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The Tale Of An Ancient Roman Man’s Suspicious Death And The Efforts Of His Mother To Have His Accused Murderers Prosecuted

By
thehistorianshut
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In the time of the Roman emperor, Trajan (r. 98-117), a strange incident occurred in which a prominent man—whose name is unfortunately not known—died unexpectedly due to mysterious causes. The deceased man was outlived by his mother (whose name is also unknown), and the grieving mom eventually became convinced that poison was involved in her son’s ambiguous demise. As the dead Roman and his mother were prominent and influential members of society, the authorities quickly began to investigate the suspicious death and inquire about the surrounding circumstances. Although the mother was convinced that foul play had occurred, she and her legal supporters would need evidence to prove their case in court. Nevertheless, the mother and her lawyers never discovered the key evidence they were hoping to find. They did, perhaps, find some possibly suspicious portions of text in the deceased man’s last will and testament, but even this claim apparently lacked corroborating evidence to prove the accusation that the will might have been tampered with. Despite the shaky evidence, the mother used her influence to have the case brought to court and a trial was scheduled to occur. The defendants of the trial would be the mother’s prime suspects, namely a group of freedmen who had been in the service of her deceased son. These defendants, claimed the prosecution, had the means and opportunity to poison the deceased man and tamper with his will.

Emperor Trajan, who evidently may have been an acquaintance of the grieving mother, put a certain Julius Servianus in charge of judging the case. Additionally, the prosecution included Julius Africanus, an able lawyer from a respected family. Yet, the defendants were not neglected—in their legal team was the talented and accomplished statesman and lawyer, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113), who specialized in inheritance law and would have been a vital asset in defending against the allegations concerning the deceased man’s will. Pliny, an avid letter writer, commented on the case to his friends in existent missives. Although he did not explicitly opine on his perception of his clients’ guilt or innocence, he did make it known that he believed it was an easily defendable case due to the lack of evidence. Putting his theory into action in court, Pliny the Younger was able to either have the trial ended or possibly reached some sort of acquittal for his clients.  On this, Pliny vaguely wrote, “The inquiry was stopped after the court had come to a decision in favour of the defendants” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 7.6). Yet, even though the court was willing to put the matter to rest, the grieving mother was not ready to end her fight against the accused freedmen.

Using her prominence and access to the highest echelons of government, the mother was able to somehow convince Emperor Trajan to have the case retried. This time, the emperor evidently had his trusted agent, Suburanus, act as the judge. Once again, Pliny the Younger decided to help represent the defendants in court. To Pliny’s surprise and curiosity, the grieving mother’s legal team had been able to reopen the case due to claims that new evidence had been found. Yet, when the court and the defense pressed for the new evidence to be produced, it appeared that the prosecution did not actually have anything new and was only rehashing the same inadequate evidence from the previous trial. The mother’s lawyer, Julius Africanus, allegedly talked on and on during the second trial—way over the proper time limits of the court—and even asked the judge to allow him “one more word,” which turned into an additional long period of lawyerly testimony. After Julius Africanus had finished his elaborate speeches, Pliny the Younger took the bold and risky tactic of simply remaining silent. After the court and crowd had become adequately curious about the ploy, Pliny the Younger explained his silence by saying, “’I should have spoken in reply,’ I [Pliny] said, ‘If Africanus had added his ‘one more word,’ for this, I am sure, would have contained all the fresh evidence’” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 7.6). This jab, criticizing Julius Africanus’ overly-lengthy speech and pointing out the unchanged lack of evidence in the case, was apparently received well by the court and the audience.

Unfortunately, Pliny the Younger did not clearly describe the end of the trial. In his letter’s narrative, Pliny concluded his account of the case by claiming his speech, criticizing Julius Africanus and the lack of evidence, elicited some of the most memorable applause that he ever received over his long career in law. Ending in this manner, Pliny neglected to mention the fates of the defendants in their second trial. Yet, as Pliny the Younger introduced this tale in his letter with the curious statement of, “I can indeed remember certain criminal cases when I did my clients more good by saying nothing than I could have done by the most elaborate speech” (Letters, 7.6), the likely scenario is that Pliny’s clients received a positive outcome. It is unknown if the grieving mother ever tried to reopen the case again or if she sought out new suspects for her poisoning theory.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Lictors Returning to Brutus the Bodies of his Sons, by Jacques Louis David (c. 1748-1825), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Stockholm Sweden).

