The Covert Night Raid Of Xenophon Against A Well-Guarded Persian Tower

In 399 BCE, the philosopher, historian and mercenary, Xenophon, was in the last year of his famous adventure with the so-called Ten Thousand. The Ten Thousand, as the name suggests, was a Greek mercenary company of over 10,000 warriors that had joined the rebellion of Cyrus the Younger of Persia in 401 BCE. Unfortunately, the rebellion failed and the mercenaries had to fight their way through hostile territory in Babylonia, Mesopotamia and Armenia until they reached the Greek-populated city of Trapezus on the eastern edge of the Black Sea. Their journey was not over, however, as the army had to keep marching westward along the shore, passing by Cerasus, Cotyora, Sinope and Heraclea as they marched for the city of Chrysopolis on the Bosporus. From there, the army (now reportedly numbering about 7,000 men) crossed over to Byzantium, reaching the city around 399 BCE.

At the start of the expedition, Xenophon was not a leader of the mercenaries. Yet, during the march of the Ten Thousand, he was elected by his peers to a position of leadership, and his influence over the army seemingly only increased as time went on. When the Spartan authorities in Byzantium wanted the mercenaries to do a task, they delivered their messages to Xenophon, and when the mercenary army went into the service of Prince Seuthes of Thrace in 399 BCE, the Thracian nobleman treated Xenophon as its main leader.

The mercenary contract in Thrace did not last long, and before the end of year 399 BCE, Sparta had once more hired the mercenary company and shipped them back over to Anatolia. Due to campaigning with the Thracians and rising rates of desertion, the mercenaries that crossed over to Anatolia now numbered between 5,300 and 6,000 men. Xenophon went with his troops back into Persian territory, but like many of his war-wearied comrades, he was beginning to consider other options outside of the mercenary company. In preparation of this move, he let the Spartans take more direct control of the mercenaries. In his memoir of the events, Xenophon (in third person) wrote, “The Spartans took over the booty and set about raising money by appointing quartermasters to do the selling. They incurred a great deal of criticism for their actions in this matter. Meanwhile, Xenophon stayed away and made no secret of the fact that he was getting ready to go home” (Anabasis Kyrou, Book 7, section 7). Nevertheless, as Xenophon marched with the army toward Pergamum, he kept his eyes and ears open for any last schemes to boost his wealth and prestige.

When the army reached Pergamum, Xenophon learned of some information that piqued his interest. During a conversation with one of the city’s prominent Greek families, Xenophon learned of a wealthy Persian named Asidates who lived nearby. The Persian, and his family, reportedly dwelled in a tall tower that oversaw vast pastures full of livestock that were tended to by hundreds of workers or slaves. Guards were known to watch over the farmstead, but Xenophon was assured by his contacts that a band of 300 stealthy warriors would be able to overpower any guards and capture the wealthy Persian, his livestock, and his workers, without any problem. With this tempting information on his mind, Xenophon had a sacrifice performed and the omens read. After the ceremony, the diviner concluded that the gods were favorable to the plan, and Xenophon was so pleased with the answer that he did not bother to do any more reconnaissance work.

Encouraged by the sacrifice, Xenophon reportedly invited a select few of his friends to join him on the mission and also brought in the most dependable and experienced troops from the company. Friends, however, had told other friends, and before long, many in the mercenary camp knew about Xenophon’s upcoming tower heist. When it came time for the raiders to meet at their rallying point, Xenophon was shocked to find over 600 men awaiting his command. After picking the troops he wanted for the clandestine mission, Xenophon and his raiders set out for the tower of Asidates, guided by two informants.

They forded at least one river and marched through the plains of Mysia, finally reaching their target around midnight. Xenophon, in his usual style, vividly described the scene as he and his troops silently crept toward the tower:

“It was close to midnight when they reached the place. The slaves, who were kept around the outside of the tower, ran away, as did most of the livestock, but the Greeks ignored them because they wanted to capture Asidates himself and his personal belongings. But the tower, which was massive and tall, fortified with battlements, and well defended by large numbers of good fighters, proved impossible to take by direct assault. Instead, they attempted to tunnel into the tower through the wall, which was eight clay bricks thick” (Anabasis Kyrou, Book 7, section 8).

