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The Bizarre Medieval Reputation Of The Abasgi People For Producing Most Of Constantinople’s Eunuchs

By
thehistorianshut
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Regions often can acquire interesting reputations, such as being known for having intricate ceremonies and populations of great warriors, or being sea-faring people with magnificent artists. The Abasgi people, however, from the north-eastern shore of the Black Sea, did not become famous due to any of those aforementioned national traits. Instead, the Abasgian region was designated with the uncomfortable reputation of being the producers of the best eunuchs in Europe. By the early medieval reign of Emperor Justinian of Constantinople (r. 527-565), a great portion of the eunuchs employed in the Roman / Byzantine Empire had long been sourced from Abasgia. According to Procopius (c. 6th century), a historian from Constantinople, many of the Abasgi eunuchs may have been unwilling participants put under the knife to be sold in a gruesome, but lucrative, industry that padded the pockets of Abasgian rulers. Emperor Justinian, despite having eunuchs serving in serval important positions in his own court, ultimately endeavored to put a stop to the Abasgian eunuch industry. On Abasgian eunuchs and Justinian’s attempts to stop the regional practice, Procopius wrote:

“[T]he Abasgi dwell along the coast, and their country extends as far as the mountains of the Caucasus…[T]hey have suffered most cruelly at the hands of their rulers owing to the excessive avarice displayed by them. For both their kings used to take such boys of this nation as they noted having comely features and fine bodies, and dragging them away from their parents without the least hesitation they would make them eunuchs and then sell them at high prices to any persons in the Roman territory who wished to buy them… And it was in consequence of this that the most of the eunuchs among the Romans, and particularly at the emperor’s court, happened to be Abasgi by birth. But during the reign of the present Emperor Justinian the Abasgi have changed everything and adopted a more civilised standard of life. For not only have they espoused the Christian doctrine, but the Emperor Justinian also sent them one of the eunuchs from the palace, an Abasgus by birth named Euphratas, and through him commanded their kings in explicit terms to mutilate no male thereafter in this nation by doing violence to nature with the knife” (Procopius, The Wars, 8.3.12-19).

The Abasgi people, understandably, were said to have welcomed Justinian’s intervention with gratefulness. Abasgian rulers and eunuch traders, however, were not content with losing their lucrative trade. Unfortunately for the emperor, subsequent diplomatic campaigns that Justinian attempted in hopes of integrating Abasgia into his empire ended up backfiring, giving the Abasgian rulers enough momentum to launch a rebellion. As told by Procopius, “Roman soldiers sent by the emperor began to be quartered among them very generally, and they sought to annex the land to the Roman empire, imposing certain new regulations upon them. But because these were rather severe the Abasgi became exceedingly wroth” (Procopius, The Wars, 8.9.10-11). In response to the rebellion that occurred in Abasgia, Emperor Justinian unleashed his military against the region. According to Procopius’ account, the rebellion was crushed and the region faced devastation.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Miniature of Emperor Justinian from the Digestum Vetus (BL Arundel 484, f. 6), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana, and The British Library).

 

Sources:

Picus And Circe, By Luca Giordano (c. 1634-1705)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Italian artist Luca Giordano (c. 1634-1705), was inspired by the ancient tale of Picus, a man of myth or legend who was said to have ruled a kingdom in Italy. Picus allegedly was one of the most handsome men of his age, and he had countless lustful admirers from both the mortal and immortal communities. Yet, of these willing women, Picus devoted himself only to one—she was a nymph named Cánens, and to her, Picus remained steadfastly faithful.

As is given away by Lubieniecki’s painting and its title, King Picus unfortunately had an encounter with the magically-masterful goddess, Circe. Since Picus was the handsomest man in the land, the sight of him naturally filled Circe with desire. She succumbed to her attraction and instantly decided to have a go at seducing him. Calling on all of her magical knowledge and power, Circe conjured an illusory animal to lure King Picus away from any guards and attendants. She similarly summoned darkness and mist to blind Picus’ kingdom while she tried to charm the king. Unfortunately for Circe, all of her magic and planning was for naught; when the goddess revealed herself to Picus and tried to seduce him, the faithful king rejected her advances. Scorned Circe, however, would have her revenge. The Roman poet, Ovid (c. 43 BCE-17 CE), described what happened next:

