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Manlius Torquatus Fighting A Gaul, by Ludwig Refinger (c. 1510/1515-1548/1549)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the German artist Ludwig Refinger (c. 1510/1515-1548/1549), was inspired by a legend that was said to have occurred around the 4th century BCE in the Roman Republic. As told in the account of the Roman historian, Livy (c. 59 BCE-17CE), the city of Rome received disturbing intelligence reports in 361 BCE that a Gallic army was loitering near a bridge over the Anio river along the Via Salaria (Salt Road). At that time, the Romans were extra cautious and vigilant, because the city of Rome had been recently pillaged between 390 and 386 BCE by a similar rogue Gallic army. Therefore, during the subsequent 361 BCE incident, the Romans reportedly decided to appoint a dictator and quickly mobilized an army to confront the Gallic warband before it could approach closer to Rome. Among the Romans mobilized for the showdown with the Gauls was a young man named Titus Manlius, who was the son of a former dictator. Titus Manlius and the Roman army speedily marched to the Anio river and set up camp across the river from the Gauls. The tale of what happened next was preserved in two main sources, the History of Rome by the aforementioned Livy (c. 59 BCE-17CE),  as well as the Attic Nights by Aulus Cornelius Gellius (whose source in this case was the 1st century BCE annalist, Claudius Quadrigarius). As the story was a centuries-old legend even in the time of these ancient Roman historians, their accounts differed from time to time. Yet, the core elements of the story aligned in both versions of the tale.

According to the ancient tales, the Roman and Gallic forces at the bridge were stuck in a stalemate. With no end to the standoff in sight, one of the leading fighters within the Gallic army proposed a legendary solution to decide the fate of the battle—a duel. Both accounts of the incidents agreed that the Gallic champion was the one who initially made the call for a duel. This mysterious Gaul was unfortunately left unnamed in both versions of the story. The Roman champion, as the artwork title gives away, was none other than Titus Manlius.

In the Roman accounts of the duel, the fight between Titus Manlius and the unnamed Gallic champion was presented like a David and Goliath story. To use Livy’s description, the challenger was “a Gaul of enormous size” (History of Rome, 7.9), whereas Titus Manlius was a man with “a moderate physique for a soldier and was nothing special to look at…” (History of Rome, 7.10). The two were also quite different in the way they went into battle. Titus Manlius reportedly took a practical approach, gearing himself with equipment such as a common infantryman’s shield, as well as a sword designed like those used in the Iberian Peninsula. The Gaul, in contrast, was said to have been decked out in jewelry and ornamentation. Our ancient sources, however, disputed about just how much gold the Gallic champion wore during the duel. Aulus Cornelius Gellius, citing the annals of Claudius Quadrigarius, claimed, “a Gaul came forward, who was naked except for a shield and two swords and the ornament of a neck-chain and bracelets…” (Attic Nights, IX.13). Livy, on the other hand, drastically increased the Gallic warrior’s splendor, claiming he was “resplendent in multi-coloured clothing and painted armor inlaid with gold” (History of Rome, 7.10). Whatever the case, whether the Gaul wore gold only as jewelry, or if he brought a set of gilded armor to the duel, it evidently left an impression on the Roman observers. Besides his accessories, the Gallic champion’s behavior also stood out to the Romans. In both versions of the tale, the Gallic warrior was presented as a figure who was quite loud, occupying himself before the duel by flinging insults at the Romans or shouting out war songs. Most memorable of all, however, was an incident where the Gallic champion stuck out his tongue at the Roman army—a curious move that was preserved in both accounts of the story. In the version preserved by Gellius, it was the episode of the tongue-wagging that inspired Titus Manlius to accept the duel.

