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The Crash And Camel Stories Of The Colossus Of Rhodes

By
thehistorianshut
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The Colossus of Rhodes, one of the so-called Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, was a bronze and iron statue of the sun-god, Helios, that was designed by Chares of Lindos and built between 294/292 and 282/280 BCE. Rhodes’ Colossus was commissioned to celebrates the Rhodesian survival of a blockade carried out by the Macedonian king, Demetrius I Poliorcetes, in 305 BCE. Standing proudly at the Mandrákion harbour, the Colossus was said to have towered up to around 32 meters (or 105 feet) tall. But all good things come to an end, including giant Helios’ balance. Unfortunately for the Rhodesians, the Colossus of Rhodes fell during an earthquake around 226 BCE. The Roman geographer, Strabo (c. 64 BCE-24 CE), wrote of the Colossus’ rise and fall: “most remarkable is the Colossus of the Sun [Helios], which, the author of the iambics says, was ‘seventy cubits in height, the work of Chares of Lindus.’ It now lies on the ground, having been thrown down by an earthquake, and is broken off at the knees” (Strabo, Geography, 14.2.5). Despite the toppling of the Colossus, it remained a great tourist attraction and was still considered one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

Over the next centuries, the ruins of the Colossus of Rhodes remained remarkably intact, with great quantities of the statue’s valuable bronze remaining at the original site, undisturbed, despite the rise, change, or fall of Mediterranean civilizations that was occurring around its resting place. Nevertheless, the Colossus’ surprising record of remaining relatively un-looted would end when Muawiyah (Muʿāwiyah ibn Abī Sufyān)—the Muslim governor of Damascus and Syria—began launching attacks on the Anatolian coast and nearby islands. After successfully taking Cyprus in 649, Muawiyah next turned his attention to Rhodes, which he successfully conquered in 654.

News of the capture of Rhodes piqued the interest of merchants operating in the lands that Muawiyah controlled. As the story goes, some deal was struck in which the bronze metal of the Colossus of Rhodes was purchased by a merchant, and permission was given by Muawiyah for the remains of the statue to be scrapped and shipped off to wherever the buyer wanted the bronze to go. The incident was recorded by a chronicler from Constantinople, named Theophanes (c. 750s-818). For his entry describing Annus Mundi 6145 (aka 653-654 CE), Theophanes wrote, “In this year Muawiyah over ran Rhodes and destroyed the Colossus of Rhodes…[A] merchant from Edessa bought it and carried off its bronze on nine hundred camels” (Theophanes, Chronographia, Annus Mundi 6145). No further precise details about the excavation and gathering of the bronze was preserved, so there is no way to know (besides theoretical estimates) the original down-payment that the statue’s materials were purchased for, or the weight or value of the hauled bronze, itself. Yet, for nine hundred camels to be allegedly involved in transporting the metal, there must have been a great quantity of bronze still left at Rhodes. If the Colossus had been completed in 280 BCE, then its bronze remains would have been on the island of Rhodes for 934 years when the downfallen monument was cut up and hauled away in the year 654.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (cropped scene of the Colossus of Rhodes, created in the 16th century by Maarten van Heemskerck, Hadrianus Junius and Philips Galle, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Rijksmuseum).

 

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Rinaldo And The Mirror-Shield, Painted By Francesco Maffei (c. 1605 – 1660)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Italian artist Francesco Maffei (c. 1605 – 1660), re-creates a fantastical episode from the poetic works of Torquato Tasso (c. 1544-1595). Maffei’s chosen scene comes from Tasso’s poem, Gerusalemme liberata (or The Liberation of Jerusalem), which has a plot set in the time of the First Crusade (c. 1095/1096-1099). The tale it tells, though, is far from historical, featuring many fictional characters, as well as wizards, witches, and a varied host of monsters and supernatural beings. In regards to this painting, Francesco Maffei chose to depict a portion of one of the most outlandish and unhistorical episodes from Tasso’s poem.

As a prologue to the painted scene, one of Tasso’s fictional crusader characters, Rinaldo, was kidnapped by a similarly fictional witch, named Armida. She was completely in love with her captive knight, and she magically whisked him away to an island lair that was guarded by mythical and legendary monsters. Despite being held against his will, Rinaldo, likewise, became quite smitten with his magical captor. Before long, Armida totally bewitched him, and the emotional snares she laid on him were not all caused by witchcraft.

