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Surrender Of King John II Of France At The Battle Of Poitiers, By Henri-Louis Dupray (c. 1841-1909)

By
thehistorianshut
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This image, created by the French artist Henri-Louis Dupray (c. 1841-1909), depicts the surrender of King John II of France to the forces of Edward “the Black Prince” of England at the Battle of Poitiers on September 19, 1356. Dupray’s illustration closely follows the account of the chronicler, Jean Froissart (c. 1337-1410), who wrote of how the English troops struggled amongst themselves to be the first to capture the French king and the king’s son, Philip, who was also present at the battle. Amid the cacophony of Englishmen shouting “surrender” in poorly-pronounced French, one of the voices (speaking the king’s language perfectly) stood out to King John II—this eloquent knight is likely the man Henri-Louis Dupray depicted in the center of the image, with his arm outstretched toward King John and Prince Philip. Jean Froissart described the scene:

“’Who are you?’ the King asked. ‘Sire, I am Denis de Morbecque, a knight from Artois. But I serve the King of England because I have been exiled from France and have forfeited all my possessions.’ Then, as I [Jean Froissart] was informed, the King answered, or probably answered: ‘I surrender to you’, and gave him his right-hand glove” (Chronicles, Book One, Penguin translation pg. 141).

Despite the king’s submittal to Sir Denis de Morbecque, the squabbles among the Englishmen about who would claim credit for the capture did not abate until the Black Prince sent trusted aides to the scene to ensure the king and his son were treated with respect.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

  • Chronicles of Jean Froissart, translated by Geoffrey Brereton. London: Penguin Classics, 1968, 1978.
  • The Chronicles of Froissart, translated by Lord Berners, in Chronicle and Romance: Froissart, Malory, Holinshed, edited by Charles W. Eliot in the Harvard Classics series. New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1910, 1938.

The Buddha

By
thehistorianshut
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The Buddha (c. 6th-5th century BCE)

“An uninstructed person
ages like an ox:
his bulk increases,
his insight does not.”

  • The Dhammapada (Verses on the Way, Chapter 11), recorded in the 3rd century BCE. Translation by Glenn Wallis, 2004.

The Generous Rise And Authoritarian Crash Of Spurius Maelius

By
thehistorianshut
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According to ancient scholars such as Quintus Ennius (c. 239-169 BCE), Lucius Cincius Alimentus (flourished c. 200 BCE) and Livy (59 BCE-17 CE), their homeland of Rome experienced a severe famine in 440 BCE. The scale of the crisis prompted both government and private citizens to launch relief efforts to ease the suffering of the Roman people. On the government side, famine countermeasures were orchestrated by Lucius Minucius, the official in charge of Rome’s grain supply. Of the private citizen endeavors to alleviate Rome’s hunger, none ran a better operation at that time than Spurius Maelius, a wealthy plebeian with powerful friends in Etruria. Livy commented on Spurius Maelius’ greatly successful grain supply system:

“At his own expense he bought grain in Etruria through the agency of friends and dependants in that country—a proceeding which in itself, I believe, had adversely affected government efforts to bring prices down—and then started to distribute it free amongst the poor. Such generosity won their hearts, and crowds of them followed him wherever he went, giving him an air of dignity and importance far beyond what was due to a man who held no official position” (History of Rome, 4. 13).

As Spurius Maelius continued to offer food to the starving people of Rome at a cheap or free price, his popularity skyrocketed. All the while, the complications that the private citizen’s grain campaign placed on the government’s official famine relief efforts quickly caused friction to build between Rome’s grain official, Lucius Minucius, and the charitable organization of Spurius Maelius. Seeing the growing popularity and influence of his private sector counterpart, Minucius became more and more suspicious and paranoid about Maelius’ intentions.