Xenophon did not mention if they had planned on the possibility of having to drill through a wall, or if they had brought the equipment needed to do the job. Whatever the case, the mercenaries were loath to leave empty-handed, so they diligently began chipping away at the brick. As they had to remain quiet enough to not wake the tower guards, Xenophon and his comrades made slow progress on the wall. They continued their work for the rest of the night, and the first sunrays of dawn were already peeking above the horizon when the mercenaries finally completed a hole large enough to squeeze through. Yet, by this time, the awakening residents of the tower had become suspicious. Just as the raiders were beginning to creep through the tunnel, someone on the inside jabbed a spear-like object through the hole, stabbing a thigh of an unlucky mercenary. Unfortunately for Xenophon, things were about to get worse.

As soon as the residents and defenders of the tower discovered that they were under attack, they began shooting arrows at the mercenaries from the battlements and through the tunnel. In addition to the staunch defense posed by the tower, Xenophon and his raiders soon heard the unnerving sounds of feet and hooves coming from another direction. Asidates must have been more important, or more powerful, than Xenophon was originally led to believe, for a force of over 1,000 Persian infantry and horsemen, who were apparently camped or patrolling nearby, came rushing to the tower’s aid as soon as the noise of battle rang out.

Stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place, Xenophon decided that his only option was to flee. The thwarted mercenary raiders began to run for their lives in the direction of Pergamum. Yet, Xenophon and his companions were still not willing to leave empty-handed, so they captured any workers they could grasp, and herded off all of the animals that were in their path. The mercenaries made a square formation around this last-minute plunder and tried to hold onto their loot while desperately fending off the pursuing Persian horsemen and archers.

Meanwhile, back in Pergamum, some of the people who knew of Xenophon’s plan, but did not go, were now worried about their comrades and marched off with their own force in the direction of Mysia. These reinforcements met Xenophon’s beleaguered band at a river running through the region of Teuthrania. By this point, Xenophon’s raiding party was in a sorry state—half of the warriors in the square formation had been wounded by the still-pursuing Persians. The sight of Greek reinforcements, however, caused the Persian force to finally end its chase. Thankfully for Xenophon, none of his wounded men reportedly died. Better yet, they managed to successfully capture around 200 of Asidates’ workers, as well as enough animals to perform a few sacrifices.

Xenophon took a day to rest after his return from the disastrous raiding attempt. Yet, once that day was done, he rallied his whole mercenary force in an effort to seek revenge against Asidates. Word apparently spread that the mercenaries were bent on revenge, so the Persian fled from his tower and hid near a town called Parthenium. Xenophon described his efforts to capture the elusive Persian, proudly stating of himself, “Xenophon and his men came across him there and captured him, his wife, his children, his horses, and everything he had. And so the omens of the earlier sacrifice turned out to be true” (Anabasis Kyrou, Book 7, section 8).

After capturing Asidates and everything he held dear, Xenophon returned to Pergamum. There, still in the year 399 BCE, Xenophon relinquished control of the mercenary army to a Spartan commander named Thibron and finally parted ways with the mercenary company.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (modified Tower of Babel by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (1526 1530–1569), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Anabasis Kyrou (The Expedition/Upcountry March of Cyrus) by Xenophon and translated by Robin Waterfield. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Xenophon 
• https://www.ancient.eu/xenophon/ 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/history/historians-ancient-biographies/xenophon 
• https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/brill-s-new-pauly/teuthrania-e1205860  

