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Who Destroyed the Library of Alexandria?

By
thehistorianshut
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A Ship Of Theseus
Discussing the destruction of the Library of Alexandria is a bit like debating the Ship of Theseus thought experiment. Just as one must wonder if a ship’s identity remains intact after all of its boards, timbers and mechanisms have been exchanged with new material, the same identity question must be asked of a library that has its masonry and books destroyed and replaced. How about geographical relocation; does that change the identity of a library collection? Similarly, if the Ship of Theseus is sunk, but its lifeboat survives, can the lifeboat inherit the name of the Ship of Theseus, even though the lifeboat had a different scale and purpose? So too must we consider the identity of portions of the Great Library that were housed outside of the main Library compound. How a person answers these questions greatly impacts the discussion over who destroyed the Library of Alexandria.

Depending on what constitutes this “Library of Alexandria,” arguments can be made that its destruction was brought about by numerous figures through the ages, including Julius Caesar, Emperor Aurelian, Emperor Diocletian, Emperor Theodosius I and Bishop Theophilus of Alexandria, as well as later Islamic figures such as al-Mustanṣir and Saladin. Due to complicated circumstances, many people in the Western cultures have an inaccurate impression that the famed ancient Library of Alexandria was destroyed while the region was controlled by Islamic empires. This misleading belief was unfortunately reinforced by propagandists of the 12th and 13th centuries who falsely attributed the destruction of the Library to ʿAmr ibn al-ʿĀṣ (who occupied Alexandria in 642) in an effort to manufacture a defense for the Fatimid and Ayyubid Dynasty practice of selling books as a fundraising method to fill the treasury in the 11th and 12th centuries. People may also confuse the destruction of the Library of Alexandria with the collapse of the Lighthouse of Alexandria, which fell sometime between the 12th and 15th centuries. Whatever the case, this notion that Islamic forces and figures were responsible for the destruction of the Library of Alexandria is extremely misleading. To find those who hold the most blame for the destruction of the original Great Library of Alexandria, one must go back to the era of the ancient Romans.

The Great Library
The Great Library project, part of a larger Alexandrian Mouseion (shrine/seat of the Muses) research institute, was initiated when King Ptolemy I of Egypt (r. 323–285 BCE)—formerly a general of Alexander the Great—tasked his scholarly advisor, Demetrius of Phaleron, to oversee the founding of the Library and Mouseion around 295 BCE. It was built in the palatial Bruchion quarter of Alexandria. Ptolemy II (r.285–246 BCE) also embraced the project, and it was during his reign that Jewish scripture was acquired and translated for the Library of Alexandria. By the reign of Ptolemy III (r. 246-221 BCE), the Great Library’s collection of books grew to such an extent that the king designated Alexandria’s Serapeum temple to serve as a sister or daughter library to the original facility. Saint Epiphanius (c. 315-403 CE) described these events, writing, “And so the Scriptures, when they had been transferred to the Greek language, were placed in the first library, which was built in the Bruchion, as I have already said. And there arose in addition to this library a second up in the Serapeum, called its daughter.” (Epiphanius, On Weights and Measures, 11.53c). Over the centuries, these library facilities accumulated humongous collections. Estimates varied greatly about how many books the Library of Alexandria possessed, with claims ranging between 40,000 and 700,000 texts at the height of the Mouseion.



Julius Caesar
A key figure in the destruction of the Library of Alexandria was the Roman dictator, Julius Caesar (c. 100-44 BCE). His Civil War rival, Pompey, after being decisively defeated by Caesar at the Battle of Pharsalus in August of 48 BCE, decided to flee to Ptolemaic Egypt, where a number of his former associates were employed. Instead of finding shelter or an alliance, Pompey met a hostile reception and was ultimately killed in September by partisans of King Ptolemy XIII of Egypt. Caesar, who had been in pursuit of Pompey, reached Alexandria in October and learned of the murder of his rival. Unfavorable winds restricted Caesar’s movements around Alexandria, so he decided to winter his army in the city. While there, Caesar injected himself into the succession crisis that had developed in Egypt after the death of the former king, Ptolemy XII Auletes (r. 80-51 BCE). Succession, as reportedly directed in the late king’s will, was meant to fall to the eldest living son and the eldest daughter, namely Ptolemy XIII and Cleopatra, who were intended to enter an incestuous marriage that was typical to the Ptolemaic Dynasty. Their co-rule, however, broke down by late in the year 50 BCE, and Cleopatra had been forced to flee Alexandria. While in exile, Cleopatra was able to raise an army and she had begun an active war against her brother’s forces by the time Pompey and Caesar arrived in Egypt.

Julius Caesar, positioning himself as an arbitrator in the succession crisis, went on to seize the palace quarter of Alexandria, placed Ptolemy XIII under house arrest, and invited Cleopatra to join them in the city. Although King Ptolemy and Queen Cleopatra were under Caesar’s control, war soon broke out between Ptolemy’s partisans and the Romans. Besieged and threatened by a general named Achillas, Julius Caesar quickly acted to secure the harbor regions of the city and entrenched his forces for urban warfare. As part of these opening moves, Caesar sent troops to occupy the Lighthouse of Alexandria and he also set fire to the Egyptian fleet in the Alexandrian harbor. Caesar reported this in his war commentaries, namely The Civil War, in which he stated: “But Caesar carried the day: he burnt all these ships, together with the remainder which were in the dockyards, because he was unable to defend such a wide area with his small force, and hastily landed soldiers on Pharus” (Julius Caesar, The Civil War, Book III, chapter 111). The fire from the ships and the dockyards reportedly spread into Alexandria and damaged the city. One of the victims of the flames was the main facility of the Library of Alexandria. On this connection, the scholar Plutarch (c. 50-120) wrote, “in order to save his fleet from being cut off he had to repel the danger with fire, which then spread from the docks and destroyed the great library” (Parallel Lives, Caesar, chapter 49). Unfortunately for the city, the property damage was just beginning.

Even if portions of the main Great Library facility survived the fires, there was more destruction left to come in the war between the Romans and the Egyptians. The Alexandrian War continuation—attributed to Aulus Hirtius (c. 90 BCE—43 CE)—which expanded on Caesar’s commentaries, reported, “[F]rom the buildings, too, battering-rams were directed through apertures in the walls to pound the neighboring buildings, and his defenses were pushed forward to incorporate any ground gained by collapse or capture” (The Alexandrian War, chapter 1). Even the Egyptians did not spare the city’s structures while they battled the Romans. Notably, after Arsinoe—a sister of Ptolemy and Cleopatra—seized control of the Egyptian army and elevated her mentor, Ganymedes, to lead the forces, they reportedly began dismantling or salvaging buildings in Alexandria to serve their war purposes. On one such action of the Egyptian forces, The Alexandrian War text stated, “There were no oars: so they took the roofs off colonnades, gymnasia, and public buildings, and the rafters became oars” (The Alexandrian War, attributed to Aulus Hirtius, chapter 13). This dismantling and destruction of structures by both sides of the war, in addition to the earlier fire set by Caesar, would have greatly imperiled the main facility of the Great Library of Alexandria.

Urban warfare in Alexandria continued for months, stretching into early 47 BCE, when the arrival of Roman reinforcements pushed the balance of power into Julius Caesar’s favor. Ptolemy XIII, who was released out of Caesar’s custody in exchange for Arsinoe, mobilized his forces to confront the Romans in one last unsuccessful battle, but the king drowned, prompting the Egyptians to surrender. With the war over, the city of Alexandria could start to rebuild. Yet, although the Mouseion campus and other parts of the city could undergo restoration, the main facility and collection of the Great Library of Alexandria was irreparably harmed.

