Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger (15th century)
“There is a great power in the eyes, and this appears even in natural things.”
The account as told by Herodotus about the birth of Cyrus the Great began like the stories of many great ancients—with prophecies and cryptic dreams that signaled the birth of a great man. Events began to fall in place when the king of the Medes, who was named Astyages, had a strange dream about his daughter. In one dream, she urinated on all of Asia, and in another dream, vines spread from her womb throughout the distant lands. King Astyages went to his priests, the Magi, who interpreted the dreams to mean that the king’s grandson, Cyrus, would usurp the throne and become a great conqueror. Do note that, besides the existence of King Astyages of Medes and Cyrus the Great and the conquest of the former by the latter, the following story is almost certainly exaggerated folklore that Herodotus picked up in his research. Nevertheless, enjoy, if you can, this truly gruesome story.
When King Astyages heard the interpretation of the Magi, he became afraid of his grandson. The king summoned his trusted steward, Harpagus, who was a member of his family, and entrusted him with the task of making young Cyrus disappear. Harpagus disliked the idea of murdering an infant with his own hands, so he gave the child to a herdsman who was supposed to abandon Cyrus in the wilderness to die. As it happened, however, the herdsman’s wife had just given birth to a baby who died before or during childbirth. In their grief, the herdsman and his wife secretly adopted Cyrus and laid the body of their own deceased son in the wilderness to satisfy Harpagus.
As Cyrus grew, his natural leadership skills became prominent—when the children of the village were playing, Cyrus was often appointed as their king. He was even bold enough to order around the sons of noblemen during their games. The boy developed such poise and presence that King Astyages eventually recognized Cyrus as his supposedly dead grandson. For reassurance, the king returned to the Magi and asked for advice, now that he knew his grandson survived. The Magi said this time that Cyrus had only been named as a king during childhood games, and that his kingship would likely remain restricted to youthful playing. Relieved, King Astyages called together a banquet to celebrate the life of his grandson, Cyrus. It would be an unforgettable feast, especially for Harpagus, who had failed to fulfill the king’s demand.
The guests all arrived for the king’s banquet and a great abundance of food and drink was carried out to sate their hunger. Everyone present at the feast was served mutton of the finest quality, except for Harpagus, who was given a dish chosen for him specifically by the king. Harpagus must have found the meal satisfactory, for he ate until he was full. During the feast, however, Harpagus must have been worried about his son—his young boy was supposed to be at the banquet. In fact, his son was sent to the palace early that day. Perhaps, the king had the boy doing some chore or other? Despite his worry, Harpagus finished his meal.
When everyone had eaten to the point of contentment, the king brought out a covered tray to offer Harpagus seconds. The king’s steward declined, saying he wanted no more to eat, but the king insisted that Harpagus lift the lid of the tray. When Harpagus did as he was told, to his horror, he found the head, feet and hands of his young son on the platter. Harpagus’ son had been present for the feast, after all—his flesh had been served on the plate of his father.
Surprisingly, Harpagus took in the horrific scene with grace and poise, simply gathering up what left of his son so he could bring him home and put him to rest. Yet, Harpagus got his revenge. When Cyrus was exiled by his grandfather to Persia, the steward kept in touch. Herodotus wrote that Harpagus encouraged Cyrus to usurp power from King Astyages, and convinced a large faction of Medians to defect to Cyrus’ side, thereby ending the reign of the man who had murdered his son.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
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Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241)
“Hraesvelg, he is called,
who sits at heaven’s end,
a giant in eagle’s shape.
From his wings,
it is said, the winds
blow over all men.”
An earlier installment of this ‘Did You Know?’ series mentioned that there are 666 speeches given by characters in Homer’s, The Iliad. Yet, as television salesmen would say, ‘but wait, there’s more.’ Here are a few more facts and statistics about The Iliad that will probably not cause any enlightenment whatsoever, but, nonetheless, should be entertaining.
Useless fact cluster number one:
Now we move on to war. As The Iliad is set during the Trojan War, it is not surprising that battles and bloodshed take a primary role in Homer’s multi-thousand year old epic poem.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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(Lydian electrum coin of an uncertain king. Early 6th century BC. EL Third Stater – Trite (4.71 gm). Head of roaring lion right, sun with multiple rays on forehead _ Double incuse punch, courtesy of the Classical Numismatic Group via Creative Commons (CC 2.5))
Coins are one of the great historical collector’s items of the ancient world. Each coin displays symbols about what was important to its country of origin. Coins also served as propaganda, allowing rulers to depict themselves as they wished to be seen. Regarding the Ancient Greeks, the use of precious metal coins is believed to have begun in Lydia—a kingdom that, at its height, touched the Aegean, Mediterranean and Black Seas from its base of power in western Anatolia.
Coins from Lydia have been dated as far back as 625-600 BCE. Lydian coinage was often decorated with an iconic image of a lion. Most of the coins seem to have been made from electrum (an alloy of gold and silver), which could be found naturally in the region of Lydia.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Source:
St. Teresa of Avila (1515-1582)
“It should be noted here that it is not the spring, or the brilliant sun which is in the centre of the soul, that loses its splendour and beauty, for they are always within it and nothing can take away their beauty.”
Murasaki Shikibu (10th and 11th century Japanese novelist)
“We all have our own destiny, and no one knows where it will lead.”