By all accounts, the Gallic champion was the stronger and more talented fighter of the two. Yet, quick-thinking Titus Manlius, like any successful underdog, had a brain that could find a route to victory despite unfavorable odds. Instead of stabbing, blocking and slashing against the undoubtedly stronger Gallic warrior, Titus Manlius developed a much simpler, but bold, strategy to use in the duel. Simply put, his game plan was to close the distance between him and his opponent as quickly as possible, hoping to slip in between the Gallic warrior’s sword and shield. Once this was accomplished, all he had to do was keep stabbing with his sword until the Gallic warrior was dead. According to Livy’s account, Titus Manlius only had to charge forward once, as he managed to tackle and stab the Gallic champion in the same series of movements. In the version of Aulus Cornelius Gellius, however, Titus had to successfully pull off the move at least twice, closing the gap and stabbing the Gallic champion in different locations each time. Whatever the case, the strategy worked and Titus Manlius emerged victorious.

After the duel was over, Titus Manlius, was known to have looted the body of his opponent. His conduct while removing the loot, however, was an area of dispute among the storytellers. In Livy’s account, Titus “spared the corpse of any abuse, despoiling it only of a torque, which, blood-spattered as it was, he put on his own neck” (History of Rome, 7.10). In the alternative account, however, the victor of the duel was much more aggressive in the way he obtained the neck ornament. Aulus Cornelius Gellius’s account stated, “he cut off his head, tore off his neck-chain, and put it, covered with blood as it was, around his own neck” (Attic Nights, IX.13). Regardless of how exactly he obtained it from his slain foe, the neck-chain or torque that Titus picked up that day would become a part of his legend and legacy. From then on, he became known as Titus Manlius Torquatus. Such is the tale that Ludwig Refinger re-created in his artwork.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Epicurus

By
thehistorianshut
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Epicurus (c. 341-270 BCE)

“No pleasure is in itself evil, but the things which produce certain pleasures entail annoyances many times greater than the pleasures themselves.”

  • From Epicurus’ Principal Doctrines (section 8), translated by Eugene Michael O’Connor in The Essential Epicurus (The Big Nest / Interactive Media, 2014).

The Studious Country Retirement Of Terentius Junior

By
thehistorianshut
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Terentius Junior was a Roman military officer and government official who flourished in the 1st century. He held military and bureaucratic offices that were appropriate to the knightly equites social class in Rome, and his loftiest appointment seemed to have been when he served as a procurator in the province of Gallia Narbonensis (approximately southern France). At this point, he still had much more upward mobility and potential political advancement that he could have pursued, but Terentius Junior instead desired to retire to a country estate and oversee a farming operation. Between managing his estate and entertaining guests at his home, the new Roman retiree evidently spent most of his free time voraciously consuming all of the Latin and Greek literature that he could get his hands on. He had the reputation of being quite the analytical reader, able to fully grasp, understand, and explain the pieces of literature that he had read. Guests to his house were regaled with learned conversations that had a comprehensive depth that rivaled debates held by the most prestigious scholarly circles in the city of Rome.

One guest who witnessed Terentius Junior’s well-read conversational skills firsthand was the prominent lawyer, statesman and trusted government official, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113). This studious Roman aristocrat had prepared for his trip to Terentius Junior’s estate by studying up on topics such as war and farming, areas of interest that Pliny thought would be most appealing to a retired military officer living on a farm. These pre-planned topics, however, were quickly diverged by Terentius Junior into Pliny’s own favorite subject of literature. It was a conversation of great substance and intellect, leaving a lasting impression on Pliny, who went on to subsequently sing praises of Terentius Junior in letters. Writing to Caninius Rufus, Pliny wrote:

“After Terentius Junior had held the military posts open to a knight and had also served as procurator in the province of Gallia Narbonensis, his conduct being irreproachable throughout, he retired to his estates, preferring a life of peace and leisure to the offices which could have been his. I looked upon him as a good father of his household and a hard-working farmer, so when he invited me to visit him I intended to talk on the subject with which I imagined he was familiar; but when I began to do so the scholarly trend of his conversation led me back to literary topics. Everything he says is expressed in well-turned phrases in excellent Latin or Greek, and his proficiency in both languages is such that he always seems to speak best the one he happens to be using. He reads and remembers an immense amount; you would think Athens his home, not a country house” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 7.25).

