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The Conning Of Mistress Theudechild

By
thehistorianshut
-

Theudechild was one of many women in the life of short-reigned King Charibert (r. 561-567) of the Franks. Charibert was one of four brothers from the Merovingian Dynasty who all received a portion of the Frankish Empire to rule in 561. Paris was Charibert’s capital city, whereas his brothers Guntram, Sigebert and Chilperic, were installed at Orleans, Rheims and Soissons respectively. To these 6th-century kings, polygamy, or at least concubinage, was an accepted practice. Therefore, for the aforementioned Theudechild in Charibert’s court, the palace was a crowded place.

Theudechild was never the most favored partner of King Charibert, but she outlasted other women in the household who came and went, such as Queen Ingoberg, who was divorced or ejected from court by King Charibert. Besides Ingoberg, Charibert was also known to have married a pair of sisters by the name of Merofled and Marcovefa during his lifetime. All of the women mentioned above likely outranked Theudechild, as they were specifically described in historical records as wives, whereas Theudechild may have never ascended above the rank of a mistress or concubine. Theudechild, regardless of her lower rank, was able to keep herself in close proximity to power, and she grew quite rich during her stay in Charibert’s court. Nevertheless, Charibert was a short-lived king and he died suddenly and unexpectedly of illness in 567.

At the time of Charibert’s death, Theudechild was still a young woman, and she craved to remain in the presence of power and luxury. Therefore, she reportedly hatched a plan to get remarried, and to one of her former lover’s kingly brothers, no less. Somehow, she contacted King Guntram (r. 561-591) and made it known that she was willing to be his bride. As the story goes, Guntram led her on, replying that she would receive a prestigious and respectable position in his kingdom. Theudechild believed the king’s enticing words and moved to King Guntram’s court, bringing all of her treasures with her on the journey. Unfortunately for Theudechild, her future would not be as regal as she hoped.

King Guntram, although he was later considered a saint, did not act very saintly toward Theudechild. According to King Guntram’s acquaintance, Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), when Theudechild arrived at her prospective new home with all of her wealth, King Guntram looked at her and said, “It is better that this treasure should fall into my hands than that it should remain in the control of a woman who was unworthy of my brother’s bed’” (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, IV.26). After making this comment, the king seized almost all of Theudechild’s wealth for himself. Then, using a typical tactic of a medieval Christian king, Guntram had Theudechild dragged off to a nunnery in Arles.

Theudechild’s enrollment in the convent was quite unwilling, and she is known to have tried to escape. Yet, this attempt to flee only made her life more of a living hell. As the story goes, she was caught trying to elope with a Visigoth traveler, who was planning to smuggle Theudechild to Spain. This unhappy epilogue was recorded by Bishop Gregory of Tours, who wrote, “[Theudechild] once more collected her possessions together and made them into bundles. As she was about to make her escape from the nunnery, she was surprised by the vigilant abbess. The abbess, who had caught her red-handed, had her beaten mercilessly and locked her up in her cell. There she remained until her dying day, suffering awful anguish” (History of the Franks, IV.26). So ends the tragic and horrid tale of unfortunate Theudechild.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

Witch of Endor, Drawn By Ary Scheffer (c. 1795-1858)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This drawing, created with graphite and ink by the Dutch artist Ary Scheffer (c. 1795-1858), depicts the Biblical tale of King Saul of Israel (dated to the 11th century BC) meeting with the so-called Witch of Endor. As the story goes, King Saul went to the Witch of Endor—a necromancer—on the eve of a battle with his persistent foe, the Philistines. Saul wanted the witch to conjure the spirit of the then recently-deceased Samuel, a prophet and military leader who had first supported King Saul’s reign, but died denouncing Saul’s kingship. The Witch of Endor agreed to the task and succeeded in summoning Samuel’s spirit for a conversation with King Saul. It is a scene described in the First Book of Samuel:

