Studenda Mira

My slow journey to the completion of a MA in history is leading me, this semester, through the Protestant Reformation and its attendant upheavals. As someone who has taken every opportunity offered by his program requirements to focus on the third through seventh centuries, with occasional forays into earlier times, I approached this seminar with a certain amount of trepidation. Here was the far side of the bridge spanning the great, fermenting river that is medieval history. I have spent the bulk of my studies pawing through the silt of that river's near side, marveling over found gewgaws and sometimes pausing to wonder how, or whether, eddies near the shore affected the greater flow of the river. The task of crossing to the opposite bank and appreciating its landscape promised to take me well outside my comfort zone. You might imagine my surprise when, in the midst of Luther's screeds and classic studies of the period , I encountered a man whose mark on the historical re...

Just stopped by Wikipedia and noticed that the Diocletianic Persecution is subject of today's featured article. * Lactantius, On the Deaths of the Persecutors (De Mortibus Persecutorum) 10

One day in June of 594, Gregory the Great had to excuse himself from his daunting daily responsibilities to field a letter from Constantina, Empress of the Romans and still, in theory, Gregory's temporal superior. The Empress was erecting a glorious church for St. Paul in the middle of the palace environs in Constantinople, and she'd made an extraordinary request of the Bishop of Rome: the Apostle's head. Gregory must have found the Empress's letter exasperating. It was only a year earlier that he'd negotiated a fragile truce with the barbarian Lombards (with virtually no help, it must be said, from the imperial administration). Protected from their pillaging, the shrunken, tattered city had finally begun to stabilize under Gregory's tireless ministrations. Now, though, the wife of the distant Augustus, who had never set foot in Rome, sought to relieve the former capital of one of its most precious assets. Gregory's response was carefully worded: Being d...

Welcome, WOGErs, to my lonely, neglected history blog. Thanks to Andrea, the winner of WOGE 26, for presenting me with low-hanging fruit . Below: Something a bit more obscure. First, though, the boilerplate: Q: What is When on Google Earth? A: It’s a game for archaeologists, or anybody else willing to have a go! Q: How do you play it? A: Simple, you try to identify the site in the picture. Q: Who wins? A: The first person to correctly identify the site, including its major period of occupation, wins the game. Q: What does the winner get? A: The winner gets bragging rights and the chance to host the next When on Google Earth on his/her own blog! Two very general hints, for starters: 1. This site is pre-modern. 2. This site is open and easily accessible to the public.

A happy new year to all from greater Philadelphia, where private benefactors have ensured that the local manifestation of a very old pageant will be taken to a characteristically American extreme later today. Our Mummers have long since traded divination rituals for accordion and banjo skills , which is too bad, because most conventional predictions for the year at hand inspire more anxiety than can be assuaged by even the liveliest pavement polka. As usual, history provides some perspective. By about AD 440, it was clear to everyone in southern France that the era of the Roman good life had drawn to a close. Salvian of Marseilles, a Christian bishop, was writing On the Government of God , which laid the blame for the miseries of the Roman people squarely at their own feet. His main theme was their failure to practice the Christian principles they professed, but he made room for some criticism of economic policy: Who can find words to describe the enormity of our present situatio...

The current, holiday edition of The Economist has a good read on Fastnet Rock , the southernmost point in Ireland. Little more than a jagged hunk of slate protruding from the Atlantic, the Vikings called it Hvastann-ey ("Sharp-Toothed Island"), while its Irish name is An Charraig Aonair ("The Rock that Stands Alone"). Since 1854, it's been home to two successive lighthouses. The current one has been (sometimes just) standing against the fury of the ocean since 1903. The chief foreman of its construction, a stonemason named James Kavanagh, was singleminded in his devotion to his duty: He lived on the rock continuously for ten to 12 months of each year from August 1896 to June 1903, sleeping on a damp bed of rock close to the landing strip in quarters carved out of the rock face, known to this day as “Kavanagh’s hole”. The project ultimately cost him his life: Seven years of living in a hole in the rock, progress frustrated by maverick tides and his delayed shi...

It doesn't seem to be working yet , but it would not be an exaggeration to say that this is something I've been anticipating for years . I'm already wearing out the "Check for Updates" button in Google Earth. Very exciting!

Adrian Murdoch has returned to the blogosphere . I hope to be able to follow suit soon.

There are bad ideas, and then there's this . It's fortunate that Augustus can't spin in his grave, else there'd be an 80-meter hole forming in the Campus Martius...

Jeff Sypeck's put up a great post placing the Russia-Georgia conflict over South Ossetia in a much wider historical context . In a very roundabout way, is it all the fault of the Huns? Perhaps not, but Jeff shows how the threads in the great tapestry can, as they so often do, lead to unexpected places.

In May, Jeff gave me a neat gift for my graduation: an autographed copy of Philip Freeman's new biography of Julius Caesar . For someone like me, whose knowledge of Caesar was mostly derived from textbooks, fictionalized portrayals and an incomplete reading of the Penguin edition of his Gallic War , Freeman's book was a wonderful way to fill many of the gaps. Indeed, a desire to introduce Caesar to readers who might know little more than his name was the motivation for Freeman, chair of Classical Studies at Luther College in Iowa. In a preface that will disarm those critics who might wonder why the world needs another biography of Caesar, Freeman describes how asking his bored Latin class who Caesar was prompted an animated discussion and led him to wonder how many people really knew "the true story of Caesar." In writing this book, Freeman aimed "simply to tell the story of Caesar's life and times" without joining the legions of commentators who h...