After leaving Terentius Junior’s estate, Pliny the Younger was impressed to an extent that he deemed the retired officer’s literary knowledge to be more comprehensive than many of the more professional literary scholars back in Rome. Pliny wrote, “he has increased my nervousness and made me respect these retired somewhat countrified people as much as the persons I know to be learned scholars” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 7.25). In the future, when Pliny decided to compose literary works or speeches, he would keep Terentius’ analytical eye in mind as he wrote and edited his manuscripts.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Marcus Curius Dentatus and the Samnites, by Elias van Nijmegen (c. 1677 – 1755), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Rijksmuseum).

Sources:

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

Muse of Literature, by Henry Siddons Mowbray (c. 1858–1928)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the American artist Henry Siddons Mowbray (c. 1858–1928), strives to depict a Muse of Literature from ancient Greek and Roman mythology. Muses were the daughters of the high-god, Zeus, and the goddess, Mnemosyne (Memory). Nine in number, the Muses served as goddesses of arts, sciences and creativity. Literature, of course, fell under the divine authority of the Muses. There is a problem, however, with Mowbray’s Muse of Literature—this all-encompassing literary muse did not exist. To the contrary, in ancient history and myth, there was no singular muse in charge of all literature. Instead, there were several literary muses who oversaw different genres of literature. An ancient Greek poet named Hesiod (c. 8th century BCE) is thought to have been the first person to provide the canonical names of the muses. He wrote, “the Muses sang, who dwell in Olympus, the nine daughters born of great Zeus, Clio and Euterpe and Thaleia and Melpomene, Terpsichore and Erato and Polyhymnia and Urania, and Calliope, who is chief among them all” (Hesiod, Theogony, approximately lines 76-79). Of the sisters, only two had nothing to do with literature—Euterpe was the Muse of flute playing, and Urania was the Muse of Astronomy.  The rest of the Muses, Calliope, Terpsichore, Erato, Melpomene, Thalia, Polyhymnia and Clio, were all linked in some way to literary composition. Calliope was the Muse of epic poetry, while Terpsichore and Erato governed forms of lyric poetry. Polyhymnia, in fitting with her name, was a Muse of hymns. Melpomene and Thalia were theatrical Muses, the former overseeing tragedy and the latter championing comedy. Finally, Clio was the Muse of history. As the overarching term of literature covers verse and prose, fiction and non-fiction, then Calliope, Terpsichore, Erato, Melpomene, Thalia, Polyhymnia and Clio could all be considered Muses of literature.

Henry Siddons Mowbray’s Muse of Literature was a part of a series of Muse paintings, so certain other specific Muses from the nine sisters can be eliminated as to which Muse of Literature is represented in the artwork above. Along with the painting featured here, Mowbray also created artworks entitled Muse of Comedy, Muse of Tragedy, Muse of Lyric Poetry and Muse of Music, among others. Therefore, Terpsichore, Erato, Polyhymnia, Melpomene and Thalia can all likely be eliminated from being Mowbray’s Muse of Literature. This leaves Clio, the Muse of history, and Calliope (the Muse of epic poetry) as the likeliest suspects for the Muse depicted above. As Calliope was chief among the Muses, one would expect her to be the one more likely to receive the title of Muse of Literature. Yet, Calliope and ancient epic poets were often also associated with music. The Roman writer, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), imagined Calliope playing a lyre and reciting one of her epic tales with the following words:

“Calliope. She, with her flowing hair in ivy wreath,
rose up and strummed a few plangent chords to test her lyre strings,
then firmly plucked them to launch at once on the following lay.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.335-340)

As the painting presents a Muse that is more of a bookworm than a musical bard, that could be potentially taken as evidence that the Muse may be Clio instead of Calliope. Nevertheless, Mowbray left the name and title of his Muse of Literature vague for a reason. Calliope, Clio, or an ambiguous allegorical figure, the identity of the Muse of Literature is ultimately left up to the beholder of the painting.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

  • Theogony and Works and Days by Hesiod, translated by M. L. West. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 1999, 2008.
  • Metamorphoses by Ovid. Translated by David Raeburn. Penguin Classics; Revised Edition, 2004.
  • The Oxford Dictionary of Classical Myth and Religion, edited by Simon Price and Emily Kearns. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.
  • https://artgallery.yale.edu/collections/objects/2715

Aristotle

By
thehistorianshut
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Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE)

“Democracy arose from the idea that those who are equal in any respect are equal in any respect are equal absolutely. All are alike free, therefore they claim that they are all equal absolutely. Oligarchy arose from the assumption that those who are unequal in some one respect are completely unequal: being unequal in wealth they assume themselves to be unequal absolutely.”

