Monday, August 22, 2016

Basilica Cisterna

Aquaeductus Imperātōris Vālentis super viam maximam urbis
Cōnstantīnopolis, ut Rōma, erat cīvitās maxima in quā multī hominēs habitābant. Hominēs sine aquā, vīvere nōn possunt. Itaque, magnam cōpiam aquae cotīdiē in urbem dūcere necesse est. Rēs quae aquam in urbem dūcunt “aquaeductūs” dīcuntur. Ut Rōma, Cōnstantīnopolis multōs et magnōs aquaeductūs quoque habēbat. Hodiē, ūnus tantum aquaeductus Cōnstantīnopolīs super terram vidērī potest, sed mīrābile vīsū est!


"Cista" Rōmāna ex aere facta
Unde veniēbat aqua Cōnstantīnopolis? Aqua dē montibus propinquīs veniēbat. Et quō ībat aquā? Aqua ad magnās cisternās ībat. Sed, quid est “cisterna”? Cisterna est, plūs minusve, magna “cista” ubi aqua tenētur. Cōnstantīnopolis ōlim multās cisternās continēbat.


Prope Mīlliārium Aureum et nōn procul ab Hippodromō, cēlātur cisterna antīca, nōmine “Basilicā Cisternā.” Cūr “Basilica Cisterna” appellātur? Quod haec cisterna fōrmam basilicae habet (id est, fōrma rectilinea cum tēctō multīs columnīs sustentō).


Hodiē, “Basilica Cisterna” subterrānea est et animālia et rēs arcānās occultat! Sī quod basilica occultat scīre vultis, brevem pelliculam meam spectāte!


Saturday, August 13, 2016

Ecclesia "Hagia Sophia" (aut "Sancta Sapientia")

"Thermae" Suleimānī
Tertiō diē Cōnstantīnopolis et quid fēcit magister? Prīmō, magister, ut senātor Rōmānus antīquus, in thermās sē tulit. In urbe Istanbul, etiam hodiē sunt multae pulchrae et antīquae thermae. Sed thermae etiam sī antīquae, rē vērā, thermae Rōmānae nōn sunt. Quamquam thermae (in linguā Turchā "Hamam" dīcitur) in quibus magister sē tulit hodiē tamen veterēs sunt, quod annō 1562 ā Sultānō “Suleimānō Magnificō” aedificātae fuērunt, tam antīquae quam thermae Rōmānae nōn sunt.
Hagia Sophia



Post thermās, magister ad magnam nōtissimamque ecclēsiam sē condūcit. Quid est ecclēsia? Ecclēsia est “templum” ubi Chrīstiānī deum suum adōrant. Necesse est nōbīs meminisse Imperātōrem Cōnstantīnum Chrīstiānum fuisse et multās ecclesiās aedificāvit et, post Imperātōrem Theodosium, tōtum imperium Rōmānum Chrīstiānum fuisse.

Quid est nōmen hūius ecclēsiae? Nōmen hūius ecclēsiae est "Hagia Sophia." Estne "Hagia Sophia" nōmen Latīnum? Minimē! Nōn Latīnum, sed nōmen ecclēsiae Graecum est. Quid significat hoc nōmen Graecum "Hagia Sophia"? "Hagia Sophia" Latīnē significat "Sāncta Sapientia." Sed quid est "sapientia"? Sapientia est quālitās quam fēmina aut vir intelligēns, quī multōs annōs vīxit, habet. Sōcratēs erat vir sapientissimus quia multam sapientiam habēbat!


Convexum Hagiae Sophiae
Quis hanc ecclēsiam aedificāvit? Ab Imperātōre Iūstīniānō "Hagia Sophia" aedificāta est et annō 537 post Chrīstum ab eōdem imperātōre cōnsacrāta est. (“Cōnsacrāre” est mōmentum temporis in quō ecclēsiā “sacra” dicta est et populus Deum adōrāre incipere potest.) Hagia Sophia nōtissima est quod tēctum convexum magnum pulcherrimumque habet. Convexum "Hagiae Sophiae" similis convexō Pantheōnis Rōmae est. Convexum "Hagiae Sophiae" altior est, sed illō Pantheōnis paululum minor est.