“Then the woman asked, ‘Whom shall I bring up for you?’
‘Bring up Samuel,’ he said.
When the woman saw Samuel, she cried out at the top of her voice and said to Saul, ‘Why have you deceived me? You are Saul!’
The king said to her, ‘Don’t be afraid. What do you see?’
The woman said, ‘I see a ghostly figure coming up out of the earth.’
‘What does he look like?’ he asked.
‘An old man wearing a robe is coming up,’ she said.
Then Saul knew it was Samuel, and he bowed down and prostrated himself with his face to the ground.”
(1 Samuel 28: 11-14, NIV version)

Such is the scene that is occurring in the painting by Ary Scheffer. It shows King Saul prostrating himself before the brightly-colored ghost of Samuel. Unfortunately for the king, the late prophet’s newest prophecy was not a good one. As the story goes, the summoned Samuel told Saul that the forces of Israel would be defeated in the upcoming battle with the Philistines, and that Saul and his sons would be killed. Samuel’s prediction proved true, but the defeat of King Saul paved the way for the ascendance of King David.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Machiavelli

By
thehistorianshut
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Machiavelli (c. 1469-1527)

“He who becomes prince by help of the nobility has greater difficulty in maintaining his power than he who is raised by the populace, for he is surrounded by those who think themselves his equals, and is thus unable to direct or command as he pleases.”

  • From The Prince (chapter 19) by Machiavelli, translated and printed by the Henry Regnery Company, 1948.

The Tale Of Kublai Khan’s Private Treasure Wing In His Palace

By
thehistorianshut
-

Kublai Khan oversaw Mongolian operations in China during the reign of his brother, Great Khan Möngke (r. 1251-1259). After Möngke’s death in 1259, Kublai and his brother Arigböge (or Ariq Böke) battled for the title of Great Khan, while other Mongolian leaders, such as Hülegü of the Ilkhanate (r. 1256-1265) and Berke Khan of the Golden Horde (r. 1257-1267) were content seeing to their own interests in the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Kublai Khan, ruling from Shangdu, defeated Arigböge and claimed the title of Great Khan by 1264. That same year, Kublai decided to create a new capital city to the south of Shangdu. The place was called Khanbaliq (‘City of the Khan’) in Turkic and Daidu (‘Great Capital’) in Chinese. The region would later become Beijing.

Marco Polo, the famous Venetian merchant, arrived in Kublai Khan’s court in 1275, over a decade after Kublai first began construction of his new capital city. In the text he later published about his experiences in Asia, Marco fawned over the palace that Kublai Khan had built in Khanbaliq/Daidu. One supposed feature of the royal residence that impressed Marco Polo was a private wing in Kublai Khan’s palace that was devoted to housing vast hoards of everything that the khan treasured. Precious metals, gemstones, pearls, jewelry, ornate furniture and baubles—it could all be found in this glittering section of the palace. As could be expected of a medieval nobleman, even a large entourage of Kubilai Khan’s women were housed in the treasure wing. Marco Polo wrote of this:

“To the rear of the palace there are large houses, rooms, and halls in which the personal belongings of the Khan are kept—that is, all his treasure, gold, silver, precious stones and pearls, and his gold and silver vessels—and where his ladies and concubines live; everything is arranged for his comfort and convenience, and outsiders are not admitted” (Marco Polo, The Travels, Book III, Nigel Cliff translation page 100).

Such, at least, was Marco Polo’s impression of Kublai Khan’s private wing of the palace. Marco would remain in Kublai Khan’s entourage until 1291, when the merchant decided to return to Venice. Kublai lived for another three years after Marco’s departure, dying in 1294.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Peace Negotiations Between Julius Civilis And Petillius Cerialis On The Broken Bridge, Painted By Ferdinand Bol (c. 1616-1680)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting was created by the Dutch artist, Ferdinand Bol (c. 1616-1680), sometime between 1658 and 1662. Like other 17th-century inhabitants of the Netherlands, Ferdinand Bol was drawn to the ancient story of the struggle of Julius Civilis (flourished c. 1st century) against the Roman Empire. It was common in the artist’s day to compare the Netherlands’ own war for independence against Spain to Civilis’ uprising against the Romans, and Ferdinand Bol encouraged this comparison by dressing the figures of his painting in gear and clothing that mixes ancient fashion with that of the artist’s own era.

