The Unbelievable Story Of The Semi-Mythical Pharaoh, Sesostris

An interesting character named Sesostris made an appearance in the work of Herodotus (490-425/420 BCE), who is considered to be the father of the history genre and profession. Even though Herodotus was a historian, his work was thoroughly laced with folklore and mythology, and he often made no attempt to separate sober fact from theatrical embellishment. As such, fair warning is in order—this article is not about what actually occurred in ancient Egypt. Instead, this article takes a look at the bizarre piece of folklore that Herodotus recorded about the semi-mythical pharaoh, Sesostris.

Modern historians think that Herodotus’ Sesostris was an exaggerated character that combined, under one name, the feats of several historical Twelfth Dynasty (roughly 20th-18th century BCE) pharaohs of Egypt, particularly Senusret (or Senwosret) I and II, as well as Ramses II. Herodotus, or the sources he drew upon, collected the accomplishments of theses pharaohs under the broad character of Sesostris, claiming that this mythical man was an expansionist king who successfully conquered lands from Ethiopia in the south, to the borderlands of the Thracian and Scythian territory in the north.

The most shocking story about Sesostris came after Herodotus finished recording the conquests of this fictitious king. As the tale goes, Sesostris was returning to Egypt after years of continuous war. He was met by his brother at the edge of the Nile Delta, at a place called Daphne, near the city of Pelusium. This brother hosted a banquet for Sesostris, and also invited Sesostris’ wife, as well as two of the pharaoh’s six sons, to attend the event. This brother, however, was not looking to celebrate—he had tasted power as the governor of Egypt while the pharaoh was away, and did not want to relinquish control back to Sesostris. Therefore, the brother had firewood piled around the venue where the banquet was being hosted and set fire to the place while Sesostris was inside.

Sesostris had not expected such treachery from his brother and soon found himself surrounded by a wall of flames. With the flames closing in, Sesostris’ wife proposed an unthinkable solution. She calmly explained that she and Sesostris could easily escape the moat of fire by simply using their two sons who were present at the banquet as a bridge over the deadly heat. Sesostris was apparently willing to sacrifice his children to save himself and his wife. According to the grim tale, the royal couple nonchalantly used the bodies of their sons as a way to escape the trap, leaving the two princes to burn to death in the fire.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (Pyramids of Giza and circular flames, both [Public Domain] via Pixabay.com).

Sources:

• From The Histories by Herodotus (Book II), translated by Aubrey De Sélincourt and revised by John Marincola (Penguin Classics, 2002).  

Thomas Jefferson Sold More Than 6,000 Books To The U. S. Library Of Congress

In August, 1814, British forces burned Washington D.C., the capital of the young United States of America. Capital Hill was damaged by the flames, and the Library of Congress was lost. Luckily for the fledgling country, one of the founding fathers of the United States had an obsessive addiction to collecting books. Furthermore, he was plagued by debts and was more than willing to sell his possessions.

In 1815, Thomas Jefferson sold an enormous collection of 6,487 books to the government for an estimated total of $23,950. The collection contained both ancient classics and modern works—Jefferson’s favorite ancient author was Cicero, by whom he owned at least forty texts. The wide variety of genres and topics in the collection caused a stir among the members (and observers) of the Congress, who thought that the U. S. government should not have paid for some of the odd volumes that Jefferson stumbled across during his studies.

Despite Jefferson’s still existent debts, he continued to buy an endless supply of books, even after selling thousands to the Library of Congress. When he died in 1826, he had still been burdened by a debt of $107,000—a sum that equates to more than 2 million modern U. S. dollars. Shortly after his death, Jefferson’s second massive collection of books (numbering in the thousands) was auctioned off, along with most of his other possessions.