Several contemporaneous and near-contemporaneous writers mentioned the destruction that Julius Caesar’s fire wrought on the Library of Alexandria. The geographer, Strabo (c. 64 BCE- 21 CE), referred to the collection in the past tense, stating that any past scholar at the Mouseion would have been “well supplied if he had a library as large as Hipparchus says it was” (The Geography, 2.1.5). Strabo also lamented that the situation in Alexandria left him “being in want of copies⁠ with which to make a comparison” (The Geography, 17.1.5). The philosopher Seneca (c. 4 BCE–65 CE), less vague in his commentary, coldly wrote: “Forty thousand books were burned at Alexandria: some would have praised this library as a most noble memorial of royal wealth, like Titus Livius, who says that it was ‘a splendid result of the taste and attentive care of the kings’” (Dialogues, 9.9.5). And Plutarch (c. 50-120) has already been mentioned, who wrote of Caesar setting fire to the harbor, causing the destruction of the Library.

In the decades and centuries after Plutarch, writers began to more openly discuss the number of texts burned and the finality of the destruction at the Library of Alexandria. One such author was Aulus Gellius (flourished 2nd century CE), who wrote, “At a later time an enormous quantity of books, nearly seven hundred thousand volumes, was either acquired or written⁠ in Egypt under the kings known as Ptolemies; but these were all burned during the sack of the city in our first war with Alexandria,⁠ not intentionally or by anyone’s order, but accidentally by the auxiliary soldiers” (Attic Nights, 7.17.3). Similarly, the historian Cassius Dio (c. 163-235) wrote that “many battles occurred between the two forces both by day and by night, and many places were set on fire, with the result that the docks and the storehouses of grain among other buildings were burned, and also the library, whose volumes, it is said, were of the greatest number and excellence” (Roman History, 42.38.2). In the 4th century, the historian Ammianus Marcellinus similarly reported, “Ancient records are unanimous in their evidence that 700,000 volumes, brought together by the sleepless Ptolemies, went up in flames under the dictator Caesar, when the city was sacked in the Alexandrine war” (History, 22.16.12). In the minds of these ancients, the Great Library and the vast collection of books housed in the main facility had perished during Julius Caesar’s Alexandrian War. Yet, there was still a branch of Alexandria’s Great Library that survived the fire and destruction—the Serapeum book collection.

The Serapeum and Mouseion
Dating back to the reign of Ptolemy III in the 3rd century BCE, large amounts of books from the Great Library of Alexandria began to be collected in the city’s Serapeum temple compound. This Temple Library, with its Great Library overflow collection, survived the fires of Julius Caesar and served as the ancient city’s main library while the damaged Mouseion area was repaired. New libraries were built in connection to the Mouseion compound, such as the Caesareum temple and library founded by Cleopatra and the Claudian Institute or Wing built by Emperor Claudius (r. 41–54). Nevertheless, the Mouseion and its libraries never regained the glory known before the fire.



War, Christianization, And Destruction of the Temples
Alexandria and its public buildings faced great danger in the 3rd century, when the Roman Empire was struggling to fend off invasions from peoples along the Rhine and Danube rivers while also waging major wars against the Persians. In particular, chaos reigned during the time of Emperor Gallienus (r. 253- 268), whose father (and co-ruler) Emperor Valerian was captured by the Persians and died as a prisoner in 260. It was around that same year that massive breakouts of hostile forces occurred across the Rhine and Danube, placing the empire on the precipice of collapse. In that crisis, Emperor Gallienus empowered the leader of Rome’s Palmyra colony, Odaenathus, to be his Governor of all the East. Odaenathus successfully repelled the Persians, but Palmyra’s power over all the East later tempted Odaenathus’ widow, Zenobia, to declare independence from Rome in 269. In regard to Alexandria, Zenobia conquered Egypt in 269, but Emperor Aurelian (r. 270-275) quashed the independence of Palmyra in 271, making Zenobia and her realm subject to Rome once more. Zenobia and her supporters rose in rebellion again in 273, but were defeated a second time by Aurelian, who was much harsher in his punishment against the repeat offenders.

Alexandria was one of the cities garrisoned with Zenobia’s loyalists, and it was subjected to punitive devastation. According to the historian, Ammianus Marcellinus (c. 4th century), “the crown of all cities is Alexandria…during the reign of Aurelian, the quarrels of the citizens reached the proportions of a civil war. The walls were destroyed and it lost the greater part of the district called Bruchion, which for a long time had been the chosen abode of outstanding men” (History, 22.16.7-15). Given that Alexandria’s Mouseion and the original Great Library compound had been within the Bruchion palatial quarter, Aurelian’s destruction of the district would have devastated whatever remained of the vestiges of the Great Library that may have remained in the original Mouseion campus. This damage to Alexandria was further compounded around two decades later when a usurper named Achilleus led an Egyptian rebellion in 296 against Emperor Diocletian (r. 284–305). The rebellion, however, was crushed by Diocletian and his deputy ruler, Galerius, by 298, when Alexandria was reportedly once more ravaged by flames. This fiery detail was recorded by Bishop John of Nikiu (c. 7th century), who wrote, “Diocletian set fire to the city and burnt it completely, and he established his authority over it.” (Chronicle, 77.6). Consequently, it is safe to say that the Mouseion compound and the original Library facility would have been in a state of thorough disrepair or destruction after the reigns of Aurelian and Diocletian. Yet, once again, the Serapeum temple had been spared from the ravages of these imperial attacks, meaning that the temple’s own book collection and its selection of surviving texts from the Great Library of Alexandria would survive a little longer.

Over the course of the next century, Alexandria would play a reduced role in imperial history, but changes were occurring in Roman society that would threaten the Serapeum. Christianity, despite centuries of persecution, was spreading through the Roman Empire, and Emperor Constantine (r. 306–337) became the first Christian emperor. Intriguingly, the last emperor of the Constantinian Dynasty was Constantine’s nephew, Julian ‘the Apostate” (r. 361-363), who converted back to the traditional Greco-Roman religious beliefs and began discriminating against Christians in the empire. A noted academic, Julian was interested in preserving, duplicating, and teaching from ancient texts such as those housed in the Serapeum. Yet, Julian’s championing of Paganism and oppression of Christians backfired, for after Julian subsequently died in battle while fighting the Persians, the imperial throne immediately swung back to Christian emperors who became increasingly hostile to pagans and pagan literature, such as the texts housed in Alexandria’s Serapeum.

With the exception of Emperor Valentinian I (r. 364-375), who generally practiced toleration, the rest of the emperors who came after Julian started to implement varying levels of oppression against the worshippers of Rome’s traditional gods. Emperor Jovian (r.363-364) banned certain pagan practices. Emperor Valens (r. 364-378) curiously persecuted both pagans and non-Arian denominations of Christianity. Emperor Gratian (r. 367-383) and Emperor Valentinian II (r. 375-392), despite fierce opposition from Roman pagans (notably Senator Symmachus), were convinced by Bishop Ambrose of Milan to strip the Roman Senate building of its Altar of Victory due to its depiction of the goddess, Victoria. This precedent of emperors targeting imagery of pagan deities did not bode well for Alexandria’s Serapeum, which was a temple of the ancient god, Serapis, after all. But removing the Altar of Victory was nothing compared to actions taken during the reign of Emperor Theodosius (r. 379-395), whose rule saw true intolerance and persecution, some of which was ordered personally, while other incidents were spontaneously committed by riled mobs. Theodosius targeted both pagans and Christian sects unaligned with the edited Nicene Creed presented by the Council of Constantinople in 381, which was convened by the emperor.  This Theodosius would be the emperor who would ultimately bring about the destruction of the Serapeum temple in Alexandria.