In Tasso’s fictional plot, the Crusader army sent a rescue party after Rinaldo. These rescuers were Carlo and Ubaldo (or Charles and Hubald), and they had magical allies of their own. First, they encountered the so-called Magus (or Sage) of Ascalon, who armed them with a magical golden rod, and they were also ferried to Armida’s island on a ship that was provided by the goddess, Fortune. After warding off the island’s monsters with their magic wand, Carlo and Ubaldo were able to find Rinaldo, and they were horrified to see that Armida had given him a flowery makeover. To share their horror with their bewitched friend, the rescuers decided to hold up a reflective shield in front of Rinaldo’s face, so that he could see his reflection as if he were looking in a mirror. Torquato Tasso described the scene:

“Hubald meanwhile stands facing him to wield,
raising it toward his face, the adamant shield.
He on the bright escutcheon turns his gaze
that shows what kind of man he has become
and how finely decked out. Sweet perfume plays
the wonton in his hair and cloak. Struck dumb,
he sees his sword, his very sword, ablaze
with womanish gauds, to luxury succumb.
Adornment makes it seem a useless toy,
not the fierce tool a soldier might employ.”
(Torquato Tasso, Gerusalemme liberata, Canto 16, stanzas 29-30).

It is this scene that is being re-created in Francesco Maffei’s painting. On the right side of the canvas, Rinaldo can be seen staring into the reflective mirror that is held up Ubaldo or Hubald. In the aftermath of this incident, Rinaldo would agree to abandon Armida and return to the crusade. Yet, by the end of Torquato Tasso’s poem, Rinaldo and Armida would reconcile and resume their relationship.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Chief Joseph

By
thehistorianshut
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Chief Joseph
(Nez Percé/Nimiipuu leader, c. 1840-1904)

“I have heard talk and talk, but nothing is done. Good words do not last long until they amount to something.”

  • Chief Joseph’s Own Story (paragraph 84), by Chief Joseph, originally published in 1879; republished with an introduction by Bishop W. H. Hare and General Howard’s Comment in The North American Review (1879). Reprinted by Kessinger Publishing, 2010.

Verginius Rufus’ Surprising Rejection Of A Chance To Become Emperor Of Rome

By
thehistorianshut
-

In the year 68, Lucius Verginius Rufus was serving as a Roman governor on the German border when he learned that Gaius Julius Vindex, a Roman senator and governor of Aquitanian-Gallic descent, had rebelled in Gaul against Emperor Nero (r. 54-68). Vindex curiously rebelled not on behalf of himself, but in hopes of replacing Nero with a man named Galba, who was a respected Roman governor in Spain. Although Nero was a highly unpopular emperor whose premature demise was fast approaching, Lucius Verginius Rufus decided to do his duty and confront Vindex’s rebellion, and he reportedly did so without even waiting for instructions from Nero. After mobilizing his Rhine legions, Verginius Rufus engaged the rebels in a battle near Besançon, France. It was a crushing defeat for the rebellion, and Vindex ultimately committed suicide. Nevertheless, the revolt had already set in motion Nero’s downfall—before Vindex’s death, Galba answered the rebellion’s call by joining and assuming leadership of the revolt. Nero, depressed and afraid over growing support for Galba, ultimately ended his own life on June 9, 68.

After Nero’s suicide, Galba continued his march to Rome, where he was confident that the Roman Senate would accept him as the new emperor. Yet, he had a major potential rival in the figure of Lucius Verginius Rufus, the man who had recently defeated Vindex in battle. In fact, the Rhine legions reportedly were quite eager to proclaim Verginius Rufus as their chosen emperor, but their leader, curiously, was much less enthusiastic about assuming ultimate power. The great biographer, Plutarch (c. 50-120), described the intriguing situation:

“[I]n the present crisis he [Verginius Rufus] was true to his original resolves and maintained the senate’s right to choose the emperor. And yet when Nero’s death was known for certain, the mass of his soldiery were insistent again with Verginius… [but when] letters had come from Rome telling of the senate’s decrees [in favor of Galba], he succeeded at last, though with the greatest difficulty, in persuading his soldiers to declare Galba emperor” (Plutarch, Parallel Lives, Life of Galba, chapter 10).

