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Prince Meleager Refuses To Fight The Country’s Enemies, By F. F. Sedmigradsky (c. 1783- 1855)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by F. F. Sedmigradsky (c. 1783- 1855), was said to have been inspired by an earlier artwork on the same topic by Jonas Åkerström (c. 1759-1795). Both artists, in painting this scene, drew upon the ancient Greek mythological tales of Meleager, son of King Oeneus and Queen Althaea of Calydon. As the ancient tales go, Meleager was an ill-fated child who, when he was only seven days old, was doomed by the Fates to die once a nearby burning log in his home’s hearth crumbled to ash. Meleager’s mother, Althaea, outwitted the Fates, however, by snatching the log out of the fire, extinguishing any embers on it, and safely locking away the fateful piece of wood in a secure chest. Safe for the time being, Meleager grew up to be a stereotypical strong and brave hero of ancient Greek myth.

Calydon was blessed to have Meleager’s talents and heroics many years later, when King Oeneus angered the goddess, Artemis, resulting in the wrathful deity sending the monstrous Calydonian Boar to ravage the kingdom. Meleager and a colorful band including some of the greatest hunters in Greece set out to hunt the boar and save the realm. In the epic battle that ensued, the hunters succeeded in defeating and killing the boar. Yet, at this point, the ancient storytellers and their versions of Meleager’s story began to differ in their accounts of what happened next. In all accounts of the story, the hunters began to quarrel over who should take credit for killing the beast, and, more importantly, they argued over who would take possession of the giant animal’s carcass. In some versions of the story, a small-scale (but deadly) brawl erupted between the hunters who had undertaken the mission. Yet, another tradition of the story told that the hunting trophy dispute catastrophically spiraled into a full-scale war between the different peoples and cities that had sent hunters to kill the Calydonian Boar. It is this second variant of the tale that is depicted in F. F. Sedmigradsky’s painting.

In all accounts of the myth, the relationship between Meleager and his mother, Althaea, eventually broke down after the hunt of the Calydonian Boar. This rift was caused when Meleager reportedly killed one or more of Althaea’s kinsmen during the brawl or war that erupted after the hunt’s conclusion. Althaea did not forgive her son; quite the opposite, she started to curse him publicly and began to plot his death. In the variation of the story that was preserved by the famous poet, Homer (c. 8th century BCE), Meleager reacted to his mother’s hostility by withdrawing completely from Calydon’s war efforts, and he did so just as an army of armed foes—the Curetes—were posing a serious threat to the kingdom. Homer described the scene:

“Meleager took to bed with [his wife] Cleopatra and nursed his heart-rending anger. This anger had been caused by his mother Althaea’s curses…Again and again the old charioteer Oeneus prayed to Meleager. He stood on the threshold of his lofty bedroom and shook the solid wooden doors, imploring his son. Again and again his sisters and his lady mother supplicated him too, though they only made him more obstinate. Again and again his comrades-in-arms tried, the dearest and most cherished friends he had. Even so they could not win him over. But then Curetes began scaling the walls and setting fire to the great town, and the missiles started hailing down on the bedroom itself. At that point, Meleager’s well-girdled wife Cleopatra supplicated him in tears. She pictured all the miseries people suffer when their town is captured…Her recital of these disasters touched his heart, and he came out and put on his gleaming armor. In this way, by yielding to his personal feelings, he saved the Aetolians from disaster” (Homer, The Iliad, book 9, between lines 565-600).

It is this scene, of Meleager’s family and friends pleading for the hero to rejoin the war, that F. F. Sedmigradsky re-creates in his painting. Unfortunately, Meleager’s last-minute rescue of the city would not win him much public applause, and it did nothing to improve his relationship with the deadly woman whose approval he needed most—his mother. In the stories of Meleager’s demise, his own mother, Althaea, usually played a key role, with her either unleashing deadly magic against him, or ending his life by destroying the aforementioned log that was tied to his lifespan.