In 391, Emperor Theodosius began releasing edicts that weaponized the government and the Christian church against the followers of the traditional gods of the ancient Roman Empire. Pagan sacrifices and temple access was oppressed, and the emperor gave Christian bishops discretion over demolishing ancient temples. In Alexandria, Bishop Theophilus—the leading Christian figure in the region—zealously began a destructive campaign across North Africa, defacing temples, shrines, and statues of Greco-Roman deities. Yet, the bishop’s war on traditional Roman holy places incited great unrest and violence, eventually culminating in fighting within the streets of Alexandria. In response to this violence, Emperor Theodosius gave Bishop Theophilus and local officials permission to destroy the Serapeum of Alexandria. Bishop Theophilus, equipped with imperial backing, was ruthlessly thorough in his eradication of the temple and all of the vestiges of paganism that was housed within it. Eunapius (c. 345-420), a contemporaneous pagan scholar, described the devastation wrought by Bishop Theophilus against the Serapeum and other structures with links to ancient gods:

“[T]he cult of the temples in Alexandria and at the shrine of Serapis was scattered to the winds, and not only the ceremonies of the cult but the buildings as well, and everything happened as in the myths of the poets when the Giants gained the upper hand. The temples at Canobus also suffered the same fate in the reign of Theodosius, when Theophilus presided over the abominable ones like a sort of Eurymedon [‘]Who ruled over the proud Giants[‘] [Homer, Odyssey, vii. 59], and Evagrius was prefect of the city, and Romanus in command of the legions in Egypt. For these men, girding themselves in their wrath against our sacred places as though against stones and stone-masons, made a raid on the temples, and though they could not allege even a rumour of war to justify them, they demolished the temple of Serapis and made war against the temple offerings, whereby they won a victory without meeting a foe or fighting a battle. In this fashion they fought so strenuously against the statues and votive offerings that they not only conquered but stole them as well, and their only military tactics were to ensure that the thief should escape detection. Only the floor of the temple of Serapis they did not take, simply because of the weight of the stones which were not easy to move from their place” (Eunapius, Vitae Sophistarum, Wilmer Cave Wright translation, pgs. 421-423).

During the defacing, looting, and razing to the ground of the Serapeum, the last remnants of the Great Library of Alexandria would have been destroyed, damaged, or lost to theft and relocation. The following year, in 392, Emperor Theodosius made the worship of the traditional gods of the Roman Empire a punishable offense. Both public and private forms of ancient worship were prohibited, leading to imperial proscriptions against divination, wine libations, burnt offerings, household shrines, and other symbols (such as suspended wreaths and ribbons) that were associated with the old gods. Violators of the ban on paganism could face criminal prosecution (in the most egregious cases) or civil asset forfeiture. In such an environment, anyone who may have gained possession of one of the Serapeum’s texts may have been disincentivized from maintaining or copying the texts of the old pagan authors, furthering the doom of the old volumes.



Islam, Crusades, And Book-Sale Fundraising
In the early 7th century, Islam was coming into being while the Roman Empire and Persia were squandering each other’s resources and manpower in their latest long war (lasting from 602-628). With perfect timing, Arab armies poured out of Arabia and wreaked havoc on the exhausted empires of Constantinople and Persia, resulting in the conquest of huge swaths of land. During the reign of the first caliph, Abū Bakr (r. 632-634), Arab armies expanded into the regions of Jordan, Palestine, Syria and Iraq, and these expansionist wars increased dramatically during the reign of the second caliph, Umar I (r. 634-644). In that time, the city of Alexandria was occupied by ʿAmr ibn al-ʿĀṣ in 642, and contemporaneous and near-contemporaneous accounts from that era made no mention of him interacting in any way with any Alexandrian libraries or books.

Several centuries later, around the era of the Crusades, the Fatimid Dynasty had collected its own Great Library at its capital of Cairo. Like the Library of Alexandria, the estimates of the Fatimid Library varied greatly, with differing claims asserting that its book ranged between hundreds of thousands and millions in number. Treasury troubles forced the Fatimid Caliph al-Mustanṣir (r. 1036-1094) to start selling off many thousands of books around 1070 to pay his expenses and debts. This practice was continued by the famed leader, Saladin (r. 1169/1171-1193), whose Ayyūbid Dynasty supplanted the Fatimids. After formally overthrowing the previous dynasty in 1171, Saladin exponentially increased the sale of books from the Fatimid Library. Writers such as al-Maqrīzī, Abū Shāmah, and Ibn Abī Ṭayy reported that Saladin, in effect, subjected the library to liquidation, with untold numbers of books being carted off by camel caravans to the residences of buyers in distant lands.

Refocusing on the ancient Mouseion of Alexandria, Saladin’s sale of the Fatimid Library evidently sparked enough outrage that Saladin’s supporters had to scramble to produce propaganda that would defend the book sales. In that context, Saladin-aligned writers—notably Ibn al-Qifṭī (c. 1172–1248)—began disseminating a fictitious myth that Caliph Umar and ʿAmr ibn al-ʿĀṣ had burned books from the Library of Alexandria after the conquest of the city in 642. The propaganda was effective, with many people believing the false tale for many centuries. Yet, modern scholars, after sober review of the ancient sources, have since then firmly returned to the consensus that the ancient Mouseion and Great Library of Alexandria was destroyed long before the Arab conquest of the city in the 7th century.

Who Destroyed the Library of Alexandria?
Romans hold the most responsibility for the destruction of the Library of Alexandria. Julius Caesar, through the fire and demolition of urban warfare, devastated the Library and its books during the winter of 48-47 BCE. Emperor Aurelian ravaged whatever had been rebuilt in the Mouseion campus of the city in 273, and Emperor Diocletian further burned Alexandria in 298. Finally, Emperor Theodosius and Bishop Theophilus destroyed the Great Library’s Serapeum sister facility in 391. Again, it is a Ship of Theseus thought experiment. Was Caesar most to blame for burning the Library’s original book storage facilities? Does Aurelian receive equal blame for destroying later libraries of the Mouseion, such as the Claudian Institute? And how does one compare Theodosius’ destruction of the Serapeum temple to the larger scale damage inflicted on Alexandria by Caesar and Aurelian? Whatever the case, the Romans destroyed the Library of Alexandria, with Julius Caesar inflicting a fatal wound, and Emperor Theodosius delivering the final deathblow.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Library of Pergamus Given to Cleopatra, attributed to Francesco Allegrini (c. 17th century), [Public Domain] via the MET.jpg).

Sources:

Hera Hiding During The Battle Of The Gods And Giants, Attributed To Govert Flinck (c. 1643) After Carel Fabritius (1622 – 1654)

By
thehistorianshut
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Govert Flinck (1615-1660) is attributed with painting this darkly-colored copy of an earlier artwork by Carel Fabritius (1622-1654). Both the original and the copy by these Dutch artists feature a curious view of the Greek goddess, Hera, cowering on the floor of a cave, presumably in fear of some nearby threat. Museums and galleries usually title the artwork in a way that clarifies the setting of the mythological scene. Such titles often assert that Hera is hiding from hostile giants during a time of divine war. For instance, the Rijksmuseum, which houses the Govert Flinck copy, lists the title of the artwork as “Hera Hiding during the Battle of the Gods and Giants.” Yet, after perusing the myths associated with Hera, one may wonder which war with the giants the artwork references. After all, Hera was involved in at least three major conflicts with giants, and in all three she had reasons to be fearful.

