The Fur Experiment Of Caliph Al-Mahdi

Arts, sciences and other scholarly endeavors flourished under the reign of the Abbasid caliph Al-Mahdi (r. 775-785). Al-Mahdi was apparently caught up, at times, in his era’s culture of intellectual curiosity. One supposed instance of this occurred when the caliph was staying in the city of Rayy at a time when the region was experiencing a particularly cold season. While shivering in the chilly air, Al-Mahdi apparently was suddenly struck with the inspiration to experiment with different furs, hoping to determine which of the selection was the warmest and most moisture-resistant pelt.

Al-Mahdi was not short on fur to test—he had on hand pelts of different colors from various species. To test the insulating powers of these furs, the caliph reportedly ordered that numerous flagons of water be brought forth, one for each fur that Al-Mahdi wished to test. He then reportedly stoppered and swaddled each flagon of water with a different fur and exposed the pelt-covered containers to the freezing-cold air for an entire brisk night. Come morning, the furry flagons were retrieved and the curious caliph inspected the state of the water inside each container. As the story goes, only one flagon (bundled in a black fox pelt) had survived the cold in a liquid state, whereas the water in every other container was frozen solid by morning. With this data, the experiment was concluded and Al-Mahdi proclaimed that black fox fur was the warmest fur he had on hand.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration from the history of Muhammad Bal'ami  (d. 974), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Book of Notification and Revision by Mas’ūdī (d. 957) in Ibn Fadlan and the Land of Darkness: Arab Travellers in the Far North, translated and edited by Paul Lunde and Caroline Stone. New York, Penguin Classics, 2012.
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Islamic-world/Sunnis-and-Shiites#ref317159 
• https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Al-Mahdi  

The Scandalous Tale Of The Rogue Priest, Themel

A priest named Themel was said to have preached in Herakleos, a village which belonged to the emperors of Constantinople. His home town was in a precarious location, set within striking distance from the hostile lands of Tarsus and Aleppo. Themel lived in the 10th century, and his community was thrown into chaos by the constant warfare between Emperor Constantine VII (sole rule 945-959) and Emir Sayf al-Dawla of Aleppo (r. 945-967). Themel reportedly got a personal taste of the era’s prevalent bloodshed, and his experience would take him down a truly bizarre path.

According to the historian John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), a band of scavengers and foragers from Aleppo or Tarsus arrived at Herakleos to commandeer food to feed their army during the ongoing border struggle between the Empire of Constantinople and its Muslim neighbors. At the time, the people of Herakleos were reportedly in the middle of Holy Mass, and the priest Themel was leading them in the celebration of the Eucharist. Messengers interrupted Themel’s liturgy, informing the congregation of the arrival of the hostile foragers. Upon hearing of this news, Themel apparently decided to not only lead his flock in prayer, but to also lead them in battle—as the story goes, Themel ended his church service prematurely, then stormed off to face the looters. For a weapon, the priest reportedly picked up a semantron, a large wooden or metal beam used as a percussion instrument in the church. As for armor, he simply wore his religious vestments. Thus equipped, the warrior-priest joined the fray and allegedly bludgeoned a few of the scavengers to death with his trusty semantron, helping the town of Herakleos to drive off the enemy.

One might expect that Themel would have been treated as a hero after the battle—after all, it was the Middle Ages, and militant religious figures were, at the time, condoned and often praised. Nevertheless, praise was not in Themel’s future. If he were a character in a literary work,  you could say that his path underwent a sudden and bizarre plot twist. Instead of being applauded and praised, the priest would be vilified by his countrymen.

The bishop over Themel’s diocese reportedly took issue with the warrior-priest’s actions. Be it the blood-spattered vestments, the gore-stained semantron, or the neglected Eucharist, the bishop held a grudge against Themel that never healed. Due to their unreconciled differences, the bishop reportedly sabotaged Themel’s pastoral career and blocked the priest from continuing his ministry. Themel reacted poorly to the bishop’s interference, and the situation made him begin to reevaluate his life.