Christus "Pankrātor
Ecclēsia Hagia Sophia quoque nota est quod multīs et pulchrīs mosaīcīs ōrnātur, ut hōc magnō mosaīcō “Chrīstus Pankrātor” (id est, “Chrīstus omnipotēns” aut “Chrīstus quī omnia regit”) et magnīs pulchrīsque angelīs sub convexō et hōc in quō Maria, māter Chrīstī quae, fīliō in sinū sedente, dōna ab Imperātōribus Cōnstantīnō et Iūstīniānō accipit. Cōnstantīnus eī urbem (Cōnstantīnopolis) dat, dum Iūstīniānus eī ecclēsiam ipsam dat!


Iūstīniānus, Maria, Iēsū, Cōnstantīnus
Sed, rē vērā, haec ecclēsia nōn iam ecclēsia est.  Fuit ecclēsia ab suā consacrātiōne annō 537 usque ad annum 1453 in quō, Turchī, Sultānō Mahomētus Secundō duce, Cōnstantīnopolim expugnāvit. Cōnstantīnopole captā, Sultānus ecclēsiam in meschītam convertit. Quid est “meschīta”? Meschīta est “templum” in quō Musulmānī Deum adōrant. Ex eō tempore, maxima et pulcherrima scrīpta in linguā Arabicā spatium sub convexō ōrnant.


Scripta Arabica
Sed hodiē, nec ecclēsia, nec meschīta, sed mūsēum est. Quid est mūsēum? Mūsēum est ubi Mūsae habitant. Sed quae sunt Mūsae? Mūsae sunt deae minōrēs Graecae quae artem īnspīrant. Itaque, aedificium in quō multa opera artis adsunt, mūsēum (id est, domus aut locus Mūsārum) dīcitur! Diē sequente, magister ad Mūsēum Archeologicum Cōnstantīnopolis īvit!

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Hippodrōmos (Circus Maximus Cōnstantīnopolis)


Cum Cōnstantīnus Imperātor “Novam Rōmam” super urbem antīquam Graecam Bȳzantium fēcit, volēbat urbem novam Rōmae similem esse. Itaque, in mediā urbe, prope novum Palātium ēius, Cōnstantīnus magnum circum aedificāvit. Nōmen hūius circī “Hippodrōmos” fuit. Sed “Hippodrōmos” nōmen Latīnum nōn est, sed Graecum. Quid significat hoc nōmen Graecum? “Hippōs” vocābulum Graecum est quod “equus” significat et “Dromos” est quoque vocābulum Graecum quod aut “cursus” aut paene “circus” significat. Ergō “Hippodrōmos” significat, plus minusve “locus cursōrum equōrum,” aut fortasse facilius “Circus Maximus.”


Sed quid adfuit in Hippodrōmō? Fōrma ēius fuit ut Circus Maximus Rōmae. Id est, Hippodrōmos locum ubi bīgae et quadrīgae initium cursūs expectābant, nōmine “carcerēs,” habēbat. Habēbat quoque magnam caveam in quā trīgintā mīllia aut plūrimī spectātōrēs sēdēre et cursus spectāre poterant. Et, in mediā parte, magna spīna circum quam bīgae quadrīgaeque currēbant adfuit. Ut in Circō Maximō Rōmānō, in spīnā fuērunt mētae, id est locus in quō cursūs terminābantur. In spīnae fīnibus, adfuērunt etiam magnī obeliscī ex Aegyptō tractī. Hīc in Hippodrōmō adhūc est magnus obeliscus pharaōnis Thutmose III quem Imperātor Rōmānus Theodosius annō 390 ad Cōnstantīnopolem portāvit ut in Hippodrōmum ērigeret.

Sub obeliscō ipsō, magnum saxum marmoreum est, multīs imāginibus imperātōris, familiae ēius et cursūum bīgārum illūstrātur. In prīmā imāgine, Imperātor Theodosius, uxor ēius, Eudoxia, et fīliī eōrum, Arcadius et Honōrius, lūdōs circēnsēs spectant.