Sources:

  • The Letters of Pliny the Younger, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1963, 1969.

Jarl Håkon And Kark, By Adolph Tidemand (1814-1876)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This illustration, by the Norwegian artist Adolph Tidemand (1814-1876), depicts the death of powerful Jarl (or Earl) Hákon Sigurdsson of Lade. Jarl Hákon (also spelled Haakon) was a greatly influential Norwegian noble who was involved in the death of King Harald II Graycloak of Norway (r. 961-970). Following Harald Graycloak’s demise, Jarl Hákon became the leading authority in the kingless Norwegian realm and he maintained his supremacy in the region for a remarkable reign of over two decades. Yet, his luck eventually ran out. By the mid 990s, Jarl Hákon began to lose the support of the people in his realm, and his alliances with neighboring chieftains also began to strain. Unfortunately for Hákon, his weakening political circumstances were noticed by the exiled Norwegian nobleman Olaf Tryggvason, who would bring about the jarl’s downfall.

Olaf’s father was Tryggvi Olafsson—a grandson of the first King of all Norway, Harald Finehair (ruled approximately 860-940), and cousin to the sons of King Eirik Bloodaxe (r. 940-945). These sons of Eirik had conquered Norway around 961, after they dealt a mortal wound to King Hákon the Good (r. 946-961). Although Tryggvi was related to the sons of Eirik Bloodaxe, he ultimately decided to resist their regime, and there were plenty of rebels for him to support. This brings us back to the focus of the artwork above, Jarl Hákon Sigurdsson, who led an open rebellion against the sons of Eirik after his father was assassinated in 963. Tryggvi was one of the Norwegian chieftains who joined Jarl Hákon in rebellion, but this move, unfortunately, put a target on Tryggvi’s back and he was ultimately assassinated by the sons of Eirik around 968. According to tradition, Tryggvi’s wife, Astrid, was pregnant at the time of her husband’s death. When the grim news arrived, she immediately fled from Norway and her son, Olaf Tryggvason, was reportedly born while she was on the run. Elsewhere, Jarl Hákon Sigurdsson and his allies went on to defeat the sons of Eirik, killing the most prominent brother, the aforementioned King Harald Graycloak, in 970.

While Jarl Hákon Sigurdsson was enjoying his power in Norway, young Olaf was growing up in exile. Olaf Tryggvason traveled widely while he was living abroad. As told in the sagas, he and his mother traveled to Sweden and then to the lands of the Rus. He later adventured and battled as a Viking, and somehow became a companion of King Sweyn Forkbeard of Denmark, allowing him to join the Danish king on great Viking expeditions against England in 991 and 994. Therefore, Olaf was a powerful, wealthy and experienced Viking warlord when he decided to return to Norway and challenge the weakened Jarl Hákon Sigurdsson for power in the Norwegian realm.

Olaf Tryggvason launched his bid for power around 995. As the story goes, the disgruntled common masses of Norway quickly and overwhelmingly threw in their support with the newly arrived Olaf. With the public in revolt, Jarl Hákon Sigurdsson could not muster much of a defense force, and this realization prompted the jarl to go into hiding. Nevertheless, this choice made his position go from bad to worse. Jarl Hákon’s decision to lay low and hide caused the morale of his supporters to plummet. Adding to the tension, Olaf subsequently let news circulate that anyone who betrayed the hiding jarl would be honored and rewarded. Suffice it to say, Hákon Sigurdsson’s life was in grave danger.