Written by C. Keith Hansely

 

Sources:

  • The Iliad by Homer, translated by E. V. Rieu and edited/introduced by Peter Jones. New York: Penguin Classics, 2014.
  • Apollodorus, The Library of Greek Mythology, translated by Robin Hard. New York, Oxford University Press, 1997.
  • https://www.kansallisgalleria.fi/en/object/612450

Euripides

By
thehistorianshut
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Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE)

“Gold has more power with men than an infinity of words.”

  • From Euripides’ Medea (approximately between lines 960-970), translated by James Morwood in Medea and Other Plays (Oxford University Press, 1997, 1998, 2008).

The Ancient Greek Myth Of The Uncatchable Monster And The Unfailing Hound

By
thehistorianshut
-

According to ancient Greek mythology, a nobleman named Amphitryon fled from Mycenae after killing the city’s king, Electryon, who was succeeded by his brother Sthenelus. Amphitryon, along with his partner, Alcmene, decided to seek asylum in the city of Thebes, but the Theban ruler, Creon, did not quite greet Amphitryon with open arms. Creon wanted to made a deal—a quid pro quo—before Amphitryon was provided any real help or assistance in Thebes. This proposed deal, so the stories go, was for Amphitryon to undertake a monster hunting mission. Unfortunately for the Mycenean exile, the mission he was given was not an easy task. Amphitryon’s monstrous target was the Teumessian Fox—also known as the vixen—a giant fox that was blessed with an absolute fate that did not allow it to be caught.

Amphitryon knew the Teumessian Fox and its uncatchable destiny posed a serious problem. After thinking through the situation, Amphitryon decided that his best bet was to fight fire with fire—or, in this case, to fight one ultimate destiny with another ultimate destiny. As it happened, there existed in the Greek mythological universe a special dog named Lailaps (or Laelaps) that, similarly to the vixen, had been awarded an impressive fate. Whereas the Teumessian Fox was destined to never be caught, the great hunting hound, Lailaps, was fated to always catch its prey. Hoping that Lailaps’ destiny would counteract or overwhelm the vixen’s sly nature, Amphitryon decided to recruit the magical dog to his cause.

Lailaps was a well-traveled dog. He originated with the Olympian gods and particularly associated with Zeus and Artemis. Zeus allegedly gave the dog to Europa in Crete, and the dog was passed to her son, Minos. Lailaps was then handed off to the Athenian princess, Procris, who eventually gifted the dog to her hunting-enthusiast husband, Cephalus (also spelled Cephalos). Lailaps was still in the possession of Cephalus when Amphitryon began searching for the dog. Fortunately for Amphitryon, Cephalus was willing to sell his services (or rather the services of his magical dog) in exchange for a promised future payment. As Amphitryon expected he would eventually get the Thebans to help him on a lucrative future military expedition against the Teleboans, he agreed to the deal and pledged to make good on Cephalus’ price. With the deal agreed upon, Amphitryon, Cephalus and the unbeatable dog set off on their hunt of the uncatchable fox.

What happened next was curious, to say the least. Destiny clashed with destiny when the vixen that was fated to never be captured began to be chased by the dog that was destined to always seize its quarry. The situation became quite paradoxical and contradictory in its fateful significance, and, perhaps the power and authority of Destiny, itself, began to unravel as the unstable chase between the uncatchable fox and inescapable hound continued. Whatever the case, the high-god Zeus evidently deemed the peculiar clash of the magical animals to be a crisis of the greatest kind, and he ultimately decided to intervene. All of this was described by a scholar named Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century), who told of Amphitryon’s recruitment of Cephalus and Lailaps, as well as their hunt of the vixen, in his Library:

“So Amphitryon visited Cephalos, son of Deioneus, in Athens, and in return for a share of the plunder from the Teleboans, he persuaded him to bring to the hunt the dog that Procris had been given by Minos and brought over from Crete, for it was fated that this dog would catch whatever it chased. So it came about that as the vixen was being pursued by the dog, Zeus turned both of them to stone” (Apollodorus, Library, 2.4.7).