“[Circe shouted] ‘You’ll learn what a woman in love who is injured
can do; and Circe is surely an injured woman in love!’
The sorceress then turned twice to the west and twice to the east;
she struck the young king with her wand three times, and she spoke three spells.
Picus took to his heels but soon was surprised to discover
himself running faster than usual. Wings had sprung from his body!
A new type of bird had suddenly joined the forests of Latium”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 14.384-390)

It is this tale of Circe turning King Picus into a bird that Luca Giordano re-creates in his painting. King Picus can already be seen with feathers sprouting from his body, and unfortunately for the king, the transformation would only become more extreme. Once the spell had run its course, Picus found himself completely metamorphosized into a woodpecker. Most shocking to the avian king was the new addition of a beak on his face. So the story goes, it was his hatred of (or confusion over) this new body feature that caused the kingly woodpecker to begin pecking on tree trunks.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Dante Alighieri

By
thehistorianshut
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Dante Alighieri (c. 1265-1321)

“The bad state of the modern world is due—
as you may see, then—to bad leadership;
and not to natural corruption in you.”

  • From The Divine Comedy (Purgatorio, Canto XVI, approximately lines 104-106) by Dante Alighieri, translated by John Ciardi (New American Library/Penguin Group, 1954, 1961, 1970).

The Myth Of The Rebuilding Of Pelops

By
thehistorianshut
-

Several ancient mythological figures, according to the tales told about them, were reportedly torn apart and put back together again by their loved ones. The Egyptian god, Osiris, is one famous example, whose body was said to have been torn apart and scattered, only for most of the pieces to be gathered up and brought together again so that Osiris could rule over the dead. Similarly, the wine god, Dionysus, according to one version on his story, was lured away from the safety of his powerful father, Zeus, and was ripped into pieces and eaten by Titans. A goddess (different accounts name Athena, Rhea or Demeter) was able to salvage Dionysus’ beating heart, which was then delivered to Zeus. The lightning god was then able to impregnate Semele with that heart, bringing Dionysus back to life. Finally, as the title of the article gives away, Greek mythology also told that a figure called Pelops, too, had the unpleasant fate of being torn apart and then brought back to sentience. Instead of being regrown like Dionysus, Pelops’ experience was more like Osiris’ tale of being put back together again like a puzzle. Yet, like the story of Humpty-Dumpty, those who are torn apart often can’t be perfectly put back together again.

No story about being torn apart is pleasant, but Pelops’ story is especially cruel because the culprit was Pelops’ own father. Pelops’ dad was Tantalus—a wicked and mischievous Lydian king who came up with the horrific idea of murdering his own son and making meals from the body so as to serve the dishes to the gods as a test of their omnipotence (for he planned to not disclose the origin of the mystery meat to the gods until after they ate). Fully committed to his plan, Tantalus carried out the gruesome scheme of having his son butchered and transformed into an inconspicuous feast. The gods, omnipotent or not, answered Tantalus’ dinner invitation and arrived for the banquet, not giving any hint at that time if they had suspicions. Before long, however, the godly guests finally spoke out that there was something amiss about the feast and they uncovered the terrible secret behind the mystery meat. Nevertheless, their detective work did not, it seems, come to a conclusion before some exploratory bites were unfortunately taken from the food. After arresting Tantalus, the gods decided to put Pelops back together again and resurrect him from death. Yet, there was a predicament—a few nibble-fulls of Tantalus’ body were unfortunately missing and irretrievable. The gods, therefore, decided to patch the victim’s body up with ivory. The Roman poet, Ovid (c. 43 BCE-17 CE), narrated the scene:

“[Tantalus] dismembered the boy,
and the gods (so they say) reassembled the limbs. The rest was recovered,
and only the part which unites the neck with the upper arm
had been lost. A piece of ivory set in the empty space
could serve the purpose as well, and Pelops was fully restored”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, book 6, approximately lines 407-411)

And so, after being killed, butchered and partially eaten, Pelops was reassembled and resurrected, with ivory replacing what was missing. Pelops’ father, Tantalus, was not so lucky. Instead, the murderous king was sentenced to perpetual torment in the realm of the dead, where food and drink was kept tortuously just beyond his grasp. Fittingly, Tantalus left a linguistic legacy of words such as ‘tantalize,’ ‘tantalized’ and ‘tantalizing,’ that refer to mixed feelings of desire and torment caused by a yearning for a coveted something that is just out of reach. Unlike Pelops, Tantalus would not be saved.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Prometheus Moulding Man from Clay, by Constantin Hansen (c. 1804-1880), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Statens Museum for Kunst.).