Unfortunately for Jarl Hákon, his location was known by followers who were beginning to question their loyalty. This brings us to the other main character in the painting, Kark, a thrall in Jarl Hákon’s service. As the story goes, he was tempted by Olaf Tryggvason’s promises of honors and rewards for those who would betray Hákon. While he pondered over this temptation, Kark was also prodded to action by growing paranoia over whether the jarl was beginning to doubt his loyalty. In the end, Kark did, indeed, decide to betray his lord and ultimately assassinated him. The Icelandic scholar, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), described this dark deed, writing, “Kark grew frightened and alarmed. He took a big knife from his belt and cut the earl’s throat, then slashed it clean through, and that was Earl Hákon’s death. Then Kark cut off the earl’s head and ran away with it. Next day he entered the estate at Hlathir and presented the earl’s head to King Oláf” (Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, Saga of Olaf Tryggvason, chapter 49). If Kark had believed that Olaf Tryggvason—now proclaimed to be King Olaf of Norway—would dole out honors and rewards for the deed of murdering Hákon Sigurdsson, then the assassin was sorely mistaken. Instead of giving him money or titles, King Olaf Tryggvason ironically sentenced Kark to death by beheading.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

  • Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.

William Shakespeare

By
thehistorianshut
-

William Shakespeare (c. 1564 [?] – 1616)

“Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.”

  • From William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act V, scene 1, approximately between lines 1-10). The edition used here is the Wolfgang Clemen and Sylvan Barnet version (Signet Classic/New American Library, 1963, 1964).

The U. S. Civil War General W. T. Sherman Witnessed The Start Of The California Gold Rush During His Time In The Mexican-American War

By
thehistorianshut
-

Unlike many of the military figures that would later lead the armies of the Union and Confederacy in the United States Civil War, W. T. Sherman was not in the thick of battle during the Mexican-American War (1846-1848). Instead, he busily trekked through California, recruiting soldiers, making arrests and keeping an eye on the Californians. One of the more interesting observations from the Mexican-American War time period that Sherman noted in his memoirs was the beginning of the gold rush that would cause a mass rush of American fortune seekers to the west.

Near the end of the Mexican-American War in 1848, U. S. soldiers, and laborers who were mining for mercury, found more than they were looking for in their dig sites—they began to discover large veins of gold.

In his memoirs, Sherman described three gold-mining sites in detail. One location was in Coloma, California, at a spot of land owned by a certain Captain Sutter. The location came to be known as Sutter’s Fort. Another gold site was Mormon Island, where around three hundred Mormons searched for gold. The last, broad, category of gold camps were described by Sherman as “dry diggings,” where fortune-seekers set up shop downstream of gold-rich locations, hoping to find flakes of gold in the stream runoff.

Sherman wrote that the gold rush probably started because of the operations occurring on Captain Sutter’s land. A water-powered sawmill was being constructed there on a river flowing down from the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but the channel that the water followed needed to be enlarged. As the pre-existing path was deepened, gold began to appear. Though Captain Sutter and the architect of the mill (a man named James Marshall) tried to keep the discovery of gold a secret, the other people constructing the mill soon heard of the discovery. Sutter and Marshall managed to keep the mill workers out of the gold-littered channel, but life at the mill would not return to normal. The laborers refused to continue their work without a pay-raise, and when their demands were not satisfactorily met, they left to find more gold elsewhere, leading to camps springing up down-stream of the mill and on Mormon Island.

When the Mexican-American war ended, Sherman and a few of his war buddies decided to pool together some of the wages they had made during the war to fund a small store that catered to the gold prospectors. Sherman claimed that each of his comrades contributed $500 to the store and each man involved in the business made around $1500 in profit by the time they closed the shop. If the Official Data Foundation’s CPI Inflation Calculator is accurate, then, in today’s dollar value, Sherman’s initial investment would have been equivalent to a little over 19,000 modern US dollars, and the profits would have been somewhere between $57,000-$59,0000 in today’s currency.

 

Picture Attribution: (Portrait of General William Tecumseh Sherman (1820-1891), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Smithsonian).