  • From Aristotle’s Politics (Bekker page 1301a), translated by T. A. Sinclair and revised by T. J. Saunders (Penguin Classics, 1962, 1981, 1992).

The Tale of Heracleodorus’ Sneaky Overthrow Of An Oligarchy In Oreus

By
thehistorianshut
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Around the 4th century BCE in Greece, a man named Heracleodorus lived in the Euboean city-state of Oreus, which was then ruled by an oligarchic government. Heracleodorus seemed to have been a member of the oligarchic ruling class, as he was able to become a magistrate or official in the government of Oreus. Yet, unbeknownst to the other oligarchs, Heracleodorus was a reformer who, around 377 BCE, would use his access and influence to legally dismantle the oligarchy from within. The other oligarchs of Oreus did not see what was coming—Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE) described their point of view, writing, “It is owing to lack of vigilance that those who are not friendly to the constitution are sometimes allowed to get into supreme offices” (Aristotle, Politics, Bekker number 1303a). In this case, it was Oreus’ oligarchic constitution that was targeted, and it was Heracleodorus who was able to exploit the complacency of his peers and maneuver his way into a supreme office. In short, when Heracleodorus became an official in the oligarchic government of Oreus, he was able to put himself in a position where he could reform and revolutionize the realm’s constitution. On this, Aristotle wrote, “at Oreus[,] oligarchy was broken up when Heracleodorus became one of the magistrates, who in place of an oligarchy formed a constitutional government, or rather a democracy” (Politics, Bekker number 1303a). Unfortunately, Aristotle did not elaborate any further on what occurred in Oreus during that transformational period. Other than these details, the incident remains vague, with little contextual information existing besides the historical belief that Heracleodorus’ reform likely occurred during the political chaos of 377 BCE, when Oreus transferred from the Spartan sphere of influence into that of Athens.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Men with raised arms on a Terracotta loutrophoros (ceremonial vase for water), Greek Atticlate 6th century BCE, [Public Domain]. via Creative Commons and the MET.jpg).

Sources:

Sappho, Painted By Arnold Böcklin (c. 1827–1901)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Swiss artist Arnold Böcklin (c. 1827–1901), features the enigmatic ancient Greek literary figure, Sappho. She was a poetess from the island of Lesbos who prolifically composed songs and poems during the late 7th and early 6th centuries BCE. Many of Sappho’s works contained evidence that she may have been attracted to women, and therefore her Sapphic name and her Lesbian homeland have long been associated with relationships between women. Sexuality aside, Sappho’s verses were greeted with great acclaim in ancient Greek and Roman circles, and she was considered to be rightfully ranked among the most talented poets to have ever lived in ancient Greece. In the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE, enough of Sappho’s poems were still existent to fill nine volumes in the Library of Alexandria, possibly amounting to around 9,000 lines of poetry. Time, however, has ravaged Sappho’s work—of the nine volumes of her poems known to the ancients, only around 230 poetic fragments have survived to the modern day. Arnold Böcklin’s painting, mysteriously depicting Sappho with her back turned and her face concealed, is a fitting portrayal of the enduring, but obscured, status that the poetess holds in history and cultural memory.

Sources:

Euripides

By
thehistorianshut
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Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE)

“O Zeus, why have you given men clear ways to recognize what gold is counterfeit, but on the body put no stamp by which one should distinguish a bad man?”

  • From Euripides’ Medea (approximately line 519), translated by James Morwood in Medea and Other Plays (Oxford University Press, 1997, 1998, 2008).