Sadly, on the Christmas Eve of 1851, around 2/3 of Jefferson’s original contribution to the Library of Congress was lost in another fire. Interestingly, the Library of Congress is trying to procure copies of the texts that were destroyed.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture attribution: (Portrait of Thomas Jefferson, by Mather Brown (1761–1831), in front of a library painted by Rudolf von Alt  (1812–1905), both images are [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• https://www.loc.gov/exhibits/jefferson/jefflib.html 
• http://www.history.org/foundation/journal/winter10/jefferson.cfm 
• https://www.monticello.org/site/research-and-collections/debt 
• http://www.history.com/topics/war-of-1812  

Most Speeches From Ancient History Books Are Fake

This statement will not come as a surprise to those who are well-versed in history, but others who know less about the evolution of historical writing may find the idea shocking—most speeches recorded by ancient historians were falsified. Unless the historian from antiquity specifically stated that an included speech within his work was derived from an official tablet or monument, you can safely assume that most of the speech was fabricated by the author. For the most part, the earliest historians (except Thucydides) did not see this as a problem; the goal of most ancient historians was to make their work dramatic and exciting, even at the expense of truthfulness.

Although the speeches recorded by ancient historians were usually falsified, that does not mean that the ideas and strategies presented in the speeches were inaccurate. Most of the classical historians, even if the speech was wholly their own creation, tried to write their speeches in the character of their subject. If the historian was writing a speech for a cautious man, the speech would be written from a viewpoint of caution; if the speech was for a man of rash action, the wording would be tailored toward careless impulsiveness. In short, ancient writers usually had no clue what the people they wrote about actually said, so they made do with fabricating speeches that they believed were in character with what these people would have said.

Some ancient historians who were writing about contemporary events did likely hear speeches from the people that they wrote about in their books. Yet, the ancients did not have the convenience of televised speeches or audio recordings that now grace us today—it was simply much harder to record or remember speeches with accuracy in the days of old. As a result, even speeches that were written down by first-hand witnesses were more often than not simplified summaries of what was actually said.

Thucydides, regarded by many to be the greatest historian from ancient Greece, openly wrote about the use of fake speeches in history books, including his own:

“In this history I have made use of set speeches some of which were delivered just before and others during the war. I have found it difficult to remember the precise words used in the speeches which I listed to myself and my various informants have experienced the same difficulty; so my method has been, while keeping as closely as possible to the general sense of the words that were actually used, to make the speakers say what, in my opinion, was called for by each situation.”

(Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, Book 1, chapter 22)

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (Pericles' funeral oration, painted by Philipp Foltz (1805–1877), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• History of the Peloponnesian War by Thucydides, translated by Rex Warner and introduced by M. I. Finley. New York: Penguin Classics, 1972.  

The San Antonio Fairmount Hotel’s Five Block Adventure

When the construction of San Antonio’s Fairmount Hotel ended in 1906, no one could have imagined the impressive journey that the building would undergo nearly eight decades later. By 1985, the Fairmount Hotel was considered a historic landmark, but it had a problem—the old hotel was located on coveted land. Developers wanted newer, modern structures to be built on the site, but they could not just arbitrarily sentence the old Fairmount Hotel to be demolished; the hotel was an admired remnant of Victorian and Italianate architecture. Therefore, a compromise was reached. New buildings would be erected on the site of the Fairmount Hotel, but the hotel would also be preserved for the benefit of future generations.

In 1985, the approximately 3.2 million pound Fairmount Hotel in San Antonio, Texas, was stripped of its furnishings, braced with metal bands and hauled onto sets of sturdy wheels. Next, it was pulled along a route that spanned around five city blocks, crawling at a speed of less than 1 mile-per-hour, a velocity that allowed the building to reach its destination in 6 days. The most nerve-racking section of the journey occurred when the Fairmount was wheeled over the heavily-braced Market Street bridge, but the reinforced bridge held, reportedly without any flexing. Finally, the Fairmount Hotel reached its destination just south of the La Villita National Historic District, near the riverwalk of San Antonio.

The ground underneath the Fairmount Hotel was just as interesting as the odyssey of the the hotel, itself. Beneath the Fairmount’s original foundations, many artifacts were discovered dating back to Santa Anna’s storied siege of the Alamo in 1836. Among the historical pieces unearthed at the site were items such as canon balls and musket components. The Fairmount Hotel reopened in its new location in September 1986, and the newer Marriott Rivercenter Hotel was constructed on the Fairmont’s original position.

Thanks to modern technology, we can witness with our own eyes the history that we read about in books and articles. Check out actual footage of the Fairmount Hotel’s relocation, HERE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (Photograph of the San Antonio Fairmount Hotel , c. 1986, by Ggribble, licensed Creative Commons 3.0).