Source:

 

Cleopatra’s Death, By An Unknown 18th-cenuty Artist

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by an unknown 18th-century artist from Austria, was inspired by the tales surrounding the death of Queen Cleopatra of Egypt. An impressive diplomatic maneuverer, Cleopatra tried to give her kingdom of Egypt an advantage by aligning herself to the famous Roman dictator, Julius Caesar, who had Rome in his clutches since the First Triumvirate (c. 60-53 BCE) and his victory in the subsequent Civil War against his fellow triumvir, Pompey the Great (d. 48 BCE). Cleopatra and Caesar had a child who could have potentially become the monarchal ruler of both Rome and Egypt, yet the Egyptian queen’s ambitions were soon dealt a huge blow when conspirators rose up against Julius Caesar and slew him on March 15, 44 BCE. After Ceasar’s death on the Ides of March, a new triumvirate seized power in Rome by 43 BCE. The new rulers were Octavian (later known as Augustus), Mark Antony and Lepidus, the first two being the most important and powerful of the group. Octavian, who happened to be Julius Caesar’s youthful great-nephew and adopted son, charismatically wielded diplomacy and statecraft with mastery, greatly benefiting the triumvirate and, more importantly, his own position. Mark Antony, on the other hand, was an experienced military man who had become one of Julius Caesar’s most trusted lieutenants in war and government. Faced with the choice between the young genius of statecraft and the older battle-tested veteran of war, Queen Cleopatra ultimately decided to throw in her lot with Mark Antony, joining with him politically and romantically. As the artwork gives away, her choice would not lead to a happy ending.

As ancient Roman triumvirates were wont to do, the triangle of power eventually broke down and the former allies became feuding rivals. Lepidus, always the weakest link of the three, was forced out of the partnership at about 36 BCE. Several years later, Octavian put in motion an impressive feat of political maneuvering in order to force Mark Antony’s hand. Octavian launched his masterplan in 32 BCE, when he convinced the Roman Republic to declare war against Egypt and its queen, Cleopatra. At that time, it was open knowledge that Cleopatra and Mark Antony were lovers, so the move also served as a painful test of loyalty that was carefully crafted to target Antony—would he side with Rome against Egypt, or would he side with his Egyptian queen against Rome? As Octavian had hoped, Antony sided his faction with Cleopatra’s forces, an action that could easily be labeled by Octavian’s propagandists as treason against Rome. With civil war inevitable, senators scrambled to pick a side, making their choice known by staying with Octavian in Rome, or by fleeing from the great city.

One would think, with Mark Antony being a great and experienced general, that he would have a distinct advantage in war over Octavian, who had spent far less time in the army or on the battlefield. Yet, the benefit of Mark Antony’s personal experience was made moot by the existence of other masterful tacticians, who were recruited by charismatic Octavian and given command of the young statesman’s forces in the field. Most notably, Octavian’s brilliant admiral, Marcus Agrippa, proved to be the undoing of Mark Antony and Cleopatra. Marcus Agrippa outmaneuvered and outplayed Mark Antony, cornering him and Cleopatra in Alexandria by 30 BCE.

Knowing he could not win or escape, Antony took his own life and Cleopatra was captured before she could follow her lover into death. Cleopatra was subsequently put under house arrest, but she was not isolated enough to stop her from obtaining a way to end her life. The Roman historian, Cassius Dio (c. 163-235), recorded the stories about Cleopatra’s demise, writing, “She put on her finest robes, seated herself with majestic grace, took in her hands all the emblems of royalty, and so died. No one knows for certain by what means she perished, for the only marks that were found on her body were tiny pricks on the arm. Some say that she applied to herself an asp, which had been brought to her in a water jar, or perhaps covered beneath some flowers” (Cassius Dio, The Roman History, 51.13-14). Cassius Dio went on to offer other potential methods she may have used for her death, such as poisoned needles or lethally-laced hair pins. Despite the different accounts, the most famous iteration, by far, for storytellers and painters alike, was the notion that Cleopatra may have taken her life through the use of a snake. It is this scene that is re-created in the artwork above. Cleopatra can be seen being bitten by a serpent, and the painting also includes an attendant holding flowers, referencing Cassius Dio’s statement that the snake may have been smuggled in via the floral bouquet.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

The Malleus Maleficarum

By
thehistorianshut
-

The Malleus Maleficarum (published in 1487 by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger)

“The preacher should keep as his basic principle and preach to the people this ruling of the law; which says, No one must be punished without guilt, unless there is some cause for doing so. And this ruling holds good in the Court of Heaven, that is, of God, just as it does in the human Courts of Justice, whether secular or ecclesiastic.”