Julius Civilis was a prominent leader of a group known as the Batavi—an ancient people who inhabited the Netherlands region. Details about the life and career of this man were preserved for posterity by the Roman historian, Tacitus (c. 56/57-117). According to Tacitus’ account, Civilis was already deemed a political threat to the Romans as early as the reign of Emperor Nero (r. 54-68), as he had Civilis arrested. Fortunately for the imprisoned Batavian figurehead, a Roman governor named Galba rebelled against Nero and seized power in Rome. This Emperor Galba (r. 68-69) decided to acquit Julius Civilis of whatever allegations had been pinned to him, and the Batavian leader was released to rejoin his people. Along with this acquittal, Galba also gave another gift to Civilis (and to all other ambitious men, for that matter)—political instability. The year 69 became the so-called Year of the Four Emperors. In that tumultuous year, Emperor Galba’s power was usurped by Emperor Otho, who was defeated by Emperor Vitellius, who then was challenged for the throne by Vespasian. Although Julius Civilis was not named among these emperors, he became a major power player during the war between Vitellius and Vespasian.

When Vespasian mobilized the Roman legions of the eastern section of the empire in his bid to seize Rome from Emperor Vitellius, Julius Civilis positioned himself as Vespasian’s ally. Nominally in support of Vespasian’s cause, Civilis pulled together an army of Germanic, Gallic, and mutinous or defector Roman warriors, and began attacking Roman military positions that were loyal to Emperor Vitellius. Although Civilis’ occupation of Roman territory started under the pretext of aiding Vespasian’s bid for imperial power, the war quickly shifted into something new. Instead of waging war for Vespasian’s sake, Julius Civilis and his forces soon embraced a new goal—creating an empire of their own. Vespasian, however, defeated Vitellius by December, 69, and became the new Roman emperor. When Vespasian now realized that Civilis was no longer an ally, but instead a rival for Roman lands, the new emperor sent his generals to dismantle the upstart empire.

Quintus Petillius Cerialis was put in charge of the Roman campaign to conquer Julius Civilis’ newly seized land. Unfortunately for Civilis and the Gallic Empire, Cerialis would prove to be a much more effective general than the Vitellian governors that Civilis had faced earlier. Petillius Cerialis began his relentless campaign against Julius Civilis around July or August in the year 70. In a remarkably short amount of time, Petillius Cerialis pushed Civilis all the way back to his homeland of Batavia. It was there, in September, 70, that Julius Civilis surrendered to Petillius Cerialis. Tacitus described the scene:

“It did not escape Civilis’ notice that the people’s feelings were changing, so he made up his mind to act first. He was tired of troubles, but he also hoped to escape with his life—a prospect which often undermines the resolve of ambitious characters. He asked for a meeting. There was a shattered bridge over the River Nabia, and the two generals advanced to the broken edges of the gap” (Tacitus, The Histories, 5.26).

Such is the story that inspired Ferdinand Bol’s painting. It shows the leaders of the opposing forces negotiating the terms of surrender from their positions atop the broken bridge. Unfortunately, Tacitus’ account of the surrender breaks off mid-speech, the rest lost to history. Julius Civilis’ ultimate fate is unknown, but he reportedly surrendered under the impression that he would be pardoned. As for Quintus Petillus Cerialis, Vespasian rewarded him for his success by promoting him to the position of governor of Roman Britannia from the year 71 to 73.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Tale Of Thorodd Snorasson’s Encounter With A Man-Eating Troll

By
thehistorianshut
-

Thorodd Snorasson, an Icelander, reportedly was kept as a political hostage by King Olaf II of Norway between the years 1025 and 1028. When he finally returned home from his time abroad, he made sure to have some exciting tales ready to tell his friends and family. Thorodd apparently did only one task of note during his stay in the Norwegian court, yet he did the best with what he could, narrating this errand as a wild adventure, filled with treachery, arson, and even monsters.