In secundā imāgine, adsunt aurīgae (id est, hominēs quī bīgās et equōs agunt) et possumus quoque spīnam cum obeliscīs facile vidēre. Adsunt quoque metae et tandem obeliscus in spinā sine difficultāte vidētur.


In tertiā quartāque partibus, fuit īnscrīptiō, et Latīnā et Graecā quae ērēctiōnem obeliscī ipsīus explicat. Īnfēlīciter, īnscrīptiō integra nōn est, sed aliquī viātor sextō decimō saeculō nōbīs eam dēscrīpsit. Lēgāmus:



DIFFICILIS QUONDAM DOMINĪS PARERE SERĒNĪS IUSSŪS ET EXTĪNCTĪS PALMAM PORTĀRE TYRANNĪS OMNIA THEODOSIO CĒDUNT SUBOLĪQUE PERENNITER DĒNĪS SĪC VĪCTŪS EGO DOMITUSQUE DIĒBUS IŪDICE SUB PROCLO SUPERĀS ĒLĀTUS AD AURĀS

In aliīs verbīs:  “Etiam sī difficile fuit pārēre iussō dominōrum bonōrum (dominīs serēnīs) ut, tyrannīs victīs, [obeliscus] palmam portāret, Imperātor Theodosius et hērēdēs aeternī suī (subolī perennī) omnia facere possunt (omnia Theodosīō cēdunt).” [Nunc obeliscus ipse nōbīs loquitur et sīc pergit:] “Ego vīctus et domitus [sum] post trīgintā diēs et erectus (ēlātus) sum ad caelum (aurās superās) cum Proclus iūdex fuit.”

Bene, iam scitis historiam obeliscī et Hippodromī. In proximum, dē duābus magnīs ecclesiīs Cōnstantīnopolis discāmus. Nunc, brevem pelliculam dē Hippodromō obeliscōque spectāte!



Sunday, July 31, 2016

Aestāte, MMXVI - In Eurōpa, in Asiā


Dies Prīmus - Adventus Cōnstantīnopolis




Turchīa est terra quam Rōmānī "Asiam Minōrem" appellavērunt

Ubi est magister hāc aestāte? Estne in Americā? Minimē! Estne in Āfricā? Minimē! Estne in Asiā? Nōn iam, sed mox! Ubi nunc est magister? Est in Eurōpā! Sed ubi in Eurōpā est? Estne in Ītaliā? Mēnsē Iūliō in Ītaliā fuit, sed nunc in Ītaliā nōn est! In Galliā estne? Minimē, nōn in Galliā est, sed in Turchīā! Ubi est Turchīa? Turchīa est magna terra et in Eurōpā et in Asiā. Est patria Turchōrum. Rōmānī partem hārum terrārum quae in Asia est "Asiam Minōrem" appellāvērunt. Sed Magister nunc nōn est in hāc parte Turchīae, sed in parte quae in Eurōpā est.

Ecce urbs Imperātōris Cōnstantīnī "Cōnstantīnopolis".
Magister est in magnā urbe nōmine "Istanbul"! Istanbul ōlim magnum oppidum Graecum fuit, nōmine "Bȳzantium". Tunc, imperātor Rōmānus Cōnstantīnus in urbem Bȳzantium sē tulit et nōmen novum urbī dedit. Quid fuit novum nōmen urbis? Nōmen hūius urbis post tempus imperātōris Cōnstantīnī "Cōnstantīnopolis" fuit. Quid significat nōmen Cōnstantīnopolis? Significat "urbs Cōnstantīnī" quia "polis" est vocābulum Graecum quod "urbs" significat. Magister in hāc urbe nunc est.