By 439 BCE, the grain official convinced himself that Maelius intended to join the fray of politics, where he could possibly use his newfound public support to overthrow the government. Minucius brought his concerns to the Roman Senate, who similarly agreed with their grain official that Maelius could soon become a problem for the government. According to legend, the concerned senators then sought advice and direction from the old former dictator, Cincinnatus, who had held ultimate power for a time in 458 BCE, when Rome was endangered by the Aequi. Cincinnatus, too, apparently agreed that Spurius Maelius was a threat, and the Roman Senate decided that something had to be done. According to legend (one likely not true), the Senate supposedly named Cincinnatus dictator once more so that he could do everything in his power to end the threat posed by Maelius.

Whatever the case, be it dictator or senate, the Roman government reportedly decided to arrest Spurius Maelius and put him through interrogation. The charitable grain lender understandably was confused and frightened by the government’s actions. In his confusion (which was shared by the public), Maelius seems to have resisted arrest and, in the struggle that ensued, he was killed by one of the men sent to make the apprehension. As a startled crowd was present to witness the botched arrest of Maelius, the government felt that it had to give a speech about the incident. As the story goes, Cincinnatus emerged to deliver the statement, in which he accused the dead man of having ambitions of kingship. Livy described the scene:

“Uncertain of the significance of what had happened, the crowd was in a state of excitement, when Cincinnatus called for silence and addressed them. ‘Maelius,’ he declared ‘has been justly killed, even if he was not guilty of aiming at the throne; he was summoned by the Master of the Horse to present himself before the dictator and refused: that in itself was a capital offence” (History of Rome, 4. 13).

After the death of Spurius Maelius, the government seized the deceased man’s lands and assets. His personal wealth was taken, and his possessions were sold, with the proceeds going to the public funds. When the dead man’s home was finally cleared out of items and furniture, it was demolished and the land there was left undeveloped. The empty lot eventually became a landmark known as the Aequimaelium.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Hadrian visiting a pottery shop, painted by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912), dated 1884, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

Fredegund By The deathbed Of Bishop Praetextatus, By Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912) depicts Bishop Praetextatus of Rouen (r. 544-586) on his deathbed after the clergyman was attacked by an assailant with a knife on February 24, 586. Praetextatus was not killed instantly by the stabbing, but his wounds eventually proved to be fatal. The dying bishop and other witnesses of the crime were not able to identify the person who wielded the knife, but they had a suspicion about who might have hired the assassin. The person they had in mind was the widowed Queen Fredegund, who was living at that time in a nearby manor. Bishop Praetextatus and Fredegund had been at odds for years, and their close proximity at Rouen only worsened their relationship. Fredegund, despite likely knowing the local gossip, went to see Praetextatus on his deathbed. Seeing her caused the dying bishop to explode into a tirade, as Lawrence Alma-Tadema portrayed in his painting. Gregory of Tours, a contemporary bishop at that time, wrote what Praetextatus reportedly shouted that day: “As for you, who are the prime mover in these crimes, as long as you live you will be accursed, for God will avenge my blood upon your head” (History of the Franks, VIII.31). To read more about the life of Bishop Praetextatus and his multiple clashes with Queen Fredegund, read our article, HERE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

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

Hesiod

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

“If your spirit in your breast yearns for riches, do as follows, and work, work upon work.”

  • From Hesiod’s Works and Days (approximately line 380), translated by M. L. West (Oxford World Classics, 1988, 1999, 2008).

King Guntram’s Awkward Trip To See His Nephew’s Baptism In Paris

By
thehistorianshut
-

By mid-year in 585, King Guntram was the undisputed senior member of the Frankish Merovingian Dynasty in France and he was able to bring the war-torn region some much-needed years of stability. It took King Guntram over two decades to become the head of the dynasty—since 561, he and three other brothers had been battling for supremacy in France through the use of intrigue and war, each trying to undermine or kill the other. The last of Guntram’s brothers, the violent King Chilperic of Soissons, was assassinated in 584, leaving King Guntram as the last mature ruling member of the Merovingian Dynasty’s lands. After surviving the free-for-all gauntlet that was his early life, Guntram now only had to share power in the Frankish empire with his two young nephews. One, King Childebert II (born in 570), was a teenager, while the other, King Chlotar II (born 584), was a baby. Guntram’s good fortunes continued into 585, when his troops caught and killed a troublesome pretender to the throne by the name of Gundovald (or Gundoald). In the much-needed peace and calm that came in the aftermath of the pretender’s downfall, Guntram soon received an invitation to participate in the baptism of baby Chlotar II.  King Guntram agreed to go, and set off on his way toward Paris, where the ceremony would be held. Unfortunately for those in the king’s entourage, they would soon find that Guntram was becoming grumpy in his old age.