Themel, suppressed and criticized by the bishop, eventually chose to drastically change the direction of his life. He reportedly renounced the priesthood and fled to Tarsus or Aleppo, where he was said to have joined armies opposed to the emperors of Constantinople. According to Byzantine scholars, the former priest Themel apparently abandoned Christianity, itself, after his flight. On Themel’s career after his defection, John Skylitzes wrote, “So he went over to the Hagarenes and renounced Christianity. He joined forces with them, and not only ravaged Cappadocia and the adjacent themes but penetrated as far as what is called Asia Minor” (Synopsis of Byzantine History, chapter 11, section 8).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Conquest of Jerusalem painted by Émile Signol (1804–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010).
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Hamdanid-dynasty 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Constantine-VII-Porphyrogenitus
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/arts/culture-magazines/ode-reconquest-al-hadath 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100443950 
• https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/sayf-al-dawla-COM_1010 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Sayf-al-Dawlah  
   

The Political Battle Over The Dedication Of The Temple Of Jupiter On The Capitol In Rome

The Temple of Jupiter on the Capitol (Capitoline Hill) in Rome was said to have been officially dedicated sometime around 509 BCE, give or take a few years, near the traditional founding date of the Roman Republic. The consuls or magistrates of Rome at the time were Horatius and Publicola. Both of them wanted the honor of conducting the dedication ceremony, as it would be an auspicious and historic event which would boost the fame of the person that directed the proceedings. According to the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE- 17 CE), the two politicians decided to duel for the privilege in a most civilized way—they played a game of chance. Horatius and Publicola both drew lots, and it was the former of the two who had the winning hand. Publicola did not protest the loss, but sulked off to the army and reportedly devoted himself to a campaign against the city of Veii.

Horatius, despite his victory in the game of chance and the departure of his fellow consul, would soon find that there were still more obstacles blocking his path to the coveted dedication ceremony. These obstructions would come in the form of Publicola’s stubborn relatives. Although Publicola had distracted himself from his disappointment by devoting his thoughts to war, his family was stuck in Rome with the soon-to-be honored Horatius. As the story goes, Publicola’s kinsmen were not willing to admit defeat, and they launched a political campaign against Horatius in an attempt to delay the ceremony, presumably to give Publicola time to reconsider his relinquishment of the ceremony to his colleague.

Despite the petitions, complaints and motions brought forward by Publicola’s family, Horatius managed to keep the schedule of the ceremony on track. When the designated day arrived, he strode to the temple of Jupiter and commenced his long-awaited dedication ceremony. Publicola’s family, however, had one last trick—in the middle of the ceremony, a distraught messenger arrived with news that Horatius’ son had died. Publicola’s relatives were among the crowd in attendance, and they were quick to give their condolences to Horatius and hinted that, as a father in mourning, he was in no fit state to conduct a temple dedication ceremony. Horatius, however, was not fazed by the ruse. Likely tipped off by the suspicious behavior of Publicola’s dramatic kinsmen, Horatius merely made an announcement on how the funeral should be arranged; then, with that precaution complete, Horatius promptly resumed the dedication ceremony. To the annoyance of Publicola’s kinsmen, Horatius completed the ritual without any further issues.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Entrance to a theater by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Places/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Roma/Rome/_Texts/PLATOP*/Aedes_Jovis_Capitolini.html  

The First Great Viking Attack On The Caspian Sea

Around 912 or 913, a huge fleet of Vikings, recruited primarily from the emerging Rus communities, entered the Caspian Sea for the first time, giving the locals on that shore a taste of the danger that Britain, France and Spain had already been dealing with for around a century. Mas’ūdī (d. 957), a traveler and scholar from Baghdad, claimed that the fleet of raiders numbered around 500 ships, a force that no one would want to see on their coastal waters. Interestingly, the fleet struck a deal with the Khazars, who, at that time, dominated the region between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea. The Khazars reportedly gave the raiders access to their river systems in exchange for a cut of the future plunder that would be looted from the Caspian Sea communities. As the story goes, the leaders of the Viking fleet agreed to the deal and they sailed unobstructed through Khazar land, reaching the Caspian Sea without any difficulty.

