounter With The Rhine

Bishop Gregory of Tours was a busy man in 585. Bouncing back and forth between the Frankish realms of King Guntram of Burgundy (r. 561-593) and King Childebert II of Austrasia (r. 570-596), he did a lot of traveling at that period of time. During one of his missions, Gregory journeyed far from his French bishopric—he found himself dining with King Childebert II in the city of Koblenz, situated along the intersection of the Rhine and the Moselle Rivers. Gregory, a historian as well as a bishop, included his own experiences in the historical text that he wrote, known as The History of the Franks. If the conversations he recorded in the text from Koblenz reflect his mission in the region, he seems to have been interested in helping King Guntram and King Childebert II organize an ecumenical council of Frankish bishops from both of their realms. Another issue, however, blocked progress on the council; King Guntram had arrested Bishop Theodore of Marseilles (a man who always seemed to be in some trouble) and Childebert II refused to move forward with the idea of the ecumenical council until Bishop Theodore was released. This stalemate went unresolved, and Bishop Gregory ultimately decided to leave from Koblenz.

Feeling down-to-earth that day, Gregory of Tours decided to take a public ferry at the start of his journey home. He apparently made his departure at rush-hour for riverboat travel, as he found the docks filled with a wide variety of people, all waiting impatiently for the ferry. When one such boat arrived—Gregory’s boat—all of the loitering pedestrians rushed onboard, causing a chaotic scene. In the overcrowding that ensued, the boat came very close to sinking. Gregory of Tours wrote about this dramatic and dangerous incident in his text:

“I found waiting on the bank a boat which had been made ready for me. I went on board, but a motley crowd of individuals followed me. As the boat filled with men it also filled with water. God in His omnipotence performed a miracle, for, though the boat had water up to the gunwale, it could not sink. With me I had some relics of Saint Martin, and other Saints, too. It was to their miraculous power that I owed my preservation. The boat was steered back to the banks which we had just left” (History of the Franks, VIII.14).

Ferrymen successfully brought the swamped boat back to the shore, and Bishop Gregory and the other passengers were able to step back onto dry land without any injury. While the boat was drained of water, Bishop Gregory went about ensuring that the next vessel he boarded would be a private transport. The bishop succeeded in having this arranged. He wrote, “None of the interlopers was allowed in again and I crossed the river without incident” (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, VIII.14).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Ships from the 14th-century manuscript BL Royal 20 D I, f. 176v, [Public Domain] via picryl.com and Creative Commons).

 

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  • The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

Alexander The Great And Diogenes The Cynic, Painted By Nicolas-André Monsiau (1754–1837)

In the scene painted above, Nicolas-André Monsiau (1754–1837) displays an encounter between two famous figures from ancient Greece. On the left is Alexander the Great, the famous king of Macedonia (r. 336 to 323 BCE), depicted at a time before he set out on his renowned campaign to conquer the Persian Achaemenid Empire and parts of India. On the right, the annoyed-looking man with his arm outstretched, is Diogenes “the Cynic” of Sinope, one of the most peculiar philosophers to have graced this earth. Alexander and Diogenes were said to have met each other in Athens or Corinth, where an odd encounter allegedly ensued. According to legend, Alexander—an admirer of Diogenes and his philosophy—tried to strike up a conversation with the man and offered him anything the philosopher might desire. Diogenes’ dismissive response to the king’s offer became legendary. The scene was recorded by Arrian (c. 90-173+), a Roman general and scholar who wrote a biography of Alexander’s life:

“[Alexander] was marching somewhere in the Isthmus with a contingent of Guards and infantry Companions, and chancing to see Diogenes lying in the sun, he stopped and asked him if there was anything he wanted. ‘Nothing,’ replied the philosopher; ‘though I should be grateful if you and your friends would move to one side, and not keep the sun off me’ (Anabasis, 7.2).

For more about Diogenes the Cynic, read our article HERE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Sima Xiangru

Sima Xiangru (179-117 BCE)

“In this world there must first be extraordinary men before there can be extraordinary deeds, and there must be extraordinary deeds before extraordinary results can be achieved”

  • An excerpt from a letter written by Sima Xiangru included in the Records of the Grand Historian (Shi Ji, 117) by Sima Qian. Translated by Burton Watson (Columbia University Press, 1993).