The Banquet-Inspired Raid Of Saktikios

Simeon I of Bulgaria (r. 893-927) was a constant and formidable foe of the emperors of Constantinople. As the Bulgarian leader declared war on Constantinople frequently between 894 and 924, Simeon’s name was likely brought up in tones of anger and frustration in many an emperor’s banquet. One such feast in which the Bulgarians were the topic of conversation took place between 921 and 922. The exact date is difficult to discern, but the event reportedly occurred around the time that Emperor Romanos I lost his wife on February 20, 922. Whenever this feast was taking place, there were Bulgarian warriors ravaging and looting the countryside near Constantinople. These raiders no doubt irritated the emperor, and he made his frustration known to the nobles attending his banquet. According to the 11th-century historian, John Skylitzes, “the emperor gave a fiery speech, which enlisted an enthusiastic response, urging them valiantly to go forth against the foe and to fight for their fatherland” (Synopsis of Byzantine History, chapter 10, section 8). Although all of the emperor’s courtiers boldly proclaimed themselves ready to fight for the empire, only one of the officers at the banquet apparently took the emperor’s speech as an immediate call for action.

A certain Saktikios, commander of the corps of the Exkoubitors (one of four regiments charged with defending the city of Constantinople), was so inspired by Emperor Romanos’ banquet battle-cry that he mustered the forces under his command and set out against the Bulgarians, alone, in the early hours of the morning. The forces of Constantinople apparently knew the exact location of the main Bulgarian camp at the time, and it was for that campsite that Saktikios marched his band of warriors. When the Exkoubitors arrived at their target, they found the camp largely deserted, as a majority of the Bulgarians operating from the camp were still out pillaging the countryside. Taking advantage of the camp’s poor defenses, Saktikios and his troops successfully barged into the site, and set to work on making their emperor proud by slaughtering as many Bulgarians as they could find. Yet, as people fled the camp or as looters began to return with their spoils, the word soon spread among nearby Bulgarian forces that their camp was under attack. Before long, Saktikios and his men were surrounded by newly-arrived foes. The encircled Exkoubitors stayed and fought for a time, but as more and more Bulgarians arrived to help the camp, Saktikios and his troops began to retreat back toward Constantinople.

The retreat reportedly went well until they came to a river crossing, where Saktikios’ men and horses became stuck in the mud. As the Exkoubitors tried to pull themselves free, the pursuing Bulgarians caught up with their prey and the battle resumed. The forces under the command of Saktikios were eventually able to free themselves from the mud and fight their way back to Constantinople. Yet, the delay at the river crossing had been costly—before escaping the mud, Saktikios received a deep cut on the inside of his thigh and died not long after reaching safety.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

• John Skylitzes. A Synopsis of Byzantine History: 811-1057, translated by John Wortley. Original text c. 11th or early 12th century. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Simeon-I 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/simeon-king-bulgaria 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Romanos_I/ 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100427591  

The Gruesome Medkits Of Hernán Cortés’ Conquistadors

The mid-to-late 16th century would see major developments in the medical fields of anatomy and surgery. Andreas Vesalius published the first comprehensive anatomical textbook in 1543, which he based on his own firsthand observations collected from numerous human dissections. Similarly, a battlefield surgeon named Ambroise Paré published a text in 1545 that presented new ways to treat firearm and artillery wounds. Based on his war experiences, Paré also recorded valuable observations about the use of ligatures to staunch blood flow from horrific wounds or amputations. These mid-century medical advances, however, were not known to the members of Hernán Cortés’ expedition that set sail for Mexico in 1519. At the time of their adventure, European medicine was still dominated by the ideas of the Greek-Roman physician, Galen (d. 213), as well as other slowly evolving traditional folk remedy beliefs.

According to Bernal Díaz del Castillo, a veteran conquistador in Cortés party, the common medical practice among his comrades was to treat any wounds they sustained with oil or grease. He did not mention if, as was common at the time of the expedition, the oil happened to be boiling-hot when applied to the wound—this painful cauterization technique was later argued against by the aforementioned Ambroise Paré. Yet, Bernal Díaz did claim that if whatever greasy substance they used had congealed or solidified, they would melt it down before use. Furthermore, it is unclear how this melted or warmed oil or grease was applied; he never described his comrades as ‘cauterizing’ wounds. Instead, Bernal Díaz’s statements about the subject are most often translated to mean that the conquistadors ‘dressed’ their wounds with the oily substance.