Upon arriving at the Caspian, the Vikings did what they did best. Using their well-honed raiding strategies, the fleet sought out small islands to set up camps from which to assault nearby settlements. Mas’ūdī described the scene: “The Rus spilled rivers of blood, seized women and children and property, raided and everywhere destroyed and burned. The people who lived on these shores were in turmoil, for they had never been attacked by an enemy from the sea” (Meadows of Gold and Mines of Precious Gems, Penguin ed. pg. 145). The raiders continued their operations in the Caspian region for many months, accumulating a great amount of plunder, but also giving the local authorities time to gather forces against the invaders. By the time local armies began commandeering merchant and fishing vessels in order to launch attacks on the island camps of the Vikings, the raiders knew it was about time to start heading home.

With the local forces around the Caspian Sea mobilized, the situation became a race to Khazar territory. The Khazars, it seems, were playing both sides—they wanted their cut of the plundered loot, but they also did not hinder their angry neighbors from setting up ambushes at the mouths of Khazar-controlled rivers that connected to the Caspian. When the Vikings sent the prearranged cut of the loot to the Khazars, they were tipped off about the ambush that had been arranged along the river.

Despite being warned, the fleet of raiders continued on their path and engaged the forces that were lying in wait. The ambushers, according to Mas’ūdī, numbered around 15,000, and, despite losing the element of surprise, they were said to have still won the day. Yet, it was not a complete victory for the local forces—thousands of the raiders were able to break through the hostile lines and continue sailing up the river to friendlier territory. Unfortunately for the Caspian Sea region, the ambush did little to disincentivize further raids, and fleets of Rus warriors would return to pillage the region several more times in the 10th century.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Sadko painted by Nicholas Roerich (1874–1947), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Mas’ūdī’s Meadows of Gold and Mines of Precious Gems in Ibn Fadlan and the Land of Darkness: Arab Travellers in the Far North, translated and edited by Paul Lunde and Catoline Stone. New York, Penguin Classics, 2012.

The Layered Sacrifices In Emperor Wu’s Alter Of The Great Unity

Emperor Wu of China (r. 141-87 BCE) constructed an elaborate altar to the “Great Unity” during his reign. It was a three-level structure where, besides the Great Unity, the entities of the sun, moon and the Five Heavenly Emperors were also worshipped. Each of these deities had a uniquely-outfitted priestly order at the altar, dressed in robes that corresponded to their religious focus. It must have been a vibrant and colorful scene—the sun priests wore red and moon priests dressed in white, while the devotees of the Five Heavenly Emperors (known as the Green, Red, White, Black, and Yellow Emperors) wore the color of their respective heavenly deity. Each priesthood of the various Heavenly Emperors operated from different shrines that encircled the base of the overall structure.

One of the duties of the various priests at the altar of the Great Unity was to conduct offerings and sacrifices to their respective celestial beings. The Great Unity was offered several bloodless sacrifices, including the typical culinary dishes of the time, thick wine and jujubes. The Five Heavenly Emperors were similarly given offerings of rich wine, poured from special ceremonial vessels. Yet, not all of the offerings were inanimate. Red-robed priests sacrificed a yak or ox to the sun, while white-robed priests sacrificed a ram or pig to the moon. A deer was also sacrificed, although to what or whom this creature was offered is vague compared to the other victims.

The slaughtering of the sacrificial victims was only half of the ceremony. After the blood was spilled, the priests had an interesting way of disposing of the animal carcasses. According to Emperor Wu’s Grand Historian and palace secretary, Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), the smaller sacrificial remains were stuffed into the larger carcasses, and they were all ceremoniously burned together. More specifically, the sacrificed pig or ram was placed inside the remains of the deer, and then the stuffed deer was subsequently crammed into the remains of the ox or yak. When this procedure was complete, the layered sacrifices were given a ritual cremation. To add more ceremony to the process, the priests would sprinkle drops of water, or other such liquids, onto the crackling fire as it burned.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Temple and landscape scene painted by Li Cheng (c. 919 - 967), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

