Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE)
“O mankind, how much you miss your aim and come to nothing! Why do you teach countless skills? There is nothing you cannot devise or discover, and yet there is one thing that you do not understand and have so far failed to hunt down—how to teach those who have no sense to think aright.”
Around 249 BCE, a man named Publius Claudius Pulcher (not to be confused with the much later Publius Clodius Pulcher associated with Julius Caesar) led a Roman fleet against Carthaginian forces anchored at Drepanum during the First Punic War (264-241 BCE). Reportedly commanding 123 ships, Publius Claudius succeeded in cornering the opposing Carthaginian fleet, leaving the Roman commander with the decision of choosing between settling in for a slow blockade or, contrastingly, risking a full-out assault against the enemy. He opted for the second course of action, but this, unfortunately, turned out to be a horrific mistake. Of all the ships under Publius Claudius’ command, only 30 survived the disastrous assault, including the admiral’s own flagship. When Publius Claudius returned to Rome, he was promptly slapped with a huge fine and was even accused of treason. He evidently survived the trial, for he is known to have lived for a few more years after the notorious incident. Curiously, he would not be the last member of his immediate family to cause a scandal and be charged with treason.
Sometime after Publius Claudius Pulcher’s death, an incident occurred that would unfortunately make the sister of the late admiral become the talk of the Roman Republic. As told by the Roman scholar, Suetonius (c. 70-130+), Publius Claudius’ sister was one day traveling in a carriage through the streets of Rome when she became thoroughly annoyed at the slow traffic in the city. In a fit of ancient road rage aimed at the citizens clogging the roadway, she allegedly shouted, “If only my brother were alive to lose another fleet! That would thin out the population a little” (The Twelve Caesars, Tiberius, sec. 2). Her comments were loud enough to be overheard by nearby pedestrians, and as a result, angry gossip soon swept the city about the rude and untimely exclamation. According to Suetonius, the sister was consequently tried for treason because of what she shouted. The result of the trial, however, was not mentioned.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (The Head Vestal Passes, by Henri Motte in 1885, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the NYPL Collections).
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This painting, by an unidentified 18th-century artist, re-creates a myth from an early part of the Trojan War saga. In terms of chronology, the scene took place after the abduction of Helen, but before the Greek fleet set sail to wage war against the Trojans. As the story goes, King Agamemnon of Mycenae (commander-in-chief of the Greek allies) had called together the forces of the Greeks at the port town of Aulis. The coalition was ready to depart on their long campaign across the Aegean, but the gods—especially Artemis—refused to grant the Greeks a favorable wind until a sacrifice was performed. She did not want an offering of wine, grain, or livestock, but instead requested a human sacrifice, and according to Agamemnon’s seer Calchas, the goddess would only be appeased by the sacrifice of King Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigeneia.
Although Agamemnon was conflicted and disturbed by Calchas’ advice, he ultimately decided to go through with the sacrifice. It was a choice that was bitterly opposed by Agamemnon’s wife, Clytemnestra, yet she was powerless to stop her husband from allowing the seer to do his gruesome work. Aeschylus (c. 525-456 BCE), an Eleusinian playwright, described the sacrifice of Iphigeneia in a play called Agamemnon:
“Her father called his henchmen on,
on with a prayer,
‘Hoist her over the altar
like a yearling, give it all your strength!
She’s fainting—lift her,
sweep her robes around her,
but slip the strap in her gentle curving lips…
here, gag her hard, a sound will curse the house’—
and the bridle chokes her voice…her saffron robes
pouring over the sand
her glance like arrows showering
wounding every murderer through with pity
clear as a picture, live,
she strains to call their names…
…
What comes next? I cannot see it, cannot say.
The strong techniques of Calchas do their work.”
(Aeschylus, Agamemnon, approximately lines 230-250)
Special attention should be given to Aeschylus’ line about not being able to see or say how Iphigeneia’s sacrifice concluded. The question of ‘What comes next?’ was very real, for there were two ancient versions of the story. Aeschylus’ preferred tradition assumed that Iphigeneia was indeed killed during the sacrificial ceremony. In contrast, Euripides (c. 484-406 BCE), a junior contemporary of Aeschylus, followed an alternative narrative that claimed that Artemis swooped in to save Iphigeneia at the last moment, exchanging the young girl for a deer. Euripides wrote:
“Each one of us distinctly heard the sound of a blow, but none saw the spot where the maiden vanished. The priest cried out, and all the army took up the cry at the sight of a marvel all unlooked for, due to some god’s agency, and passing all belief, although it was seen; for there upon the ground lay a deer of immense size, magnificent to see, gasping out her life, with whose blood the altar of the goddess was thoroughly bedewed“ (Euripides, Iphigeneia at Aulis, approximately lines 1580-1590).