To set the scene, Thorodd Snorasson’s adventure was said to have occurred near the end of King Olaf’s reign (r. 1015-1028). At that time, Olaf’s centralization of power and forced religious conversions had made him many enemies among the chieftains and jarls. By 1027 and 1028, discontentment was rampant, and a growing movement in Norway was forming that wanted to dislodge King Olaf by inviting Canute the Great (King of England since 1016 and King of Denmark since 1019) to add the Kingdom of Norway to his large realm. Canute, of course, was more than happy to add a third kingdom to his résumé. To stop this incoming usurpation, King Olaf II needed to raise money and levy troops, yet this was easier said than done when regional pockets of Norway were openly hostile to Olaf.

Needful king; dangerous task; hostile lands—cue the Icelandic hostage Thorodd Snorasson. As the story goes, while tax collectors and levy organizers around the kingdom were being assassinated here and there, Thorodd stepped up to offer his services. King Olaf was said to have accepted the offer, and sent Thorodd Snorasson to accompany eleven other men on a mission to collect taxes in Jamtaland. Most of these men, however, would not return.

When Thorodd Snorasson’s party arrived at their destination in Jamtaland, they were initially received peacefully. The king’s agents were welcomed into the town, an assembly was called, and the king’s request was expressed to the people of the region. Unfortunately, the assembly did not go well for the tax collectors. When deliberations began, the people of Jamtaland made it abundantly clear that they were not fans of King Olaf II. By the end of the meeting, Jamtaland’s inhabitants had decided to withhold their taxes and manpower from the king. Along with retaining these resources, the Jamtalanders also decided to hold Olaf’s agents. Thorodd Snorrason and his eleven companions were allegedly divided up into groups of two and were kept captive in different houses in the region.

Thorodd Snorrason and the other tax collector imprisoned with him reportedly escaped one time, only to be tracked down by dogs. Back in custody, the Icelander and his Norwegian companion were unceremoniously thrown into a pit. After that experience, Thorodd decided to take more time masterminding an elaborate escape plan. He waited until the Yule holiday season came along, when most residents of his captor’s house went away to other homes to celebrate, leaving behind only minimal guards, who, as it turned out, drank themselves into a stupor. Seizing the moment, Thorodd and his partner supposedly ripped up their garments and turned the materials into a rope, which they used to climb out of the pit. Once they were free, Thorodd and his friend stole new clothes from their captor’s home and decided to set the place on fire for good measure. Yet, before they put the property to the torch, the two allegedly grabbed some deer pelts and attached hooves to their feet, so that any tracks they left behind during their escape would look like those of deer instead of man.

If the tale seems outlandish, it will only become more so from here on. After fleeing from the burning home in Jamtaland, Thorodd Snorasson and his companion raced off into freedom, only to eventually journey onto the homestead of a family of outlaws. These outlaws, however, were quite friendly. As it turned out, the nearby town in Jamtaland had expelled this family from the community. Therefore, the outlaws did not care about what the local assembly had decided in regards to King Olaf, and they similarly paid no mind to Thorodd and his companion being fugitives. Instead, the household gave the new arrivals food, a place to sleep, and even a guide back to King Olaf. The formidable guide who was tasked with leading Thorodd and the other tax collector back to friendly territory was reportedly a man named Arnljot Gellini. Arnljot, a hulking figure, was apparently a man of great skill, excelling in abilities as diverse as skiing and monster-slaying.