How A Wealthy Ancient Roman Aristocrat Dealt With Eye Inflammation

By
thehistorianshut
-

Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113)—a wealthy Roman lawyer, administrative official and statesman—had the means and access to hire the best medical advisors of his day, and he also had enough flexibility of occupation and time to put himself through dramatic recovery programs. Pliny was something of a guinea pig for ancient folk medicine, as he was more than willing to try out home-brew remedies and to follow new ideas from his health consultants. As a result, whenever Pliny fell ill, it was not unusual for the methods of his recuperation to be quite odd and flamboyant. Thankfully, as Pliny the Younger was a prolific writer of letters, he described many of his curious healing tactics in messages to his friends, and copies of these letters have survived the erosion of time.

In a letter to a certain Cornutus Tertullus, Pliny the Younger mentioned that he was suffering from a bad case of eye strain or inflammation and was willing to take drastic measures to soothe his pain. Pliny eventually accepted a prescribed change of living conditions for his eye trouble and, curiously, the prescriber—or at least the inspiration for the treatment—was none other than the aforementioned Cornutus Tertullus, the recipient of the letter. The plan was for Pliny to plunge himself into darkness and rest his eyes in draped-off rooms or covered carriages. Also prescribed were baths and some controlled doses of wine. On the curious treatment plan, Pliny wrote:

“I obey, dear colleague, and I am seeing to my eye trouble as you bid me. I travelled here in a closed carriage with the light completely excluded, so that I might have been at home in bed, and now that I am here I am neither writing nor reading—no easy sacrifice, but I have made it—and am working only by ear. I can darken my rooms by drawing the blinds, without making them too dark, and the light in the roofed arcade is reduced by half when lower windows have their shutters closed. By this means I am gradually reaccustoming myself to full daylight. I take baths, as they do me good, and wine, which can do no harm, but only very sparingly; this has always been my way, and now I am under supervision” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 7.21).

Pliny’s treatment worked for him, but it was not feasible for most ancient Romans. Few residents of the Roman Empire had jobs where they could stay in dark rooms and covered carriages all day to rest their eyes. Furthermore, for Pliny to continue his work by audio during his eye treatment period, he would have needed to bring in literate attendants to narrate aloud for him whatever he wanted to hear and to also write down whatever he wanted to record.  This is very much an elite remedy instead of a common one. Nevertheless, it seemed to have been an amusing experience for Pliny the Younger.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Modified Antiochus And Stratonice, painted by Pompeo Batoni (c. 1708-1787), [Open Access] via Creative Commons and the Museo de Arte de Ponce).

Sources:

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

Orpheus In The Underworld, By An Unknown 18th-century Artist

By
thehistorianshut
-

This dimly lit painting, made between 1750–1780 by an unknown artist, features the ancient Greek mythological figure, Orpheus, a powerful demigod musician who had the power to entrance seemingly everything in creation with his music. His early life was sociable and adventurous, with the musical hero even going so far as to join the famous Argonauts expedition alongside famous figures like Heracles. Orpheus later fell in love with the nymph, Eurydice, and began to settle down. Theirs was true love, and the pair decided to get married. Their happy relationship turned out to be unfairly short, however, for Eurydice tragically died around the time of the wedding. Grief-stricken Orpheus ventured into the underworld and made a pact with the death god, Hades, in order to bring Eurydice back to the land of the living. Yet, Orpheus carelessly broke the terms of the deal before his wife was fully resurrected, causing the musician to traumatically be forced to watch Eurydice be dragged back to the realm of the dead. After losing his wife for this second time, Orpheus recoiled into depressed seclusion and became a hermit, seemingly shunning all contact with anything besides the flora and fauna of nature. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE) envisioned Orpheus’ lonesome late-life existence in his poem, Metamorphoses, describing the gloomy bard serenading the trees and wildlife with his music. In book 10 of his poem, Ovid wrote, “Such was the shady cluster of trees which Orpheus attracted, sitting amidst a crowded assembly of birds and of beasts” and again in Book 11, he stated, “With songs such as these the Thracian minstrel bewitched the forests, entranced the beasts and compelled the rocks to follow behind him” (Ovid, Metamorphoses, 10.143-144 and 11.1-2). It is this imagery of despondent Orpheus performing before an enraptured audience of wild animals that the painting above re-creates.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

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