In order that the uncatchable fox would not be caught, and that the unfailing hound would not technically lose its prey, Zeus enforced a truce with a display of his own power. As told in Apollodorus’ account of the myth, the animals were turned to stone, forever freezing the two in the act of chasing and running away. In an alternative telling of the tale, Zeus was said to have transformed the animals into constellations instead of stone. Amphitryon was pleased with this result, be it stone or stars (although Cephalus was probably less happy about losing his dog). With the Teumessian Fox no longer a threat, Amphitryon returned to Thebes and proclaimed his mission to be a success. Thebes, as a result, welcomed in the hero and treated him as an honored ally. Amphitryon continued to work with the Thebans and eventually died fighting alongside them (and Heracles) in a war against the Minyans.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Fox and wolf from BL Royal 13 B VIII, f. 11v, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).

 

Sources:

Hermia And Helena, Painted By Washington Allston (c. 1779-1843)

By
thehistorianshut
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Washington Allston (c. 1779-1843), an American artist, drew inspiration for this painting from the play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The play is an entertaining fusion of ancient Greek mythology, fairy folklore, and medieval chivalric tales, all masterfully woven together by William Shakespeare (c. 1564 [?] – 1616). Allston’s subjects for this painting—Hermia and Helena—were close friends whose friendship was put to the test when they were written into one of Shakespeare’s complicated love stories. Curiously, no physical, visually-shown scene of Hermia and Helena’s friendship was acted out in the play. Instead, Shakespeare had the two characters reminisce to each other about picturesque scenes of their friendship. In one conversation from the play, Helena said the following to Hermia:

“Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
The sister’s vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us—O, is all forgot?
All school days friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Have with our needles created both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
Both warbling of one song, both in one key;
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition;
Two lovely berries molded on one stem;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.”
(William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 3, Scene 2)

Hermia and Helena’s friendship, unsurprisingly, became complicated as the play and its plot unfolded. Shakespeare cruelly made Helena fall in love with a man named Demetrius, who was in love with Hermia, but she was in love with another man named Lysander. This rollercoaster of emotion took place in Athens, where King Theseus of Athens and Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons (transformed by Shakespeare into a duke and a duchess) were about to get married.

Theseus complicated events by arranging—on penalty of death—for Hermia to be wed to Demetrius, even though the intended bride did not consent to the marriage. This prompted unhappy Hermia to run away from Athens with her lover, Lysander; but the runaways were followed by Demetrius, who was in turn followed by Helena. Finally, fairies suddenly become involved in the drama, spraying magical love potions in every direction and causing a great deal of chaos and foolishness. Nevertheless, the potions and hormones eventually stabilized and the complicated love story safely came to a happy conclusion, with Hermia and Lysander ultimately being able to marry, whereas Demetrius finally reciprocated Helena’s affection. In the end of the play, the three couples—Hermia and Lysander, Helena and Demetrius, and Hippolyta and Theseus—celebrated their weddings together, and hopefully, in the aftermath, Hermia and Helena were able to repair their strained friendship.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Adventurous Life Of Gunnstein Berserks’-Killer

By
thehistorianshut
-

During the 9th and 10th centuries, a mysterious adventurer named Gunnstein Berserks’-Killer gained fame for impressive exploits spanning the lands and seas between Scandinavia, the British Isles and Iceland. Unfortunately, specific details of about his expeditions are unknown, but it is safe to say that many of his journeys frequently resulted in violence. In these violent adventures, Gunnstein (as his nickname divulges) reportedly encountered peculiar fighters known as berserkers—a mysterious type of Norse warrior that was connected to the Norse god, Odin. Usually described as wearing trademark bear or wolf pelts, berserkers were renowned for being able to frenzy themselves into a battle trance, in which they allegedly felt no pain and possessed what seemed like superhuman strength. Most famously, when these warriors went “berserk,” their battle-frenzy apparently led the super-soldiers to gnaw at the edges of their shields, and it is this action (as well as their pelt garments) that are used in many visual depictions of berserkers. Despite the legendary fighting abilities of these berserkers, they were apparently no match for Gunnstein, who obtained his “Berserks’-Killer” name after reportedly slaying at least two berserkers in battle.