 

Sources:

  • Metamorphoses by Ovid. Translated by David Raeburn. Penguin Classics; Revised Edition, 2004.
  • Apollodorus, The Library of Greek Mythology, translated by Robin Hard. New York, Oxford University Press, 1997.

The Death Of Saint Louis, By Ary Scheffer (c. 1795-1858)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Dutch artist Ary Scheffer (c. 1795-1858), was inspired by the death scene of Saint Louis, more commonly known as King Louis IX of France (r. 1226-1270). Originally a child-king, Louis’s early reign was secured by his formidable mother, Queen Blanche, who successfully crushed scores of conspirators and rebels in a series of wars and stabilizing operations. Louis IX grew up to be pious, just and fair, while also maintaining a skill for warfare and negotiation that served him well when he was inclined to fight. He fended off several invasions from his English rival, King Henry III (r. 1207–1272) and then led the Seventh (c. 1248-1254) and Eighth (c. 1270) Crusades. King Louis IX fell ill and died while campaigning in Tunisia during Eighth Crusade. That death scene in Tunisia is what Ary Scheffer strove to re-create in his painting. For sources, the artist might have turned to the more historically-oriented Life of Saint Louis by the biographer, John of Joinville (c. 1224/1225-1317), or more folklore-embellished texts like the Golden Legend of Jacobus de Voragine (c. 13th century). John of Joinville’s account of the king’s death was as follows:

“The king took to his bed, feeling sure that he would soon pass from this world to the other. He called for my lord Philip, his son, and commanded him to uphold, just as he were making out his will, all the teachings he was leaving him…When the good king had given his instructions to his son my lord Philip, his sickness began to worsen grievously. He asked for the sacraments of the Holy Church and was seen to receive them in sound mind and with proper understanding, for when he was anointed and the seven psalms were said, he spoke the verses in response…After this the king had himself laid in a bed covered with ashes and placed his hands on his chest; as he looked toward Heaven he returned his spirit to our creator…” (John of Joinville, Life of Saint Louis, sections 739-757).

Jacobus de Voragine’s Golden Legend recorded a similar telling of the king’s death, describing Louis’ last-minute teachings for his son, which were followed by sacraments, psalms and invocations of saints. Similarities aside, Ary Scheffer may have picked up a specific detail from the Golden Legend. Namely, a statement that King Louis IX reportedly died while “stretching his arms in [the] manner of a cross” (Jacobus de Voragine, Golden Legend, 7.30). Such is the scene that Ary Scheffer re-creates—it shows King Louis IX on his deathbed in 1270, with his arms crossed, surrounded by his son, the future King Philip III of France (r. 1270-1285), and various courtiers.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Cai Ze (recorded by Sima Qian)

By
thehistorianshut
-

Cai Ze (c. 3rd century BCE)

“‘The sun at its height moves on, the moon when it’s full starts to wane. Things when they flourish must decay.’ This is the constant rule of Heaven and Earth.”

  • From the Records of the Grand Historian (Shi Ji 79) by Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE). Sima Qian attributed this quote to Cai Ze, a minister in the ancient kingdom of Qin. The translation used here is by Burton Watson (Columbia University Press, 1993).

The Tale Of The Ancient Roman Leaping Lovers At Lake Como

By
thehistorianshut
-

Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113)—a prolific letter-writing lawyer, statesman, and advisor in all things dealing with finance and inheritance—was one day yachting about Lake Como when an accompanying friend began regaling the party on the ship with a local legend about a couple who met a most peculiar end. Pliny, as the eager pen pal that he was, made sure to record the legend and sent a copy of the tale in a letter to at least one friend, Calpurnius Macer. The letter was a short and compact piece, but it contained a full accounting of the leaping lovers tale of Lake Como, which no doubt intrigued Calpurnius Macer or any other friend to which the story was sent.