Quid facit magister in urbe Cōnstantīnopolī? Magister illīc ōtiō fruitur quia aestās est et magister nunc nōn docet. Ille omnia Rōmāna (et aliās multās rēs) in Turchīa vidēre vult. Adsuntne multae rēs Rōmānae Cōnstantīnopolis quās Magister vidēre potest? Ita vērō! Adsunt columnae antīquae, obeliscī, pavīmenta mosaica, circus et quoque magna ecclēsia Rōmāna.

Crās, magister ad Circum Maximum Cōnstantīnopolis (nōmine Graecō "Hippodromos") ībit ubi adest etiam nunc magnus obeliscus ab imperātōre Theodōsiō erectus et quī etiam nunc inscriptiōnem Latīnam fert...

Monday, July 29, 2013

Caracalla and the Art of Tyranny

Yes, that really was the name of a Roman emperor... 
And yes, my sense of humor is that childish! 
Hey everyone! So I know it has been a very long time since my last post...my sincerest apologies. Or perhaps not. Because today I want to talk about one of my favorite Roman emperors, Caracalla. More importantly I will tell you why he has always been one of my favorite emperors.  Please note that he is not my absolute favorite, but he is definitely in the top five along with Augustus (easily number 1), Domitian, Trajan and, of course, Pupienus. Now, he is not in my top five because he was well-liked and successful like Augustus and Trajan and although his name is fun to say, (Car-a-cAll-a), it certainly isn't as entertaining as the name of someone else in my top five. He probably has most in common with Domitian, at least from what our sources tell us of him, but while Domitian has only recently cracked my rankings (mostly due to the caricature of him presented in the Cambridge Latin books), Caracalla has long been near the top of my list and two recent encounters with him in the British Museum and at the Archeological Museum in Naples got me thinking about him again.
Why then, you ask? What is so special about this Caracalla guy? Well, first, let's have a little bit of history, shall we? We should start by saying that Caracalla is not really his name. In fact, he was born [Lucius?] Septimius Bassianus, probably on April 4th of 186 AD, during the reign of another notorious emperor Commodus (the bad guy from Gladiator...).  In fact, it is in the chaos that followed the assassination of Commodus (not in the center of the Colosseum by Russell Crowe, but, still, a great movie!), that Caracalla's father, Septimius Severus fought his way to the throne. We are told that Caracalla was born in Gaul in one of my favorite cities, Lugdunum (modern Lyon, France) and that his nickname derives from the local hooded tunic or cloak that he was so fond of wearing and single-handedly popularized, called a "caracalla." Interestingly, however, there are not any known surviving images of the emperor actually wearing one of these. Also worth noting, this is actually the second instance of a Roman emperor getting a clothing-related nickname, as Caligula's real name was Gaius Caesar, but to avoid confusion, we usually call him by his cute-sounding moniker which means "Little Boots," a name which he acquired from his youthful habit of dressing like a soldier, boots and all.
Cartoon of the impedimenta or equipment of a Roman
soldier.  Notice his sandals, which should be called "caligae"
are actually here (somewhat improperly) called "caligulae."
Wow, I am a nerd. Anyway, that's where his Gaius Caesar's
name comes from. Image shamelessly borrowed from a great
little site about Roman soldiers to be found here.
We can imagine that Carcalla's childhood was much like that of any future Roman emperor. You know, a healthy diet of battles, gladiator fights, chariot races, treason trials... just the things to make sure that your son has the right kind of well-balanced psyche to prepare him for being the sole ruler of the ancient world's superpower. However, interestingly, that is not entirely the picture we get of Caracalla's upbringing, at least not from the Historia Augusta, a somewhat fanciful collection of biographies written long after Caracalla's death. So although it is certainly not a very trustworthy source, it is perhaps fun to hear what it has to say about his childhood:

"He himself in his boyhood was winsome and clever, respectful to his parents and courteous to his parents' friends, beloved by the people, popular with the senate, and well able to further his own interests in winning affection. Never did he seem backward in letters or slow in deeds of kindness, never miserly in largess or tardy in forgiving — at least while under his parents. For example, if ever he saw condemned criminals pitted against wild beasts, he wept or turned away his eyes, and this was more than pleasing to the people." (Historia Augusta, Life of Caracalla, 1).