After being on the expedition for several months, however, the oil supplies of the conquistadors began to run low. Faced with this shortage, the Spaniards had to be creative on how, and with what, they would heal their wounds. As may be expected, for their first medical experiments, the conquistadors decided to do some animal testing trials, and therefore began to treat their horses’ wounds with a new greasy material that they found in Mexico. A fair warning, the descriptions of this new healing method used by the conquistadors is not for the faint of heart.

The conquistadors apparently had a medical epiphany around the time of the Battle of Cintla, fought on March 25, 1519, in the Tabasco region of Mexico. After the battle, hundreds of natives reportedly lay dead on the battlefield. Cortés had brought all the latest weaponry to the battle—fine swords, crossbows, firearms and cannons. Therefore, many of the corpses scattering the field were sliced open or blasted apart. While surveying this field of carnage, the Spaniards noticed a new substance among the gore that they believed could be used to treat wounds—human fat. Bernal Díaz made an account of his comrades’ first experimentation with this new substance, which they tried out on their horses. He wrote, “we bandaged the wounds of our men with linen, which was all we had for that purpose. Those of our horses we dressed with melted fat, which we cut from the dead bodies of the Indians” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 34).

By September, the Spaniards were convinced enough by the health of the horses to try the fat on their own wounds. Around September 1, 1519, after having fought against an ambush of Tlaxcalans or Otomis, the conquistadors desecrated the corpse of one of their foes in order to seal their wounds. Bernal Díaz wrote, “we dressed our wounds with the fat from a stout Indian whom we had killed and cut open, for we had no oil” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 62). They would repeat this procedure the very next day, when they encountered an even larger native force.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Painting of Francisco Pizarro and conquistadors, by    Juan Lepiani (1864–1932), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz, translated by J. M. Cohen. New York: Penguin Books, 1963.
• http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32474/32474-h/32474-h.htm#FNanchor_24_25 
• http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistories.asp?ParagraphID=kvb 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Andreas-Vesalius 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Galen  

The Adventures Of Saint Cuthbert’s Body

Saint Cuthbert was a clergyman in the English region of Northumbria who was active in the 7th century. He was a supporter of the Synod of Whitby (c. 663/664), which chose the Roman church traditions over local Celtic Christian customs, and he became the Bishop of Lindisfarne in 685. His time as bishop was relatively short, and he died in 687. Yet, even in death, his legend and reputation were in no way finished growing.

Cuthbert was already considered a miracle-worker in life and his tomb at Lindisfarne quickly gained a reputation as a hotspot of miraculous power. His good deeds and list of reported miracles (which continued to increase after his death) speedily made Saint Cuthbert one of the most venerated saints from Britain. The location of Cuthbert’s tomb in Lindisfarne, however, would come under great danger just over a century after the saint’s death. In 793, Lindisfarne was sacked during one of the earliest Viking raids against England. Alcuin, writing to King Athelred of Northumbria that very year, expressed the shock experienced by the locals upon hearing the news: “Behold, the church of St. Cuthbert spattered with the blood of the priests of God, despoiled of its ornaments; a place more venerable than all in Britain is given as prey to pagan peoples” (Alcuin’s Letter to King Athelred, c. 793, ed. D. Whitelock, 1955).

Although Lindisfarne had been attacked and pillaged, the remains of St. Cuthbert were apparently undamaged, and the bishopric continued to function and see to the spiritual needs of the locals. Yet, unbeknownst to the bishop and clergymen of Lindisfarne, Northumbria had its worst days yet to come. The Viking raids became much worse in the next century, and by the 850s the Scandinavian raiders, for the first time, began staying in Britain during the winters instead of sailing home. England’s worst nightmare came true when a ‘Great Heathen Army’ of Vikings arrived in 866, and this mighty force defeated the kings of Northumbria by 867. Over the next several years the Viking forces traveled through various kingdoms in England, battling and conquering large swaths of locals. Yet, only around 875 and 876 did it become apparent that the Vikings were not just present in England to simply conquer and plunder, but also to personally settle the land. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 876 claimed: “That year, Halfdan divided up the land of Northumbria; the raiders became tillers of the land as well” (ASC 876). It was around that time when Bishop Eardulf and the clergymen of Lindisfarne packed up their things—among which was St. Cuthbert’s body—and decided to wander through safer regions of England until they could find a more secure headquarters for their bishopric.