In Greek mythology, Hera was the queen of the gods and wife to the high-god, Zeus. Powerful in her own right and well-protected by her kin in their heavenly abode, Hera rarely faced any serious threat. As such, it took truly apocalyptic danger for Hera to be reduced to fear. With that in mind, three doomsday-level events stand out in Hera’s storyline: (1.) the war between the gods and the Gigantes, (2.) the march of the Aloadae giants against Olympus, and (3.) the reign of terror waged by the gigantic monster, Typhoeus, against the gods.

Gigantes
The Gigantes, after a coalescence of differing myths and legends over time, came to be commonly known as a tribe of giants who were formed from the blood of the primordial sky god, Ouranos, and the soil of the primeval earth deity, Gaia. They remained unintrusive until the era when the storied hero Heracles walked the earth, at which point the Gigantes waged war on the gods in a conflict known as the Gigantomachy. Physically strong and protected with various forms of innate blessings, the Gigantes were a formidable army of giants. Their prowess and appearance were described by the scholar, Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st and 2nd century), as “unsurpassable in size, unassailable in strength, and fearful to behold because of the thick hair hanging down from their head and cheeks; and their feet were formed from dragons’ scales” (Apollodorus, Library, 1.6.1). Zeus, Hera, and the gods, with the help of Heracles, waged a truly epic war against the Gigantes. Divine powers were employed in all their glory, and huge mountains and landmasses were launched as projectiles, crashing on top of giants to form islands and volcanoes.

Hera did not shy away from the fight. During the battle, she slew the giant, Phoitios, and engaged another named Porphyrion. For unexplained reasons—perhaps so he and Hera’s estranged stepson could subsequently swoop in and save the day—Zeus was said to have manipulated the mind of Porphyrion to cause the giant to attempt to ravage Hera. Apollodorus wrote: “In the course of the fighting, Porphyrion launched an attack against Heracles and Hera. But Zeus inspired him with a lust for Hera, and when he tore her clothing and tried to rape her, she cried for help; and Zeus struck the Giant with his thunderbolt, and Heracles killed him with a shot from his bow” (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Library, 1.6.2). Hera’s scary encounter with Porphyrion and the Gigantes certainly qualifies as a battle between the gods and giants. Yet, whereas the painting depicts Hera cowering in a cave, the ancient tales contrastingly describe Hera as fighting on the battlefield during the famous Gigantomachy between the Gigantes and the gods, making it an imperfect match for the painting.

The Aloadae
The Aloadae (or Aloads) were a pair of gigantic demigod brothers blessed with overwhelming growth rates. Ephialtes (a title alluding to nightmares) was the name of one brother, while the other was called Otos (likely derived from “doom” or “horned owl”). Truly gigantic, they had already grown to be around double the height of a two-story house by the time they were nine years old. Their incredible height was dangerously matched by godly strength and unbridled ambition. While they were still youths, the Aloadae vowed to usurp power from the gods, and they plotted to use their stature and might to lift and stack mountains in order to reach the realm of the gods. The Aloadae planned, once they got there, to take prominent goddesses as their wives, with Ephialtes intent on seizing Hera, while Otos wanted to grab Artemis. The gods could not ignore such threats, especially while the Aloadae were growing larger and stronger each year. A divine preemptive assault was launched, but the giants were able to defeat Ares in a battle of brawn. They were more susceptible, however, to Apollo’s arrows and Artemis’ tricks and traps. As told by Pseudo-Apollodorus, “Ephialtes sought to win Hera, and Otos to win Artemis; they also imprisoned Ares. But Hermes freed him surreptitiously, and the Aloads met their death on Naxos as the result of a subterfuge by Artemis; for she changed herself into a deer and leapt between them, and in their desire to hit the beast they struck one another with their javelins” (Library, 1.7.4). This incident is another potential inspiration behind the artwork; yet, as Hera never faced any true up-close danger in this episode, it is unlikely that Ephialtes and Otos caused the reaction seen in the painting.

Typhoeus
Typhoeus (often called Typhon) was a humongous giant that nearly destroyed the gods. With a serpentine lower half and a back fitted with wings, Typhoeus grew to tower over the earth to such an extent that his head (or multiple heads, depending on the account) nearly reached the stars. In addition to his supermassive size and strengths, Typhoeus also wielded great power over certain elements of nature. He particularly had an affinity for sea storms, such as hurricanes and his namesake, typhoons. Although he was a single giant, he posed a much greater threat to the gods than the Gigantes army or the Aloadae brothers. Unlike the others, Typhon truly made the gods cower in fear. Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), a Roman poet, described the sense of terror:

“The monstrous Typhon, sprung from the deepest bowels of the earth,
had struck such fear in the heaven dwellers, that all in a body
were put to flight, until in exhaustion they found a refuge
in Egypt, close to the banks of the Nile with its seven mouths.
…the earth-born giant had followed them even there,
so forcing the gods to conceal themselves under alien guises.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5.321-326)

Despite being forced to flee and hide, the gods soon counterattacked. Zeus engaged Typhoeus in an epic battle spanning multiple regions around the Mediterranean, with other gods appearing here and there to assist their leader in the fight. After shifts of momentum back and forth, Zeus finally emerged victorious and trapped Typhoeus under a mountain (which subsequently became a volcano due to the giant’s elemental affinities). In regard to the painting, nothing scared Hera quite like Typhoeus. So, even though the “Battle of the Gods and Giants” title seems to reference the Gigantes and the Gigantomachy war, it is more likely that only the hellish pursuit of monstrous Typhoeus could have made Hera cower fearfully in a cave.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Aristotle

By
thehistorianshut
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Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE)

“Illegality creeps in unobserved; it is like small items of expenditure which when oft-repeated make away with a man’s possessions. The spending goes unnoticed because the money is not spent all at once, and this is just what leads the mind astray.”

  • From Aristotle’s Politics (Bekker page 1307b), translated by T. A. Sinclair and revised by T. J. Saunders (Penguin Classics, 1962, 1981, 1992).

A Tale Of An Ancient Traveler Who Survived A Fatal Prophecy Of His Death

By
thehistorianshut
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In the region of Paphlagonia (bordering the Black Sea in north-central Anatolia), a family of some means and influence was reported to have experienced a bizarre saga of incidents involving the disappearance of a young student, an accusation of murder, and a destabilizing intervention by a famous cult prophet. It was the 2nd century, around the time of the Roman emperors Antoninus Pius (r. 138-161) and Marcus Aurelius (r. 161-180), when a son from the Paphlagonian family traveled to study abroad in the Egyptian city of Alexandria. Unfortunately, by that time, the main Library of Alexandria compound had been devastated by fire during Julius Caesar’s intervention in the power struggle between Cleopatra and her brother Ptolemy XIII in the winter months of 48-47 BCE. Yet, there was still a great collection of intact texts at Alexandria’s Serapeum temple for the Paphlagonian student to peruse in the 2nd century. While in Egypt, the young man was eager for travel and adventure, with him going so far as reportedly boarding a ship that was bound for India. He may have even neglected to tell any of his associates that he was leaving Egypt! Whatever the case, it was around that time—while he was sailing beyond the reach of the Roman Empire—that the student’s family, friends, and attendants lost track of his whereabouts.