Sources:

• http://www.thefairmounthotel-sanantonio.com/fairmount-san-antonio-history.php 
• http://www.expressnews.com/150years/major-stories/article/Fairmount-Hotel-move-captivated-city-for-six-days-6585035.php 
• https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0oNEeULPs_Q  

The Uncommon Life Of St. Anastasius The Persian

If you have a preconceived notion that religious saints from the ages of old were people who live honorable, but unbearably bland and dull lives, you need only take a close look at some of the bizarre people that have been recognized by religious institutions as saints. The lives of saints (especially old war-time saints) can be incredibly odd, strange and extremely fascinating.

Take, for example, the life of a Persian man by the name of Magundat. He thrived during the reign of the great Sasanian king, Khosrow II (also spelled Kosrow II, r. 590-628). Although Khosrow II had a shaky beginning to his rule, he eventually spread the Sasanian Empire to its farthest reaches, ruling most of the Middle East from Armenia in eastern Anatolia, to Egypt in North Africa.

According to legend, Magundat was originally a magi of the Zoroastrian religion, or possibly just a common magician, who lived in Persia during the reign of Khosrow II. Magundat joined Khosrow’s army and was present in the siege of Jerusalem that was carried out by the Sasanians in the year 614. In the aftermath of the successful siege, the victorious troops allegedly found the actual cross that had been used for the crucifixion of Jesus. According to the tale, this relic sparked in Magundat an insatiable curiosity about Christianity. Eventually, Magundat converted to the Christian faith and, upon his baptism, he took on a new name—Anastasius.

Anastasius the Persian quit the army after his conversion and became a monk in Jerusalem. For years, the former magi or magician stayed in Jerusalem—a period usually said to have been 7 years. Anastasius eventually decided to relocate to Caesarea in order to spread his adopted faith. He made this choice despite the knowledge that the Sasanian authorities were persecuting Christians in the region. In fact, Anastasius supposedly had a dream that made him want, or at least not fear, martyrdom. After preaching in Caesarea for an unknown amount of time, Anastasius was said to have been arrested, tortured, strangled and beheaded in 628 by the local leadership. Interestingly, King Khosrow II also died in 628, after having been deposed and executed during a coup d’état.

Anastasius the Persian is still considered a saint by Christian denominations that honor such figures.

Top picture attribution: (Depiction of St. Anastasius of Persia, Andachtsbild, c. 1780, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

• http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/khosrow-ii 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Khosrow-II 
• http://www.learn.columbia.edu/treasuresofheaven/saints/Anastasios.php 
• https://oca.org/saints/lives/2011/01/22/100263-monkmartyr-anastasius-the-persian 
• http://www.bartleby.com/210/1/222.html 
• https://catholicsaints.info/saint-anastasius-the-persian/ 
• http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/01455c.htm  

Dating The Timeline In Classical History

In ancient Greece and Rome, the different events of the past were not dated by individual years, but by the reigns of world leaders, set in a chronological order. For example, an ancient Athenian would likely have said that the Peloponnesian War began during the tenure of the archon, Pythodorus. Similarly, ancient Romans would probably date the death of Augustus’ able admiral, Agrippa, to the consulship of Valerius and Publius Sulpicius. Thankfully, some of these leaders had set periods of rule, or calculable events such as solar eclipses, during their reign. As a result, modern scholars can date the start of the Peloponnesian War to around 431BCE/BC and the death of Agrippa to 12 BCE/BC.

The use of reigns for dating, instead of a list of years, does not mean that the ancients had no concept of seasons and months—in fact, the months used in the modern Western world are descended from ancient Rome. Yet, calendars often varied from region to region; for example, over 300 different month names were used in ancient Greece. Furthermore, the regions did not agree on when the New Year began and put their selection of months in different orders. As a result, it was simply easier for ancient historians to date their topics by the reigns in which the events occurred.

Yet, some historians from the distant past did want to make their system of dating more precise. The Athenian historian, Thucydides, was probably the first to do this, and it took some creativity on his part to make his ambition come true. To increase the accuracy of the dating that he included in his History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides divided his timeline of the war into solar years, and narrowed it further by dividing the solar years into summer and winter seasons. As a result, he could write that a certain event occurred in the summer of the third solar year after the start of the Peloponnesian War.