St. Cuthbert’s remains had quite the journey, and it would be over a century before the late saint was once more laid to rest in a permanent region. As the story goes, Bishop Eardulf wandered with the saintly remains for around seven years, venturing through areas such as Cumberland and Galloway, until the former Bishop of Lindisfarne set up a temporary headquarters at Chester-le-Street around 883. With the exception of a short trip to Ripon, the body of St. Cuthbert stayed in Chester-le-Street for the remainder of the 9th century and most of the 10th century. In 995, however, the clergymen in charge of the body of St. Cuthbert were suddenly stuck with inspiration on where to place their holy cargo—Durham. Over the course of several years, a new shrine was built for St. Cuthbert, and it was finally completed around 999. Except for a short trip back to Lindisfarne in the time of William the Conqueror, the remains of St. Cuthbert have been housed in Durham since the end of the 10th century. His tomb and remains are currently at Durham Cathedral, although some conspiracy theorists are convinced that monks hid the holy body of St. Cuthbert during the reign of King Henry VIII (r. 1509-1547), and replaced it with a random cadaver.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Scene of St. Cuthbert performing a healing miracle from BL YT 26, ff. 53v-54, [Public Domain] via picryl.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People (and relevant letters), translated by Leo Sherley-Pride, R. E. Latham and D. H. Farmer. New York: Penguin Classics, 2003.
• http://www.bbc.co.uk/legacies/myths_legends/england/wear/article_1.shtml
• http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/04578a.htm 
• https://www.durhamworldheritagesite.com/history/st-cuthbert 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Cuthbert 
• https://www.lindisfarne.org.uk/general/cuthbert2.htm 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100106681  

Emperor Wu’s Attempted Trap For The Xiongnu At Mayi

The predecessors of Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE) usually took a defensive approach to dealing with the Xiongnu confederation of tribes that lived in the eastern Eurasian Steppe. Previous emperors often resorted to tribute payments, marriages and trade to keep the populous nomads happy, usually only martialing their armies against the Xiongnu on occasions when the nomads raided imperial territory. Emperor Wu, although he initially followed the precedent of peace and tribute, eventually decided to shift the Han Empires' foreign policy with the Xiongnu from a defensive stance to a state of active hostility.

Emperor Wu’s first move against the Xiongnu occurred in 134 BCE. The plan must have been in the works for a long time, for it all hinged on an agent of the emperor named Nie Wengyi who had gone to the Xiongnu and built trust with them by playing the role of a smuggler. By trading contraband to the Xiongnu, Nie Wengyi came to be known and trusted by various nomad leaders, and around 134 BCE, he had finally gained the ear of the Xiongnu leader, the Shanyu. With the agent finally in position, the emperor could move into the final phases of the plan.

When the time was right, Nie Wengyi was instructed to offer the Shanyu a fateful proposal. Following an order from the Han government, Nie Wengyi went to the Shanyu and offered to help the Xiongnu take the wealthy city of Mayi, in Yanmen province. The agent apparently claimed that he could offer the Shanyu a variety of routes to securing Mayi.  He claimed that he could assassinate the high officials to disorganize the town, and he further proposed that he would likely be able to convince the city of Mayi to surrender to the Xiongnu peacefully once the loyal officials were dead. Nie Wengyi’s deep-cover relationship-building paid off, for the Shanyu responded to the plan with eager excitement instead of caution. Yet, the Xiongnu leader did make one condition—Nie Wengyi needed to assassinate the officials in Mayi before the Xiongnu would make their move. To prove that the officials were dead, Nie Wengyi was told to hang their decapitated heads from the city walls for Xiongnu spies to see.