The Curious Origins Of Hárek Eyvindsson And His Private Island

Hárek Eyvindsson was one of the major power players in 11th-century Norway. Despite having a significant role in the Norwegian power struggles of his day, Hárek’s origins and early career remain quite obscure from history. This is likely because he was a self-made man who no one expected to become such a powerful figure, and consequently few records were kept about his existence until he had accumulated enough influence to make his power known in Norway. He would become known as Hárek of Thjótta, a man who lived a rags-to-riches story, building up enough economic and military power to be a thorn in the side of Norway’s kings.

Hárek Eyvindsson was born in the 10th century into an impoverished noble family with little exploitable assets except a distant link to the Norwegian royal family—they traced their lineage back to Ingibjorg, a daughter of the first king of Norway, Harald Finehair, who ruled from approximately 860 to 940. Although Hárek eventually was associated with a place called Thjótta, an island reportedly in the Hålogaland region, his family originally did not own any land in the area. Instead, Hárek was the first member of his immediate family to settle on Thjótta. Scrounging together the limited funds at his disposal, Hárek purchased a small plot of land on the island. He built a farm there, a small enterprise at first, nestled alongside the lands of other farmers who were operating at that time on Thjótta. With this land in his possession, Hárek Eyvindsson soon began to show the business cunning that would make him a political power player in Norway.

Besides farming, Hárek realized that his island plot of land had other advantages that could he could turn into a lucrative profit. Thjótta was apparently located near Finnmark, where engaging in the fur trade with the Lapps and the Finns could lead to great wealth. Such trade, however, was monopolized by the Norwegian royal family. To tap into this restricted trade, Hárek of Thjótta was able to leverage his ancestral link to Harald Finehair in order to be named chief royal officer in Finnmark and, consequently, the chief officer over its fur market. The wealth that Hárek soon began to accumulate was reinvested into Thjótta, where he diligently took every opportunity to buy plots of land from his neighbors. As told by the Icelandic political leader and historian, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), “in a few years he had all the farmers moved out who had lived there before, so that he owned the whole island himself, and erected there a large manorial residence. He soon waxed very rich. He was a man of excellent good sense, and most enterprising” (HeimskringlaSaint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 104).

As Hárek’s wealth and land increased, so did his influence and power in the Hålogaland region. By the time King Olaf I Tryggvason (r. 995-1000) ruled in Norway, Hárek had become a significant chieftain with warriors at his disposal. His might continued to grow over the years, and in the later reign of King Olaf II (r. 1015-1028), Hárek of Thjótta would become a leader of the Norwegian resistance against the king. He would go on to befriend Canute the Great (ruled Norway from 1028-1035), and brought troops to fight against Olaf II at the Battle of Stiklestad (1030), when the deposed king attempted unsuccessfully to regain the throne of Norway. King Olaf II did not survive the battle, and his son, King Magnus the Good (r. 1035-1047), did not forgive the chieftain from Thjótta for siding against his father. Hárek reportedly wanted to coexist with King Magnus, but when he arrived at court to pay homage to the new king, he was arrested and executed.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image, dated 1899, by Wilhelm Wetlesen for the Heimskringla, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

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Chuang Tzu Dreaming Of A Butterfly, By Lu Zhi (1496–1576)

In the earthen-colored image shown above, artist Lu Zhi (1496–1576) recreated one of the more famous stories written by the 4th and 3rd century BCE Daoist philosopher and theologian, Chuang Chou—better known as Chuang Tzu, or Master Chuang. Lu Zhi, the artist, lightly brushed the philosopher’s sleeping shape onto the bottom right corner of the artwork. While Chuang Tzu almost blends into the background, the surrounding flora and fauna remains vibrant. The butterfly above the sleeping figure’s head is of special importance, as it and the philosopher play the leading roles within the tale. In a story which questions existence, reality and identity, Chuang Tzu wrote:

“Once Chuang Chou dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased.  He didn’t know he was Chuang Chou. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Chuang Chou. But he didn’t know if he was Chuang Chou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Chuang Chou. Between Chuang Chou and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things” (The Chuang Tzu, section 2).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Lucan

Lucan (c. 39-65)

“Great things rush to ruin: the powers that give bounty
have set this limit on increase.”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book I, line 81), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