Nevertheless, Galba’s ascendance never set right with the Rhine legions, especially when Galba (understandably) lavished praise on the late rebel, Vindex, and rewarded the man’s supporters. This provoked the Rhine legions to rebel in the year 69 under the command of a new leader, Vitellius, setting in motion the so-called Year of the Four Emperors. During that bloody year, Galba was assassinated by his lieutenant, Otho, who was in turn defeated by Vitellius; and he, in turn, was conquered by the fourth and final contender—Emperor Vespasian (r. 69-79). As for Lucius Verginius Rufus, he lived into his eighties and remained a greatly admired and respected man. After his death (reportedly due to injuries from an awkward fall), Rome threw a lavish funeral in his honor, and the famous historian, Tacitus, delivered the eulogy.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (cropped section of Decius Mus Addressing the Legions, by Peter Paul Rubens (c. 1577 – 1640), [Public Domain, Open Access] via Creative Commons and the National Gallery of Art).

 

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The Judgment Of Jupiter, By Samuel Finley Breese Morse (c. 1791–1872)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the American artist Samuel Finley Breese Morse (c. 1791–1872), depicts a scene of Greco-Roman mythology. Although the painter graced the work with the undetailed title of, The Judgment of Jupiter, it is reminiscent of a particular myth of a woman named Marpessa. In her memorable myth, Marpessa was desired by two aggressive men. The first was the god, Apollo, while the other competitor was a mortal prince named Idas. Perhaps knowing that he was outmatched, Idas decided to take drastic action and ultimately kidnapped Marpessa. He dragged her through the Greek landscape towards the Peloponnesus, where Idas’ father controlled a kingdom. Yet, Apollo could not be outrun, and he eventually intercepted Idas and captive Marpessa. God and mortal were about to come to blows over their rival attractions when the high-god, Zeus, decided to come and arbitrate the dispute. A scholar known as the Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) described the story of Marpessa’s fate: “As they were fighting for her hand, Zeus separated them and allowed the girl herself to choose which of them she preferred to live with; and Marpessa, fearing that Apollo might leave her when she grew old, selected Idas for her husband” (Apollodorus, Library, I.7.8).

If The Judgment of Jupiter is indeed a re-creation of his judgment in the case of Marpessa, then it likely shows the end of the myth, with Marpessa choosing to remain with her kidnapper, Idas. Apollo, crowned with the halo of light, looks on with disappointment, but he obeys the judgment of Zeus. Unfortunately for Marpessa, the choice of going home with neither of her pursuers may not have been an option.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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An Ancient Law So Bad That It Served As Aristotle’s Prime Example Of Laws That Need Amending

By
thehistorianshut
-

In regard to amending laws, the famous Greek philosopher, Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE), believed that law codes should indeed be fixed and improved when they are faulty, but that amendments should be done at a slow and cautious pace. As was often the case in Aristotle’s philosophy, he suggested a balanced middle-ground approach. Not too much change—which could lead to anarchy, revolution, or simply the disregard for law—and not too little change, as unrest could also occur when laws are deemed archaic and unjust in public opinion. Therefore Aristotle proposed a careful median, where laws could and should be bettered, but at a slow enough pace so ensure that the populace never lost respect for the authority of the law code. In his Politics, Aristotle wrote:

“Generally, of course, it is the good, and not simply the traditional, that is aimed at. It would be foolish to adhere to the notions of primitive men…But looking at it another way we must say that there will be need of the very greatest caution. In a particular case we may have to weigh a very small improvement against the danger of getting accustomed to casual abrogation of the laws…A man will receive less benefit from changing the law than damage from becoming accustomed to disobey authority” (Aristotle, The Politics, Bekker page 1269a).

Despite the potential danger of change, there are some laws that are so ill-conceived and ineffective that they must be rewritten or amended. In his Politics, Aristotle called out by name a particular city that had one such laughably unacceptable law in its history. The city given this unwanted name-recognition was Cyme, which once had a prosecutorial system that was so flawed that it was sure to bring up some smirks, scoffs and laughter anytime it was mentioned in Greece’s intellectual circles. At its core, the issue of Cyme’s ancient legal system apparently centered on the unregulated power of the prosecutors. On this, Aristotle wrote, “traces survive of other practices once doubtless customary, which merely make us smile today, such as the law relating to homicide in Cyme, by which, if the prosecutor can produce a number of witnesses, members of his own kin, then the defendant is guilty of murder” (Aristotle, The Politics, Bekker page 1269a).