Thankfully for modern readers from the West, Dionysius Exiguus (c. 470-544 CE/AD) and Bede (673-735 CE/AD) standardized and simplified the yearly timeline by scaling the dating of years from the approximate time of Jesus’ birth. Due to Bede, especially, the use of “A.D.” and “B.C.”, or more recently, “CE” and “BCE” has become the common method in the West for dating historical events.

Written by C. Keith Hansely.

Top picture attribution: (The Acropolis at Athens, by Leo von Klenze (1784–1864), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• History of the Peloponnesian War by Thucydides, translated by Rex Warner and introduced by M. I. Finley. New York: Penguin Classics, 1972.  
• The Roman History by Cassius Dio, translated by Ian Scott-Kilvert. New York: Penguin Classics, 1987.

The Odd Tale About How Athenodorus Supposedly Exposed A Flaw In Augustus’ Personal Security

Augustus (c. 63 BCE-14 CE) is considered to be the first emperor of the Roman Empire, although he wisely shied away using from that title. The statesman and historian, Cassius Dio (c. 163-235 CE), wrote arguably the most complete ancient account of Augustus’ reign in books 50-56 of his text, The Roman History. In the last book of that section Dio wanted to give his readers a final recap of Augustus’ personality and character. In particular, he emphasized that the emperor was a very approachable man (at least compared to other emperors) who was willing to listen to advice and suggestions offered by the people whose word he trusted. To illustrate this point, Dio wrote about an odd encounter that supposedly occurred between Augustus and a man named Athenodorus.

This probably references Athenodorus Cananites (c. 74 BCE-7 CE), also known as Athenodorus Son of Sandon, who was a long-time mentor, friend and advisor to Augustus. He was a respected philosopher of Stoicism, but his work, unfortunately, has been lost to history. His ideas, however, were thankfully recorded in the works of other authors, such as Cicero and Strabo.

According to Cassius Dio, Athenodorus supposedly saw a flaw in Augustus’ personal security at some time during the emperor’s reign and decided to demonstrate the danger by making an unforgettable spectacle. Somehow, Athenodorus reportedly managed to hide in a curtained litter that was subsequently carried into Augustus’ private chambers. Dio did not write about how this was accomplished, but perhaps he convinced the people who were hauling the litter that he was Livia, Augustus’ wife. Whatever the case, Athenodorus apparently did indeed ride in the litter past Augustus’ security and arrived where the emperor was relaxing.

Once he was in close proximity to the emperor, Athenodorus leapt from his hiding place and brandished a sword in the air for the emperor to see. Dio wrote that, with sword in hand, Athenodorus asked, “Are you not afraid that someone might come in like this and kill you?” (The Roman History, Book 56, chapter 43). Staring at the unexpected armed man in such close proximity, Augustus had to admit that Athenodorus posed a valid point. Cassius Dio wrote that Augustus was not angered in the least by the bizarre demonstration, but merely thanked Athenodorus for exposing such a flaw in his security. This tale is more than likely just fictitious rumor or folklore, but it is an interesting story that Cassius Dio assessed to be of a high enough value to include in his history.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (“Augustus Bevilacqua”. Bust of the emperor with the Civic Crown, period of his reign. [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Roman History by Cassius Dio, translated by Ian Scott-Kilvert. New York: Penguin Classics, 1987.  
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Athenodorus-Cananites

The Chaotic Reign of Wang Mang In Ancient China

Wang Mang (c. 45 BCE-23 CE) was a prominent Confucian Scholar with an ascetic lifestyle who thrived during the transition between the Former Han Dynasty (Eastern Han) and the Latter Han Dynasty (Western Han). He had ties to the imperial Liu family—his aunt was Empress Dowager Wang Zhengjun, the widow of the late Emperor Yuan, also known as Yuandi, who ruled from around 48-33 BCE. Despite his connections, Wang Mang’s career as an official in the Han Empire had a slow start. Nevertheless, he built for himself a reputation of being a staunch, diligent and respectful bureaucrat. By the time Wang Mang was in his late thirties, his work ethic and resolve had paid off; when Emperor Cheng (or Chengdi) died in 7 BCE, Wang Mang was at the head of the bureaucracy and momentarily became regent in charge of the empire.