Although Gunnstein was evidently a great warrior, he could not defend himself forever, especially from threats unseen. As the stories go, Gunnstein’s adventuring days ended when he was hit by an arrow shot by an unknown assailant in a forest, presumably located in Scandinavia. Iceland’s medieval Book of Settlements commented on this sudden turn of events, as well as on Gunnstein’s earlier life, stating, “Gunnstein Berserks’-Killer, son of Bolverk Blind-Snout, killed two berserks…Afterwards, on board his ship at Hefnir, Gunnstein was hit by a Lappish arrow from the forest” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 93). No further information or clarification was relayed concerning whether Gunnstein lived, retired, or died because of the arrow wound. Whatever the case, he left behind family, including a son named Thorgeir, who lived in Southern Iceland.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image titled “Olav og Rane i viking”, made by Halfdan Egedius around 1899, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum of Norway).

 

Sources:

  • The Book of Settlements (Sturlubók version) translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1972, 2006.

Mercury, Argus, And Io, Painted By Carel Fabritius (c. 1622-1654)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Dutch artist Carel Fabritius (c. 1622-1654), was inspired by the ancient Greco-Roman myth of Mercury (aka Hermes), Argus and Io. The mythological tale in question began when Io—a Naiad nymph fathered by the river god, Inachus—was unfortunate enough to cross paths with Zeus (or Jupiter), the ever-lustful and often unrestrained high-god of the Greco-Roman pantheon of deities. Io evidently knew of Zeus’ reputation and wanted nothing to do with him, but Zeus, with his lecherous mindset, was not one to give up the chase, regardless of consent. Zeus, sadly, pursued and assaulted Io, and then he curiously decided to transform the unfortunate nymph into a cow to hide the crime from his jealous wife, Hera. She, however, knew her husband well and suspected there was something odd about the suspicious animal. Noticing Zeus’ defensiveness and anxiety over the cow, Hera felt that her suspicions about the creature were well founded, and she ultimately demanded that the cow be handed over to her as a gift. This was done, and Hera, in turn, tasked a deity named Argus, who conveniently had one hundred eyes, to watch over the cow’s every move.

By this point, Zeus was evidently feeling guilty about the predicament that he had put poor Io in. Transitioning himself from rapist to rescuer, Zeus decided to launch a counter-attack against his wife’s scheme by sending the messenger-god, Hermes (or the Roman Mercury), to free Io from the watchful eyes of Argus. As told in the entertaining account of the myth by the Roman poet Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), Hermes was able to defeat Argus through the means of a unique tactic—bland and boring storytelling. According to the tale, Hermes narrated for Argus the myth about the nymph, Syrinx, being chased by the god Pan (a chase that ultimately resulted in Syrinx transforming into marsh reeds to escape the god’s clutches). Argus fell asleep mid-tale, and then Hermes fatally punished the sleeping figure for his rude inattentiveness. Ovid described the event:

“When he saw that his enemy’s drowsy eyes had all succumbed
and were shrouded in sleep…[a]t once he stopped talking and stroked the sentry’s
drooping lids with his magic wand to make sure he was out.
Then he rapidly struck with his sickle-shaped sword at his nodding victim
Just where the head comes close to the neck…”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, I.714-717)