Patriarch Theophylact And The Luxurious Lives Of His Horses

Theophylact was a son of Romanos I, the emperor of Constantinople between 919 and 944. Emperor Romanos, a skilled political maneuverer, sent young Theophylact to apprentice under the Patriarchs of Constantinople in 924, when the boy was only seven years old. The emperor intended for his son to take up the highest church office in Constantinople, but, as the boy was far too young to hold the office, he had to wait as an assistant to three successive patriarchs from 924-931. When Theophylact reached fourteen years of age in 931, Emperor Romanos I arranged for the then Patriarch Tryphon to resign from his clerical office. Theophylact, however, was still too young to take the job, so Romanos schemed to keep the patriarchal throne vacant for two years. Finally, in 933, the emperor succeeded in having his son named patriarch of the church of Constantinople.

Despite being apprenticed under different patriarchs for more than half of his life, Theophylact was said to have remained a spoiled nobleman at heart. He was only sixteen when he became patriarch and, despite his new high and holy office, he still wanted to engage in typical teenage pastimes. It was an understandable wish, yet his behavior distressed and disturbed the clergymen who looked to him for leadership. Like worrisome parents, the clergy constantly criticized the teen’s behavior—too much dancing, too much singing, too much partying, and too little respect for tradition. As Theophylact grew out of his teenage years, his partying gave way to a passion for luxury, and collecting horses became his greatest obsession.

According to the historian, John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), Patriarch Theophylact eventually owned more than two thousand horses. On the great care that the clergyman showed these animals, Skylitzes wrote, “He was not satisfied with feeding them hay and oats, but would serve them pine-seeds, almonds and pistachios or even dates and figs and choicest raisins, mixed with the most fragrant wine. To this he would add saffron, cinnamon, balsam and other spices and serve it to each of his horses as food” (Synopsis historian, chapter 11, section 10).

Theophylact’s great affection for his horses caused a minor scandal when a prized mare in his herd was pregnant. The patriarch was said to have been in the middle of a church service when a messenger arrived to tell him that the horse had foaled. Theophylact was reportedly so eager to go see the newborn animal that he speed-read through the liturgy as if he were an auctioneer, and eventually ran off to see the foal after he had directed the congregation to begin singing lengthy hymns.  Once he greeted the new member of the horse herd, Theophylact rushed back to the church and was able to join his flock in singing the final hymn.

Besides simply caring for his horses, Theophylact also enjoyed galloping with them around the vicinity of Constantinople. In 954, one such ride took a deadly turn. While gallivanting by the seawall on one of his steeds, Patriarch Theophylact was thrown from his horse and he crashed violently to the ground, landing awkwardly or hitting an object in the dirt. He reportedly never recovered from the fall, but instead sickened and deteriorated, eventually dying in 956.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Two Horses and a chicken in a Stable by Wouterus Verschuur (1812–1874), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010).

The Deadly Wedding Feast Of Tian Fen

Tian Fen was not a man to be trifled with—as the younger brother of Empress Wang, Tian Fen was the brother-in-law of Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE) and also the uncle of Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE). Furthermore, he was the marquis of Wuan, a chancellor of China and, in 135 BCE, he took a lead role in the regency council that advised Emperor Wu.

Many officials in the empire were afraid of Tian Fen’s power and would not dare to speak out against him. Yet, Marquis Dou Ying, and his friend Guan Fu, were not among the timid ranks. Instead, Dou Ying and Guan Fu seemed to clash with Tian Fen every chance they could. From property disputes to personal feuds and political arguments, the two sides rarely aligned. Only in their efforts to increase the role of Confucianism in Emperor Wu’s government could Tian Fen and Dou Ying find common ground. Yet, this common interest did little to stop the two ambitious marquises from descending into an ever more bitter rivalry.

The feud between Tian Fen and Dou Ying was exacerbated by the latter’s relationship with Guan Fu, whom the historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE) described as “a very stubborn and outspoken man, especially when he had something to drink” (Shi Ji 107). As Sima Qian hinted, Guan Fu could be quite the belligerent drunk. After a few drinks, he was known to become argumentative, and, on particularly bad days, it was not unheard of for Guan Fu to end up in drunken brawls. Unsurprisingly, it was a drinking party which would eventually seal Guan Fu’s downfall.