King Guntram began his parade in Chalon-sur-Saône, then passed through the city of Nevers, and reached Orleans by July 4, where he intended to remain for a few days before making his final push to Paris. Dukes, counts and bishops flocked to join the king in his travels, and these courtiers often found Guntram in an irritable mood. His attitude noticeably worsened around the time that he reached Orleans. Thankfully for us, one of King Guntram’s traveling companions at that time was Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594). A prolific writer as well as a clergyman, Gregory of Tours committed to memory the awkward and cantankerous outbursts that he saw in Orleans; these observations were later filed away in Gregory’s History of the Franks.

As Gregory of Tours was a bishop, most of his memories involved incidents that occurred between King Guntram and clergymen. While one might expect the king’s conversations with the bishops to be tame, Guntram was in no mood to be polite. Several of the bishops present at that time in Orleans had offered support to the aforementioned pretender to the throne, Gundovald, and the king held a grudge against these disloyal men of the cloth. In particular, Bishops Bertram of Bordeaux and Palladius of Saintes had no good will from Guntram. Bishop Gregory recalled King Guntram saying to Bishop Bertram, “You should have remembered, dear father, that you were my kinsman on my mother’s side, and you should not have introduced into your own family this pestilential person [Gundovald] from overseas” (History of the Franks, VIII.2). King Guntram later had his revenge against Bishop Palladius, when the bishop tried to give a sermon. Gregory of Tours recorded the dramatic scene:

“When they told him that it was Palladius who had begun the service, Guntram was very angry. ‘Shall this man who has always been disloyal to me and dishonest now preach the sacred word before me?’ he cried. ‘I will leave this church immediately rather than hear my enemy preach!’ As he said this he began to walk out…Bishop Palladius, who was deeply humiliated, had retired into the sacristy. The King ordered him to be fetched out again, and he went on with the service which he had started” (History of the Franks, VIII.7).

During the course of his stay in Orleans, King Guntram let criticisms fly at many more people besides Bertram and Palladius. Within hearing of Gregory of Tours’ gossip-hungry ears, the King took verbal shots at Dowager Queen Brunhild (mother of Childebert II), accused Bishop Theodore of Marsailles of committing murder, and similarly labeled Duke Bladast and Count Garachar as untrustworthy and treacherous perjurers. Gregory recorded another bitter quote that King Guntram reportedly directed toward Bishop Nicasius of Angoulême and Bishop Antidius of Agen—“Tell me now, holy fathers, what have you ever done for the benefit of your country or for the safety of my realm” (History of the Franks, VIII.2).

Before the royal party left Orleans, Bishops Bertram and Palladius would have one more chance to mend their broken relationships with the king. In an attempted reconciliation encouraged by the other bishops, the two clergymen in question were invited to join Guntram’s table. It was a great opportunity for Bertram and Palladius to apologize or pledge to never again break the king’s trust. Yet, they horribly botched the chance to make a good impression on the monarch. Bishop Gregory, once again, was present to watch this wreck take place. He wrote, “Palladius and Bertram were invited to present themselves once more at the King’s table, but they began to quarrel, accusing each other in turn of adultery and fornication, and heaping lies on each other. Many present thought this a great joke, but others, quicker on the uptake, were grieved to see the Devil’s tares grow rank among the Bishops of the Lord” (History of the Franks, VIII.7).