Such is the myth that inspired Carel Fabritius’ painting. If the two figures (dressed here in clothing much more in line with the artist’s own time instead of ancient fashion) really are meant to be Argus and Mercury/Hermes, then the sleeping man is doomed, as Hermes made his attack after he realized his target had fallen asleep. As for Io, she was allowed to flee from the scene (albeit still in cow shape), yet Hera soon sent creatures to haunt and harass her during her wandering. In this horrible state, Io was said to have traveled all the way to Egypt, by which time Zeus had finally appeased Hera’s wrath concerning Io, allowing the poor nymph to at last return to a humanoid shape.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

The Life Of Duke Gisulf And The Tale Of Him Forcing A Pope To Pay Ransoms

By
thehistorianshut
-

Duke Gisulf (or Gisulfo) was a Lombard duke of Benevento who operated with substantial autonomy during the tumultuous reigns of the Lombard kings Cunincpert (r. 688-700), Liutpert (r. 700-701) and Aripert II (r. 701-712). Whereas previous dukes of Benevento had led campaigns of conquest toward the heel of Italy, Duke Gisulf was known to have instead set his ambitions on consolidating his power in Campania, while also expanding militarily into the territory of the popes of Rome. Gisulf’s military conquests were often successful, and he even managed to make a pope hand over bribes and ransoms.

Unfortunately, in-depth details about Duke Gisulf’s career are in short supply, but sources such as the Lombard historian, Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), provide some dates and geographical locations to create a vague framework for his time in power. Formulating a chronology for the events and campaigns in his long reign, nevertheless, is a difficult task to accomplish. Yet, we must make do with what we have.

Gisulf ascended to the command of the Benevento region after the deaths of his father, Romuald, and his brother, Grimoald. Paul the Deacon estimated that Duke Romuald ruled from around 662 to 677, and Duke Grimoald reigned for three years, placing his death around 680. Gisulf was reportedly a child when he succeeded his brother to the dukedom and his mother, Theuderata, was said to have stepped in as regent for a time. Nevertheless, Duke Gisulf reportedly was in control of his realm by 689 and he would go on to rule his land for around seventeen years.  There may be a margin of error to these dates, but whatever the case, Duke Gisulf was in power at the turn of the century and his reign in Benevento continued at least into the first decade of the 8th century.

Precise dates for the duke’s military campaigns are not known, but Gisulf of Benevento was especially known to have been active at the time when Pope John VI (r. 701-705) presided over the city of Rome. During or before Pope John’s pontificate, Duke Gisulf was expanding his power in Campania, and had also led campaigns of conquest that brought his armies reportedly within nearly fifty miles of Rome. The aforementioned historian, Paul the Deacon, summarized Duke Gisulf’s military campaigns:

“Gisulf the ruler of the Beneventines took Sura (Sora), a city of the Romans, and in like manner the towns of Hirpinum (Arpino) and Arx (Arce). This Gisulf at the time of Pope John [VI] came to Campania with all his forces burning and plundering, took many captives and set up his camp as far as in the place which is called Horrea, and no one could resist him. The Pontiff sent priests to him with apostolic gifts and redeemed all the captives from the hands of his troops, and induced the duke himself to go back home with his army” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, 6.27).

As the quote conveys, Duke Gisulf was on a rampage between 701 and 705, when his reign and that of Pope John VI overlapped. With the Lombard duke conquering cities near Rome and ravaging the people of Campania, Pope John VI decided to resort to the dangerous tactic of bribery. The pope paid ransoms for the release of people that Duke Gisulf’s troops had taken captive during the wars, and a little extra was given to Gisulf to make him halt, or at least slow down, his raids and campaigns near Rome. Although it was a gamble, Pope John VI’s monetary payment to Gisulf of Benevento seemed to work, for the duke died around 706 without having launched another major offensive against Rome.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section from Three Living and Three Dead from BL Harley 2917, f. 119, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).