As the story goes, an anonymous married man and woman (the protagonists of the tale) lived in a lakeside house on the shores of Lake Como. The residence was so close to the water’s edge that the bedroom of the home was said to have been built over the water. In that abode, the unnamed man and woman lived in presumed happiness or contentment for many years. Yet, things began to change when the man later acquired a most unfortunate ailment—he developed suspicious “ulcers” all over his manhood. His wife, of course, found out about the ulcers, and this discovery caused a drastic change in the woman’s behavior. Pliny did not speculate if the suspicious private ulcers that afflicted the man, but not his wife, might have originated from unfaithful conduct on the part of the man. Whatever the case, when the wife learned of her husband’s condition, it put her in a morbidly dark mood. In that state of mind, the woman began speaking in words of doom and hopelessness about the ulcers, calling them uncurable and saying it would be better for the man to take his own life than continue living with the condition. As the story goes, the effect of the woman’s depressing speeches were inconsistent on her husband, with the man sometimes being swayed and other times remaining hesitant. In the end, however, the woman got her way and dragged her husband to a watery grave. Unfortunately, the dragging was quite literal. Pliny the Younger’s account of the story was as follows:

“I was sailing on our Lake Como with an elderly friend when he pointed out a house with a bedroom built out over the lake. ‘From there,’ he said, ‘a woman of our own town once threw herself with her husband.’ I asked why. The husband had long been suffering from ulcers in the private parts, and his wife insisted on seeing them, promising that no one would give him a more candid opinion whether the disease was curable. She saw that there was no hope and urged him to take his life; she went with him, even led him to his death herself, and forced him to follow her example by roping herself to him and jumping into the lake” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 6.24).

Such was the bizarre tale that Pliny heard during his leisurely sailing trip around Lake Como. After discovering her husband’s condition, the wife dramatically tied herself to her husband and threw herself off their lake-overhanging home. Neither the woman, nor the man tied to her with rope, survived the plunge into the unforgiving water. Pliny and his source did not say if there had been witnesses at the time of the incident, but, whether from witnesses, a note, or from the tied-up state of the bodies, the locals were able to piece together the story of what happened. Due to the man’s suspicious ulcers and the wife’s ultimate action of tying up her husband and dragging him to his death, one might suspect the unfortunate incident was a revenge killing, and it is a convincing theory. Pliny the Younger, however, took the stance in his own letter that it was a heroic case of a wife wanting to selflessly follow her husband into a willing death. Either way, it is a legend, and legends have room for interpretation.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Algae And Boniface, By Alexandre Cabanel (c. 1823–1889), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Cleveland Museum of Art).

 

Sources:

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

St. Genevieve Of Brabant In The Forest, By George Frederick Bensell (c. 1837-1879)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the American artist George Frederick Bensell (c. 1837-1879), was inspired by the medieval legends of Saint Genevieve of Brabant. Not to be confused with the earlier 5th-6th century St. Genevieve of Nanterre, the artwork’s subject—St. Genevieve of Brabant—was a later medieval legendary figure who reportedly lived around the 8th or 9th century. According to the tales about her, Genevieve of Brabant was married to Count Siegfried, the ruler of Treves and Brabant. Their marriage proved fruitful, and they soon had a newborn son named Schmerzenreich or Scherzenreich. Yet, the family soon was torn apart by rumor and paranoia.

As the story goes, Count Siegfried succumbed to suspicions that Genevieve had been unfaithful and that the newborn son was not his child. The saintly woman, of course, was innocent of the charges. Nevertheless, engulfed by his fears, Count Siegfried ultimately decided to condemn Genevieve of Brabant and her child to death. Following the count’s orders, authorities arrested Genevieve and the child, yet the executioners could not bring themselves to kill the innocent pair. Instead, the merciful captors released the saintly mother and child into the wilderness, giving them a chance for survival.

Legend told that Genevieve and her son made a home within a cave in the Ardennes. Genevieve was not much of a hunter-gatherer, but fortunately for her, she became one of the many legendary figures who was said to have been cared and provided for by nature—in Genevieve’s case, a roe deer brought whatever supplies were needed. These bizarre living arrangements were not short-term. Quite the opposite, Genevieve and her son supposedly remained in the Ardennes cave for around six years. Such are the circumstances involved in George Frederick Bensell’s painting, which depicts St. Genevieve of Brabant and her son with their guardian deer at the wilderness refuge they found in the Ardennes. The deer eventually played a part in reconciling Genevieve and her son to Count Siegfried. The count, who regretted his actions and had finally discovered that the rumors about his wife’s infidelity were unfounded, was one day out on a hunting trip when he spotted a roe deer that was acting peculiarly. The brave deer stayed in sight, but out of range, of the hunter’s bow. Through that dangerous method of luring the count into the Ardennes, the deer ultimately was able to bring Count Siegfried to the cave where his wife and son were hiding. As the count was by then repentant and clear of his doubts, the reunion went well and St. Genevieve and her son were finally able to end their long exile.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Giovanni Boccaccio

By
thehistorianshut
-

Giovanni Boccaccio (c. 1313-1375)

“I maintain that if one conducts one’s life virtuously, there is no reason to be afraid of any dream that encourages one to behave differently or to abandon one’s good intentions because of it.”