  • From The Malleus Maleficarum (Part I, Question 15) by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).

The Dramatic Celestial Dating Debate Over The Battle Of Stiklestad

By
thehistorianshut
-

Historians (with their written records) and archaeologists or scientists (with their data and tested evidence) often can work in a complementary fashion, with each side providing explanations and context to the other. Some of the most accurately dated historical events obtained their accuracy due to the events in question being connected to natural phenomena (such as eclipses, comets, volcanoes, giant fires, etc…) that can be confidently placed on a chronological timeline through archaeological and scientific testing. Yet, depending on how well-documented a historical event may be, the addition of new data and dates can sometimes cause more drama than clarity. The Battle of Sitklestad in 1030 (and the death of King Olaf II of Norway during it) was one such event that became caught in a tug-of-war between beloved medieval sources and later scientific calculations.

Debate over dating the Battle of Stiklestad arose over two key features about how the battle was documented. For one, medieval chronicles and sagas confidently pinpointed the battle to a specific day—July 29, 1030. Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), a respected Icelandic poet, scholar, mythographer, saga-writer and historian, matter-of-factly and without hesitation stated that “King Olaf fell on Wednesday the fourth Calends of August” (Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 235), which is a long and archaic way of saying the accepted traditional date of July 29th. In addition to the above date, however, Snorri, like other sources, went on to also say that “The king fell before high noon, and the darkness [of an eclipse] lasted from midday till high noon” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 235). Both of these assertions together, unfortunately, caused a problem for dating the Battle of Stikelstad. Eclipses, as it turns out, are calculable events, and math can be used not only to predict a future eclipse, but also to pinpoint the dates of past eclipses. Through these means, mathematicians and astronomers were able to confirm that an eclipse did, indeed, occur in Norway in 1030. Yet, instead of the eclipse falling on the traditional Battle of Stiklestad date of July 29, the eclipse was actually calculated to have occurred over a month later, on August 31, 1030.

The conflicting traditional date of the Battle of Stiklestad juxtaposed against the different date calculated for the 1030 eclipse in Norway set off debate about the correct time of King Olaf’s downfall. Some proposed amending the date of the Battle of Stiklestad, or King Olaf’s death, to August 31 in new history books, disregarding the medieval confidence in the earlier July date. Others were more comfortable ignoring the new eclipse date, leaving the Battle of Stiklestad at its traditional designation of July 29, 1030, perhaps thinking that memories of a later eclipse could have been fused with accounts of the Battle of Stiklestad by storytellers. Another prominent decision has been to ignore choosing a month and instead non-confrontationally say that the Battle of Stiklestad simply occurred in 1030. Nonetheless, after scanning texts and sources, it seems July 29, 1030, remains the most commonly used date for the Battle of Stiklestad and the death of King Olaf II of Norway.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Winding Of St. Olaf’s Body, by Olaf Isaachsen (c. 1835 – 1893), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum of Norway).

Sources:

Abduction Of The Sabine Women, Painted By Johann Heinrich Schönfeld (c. 1609–1684)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the German artist Johann Heinrich Schönfeld (c. 1609–1684), was inspired by an infamous legend involving the ancient Romans and their unlucky neighbors, the Sabines. In particular, the legendary tale being re-created here was said to have occurred during the time of Rome’s founder, Romulus, whose mythical reign was traditionally dated to about 753-717 BCE. Romulus, according to the narrative told by the Roman historian Livy (59 BCE-17 CE), came to the conclusion that primitive Rome’s greatest existential threat was that “There were not enough women,” and that without boosting the female population of the fledgling city-state, Roman “greatness seemed likely to last only for a single generation” (Livy, Roman History, 1.9). In true ancient tribal warfare fashion, Romulus decided that the best way for Rome to increase its female population was to capture women from the nearby Sabine settlements. Therefore, the Romans concocted a plot to orchestrate a mass-abduction of Sabine women.