Elagabalus isn't a household name like Caligula, Nero, or even Honorius. Probably more than his better-known peers, however, Elagabalus fits the stereotype of the ineffectual, do-nothing emperor who was far more interested in art, music, fashion, or just about anything else than he was in the business of governing. He is the subject of today's " Featured Article " on Wikipedia, so perhaps he'll make up a tiny bit of ground on the name recognition front. Judith Weingarten wrote a fantastic series of entries last year on some of the women who pulled the levers behind the curtain of the Severan dynasty. After you read the Wikipedia article, have a look at her take on Elagabalus through the nervous eyes of his grandmother, Julia Maesa. [Photo credit: Giovanni Dall'Orto]

When considering the problem of modern archaeological plunder, I'm probably not alone in reflexively picturing stubbly-faced Bulgarian men with metal detectors, spades and flashlights, rummaging through the Italian countryside at night in search of illegal antiquities. I don't know how accurate that image is, but I've spent so much time trying to learn about the cradles of Western civilization that I often overlook the fact that my country, too, has an archaeological record, and that it can also fall prey to looters . What I find interesting about that case is that the grave robber, since deceased, was apparently an enthusiastic amateur historian and was regarded as a local authority on the subject. It's not tough to imagine him believing, misguidedly, that he was somehow acting as a preservationist for a Civil War cemetery that otherwise might have been forgotten in a dusty archive. Though I don't doubt the good intentions of the real preservationists who've ...

After the last post , I poked around the library a bit to see if I could find more substantive information on Yemen's Akhdam and their traditional association with the region's 6th C. Aksumite conquerors. I found "Akhdam tribe in servitude," a 1976 Geographical article by James Horgen. His version of the "commonly held myth about their ancestry...heard from both illiterate tribesmen and learned scholars" goes something like this: After 570, Sayf ibn dhi-Yaz'an, the Jewish Himyarite aristocrat who'd successfully entreatied Sassanid Persia to deliver his people from Aksumite Christian dominion, was installed as Persia's vassal. He killed the surviving Aksumite fighters, save for a few who were kept as a ceremonial guard for his processions. Ceremonial or not, the Aksumites still carried spears. They played along with the pomp for a while, but one day, they turned those spears on Sayf ibn dhi-Yaz'an and assassinated him. This prompted the...

A New York Times travel article inspired me last March to write about the late antique history of Yemen , which saw the Abyssinian Christian empire of Aksum (located in what's now Ethiopia) displace Yemen's Jewish rulers, only to be overcome by Sassanian Persia and, finally, the first Islamic caliphate. Today, the Times's Robert Worth writes about the plight of the Akhdam , a hereditary Yemeni underclass whose origin dates at least to medieval times. What caught my attention was the popular Yemeni conception of their background: They are reviled as outsiders in their own country, descendants of an Ethiopian army that is said to have crossed the Red Sea to oppress Yemen before the arrival of Islam. I think that sort of folk wisdom is too often dismissed out of hand. One has to be careful, of course, because the solutions offered by such sources can be very convenient, and one only has to consider the many competing folk origins of Ireland's Traveler people to see how q...

They had to start the rounds early, because by midday, the locals' reserve of holiday cheer would be depleted. If yours was the first roving band of wren boys to come to a house, you'd do well, but if you were the third or fourth, they might not even answer the door, no matter how well you sang. After the novelty wore off, you were just another beggar, and this was a banner day for beggars. My father, the postman's son, would wear his Sunday best, save for some walking shoes and a bright green scarf around his neck. The latter was his lone concession to an ancient tradition that would have dressed their leader, an older boy with a strong baritone, in straw and blackface and festooned my father with every piece of colored ribbon from their mothers' dressers. In the town, some of the more established wren boys still bothered with the old trappings, often to the detriment of some poor wren. My father's wren boys were more pragmatic. The town was two miles away an...

Bill & Ted used a time-traveling phone booth, but in a pinch, a tatty old Ford Taurus will also do. This funny series of history-themed ads for Snickers candy bars has recently begun airing in the U.S.: You can find episodes 2-8 (!) here .

Anyone planning on visiting Hadrian's Wall this Saturday may want to note this bizarre little news item so that they can plan their visit accordingly. I have no pretensions to being a travel consultant, but my humble advice to such folks would be to schedule a late lunch: Choirs, including Carlisle’s Margaret Frayne Singers, will be accompanied by loofahs, bath toys and shower caps. That said, if anyone reading this is in the vicinity, I'd love some photos or video.

Breaking the silence with a link: The Times has a tight, evocative travel piece on Rome. I don't know what's so "sinister," as the headline claims (I'm fortunate to be permitted to write my own headlines, most of the time), but Salley Vickers gets to a handful of places that might not otherwise be on the itinerary of a first-time visitor.

If I didn't think I would write Part I of this post, I certainly didn't expect to find myself writing Part II. However, my blogfriend Judith Weingarten stopped by to comment . I began responding in that thread, but it was getting so long that I decided to make it a new post. She writes, "OK, I know it's facile but one parallel with ancient Rome gives me nightmares: an over-mighty mercenary military. Think Septimius Severus, the 3rd century, and onwards." What an image! GHW Bush counseling GW and Jeb Bush with his dying breath, "Keep the army happy and ignore the rest." My money's on GW as the Caracalla of that scenario, but I may be underestimating Jeb. American military leaders might wish they held that kind of sway over the executive. Though I'll gladly defer to Judith's expertise, it seems to me that the Roman army and American military have less in common than some other analogous institutions. Aside from the American military's ...