In 131 BCE, Tian Fen became a married man. His sister, the Empress Dowager Wang, encouraged the nobles and officials of the realm to pay Tian Fen a visit and congratulate him on his marriage. These visits were basically drinking parties, where containers of alcohol would be passed around and attendees were expected to give toasts and speeches in honor of Tian Fen. Guan Fu, for his part, realized the potential danger he faced by attending such a party, and therefore initially declined his invitation. Dou Ying, however, was able to make his friend reconsider. In the end, they attended Tian Fen’s wedding party together—unfortunately, the event would not have a pleasant outcome.

Dou Ying was on his best behavior during the party, and Guan Fu also contained himself for a time. Nevertheless, as his cup continued to be refilled, Guan Fu’s control weakened, making him argumentative and less cautious about his wording. To Dou Ying’s dismay, Guan Fu eventually began making a scene. By the end of the festivities, Guan Fu had sneered at most of the high officials present at the party and had even insulted Tain Fen, despite it being his wedding feast. At this point, Dou Ying tried to drag his friend out of the party, but Tian Fen was now completely outraged—before Guan Fu could be ushered away by friends, Tian Fen had the man arrested, right then and there, at the party.

Tragically, repercussions for perceived crimes in ancient China often affected more than just the accused criminal. The case of Guan Fu was no different; instead of being content with imprisoning the belligerent drunk, Tian Fen put out warrants for the arrest of the entire Guan clan. Fortunately for the Guan family, Dou Ying and other sympathetic men of means were able to forewarn the family, allowing them to go into hiding before the authorities arrived.

With the Guan family safe, Dou Ying devoted himself to the cause of freeing his imprisoned friend. Utilizing all of his political skills and connections, Dou Ying set out to clear his pal’s name while also attempting to discredit Tian Fen. If Dou Ying had solely focused on lessening the punishment of Guan Fu and his family, he may have made progress, yet by bundling a political campaign against the feared and respected Tian Fen into this mission, Dou Ying lost many of his allies among the officials. In the end, the plan backfired—instead of freeing Guan Fu or harming Tian Fen, the result of Dou Ying’s protests was his own imprisonment. Both Guan Fu and Dou Ying were executed in 130 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (A reproduction of an earlier Tang Dynasty (618-907) work of art, the reproduction is attributed to Emperor Huizong of Song (r. 1100–1125 AD), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personstianfen.html 
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personshanwudi.html 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Wudi-emperor-of-Han-dynasty  

The Succession War Over The Bishopric Of Uzès

In the year 581, Bishop Ferreolus of Uzès died, creating a power vacuum that would lead to a succession crisis. Various candidates were put forth to lead the bishopric, with the locals of Uzès, the clergy, and the monarchy all favoring different people for the job. The locals, or more particularly the local government, made the first move. They put an ex-governor of Provence, by the name of Albinus, in command of the bishopric, presumably with the consent of the local clergy. The monarchy, however, was not at all happy at being cut out of the conversation and, therefore, sent another candidate, named Jovinus, to usurp power in the bishopric from Albinus. In case the people and government resisted this new candidate, the monarchy put Jovinus in command of an army.

As it happened, Albinus died that very year in 581, only three months after he had been proposed for office by the local government of Uzès. Despite the loss of this candidate, the regional powers in Uzès still did not want their bishopric to be ruled by Jovinus. Therefore, the clergy and the local government rushed through another candidate, a certain deacon named Marcellus, and consecrated him as their bishop before Jovinus arrived in the vicinity with his army.