Back in Paphlagonia, the disappearance of the student caused his family great distress and panic. As the young man’s absence continued, anxiety and fear transitioned to anger and accusations. Meanwhile, after the youth did not return to Alexandria from his trip in accordance with the estimated travel schedule, the student’s attendants and servants evidently returned to Paphlagonia masterless. This elevated suspicion that the student had been murdered, abandoned, or otherwise neglected by his attendants. When questioned, the servants admitted they believed foul play was involved in the student’s disappearance. Yet, the attendants presumed that the student had likely perished in the Nile or beyond due to banditry, shipwreck, disease, or other perils faced by young and inexperienced travelers.

While the family struggled between desperation, fear, and hope, they decided to seek direction from oracles and prophecies. As Paphlagonians, they had easy access to the local cult of Glycon, a serpent figure with human hair that was supposedly a reincarnation of the healer-god Asclepius. Glycon’s cult was founded by Alexander of Abonoteichus during the reign of Emperor Antoninus Pius (r. 138-161), and it gained power, influence, and political reach during the era of Emperor Marcus Aurelius (r. 161-180), who gave the cult imperial recognition and renamed the city of Abonoteichus as Ionopolis. Along with the emperors, Alexander was close with multiple Roman governors, such as Servianus (of Cappadocia) and Rutilianus (of Moesia and Asia), the latter of which became a devoted son-in-law of Alexander of Abonoteichus. Suffice it to say, business was booming for Alexander. Positioned as the head priest and interpreter of this Glycon-Asclepius entity, the cult leader’s religious activities consisted of teachings, ceremonial rites, and a prophecy-for-pay operation where submitted questions (accompanied by a payment) would be answered by varyingly cryptic replies attributed to Glycon. It was this cult of Glycon that the family from Paphlagonia turned to when they wanted prophetic input about the disappearance of the student.

Alexander agreed to consult Glycon on behalf of the family and, as the story goes, the snake-entity’s response was to encourage the family to press charges against the servants who had lost track of the student. Heeding the prophetic advice, the family petitioned the nearby Roman governor of Galatia (just south of Paphlagonia) to take up the case. Their pleas were accepted, and the suspected servants were subsequently arrested for culpability in the student’s vanishing. Details of the trial were not recorded, but fate proved cruel for the servants. Authorities found them guilty in regard to the young man’s disappearance and supposed death. After the conclusion of the trial, the servants were summarily executed.

Unfortunately, the tragic story is not over. After all, this article involves a traveler who prevailed over a prophecy of his death. Consequently, after the cult of Glycon weighed in, and after the suspected servants were arrested, judged, and executed by Roman authorities, the region was understandably shocked when the long-missing student one day reappeared in Paphlagonia, proving that the servants had been innocent. This bizarre saga was biasedly recorded by the orator, teacher, and literary figure, Lucian of Samosata (c. 120-180+), who wrote:

“’Look here, Alexander, you induced some Paphlagonian or other to bring his servants on a capital charge before some governor of Galatia, accusing them of having murdered his son, who was studying in Alexandria. But the lad is alive and has returned large as life, after the servants have been executed, handed over by you to wild beasts.’ The facts were that the lad had sailed up into Egypt as far as Clysma, where there was a boat putting out to sea, and he was persuaded to join it and go to India. So, since he didn’t turn up when expected, those poor servants of his assumed that the lad had either perished when sailing on the Nile or been killed by robbers (there were many around at the time), and they returned to report his disappearance. Then came the oracle and their sentence—followed by the appearance of the young man with the story of his travels” (Lucian, Alexander or the False Prophet, chapter 44).

As hinted by Lucian’s title of Alexander or the False Prophet, he was not a supporter of Alexander of Abonoteichus or the cult of Glycon. Quite the opposite, Lucian believed that Alexander was a charlatan and that the supposed prophetic responses of Glycon were useless nonsense. There is also the issue of genre and occupation, for Lucian was known for comedy and satire, not history. It is for that reason that this article makes abundant use of words and phrases such as “tale,” “reportedly,” and “as the story goes,” for it can be difficult to differentiate fact, embellished truth, and fantasy in Lucian’s satirical writings. On the other hand, Lucian often referenced real people and actual events in his texts, and much of what he wrote about in regard to these historical subjects can be considered relatively reliable. Simply put, his satirical and imaginative tales usually contained grains of truth, albeit embellished and shaped for his comedic or satirical purposes. Whatever the case, his account should be taken with the proverbial grain of salt.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Left: Illustration labeled “De la Mosaique de Palestrine,” reportedly a sketch of a Roman mosaic depicting Egyptian life [c. 100 BC], found at Palestrina, Italy, [Public Domain] via NYPL. Right: Romanian stamp featuring Glycon, dated 1974, [Public Domain] via Picryl).

Sources:

The Battle of Zama, By The Anghiari Master (15th century)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting was created around the year 1470 by an anonymous artist known as the Anghiari Master (c. 15th century). In subject matter, the artwork draws inspiration from the history of ancient Rome. Specifically, the title of the painting asserts that the artwork depicts the famous Battle of Zama (c. 202 BCE), in which Publius Cornelius Scipio and the Romans inflicted a decisive defeat on Hannibal Barca and the Carthaginians at the end of the Second Punic War (218–201 BCE).

Around 204 BCE, Scipio and tens of thousands of Roman warriors landed in North Africa to take the fight directly to Carthage while Hannibal—Carthage’s brilliant general—was still menacing the Italian countryside, as he had been doing since 218 BCE. Scipio’s presence in Africa prompted Hannibal to be called back in 203 BCE to defend the heartland of Carthage against the Roman invasion. Yet, the Carthaginians were now acting in a reactionary mindset, and Scipio, forcing his foes to respond to his moves, made sure to steer the course of the war in his favor. Scipio positioned his army on favorable terrain that suited the cavalry advantage that the Romans and their accompanying Numidian allies possessed over the Carthaginians. Hannibal was well aware of Rome’s cavalry superiority, but he hoped that Carthage’s formidable war elephants could counteract the Roman and Numidian horses. Differing numbers of horses and elephants aside, the Roman and Carthaginian forces were said to have been quite equal in manpower when they eventually met face to face at the Battle of Zama in 202 BCE.

A Roman historian named Livy (59 BCE-17 CE) dramatically described the scale and consequential nature of the battle. He wrote: “[T]o decide this great issue, the two most famous generals and the two mightiest armies of the two wealthiest nations in the world advanced to battle, doomed either to crown or to destroy the many triumphs each had won in the past” (Livy, Roman History, 30.32). In the ensuing showdown, Scipio’s cavalry advantage proved vital, whereas Hannibal’s elephants apparently did less harm to the Romans than they did to his own army. The Greek historian, Polybius (c. 200-118 BCE), described the battle:

“Since they were equally matched not only in numbers but also in courage, in warlike spirit and in weapons, the issue hung for a long while in the balance. Many fell on both sides, fighting with fierce determination where they stood, but at length the [Roman-aligned] squadrons of Masinissa and Laelius returned from their pursuit of the Carthaginian cavalry and arrived by a stroke of fortune at the crucial moment. When they charged Hannibal’s troops from the rear, the greater number of his men were cut down in their ranks, while of those who took to flight only a few escaped…” (Polybius, The Histories, 15.14).