After the Battle of Sekigahara (conveniently dated 1600) Tokugawa Ieyasu became the undisputed shogun of Japan by 1603. His rule would usher in the Edo Period, a multiple-century span of time when Japan was ruled by a Tokugawa government (or Bakufu). The Edo Period lasted until the late 19th century, when the Tokugawa Bakufu was stripped of power during the Meiji Restoration.
One of the central aspects of the Tokugawa style of foreign policy was strict isolationism and seclusion. The Tokugawa leaders tried to close as many doors to the world outside of Japan as they could. The main reason that the Bakufu detested Westerners was because of religion. In the case of most European countries at the time, missionaries often followed merchants to new civilizations they came in contact with, and Japan was not spared from that pattern. Since most European countries refused to end their missionary work, the Tokugawa government told the majority of Europeans to pack up and leave.
The first to go were the British. They left Japan in 1623. Next were the Spanish, who ended their commerce in Japan around 1624. Portugal lasted more than a decade longer, but they also were gone by 1639.
Only the Dutch, who were able to separate commerce from religion, were allowed to stay—albeit, they were cordoned off to a miniscule marketplace in Nagasaki harbor.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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(Painting of King Arthur by N.C. Wyeth (1882–1945), from Sir Thomas Mallory, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons
In 12th-century Britain, a peculiar churchman, historian and teacher named Geoffrey of Monmouth launched the mystical tale of King Arthur and the magician Merlin on its path to world acclaim with the debut of his book, The History of the Kings of Britain. Though the adventures of King Arthur and his chivalrous knights were eventually accepted and admired in Britain, the road to acceptance was rough. Geoffrey of Monmouth’s writing was initially widely criticized in the British scholarly world, but it found quick admirers in medieval French literature and poetry. Later, the tales of King Arthur sluggishly crept back to Britain, only becoming truly mainstream after the 16th century with the help of literary masters such as Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Tennyson.
Why was Geoffrey of Monmouth such a controversial figure? From what little is known about him, you would think of the man as the trustworthy sort. Geoffrey of Monmouth was likely a Welshman who earned his living as a teacher. He also was thought to have been bishop-elect of St. Asaph, but mainly resided in either Oxford or London. Geoffrey was a man of learning, and as such, he wrote his book in Latin. Geoffrey’s writing had charm, yet, he was also a humble man who often described his own writing as plain and simplistic.
The controversy that clouded around The History of the Kings of Britain can be explained by looking at the content of Geoffrey’s text, the way the content was presented and the title attached to the book. In regard to content, it is helpful to liken Geoffrey’s The History of the Kings of Britain, to Virgil’s The Aeneid and Homer’s The Iliad and The Odyssey. All of these texts are dramatic, fantastical stories featuring heavy doses of oral tradition, folklore and religion. Though they are largely fictional, they are placed in historical settings, often using historical names. Geoffrey’s ties to mythology and folklore were made clear when the first king he covered in his book turned out to be Brutus—the grandson of the Trojan, Aeneas, a character written about by the ancient poets, Homer and Virgil.
Despite the clear mythological status of much of Geoffrey’s content, he chose to frame the text as if it were an ancient British work that he translated into Latin. Furthermore, the tone he used when he addressed the supposed translation conveys no sense of doubt in its historical accuracy. If Geoffrey’s work was truly a translation of a text written by an ancient Briton, he would have been wise to include a warning that the book should be read with caution when used as a source for history.
That takes us to another major controversial problem with Geoffrey of Monmouth’s work—the title. As Geoffrey’s book (or translation) was largely about mythology and folklore, the use of the title, The History of the Kings of Britain, caused the text to be filed away as a faulty history book rather than a compelling collection of British myths and folk stories. Geoffrey of Monmouth’s work would have received a much better reception if he had titled it Mythological Kings of Britain or The History of British Mythology. Nevertheless, the book was released and was heavily criticized by Geoffrey’s scholarly peers.
Though it would take centuries for the stories of King Arthur to find literary acceptance in England, French writers quickly began to enjoy Geoffrey’s work. In the late 12th century, the poet Marie de France (who lived in England) wrote of Arthurian tales in her Lais. Across the English Channel, Marie’s contemporary, Chrétien de Troyes further romanticized the Arthurian genre of writing, adding the well-known character, Lancelot. The tales of King Arthur even inspired the Bavarian knight-poet, Wolfram von Eschenbach (another contemporary of Marie de France and Chrétien de Troyes), who wrote his own Arthurian poems.
It took a long, long time for Britain to have an explosion of Arthurian literature. Before the 16th century, there were few significant works (only around one per century) in Britain that mentioned King Arthur favorably. Besides critics and chroniclers, only Layamon’s Brut (c. 1200), Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight (from the 1360s) and Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur (1469) come to mind. After the mid-16th century, however, the number of British authors who wrote about King Arthur drastically began to increase. From the 16th to the 19th century, authors and poets such as Thomas Sackville, Thomas Norton, William Warner, Thomas Hughes, Edmund Spenser, William Shakespeare, Michael Drayton, John Milton, John Dryden, Sir Richard Blackmore, William Wordsworth and Alfred Tennyson all wrote about King Arthur and the magician, Merlin.
So, even though Geoffrey of Monmouth is not remembered as a great historian, his legacy remains intact. The myth, folklore and legend of King Arthur and Merlin, recorded in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s The History of the Kings of Britain, survived relentless peer review to inspire authors and poets and entertainers to this very day.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
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