 

Sources:

Pandora, Painted By Odilon Redon (c. 1840 – 1916)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the French artist Odilon Redon (c. 1840 – 1916), was inspired by the ancient Greek myths of the first woman, Pandora. She, according to the ancient tales, was brought into existence after the mischievous god, Prometheus, gave the knowledge of fire to mankind (who, at that time, were supposedly only men). Zeus, the arch-god of the Greek religious pantheon, disapproved of mankind’s possession of fire, and he decided to punish mortal men for their receptiveness to Prometheus’ gift. The punishment that Zeus had in mind, curiously, was the creation of Pandora. As the gods began forming this first woman, Zeus reportedly proclaimed, “To set against the fire I shall give them an affliction in which they will all delight as they embrace their own misfortune” (Hesiod, Works and Days, line 58).

All of the gods on Olympus reportedly contributed in some way or other to her creation. Zeus personally drew up the blueprints for how Pandora would physically look, and he used the appearances of the goddesses on Olympus for inspiration. When Zeus finished representing his vision through the artistic medium of his choice, he left it to Hephaestus—the master craftsman of the gods—to bring Pandora out of theory and into reality. When Pandora was brought to life, she was tutored by the gods in various crafts and skills. For her personality and social skills, Pandora was taught the principles of charm, grace and seductiveness by Aphrodite, whereas Hermes showed her how to be cunning, and how to use subtle intrigue to get whatever she may want. Athena, for her part, gave Pandora lessons in daily skills that ancient Greek women would be expected to know, such as the craft of weaving. Athena further contributed to the effort by working with the Graces and Temptation to design Pandora’s wardrobe. They went all-out, clothing Pandora in golden jewelry, accentuated with garlands of flowers.

When the gods finished building and instructing Pandora, they, themselves were awed at what they created. According to Hesiod, “Both immortal gods and mortal men were seized with wonder when they saw that precipitous trap, more than mankind can manage. For from her is descended the female sex, a great affliction to mortals as they dwell with their husbands” (Theogony, line 589-590). Yet, Zeus had one last accessory to give Pandora that would exponentially increase her punitive power. The unfortunate object was a jar and, according to the ancient tales, that dreaded vessel contained many of the mortal woes faced by humans to this very day. As told by Hesiod, “formerly the tribes of men on earth lived remote from ills, without harsh toil and grievous sicknesses that are deadly to men. But the woman unstopped the jar and let it all out, and brought grim cares upon mankind” (Works and Days, line 90-95).

Pandora, deadly jar in hand, was sent by the gods as a bride to Prometheus’ brother Epimetheus. Despite being warned earlier by Prometheus to never trust a gift from Zeus, Epimetheus gratefully accepted Pandora as his bride. Sometime after that fateful decision was made, Pandora opened the jar that had been given to her by the gods, unleashing all sorts of evils and wicked spirits that poured out of the container to envelop the earth and sea, causing the many woes that plague mankind. Curiously, later stories inversely claimed that the jar had contained unimaginable blessings that, once released from the jar, would never be granted on mankind. Interestingly, Hope was the only blessing that supposedly clung to Pandora’s jar and remained inside. Such is the myth that inspired Odilon Redon’s painting.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Njal Thorgeirsson (Njal’s Saga)

By
thehistorianshut
-

Njal’s Saga (written anonymously in the 13th century)

“Never kill more than once within the same bloodline, and never break any settlement which goodmen make between you and others, least of all if you have broken my first warning.”

  • This curious quote, from the largely fictionalized Njal’s Saga (chapter 55), was attributed to the historical figure Njal Thorgeirsson (d. 1010). The translation edition used here is by Robert Cook (Penguin Classics, 1997, 2001).