When morning came, it was time for the group to leave. Once outside, the new guide showed his followers how they would be traveling. Imagine large Arnljot Gellini standing atop an oversized pair of skis. Next, imagine Thorodd and the other tax collector awkwardly standing behind Arnljot, their feet standing on the same skis as the hulking hero. After the two fugitives hopped up and held on tight to the guide, Arnljot worked his legs and his ski poles to set the encumbered boards in motion. The trio traveled in this comical fashion until they arrived at a communal shelter, where the tale would take another odd turn.

Despite the campground and shelter being a place known widely to merchants and travelers, it was also a place of great danger. Arnljot, according to Thorodd’s outlandish tale, had some inkling of the threat that the group might face, for he gave the party strict instructions. Do not leave out any scraps of food; do not wander away from the rest of the party; do not sleep anywhere except for a high loft. Thorodd and the tax collector followed this advice and were safe. Yet, a different group that was staying the night in that communal shelter did not heed Arnljot’s advice. Their negligence, so the tall tale claims, invited a monster to attack. Thorodd Snorasson’s fellow Icelander, the scholar Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), narrated the peculiar story:

“Shortly afterwards there came twelve men into the house. They were merchants who were travelling to Jamtaland with their wares. Now when they entered the house they were noisy with cheerful merriment and kindled big fires. And when they ate they threw all the bones away. Then they got ready to sleep and lay down on the dais by the fire. When they had slept but a short time, a big troll woman came to the house, and when she entered it, she swiftly swept up everything together, bones and everything she thought edible and devoured it. Then she grabbed the man lying nearest to her, ripped him to pieces, and threw him on the fire. Then the others awoke as if from a bad dream, and jumped up; but she killed one after the other, so that only one survived. He ran in under the loft and shouted for help if there was anyone up there who could help him. Arnjlot reached down, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him up into the loft. Then the troll woman turned to the fire and took to devouring the men who were roasted” (Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 141).

As has been said several times, Arnjlot Gellini was reportedly a large, strong and hulking figure—a natural monster slayer. Now was his time to shine. Arnjlot reportedly picked up a spear, jumped down, and stabbed the troll through the back so that the spearpoint protruded out from the front of the chest. The troll, however, was supposedly still very much alive. Yet, it also had no will to stay and fight. Instead, the wounded creature let out a screech and charged out through the doorway, breaking the frame as it fled. Given a moment of peace, Arnjlot, Thorodd and the tax collector rummaged through the goods of the slain merchants. Afterwards, Arnjlot informed his companions that he would not continue leading them—recovering his spear from the troll was apparently more important.

Thorodd Snorrason and his companion were able to make do without Arnjlot Gellini. They could back-trace the tracks left by the slain merchants, which led to the nearest town, or perhaps they had come far enough that the surroundings were now familiar. Whatever the case, Thorodd Snorrason soon found himself back in the court of King Olaf II. The king, apparently, was impressed or entertained by the debriefing he heard. Thorodd Snorrason was allowed to return home to Iceland as soon as summer arrived. Such is the odd tale that Thorodd, or storytellers in his family, spun about his years as a hostage in Norway.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Frithiofs återkomst (ur Frithiofs saga), painted by August Malmström (c. 1829-1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Sweden).

 

Sources:

  • Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.

Jupiter And Mercury Visiting Philemon And Baucis, Painted By Jacob Jordaens (c. 1593–1678)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Flemish artist Jacob Jordaens (c. 1593–1678), was inspired by the Greco-Roman myth of Philemon and Baucis. The shirtless men, seen clad in red and gold at the table, were labeled as Jupiter and Mercury by the artist, as they also would have been by Romans, such as the poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE). To the Greeks, however, the figures would be called Zeus and Hermes.