Hannibal was one of the Carthaginians who lived to fight another day. Yet, after Zama, Carthage was compelled to contemplate surrender. In the ensuing negotiations, Carthage was forced to dismantle its navy, pay hefty quantities of war reparations, and formally cede Carthaginian territory in Spain to the control of the Romans.

Such is the history that inspired the Anghiari Master’s painting. Curiously, the painter took great liberties in his rendition of the battle. Rather than paint period-appropriate equipment and a more accurate landscape for the battle, the artist chose instead to depict warriors in late medieval armor battling it out between walled cities from the High Middle Ages.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Søren Kierkegaard

By
thehistorianshut
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Søren Kierkegaard (1813-1855)

“[J]ust as no human body is perfect, so no self is perfect.”

  • From Soren Kierkegaard’s The Sickness unto Death (chapter C, section B), translated by Howard V. and Edna H. Hong (Princeton University Press, 1980).

Balthild: The Anglo-Saxon Queen of the Franks

By
thehistorianshut
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Balthild, a future wife and mother of kings, emerged from obscure origins in the early 7th century. Also called Balthilde, Bathild and Baldhild, she was born around the year 630, and there is a consensus that she was of the Anglo-Saxon ethnicity. Yet, her status and the circumstances of her arrival in Frankish lands remain debated. At the time of her childhood, her homeland was in a state of change and chaos. Anglo-Saxon realms in Britain had only recently begun to Christianize; after all, Augustine of Canterbury and his missionary expedition dispatched by Pope Gregory the Great just arrived in the region in 597 to begin their proselytizing. Religious fervor was matched by waves of perpetual war in England. Notably, Balthild’s early years coincided with the brutal reign of the pagan King Penda of Mercia (r. 620s/630s-655), who waged persistent war against the rival kingdoms of Northumbria, Wessex, and East Anglia, and killed around five kings during his decades-long rampage. Due to all the upheaval and turmoil, it was a time when captivity, imprisonment, and changes of fortune were prevalent in England, and there were ample reasons for threatened Anglo-Saxon families of means to seek safe havens and opportunities across the English Channel. It was from that complicated geopolitical situation that the Anglo-Saxon Balthild found herself living in the French and German lands of the Franks.

Hostile and unflattering accounts alleged that Balthild was sold to the Franks as a slave. More respectful renditions of her origin story painted her as coming from an Anglo-Saxon noble family, and that her introduction to the Frankish kingdoms was through the usual travels and interactions of the nobility. Whatever the case, young Balthild somehow entered the orbit of the Frankish nobleman, Erchinoald, who was appointed in 641 as the Mayor of the Palace for the child-king, Clovis II (who was born in 633 or 634, and began his reign in 639). While Erchinoald and Clovis’ mother, Nantechild, ruled as the child-king’s regents, Balthild began to make a name for herself in Erchinoald’s entourage. Again, her status is vague. Relative? Ward? Employee? Slave? Refugee or guest? There is no explicit explanation, but regardless of her circumstances, she was under the responsibility and jurisdiction of Erchinoald. Mystery of her status aside, Balthild was impressive to her peers and superiors. Erchinoald, for his part, believed in her and wanted to set her up with a prestigious marital match. One imagines that his co-regent, Nantechild—mother of King Clovis II—also likely discovered Balthild and found her to be an impressive young lady. Consequently, a betrothal may have been arranged for the two children by Erchinoald and the queen-mother before Nantechild’s death in 641 or 642. Whatever the origin of their union, Balthild and Clovis were married around the year 648, when both were teenagers.

Balthild’s personality before marriage is obscure, but when she assumed power as the queen of King Clovis II, she quickly began to gain a reputation as a bold and strong-willed woman who sought personal involvement in matters of government and religion. She was a dominant force—too dominant for many of her contemporary peers—and she was characterized as being a woman who lorded over her kingly husband. Whatever the case, Balthild and Clovis seemed to have had chemistry, for they soon had several children together, namely their future heirs Chlotar III (born 649), Childeric II (b. 649/650), and Theodoric III (b. 651).

Although the future was looking bright for the young royal couple and their household of small children, fate can be cruel and unpredictable. Tragically, King Clovis II unexpectedly sickened and died by 657, when he was still in his mid-twenties, leaving behind Balthild and their young children to face the perils of Frankish politics without his support. Yet, Balthild had allies, and they helped her step in as regent ruler while the children grew into adulthood. These events were recorded by the authors of the Chronicle of Fredegar and its continuations, which were written in the 7th and 8th centuries. The Chronicle, which calls Balthild by the name “Baldechildis,” stated:

“Now Clovis, son of Dagobert, chose for his queen a foreigner named Baldechildis, a sensible and attractive woman. By her he had three sons—namely Chlotar, Childeric and Theuderic. And the mayor of his palace, by name Erchinoald, was forceful and intelligent. So peace reigned in the kingdom of Clovis, and there were no wars. In his latter years, it is true, his mind became affected, and he died after reigning for eighteen years. The Franks thereupon made his eldest boy, Chlotar, king, with the queen-mother by his side” (Chronicle of Fredegar, Continuations, chapter 1).

Queen Balthild’s principal ally during the transition to her regency as the queen-mother was her old guardian and acquaintance, Erchinoald, but he soon died in 657 or 658. Following Erchinoald’s death, the queen’s inner circle included figures such as the new Mayor of the Palace, Ebroin, and the bishops Chrodobert of Paris and Audoenus of Rouen. Balthild also gained the friendship of the craftsman-bishop, Eligius of Noyon, who became a confidant and advisor of the widowed queen.

Balthild, as the regent ruler for her children, continued to operate exactly how she had behaved when she had been queen. In short, she maintained her strong and domineering style of leadership. She insisted on her own heavy personal involvement in matters of state, law, and church, which, again, caused both praise and rebuke. Her supervision of government actions and legal decisions, including executions, garnered her criticism from peers, but her lavish support and investments in church architecture and infrastructure garnered her great acclaim. She became a patron of monastic communities at Corbie and Chelles, and she was involved in supporting, developing, empowering, and legitimizing important abbeys, basilicas, and saintly church facilities, including the historic church sites of St. Denis, St. Germanus (in Paris), St. Medard (in Soissons), and St. Martin (in Tours).

Interestingly, Queen Balthild also became an activist and advocate for limiting the slave trade and improving the conditions of slaves in Frankish lands. In particular, since she was unable to ban the practice completely, she wanted to grant slaves more rights and protections from harm and abuse. On this topic, the queen and her friend, Bishop Eligius of Noyon, were likely involved in steering the Council of Chalon (c. mid 7th century) to insist that there should be restrictions on the slave trade and that slaves should be treated more humanely. Balthild’s impressive fervor in her anti-slavery activism is likely one of the primary reasons why stories about her possibly being a former slave became popularized in legend.

In the end, despite Queen-Mother Balthild’s strong personality and competence, she and her peers knew she was reigning on borrowed time. Her power began to wane as soon as her eldest child-king son, King Chlotar III of Neustria and Burgundy, started to advance through puberty. And once her second son, Childeric II, became old enough to ascend to the Frankish throne of Austrasia in 662, the noblemen of the realm were emboldened to increasingly challenge the Queen-Mother’s presence and authority. With unrest against her rule mounting, Balthild was eventually pressured into accepting an early retirement by the year 665, when she was still a young woman in her mid-thirties. Forced out of government, Balthild devoted herself to her religious interests, and she ultimately lived the rest of her life as a nun in the monastic community she built at Chelles, beginning the site’s long association with Anglo-Saxon and English monastic residents.