After these tense and awkward days, King Guntram set off from Orleans and made his way to Paris for the baptism of his nephew. Unfortunately for the grumpy king, the debacles of the journey were not over—when he arrived in Paris, he found himself barred from seeing baby Chlotar II. The child’s mother and her allied nobles wanted to keep their infant-king out of the clutches of King Guntram for safety’s sake—after all, Merovingian politics could be quite brutal, even for children. The irritated elder king complained about this rude action in a public speech, which was once more recorded by Gregory of Tours:

“At the mother’s behest, those in charge of bringing up the boy asked me to receive him from the sacred font on Christmas Day. They did not come. They made a second proposal, that he should be baptized on Easter Sunday. On that occasion, too, he was not produced. Then they made a third suggestion, that he should be presented on Saint John’s Day. Once again, he was not there. Now they have obliged me to leave my home in this sultry season. I have come, but the boy is still kept hidden from me and I do not see him…If he had really been a member of my own family, he would surely have been presented to me. You must know that I shall not acknowledge him, unless I am given incontrovertible evidence in his favour” (History of the Franks, VIII.9).

This speech caused baby Chlotar’s mother, Queen Dowager Fredegund, to take action. She gathered around three hundred influential figures who would one day take orders from the child king. This gathering of nobles and clergymen all told King Guntram that Chlotar II was a legitimate member of the Merovingian Dynasty. King Guntram reportedly accepted their word, yet he apparently still was not given personal access to the child king while he remained in Paris.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Painting titled Cordelia’s Portion, by Ford Madox Brown (April 16, 1821 – October 6, 1893), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

 

Sources:

The Long Serpent, Illustrated by Halfdan Egedius (1877–1899)

By
thehistorianshut
-

Halfdan Egedius (c. 1877-1899), a Norwegian artist, illustrated this scene for an 1899 edition of the Heimskringla, an ambitious text by the medieval historian Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241). The text traced the history of Norway from mythical times up to the reign of King Magnus Erlingsson (r. 1162-1184) through a series of saga-biographies. Halfdan Egedius’ image shown above is set in the reign of King Olaf Tryggvason of Norway (r. 995-1000). Specifically, the image depicts an event thought to have occurred in the winter between the years 999 and 1000—the creation of the king’s famous drekkar (dragon) ship, called the Long Serpent. It was an enlarged and improved vessel based on the design of another ship that the king had commandeered. Snorri Sturluson described the construction process:

“It was constructed as a dragon ship, on the model of the Serpent which the king had taken along from Hálogaland; only it was much larger and more carefully wrought in all respects. He called it the Long Serpent, and the other one, the Short Serpent. The Long Serpent had thirty-four compartments. The head and the tail were all gilt. And the gunwales were as high as those on a seagoing ship. This was the best ship ever built in Norway, and the most costly” (Heimskringla, Saga of Olaf Tryggvason, chapter 88).

Despite possessing this mighty ship, King Olaf Tryggvason was still not safe at sea. In 1000, he was caught in a naval ambush by a coalition of his enemies from Denmark, Sweden and Norway in what would become known as the Battle of Svold (or Svolder). As the fight ensued, the huge ship did not save the king. The Long Serpent was overwhelmed and Olaf Tryggvason did not survive the battle.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Geoffrey Chaucer

By
thehistorianshut
-

Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1342-1400)

“Think! We are prisoners and shall always be.
Fortune has given us this adversity,
Some wicked planetary dispensation,
Some Saturn’s trick or evil constellation
Has given us this, and Heaven, though we had sworn
The contrary, so stood when we were born.
We must endure it, that’s the long and short.”

  • The Canterbury Tales (The Knight’s Tale) by Geoffrey Chaucer, translated to modern English by Nevill Coghill (Penguin Classics, 2003).

The Curious Response Of William The Conqueror’s Contemporaries To His Domesday Book

By
thehistorianshut
-

In 1086, William the Conqueror launched his plan to survey and analyze the lands he controlled in England. It was a project which would lead to the famous Domesday Book. To accomplish this mission, he sent agents throughout the regions of England, each tasked with making detailed notes on the wealth and possessions of nobles, clergymen, landlords and any other class of people that provided knights to the king or paid taxes to the state. William the Conqueror’s detailed survey was completed at a remarkably fast pace, and the king was able to read the reports before his death in 1087. The scope, speed and accuracy of the survey continues to impress scholars to this day, and they often deem it to be one of the greatest feats of statistics gathering done by a medieval government. Yet, while modern viewers give the Domesday Book glowing reviews, William the Conqueror’s survey project was received with much less warmth by his contemporaries. In fact, it is believed that the “Domesday” title given to the project after its completion was a reference to “Doomsday.” As far as the late 11th-century English landowners and taxpayers were concerned, an administrative Day of Judgment had arrived.

