From the Archives: Word With a Past: Mausoleum
Among other things, I’m currently working on the story of Artemisia II, the widowed queen in the story below. I’m ashamed to realized that I did not mention her by name: my own small contribution to erasing women from history. (I’ve corrected that in this re-run.) While we don’t know a great deal about Queen Artemisia, she did more than simply build an amazing memorial to her husband. She also defended her kingdom against a revolt by men who didn’t want to be ruled by a woman, defeating the rebels with a clever bit of military sleight-of-hand.
She was also known as a botanist and has a plant genus named after her. Mugwort, wormwood and the like may not be romantic but they are useful and smell good. You could have a worse monument. 
So here it is, a word with a past:
When King Mausolos of Caria * died in 353 BCE his widow, Artemisia II, decided to honor him by building a marble tomb more wonderful than any building known to man. (We’ve seen this kind of thing before. Taj Mahal anyone?) She sent to Greece for the best architects and sculptors. When it was completed the Mausoleum (literally, the tomb of Mausolos) at Halicarnassus was declared one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. **
[Brief pause while I do the math] The tomb of Mausolos amazed travelers for more than 1500 years. Travelers commented on its beauty well into the twelfth century CE, even after an earthquake or two damaged the walls and sent the sculptured chariot on the roof crashing to the ground. The tomb ceased to be a wonder in the thirteenth century, when the Knights of Malta arrived at Halicarnassus. From the crusaders’ point of view, the ruined tomb was a great source of building materials.
Today, the only things left of Mausolos’ tomb are an archaeological site, some carved pieces of marble in the walls of the crusader castle, and the word “mausoleum”
Mausoleum: A tomb of more than ordinary size or architectural pretensions, especially a grand monumental structure.
* Now the modern Turkish resort town of Bodrum
** On one list, at any rate. Listing the seven wonders was a favorite pastime for traveling Greeks in classical times. One man’s wonder was another man’s Wonder Bread.
Tiny Bubbles…..
Right now I’m thinking about widows–not for personal reasons but in reference to The Book.
I’ve been looking at the concept of the widow’s walk to power: think Corazon Aquino or Sirivamo Bandaraniake, who campaigned as the “weeping widow” to become the world’s first female prime minister in 1960 after the assassination of her husband. I’ve read about widowed queens who serve as regents for their underaged sons* and women who inherited armies and Mad Ann Bailey who put on men’s clothing, learned to shoot a rifle, and volunteered as a scout in the American Revolution after her husband’s death. I’ve learned about widows who joined religious communities–Buddhist as well as Catholic, voluntarily and under pressure. I’ve struggle with the question of how the custom of widow burning (sati) relates to Hindu ideas about female power (shakti).
And occasionally, when the work goes particularly well, I consider celebrating with one of my favorite widows, Veuve Clicquot–though I really need to be a bit further along before I pop a cork.
It turns out the widow behind the bottle was a corker in her own right. (Sorry.)
Madame Clicquot and her great-granddaughter, ca. 1860.
Barbe-Nicole Clicquot was the 27 year old mother of a young daughter when her husband died in 1805. She found herself in control of Maison Clicquot, a company that had its fingers in lots of economic pies, including a growing business in champagne production. She could have turned things over to male relatives or managers. In fact, society expected her to turn things over to some man: women may have run small family businesses but they didn’t run international companies. She didn’t. Under her leadership, the company focused on champagne. She invented at least one device, the riddling table, that made mass production of champagne possible, created the first blend of rosé champagne, produced the first identified vintage, and added distinctive labels to her bottles to discourage fraud. During the Napoleonic wars, she defied the blockades and embargoes that kept her from shipping her wine, using clever (i.e. Illegal) ruses, such as packing champagne bottles in coffee barrels.
When Madame Clicquot died in 1866, she had grown the annual production to 750,000 bottles–more than seven times what it had been when she inherited the company–and Veuve Clicquot was a major player in the business.
She may or may not have been a merry widow, but she certainly caused merriment in others.
*Not all of whom made it to their majority. Maternal feelings don’t necessarily come with maternity.
Happy Fourth of July
Fourth of July Picnic, Rogers, Arkansas ca. 1904
Here in the United States, we’re heading into the July 4th weekend–a holiday that expands or contracts depending on where in the week in falls. It’s also a holiday where the meaning of what we are celebrating is often lost in the celebration itself.
In the past I’ve used this post to remind all of us of this ideal which stands at the core of who we are:
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
This year, I’d like to remind you of another quotation from our history, the words written on the Statue of Liberty:
“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door! “
Over the years, we’ve had trouble living up to both ideals. Over the years, some heroic figures have fought to keep them alive.
Picnics, fireworks and barbecue are nice. Civil rights are better.