Such, then, are the stories that inspired the painting. It seems to follow Euripides’ version, as Artemis can be seen hovering in the sky, waiting to whisk Iphigeneia away and leave behind a substitute sacrifice in her place. Whatever the case, regardless of if the Greek princess was sacrificed or saved, Iphigeneia’s parents never saw their daughter again.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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Jean-Jacques Rousseau (c. 1712-1778)
“O man, of whatever country you are, and whatever your opinions may be, behold your history, such as I have thought to read it, not in books written by your fellow-creatures, who are liars, but in nature, which never lies.”
Prior to marrying his first wife, Desiderata, in the year 770, Charlemagne was known to have been in a relationship with a concubine known as Himiltrude. Not much information is known about Himiltrude and her background, but she bore Charlemagne a son named Pippin (or Pepin). This Pippin (not to be confused with a later son of Charlemagne by the same name) was reportedly the king’s oldest son, but his likelihood of inheritance was low, as, for one, he was born out of wedlock, and additionally, young Pippin had a physical abnormality that may have dissuaded Charlemagne from legitimizing the boy’s position in the royal family. As the title of the article gives away, Charlemagne and Himiltrude’s son was a hunchback, and the boy became known as Pippin the Hunchback even in his own time.
Despite his illegitimate status as compared to Charlemagne’s other sons, Pippin the Hunchback was still able to cobble together status and influence for himself. He became the acquaintance of leading noblemen in Charlemagne’s empire and forged a close-knit network of political allies. Yet, ironically, Pippin the Hunchback’s socialization and politicking eventually led to his own undoing, because Pippin was eventually caught up in, or accused of, a conspiracy or rebellion targeting Charlemagne in 792. The Royal Frankish Annals claimed Pippin the Hunchback had a leading role in the incident, writing, “While the king was spending the summer at Regensburg, a conspiracy was made against him by his oldest son Pepin and some Franks…Of the authors of the conspiracy some were executed by the sword for high treason and the others hanged on gallows…” (Royal Frankish Annals, entry for 792). As the quote conveyed, whatever was being plotted ended up being discovered, and the conspirators were evidently arrested with ease by Charlemagne and dealt with severely.
According to our next source, Einhard (c.770-840), Pippin was spared from execution and was instead condemned to live the rest of his life in a monastery. On this and other details about Pippin the Hunchback, Einhard wrote, “[Charlemagne] also had a son named Pippin by a concubine whom I put off mentioning with the others; he was fair of face but deformed by a hunchback. When his father, who had taken up the war against the Avars, was wintering in Bavaria, he pretended to be ill and plotted against his father with certain leading franks, who had won him over with the false promise of a kingdom. When their deceit was discovered and the conspirators condemned, he was tonsured and allowed to embrace the religious life in the monastery of Prüm” (Einhard, Life of Charlemagne, chapter 20). After being arrested, tonsured, and sent off to live the life of a monk, Pippin the Hunchback never again reappeared in the historical record.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Illustration labeled “Bossue, Borgne, Boiteuse,” by Luc-Olivier Merson (c. 1846–1920), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Paris Musees Collections).
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This artwork, made by the Dutch artist Pieter Tanjé (1706-1761) after a design by the fellow Dutchman Louis Fabritius Dubourg (c. 1693 – 1775), was inspired by the ancient story of the assassination of Emperor Nero’s step-brother, Britannicus. The relationship between the half-brothers was complicated. Britannicus was the son of Emperor Claudius and his third wife, Valeria Messalina. Unfortunately, Britannicus’ mother was executed around the year 48 after accusations emerged that she was having an affair and was complicit in other crimes. Following the execution, Emperor Claudius remarried once again, this time to the widowed Agrippina the Younger—mother of Nero (who was fathered by Agrippina’s previous husband). Emperor Claudius married Agrippina in the year 49 and subsequently adopted Nero in the year 50. Under Agrippina’s influence, Claudius began to favor Nero as heir more than his own biological son, Britannicus, who was around four years younger than his stepbrother. After Nero gained this political advantage, Emperor Claudius suddenly and suspiciously died in the year 54, supposedly due to poisoning by Agrippina.