In order to lure women to Rome, Romulus and his people were said to have notified their Sabine neighbors that Rome would be hosting a religious festival. Unfortunately, curiosity was indeed piqued in nearby communities by the deceitful news of Rome’s upcoming festivities. Whole families visited Rome on the appointed day to partake in the religious worship and the accompanying entertainments that had been promised. The hoped-for day of family fun, however, turned into an infamous incident of chaos and trauma. As narrated by the historian Livy, “at a given signal all the able-bodied [Roman] men burst through the crowd and seized the young women. Most of the girls were the prize of whoever got hold of them, but a few conspicuously handsome ones had been previously marked down for leading senators, and these were brought to their houses by special gangs” (Roman History, 1.9). Such is the scene that can be seen unfolding in Johann Heinrich Schönfeld’s chaotic painting.

As can be expected, the actions of Romulus and his Romans enraged the Sabines, and war quickly erupted between the two peoples. Nevertheless, the Sabine women, who had already begun to accept life in Rome after the initial shock of abduction, were conflicted by the war. According to legend, the Sabine women rushed out onto the battlefield, and putting themselves between the two armies, they forced the Romans and the Sabines to make peace and unite.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Giovanni Boccaccio

By
thehistorianshut
-

Giovanni Boccaccio (c. 1313-1375)

“There is a popular proverb which runs as follows: ‘He who is wicked and held to be good, can cheat because no one images he would.'”

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

The Funeral Gladiator Games For Maximus Of Verona’s Wife

By
thehistorianshut
-

A certain Maximus was a prominent ancient Roman man who held significant wealth and influence in the region of Verona. While Maximus held impressive status, his reputation was rivaled by that of his wife, who evidently received equivalent or greater respect and love from the populace of Verona. This woman, whose name unfortunately is lost to time, was apparently so respected in the city that when she died before her husband, the mourning people of Verona were said to have demanded that Maximus use his wealth to fund public shows, memorials or monuments in honor of his late wife.

In order to pay tribute to his wife’s memory and placate the crowd, Maximus decided to hold gladiatorial games as part of a funeral send-off for his deceased spouse. He spent a great deal of money on the games, going so far as to order exotic animals, such as panthers, for the festivities. Yet, Maximus of Verona may have begun to question his decision to organize the gladiatorial games. Perhaps he thought people might look askance at the decision to hold games and festivities in connection to a funeral, or maybe he wondered if he spent too much or too little than was proper for a funeral service. In his worry, Maximus evidently reached out to his friend, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113)—a wealthy Roman lawyer, official and statesman—in order to see if Pliny thought that the gladiator show adequately met the expectations of Roman society. Pliny the Younger responded in a curious letter, writing:

“You did well to put on a show of gladiators for our people of Verona, who have long shown their affection and admiration for you and have voted you many honours. Verona was also the home town of the excellent wife you loved so dearly, whose memory you owe some public building or show, and this kind of spectacle is particularly suitable for a funeral tribute. Moreover the request came from so many people that a refusal would have been judged churlish rather than strong-minded on your part. You have also done admirably in giving the show so readily and on such a lavish scale, for this indicates a true spirit of generosity” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 6.34).

In his letter, Pliny appears quite reassuring and full of praise for Maximus’ gladiatorial games. On the other hand, it could possibly also be argued that Pliny was suggesting that an additional public-use memorial building or structure (a favorite kind of project for Pliny) would be a fine, if not “owed,” addition alongside the gladiatorial games. Whatever the case, as Pliny the Younger wrote in his letter that the gladiator games were “suitable” on their own for honoring the memory of Maximus’ wife.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

  • The Letters of Pliny the Younger, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1963, 1969.
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