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

The Tale Of A Jail-Break And Assassination Carried Out By Prisoners From Constantinople

By
thehistorianshut
-

In the mid-7th century, the realm of the emperors of Constantinople came under attack from aggressive Arab armies. During the reign of the first caliph, Abū Bakr (r. 632-634), Arab forces began expanding into the regions of Jordan, Palestine, Syria and Iraq, and these expansionist wars increased dramatically during the reigns of Umar I (r. 634-644) and Uthman (r. 644-656). Mind you, this new wave of warfare hit the emperors of Constantinople just after they had been exhausted from a destructive war with Persia that lasted from 602 to 628, and was compounded by an ongoing struggle with the Lombards in Italy that had been raging since King Alboin led his Lombard people into Constantinople’s Italian lands around 568. Suffice it to say, the military might of Constantinople had been depleted over the decades of war, and its resources and morale were being stretched thin after so many conflicts. Taking advantage of Constantinople’s weakened state and the growing discontent in the empire (causing the further trouble of rebellions), the Arab forces had success in winning battles and seizing land from the Empire of Constantinople. The formidable but increasingly ill Emperor Heraclius (r. 610-641), who had previously brought the empire of Persia to its knees, now found he could do little but try to defensively mitigate the damage of invasion, while also striving to fortify and garrison Anatolia. Yet, Emperor Heraclius could only do so much before he died in 641, and his immediate successors proved to be a destabilizing and ineffective bunch, causing more vulnerabilities and rebellions that were taken advantage of by the empire’s opportunistic rivals. Arab conquests and victories in battle, in turn, caused a great many prisoners to fall into the hands of the Arab forces.

By 654 or 655, during the reigns of Emperor Constans II of Constantinople (r. 641-668) and caliph Uthman (r. 644-656), many warriors fighting on the side of Constantinople had been captured by the Arab forces and were being held as prisoners of war. The skilled general and future Umayyad ruler, Muawiyah (or Mu’awiya), in particular, had taken a great many prisoners and he reportedly decided to funnel a large portion of his captives to a camp in the region known as Phoenician Tripolis. Muawiyah appointed a deputy to oversee the prisoners who were gathered in the area while he personally continued waging his military campaigns elsewhere. The absence of Muawiyah at Tripolis, however, gave local dissidents a chance to cause some disruptions in Tripolis.

As the story goes, two local brothers (identified as the sons of a certain Bucinator) led a prison-break that freed the captives at Tripolis. Their plot was evidently a great success and caught the local authorities completely by surprise. After being freed and armed to some extent, the army of prisoners was said to have charged their way to the location of the leading official in Tripolis. This local leader was reportedly killed by the rioting prisoners, and after the killing was done, the prisoners retreated from Tripolis, setting out in hopes of returning to the heartland of the empire of Constantinople. This curious incident was recorded by the chronicler, Theophanes (c. 750-818), who wrote:

“In this year [Annus Mundi 6146 / 654-655 CE] Muawiyah ordered a great force of ships readied for an expedition against Constantinople. All this preparation took place in Phoenician Tripolis. Two Christ-loving brothers—the sons of Bucinator—who were staying in Tripolis noticed this. Overcome by divine zeal, they hurried to the city’s prison (which held a host of Roman prisoners), broke open its gates, and rushed against the city’s emir. They killed him and his men, burned all their gear, and sailed to Romania” (Theophanes, Chrtonographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6146).

According to Theophanes, the sons of Bucinator successfully escaped Tripolis and eventually reached Constantinople, where they joined the entourage of Emperor Constans II. As for the Arab response to the prison break, Muawiyah kept a level head while he regained control of the situation. He sent a new deputy to oversee the city and to resume gathering supplies and troops for future military operations. The prison break, despite killing the previous local leader and destroying some supplies, apparently did not do too much damage to Tripolis and its stockpiles, for the new leader appointed to the region was quickly able to start using Tripolis as a base from which to attack the forces of Constantinople.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of Constantinople from Cassell’s Illustrated Universal History, c. 19th century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).

 

Sources:

  • Theophanes, The Chronicle of Theophanes, translated by Harry Turtledove. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982.
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