Seventeen-year-old Nero (with the help of his mother) was able to ascend to the throne against very little resistance. As for young Britannicus, despite being displaced and disenfranchised by the machinations of his step-mother, he evidently had a good relationship with Agrippina the Younger, and she reportedly did not wish the boy any real harm. Unfortunately, as the title of the artwork gives away, young Britannicus did eventually meet with an untimely demise. In the year 55, the young emperor, Nero, reportedly decided to use one of his mother’s tricks, poison, in order to remove his most dangerous potential rival—Britannicus, the biological son of Claudius. The renowned Roman historian, Tacitus (c. c. 56/57-117+), narrated the alleged poisoning in his Annals of Imperial Rome:
“It was custom for young imperial princes to eat with other noblemen’s children of the same age at a special, less luxurious table, before the eyes of their relations: this was where Britannicus dined. A selected servant habitually tasted his food and drink. But the murderers thought of a way of leaving this custom intact without giving themselves away by a double death. Britannicus was handed a harmless drink. The taster had tasted it; but Britannicus found it too hot, and refused it. Then cold water containing the poison was added. Speechless, his whole body convulsed, he instantly ceased to breathe. His companions were horrified. Some, uncomprehending, fled. Others, understanding better, remained rooted in their places, staring at Nero. He still lay back unconcernedly—and he remarked that this often happened to epileptics; that Britannicus had been one since infancy; soon his sight and consciousness would return. Agrippina tried to control her features. But their evident consternation and terror showed that, like Britannicus’ sister Octavia, she knew nothing…Britannicus was cremated the night he died. Indeed, preparations for his inexpensive funeral had already been made” (Tacitus, Annals of Imperial Rome, 13.16-17).
Such is the story that inspired the artwork by Pieter Tanjé and Louis Fabritius Dubourg. As the quote conveyed, Agrippina the Younger reportedly responded with shock and disapproval, dare we say horror, after the death of Britannicus. This dark event became a significant milestone in the great schism that would eventually form between Agrippina the Younger—a domineering woman who wanted to control or advise her son’s administration—and the increasingly independent and impulsive Nero. The culmination of the divide between mother and son arrived in the year 59, when Agrippina the Younger was reportedly assassinated or executed on the order of Emperor Nero.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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Sophocles (c. 496-406/405 BCE)
“It isn’t good for men with a decent cause
to beg too long, or a man to receive help,
then fail to treat a fellow-victim kindly.”
Duke Guntram Boso was a prominent nobleman operating in the Frankish Empire during the second half of the 6th century. He entered the Frankish political scene after 561, when the empire of the Franks was divided between four brothers from the Merovingian Dynasty—Charibert became the King of Paris, Guntram became the king of Orleans and Burgundy, Chilperic was the king of Soissons and Neustria, and Sigebert was crowned the king of Rheims and Austrasia. Duke Guntram Boso, for his part, served in the Kingdom of Austrasia, answering first to King Sigebert (r. 561-575) and then to Sigebert’s son, Childebert II (r. 575-595).
During the reign of Childebert (who ascended to the throne as a child), Duke Guntram Boso ended up running afoul of Childebert’s mother, Queen Brunhild, as well as Childebert’s influential uncle, King Guntram (r. 561-593). Enemies of the duke thought he was too friendly with the violent and intriguing Queen Fredegund (wife of warmongering King Chilperic), and this sin of fraternizing with the bloodthirsty Soissons/Neustria branch of the Merovingian Dynasty was made worse when Guntram Boso was accused of encouraging and facilitating an uprising launched by an adventurer named Gundovald. This figure pressed dubious claims about being a long-lost brother of King Chilperic and King Guntram, despite the assertation being disputed fiercely by the kings in question, Gundovald was able to recruit a number of disgruntled noblemen and clergymen to his side. Duke Guntram Boso was not one of the men who openly fought under Gundovald’s banner, but it was widely believed among the duke’s peers that he had some hand in facilitating Gundovald’s campaign. Whatever the case, Gundovald was defeated in 585 and his supporters were punished. Unfortunately for Guntrum Boso, suspicions that he had encouraged the failed usurper’s campaigns did not subside after the adventurer’s execution, and the courts of Austrasia and Burgundy were beginning to see the duke as more of a liability than an asset. In short, King Guntram wanted the duke dead, as did Queen Brunhild—only King Childebert II’s waning support was keeping the duke alive. Then, an odd incident at a church occurred that would prove to be the beginning of the end for Guntram Boso.