It is interesting to note that, whether he was turning away or not, it does seem that the games in the arena were, of course, a perfectly normal part of his childhood. The picture from Cassius Dio, who lived through the reign of Caracalla and knew him and his father personally, seems to line up more with the man whom Gibbon famously dubbed "the common enemy of mankind":

"The sons of Severus, Antoninus [Caracalla] and Geta, feeling that they had got rid of a pedagogue, as it were, in Plautianus, now went to all lengths in their conduct. They outraged women and abused boys, they embezzled money, and made gladiators and charioteers their boon companions, emulating each other in the similarity of their deeds, but full of strife in their rivalries; for if the one attached himself to a certain faction, the other would be sure to choose the opposite side." (Cassius Dio, LXXVII.7.1-2) This last part sounds familiar as I still root for the Chicago Bears because of fraternal rivalry involving Super Bowl XX...

The so-called Severan Tondo, from Egypt ca. 200 AD,
now in Berlin, Germany.  Notice how poor Geta's face
has been obliterated from the body in the bottom left!
Anyway, later when Caracalla's father Septimius Severus died in 211 AD, he left the empire to his two sons jointly, famously instructing them to "get along with one another, spoil the soldiers, ignore everyone else." (Cassius Dio, LXXVII.15.2) Caracalla, the older brother, apparently agreed with Meatloaf that two outta three ain't bad, so while he did repeatedly increase the pay of the army at the expense of just about everyone else, he also quickly had Geta killed. But simply killing him was not enough. After the murder, Caracalla then subsequently subjected his brother to the damnatio memoriae, or the damnation of his memory, meaning all of his portraits and inscriptions had to be completely erased, leading to great family photos such as this at right.

Anyway, ol' Caracalla is not one of my favorites because of his dissolute lifestyle, his stylish hoodie, or even because he killed his brother.  Rather, Caracalla is one of my favorites because he seems to have truly understood what it meant to be a tyrant, and this especially comes through in his portraiture.  As we can see above, he looks nice enough as a child, but when he gets to be sole emperor, well, his face always looks like this:
From my trip to the Met in NY, February, 2013.


















Or this...
From my trip to the British Museum in late June, 2013.


















Or this...

From the Archeological Museum in Naples, late July 2013.
I know, I know... he has more hair and a sweeter beard...
Napoleon looking imperial.
Which, at least according to this passage from Dio, may have very well been just exactly what he looked like:  "...the fact being that the emperor was wont to assume a somewhat savage expression." But this is precisely why I am so fascinated by him. Ok, so let's say you are a tyrant and you love doing all the cruel things that Caracalla supposedly loved and you even love wearing a scowl on your face everyday. But this is where most tyrants go astray. When they go to get their official portraits done, the either make themselves look merely imperious, such as Henry VIII or Napoleon, or even friendly, such as Silvio Berlusconi.
Former Italian prime minister
and professional Napoleon impersonator
Silvio Berlusconi.
And ok, I see where they are coming from, and yes, they were probably more clever than Caracalla because, ultimately he didn't last all that long, only six years before he was ultimately killed by one of the very soldiers he so spoiled but, I mean, come on, you really have to be committed to the whole tyrant thing if EVERY TIME you go to get your statue done, you say to the sculptor, "No no! Make me look meaner! Heavier brow furrow! More nose wrinkles! More piercing stare!" That's dedication.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Bath, Memor and Epistemology

Magister at the "King's Bath," the best
preserved of the pools of the Roman complex


Sorry for the delay between posts! I am still trying to get caught up on my adventures in Britain while also making the most of my time here in Rome! After Stonehenge, Mirko and I made our way to Bath.  We arrived somewhat late after a slight mishap with the rental car (I took off the passenger’s side, i.e. left, door handle... nevermind...) leaving just enough time for dinner and a brief evening stroll.