The Legend Of The Sacrificial Rivalry Between Titus Manlius Torquatus And Publius Decius Mus

By
thehistorianshut
-

Titus Manlius Imperiosus Torquatus (or simply Titus Manlius Torquatus) and Publius Decius Mus were the two Roman consuls who led Rome’s military in a campaign against the Latin League in 340 BCE. Rome had many advantages during the campaign. For one, the Roman military of the 4th century BCE was undergoing significant advancement and evolution. In fact, it was in describing this campaign of 340 BCE that the Roman historian, Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), first started referencing the Roman Republic’s use of some of its famous military units, such as the hastati, principes, and triarii. In addition to its own growing military prowess, the Roman Republic was also allied to the powerful Samnites for the 340 BCE campaign. Despite these advantages, the Roman consuls, Manlius and Decius, were said to have been extremely nervous about the war. According to legend, much of the worry was due to a belief that Rome’s campaign was not supported by the gods.

As the pervasive atmosphere of worry and concern settled on Rome’s mustered army, the sleep of the two consuls began to be affected. Before long, Titus Manlius Torquatus and Publius Decius Mus were both supposedly having nightmares in which godly messengers were demanding that a Roman consul had to die for the Roman army to prove victorious during the campaign. Livy, the aforementioned Roman historian, described the legend of these dream visitations:

“[I]n the stillness of night, both consuls, it is said, were visited by the same apparition, that of a man of superhuman stature and majesty, who told them that a general on one side and the army on the other were due as an offering to the gods of the Underworld and to Mother Earth; if either army’s general should devote to death the enemy’s legions and himself in addition to them, victory would fall to the people on his side” (Livy, History of Rome, 8.6).

When Titus Manlius Torquatus and Publius Decius Mus reportedly realized that they had the same supernatural dreams and were given the same ominous message, they both agreed that one of them would have to undertake the ultimate sacrifice so that the Roman Republic would triumph. Nevertheless, each consul naturally thought the other man should be the one to volunteer. As the decision was going nowhere, the two consuls ultimately were said to have agreed to let their performance in the campaign decide who would be the sacrifice. The general whose respective wing of the army performed the poorest in battle would be the man whose life would be offered to the gods.

This pledge, so the story goes, was at the forefront of the minds of Titus Manlius Torquatus and Publius Decius Mus when they lined up the Roman army for battle at a site somewhere between Mount Vesuvius and Roccamonfina, Italy, in 340 BCE. The battle commenced and the two consuls began their competition that determined life or death. In the midst of the fray, Publius Decius Mus proved himself to be the more courageous and physically imposing of the two consuls, but, ironically, his wing of the army was said to have faltered while their commander shined. Acknowledging defeat in the competition with his fellow consul, Decius allegedly slipped away from the frontline and found a priest that had accompanied the army. The priest carried out an impromptu ceremony to devote Consul Decius to the gods. This ritual, performed during the battle, allegedly required that Decius dress in a purple toga, stand on a spear, and recite a long speech about offering himself to the gods on behalf of Rome. With that, the preparations were done and the sacrifice could reach its conclusion. Publius Decius Mus, however, would not end his life like a sacrificial animal. Instead, he was allowed to meet his end, weapon in hand, by charging into battle. Livy described the scene:

“Then he girded up his toga in the Gabine manner, leaped fully armed on to his horse, and rode into the midst of the enemy—a sight to admire for both armies, almost superhuman in its nobility, as if sent from heaven to expiate the anger of the gods and deflect disaster from his own people to the Latins. Thus the terror and panic in every form which Decius brought with him first threw the line of standards into confusion and then penetrated deep into the entire Latin army…he finally fell beneath a rain of missiles…the consul Manlius heard of his colleague’s end, and paid to so memorable a death the well-merited tribute of tears as well as praise, as justice and piety demanded” (Livy, History of Rome, 8.9-10).

The great momentum generated by Publius Decius Mus’ charge lessened somewhat when the general was killed in battle, but Titus Manlius Torquatus was able to swoop in and steer the battle safely to a Roman victory. After the battle was over, the Romans located the body of Decius and gave him a hero’s funeral.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section of The Battle of Vercellae, by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (c. 1696–1770), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

Sources:

  • The (Early) History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
  • The History of Rome (Rome and Italy) by Livy, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1982.
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