Fortunately, Cyme’s legal system, with its concerning prosecutorial power and conflicts of interest, had evidently been addressed long before Aristotle brought it up as his example in his Politics. And Cyme was not alone in facing the philosopher’s criticism. Aristotle was a prolific critic, who critiqued almost anything he encountered, be it law, philosophy, poetry, plays, so on and so forth. Even the great Plato was not immune from Aristotle’s published criticisms.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Interior of Roman Building with Figures, by Ettore Forti (c. active late 19th century – early 20th century), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Getty Museum.jpg).

 

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The Battle Of The Soldiers Born Of The Serpent’s Teeth, Painted By Jean-François de Troy (c. 1679 -1752)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the French artist Jean-François de Troy (c. 1679 -1752), depicts an ancient Greek tale of a brawl between magical warriors who sprung from soil where dragon teeth were buried. Jean-François did not explicitly state which myth he was referring to in this scene, but context clues provided by the artwork’s scenery allow us to make a confident identification. There are two main ancient Greek mythological tales about warriors being born from dragon teeth sown in the earth; one is the story of Cadmus, who founded Thebes, and he populated his new city with survivors left over from one such earthborn brawl. The next myth involves Jason and the Argonauts. According to legend, Jason was a claimant to the Thessalian city of Iolcos, which was controlled by Jason’s uncle, Pelias. The power struggle between uncle and nephew resulted in Jason being sent off on a perilous journey into the Black Sea, tasked with obtaining a golden fleece from the lands of King Aeëtes, ruler of Colchis. Yet, King Aeëtes did not wish to part with the fleece, and he therefore put many trials and traps in front of Jason in an effort to drive the adventurer away empty-handed. One of the tricks up King Aeëtes’ sleeve was another crop of dragon-teeth warriors, but unfortunately for the king, his own daughter, Medea, told Jason how the earthborn could be defeated. Due to the painting being set in an already-founded city, as well as other clues such the inclusion of a fire-breathing bull (which Jason had to face) and a royal family sitting under an orange-colored awning, this artwork is more likely to be a re-creation of the Jason and the Argonauts story, as opposed to the Cadmus tale.

An account of Jason’s encounter with King Aeëtes’ earthborn army was written by the poet, Apollonius of Rhodes (c. 3rd century BCE). His poem, the Argonautica, covers most of Jason’s adventures and is one of the best ancient sources preserved about the myths of the Argonauts. Concerning the serpent-teeth earthborn, Apollonius of Rhodes wrote:

“Now in the god of slaughter’s garden sprang
an army nursed in earth—all rounded shields
and tufted spears and crested helmets bristling;
…
so rose the soldiers from the furrows, sparkling.
Jason obeyed the mandates of the maiden,
the clever one. He lifted from the field
a great round rock, the war god’s shot to toss,
a mass four strapping laborers would struggle
to budge in vain. Raising it without strain,
he spun round and around and cast it far
into their midst, then under his buckler crouched,
valiant, in hiding. The Colchians went wild,
roaring as hoarsely as the sea swell roars,
on jagged cliffs. Aeëtes stood there dumbstruck,
dreading what would come. The earthborn soldiers
like famished mongrels snapping for a morsel
mangled each other round the boulder, falling
to mother Earth beneath each other’s spears
…
[Jason] dashed on the earthborn ones with naked sword,
slashed here and there and harvested them all—
the seedlings grown as far as chest and back,
the waist-high, the knee-deep, those freshly afoot
and rushing to the fray—all fell beneath him.”
(Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica, 3.1353-1385)

Such is the scene that is ongoing in Jean-François’ painting. Jason has emerged from under his shield, slaughtered the earthborn that were nearby, and now stands rather tauntingly in front of King Aeëtes. It is a gesture that says, I have survived another one of your schemes; what next? Ultimately, King Aeëtes would not be able to stop the adventurer. In the end, Jason would take the king’s golden fleece, as well as the king’s daughter.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Socrates

By
thehistorianshut
-

Socrates (c. 469-399 BCE)

“The lover of inquiry must follow his beloved wherever it may lead him.”

  • This saying, attributed to Socrates, was recorded in Plato’s Euthyphro (section 14c). The translation used here is by G. M. A. Grube, revised by John M. Cooper (Hackett Publishing, 2000).