The Tale Of Ghostly Saint Valery Prophesying The Ascendance Of The Capetian Dynasty

In 981, the mighty French duke, Hugh Capet, used the threat of military force to intimidate Earl Arnulf II of Flanders into surrendering the remains of long-dead Saint Valery (d. 622). With the saintly remnants in his possession, Hugh traveled to Leuconaüs on the Somme, where he reinterred the remains—the area is now known as Saint-Valery-sur-Somme. The duke, so it was said, had not done this odd task on a whim. According to legend, he did this on the express urging of dead Saint Valery, himself. A Norman-English monk named Orderic Vitalis (c. 1075-1142) recorded the tale:

“St. Valery appeared to him when he was duke at Lutetia, the city of Parisii. He revealed to him in a dream who he was, and what he wanted, commanding him to undertake an expedition against Arnold [or Arnulf], earl of Flanders, and take his body out of the monastery of Sithieu, where that of St. Bertin also lies, and restore it to the convent of Leuconaüs in the Vimeux” (Ecclesiastical History of England and Normandy, I.24)

In case Hugh Capet was not enthusiastic about the proposed mission, the ghostly saint offered further incentive. As a reward for relocating the remains, the saint supposedly said that he would arrange for Hugh’s family to have great fortune and prestige in the future. According to Orderic Vitalis, Saint Valery allegedly proposed that he could help Hugh and his descendants “wear the crown of France” (Ecclesiastical History, I.24). Such was the reason, so the legend goes, that compelled Hugh Capet to concern himself with the remains of Saint Valery.

It took several years for the ghostly saint’s supposed promise to be achieved. When King Louis V died in 987, the last remaining contender to the throne from the Carolingian Dynasty was the unpopular Charles of Lorraine. Instead of allowing Charles to succeed to the throne, lords and clergymen in France worked together to elect Hugh Capet to the throne, ending the reign of the Carolingians and starting the era of the Capetian Dynasty.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (14th-century image of the Apparition of Saint Valery to Hugh Capet, designated as Français 2813, folio 216 recto, in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

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Agrippina Landing at Brundisium with the Ashes of Germanicus, by Benjamin West (1738–1820)

In the painting above, artist Benjamin West (1738–1820) shows the somber scene of Vipsania Agrippina returning to Rome after the death of her husband in the year 19. Her late spouse was no ordinary man—he had been Germanicus, an accomplished general and a much-beloved member of the Julio-Claudian Dynasty in Rome. Germanicus was the nephew (and adopted son) of Emperor Tiberius (r. 14-37). He was also the brother of future Emperor Claudius (r. 41-54) and the father of notorious Emperor Caligula (r. 37-41). Germanicus, too, would have become an emperor had it not been for his suspicious death, which occurred only a few months shy of his thirty-fourth birthday. As he had been an extremely popular figure, much of the Roman population mourned his death and flocked to show support to his widow, Agrippina, and to the children Germanicus left behind. Tacitus, a great Roman historian, recorded in words the very scene that Benjamin West later painted—that of Agrippina arriving in Italy with the ashes of her idolized husband:

“Meanwhile, at the news of her approach, people flocked to Brundisium….As soon as her squadron was seen out to sea, huge sorrowing crowds filled the harbours and shallows, walls, house-tops—every vantage point. They wondered whether they ought to receive her landing in silence or with some utterance. As they still hesitated about the appropriate course, the fleet gradually came nearer. There was none of the usual brisk rowing, but every deliberate sign of grief. Agrippina, with her two children, stepped off the ship, her eyes lowered, the urn of death in her hands. Her companions were worn out by prolonged grieving; so the sorrow of the fresh mourners who now met her was more demonstrative. Otherwise everyone’s feelings were indistinguishable; the cries of men and women, relatives and strangers, blended in a single universal groan” (Annals of Imperial Rome, III.1).

Vipsania Agrippina, like many others in Rome, suspected that Germanicus had been poisoned, with Governor Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso and Emperor Tiberius being the rumored orchestrators of the assassination. Piso was set to be tried for the murder, but he committed suicide before a confession or verdict could be reached. Agrippina never gave up her suspicions of Tiberius’ involvement in Germanicus’ death, and her hostility to the emperor consequently led to Agrippina’s imprisonment on an island, where she died in the year 33, supposedly of malnutrition.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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