With his mission near completion, Nie Wengyi returned to Mayi and updated all those involved in the plot on his progress. Presumably after waiting enough time for the emperor to prepare, Nie Wengyi eventually made true his promise to hang some heads on the city wall. Yet, instead of government officials, the heads belonged to local condemned criminals. When the Xiongnu spies in the region reported to their leader that there were indeed heads hanging from the walls of Mayi, the Shanyu quickly pulled together a force reportedly numbering 100,000 horsemen and crossed into Han territory at Wuzhou.

The Shanyu’s enthusiasm, however, soon began to give way to caution as he ventured further into Han territory. His concerns especially began to increase when he noticed that the countryside was eerily absent of human activity. There were no farmhands, travelers, or loitering commoners to be seen. Animals, however, were apparently roaming free and left untended in the fields. Unnerved by the sight, the Shanyu delayed his advance against Mayi and instead attacked a signal beacon station in Wuzhou. Unlike the rest of the countryside, the Xiongnu found the station still inhabited, and, as luck would have it, they managed to find and capture a local defense official in the station.

Unfortunately for Emperor Wu, the captured official knew something of the emperor’s plan at Mayi and, under interrogation, he told the Xiongnu everything he had heard. The Shanyu was shocked to learn that the seemingly empty region his horsemen were traveling through was actually in no way devoid of life. The eerie ghost town atmosphere was caused by the commoners being quarantined to their communities. Yet, despite the absence of the commoners, the Shanyu discovered that the region around Mayi was much more overpopulated than it appeared—according to Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), Emperor Wu had preemptively hidden over 300,000 Han troops in the valleys around Mayi, hoping to trap the Xiongnu when they began to enter the city. In addition, yet more troops were coming from the region of Dai to attack the Xiongnu baggage train.

Tipped off to the danger, the Shanyu immediately led his forces out of Han territory. The section of the Han forces sent from Dai to attack the baggage train of the Xiongnu could have possibly cut off the Shanyu’s retreat, but when they learned that they would not be fighting just the baggage train, but the whole Xiognu horde, the warriors from Dai refused to fight. With the trap at Mayi thwarted, and the division from Dai purposefully keeping out of the way of the Xiongnu, the Han forces could only pursue the invaders to the border without inflicting any damage on their foe. It was an embarrassing debacle that eventually caused Wang Hui, one of the masterminds behind the trap, to commit suicide.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (scene of the Chinese Campaign against Annam (Vietnam) 1788 - 1789, painted by a collaboration of Chinese and European painters c. late 18th century, [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.

The Peculiar Tale Of Archdeacon Leunast Of Bourges

In the 6th century there lived a certain clergyman named Leunast, who reached the rank of archdeacon in the city of Bourges. According to Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), author of The History of the Franks, Archdeacon Leunast long suffered from terrible cataracts in both of his eyes, rendering him completely blind. Leunast, however, was determined not to relinquish his sight without a fight. In his quest to fix his cloudy eyes, Archdeacon Leunast shocked his clerical peers by not simply praying for his eyes to be healed, but instead taking the near-blasphemous action of seeking out the advice of secular doctors. The state of the medical field in 6th-century France, however, was quite abysmal, much less the study of eye care. As the ideas of laymen doctors did not help his eyes, Archdeacon Leunast traveled to the church of St. Martin in Tours, where he fasted for several months, praying for a miracle. Leunast’s prayers, it was said, were answered on St. Martin’s feast day, and his sight began to return. The miraculous healing, however, was not perfect—Archdeacon Leunast’s eyesight, although improved, was still not clear or crisp.

As the story goes, Leunast, still not content with his imperfect eyes, decided to reconnect with some of the secular doctors who had attempted to treat him earlier, hoping they could fine-tune his newfound vision. The archdeacon’s favorite medical practitioner, who remained unnamed, agreed to try his hand at improving Leunast’s already clearing eyesight. After receiving consent for the operation, the doctor prepared his instruments and tried some of the dubious medical techniques of the Middle Ages, including blood-letting and the use of cupping-glasses. Suffice it to say, the procedures did not help poor Leunast’s eyes, at all. Instead, the archdeacon unfortunately left the doctor’s office with his eyes, once more, reduced to a state of blindness.