Unfortunately for the Frankish realm and the Merovingian Dynasty Balthild married into, the relative peace and stability that had been maintained during the reign of King Clovis II (r. 639-657) and Balthild’s subsequent regency period (r. 657-665?) started to unravel after the queen-mother’s departure to the convent. A breaking point was reached when her eldest son, King Chlotar III, died unexpectedly in 673, while he was still in his early twenties. This sparked a succession crisis over which of the two remaining sons of Clovis and Balthild would inherit the throne.

Different factions of powerful figures formed around the surviving sons of Balthild. The influential Mayor of the Neustrian and Burgundian Palace, Ebroin, took the opportunity to elevate Balthild’s third son, Theodoric III, to become the new king of the Neustrian-Burgundian realm in 673. Yet, the fledgling King Theodoric was at a disadvantage against his elder brother, Childeric II, who had been ruling the kingdom of Austrasia since 662. In short, Childeric II had might and connections and a willingness to use both, whereas his brother was being freshly introduced to power for the first time. Before Theodoric III could fully grasp the reins of government, his older brother swooped in with political pressure and intrigue, deposing Theodoric from power. From then on, King Childeric II ruled a united empire of the Franks, but the glory was short-lived, for he was assassinated in 675. Theodoric III, the last surviving brother, promptly re-emerged to press his claim to the Merovingian kingdoms of the Franks, but he had to battle resistance and rival claimants for years. It was 679 when the faction of King Theodoric III finally won control of the complete set of the kingdoms of Neustria, Burgundy and Austrasia. One year later, in 680, the retired Queen-Mother Balthild died at her Chelles convent, and in the absence of her strong-willed example and advice, Theodoric (and the Merovingian Dynasty kings after him) became thoroughly reduced to puppets of the increasingly powerful Mayors of the Palace. Although the Merovingian Dynasty was in decline, Balthild’s own name and legacy endured. Due to her great contributions to the church, her humanitarian activism, and her long phase as a nun, she was quickly recognized as a saint by the Christian community.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Left: Statue of Balthilde, photographed by the Séeberger brothers, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the the Paris Musees Collections. Right: map of Gaul (c. 628) from the 1894 Atlas général Vidal Lablache – Histoire et Géographie, [Public Domain] via Wikimedia and Creative Commons).

Sources:

Telemachus And Eucharis, By Raymond Auguste Quinsac Monvoisin (c. 1790-1870)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the French artist Raymond Auguste Quinsac Monvoisin (c. 1790-1870), was inspired by stories about the ancient Greek mythological figure, Telemachus—the son of the famous hero, Odysseus. As the title of the artwork gives away, the painting depicts a relationship that Telemachus had with a certain Eucharis, said to have been a nymph in the entourage of the goddess Calypso. In regard to the people painted on the canvas, Telemachus is the scantily-clad figure at the center of the artwork. Just left of him is Eucharis, depicted in white and seen placing her head in her hand. As for the third figure—the one pulling Telemachus away from the scene—that is a character called Mentor (who is really the goddess Athena in disguise).

Curiously, despite the presence of mythological subjects and Homeric elements, the particular story being re-created in this painting is anything but ancient. Telemachus and Eucharis did not meet in Homer’s Iliad or Odyssey, nor was their romance featured in any known myth or legend from ancient Greece or Rome. Instead, the painting brings to life an episode from a much later book called The Adventures of Telemachus, published in 1699 by Archbishop François de Salignac de La Mothe-Fénelon of Cambrai (or simply François Fénelon).

In his intriguing spinoff, François Fénelon expanded on and added to the escapades and experiences that Telemachus might have undergone while he waited for his father to return home from the Trojan War. As told in the book, Telemachus and Athena (disguised as Mentor) eventually found themselves shipwrecked on Calypso’s Island. During their stay, Aphrodite unleashed mischievous Eros (or Cupid) on the mythical isle, who spread his amorous influence throughout the nymph-filled settlement. In particular, the love-god made both Calypso and Eucharis fall hopelessly in love with Telemachus.

There could only be one winner in the competition for the young man’s attention, and, to Calypso great jealousy and fury, it was ultimately Eucharis whose affections caused Telemachus’ heart to flutter in reciprocal attraction. Athena, meanwhile, disapproved of the whole situation, and she battled with the love-god behind the scenes to free Telemachus from the hormone-infused island. In the end, Athena was able to provoke Calypso into demanding that the shipwrecked strangers leave the island on a newly built ship. Due to Athena’s victories over Eros and Calypso, there was little time for smitten Telemachus and Eucharis to enjoy their blossoming affections, for Calypso was compelled to angrily march her entourage of nymphs away from the shore, while Athena similarly dragged Telemachus to the ships. François Fénelon described the scene:

“Telemachus followed with reluctance, continuously looking behind him, and gazing at Eucharis who was going away from him. Not being able to see her face, he viewed her lovely plaited hair, and her flowing vestments and noble gait, and would gladly have kissed the very prints of her feet. Nay, when he had lost sight of her, he still listened, imagining that he heard her voice, though absent, he saw her; her image was painted and living as it were before his eyes” (François Fénelon, The Adventures of Telemachus, Book 7).

It is this passage that inspired elements of the painting by Raymond Auguste Quinsac Monvoisin. Telemachus can be seen longingly glancing back at Eucharis as Mentor/Athena ushers the lovestruck lad away. Yet, Telemachus did not go quietly; he begged Athena to give him more time to say goodbye, pleading, “I am resolved to follow you; but I have not yet taken my leave of Eucharis…Permit me at least to say to her, O nymph, the cruel Gods, the Gods jealous of my happiness, constrain me to depart, but they shall sooner put a period to my life, than blot you out of my memory” (The Adventures of Telemachus, Book 7). Unfortunately, no further delay was granted by the impatient gods, and thus ended the romance of Telemachus and Eucharis.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Ovid

By
thehistorianshut
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Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE)

“I’d rather be lied to
Than ignored.”

  • From The Amores (2.9.43-44) by Ovid, translated by Peter Green in The Erotic Poems (Penguin Classics, 1982).

The Opportunistic Italian Rebellion Against The Newly Crowned And Besieged Emperor Leo III Of Constantinople

By
thehistorianshut
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In the early 8th century, a decorated warrior and administrative official named Sergios came to be appointed as the Byzantine governor of Constantinople’s imperial holdings in Sicily. He held the lofty and prestigious title of protospatharios (first of the sword-bearers), one of the most preeminent titles available in the empire. It was good that he was competent and experienced, for he lived in a complicated time when the imperial realm was ravaged by political chaos and war. In Italy, where Sergios governed, Constantinople’s sphere of influence clashed with the powerful kingdom of the Lombards, ruled at that time by King Aripert II (r. 701-712) and then by King Liutprand (r. 712-744). The Popes and their Papal States, centered around Rome, also acted with defiance and hostility toward the emperors and church patriarchs of Constantinople. Meanwhile, back in the imperial heartland, the throne of Constantinople was experiencing quick turnover. Emperor Justinian II (r. 685-695, 705-711) was killed in a rebellion by Emperor Philippikos (r. 711-713), who in turn was ousted in a coup by Emperor Anastasios II (r. 713-715). Next, Emperor Theodosios III (r. 715-717) deposed Anastasios, but the new emperor immediately faced a revolt from the governor and general, Leo, who was stationed along the Anatolic front. Sergios, governing imperial land in Italy, was along for the ride in that whirlwind of geopolitical tensions and internal intrigue.