Around 585 or 586, not long after the death of Gundovald, Duke Guntram Boso attended a celebratory feast of Saint Remigius that was occurring near the city of Metz. Unknown to the celebrants, however, the feast was being used as an opportune time for a morbid heist. While the people of Metz were distracted by the celebration, a group of thieves broke into the tomb of a noblewoman (reportedly a relative of Guntram Boso’s wife) who had recently been laid to rest alongside a trove of treasure. The thieves, indeed, broke into the tomb, but, as the story goes, the criminals had a change of heart while they were carrying out their theft and ultimately decided to put the stolen wealth back into the grave. Returning the pilfered treasure to the tomb, unfortunately, required extra time that the thieves did not have, causing the gang of criminals to eventually be caught by clergymen and guards. When the thieves were apprehended, they allegedly proclaimed that their failed heist had been organized by none other than Duke Guntram Boso. This bizarre tale was recorded in the Ten Books of Histories, also commonly known as the History of the Franks, written by the bishop and historian, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594). He wrote:
“Then a case was brought against Guntram Boso. A few days earlier a relative of his wife had died childless. She was buried in a church near Metz, together with much gold and a profusion of ornaments. It so happened that a short time later there was celebrated the feast-day of Saint Remigius, which is held on the first day of October. A great crowd of the local inhabitants went out of the city with their Bishop and they were accompanied by the Duke and the leading men of the place. Thereupon Guntram Boso’s servants made their way to the church where the woman had been buried and went in. As soon as they were inside they shut the doors behind them, opened the tomb and stole as many precious objects from the dead body as they could lay their hands on. The monks attached to the church heard what they were at and came to the door. They were not allowed in, so they went off to tell their Bishop and the Duke what they had discovered. Meanwhile the servants pocketed their gains, jumped on their horses and fled. Fearing that they might be captured in their flight and subjected to divers[e] punishments, they then returned to the church. They put the things back on the altar, but they were afraid to come out again. ‘We were sent by Guntram Boso!’ they began to shout” (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, 8.21).
Whether or not Guntram Boso was truly the organizer of the plot, the incident cast enough suspicion on the duke to embolden his enemies. The attempted tomb heist was the proverbial last straw in the mind of Guntram Boso’s liege, King Childebert II, who had up to that point been lenient with the suspicious duke. After the tomb fiasco, King Childebert II launched an investigation and used the opportunity to strip Duke Guntram Boso of his lands. The duke went into hiding, but he turned himself in around 587, hoping to somehow achieve a reconciliation with King Childebert II and King Guntram. The kings, however, sentenced the duke to death and Guntram Boso was subsequently killed while resisting arrest.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Illustration dated 1894 of Duke Charles of Sudermania (later Charles IX) from Finland in the Nineteenth Century, edited by L. Mechelin, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).
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This painting, by the Italian artist Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (c. 1696–1770), strives to re-create (albeit with some historically inaccurate wardrobe choices) an early encounter between one of the ancient world’s most famous power couples. As opposed to other iterations of this scene by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, in which he framed his characters and setting in different ways, this particular artwork focuses on Mark Anthony and Cleopatra in front of a ramp leading up to the deck of a ship. The woman standing tall in the white ornate dress is the artist’s depiction of Queen Cleopatra of Egypt (r. 51 BCE-30 BCE). Beside her, dressed in Romanesque military garb and holding the queen’s hand, is the artwork’s portrayal of the prominent Roman general and triumvir, Mark Antony (c. 83-30 BCE). Inspiration for this scene was likely drawn from elaborate ancient descriptions recorded about Cleopatra and Antony’s travel arrangements and romance, such as this passage from the biographer, Plutarch (c. 50-120), who described an encounter between Antony and Cleopatra at the Cydnus (Berdan) River. He wrote:
“She came sailing up the river Cydnus, in a barge with gilded stern and outspread sails of purple, while oars of silver beat time to the music of flutes and fifes and harps. She herself lay all along under a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed as Venus in a painting, and beautiful young boys, like painted Cupids, stood on each side to fan her. Her maids were dressed like sea nymphs and graces, some steering at the rudder, some working at the ropes. The perfumes diffused themselves from the vessel to the shore, which was covered with multitudes, part following the galley up the river on either bank, part running out of the city to see the sight. The market-place was quite emptied, and Antony at last was left alone sitting upon the tribunal” (Plutarch, The Parallel Lives, Life of Antony, chapter 26).
Giovanni Battista Tiepolo’s painting, too, depicts Mark Anthony and Cleopatra having an encounter near a ship. In the painting, however, the ship is relegated to the background, obscured by Mark Antony and Cleopatra in the foreground, who are surrounded by their large respective entourages and bystanders. After this encounter (or at least after the encounter that Plutarch described), the relationship between Antony and Cleopatra advanced in the natural way—they planned a dinner date. Impressively, at that later meetup, the banquet that Cleopatra prepared was said to have been even more extravagant than the luxurious barge on which she had sailed down the Cydnus.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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Emperor Shun
(legendary Chinese emperor, traditionally dated to have ruled c. 2285-2205 BCE)
“Remember: from the mouth comes both what is good
and what leads to wars.”