Emperor Claudius’ Unsuccessful Mission To Secretly Attend A Roman Historian’s Public Reading

By
thehistorianshut
-

According to Roman tradition, the Roman Emperor Claudius (r. 41-54) was one day strolling through the city of Rome when he learned that a certain scholar named Nonianus (presumably the historian, Marcus Servilius Nonianus) was performing a public reading. This interested the emperor because Claudius, before and after becoming emperor, was said to have been a prolific historian, himself. In fact, Claudius was said to have written works such as a forty-three-volume history of Rome, an eight-volume history of Carthage, a twenty-volume history on the Etruscans, a piece defending the late Roman orator Cicero, a book about the alphabet, and an eight-volume autobiography. Therefore, one historian to another, Claudius was naturally curious to hear Nonianus speak.

By the time Claudius reached the venue of the reading, Nonianus had already begun his oratory. Out of respect to the historian, Claudius apparently wanted to keep a low profile and tried to inconspicuously sneak into the audience. Yet, his appearance, of course, did not go unnoticed. Instead, the incident apparently became famous, and was remembered over generations. The tale was even briefly referenced in a letter written by Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113), who wrote, “[I]n our fathers’ time the Emperor Claudius was walking on the Palatine when he heard voices and asked what was happening; on learning that Nonianus was giving a reading he surprised the audience by joining unannounced” (Letters, 1.13). Marcus Servilius Nonianus eventually died in the year 59. His published works, unfortunately, have been lost.

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section from The Age of Augustus, the Birth of Christ, by Jean-Léon Gérôme (c. 1824 – 1904), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Getty Museum.jpg).

 

Sources:

  • The Letters of Pliny the Younger, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1963, 1969.
  • The Twelve Caesars by Suetonius, translated by Robert Graves and edited by James B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.

Priestess of Delphi, by John Collier (c. 1850 – 1934)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the British artist John Collier (c. 1850 – 1934), endeavors to bring to life an ancient priestess from the famous temple of Apollo at Delphi. Collier’s clergywoman is not just any priestess—she is a Pythia, a prophetess who, when sitting upon her specially-placed tripod in the temple, would utter cryptic messages that were said to have been mystically divulged to her by the temple’s patron god, Apollo. Prophecies and statements from the Pythia were highly valued in ancient Greece, and it was not uncommon for individuals and communities to seek advice from the Oracle before committing to any great decision or undertaking.

Even in ancient times, people in the Greco-Roman world suspected that the famous priestesses at Delphi might have been receiving help literally from the earth in order to enter their prophetic trances. The Roman scholar, Pliny the Elder (c. 23-79), wrote of Delphi in a section of his Natural History that dealt with vents in the earth. He stated, “In other places there are prophetic caves, where those who are intoxicated with the vapour which rises from them predict future events, as at the most noble of all oracles, Delphi. In which cases, what mortal is there who can assign any other cause, than the divine power of nature, which is everywhere diffused, and thus bursts forth in various places?” (Pliny the Elder, Natural History, 2.95). Pliny’s contemporary, the poet Lucan (c. 39-65), also wrote an account of a Pythia of Delphi. In Lucan’s entertaining and fictionalized account, the poet describes the psychedelic escalation and decline of a Pythia, who seems tired and afraid of her hallucinogenic occupation. Lucan wrote:

“At last, terrified, the maiden fled toward the tripods.
She reached the cavernous depths and there remained,
and the power conceived in her virgin breast what the spirit
of the rock, unexhausted after so many centuries,
poured into the prophetess. At last he possessed
her Delphic breast—her body had never been fuller.
…
She searches long and hard
and barely finds it, buried among so many great fates.
First, rabid madness pours from her frothing lips,
groaning, loud howling with heavy panting breath,
then sad wails of lamentation echo
through the vast caves. At last, the virgin is mastered
and her voice rings out:
…
Then returning from the holy light where she saw Fate
to the common glare of day, a shroud of darkness falls.
Paean had poured inside her Stygian Lethe
that stole away the gods’ secrets. Truth fled her heart
and the future returned to Phoebus’ tripods;
struggling to revive, she falls.”
(Lucan, Civil War, Book 5, approximately lines 170-230)

As for the Pythia shown in John Collier’s painting, she seems to perhaps be in the early stages of her trance. Her appearance invites descriptions such as calm and anticipation, rather than wildness and dishevelment. Nevertheless, due to the crack in the earth and the plumes of natural gasses rising up into the space around her, the painted Pythia’s mind-altering trance is likely imminent.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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