Upon losing his eyesight for a second time, Leunast reportedly rushed back to the church of St. Martin and resumed his fasting, hoping for a second miracle. Unfortunately, his sight reportedly never returned. The moral of this story, at least according to Gregory of Tours, was: “Let this story be a warning to every Christian man, that when it has been granted to him to receive a cure from Heaven, he should not then seek earthly remedies” (History of the Franks, V.6).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Tobias healing his blind father, from the workshop of Rembrandt  (1606–1669), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

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

The Dancing Plague Of Strasbourg

Both before and after the Renaissance, cities and towns in Europe were reportedly hit by epidemics of dance. Before you envision the scenes as something like a charming Broadway musical, know that the people affected by these odd epidemics truly believed themselves to be unwillingly forced to dance either by a supernatural curse or by some other strange disease. Of the areas affected by the peculiar dancing plagues, the city of Strasbourg suffered one of the worst cases and, thankfully for us, the bizarre event was well-documented and discussed by the historians and scholars of the time.

In July, 1518, the dancing plague of Strasbourg began when a certain Frau Troffea took to the street and spent the whole day in dance. She rested for only a few hours of sleep before continuing her dancing for another long day. She reportedly kept up this relentless schedule until her feet bled and she collapsed from exhaustion—and even then, she picked herself up and continued her dancing. Before long, other citizens of Strasbourg felt irresistibly drawn to the dance and they joined Frau Troffea in her daily routine. By August, there were reportedly no less than 400 people engaged in an endless dance on the streets of the city.

With hundreds of people dancing well past their physical limits, the leaders of Strasbourg knew their city was facing a major problem. At first, they thought that the epidemic could be brought to a quick conclusion by encouraging and supporting the dancers, hoping those affected would simply dance whatever was ailing them out of their systems. With this in mind, the officials of Strasbourg had a stage built, hired dance instructors, and even recruited musicians, turning the dancing plague into something like a music festival. Yet, as September neared and no end to the dancing was in sight, the leaders of Strasbourg began interpreting the dance in new ways. Some, through the ancient medical idea of bodily humors, believed that too much hot blood was the cause of the hysterical dancing. Others, inspired by the witch-crazed atmosphere of the Colonial Age, believed the dancing was the work of the Devil. Both sides, however, apparently agreed that the best way for the dancers to cool off their blood or rid themselves of demons was for the affected people to be forcibly sent off to a mountain shrine in order for them to pray for healing.

Either through prayer, or simply from the government crackdown on the dancers, the epidemic ended around September and the city finally returned to normalcy. The dancing fever, however, had by then taken a heavy toll. No formal death count was apparently recorded, but while the dancing plague was in full swing, several of the dancers were said to have dropped dead on a daily basis from over-exhaustion, heart failure or strokes.

Now that the understanding of medicine and psychology has progressed, several theories have been proposed to explain the bizarre dancing plague of Strasbourg. One of the early hypotheses was ergot poisoning. Ergot fungus, which can grow on cereals such as rye, can cause hallucinations and spasms when ingested. Yet, as the dancers showed no signs of bodily sickness or poisoning, this theory has been disregarded by many. One of the newest interpretations of the event is that the dancing plague was a case of mass-hysteria, or a psychogenic disorder, caused by an unhealthy atmosphere of stress and fear. The psychological pressures of famine, disease, and possibly the legend of St. Vitus (a saint who was said to miraculously make people dance), might have combined to produce the Dancing Plague of 1518.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Danse de noce, painted by Pieter Breughel the Younger (1564–1638), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• https://www.history.com/news/what-was-the-dancing-plague-of-1518
• https://www.britannica.com/event/dancing-plague-of-1518 
• https://listverse.com/2016/11/07/10-twisted-facts-about-the-dancing-plagues/ 
• https://www.pastmedicalhistory.co.uk/the-dancing-plague-of-1518/ 
• http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20161028-the-town-the-nearly-danced-itself-to-death