Contemporaneous English accounts that commented on William’s survey included the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (actively maintained c. 9th-12th centuries) and The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester (Florence died c. 1118). The former source wrote the longest entry about the survey, making note of the diligence of the king’s agents and also mentioned that the project was seen as embarrassing or shameful by some. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle stated:

“Then he sent his men over all England, into every shire, and caused to be ascertained how many hundred hides were in the shire, or what land the king himself had, and cattle within the land, or dues he ought to have, in twelve months, from the shire. Also he caused to be written how much land his archbishops had, and his suffragan bishops, and his abbots, and his earls; and—though I may narrate somewhat prolixly—what or how much each man had who was a holder of land in England, in land, or in cattle, and how much money it might be worth. So very narrowly he caused it to be traced out, that there was not one single hide, nor one yard of land, nor even—it is a shame to tell, though it seemed to him no shame to do—an ox, nor a cow, nor a swine, was left, that was not set down in his writ” (entry for 1085).

Florence of Worcester’s description of the Domesday Book survey was shorter than the one just quoted, but his commentary elaborated on the psychological impact that the project had on the English people at that time. His chronicle stated, “King William caused a record to be made through all England of how much land each of his barons held, the number of knight-fees, of ploughs, of villains, and beasts; and also of all the ready money every man possessed throughout his kingdom, from the greatest to the least, and how much rent each estate was able to pay; and the land was sorely harassed by the distress which ensued from it” (Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, AD 1086).

A later 12th-century monk-historian, Orderic Vitalis (flourished 1109-1141), commented on the Domesday Book in a more neutral tone. Born from an English mother and a Norman father, he could sympathize and criticize both sides. He showed little criticism, however, for the Domesday survey of William the Conqueror. Instead, he made note of the military benefit that the survey provided to the king. Orderic Vitalis wrote, “King William also caused a careful survey to be taken of the whole kingdom, and an accurate record to be made of all the revenues as they stood in the time of King Edward. The land was distributed into knights’ fees with such order that the realm of England should always possess a force of sixty thousand men, ready at any moment to obey the king’s commands, as his occasions required” (Ecclesiastical History, IV.VII).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration depicting the writing of the Domesday Book, by Joseph Martin Kronheim (1810–96), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons.).

 

Sources:

Demons Inform Admiral Adrianos About Syracuses Fall, Painted c. 12th Century In The Skylitzes Matritensis Manuscript of John Skylitzes’ Synopsis Historion

By
thehistorianshut
-

The curious scene shown above can be found in the 12th-century Skylitzes Matritensis manuscript of the Synopsis Historion, written by John Skylitzes (or Ioannes Scylitzes, c. 1040-1101), now held by the Biblioteca Nacional de España. The painting depicts an intriguing piece of folklore contained in the history. On the left is Admiral Adrian (or Adrianos) and his entourage. Admiral Adrian had been dispatched by Emperor Basil I of Constantinople (r. 867-886) to rush to the aid of Syracuse, a city which was besieged by the Aghlabids of Tunisia and Algeria between 877 and 878. Unfortunately for the admiral and the city he intended to rescue, the defenders of Syracuse fell to the besieging army on May 21, 878, before Adrian had even left from Greece. According to legend and folklore, the area in which the admiral’s ships were anchored received news of the fall of Syracuse from a bizarre source—demons. Shepherds supposedly found these demons gloating about the downfall of the city. Admiral Adrian heard of this tale and, according to Skylitzes, “he went to the place with the shepherds and, putting a question to the demons by means of them, he heard that Syracuse was already taken” (Synopsis Historion, chapter about Basil I, section 37). To read a more in-depth account about this tale, read our article HERE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

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