As the story goes, the two deities mentioned above, Zeus/Jupiter and Hermes/Mercury, traveled in disguise through the hometown of Philemon and Baucis. With their godliness masked in mortal guise, the deities discovered that the people of the town, almost unanimously, would not show hospitality to strangers. Only one humble home stood as an anomaly in that most unwelcoming community—this refuge of generosity was the home of Philemon and Baucis. Whereas other households turned the gods away or refused to open their doors, this amiable couple invited in the disguised gods and played the role of the host to the best of their ability. Ovid described the scene:

“Jupiter once came here, disguised as a mortal, and with him
his son, the messenger Mercury, wand and wings set aside.
Looking for shelter and rest, they called at a thousand homesteads;
a thousand doors were bolted against them. One house, however,
did make them welcome, a humble abode with a roof of straw
and marsh reed, one that knew its duty to gods and men.
Here good Philémon and Baucis had happily passed their youth
and here they had reached old age, enduring their poverty lightly
by owning it freely and being content with the little they had.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 8.626-634).

Despite not having much at their disposal, Philemon and Baucis threw a feast for their guests, bringing whatever was available in or around the house to the table. This hospitality and generosity impressed the gods, and as it would soon turn out, the feast would be of great consequence to the lives of Philemon and Baucis. The two gods had been in the region to scout out a spot for a new temple, and Philemon and Baucis’ hometown was, to put it mildly, in the way of the divine plan. Mid-feast, the deities revealed their godhood to Philemon and Baucis. The gods then quickly ushered the two awed mortals out of town and led them to a mountain. With Philemon and Baucis safely stowed on a mountaintop, the gods called in a flood to wipe out the town—of all the houses in the community, only that of Philemon and Baucis survived the inundation. As the story goes, the site of the hospitable couple’s home was transformed into the temple that the gods wanted, and Philemon and Baucis spent the rest of their lives there, serving as priests.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Lucan

By
thehistorianshut
-

Lucan (c. 39-65)

“Wasteful luxury, never content with a little!
Your ambitious belly canvassing land and sea
for food; you glory in praise of your table spread!
Learn how little it takes to sustain a life
and how much nature requires.”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book 4, between approximately lines 352-386), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

The Delayed Arrival And Untimely Exit Of Count Stephen Of Blois From The First Crusade

By
thehistorianshut
-

Count Stephen of Blois and his personal band of warriors were some of the last troops to add their strength to the diverse army of the First Crusade. It all began when Pope Urban II, on November 27 1095, called on Christians to embark on an armed pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Answering this papal cry, Count Stephen worked with Count Robert Curthose of Normandy and Count Robert of Flanders to organize a Crusader army. Their mobilization was slower than most of the other major noblemen involved in the Crusade, including Count Hugh of Vermandois, Bohemond of the Italian Normans, Duke Godfrey of Bouillon, Count Baldwin of Boulogne, and Count Raymond of Toulouse. It was by September or October of 1096, just shy of a full year after Pope Urban made his speech, that Count Stephen and the Roberts were ready to start their march. They reached Italy by the end of the year, and Count Robert of Flanders quickly ferried his troops across to the lands of the Empire of Constantinople in December. Yet, Count Stephen and Robert Curthose of Normandy delayed until the new year, finally shipping their own armies across in April of 1097. After passing through Constantinople, and giving oaths to Emperor Alexios I (r. 1081-1118), Count Stephen and Count Robert of Normandy finally joined up on June 3 with the rest of the Crusaders, who had been besieging Nicaea since May 14, 1097. Defenders of Nicaea, avoiding direct negotiation with the Crusaders, ultimately surrendered their city to Emperor Alexios of Constantinople on June 19 1097.

Departing from Nicaea, the Crusaders set out for their next major target, Antioch. The group did not stay together during their march—Count Stephen was with Bohemond and the Roberts, while other leaders such as Godfrey, Raymond and Hugh were off doing their own thing. This would prove to be a problem, because an opposing army in the region was setting up an ambush for the crusaders.