According to the writings of Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), Uzès became quite a tense place when Jovenus arrived and found another bishop firmly entrenched in the city.  A confrontation ensued, and when Marcellus refused to give way, Jovinus brought his borrowed army into play and besieged the city. Uzès seemed to completely side with Marcellus, however, and its garrisons and local forces were willing to fight to keep their chosen bishop in power. Now that Marcellus had his own army manning the defenses of Uzès, the siege ground to a standstill. According to Gregory of Tours, Jovinus eventually became disillusioned with his mission and, after taking a bribe, admitted defeat to Marcellus and relinquished any claim to the bishopric of Uzès.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Bishop Absalon at Arkona, painted by Laurits Tuxen (1853–1927), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/religion/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/ferreolus-uzes-st  

Saint Olaf Carved His Own Figurehead For His Flagship

Around 1016, King Olaf II (Saint Olaf, r. 1015-1028) of Norway pulled together a fleet in preparation for the upcoming sea battle of Nesjar against his rival, Jarl Sweyn Hákonsson. It was a modest armada, reportedly numbering only seven or eight ships at the beginning, of which only three could be classified as warships. Before the day of the battle, Saint Olaf would recruit more ships and crews, yet his force was said to have still remained far fewer than that of Jarl Sweyn. What Olaf’s force lacked in quantity, it made up for in quality—before barging into Norwegian politics, Olaf had spent years as a Viking, giving him ample battle experience and enough treasure to equip his most trusted men with the day’s latest armors and weaponry. As such, even though Saint Olaf’s fleet in 1016 was not the largest sea force in the north, it was still a formidable fleet that Olaf was proud to call his own.

With the fleet formed, Olaf picked out which vessel was to be his flagship, but no ship, especially a flagship, could be complete without a figurehead adorning the prow. In this regard, Saint Olaf reportedly decided to give the ship a personal touch. Instead of commissioning an artisan, Saint Olaf was said to have procured a set of woodworking tools for himself and promptly set about carving his ideal figurehead with his own hands. The historian Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), claimed that Olaf “was skilled and had a sure eye for all kinds of handicraft work,” so the final product must have been an admirable piece of art (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, 3). Interestingly, out of all the fearsome creatures he could have chosen to depict, the king decided to adorn his prow with a simple kingly head. When the figurehead was complete, Saint Olaf gave his flagship the unimaginative name of Man’s Head. The regal wooden visage apparently became the next big ship-fashion trend, and, before long, other chieftains put in orders for their own ships to be decorated with various wooden faces.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Construction of longships, painted by Nicholas Roerich  (1874–1947), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/religion 
• https://avaldsnes.info/en/informasjon/olav-den-hellige/ 
• https://weaponsandwarfare.com/2018/12/03/the-battle-of-nesjar/ 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100229885  

Montezuma II’s Apartments Of Amusing Persons

In its heyday, the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan (Mexico City) was a huge and beautiful place, featuring wide causeways, bustling markets and navigable canals. For the Aztec rulers, the city was also a land of many amusements. Montezuma II, the first Aztec emperor who had the misfortune of meeting Europeans, devoted great amounts of resources to collecting and maintaining items, creatures and people that he found entertaining. Several villas and palaces, located both in and outside of Tenochtitlan, were reportedly used to house the Aztec emperor’s collection of oddities. From birds, to snakes, or weapons and armors, the emperor had space set aside for all sorts of animate and inanimate interests—including certain kinds of humans.

Hernán Cortés, in a letter to Holy Roman Emperor Charles V in 1520, mentioned a “palace that contained a number of men and women of monstrous size, and also dwarfs, and crooked and ill-formed persons, each of which had their separate apartments” (Second Letter to Charles V, 1520). Each apartment had its own care team, tasked with seeing to the needs of those who were housed in the building. The residents of the apartments were brought out as entertainers when Hernán Cortés arrived in Tenochtitlan. The Spaniards likened the role these people played in Montezuma’s feasts as something akin to the jesters back in Europe.

In a different palace, where Montezuma kept his huge collection of birds, the Aztec emperor also housed another type of people who caught his interest—albinos. At that bird-adjacent apartment, wrote Cortés, “are men, women and children, whose faces, bodies, hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes are white from their birth” (Second Letter to Charles V, 1520). In his letter, Cortés was not explicit about the care given to these people, but the birds, alone, had a crew of reportedly over 300 Aztec keepers.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Map of Tenochtitlan, printed 1524 in Nuremberg, Germany, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz, translated by J. M. Cohen. New York: Penguin Books, 1963.
• https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/mod/1520cortes.asp (Cortes’ Second Letter) 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Montezuma-II 
• https://www.biography.com/political-figure/montezuma-ii