When Emperor Ai (or Aidi, r. 7-1 BCE) ascended to the throne, Wang Mang fell quickly out of favor and was forced out of government. Upon Emperor Ai’s death in 1 BCE, the Emperor Ping became the new emperor, but he was still a child. Empress Dowager Wang Zhengjun successfully pressured for Wang Mang to be brought back as regent until the boy grew to adulthood. When Wang’s power began to fade as Emperor Ping grew into his teenage years, he retained his influence by arranging a marriage between his own daughter and the boy-Emperor. The marriage, however, did not last long, for Emperor Ping died an early death in 6 CE, at only 14 years of age. The death of Emperor Ping was controversial when it occurred, and remains a controversial subject today—some historians think the emperor’s death was natural, while others are convinced Wang Mang had the boy poisoned.

Whatever the case, Wang Mang quickly made the most of the situation. He placed a 1-year-old boy named Liu Yang on the throne and retained for himself the title of regent. The suspicious Liu clan understandably began to grumble and eventually started raising a resistance against Wang. These early uprisings, however, backfired. Wang Mang crushed the resistance, and began to spread propaganda which proclaimed that the Liu family’s Han Dynasty had lost its mandate from Heaven. With the Liu clan momentarily pacified and his propaganda actively spreading doubts about the Han Dynasty, Wang Mang declared himself emperor in 9 CE, proclaiming that it was the start of the new Xin Dynasty.

Even though Wang Mang had a slow start to his early bureaucratic career, he showed himself to be a relentlessly ambitious man while he was emperor. Historians seem to either love or hate the reign of Wang Mang—on the one hand, he was a revolutionary reformer, but on the other hand, he went to brutal and unforgiving lengths to enforce the changes he wanted. As a result, Wang Mang was often portrayed either as a social visionary or a power-hungry tyrant. Like most disputes, the truth is likely somewhere in the middle; Wang Mang was an authoritarian ruler who wanted to institute changes he thought would be beneficial to his people, but was more than willing to carry out his programs through tyrannical means.

Wang Mang’s reforms influenced all aspects of government. He redistributed land in favor of the peasants, and amended the laws on buying and selling real estate. He reformed and cut taxes, while also attempting to mint a new set of currency. He also set up measures in order to stabilize and standardize commodity prices in his empire. Interestingly, Wang Mang placed a crippling tax on people who owned slaves. This has been interpreted in several ways: One suggestion is that it was a tax against a perceived vice or immorality, similar to how modern governments sometimes place taxes on tobacco or alcohol. The more cynical interpretation claims that Wang Mang simply taxed slaveholders for the sole purpose of pilfering their ample supplies of money.

Despite whatever motives Wang Mang may have had for his social and economic programs, the Chinese people quickly rejected his reforms. He tried to change too much in too little time. Starting around 10 CE, the peasantry and supporters of the Liu clan began to form resistance groups, hoping to bring the empire back to the old status quo. After years of quick, strict reforms, much of the empire’s frontier land and countryside were in open rebellion. Adding to the growing troubles, the Yellow River (Huang He) changed its course twice during Wang Mang’s reign, displacing countless angry Chinese from their homes. Many of these disgruntled peasants formed into huge militias, the most prominent of which was known as the Red Eyebrows.

By 23 CE, the rebels and militias had overwhelmed the imperial army and laid siege to the city of Chang’an, where Wang Mang was residing. When the besiegers broke into the city, Wang Mang faced them from a defensible position in the interior of the city, with what remained of his supporters. He even supposedly tried to use magic to help even the odds against the enemy militias. Nevertheless, the rebels charged the cornered emperor, defeated the defenders and killed Wang Mang. Eventually a prominent member of the Liu family named Liu Xiu brought order back to China by restoring the Han Dynasty to power and assumed the name Emperor Guangwu (or Guangwudi, r.25-57 CE).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (7th century depiction of Emperor Guangwu from the Thirteen Emperors Scroll, on top of an image of the Boxer Rebellion, c. 1900, both [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Transnationalism in Ancient and Medieval Societies: The Role of Cross-Border Trade and Travel by Michael C. Howard. North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2012.  
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Wang-Mang 
• https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/emperor-wang-mang-chinas-first-socialist-2402977/  
• http://www.encyclopedia.com/people/history/chinese-and-taiwanese-history-biographies/wang-mang