Adding more instability to the proverbial powder keg was the Umayyad Arab leader, Suleiman (r. 715-717), who seized upon the instability of Constantinople’s Byzantine Empire and took the opportunity to press the advance against Emperor Theodosios’ Anatolian lands. Therefore, Arab forces were on the march in imperial territory while the aforementioned general, Leo, waged his rebellion against Emperor Theodosios III.  Adapting to the situation, Leo’s rebels successfully wove their way through Arab armies and the distracted loyalist forces of Theodosios. His mobility and stealth culminated in a surprise operation near Nikomedeia that resulted in the capture of the emperor’s son, forcing Theodosios III to abdicate and renounce his family’s claim to power. With the throne vacated, the victorious rebel general assumed the throne as Emperor Leo III of Constantinople in 717. Yet, the Arab forces in the region greeted Leo’s ascension by descending on Constantinople and besieging the imperial city.

Across the sea in Sicily, the governor Sergios likely balked at the legitimacy of the latest rebel-turned-emperor, and he also would have questioned Emperor Leo’s ability to survive the sudden Arab siege of Constantinople. At the very least, Sergios believed Leo would be pinned down in besieged Constantinople for the foreseeable future, unable to leave the city or react effectively to any rebellion or threat at the peripheries of the empire. After formulating these assumptions, Sergios made the fateful decision to rebel against Emperor Leo III. Curiously, in the rebellious political and military jostling that ensued, Sergios did not ultimately secure the leading role in the rebellion. Instead, it was a man named Basil Onomagoulos who was proclaimed as the Italian region’s candidate to become the next emperor of Constantinople.

Basil and Sergios assumed they had time to mobilize their forces. They believed that the circumstances would play in their favor and that they would be able to take their first maneuvers unimpeded by besieged Empror Leo III. Yet, assumptions are only valuable if they are grounded in truth, fact, and reality. Unfortunately for Leo and Sergios, they assumed wrong.

Back in Constantinople, Emperor Leo III proved to be a quick study who was able to hit the ground running, as the saying goes. After a smooth and orderly ascension, he was able to efficiently and effectively oversee the defense of Constantinople. He used Greek Fire to ravage the Arab fleets blockading the city, and he orchestrated surprise attacks and ambushes on land to harass the Arab camps in the region. The Arab war effort was further thrown into chaos by the death of the Umayyad leader, Suleiman, in 717, who was succeeded by Umar II (r. 717-720). As of late 717, Leo’s sorties on water and ground loosened the Arab siege enough for imperial messengers and agents to be able to come and go from the city. In the following year, after the Umayyad forces began to suffer from disease, desertion, and lack of supplies, Emperor Leo and the defenders of Constantinople (with the help of Bulgarian reinforcements) broke the siege of the imperial city completely in 718.

In Sicily, Basil and Sergios were unaware of the emperor’s successes, but Emperor Leo III had been very well aware that there was a rebellion brewing among government officials in Italy. Leo launched his response to the rebels as soon as the Arab siege and blockade of Constantinople became permeable for his messengers and agents. Specifically, he dispatched an agent named Paul with troops, letters, and a fast ship, with the promise being that Paul would become the new governor of Sicily if he could defuse the rebellion. With his small force and his ship, Paul successfully avoided the Arab positions that were encircling Constantinople and sailed unnoticed to Sicily, catching Basil, Sergios, and other rebel leaders by surprise. These events were recorded by the chronicler, Theophanes (c. 750s-818), who wrote:

“In this year the protospatharios Sergios, the governor of Sicily, heard that the Arabs were besieging the imperial city. At Sicily he crowned his own Emperor: a Constantinopolitan named Basil, the son of Gregory Onomagoulos. He was renamed Tiberius. He prepared defenses and created his own officers (with the advice of Sergios). When the Emperor heard this he sent out his own chartularius [or imperial Privy Secretary] Paul, making him a patrician and general of Sicily. For support Leo gave him two spatharioi [sword-bearers] and a few men, orders to the western officers, and a state letter to the army. By night they boarded an outbound warship, and went somewhere near Kyzikos. They traveled from place to place by both land and sea, and reached Sicily unexpectedly. Sergios was amazed when he heard they had entered Syracuse. Knowing his own guilt, he fled to the Lombards, who were nearby in Calabria” (Theophanes, Chronographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6210 [Sep. 717-Aug. 718]).

With the rebellious leaders surprised and scattering, Paul began handing out the letters he had been given by the emperor. Loyal or repentant officers received their orders and the rest of the troops were called together to hear the emperor’s written statement. In the address, the emperor reassured the forces of Sicily that Constantinople was intact and well-defended and he went on to regale the troops about the strong state of the Byzantine military, as well as its recent victories over the Arabs. Hearing of the good order of the empire, the imperial warriors of Sicily were won over by Paul on behalf of Emperor Leo III. Although the former governor, Sergios, had managed to escape, the rebel leader Basil Onomagoulos did not have the same fortune. His fate was recorded by the chronicler, Theophanes, who wrote:

“The army was assembled and the state letter read: it assured the troops that the Empire endured and the city was in good spirits about its enemies. Also, it related the details about the two fleets. The men at once acclaimed Leo as Emperor and gave to his general Basil Onomagoulos and the officers he had appointed. Paul decapitated Basil and his chief general; after he had cut off their heads, he sent them swathed in cloth to the Emperor by means of his two spatharoi. He beat and tonsured the rest, slit some of their noses, and exiled them” (Theophanes, Chronographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6210 [Sep. 717-Aug. 718]).

Sergios, sheltered by King Liutprand of the Lombards, escaped Paul’s purge of rebel leadership. Yet, instead of starting a new life with the Lombards, Sergios longed to return to the imperial fold. In a bold move, Sergios reached out to Paul and pleaded for a binding oath of safe passage and mercy that would allow him to return to Sicily. Surprisingly, Emperor Leo or his governor agreed to affirm the pledge, and Sergios, taking the gamble, willingly submitted himself into Paul’s custody. As the story goes, Sergios was indeed shown mercy, and he even allegedly became a resource or advisor for Paul in his management of Sicily. By 719, the last vestiges of the rebellion were quashed. On Sergios’ return and his subsequent assistance to the empire, Theophanes wrote, “Sergios asked the general for a pledge that he would not be harmed, and came to him after he got it. They pacified the entire western area” (Theophanes, Chronographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6210 [Sep. 717-Aug. 718]). Following this statement that Sergios helped pacify the region, the complicated man then vanished from the historical record. Sergios and Paul were never mentioned again in Theophanes’ chronicle.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Left: Portrait of Emperor Leo III, made by Joos Gietleughen in 1557, [Public Domain] via the Rijksmuseum. Right: Byzantine artwork, dated 9th century, photographed and labeled Topographia Christiana Miniature/ Visit to Babylonia between 1839 and 1939, [Public Domain] via Katholieke Universiteit Leuven and Europeana).

Sources:

  • Theophanes, The Chronicle of Theophanes, translated by Harry Turtledove. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982.
  • History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.
  • The Oxford Dictionary of Late Antiquity, edited by Oliver Nicholson. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018.
  • https://www.britannica.com/biography/Liutprand
  • https://www.britannica.com/biography/Leo-III
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