The next morning we got up early and headed for the museum of the Roman Baths. This was very exciting for me because it was a place of which I had long been aware and because it figures very prominently in Unit III of the Cambridge Latin series, so I knew there would be plenty of good stuff for sharing with my students.  One of the objects I was most looking forward to seeing was the altar of Lucius Marcius Memor, the haruspex. 
A bronze model liver, presumably for 
the training of a haruspex. 
From Piacenza, Italy.
Disclaimer:  As far as I know there is 
no actual connection between haruspicy 
and the magic eight ball.


As my Latin students know well, a haruspex had the incredibly enviable job of reading the omens and predicting the future from the extracted livers of sacrificial animals.  Based on the shape, color and texture of the liver, a haruspex could supposedly tell you all sorts of things, but mostly the focus was on whether or not whatever you were planning-a battle, a discussion in the senate, a new construction-was a good idea or not. I’m not positive, but I believe the profession was only finally eliminated with the invention of the magic 8 ball--a much less bloody method that likely provides roughly the same level of accuracy.

Stone altar from Bath dedicated to the goddess Sulis
by the Roman haruspex Lucius Marcius Memor.

Anyway, I was particularly excited about this altar not only because it represents an important testimony of the spread of very specific Roman religious practices to Britain, but also because the character of Lucius Marcius Memor, who dedicated it, figures significantly in the storyline of the Cambridge Latin books.  As a practice, the Cambridge books attempt to take real people, places and things from the ancient Roman world and weave them into a believable, if entirely fabricated, continuous story in order to breathe a little more life into the learning of Latin.  

However, this can lead to confusion among the students as to where the line between fact and fiction lies. This, of course, is where the teacher intervenes.  In fact, this discussion was one of my favorite ongoing dialogues with the students this year and perhaps the most lively of these conversations centered on this person of Memor.  
The students' first introduction to Memor
in Stage 22 of Book III of the Cambridge
Latin Series.  He's the fat guy in bed shaking
off a hangover and late for work.

The reality is, this one intriguing inscription represents the entire sum of all we know about the person that was Lucius Marcius Memor. However, in the books, Memor is depicted as the drunken, obese and lazy haruspex/overseer of the baths who has to be dragged out of bed to go to work and who is all too easily talked into plotting the death of our friend Cogidubnus.  When told about this very large discrepancy between what we actually know about Memor (almost nothing) and how he is depicted in the Cambridge series, one of my students (we’ll call him Connoribus) very charmingly took up the defense of Memor’s, well, memory.  “What if the real Memor was fit, sober and hard working? That’s really not fair that the books portray him this way!”  I laugh every time I think about it because, ultimately, in the case of Lucius Marcius Memor, what does it matter?  He and all of his relatives are dead and we are never likely to know any more about him than we know now. So if Cambridge Latin wants to demonize him for the sake of making learning the Latin language a bit more lively and entertaining, what’s the harm?  
However, whether he knew it or not, Connoribus was striking at the heart of an important issue in schooling that needs to be constantly at the center of teaching and learning--epistemology.  How do we know what we know?  In an age where the first thing that comes up on a google search usually passes for “the answer,” we as teachers need to be constantly mindful that we know where the materials we teach ultimately come from (“ad fontes!” cried Luther and company) and that when we are using a tool, be it a creative story invented to make reading Latin more fun or a piece of technology, that we are constantly aware of the line between the lesson and the tool or the knowledge we want the students to acquire and the package that we give it to them in. That is a big part of why these trips are so valuable to me. Now I can tell Connoribus that I’ve actually seen the altar and, after looking closely at the inscription and the way it was carved, well, maybe he was a fat, lazy, drunk! :)

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Next stop, Stonehenge!