Leading the local resistance was Sultan Kilij Arslan I of the Rūm Turks (r. 1092-1107). At Dorylaeum, he forced a confrontation with the isolated and vulnerable part of the Crusader force in which Count Stephen was marching. Kilij Arslan’s army nearly won the battle, but Godfrey, Hugh and Raymond were able to lead Crusader reinforcements to the battlefield in time to change the momentum of the battle and ultimately win the day. After surviving the ambush, the crusaders continued their march to Antioch, arriving at the city on October 20, 1097.

As sieges go, the assault on Antioch was an uncomfortable, slow-moving, and poorly-supplied affair. Crusaders persisted in besieging the city for over seven months. Count Stephen of Blois remained in the starving and sickly siege camp from October 20, 1097, through June 2, 1098. Yet, by that much later date, the count of Blois had finally had enough of crusading. He decided to abandon the siege and the Crusade entirely. On that June 2 day, Count Stephen left the siege camp at Antioch and began marching for home. His departure was ill-timed, for while Count Stephen was dreaming of home, Bohemond had been cultivating a relationship with an insider in the besieged city. On June 3, only one day after Stephen left, Bohemond and his inside man orchestrated the downfall of Antioch. Stephen’s early exit, and the quick fall of the city just after he left, caused Count Stephen to become the object of ridicule and heckling by fellow crusaders. Fulcher of Chartres (c. 1059-1127), one of Stephen’s companions since the beginning of the crusade, put these criticisms in writing:

“Stephen, Count of Blois, withdrew from the siege and returned home to France by sea. Therefore all of us grieved, since he was a very noble man and valiant in arms. On the day following his departure, the city of Antioch was surrendered to the Franks. If he had persevered, he would have rejoiced much in the victory with the rest. This act disgraced him. For a good beginning is not beneficial to anyone unless it be well consummated” (Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, I.16.7).

Fulcher’s observation was proven true with the example of Hugh, who left immediately after the capture of Antioch and the subsequent defense of the newly captured city against the army of Kerboga of Mosul (on June 28, 1098). Hugh began his journey home at the beginning of July and, unlike Count Stephen, his departure was not begrudged by the other Crusaders.

Pressure on Count Stephen continued to mount as the remaining leaders of the First Crusade continued to meet with success. In addition to Bohemond claiming Antioch, Duke Godfrey gained control of Jerusalem (c. 1099) and his brother, Baldwin, wrested leadership over Edessa (c. 1098). Badgered by his family, and hoping to restore his tarnished prestige, Count Stephen took up the crusader’s mantle again in 1101. Unfortunately, he died in battle in 1102.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image from manuscript BL Royal 16 G VI, f. 381 (Chroniques de France ou de St Denis), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the British Library).

 

Sources:

Orpheus Playing for the Animals, By Gillis Claesz d’Hondecoeter (c. 1575/1580-1638)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Dutch artist Gillis Claesz d’Hondecoeter (c. 1575/1580-1638) was inspired by the myths and folktales of Orpheus—a legendary muse-born poet, musician and theologian whose extraordinary artistic ability allowed him to ingratiate himself into the goings-on of ancient Greek heroes and gods. In particular, the scene painted here depicts Orpheus grieving in isolation after he came close, but ultimately failed, in a rescue attempt to save his wife from the underworld of Hades. As the story goes, he recited his poems and played his songs alone in his forest retreat. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE) described this scene in Book 10 of his Metamorphoses, writing, “Such was the shady cluster of trees which Orpheus attracted, sitting amidst a crowded assembly of birds and of beasts” and again in Book 11, stating, “With songs such as these the Thracian minstrel bewitched the forests, entranced the beasts and compelled the rocks to follow behind him” (Ovid, Metamorphoses, 10.143-144 and 11.1-2). It is this imagery of Orpheus performing before an enraptured audience of animals that Gillis Claesz d’Hondecoeter re-creates. The assortment of beasts and critters, along with the general landscape, take priority in the painting. Orpheus, contrastingly, was placed in a small, shadowy location on the left side of the canvas.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

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