After leaving behind Coggydubs (if that was really his name...) and his alleged palace, Mirko and I then rushed toward our next stop, Stonehenge. Although it really has very little to do with the Romans, seeing that it was on the way to our next major Roman site, Bath (Aquae Sulis), we made a slight detour. I mean, really, who can go through Wessex (land of the West Saxons) and not stop by this amazing stone age monument shrouded in mystery? I think Clark W. Griswold put it best...
But, I digress. Anyway, due to unforeseen weather and traffic delays, we arrived with only just barely enough time to visit --just under twenty minutes. Which meant that most of my burning questions would have to wait until after I had seen it. Of course, foremost among my questions was: “What did the Romans think about this mysterious place? What did they have to say about it?”
Map of Roman Britain with Aquae Sulis
and Stonehenge indicated in yellow.
Sadly, nothing. Or at least, as far as we know. That is, no mentions of the place survive in the Roman historical record. Not one. Which should be surprising considering that the Romans were in Britain for nearly 400 years and they had heavily colonized the southern part of the island. They must have been aware of it. Although it is not directly on any Roman road, it does lie just eight miles from the Roman fort at Salisbury (Sorviodunum), (which, by the way Cambridge Latin fans, would have likely been on route for Cogidubnus, Quintus and Salvius from Fishbourne to Aquae Sulis).


Stonehenge about two miles away in the background...
Furthermore, excavators have recently uncovered a relatively large Roman cemetery at Boscombe down, just five miles away from the stone circle. And finally, sitting atop a sizable hill crest, Stonehenge is visible from some distance away, as this recycled, stock “driving on the left photo” shows. Therefore, the Romans certainly knew about it.

However, this is when it is important for us to remember that less than 1% of everything written down by the Romans is extant. So they very likely did, at some point, write about Stonehenge, it merely does not survive. Also, we do have some archeological evidence that seems to show that, indeed, the Romans did visit Stonehenge. These recent excavations have turned up a handful of Roman coins and at least one piece of Roman pottery. So, at the very least, they visited it as we do.

Image of a giant placing the lintels at Stonehenge from a 
manuscript of the Roman de Brut, by Wace, who in turn 
had borrowed his tale from Geoffrey of Monmouth.  
Image shamelessly stolen from the Wikipedia article.
However, it would be about 700 years after the Romans left Britain before Stonehenge appeared in the surviving written historical record. The first known textual reference is in Henry of Huntingdon, one of the first great historians of Norman England, who briefly refers to the spot in his medieval Latin chronicle. Sadly, I have not been able to find the Latin quotation because not one of the articles cites the chapter and verse of Henry's chronicle (tsk, tsk), and despite about an hour of painstakingly manually perusing a pdf of the Latin text, I was unable to locate it. So for now, you all will have to settle for an English translation. I know, I’m sad too. :(

“Stanenges, where stones of wonderful size have been erected after the manner of doorways, so that doorway appears to have been raised upon doorway; and no one can conceive how such great stones have been so raised aloft, or why they were built there.” (From the English Heritage website).

The next writer to have taken on Stonehenge was the incredibly inventive Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Latin history entitled Historia Regum Britanniae. It is to Geoffrey and his fantastical imagination that we owe the King Arthur stories. In fact, Geoffrey would have us believe that Stonehenge was built by Merlin and that Arthur’s grandfather and father were both buried there, among many other creative lies!

Drawing of stonehenge as a Roman temple
of Caelus from a 17th century manuscript.
Legends of its construction by giants, Merlin, Arthur, and even the devil continued to be told up into early modern times, but then, the site slowly became the subject of increasingly frequent inquiries by antiquarians.  These men were basically proto-historian/archeologists in the 16th through 19th centuries who, in a manner not much different than Geoffrey of Monmouth, often relied on their own ideas and imagination as much as fact or evidence. From their “research,” came one popular early theory that suggested that Stonehenge was actually a Roman built temple to the the sky!


While modern research has demonstrated the absurdity of the Merlin story and theories involving the Romans, much mystery still surrounds the site as to when it was built, by whom and, probably most importantly, why. It certainly seems to have something to with astronomy and astrological observations, but beyond that, we simply don't know. As usual, I’m sure that I’m leaving you with just as many questions as answers, but that’s what’s fun about this, right?!? So feel free to do your own research and leave your thoughts below, just whatever you do, don't cite Giorgio Tsoukalos as a source! And before we leave it behind, enjoy some silly photos of me and Mirko during our rainy visit to Stonehenge!
Photo for my debut solo album of 90's grunge covers...
Mirko approves.